the history of the devil, as well ancient as modern: in two parts. part i. containing a state of the _devil_'s circumstances, and the various turns of his affairs; from his expulsion out of heaven, to the _creation_ of man; with remarks on the several mistakes concerning the reason and manner of his fall. also his proceedings with _mankind_ ever since _adam_, to the first planting of the christian religion in the world. part ii. containing his more private conduct, down to the present times: his government, his appearances, his manner of working, and the tools he works with. _bad as he is, the devil may be abus'd,_ _be falsly charg'd, and causelesly accus'd,_ _when men, unwilling to be blam'd alone,_ _shift off these crimes on him which are their own._ the second edition. _london:_ printed for t. warner, at the _black boy_ in _pater-noster row_. . the preface to the second edition. _this second edition of this work, notwithstanding a large impression of the first, is a certificate from the world of its general acceptation; so we need not, according to the custom of editors, boast of it without evidence, or tell a f----b in its favour._ _the subject is singular, and it has been handled after a singular manner: the wise world has been pleased with it, the merry world has been diverted with it, and the ignorant world has been taught by it; none but the malicious part of the world has been offended at it: who can wonder, that when the_ devil _is not pleased,_ his friends should be angry? _the strangest thing of it all is, to hear_ satan _complain that the story is handled prophanely: but who can think it strange that his advocates should_ be, what he was from the beginning? _the author affirms, and has good vouchers for it (in the opinion of such whose judgment passes with him for an authority) that the whole tenor of the work is solemn, calculated to promote serious religion, and capable of being improv'd in a religious manner. but he does not think that we are bound never to speak of the_ devil _but with an air of terror, as if we were always afraid of him._ _'tis evident the_ devil, _as subtle and as frightful as he is, has acted the ridiculous and foolish part, as much as most of god's creatures, and daily does so. and he cannot believe 'tis any sin to expose him for a foolish_ devil, _as he is, or shew the world that he may be laugh'd at._ _those that think the subject not handled with gravity enough, have all the room given them in the world to handle it better; and as the author professes he is far from thinking his piece perfect, they ought not to be angry that_ he gives them leave to mend it. _he has had the satisfaction to please some readers, and to see good men approve it; and for the rest, as my lord_ rochester _says in another case,_ he counts their censure fame. _as for a certain reverend gentleman, who is pleased gravely to dislike the work_ (_he hopes, rather for the author's sake than the_ devil's) _he only says,_ let the performance be how it will, and the author what he will, it is apparent he has not yet preach'd away all his hearers. _it is enough to me (says the author) that the_ devil _himself is not pleased with my work, and less with the design of it; let the_ devil _and all his fellow complainers stand on one side, and the honest, well meaning, charitable world, who approve my work, on the other, and i'll tell noses with_ satan, _if he dares._ the contents. part i. chap. i. _being an introduction to the whole work_, page chap. ii. _of the word_ devil, _as it is a proper name to the devil, and any or all his host, angels_, &c. chap. iii. _of the original of the_ devil, _who he is, what he was before his expulsion out of heaven, and in what state he was from that time to the creation of man_ chap. iv. _of the name of the devil, his original, and the nature of his circumstances since he has been call'd by that name_ chap. v. _of the station satan had in heaven before he fell; the nature and original of his crime, and some of mr._ milton's _mistakes about it_ chap. vi. _what became of the_ devil _and his host of fallen spirits after their being expell'd from heaven, and his wandring condition till the creation; with some more of mr._ milton_'s absurdities on that subject_ chap. vii. _of the number of satan's host; how they came first to know of the new created worlds now in being, and their measures with mankind upon the discovery_ chap. viii. _of the power of the devil at the time of the creation of this world; whether it has not been farther straiten'd and limited since that time, and what shifts and stratagems he is oblig'd to make use of to compass his designs upon mankind_ chap. ix. _of the progress of satan in carrying on his conquest over mankind, from the fall of_ eve _to the deluge_ chap. x. _of the devil's second kingdom, and how he got footing in the renewed world by his victory over_ noah _and his race_ chap. xi. _of god's calling a church out of the midst of a degenerate world, and of satan's new measures upon that incident: how he attacked them immediately, and his success in those attacks_ part ii. chap. i. _the introduction_ chap. ii. _of hell as it is represented to us, and how the_ devil _is to be understood, as being personally in hell, when at the same time we find him at liberty ranging over the world_ chap. iii. _of the manner of_ satan's _acting and carrying on his affairs in this world, and particularly of his ordinary workings in the dark, by_ possession _and_ agitation chap. iv. _of satan's agents or missionaries, and their actings upon and in the minds of men in his name_ chap. v. _of the_ devil_'s management in the pagan hierarchy by omens, entrails, augurs, oracles, and such like pageantry of hell; and how they went off the stage at last by the introduction of true religion_ chap. vi. _of the extraordinary appearances of the devil, and particularly of the cloven-foot_ chap. vii. _whether is most hurtful to the world, the_ devil _walking about without his cloven-foot, or the cloven-foot walking about without the_ devil? chap. viii. _of the cloven-foot walking about the world without the_ devil (viz.) _of witches making bargains with the_ devil, _and particularly of selling the soul to the_ devil chap. ix. _of the tools the_ devil _works with_ (viz.) _witches, wizards or warlocks, conjurers, magicians, diviners, astrologers, interpreters of dreams, tellers of fortunes; and above all the rest, his particular modern privy-counsellors call'd wits and fools_ chap. x. _of the various methods the devil takes to converse with mankind_ chap. xi. _of divination, sorcery, the black-art, pawawing, and such like pretenders to devilisms, and how far the_ devil _is or is not concern'd in them_ the conclusion. _of the_ devil'_s last scene of liberty, and what may be supposed to be his end; with what we are to understand of his being tormented for ever and ever_ the history of the devil, _&c._ chap. i. _being an introduction to the whole work._ i doubt not but the title of this book will amuse some of my reading friends a little at first; they will make a pause, perhaps, as they do at a witch's prayer, and be some time resolving whether they had best look into it or no, lest they should really raise the _devil_ by reading his story. children and old women have told themselves so many frightful things _of the devil_, and have form'd ideas of him in their minds, in so many horrible and monstrous shapes, that really it were enough to fright the _devil_ himself, to meet himself in the dark, dress'd up in the several figures which imagination has form'd for him in the minds of men; and as for themselves, i cannot think by any means that the _devil_ would terrify them half so much, if they were to converse face to face with him. it must certainly therefore be a most useful undertaking to give the true history of this _tyrant of the air_, this _god of the world_, this terror and aversion of mankind, which we call _devil_; to shew what he is, and what he is not, where he is, and where he is not, when he is in us, and when he is not; for i cannot doubt but that the _devil_ is really and _bona fide_ in a great many of our honest weak-headed friends, when they themselves know nothing of the matter. nor is the work so difficult as some may imagine. the _devil_'s _history_ is not so hard to come at, as it seems to be; his original and the first rise of his family is upon record, and as for his conduct, he has acted indeed in the dark, as to method in many things; but _in general_, as cunning as he is, he has been fool enough to expose himself in some of the most considerable transactions of his life, and has not shewn himself a politician at all: our old friend _matchiavel_ outdid him in many things, and i may in the process of this work give an account of several of the sons of _adam_, and some societies of 'em too, who have out-witted _the devil_, nay, who have out-sin'd _the devil_, and that i think may be call'd out-shooting him in his own bow. it may perhaps be expected of me in this history, that since i seem inclin'd to speak favourably of _satan_, to do him justice, and to write his story impartially, i should take some pains to tell you what religion he is of; and even this part may not be so much a jest, as at first sight you may take it to be; for _satan_ has something of religion in him, i assure you; nor is he such an unprofitable _devil_ that way, as some may suppose him to be; for tho', in reverence to my brethren, i will not reckon him among the clergy; no not so much as a gifted brother, yet i cannot deny, but that he often preaches, and if it be not profitably to his hearers; 'tis as much their fault, as it is out of his design. it has indeed been suggested that he has taken orders, and that a certain pope, famous for being an extraordinary favourite of his, gave him both institution and induction; but as this is not upon record, and therefore we have no authentic document for the probation, i shall not affirm it for a truth, for i would not slander the _devil_. it is said also, and i am apt to believe it, that he was very familiar with that holy father pope _silvester_ ii. and some charge him with personating pope _hildebrand_ on an extraordinary occasion, and himself sitting in the chair apostolick, in a full congregation; and you may hear more of this hereafter: but as i do not meet with pope _diabolus_ among the list; in all father _platina_'s lives of the popes, so i am willing to leave it as i find it. but to speak to the point, and a nice point it is i acknowledge; _namely_, what religion _the devil_ is of; my answer will indeed be general, yet not at all ambiguous, for i love to speak positively and with undoubted evidence. . _he is a believer._ and if in saying so it should follow, that even the _devil_ has more religion than some of our men of fame can at this time be charged with, i hope my lord ---- and his grace the ---- of ---- and some of the upper class in the red-hot club, will not wear the coat, however well it may sit to their shapes, or challenge the satyr, as if it were pointed at them, because 'tis due to them: in a word, whatever their lordships are, i can assure them that the _devil_ is no infidel. . _he fears god._ we have such abundant evidence of this in sacred history, that if i were not at present, in common with a few others, talking to an infidel sort of gentlemen, with whom those remote things call'd scriptures are not allow'd in evidence, i might say it was sufficiently prov'd; but i doubt not in the process of this undertaking to shew, that _the devil_ really _fears god_, and that after another manner than ever he fear'd saint _frances_ or saint _dunstan_; and if that be proved, as i take upon me to advance, i shall leave it to judgment, who's the better christian, _the devil_ who _believes_ and _trembles_, or our modern gentry of ---- who believe neither _god nor devil_. having thus brought the _devil_ within the _pale_, i shall leave him among you for the present; not but that i may examine in its order who has the best claim to his brotherhood, the papists or the protestants; and among the latter the lutherans or the calvinists; and so descending to all the several denominations of churches, see who has less of _the devil_ in them, and who more; and whether _less_ or _more_ the devil has not a seat in every synagogue, a pew in every church, a place in every pulpit, and a vote in every synod; even from the sanhedrim of the _jews_, to our friends at the _bull and mouth_, &c. from the greatest to the least. it will, i confess, come very much within the compass of this part of my discourse, to give an account, _or at least make an essay toward it_, of the share _the devil_ has had in the spreading religion in the world; and especially of dividing and subdividing opinions in religion; perhaps, to eke it out and make it reach the farther; and also to shew how far he is or has made himself a missionary of the famous clan _de propaganda fide_; it is true, we find him heartily employ'd in almost every corner of the world _ad propagandum errorem_: but that may require a history by it self. as to his propagating religion, 'tis a little hard indeed, at first sight, to charge _the devil_ with propagating religion, that is to say, if we take it literally, and in the gross; but if you take it as the _scots_ insisted to take the oath of fidelity, _viz._ with an _explanation_, it is plain _satan_ has very often had a share in the method, if not in the design of propagating the _christian faith_: for example. i think i do no injury at all to the devil, to say that he had a great hand in the old _holy war_, as it was ignorantly and enthusiastically call'd; stirring up the christian princes and powers of _europe_ to run a madding after the _turks_ and _saracens_, and make war with those innocent people above a thousand miles off, only because they entred into god's heritage when he had forsaken it; graz'd upon his ground when he had fairly turn'd it into a common, and laid it open for the next comer; spending their nation's treasure, and embarking their kings and people, (i say) in a war above a thousand miles off, filling their heads with that religious madness, call'd, in those days, _holy zeal_ to recover the _terra sancta_, the sepulchers of christ and the saints, and as they call'd it falsly, the _holy city_, tho' true religion says it was the accursed city, and not worth spending one drop of blood for. this religious _bubble_ was certainly of _satan_, who, as he craftily drew them in, so like a true _devil_ he left them in the lurch when they came there, fac'd about to the _saracens_, animated the immortal _saladin_ against them, and manag'd so dexterously that he left the bones of about thirteen or fourteen hundred thousand christians there as a trophy of his infernal politicks; and after the christian world had run _a la santa terra_, or in _english_ a _saunt'ring_, about a hundred year, he dropt it to play another game less foolish, but ten times wickeder than that which went before it, _namely_, turning the crusadoes of the christians one against another; and, as _hudibras_ said in another case, "made them fight like mad or drunk "for dame religion as for punk. of this you have a compleat account in the history of the popes decrees against the count _de thoulouse_, and the _waldenses_ and _albigenses_, with the crusadoes and massacres which follow'd upon them, wherein to do _the devil_'s politicks some justice, he met with all the success he could desire; the zealots of that day executed his infernal orders most punctually, and planted religion in those countries in a glorious and triumphant manner, upon the destruction of an infinite number of innocent people, whose blood has fatten'd the soil for the growth of the catholick faith, in a manner very particular, and to satan's full satisfaction. i might, to compleat this part of his history, give you the detail of his progress in these first steps of his alliances with _rome_; and add a long list of massacres, wars, and expeditions in behalf of religion, which he has had the honour to have a visible hand in; such as the _parisian_ massacre, the _flemish_ war under the duke _d' alva_, the _smithfield_ fires in the _marian days_ in _england_, and the massacres in _ireland_; all which would most effectually convince us that _the devil_ has not been idle in his business; but i may meet with these again in my way, 'tis enough, while i am upon the generals only, to mention them thus in a summary way; i say, 'tis enough to prove that _the devil_ has really been as much concerned as any body, in the methods taken by some people for propagating the christian religion in the world. some have rashly, and i had almost said maliciously charg'd _the devil_ with the great triumphs of his friends the _spaniards_ in _america_, and would place the conquest of _mexico_ and _peru_ to the credit of his account. but i cannot join with them in this at all, i must say, i believe _the devil_ was innocent of that matter; my reason is, because, _satan_ was never such a fool as to spend his time, or his politicks, or embark his allies to conquer nations who were already his own; that would be _satan_ against _beelzebub_, making war upon himself, and at least doing nothing to the purpose. if they should charge him, indeed, with deluding _philip_ ii. of _spain_ into that preposterous attempt call'd _the armada_, (_anglice_, the _spanish invasion_,) i should indeed more readily join with them; but whether he did it weakly, in hope, _which was indeed not likely_, that it should succeed; or wickedly, to destroy that great fleet of the _spaniards_, and draw them within the reach of his own dominions, the elements; this being a question which authors differ exceedingly about, i shall leave it to decide it self. but the greatest piece of management, which we find _the devil_ has concern'd himself in of late, in the matter of religion, seems to be that of the mission into _china_; and here indeed _satan_ has acted his master-piece: it was, no doubt, much for his service that _the chineses_ should have no insight into matters of religion, i mean, that we call christian; and therefore, tho' _popery_ and the _devil_ are not at so much variance as some may imagine, yet he did not think it safe to let the general system of christianity be heard of among them in _china_. hence when the name of the christian religion had but been received with some seeming approbation in the country of _japan_, _satan_ immediately, as if alarm'd at the thing, and dreading what the consequence of it might be, arm'd the _japoneses_ against it with such fury, that they expell'd it at once. it was much safer to his designs, when, if the story be not a fiction, he put that _dutch_ witicism into the mouths of the states commanders, when they came to _japan_; who having more wit than to own themselves christians in such a place as that, when the question was put to them, answered negatively, _that they were not_, but that _they were of another religion call'd_ hollanders. however, it seems the diligent _jesuits_ out-witted the devil in _china_, and, as i said above, over-shot him in his own bow; for the mission being in danger _by the devil and the_ chinese _emperor_'s _joining together_, of being wholly expell'd there too, as they had been in _japan_, they cunningly fell in with the ecclesiasticks of the country, and joining the priestcraft of both religions together, they brought _jesus christ_ and _confucius_ to be so reconcilable, that the _chinese_ and the _roman_ idolatry appeared capable of a confederacy, of going on hand in hand together, and consequently of being very good friends. this was a master-piece indeed, and, _as they say_, almost frighted _satan_ out of his wits; but he being a ready manager, and particularly famous for serving himself of the rogueries of the priests, fac'd about immediately to the mission, and making a virtue of necessity, clapt in, with all possible alacrity, with the proposal[ ]; so the _jesuits_ and he form'd a _hotch-potch_ of _religion_ made up of _popery_ and _paganism_ and calculated to leave the latter rather worse than they found it, binding the faith of christ and the philosophy or morals of _confucius_ together, and formally christening them by the name of _religion_; by which means the politick interest of the mission was preserved; and yet _satan_ lost not one inch of ground with the _chineses_, no, not by the planting the gospel it self, _such as it was_, among them. nor has it been such disadvantage to him that this plan or scheme of a new modell'd religion would not go down at _rome_, and that the inquisition damn'd it with bell, book and candle; distance of place serv'd his new allies, the missionaries, in the stead of a protection from the inquisition; and now and then a rich present well plac'd found them friends in the congregation it self; and where any nuncio with his impudent zeal pretended to take such a long voyage to oppose them, _satan_ took care to get him sent back _re infecta_, or inspir'd the million to move him off the premisses, by methods of their own (that is to say, being interpreted) to _murther him_. thus the mission has in itself been truly _devilish_, and the devil has interested himself in the planting the christian religion in _china_. the influence _the devil_ has in the politicks of mankind, is another especial part of his history, and would require, if it were possible, a very exact description; but here we shall necessarily be obliged to inquire so nicely into the arcana of circumstances, and unlock the cabinets of state in so many courts, canvass the councils of ministers and the conduct of princes so fully, and expose them so much, that it may, perhaps, make a combustion among the great politicians abroad; and in doing that we may come so near home too, that tho' personal safety and prudentials forbid our medling with our own country, we may be taken in a double entendre, and fall unpitied for being only suspected of touching truths that are so tender, whether we are guilty or no; on these accounts i must meddle the less with that part, at least for the present. be it that the devil has had a share in some of the late councils of _europe_, influencing them this way or that way, to his own advantage, what is it to us? for example, what if he has had any concern in the late affair of _thorn_? what need we put it upon him, seeing his confederates the _jesuites_ with the _assessorial_ tribunal of _poland_ take it upon themselves? i shall leave that part to the issue of time. i wish it were as easy to persuade the world that he had no hand in bringing the injur'd protestants to leave the justice due to the cries of protestant blood to the arbitrament of a popish power, who dare say that _the devil_ must be in it, if justice should be obtain'd that way: i should rather say, _the devil_ is in it, or else it would never be expected. it occurs next to enquire from the premisses, whether _the devil_ has more influence or less in the affairs of the world now, than he had in former ages; and this will depend upon comparing, as we go along, his methods and way of working in past times, and the modern politicks by which he acts in our days; with the differing reception which he has met with among the men of such distant ages. but there is so much to enquire of about _the devil_, before we can bring his story down to our modern times, that we must for the present let them drop, and look a little back to the remoter parts of this history; drawing his picture that people may know him when they meet him, and see who and what he is, and what he has been doing ever since he got leave to act in the high station he now appears in. in the mean time, if i might obtain leave to present an humble petition to _satan_, it should be, that he would according to modern usage oblige us all, with writing _the history of his own times_; 'twould, as well as one that is gone before it, be a devilish good one; for as to the sincerity of the performance, the authority of the particulars, the justice of the characters, _&c._ if they were no better vouch'd, no more consistent with themselves, with charity, with truth, and with the honour of an historian, than the last of that kind which came abroad among us, it must be a reproach to _the devil_ himself to be the author of it. were _satan_ to be brought under the least obligation to write truth, and that the matters of fact, which he should write, might be depended upon, he is certainly qualified by his knowledge of things to be a compleat historian; nor could the bishop himself, _who, by the way, has given us already the devil of a history_, come up to him: _milton_'s _pandemonium_, tho' an excellent dramatick performance, would appear a meer trifling sing-song business, beneath the dignity of _chevy-chase_: the _devil_ could give us a true account of all the civil wars in heaven; how and by whom, and in what manner he lost the day there, and was oblig'd to quit the field: the fiction of his refusing to acknowledge and submit to the _messiah_, upon his being declar'd generalissimo of the heavenly forces, which satan expected himself, as the eldest officer; and his not being able to brook another to be put in over his head; i say, that fine-spun thought of mr. _milton_ would appear to be strain'd too far, and only serve to convince us that he (_milton_) knew nothing of the matter. _satan_ knows very well, that the _messiah_ was not _declared to be the son of god with power_ till by and after _the resurrection from the dead_, and that all power was then given him _in heaven and earth_, and not before; so that _satan_'s rebellion must derive from other causes, and upon other occasions, as he himself can doubtless give us an account, if he thinks fit, and of which we shall speak further in this work. what a fine history might this old gentleman write of the antediluvian world, and of all the weighty affairs, as well of state as of religion, which happen'd during the fifteen hundred years of the patriarchal administration! who, like him, could give a full and compleat account of the deluge, whether it was a meer vindictive, a blast from heaven, wrought by a supernatural power in the way of miracle? or whether, according to mr. _burnet_'s _theory_, it was a consequence following antecedent causes by the meer necessity of nature; seen in constitution, natural position, and unavoidable working of things, as by the theory publish'd by that learn'd enthusiast it seems to be? _satan_ could easily account for all the difficulties of the _theory_, and tell us whether, as there was a natural necessity of the deluge, there is not the like necessity and natural tendency to a conflagration at last. would _the devil_ exert himself as an historian, for our improvement and diversion, how glorious an account could he give us of _noah_'s voyage round the world, in the famous ark! he could resolve all the difficulties about the building it, the furnishing it, and the laying up provision in it for all the collection of kinds that he had made; he could tell us whether all the creatures came voluntier to him to go into the ark, or whether he went a hunting for several years before, in order to bring them together. he could give us a true relation how he wheedled the people of the next world into the absurd ridiculous undertaking of building a _babel_; how far that stupendous stair-case, which was in imagination to reach up to heaven, was carried, before it was interrupted and the builders confounded; how their speech was alter'd, how many tongues it was divided into, or whether they were divided at all; and how many subdivisions or dialects have been made since that, by which means very few of god's creatures, except the brutes, understand one another, or care one farthing whether they do or no. in all these things _satan_, who, no doubt, would make a very good chronologist, could settle every epocha, correct every calendar, and bring all our accounts of time to a general agreement; as well the _grecian olympiads_, the _turkish heghira_, the _chinese_ fictitious account of the world's duration, as our blind _julian_ and _gregorian_ accounts, which have put the world, to this day, into such confusion, that we neither agree in our holy-days or working days, fasts or feasts, nor keep the same sabbaths in any part of the same globe. this great antiquary could bring us to a certainty in all the difficulties of ancient story, and tell us whether the tale of the siege of _troy_, and the rape of _helen_ was a fable of _homer_ or a history; whether the fictions of the poets are form'd from their own brain, or founded in facts; and whether letters were invented by _cadmus_ the _phoenician_, or dictated immediately from _heaven_ at mount _sinai_. nay, he could tell us how and in what manner he wheedled _eve_, deluded _adam_, put _cain_ into a passion, till he made him murther his own brother; and made _noah_, who was above years a preacher of righteousness, turn sot in his old age, dishonour all his ministry, debauch himself with wine, and by getting drunk and exposing himself, become the jest and laughing-stock of his children, and of all his posterity to this day. and would satan, according to the modern practice of the late right reverend historian, enter into the characters of the great men of his age, how should we be diverted with the just history of _adam_, in paradise and out of it; his character, and how he behaved at and after his expulsion; how _cain_ wandered in the land of _nod_, what the mark was which _god_ set upon him, whose daughter his wife was, and how big the city was he built there, according to a certain poet of noble extraction, how _cain_ in the land of _nod_ when the rascal was alone like an owl in an ivy tod built a city as big as _roan_. _roch._ he could have certainly drawn _eve_'s picture, told us every feature in her face, and every inch in her shape, whether she was a perfect beauty or no, and whether with the fall she did grow crooked, ugly, ill-natur'd and a scold; as the learned _valdemar_ suggests to be the effects of the curse. descending to the character of the patriarchs in that age, he might, no doubt, give us in particular the characters of _belus_, worship'd under the name of _baal_; with _satan_, and _jupiter_, his successors; who they were here, and how they behaved; with all the _pharaohs_ of _egypt_, the _abimilechs_ of _canaan_, and the great monarchs of _assyria_ and _babylon_. hence also he is able to write the lives of all the heroes of the world, from _alexander_ of _macedon_ to _lewis_ the xiv. and from _augustus_ to the great king _george_; nor could the bishop himself go beyond him for flattery, any more than the devil himself could go beyond the bishop for falshood. i could enlarge with a particular satisfaction upon the many fine things which _satan_, rummaging his inexhaustible storehouse of slander, could set down to blacken the characters of good men, and load the best princes of the world with infamy and reproach. but we shall never prevail with him, i doubt, to do mankind so much service, as resolving all those difficulties would be; for he has an indelible grudge against us; as he believes, and perhaps is assur'd that men were at first created by his sovereign, to the intent that after a certain state of probation in life, such of them as shall be approved, are appointed to fill up those vacancies in the heavenly host, which were made by the abdication and expulsion of him (_the devil_) and his angels; so that man is appointed to come in _satan_'s stead, to make good the breach, and enjoy all those ineffable joys and beatitudes which _satan_ enjoy'd before his fall; no wonder then, that _the devil_ swells with envy and rage at mankind in general, and at the best of them in particular; nay, the granting this point is giving an unanswerable reason, why the _devil_ practises with such unwearied and indefatigable application upon the best men, if possible, to disappoint god almighty's decree, and that he should not find enough among the whole race, to be proper subjects of his clemency, and qualified to succeed _the devil_ and his host, or fill up the places vacant by the fall. it is true indeed, _the devil_, who we have reason to say is no fool, ought to know better than to suppose that if he should seduce the whole race of mankind, and make them as bad as himself, he could, by that success of his wickedness, thwart or disappoint the determined purposes of heaven; but that those which are appointed to inherit the thrones, which he and his followers abdicated, and were deposed from, shall certainly be preserv'd in spite of his devices for that inheritance, and shall have the possession secur'd to them, notwithstanding all that _the devil_ and all the host of _hell_ can do to prevent it. but, however he knows the certainty of this, and that when he endeavours the seducing the chosen servants of the most high, he fights against god himself, struggles with irresistible grace, and makes war with infinite power; undermining the church of god, and that faith in him which is fortified with the eternal promises of jesus christ, that the gates of _hell_, that is to say, the _devil_ and all his power, shall not prevail against them; i say, however he knows the impossibility there is that he should obtain his ends, yet so blind is his rage, so infatuate his wisdom, that he cannot refrain breaking himself to pieces against this mountain, and splitting against the rock. _qui jupiter vult perdere hos dementat._ but to leave this serious part, which is a little too solemn, for the account of this rebel; seeing we are not to expect he will write his own history for our information and diversion, i shall see if i cannot write it for him: in order to this, i shall extract the substance of his whole story, from the beginning to our own times, which i shall collect out of what is come to hand, whether by revelation or inspiration, that's nothing to him; i shall take care so to improve my intelligence, as may make my account of him authentick, and, _in a word_, such as the devil himself shall not be able to contradict. in writing this uncouth story i shall be freed from the censures of the criticks, in a more than ordinary manner, upon one account especially; (_viz._) that my story shall be so just and so well grounded, and, after all the good things i shall say of _satan_, will be so little to his satisfaction, that _the devil_ himself will not be able to say, i _dealt with the devil_ in writing it: i might, perhaps, give you some account where i had my intelligence, and how all the arcana of his management have come to my hands; _but pardon me, gentlemen_, this would be to betray conversation, and to discover my agents, and you know statesmen are very careful to preserve the correspondences they keep in the enemy's country, lest they expose their friends to the resentment of the power whose councils they betray. besides, the learned tell us, that ministers of state make an excellent plea of their not betraying their intelligence, against all party inquiries into the great sums of money pretended to be paid for _secret service_; and whether the secret service was to bribe people to betray things abroad or at home; whether the money was paid to some body or to no body, employ'd to establish correspondences abroad, or to establish families and amass treasure at home; in a word, whether it was to serve their country or serve themselves, it has been the same thing, and the same plea has been their protection: likewise in the important affair which i am upon, 'tis hoped you will not desire me to betray my correspondents; for you know _satan_ is naturally cruel and malicious, and who knows what he might do to shew his resentment? at least it might endanger a stop of our intelligence for the future. and yet, before i have done, i shall make it very plain, that however my information may be secret and difficult, that yet i came very honestly by it, and shall make a very good use of it; for 'tis a great mistake in those who think that an acquaintance with the affairs of _the devil_ may not be made very useful to us all: they that know no evil can know no good; and, as the learned tell us, that a stone taken out of the head of a toad is a good antidote against poison; so a competent knowledge of _the devil_, and all his ways, may be the best help to make us defie _the devil_ and all his _works_. chap. ii. _of the word_ devil, _as it is a proper name to the devil, and any or all his host, angels,_ &c. it is a question, not yet determined by the learned, whether the word _devil_ be a _singular_, that is to say, the _name_ of a person standing by himself, or a _noun of multitude_; if it be a singular, and so must be used personally only as _a proper name_, it consequently implies one imperial _devil_, monarch or king of the whole clan of hell; justly distinguish'd by the term the devil, or as the _scots_ call him, _the muckle horn'd dee'l_, or as others in a wilder dialect, _the devil of hell_, that is to say, the _devil_ of a _devil_; or (better still) as the scripture expresses it, by way of emphasis, the _great red dragon_, the _devil_ and _satan_. but if we take this word to be, as above, _a noun of multitude_, and so to be used _ambo-dexter_, as occasion presents, singular or plural; then _the devil_ signifies _satan_ by himself, or _satan with all his legions_ at his heels, as you please, more or less; and this way of understanding the word, as it may be very convenient for my purpose, in the account i am now to give of the infernal powers, so it is not altogether improper in the nature of the thing: it is thus express'd in scripture, where the person possess'd _matt._ iv. . is first said to be possess'd of _the devil_ (singular) and our saviour asks him, as speaking to a single person, _what is thy name?_ and is answer'd in the plural and singular together, my name is legion, for _we are many_. nor will it be any wrong to _the devil_, supposing him a single person, seeing entitling him to the conduct of all his inferior agents, is what he will take rather for an addition to his infernal glory, than a diminution or lessening of him in the extent of his fame. having thus articl'd with the _devil_ for liberty of speech, i shall talk of him sometimes in the singular, as a person, and sometimes in the plural, as an host of _devils_ or of infernal spirits, just as occasion requires, and as the history of his affairs makes necessary. but before i enter upon any part of his history, the nature of the thing calls me back, and my lord b---- of ---- in his late famous orations in defence of liberty, summons me to prove that there is such a thing or such a person as _the devil_; and in short, unless i can give some evidence of his existence, as my lord ---- said very well, i am talking of _nobody_. d--m me, sir, says a graceless comrade of his to a great man, _your grace_ will go to _the devil_. d--m ye, sir, says the d----, then i shall go _no where_; i wonder where you intend to go? nay, to _the d----l_ too i doubt, _says graceless_, for i am almost as wicked as my _lord duke_. _d._ thou ar't a silly empty dog, says the d--, and if there is such a place as _a hell_, tho' i believe nothing of it, 'tis a place for fools, such as thou art. _gr._ i wonder then, what heaven the great wits go to, such as my _lord duke_; i don't care to go there, let it be where it will; they are a tiresome kind of people, there's no bearing them, they'll make _a hell_ wherever they come. _d._ prithee hold thy fool's tongue, i tell thee, if there is any such place as we call no where; that's all the heaven or hell that i know of, or believe any thing about. _gr._ very good, my lord--; so that _heaven_ is _no where_, and _hell_ is _no where_, and the _devil_ is _nobody_, according to my _lord duke_! _d._ yes sir, and what then? _gr._ and you are to go _no where_ when you die, are you? _d._ yes, you dog, don't you know what that incomparable noble genius my lord _rochester_ sings upon the subject, i believe it unfeignedly, after death nothing is, and nothing death. _gr._ you believe it, my lord, you mean, you would fain believe it if you could; but since you put that great genius my lord _rochester_ upon me, let me play him back upon _your grace_; i am sure you have read his fine poem upon _nothing_, in one of the stanzas of which is this beautiful thought, and to be part of [ ] thee the wicked wisely pray. _d._ you are a foolish dog. _gr._ and my _lord duke_ is a wise infidel. _d._ why? is it not wiser to believe _no devil_, than to be always terrify'd at him? _gr._ but shall i toss another poet upon you, my lord? if it should so fall out, as who can tell but there may be a god, a _heaven_ and _hell_? mankind had best consider well, for fear 't should be too late when their mistakes appear. _d._ d--m your foolish poet, that's not my lord _rochester_. _gr._ but how must i be damn'd, if there's _no devil_? is not _your grace_ a little inconsistent there? my lord _rochester_ would not have said that, and't please your grace. _d._ no, _you dog_, i am not inconsistent at all, and if i had the ordering of you, i'd make you sensible of it; i'd make you think your self damn'd for want of _a devil_. _gr._ that's like one of _your grace_'s paradoxes, such as when you swore _by god_ that you did not believe there was any such thing as _a god_, or _devil_; so you swear by _nothing_, and damn me to _no where_. _d._ you are a critical dog, who taught you to believe these solemn trifles? who taught you to say there is a god? _gr._ nay, i had a better school-master than my _lord duke_. _d._ why, who was your school-master pray? _gr._ _the devil_, and't please your _grace_. _d._ the devil! _the devil he did?_ what you're going to quote scripture, are you? prithee don't tell me of _scripture_, i know what you mean, _the devils believe and tremble_; why then i have the whip-hand of _the devil_, for i hate trembling; and i am deliver'd from it effectually, for i never believed any thing of it, and therefore i don't tremble. _gr._ and there, indeed, i am a wickeder creature than the _devil_, or even than my _lord duke_, for i believe, and yet don't tremble neither. _d._ nay, if you are come to your penitentials i have done with you. _gr._ and i think i must have done with my _lord duke_, for the same reason. _d._ _ay, ay_, pray do, i'll go and enjoy my self; i won't throw away the pleasure of my life, i know the consequence of it. _gr._ and i'll go and reform my self, else i know the consequence too. this short dialogue happen'd between two men of quality, and both men of wit too; and the effect was, that the lord brought the reality of _the devil_ into the question, and the debate brought the profligate to be a penitent; so in short, _the devil_ was made a preacher of repentance. the truth is, _god_ and _the devil_, however opposite in their nature, and remote from one another in their place of abiding, seem to stand pretty much upon a level in our faith: for as to our believing the reality of their existence, he that denies one, generally denies both; and he that believes one, necessarily believes both. very few, if any of those who believe there is a god, and acknowledge the debt of homage which mankind owes to the supreme governor of the world, doubt the existence of _the devil_, except here and there one, whom we call practical atheists; and 'tis the character of an atheist, if there is such a creature on earth, that like my _lord duke_, he believes neither god or _devil_. as the belief of both these stands upon a level, and that god and the _devil_ seem to have an equal share in our faith, so the evidence of their existence seems to stand upon a level too, in many things; and as they are known by their works in the same particular cases, so they are discover'd after the same manner of demonstration. nay, in some respects 'tis equally criminal to deny the reality of them both, only with this difference, that to believe the existence of a god is a debt to nature, and to believe the existence of _the devil_ is a like debt to reason; one is a demonstration from the reality of visible causes, and the other a deduction from the like reality of their effects. one demonstration of the existence of god, is from the universal well-guided consent of all nations to worship and adore a supreme power; one demonstration of the existence of the _devil_, is from the avow'd ill-guided consent of some nations, who knowing no other god, make a god of the _devil_, for want of a better. it may be true, that those nations have no other ideas of the devil than as of a superior power; if they thought him a supreme power it would have other effects on them, and they would submit to and worship him with a different kind of fear. but 'tis plain they have right notions of him as a devil or evil spirit, because the best reason, and in some places the only reason they give for worshiping him is, that he may do them no hurt; having no notions at all of his having any power, much less any inclination to do them good; so that indeed they make a meer _devil_ of him, at the same time that they bow to him as to a god. all the ages of paganism in the world have had this notion of _the devil_: indeed in some parts of the world they had also some deities which they honour'd above him, as being supposed to be beneficent, kind and inclined, as well as capable to give them good things; for this reason the more polite heathens, such as the _grecians_ and the _romans_, had their _lares_ or houshold gods, whom they paid a particular respect to; as being their protectors from hobgoblins, ghosts of the dead, evil spirits, frightful appearances, evil genius's and other noxious beings from the invisible world; or to put it into the language of the day we live in, from _the devil_, in whatever shape or appearance he might come to them, and from whatever might hurt them: and what was all this but setting up _devils_ against _devils_, supplicating one _devil_ under the notion of a good spirit, to drive out and protect them from another, whom they call'd a bad spirit, the white _devil_ against the black _devil_? this proceeds from the natural notions mankind necessarily entertain of things to come; _superior_ or _inferior_, god and the _devil_, fill up all futurity in our thoughts; and 'tis impossible for us to form any images in our minds of an immortality and an invisible world, but under the notions of perfect felicity, or extreme misery. now as these two respect the eternal state of man after life, they are respectively the object of our reverence and affection, or of our horror and aversion; but notwithstanding they are plac'd thus in a diametrical opposition in our affections and passions, they are on an evident level as to the certainty of their existence, and, as i said above, bear an equal share in our faith. it being then as certain that there is _a devil_, as that there is _a god_, i must from this time forward admit no more doubt of his existence, nor take any more pains to convince you of it; but speaking of him as a reality in being, proceed to enquire who he is, and from whence, in order to enter directly into the detail of his history. now not to enter into all the metaphysical trumpery of his schools, nor wholly to confine my self to the language of the pulpit; where we are told, that to think of god and of the _devil_, we must endeavour first to form ideas of those things which illustrate the description of rewards and punishments; in the one the eternal presence of the highest good, and, as a necessary attendant, the most perfect, consummate, durable bliss and felicity, springing from the presence of that being in whom all possible beatitude is inexpressibly present, and that in the highest perfection: on the contrary, to conceive of a sublime fallen arch-angel, attended with an innumerable host of degenerate, rebel seraphs or angels cast out of heaven together; all guilty of inexpressible rebellion, and all suffering from that time, and to suffer for ever the eternal vengeance of the almighty, in an inconceivable manner; that his presence, tho' blessed in it self, is to them the most compleat article of terror; that they are in themselves perfectly miserable; and to be with whom for ever, adds an inexpressible misery to any state as well as place; and fills the minds of those who are to be, or expect to be banish'd to them with inconceivable horror and amazement. but when you have gone over all this, and a great deal more of the like, tho' less intelligible language, which the passions of men collect to amuse one another with; you have said nothing if you omit the main article, namely, the personality of _the devil_; and till you add to all the rest some description of the company with whom all this is to be suffer'd, _viz._ the _devil and his angels_. now who this _devil and his angels_ are, what share they have either actively or passively in the eternal miseries of a future state, how far they are agents in or partners with the sufferings of the place, is a difficulty yet not fully discover'd by the most learned; nor do i believe 'tis made less a difficulty by their medling with it. but to come to the person and original of _the devil_, or, as i said before, of _devils_; i allow him to come of an ancient family, for he is from heaven, and more truly than the _romans_ could say of their idoliz'd _numa_, he is of the race of the gods. that _satan_ is a fallen angel, a rebel seraph, cast out for his rebellion, is the general opinion, and 'tis not my business to dispute things universally receiv'd; as he was try'd, condemn'd, and the sentence of expulsion executed on him in heaven, he is in this world like a transported felon never to return; his crime, whatever particular aggravations it might have, 'tis certain, amounted to high-treason against his lord and governor, who was also his maker; against whom he rose in rebellion, took up arms, and in a word, rais'd a horrid and unnatural war in his dominions; but being overcome in battle, and made prisoner, he and all his host, whose numbers were infinite, all glorious angels like himself, lost at once their beauty and glory with their innocence, and commenc'd _devils_, being transform'd by crime into monsters and frightful objects; such as to describe, human fancy is obliged to draw pictures and descriptions in such forms as are most hateful and frightful to the imagination. these notions, i doubt not, gave birth to all the beauteous images and sublime expressions in mr. _milton_'s majestick poem; where, tho' he has play'd the poet in a most luxuriant manner, he has sinn'd against _satan_ most egregiously, and done the _devil_ a manifest injury in a great many particulars, as i shall shew in its place. and as i shall be oblig'd to do _satan_ justice when i come to that part of his history, mr. _milton_'s admirers must pardon me, if i let them see, that tho' i admire mr. _milton_ as a poet, yet that he was greatly out in matters of history, and especially the history of the _devil_; in short, that he has charged _satan_ falsly in several particulars; and so he has _adam_ and _eve_ too: but that i shall leave till i come to the history of the royal family of _eden_; which i resolve to present you with when the _devil_ and i have done with one another. but not to run down mr. _milton_ neither, whose poetry, or his judgment, cannot be reproached without injury to our own; all those bright ideas of his, which make his poem so justly valued, whether they are capable of proof as to the fact, are notwithstanding, confirmations of my hypothesis; and are taken from a supposition of the personality of the _devil_, placing him at the head of the infernal host, as a sovereign elevated spirit and monarch of hell; and as such it is that i undertake to write his history. by the word hell i do not suppose, or at least not determine, that his residence, or that of the whole army of _devils_, is yet in the same local hell, to which the divines tell us he shall be at last chain'd down; or at least that he is yet confin'd to it, for we shall find he is at present a prisoner at large: of both which circumstances of satan i shall take occasion to speak in its course. but when i call the devil the monarch of _hell_, i am to be understood as suits to the present purpose; that he is the sovereign of all the race of hell, that is to say of all the devils or spirits of the infernal clan, let their numbers, quality and powers be what they will. upon this supposed personality and superiority of _satan_, or, as i call it, the sovereignty and government of one devil above all the rest; i say, upon this notion are form'd all the systems of the dark side of futurity, that we can form in our minds: and so general is the opinion of it, that it will hardly bear to be oppos'd by any other argument, at least that will bear to be reason'd upon: all the notions of a parity of devils, or making a common-wealth among the black divan, seem to be enthusiastick and visionary, but with no consistency or certainty, and is so generally exploded, that we must not venture so much as to debate the point. taking it then as the generality of mankind do, that there is a grand devil, a superior of the whole black race; that they all fell, together with their general, _satan_, at the head of them; that tho' he, _satan_, could not maintain his high station in heaven, yet that he did continue his dignity among the rest, who are call'd his servants, _in scripture his angels_; that he has a kind of dominion or authority over the rest, and that they were all, how many millions soever in number, at his command; employ'd by him in all his hellish designs, and in all his wicked contrivances for the destruction of man, and for the setting up his own kingdom in the world. supposing then that there is such a superior master-devil over all the rest, it remains that we enquire into his character, and something of his history; in which, tho' we cannot perhaps produce such authentick documents as in the story of other great monarchs, tyrants, and furies of the world; yet i shall endeavour to speak some things which the experience of mankind may be apt to confirm, and which the devil himself will hardly be able to contradict. it being then granted that there is such a thing or person, call him which we will, as a master-devil; that he is thus superior to all the rest in power and in authority, and that all the other evil spirits are his angels, or ministers, or officers to execute his commands, and are employ'd in his business; it remains to enquire, whence he came? how he got hither, into this world? what that business is which he is employ'd about? what his present state is, and where and to what part of the creation of god he is limited and restrained? what the liberties are he takes or is allow'd to take? in what manner he works, and how his instruments are likewise allow'd to work? what he has done ever since he commenc'd devil, what he is now doing, and what he may yet do before his last and closer confinement? as also what he cannot do, and how far we may or may not be said to be exposed to him, or have or have not reason to be afraid of him? these, and whatever else occurs in the history and conduct of this arch-devil and his agents, that may be useful for information, caution, or diversion, you may expect in the process of this work. i know it has been question'd by some, with more face than fear, how it consists with a compleat victory of the devil, which they say was at first obtained by the heavenly powers over _satan_ and his apostate army in _heaven_, that when he was cast out of his holy place, and dash'd down into the abyss of eternal darkness, as into a place of punishment, a condemn'd hold, or place of confinement, to be reserved there to the judgment of the great day; _i say_, how it consists with that entire victory, to let him loose again, and give him liberty, like a thief that has broken prison, to range about god's creation, and there to continue his rebellion, commit new ravages, and acts of hostility against god, make new efforts at dethroning the almighty creator; and in particular to fall upon the weakest of his creatures, man? how _satan_ being so entirely vanquish'd, he should be permitted to recover any of his wicked powers, and find room to do mischief to mankind. nay they go farther, and suggest bold things against the wisdom of heaven, in exposing mankind, weak in comparison of the immense extent of the _devil_'s power, to so manifest an overthrow, to so unequal a fight, in which he is sure, if alone in the conflict, to be worsted; to leave him such a dreadful enemy to engage with, and so ill furnish'd with weapons to assist him. these objections i shall give as good an answer to as the case will admit in this course, but must adjourn them for the present. that the devil is not yet a close prisoner, we have evidence enough to confirm; i will not suggest, that like our _newgate_ thieves, (to bring little devils and great devils together) he is let out by connivance, and has some little latitudes and advantages for mischief, by that means; returning at certain seasons to his confinement again. this might hold, were it not, that the comparison must suggest, that the power which has cast him down could be deluded, and the under-keepers or jaylors, under whose charge he was in custody, could wink at his excursions, and the lord of the place know nothing of the matter. but this wants farther explanation. chap. iii. _of the original of the_ devil, _who he is, and what he was before his expulsion out of heaven, and in what state he was from that time to the creation of man._ to come to a regular enquiry into satan's affairs, 'tis needful we should go back to his original, as far as history and the opinion of the learned world will give us leave. it is agreed by all writers, as well sacred as prophane, that this creature we now call a devil, was originally an angel of light, a glorious seraph; perhaps the choicest of all the glorious seraphs. see how _milton_ describes his original glory: _satan_, so call him now, his former name is heard no more in heaven: he of the first, if not _the first archangel_; great in power, in favour and preeminence. _lib._ v. _fol._ . and again the same author, and upon the same subject: ------brighter once amidst the host of angels, than that star the stars among. _lib._ vii. _fol._ . the glorious figure which satan is supposed to make among the _thrones_ and _dominions_ in heaven is such, as we might suppose the highest angel in that exalted train could make; and some think, _as above_, that he was the chief of the arch-angels. hence that notion, (and not ill founded) _namely_, that the first cause of his disgrace, and on which ensued his rebellion, was occasioned upon god's proclaiming his son generalissimo, and with himself supreme ruler in heaven; giving the dominion of all his works of creation, as well already finish'd, as not then begun, to him; which post of honour (say they) _satan_ expected to be conferr'd on himself, as next in honour, majesty and power to god the supreme. this opinion is follow'd by mr. _milton_ too, as appears in the following lines, where he makes all the angels attending all a general summons, and god the father making the following declaration to them. "here, all ye angels, prodigy of light, "thrones, dominions, princedoms, virtues, pow'rs! "hear my decree, which unrevok'd shall stand. "this day i have begot whom i declare "my only son, and on this hill "him have anointed, whom you now behold "at my right hand; your head i him appoint: "and my self have sworn to him shall bow "all knees in heav'n, and shall confess him lord, "under his great vice-gerent reign abide "united, as one individual soul, "for ever happy: him who disobeys, "me disobeys, breaks union, and that day "cast out from god, and blessed vision, falls "into utter darkness, deep ingulph'd, his place "ordain'd without redemption, without end. satan, affronted at the appearance of a new essence or being in heaven, call'd the son of god; for god, says mr. _milton_, (tho' erroneously) declared himself at that time, saying, _this day have i begotten him_, and that he should be set up, above all the former powers of heaven, of whom satan (as above) was the chief and expecting, if any higher post could be granted, it might be his due; i say, affronted at this he resolv'd "with all his legions to dislodge, and leave "unworship'd, unobey'd, the throne supreme "contemptuous. ------ _par. lost_, lib. v. fo. . but mr. _milton_ is grosly erroneous in ascribing those words, _this day have i begotten thee_, to that declaration of the father before satan fell, and consequently to a time before the creation; whereas, it is by interpreters agreed to be understood of the incarnation of the son of god, or at least of the resurrection: [ ] see _pool_ upon _acts_ xiii. . in a word, satan withdrew with all his followers malecontent and chagrine, resolv'd to disobey this new command, and not yield obedience to the son. but mr. _milton_ agrees in that opinion, that the number of angels which rebel'd with _satan_ was infinite, and suggests in one place, that they were the greatest half of all the angelick body or seraphick host. "but satan with his power, "an host "innumerable as the stars of night, "or stars of morning, dew drops, which the sun "impearls on ev'ry leaf and ev'ry flower. _ib._ lib. v. fo. . be their number as it is, numberless millions and legions of millions, that is no part of my present enquiry; satan the leader, guide and superior, as he was author of the celestial rebellion, is still the great head and master-devil as before; under his authority they still act, not obeying but carrying on the same insurrection against god, which they begun in heaven; making war still against heaven, in the person of his image and creature man; and tho' vanquish'd by the thunder of the son of god, and cast down headlong from heaven, they have yet reassumed, or rather not lost either the will or the power of doing evil. this fall of the angels, with the war in heaven which preceded it, is finely describ'd by _ovid_, in his war of the _titans_ against _jupiter_; casting mountain upon mountain, and hill upon hill (_pelion_ upon _ossa_) in order to scale the adamantine walls, and break open the gates of _heaven_; till _jupiter_ struck them with his thunder-bolts and overwhelm'd them in the abyss: _vide ovid metam._ new translation, lib. i. p. . "nor were the gods themselves secure on high, "for now the _gyants_ strove to storm _the sky_, "the lawless brood with bold attempt invade "the gods, and mountains upon mountains _laid_. "but now the _bolt_, enrag'd _the father_ took, "_olympus_ from her deep foundations shook, "their structure nodded at the mighty stroke, "and _ossa_'s shatter'd top o'er _pelion_ broke, "they're in their own ungodly ruines slain.-- then again speaking of _jupiter_, resolving in council to destroy mankind by a deluge, and giving the reasons of it to the heavenly host, say thus, speaking of the demy-gods alluding to good men below. "think you that they in safety can remain, "when i my self who o'er immortals reign, "who send the lightning, and heaven's empire sway, "the stern [ ] lycaon practis'd to betray. _ib._ p. . since then so much poetic liberty is taken with the devil, relating to his most early state, and the time before his fall, give me leave to make an excursion of the like kind, relating to his history immediately after the fall, and till the creation of man; an interval which i think much of the devil's story is to be seen in, and which mr. _milton_ has taken little notice of, at least it does not seem compleatly fill'd up; after which i shall return to honest prose again, and persue the duty of an historian. _satan_, with hideous ruin thus supprest _expell'd_ the seat of blessedness and rest, look'd back and saw the _high eternal mound_, where all _his rebel host_ their _outlet_ found _restor'd impregnable_: the breach made up, and garrisons of angels rang'd a top; in front a hundred thousand thunders roll, and lightnings temper'd to transfix a soul, terror of _devils_. _satan_ and his host, now to themselves _as well as station lost_, unable to support the hated sight, } expand _seraphic wings_, and swift as light } seek for new safety in _eternal night_. } in the remotest gulphs _of dark_ they land, here vengeance gives them leave to make their stand, not that to _steps_ and _measures_ they pretend, _councils_ and _schemes_ their station to defend; but broken, disconcerted and _dismay'd_, by guilt and fright to guilt and fright _betray'd_; rage and confusion ev'ry spirit possess'd, and _shame_ and _horror_ swell'd in ev'ry breast; transforming envy to their essentials burns, and _the bright_ angel to a _frightful devil_ turns. _thus hell began_; the fire of conscious rage no years can quench, no length of time asswage. _material fire_, with its intensest flame, compar'd _with this_ can scarce deserve a name; how should it up to _immaterials_ rise, when we're _all flame_, we shall _all fire_ despise. this fire outrageous and its heat intense turns all the pain _of loss_ to pain _of sense_. the folding flames _concave_ and _inward_ roll, act _upon spirit_ and penetrate _the soul_: not force of _devils_ can its new powers repel, where'er it burns _it finds_ or _makes_ a hell; for _satan_ flaming with unquench'd desire forms _his own hell_, and kindles _his own fire_, vanquish'd, _not humbl'd_, not in will brought low, but as _his powers_ decline _his passions_ grow: the malice, _viper like_, takes vent within, gnaws its own bowels, and bursts in _its own sin_: impatient of the change _he scorns to bow_, and never _impotent_ in power _till now_; ardent with hate, and _with revenge_ distract, a will to new attempts, _but none_ to act; yet all _seraphick_, and in just degree, suited _to spirits high sense_ of misery, deriv'd from _loss_ which _nothing_ can repair, and _room for nothing left_ but meer despair. _here's finish'd hell!_ what fiercer fire _can burn_? enough ten thousand worlds to over-turn. hell's but the frenzy of defeated pride, seraphick treason's strong impetuous tide, where vile ambition _disappointed_ first, to its _own rage_ and _boundless hatred_ curst; the hate's _fan'd up to fury_, that to _flame_, for _fire_ and _fury_ are in kind the same; these burn unquenchable in every face, and the word endless constitutes the place. o _state of being!_ where being's the only grief, and the _chief torture_'s to be damn'd to life; _o life!_ the only thing they have to hate; the _finish'd torment_ of a future state, compleat in all the parts of endless misery, and worse ten thousand times than _not_ to be! could but the damn'd _the immortal law_ repeal, and _devils dye_, there'd be _an end of hell_; could they that thing call'd _being_ annihilate, there'd be _no sorrows_ in a future state; the wretch, whose crimes had shut him out _on high_, could be reveng'd on god himself _and die_; _job's wife_ was in the right, and always we might end _by death_ all human misery, } might have it in our choice, _to be_ or not to be. } chap. iv. _of the name of the devil, his original, and the nature of his circumstances since he has been called by that name._ the scripture is the first writing on earth where we find the _devil_ called by his own proper distinguishing denomination, devil, or the [ ] _destroyer_; nor indeed is there any other author of antiquity or of sufficient authority which says any thing of that kind about him. here he makes his first appearance in the world, and on that occasion he is called the _serpent_; but the _serpent_ however since made to signify the _devil_, when spoken of in general terms, was but the devil's representative, or the devil _in quo vis vehiculo_, for that time, clothed in a bodily shape, acting under cover and in disguise, or if you will the _devil_ in _masquerade_: nay, if we believe mr. _milton_, the _angel gabriel_'s spear had such a secret powerful influence, as to make him strip of a sudden, and with a touch to unmask, and stand upright in his naked original shape, meer _devil_, without any disguises whatsoever. now as we go to the scripture for much of his history, so we must go there also for some of his names; and he has a great variety of names indeed, as his several mischievous doings guide us to conceive of him. the truth is, all the ancient names given him, of which the scripture is full, seems to be originals derived from and adapted to the several steps he has taken, and the several shapes he has appeared in to do mischief in the world. here he is called the _serpent_, gen. iii. . the _old serpent_, rev. xii. . the _great red dragon_, rev. xii. . the _accuser of the brethren_, rev. xii. . the _enemy_, matt. xxiii. . _satan_, job i. zech. iii. , . _belial_, cor. vi. . _beelzebub_, matt. xii. . _mammon_, matt. vi. . the _angel of light_, cor. xi. . the _angel of the bottomless pit_, rev. ix. . the _prince of the power of the air_, eph. ii. . _lucifer_, isa. xiv. . _abbaddon_ or _apollion_, rev. ix. . _legion_, mark v. . the _god of this world_, cor. iv. . the _foul spirit_, mark ix. . the _unclean spirit_, mark i. . the _lying spirit_, chron. xxx. the _tempter_, matt. iv. . the _son of the morning_, isa. xiv. . but to sum them all up in one, he is called in the new testament _plain_ devil; all his other names are varied according to the custom of speech, and the dialects of the several nations where he is spoken of; but in a word, _devil_ is the common name of the _devil_ in all the known languages of the earth. nay, all the mischiefs he is empowered to do, are in scripture placed to his account, under the particular title of the _devil_, not of _devils_ in the plural number, though they are sometimes mentioned too; but in the singular it is the identical individual _devil_, in and under whom all the little _devils_, and all the great _devils_, if such there be, are supposed to act; nay, they are supposed to be govern'd and directed by him. thus we are told in scripture of the works of _the devil_, john iii. . of casting out _the devil_, mark i. . of resisting _the devil_, james iv. . of our saviour being tempted of _the devil_, mat. iv. . of _simon magus_, a child of the _devil_, acts xiii. . the _devil_ came down in a great wrath, _rev._ xii. . _and the like_. according to this usage in speech we go on to this day, and all the infernal things we converse with in the world, are fathered upon the _devil_, as one undivided simple essence, by how many agents soever working: every thing evil, frightful in appearance, wicked in its actings, horrible in its manner, monstrous in its effects, is called the _devil_; in a word, _devil_ is the common name for all _devils_; that is to say, for all evil spirits, all evil powers, all evil works, and even all evil things: yet 'tis remarkable _the devil_ is no old testament word, and we never find it used in all that part of the bible but four times, and then not once in the singular number, and not once to signify _satan_ as 'tis now understood. it is true, the learned give a great many differing interpretations of the word _devil_; the _english_ commentators tell us, it means _a destroyer_, others that it signifies a deceiver, and the _greeks_ derive it from a _calumniator_ or false witness; for we find that _calumny_ was a _goddess_, to whom the _athenians_ built altars and offer'd sacrifices upon some solemn occasions, and they call her diabolè from whence came the masculine diabolos which we translate _devil_. thus we take the name of _devil_ to signify not persons only, but actions and habits; making imaginary devils, and transforming that substantial creature call'd devil into every thing noxious and offensive: thus st. _francis_ being tempted by the _devil_ in the shape of a bag of money lying in the highway, _the saint_ having discover'd the fraud, whether seeing his _cloven-foot_ hang out of the purse, or whether he distinguish'd him by his smell of _sulphur_, or how otherwise, authors are not agreed; but, i say, the saint having discover'd the cheat, and out-witted the _devil_, took occasion to preach that eminent sermon to his disciples, where his text was, _money is_ the devil. nor, upon the whole, is any wrong done to _the devil_ by this kind of treatment, it only gives him the sovereignty of the whole army of hell, and making all the numberless legions of the bottomless pit servants; or, _as the scripture calls them_, angels to _satan_ the grand _devil_; all their actions, performances and atchievements are justly attributed to him, not as the prince of _devils_ only, but the emperor of _devils_; the prince of all the princes of _devils_. under this denomination then of devil, all the powers of hell, all the princes of the air, all the black armies of _satan_ are comprehended, and in such manner they are to be understood in this whole work; _mutatis mutandis_, according to the several circumstances of which we are to speak of them. this being premis'd, and my authority being so good, _satan_ must not take it ill, if i treat him _after the manner of men_, and give him those titles which he is best known by among us; for indeed having so many, 'tis not very easy to call him out of his name. however, as i am oblig'd by the duty of an historian to decency as well as impartiality, so i thought it necessary, before i used too much freedom with _satan_, to produce authentick documents, and bring antiquity upon the stage, to justify the manner of my writing, and let you see i shall describe him in no colours, nor call him by any name, but what he has been known by for many ages before me. and now, though writing to the common understanding of my readers, i am oblig'd to treat _satan_ very coarsly, and to speak of him in the common acceptation, calling him plain _devil_, a word which in this mannerly age is not so _sonorous_ as others might be, and which by the error of the times is apt to prejudice us against his person; yet it must be acknowledg'd he has a great many other names and sirnames which he might be known by, of a less obnoxious import than that of _devil_, or _destroyer_, &c. mr. _milton_, indeed, wanting titles of honour to give to the leaders of satan's host, is oblig'd to borrow several of his scripture names, and bestow them upon his infernal _heroes_, whom he makes the generals and leaders of the armies of hell; and so he makes _beelzebub_, _lucifer_, _belial_, _mammon_, and some others, to be the names of particular devils, members of _satan's upper house_ or _pandemonium_; whereas indeed, these are all names proper and peculiar to _satan_ himself. the scripture also has some names of a coarser kind, by which _the devil_ is understood, as particularly, which is noted already, in the apocalypse he is call'd the _great red dragon_, the _beast_, the _old serpent_, and the like: but take it in the scripture, or where you will in history sacred or prophane, you will find that in general the _devil_ is, as i have said above, his ordinary name in all languages and in all nations; the name by which he and his works are principally distinguish'd: also the scripture, besides that it often gives him this name, speaks of the works of _the devil_, of the subtilty of _the devil_, of casting out _devils_, of being tempted of the _devil_, of being possess'd with a _devil_, and so many other expressions of that kind, as i have said already, are made use of for us to understand the evil spirit by, that in a word, _devil_ is the common name of all wicked spirits: for _satan_ is no more _the devil_, as if he alone was so, and all the rest were a diminutive species who did not go by that name; but, i say, even in scripture, every spirit, whether under his dominion or out of his dominion, is called the _devil_, and is as much a real _devil_, that is to say, a condemn'd spirit, and employ'd in the same wicked work as _satan_ himself. his name then being thus ascertain'd, and his existence acknowledg'd, it should be a little enquir'd _what he is_; we believe there is such a thing, such a creature as _the devil_, and that he has been, and may still with propriety of speech, and without injustice to his character be call'd by his antient name _devil_. but who is he? what is his original? whence came he? and what is his present station and condition? for these things and these enquiries are very necessary to his history, nor indeed can any part of his history be compleat without them. that he is of an antient and noble original must be acknowledged, for he is _heaven-born_, and of _angelic race_, as has been touch'd already: if scripture-evidence may be of any weight in the question, there is no room to doubt the genealogy of the _devil_; he is not only spoken of as an _angel_, but as a _fallen angel_, one that had been in _heaven_, had beheld the face of god in his full effulgence of glory, and had surrounded the throne of the most high; from whence, commencing rebel and being expell'd, he was cast down, down, down, god and the _devil_ himself only knows where; for indeed we cannot say that any man on earth knows it; and wherever it is, he has ever since man's creation been a plague to him, been a tempter, a deluder, a calumniator, an enemy and the object of man's horror and aversion. as his original is _heaven-born_, and his race _angelic_, so the angelic nature is evidently plac'd in a class superior to the human, and this the scripture is express in also; when speaking of man, it says, he made him a little lower than the angels. thus _the devil_, as mean thoughts as you may have of him, is of a better family than any of you, nay than the best gentleman of you all; what he may be fallen to, is _one thing_, but what he is fallen from, _is another_; and therefore i must tell my learned and reverend friend _j. w._ ll. d. when he spoke so rudely of _the devil_ lately, that in my opinion he abus'd his betters. nor is the scripture more a help to us in the search after _the devil_'s original, than it is in our search after his nature: it is true, authors are not agreed about his age, what time he was created, how many years he enjoy'd his state of blessedness before he fell; or how many years he continued with his whole army in a state of darkness, and before the creation of man. 'tis supposed it might be a considerable space, and that it was a part of his punishment too, being all the while unactive, unemploy'd, having no business, nothing to do but gnawing his own bowels, and rolling in the agony of his own self-approaches, being a hell to himself in reflecting on the glorious state from whence he was fallen. how long he remain'd thus, 'tis true, we have no light into from history, and but little from tradition; _rabbi judah_ says, the _jews_ were of the opinion, that he remain'd twenty thousand years in that condition, and that the world shall continue twenty thousand more, in which he shall find work enough to satisfy his mischievous desires; but he shews no authority for his opinion. indeed let the _devil_ have been as idle as they think he was before, it must be acknowledg'd that now he is the most busy, vigilant and diligent, of all god's creatures, and very full of employment too, _such as it is_. scripture indeed, gives us light into the enmity there is between the two natures, the diabolical and the human; the reason of it, and how and by what means the power of _the devil_ is restrain'd by the _messias_; and to those who are willing to trust to gospel-light, and believe what the scripture says of _the devil_, there may much of his history be discover'd, and therefore those that list may go there for a fuller account of the matter. but to reserve all scripture-evidence of these things, as a magazine in store for the use of those with whom scripture-testimony is of force, i must for the present turn to other enquiries, being now directing my story to an age, wherein to be driven to revelation and scripture-assertions is esteem'd giving up the dispute; people now-a-days must have demonstration; and in a word, nothing will satisfy the age, but such evidence as perhaps the nature of the question will not admit. it is hard, indeed, to bring demonstrations in such a case as this: _no man has seen_ god _at any time_, says the scripture, _john_ iv. . so _the devil_ being a spirit incorporeal, an angel of light, and consequently not visible in his own substance, nature and form, it may in some sense be said, _no man has seen the devil at any time_; all those pretences of phrenziful and fanciful people, who tell us, they have seen _the devil_, i shall examine, and perhaps expose by themselves. it might take up a great deal of our time here, to enquire whether _the devil_ has any particular shape or personality of substance, which can be visible to us, felt, heard, or understood; and which he cannot alter, and then, what shapes or appearances _the devil_ has at any time taken upon him; and whether he can really appear in a body which might be handled and seen, and yet so as to know it to have been _the devil_ at the time of his appearing; but this also i defer as not of weight in the present enquiry. we have divers accounts of witches conversing with _the devil_; the _devil_ in a real body, with all the appearance of a body of a man or woman appearing to them; also of having a _familiar_, as they call it, an _incubus_ or _little devil_, which sucks their bodies, runs away with them into the air, _and the like_: much of this is said, but much more than it is easy to prove, and we ought to give but a just proportion of credit to those things. as to his borrow'd shapes and his subtle transformings, that we have such open testimony of, that there is no room for any question about it; and when i come to that part, i shall be oblig'd rather to give a history of the fact, than enter into any dissertation upon the nature and reason of it. i do not find in any author, whom we can call creditable, that even in those countries where the dominion of _satan_ is more particularly establish'd, and where they may be said to worship him in a more particular manner, as _a devil_; which some tell us the _indians_ in _america_ did, who worship'd the _devil_ that he might not hurt them; yet, _i say_, i do not find that even there the _devil_ appear'd to them in any particular constant shape or personality peculiar to himself. scripture and history therefore, giving us no light into that part of the question, i conclude and lay it down, not as my opinion only, but as what all ages seem to concur in, that the _devil_ has no particular body; that he is a spirit, and that tho' he may, _proteus_ like, assume the appearance of either man or beast, yet it must be some borrow'd shape, some assum'd figure, _pro hac vice_, and that he has no visible body of his own. i thought it needful to discuss this as a preliminary, and that the next discourse might go upon a certainty in this grand point; namely, that the devil, however, he may for his particular occasions put himself into a great many shapes, and clothe himself, perhaps, with what appearances he pleases, yet that he is himself still a meer spirit, that he retains the seraphic nature, is not visible by our eyes, which are human and organic, neither can he act with the ordinary powers, or in the ordinary manner as bodies do; and therefore, when he has thought fit to descend to the meannesses of disturbing and frightning children and old women, by noises and knockings, dislocating the chairs and stools, breaking windows, and such like little ambulatory things, which would seem to be below the dignity of his character, and which in particular, is ordinarily performed by organic powers; yet even then he has thought fit not to be seen, and rather to make the poor people believe he had a real shape and body, with hands to act, mouth to speak, _and the like_, than to give proof of it in common to the whole world, by shewing himself, and acting visibly and openly, as a body usually and ordinarily does. nor is it any disadvantage to the devil, that his seraphic nature is not confin'd or imprison'd in a body or shape, suppose that shape to be what monstrous thing we would; for this would, indeed, confine his actings within the narrow sphere of the organ or body to which he was limited; and tho' you were to suppose the body to have wings for a velocity of motion equal to spirit, yet if it had not a power of invisibility too, and a capacity of conveying it self, undiscover'd, into all the secret recesses of mankind, and the same secret art or capacity of insinuation, suggestion, accusation, _&c._ by which his wicked designs are now propagated, and all his other devices assisted, by which he deludes and betrays mankind; i say, he would be no more a devil, that is a destroyer, no more a deceiver, and, no more a satan, that is, a dangerous arch enemy to the souls of men; nor would it be any difficulty to mankind to shun and avoid him, as i shall make plain in the other part of his history. had the devil from the beginning been embodied, as he could not have been invisible to us, whose souls equally seraphic are only prescrib'd by being embody'd and encas'd in flesh and blood as we are; so he would have been no more a devil to any body but himself: the imprisonment in a body, had the powers of that body been all that we can conceive to make him formidable to us, would yet have been a hell to him; consider him as a conquer'd exasperated rebel, retaining all that fury and swelling ambition, that hatred of god, and envy at his creatures which dwells now in his enrag'd spirit as a _devil_: yet suppose him to have been condemn'd to organic powers, confin'd to corporeal motion, and restrain'd as a body must be supposed to restrain a spirit; it must, at the same time, suppose him to be effectually disabled from all the methods he is now allow'd to make use of, for exerting his rage and enmity against god, any farther than as he might suppose it to affect his maker at second hand, by wounding his glory thro' the sides of his weakest creature, man. he must, certainly, be thus confin'd, because body can only act upon body, not upon spirit; no species being empower'd to act out of the compass of its own sphere: he might have been empower'd, indeed, to have acted terrible and even destructive things upon mankind, especially if this body had any powers given it which mankind had not, by which man would be overmatch'd and not be in a condition of self-defence; for example, suppose him to have had wings to have flown in the air; or to be invulnerable, and that no human invention, art, or engine could hurt, ensnare, captivate, or restrain him. but this is to suppose the righteous and wise creator to have made a creature and not be able to defend and preserve him; or to have left him defenceless to the mercy of another of his own creatures, whom he had given power to destroy him; this indeed, might have occasion'd a general idolatry, and made mankind, as the _americans_ do to this day, worship the _devil_, that he might not hurt them; but it could not have prevented the destruction of mankind, supposing the devil to have had malice equal to his power: and he must put on a new nature, be compassionate, generous, beneficent, and steadily good in sparing the rival enemy he was able to destroy, or he must have ruin'd mankind: _in short_, he must have ceas'd to have been a devil, and must have re-assum'd his original, angelic, heavenly nature; been fill'd with the principles of love to, and delight in the works of his creator, and bent to propagate his glory and interest; or he must have put an end to the race of man, whom it would be in his power to destroy, and oblige his maker to create a new species, or fortify the old with some kind of defence, which must be invulnerable, and which his fiery darts could not penetrate. on this occasion suffer me to make an excursion from the usual stile of this work, and with some solemnity to express my thoughts thus: how glorious is the wisdom and goodness of the great creator of the world! in thus restraining these seraphic outcasts from the power of assuming human or organic bodies! which could they do, envigorating them with the supernatural powers, which, as seraphs and angels, they now possess and might exert, they would be able even to fright mankind from the face of the earth, and to destroy and confound god's creation; nay, _even as they are_, were not their power limited, they might destroy the creation it self, reverse and over-turn nature, and put the world into a general conflagration: but were those immortal spirits embodied, tho' they were not permitted to confound nature, they would be able to harrass poor weak and defenceless man out of his wits, and render him perfectly useless, either to his maker or himself. but the dragon is chain'd, the devil's power is limited; he has indeed a vastly extended empire, being prince of the air, having, at least, the whole atmosphere to range in, and how far that atmosphere is extended, is not yet ascertain'd by the nicest observations; _i say at least_, because we do not yet know how far he may be allow'd to make excursions beyond the atmosphere of this globe into the planetary worlds, and what power he may exercise in all the habitable parts of the _solar system_; nay, of all the other _solar systems_, which, for ought we know, may exist in the mighty extent of created space, and of which you may hear farther in its order. but let his power be what it will there, we are sure 'tis limited here, and that in two particulars; first, he is limited as above, from assuming body or bodily shapes with substance; and secondly, from exerting seraphic powers, and acting with that supernatural force, which, as an angel, he was certainly vested with before the fall, and which we are not certain is yet taken from him; or at most, we do not know how much it may or may not be diminish'd by his degeneracy, and by the blow given him at his expulsion: this we are certain, that be his power greater or less, he is restrain'd from the exercise of it in this world; and he, who was one equal to the angel who kill'd men in one night, is not able now, without a new commission, to take away the life of one _job_, nor to touch any thing he had. but let us consider him then limited and restrained as he is, yet he remains a mighty, a terrible, an immortal being; infinitely superior to man, as well in the dignity of his nature, as in the dreadful powers he retains still about him; it is true the brain-sick heads of our enthusiasticks paint him blacker than he is, and, as i have said, wickedly represent him clothed with terrors that do not really belong to him; as if the power of good and evil was wholly vested in him, and that he was placed in the throne of his maker, to distribute both punishments and rewards; in this they are much wrong, terrifying and deluding fanciful people about him, till they turn their heads, and fright them into a belief that the _devil_ will let them alone, if they do such and such good things; or carry them away with him they know not whither, if they do not; as if the _devil_, whose proper business is mischief, seducing and deluding mankind, and drawing them in to be rebels like himself, should threaten to seize upon them, carry them away, and in a word, fall upon them to hurt them, if they did evil, and on the contrary, be favourable and civil to them, if they did well. thus a poor deluded country fellow in our town, that had liv'd a wicked, abominable, debauch'd life, was frighted with an apparition, as he call'd it, of the _devil_; he fancy'd that he spoke to him, and telling his tale to a good honest christian gentleman his neighbour, that had a little more sense than himself; the gentleman ask'd him if he was sure he really saw the _devil_? yes, yes, sir, _says he_, i saw him very plain, and so they began the following discourse. _gent._ see him! see the devil! art thou sure of it, _thomas_? _tho._ yes, yes, i am sure enough of it, _master_; to be sure 'twas the _devil_. _gent._ and how do you know 'twas the _devil_, _thomas_? had you ever seen the _devil_ before? _tho._ no, no, i had never seen him before, _to be sure_; but, for all that, i know 'twas the _devil_. _gent._ well, if you're sure, _thomas_, there's no contradicting you; pray what clothes had he on? _tho._ nay, sir, don't jest with me, he had no clothes on, he was clothed with fire and brimstone. _gent._ was it dark or day light when you saw him? _tho._ o! it was very dark, for it was midnight. _gent._ how could you see him then? did you see by the light of the fire you speak of? _tho._ no, no, he gave no light himself; but i saw him, for all that. _gent._ but was it within doors, or out in the street? _tho._ it was within, it was in my own chamber, when i was just going into bed, that i saw him. _gent._ well then, you had a candle, hadn't you? _tho._ yes, i had a candle, but it burnt as blue! and as dim! _gent._ well, but if the devil was clothed with fire and brimstone, he must give you some light, there can't be such a fire as you speak of, but it must give a light with it. _tho._ _no, no_, he gave no light, but i smelt his fire and brimstone; he left a smell of it behind him, when he was gone. _gent._ well, so you say he had fire, but gave no light, it was a devilish fire indeed; did it feel warm? was the room hot while he was in it? _tho._ no, no, but i was hot enough without it, for it put me into a great sweat with the fright. _gent._ very well, he was all in fire, you say, but without light or heat, only, it seems, he stunk of brimstone; pray what shapes was he in, what was he like; for you say you saw him? _tho._ o! sir, i saw two great staring saucer eyes, enough to fright any body out of their wits. _gent._ and was that all you saw? _tho._ no, i saw his _cloven-foot_ very plain, 'twas as big as one of our bullocks that goes to plow. _gent._ so you saw none of his body, but his eyes and his feet? a fine vision indeed! _tho._ sir, that was enough to send me going. _gent._ going! what did you run away from him? _tho._ no, but i fled into bed at one jump, and sunk down and pull'd the bed-clothes quite over me. _gent._ and what did you do that for? _tho._ to hide my self from such a frightful creature. _gent._ why, if it had really been the devil, do you think the bed-clothes would have secur'd you from him? _tho._ nay, i don't know, but in a fright it was all i could do. _gent._ nay, 'twas as wise as all the rest; but come, _thomas_, to be a little serious, pray did he speak to you? _tho._ yes, yes, i heard a voice, but who it was the lord knows. _gent._ what kind of voice was it, was it like a man's voice? _tho._ no, it was a hoarse ugly noise, like the croaking of a frog, and it call'd me by my name twice, _thomas dawson, thomas dawson_. _gent._ well, did you answer? _tho._ no, not i, i could not have spoke a word for my life; why, i was frighted to death. _gent._ did it say any thing else? _tho._ _yes_, when it saw that i did not speak, it said, _thomas dawson, thomas dawson, you are a wicked wretch, you lay with_ jenny s---- _last night; if you don't repent, i will take you away alive and carry you to hell, and you shall be damned, you wretch_. _gent._ and was it true, _thomas_, did you lye with _jenny s----_ the night before? _tho._ indeed master, why yes it was true, but i was very sorry afterwards. _gent._ but how should the devil know it, _thomas_? _tho._ nay, he knows it to be sure; why, they say he knows every thing. _gent._ _well_, but why should he be angry at that? he would rather did you lye with her again, and encourage you to lye with forty whores, than hinder you: this can't be the devil, _thomas_. _tho._ yes, yes. sir, 'twas the _devil_ to be sure. _gent._ but he bid you repent too, you say? _tho._ yes, he threatn'd me if i did not. _gent._ why, _thomas_, do you think the devil would have you repent? _tho._ _why no_, that's true too, i don't know what to say to that; but what could it be? 'twas the devil to be sure, it could be nobody else? _gent._ no, no, 'twas neither the devil, _thomas_, nor any body else, but your own frighted imagination; you had lain with that wench, and being a young sinner of that kind, your conscience terrified you, told you the devil would fetch you away, and you would be damn'd; and you were so persuaded it would be so, that you at last imagin'd he was come for you indeed; that you saw him and heard him; whereas, you may depend upon it, if _jenny s----_ will let you lye with her every night, the devil will hold the candle, or do any thing to forward it, but will never disturb you; he's too much a friend to your wickedness, it could never be the devil, _thomas_; 'twas only your own guilt frighted you, and that was _devil_ enough too, if you knew the worst of it, you need no other enemy. _tho._ why that's true, master, one would think the _devil_ should not bid me repent, that's true; but certainly 'twas the devil for all that. now _thomas_ was not the only man that having committed a flagitious crime had been deluded by his own imagination, and the power of fancy, to think the devil was come for him; whereas the devil, to give him his due, is too honest to pretend to such things; 'tis his business to persuade men to offend, not to repent; and he professes no other; he may press men to this or that action, by telling them 'tis no sin, no offence, no breach of god's law, and the like, when really 'tis both; but to press them to repent, when they have offended, that's quite out of his way; 'tis none of his business, nor does he pretend to it; therefore, let no man charge the devil with what he is not concern'd in. but to return to his person, he is, as i have said, notwithstanding his lost glory, a mighty, a terrible and an immortal spirit; he is himself call'd a prince, _the prince of the power of the air_; the prince of darkness, the prince of _devils_, and the like, and his attending spirits are call'd _his angels_: so that however _satan_ has lost the glory and rectitude of his nature, by his apostate state, yet he retains a greatness and magnificence, which places him above our rank, and indeed above our conception; for we know not what he is, any more than we know what the blessed angels are; of whom we can say no more than that they are _ministring spirits_, &c. as the scripture has describ'd them. two things, however, may give us some insight into the nature of the devil, in the present state he is in; and these we have a clear discovery of in the whole series of his conduct from the beginning. . that he is the vanquish'd but implacable enemy of god his creator, who has conquer'd him, and expell'd him from the habitations of bliss; on which account he is fill'd with envy, rage, malice, and all uncharitableness; would dethrone god and overturn the thrones of heaven, if it was in his power. . that he is man's irreconcilable enemy; not as he is a man, nor on his own account simply, nor for any advantage he (the devil) can make by the ruin and destruction of man; but in meer envy at the felicity he is supposed to enjoy as satan's rival; and as he is appointed to succeed satan and his angels in the possession of those glories from which they are fallen. and here i must take upon me to say, mr. _milton_ makes a wrong judgment of the reason of _satan_'s resolution to disturb the felicity of man; he tells us it was meerly to affront god his maker, rob him of the glory design'd in his new work of creations and to disappoint him in his main design, namely, the creating a new species of creatures in a perfect rectitude of soul, and after his own image, from whom he might expect a new fund of glory should be rais'd, and who was to appear as the triumph of the messiah's victory over the devil. in all which satan could not be fool enough not to know that he should be disappointed by the same power which had so eminently counter-acted his rage before. but, i believe, the devil went upon a much more probable design; and tho' he may be said to act upon a meaner principle than that of pointing his rage at the personal glory of his creator; yet i own, that in my opinion, it was by much the more rational undertaking, and more likely to succeed; and that was, that whereas he perceived this new species of creatures had a sublime as well as a human part, and were made capable of possessing the mansions of eternal beatitude, from whence, he (_satan_) and his angels were expell'd and irretrievably banish'd; envy at such a rival mov'd him by all possible artifice, _for he saw him deprived of capacity to do it by force_, to render him unworthy like himself; that bringing him to fall into rebellion and disobedience, he might see his rival damn'd with him; and those who were intended to fill up the empty spaces in heaven, made so by the absence of so many millions of fallen angels, be cast out into the same darkness with them. how he came to know that this new species of creatures were liable to such imperfection, is best explain'd by the _devil_'s prying, vigilant disposition, judging or leading him to judge by himself; (for he was as near being infallible as any of god's creatures had been) and then inclining him to try whether it was so or no. modern naturalists, especially some who have not so large a charity for the fair sex, as i have, tell us, that as soon as ever satan saw the woman, and look'd in her face, he saw evidently that she was the best form'd creature to make a tool of, and the best to make a hypocrite of, that could be made, and therefore the most fitted for his purpose. . he saw by some thwart lines in her face, (legible, perhaps, to himself only) that there was a throne ready prepar'd for the sin of pride to sit in state upon, especially if it took an early possession: eve you may suppose was a perfect beauty, if ever such a thing may be supposed in the human frame; her figure being so extraordinary, was the groundwork of his project; there needed no more than to bring her to be vain of it, and to conceit that it either was so, or was infinitely more sublime and beautiful than it really was; and having thus tickl'd her vanity, to introduce pride gradually, till at last he might persuade her, that she was really angelic, or of heavenly race, and wanted nothing but to eat the forbidden fruit, and that would make her something more excellent still. . looking farther into her frame, and with a nearer view to her imperfections, he saw room to conclude that she was of a constitution easy to be seduc'd, and especially by flattering her; raising a commotion in her soul, and a disturbance among her passions; and accordingly he set himself to work, to disturb her repose, and put dreams of great things into her head; together with something of a nameless kind, which (however, some have been ill-natur'd enough to suggest) i shall not injure the devil so much as to mention, without better evidence. . but, besides this, he found, upon the very first survey of her outside, something so very charming in her mein and behaviour, so engaging as well as agreeable in the whole texture of her person, and withal such a sprightly wit, such a vivacity of parts, such a fluency of tongue, and above all, such a winning prevailing whine in her smiles, or at least in her tears, that he made no doubt if he could but once delude her, she would easily be brought to delude _adam_, whom he found set not only a great value upon her person, but was perfectly captivated by her charms; in a word, he saw plainly, that if he could but ruin her, he should easily make a devil of her, to ruin her husband, and draw him into any gulph of mischief, were it ever so black and dreadful, that she should first fall into herself; how far some may be wicked enough, from hence, to suggest of the _fair sex_, that they have been devils to their husbands ever since, i cannot say; i hope they will not be so unmerciful to discover truths of such fatal consequence, tho' they should come to their knowledge. thus subtle and penetrating has satan been from the beginning; and who can wonder that upon these discoveries made into the woman's inside, he went immediately to work with her, rather than with _adam_? not but that one would think, if _adam_ was fool enough to be deluded by his wife, the devil might have seen so much of it in his countenance, as to have encourag'd him to make his attack directly upon him, and not go round about, beating the bush, and ploughing with the heifer; setting upon the woman first, and then setting her upon her husband, who might as easily have been imposed upon as she. other commentators upon this critical text suggest to us, that _eve_ was not so pleased with the hopes of being made a goddess; that the pride of a seraphic knowledge did not so much work upon her imagination to bring her to consent, as a certain secret notion infus'd into her head by the same wicked instrument, that she should be wiser than _adam_, and should by the superiority of her understanding, necessarily have the government over him; which, at present, she was sensible she had not, he being master of a particular air of gravity and majesty, as well as of strength, infinitely superior to her. this is an ill-natur'd suggestion; but it must be confess'd the impatient desire of government, which (since that) appears in the general behaviour of the sex, and particularly of governing husbands, leaves too much room to legitimate the supposition. the expositors, who are of this opinion, add to it, that this being her original crime, or the particular temptation to that crime; heaven thought fit to shew his justice, in making her more entire subjection to her husband be a part of the curse, that she might read her sin in the punishment, (_viz._) _he shall rule over thee_. i only give the general hint of these things as they appear recorded in the annals of _satan_'s first tyranny, and at the beginning of his government in the world; those that would be more particularly inform'd, may enquire of him _and know farther_. i cannot however, but observe here _with some regret_, how it appears by the consequence, that the devil was not mistaken when he made an early judgment of mrs. _eve_; and how _satan_ really went the right way to work, to judge of her; 'tis certain the devil had nothing to do but to look in her face, and upon a near steady view he might easily see there, an instrument for his turn; nor has he fail'd to make her a tool ever since, by the very methods which he at first proposed; to which, perhaps, he has made some additions in the corrupting her composition, as well as her understanding; qualifying her to be a compleat snare to the poor _weaker vessel_ man; to wheedle him with her _syren_'s voice, abuse him with her smiles, delude him with her crocodile tears, and sometimes cock her crown at him, and terrify him with the thunder of her treble; making the effeminated _male apple-eater_ tremble at the noise of that very tongue, which at first commanded him to sin. for it is yet a debate which the learned have not decided, whether she persuaded and entreated him, or like a true she-tyrant, exercised her authority and oblig'd him to eat the forbidden fruit. and therefore a certain author, whose name, _for fear of the sex's resentment_ i conceal, brings her in, calling to _adam_ at a great distance, in an imperious haughty manner, beckoning to him with her hand, thus; _here_, says she, _you cowardly faint-hearted wretch, take this branch of heavenly fruit, eat and be a stupid fool no longer; eat and be wise; eat and be a god; and know, to your eternal shame, that your wife has been made an enlightn'd goddess before you_. he tells you _adam_ hung back a little at first, and trembl'd, _afraid to trespass_: _what ails the_ sot, says the new termagant? _what are you afraid of? did god forbid you! yes, and why? that we might not be knowing and wise like himself! what reason can there be that we, who have capacious souls, able to receive knowledge, should have it withheld? take it, you fool, and eat; don't you see how i am exalted in soul by it, and am quite another creature? take it_, i say, _or, if you don't, i'll go and cut down the tree, and you shall never eat any of it at all, and you shall be still a fool, and be governed by your wife for ever_. thus, if this interpretation of the thing be just, she scolded him into it; rated him, and brought him to it by the terror of her voice; a thing that has retained a dreadful influence over him ever since; nor have the greatest of _adam_'s successors, how light soever some husbands make of it in this age, been ever able, since that, to conceal their terror, at the very sound; nay, if we may believe history, it prevailed even among the gods; not all the noise of _vulcan_'s hammers could silence the clamours of that outrageous whore his goddess; nay, even _jupiter_ himself led such a life with a termagant wife, that once, they say, _juno_ out-scolded the noise of all his thunders, and was within an ace of brawling him out of heaven. but to return to the devil. with these views he resolv'd, it seems, to attack the woman; and if you consider him as a devil, and what he aim'd at, and consider the fair prospect he had of success, i must confess, i do not see who can blame him, or at least, how any thing less could be expected from him; but we shall meet with it again by and by. chap. v. _of the station satan had in heaven before he fell; the nature and original of his crime, and some of mr._ milton_'s mistakes about it._ thus far i have gone upon general observation, in this great affair of _satan_ and his empire in the world; i now come to _my title_, and shall enter upon the historical part, as the main work before me. besides what has been said poetically, relating to the fall and wandering condition of the _devil_ and his host, which poetical part i offer only as an excursion, and desire it should be taken so; i shall give you what i think is deduc'd from good originals on the part of _satan_'s story in a few words. he was one of the created angels, form'd by the same omnipotent hand and glorious power, who created the heavens and the earth, and all that is therein: this innumerable heavenly host, as we have reason to believe, contain'd angels of higher and lower stations, of greater and of lesser degree, express'd in the scripture by _thrones_, _dominions_, and _principalities_: this, i think, we have as much reason to believe, as we have, that there are stars in the firmament (or starry heavens) of greater and of lesser magnitude. what particular station among the immortal choir of angels, this arch-seraph, this prince of _devils_, call'd _satan_, was plac'd in before his expulsion, that indeed, we cannot come at the knowledge of, at least, not with such an authority as may be depended upon; but as from scripture authority, he is plac'd at the head of all the apostate armies, after he was fallen, we cannot think it in the least assuming to say, that he might be supposed to be one of the principal agents in the _rebellion_ which happen'd in heaven, and consequently that he might be one of the highest in dignity there, before that rebellion. the higher his station, the lower, and with the greater precipitation, was his overthrow; and therefore, those words, tho' taken in another sense, may very well be apply'd to him: _how art thou fallen_, o lucifer! _son of the morning!_ having granted the dignity of his person, and the high station in which he was placed among the heavenly host; it would come then necessarily to inquire into the nature of his fall, and _above all_, a little into the reason of it; certain it is, _he did fall_, was guilty of rebellion and disobedience, the just effect of pride; sins, which, in that holy place, might well be call'd wonderful. but what to me is more wonderful, and which, i think, will be very ill accounted for, is, how came seeds of crime to rise in the angelic nature? created in a state of perfect, unspotted holiness? how was it first found in a place where no unclean thing can enter? how came ambition, pride, or envy to generate there? could there be offence where there was no crime? could untainted purity breed corruption? could that nature contaminate and infect, which was always drinking in principles of perfection? happy 'tis to me, _that_ writing the history, _not_ solving the difficulties of _satan_'s affairs, is my province in this work; that i am to relate the fact, not give reasons for it, or sign causes; if it was otherwise, i should break off at this difficulty, for i acknowledge i do not see thro' it; neither do i think that the great _milton_, after all his fine images and lofty excursions upon the subject, has left it one jot clearer than he found it: some are of opinion, and among them the great dr. _b----s_, that crime broke in upon them at some interval, when they omitted but one moment fixing their eyes and thoughts on the glories of the divine face, to admire and adore, which is the full employment of angels; but even this, tho' it goes as high as imagination can carry us, does not reach it, nor, to me, make it one jot more comprehensible than it was before; all i can say to it here, is, that _so it was_, the fact was upon record, and the rejected troop are in being, whose circumstances confess the guilt, and still groan under the punishment. if you will bear with a poetic excursion upon the subject, not to solve but to illustrate the difficulty; take it in a few lines, thus, thou sin of witchcraft! firstborn child of crime! produc'd before the bloom of time; ambition's maiden sin, in heaven conceiv'd, and who could have believ'd defilement could in purity begin, and bright eternal day be soil'd with sin? tell us, sly penetrating crime, how cam'st thou there, thou fault sublime? how didst thou pass the adamantine gate; and into spirit thy self insinuate? from what dark state? from what deep place? from what strange uncreated race? where was thy ancient habitation found before void chaos heard the forming sound? wast thou a substance, or an airy ghost, a vapour flying in the fluid waste of unconcocted air? and how at first didst thou come there? sure there was once a time when thou wert not, by whom wast thou created? and for what? art thou a steam from some contagious damp exhal'd? how should contagion be intail'd, on bright seraphic spirits, and in a place where all's supreme, and glory fills the space? no noxious vapour there could rise, for there no noxious matter lies; nothing that's evil could appear, sin never could seraphic glory bear; the brightness of the eternal face, which fills as well as constitutes the place, would be a fire too hot for crime to bear, 'twould calcine sin, or melt it into air. how then did first defilement enter in? ambition, thou first vital seed of sin! thou life of death, how cam'st thou there? in what bright form didst thou appear? in what seraphic orb didst thou arise? surely that place admits of no disguise, eternal sight must know thee there, and being known, thou soon must disappear. but since the fatal truth we know, without the matter whence or manner how: thou high superlative of sin, tell us thy nature, where thou didst begin? the first degree of thy increase, debauch'd the regions of eternal peace, and fill'd the breasts of loyal angels there with the first treason and infernal war. thou art the high extreme of pride, and dost o'er lesser crimes preside; not for the mean attempt of vice design'd, but to embroil the world, and damn mankind. transforming mischief, now hast thou procur'd that loss that ne'er to be restor'd, and made the bright seraphic morning-star in horrid monstrous shapes appear? _satan_, that while he dwelt in glorious light, was always then as pure as he was bright, that in effulgent rays of glory shone, excell'd by eternal light, by him alone, distorted now, and stript of innocence, and banish'd with thee from the high pre-eminence, how has the splendid seraph chang'd his face, transform'd by thee, and like thy monstrous race? ugly as is the crime, for which he fell, } fitted by thee to make a local hell, } for such must be the place where either of you dwell. } thus, as i told you, i only moralize upon the subject, but as to the difficulty, i must leave it as i find it, unless, _as i hinted at first_, i could prevail with satan to set pen to paper, and write this part of his own history: no question, but he could let us into the secret; but to be plain, i doubt i shall tell so many plain truths of the _devil_, in this history, and discover so many of his secrets, which it is not for his interest to have discover'd, that before i have done, the _devil_ and i may not be so good friends as you may suppose we are; at least, not friends enough to obtain such a favour of him, tho' it be for public good; so we must be content till we come ont' other side the _blue-blanket_, and then we shall know the whole story. but now, tho' as i said, i will not attempt to solve the difficulty, i may, i hope, venture to tell you, that there is not so much difficulty in it, as at first sight appears: and especially not so much as some people would make us believe; let us see how others are mistaken in it, perhaps, that may help us a little in the enquiry; for to know _what it is not_, is one help towards knowing _what it is_. mr. _milton_ has indeed told us a great many merry things of the devil, in a most formal, solemn manner; till in short he has made a good play of _heaven_ and _hell_; and no doubt if he had liv'd in our times, he might have had it acted with our _pluto_ and _proserpine_. he has made fine speeches both for _god_ and the _devil_, and a little addition might have turn'd it _a la modern_ into a _harlequin dieu & diable_. i confess i don't well know how far the dominion of poetry extends itself; it seems the buts and bounds of _parnassus_ are not yet ascertain'd; so that for ought i know, by vertue of their antient privileges call'd _licentia poetarum_, there can be no _blasphemy_ in _verse_; as some of our divines say there can be no _treason_ in the _pulpit_. but they that will venture to write that way, ought to be better satisfy'd about that point than i am. upon this foot mr. _milton_, to grace his poem, and give room for his towring fancy, has gone a length beyond all that ever went before him, since _ovid_ in his _metamorphosis_. he has indeed complimented god _almighty_ with a flux of lofty words, and great sounds; and has made a very fine story of the _devil_, but he has made a meer _je ne scay quoi_ of _jesus christ_. in one line he has him riding on a _cherub_, and in another sitting on a throne, both in the very same moment of action. in another place he has brought him in making a speech to his _saints_, when 'tis evident he had none there; for we all know _man was not created till a long while after_; and no body can be so dull as to say the _angels_ may be called _saints_, without the greatest absurdity in nature. besides, he makes christ himself distinguish them, as in two several bands, and of differing persons and species, as to be sure they are. stand still in bright array, _ye saints_------ ---- ------ -------- -------- here stand, _ye angels_. ------ _par. lost. lib._ vi. _fo._ . so that christ here is brought in drawing up his army before the last battle, and making a speech to them, to tell them they shall only stand by in warlike order, but that they shall have no occasion to fight, for he alone will engage the rebels. then in embattling his legions, he places the saints here, and the angels there, as if one were the main battle of infantry, and the other the wings of cavalry. but who are those saints? they are indeed all of _milton_'s own making; 'tis certain there were no saints at all in _heaven_ or _earth_ at that time; god and his _angels_ fill'd up the place; and till some of the _angels_ fell, and men were created, had liv'd, and were dead, there could have been no _saints_ there. saint _abel_ was certainly the _proto-saint_ of all that ever were seen in _heaven_, as well as the proto-martyr of all that have been upon _earth_. just such another mistake, not to call it a blunder, he makes about _hell_; which he not only makes local, but gives it a being before the fall of the _angels_; and brings it in opening its mouth to receive them. this is so contrary to the nature of the thing, and so great an absurdity, that no poetic license can account for it; for tho' poesie may form stories, as idea and fancy may furnish materials, yet poesy must not break in upon chronology, and make things which in time were to exist, act before they existed. thus a painter may make a fine piece of work, the fancy may be good, the strokes masterly, and the beauty of the workmanship inimitably curious and fine, and yet have some unpardonable improprieties which marr the whole work. so the famous painter of _toledo_ painted the story of the three wisemen of the _east_ coming to worship, and bring their presents to our lord upon his birth at _bethlehem_, where he represents them as three _arabian_ or _indian_ kings; two of them are white, and one black; but unhappily when he drew the latter part of them kneeling, which to be sure was done after their faces; their legs being necessarily a little intermix'd, he made three black feet for the _negroe_ king, and but three white feet for the two white kings, and yet never discover'd the mistake till the piece was presented to the king, and hung up in the great church. as this is an unpardonable error in sculpture or limning, it must be much more so in poetry, where the images must have no improprieties, much less inconsistencies. in a word, mr. _milton_ has indeed made a fine poem, but it is _the devil of a history_. i can easily allow mr. _milton_ to make hills and dales, flowry meadows and plains (and the like) in heaven; and places of retreat and contemplation in _hell_; tho' i must add, that it can be allowed to no poet on earth but mr. _milton_. nay, i will allow mr. _milton_, if you please, to set the _angels_ a dancing in _heaven_, _lib._ v. _fo._ . and the _devils_ a singing in hell, _lib._ i. _fo._ . tho' they are in short, especially the last, most horrid absurdities. but i cannot allow him to make their musick in _hell_ to be harmonious and charming as he does; such images being incongruous, and indeed shocking to nature. neither can i think we should allow things to be plac'd out of time in poetry, any more than in history; 'tis a confusion of images which is allow'd to be disallow'd by all the criticks of what tribe or species soever in the world, and is indeed unpardonable. but we shall find so many more of these things in mr. _milton_, that really taking notice of them all, would carry me quite out of my way, i being at this time not writing the history of mr. _milton_, but of the _devil_: besides, mr. _milton_ is such a celebrated man, that who but he that can write the history of the _devil_ dare meddle with him? but to come back to the business. as i had caution'd you against running to scripture for shelter in cases of difficulty, scripture weighing very little among the people i am directing my speech to; so indeed scripture gives but very little light into any thing of the _devil_'s story before his fall, and but _to very little_ of it for some time after. nor has mr. _milton_ said one word to solve the main difficulty (_viz._) how the _devil_ came to fall, and how sin came into heaven; how the spotless seraphic nature could receive infection, whence the contagion proceeded, what noxious matter could emit corruption there, how and whence any vapour to poison the angelick frame could rise up, or how it increas'd and grew up to crime. but all this he passes over, and hurrying up that part in two or three words, only tells us, ------ his pride, had cast him out of heaven with all his host of rebel angels, by whose aid aspiring he trusted to have equal'd the most high. _lib._ i. _fo._ . _his pride!_ but how came _satan_ while an arch-angel to be proud? how did it consist, that pride and perfect holiness should meet in the same person? here we must bid mr. _milton_ good night; for, in plain terms, he is in the dark about it, and so we are all; and the most that can be said, is, that we know the fact is so, but nothing of the nature or reason of it. but to come to the history: the angels fell, they sinn'd (wonderful!) in heaven, and god cast them out; what their sin was is not explicit, but in general 'tis call'd a rebellion against god; all sin must be so. mr. _milton_ here takes upon him to give the history of it, as particularly as if he had been born there, and came down hither on purpose to give us an account of it; (i hope he is better inform'd by this time;) but this he does in such a manner, as jostles with religion, and shocks our faith in so many points necessary to be believ'd, that we must forbear to give up to mr. _milton_, or must set aside part of the sacred text, in such a manner, as will assist some people to set it all aside. i mean by this, his invented scheme of the son's being declared in heaven to be begotten then, and then to be declar'd generalissimo of all the armies of heaven; and of the father's summoning all the angels of the heavenly host to submit to him, and pay him homage. the words are quoted already, page . i must own the invention, indeed, is very fine; the images exceeding magnificent, the thought rich and bright, and, in some respect, truly sublime: but the authorities fail most wretchedly, and the miss-timing of it, is unsufferably gross, as is noted in the introduction to this work; for christ is not declar'd the son of god but on earth; 'tis true, 'tis spoken from heaven, but then 'tis spoken as perfected on earth; if it was at all to be assign'd to heaven, it was from eternity, and there, indeed, his eternal generation is allow'd; but to take upon us to say, that _on a day, a certain day_, for so our poet assumes, lib. v. fol. . ------ 'when on a day, ------ 'on such a day 'as heaven's great year brings forth, the empyreal host 'of angels by imperial summons call'd, 'forthwith from all the ends of heaven appear'd. this is, indeed, too gross; at this meeting he makes god declare the son to be _that day begotten_, as before; had he made him not begotten that day, but declared general that day, it would be reconcileable with scripture and with sense; for either the begetting is meant of ordaining to an office, or else the eternal generation falls to the ground; and if it was to the office (mediator) then mr. _milton_ is out in ascribing another fix'd day to the work; see lib. x. fo. . but then the declaring him _that day_, is wrong chronology too, for christ is declar'd _the son of god with power_, only _by the resurrection of the dead_, and this is both a declaration in heaven and in earth. _rom._ i. . and _milton_ can have no authority to tell us, there was any declaration of it in heaven before this, except it be that dull authority call'd _poetic license_, which will not pass in so solemn an affair as that. but the thing was necessary to _milton_, who wanted to assign some cause or original of the _devil_'s rebellion; and so, _as i said above_, the design is well laid, it only wants two trifles call'd _truth_ and _history_; so i leave it to struggle for itself. this ground-plot being laid, he has a fair field for the _devil_ to play the rebel in, for he immediately brings him in, not satisfy'd with the exaltation of the son of god. the case must be thus; _satan_ being an eminent _arch-angel_, and perhaps, the highest of all the angelic train, hearing this sovereign declaration, that the _son of god_ was declar'd to be head or generalissimo of all the heavenly host, took it ill to see another put into the high station _over his head_, as the soldiers call it; he, perhaps, thinking himself the senior officer, and disdaining to submit to any but to his former immediate sovereign; in short, he threw up his commission, and, in order not to be compel'd to obey, revolted and broke out in open rebellion. all this part is a decoration noble and great, nor is there any objection to be made against the invention, because a deduction of probable events; but the plot is wrong laid, as is observ'd above, because contradicted by the scripture account, according to which christ was declared in heaven, not then, but from eternity, and not declared with power, but on earth, (_viz._) in his victory over sin and death, by the resurrection from the dead: so that mr. _milton_ is not orthodox in this part, but lays an avow'd foundation for the corrupt doctrine of _arius_, which says, there was a time when christ _was not_ the son of god. but to leave mr. _milton_ to his flights, i agree with him in this part, _viz._ that the wicked or sinning angels, with the great arch-angel at the head of them, revolted from their obedience, even in heaven it self; that _satan_ began the wicked defection, and being a chief among the heavenly host, consequently carry'd over a great party with him, who all together rebel'd against god; that upon this rebellion they were sentenc'd, by the righteous judgment of god, to be expel'd the holy habitation; this, besides the authority of scripture, we have visible testimonies of, from the devils themselves; their influences and operations among us every day, of which mankind are witnesses; in all the merry things they do in his name, and under his protection, in almost every scene of life they pass thro', whether we talk of things done openly or in masquerade, things done in--or out of it, things done in earnest or in jest. but then, what comes of the long and bloody war that mr. _milton_ gives such a full and particular account of, and the terrible battles in heaven between _michael_ with the royal army of angels on one hand, and _satan_ with his rebel host on the other; in which he supposes the numbers and strength to be pretty near equal? but at length brings in the _devil_'s army, upon doubling their rage and bringing new engines of war into the field, putting _michael_ and all the faithful army to the worst; and, in a word, defeats them? for tho' they were not put to a plain flight, in which case he must, at least, have given an account of two or three thousand millions of angels cut in pieces and wounded, yet he allows them to give over the fight, and make a kind of retreat; so making way for the compleat victory of the son of god: now this is all invention, or at least, a borrow'd thought from the old poets, and the fight of the _giants_ against _jupiter_, so nobly design'd by _ovid_, almost two thousand years ago; and there 'twas well enough; but whether poetic fancy should be allow'd to fable upon _heaven_, or no, and upon the king of heaven too, that i leave to the sages. by this expulsion of the _devils_, it is allow'd by most authors, they are, _ipso facto_, stript of the rectitude and holiness of their nature, which was their beauty and perfection; and being ingulph'd in the abyss of irrecoverable ruin, _'tis no matter where_, from that very time they lost their angelic beautiful form, commenc'd ugly frightful monsters and _devils_, and became evil doers, as well as evil spirits; fill'd with a horrid malignity and enmity against their maker, and arm'd with a hellish resolution to shew and exert it on all occasions; retaining however their exalted spirituous nature, and having a vast extensive power of action, all which they can exert in nothing else but doing evil, for they are entirely divested of either power or will to do good; and even in doing evil, they are under restraints and limitations of a superior power, which it is their torment, and, perhaps, a great part of their hell that they cannot break thro'. chap. vi. _what became of the_ devil _and his host of fallen spirits after their being expell'd from heaven, and his wandring condition till the creation; with some more of mr._ milton's _absurdities on that subject._ having thus brought the _devil_ and his innumerable legions to the edge of the bottomless-pit, it remains, before i bring them to action, that some enquiry should be made into the posture of their affairs immediately after their precipitate fall, and into the place of their immediate residence; for this will appear to be very necessary to _satan_'s history, and indeed, so as that without it, all the farther account we have to give of him, will be inconsistent and imperfect. and first, i take upon me to lay down some fundamentals, which i believe i shall be able to make out historically, tho', perhaps, not so geographically as some have pretended to do. . that _satan_ was not immediately, nor is yet lock'd down into the abyss of a _local hell_, such as is supposed by some, and such as he shall be at last; or that, . if he was, he has certain liberties allowed him for excursions into the regions of this air, and certain spheres of action, in which he can, and does move, to do, _like a very devil as he is_, all the mischief he can, and of which we see so many examples both about us and in us; in the inquiry after which, i shall take occasion to examine whether the devil is not in most of us, sometimes, if not in all of us one time or other. . that _satan_ has no particular residence in this globe or earth where we live; that he rambles about among us, and marches over and over our whole country, he and his devils in _camps volant_; but that he pitches his grand army or chief encampment in our adjacencies or frontiers, which the philosophers call _atmosphere_; and whence he is call'd the prince of the power of that element or part of the world we call _air_; from whence he sends out his spies, his agents and emissaries, to get intelligence, and to carry his commissions to his trusty and well beloved cousins and counsellors on earth, by which his business is done, and his affairs carried on in the world. here, again, i meet mr. _milton_ full in my face, who will have it, that _the devil_, immediately at his expulsion, roll'd down directly into a hell proper and local; nay, he measures the very distance, at least gives the length of the journey by the time they were passing or falling, which, he says, was _nine days_; a good poetical flight, but neither founded on scripture or philosophy; he might every jot as well have brought _hell_ up to the walls of _heaven_, advanc'd to receive them, or he ought to have consider'd the space which is to be allow'd to any locality, let him take what part of infinite distance between _heaven_ and a created hell he pleases. but let that be as mr. _milton_'s extraordinary genius pleases to place it; the passage, it seems, is just _nine days_ betwixt heaven and hell; well might _dives_ then see father _abraham_, and talk to him too; but then the great gulph which _abraham_ tells him was fix'd between them, does not seem to be so large, as according to sir _isaac newton_, dr. _halley_, mr. _whiston_, and the rest of our men of science, we take it to be. but suppose the passage to be nine days, according to mr. _milton_, what follow'd? why hell gap'd wide, open'd its frightful mouth, and received them all at once; millions and thousands of millions as they were, it received them all at a gulp, _as we call it_, they had no difficulty to go in, no, none at all. _facilis desensus averni, sed revocare gradum hoc opus hic labor est._---- virg. all this, as poetical, we may receive, but not at all as historical; for then come difficulties insuperable in our way, some of which may be as follow: ( .) hell is here supposed to be a place; nay a place created for the punishment of angels and men, and likewise created long before those had fallen, or these had being; this makes me say, mr. _milton_ was a good poet, but a bad historian: _tophet_ was prepar'd of old, indeed, but it was for the king, that is to say, it was prepar'd for those whose lot it should be to come there; but this does not at all suppose it was prepar'd before it was resolv'd whether there should be subjects for it, or no; else we must suppose both men and angels were made by the glorious and upright maker of all things, on purpose for destruction, which would be incongruous and absurd. but there is worse yet to come; in the next place he adds, that _hell_ having receiv'd them, clos'd upon them; that is to say, took them in, clos'd or shut its mouth; and in a word, they were lock'd in, as it was said in another place, they were lock'd in, and the key is carry'd up to heaven and kept there; for _we know_ the angel came down from heaven, having the key of the bottomless-pit; but first, see mr. _milton_. 'nine days they fell, confounded chaos roar'd 'and felt ten-fold confusion in their fall: '----hell at last 'yawning receiv'd them all, and on them clos'd; 'down from the verge of heaven, eternal wrath 'burnt after them---- 'unquenchable. this scheme is certainly deficient, if not absurd, and i think is more so than any other he has laid; 'tis evident, neither _satan_ or his host of _devils_ are, _no not any of them_, yet, even now, confin'd in the eternal prison, where the scripture says, he shall be _reserved in chains of darkness_. they must have mean thoughts of _hell_, as a prison, a _local_ confinement, that can suppose the _devil_ able to break goal, knock off his fetters, and come abroad, if he had been once lock'd in there, as mr. _milton_ says he was: now we know that he is abroad again, he presented himself before _god_, among his neighbours, when _job_'s case came to be discours'd of; and more than that, it's plain he was a prisoner at large, by his answer to god's question, which was, _whence comest thou?_ to which he answer'd, _from going to and fro thro' the earth_, &c. this, i say, is plain, and if it be as certain that hell closed upon them, i demand then, how got he out? and why was there not a proclamation for apprehending him, as there usually is, after such rogues as break prison? in short, the true account of the _devil_'s circumstances, since his fall from _heaven_, is much more likely to be thus: that he is more of a vagrant than a prisoner, that he is a wanderer in the wild unbounded wast, where he and his legions, like the hoords of _tartary_, who, in the wild countries of _karakathay_, the desarts of _barkan_, _kassan_, and _astracan_, live up and down where they find proper; so satan and his innumerable legions rove about _hic & ubique_, pitching their camps (being beasts of prey) where they find the most spoil; watching over this world, (and all the other worlds for ought we know, and if there are any such,) i say watching, and seeking who they may devour, _that is_, who they may deceive and delude, and so destroy, for devour they cannot. _satan_ being thus confin'd to a vagabond, wandring, unsettl'd condition, is without any certain abode; for tho' he has, in consequence of his angelic nature, a kind of empire in the liquid wast or _air_; yet, this is certainly part of his punishment, that he is continually hovering over this inhabited globe of earth; swelling with the rage of envy, at the felicity of his rival, man; and studying all the means possible to injure and ruin him; but extremely limited in power, to his unspeakable mortification: this is his present state, without any fix'd abode, place, or space, allow'd him to rest the sole of his foot upon. from his expulsion, i take his first view of horror to be that, of looking back towards the heaven which he had lost; there to see the chasm or opening made up, out at which, as at a breach in the wall of the holy place, he was thrust head-long by the power which expel'd him; i say, to see the breach repair'd, the mounds built up, the walls garison'd with millions of angels, and arm'd with thunders; and, above all, made terrible by that glory from whose presence they were expel'd, as is poetically hinted at before. upon this sight, 'tis no wonder (if there was such a place) that they fled till the darkness might cover them, and that they might be out of the view of so hated a sight. wherever they found it, you may be sure they pitch'd their first camp, and began, after many a sour reflection upon what was pass'd, to consider and think a little, upon what was to come. if i had as much personal acquaintance with the _devil_, as would admit it, and could depend upon the truth of what answer he would give me, the first question i would ask him, should be, what measures they resolv'd on at their first assembly? and the next should be, how they were employ'd in all that space of time, between their so flying the face of their almighty conqueror, and the creation of man? as for the length of the time, which, according to the learn'd, was twenty thousand years, and according to the more learned, not half a quarter so much, i would not concern my curiosity much about it; 'tis most certain, there was a considerable time between, but of that immediately; first let me enquire what they were doing all that time. the devil and his host, being thus, i say, cast out of heaven, and not yet confin'd strictly to _hell_, 'tis plain they must be _some where_. satan and all his legions did not lose their existence, no, nor the existence of _devils_ neither; god was so far from annihilating him, that he still preserv'd his being; and this not mr. _milton_ only, but god himself has made known to us, having left his history so far upon record; several expressions in scripture also make it evident, as particularly the story of _job_, mentioned before; the like in our saviour's time, and several others. if hell did not immediately ingulph them, as _milton_ suggests, 'tis certain, i say, that they fled somewhere, from the anger of heaven, from the face of the avenger; and his absence, and their own guilt, _wonder not at it_, would make hell enough for them wherever they went. nor need we fly to the dreams of our _astronomers_, who take a great deal of pains to fill up the vast spaces of the starry heavens with innumerable habitable worlds; allowing as many _solar systems_ as there are fix'd stars, and that not only in the known constellations, but even in _gallaxie_ it self; who, to every such system allow a certain number of planets, and to every one of those planets so many _satellites_ or _moons_, and all these planets and moons to be worlds; solid, dark, opaque bodies, habitable, and (as they would have us believe) inhabited by the like animals and rational creatures as on this earth; so that they may, at this rate, find room enough for the _devil_ and all his angels, without making a hell on purpose; nay they may, for ought i know, find a world for every _devil_ in all the _devil'_s _host_, and so every one may be a monarch or _master-devil_, separately in his own sphere or world, and play the _devil_ there by himself. and even if this were so, it cannot be denied but that one _devil_ in a place would be enough for a whole systemary world, and be able, if not restrained, to do mischief enough there too, and even to ruin and overthrow the whole body of people contain'd in it. but, i say, we need not fly to these shifts, or consult the astronomers in the decision of this point; for wherever _satan_ and his defeated host went, at their expulsion from _heaven_, we think we are certain, none of all these beautiful worlds, or be they worlds or no, i mean the fix'd stars, planets, _&c._ had then any existence; for the beginning, as the scripture calls it, was not yet begun. but to speak a little by the rules of philosophy, that is to say, so as to be understood by others, even when we speak of things we cannot fully understand ourselves: tho' in the beginning of time all this glorious creation was form'd, the earth, the starry heavens, and all the furniture thereof, and there was a time when they were not; yet we cannot say so of the void, or that nameless _no-where_, as i call'd it before, which now appears to be a _some-where_, in which these glorious bodies are plac'd. that immense space which those take up, and which they move in at this time, must be supposed, before they had being, to be plac'd there: as god himself was, and existed before all being, time, or place, so the heaven of heavens, or the place, where the thrones and dominions of his kingdom then existed, inconceivable and ineffable, had an existence before the glorious seraphs, the innumerable company of angels which attended about the throne of god existed; these all had a being long before, as the eternal creator of them all had before them. into this void or abyss of nothing, however unmeasurable, infinite, and even to those spirits, themselves inconceivable, they certainly launch'd from the bright precipice which they fell from, and here they shifted as well as they could. here expanding those wings which fear, and horror at their defeat furnish'd them, as i hinted before, they hurried away to the utmost distance possible, from the face of god their conqueror, and then most dreaded enemy; formerly their joy and glory. be this utmost remov'd distance _where it will_, here, certainly, _satan_ and all his _gang of devils_, his numberless, tho' routed armies retired. here _milton_ might, with some good ground, have form'd his _pandemonium_, and have brought them in, consulting what was next to be done, and whether there was any room left to renew the war, or to carry on the rebellion; but had they been cast immediately into _hell_, closed up there, the bottomless pit lock'd upon them, and the key carried up to _heaven_ to be kept there, as mr. _milton_ himself in part confesses, and the scripture affirms; i say, had this been so, the _devil_ himself could not have been so ignorant as to think of any future steps to be taken, to retrieve his affairs, and therefore a _pandemonium_ or divan in hell, to consult of it, was ridiculous. all mr. _milton_'s scheme of _satan_'s future conduct, and all the scripture expressions about _the devil_ and his numerous attendants, and of his actings since that time, make it not reasonable to suggest that the _devils_ were confin'd to their eternal prison, at their expulsion out of _heaven_; but that they were in a state of liberty to act, tho' limited in acting, of which i shall also speak in its place. chap. vii. _of the number of satan's host; how they came first to know of the new created worlds, now in being, and their measures with mankind upon the discovery._ several things have been suggested to set us a calculating the number of this frightful throng of _devils_, who with satan, the _master-devil_, was thus cast out of _heaven_; i cannot say, i am so much master of political arithmetick as to cast up the number of the beast, no, nor the number of the beasts _or devils_, who make up this throng. st. _francis_, they tell us, or some other saint, they do not say who, ask'd the _devil_ once, how strong he was? for st. _francis_, you must know, was very familiar with him; _the devil_, it seems, did not tell him, but presently raised a great cloud of dust, by the help, i suppose, of a gust of wind, and bid that saint count it; he was, i suppose, a calculator, that would be call'd grave, who dividing _satan_'s troops into three lines, cast up the number of the _devils_ of all sorts in each battalia, at ten hundred times a hundred thousand millions of the first line, fifty millions of times as many in the second line, and three hundred thousand times as many as both in the third line. the impertinence of this account would hardly have given it a place here, only to hint that it has always been the opinion, that _satan_'s name may well be call'd a noun of multitude, and that _the devil_ and his _angels_ are certainly no inconsiderable number: it was a smart repartee that a _venetian_ nobleman made to a priest who rallied him upon his refusing to give something to the church, which the priest demanded for the delivering him from purgatory; when the priest asking him, _if he knew what an innumerable number of_ devils _there were to take him_? he answer'd, _yes, he knew how many_ devils _there were in all_: _how many?_ says the priest, his curiosity, i suppose, being rais'd by the novelty of the answer. _why ten millions five hundred and eleven thousand, six hundred and seventy five devils and a half_, says the nobleman: _a half!_ says the priest, _pray what kind of a devil is that? your self_, says the nobleman, _for you are half a devil already (and will be a whole one when you come there) for you are for deluding all you deal with, and bringing us soul and body into your hands, that you may be paid for letting us go again_. so much for their number. here also it would come in very aptly, to consider the state of that long interval between the time of their expulsion from _heaven_, and the creation of the world; and what the posture of the devil's affairs might be, during that time. the horror of their condition can only be conceiv'd of at a distance, and especially by us, who being embodied creatures, cannot fully judge of what is, or is not a punishment to _seraphs_ and _spirits_; but 'tis just to suppose they suffer'd all that spirits of a seraphic nature were capable to sustain, consistent with their existence; notwithstanding which they retain'd still the _hellishness_ of their rebellious principles; namely, their hatred and rage against god, and their envy at the felicity of his creatures. as to how long their time might be, i shall leave that search; no lights being given me that are either probable or rational, and we have so little room to make a judgment of it, that we may as well believe father _m----_, who supposes it to be a hundred thousand years, as those who judge it one thousand years; 'tis enough that we are sure, it was before the creation, how long before is not material to _the devil's history_, unless we had some records of what happen'd to him, or was done by him in the interval. during the wandring condition the devil was in at that time, we may suppose, he and his whole clan to be employ'd in exerting their hatred and rage at the almighty, and at the happiness of the remaining faithful angels, by all the ways they had power to shew it. from this determin'd stated enmity of _satan_ and his host against _god_, and at every thing that brought glory to his name, mr. _milton_ brings in _satan_, (when first he saw _adam_ in _paradise_, and the felicity of his station there) swelling with rage and envy, and taking up a dreadful resolution to ruin _adam_ and all his posterity, meerly to disappoint his maker of the glory of his creation; i shall come to speak of that in its place. how _satan_, in his remote situation, got intelligence of the place where to find _adam_ out, or that any such thing as a man was created, is matter of just speculation, and there might be many rational schemes laid for it: mr. _milton_ does not undertake to tell us the particulars, nor indeed could he find room for it; perhaps, the _devil_ having, _as i have said_, a liberty to range over the whole void or abyss, which we want as well a name for, as indeed powers to conceive of; might have discovered that the almighty creator had form'd a new and glorious work, with infinite beauty and variety, filling up the immense wast of space, in which he, (the _devil_) and his _angels_, had rov'd for so long a time, without finding any thing to work on, or to exert their apostate rage in against their maker. that at length they found the infinite untrodden space, on a sudden spread full with glorious bodies, shining in self-existing beauty, with a new, and to them unknown lustre, call'd light: they found these luminous bodies, tho' immense in bulk, and infinite in number, yet fixt in their wondrous stations, regular and exact in their motions, confin'd in their proper orbits, tending to their particular centers, and enjoying every one their peculiar systems, within which was contain'd innumerable planets with their satellites or moons, in which (_again_) a reciprocal influence, motion and revolution conspired to form the most admirable uniformity of the whole. surprized, to be sure, with this sudden and yet glorious work of the almighty; for the creation was enough, with its lustre, even to surprize _the devils_; they might reasonably be supposed to start out of their dark retreat, and with a curiosity not below the seraphic dignity; for _these are_ some of _the things which the angels desire to look into_, to take a flight thro' all the amazing systems of the fix'd suns or stars, which we see now but at a distance, and only make astronomical guesses at. here the devil found not subject of wonder only, but matter to swell his revolted spirit with more rage, and to revive the malignity of his mind against his maker, and especially against this new encrease of glory, which to his infinite regret was extended over the whole wast, and which he look'd upon, as we say in human affairs, as a _pays conquis_, or, if you will have it in the language of the _devil_, as an invasion upon his kingdom. here it naturally occur'd to them, in their state of envy and rebellion, that tho' they could not assault the impregnable walls of heaven, and could no more pretend to raise war in the place of blessedness and peace; yet that perhaps they might find room in this new, and however glorious, yet inferior kingdom or creation, to work some despite to their great creator, or to affront his majesty in the person of some of his new made creatures; and upon this they may be justly supposed to double their vigilance, in the survey they resolve to take of these new worlds, however great, numberless and wonderful. what discoveries they may have made in the other and greater worlds, than this earth, we have not yet had an account; possibly they are conversant with other parts of god's creation, besides this little little globe, which is but as a point in comparison of the rest; and with other of god's creatures besides man, who may, according to the opinion of our philosophers, inhabit those worlds; but as no body knows that part but the _devil_, we shall not trouble our selves with the enquiry. but 'tis very reasonable, and indeed probable, that _the devils_ were more than ordinarily surpriz'd at the nature and reason of all this glorious creation, after they had, with the utmost curiosity, view'd all the parts of it; the glories of the several systems; the immense spaces in which those glorious bodies that were created and made part of it, were allow'd respectively to move; the innumerable fix'd stars, as so many suns in the center of so many distant _solar systems_; the (likewise innumerable) dark opaque bodies receiving light, and depending upon those suns respectively for such light, and then reflecting that light again upon and for the use of one another; to see the beauty and splendor of their forms, the regularity of their position, the order and exactness, and yet inconceivable velocity of their motions, the certainty of their revolutions, and the variety and virtue of their influences; and then, which was even to the devils themselves most astonishing, that after all the rest of their observations they should find this whole immense work was adapted for, and made subservient to the use, delight and blessing only of one poor species, in itself small, and in appearance contemptible; the meanest of all the kinds supposed to inhabit so many glorious worlds, as appeared now to be form'd; i mean, that moon call'd the earth, and the creature call'd man; that all was made for him, upheld by the wise creator, on his account only, and would necessarily end and cease whenever that species should end and be determin'd. that this creature was to be found no where but (as above) in one little individual _moon_; a spot less than almost any of the moons, which were in such great numbers to be found attendant upon, and prescrib'd with in every system of the whole created heavens; this was astonishing even to the _devil_ himself, nay the whole clan of _devils_ could scarce entertain any just ideas of the thing; till at last _satan_, indefatigable in his search or enquiry into the nature and reason of this new work, and particularly searching into the species of man, whom he found god had thus plac'd in the little globe, call'd _earth_; he soon came to an _eclairicissement_, or a clear understanding of the whole. _for example_, _first_, he found this creature, call'd man, was however mean and small in his appearance, a kind of a seraphic species; that he was made in the very image of god, endowed with reasonable faculties to know good and evil, and possess'd of a certain thing till then unknown and unheard of even in hell it self; that is, in the habitation of devils, let that be where it would, (_viz._) . that god had made him indeed of the lowest and coarsest materials, but that he had breath'd into him the breath of life, and that he became a living thing call'd soul, being a kind of an extraordinary heavenly and divine emanation; and consequently that man, however mean and terrestrial his body might be, was yet, heaven-born, in his spirituous part compleatly seraphic; and after a space of life here, (determin'd to be a state of probation) he should be translated thro' the regions of death into a life purely and truly heavenly, and which should remain so for ever; being capable of knowing and enjoying god his maker, and standing in his presence, as the glorified angels do. . that he had the most sublime faculties infused into him; was capable not only of knowing and contemplating god, and which was still more, of enjoying him, as above; but (which the _devil_ now was not) capable of honouring and glorifying his maker; who also had condescended to accept of honour from him. . and which was still more, that being of an angelic nature, tho' mix'd with, and confined for the present in a case of mortal flesh; he was intended to be remov'd from this earth after a certain time of life here, to inhabit that heaven, and enjoy that very glory and felicity, from which satan and his angels had been expell'd. when he found all this, it presently occur'd to him, that god had done it all as an act of triumph over him (satan,) and that these creatures were only created to people heaven, depopulated or stript of its inhabitants by his expulsion, and that these were all to be made _angels_ in the _devil_'s stead. if this thought encreas'd his fury and envy, as far as _rage of devils_ can be capable of being made greater; it doubtless set him on work to give a vent to that rage and envy, by searching into the nature and constitution of this creature, call'd _man_; and to find out whether he was invulnerable, and could by no means be hurt by the power of hell, or deluded by his subtilty; or whether he might be beguil'd and deluded, and so, instead of being preserv'd in holiness and purity, wherein he was certainly created, be brought to fall and rebell as he (_satan_) had done before him; by which, instead of being transplanted into a glorious state, after this life in heaven, as his maker had design'd him to be, to fill up the angelic choir, and supply the place from whence he (_satan_) had fallen, he might be made to fall also like him, and in a word, be made a _devil_ like himself. this convinces us that the _devil_ has not lost his natural powers by his fall; and our learned commentator mr. _pool_ is of the same opinion; tho' he grants that the _devil_ has lost his moral power, or his power of doing good, which he can never recover. _vide_ mr. _pool_ upon _acts_ xix. . where we may particularly observe, when the man possess'd with an evil spirit flew upon the seven sons of _scæva_ the _jew_, who would have exorcis'd them in the name of _jesus_, without the authority of _jesus_, or without faith in him; he flew on them and master'd them, so that they fled out of the house from the devil conquered, naked and wounded: but of this power of the devil i shall speak by it self. in a word, and to sum up all the _devil_'s story from his first expulsion, it stands thus: for so many years as were between his fall and the creation of man, tho' we have no _memoirs_ of his particular affairs, we have reason to believe he was without any manner of employment; but a certain tormenting endeavour to be always expressing his rage and enmity against heaven; i call it tormenting, because ever disappointed; every thought about it proving empty; every attempt towards it abortive; leaving him only light enough to see still more and more reason to despair of success; and that this made his condition still more and more a hell than it was before. after a space of duration in this misery, which we have no light given us to measure or judge of, he at length discovered the new creation of man, as above, upon which he soon found matter to set himself to work upon, and has been busily employ'd ever since. and now indeed there may be room to suggest a local _hell_, and the confinement of souls (made corrupt and degenerate by him) to it, as a place; tho' he himself, as is still apparent by his actings, is not yet confin'd to it; of this hell, its locality, extent, dimensions, continuance and nature, as it does not belong to satan's history, i have a good excuse for saying nothing, and so put off my meddling with that, which if i would meddle with, i could say nothing of to the purpose. chap. viii. _of the power of the devil at the time of the creation of this world; whether it has not been farther straitn'd and limited since that time, and what shifts and stratagems he is obliged to make use of to compass his designs upon mankind._ cunning men have fabled, and tho' it be without either religion, authority or physical foundation, it may be we may like it ne'er the worse for that; that when god made the stars and all the heavenly luminaries, the _devil_, to mimick his maker and insult his new creation, made comets, in imitation of the fix'd stars; but that the composition of them being combustible, when they came to wander in the abyss, rolling by an irregular ill-grounded motion, they took fire, in their approach to some of those great bodies of flame, _the fix'd stars_; and being thus kindled (like a fire-work unskilfully let off) they then took wild and excentrick, as also different motions of their own, out of satan's direction, and beyond his power to regulate ever after. let this thought stand by it self, it matters not to our purpose whether we believe any thing of it, or no; 'tis enough to our case, that if satan had any such power then, he has no such power now, and that leads me to enquire into his more recent limitations. i am to suppose, he and all his accomplices being confounded at the discovery of the new creation, and racking their wits to find out the meaning of it, had at last (_no matter how_) discover'd the whole system, and concluded, _as i have said_, that the creature, _call'd man_, was to be their successor in the heavenly mansions; upon which i suggest that the first motion of hell was to destroy this new work, and, if possible, to overwhelm it. but when they came to make the attempt, they found their chains were not long enough, and that they could not reach to the extremes of the system: they had no power either to break the order, or stop the motion, dislocate the parts, or confound the situation of things; they traversed, no doubt, the whole work, visited every star, landed upon every solid, and sail'd upon every fluid in the whole scheme, to see what mischief they could do. upon a long and full survey, they came to this point in their enquiry, that in short they could do nothing by force; that they could not displace any part, annihilate any atom, or destroy any life in the whole creation; but that as omnipotence had created it, so the same omnipotence had arm'd it at all points against the utmost power of hell, had made the smallest creature in it invulnerable, as to _satan_; so that without the permission of the same power which had made _heaven_, and conquer'd the _devil_, he could do nothing at all, as to destroying any thing that god had made, no, not the little diminutive thing call'd man, who _satan_ saw so much reason to hate, as being created to succeed him in happiness in _heaven_. satan found him placed out of his power to hurt, or out of his reach to touch; and here, by the way, appears the second conquest of _heaven_ over the _devil_; that having plac'd his rival, as it were, just before his face, and shew'd the hateful sight to him, he saw written upon his image, _touch him if you dare_. it cannot be doubted, but, had it not been thus, man is so far from being a match for the _devil_, that one of satan's least imps or _angels_ could destroy all the race of them in the world, ay world and all in a moment; as he is prince of the power of the air, taking the air for _the elementary world_, how easily could he, at one blast, sweep all the surface of the earth into the sea, or drive weighty immense surges of the ocean over the whole plane of the earth, and deluge the globe at once with a storm? or how easily could he, who, by the situation of the empire, must be supposed able to manage the clouds, draw them up, in such position as should naturally produce thunders and lightnings, cause those lightnings to blast the earth, dash in pieces all the buildings, burn all the populous towns and cities, and lay wast the world; at the same time he might command suited quantities of sublimated air to burst out of the bowels of the earth, and overwhelm and swallow up, in the opening chasms, all the inhabitants of the globe? in a word, _satan_ left to himself as a devil, and to the power, which by virtue of his seraphic original he must be vested with, was able to have made devilish work in the world, if by a superior power he was not restrain'd. but there is no doubt, _at least to me_, but that with his fall from heaven, as he lost the rectitude and glory of his angelic nature, i mean his innocence, so he lost the power too that he had before; and that when he first commenc'd devil, he received the chains of restraint too, as the badge of his apostacy, _viz._ a general prohibition, to do any thing to the prejudice of this creation, or to act any thing by force or violence without special permission. this prohibition was not sent him by a messenger, or by an order in writing, or proclaimed from heaven by a law; but _satan_, by a strange, invisible and unaccountable impression felt the restraint within him; and at the same time that his moral capacity was not taken away, yet his power of exerting that capacity felt the restraint, and left him unable to do, even what he was able to do at the same time. i make no question, but the devil is sensible of this restraint, that is to say, _not_ as it is a restraint only, or as an effect of his expulsion from _heaven_; but as it prevents his capital design against man, who, for the reason i have given already, he entertains a mortal hatred of, and would destroy with all his heart, if he might; and therefore, like a chain'd mastiff, we find him oftentimes making a horrid hellish clamour and noise, barking and howling, and frighting the people, letting them know, that if he was loose he would tear them in pieces; but at the same time his very fury shakes his chain, which lets them know, to their satisfaction, he can only bark, but cannot bite. some are of opinion that the devil is not restrain'd so much by the superior power of his sovereign and maker; but that all his milder measures with man are the effect of a political scheme, and done upon mature deliberation; that it was resolved to act thus, in the great council or p----t of devils, call'd upon this very occasion, when they first were inform'd of the creation of man; and especially when they considered what kind of creature he was, and what might probably be the reason of making him, (_viz._) to fill up the vacancies in heaven; i say, that then the _devils_ resolv'd, that it was not for their interest to fall upon him with fury and rage, and so destroy the species, for that this would be no benefit at all to them, and would only cause another original man to be created; for that they knew god could, by the same omnipotence, form as many new species of creatures as he pleased; and, if he thought fit, create them in heaven too, out of the reach of _devils_ or evil spirits, and that therefore, to destroy man would no way answer their end. on the other hand, examining strictly the mould of this new made creature, and of what materials he was form'd; how mixt up of a nature convertible and pervertible, capable indeed of infinite excellence, and consequently of eternal felicity; but subject likewise to corruption and degeneracy, and consequently to eternal misery; that instead of being fit to supply the places of satan and his rejected tribe (the expell'd angels) in heaven, and filling up the thrones or stalls in the celestial choir, they might, if they could but be brought into crime, become a race of rebels and traytors like the rest; and so come at last to keep them company, as well in the place of eternal misery, as in the merit of it, and in a word, become devils instead of angels. upon this discovery, i say, they found it infinitely more for the interest of satan's infernal kingdom, to go another way to work with mankind, and see if it were possible, by the strength of all their infernal wit and counsels, to lay some snare for him, and by some stratagem to bring him to eternal ruin and misery. this being then approv'd as their only method, (and the _devil_ shew'd he was no fool in the choice) he next resolv'd that there was no time to be lost; that it was to be set about immediately, before the race was multiplied, and by that means the work be not made greater only, but perhaps the more difficult too; accordingly the diligent devil went instantly about it, agreeably to all the story of _eve_ and the serpent, as before; the belief of which, whether historically or allegorically, is not at all obstructed by this hypothesis. i do not affirm that this was the case at first, because being not present in that black _divan_, at least not that i know of, _for who knows where he was or was not in his pre-existent state?_ i cannot be positive in the resolve that past there; but except for some very little contradiction, which we find in the sacred writings, i should, i confess, incline to believe it historically; and i shall speak of those things which i call contradictions to it more largely hereafter. in the mean time, be it one way or other, _that is to say_, either that satan had no power to have proceeded with man by violence, and to have destroy'd him as soon as he was made; or that he had the power, but chose rather to proceed by other methods to deceive and debauch him; _i say_, be it which you please, i am still of the opinion that it really was not the _devil_'s business to destroy the species; that it would have been nothing to the purpose, and no advantage at all to him, if he had done it; for that, as above, god could immediately have created another species to the same end, whom he either could have made invulnerable, and not subject to the devil's power, or remov'd him out of _satan_'s reach, plac'd him out of the _devil_'s ken, in heaven or some other place, where the devil could not come to hurt him; and that therefore it is infinitely more his advantage, and more suited to his real design of defeating the end of man's creation, to debauch him and make a _devil_ of him, that he may be rejected like himself, and increase the infernal kingdom and company in the lake of misery _in æternum_. it may be true, for ought i know, that satan has not the power of destruction put into his hand, and that he cannot take away the life of a man: and it seems probable to be so, from the story of _satan_ and _job_, when _satan_ appear'd among the sons of god, as the text says, _job_ i. . now when god gave such a character of _job_ to him, and ask'd him _if he had consider'd his servant job_, ver. . why did not the devil go immediately and exert his malice against the good man at once, to let his maker see what would become of his servant _job_ in his distress? on the contrary, we see he only answers by shewing the reason of _job_'s good behaviour; that it was but common gratitude for the blessing and protection he enjoy'd, ver. . and pleading that if his estate was taken away, and he was expos'd as he (satan) was, to be a beggar and a vagabond, going _to and fro in the earth, and walking up and down therein_, he should be a very devil too, like himself, and curse god to his face. upon this, the text says, that god answered ver. . _behold all that he hath is in thy power_; now 'tis plain here, that god gave up _job_'s wealth and estate, nay his family, and the lives of his children and servants into the devil's power; and accordingly, like a true merciless devil, _as he is_, he destroy'd them all; he mov'd the _sabeans_ to fall upon the oxen and the asses, and carry them off; he mov'd the _chaldeans_ to fall upon the camels and the servants, to carry off the first, and murther the last; he made lightning flash upon the poor sheep, and kill them all; and he blow'd his house down upon his poor children, and buried them all in the ruins. now here is ( .) a specimen of satan's good will to mankind, and what havock the _devil_ would make in the world, if he might; and here is a testimony too, that he could not do this without leave; so that i cannot but be of the opinion he has some limitations, some bounds set to his natural fury; a certain number of links in his chain, which he cannot exceed, or, in a word, that he cannot go a foot beyond his _tether_. the same kind of evidence we have in the gospel, _matth._ viii. . where satan could not so much as possess the filthiest and meanest of all creatures, _the swine_, till he had ask'd leave; and that still, to shew his good will, as soon as he had gotten leave, he hurried them all into the sea and choak'd them; these, i say, are some of the reasons why i am not willing to say, the _devil_ is not restrain'd in power; but on the other side, we are told of so many mischievous things the devil has done in the world, by virtue of his dominion over the elements, and by other testimonies of his power, that i don't know what to think of it; tho', upon the whole, the first is the safest opinion; for if we should believe the last, we might, for ought i know, be brought, like the _american indians_, to worship him _at last_, that he may do us no harm. and now i have nam'd those people in _america_, i confess it would go a great way in favour of satan's generosity, as well as in testimony of his power, if we might believe all the accounts, which indeed authors are pretty well agreed in the truth of, namely, of the mischiefs the _devil_ does in those countries, where his dominion seems to be establish'd; how he uses them when they deny him the homage he claims of them as his due; what havock and combustion he makes among them; and how beneficent he is (or at least negative in his mischiefs) when they appease him by their hellish sacrifices. likewise we see a test of his wicked subtilty in his management of those dark nations, when he was more immediately worship'd by them; namely, the making them believe that all their good weather, rains, dews, and kind influences upon the earth, to make it fruitful, was from him; whereas they really were the common blessings of a higher hand, and came not from him, the _devil_, but from him that made the _devil_, and made him a devil or fallen angel by his curse. but to go back to the method the devil took with the first of mankind; 'tis plain the policy of hell was right, tho' the execution of the resolves they took did not fully answer their end neither; for _satan_ fastening upon poor, proud, ridiculous mother _eve_, as i have said before, made presently a true judgment of her capacities, and of her temper; took her by the right handle, and soothing her vanity (which is to this day the softest place in the head of all the sex) wheedl'd her out of her senses, by praising her beauty, and promising to make her a goddess. the foolish woman yielded presently, and that we are told is the reason why the same method so strangely takes with all her posterity (_viz._) that you are sure to prevail with them, if you can but once persuade them that you believe they are witty and handsome; for the devil, you may observe, never quits any hold he gets, and having once found a way into the heart, always takes care to keep the door open, that any of his agents may enter after him without any more difficulty: hence the same argument, especially the last, has so bewitching an influence on the sex, that they rarely deny you any thing, after they are but weak enough and vain enough to accept of the praises you offer them on that head; on the other hand you are sure they never forgive you the unpardonable crime of saying they are ugly or disagreeable: it is suggested that the first method the devil took to insinuate all those fine things into _eve_'s giddy head, was by creeping close to her _one night_, when she was asleep, and laying his mouth to her _ear_, whispering all the fine things to her, which he knew would set her fancy a tip-toe, and so made her receive them involuntarily into her mind; knowing well enough that when she had form'd such ideas in her soul, however they came there, she would never be quiet till she had work'd them up to some extraordinary thing or other. it was evident what the _devil_ aim'd at, _namely_, that she should break in upon the command of god, and so having corrupted her self, bring the curse upon her self and all her race, as god had threatn'd; but why the pride of _eve_ should be so easily tickled by the motion of her exquisite beauty, when there then was no prospect of the use or want of those charms? that indeed makes a kind of difficulty here, which the learn'd have not determined. for, . if she had been as ugly as the _devil_, she had no body to rival her, so that she need not fear _adam_ should leave her and get another mistress. . if she had been bright and beautiful as an angel, she had no other admirer but poor _adam_, and he could have no room to be jealous of her, or afraid she should cuckold him; so that in short, _eve_ had no such occasion for her beauty, nor could she make any use of it either to a bad purpose or to a good, and therefore i believe the _devil_, who is too cunning to do any thing that signifies nothing, rather tempted her by the hope of encreasing her wit, than her beauty. but to come back to the method of satan's tempting her, _viz._ by whispering to her in her sleep; 'twas a cunning trick, that's the truth of it, and by that means he certainly set her head a madding after _deism_, and to be made a goddess, and then back'd it by the subtle talk he had with her afterward. i am the more particular upon this part, because, however the devil may have been the first that ever practised it, yet i can assure him the experiment has been tried upon many a woman since, to the wheedling her out of her modesty, as well as her simplicity; and the cunning men tell us still, that if you can come at a woman when she is in a deep sleep, and whisper to her close to her ear, she will certainly dream of the thing you say to her, and so will a man too. well, be this so to her race or not, it was it seems so to her; for she wak'd with her head fill'd with pleasing ideas, and as some will have it, unlawful desires; such, as to be sure she never had entertain'd before; these are supposed to be fatally infused in her dream, and suggested to her waking soul, when the organ ear which convey'd them was doz'd and insensible; strange fate of sleeping in _paradise_! that whereas we have notice but of two sleeps there, that in one a _woman_ should go out of him, and in the other, the _devil_ should come into her. certainly, when satan first made the attempt upon _eve_, he did not think he should have so easily conquered her, or have brought his business about so soon; the _devil_ himself could not have imagined she should have been so soon brought to forget the command given, or at least who gave it, and have ventur'd to transgress against him, and made her forget that god had told her, it should be death to her to touch it; and above all, that she should aspire to be as wise as him, who was so ignorant before, as to believe it was for fear of her being like himself, that he had forbid it her. well might she be said to be the weaker vessel, tho' _adam_ himself had little enough to say for his being the stronger of the two, when he was over-persuaded (if it were done by persuasion) by his wife to do the same thing. and mark how wise they were after they had eaten, and what fools they both acted like, even to one another; nay, even all the knowledge they attain'd to by it was, for ought i see, only to know that they were fools, and to be sensible both of _sin_ and _shame_; and see how simply they acted, i say, upon their having committed the crime, and being detected in it. 'view them to day conversing with their god, 'his image both enjoy'd and understood, '_to morrow_ skulking with a sordid flight, } 'among the bushes from the _infinite_, } 'as if that power _was blind_, which gave them _sight_; } 'with senseless labour tagging fig-leaf vests, 'to hide their bodies from the sight of beasts. 'hark! how the fool pleads faint, for forfeit life, 'first he reproaches heaven, and then his wife; '_the woman which thou gav'st_ as if the gift 'could rob him of the little reason left, 'a weak pretence to shift his early crime, 'as if accusing her would excuse him; 'but thus encroaching crime dethrones the sense, 'and intercepts the heavenly influence, 'debauches reason, makes the man a fool, 'and turns his active light to ridicule. it must be confess'd that it was unaccountable degeneracy, even of their common reasoning, which _adam_ and _eve_ both fell into upon the first committing the offence of taking the forbidden fruit: if that was their being made as gods, it made but a poor appearance in its first coming, to hide their nakedness when there was no body to see them, and cover themselves among the bushes from their maker; but thus it was, and this the devil had brought them to, and well might he, and all the clan of hell, as mr. _milton_ brings them in, laugh and triumph over the man after the blow was given, as having so egregiously abused and deluded them both. but here, to be sure, began the _devil_'s new kingdom; as he had now seduc'd the two first creatures, he was pretty sure of success upon all the race, and therefore prepar'd to attack them also, as soon as they came on; nor was their encreasing multitude any discouragement to his attempt, but just the contrary; for he had agents enough to employ, if every man and woman that should be born was to want a _devil_ to wait upon them, separately and singly to seduce them; whereas some whole nations have been such willing subjects to him, that one of his seraphic imps may, _for ought we know_, have been enough to guide a whole country; the people being entirely subjected to his government for many ages; as in _america, for example_, where some will have it, that he convey'd the first inhabitants, at least if he did not, we don't well know who did, or how they got thither. and how came all the communication to be so entirely cut off between the nations of _europe_ and _africa_, from whence _america_ must certainly have been peopl'd, or else the _devil_ must have done it indeed? i say, how came the communication to be so entirely cut off between them, that except the time, _whenever it was_, that people did at first reach from one to the other, none ever came back to give their friends any account of their success, or invite them to follow? nor did they hear of one another afterwards, as we have reason to think: did _satan_ politically keep them thus asunder, lest news from heaven should reach them, and so they should be recover'd out of his government? we cannot tell how to give any other rational account of it, that a nation, nay a quarter of the world, or as some will have it be, half the globe, should be peopled from _europe_ or _africa_, or both, and no body ever go after them, or come back from them in above three thousand years after. nay, that those countries should be peopled when there was no navigation in use in these parts of the world, no ships made that could carry provisions enough to support the people that fail'd in them, but that they must have been starved to death before they could reach the shore of _america_; the ferry from _europe_ or _africa_, in any part (which we have known navigation to be practised in) being at least miles, and in most places much more. but as to the _americans_, let the _devil_ and they alone to account for their coming thither, this we are certain of, that we knew nothing of them for many hundred years; and when we did, when the discovery was made, they that went from hence found _satan_ in a full and quiet possession of them, ruling them with an arbitrary government, particular to himself; he had led them into a blind subjection to himself, nay, i might call it devotion, for it was all of religion that was to be found among them) worshipping horrible idols in his name, to whom he directed human sacrifices continually to be made, till he deluged the country with blood, and ripen'd them up for the destruction that follow'd, from the invasion of the _spaniards_, who he knew would hurry them all out of the world as fast as he (_the devil_) himself could desire of them. but to go back a little to the original of things, it is evident that _satan_ has made a much better market of mankind, by thus subtilly attacking them, and bringing them to break with their maker as he had done before them, than he could have done by fulminating upon them at first, and sending them all out of the world at once; for now he has peopled his own dominions with them, and tho' a remnant are snatch'd as it were out of his clutches, by the agency of invincible grace, of which i am not to discourse in this place; yet this may be said of the _devil_, without offence, that he has in some sense carried his point, and as it were forc'd his maker to be satisfied with a part of mankind, and the least part too, instead of the great glory he would have brought to himself by keeping them all in his service. mr. _milton_, as i have noted above, brings in the _devil_ and all hell with him, making a _feu de joye_ for the victory _satan_ obtain'd over one silly woman; indeed it was a piece of success greater in its consequence than in the immediate appearance; nor was the conquest so compleat as satan himself imagin'd to make, since the promise of a redemption out of his hands, which was immediately made to the man, in behalf of himself and his believing posterity, was a great disappointment to satan, and as it were snatch'd the best part of his victory out of his hands. it is certain the _devils_ knew what the meaning of that promise was, and who was to be the _seed of the woman_, namely, the incarnate _son of god_, and that it was a second blow to the whole infernal body; but as if they had resolved to let that alone, _satan_ went on with his business; and as he had introduc'd crime into the common parent of mankind, and thereby secured the contamination of blood, and the descent or propagation of the corrupt seed, he had nothing to do but to assist nature in time to come, to carry on its own rebellion, and act it self in the breasts of _eve_'s tainted posterity; and that indeed has been the devil's business ever since his first victory upon the kind, to this day. his success in this part has been such, that we see upon innumerable occasions a general defection has follow'd; a kind of a taint upon nature, _call it what you will_, a blast upon the race of mankind; and were it not for one thing, he had ruined the whole family; _i say_, were it not for one thing, namely, a selected company or number, which his maker has resolv'd he shall not be able to corrupt, or if he does, the sending the promis'd seed shall recover back again from him, by the power of irresistible grace; which number thus selected or elected, call it which we will, are still to supply the vacancies in heaven, which _satan_'s defection left open; and what was before fill'd up with created seraphs, is now to be restor'd by recover'd saints, by whom infinite glory is to accrue to the kingdom of the redeemer. this glorious establishment has robb'd satan of all the joy of his victory, and left him just where he was, defeated and disappointed; nor does the possession of all the myriads of the sons of perdition, who yet some are of the opinion will be snatch'd from him too at last; i say, the possession of all these makes no amends to him, for he is such a _devil_ in his nature, that the envy at those he cannot seduce, eats out all the satisfaction of the mischief he has done in seducing all the rest; but _i must not preach_, so i return to things as much needful to know, tho' less solemn. chap. ix. _of the progress of satan in carrying on his conquest over mankind, from the fall of_ eve _to the deluge._ i doubt if the devil was ask'd the question plainly, he would confess, that after he had conquer'd _eve_ by his own wicked contrivance, and then by her assistance had brought _adam_ too (like a fool as he was) into the same gulph of misery, he thought he had done his work, compassed the whole race, that they were now his own, and that he had put an end to the grand design of their creation; namely, of peopling heaven with a new angelic race of souls, who when glorify'd, should make up the defection of the host of hell, that had been expung'd by their crime; in a word, that he had gotten a better conquest than if he had destroy'd them all. but in the midst of his conquest, he found a check put to the advantages he expected to reap from his victory, by the immediate promise of grace to a part of the posterity of _adam_, who, notwithstanding the fall, were to be purchased by the _messiah_, and snatch'd out of his (_satan_'s) hands, and over whom he could make no final conquest; so that his power met with a new limitation, and that such, as indeed fully disappointed him in the main thing he aim'd at, (_viz._) preventing the beatitudes of mankind, which were thus secur'd; (and what if the numbers of mankind were upon this account encreased in such a manner, that the selected number should, by length of time, amount to just as many as the whole race, had they not fallen, would have amounted to in all?) and thus, indeed, the world may be said to be upheld and continued for the sake of those few, since till their number can be compleated, the creation cannot fall, any more than, that without them, or but for them it would not have stood. but leaving this speculation, and not having enquir'd of satan what he has to say on that subject, let us go back to the antediluvian world: the _devil_ to be sure, gain'd his point upon _eve_, and in her upon all her race: he drew her into sin; got her turn'd out of _paradise_, and the man with her: the next thing was to go to work with her posterity, and particularly with her two sons _cain_ and _abel_. _adam_ having, notwithstanding his fall, repented very sincerely of his sin; receiv'd the promise of redemption and pardon, with an humble but believing heart; charity bids us suppose that he led a very religious and sober life ever after; and especially in the first part of his time, that he brought up his children very soberly, and gave them all the necessary advantages of a religious education, and a good introduction into the world, that he was capable of; and that _eve_ likewise assisted to both in her place and degree. their two eldest sons _cain_ and _abel_; the one heir apparent to the patriarchal empire, and the other heir presumptive, i suppose also, lived very sober and religious lives; and as the principles of natural religion dictated a homage and subjection due to the almighty maker, as an acknowledgment of his mercies, and a recognition of their obedience; so the receiv'd usage of religion dictating at that time that this homage was to be paid by a sacrifice, they either of them brought a free-will-offering to be dedicated to god respectively for themselves and families. how it was, and for what reason that god had respect to the offering of _abel_, which the learn'd say, was _a lamb_ of the firstlings of the flock, and did not give any testimony of the like respect to _cain_ and his offering, which was of the first fruits of the earth, the offerings being equally suited to the respective employment of the men, that is not my present business; but this we find made heart-burnings, and raised envy and jealousy in the mind of _cain_; and at that door the _devil_ immediately entred; for he, who from the beginning, was very diligent in his way, never slip'd any opportunity, or miss'd any advantages that the circumstances of mankind offered him to do mischief. what shape or appearance the devil took up to enter into a conversation with _cain_ upon the subject, that authors do not take upon them to determine; but 'tis generally supposed he personated some of _cain_'s sons or grandsons to begin the discourse, who attack'd their father, or perhaps grandfather, upon this occasion, in the following manner, or to that purpose. * * * * * _d._ sir, i perceive _your majesty_ (for the first race were certainly all monarchs as great as kings, to their immediate posterity) to be greatly disturb'd of late, your countenance is chang'd, your noble chearfulness (the glories of your face) are strangely sunk and gone, and you are not the man you used to be; please your majesty to communicate your griefs to us your children, you may be sure, that if it be possible, we would procure you relief, and restore your delights, the loss of which, if thus you go on to subject yourself to too much melancholy, will be very hurtful to you, and in the end destroy you. _cain._ it is very kind, my dear children, to shew your respect thus to your true progenitor, and to offer your assistance: i confess, as you say, my mind is oppress'd and displeased; but tho' 'tis very heavy, yet i know not which way to look for relief, for the distemper is above our reach, no cure can be found for it on earth. _d._ do not say so, sir; there can be no disease sure on earth but may be cur'd on earth; if it be a mental evil, we have heard that your great ancestor, the first father of us all, who lives still on the great western plains towards the sea, is the oracle to which all his children fly for direction in such cases as are out of the reach of the ordinary understanding of mankind; please you to give leave, we will take a journey to him, and representing your case to him, we will hear his advice, and bring it to you with all speed, for the ease of your mind. _cain._ i know not whether he can reach my case or no. _d._ doubtless he may, and if not, the labour of our journey is nothing when plac'd in competition with the ease of your mind; 'tis but a few days travel lost, and you will not be the worse if we fail of the desired success. _cain._ the offer is filial, and i accept your affectionate concern for me, with a just sense of an oblig'd parent; go then, and my blessing be upon you; but alas! why do i bless? can he bless whom god has not bless'd! _d._ o! sir, do not say so, has not god bless'd you? are you not the second sovereign of the earth? and does he not converse with you face to face? are not you the oracle to all your growing posterity, and next after his sovereign imperial majesty lord _adam_, patriarch of the world? _cain._ but has not god rejected me, and refused to converse any more with me, while he daily favours and countenances my younger brother _abel_, as if he resolv'd to set him up to rule over me? _d._ no, sir, that cannot be, you cannot be disturb'd at such a thing; is not the right of sovereignty yours by primogeniture? can god himself take that away, when 'tis once given? are not you lord _adam_'s eldest son? are you not the firstborn glory of the creation? and does not the government descend to you by the divine right of birth and blood? _cain._ but what does all that signify to me, while god appears to favour and caress my younger brother, and to shine upon him, while a black dejection and token of displeasure surrounds me every day, and he does not appear to me as he used to do? _d._ and what need your majesty be concern'd at that, if it be so? if he does not appear pleased, you have the whole world to enjoy your self in, and all your numerous and rising posterity adore and honour you; what need those remote things be any disturbance to you? _cain._ how! my children, not the favour of god be valued! yes, yes, in his favour is life; what can all the world avail without the smiles and countenance of him that made it? _d._ doubtless, sir, he that made the world and plac'd you at the head of it all, to govern and direct it, has made it agreeable, and it is able to give you a full satisfaction and enjoyment, if you please to consider it well, tho' you were never to converse with him all the while you live in't. _cain._ you are _quite wrong_ there, my children, _quite wrong_. _d._ but do you not, great sir, see all your children as well as us rejoicing in the plenty of all things, and are they not compleatly happy, and yet they know little of this great god? he seldom converses among us, we hear of him indeed by your sage advices, and we bring our offerings to you for him, as you direct, and when that's done, we enjoy whatever our hearts desire; and so doubtless may you in an abundant manner, if you please. _cain._ but your felicity is wrong plac'd then, or you suppose that god is pleased and satisfied in that your offerings are brought to me; but what would you say, if you knew that god is displeased? that he does not accept your offerings? that when i sacrific'd to him in behalf of you all, he rejected my offerings, tho' i brought a princely gift, being of the finest of the wheat, the choicest and earliest fruits, and the sweetest of the oil, an offering suited to the giver of them all? _d._ but if you offered them, sir, how are you sure they were not accepted? _cain._ yes, yes, i am sure; did not my brother _abel_ offer at the same time a lamb of his flock, for he, you know, delights in cattle, and covers the mountains with his herds? over him, all the while he was sacrificing, a bright emanation shone chearing and enlivening; a pledge of favour, and light ambient flames play'd hovering in the lower air, as if attending his sacrifice; and when ready prepar'd, immediately descended and burnt up the flesh, a sweet odoriferous savour ascending to him, who thus testified his acceptance; whereas, over my head a black cloud, misty, and distilling vapour, hung dripping upon the humble altar i had raised, and wetting the finest and choicest things i had prepar'd, spoil'd and defac'd them; the wood unapt to burn by the moisture which fell, scarce receiv'd the fire i brought to kindle it, and even then, rather smother'd and choaked, than kindled into a flame; in a word, it went quite out, without consuming what was brought to be offer'd up. _d._ let not our truly reverenc'd lord and father be disquieted at all this; if he accepts not what you bring, you are discharg'd of the debt, and need bring no more; nor have the trouble of such labour'd collections of rarities any more; when he thinks fit to require it again, you will have notice, no question, and then it being call'd for, will be accepted or else why should it be requir'd? _cain._ that may indeed be the case, nor do i think of attempting any more to bring an offering, for i rather take it, that i am forbidden for the present; but then, what is it that my younger brother triumphs in? and how am i insulted, in that he and his house are all joy and triumph, as if they had some great advantage over me, in that their offering was accepted when mine was not? _d._ does he triumph over your majesty, our lord and sovereign? give us but your order, and we will go and pull him and all his generation in pieces; for to triumph over you who are his elder brother, is a horrid rebellion and treason, and he ought to be expell'd the society of mankind. _cain._ i think so too, indeed; however, my dear children and faithful subjects, tho' i accept your offer of duty and service, yet i will consider very well, before i take up arms against my brother; besides, our sovereign father and patriarchal lord, _adam_, being yet alive, it is not in my right to act offensively without his command. _d._ we are ready therefore to carry your petition to him, and doubt not to obtain his licence and commission too, to empower you to do your self justice upon your younger brother; who being your vassal, or at least inferior, as he is junior in birth, insults you upon the fancied opinion of having a larger share in the divine favour, and receiving a blessing on his sacrifices, on pretence of the same favour being denied you. _cain._ i am content, go then, and give a just account of the state of our affairs. _d._ we shall soon return with the agreeable answer; let not our lord and father continue sad and dejected, but depend upon a speedy relief, by the assistance of thy numerous issue, all devoted to thy interest and felicity. _cain._ my blessing be with you in your way, and give you a favourable reception at the venerable tent of our universal lord and father. * * * * * note, here the cursed race being fully given up to the direction of the evil-spirit, which so early possess'd them, and swelling with rage at the innocent _abel_ and his whole family, they resolved upon forming a most wicked and detestable lie, to bring about the advice which they had already given their father _cain_ a touch of; and to pretend that _adam_ being justly provok'd at the undutiful behaviour of _abel_, had given _cain_ a commission to chastise him, and by force to cut him off and all his family, as guilty of rebellion and pride. fill'd with this mischievous and bloody resolution, they came back to their father _cain_, after staying a few days, such as were sufficient to make _cain_ believe they had been at the spacious plains, where _adam_ dwelt; the same which are now call'd the blessed valleys, or the plains of _mecca_ in _arabia fælix_, near the banks of the _red-sea_. note here also, that _cain_ having received a wicked hint from these men, his children and subjects, as before, intimating that _abel_ had broken the laws of primogeniture in his behaviour towards him, (_cain_) and that he might be justly punish'd for it; satan, that cunning manager of all our wayward passions, fan'd the fire of envy and jealousy with his utmost skill all the while his other agents were absent; and by the time they came back had blown it up into such a heat of fury and rage, that it wanted nothing but air to make it burn out, as it soon afterwards did in a furious flame of wrath and revenge, even to blood and destruction. just in the very critical moment, while things stood thus with _cain_, satan brings in his wicked instruments, as if just arriv'd with the return of his message from _adam_, at whose court they had been for orders; and thus they, that is the _devil_ assuming to speak by them, approach their father with an air of solemn but chearful satisfaction at the success of their embassy. * * * * * _d._ hail sovereign, reverend, patriarchal lord! we come with joy to render thee an account of the success of our message. _cain._ have you then seen the venerable tents where dwell the heaven-born, the angelic pair, to whom all human reverence highly due, is and ought always to be humbly paid? _d._ we have. _cain._ did you, together with my grand request, a just, a humble homage for me pay, to the great sire and mother of mankind? _d._ we did. _cain._ did you in humble language represent the griefs and anguish which oppress my soul? _d._ we did, and back their blessing to thee bring. _cain._ i hope with humblest signs of filial duty you took it for me on your bending knees? _d._ we did, and had our share; the patriarch lifting his hands to heaven express'd his joy to see his spreading race, and bless'd us all. _cain._ did you my solemn message too deliver, my injuries impartially lay down, and due assistance and direction crave? _d._ we did. _cain._ what spoke the oracle? he's god to me; what just command d'ye bring, what's to be done? am i to bear the insulting junior's rage? and meekly suffer what unjustly he, affronting primogeniture and laws of god and man, imposes by his pride unsufferable! am i to be crush'd, and be no more the firstborn son on earth, but bow and kneel to him? _d._ forbid it heaven! as _adam_ too forbids, who with a justice god-like and peculiar to injur'd parents, _abel_'s pride resents, and gives his high command to thee to punish. _cain._ to punish? say you, did he use the word, the very word? am i commission'd then to punish _abel_? _d._ not _abel_ only, but his rebel race, as they alike in crime alike are join'd in punishment. _cain._ the race indeed have shar'd the merit with him; how did they all insult, and with a shout of triumph mock my sorrow, when they saw me from my sacrifice dejected come, as if my disappointment was their joy? _d._ this too the venerable prince resents, and to preserve the race in bounds of laws subordinate and limited to duty, commands that this first breach be not pass'd by, lest the precedent upon record stand to future times to encourage like rebellion. _cain._ and is it then my sovereign parent's will? _d._ it is his will, that thou his eldest son, his image, his belov'd, should be maintain'd in all the rights of sovereignty deriv'd to thee from him; and not be left expos'd to injury and power usurped, but should do thy self justice on the rebel race. _cain._ and so i will; _abel_ shall quickly know what 'tis to trample on his elder brother; shall know that he's thus sentenc'd by his father, and i'm commission'd but to execute his high command, his sentence, which is god's, and that he falls by the hand of heavenly justice. * * * * * so now satan had done his work, he had deluded the mother to a breach against the first and only command, he had drawn _adam_ to the same snare, and now he brings in _cain_ prompted by his own rage, and deluded by his, (satan's,) craft, to commit murder, nay a fratricide, an aggravated murther. upon this he sends out _cain_, while the bloody rage was in its ferment, and wickedly at the same time bringing _abel_, innocent and fearing no ill, just in his way, he suggests to his thoughts such words as these. look you _cain_, see how divine justice concurs with your father's righteous sentence, see there's thy brother _abel_ directed by heaven to fall into thy hands unarm'd, unguarded, that thou may'st do thy self justice upon him without fear; see thou may'st kill him, and if thou hast a mind to conceal it, no eyes can see, or will the world ever know it, so that no resentment or revenge upon thee, or thy posterity, can be apprehended, but it may be said some wild beast had rent him; nor will any one suggest that thou, his brother, and superior, could possibly be the person. _cain_ prepar'd for the fact, by his former avow'd rage and resolution of revenge, was so much the less prepar'd to avoid the snare thus artfully contriv'd by the master of all subtilty, the _devil_; so he immediately runs upon his brother _abel_, and after a little unarm'd resistance, the innocent poor man expecting no such mischief, was conquer'd and murther'd; after which, as is to be supposed, the exasperated crew of _cain_'s outrageous race, over-run all his family and houshold, killing man, woman and child. it is objected here that we have no authority in scripture to prove this part of the story; but i answer, 'tis not likely but that _abel_, as well as _cain_, being at man's estate long before this, had several children by their own sisters, for they were the only men in the world who were allow'd the marrying their own sisters, there being no other women then in the world; and as we never read of any of _abel_'s posterity, 'tis likewise as probable they were all murther'd, as that they should kill _abel_ only, whose sons might immediately fall upon _cain_ for the blood of their father, and so the world have been involv'd in a civil war as soon as there were two families in it. but be it so or not, 'tis not doubted the devil wrought with _cain_ in the horrid murther, or he had never done it; whether it was directly or by agents is not material, nor is the latter unlikely; and if the latter, then there is no improbability in the story, for why might not he that made use of the serpent to tempt _eve_, be as well supposed to make a tool of some of _cain_'s sons or grandsons to prompt him in the wicked attempt of murthering his brother? and why must we be oblig'd to bring in a miracle or an apparition into the story, to make it probable that the _devil_ had any hand in it, when 'twas so natural to a degenerate race to act in such a manner? however it was, and by whatever tool the _devil_ wrought, 'tis certain that this was the consequence, poor _abel_ was butcher'd, and thus the _devil_ made a second conquest in god's creation; for _adam_ was now, as may be said, really childless, for his two sons were thus far lost, _abel_ was killed, and _cain_ was curst and driven out from the presence of the lord, and his race blasted with him. it would be a useful enquiry here, and worthy our giving an account of, could we come to a certainty in it, namely, what was the mark that god set upon _cain_, by which he was kept from being fallen upon by _abel_'s friends or relations? but as this does not belong to the _devil_'s history, and it was god's mark, not the _devil_'s, i have nothing to do with it here. the _devil_ had now gain'd his point, the kingdom of grace, so newly erected, had been as it were extinct without a new creation, had not _adam_ and _eve_ been alive, and had not _eve_, tho' now years of age, been a breeding young lady, for we must suppose the woman, in that state of longevity, bare children till they were seven or eight hundred year old: this teeming of _eve_ peopled not the world so much as it restored the blessed race; for tho' _abel_ was kill'd _cain_ had a numerous offspring presently, which had _seth_, (_adam_'s third son) never been born, would soon have replenish'd the world with people, such as they were; the seed of a murtherer, cursed of god, branded with a mark of infamy, and who afterwards fell all together in the universal ruine of the race by the deluge. but after the murther of _abel_, _adam_ had another son born, namely, _seth_, the father of _enos_, and indeed the father of the holy race; for during his time and his son _enos_, the text says that men began to call on the name of the lord; that is to say, they began to look back upon _cain_ and his wicked race, and being convinc'd of the wickedness they had committed, and led their whole posterity into, they began to sue to heaven for pardon of what was past, and to lead a new sort of life. but the _devil_ had met with too much success in his first attempts, not to go on with his general resolution of debauching the minds of men, and bringing them off from god; and therefore as he kept his hold upon _cain_'s cursed race, embroil'd already in blood and murther; so he proceeded with his degenerate offspring, till in a word he brought both the holy seed and the degenerate race to joyn in one universal consent of crime, and to go on in it with such aggravating circumstances, as that it repented the lord that he had made man, and he resolv'd to overwhelm them again with a general destruction, and clear the world of them. the succession of blood in the royal original line of _adam_, is preserv'd in the sacred histories and brought down as low as _noah_ and his three sons, for a continu'd series of years, say some, say others; in which time sin spread it self so generally thro' the whole race, and _the sons of god_, so the scripture calls the men of the righteous seed, the progeny of _seth_, came in unto the _daughters of men_, that is, join'd themselves to the curs'd race of _cain_, and married promiscuously with them, according to their fancies, the women it seems being beautiful and tempting; and tho' the devil could not make the women handsome or ugly in one or other families, yet he might work up the gust of wicked inclination on either side, so as to make both the men and women tempting and agreeable to one another, where they ought not to have been so; and perhaps, as it is often seen to this day, the more tempting for being under legal restraint. it is objected here, that we do not find in the scripture that the men and women of either race were at that time forbidden intermarrying with one another; and it is true, that literally it is not forbid; but if we did not search rather to make doubts than to explain them, we might suppose it was forbidden by some particular command at that time; seeing we may reasonably allow every thing to be forbidden, which they are tax'd with a crime in committing; and as the sons of god taking them wives as they thought fit to choose, tho' from among the daughters of the cursed race, is there charg'd upon them as a general depravation, and a great crime; and for which, 'tis said, god even repented that he had made them, we need go no farther to satisfy our selves that it was certainly forbidden. _satan_ no doubt too had a hand in this wickedness; for as it was his business to prompt men to do every thing which god had prohibited, so the reason given why the men of those days did this thing was, they saw the daughters of men, that is of the wicked race or forbidden sort, _were fair_, he tempted them by the lust of the eye; in a word, the ladies were beautiful and agreeable, and the _devil_ knew how to make use of the allurement; the men liked and took them by the meer direction of their fancy and appetite, without regarding the supreme prohibition; _they took them wives of all which they chose_, or such as they lik'd to choose. but the text adds, that this promiscuous generation went farther than the meer outward crime of it, for it shew'd that the wickedness of the heart of man was great before god, and that he resented it; in short, god perceived a degeneracy or defect of virtue had seiz'd upon the whole race, that there was a general corruption of manners, a depravity of nature upon them, that even the holy seed was tainted with it, that the devil had broken in upon them, and prevail'd to a great degree; that not only the practice of the age was corrupt, for that god could easily have restrain'd, but that the very heart of man was debauch'd, his desires wholly vitiated, and his senses engag'd in it; so that in a word, it became necessary to shew the divine displeasure, not in the ordinary manner, by judgment and reproofs of such kind as usually reclaim men, but by a general destruction to sweep them away, clear the earth of them, and put an end to the wickedness at once, removing the offence and the offenders all together; this is signify'd at large, gen. vi. . _god saw that the wickedness of man was great in the earth, and that every imagination of the thoughts of his heart was only evil continually._ and again ver. , . _the earth also was corrupt before god; and the earth was fill'd with violence. and god look'd upon the earth and behold it was corrupt; for all flesh had corrupted his way upon the earth._ it must be confess'd it was a strange conquest the _devil_ had made in the antediluvian world, that he had, as i may say, brought the whole race of mankind into a general revolt from god; _noah_ was indeed a preacher of righteousness, and he had preach'd about years to as little purpose as most of the good ministers ever did; for we do not read there was one man converted by him, or at least not one of them left, for that at the deluge there was either none of them alive, or none spar'd but _noah_ and his three sons, and their wives; and even they are ('tis evident) recorded, not so much to be sav'd for their own goodness, but because they were his sons; nay, without breach of charity we may conclude, that at least one went to the _devil_ even of those three, namely, _ham_ or _cham_ for triumphing in a brutal manner over his father's drunkenness; for we find the special curse reach'd to him and his posterity for many ages; and whether it went no farther than the present state of life with them, we cannot tell. we will suppose now that thro' this whole years the devil having so effectually debauch'd mankind, had advanc'd his infernal kingdom to a prodigious height; for the text says, _the whole earth was fill'd with violence_; in a word, blood, murder, rape, robbery, oppression and injustice prevail'd every where, and man, like the wild bear in the forest, liv'd by prey, biting and devouring one another. at this time _noah_ begins to preach a new doctrine to them, for as he had before been a preacher of righteousness, now he becomes a preacher of vengeance; first he tells them they shall be all overwhelm'd with a deluge, that for their sins god repented they were made, and that he would destroy them all, adding, that to prevent the ruin of himself and family, he resolv'd to build him a ship to have recourse to when the water should come over the rest of the world. what jesting, what scorn, what contempt did this work expose the good old man to for above a years? for so long the work was building, as antient authors say; let us represent to our selves in the most lively manner how the witty world at that time behav'd to poor old _noah_; how they took their evening walks to see what he was doing, and passed their judgment upon it, and upon the progress of it; i say, to represent this to our selves, we need go no farther than to our own witicisms upon religion, and upon the most solemn mysteries of divine worship; how we damn the serious for enthusiasts, think the grave mad, and the sober melancholy; call religion it self flatus and hyppo; make the devout ignorant, the divine mercenary, and the whole scheme of divinity a frame of priestcraft; and thus no doubt the building an ark or boat, or whatever they call'd it, to float over the mountains, and dance over the plains, what could it be but a religious frenzy, and the man that so busied himself, a lunatick? and all this in an age when divine things came by immediate revelation into the minds of men! the _devil_ must therefore have made a strange conquest upon mankind to obliterate all the reverence, which but a little before was so strangely impress'd upon them concerning their maker. this was certainly the height of the _devil_'s kingdom, and we shall never find him arrive to such a pitch again; he was then truly and literally the universal monarch, nay the god of this world; and as all tyrants do, he governs them with an arbitrary absolute sway; and had not god thought fit to give him a writ of ejectment, and afterwards drown him out of possession i know not what would have been the case, he might have kept his hold for ought i know till the seed of the woman came to bruise his head, that is to say, cripple his government, dethrone him and depose his power, as has been fulfill'd in the messiah. but as he was, i say, drown'd out of the world, his kingdom for the present was at an end; at least, if he had a dominion he had no subjects, and as the creation was in a manner renewed, so the _devil_ had all his work to do over again: unhappy man! how has he, by his weak resistance, made the _devil_, recovering his hold too easy to him, and given him all the advantages, except as before excepted, which he had before? now whether he retired in the mean time, and how he got footing again after _noah_ and his family were landed upon the new surface, that we come next to enquire. chap. x. _of the devil's second kingdom, and how he got footing in the renew'd world by his victory over_ noah _and his race_. the story of _noah_, his building the ark, his embarking himself and all nature's stock for a new world on board it; the long voyage they took, and the bad weather they met with, tho' it would embellish this work very well, and come in very much to the purpose in this place, yet as it does not belong to the _devil_'s story, for i cannot prove what some suggest (_viz._) that he was in the ark among the rest, i say, for that reason i must omit it. and now having mention'd satan's being in the ark; as i say, i cannot prove it, so there are, i think, some good reasons to believe he was not there: _first_, i know no business he had there; _secondly_, we read of no mischief done there, and these joyn'd together make me conclude he was absent; the last i chiefly insist upon, that we read of no mischief done there, which if he had been in the ark, would certainly have happen'd; and therefore i suppose rather, that when he saw his kingdom dissolv'd, his subjects all ingulph'd in an inevitable ruin and desolation, a sight suitable enough to him, except as it might unking him for a time; _i say_, when he saw this, he took care to speed himself away as well as he could, and make his retreat to a place of safety, where that was, is no more difficult to us, than it was to him. it is suggested that as he is prince of the power of the air, he retired only into that region. it is most rational to suppose he went no further on many accounts, of which i shall speak by and by: here he stay'd hovering in the earth's atmosphere, as he has often done since, and perhaps now does; or if the atmosphere of this globe was affected by the indraft of the absorption, as some think, then he kept himself upon the watch, to see what the event of the new phænomenon would be, and this watch, wherever it was, i doubt not, was as near the earth as he could place himself, perhaps in the atmosphere of the moon, or in a word, the next place of retreat he could find. from hence i took upon me to insist, that _satan_ has not a more certain knowledge of events than we; i say, he has not a _more certain knowledge_; that he may be able to make stronger conjectures and more rational conclusions from that he sees, i will not deny; and that which he most outdoes us in is, that he sees more to conclude from than we can, but i am satisfied he knows nothing of futurity more than we can see by observation and inference; nor, _for example_, did he know whether god would repeople the world any more or no. i must therefore allow that he only waited to see what would be the event of this strange eruption of water, and what god propos'd to do with the ark, and all that was in it. some philosophers tell us, besides what i hinted above, that the _devil_ could have no retreat in the earth's atmosphere, for that the air being wholly condens'd into water, and having continually pour'd down its streams to deluge the earth, that body was become so small, and had suffer'd such convulsions, that there was but just enough air left to surround the water, or as might serve by its pressure to preserve the natural position of things, and supply the creatures in the ark with a part to breath in. the atmosphere indeed might suffer some strange and unnatural motions at that time, but not (i believe) to that degree, however, i will not affirm that there could be room in it, or is now for the devil, much less for all the numberless legions of satan's host; but there was, and now certainly is, sufficient space to receive him, and a sufficient body of his troops for the business he had for them at that time, and that's enough to the purpose; or if the earth's atmosphere did suffer any particular convulsion on that occasion, he might make his retreat to the atmosphere of the moon, or of _mars_, or of _venus_, or of any of the other planets; or to any other place, for he that is prince of the air could not want retreats in such a case, from whence he might watch for the issue of things; certainly he did not go far, because his business lay here, and he never goes out of his way of doing mischief. in particular, his more than ordinary concern was, to see what would become of the ark; he was wise enough doubtless to see, that god, who had directed its making, nay even the very structure of it, would certainly take care of it, preserve it upon the water, and bring it to some place of safety or other; tho' where it should be, the _devil_ with all his cunning could not resolve, whether on the same surface the waters drawing off, or in any other created or to be created place; and this state of uncertainty being evidently his case, and which proves his ignorance of futurity, it was his business, _i say_, to watch with the utmost vigilance for the event. if the ark was (as mr. _burnet_ thinks) guided by two angels, they not only held it from foundering or being swallow'd up in the water, but certainly kept the waters calm about it, especially when the lord brought a strong wind to blow over the whole globe, which by the way was the first, and, i suppose, the only universal storm that ever blew, for to be sure it blew over the whole surface at once; i say, if it was thus guided, to be sure the _devil_ saw it, and that with envy and regret that he could do it no injury, for doubtless had it been in the devil's power, as god had drown'd the whole race of man, except what was in the ark, he would have taken care to have dispatch'd them too, and so made an end of the creation at once; but either he was not empower'd to go to the ark, or it was so well guarded by angels, that when he came near it he could do it no harm: so it rested at length, the waters abating on the mountains of _arrarat_ in _armenia_, or some where else that way, and where they say a piece of the keel is remaining to this day; of which, however with dr. ------ i say, i believe not one word. the ark being safe landed, 'tis reasonable to believe _noah_ prepared to go on shore, as the seamen call it, as soon as the dry land began to appear; and here you must allow me to suppose satan, tho' himself cloth'd with a cloud, so as not to be seen, came immediately, and pearching on the roof, saw all the heaven-kept houshold safely landed, and all the host of living creatures dispersing themselves down the sides of the mountain, as the search of their food or other proper occasions directed them. this sight was enough; satan was at no loss to conclude from hence that the design of god was to repeople the world by the way of ordinary generation, from the posterity of these eight persons, without creating any new species. very well, says the _devil_, then my advantage over them, by the snare i laid for poor _eve_, is good still; and i am now just where i was after _adam_'s expulsion from the garden, and when i had _cain_ and his race to go to work with; for here is the old expung'd corrupted race still, as _cain_ was the object then, so _noah_ is my man now, and if i do not master him one way or another, i am mistaken in my mark. _pardon me for making a speech for_ the devil. _noah_ big with a sense of his late condition, and while the wonders of the deluge were fresh in his mind, spent his first days in the extasies of his soul, giving thanks, and praising the power that had been his protection, in and thro' the flood of waters, and which had in so miraculous a manner, safely landed him on the surface of the newly discover'd land; and the text tells us, as one of the first things he was employ'd in, _he built an altar unto the lord, and offered burnt-offerings upon the altar_. gen. viii. . while _noah_ was thus employ'd he was safe, the _devil_ himself could no where break in upon him; and we may suppose very reasonably, as he found the old father invulnerable, he left him for some years, watching notwithstanding all possible advantages against his sons and their children; for now the family began to encrease, and _noah_'s sons had several children; whether himself had any more children after the flood or not, that we are not arriv'd to any certainty about. among his sons the _devil_ found _japhet_ and _shem_, good, pious, religious, and very devout persons; serving god daily, after the example of their good old father _noah_, and he could make nothing of them or of any of their posterity; but _ham_ the second, or according to some, the younger son of _noah_, had a son who was nam'd _canaan_, a loose young profligate fellow, his education was probably but cursory and superficial, his father _ham_ not being near so religious and serious a man as his brothers _shem_ and _japhet_ were; and as _canaan_'s education was defective, so he prov'd, as untaught youth generally do, a wild, and in short a very wicked fellow, and consequently a fit tool for the _devil_ to go to work with. _noah_, a diligent industrious man, being with all his family thus planted in the rich fruitful plains of _armenia_, or wherever you please, let it be near the mountains of _caucasus_ or _arrarat_; went immediately to work, cultivating and improving the soil, encreasing his cattle and pastures, sowing corn, and among other things planting trees for food, and among the fruit trees he planted vines, of the grapes thereof he made no doubt, as they still in the same country do make, most excellent wine, rich, luscious, strong, and pleasant. i cannot come into the notion of our criticks, who to excuse _noah_ from the guilt of what followed, or at least from the censure, tell us, he knew not the strength or the nature of wine, but that gathering the heavy clusters of the grapes, and their own weight crushing out their balmy juices into his hand, he tasted the tempting liquor, and that the _devil_ assisting he was charm'd with the delicious fragrance, and tasted again and again, pressing it out into a bowl or dish, that he might take a larger quantity; till at length the heady froth ascended and seizing his brain, he became intoxicate and drunk, not in the least imagining there was any such strength in the juice of that excellent fruit. but to make out this story, which is indeed very favourable for _noah_, but in it self extremely ridiculous, you must necessarily fall into some absurdities, and beg the question most egregiously in some particular cases, which way of arguing will by no means suppose what is suggested; at first you must support there was no such thing as wine made before the deluge, and that no body had been ever made drunk with the juice of the grape before _noah_, which, i say, is begging the question in the grossest manner. if the contrary is true, as i see no reason to question, if, _i say_, it was true that there was wine drank, and that men were or had been drunk with it before, they cannot then but suppose that _noah_, who was a wise, a great and a good man, and _a preacher of righteousness_, both knew of it, and without doubt had in his preaching against their crimes, preach'd against this among the rest, upbraided them with it, reprov'd them for it, and exhorted them against it. _again_, 'tis highly probable they had grapes growing, and consequently wines made from them, in the antediluvian world, how else did _noah_ come by the vines which he planted? for we are to suppose, he could plant no trees or shrubs, but such as he found the roots of in the earth, and which no doubt had been there before in their highest perfection, and had consequently grown up and brought forth the same luscious fruit before. besides, as he found the roots of the vines, so he understood what they were, and what fruit they bore, or else it may be supposed also he would not have planted them; for he planted them for their fruit, as he did it in the provision he was making for his subsistence, and the subsistence of his family: and if he did not know what they were, he would not have set them, for he was not planting for diversion but for profit. upon the whole it seems plain to me he knew what he did, as well when he planted the vines as when he pressed out the grapes; and also when he drank the juice that he knew it was wine, was strong and would make him drunk if he took enough of it: he knew that other men had been drunk with such liquor before the flood, and that he had reprehended them for it; and therefore it was not his ignorance, but the _devil_ took him at some advantage, when his appetite was eager, or he thirsty, and the liquor cooling and pleasant; and in short, as _eve_ said, _the serpent beguilded her_, and she did eat, so the devil beguiled _noah_, and _he_ did drink; the temptation was too strong for _noah_, not the wine; he knew well enough what he did, but as the drunkards say to this day, it was so good he could not forbear it, and so he got drunk before he was aware; or as our ordinary speech expresses it, _he was overtaken with drink_; and mr. _pool_ and other expositors are partly of the same mind. no sooner was the poor old man conquer'd, and the wine had lighten'd his head, but it may be supposed he falls off from the chair or bench where he sate, and tumbling backward his clothes, which in those hot countries were only loose open robes, like the vests which the _armenians_ wear to this day, flying abroad, or the _devil_ so assisting on purpose to expose him, he lay there in a naked indecent posture not fit to be seen. in this juncture who should come by but young _canaan_, say some; or as others think, this young fellow first attack'd him by way of kindness and pretended affection; prompted his grandfather to drink, on pretence of the wine being good for him, and proper for the support of his old age, and subtilly set upon him, drinking also with him, and so (his head being too strong for the old man's) drank him down, and then, _devil_ like, triumph'd over him; boasted of his conquest, insulted the body as it were dead, uncovered him on purpose to expose him, and leaving him in that indecent posture, went and made sport with it to his father _ham_, who in that part, wicked like himself, did the same to his brethren _japhet_ and _shem_; but they like modest and good men, far from carrying on the wicked insult on their parent, went and cover'd him, as the scripture expresses it, and as may be supposed inform'd him how he had been abus'd, and by whom. why else should _noah_, when he came to himself, shew his resentment so much against _canaan_ his grandson, rather than against _ham_ his father, and who 'tis supposed in the story the guilt chiefly lay upon? we see the curse is (as it were) laid wholly upon _canaan_ the grandson, and not a word of the father is mention'd, gen. ix. , , , _cursed be_ canaan, _a servant of servants shall he be_, &c. that _ham_ was guilty, that's certain from the history of fact, but i cannot but suppose his grandson was the occasion of it; and in this case the devil seems to have made _canaan_ the instrument or tool to delude _noah_, and draw him in to drunkenness, as he made the serpent the tool to beguile _eve_, and draw her into disobedience. possibly _canaan_ might do it without design at first, but might be brought in to ridicule and make a jest of the old patriarch afterward, as is too frequent since in the practice of our days; but i rather believe he did it really with a wicked design, and on purpose to expose and insult his reverend old parent; and this seems more likely too, because of the great bitterness with which _noah_ resented it, after he came to be inform'd of it. but be that as it will, the _devil_ certainly made a great conquest here, and as to outward appearance no less than that which he gain'd before over _adam_; nor did the _devil_'s victory consist barely in his having drawn in the only righteous man of the whole antediluvian world, and so beginning or initiating the new young progeny with a crime; but here was the great oracle silenc'd at once; the preacher of righteousness, for such no doubt he would have been to the new world, as he was to the old, i say, the preacher was turn'd out of office, or his mouth stopt, which was worse; nay, it was a stopping of his mouth in the worst kind, far worse than stopping his breath, for had he died, the office had descended to his sons _shem_ and _japhet_, but he was dead to the office of an instructor, tho' alive as to his being; for of what force could his preachings be, who had thus fallen himself into the most shameful and beastly excess? besides some are of the opinion, tho' i hope without ground, that _noah_ was not only overtaken once in his drink, but that being fallen into that sin it became habitual, and he continued in it a great while, and that it was this which is the meaning of his being uncovered in his tent, and that his son saw his nakedness; that is, he continually exposed himself for a long time, a hundred years, say they, and that his son _ham_, and his grandson _canaan_ having drawn him into it, kept him in it, encourag'd and prompted it, and all the while satan still prompting them, join'd their scoffs and contempt of him, with their wicked endeavours to promote the wickedness; and both with as much success as the devil himself could wish for. then as for his two sons modestly and decently covering their father, they tell us, that represents _shem_ and _japhet_ applying themselves in an humble and dutiful manner to their father, to entreat and beseech him to consider his ancient glory, his own pious exhortations to the late drowned world, and to consider the offence which he gave by his evil courses to god, and the scandal to his whole family, and also that they are brought in effectually prevailing upon him; and that then _noah_ cursed the wickedness of _ham_'s degenerate race, in testimony of his sincere repentance after the fact. the story is not so very unlikely as it is certain that it is not to be proved, and therefore we had better take it as we find it (_viz._) for one single act; but suppose it was so, 'tis still certain that _noah_'s preaching was sadly interrupted, the energy of his words flatter'd, and the force of his persuasions enervated and abated, by this shameful fall; that he was effectually silenc'd for an instructor ever after, and this was as much as the devil had occasion for; and therefore indeed we read little more of him, except that he lived three hundred and fifty years after the flood; nay, we do not so much as read that he had any more children, but the contrary, nor indeed could _noah_ have any more children, except by his old and perhaps super-annuated wife, who it was very likely he had had four or five hundred year, unless you will suppose he was allow'd to marry some of his own progeny, daughters or grandaughters, which we do not suppose was allow'd, no not to _adam_ himself. this was certainly a master-piece of the _devil_'s policy, and a fatal instance of his unhappy diligence, (_viz._) that the door of the ark was no sooner open, and the face of the world hardly dry from the universal destruction of mankind, but he was at work among them; and that not only to form a general defection among the race, upon the foot of the original taint of nature, but like a bold _devil_ he strikes at the very root, and flies at the next general representative of mankind, attacks the head of the family, that in his miscarriage the rise and progress of a reformation of the new world should receive an early check, and should be at once prevented; i say, like a bold devil, he strikes at the root, and _alas!_ poor unhappy _noah_, he proved too weak for him, _satan_ prevail'd in his very first attempt, and got the victory over him at once. _noah_ thus overcome, and satan's conquest carried on to the utmost of his own wishes, the _devil_ had little more to do in the world for some ages, than to carry on an universal degeneracy among mankind, and to finish it by a like diligent application, in deluding the generality of the race, and them as they came on gradually into life; this he found the less difficult, because of the first defection which spread like a contagion upon the earth immediately after. the first evidence we have of his success in this mischievous design was in the building that great stupendious stair-case, for such it seems it was intended, call'd _babel_, which if the whole world had not been drunk, or otherwise infatuated, they would never have undertaken; even satan himself could never have prevail'd with them to undertake such a preposterous piece of work, for it had neither end or means, possibility or probability in it. i must confess i am sometimes apt to vindicate our old ancestors, in my thoughts, from the charge it self, as we generally understand it, namely, that they really design'd to build a tower which should reach up to heaven, or that it should secure them in case of another flood; and father _casaubon_ is of my opinion, whether i am of his or no, is a question by it self; his opinion is that the confusion was nothing but a breach among the undertakers and directors of the work, and that the building was design'd chiefly for a store-house for provisions, in case of a second deluge; as to their notion of its reaching up to heaven, he takes the expression to be allegorical rather than little, and only to mean that it should be exceeding high; perhaps they might not be astronomers enough to measure the distance of space between the earth and heaven, as we pretend to do now; but as _noah_ was then alive, and as we believe all his three sons were so too, they were able to have inform'd them how absurd it was to suppose either the one or the other (_viz_.) ( .) that they could build up to heaven, or ( .) that they could build firm enough to resist, or high enough to overtop the waters, supposing such another flood should happen; i would rather think it was only that they intended to build a most glorious and magnificent city, where they might all inhabit together; and that this tower was to be built for ornament and also for strength, or as above, and for a store-house to lay up vast magazines of provisions, in case of extraordinary floods or other events, the city being built in a great plain, namely, the plains of _shimar_ near the river _euphrates_. but the story, as it is recorded, suits better with satan's measures at that time; and as he was from the beginning prompting them to every thing that was contrary to the happiness of man, so the more preposterous it was, and the more inconsistent with common sense, the more to his purpose; and it shew'd the more what a compleat conquest he had gain'd over the reason as well as the religion of mankind at that time. again, 'tis evident in this case, they were not only acting contrary to the nature of things, but contrary to the design and to the command of heaven; for god's command was that they should replenish the earth, that is, that they should spread their habitations over it, and people the whole globe; whereas they were pitching in one place, as if they were not to multiply sufficient to take up any more. but what car'd the devil for that, or to put it a little handsomer, that was what _satan_ aimed at; for it was enough to him, to bring mankind to act just contrary to what _heaven_ had directed or commanded them in any thing, and if possible in every thing. but god himself put a stop to this foolish piece of work, and it was time indeed to do so, for a madder thing the devil himself never proposed to them; i say, god himself put a stop to this new undertaking, and disappointed the devil; and how was it done? not in judgment and anger, as perhaps the devil expected and hop'd for, but as pitying the simplicity of that dreaming creature man, he confused their speech, or as some say, divided and confused their councils, so that they could not agree with one another, which would be the same thing as not to understand one another; or he put a new shibboleth upon their tongues, thereby separating them into tribes or families, for by this every family found themselves under a necessity of keeping together, and this naturally encreased that differing jargons of language, for at first it might be no more. what a confusion this was to them we all know, by their being oblig'd to leave off their building, and immediately separating one from another; but what a surprize it was to the old serpent, that remains to be considered of, for indeed it belongs to his history. satan had never met with any disappointment in all his wicked attempts till now; for first, he succeeded even to triumph upon _eve_, he did the like upon _cain_, and in short upon the whole world, _one man_ (noah) _excepted_; when he blended the sons of god, and the daughters of hell, for so the word is understood, together, in promiscuous voluptuous living as well as generation. as to the deluge, authors are not agreed whether it was a disappointment to the devil or no, it might be indeed a surprize to him, for tho' _noah_ had preach'd of it for a hundred year together, yet as he (_satan_) daily prompted the people not to heed or believe what that old fellow _noah_ said to them, and to ridicule his whimsical building a monstrous tub to swim or float in, when the said deluge should come; so i am of the opinion he did not believe it himself, and am positive he could not foresee it, by any insight into futurity that he was master of. 'tis true the astronomers tell us, there was a very terrible comet seen in the air, that it appeared for days before the flood continually; and that as it approach'd nearer and nearer every day all the while, so that at last it burst and fell down in a continual spout or stream of water, being of a watry substance, and the quantity so great, that it was forty days a falling; so that this comet not only foretold the deluge or drowning of the earth, but actually perform'd it, and drown'd it from it self. but to leave this tale to them that told it, let us consider the devil, surpris'd, and a little amaz'd at the absorption or inundation, or whatever we are to call it, of the earth in the deluge, not, i say, that he was much concern'd at it, perhaps just the contrary; and if god would drown it again, and as often as he thought fit, i do not see by any thing i meet with in satan's history, or in the nature of him, that he would be at all disturb'd at it; all that i can see in it, that could give satan any concern, would be that all his favourites were gone, and he had his work to do over again, to lay a foundation for a new conquest in the generation that was to come; but in this his prospect was fair enough, for why should he be discouraged, when he had now eight people to work upon, who met with such success when he had but two? and why should he question breaking in now where nature was already vitiated and corrupted, when he had before conquer'd the same nature, when in its primitive rectitude and purity, just come out of the hands of its maker, and fortify'd with the awe of his high and solemn command just given them, and the threatning of death also annext to it, if broken? but i go back to the affair of _babel_: this confusion of language or of councils, take it which way you will, as the first disappointment that i find the devil met with, in all his attempts and practices upon mankind, or upon the new creature, which i mentioned above; for now he foresaw what would follow; namely, that the people would separate and spread themselves over the whole surface of the earth, and a thousand new scenes of actions would appear, in which he therefore prepares himself to behave as he should see occasion. how the devil learn'd to speak all the languages that were now to be used, and how many languages they were, the several ancient writers of the _devil_'s story have not yet determined; some tell us they were divided only into fifteen, some into seventy two, others into one hundred and eighty, and others again into several thousands. it also remains a doubt with me, and, i suppose, will be so with others also, whether satan has yet found out a method to converse with mankind, without the help of language and words, or not: seeing man has no other medium of conversing, no not with himself: this i have not time to enter upon here; however, this seems plain to me (_viz._) that the _devil_ soon learn'd to make mankind understand him, whatever language he spoke, and no doubt but he found ways and means to understand them, whatever language they spoke. after the confusion of languages, the people necessarily sorted themselves into families and tribes, every family understanding their own particular speech, and that only; and these families multiplying grew into nations, and those nations wanting room, and seeking out habitations wandred some this way, some that, till they found out countries respectively proper for their settling, and there they became a kingdom, spreading and possessing still more and more land as their people encreased, till at last the whole earth was scarce big enough for them: this presented _satan_ with an opportunity to break in upon their morals at another door, (_viz._) their pride; for men being naturally proud and envious, nations and tribes began to jostle with one another for room; either one nation enjoy'd better accommodations, or had a better soil or a more favourable climate than another; and these being numerous and strong thrust the other out, and encroach'd upon their land; the other liking their situation, prepare for their defence, and so began oppression, invasion, war, battle and blood, satan all the while beating the drums, and his attendants clapping their hands, as men do when they set dogs on upon one another. the bringing mankind thus to _war_ and _confusion_, as it was the first game the devil play'd after the confounding of languages and divisions at _babel_ so it was a conquest upon mankind, purely devilish, born from hell, and so exactly tinctured with satan's original sin _ambition_, that it really transform'd men into meer devils; for when is man transform'd into the very image of satan himself, when is he turn'd into a meer devil, if it is not when he is fighting with his fellow creatures and dipping his hands in the blood of his own kind? let his picture be consider'd, the fire of hell flames or sparkles in his eyes, a voracious grin sits upon his countenance; rage and fury distort the muscles of his face; his passions agitate his whole body, and he is metamorphos'd from a comely beauteous angelic creature into a _fury_, a _satyr_, a terrible and frightful monster, nay, into a _devil_; for _satan_ himself is describ'd by the same word which on his very account is chang'd into a substantive, and the devils are call'd _furies_. this sowing the seeds of strife in the world, and bringing nations to fight and make war upon one another, would take up a great part of the _devil_'s history, and abundance of extraordinary things would occur in relating the particulars; for there have been very great conflagrations kindled in the world, by the artifice of hell, under this head, (_viz._) of making war; in which it has been the _devil_'s master-piece, and he has indeed shewn himself a workman in it, that he has wheedled mankind into strange unnatural notions of things, in order to propagate and support the fighting principle in the world; such as laws of war, fair fighting, behaving like men of honour, fighting at the last drop, and the like, by which killing and murdering is understood to be justifiable. virtue and a true greatness in spirit is rated now by rules which god never appointed, and the standard of honour is quite different from that of reason and of nature: bravery is denominated not from a fearless undaunted spirit in the just defence of life and liberty, but from a daring defiance of god and man, fighting, killing and treading under foot his fellow creatures, at the ordinary command of the officer, whether it be right or wrong, and whether it be in a just defence of life, and our country's life, that is liberty, or whether it be for the support of injury and oppression. a prudent avoiding causeless quarrels is call'd cowardice, and to take an affront baseness, and meanness of spirit; to refuse fighting, and putting life at a cast on the point of a sword, a practice forbid by the laws of god and of all good government, is yet call'd cowardice; and a man is bound to die duelling, or live and be laugh'd at. this trumping up these imaginary things call'd bravery and gallantry, naming them virtue and honour, is all from the _devil_'s new management, and his subtil influencing the minds of men to fly in the face of god and nature, and to act against his senses; nor but for his artifice in the management, could it be possible that such inconsistencies could go down with mankind, or they could pass such absurd things among them for reasoning; for example, a is found in bed with b's wife, b is the person injur'd, and therefore offended, and coming into the chamber with his sword in his hand, a exclaims loudly, _why sir, you won't murder me, will you? as you are a man of honour let me rise and take my sword_. a very good story indeed! fit for no body but the devil to put into any man's head; but so it is, b being put in mind, forsooth, that he is _a man of honour_, starts back and must act the honourable part; so he lets a get up, put on his clothes and take his sword; then they fight, and b is kill'd for his honour; whereas had the laws of god, of nature and of reason taken place, the adulterer and the adulteress should have been taken prisoners and carried before the judge, and being taken in the fact, should have been immediately sentenc'd, he to the block and she to the stake, and the innocent abus'd husband had no reason to have run any risque of his life for being made a cuckold. but thus has _satan_ abus'd the reason of man; and if a man does me the greatest injury in the world, i must do my self justice upon him, by venturing my life upon an even lay with him, and must fight him upon equal hazard, in which the injur'd person is as often kill'd as the person offering the injury: suppose now it be in the same case _as above_, a man abuses my wife, and then to give me satisfaction, tells me, he will fight me, which the _french_ call _doing me reason_; _no sir_, say i, _let me lie with your wife too, and then if you desire it, i may fight you; then i am upon even terms with you_; but this indeed is the reasoning which the _devil_ has brought mankind too at this day: but to go back to the subject, _viz._ the devil bringing the nations to fall out, and to quarrel for room in the world, and so to fight in order to dispossess one another of their settlements: this began at a time when certainly there were places enough in the world for every one to choose in, and therefore the _devil_, not the want of elbow-room, must be the occasion of it; and 'tis carried on ever since, as apparently from the same interest, and by the same original. but we shall meet with this part again very often in the _devil_'s story, and as we bring him farther on in the management of mankind, i therefore lay it by for the present, and come to the next steps the _devil_ took with mankind after the confusion of languages, and this was in the affair of worship; it does not appear yet that ever the _devil_ was so bold, as either, . to set himself up to be worship'd as a god, or which was still worse, . to persuade man to believe there was no god at all to worship. both these are introduc'd since the deluge, _one_ indeed by the _devil_, who soon found means to set himself up for a god in many parts of the world, and holds it to this day; but the _last_ is brought in by the invention of man, in which it must be confess'd man has out-sin'd the devil; for to do satan justice, he never thought it could ever pass upon mankind, or that any thing so gross would go down with them; so that, _in short_, these modern casuists, in the reach of our days, have, _i say_, out-sin'd the _devil_. as then both these are modern inventions, _satan_ went on gradually, and being to work upon human nature by stratagem, not by force, it would have been too gross to have set himself up as an object of worship at first, it was to be done step by step; _for example_. . it was sufficient to bring mankind to a neglect of god, to worship him by halves, and give little or no regard to his laws, and so grow loose and immoral, in direct contradiction to his commands; this would not go down with them at first, so the devil went on gradually. . from a negligence in worshiping the true god, he by degrees introduc'd the worship of false gods; and to introduce this he began with the _sun_, _moon_, and _stars_, call'd in the holy text the host of heaven; these had greater majesty upon them, and seem'd fitter to command the homage of mankind; so it was not the hardest thing in the world, to bring men, when they had once forgotten the true god, to embrace the worship of such gods as those. . having thus debauch'd their principles in worship, and led them from the true and only object of worship to a false, it was the easier to carry them on; so in a few gradations more he brought them to downright idolatry, and even in that idolatry he proceeded gradually too; for he began with awful names, such as were venerable in the thoughts of men, as baal or bell, which, in _chaldaick_ and _hebrew_, signifies lord or sovereign, or mighty and magnificent, and this was therefore a name ascrib'd at first to the true god; but afterwards they descended to make images and figures to represent him, and then they were call'd by the same name, as _baal_, _baalim_, and afterwards _bell_; from which, by a hellish degeneracy, saturn brought mankind to adore every block of their own hewing, and to worshipping stocks, stones, monsters, hobgoblins, and every sordid frightful thing, and at last the _devil_ himself. what notions some people may entertain of the forwardness of the first ages of the world, to run into idolatry, i do not enquire here; i know they tell us strange things, of its being the product of meer nature, one remove from its primitive state; but i, who pretend to have so critically enquir'd into _satan_'s history, can assure you, and that from very good authority, that the _devil_ did not find it so easy a task to obliterate the knowledge of the true god, in the minds and consciences of men, as those people suggest. it is true he carried things a great length under the patriarchal government of the first ages, but still he was sixteen hundred years bringing it to pass; and tho' we have reason to believe the old world, before the flood was arrived to a very great height of wickedness, and _ovid_ very nobly describes it by the war of the _titans_ against _jupiter_, yet we do not read that ever satan was come to such a length as to bring them to idolatry; indeed we do read of wars carried on among them, whether it was one nation against another, or only personal, we cannot tell; but the world seem'd to be swallow'd up in a life of wickedness, that is to say, of luxury and lewdness, rapine and violence, and there were _giants_ among them, and men of renown, that is to say, men fam'd for their mighty valour, great actions of war we may suppose, and their strength, who personally oppos'd others. we read of no considerable wars indeed, but 'tis not to be doubted but there was such wars, or else it is to be understood that they liv'd (in common) a life somewhat like the brutes, the strong devouring the weak; for the text says, _the whole earth was filled with violence_, hunting and tearing one another in pieces, either for dominion or for wealth, either for ambition or for avarice, we know not well which. thus far the old antediluvian world went, and very wicked they were, there is no doubt of that; but we have reason to believe that was no idolatry, the _devil_ had not brought them to that length yet: perhaps it would soon have follow'd, but the deluge interven'd. after the deluge, _as i have said_, he had all his work to do over again, and he went on by the same steps; _first_ he brought them to violence and war, then to oppression and tyranny, then to neglect of true worship, then to false worship, and then idolatry by the meer natural consequence of the thing; who were the first nation or people that fell from the worship of the true god, is something hard to determine; the _devil_, who certainly of all _god_'s creatures is best able to inform us, having left us nothing upon record upon that subject, but we have reason to believe it was thus introduc'd. _nimrod_ was the grandson of _ham_, _noah_'s second son, the same who was cursed by his father for exposing him in his drunkenness: this _nimrod_ was the first who it seems _satan_ pick'd out for a hero: here he inspir'd him with ambitious thoughts, dreams of empire, and having the government of all the rest, _that is to say_, universal monarchy; the very same bait with which he has plaid upon the frailty of princes, and ensnar'd the greatest of them ever since, even from his most august imperial majesty king _nimrod_ the first, to his most christian majesty _louis_ the xiv. and many a mighty monarch between. when these mighty monarchs and men of fame went off the stage, the world had their memories in esteem many ages after; and as their great actions were no otherwise recorded than by oral tradition, and the tongues and memories of fallible men, time and the custom of magnifying the past actions of kings, men soon fabl'd up their histories, _satan assisting_, into miracle and wonder: hence their names were had in veneration more and more; statues and bustoes representing their persons and great actions were set up in public places, till from heroes and champions they made gods of them, and thus (_satan_ prompting) the world was quickly fill'd with idols. this _nimrod_ is he, who according to the received opinion, tho' i do not find satan's history exactly concurring with it, was first call'd _belus_, then _baal_, and worship'd in most of the eastern countries under those names; sometimes with additions of sir-names, according to the several countries, or people, or towns where he was particularly set up, as _baal peor_, _baal zephon_, _baal phegor_, and in other places plain _baal_, as _jupiter_ in after times had the like additions; as _jupiter ammon_, _jupiter capitolinus_, _jupiter pistor_, _jupiter feretrius_, and about ten or twelve _jupiters_ more. i must acknowledge, that i think it was a master-piece of hell to bring the world to idolatry so soon after they had had such an eminent example of the infinite power of the true god, as was seen in the deluge, and particularly in the escape of _noah_ in the ark, to bring them (even before _noah_ or his sons were dead) to forget whose hand it was, and give the homage of the world to a name, and that a name of a mortal man dead and rotten, who was famous for nothing when he was alive but blood and war; i say, to bring the world to set up this nothing, this meer name, nay the very image and picture of him for _a god_, it was _first_ a mark of most prodigious stupidity in the whole race of men, a monstrous degeneracy from nature, and even from common sense; and in the next place 'twas a token of an inexpressible craft and subtilty in the _devil_, who had now gotten the people into so full and compleat a management, that in short, he could have brought them, by the same rule, to have worship'd any thing; and in a little while more, did bring many of them to worship himself, _plain devil as he was_, and knowing him to be such. as to the antiquity of this horrible defection of mankind, tho' we do not find the beginning of it particularly recorded, yet we are certain it was not long after the confusion of _babel_; for _nimrod_, as is said, was no more than _noah_'s great grandson and _noah_ himself, i suppose, might be alive some years after _nimrod_ was born; and as _nimrod_ was not long dead, before they forgot that he was a tyrant and a murtherer, and made a _baal_, that is a lord or idol of him, i say, he was not long dead, for _nimrod_ was born in the year of the world , and built _babylon_ the year ; and we find _terah_ the father of _abraham_, who liv'd from the year was an idolater, as was doubtless _bethuel_, who was _terah_'s grandson; for we find _laban_, who was _bethuel_'s son, was so, and all this was during the life of the first post-diluvian family, for _terah_ was born within one hundred ninety three years after the flood, and one hundred fifty seven years before _noah_ was dead; and even _abram_ himself was eight and fifty years old before _noah_ died, and yet idolatry had been then, in all probability, above an hundred years practised in the world. n. b. it is worth remark here, what a terrible advantage the devil gain'd by the debauching poor _noah_, and drawing him into the sin of drunkenness; for by this, as i said, he silenc'd and stop'd the mouth of the great preacher of righteousness, that father and patriarch of the whole world, who not being able for the shame of his own foul miscarriage, to pretend to instruct or reprove the world any more, the _devil_ took hold of them immediately, and for want of a prophet to warn and admonish, ran that little of religion which there might be left in _shem_ and _japhet_, quite out of the world, and delug'd them all in idolatry. how long the whole world may be said to be thus overwhelm'd in ignorance and idolatry, we may make some tolerable guess at by the history of _abraham_; for it was not till god call'd him from his father's house, that any such thing as a church was establish'd in the world; nor even then, except in his own family and successors for almost four hundred years after that call; and till god brought the _israelites_ back out of _egypt_, the whole world may be said to be involv'd in idolatry and _devil_ worship. so absolute a conquest had the _devil_ made over mankind immediately after the flood, and all taking its rise and beginning at the fatal defeat of _noah_, who had he liv'd untainted and invulnerable, as he had done for six hundred years before, would have gone a great way to have stem'd the torrent of wickedness which broke in upon mankind; and therefore the _devil_, i say, was very cunning and very much in the right of it, take him as he is a meer _devil_, to attack _noah_ personally, and give him a blow so soon. it is true, the _devil_ did not immediately raze out the notion of religion and of a god from the minds of men, nor could he easily suppress the principle of worship and homage to be paid to a sovereign being, the author of nature and guide of the world; the _devil_ saw this clearly in the first ages of the new world, and therefore, as i have said, he proceeded politically and by degrees: that it was so, is evident from the story of _job_ and his three friends, who, if we may take it for a history, not a fable, and may judge of the time of it by the length of _job_'s life, and by the family of _eliphaz_ the _temanite_, who it is manifest was at least grandson or great grandson to _esau isaac_'s eldest son, and by the language of _abimilech_ king of _gerar_ to _abraham_, and of _laban_ to _jacob_, both the latter being at the same time idolaters; i say, if we may judge of it by all these, there were still very sound notions of religion in the minds of men; nor could satan with all his cunning and policy deface those _ideas_, and root them out of the minds of the people. and this put him upon taking new measures to keep up his interest and preserve the hold he got upon mankind; and his method was like himself, subtle and politick to the last degree, as his whole history makes appear; for seeing he found they could not but believe the being of a god, and that they would needs worship something, it is evident, he had no game left him to play but this, namely, to set up wrong notions of worship, and bring them to a false worship instead of a true, supposing the object worship'd to be still the same. to finish this stratagem, he first insinuates that the true god was a terrible, a dreadful, unapproachable being; that to see him was so frightful, that it would be present death; that to worship him immediately, was a presumption which would provoke his wrath; and that as he was a _consuming fire_ in himself, so he would burn up those in his anger that dar'd to offer up any sacrifice to him, but by the interposition of some medium which might receive their adorations in his name. hence it occur'd presently, that subordinate gods were to be found out and set up, to whom the people might pay the homage due to the supreme god, and who they might worship in his name; this i take from the most ancient account of idolatry in the world; nor indeed could the devil himself find out any other reason why men should cannonise or rather deify their princes and men of fame, and worship them after they were dead, as if they could save them from death and calamity, who were not able to save themselves when they were alive; much less could _satan_ bring men to swallow so gross, so absurd a thing as the bowing the knee to a stock or a stone, a calf, an ox, a lion, nay the image or figure of a calf, such as the _israelites_ made at mount _sinai_, and say, _these be thy gods, o_ israel, _who brought thee out of the land of_ egypt. having thus, i say, brought them to satisfy themselves that they worship'd the true god and no other, under the figures and appearances which they made to represent him, it was easy after that to worship any thing for the true god; and thus in a few ages they worship'd nothing but idols, even throughout the whole world; nor has the _devil_ lost this hold in some parts of the world, nay not in most parts of the world to this day; he holds still all the eastern parts of _asia_, and the southern parts of _africa_, and the northern parts of _europe_, and in them the vast countries of _china_ and _tartary_, _persia_ and _india_, _guinea_, _ethiopia_, _zanquebar_, _congo_, _angola_, _monomotapa_, &c. in all which, _except ethiopia_, we find no vestiges of any other worship but that of idols, monsters, and even the _devil_ himself; till after the very coming of our saviour, and even then, if it be true that the gospel was preach'd in the _indies_ and _china_ by st. _thomas_, and in other remote countries by other of the apostles; we see that whatever ground _satan_ lost, he seems to have recovered it again; and all _asia_ and _africa_ is at present overrun with paganism or mahometanism, which i think of the two is rather the worst; besides all _america_, a part of the world, as some say, equal in bigness to all the other, in which the _devil_'s kingdom was never interrupted from its first being inhabited, _whenever it was_, to the first discovery of it by the _european_ nations in the sixteenth century. in a word, the _devil_ got what we may call an entire victory over mankind, and drove the worship of the true god, in a manner quite out of the world, forcing, _as it were_, his maker in a new kind of creation, the old one proving thus ineffectual to recover a certain number by force and meer omnipotence to return to their duty, serve him and worship him; _but of that hereafter_. chap. xi. _of god's calling a church out of the midst of a degenerate world, and of satan's new measures upon that incident: how he attack'd them immediately, and his success in those attacks._ _satan_ having, as i have said in the preceding chapter, made, as it were, a full conquest of mankind, debauch'd them all to idolatry, and brought them at least to worshiping the true god by the wretched medium of corrupt and idolatrous representations; god seem'd to have no true servants or worshippers left in the world, but if i may be allow'd to speak so, was oblig'd, in order to restore the world to their senses again, to call a select number out from among the rest, who he himself undertook should own his godhead or supreme authority, and worship him as he requir'd to be worship'd; this, _i say_, god was oblig'd to do, because 'tis evident it has not been done so much by the choice and council of men, _for satan would have over-rul'd that part_, as by the power and energy of some irresistible and invincible operation, and this our divines give high names to; but be it what they will, it is the second defeat or disappointment that the _devil_ he met with in his progress in the world; the first i have spoken of already. it is true, satan very well understood what was threatn'd to him in the original promise to the woman, immediately after the fall, namely, _thou shalt bruise his head_, &c. but he did not expect it so suddenly, but thought himself sure of mankind, till the fullness of time when the messiah should come; and therefore it was a great surprize to him, to see that _abraham_ being call'd was so immediately receiv'd and establish'd, tho' he did not so immediately follow the voice that directed him, yet in him, in his loins was all god's church at that time contain'd. in the calling _abraham_, it is easy to see that there was no other way for god to form a church, that is to say, to single out a people to himself, as the world was then stated, but by immediate revelation and a voice from heaven: all mankind were gone over to the enemy, overwhelmed in idolatry, in a word, were engag'd to the _devil_; god almighty, or as the scripture distinguishes him, _the lord_, the true god, was out of the question; mankind knew little or nothing of him, much less did they know any thing of his worship, or that there was such a being in the world. well might it be said the _lord_ appeared to _abraham_, gen. xii. . for if god had not appear'd himself, he must have sent a messenger from heaven, _and perhaps it was so too_, for he had not one true servant or worshiper that we know of then on earth, to send on that errand; no prophet, no preacher of righteousness, _noah_ was dead, and had been so above seventeen year; and if he had not, his preaching, as i observed after his great miscarriage, had but little effect; we are indeed told, that _noah_ left behind him certain rules and orders for the true worship of god, which were call'd the precepts of _noah_, and remain'd in the world for a long time; tho' how written, when neither any letters, much less writing were known in the world, is a difficulty which remains to be solv'd; and this makes me look upon those laws call'd the precepts of _noah_ to be a modern invention, as i do also the _alphabetum noachi_, which _bochart_ pretends to give an account of. but to leave that fiction, and come back to _abraham_; god call'd him, whether at first by voice without any vision, whether in a dream or night vision, which was very significant in those days, or whether by some awful appearance, we know not; the second time, 'tis indeed said expressly god appeared to him; be it which way it will, god himself call'd him, shew'd him the land of _canaan_, gave him the promise of it for his posterity, and withal gave him such a faith, that the _devil_ soon found there was no room for him to meddle with _abraham_. this is certain, we do not read that the _devil_ ever so much as attempted _abraham_ at all; some will suggest that the command to _abraham_ to go and offer up his son _isaac_, was a temptation of the _devil_, if possible to defeat the glorious work of god's calling a holy seed into the world; for the _first_, if _abraham_ had disobey'd that call, the new favourite had been overcome and made a rebel of, or _secondly_, if he had _obey'd_, then the promis'd seed had been cut off, and _abraham_ defeated; but as the text is express that god himself proposed it to _abraham_, i shall not start the suggestions of the criticks, in bar of the sacred oracle. be it one way or other, _abraham_ shew'd a hero-like faith and courage, and if the _devil_ had been the author of it, he had seen himself disappointed in both his views; ( .) by _abraham_'s ready and bold compliance, as believing it to be god's command; and ( .) by the divine countermand of the execution, just as the fatal knife was lifted up. but if the _devil_ left _abraham_, and made no attack upon him, seeing him invulnerable, he made himself amends upon the other branch of his family, his poor _nephew_ lot; who, notwithstanding he was so immediately under the particular care of heaven, as that the angel who was sent to destroy _sodom_, could do nothing till he was out of it; and who, tho' after he had left _zoar_, and was retir'd into a cave to dwell, yet the subtle _devil_ found him out, deluded his two daughters, took an advantage of the fright they had been in about _sodom_ and _gomorrah_, made them believe the whole world was burnt too, as well as those cities, and that in short, they could never have any _husbands_, &c. and so in their abundant concern to repeople the world, and that the race of mankind might not be destroyed, they go and lie with their own _father_; the _devil_ telling them doubtless how to do it, by intoxicating his head with wine; in all which story, whether they were not as drunk as their father, seems to be a question, or else they could not have supposed all the men in the earth were consum'd, when they knew that the little city _zoar_ had been preserv'd for their sakes. this now was the third conquest _satan_ obtain'd by the gust of humane appetite; that is to say, once by eating and twice by drinking, or drunkenness, and still the last was the worst and most shameful; for _lot_, however his daughters manag'd him, could not pretend he did not understand what the strength of wine was; and one would have thought after so terrible a judgment as that of _sodom_ was, which was, as we may say, executed before his face, his thoughts should have been too solemnly engag'd in praising god for sparing his life, to be made drunk, and that two nights together. but the _devil_ play'd his game sure, he set his two daughters to work, and as the _devil_'s instruments seldom fail, so he secur'd his by that hellish stratagem of deluding the daughters, to think all the world was consum'd but they two and their father: to be sure the old man could not suspect that his daughters design was so wicked as indeed it was, or that they intended to debauch him with wine, and make him drink till he knew not what he did. now the _devil_ having carried his game here, gain'd a great point; for as there were but two religious families in the world before, from whence a twofold generation might be supposed to rise religious and righteous like their parents, (_viz._) that of _abraham_ and this of _lot_; this crime ruin'd the hopes of one of them; it could no more be said that just _lot_ was in being, who vex'd his _righteous soul_ from day to day with the wicked behaviour of the people of _sodom_; righteous _lot_ was degenerated into drunken incestuous _lot_, lot fallen from what he was, to be a wicked and unrighteous man; no pattern of virtue, no reprover of the age, but a poor fallen degenerate patriarch, who could now no more reprove or exhort, but look down and be asham'd, and nothing to do but to repent; and see the poor mean excuses of all the three. eve says, _the serpent beguil'd me, and i did eat_. noah says, ---- _my grandson beguil'd me, or the wine beguil'd me, and i did drink_. lot says, _my daughters beguil'd me, and i also did drink_. it is observable, that as i said above, _noah_ was silenc'd, and his preaching at an end, after that one action, so the like may be said of _lot_; and in short, you never hear one word more of either of them after it; as for mankind, both were useless to them, and as to themselves, we never read of any of their repentance, nor have we much reason to believe they did repent. from this attack of the _devil_ upon _lot_, we hear no more of the _devil_ being so busily employ'd as he had been before in the world; he had indeed but little to do, for all the rest of the world was his own, lull'd asleep under the witchcraft of idolatry, and are so still. but it could not be long that the _devil_ lay idle; as soon as god call'd himself a people, the _devil_ could not be at rest; till he attack'd them. 'wherever god sets up a house of prayer, 'the devil always builds a chapel there. _abraham_ indeed went off the stage free, and so did _isaac_ too, they were a kind of first rate saints; we do not so much as read of any failing they had, or of any thing the _devil_ had ever the face to offer to them; no, or with _jacob_ either, if you will excuse him for beguiling his brother _esau_, of both his birthright and his blessing, but he was busy enough with all his children; for example, * * * * * he sent _judah_ to his sheep-shearing, and placed a whore (_tamar_) in his way, in the posture of temptation, so made him commit incest and whoredom both together. he sent incestuous _reuben_ to lie with his father's concubine _billah_. he sent _dinah_ to the ball, to dance with the _sichemite_ ladies, and play the whore with their master. he enrag'd _simeon_ and _levi_, at the supposed injury, and then prompted them to revenge, for which their father heartily cursed them. he set them all together to fall upon poor _joseph_, first to murther him intentionally, and then actually sell him to the _midianites_. he made them shew the party-colour'd coat, and tell a lie to their father, to make the poor old man believe _joseph_ was kill'd by a lion, _&c._ he sent _potiphar_'s wife to attack _joseph_'s chastity, and fill'd her with rage at the disappointment. he taught _joseph_ to swear by the life of _pharoah_. * * * * * in a word, he debauch'd the whole race, except _benjamin_, and never man had such a set of sons, so wicked and so notorious, after so good an introduction into the world as they all of them had, _to be sure_; for _jacob_, no doubt, gave them as good instruction as the circumstances of his wandring condition would allow him to do. we must now consider the _devil_ and his affairs in a quite differing situation: when the world first appeared peopled by the creating power of god, he had only _adam_ and _eve_ to take care of, and i think he ply'd his time with them to purpose enough: after the deluge he had _noah_ only to pitch upon, and he quickly conquer'd him by the instigation of his _grandson_. at the building of _babel_ he guided them by their acting all in a body as one man; so that in short he manag'd them with ease, taking them as a body politic; and we find they came into his snare as one man; but now, the children of _israel_ multiplying in the land of their bondage, and god seeming to shew a particular concern for them, the _devil_ was oblig'd to new measures, stand at a distance, and look on for some time. the _egyptians_ were plagued even without his help, nor tho' the cunning artist, as i said, stood and looked on, yet he durst not meddle; nor could he make a few lice, the least and meanest of the armies of insects raised to afflict the _egyptians_. however, when he perceiv'd that god resolved to bring the _israelites_ out, he prepar'd to attend them, to watch them, and be at hand upon all the wicked occasions that might offer, as if he had been fully satisfied such occasions would offer, and that he should not fail to have an opportunity to draw them into some snare or another, and that therefore it was his business not to be out of the way, but to be ready (as we say) to make his market of them in the best manner he could: how many ways he attempted them, nay, how many times he conquer'd them in their journey, we shall see presently. first he put them in a fright at _baal-zephon_, where he thought he had drawn them into a noose, and where he sent _pharoah_ and his army to block them up between the mountains of _piahiroth_ and the _red sea_; but there indeed _satan_ was outwitted by _moses_, so far as it appeared to be a humane action, for he little thought of their going dry footed _thro' the sea_, but depended upon having them all cut in pieces the next morning by the _egyptians_; an eminent proof, _by the way_, that the _devil_ has _no knowledge of events_, or any insight into futurity; nay that he has not so much as a second sight, or knows to day what his maker intends to do to morrow; for had _satan_ known that god intended to ford them over the sea, if he had not been able to have prevented the miracle, he would certainly have prevented the escape, by sending out _pharoah_ and his army time enough to have taken the strand before them, and so have driven them to the necessity of travelling on foot round the north point of that sea, by the wilderness of _etan_, where he would have pursu'd and harrass'd them with his cavalry, and in all probability have destroy'd them: but the blind short-sighted devil, perfectly in the dark, and unacquainted with futurity, knew nothing of the matter, was as much deceiv'd as _pharoah_ himself, stood still flattering himself with the hopes of his booty, and the revenge he should take upon them the next morning; till he saw the frighted waves in an uproar, and to his utter astonishment and confusion saw the passage laid open, and _moses_ leading his vast army in full march over the dry space; nay even then 'tis very propable satan did not know that if the _egyptians_ follow'd them, the sea would return upon and overwhelm them; for i can hardly think so hard of the _devil_ himself, that if he had, he would have suffer'd, much less prompted _pharoah_ to follow the chase at such an expence; so that either he must be an ignorant unforeseeing devil, or a very ungrateful false _devil_ to his friends the _egyptians_. i am enclin'd also to the more charitable opinion of satan too, because the escape of the _israelites_ was really a triumph over himself; for the war was certainly his, or at least he was auxiliary to _pharoah_, it was a victory over _hell_ and _egypt_ together, and he would never have suffer'd the disgrace, if he had known it beforehand; that is to say, tho' he could not have prevented the escape of _israel_, or the dividing the water, yet he might have warn'd the _egyptians_, and cautioned them not to venture in after them. but we shall see a great many weak steps taken by the devil in the affair of this very people and their forty years wandring in the wilderness; and tho' he was in some things successful, and wheedled them into many foolish and miserable murmurings and wranglings against god, and mutinies against poor _moses_, yet the _devil_ was oftentimes baulk'd and disappointed; and 'tis for this reason that i choose to finish the first part of his history with the particular relation of his behaviour among the _jews_, because also, we do not find any extraordinary things happening any where else in the world for above one thousand five hundred years, no variety, no revolutions; all the rest of mankind lay still under his yoke, quietly submitted to his government, did just as he bad them, worship'd every idol he set up, and in a word, he had no difficulty with any body but the _jews_, and for this reason, i say, this part of his story will be the more useful and instructing. to return therefore to _moses_ and his dividing the _red sea_; that the people went over or thro' it, that we have the sacred history for; but how the devil behav'd, that you must come to me for, or i know not where you will find a true account of it, at least not in print. . it was in the night they march'd thro', whether the _devil_ saw it in the dark or no, that's not my business. but when he had day-light for it, and view'd the next day's work, i make no question but _all hell felt the surprise_, the prey being thus snatch'd out of their hands unexpectedly. 'tis true the _egyptians_ host was sent to him in their room, but that was not what he aim'd at; for he was sure enough of them his own way, and if it was not _just at that time_, yet he knew what and who they were; but as he had devour'd the whole _israelitish_ host in his imagination, to the tune of at least a million and a half of souls; men, women and children; it was, no doubt, a great disappointment to the devil to miss of his prey, and to see them all triumphing on the other side in safety. it is true, _satan_'s annals do not mention this defeat, for historians are generally backward to register their own misfortunes; but as we have an account of the fact from other hands, so as we cannot question the truth of it; the nature of the thing will tell us it was a disappointment to the _devil_, and a very great one too. i cannot but observe here, that i think this part of the _devil_'s story very entertaining, because of the great variety of incidents which appear in every part of it; sometimes he is like a hunted fox, curvetting and counter-running to avoid his being pursued and found out, while at the same time he is carrying on his secret designs to draw the people he pretends to manage, into some snare or other to their hurt; at another time, tho' the comparison is a little too low for his dignity, like a monkey that has done mischief, and who making his own escape sits and chatters at a distance, as if he had triump'd in what he had done; so satan, when he had drawn them in to worship a calf, to offer strange fire, to set up a schism, and the like; and so to bring the divine vengeance upon themselves, leaving them in their distress, kept at a distance, as if he look'd on with satisfaction to see them burnt, swallow'd up, swept away, and the like; as the several stories relate. his indefatigable vigilance is, on the other hand, a useful caveat, as well as an improving view to us; no sooner is he routed and expos'd, defeated and disappointed in one enterprize, but he begins another, and, like a cunning gladiator, warily defends himself, and boldly attacks his enemy at the same time. thus we see him, up and down, conquering and conquered, thro' this whole part of his story, till at last he receives a total defeat; of which you shall hear in its place: in the mean time, let us take up his story again at the _red sea_, where he receiv'd a great blow, instead of which he expected a compleat victory; for doubtless the devil and the king of _Ã�gypt_ too, thought of nothing but conquest at _piahiroth_. however, tho' the triumph of the _israelites_ over the _egyptians_ must needs be a great mortification to the _devil_, and exasperated him very much, yet the consequence was only this, _viz._ that _satan_, like an enemy who is baulk'd and defeated, but not overcome, redoubles his rage, and reinforces his army, and what the _egyptians_ could not do for him, he resolves to do for himself; in order then to take his opportunity for what mischief might offer, being defeated, and provok'd, i say, at the slur that was put upon him, he resolves to follow them into the wilderness, and many a vile prank he plaid them there; as first, he straitens them for water, and makes them murmur against god, and against _moses_, within a very few days, nay, hours, of their great deliverance of all. nor was this all, but in less than one year more we find them, (at his instigation too) setting up a _golden calf_, and making all the people dance about it at mount _sinai_; even when god himself had but just before appear'd to them in the terrors of a burning fire upon the top of the mountain; _and what was the pretence?_ truly, nothing but that they had lost _moses_, who used to be their guide, and he had hid himself in the mount, and had not been seen in forty days, so that they could not tell what was become of him. this put them all into confusion; a poor pretence indeed, to turn them all back to idolatry! but the _watchful devil_ took the hint, push'd the advantage, and insinuated that they should never see _moses_ again, that he was certainly devour'd by venturing too near the flashes of fire in the mount, and presuming upon the liberty he had taken before; in a word, that god had destroyed _moses_, or he was starved to death for want of food, having been forty days and forty nights absent. all these were, it's true, in themselves most foolish suggestions, considering _moses_ was admitted to the vision of god, and that god had been pleased to appear to him in the most intimate manner; that as they might depend god would not destroy his faithful servant, so they might have concluded he was able to support his being without food as long as he thought fit; but to a people so easy to believe any thing, what could be too gross for the _devil_ to persuade them to? a people who could dance round a calf, and call it their god, might do any thing; that could say to one another, that this was the great jehovah, _that brought them out of the land of egypt_; and that within so few days after god's miraculous appearance to them, and for them; i say, such a people were really fitted to be imposed upon, nothing could be too gross for them. this was indeed his first considerable experiment upon them as _a people_, or as _a body_; and the truth is, his affairs requir'd it, for _satan_, who had been a successful devil in most of his attempts upon mankind, could hardly doubt of success in any thing after he had carried his point at mount _sinai_: to bring them to idolatry in the very face of their deliverer, and just after their deliverance! it was more astonishing in the main than even their passing _the red sea_: in a word, the _devil_'s whole history does not furnish us with a story equally surprising. and how was poor _aaron_ bewilder'd in it too? he that was _moses_'s partner in all the great things that _moses_ did in _pharaoh_'s sight, and that was appointed to be his assistant and oracle, _or orator rather_, upon all public occasions; that he, above all the rest, should come into this absurd and ridiculous proposal, he that was singled out for the sacred priesthood, for him to defile his holy hands with a polluted abominable sacrifice, and with making the idol for them too, (for 'tis plain that he made it,) how monstrous it was! and see what an answer he gives to his brother _moses_, how weak! how simple! _i did so and so, indeed_, i bad them bring the ear-rings, _&c._ and i cast the gold into the fire, and _it came out this calf_. ridiculous! as if the calf came out by meer fortuitous adventure, without a mould to cast it in; which could not be supposed: and if it had not come out so without a mould, _moses_ would certainly have known of it; had _aaron_ been innocent, he would have answered after quite another manner, and told _moses_ honestly that the whole body of the people came to him in a fright, that they forced him to make them an idol; which he did, by making first a proper mould to cast it in, and then taking the proper metal to cast it from: that indeed he had sinn'd in so doing, but that he was mobb'd into it, and the people terrified him, perhaps they threatned to kill him; and if he had added, that the _devil_ prompting his fear beguil'd him, he had said nothing but what was certainly true; for if it was in satan's power to make the people insolent and outrageous enough to threaten and bully the old venerable prophet (_for he was not yet a priest_) who was the brother of their oracle _moses_, and had been partner with him in so many of his commissions; i say, if he cou'd bring up the passions of the people to a height to be rude and unmannerly to him (_aaron_) and perhaps to threaten and insult him, he may be easily suppos'd to be able to intimidate _aaron_, and terrify him into a compliance. see this cunning agent, when he has man's destruction in his view, how securely he acts! he never wants a handle; the best of men have one weak place or other, and he always finds it out, takes the advantage of it, and conquers them by one artifice or another; only take it with you as you go, 'tis always _by stratagem_, never _by force_; a proof that he is not empower'd to use violence: he may tempt, and he does prevail; but 'tis all _legerdemain_, 'tis all craft and artifice, he is still diabolè, the _calumniator_ and deceiver, that is, the misrepresenter; he misrepresents _man_ to god, and misrepresents god to _man_, also he misrepresents things; he puts false colours, and then manages the eye to see them with an imperfect view, raising clouds and fogs to intercept our sight; in short, he deceives all our senses, and imposes upon us in things which otherwise would be the easiest to discern and judge of. this indeed is in part the benefit of the _devil_'s history, to let us see that he has used the same method all along; and that ever since he has had any thing to do with mankind, he has practis'd upon them with stratagem and cunning; also 'tis observable that he has carried his point better that way than he would have done by fury and violence, if he had been allowed to make use of it; for by his power indeed he might have laid the world desolate, and made a heap of rubbish of it long ago; but, as i have observed before, that would not have answered his ends half so well, for by destroying men he would have made martyrs, and sent abundance of good men to heaven, who would much rather have died, than yielded to serve him, and, as he aimed to have it, to fall down and worship him; i say, he would have made martyrs, and that not a few: but this was none of _satan_'s business; his design lies quite another way; his business is to make men _sin_, not to make them _suffer_; to make _devils_ of them, not _saints_; to delude them, and draw them away from their maker, not send them away to him; and therefore he works by stratagem, not by force. we are now come to his story, as it relates to the _jewish_ church in the wilderness, and to the children of _israel_ in their travelling circumstances; and this was the first scene of publick management that the devil had upon his hands in the world; for, as i have said, _till now_, he dealt with mankind either in their separate condition, one by one, or else carried all before him, engrossing whole nations in his systems of idolatry, and overwhelming them in an ignorant destruction. but having now a whole people as it were snatch'd away from him, taken out of his government, and, which was still worse, having a view of a kingdom being set up independent of him, and superior to his authority, it is not to be wondred at if he endeavour'd to overthrow them in the infancy of their constitution, and tried all possible arts to bring them back into his own hands again. he found them not only carried away from the country where they were even in his clutches, surrounded with idols, and where we have reason to believe the greatest part of them were polluted with the idolatry of the _egyptians_; for we do not read of any stated worship which they had of their own, or if they did worship the true god, we scarce know in what manner they did it; they had no law given them, nothing but the covenant of circumcision, and even _moses_ himself had not strictly observ'd that, till he was frighted into it; we read of no sacrifices among them, no feasts were ordain'd, no solemn worship appointed, and how, or in what manner they perform'd their homage, we know not; the passover was not ordain'd till just at their coming away; so that there was not much religion among them, at least that we have any account of; and we may suppose the _devil_ was pretty easy with them all the while they were in the house of their bondage. but now, to have a million of people fetch'd out of his hands, as it were all at once, and to have the immediate power of heaven engaged in it, and that _satan_ saw evidently god had singled them out in a miraculous manner to favour them, and call them _his own_; this allarm'd him at once, and therefore he resolves to follow them, lay close siege to them, and take all the measures possible to bring them to rebel against, and disobey god, that he might be provok'd to destroy them; and how near he went to bring it to pass, we shall see presently. this making a calf, and paying an idolatrous worship to it (for they acted the heathens and idolaters, not in the setting up the calf only, but in the manner of their worshiping, _viz._ _dancing_ and _musick_, things they had not been acquainted with in the worship of the true god) i mention here, to observe how the devil not only imposed upon their principles, but upon their senses too; as if the awful majesty of heaven, whose glory they had seen in mount _sinai_, where they stood, and whose pillar of cloud and fire was their guide and protection, would be worship'd by dancing round a calf! and that not a living creature, or a real calf, but the mere image of a _calf_ cast in gold, or, as some think, in brass gilded over. but this was the _devil_'s way with mankind, namely, to impose upon their senses, and bring them into the grossest follies and absurdities; and then, having first made them fools, it was much the easier to make them offenders. in this very manner he acted with them thro' all the course of their wilderness travels; for as they were led by the hand like children, defended by omnipotence, fed by miracles, instructed immediately from heaven, and in all things had _moses_ for their guide; they had no room to miscarry, but by acting the greatest absurdities, and committing the greatest follies in nature; and even these, the _devil_ brought them to be guilty of, in a surprising manner: . as god himself reliev'd them in every exigence, and supply'd them in every want, one would think 'twas impossible they should be ever brought to question either his willingness or his ability, and yet they really objected against both; which was indeed very provoking, and i doubt not, that when the _devil_ had brought them to act in such a preposterous manner, he really hoped and believed god would be provok'd effectually: the testimonies of his care of them, and ability to supply them, were miraculous and undeniable; he gave them water from the rock, bread from the air, sent the fowls to feed them with flesh, and supported them all the way by miracles; their health was preserv'd, none were sick among them, their clothes did not wear out, nor their shoes grow old upon their feet; could any thing be more absurd, than to doubt whether he could provide for them who had never let them want for so many years? but the _devil_ managed them in spight of miracles; nor did he ever give them over till he had brought six hundred thousand of them to provoke god so highly that he would not suffer above two of them to go into the land of promise; so that in short, satan gained his point as to that generation, for all their carcasses fell in the wilderness. let us take but a short view to what a height he brought 'em, and in what a rude, absurd manner they acted; how he set them upon murmuring upon every occasion, now for water, then for bread; nay, they murmured _at their bread_ when they had it; _our soul loaths this light bread._ he sow'd the seeds of church-rebellion in the sons of _aaron_, and made _nadab_ and _abihu_ offer strange fire till they were strangely consumed by fire for the doing it. he set them a complaining at _taberah_, and a lusting for flesh at the first three days journey from mount _sinai_. he planted envy in the hearts of _miriam_ and _aaron_, against the authority of _moses_, to pretend god had spoke by them as well as by him, till he humbled the father, and made a leper of the daughter. he debauch'd ten of the spies, frighted them with sham appearances of things, when they went out to search the land; and made them fright the whole people out of their understanding as well as duty, for which six hundred thousand of their carcasses fell in the wilderness. he rais'd the rebellion of _korah_, and the two hundred and fifty princes, till he brought them to be swallowed up alive. he put _moses_ into a passion at _meribah_, and ruffled the temper of the meekest man upon earth, by which he made both him and _aaron_ forfeit their share of the promise, and be shut out from the _holy land_. he rais'd a mutiny among them when they travelled from mount _hor_, till they brought fiery serpents among them to destroy them. he tried to make _baalim_ the prophet curse them, but there the _devil_ was disappointed: however, he brought the _midianites_ to debauch them with women, as in the case of _zimri_ and _cosbi_. he tempted _achan_ with the wedge of gold, and the _babylonish_ garment, that he might take of the accursed thing, and be destroy'd. he tempted the whole people, not effectually to drive out the cursed inhabitants of the land of promise, that they might remain, and be goads in their sides, till at last they often oppress'd them for their idolatry; and, which was worse, debauched them to idolatry. he prompted the _benjamites_ to refuse satisfaction to the people, in the case of the wickedness of the men of _gibeah_, to the destruction of the whole tribe, four hundred men excepted in the rock _rimmon_. at last he tempted them to reject the theocracy of their maker, and call upon _samuel_ to make them a king; and most of those kings he made plagues and sorrows to them in their time, as you shall hear in their order. thus he plagued the whole body of the people continually, making them sin against god, and bring judgments upon themselves, to the consuming some millions of them, first and last, by the vengeance of their maker. as he did with the whole congregation, so he did with their rulers, and several of the judges, who were made instruments to deliver the people, yet were drawn into snares by this _subtil serpent_, to ruin themselves or the people they had delivered. he tempted _gideon_ to make an _ephod_, contrary to the law of the tabernacle, and made the children of _israel_ go a whoring (that is, a worshiping) after it. he tempted _sampson_ to debauch himself with a harlot, and betray his own happy secret to a whore, at the expence of both his eyes, and at last of his life. he tempted _eli_'s sons to lie with the women, in the very doors of the tabernacle, when they came to bring their offerings to the priest; and he tempted poor _eli_ to connive at them, or not sufficiently reprove them. he tempted the people to carry the ark of god into the camp, that it might fall into the hands of the _philistines_. and he tempted _uzzi_ to reach out his hand to hold it up; as if he that had preserved it in the house of _dagon_ the idol of the _philistines_, could not keep it from falling out of the cart. when the people had gotten a king, he immediately set to work in diverse ways to bring that king to load them with plagues and calamities not a few. he tempted _saul_ to spare the king of _amaliek_, contrary to god's express command. he not tempted _saul_ only, but possessed him with an evil spirit, by which he was left to wayward dispositions, and was forced to have it fiddl'd out of him with a minstrel. he tempted _saul_ with a spirit of discontent, and with a spirit of envy at poor _david_, to hunt him like a partridge upon the mountains. he tempted _saul_ with a spirit of divination, and sent him to a witch to enquire of _samuel_ for him; as if god would help him when he was dead, that had forsaken him when he was alive. after that, he tempted him to kill himself, on a pretence that he might not fall into the hands of the uncircumcised; as if _self-murther_ was not half so bad, either for sin against god, or disgrace among men, as being taken prisoner by _a philistine_! a piece of madness none but the _devil_ could have brought mankind to submit to, tho' some ages after that, he made it a fashion among the _romans_. after _saul_ was dead, and _david_ came to the throne, by how much he was a man chosen and particularly savoured by heaven, the _devil_ fell upon him with the more vigour, attack'd him so many ways, and conquer'd him so very often, that as no man was so good a king, so hardly any good king was ever a worse man; in many cases one would have almost thought the _devil_ had made sport with _david_, to shew how easily he could overthrow the best man _god_ could choose of the whole congregation. he made him distrust his benefactor so much as to feign himself mad before the king of _gath_, when he had fled to him for shelter. he made him march with his four hundred cut-throats, to cut off poor _nabal_, and all his houshold, only because he would not send him the good chear he had provided for his honest sheep-shearers. he made him, for his word's sake, give _ziba_ half his master's estate for his treachery, after he knew he had been the traitor, and betray'd poor _mephibosheth_ for the sake of it; in which 'the good old king, it seems, was very loth 'to break his word, and therefore broke his oath. then he tempted him to the ridiculous project of numbring the people, tho' against god's express command; a thing _joab_ himself was not wicked enough to do, till _david_ and the _devil_ forc'd him to it. and to make him compleatly wicked, he carried him to the top of his house, and shew'd him a naked lady bathing her self in her garden, in which it appear'd that the _devil_ knew _david_ too well, and what was the particular sin of his inclination; and so took him by the right handle; drawing him at once into the sins of _murther_ and _adultery_. then, that he might not quite give him over, (tho' _david_'s repentance for the last sin kept the _devil_ off for a while) when he could attack him no farther personally he fell upon him in his family, and made him as miserable as he could desire him to be, in his children, three of whom he brought to destruction before his face, and another after his death. first, he tempted _ammon_ to ravish his sister _tamar_; so, there was an end of her (_poor girl!_) as to this world, for we never hear any more of her. then he tempted _absalom_ to murther his brother _amnon_, in revenge for _tamar_'s maidenhead. then he made _joab_ run _absalom_ thro' the body, contrary to _david_'s command. and after _david_'s death he brought _adonija_ (weak man!) to the block, for usurping king _solomon_'s throne. as to _absalom_, he tempted him to rebellion, and raising war against his father, to the turning him shamefully out of _jerusalem_, and almost out of the kingdom. he tempted him, for _david_'s farther mortification, to lie with his father's wives, in the face of the whole city; and had _achitophel_'s honest council been follow'd, he had certainly sent him to sleep with his fathers, long before his time--but there _satan_ and _achitophel_ were both out-witted together. thro' all the reigns of the several successors of _david_, the _devil_ took care to carry on his own game, to the continual insulting the measures which god himself had taken for the establishing his people in the world, and especially as a church; till at last he so effectually debauch'd them to idolatry; that crime which of all others was most provoking to god, as it was carrying the people away from their allegiance, and transposing the homage they ow'd god their maker, to a contemptible block of wood, or an image of a brute beast; and this how sordid and brutish soever it was in it self, yet so did his artifice prevail among them, that, first or last, he brought them all into it, the ten tribes as well as the two tribes; till at last god himself was provoked to unchurch them, gave them up to their enemies, and the few that were left of them, after incredible slaughters and desolation, were hurried away, some into _tartary_, and others into _babylon_, from whence very few, of that few that were carried away, ever found their way home again; and some, when they might have come, would not accept of it, but continued there to the very coming of the messiah. see epistles of st. _james_ and of st. _peter_, at the beginning. but to look a little back upon this part (for it cannot be omitted, it makes so considerable a part of the _devil_'s history) i mean his drawing god's people, kings and all, into all the sins and mischiefs which gradually contributed to their destruction. first, (_for he began immediately with the very best and wisest of the race_) he drew in king _solomon_, in the midst of all his zeal for the building god's house, and for the making the most glorious and magnificent appearance for god's worship that ever the world saw; i say, in the middle of all this, he drew him into such immoderate and insatiable an appetite for women, as to set up the first, and perhaps the greatest _seraglio_ of whores that ever any prince in the world had, or pretended to before; nay, and to bring whoring so much into reputation, that, as the text says, seven hundred of them were princesses; that is to say, ladies of quality: not as the grand seigniors, and great moguls, (other princes of the eastern world) have since practised, namely, to pick up their most beautiful slaves; but these, it seems, were women of rank, king's daughters, as _pharaoh_'s daughter, and the daughters of the princes and prime men among the _moabites_, _ammonites_, _zidonians_, _hittites_, &c. _kings_ xi. . nor was this all; but as he drew him into the love of these forbidden women (_for such they were, as to their nation, as well as number_) so he ensnar'd him by those women to a familiarity with their worship; and by degrees brought that famous prince (famous for his wisdom) to be the greatest and most-impos'd-upon old fool in the world; bowing down to those idols by the inticing of his whores, whom he had abhorr'd and detested in his youth, as dishonouring that god for whom, and for whose worship he had finish'd and dedicated the most magnificent building and temple in the world: nothing but the invincible subtlety of this _arch devil_ could ever have brought such a man as _solomon_ to such a degeneracy of manners, and to such meannesses; no, not the _devil_ himself, without the assistance of his whores, nor the whores themselves, without the _devil_ to help them. as to _solomon_, _satan_ had made conquest enough there, we need hear no more of him; the next advance he made, was in the person of his son _rehoboam_; had not the _devil_ prompted his pride and tyrannical humour, he would never have given the people such an answer as he did; and when he saw a fellow at the head of them too whom he knew wanted and waited for an occasion to raise a rebellion, and had ripened up the people's humour to the occasion: well might the text call it _listening to the council of the young heads_; that it was indeed with a vengeance! but those young heads too were acted by an old _devil_, who for his craft is called, as i have observ'd, the _old serpent_. having thus pav'd the way, _jeroboam_ revolts. so far god had directed him; for the text says expressly, speaking in the first person of god himself, _this thing is of me_. but tho' god might appoint _jeroboam_ to be king, (that is to say, of ten tribes,) yet god did not appoint him to set up the _two calves_ in the two extreme parts of the land, _viz._ in _dan_, and in _bethel_; that was _jeroboam_'s own doing, and done on purpose to keep the people from falling back to _rehoboam_, by being obliged to go to _jerusalem_ to the publick worship: and the text adds, _jeroboam made israel to sin_. this was indeed a master-piece of the _devil_'s policy, and it was effectual to answer the end, nothing could have been more to the purpose; what reason he had to expect the people would so universally come into it, and be so well satisfied with a couple of calves, instead of the true worship of god at _jerusalem_; or what arts and management he (_satan_) made use of afterwards, to bring the people in, to join with such a delusion, that we find but little of in all the annals of _satan_; not is it much to the case: 'tis certain the _devil_ found a strange kind of propensity to worshiping idols rooted in the temper of that whole people, even from their first breaking away from the _egyptian_ bondage; so that he had nothing to do but to work upon the old stock, and propagate the crime that he found was so natural to them. and this is _satan_'s general way of working, not with them only, but with us also, and with all the world, even then, and ever since. when he had thus secur'd _jeroboam_'s revolt, we need not trace him among his successors; for the same reason of state that held for the setting up the calves at _bethel_ and _dan_, held good for the keeping them up, to all _jeroboam_'s posterity; nor had they one good king ever after; even _jehu_, who call'd his friends to come and see his _zeal for the lord_, and who fulfill'd the threatnings of god upon _ahab_ and his family, and upon queen _jezabel_ and her offspring, and knew all the while that he was executing the judgment of the true god upon an idolatrous race; yet he would not part with his calves, but would have thought it to have been parting with his kingdom, and that as the people would have gone up to _jerusalem_ to worship, so they would at the same time have transfer'd their civil obedience to the king of _judah_, (whose right it really was, as far as they could claim by birth and right line); so that by the way, _satan_ any more than other politicians, is not for the _jus divinum_ of lineal succession, or what we call hereditary right, any farther than serves for his purpose. thus satan ridded his hands of ten of the twelve tribes; let us now see how he went on with the rest, for his work was now brought into a narrower compass; the church of god was now reduc'd to two tribes, except a few religious people, who separated from the schism of _jeroboam_, and came and planted themselves among the tribes of _judah_ and _benjamin_: the first thing the devil did after this, was to foment a war between the two kings, while _judah_ was governed by a boy or youth, _abija_ by name, and he none of the best neither; but god's time was not come, and the devil receiv'd a great disappointment; when _jeroboam_ was so entirely overthrown; that if the records of those ages do not mistake, no less than men of _israel_ were kill'd, such a slaughter, that one would think the army of _judah_, had they known how to improve as well as gain a victory, might have brought all the rest back again, and have intirely reduc'd the house of _jeroboam_ and the ten tribes that follow'd him to their obedience; nay they did take a great deal of the country from them, and among the rest _bethel_ it self; and yet so cunningly did _satan_ manage, that the king of _judah_, who was himself a wicked king, and perhaps an idolater in his heart, did not take down the golden calf that _jeroboam_ had there, no nor destroy the idolatry it self, so that in short, his victory signified nothing. from hence to the captivity, we find the _devil_ busy with the kings of _judah_, especially the best of them; as for such as _manasseth_, and those who transgress'd by the general tenor of their lives, those he had no great trouble with. but such as _asa_, _jehoshaphat_, _hezekiah_, and _josiah_, he hung about them and their courts, till he brought every one of them into some mischief or another. as first, good king _asa_, of whom the scripture says, his heart was perfect all his days, yet this subtle spirit, that could break in upon him no where else, tempted him when the king of _israel_ came out against him, to send to hire _benhadad_ the king of _syria_ to help him; as if god who had before enabled him to conquer the _ethiopians_, with an army of ten hundred thousand men, could not have saved him from the king of the ten tribes. in the same manner he tempted _jehoshaphat_ to join with that wicked king _ahab_ against the king of _syria_, and also to marry his son to _ahab_'s daughter, which was fatal to _jehoshaphat_, and to his posterity. _again_, he tempted _hezekiah_ to shew all his riches to the king of _babylon_'s messengers; and who can doubt, but that he (_satan_) is to be understood by the wicked spirit which stood before the lord, _chron._ xviii. . and offered his service to entice _ahab_ the king of _israel_ to come out to battle to his ruin, by being a lying spirit in the mouths of all his prophets; and who for that time had a special commission, as he had another time in the case of _job_? and indeed it was a commission fit for no body but the _devil_: _thou shalt entice_ him, _and thou shalt_ also _prevail: go out and do_ even _so_, ver. . even good _josiah_ himself, of whom it is recorded, that _like him there was no king before him_, _neither after him arose there any like him_, kings xxiii. . yet the _devil_ never left him with his machinations, till finding he could not tempt him to any thing wicked in his government, he tempted or mov'd him to a needless war with the king of _egypt_, in which he lost his life. from the death of this good king, the _devil_ prevail'd so with the whole nation of the _jews_, and brought them to such an incorrigible pitch of wickedness, that _god_ gave them up, forsook his habitation of glory, the temple, which he suffer'd to be spoil'd first, then burnt and demolish'd; destroying the whole nation of the _jews_, except a small number that were left, and those the enemy carried away into captivity. nor was he satisfied with this general destruction of the whole people of _israel_, for the ten tribes were gone before; but he follow'd them even into their captivity; those that fled away to _egypt_, which they tell us were seventy thousand, he first corrupted, and then they were destroyed there upon the overthrow of _egypt_, by the same king of _babylon_. also he went very near to have them rooted out, young and old, man, woman and child, who were in captivity in _babylon_, by the ministry of that true agent of hell, _haman_ the _agagite_; but there _satan_ met with a disappointment too, as in the story of _hester_, which was but the fourth that he had met with, in all his management since the creation; i say, there he was disappointed, and his prime minister _haman_ was exalted, as he deserv'd. having thus far traced the government and dominion of the _devil_, from the creation of man to the captivity; i think i may call upon him to set up his standard of universal empire, at that period; it seem'd just then as if god had really forsaken the earth, and given the entire dominion of mankind up to his outrageous enemy the _devil_; for excepting the few _israelites_ which were left in the territories of the king of _babylon_, and they were but a few; i say, except among them, there was not one corner of the world left where the true god was call'd upon, or his dominion so much as acknowledg'd; all the world was buried in idolatry, and that of so many horrid kinds, that one would think, the light of reason should have convinc'd mankind, that he who exacted such bloody sacrifices as that of _moloch_, and such a bloody cutting themselves with knives, as the priests of _baal_ did, could not be a god, a good and beneficent being, but must be a cruel, voracious and devouring devil, whose end was not the good, but the destruction of his creatures: but to such a height was the blind demented world arriv'd to at that time, that in these sordid and corrupt ways, they went on worshiping dumb idols, and offering human sacrifices to them, and in a word, committing all the most horrid and absurd abominations that they were capable of, or that the _devil_ could prompt them to, till heaven was again put, as it were, to the necessity of bringing about a revolution, in favour of his own forsaken people, by miracle and surprize, as he had done before. we come therefore to the restoration or return of the captivity: had _satan_ been able to have acted any thing by force, _as i have observ'd before_, all the princes and powers of the world, having been, as they really were, at his devotion, he might easily have made use of them, arm'd all the world against the _jews_, and prevented the rebuilding the temple, and even the return of the captivity. but now the _devil_'s power manifestly received a check, and the hand of god appear'd in it, and that he was resolv'd to reestablish his people the _jews_, and to have a second temple built: the _devil_, who knew the extent of his own power too well, and what limitations were laid upon him, stood still as it were looking on, and not daring to oppose the return of the captivity, which he very well knew had been prophesied, and would come to pass. he did indeed make some little opposition to the building, and to the fortifying the city, but as it was to no purpose, so he was soon oblig'd to give it over; and thus the captivity being return'd, and the temple rebuilt, the people of the _jews_ encreased and multiplied to an infinite number and strength; and from this time we may say, the power of the _devil_ rather declin'd and decreas'd, than went on with success, as it had done before; it is true the _jews_ fell into sects and errors, and divisions of many kinds, after the return from the captivity, and no doubt the _devil_ had a great hand in those divisions; but he could never bring them back to idolatry, and his not being able to do that, made him turn his hand so many ways to plague and oppress them; as particularly by _antiochus_ the great, who brought the abomination of desolation into the holy place; and there the devil triumph'd over them for some time; but they were deliver'd many ways, till at last they came peaceably under the protection rather than the dominion of the _roman_ empire: when _herod_ the great govern'd them as a king, and reedified, nay almost rebuilt their temple, with so great an expence and magnificence, that he made it, as some say, greater and more glorious than that of _solomon_'s, tho' that i take to be a great ---- fable, to say no worse of it. in this condition the _jewish_ church stood, when the fullness of time, as 'tis call'd in scripture, was come; and the _devil_ was kept at bay, tho' he had made some encroachments upon them as above; for there was a glorious remnant of saints among _them_, such as old _zacharias_ the father of _john_ the baptist, and old _simeon_, who waited for the salvation of _israel_; i say, in this condition the _jewish_ church stood when the _messiah_ came into the world, which was such another mortal stab to the thrones and principalities infernal, as that of which i have spoken already in chap. iii. at the creation of man; and therefore with this i break off the antiquities of the _devil_'s history, or the antient part of his kingdom; for from hence downward we shall find his empire has declin'd gradually; and tho' by his wonderful address, his prodigious application, and the vigilance and fidelity of his instruments, as well human as infernal and diabolical, and of the human as well the ecclesiastick as the secular; he has many times retriev'd what he has lost, and sometimes bid fair for recovering the universal empire he once possess'd over mankind; yet he has been still defeated again, repulst and beaten back, and his kingdom has greatly declin'd in many parts of the world; and especially in the northern parts, except _great britain_; and how he has politically maintain'd his interest and encreased his dominion among the wise and righteous generation that we cohabit with and among, will be the subject of the _modern_ part of _satan_'s _history_, and of which we are next to give an account. part ii. of the modern history of the devil. chap. i. i have examined the antiquities of satan's history in the former part of this work, and brought his affairs down from the creation, as far as to our blessed christian times; especially to the coming of the _messiah_, when one would think the _devil_ could have nothing to do among us. i have indeed but touch'd at some things which might have admitted of a farther description of satan's affairs, and the particulars of which we may all come to a farther knowledge of hereafter; yet i think i have spoken to the material part of his conduct, as it relates to his empire in this world: what has happen'd to his more sublimated government, and his angelic capacities, i shall have an occasion to touch at in several solid particulars as we go along. the _messiah_ was now born, _the fulness of time was come_, that the old serpent was to have his _head broken_, that is to say, his empire or dominion over man, which he gain'd by the fall of our first father and mother in _paradise_, receiv'd a downfal or overthrow. it is worth observing, in order to confirm what i have already mention'd of the limitation of satan's power, that not only his angelic strength seems to have received a farther blow upon the coming of the son of god into the world, but he seems to have had a blow upon his intellects; his serpentine craft and _devil-like_ subtilty seems to have been circumscrib'd and cut short; and instead of his being so cunning a fellow as before, when, _as i said_, 'tis evident he outwitted all mankind, not only _eve_, _cain_, _noah_, _lot_, and all the patriarchs, but even nations of men, and that in their publick capacity; and thereby led them into absurd and ridiculous things, such as the building of _babel_, and deifying and worshiping their kings, when dead and rotten; idolizing _beasts_, _stocks_, _stones_, _any thing_, and even _nothing_; and in a word, when he manag'd mankind just as he pleased. now and from this time forward he appeared a weak, foolish, ignorant _devil_, compar'd to what he was before; he was upon almost every occasion resisted, disappointed, baulk'd and defeated, especially in all his attempts to thwart or cross the mission and ministry of the _messiah_, while he was upon earth, and sometimes upon other and very mean occasions too. and first, how foolish a project was it, and how below satan's celebrated artifice in like cases, to put _herod_ upon sending to kill the poor innocent children in _bethlehem_, in hopes to destroy the infant? for i take it for granted, it was the _devil_ put into _herod_'s thoughts that execution, how simple and foolish soever; now we must allow him to be very ignorant of the nativity himself, or else he might easily have guided his friend _herod_ to the place where the infant was. this shews that _either_ the _devil_ is in general ignorant as we are, of what is to come in the world, before it is really come to pass; and consequently can foretel nothing, no not so much as our famous old _merlin_ or _mother shipton_ did, _or else_ that great event was hid from him by an immediate power superior to his, which i cannot think neither, considering how much he was concern'd in it, and how certainly he knew that it was once to come to pass. but be that as it will, 'tis certain the _devil_ knew nothing where christ was born, or when; nor was he able to direct _herod_ to find him out, and therefore put him upon that foolish, as well as cruel order, to kill all the children, that he might be sure to destroy the _messiah_ among the rest. the next simple step that the _devil_ took, and indeed the most foolish one that he could ever be charg'd with, unworthy the very dignity of a _devil_, and below the understanding that he always was allow'd to act with, was that of coming to tempt the _messiah_ in the wilderness; it is certain, and he own'd it himself afterwards, upon many occasions, that the _devil_ knew our saviour to be the son of god; and 'tis as certain that he knew, that _as such_ he could have no power or advantage over him; how foolish then was it in him to attack him in that manner, _if thou beest the son of_ god? why he knew him to be the _son of_ god well enough; he said so afterwards, _i know thee who thou art, the holy one of_ god; how then could he be so weak a devil as to say, _if thou art_, then do _so_ and _so_? the case is plain, the _devil_, tho' he knew him to be the son of god, did not fully know the mystery of the incarnation; nor did he know how far the _inanition_ of christ extended, and whether, _as man_, he was not subject to fall as _adam_ was, tho' his reserv'd godhead might be still immaculate and pure; and upon this foot, as he would leave no method untried, he attempts him three times, one immediately after another; but then, finding himself disappointed he fled. this evidently proves that the _devil_ was ignorant of the great mystery of godliness, _as the text calls it_, god manifest in the flesh, and therefore made that foolish attempt upon christ, thinking to have conquer'd his human nature as capable of sin, which it was not; and at this repulse _hell_ groan'd, the whole army of regimented _devils_ receiv'd a wound, and felt the shock of it; 'twas a second overthrow to them, they had had a long chain of success, carried a _devilish_ conquest over the greatest part of the creation of god; but now they were cut short, _the seed of the woman_ was now come _to break the serpent's head_, that is, to cut short his power, to contract the limits of his kingdom, and in a word, to dethrone him in the world: no doubt the _devil_ receiv'd a shock, for you find him always afterward, crying out in a horrible manner, whenever christ met with him, or else very humble and submissive, as when he begg'd leave to go into the herd of swine, a thing he has often done since. defeated here, the first stratagem i find him concern'd in after it, was his entring into _judas_, and putting him upon betraying christ to the chief priest; but here again he was entirely mistaken, for he did not see, _as much a devil as he was_, what the event would be; but when he came to know, that if christ was put to death, he would become a propitiatory and be the great sacrifice of mankind, so to rescue the fallen race from that death they had incurr'd the penalty of, by the fall, that this was the fulfilling of all scripture prophesy, and that thus it was that christ was to be _the end of the law_, i say, as soon as he perceiv'd this, he strove all he could to prevent it, and disturb'd _pilate_'s wife in her sleep, in order to set her upon her husband to hinder his delivering him up to the _jews_; for then, and not till then, he knew how christ was to vanquish hell by the power of his cross. thus the _devil_ was disappointed and exposed in every step he took, and as he now plainly saw his kingdom declining, and even the temporal kingdom of christ, rising up upon the ruins of his (_satan_'s) power; he seem'd to retreat into his own region the air, and to consult there with his fellow _devils_, what measures he should take next to preserve his dominion among men; here it was that he resolv'd upon that truly hellish thing call'd persecution, by which, _tho' he prov'd a foolish devil in that too_, he flatter'd himself he should be able to destroy god's church, and root out its professors from the earth, even almost as soon as it was establish'd; whereas on the contrary, heaven counter-acted him there too, and tho' he arm'd the whole _roman_ empire against the christians, _that is say_, the whole world, and they were fallen upon every where, with all the fury and rage of some of the most flaming tyrants that the world ever saw, of whom _nero_ was the first; yet in spight of hell, god made all the blood, which the devil caus'd to be spilt, to be _semen ecclesiæ_, and the devil had the mortification to see, that the number of christians encreased even under the very means he made use of to root them out and destroy them: this was the case thro' the reign of all the _roman_ emperors, for the first three hundred years after christ. having thus tried all the methods that best suited his inclination, i mean those of blood and death, complicated with tortures and all kinds of cruelty, and that for so long a stage of time as above; the _devil_ all on a suddain, as if glutted with blood, and satiated with destruction, sits still and becomes a peaceable spectator for a good while; as if he either found himself unable, or had no disposition to hinder the progress of christianity in the first ages of its settlement in the world: in this interval the christian church was establish'd under _constantine_, religion flourished in peace, and under the most perfect tranquillity: the _devil_ seem'd to be at a loss what he should do next, and things began to look as if satan's kingdom was at an end; but he soon let them see that he was the same indefatigable _devil_ that ever he was, and the prosperity of the church gave him a large field of action; for knowing the disposition of mankind to quarrel and dispute, the universal passion rooted in nature, especially among the church-men for precedency and dominion, he fell to work with them immediately; so that turning the tables, and reassuming the subtilty and craft, which, i say, he seem'd to have lost in the former four hundred years, he gain'd more ground in the next ages of the church, and went farther towards restoring his power and empire in the world, and towards overthrowing that very church which was so lately establish'd, than all he had done by fire and blood before. his policy now seem'd to be edg'd with resentment for the mistakes he had made; as if the devil looking back with anger at himself, to see what a fool he had been to expect to crush religion by persecution, rejoyc'd for having discover'd that liberty and dominion was the only way to ruin the church, not fire and faggot; and that he had nothing to do but to give the zealous people their utmost liberty in religion, only sowing error and variety of opinion among them, and they would bring fire and faggot in fast enough among themselves. it must be confess'd these were devilish politicks; and so sure was the aim, and so certain was the _devil_ to hit his mark by them, that we find he not only did not fail then, but the same hellish methods have prevail'd still, and will do so to the end of the world. nor had the devil ever a better game to play than this, for the ruin of religion, as we shall have room to show in many examples, besides that of the dissenters in _england_, who are evidently weaken'd by the late toleration: whether the _devil_ had any hand in baiting his hook with an a--- of parliament or no, history is silent, but 'tis too evident he has catch'd the fish by it; and if the honest church of _england_ does not in pity and christian charity to the dissenters, straighten her hand a little, i cannot but fear the _devil_ will gain his point, and the dissenter will be undone by it. upon this new foot of politicks the _devil_ began with the emperors themselves: _arius_, the father of the hereticks of that age, having broach'd his opinions, and _athanasius_ the orthodox bishop of the east opposing him, the _devil_ no sooner saw the door open to strife and imposition, but he thrust himself in, and raising the quarrel up to a suited degree of rage and spleen, he involv'd the good emperor himself in it first and _athanasius_ was banish'd and recall'd, and banish'd and recall'd again, several times, as error ran high, and as the _devil_ either got or lost ground: after _constantine_, the next emperor was a child of his own, (_arian_) and then the court came all into the quarrel, as courts often do, and then the _arians_ and the _orthodox_ persecuted one another as furiously as the pagans persecuted them all before. to such a height the _devil_ brought his conquest in the very infancy of the question, and so much did he prevail over the true christianity of the primitive church, even before they had enjoy'd the liberty of the pure worship twenty years. flush'd with this success, the _devil_ made one push for the restoring _paganism_, and bringing on the old worship of the heathen idols and temples; but like our king _james_ ii. he drove too hard, and _julian_ had so provok'd the whole _roman_ empire, which was generally at that time become christian, that had the apostate liv'd, he would not have been able to have held the throne; and as he was cut off in his beginning, paganism expir'd with him, and the _devil_ himself might have cry'd out, as _julian_ did, and with much more propriety, _vicisti galileane_. _jovian_, the next emperor, being a glorious christian, and a very good and great man, the _devil_ abdicated for a while, and left the christian armies to re-establish the orthodox faith; nor could he bring the christians to a breach again among themselves a great while after. however, time and a diligent _devil_ did the work at last, and when the emperors concerning themselves one way or other, did not appear sufficient to answer his end, he chang'd hands again, and went to work with the clergy: to set the doctors effectually together by the ears, he threw in the new notion of _primacy_ among them, for a bone of contention; the bait took, the priests swallow'd it eagerly down, and the _devil_, a cunninger fisherman than ever st. _peter_ was, _struck them_ (as the anglers call it) with a quick hand, and hung them fast upon the hook. having them thus in his clutches, and they being now, as we may say, his own, they took their measures afterwards from him, and most obediently follow'd his directions; nay, i will not say but he may have had pretty much the management of the whole society ever since, of what profession or party soever they may have been, with exception only to the reverend and right reverend among our selves. the sacred, as above, being thus hook'd in, and the devil being at the head of their affairs, matters went on most gloriously his own way; first, the bishops fell to bandying and party-making for the superiority, as heartily as ever temporal tyrants did for dominion, and took as black and devilish methods to carry it on, as the worst of those tyrants ever had done before them. at last satan declar'd for the _roman_ pontiff, and that upon excellent conditions, in the reign of the emperor _mauritius_; for _boniface_, who had long contended for the title of supreme, fell into a treaty with _phocas_, captain of the emperor's guards; whether the bargain was from hell or not, let any one judge, the conditions absolutely entitle the _devil_ to the honour of making the contract, _viz._ that _phocas_ first murthering his master (the emperor) and his sons, _boniface_ should countenance the treason, and declare him emperor; and in return, _phocas_ should acknowledge the primacy of the church of _rome_, and declare _boniface_ universal bishop. a blessed compact! which at once set the _devil_ at the head of affairs in the christian world, as well spiritual as temporal, ecclesiastick and civil. since the conquest over _eve_ in paradise, by which death and the devil, hand in hand, establish'd their first empire upon earth, the _devil_ never gain'd a more important point than he gain'd at this time. he had indeed prospered in his affairs tolerably well for some time before this, and his interest among the clergy had got ground for some ages; but that was indeed a secret management, was carried on privately, and with difficulty; as in sowing discord and faction among the people, perplexing the councils of their princes, and secretly wheedling in with the dignified clergy. also he had raised abundance of little church-rebellions, by setting up hereticks of several kinds, and raising them favourers among the clergy, such as _ebion_, _cerinthius_, _pelagius_, and others. he had drawn in the bishops of _rome_ to set up the ridiculous pageantry of the key; and while he, the devil, set open the gates of hell to them all, set them upon locking up the gates of heaven, and giving the bishop the key; a cheat which, as gross as it was, the devil so gilded over, or so blinded the age to receive it, that like _gideon's ephod_, all the catholick world went a whoring after the idol; and the bishop of _rome sent_ more fools to the _devil_ by it than ever he pretended to let into heaven, though he open'd the door as wide as his key was able to do. the story of this key being given to the bishop of _rome_ by st. _peter_, (who, by the way, never had it himself,) and of its being lost by somebody or other, (the _devil_ it seems did not tell them who) and its being found again by a _lombard_ soldier in the army of king _antharis_, who attempting to cut it with his knife, was miraculously forced to direct the wound to himself, and cut his own throat; that king _antharis_ and his nobles happened to see the fellow do it, and were converted to christianity by it, and that the king sent the key, with another made like it, to pope _pelagius_, then bishop of _rome_, who thereupon assum'd the power of opening and shutting heaven's gates; and he afterwards setting a price or toll upon the entrance, as we do here at passing a turn-pike; these fine things, i say, were successfully managed for some years before this i am now speaking of, and the devil got a great deal of ground by it too; but now he triumph'd openly, and having set up a murtherer upon the temporal throne, and a church emperor upon the ecclesiastic throne, and both of his own choosing, the _devil_ may be said to begin his new kingdom from this epocha, and call it the _restoration_. since this time indeed the devil's affairs went very merrily on, and the clergy brought so many gewgaws into their worship, and such devilish principles were mixt with that which we call'd the christian faith, that in a word, from this time the bishop of _rome_ commenc'd _whore of babylon_, in all the most express terms that could be imagin'd: tyranny of the worst sort crept into the pontificate, errors of all sorts into the profession, and they proceeded from one thing to another, till the very popes, for so the bishop of _rome_ was now called, by way of distinction; i say, the popes themselves, their spiritual guides, profess'd openly to confederate with the _devil_, and to carry on a personal and private correspondence with him at the same time, taking upon them the title of christ's vicar, and the infallible guide of the consciences of christians. this we have sundry instances of in some merry popes, who, _if fame lies not_, were sorcerers, magicians, had familiar spirits, and immediate conversation with the devil, as well visibly as invisibly, and by this means became what we call _devils incarnate_: upon this account it is that i have left the conversation that passes between _devils and men_ to this place, as well because i believe it differs much now in his modern state, from what it was in his ancient state, and therefore that which most concerns us belongs rather to this part of his history; as also because, as i am now writing to the present age, i choose to bring the most significant parts of his history, especially as they relate to our selves, into that part of time that we are most concern'd in. the _devil_ had once, as i observ'd before, the universal monarchy or government of mankind in himself, and i doubt not but in that flourishing state of his affairs, he governed them like what he is (_viz._) an absolute tyrant; during this _theocracy_ of his, _for_ satan _is call'd the god of this world_, he did not familiarize himself to mankind so much, as he finds occasion to do now, there was not then so much need of it; he governed then with an absolute sway; he had his oracles, where he gave audience to his votaries like a deity, and he had his sub-gods, who under his several dispositions receiv'd the homage of mankind in their names; such were all the rabble of the heathen deities, from _jupiter_ the supreme, to the _lares_ or houshold gods of every family; these, i say, like residents, received the prostrations, but the homage was all satan's; the devil had the substance of it all, which was the idolatry. during this administration of _hell_, there was less witchcraft, less true literal magick than there has been since; there was indeed no need of it, the devil did not stoop to the mechanism of his more modern operations, but rul'd as a deity, and receiv'd the vows and the bows of his subjects in more state, and with more solemnity; whereas since that, he is content to employ more agents and take more pains himself too; now he runs up and down hackney in the world, more like a drudge than a prince, and much more than he did then. hence all those things we call apparitions and visions of ghosts, familiar-spirits and dealings with the devil, of which there is so great a variety in the world at this time, were not so much known among the people, in those first ages of the devil's kingdom; _in a word_, the devil seems to be put to his shifts, and to fly to art and stratagem for the carrying on his affairs, much more now than he did then. one reason for this may be, that he has been more discover'd and expos'd in these ages, than he was before; then he could appear in the world in his own proper shapes, and yet not be known; when the sons of god appear'd at the divine summons, satan came along with them; but now he has plaid so many scurvy tricks upon men, and they know him so well, that he is oblig'd to play quite out of sight and act in disguise; mankind will allow nothing of his doing, and hear nothing of his saying, in his own name; and if you propose any thing to be done, and it be but said the _devil_ is to help in the doing it, or if you say of any man he deals with the _devil_, or the _devil_ has a hand in it, every body flies him and shuns him, as the most frightful thing in the world. nay, if any thing strange and improbable be done or related to be done, we presently say the _devil_ was at the doing it: thus the great ditch at _newmarket heath_, is call'd the _devil_'s _ditch_; so the _devil_ built _crowland_ abby, and the whispering-place in _gloucester_ cathedral; nay, the cave at _castleton_, only because there's no getting to the farther end of it, is call'd the _devil_'s a---- and the like: the poor people of _wiltshire_, when you ask them how the great stones at _stonehenge_ were brought thither? they'll all tell you the _devil_ brought them: if any mischief extraordinary befalls us, we presently say the _devil_ was in it, and the _devil_ would have it so; in a word, the _devil_ has got an ill name among us, and so he is fain to act more _in tenebris_, more _incog._ than he used to do, play out of sight himself, and work by the sap, as the engineers call it, and not openly and avowedly in his own name and person, as formerly, tho' perhaps not with less success than he did before; and this leads me to enquire more narrowly into the manner of the _devil_'s management of his affairs since the christian religion began to spread in the world, which manifestly differs from his conduct in more antient times; in which if we discover some of the most consummate fool's policy, the most profound simple craft, and the most subtle shallow management of things that can by our weak understandings be conceiv'd, we must only resolve it into this, that in short it is the devil. chap. ii. _of hell as it is represented to us, and how the_ devil _is to be understood, as being personally in hell, when at the same time we find him at liberty ranging over the world._ it is true, as that learn'd and pleasant author, the inimitable dr. _brown_ says, the _devil_ is his own hell; one of the most constituting parts of his infelicity is, that he cannot act upon mankind _brevi manu_, by his own inherent power, as well as rage; that he cannot unhinge this creation, which, _as i have observ'd in its place_, he had the utmost aversion to from its beginning, as it was a stated design in the creator to supply his place in heaven with a new species of _beings_ call'd _man_, and fill the vacancies occasion'd by his degeneracy and rebellion. this fill'd him with rage inexpressible, and horrible resolutions of revenge, and the impossibility of executing those resolutions torments him with despair; this added to what he was before, makes him a compleat _devil_, with a hell in his own breast, and a fire unquenchable burning about his heart. i might enlarge here, and very much to the purpose, in describing spherically and mathematically that exquisite quality call'd _a devilish spirit_, in which it would naturally occur to give you a whole chapter upon the glorious articles of _malice_ and _envy_, and especially upon that luscious, delightful, triumphant passion call'd revenge; how natural to man, nay even to both sexes; how pleasant in the very contemplation, tho' there be not just at that time a power of execution; how palatable it is in it self, and how well it relishes when dish'd up with its proper sauces, such as plot, contrivance, scheme, and confederacy, all leading on to execution: how it possesses a human soul in all the most sensible parts; how it empowers mankind to sin in imagination, as effectually to all future intents and purposes (damnation) as if he had sinned actually: how safe a practice it is too, as to punishment in this life, namely, that it empowers us to cut throats clear of the gallows, to slander virtue, reproach innocence, wound honour and stab reputation; and in a word, to do all the wicked things in the world, out of the reach of the law. it would also require some few words to describe the secret operations of those nice qualities when they reach the human soul; how effectually they form a hell within us, and how imperceptibly they assimilate and transform us into _devils_, meer human devils, as really _devils_ as satan himself, or any of his angels; and that therefore 'tis not so much out of the way, as some imagine, to say, such a man is an _incarnate_ devil; for as crime made satan a _devil_, who was before a bright immortal seraph, or angel of light; how much more easily may the same crime make _the same_ devil, tho' every way meaner and more contemptible, _of a man or_ a woman either? but this is too grave a subject for me at this time. the _devil_ being thus, i say, fir'd with rage and envy, in consequence of his jealousy upon the creation of man, his torment is encreased to the highest by the limitation of his power, and his being forbid to act against mankind by force of arms; this is, i say, part of his _hell_, which, as above, is within him, and which he carries with him wherever he goes; nor is it so difficult to conceive of _hell_, or of the _devil_, either under this just description, as it is by all the usual notions that we are taught to entertain of them, by (the old women) our instructors; for every man may, by taking but a common view of himself, and making a just scrutiny into his own passions, on some of their particular excursions, see a _hell_ within himself, and himself a meer _devil_ as long as the inflammation lasts; and that as really, and to all intents and purposes, as if he had the angel (_satan_) before his face, in his locality and personality; that is to say, all devil and monster in his person, and an immaterial but intense fire flaming about and from within him, at all the pores of his body. the notions we receive of the devil, _as a person_ being in hell _as a place_, are infinitely absurd and ridiculous; the first we are certain is not true in fact, because he has a certain liberty, (_however limited_ that is not to the purpose) is daily visible, and to be trac'd in his several attacks upon mankind, and has been so ever since his first appearance in _paradise_; as to his corporal visibility that is not the present question neither; 'tis enough that we can hunt him by the foot, that we can follow him as hounds do a fox upon a hot scent: we can see him as plainly by the effect, by the mischief he does, and more by the mischief he puts us upon doing, _i say_, as plainly, as if we saw him by the eye. it is not to be doubted but the _devil_ can see us when and where we cannot see him: and as he has a personality, tho' it be spirituous, he and his angels too may be reasonably supposed to inhabit the world of spirits, and to have free access from thence to the regions of life, and to pass and repass in the air, as really, tho' not perceptible to us, as the spirits of men do after their release from the body, pass to the place (wherever that is) which is appointed for them. if the _devil_ was confin'd to a place (_hell_) as a prison, he could then have no business here; and if we pretend to describe _hell_, as not a prison, but that the devil has liberty to be there, or not be there as he pleased, then he would certainly never be there, or _hell_ is not such a place as we are taught to understand it to be. indeed according to some, _hell_ should be a place of fire and torment to the souls that are cast into it, but not to the _devils_ themselves; who we make little more or less than keepers and turnkeys to hell, as a goal; that they are sent about to bring souls thither, lock them in when they come, and then away upon the scent to fetch more: that one sort of _devils_ are made to live in the world among men, and to be busy continually debauching and deluding mankind bringing them as it were to the gates of _hell_; and then another sort are porters and carriers to fetch them in. this is, _in short_, little more or less than the old story of _pluto_, of _cerberus_, and of _charon_; only that our tale is not half so well told, nor the parts of the fable so well laid together. in all these notions of _hell_ and _devil_, the torments of the first, and the agency of the last tormenting, we meet with not one word of the main and perhaps only accent of horror, which belongs to us to judge of about hell, i mean the absence of heaven; expulsion, and exclusion from the presence and face of the chief ultimate, the only eternal and sufficient good; and this loss sustain'd by a sordid neglect of our concern in that excellent part, in exchange for the most contemptible and justly condemn'd trifles, and all this eternal and irrecoverable: these people tell us nothing of the eternal reproaches of conscience, the horror of desperation, and the anguish of a mind hopeless of ever seeing the glory, which alone constitutes heaven, and which makes all other places dreadful, and even darkness it self. and this brings me directly to the point in hand, (_viz._) the state of that hell which we ought to have in view when we speak of the _devil_ as _in hell_: this is the very hell, which is the torment of the _devil_; in short, the _devil_ is in hell, and hell is in the _devil_; he is fill'd with this unquenchable fire, he is expel'd the place of glory, banish'd from the regions of light, absence from the life of all beatitude is his curse, despair is the reigning passion in his mind, and all the little constituent parts of his torment, such as rage, envy, malice, and jealousy are consolidated in this, to make his misery compleat, (_viz._) the duration of it all, the eternity of his condition; that he is without hope, without redemption, without recovery. if any thing can inflame this _hell_ and make it hotter, 'tis this only, and this does add an inexpressible horror to the devil himself; _namely_, the seeing man (the only creature he hates) placed in a state of recovery, a glorious establishment of redemption form'd for him in heaven, and the scheme of it perfected on earth; by which _this man_, tho' even the _devil_ by his art may have deluded him, and drawn him into crime, is yet in a state of recovery, which the devil is not; and that it is not in his (_satan_'s) power to prevent it: now take the devil as he is in his own nature angelic, a bright immortal seraph, heaven-born, and having tasted the eternal beatitude, which these are appointed to enjoy; the loss of that state to himself, the possession of it granted to his rival tho' wicked like and as himself; i say, take the devil as he is, having a quick sense of his own perdition, and a stinging sight of his rival's felicity, 'tis _hell enough_, and more than enough, even for an angel to support; nothing we can conceive can be worse. as to any other fire than this, such and so immaterially intense as to torment a spirit, which is it self fire also; i will not say it cannot be, because to infinite every thing is possible, but i must say, i cannot conceive rightly of it. i will not enter here into the wisdom or reasonableness of representing the torments of hell to be fire, and that fire to be a commixture of _flame_ and _sulphur_; it has pleased god to let the horror of those eternal agonies about _a lost heaven_, be laid before us by those similitudes or allegories, which are most moving to our senses and to our understandings; nor will i dispute the possibility; much less will i doubt but that there is to be a consummation of misery to all the objects of misery when the _devil_'s kingdom in this world ending with the world it self, that liberty he has now may be farther abridg'd; when he may be return'd to the same state he was in between the time of his fall and the creation of the world; with perhaps some additional vengeance on him, such as at present we cannot describe, for all that treason and those high crimes and misdemeanours which he has been guilty of here, in his conversation with mankind. as his infelicity will be then consummated and compleated, so the infelicity of that part of mankind, who are condemn'd with him, may receive a considerable addition from those words in their sentence, to be tormented _with the devil and his angels_; for as the absence of the supreme good is a compleat hell, so the hated company of the deceiver, who was the great cause of his ruine, must be a subject of additional horror, and he will be always saying, as a _scots_ gentleman, who died of his excesses, said to the famous dr. _p----_, who came to see him on his death-bed, but had been too much his companion in his life, _o tu fundamenta jecisti------_ i would not treat the very subject it self with any indecency, nor do i think my opinion of that _hell_, which i say consists in the absence of him, in whom is heaven, one jot less solemn than theirs who believe it all _fire_ and _brimstone_; but i must own, that to me nothing can be more ridiculous than the notions that we entertain and fill our heads with about _hell_, and about the _devil_'s being there tormenting of souls, broiling them upon gridirons, hanging them up upon hooks, carrying them upon their backs, and the like, with the several pictures of _hell_, represented by a great mouth with horrible teeth, gaping like a cave on the sides of a mountain; suppose that appropriated to _satan_ in the _peak_, which indeed is not much unlike it, with a stream of fire coming out of it, as there is of water, and smaller devils going and coming continually in and out, to fetch and carry souls the lord knows whither, and for the lord knows what. these things, however intended for terror, are indeed so ridiculous, that the _devil_ himself, to be sure, mocks at them, and a man of sense can hardly refrain doing the like, only i avoid it, because i would not give offence to weaker heads. however, i must not compliment the brains of other men, at the expence of my own, or talk nonsense because they can understand no other; i think all these notions and representations of _hell_ and of the _devil_, to be as prophane as they are ridiculous, and i ought no more to talk prophanely than merrily of them. let us learn to talk of these things then, as we should do; and as we really cannot describe them to our reason and understanding, why should we describe them to our senses; we had, i think, much better not describe them at all, that is to say, not attempt it: the blessed apostle st. _paul_ was, as he said himself, carried up, or caught up into the _third heaven_, yet when he came down again, he could neither tell what he heard or describe what he saw; all he could say of it was, that what he heard was _inutterable_, and what he saw was _inconceivable_. it is the same thing as to the state of the _devil_ in those regions which he now possesses, and where he now more particularly inhabits; my present business then is not to enter into those grave things so as to make them ridiculous, as i think most people do that talk of them; but as the _devil_, let his residence be where it will, has evidently free leave to come and go, not into this world only; (_i mean, the region of our atmosphere_,) but for ought we know, to all the other inhabited worlds which god has made, where-ever they are, and by whatsoever names they are or may be known or distinguished; for if he is not confined in one place, we have no reason to believe he is excluded from any place, heaven only excepted, from whence he was expell'd for his treason and rebellion. his liberty then being thus ascertain'd, three things seem to be material for us to give an account of, in order to form this part of his history. . what his business is on this globe of earth which we vulgarly call the world, how he acts among us, what affairs mankind and he have together, and how far his conduct here relates to us, and ours is, or may be influenc'd by him. . where his principal residence is, and whether he has not a particular empire of his own, to which he retreats upon proper occasions; where he entertains his friends when they come under his particular administration; and where, when he gets any victory over his enemies, he carries his prisoners of war. . what may probably be the great business this black emperor has at present upon his hands, either in this world or out of it, and by what agents he works. as these things may perhaps run promiscuously thro' the course of this whole work, and frequently be touch'd at under other branches of the _devil_'s history, so i do not propose them as heads of chapters or particular sections, for the order of discourse to be handled apart; for (by the way) as satan's actings have not been the most regular things in the world, so in our discourse about him, it must not be expected that we can always tie our selves down to order and regularity, either as to time, or place, or persons; for satan being _hic & ubique_, a loose ungovern'd fellow, we must be content to trace him where we can find him. it is true, in the foregoing chapter, i shew'd you the devil entred into the herd ecclesiastick, and gave you some account of the first successful step he took with mankind since the christian epocha; how having secretly managed both temporal and spiritual power apart, and by themselves, he now united them in point of management, and brought the church usurpation and the army's usurpation together; the pope to bless the general in deposing and murthering his master the emperor; and the general to recognise the pope in dethroning his master christ jesus. from this time forward you are to allow the _devil_ a mystical empire in this world; not an action of moment done without him, not a treason but he has a hand in it, not a tyrant but he prompts him, not a government but he has a ---- in it; not a fool but he tickles him, not a knave but he guides him; he has a finger in every fraud, a key to every cabinet, from the _divan_ at _constantinople_, to the _mississipi_ in _france_, and to the _south-sea_ cheats at ------; from the first attack upon the christian world, in the person of the _romish_ antichrist, down to the bull _unigenitus_; and from the mixture of st. _peter_ and _confucius_ in _china_, to the holy office in _spain_; and down to the _emlins_ and _dodwells_ of the current age. how he has managed, and does manage, and how in all probability he will manage till his kingdom shall come to a period, and how at last he will probably be managed himself, _enquire within, and you shall know farther_. chap. iii. _of the manner of_ satan_'s acting and carrying on his affairs in this world, and particularly of his ordinary workings in the dark, by_ possession _and_ agitation. the devil being thus reduc'd to act upon mankind by stratagem only, it remains to enquire how he performs, and which way he directs his attacks; the faculties of man are a kind of a garrison in a strong castle, which as they defend it on the one hand under the command of the reasoning power of man's soul, so they are prescribed on the other hand, and can't sally out without leave; for the governor of a fort does not permit his soldiers to hold any correspondence with the enemy, without special order and direction. now the great enquiry before us is, how comes the devil to a parley with us? how does he converse with our senses, and with the understanding? how does he reach us, which way does he come at the affections, and which way does he move the passions? 'tis a little difficult to discover this treasonable correspondence, and that difficulty is indeed the _devil_'s advantage, and, for ought i see, the chief advantage he has over mankind. it is also a great enquiry here, whether the _devil_ knows our thoughts or no? if i may give my opinion, i am with the negative; i deny that he knows any thing of our thoughts, except of those thoughts which he puts us upon thinking, for i will not doubt but he has the art to inject thoughts, and to revive dormant thoughts in us: it is not so wild a scheme as some take it to be, that mr. _milton_ lays down, to represent the _devil_ injecting corrupt desires and wandring thoughts into the head of _eve_, by dreams, and that he brought her to dream whatever he put into her thoughts, by whispering to her vocally when she was asleep; and to this end, he imagines the devil laying himself close to her ear, in the shape of a toad, when she was fall asleep; i say, this is not so wild a scheme, seeing even now, if you can whisper any thing close to the ear of a person in a deep sleep, so as to speak distinctly to the person, and yet not awaken him, as has been frequently tried, the person sleeping shall dream distinctly of what you say to him; nay, shall dream the very words you say. we have then no more to ask, but how the devil can convey himself to the ear of a sleeping person, and it is granted then that he may have power to make us dream what he pleases: but this is not all, for if he can so forcibly, by his invisible application, cause us to dream, what he pleases, why can he not with the same facility prompt our thoughts, whether sleeping or waking? to dream, is nothing else but to think sleeping; and we have abundance of deep-headed gentlemen among us, who give us ample testimony that they dream waking. but if the devil can prompt us to dream, that is to say, to think, yet if he does not know our thoughts, how then can he tell whether the whisper had its effect? the answer is plain, the devil, like the angler, baits the hook, if the fish bite he lies ready to take the advantage, he whispers to the imagination, and then waits to see how it works; as _naomi_ said to _ruth_, chap. iii. , . _sit still, my daughter, until thou know how the matter will fall, for the man will not be at rest until he have finished the thing._ thus when the devil had whisper'd to _eve_ in her sleep, _according to milton_, and suggested mischief to her imagination, he only sat still to see how the matter would work, for he knew if it took with her, he should hear more of it; and then by finding her alone the next day, without her ordinary guard her husband, he presently concluded she had swallowed the bait, and so attack'd her afresh. a small deal of craft, and less by far than we have reason to believe the _devil_ is master of, will serve to discover whether such and such thoughts as he knows he has suggested, have taken place or no; the action of the person presently discovers it, at least to him that lies always upon the watch, and has every word, every gesture, every step we take subsequent to his operation, open to him; it may therefore, for ought we know, be a great mistake, and what most of us are guilty of, to tell our dreams to one another in the morning, after we have been disturb'd with them in the night; for if the _devil_ converses with us so insensibly as some are of the opinion he does, _that is to say_, if he can hear as far as we can see, we may be telling our story to him indeed, when we think we are only talking to one another. this brings me most naturally to the important enquiry, whether the _devil_ can walk about the world invisibly or no? the truth is, this is no question to me; for as i have taken away his visibility already, and have denied him all prescience of futurity too, and have prov'd he cannot know our thoughts, nor put any force upon persons or actions, if we should take away his invisibility too, we should _undevil_ him quite, to all intents and purposes, as to any mischief he could do; nay, it would banish him the world, and he might e'en go and seek his fortune some where else; for if he could neither be visible or invisible, neither act in publick or in private, he could neither have business or being in this sphere, nor could we be any way concern'd with him. the _devil_ therefore most certainly has a power and liberty of moving about in this world, after _some manner or another_; this is verify'd as well by way of allegory, as by way of history, in the scripture it self; and as the first strongly suggests and supposes it to be so, the last positively asserts it; and, not to croud this work with quotations from a book which we have not much to do with in the _devil_'s story, at least not much to his satisfaction, i only hint his personal appearance to our saviour in the wilderness, where it is said, _the devil taketh him up to an exceeding high mountain_; and in another place, _the devil departed from him_. what shape or figure he appear'd in, we do not find mentioned, but i cannot doubt his appearing to him there, any more than i can his talking to our saviour in the mouths, and with the voices of the several persons who were under the terrible affliction of an actual possession. these things leave us no room to doubt of what is advanced above, namely, that he, (the _devil_) has a certain residence, or liberty of residing in, and moving about upon the surface of this earth, as well as in the compass of the atmosphere, vulgarly call'd the air, in some manner or other: that is the general. it remains to enquire into the manner, which i resolve into two kinds; . _ordinary_, which i suppose to be his invisible motions as a spirit; under which consideration i suppose him to have an unconfin'd, unlimited, unrestrain'd liberty, as to the manner of acting; and this either in persons, by possession; or in things, by agitation. . _extraordinary_; which i understand to be his appearances in borrowed shapes and bodies, or shadows rather of bodies; assuming speech, figure, posture, and several powers, of which we can give little or no account; in which extraordinary manner of appearances, he is either limited by a superior power, or limits himself politically, as being not the way most for his interest or purpose, to act in his business, which is more effectually done in his state of obscurity. hence we must suppose the _devil_ has it very much in his own choice, whether to act in one capacity, or in the other, or in both; that is to say, of appearing, and not appearing, as he finds for his purpose: in this state of invisibility, and under the operation of these powers and liberties, he performs all his functions and offices, as _devil_, as prince of darkness, as god of this world, as tempter, accuser, deceiver, and all whatsoever other names of office, or titles of honour he is known by. now taking him in this large unlimited, or little limited state of action, he is well call'd, _the god of this world_, for he has very much of the attribute of omnipresence, and may be said, _either by himself or his agents_, to be every where, and see every thing; that is to say, every thing that is visible; for i cannot allow him any share of _omniscience_ at all. that he ranges about every where, is _with us_, and sometimes _in us_, sees when he is not seen, hears when he is not heard, comes in without leave, and goes out without noise, is neither to be shut in or shut out, that when he runs _from us_ we can't catch him, and when he runs _after us_ we can't escape him, is seen when he is not known, and is known when he is not seen; all these things, and more, we have knowledge enough about to convince us of the truth of them; so that, as i have said above, he is certainly walking to and fro thro' the earth, _&c._ after _some manner or other_, and in some figure or other, visible or invisible, as he finds occasion. now in order to make our history of him complete, the next question before us is, how, and in what manner he acts with mankind? how his kingdom is carried on, and by what methods he does his business, for he certainly has a great deal of business to do; he is not an idle spectator, nor is he walking about _incognito_, and cloth'd in mist and darkness, purely in kindness to us, that we should not be frighted at him; but 'tis in policy, that he may act undiscover'd, that he may see and not be seen, may play his game in the dark, and not be detected in his roguery; that he may prompt mischief, raise tempests, blow up coals, kindle strife, embroil nations, use instruments, and not be known to have his hand in any thing, when at the same time he really has a hand in every thing. some are of opinion, _and i among the rest_, that if the _devil_ was personally and visibly present among us, and we conversed with him face to face, we should be so familiar with him in a little time, that his ugly figure would not affect us at all, that his terrors would not fright us, or that we should any more trouble our selves about him, than we did with the last great comet in , which appear'd so long and so constantly without any particular known event, that at last we took no more notice of it than of the other ordinary stars which had appear'd before we or our ancestors were born. nor indeed should we have much reason to be frighted at him, or at least none of those silly things could be said of him which we now amuse our selves about, and by which we set him up like a scare-crow to fright children and old women, to fill up old stories, make songs and ballads, and in a word, carry on the low priz'd buffoonery of the common people; we should either see him in his angelic form, as he was from the original, or if he has any deformities entail'd upon him by the supreme sentence, and in justice to the deformity of his crime, they would be of a superior nature, and fitted more for our contempt as well as horror, than those weak fancied trifles contrived by our antient devil-raisers and devil-makers, to feed the wayward fancies of old witches and sorcerers, who cheated the ignorant world with a _devil_ of their own making, set forth, _in terrorem_, with bat's wings, horns, cloven foot, long tail, fork'd tongue, and the like. in the next place, be his frightful figure what it would, and his legions as numerous as the host of heaven, we should see him still, as the prince of _devils_, tho' monstrous as a dragon, flaming as a comet, tall as a mountain, yet dragging his chain after him equal to the utmost of his supposed strength; always in custody of his _jailors_ the angels, his power over-power'd, his rage cow'd and abated, or at least aw'd and under correction, limited and restrain'd; in a word, we should see him a vanquish'd slave, his spirit broken, his malice, tho' not abated, yet hand-cuff'd and overpower'd, and he not able to work any thing against us by force; so that he would be to us but like the lions in the tower, encag'd and lock'd up, unable to do the hurt he wishes to do, and that we fear, or indeed any hurt at all. from hence 'tis evident, that 'tis not his business to be public, or to walk up and down in the world visibly, and in his own shape; his affairs require a quite different management, as might be made apparent from the nature of things, and the manner of our actings, as men, either with our selves or to one another. nor could he be serviceable in his generation, as a public person as now he is, or answer the end of his party who employ him, and who, if he was to do their business in public, as he does in private, would not be able to employ him at all. as in our modern meetings for the propagation of impudence and other virtues, there would be no entertainment and no improvement for the good of the age, if the people did not all appear in masque, and conceal'd from the common observation; so neither could _satan_ (from whose management those more happy assemblies are taken as copies of a glorious original) perform the usual and necessary business of his profession, if he did not appear wholly in covert and under needful disguises; how, but for the convenience of his habit, could he call himself into so many shapes, act on so many different scenes, and turn so many wheels of state in the world, as he has done? as a meer profess'd _devil_ he could do nothing. had he been oblig'd always to act the meer devil in his own clothes, and with his own shape, appearing uppermost in all cafes and places, he could never have preach'd in so many pulpits, presided in so many councils, voted in so many committees, sat in so many courts, and influenc'd so many parties and factions in church and state, as we have reason to believe he has done in our nation, and in our memories too, as well as in other nations and in more antient times. the share satan has had in all the weighty confusions of the times, ever since the first ages of christianity in the world, has been carried on with so much secresy, and so much with an air of cabal and intrigue, that nothing can have been manag'd more subtilly and closely, and in the same manner has he acted in our times, in order to conceal his interest, and conceal the influence he has had in the councils of the world. had it been possible for him to have raised the flames of rebellion and war so often in this nation, as he certainly has done? could he have agitated the parties on both sides, and inflam'd the spirits of three nations, if he had appears in his own dress, a meer naked devil? it is not the devil as a _devil_ that does the mischief, but the _devil_ in masquerade, _satan_ in full disguise, and acting at the head of civil confusion and distraction. if history may be credited, the _french_ court at the time of our old confusions was made the scene of satan's politicks, and prompted both parties in _england_ and in _scotland_ also to quarrel, and how was it done? will any man offer to scandalize the _devil_ so much as to say, or so much as to suggest that _satan_ had no hand in it all? did not the _devil_, by the agency of cardinal _richlieu_, send crowns at one time, and at another, to the _scots_, to raise an army and march boldly into _england?_ and did not the same _devil_ at the same time, by other agents, remit crowns to the other party, in order to raise an army to fall upon the _scots_? nay, did not the _devil_ with the same subtilty send down the archbishop's order to impose the service-book upon the people in _scotland_, and at the same time raise a mob against it, in the great church (at st. _giles_'s)? nay, did not he actually, in the person of an old woman (his favourite instrument) throw the three-leg'd stool at the service-book, and animate the zealous people to take up arms for religion, and turn rebels for god sake? all these happy and successful undertakings, tho' 'tis no more to be doubted they were done by the agency of _satan_, and in a very surprizing manner too, yet were all done in secret, by what i call possession and injection, and by the agency and contrivance of such instruments, or by the _devil_ in the disguise of such servants as he found out fitted to be employ'd in his work, and who he took a more effectual care in concealing of. but we shall have occasion to touch all this part over again, when we come to discourse of the particular habits and disguises which the _devil_ has made use of, all along in the world, the better to cover his actions, and to conceal his being concern'd in them. in the mean time the cunning or artifice the _devil_ makes use of in all these things is in it self very considerable; 'tis an old practice of his using, and he has gone on in diverse measures, for the better concealing himself in it; which measures, tho' he varies sometimes, as his extraordinary affairs require, yet they are in all ages much the same, and have the same tendency; namely, that he may get all his business carried on by the instrumentality of fools; that he may make mankind agents in their own destruction, and that he may have all his work done in such a manner as that he may seem to have no hand in it; nay he contrives so well, that the very name _devil_ is put upon his opposite party, and the scandal of the black agent lies all upon them. in order then to look a little into his conduct, let us enquire into the common mistakes about him, see what use is made of them to his advantage, and how far mankind is imposed upon in those particulars, and to what purpose. chap. iv. _of satan's agents or missionaries, and their actings upon and in the minds of men in his name._ infinite advantages attend the _devil_ in his retired government, as they respect the management of his interests, and the carrying on his absolute monarchy in the world; particularly as it gives him room to act by the agency of his inferior ministers and messengers, call'd on many occasions _his angels_, of whom he has an innumerable _multitude_, at his command, enough, for ought we know, to spare one to attend every man and woman now alive in the world; and of whom, if we may believe our second sight christians, the air is always as full, as a beam of the evening sun is of insects, where they are ever ready for business, and to go and come as their great governor issues out orders for their directions. these, as they are all of the same spirituous quality with himself, and consequently invisible like him, _except as above_, are ready upon all occasions to be sent to _and into_ any such person, and for such purposes, _superior limitations only excepted_, as the grand director of _devils_, (the _devil_ properly so call'd guides them;) and be the subject or the object what it will, _that is to say_, be the person they are sent to, _or into, as above_, who it will, and the business the messenger is to do what it will, they are sufficiently qualified; for this is a particular to satan's messengers or agents, that they are not like us humane _devils_ here in the world, some bred up one way, some another, some of one trade, some of another, and consequently some fit for some business, some for another, some good for something, and some good for nothing, but his people are every one fit for every thing, can find their way every where, and are a match for every body they are sent to; in a word, there are no _foolish devils_, they are all fully qualified for their employment, fit for any thing he sets them about, and very seldom mistake their errand or fail in the business they are sent to do. nor is it strange at all, that the _devil_ should have such a numberless train of deputy _devils_ to act under him; for it must be acknowledged he has a great deal of business upon his hands, a vast deal of work to do, abundance of public affairs under his direction, and an infinite variety of particular cases always before him; _for example_. how many governments in the world are wholly in his administration? how many divans and great councils under his direction? nay, i believe, 'twould be hard to prove that there is or has been one council of state in the world for many hundred years past, down to the year , (we don't pretend to come nearer home) where the _devil_ by himself, or his agents in one shape or another, has not sat as a member, if not taken the chair. and tho' some learn'd authors may dispute this point with me, by giving some examples where the councils of princes have been acted by a better hand, and where things have been carried against _satan_'s interest, and even to his great mortification, it amounts to no more than this; namely, that in such cases the _devil_ has been out-voted; but it does not argue but he might have been present there, and have push'd his interest as far as he could, only that he had not the success he expected; for i don't pretend to say that he has never been disappointed; but those examples are so rare, and of so small signification, that when i come to the particulars, as i shall do in the sequel of this history, you will find them hardly worth naming; and that, take it one time with another, the _devil_ has met with such a series of success in all his affairs, and has so seldom been baulk'd; and where he has met with a little check in his politicks, has notwithstanding, so soon and so easily recover'd himself, regain'd his lost ground, or replac'd himself in another country when he has been supplanted in one, that his empire is far from being lessen'd in the world, for the last thousand years of the christian establishment. suppose we take an observation from the beginning of _luther_, or from the year , and call the reformation a blow to the _devil_'s kingdom, which before that was come to such a height in christendom, that 'tis a question not yet thorowly decided, whether that medley of superstition and horrible heresies, that mass of enthusiam and idols call'd the catholick hierarchy, was a church of god or a church of the _devil_; whether it was an assembly of saints or a synagogue of satan: i say, take that time to be the _epocha_ of satan's declension and of lucifer's falling from heaven, that is, from the top of his terrestrial glory, yet whether he did not gain in the defection of the _greek_ church about that time and since, as much as he lost in the reformation of the _roman_, is what authors are not yet agreed about, not reckoning what he has regain'd since of the ground which he had lost even by the reformation, (_viz._) the countries of the duke of _savoy_'s dominion, where the reformation is almost eaten out by persecution; the whole _valtoline_ and some adjacent countries; the whole kingdom of _poland_ and almost all _hungary_; for since the last war the reformation, as it were, lies gasping for breath, and expiring in that country, also several large provinces in _germany_, as _austria_, _carinthia_, and the whole kingdom of _bohemia_, where the reformation once powerfully planted, receiv'd its death's wound at the battle of _prague_, _ann._ , and languish'd but a very little while, died and was buried, and good king popery reign'd in its stead. to these countries thus regain'd to satan's infernal empire, let us add his modern conquests and the encroachments he has made upon the reformation in the present age, which are, _however light we make of them_, very considerable (_viz._) the electorate of the _rhine_ and the _palatinate_, the one fallen to the house of _bavaria_, and the other to that of _neuburgh_, both popish; the dutchy of _deux ponts_ fallen just now to a popish branch, the whole electorate of _saxony_ fallen under the power of popish government by the apostacy of their princes, and more likely to follow the fate of _bohemia_, whenever the diligent _devil_ can bring his new project in _poland_ to bear, as 'tis more than probable he will do so some time or other, by the growing zeal as well as power of (that house of bigots) the house of _a----_. but to sum up the dull story; we must add in the roll of the _devil_'s conquests, the whole kingdom of _france_, where we have in one year seen, to the immortal glory of the _devil_'s politicks, that his measures have prevailed to the total extirpation of the protestant churches without a war; and that interest which for years had supported it self in spight of persecutions, massacres, five civil wars and innumerable battles and slaughters, at last receiv'd its mortal wound from its own champion _henry_ iv. and sunk into utter oblivion, by _satan_'s most exquisite management under the agency of his two prime ministers cardinal _richlieu_ and _lewis_ the xiv, whom he entirely possess'd. thus far we have a melancholy view of the _devil_'s new conquests, and the ground he has regain'd upon the reformation, in which his secret management has been so exquisite, and his politicks so good, that could he bring but one thing to pass, which by his own former mistake, (for the _devil_ is not infallible) he has rendred impossible, he would bring the protestant interest so near its ruin, that heaven would be, _as it were_, put to the necessity of working by miracle to prevent it; _the case is thus_. antient historians tell us, and from good authority, that the devil finding it for his interest to bring his favourite _mahomet_ upon the stage, and spread the victorious half-moon upon the ruin of the cross, having with great success, rais'd first the _saracen_ empire, and then the _turkish_ to such a height, as that the name of christian seemed to be extirpated in those two quarters of the world, which were then not the greatest only, but by far the most powerful, i mean _asia_ and _africa_; having totally laid wast all those antient and flourishing churches of _africa_, the labours of st. _cyprian_, _tertullian_, st. _augustine_, and christian bishops and fathers, who govern'd there at once, also all the churches of _smyrna_, _philadelphia_, _ephesus_, _sardis_, _antioch_, _laodicea_, and innumerable others in _pontus_, _bithynia_, and the provinces of the lesser _asia_. the _devil_ having, i say, finish'd these conquests so much to his satisfaction, began to turn his eyes northward, and tho' he had a considerable interest in the _whore of babylon_, and had brought his power by the subjection of the _roman_ hierarchy to a great height, yet finding the interest of _mahomet_ most suitable to his _devilish_ purposes, as most adapted to the destruction of mankind, and laying waste the world, he resolv'd to espouse the growing power of the _turk_, and bring him in upon _europe_ like a deluge. in order to this, and to make way for an easy conquest, like a true _devil_ he work'd under ground, and sap'd the foundation of the christian power, by sowing discord among the reigning princes of _europe_; that so envying one another they might be content to stand still and look on while the _turk_ devoured them one by one, and at last might swallow them up all. this _devilish_ policy took to his heart's content; the christian princes stood still, stupid, dozing, and unconcern'd, till the turk conquered _thrace_, over-run _servia_, _macedonia_, _bulgaria_, and all the remains of the _grecian_ empire, and at last the imperial city of _constantinople_ it self. finding this politic method so well answer his ends, the _devil_, who always improves upon the success of his own experiments, resolv'd from that time to lay a foundation for the making those divisions and jealousies of the christian princes immortal; whereas they were at first only personal, and founded in private quarrels between the princes respectively; such as _emulation_ of one another's glory, _envy_ at the extraordinary valour, or other merit of this or that leader, or _revenge_ of some little affront; for which notwithstanding, so great was the piety of christian princes in those days, that they made no scruple to sacrifice whole armies, yea, nations, to their piques and private quarrels, _a certain sign whose management they were under_. these being the causes by which the devil first sow'd the seeds of mischief among them, and the success so well answering his design, he could not but wish to have the same advantage always ready at his hand; and therefore he resolv'd to order it so, that these divisions, which, however useful to him, were only personal, and consequently temporary, like an annual in the garden, which must be rais'd anew every season, might for the future be national, and consequently durable and immortal. to this end it was necessary to lay the foundation of eternal feud, not in the humours and passions of men only, but in the interests of nations: the way to do this was to form and state the dominion of those princes, by such a plan drawn in hell, and laid out from a scheme truly political, of which the _devil_ was chief engineer; that the divisions should always remain, being made a natural consequence of the situation of the country, the temper of their people, the nature of their commerce, the climate, the manner of living, or something which should for ever render it impossible for them to unite. this, i say, was a scheme truly infernal, in which the _devil_ was as certainly the principal operator, to illustrate great things by small, as ever _john_ of _leyden_ was of the high _dutch_ rebellion, or sir _john b------t_ of the late project, called the _south-sea_ stock. nor did this contrivance of the _devil_ at all dishonour his author, or the success appear unworthy of the undertaker; for we see it not only answer the end, and made the _turk_ victorious at the same time, and formidable to _europe_ ever after, but it works to this day, the foundation of the divisions remains in all the several nations, and that to such a degree that it is impossible they should unite. this is what i hinted before, in which the _devil_ was mistaken, and is another instance that he knows nothing of what is to come; for this very foundation of immortal jealousy and discord between the several nations of _spain_, _france_, _germany_, and others, which the _devil_ himself with so much policy contriv'd, and which serv'd his interests so long, is now the only obstruction to his designs, and prevents the entire ruin of the reformation; for tho' the reform'd countries are very powerful, and some of them, as _great britain_ and _prussia_ is particularly, more powerful than ever; yet it cannot be said that the protestant interests in general are stronger than formerly, or so strong as they were in under the victorious arms of the _swede_; on the other hand, were it possible that the popish powers, to wit, of _france_, _spain_, _germany_, _italy_ and _poland_, which are intirely popish, could heartily unite their interests, and should join their powers to attack the protestants, the latter would find it very difficult, if not impossible, to defend themselves. but as fatal as such a union of the popish powers would be, and as useful as it would be to the _devil_'s cause at this time, not the _devil_ with all his angels are able to bring it to pass; no, not with all his craft and cunning; he divided them, but he can't unite them; so that even just as 'tis with men, so 'tis with _devils_, they may do in an hour what they can't undo in an age. this may comfort those faint-hearted christians among us, who cry out of the danger of a religious war in _europe_, and what terrible things will happen when _france_, and _spain_, and _germany_, and _italy_, and _poland_ shall all unite; let this answer satisfy them, the _devil_ himself can never make _france_ and _spain_, or _france_ and the emperor unite; jarring humours may be reconcil'd, but jarring interests never can: they may unite so as to make peace, _tho' that can hardly be long_, but never so as to make conquests together; they are too much afraid of one another, for one to bear, that any addition of strength should come to the other. but this is a digression. we shall find the _devil_ mistaken and disappointed too on several other occasions, as we go along. i return to satan's interest in the several governments and nations, by vertue of his invisibility, and which he carries on by possession; 'tis by this invisibility that he presides in all the councils of _foreign powers_, (for we never mean our own, that we always premise;) and what tho' it is alledged by the criticks, that he does not preside, because there is always a president; i say, if he is not in the president's chair, yet if he be in the president himself, the difference is not much; and if he does not vote as a counsellor, if he votes in the counsellor, 'tis much the same; and here, as it was in the story of _ahab_ the king of _israel_, as he was a _lying spirit_ in the mouths of _all his prophets_, so we find him a spirit of some particular evil quality or other, in all the transactions and transactors on that stage of life we call the state. thus he was a dissembling spirit in _char._ ix. a turbulent spirit in _char._ v. emperors; a bigotted spirit of fire and faggot in our queen _mary_; an apostate spirit in _hen._ iv.; a cruel spirit in _peter_ of _castile_; a revengeful spirit in _ferdinand_ ii.; a _phaeton_ in _lewis_ xiv.; a _sardanapalus_ in _c------_ ii. in the great men of the world, take them a degree lower than the class of crown'd heads, he has the same secret influence; and hence it comes to pass, that the greatest heroes, and men of the highest character for atchievements of glory, either by their virtue or valour, however they have been crowned with victories, and elevated by human tongues, whatever the most consummate virtues or good qualities they have been known by, yet they have always had some devil or other in them to preserve _satan_'s claim to them uninterrupted, and prevent their escape out of his hands; thus we have seen a bloody devil in a _d'alva_; a profligate devil in a _buckingham_; a lying, artful, or politick devil in a _richlieu_; a treacherous devil in a _mazarin_; a cruel, merciless devil in a _cortez_; a debauch'd devil in an _eugene_; a conjuring devil in a _luxemburg_; and a covetous devil in a _m---------h_: in a word, tell me the man, i tell you the spirit that reign'd in him. nor does he thus carry on his secret management by possession in men of the first magnitude only, but have you not had evidences of it among our selves? how has he been a _lying_ spirit in the mouths of our prophets, a factious spirit in the heads of our politicians, a profuse _devil_ in a _b-----s_, a corrupt devil in _m-----_, a proud spirit in my lord _plausible_, a bullying spirit in my lord _bugbear_, a talkative spirit in his grace the d---- of _rattle-hall_, a scribling spirit in my lord _h------_, a run-away spirit in my lord _frightful_; and so thro' a long roll of heroes, whose exceeding, and particular qualifications proclaim loudly what handle the _devil_ took them by, and how fast he held them; for these were all men of ancient fame, i hope you know that. from men of figure, we descend to the mob, and 'tis there the same thing; possession, like the plague, is _morbus plebæi_; not a family but he is a spirit of strife and contention among them; not a man but he has a part in him; he is a drunken _devil_ in one, a whoring _devil_ in another, a thieving _devil_ in a third, a lying _devil_ in the fourth, and so on, to a thousand, and a hundred thousand, _ad infinitum_. nay, even the ladies have their share in the possession; and if they have not the _devil_ in their heads, or in their tails, in their faces or their tongues, it must be some poor despicable she-devil that satan did not think it worth his while to meddle with; and the number of those that are below his operation, i doubt is very small. but that part i have much more to say to in its place. from degrees of persons, to professions and employments, 'tis the same; we find the _devil_ is a true posture-master, he assumes any dress, appears in any shape, counterfeits every voice, acts upon every stage; here he wears a gown, there a long robe; here he wears the jack-boots, there the small-sword; is here an _enthusiast_, there a _buffoon_; on this side he acts the _mountebank_, on that side the _merry-andrew_; nothing comes amiss to him, from the great _mogul_, to the _scaramouch_; the _devil_ is in them, more or less, and plays his game so well that he makes sure work with 'em all: he knows where the _common foible_ lies, which is universal passion, what handle to take hold of every man by, and how to cultivate his interest so, as not to fail of his end, or mistake the means. how then can it be deny'd but that his acting thus _in tenebris_, and keeping out of the sight of the world, is abundantly his interest, and that he could do nothing, comparatively speaking, by any other method? what would this publick appearance have signified? who would have entertain'd him in his own proper shape and person? even b---- _b----_ himself, tho' all the world knows him to have a foolish _devil_ in him, would not have been fool enough to have taken him into his service, if he had known him: and my lord _simpleton_ also, who _satan_ has set up for a cunning fool, seems to have it sit much better upon him now he passes for a fool of art, than it should have done if the naked devil had come and challenged him for a fool in nature. infinite variety illustrate the _devil_'s reign among the sons of men; all which he manages with admirable dexterity, and a slight particular to himself, by the mere advantage of his present conceal'd situation, and which, had he been obliged to have appear'd in publick, had been all lost, and he capable of just nothing at all, or at least of nothing more than the other ordinary politicians of wickedness could have done without him. now, authors are much divided as to the manner how the _devil_ manages his proper instruments for mischief; for satan has a great many agents in the dark, who neither have the devil in them, nor are they much acquainted with him, and yet he serves himself of them, whether of their folly, or of that other frailty call'd wit, 'tis all one, he makes them do his work, when they think they are doing their own; nay, so cunning is he in his guiding the weak part of the world, that even when they think they are serving god, they are doing nothing less or more than serving the _devil_; nay, 'tis some of the nicest part of his operation, to make them believe they are serving god, when they do his work. thus those who the scripture foretold should persecute christ's church in the latter days, were to think they do god _good service_: thus the inquisition, (for example,) it may be, at this time, in all the acts of christian cruelty which they are so famous for (if any of them are ignorant enough not to know that they are _devils_ incarnate) they may, for ought we know, go on for god's sake; torture, murther, starve to death, mangle and macerate, and all for god, and god's catholic church; and 'tis certainly the _devil_'s master-piece to bring mankind to such a perfection of devilism as that of the _inquisition_ is; for _if the_ devil _had not been in them_, could they christen such a _hell-fire_ judicature as the _inquisition_ is, by the name of _the holy office_? and so in paganism, how could so many nations among the poor _indians_ offer human sacrifices to their idols, and murther thousands of men, women and children, to appease this god of the air, when he is angry, if the _devil_ did not act in them under the vizor of devotion? but we need not go to _america_, or to the inquisition, not to paganism or to popery either, to look for people that are sacrificing to the _devil_, or that give their peace-offerings to him, while they are offer'd upon god's altar; are not our churches (ay, and meeting-houses too, as much as they pretend to be more sanctified than their neighbours) full of _devil_ worshipers? where do his devotees gratulate one another, and congratulate him, more than at church? where, while they hold up their hands, and turn up their eyes towards heaven, they make all their vows to satan, or at least to the fair _devils_ his representatives, which i shall speak of in their place. do not the sons of god make assignations with the daughters of men in the very house of worship? do they not talk to them in the language of the eyes? and what is at the bottom of it, while one eye is upon the prayer-book, and the other adjusting their dress? are they not sacrificing to _venus_ and _mercury_, nay, and the very _devil_ they dress at? let any man impartially survey the church-gestures, the air, the postures and the behaviour; let him keep an exact roll, and if i do not shew him two _devil_ worshipers for one true saint, then the word _saint_ must have another signification than i ever yet understood it by. the church (as a place) is the receptacle of the dead, as well as the assembly of the living; what relates to those below, i doubt satan, if he would be so kind, could give a better account of than i can; but as to the superficies, i pretend to so much penetration as to tell you, that there are more spectres, more apparitions always there, than you that know nothing of the matter may be aware of. i happen'd to be at an eminent place of god's most devout worship the other day, with a gentleman of my acquaintance, who, i observed, minded very little the business he ought to come about; first i saw him always busy staring about him and bowing this way and that way, nay, he made two or three bows and scrapes when he was repeating the responses to the ten commandments, and assure you he made it correspond strangely, so that the harmony was not so broken in upon as you would expect it should; thus; _lord_, and a bow to a fine lady just come up to her seat, _have mercy upon us_; ---- three bows to a throng of ladies that came into the next pew altogether, _and incline_ ---- then stop'd to make a great scrape to my lord ----, _our hearts_, just then the hearts of all the church were gone off from the subject, for the response was over, so he huddled up the rest in whispers, for _god a mighty_ could hear him well enough, _he said_, nay, as well as if he had spoken as loud as his neighbours did. after we were come home, i ask'd him what he meant by all this, and what he thought of it? how could i help it, _said he_, i must not be rude. what, _says i_, rude to who? why, _says he_, there came in so many she _devils_ i could not help it. what, _said i_, could not you help bowing when you were saying your prayers? o sir! _says he_, the ladies would have thought i had slighted them, i could not avoid it. ladies! _said i_, i thought you call'd them _devils_ just now. ay, ay, _devils_, _said he_, little charming devils, but i must not be rude to them however. very well, _said i_, then you would be rude to _god a mighty_, because you could not be rude to the devil? why that's true, _said he_, but what can we do? there's no going to church as the case stands now, if we must not worship the _devil_ a little between whiles. this is the case indeed, and satan carries his point on every hand; for if the fair speaking world, and the fair looking world are generally _devils_, that is to say, are in his management, we are sure the foul speaking and the foul doing world are all on his side, and you have then only the fair-doing part of the world that are out of his class, and when we speak of them, _o how few!_ but i return to the _devil_'s managing our wicked part, for this he does with most exquisite subtilty; and this is one part of it, (_viz._) he thrusts our vices into our virtues, by which he mixes the clean and the unclean, and thus by the corruption of the one, poisons and debauches the other, so that the slave he governs cannot account for his own common actions, and is fain to be oblig'd to his maker to accept of the heart without the hands and feet; to take, as we vulgarly express it, _the will_ for the _deed_, and if heaven was not so good to come into that half in half service, i don't see but the _devil_ would carry away all his servants: here indeed i should enter into a long detail of involuntary wickedness, which in short, is neither more or less than the _devil_ in every body, ay, in every one of you, (our governors excepted) take it as you please. what is our language when we look back with reflection and reproach on past follies? _i think i was bewitch'd_, i was _posses'd_, _certainly the devil was in me, or else i had never been such a sot_: _devil_ in you, sir! ay, who doubts it; you may be sure the _devil_ was in you, and there he is still, and next time he can catch you in the same snare, you'll be just the same sot that you say you were before. in short, the _devil_ is too cunning for us, and manages us his own way; he governs the vices of men by his own methods; tho' every crime will not make a man a _devil_, yet it must be owned that every crime puts the criminal in some measure into the devil's power, gives him a title to the man, and he treats him magisterially ever after. some tell us every single man, every individual has a _devil_ attending him, to execute the orders of the (grand signior) devil of the whole clan; that this attending _evil angel_, for so he is call'd, sees every step you take, is with you in every action, prompts you to every mischief, and leaves you to do every thing that is pernicious to your self; they also alledge that there is a good spirit which attends him too, which latter is always accessary to every thing that we do that is good, and reluctant to evil; if this is true, how comes it to pass that those two opposite spirits do not quarrel about it when they are pressing us to contrary actions, one good and the other evil? and why does the evil tempting spirit so often prevail? instead of answering this difficult question, i shall only tell you, as to this story of good and evil angels attending every particular person, 'tis a good allegory indeed to represent the struggle in the mind of man between good and evil inclinations; but as to the rest, the best thing i can say of it is, _that_ i think _'tis a fib_. but to take things as they are, and only talk by way of natural consequence, for to argue from nature is certainly the best way to find out the _devil_'s story; if there are good and evil spirits attending us, that is to say, a good angel and a _devil_, then 'tis no unjust reproach upon any body to say, when they follow the dictates of the latter, the _devil_ is in them; or they are _devils_; nay, i must carry it farther still, namely, that as the generality and greatest number of people do follow and obey the evil spirit and not the good, and that the predominate power is allowed to be the nominating power; you must then allow, that in short, the greater part of mankind has the devil in them, and so i come to my text. to this purpose give me leave to borrow a few lines of a friend on this very part of the devil's management. to places and persons he suits his disguises, and dresses up all his banditti, who as pickpockets flock to a country assizes, croud up to the court and the city. they're at every elbow and every ear, and ready at every call, sir; the vigilant scout plants his agents about, and has something to do with us all, sir. in some he has part, and in some he's the whole, and of some (like the vicar of _baddow_) it can neither be said they have body or soul, but only are _devils_ in shadow. the pretty and witty, are devils in masque, the beauties are meer apparitions; the homely alone by their faces are known, and the good by their ugly conditions. the beaus walk about like the shadows of men. and wherever he leads 'em they follow, but tak'em and shak'em, there's not one in ten but's as light as a feather and hollow. thus all his affairs he drives on in disguise, and he tickles mankind with a feather: creeps in at our ears, and looks out at our eyes, and jumbles our senses together. he raises the vapours, and prompts the desires, and to ev'ry dark deed holds the candle; the passions enflames and the appetite fires, and takes ev'ry thing by the handle. thus he walks up and down in compleat masquerade, and with every company mixes, sells in every shop, works at every trade, and ev'ry thing doubtful perplexes. how satan comes by this governing influence in the minds and upon the actions of men, is a question i am not yet come to, nor indeed does it so particularly belong to the devil's history, it seems rather a polemick, so it may pass at school among the metaphysicks, and puzzle the heads of our masters; wherefore i think to write to the learned dr. _b----_ about it, imploring his most sublime haughtiness, that when his other more momentous avocations of pedantry and pedagogism will give him an interval from wrath and contention, he will set apart a moment to consider human nature deviliz'd, and give us a mathematical anatomical description of it; with a map of satan's kingdom in the microcosm of mankind, and such other illuminations as to him and his contemporaries ---- and, ---- _&c._ in their great wisdom shall seem meet. chap. v. _of the_ devil_'s management in the pagan hierarchy by omens, entrails, augurs, oracles, and such like pageantry of hell; and how they went off the stage at last by the introduction of true religion._ i have adjourn'd, not finished, my account of the _devil_'s secret management by _possession_, and shall reassume it, in its place; but i must take leave to mention some other parts of his retir'd scheme, by which he has hitherto manag'd mankind, and the first of these is by that fraud of all frauds call'd oracle. here his trumpet yielded an uncertain sound for some ages, and like what he was, and according to what he practised from the beginning, he deliver'd out falshood and delusion by retale: the priests of _apollo_ acted this farce for him to a great nicety at _delphos_; there were divers others at the same time, and some, which to give the devil his due, he had very little hand in, as we shall see presently. there were also some smaller, some greater, some more, some less famous places where those oracles were seated, and audience given to the enquirers, in all which the _devil_, or some body for him, _permissu superiorum_, for either vindictive or other hidden ends and purposes, was allow'd to make at least a pretension to the knowledge of things to come; but, as publick cheats generally do, they acted in masquerade, and gave such uncertain and inconsistent responses, that they were oblig'd to use the utmost art to reconcile events to the prediction, even after things were come to pass. here the devil was a _lying spirit_, in a particular and extraordinary manner, in the mouths of all the prophets; and yet he had the cunning to express himself so, that whatever happen'd, the oracle was suppos'd to have meant as it fell out; and so all their augurs, omens and voices, by which the devil amus'd the world, not at that time only, but since, have been likewise interpreted. _julian_ the apostate dealt mightily in these amusements, but the devil, who neither wish'd his fall, or presag'd it to him, evidenc'd that he knew nothing of _julian_'s fate; for that, as he sent almost to all the oracles of the east, and summon'd all the priests together to inform him of the success of his _persian_ expedition, they all, like _ahab_'s _prophets_, having a lying spirit in them, encourag'd him and promis'd him success. nay, all the ill omens which disturb'd him, they presag'd good from; _for example_, he was at a prodigious expence when he was at _antioch_ to buy up white beasts, and white fowls, for sacrifices, and for predicting from the entrails; from whence the _antiochians_, in contempt, call'd him _victimarius_; but whenever the entrails foreboded evil, the cunning devil made the priests put a different construction upon them, and promise him good: when he entred into the temple of the _genij_ to offer sacrifice, one of the priests dropt down dead; this, had it had any signification more than a man falling dead of an apoplectic, would have signified something fatal to _julian_, who made himself a brother sacrist or priest; whereas the priests turn'd it presently to signify the death of his colleague, the consul _sallust_ which happen'd just at the same time, tho' eight hundred miles off; so in another case, _julian_ thought it ominous that he, who was _augustus_ should be nam'd with two other names of persons, both already dead; the case was thus, the stile of the emperor was _julianus foelix augustus_, and two of his principal officers were _julianus_ and _foelix_; now both _julianus_ and _foelix_ died within a few days of one another, which disturb'd him much, who was the third of the three names; but his flattering _devil_ told him it all imported good to him (_viz._) that tho' _julianus_ and _foelix_ should die, _augustus_ should be immortal. thus whatever happen'd, and whatever was foretold, and how much soever they differ'd from one another, the lying spirit was sure to reconcile the _prediction_ and the _event_, and make them at least seem to correspond in favour of the person enquiring. now we are told oracles are ceased, and the _devil_ is farther limited for the good of mankind, not being allow'd to vent his delusions by the mouths of the priests and augurs, as formerly: i will not take upon me to say how far they are really ceas'd, more than they were before; i think 'tis much more reasonable to believe there was never any reality in them at all, or that any oracle ever gave out any answers but what were the invention of the priests and the delusions of the devil; i have a great many antient authors on my side in this opinion, as _eusebius_, _tertullian_, _aristotle_, and others, who as they liv'd so near the pagan times, and when even some of those rites were yet in use, they had much more reason to know, and could probably pass a better judgment upon them; nay _cicero_ himself ridicules them in the openest manner; again, other authors descend to particular and shew how the cheat was manag'd by the heathen sacrists and priests, and in what enthusiastic manner they spoke; namely, by going into the hollow images, such as the brazen bull and the image of _apollo_, and how subtilly they gave out _dubious_ and _ambiguous_ answers; that when the people did not find their expectations answer'd by the event, they might be imposed upon by the priests, and confidently told they did not rightly understand the oracle's meaning: however, i cannot say but that indeed there are some authors of good credit too, who will have it that there was a real prophetic spirit in the voice or answers given by the oracles, and that oftentimes they were miraculously exact in those answers; and they give that of the _delphic_ oracle answering the question which was given about _croesus_ for an example, _viz._ what _croesus_ was doing at that time? _to wit_, that he was boiling a lamb and the flesh of a tortoise together, in a brass vessel, or boiler, with a cover of the same metal; that is to say, in a kettle with a brass cover. to affirm therefore, that they were all cheats, a man must encounter with antiquity, and set his private judgment up against an establish'd opinion; but 'tis no matter for that; if i do not see any thing in that receiv'd opinion capable of evidence, much less of demonstration, i must be allow'd still to think as i do; others may believe as they list; i see nothing hard or difficult in the thing; the priests, who were always historically inform'd of the circumstances of the enquirer, or at least something about them, might easily find some ambiguous speech to make, and put some double _entendre_ upon them, which upon the event solv'd the credit of the oracle, were it one way or other; and this they certainly did, or we have room to think the devil knows less of things now than he did in former days. it is true that by these delusions the priests got infinite sums of money, and this makes it still probable that they would labour hard, and use the utmost of their skill to uphold the credit of their oracles; and 'tis a full discovery, as well of the subtlety of the sacrists, as of the ignorance and stupidity of the people, in those early days of _satan_'s witchcraft; to see what merry work the _devil_ made with the world, and what gross things he put upon mankind: such was the story of the _dordonian_ oracle in _epirus_, _viz_. that two _pigeons_ flew out of _thebes_ (_n. b._ it was the _egyptian thebes_) from the temple of _belus_, erected there by the antient sacrists, and that one of these fled eastward into _lybia_, and the desarts of _africk_, and the other into _greece_, namely, to _dordona_, and these communicated the divine mysteries to one another, and afterwards gave mystical solutions to the devout enquirers; first the _dordonian_ pigeon perching upon an oak spoke audibly to the people there, that the gods commanded them to build an oracle, or temple, to _jupiter_, in that place; which was accordingly done: the other pigeon did the like on the hill in _africa_, where it commanded them to build another to _jupiter ammon_, or _hammon_. wise _cicero_ contemned all this, and, as authors tell us, ridiculed the answer, which, as i have hinted above, the oracle gave to _croesus_ proving that the oracle it self was a _liar_, that it could not come from _apollo_, for that _apollo_ never spoke _latin_: in a word, _cicero_ rejected them all, and _demosthenes_ also mentions the cheats of the _oracles_; when speaking of the oracle of _apollo_, he said, _pithia philippiz'd_; that is, that when the priests were brib'd with money, they always gave their answers in favour of _philip_ of _macedon_. but that which is most strange to me is, that in this dispute about the reality of oracles, the heathen who made use of them are the people who expose them, and who insist most positively upon their being cheats and impostors, as in particular those mentioned above; while the christians who reject them, yet believe they did really foretel things, answer questions, _&c._ only with this difference, that the heathen authors who oppose them, insist that 'tis all delusion and cheat, and charge it upon the priests; and the christian opposers insist that it was real, but that the _devil_, not the gods, gave the answers; and that he was permitted to do it by a superior power, to magnify that power in the total silencing them at last. but, as i said before, i am with the heathen here, against the christian writers, for i take it all to be a cheat and delusion: i must give my reason for it, or i do nothing; my reason is this, i insist satan is as blind in matters of futurity, as we are, and can tell nothing of what is to come; these oracles often pretending to predict, could be nothing else therefore but a cheat form'd by the money-getting priests to amuse the world, and bring grist to their mill: if i meet with any thing in my way to open my eyes to a better opinion of them, i shall tell it you as i go on. on the other hand, whether the _devil_ really spake in those oracles, or set the cunning priests to speak for him; whether they predicted, or only made the people believe they predicted; whether they gave answers which came to pass, or prevail'd upon the people to believe that what was said did come to pass, it was much at one, and fully answer'd the _devil_'s end; namely, to amuse and delude the world; and as to do, or to cause to be done, is the same part of speech, so whoever did it, the _devil_'s interest was carried on by it, his government preserv'd, and all the mischief he could desire was effectually brought to pass, so that every way they were the _devil_'s oracles, that's out of the question. indeed i have wonder'd sometimes why, since by this sorcery the _devil_ perform'd such wonders, that is, play'd so many tricks in the world, and had such universal success, he should set up no more of them; but there might be a great many reasons given for that, too long to tire you with at present: 'tis true, there were not many of them, and yet considering what a great deal of business they dispatch'd, it was enough, for six or eight oracles were more than sufficient to amuse all the world: the chief oracles we meet with in history are among the _greeks_ and the _romans_, _viz._ that of _jupiter ammon_, in _lybia_, as above. the _dordonian_, in _epirus_. _apollo delphicus_, in the country of _phocis_ in _greece_. _apollo clavius_, in _asia minor_. _serapis_, in _alexandria_ in _egypt_. _trophomis_, in _bæotia_. _sybilla cumæa_, in _italy_. _diana_, at _ephesus_. _apollo daphneus_, at _antioch_. besides many of lesser note, in several other places, as i have hinted before. i have nothing to do here with the story mentioned by _plutarch_, of a voice being heard at sea, from some of the islands call'd the _echinades_, and calling upon one _thamuz_, an _egyptian_, who was on board a ship, bidding him, when he came to the _palodes_, other islands in the _ionian_ seas, tell them there that the great god pan was dead; and when _thamuz_ perform'd it, great groanings, and howlings, and lamentation were heard from the shore. this tale tells but indifferently, tho' indeed it looks more like _a christian fable_, than a pagan; because it seems as if made to honour the christian worship, and blast all the pagan idolatry; and for that reason i reject it, the christian profession needing no such fabulous stuff to confirm it. nor is it true in fact, that the oracles did cease immediately upon the death of christ; but, as i noted before, the sum of the matter is this; the christian religion spreading it self universally, as well as miraculously, and that too _by the foolishness of preaching_, into all parts of the world, the oracles ceas'd; that is to say, their trade ceas'd, their rogueries were daily detected, the deluded people being better taught, came no more after them, and being asham'd, as well as discourag'd, they sneak'd out of the world as well as they could; in short the customers fell off, and the priests, who were the shopkeepers, having no business to do, shut up their shops, broke, and went away; the trade and the tradesmen were hiss'd off the stage together; so that the _devil_, who, it must be confess'd, got infinitely by the cheat, became bankrupt, and was oblig'd to set other engines at work, as other cheats and deceivers do, who when one trick grows stale, and will serve no longer, are forc'd to try another. nor was the _devil_ to seek in new measures; for tho' he could not give out his delusive trash as he did before, in pomp and state, with the solemnity of a temple and a set of enthusiasts call'd priests, who plaid a thousand tricks to amuse the world, he then had recourse to his old _egyptian_ method, which indeed was more antient than that of oracles; and that was by magic, sorcery, familiars, witchcraft, and the like. of this we find the people of the _south_, that is, of _arabia_ and _chaldea_ were the first, from whence we are told of the wise men, that is to say, magicians, were call'd _chaldeans_ and _southsayers_. hence also we find _ahaziah_ the king of _israel_ sent to _baalzebub_ the god of _ekron_, to enquire whether he should live or die? this some think was a kind of an oracle, tho' others think it was only some over-grown magician, who counterfeited himself to be a _devil_, and obtain'd upon that idol-hunting age to make a cunning man of him; and for that purpose he got himself made a priest of _baalzebub_, the god of _ekron_, and gave out answers in his name. thus those merry fellows in _egypt_, _jannes_ and _jambres_, are said to mimick _moses_ and _aaron_, when they work'd the miraculous plagues upon the _egyptians_; and we have some instances in scripture that support this, such as the witch of _endor_, the king _manasses_, who dealt with the _devil_ openly, and had a familiar; the woman mentioned _acts_ xvi. who had a spirit of _divination_, and who got money by playing the oracle; that is, answering doubtful questions, _&c._ which spirit, or _devil_, the apostles cast out. now tho' it is true that the old women in the world have fill'd us with tales, some improbable, others impossible; some weak, some ridiculous, and that this puts a general discredit upon all the graver matrons, who entertain us with stories better put together, yet 'tis certain, and i must be allow'd to affirm, that the _devil_ does not disdain to take into his service many troops of good _old women_, and old women-men too, who he finds 'tis for his service to keep in constant pay; to these he is found frequently to communicate his mind, and oftentimes we find them such proficients, that they know much more than the _devil_ can teach them. how far our antient friend _merlin_, or the grave matron his (satan's) most trusty and well-beloved cousin and counsellor, mother _shipton_, were commissioned by him to give out their prophetic oracles, and what degree of possession he may have arrived to in them upon their midnight excursions, i will not undertake to prove; but that he might be acquainted with them both, as well as with several of our modern gentlemen, i will not deny neither. i confess it is not very incongruous with the _devil_'s temper, or with the nature of his business, to shift hands; possibly he found that he had tried the world with oracular cheats; that men began to be forfeited with them, and grew sick of the frauds which were so frequently detected; that it was time to take new measures, and contrive some new trick to bite the world, that he might not be expos'd to contempt; or perhaps he saw the approach of new light, which the christian doctrine bringing with it began to spread in the minds of men; that it would out-shine the dim burning _ignis fatuus_, with which he had so long cheated mankind, and was afraid to stand it, lest he should be mobb'd off the stage by his own people, when their eyes should begin to open: that upon this foot he might in policy withdraw from those old retreats the oracles, and restrain those responses before they lost all their credit; for we find the people seem'd to be at a mighty loss for some time, for want of them, so that it made them run up and down to conjurers, and _man-gossips_, to brazen heads, speaking calves, and innumerable simple things, so gross that they are scarce fit to be named, to satisfy the itch of having their fortunes told them, as we call it. now as the devil is very seldom blind to his own interest, and therefore thought fit to quit his old way of imposing upon the world by his oracles, only because he found the world began to be too wise to be imposed upon that way; so on the other hand, finding there was still a possibility to delude the world, tho' by other instruments, he no sooner laid down his oracles, and the solemn pageantry, magnificent appearances, and other frauds of his priests and votaries, in their temples and shrines; but he set up a new trade, and having, as i have said, agents and instruments sufficient for any business that he could have to employ them in, he begins in corners, as the learned and merry dr. _brown_ says, and exercises his minor trumperies by way of his own contriving, lifting a great number of new-found operators, such as witches, magicians, diviners, figure-casters, astrologers, and such inferior seducers. now it is true, as that doctor says, this was running into corners, as if he had been expell'd his more triumphant way of giving audience in form, which for so many ages had been allow'd him; yet i must add, that as it seem'd to be the devil's own doing, from a right judgment of his affairs, which had taken a new turn in the world, upon the shining of new lights from the christian doctrine, so it must be acknowledged the _devil_ made himself amends upon mankind, by the various methods he took, and the multitude of instruments he employ'd, and perhaps deluded mankind in a more fatal and sensible manner than he did before, tho' not so universally. he had indeed before more pomp and figure put upon it, and he cheated mankind then in a way of magnificence and splendor; but this was not in above eight or ten principal places, and not fifty places in all, public or private; whereas now fifty thousand of his angels and instruments, visible and invisible, hardly may be said to suffice for one town or city; but in short, as his invisible agents fill the air, and are at hand for mischief on every emergence, so his visible fools swarm in every village, and you have scarce a hamlet or a town but his emissaries are at hand for business; and which is still worse, in all places he finds business; nay even where religion is planted and seems to flourish; yet he keeps his ground and pushes his interest according to what has been said elsewhere upon the same subject, that wherever religion plants, the devil plants close by it. nor, as i say, does he fail of success, delusion spreads like a plague, and the devil is sure of votaries; like a true mountebank, he can always bring a croud about his stage, and that some times faster than other people. what i observe upon this subject is this, that the world is at a strange loss for want of the devil; if it was not so, what's the reason, that upon the silencing the oracles, and religion telling them that miracles are ceas'd, and that god has done speaking by prophets, they never enquire whether heaven has established any other or new way of revelation, but away they ran with their doubts and difficulties to these dreamers of dreams, tellers of fortunes, and personal oracles to be resolv'd; as if when they acknowledge the devil is dumb, these could speak; and as if the wicked spirit could do more than the good, the _diabolical_ more than the _divine_, or that heaven having taken away the devil's voice, had furnish'd him with an equivalent, by allowing scolds, termagants, and old weak and superannuated wretches to speak for him; for these are the people we go to now in our doubts and emergencies. while this blindness continues among us, 'tis nonsense to say that oracles are silenced, or the _devil_ is dumb, for the _devil_ gives audience still by his deputies; only as _jeroboam_ made priests of the meanest of the people, so he is grown a little humble, and makes use of meaner instruments than he did before; for whereas the priests of _apollo_, and of _jupiter_, were splendid in their appearance, of grave and venerable aspect, and sometimes of no mean quality; now he makes use of scoundrels and rabble, beggars and vagabonds, old hags, superannuated miserable hermits, gypsies and strollers, the pictures of envy and ill luck. either the _devil_ is grown an ill master, and gives but mean wages, that he can get no better servants; or else common sense is grown very low priz'd and contemptible; that such as these are fit tools to continue the succession of fraud, and carry on the _devil_'s interest in the world; for were not the passions and temper of mankind deeply pre-engaged in favour of this dark prince, we could never suffer our selves to accept of his favours by the hands of such contemptible agents as these! how do we receive his oracles from an old witch of particular eminence, and who we believe to be more than ordinarily inspir'd from hell; i say, we receive the oracle with reverence; that is to say, with a kind of horror, with regard to the black prince it comes from, and at the same time turn our faces away from the wretch that mumbles out the answers, lest she should cast an _evil eye_, as we call it, upon us, and put a devil into us when she plays the _devil_ before us? how do we listen to the cant of those worst of vagabonds the _gypsies_, when at the same time we watch our hedges and hen-roosts for fear of their thieving? either the devil uses us more like fools than he did our ancestors, or we really are worse fools than those ages produced, for they were never deluded by such low-priz'd _devils_ as we are; by such despicable _bridewell_ devils, that are fitter for a whipping-post than an altar, and instead of being receiv'd as the voice of an oracle, should be sent to the house of correction for pick-pockets. nor is this accidental, and here and there one of these wretches to be seen, but in short, if it has been in other nations as it is with us, i do not see that the devil was able to get any better people into his pay, or at least very rarely: where have we seen any thing above a tinker turn wizard? and where have we had a witch of quality among us, mother _je------gs_ excepted? and if she had not been more of something else than a witch, 'twas thought she had never got so much money by her profession. magicians, southsayers, devil-raisers, and such people, we have heard much of, but seldom above the degree of the meanest of the mean people, the lowest of the lowest rank: indeed the word _wise men_, which the _devil_ wou'd fain have had his agents honour'd with, was used a while in _egypt_, and in _persia_, among the _chaldeans_, but it continued but a little while, and never reach'd so far northward as our country; nor, however the _devil_ has managed it, have many of our great men, who have been most acquainted with him, ever been able to acquire the title of wise men. i have heard that in older times, i suppose in good queen _bess_'s days, or beyond, (for little is to be said here for any thing on this side of her time) there were some counsellors and statesmen who merited the character of _wise_, in the best sense; that is to say, _good_, and _wise_, as they stand in conjunction; but as to what has happen'd since that, or, as we may call it, from that queen's funeral to the late revolution, i have little to say; but i'll tell you what honest _andrew marvel_ said of those times, and by that you may, if you please, make your calculation or let it alone, 'tis all one. "to see a white staff-maker, a beggar, a lord, "and scarce _a wise man_ at a long council-board. but i may be told this relates to wise men in another constitution, or wise men as they are opposed to fools; whereas we are talking of them now under another class, namely, as _wisemen_ or magicians, south-sayers, _&c._ such as were in former times call'd by that name. but to this i answer, that take them in which sense you please, it may be the same; for if i were to ask the _devil_ the character of the best states-man he had employ'd among us for many years past, i am apt to think that tho' oracles are ceased, he would honestly, according to the old ambiguous way, when i ask'd if they were christians, answer they were (his) _privy-counsellors_. it is but a little while ago, that i happen'd (in conversation) to meet with a long list of the magistrates of that age, in a neighbouring country, that is to say, the men of fame among them; and it was a very diverting thing to see the judgment which was pass'd upon them among a great deal of good company; it is not for me to tell you how many white staves, golden keys, mareshals batoons, cordons blue, gordon rouge and gordon blanc, there were among them, or by what titles, as dukes, counts, marquis, abbot, bishop, or justice they were to be distinguish'd; but the marginal notes i found upon most of them were (being mark'd with an asterism) as follows. such a duke, such eminent offices added to his titles (* in the margin) ------ _no saint_. such an arch---- with the title of noble added, ------ _no archangel_. such an eminent statesman and prime minister, ------ _no witch_. such a ribbon with a set of great letters added, ------ _no conjurer_. it presently occurr'd to me that tho' oracles were ceased, and we had now no more double _entendre_ in such a degree as before, yet that ambiguous answers were not at an end; and that whether those negatives were meant so by the writers, or not, 'twas certain custom led the readers to conclude them to be satyrs, that they were to be rung backwards like the bells when the town's on fire; tho' in short, i durst not read them backward any where, but as speaking of foreign people, for fear of raising the _devil_ i am talking of. but to return to the subject; to such mean things is the devil now reduc'd in his ordinary way of carrying on his business in the world, that his oracles are deliver'd now by the bellmen and the chimney-sweepers, by the meanest of those that speak in the dark, and if he operates by them, you may expect it accordingly; his agents seem to me as if the devil had singl'd them out by their deformity, or that there was something particular requir'd in their aspect to qualify them for their employment; whence it is become proverbial, when our looks are very dismal and frightful, to say, i look like a witch, or in other cases to say, as ugly as a witch; in another case to look as envious as a witch; now whether there is any thing particularly requir'd in the looks of the devil's modern agents, which is assisting in the discharge of their offices, and which make their answers appear more solemn, this the _devil_ has not yet reveal'd, at least not to me; and therefore why it is that he singles out such creatures as are fit only to fright the people that come to them with their enquiries, i do not take upon me to determine. perhaps it is necessary they should be thus extraordinary in their aspect, that they might strike an awe into the minds of their votaries, as if they were satan's true and real representatives; and that the said votaries may think when they speak to the witches they are really talking to the _devil_; or perhaps 'tis necessary to the witches themselves, that they should be so exquisitely ugly, that they might not be surpriz'd at whatever figure the devil makes when he first appears to them, being certain they can see nothing uglier than themselves. some are of the opinion that the communication with the _devil_, or between the devil and those creatures his agents, has something assimulating in it, and that if they were tolerable before, they are, _ipso facto_, turn'd into devils by talking with him; i will not say but that a tremor in the limbs, a horror in the aspect, and a surprizing stare in the eyes may seize upon some of them when they really see the devil, and that the frequent repetition may make those distortions, which we so constantly see in their faces becomes natural to them; by which if it does not continue always upon the countenance, they can at least, _like the posture-masters_, cast themselves into such figures and frightful dislocations of the lines and features in their faces, and so assume a devil's face suitable to the occasion, or as may serve the turn for which they take it up, and as often as they have any use for it. but be it which of these the enquirer pleases, 'tis all one to the case in hand; this is certain, that such deform'd _devil-like_ creatures, most of those we call _hags_ and _witches_, are in their shapes and aspects, and that they give out their sentences and frightful messages with an air of revenge for some injury receiv'd; for witches are fam'd chiefly for doing mischief. it seems the _devil_ has always pick'd out the most ugly and frightful old women to do his business; _mother shipton_, our famous _english_ witch or prophetess, is very much wrong'd in her picture, if she was not of the most terrible aspect imaginable; and if it be true that _merlin_, the famous _welch_ fortune-teller, was a frightful figure, it will seem the more rational to believe, if we credit another story, (_viz._) that he was begotten by the devil himself, of which i shall speak by it self: but to go back to the devil's instruments being so ugly; it may be observed, i say, that the devil has always dealt in such sort of cattle; the _sybils_, of whom so many strange prophetic things are recorded, whether true or no is not to the question, are (if the _italian_ painters may have any credit given them) all represented as very old women; and as if ugliness were a beauty to old age, they seem to paint them out as ugly and frightful as (not they, the painters) but even as the devil himself could make them; not that i believe there are any original pictures of them really extant; but it is not unlikely that the _italians_ might have some traditional knowledge of them, or some remaining notions of them, or particularly that antient _sybil_ named _anus_, who sold the fatal book to _tarquin_; 'tis said of her that _tarquin_ supposed she doated with age. i had thoughts indeed here to have entred into a learned disquisition of the excellency of old women in all diabolical operations, and particularly of the necessity of having recourse to them for _satan_'s more exquisite administration, which also may serve to solve the great difficulty in the natural philosophy of hell; namely, why it comes to pass that the devil is oblig'd for want of old women, properly so call'd, to turn so many antient fathers, grave counsellors both of law and state, and especially civilians or doctors of the law into old women, and how the extraordinary operation is perform'd; but this, as a thing of great consequence in satan's management of humane affairs, and particularly as it may lead us into the necessary history, as well as characters of some of the most eminent of these sects among us, i have purposely reserv'd for a work by it self, to be published, if _satan hinders not_, in fifteen volumes in folio, wherein i shall in the first place define in the most exact manner possible, what is to be understood by a _male old woman_, of what heterogeneous kind they are produced, give you the monstrous anatomy of the parts, and especially those of the head, which being fill'd with innumerable globules of a sublime nature, and which being of a fine contexture without, but particularly hollow in the cavity, defines most philosophically that antient paradoxical saying, (_viz._) _being full of emptiness_, and makes it very consistent with nature and common sense. i shall likewise spend some time, _and it must be labour too, i assure you, when 'tis done_, in determining whether this new species of wonderfuls are not deriv'd from that famous _old woman merlin_, which i prove to be very reasonable for us to suppose, because of the many several judicious authors, who affirm the said _merlin_, as i hinted before, to have been begotten by the _devil_. as to the deriving his gift of prophesy from the devil, by that pretended generation, i shall omit that part, because, as i have all along insisted upon it, that satan himself has no prophetic or predicting powers of his own, it is not very clear to me that he could convey it to his posterity, _nil dat quod not habet_. however, in deriving this so much magnified prophet in a right line from the _devil_, much may be said in favour of his ugly face, in which it was said he was very remarkable, for it is no new thing for a child to be like the father; but all these weighty things i adjourn for the present, and proceed to the affair in hand, namely, the several branches of the _devil_'s management since his quitting his temples and oracles. chap. vi. _of the extraordinary appearance of the_ devil, _and particularly of the cloven-foot._ some people would fain have us treat this tale of the _devil_'s appearing with a cloven-foot with more solemnity than i believe the _devil_ himself does; for satan, who knows how much of a cheat it is, must certainly ridicule it, in his own thoughts, to the last degree; but as he is glad of any way to hoodwink the understandings, and bubble the weak part of the world; so if he sees men willing to take every scarecrow for a devil, it is not his business to undeceive them; on the other hand, he finds it his interest to foster the cheat, and serve himself of the consequence: nor could i doubt but the devil, if any mirth be allow'd him, often laughs at the many frightful shapes and figures we dress him up in, and especially to see how willing we are first to paint him as black, and make him appear as ugly as we can, and then stare and start at the spectrum of our own making. the truth is, that among all the horribles that we dress up satan in, i cannot but think we shew the least of invention in this of a goat, or a thing with a goat's foot, of all the rest; for tho' a goat is a creature made use of by our saviour in the allegory of the day of judgment, and is said there to represent the wicked rejected party, yet it seems to be only on account of their similitude to the sheep, and so to represent the just fate of hypocrisy and hypocrites, and in particular to form the necessary antithesis in the story; for else, _our whimsical fancies excepted_, a sheep or a lamb has a cloven-foot as well as a goat; nay, if the scripture be of any value in the case, 'tis to the _devil_'s advantage, for the dividing the hoof was the distinguishing character or mark of a clean beast, and how the devil can be brought into that number is pretty hard to say. one would have thought if we had intended to have given a just figure of the _devil_, it would have been more apposite to have rank'd him among the cat-kind, and given him a foot (if he is to be known by his foot) like a lion, or like a _red dragon_, being the same creatures which he is represented by in the text, and so his claws would have had some terror in them as well as his teeth. but neither is the _goat_ a true representative of the devil at all, for we do not rank the goats among the subtle or cunning part of the brutes; he is counted a fierce creature indeed of his kind, tho' nothing like those other abovemention'd; and he is emblematically used to represent a lustful temper, but even that part does not fully serve to describe the devil, whose operation lies principally another way. besides it is not the _goat_ himself that is made use of, 'tis the cloven-hoof only, and that so particularly, that the _cloven foot_ of a ram or a swine, or any other creature, may serve as well as that of a _goat_, only that history gives us some cause to call it the _goat_'s _foot_. in the next place 'tis understood by us not as a bare token to know _satan_ by, but as if it were a brand upon him, and that like the mark god put upon _cain_, it was given him for a punishment, so that he cannot get leave to appear without it, nay cannot conceal it whatever other dress or disguise he may put on; and as if it was to make him as ridiculous as possible, they will have it be, that whenever _satan_ has occasion to dress himself in any humane shape, be it of what degree soever, from the king to the beggar, be it of a fine lady or of an _old woman_, (the latter it seems he oftenest assumes) yet still he not only must have this _cloven-foot_ about him, but he is oblig'd to shew it too; nay, they will not allow him any dress, whether it be a prince's robes, a lord cha---r's gown, or a lady's hoop and long petticoats, but the cloven-foot must be shew'd from under them; they will not so much as allow him an artificial _shoe_ or a _jack-boot_, as we often see contriv'd to conceal a _club-foot_ or a _wooden-leg_; but that the _devil_ may be known wherever he goes, he is bound to shew his foot; they might as well oblige him to set a bill upon his cap, as folks do upon a house to be let, and have it written in capital letters, _i am the_ devil. it must be confess'd this is very particular, and would be very hard upon the _devil_, if it had not another article in it, which is some advantage to him, and that is, that _the fact is not true_; but the belief of this is so universal, that all the world runs away with it; by which mistake the good people miss the _devil_ many times where they look for him, and meet him as often where they did not expect him, and when for want of this cloven-foot they do not know him. upon this very account i have sometimes thought, not that this has been put upon him by meer fancy, and the cheat of a heavy imagination, propagated by fable and chymny-corner divinity, but that it has been a contrivance of his own; and that, in short, the devil rais'd this scandal upon himself, that he might keep his disguise the better, and might go a visiting among his friends without being known; for were it really so, that he could go no where without this particular brand of infamy, he could not come into company, could not dine with my lord mayor, nor drink tea with the ladies, could not go to the drawing-r---- at ------, could not have gone to _fountainbleau_ to the king of _france_'s wedding, or to the diet of _poland_, to prevent the grandees there coming to an agreement; nay, _which would be still worse than all_, he could not go to the masquerade, nor to any of our balls; the reason is plain, he would be always discover'd, expos'd and forc'd to leave the good company, or which would be as bad, the company would all cry out the _devil_ and run out of the room as if they were frighted; nor could all the help of invention do him any service, no dress he could put on would cover him; not all our friends at _tavistock corner_ could furnish him with a habit that would disguise or conceal him, this unhappy foot would spoil it all: now this would be a great a loss to him, that i question whether he could carry on any of his most important affairs in the world without it; for tho' he has access to mankind in his compleat disguise, i mean that of his invisibility, yet the learned very much agree in this, that his corporal presence in the world is absolutely necessary upon many occasions, to support his interest and keep up his correspondences, and particularly to encourage his friends when numbers are requisite to carry on his affairs; but this part i shall have occasion to speak of again, when i come to consider him as a gentleman of business in his locality, and under the head of visible apparition; but i return to the _foot_. as i have thus suggested that the devil himself has politically spread about this notion concerning his appearing with _a cloven-foot_, so i doubt not that he has thought it for his purpose to paint this _cloven-foot_ so lively in the imaginations of many of our people, and especially of those clear sighted folks who see the _devil_ when he is not to be seen, that they would make no scruple to say, nay and to make affidavit too, even before _satan_ himself, whenever he sat upon the bench, that they had seen his worship's foot at such and such a time; this i advance the rather because 'tis very much for his interest to do this, for if we had not many witnesses, _viva voce_, to testify it, we should have had some obstinate fellows always among us, who would have denied the fact, or at least have spoken doubtfully of it, and so have rais'd disputes and objections against it, as impossible, or at least as improbable; buzzing one ridiculous notion or other into our ears, as if the devil was not so black as he was painted, that he had no more a _cloven-foot_ than a pope, whose apostolical toes have so often been reverentially kiss'd by kings and emperors: but now alas this part is out of the question, not the man in the moon, not the groaning-board, not the speaking of fryar _bacon_'s brazen-head, not the inspiration of _mother shipton_, or the miracles of dr. _faustus_, things as certain as death and taxes, can be more firmly believ'd: the devil not have a cloven-foot! i doubt not but i could, in a short time, bring you a thousand old women together, that would as soon believe there was no devil at all; nay, they will tell you, he could not be a devil without it, any more than he could come into the room, and the candles not burn blue, or go out and not leave a smell of brimstone behind him. since then the certainty of the thing is so well establish'd, and there are so many good and substantial witnesses ready to testify that he has a cloven-foot, and that they have seen it too; nay, and that we have antiquity on our side, for we have this truth confirm'd by the testimony of many ages; why should we doubt it any longer? we can prove that many of our ancestors have been of this opinion, and divers learn'd authors have left it upon record, as particularly that learned familiarist mother _hazel_, whose writings are to be found in ms. in the famous library at _pye-corner_; also the admir'd _joan_ of _amesbury_, the history of the _lancashire_ witches, and the reverend exorcist of the _devil_'s of _london_, whose history is extant among us to this day; all these and many more may be quoted, and their writings referr'd to for the confirmation of the antiquity of this truth; but there seems to be no occasion for farther evidence, 'tis enough, _satan_ himself, if he did not raise the report, yet tacitly owns the fact, at least he appears willing to have it believ'd, and be receiv'd as a general truth for the reasons above. but besides all this, and as much a jest as some unbelieving people would have this story pass for, who knows but that if _satan_ is empower'd to assume any shape or body, and to appear to us visibly, as if really so shap'd; i say, who knows but he may, by the same authority, be allow'd to assume the addition of the cloven-foot, or two or four cloven-feet, if he pleased? and why not a _cloven-foot_ as well as any other foot, if he thinks fit? for if the _devil_ can assume a shape, and can appear to mankind in a visible form, it may, i doubt not, with as good authority be advanc'd that he is left at liberty to assume what shape he pleases, and to choose _what case of flesh and blood he'll please to wear_, whether real or imaginary; and if this liberty be allow'd him, it is an admirable disguise for him to come generally with his _cloven-foot_, that when he finds it for his purpose, on special occasions to come without it, as i said above, he may not be suspected; _but take this with you as you go_, that all this is upon a supposition that the _devil_ can assume a visible shape, and make a real appearance, which however i do not yet think fit to grant or deny. certain it is, the first people who bestow'd a _cloven-foot_ upon the devil, were not so despicable as you may imagine, but were real favourites of heaven; for did not _aaron_ set up the _devil_ of a calf in the congregation, and set the people a dancing about it for a god? upon which occasion, expositors tell us, that particular command was given, _levit._ xvii. . _they shall no more offer their sacrifices unto_ devils, _after whom they have gone a whoring_; likewise king _jeroboam_ set up the two calves, one at _dan_ and the other at _bethel_, and we find them charg'd afterwards with setting up the worship of _devils_ instead of the worship of _god_. after this we find some nations actually sacrificed to the _devil_ in the form of a ram, and others of a goat; from which, and that above of the calves at _horeb_, i doubt not the story of the _cloven-foot_ first derived; and it is plain that the worship of that calf at _horeb_ is meant in the scripture quoted above, _levit._ xvii. . _thou shalt no more offer sacrifices unto devils_: the original is _seghnirim_; that is, rough and hairy _goats_ or _calves_; and some think also in this shape the _devil_ most ordinarily appeared to the _egyptians_ and _arabians_, from whence it was derived. also in the old writings of the _egyptians_, i mean their hieroglyphick writing, before the use of letters was known, we are told this was the mark that he was known by; and the figure of a _goat_ was the _hieroglyphick_ of the _devil_; some will affirm that the _devil_ was particularly pleased to be so represented; how they came by their information, and whether they had it from his own mouth or not, authors have not yet determined. but be this as it will, i do not see that _satan_ could have been at a loss for some extraordinary figure to have banter'd mankind with, tho' this had not been thought of; but thinking of the _cloven-foot_ first, and the matter being indifferent, this took place, and easily rooted it self in the bewildred fancy of the people, and now 'tis riveted too fast for the _devil_ himself to remove it if he was disposed to try; but as i said above, 'tis none of his business to solve doubts or remove difficulties out of our heads, but to perplex us with more, as much as he can. some people carry this matter a great deal higher still, and will have the _cloven-foot_ be like the great stone which the _brasilian conjurers_ used to solve all difficult questions upon, after having used a great many monstrous and barbarous gestures and distortions of their bodies, and cut certain marks or magical figures upon the stone; so, _i say_, they will have this cloven-foot be a kind of a conjuring-stone, and tell us, that in former times, when _satan_ drove a greater trade with mankind in publick, than he has done of late, he gave this _cloven-foot_ as a token to his particular favourites to work wonders with, and to conjure by, and that witches, fairies, hobgoblins, and such things, of which the antients had several kinds, at least in their imagination, had all a _goat's leg_ with a _cloven-foot_ to put on upon extraordinary occasions; it seems this method is of late grown out of practice, and so like the melting of marble and the painting of glass, 'tis laid aside among the various useful arts which history tells us are lost to the world; what may be practised in the fairy world, if such a place there be, we can give no particular account at present. but neither is this all, for other wou'd-be-wise people take upon them to make farther and more considerable improvements upon this doctrine of the _cloven-foot_, and treat it as a most significant instrument of satan's private operation, and that as _joseph_ is said to _divine_, that is to say, to _conjure_ by his golden cup which was put into _benjamin_'s sack, so the _devil_ has managed several of his secret operations, and possessions, and other hellish mechanisms upon the spirits as well as bodies of men, by the medium or instrumentality of the _cloven-foot_; accordingly it had a kind of an hellish inspiration in it, and a separate and magical power by which he wrought his infernal miracles; that the cloven-foot had a superior signification, and was not only emblematic and significative of the conduct of men, but really guided their conduct in the most important affairs of life; and that the agents the devil employ'd to influence mankind, and to delude them and draw them into all the snares and traps that he lays continually for their destruction, were equipp'd with this foot in aid of their other powers for mischief. here they read us learn'd lectures upon the sovereign operations which the devil is at present master of, in the government of human affairs; and how the cloven-foot is an emblem of the true _double entendre_ or divided aspect, which the great men of the world generally act with, and by which all their affairs are directed; from whence it comes to pass that there is no such thing as a single hearted integrity, or an upright meaning to be found in the world; that mankind, worse than the ravenous brutes, preys upon his own kind, and devours them by all the laudable methods of flattery, whyne, cheat and treachery; _crocodile like_, weeping over those it will devour, destroying those it smiles upon, and, in a word, devours its own kind, which the very beasts refuse, and that by all the ways of fraud and allurement that _hell_ can invent; holding out a cloven divided hoof, or hand, pretending to save, when the very pretence is made use of to ensnare and destroy. thus the divided hoof is the representative of a divided double tongue, and heart, an emblem of the most exquisite hypocrisy, the most fawning and fatally deceiving flattery; and here they give us very diverting histories, tho' tragical in themselves, of the manner which some of the _devil_'s inspired agents have manag'd themselves under the especial influence of the _cloven-foot_; how they have made war under the pretence of peace, murther'd garrisons under the most sacred capitulations, massacred innocent multitudes after surrenders to mercy. again, they tell us the _cloven-foot_ has been made use of in all treasons, plots, assassinations, and secret as well as open murthers and rebellions. thus _joab_ under the treason of an embrace, shew'd how dexterously he could manage the _cloven-foot_, and struck _abner_ under the fifth rib: thus _david_ play'd the cloven-foot upon poor _uriah_, when he had a mind to lie with his wife: thus _brutus_ play'd it upon _cæsar_; and to come nearer home, we have had a great many retrograde motions in this country by this magical implement the _foot_; such as that of the earl of _essex_'s fate, beheading the queen of _scots_, and diverse others in queen _elizabeth_'s time: that of the earl of _shrewsbury_ and sir _thomas overbury_, _gondamor_ and sir _walter raleigh_, and many others in king _james_ the i.'s time; in all which, if the cloven-foot had not been dexterously manag'd, those murthers had not been so dexterously manag'd, or the murtherers have so well been skreen'd from justice; for which and the imprecated justice of heaven unappeased, some have thought the innocent branches of the royal house of _stuart_ did not fare the better in the ages which follow'd. it must be confess'd, the cloven-foot was in its full exercise in the next reign, and the generation that rose up immediately after them, arrived to the most exquisite skill for management of it; here they fasted and pray'd, there they plunder'd and murther'd; here they rais'd war for the king, and there they fought against him, cutting throats for _god's sake_, and deposing both king and kingly government according to law. nor was the _cloven-foot_ unemployed on all sides, for 'tis the main excellency of this instrument of hell, that it acts on every side, it is its denominating quality, and is for that reason call'd a cloven or divided hoof. this mutilated apparition has been so publick in other countries too, that it seems to convince us the devil is not confin'd to _england_ only, but that as his empire extended to all the sublunary world, so he gives them all room to see he is qualified to manage them his own way. what abundant use did that prince of dissemblers, _charles_ v. make of this foot? 'twas by the help of this apparition of the foot that he baited his hook with the city of _milan_, and tickled _francis_ i. of _france_ so well with it, that when he pass'd thro' _france_, and was in that king's power, he let him go, and never get the bait off of the hook neither; it seems the _foot_ was not on king _francis_'s side at that time. how cruelly did _philip_ ii. of _spain_ manage this foot in the murther of the nobility of the _spanish netherlands_, the assassination of the prince of _orange_, and at last: in that of his own son _don carlos_ infant of _spain_? and yet such was the _devil_'s craft, and so nicely did he bestir his _cloven-hoof_, that this monarch died consolated (tho' impenitent) in the arms of the church, and with the benediction of the clergy too, _those second best managers of the said hoof in the world_. i must acknowledge, i agree with this opinion thus far; namely, that the devil acting by this cloven-foot, as a machine, has done great things in the world for the propagating his dark empire among us; and history is full of examples, besides the little low priz'd things done among us; for we are come to such a kind of degeneracy in folly, that we have even dishonour'd the _devil_, and put this glorious engine the cloven-foot to such mean uses, that the _devil_ himself seems to be asham'd of us. but to return a little to foreign history, besides what has been mention'd above, we find flaming examples of most glorious mischief done by this weapon, when put into the hands of kings and men of fame in the world: how many games have the kings of _france_ play'd with this _cloven-foot_, and that within a few years of one another? first, _charles_ ix. play'd the _cloven-foot_ upon _gaspar coligni_ admiral of _france_, when he caress'd him, complimented him, invited him to _paris_, to the wedding of the king of _navarre_, call'd him father, kiss'd him, and when he was wounded sent his own surgeons to take care of him, and yet three days after order'd him to be assassinated and murther'd, used with a thousand indignities, and at last thrown out of the window into the street to be insulted by the rabble? did not _henry_ iii. in the same country, play the cloven-foot upon the duke of _guise_, when he call'd him to his council, and caus'd him to be murther'd as he went in at the door? the _guises_ again plaid the same game back upon the king, when they sent out a _jacobin_ friar to assassinate him in his tent as he lay at the siege of _paris_. in a word, this opera of the _cloven-foot_ has been acted all over the christian world, ever since _judas_ betray'd the son of god with a kiss; nay, our saviour says expresly of him, _one of you is a devil_; and the sacred text says in another place, _the devil enter'd into judas_. it would take up a great deal of time and paper too, to give you a full account of the travels of this _cloven-foot_; its progress into all the courts of _europe_, and with what most accurate hypocrisy _satan_ has made use of it upon many occasions, and with what success; but as in the elaborate work of which i just now gave you a specimen i design one whole volume upon this subject, and which i shall call, _the compleat history_ of the _cloven-foot_; i say, for that reason, and diverse others, i shall say but very little more to it in this place. it remains to tell you, that this merry story of the _cloven-foot_ is very essential to the history which i am now writing, as it has been all along the great emblem of the _devil_'s government in the world, and by which all his most considerable engagements have been answer'd and executed; for as he is said not to be able to conceal this foot, but that he carries it always with him, it imports most plainly, that the _devil_ would be no _devil_ if he was not a dissembler, a deceiver, and carried a _double entendre_ in all he does or says; that he cannot but say one thing and mean another, promise one thing and do another, engage and not perform, declare and not intend, and act like a true _devil_ as he is, with a countenance that is no index of his heart. i might indeed go back to originals, and derive this _cloven-foot_ from satan's primitive state as a cherubim or a celestial being, which cherubims, as _moses_ is said to have seen them about the throne of god in mount _sinai_, and as the same _moses_, from the original represented them afterwards covering the ark, had the head and face of a man, wings of an eagle, body of a lion, and legs and feet of a calf; but this is not so much to our present purpose, for as we are to allow that whatever _satan_ had of heavenly beauty before the fall, he lost it all when he commenc'd _devil_, so to fetch his original so far up would be only to say, that he retain'd nothing but the _cloven-foot_, and that all the rest of him was alter'd and deform'd, become frightful and horrible as the devil; but his cloven-foot, as we now understand it, is rather mystical and emblematick, and describes him only as the fountain of mischief and treason, and the prince of hypocrites, and as such we are now to speak of him. 'tis from this original all the hypocritic world copy, he wears the foot on their account, and from this model they act: this made our blessed lord tell them, _the works of your father ye will do_, meaning the _devil_, as he had express'd it just before. nor does he deny the use of the _foot_ to the meaner class of his disciples in the world, but decently equips them all upon every occasion with a needful proportion of hypocrisy and deceit; that they may hand on the power of promiscuous fraud thro' all his temporal dominions, and wear _the foot_ always about them as a badge of their profess'd share in whatever is done by that means. thus every dissembler, every false friend, every secret cheat, every bearskin-jobber has a _cloven-foot_, and so far hands on the devil's interest by the same powerful agency of art, as the _devil_ himself uses to act when he appears in person, or would act if he was just now upon the spot; for this _foot_ is a machine which is to be wound up and wound down, as the cause it appears for requires; and there are agents and engineers to act in it by directions of _satan_ (the grand engineer) who lies still in his retirement, only issuing out his orders as he sees convenient. again, every class, every trade, every shopkeeper, every pedlar, nay, that meanest of tradesmen, that church pedlar the pope, has a cloven-foot, with which he _paw wa's_ upon the world, wishes them all well, and at the same time cheats them; wishes them all fed, and at the same time starves them; wishes them all in heaven, and at the same time marches before them directly to the devil, _alamode de cloven-foot_. nay, the very bench, the everliving foundation of justice in the world; how often has it been made the tool of violence, the refuge of oppression, the seat of bribery and corruption, by this monster in masquerade, and that every where (our own country always excepted)? they had much better wipe out the picture of justice blinded, and having the sword and scales in her hand, which in foreign countries is generally painted over the seat of those who sit to do justice, and place instead thereof a naked unarm'd cloven-hoof, a proper emblem of that spirit that influences the world, and of the justice we often see administred among them; human imagination cannot form an idea more suitable, nor the _devil_ propose an engine more or better qualified for an operation of justice, by the influence of bribery and corruption; it is this magnipotent instrument in the hands of the devil, which under the closest disguise agitates every passion, bribes every affection, blackens every virtue, gives a double face to words and actions, and to all persons who have any concern in them, and in a word, makes us all devils to one another. indeed the devil has taken but a dark emblem to be distinguish'd by, for this of a goat was said to be a creature hated by mankind from the beginning, and that there is a natural antipathy in mankind against them: hence the scape goat was to bear the sins of the people, and to go into the wilderness with all that burthen upon him. but we have a saying among us, in defence of which we must enquire into the proper sphere of action which may be assigned to this cloven-foot, as hitherto described: the proverb is this; _every_ devil _has not a cloven-foot_. this proverb, instead of giving us some more favourable thoughts of the _devil_, confirms what i have said already, that the _devil_ rais'd this scandal upon himself; i mean, the report that he cannot conceal or disguise his devil's foot, or hoof, but that it must appear, under whatever habit he shews himself; and the reason i gave holds good still, _namely_, that he may be more effectually conceal'd when he goes abroad without it: for if the people were fully persuaded that the _devil_ could not appear without this badge of his honour, or mark of his infamy, _take it as you will_; and that he was bound also to shew it upon all occasions, it would be natural to conclude, that whatever frightful appearances might be seen in the world, if the cloven-foot did not also appear, we had no occasion to look for the _devil_, or so much as to think of him, much less to apprehend he was near us; and as this might be a mistake, and that the _devil_ might be there while we thought our selves so secure, it might on many occasions be a mistake of very ill consequence, and in particular, as it would give the _devil_ room to act in the dark, and not be discover'd, where it might be most needful to know him. from this short hint, thus repeated, i draw a new thesis, namely, that _devil_ is most dangerous that has no cloven-foot; or, if you will have it in words more to the common understanding, the _devil_ seems to be most dangerous when he goes without his cloven-foot. and here a learned speculation offers it self to our debate, and which indeed i ought to call a council of casuists, and men learned in the _devil_'s politicks, to determine: whether is most hurtful to the world, the _devil_ walking about without his cloven-foot, or the cloven-foot walking about without the _devil_? it is indeed a nice and difficult question, and merits to be well enquir'd into; for which reason, and diverse others, i have referr'd it to be treated with some decency, and as a dispute of dignity sufficient to take up a chapter by itself. chap. vii. _whether is most hurtful to the world, the_ devil _walking about without his cloven-foot, or the cloven-foot walking about without the_ devil? in discussing this most critical distinction of satan's private motions, i must, as the pulpit gentlemen direct us, explain the text, and let you know what i mean by several dark expressions in it, that i may not be understood to talk (as the _devil_ walks) in the dark. . as to the devil's walking about. . his walking without his cloven-foot. . the cloven-foot walking about without the _devil_. now as i study brevity, and yet would be understood too, you may please to understand me as i understand my self, thus. . that i must be allow'd to suppose the _devil_ really has a full intercourse in, and through, and about this globe, with egress and regress, for the carrying on his special affairs, when, how, and where, to his majesty, in his great wisdom, it shall seem meet; that sometimes he appears and becomes visible, and that, like a mastiff without his clog, he does not always carry his cloven-foot with him. this will necessarily bring me to some debate upon the most important question of apparitions, hauntings, walkings, _&c._ whether of _satan_ in human shape, or of human creatures in the _devil_'s shape, or in any other manner whatsoever. . i must also be allow'd to tell you that satan has a great deal of wrong done him by the general embracing vulgar errors, and that there is a cloven-foot oftentimes without a _devil_; or, in short, that satan is not guilty of all the simple things, no, or of all the wicked things we charge him with. these two heads well settled will fully explain the title of this chapter, answer the query mentioned in it, and at the same time correspond very well with, and give us a farther prospect into the main and original design of this work, _namely, the history of the devil_. we are so fond of, and pleased with the general notion of seeing the _devil_, that i am loth to disoblige my readers so much as calling in question his visibility would do. nor is it my business, any more than it is his, to undeceive them, where the belief is so agreeable to them; especially since upon the whole 'tis not one farthing matter, either on one side or on the other, whether it be so or no, or whether the truth of fact be ever discovered or not. certain it is, whether we see him or no, here he is, and i make no doubt but he is looking on while i am writing this part of his story, whether behind me, or at my elbow, or over my shoulder, is not material to me, nor have i once turned my head about to see whether he is there or no; for if he be not in the inside, i have so mean an opinion of all his extravasated powers, that it seems of very little consequence to me what shape he takes up, or in what posture he appears; nor indeed can i find in all my enquiry that ever the _devil_ appear'd (_qua devil_) in any of the most dangerous or important of his designs in the world; the most of his projects, especially of the significant part of them, having been carried on another way. however, as i am satisfied no body will be pleas'd if i should dispute the reality of his appearance, and the world runs away with it as a receiv'd point, and that admits no dispute, i shall most readily grant the general, and give you some account of the particulars. history is fruitful of particulars, whether invention has supply'd them or not, i will not say, where the _devil_ is brought upon the stage in plain and undeniable apparition: the story of _samuel_ being rais'd by the witch of _endor_, i shall leave quite out of my list, because there are so many scruples and objections against that story; and as i shall not dispute with the scripture, so on the other hand, i have so much deference for the dignity of the _devil_, as not to determine rashly how far it may be in the power of every old (_witch_) woman, to call him up whenever she pleases, and that he must come, whatever the pretence is, or whatever business of consequence he may be engaged in, as often as 'tis needful for her to _pa wa_ for half a crown, or perhaps less than half the money. nor will i undertake to tell you, till i have talk'd farther with him about it, how far the _devil_ is concern'd to discover frauds, detect murthers, reveal secrets, and especially to tell where any money is hid, and shew folks where to find it; 'tis an odd thing that satan should think it of consequence to come and tell us where such a miser hid a strong box, or where such an old woman buried her _chamber pot_ full of money, the value of all which is perhaps but a trifle, when at the same time he lets so many veins of gold, so many unexhausted mines, nay, mountains of silver, as, we may depend upon it, are hid in the bowels of the earth, and which it would be so much to the good of whole nations to discover, lie still there, and never say one word of them to any body. besides, how does the _devil_'s doing things so foreign to himself, and so out of his way, agree with the rest of his character; namely, shewing a kind of a friendly disposition to mankind, or doing beneficent things? this is so beneath _satan_'s quality, and looks so little, that i scarce know what to say to it; but that which is still more pungent in the case is, these things are so out of his road, and so foreign to his calling, that it shocks our faith in them, and seems to clash with all the just notions we have of him, and of his business in the world. the like is to be said of those little merry turns we bring him in acting with us, and upon us, upon trifling and simple occasions, such as tumbling chairs and stools about house, setting pots and vessels bottom upward, tossing the glass and crokery ware about without breaking; and such like mean foolish things, beneath the dignity of the _devil_, who, in my opinion, is rather employ'd in setting the world with the bottom upward, tumbling kings and crowns about, and dashing the nations one against another; raising tempests and storms, whether at sea, or on shore; and, in a word, doing capital mischiefs suitable to his nature, and agreeable to his name, _devil_; and suited to that circumstance of his condition, which i have fully represented in the primitive part of his exil'd state. but to bring in the _devil_ playing at push-pin with the world, or like _domitian_ catching flies, that is to say, doing nothing to the purpose; this is not only deluding our selves, but putting a slur upon the _devil_ himself; and, i say, i shall not dishonour satan so much as to suppose any thing in it: however, as i must have a care too how i take away the proper materials of winter evening frippery, and leave the good wives nothing of the devil to fright the children with, i shall carry the weighty point no farther. no doubt the _devil_ and dr. _faustus_ were very intimate; i should rob you of a very significant [ ] proverb, if i should so much as doubt it; no doubt the _devil_ shew'd himself in the glass to that fair lady who look'd in it to see where to place her patches; but then it should follow too that the _devil_ is an enemy to the ladies wearing patches, and that has some difficulties in it which we cannot so easily reconcile; but we must tell the story, and leave out the consequences. but to come to more remarkable things, and in which the _devil_ has thought fit to act in a figure more suitable to his dignity, and on occasions consistent with himself; take the story of the appearance of _julius cæsar_, or the _devil_ assuming that murthered _emperor_, to the great _marcus brutus_, who notwithstanding all the good things said to justify it, was no less than a king-killer and an assassinator, which we in our language call by a very good name, and peculiar to the _english_ tongue, a _ruffian_. the spectre had certainly the appearance of _cæsar_, with his wounds bleeding fresh, as if he had just receiv'd the fatal blow; he had reproach'd him with his ingratitude, with a _tu brute! tu quoque, mi fili_: "what thou _brutus_! thou, my adopted son!" now history seems to agree universally, not only in the story itself, but in the circumstances of it; we have only to observe that the _devil_ had certainly power to assume, not a human shape only, but the shape of _julius cæsar_ in particular. had _brutus_ been a timorous _conscience-harry'd_, weak-headed wretch, had he been under the horror of the guilt, and terrify'd with the dangers that were before him at that time, we might suggest that he was over-run with the vapours, that the terrors which were upon his mind disorder'd him, that his head was delirious and prepossess'd, and that his fancy only plac'd _cæsar_ so continually in his eye, that it realiz'd him to his imagination, and he believ'd he saw him; with many other suggested difficulties to invalidate the story, and render the reality of it doubtful. but the contrary, to an extreme, was the case of _brutus_; his known character plac'd him above the power of all hypocondriacks, or fanciful delusions; _brutus_ was of a true _roman_ spirit, a bold hero, of an intrepid courage; one that scorn'd to fear even the _devil_, as the story allows: besides, he glory'd in the action; there cou'd be no terror of mind upon him; he valued himself upon it, as done in the service of liberty, and the cause of his country; and was so far from being frighted at the _devil_ in the worst shape, that he spoke first to him, and ask'd him, _what art thou?_ and when he was cited to see him again at _philippi_, answer'd, with a gallantry that knew no fear, _well i will see thee there_. whatever the _devil_'s business was with _brutus_, this is certain, according to all the historians who give us the account of it, that _brutus_ discover'd no fear; he did not, _like saul at endor_, fall to the ground in a swoon, _sam._ xxviii. . _then saul fell all along upon the earth, and there was no strength in him, and was sore afraid._ in a word, i see no room to charge _brutus_ with being over-run with the _hyppo_, or with vapours, or with fright and terror of mind; but he saw the _devil_, that's certain, and with eyes open, his courage not at all daunted, his mind resolute, and with the utmost composure spoke to him, reply'd to his answer, and defy'd his summons to death, which indeed he fear'd not, as appear'd afterward. i come next to an instance as eminent in history as the other; this was in _char._ vi. of _france_, sirnamed, _the beloved_; who riding over the forest near _mans_, a ghastly frightful fellow (that is to say, the _devil_ so clothed in human vizor) came up to his horse, and taking hold of his bridle, stop'd him, with the addition of these words, _stop king, whither go you? you are betray'd!_ and immediately disappear'd. it is true, the king had been distemper'd in his head before, and so he might have been deceived, and we might have charg'd it to the account of a whimsical brain, or the power of his imagination; but this was in the face of his attendants, several of his great officers, courtiers, and princes of the blood being with him, who all saw the man, heard the words, and immediately, to their astonishment, lost sight of the spectre, who vanish'd from them all. two witnesses will convict a murtherer, why not a traitor? this must be the _old gentleman_, emblematically so called, or who must it be? nay, who else could it be? his ugliness is not the case, tho' _ugly as the devil_, is a proverb in his favour; but vanishing out of sight is an essential to a spirit, and to an evil spirit in our times especially. these are some of the _devil_'s extraordinaries, and it must be confess'd they are not the most agreeable to mankind, for sometimes he takes upon him to disorder his friends very much on these occasions, as in the above case of _cha._ vi. of _france_; the king, they say, was really demented ever after; that is, as we vulgarly, but not always improperly, express it, he was really _frighted out of his wits_. whether the malicious _devil_ intended it so, or not, is not certain, tho' it was not so foreign to his particular disposition if he did. but where he is more intimate, we are told he appears in a manner less disagreeable, and there he is more properly _a familiar spirit_; that is, in short, a _devil_ of their acquaintance: it is true, the antients understand the word, _a familiar spirit_, to be one of the kinds of possession; but if it serves our turn as well under the denomination of an intimate _devil_, or a _devil_ visitant, it must be acknowledg'd to be as near in the literal sense and acceptation of the word, as the other; nay, it must be allow'd 'tis a very great piece of familiarity in the _devil_ to make visits, and shew none of his disagreeables, not appear formidable, or in the shape of what he is, respectfully withholding his dismal part, in compassion to the infirmities of his friends. it is true, _satan_ may be oblig'd to make different appearances, as the several circumstances of things call for it; in some cases he makes his publick entry, and then he must shew himself in his habit of ceremony; in other cases he comes upon private business, and then he appears in disguise; in some publick cases he may thing fit to be _incog._ and then he appears dress'd _a la masque_; so they say he appear'd at the famous st. _bartholomew_ wedding at _paris_, where, he came in dress'd up like a trumpeter, danc'd in his habit, sounded a _levet_, and then went out and rung the alarm-bell (which was the signal to begin the massacre) half an hour before the time appointed, lest the king's mind should alter, and his heart fail him. if the story be not made upon him, (for we should not slander the _devil_) it should seem, he was not thoroughly satisfied in king _charles_ ix.'s steadiness in his cause; for the king, it seems, had relax'd a little once before, and satan might be afraid he would fall off again, and so prevent the execution: others say, the king did relent immediately after the ringing the _alarm-bell_, but that then it was too late, the work was begun, and the rage of blood having been let loose among the people, there was no recalling the order. if the _devil_ was thus brought to the necessity of a secret management, it must be owned he did it dexterously; but i have not authority enough for the story, to charge him with the particulars, so i leave it _au croc._ i have much better vouchers for the story following, which i had so solemnly confirm'd by one that liv'd in the family, that i never doubted the truth of it. there liv'd, in the parish of st. _bennet fynk_, near the _royal exchange_, an honest poor widow woman, who, _her husband being lately dead_, took lodgers into her house; that is, she let out some of her rooms in order to lessen her own charge of rent; among the rest, she let her garrets to a working watchwheel-maker, or one some way concern'd in making the movements of watches, and who work'd to those shop-keepers who sell watches; as is usual. it happened that a man and woman went up, to speak with this movement-maker upon some business which related to his trade, and when they were near the top of the stairs, the garret-door where he usually worked being wide open, they saw the poor man (the watch-maker, or wheel-maker) had hang'd himself upon a beam which was left open in the room a little lower than the plaister, or ceiling: surpriz'd at the sight, the woman stop'd, and cried out to the man who was behind her on the stairs that he should run up, and cut the poor creature down. at that very moment comes a man hastily from another part of the room which they upon the stairs could not see, bringing a joint-stool in his hand, as if in great haste, and sets it down just by the wretch that was hang'd, and getting up as hastily upon it pulls a knife out of his pocket, and taking hold of the rope with one of his hands, beckon'd to the woman and the man behind her with his head, as if to stop and not come up, shewing them the knife in his other hand, as if he was just going to cut the poor man down. upon this, the woman stopp'd a while, but the man who stood on the joint-stool continued with his hand and knife as if fumbling at the knot, but did not yet cut the man down; at which the woman cried out again, and the man behind her call'd to her. go up, _says he_, and help the man upon the stool! supposing something hindred. but the man upon the stool made signs to them again to be quiet, and not come on, as if saying, i shall do it immediately; then he made two strokes with his knife, as if cutting the rope, and then stopp'd again; and still the poor man was hanging, and consequently dying: upon this, the woman on the stairs cried out to him. what ails you? why don't you cut the poor man down? and the man behind her, having no more patience, thrusts her by, and said to her. let me come, i'll warrant you i'll do it; and with that runs up and forward into the room to the man; but when he came there, behold, the poor man was there hanging; but no man with a knife, or joint-stool, or any such thing to be seen, all that was spectre and delusion, in order, no doubt, to let the poor creature that had hang'd himself perish and expire. the man was so frighted and surpriz'd, that with all the courage he had before, he drop'd on the floor as one dead, and the woman at last was fain to cut the poor man down with a pair of scissars, and had much to do to effect it. as i have no room to doubt the truth of this story, which i had from persons on whose honesty i could depend. so i think it needs very little trouble to convince us who the man upon the stool must be, and that it was the _devil_ who plac'd himself there in order to finish the murther of the man who he had, _devil_-like, tempted before, and prevail'd with to be his own executioner. besides, it corresponds so well with the _devil_'s nature, and with his business, _viz._ that of a _murtherer_, that i never question'd it; nor can i think we wrong the _devil_ at all to charge him with it. _n. b._ i cannot be positive in the remaining part of this story, _viz._ whether the man was cut down soon enough to be recover'd, or whether the _devil_ carry'd his point, and kept off the man and woman till it was too late; but be it which it will, 'tis plain he did his devilish endeavour, and stay'd till he was forc'd to abscond again. we have many solid tales well attested, as well in history as in the reports of honest people, who could not be deceived, intimating the _devil_'s personal appearance, some in one place, some in another; as also sometimes in one habit or dress, and sometimes in another; and it is to be observed, that in none of those which are most like to be real, and in which there is least of fancy and vapour, you have any mention of the _cloven foot_, which rather seems to be a mere invention of men (and perhaps chiefly of those who had a cloven understanding) i mean a shallow kind of craft, the effect of an empty and simple head, thinking by such a well-meant, tho' weak fraud, to represent the _devil_ to the old women and children of the age, with some addition suitable to the weakness of their intellects, and suited to making them afraid of him. i have another account of a person who travell'd upwards of four years with the _devil_ in his company, and convers'd most intimately with him all the while; nay, if i may believe the story, he knew most part of the time that he was the _devil_, and yet convers'd with him, and that very profitably, for he perform'd many very useful services for him, and constantly preserv'd him from the danger of wolves and wild beasts, which the country he travell'd thro' was intolerably full of. where, by the way, you are to understand, that the wolves and bears in those countries knew the _devil_, whatever disguise he went in; or that the _devil_ has some way to fright bears and such creatures, more than we know of. nor could this _devil_ ever be prevail'd upon to hurt him or any of his company. this account has an innumerable number of diverting incidents attending it; but they are equal to all the rest in bulk, and therefore too long for this book. i find too upon some more ordinary occasions the _devil_ has appear'd to several people at their call: this indeed shews abundance of good humour in him, considering him as a _devil_, and that he was mighty complaisant: nay some, they tell us, have a power to raise the _devil_ whenever they think fit; this i cannot bring the _devil_ to a level with, unless i should allow him to be _servus servorum_, as another _devil_ in disguise calls himself; subjected to ever old wizard's call; or that he is under a necessity of appearing on such or such particular occasions, whoever it is that calls him; which would bring the _devil_'s circumstances to a pitch of slavery which i see no reason to believe of them. here also i must take notice again, that tho' i say the _devil_, when i speak of all these apparitions, whether of a greater or lesser kind, yet i am not oblig'd to suppose satan himself in person is concern'd to shew himself, but that some of his _agents_, deputies and servants, are sent to that purpose, and directed what disguise of flesh and blood to put on, as may be suitable to the occasion. this seems to be the only way to reconcile all those simple and ridiculous appearances which not _satan_, but his emissaries, (which we old women call imps) sometimes make, and the mean and sorry employment they are put to: thus fame tells us of a certain witch of quality, who call'd the _devil_ once to carry her over a brook where the water was swell'd with a hasty rain, and lash'd him soundly with her whip for letting her ladyship fall into the water before she was quite over. thus also, as fame tells us, she set the _devil_ to work, and made him build _crowland_ abbey, where there was no foundation to be found, only for disturbing the workmen a little who were first set about it. so it seems another laborious _devil_ was oblig'd to dig the great ditch cross the country from the fenn country to the edge of _suffolk_ and _essex_; which who ever he has preserv'd the reputation of, and where it crosses _new-market_ heath, 'tis call'd _devil_'s _ditch_ to this day. another piece of punishment no doubt it was, when the _devil_ was oblig'd to bring the stones out of _wales_ into _wiltshire_, to build _stone-heng_: how this was ordered in those days, when it seems they kept _satan_ to hard labour, i know not; i believe it must be registred among the antient pieces of art which are lost in the world, such as melting of stone, painting of glass, _&c._ certainly they had the _devil_ under correction in those days; that is to say, those lesser sorts of _devils_; but i cannot think that the _muckle thief devil_, as they call him in the _north_, the grand seignior _devil_ of all, was ever reduced to discipline. what _devil_ it was that _dunstan_ took by the nose with his red hot tongs, i have not yet examin'd antiquity enough to be certain of, any more than i can what devil it was that st. _francis_ play'd so many warm tricks with, and made him run away from him so often: however, this i take upon me to say, in the _devil_'s behalf, that it cou'd not be our _satan_, the arch _devil_ of all _devils_, of whom i have been talking so long. now is it unworthy the occasion, to take notice that we really wrong the _devil_, and speak of him very much to his disadvantage, when we say of such a great lord, or of such a lady of quality, _i think the_ devil _is in your grace_: no, no, satan has other business, he very rarely possesses f--ls: besides, some are so far from having the _devil_ in them, that they are really transmigrated into the very essence of the _devil_ themselves; and others again not transmigrated, or assimilated, but indeed and in truth shew us that they are to have mere native _devils_ in every part and parcel of them, and that the rest is only masque and disguise. thus if _rage_, _envy_, _pride_ and _revenge_ can constitute the parts of a _devil_, why should not a lady of such quality, in whom all those extraordinaries abound, have a right to the title of being a _devil_ really and substantially, and to all intents and purposes, in the most perfect and absolute sense, according to the most exquisite descriptions of devils already given by me or any body else; and even just as _joan_ of _arc_, or _joan_ queen of _naples_ were, who were both sent home to their native country, as soon as it was discovered that they were real _devils_, and that _satan_ acknowledg'd them in that quality. nor does my lady d----ss's wearing sometimes a case of humanity about her, call'd _flesh and blood_, at all alter the case; for so 'tis evident, according to our present hypothesis, _satan_ has been always allow'd to do, upon urgent occasions; ay, and to make his personal appearance as such, among even the sons and daughters of god too, as well as among the children of men; and therefore _her grace_ may have appeared in the shape of a fine lady, as long as she has been suppos'd to do, without any impeachment of her just claim to the title of _devil_; which being her true and natural original, she ought not, nor indeed shall not, by me, be denied her shapes of honour, whenever she pleases to declare for a re-assumption. and farther, to give every truth its due illustration, this need not be thought so strange; and is far from being unjust; _her grace_ (as she, it may be, is now stiled) has not acted, at least that i never heard of, so unworthy her great and illustrious original, that we should think she has lost any thing by walking about the world so many years in apparition: but to give her the due homage of her quality, she has acted as consonant to the essence and nature of _devil_, which she has such a claim to, as was consistent with the needful reserve of her present disguise. nor shall we lead the reader into any mistake concerning this part of our work, as if this was or is meant to be a particular satyr upon the d-----ss of -----------, and upon her only, as if we had no devils among us in the phenomena of fair ladies, but this one: if satan would be so honest to us as he might be (and 'twou'd be very ingenuous in him, that must be acknowledg'd, to give us a little of his illumination in this case) we should soon be able to unmasque a great many notable figures among us, to our real surprize. indeed 'tis a point worth our further enquiry, and would be a discovery many ways to our advantage, were we bless'd with it, to see how many real _devils_ we have walking up and down the world in masque, and how many hoop-petticoats compleat the entire masque that disguises the devil in the shape of that thing call'd woman. as for the men, nature has satisfied her self in letting them be their own disguise, and in suffering them to act the _old women_, as old women are vulgarly understood, in matters of council and politicks; but if at any time they have occasion for the _devil_ in person, they are oblig'd to call him to their aid in such shape as he pleases to make use of _pro hac vice_; and of all those shapes, the most agreeable to him seems to be that of a female of quality, in which he has infinite opportunity to act to perfection, what part soever he is call'd in for. how happy are those people who they say have the particular quality, or acquir'd habit, call'd the _second sight_; one sort of whom they tell us are able to distinguish the _devil_, in whatever case or outside of flesh and blood he is pleas'd to put on, and consequently could know the _devil_ wherever they met him? were i blest with this excellent and useful accomplishment, how pleasant would it be, and how would it particularly gratify my spleen, and all that which i, in common with my fellow creatures carry about me, call'd ill-nature, to stand in the _mall_, or at the entrance to any of our _assemblies of beauties_, and point them out as they pass by, with this particular mark, that's a _devil_; that fine young toast is a _devil_; there's a _devil_ drest in a new habit for the ball; there's a _devil_ in a coach and six, _cum aliis_. in short, it would make a merry world among us if we cou'd but enter upon some proper method of such discriminations: but, _lawr'd_, what a hurricane would it raise, if, like -------, who they say scourg'd the _devil_ so often that he durst not come near him in any shape whatever, we cou'd find some new method out to make the _devil_ unmask, like the angel _uriel_, who, mr. _milton_ says, had an enchanted spear, with which if he did but touch the _devil_, in whatever disguise he had put on, it oblig'd him immediately to start up, and shew himself in his true original shape, mere _devil_ as he was. this would do nicely, and as i who am originally a projector, have spent some time upon this study, and doubt not in a little time to finish my engine, which i am contriving, to screw the _devil_ out of every body, or any body; i question not when i have brought it to perfection, but i shall make most excellent discoveries by it; and besides the many extraordinary advantages of it to human society, i doubt not but it will make good sport in the world too; wherefore, when i publish my proposals, and divide it into shares, as other less useful projects have been done, i question not, for all the severe act lately pass'd against bubbles, but i shall get subscribers enough, _&c._ in a word, a secret power of discovering what devils we have among us, and where and what business they are doing, would be a vast advantage to us all; that we might know among the crowd of _devils_ that walk about streets, who are _apparitions_, and who are not. now i, you must know, at certain intervals when the old gentleman's illuminations are upon me, and when i have something of an _eclaricissement_ with him, have some degrees of this discriminating _second sight_, and therefore 'tis no strange thing for me to tell a great many of my acquaintance that they are really _devils_, when they themselves know nothing of the matter: sometimes indeed i find it pretty hard to convince them of it, or at least they are very unwilling to own it, but it is not the less so for that. i had a long discourse upon this subject one day, with a young beautiful lady of my acquaintance, who the world very much admired; and as the world judges no farther than they can see, (and how should they, you would say) they took her to be, as she really was, a most charming creature. to me indeed she discover'd her self many ways, besides the advantage i had of my extraordinary penetration by the magic powers which i am vested with: to me, _i say_, she appear'd a fury, a satyr, a fiery little fiend as could possibly be dress'd up in flesh; in short, she appear'd to me what really she was, a very devil: it is natural to human creatures to desire to discover any extraordinary powers they are possess'd of superior to others, and this itch prevailing in me, among the rest, i was impatient to let this lady know that i understood her composition perfectly well, nay, as well as she did her self. in order to this, happening to be in the family once for some days, and having the honour to be very intimate with her and her husband too, i took an opportunity on an extraordinary occasion, when she was in the height of good humour, to talk with her; you must note, that as i said, the lady was in an extraordinary good humour, and there had been a great deal of mirth in the family for some days; but one evening, sir _e----_ her husband, upon some very sharp turn she gave to another gentleman, which made all the company pleasant, run to her, and with a passion of good humour takes her in his arms, and turning to me, says he, jack, this wife of mine is full of wit and good humour, but when she has a mind to be smart, she is the keenest little _devil_ in the world: this was alluding to the quick turn she had given the other gentleman. is that the best language you can give your wife, says my lady? o madam, says i, such _devils_ as you, are all _angels_; ay, ay, says my lady, i know that, he has only let a truth fly out that he does not understand: look ye there now, _says sir_ edward, could any thing but such a dear _devil_ as this have said a thing so pointed? well, well, adds he, _devil_ to a lady in a man's arms, is a word of divers interpretations. thus they rallied for a good while, he holding her fast all the while in his arms, and frequently kissing her, and at last it went off, all in sunshine and mirth. but the next day, for i had the honour to lodge in the lady's father's house, where it all happen'd; i say, the next day my lady begins with me upon the subject, and that very smartly, so that first i did not know whether she was in jest or earnest: ay, ay, _says she_, you men make nothing of your wives after you have them, _alluding to the discourse with_ sir edward _the night before_. why madam, says i, _we men_, as you are pleas'd to term it, if we meet with good wives worship them, and make idols of them, what would you have more of us? no, no, says she, before you have them they are angels, but when you have been in heaven, _adds she and smil'd_, then they are devils. why madam, _says i_, devils are angels, you know, and were the highest sort of angels once. yes, _says she_, very smartly, all _devils_ are angels, but all angels are not _devils_. but madam, _says i_, you should never take it ill to be call'd _devil_, you know. i know, _says she_, hastily, what d'ye mean by that? why madam, _says i_, and look'd very gravely and serious, i thought you had known that i knew it, or else i would not have said so, for i would not offend you; but you may depend i shall never discover it, unless you order me to do so for your particular service. upon this she look'd hard and wild, and bid me explain my self. i told her, i was ready to explain my self, if she would give me her word, she would not resent it, and would take nothing ill. she gave me her word solemnly she would not, tho' like a true _devil_ she broke her promise with me all at once. well however, being unconcern'd whether she kept her word or no, i began, by telling her that i had not long since obtain'd the second sight, and had some years studied magic, by which i could penetrate into many things, which to ordinary perception were invisible, and had some glasses, by the help of which i could see into all visionary or imaginary appearances in a different manner than other people did. very well, _says she_, suppose you can, what's that to me? i told her it was nothing to her any further than that as she knew her self to be originally not the same creature she seem'd to be, but was of a sublime angelic original; so by the help of my recited art i knew it too, and so far it might relate to her. very fine, says she, so you would make a _devil_ of me indeed. i took that occasion to tell her, i would make nothing of her but what she was; that i suppos'd she knew well enough god almighty never thought fit to make any human creature so perfect and compleatly beautiful as she was, but that such were also reserved for figures to be assum'd by angels of one kind or other. she rallied me upon that, and told me that would not bring me off, for i had not determined her for any thing angelic, but a meer _devil_; and how could i flatter her with being handsome and a _devil_ both at the same time? i told her, as satan, whom we abusively call'd _devil_, was an immortal seraph, and of an original angelic nature, so abstracted from any thing wicked, he was a most glorious being; that when he thought fit to encase himself with flesh, and walk about in disguise, it was in his power equally with the other angels to make the form he took upon himself be as he thought fit, beautiful or deform'd. here she disputed the possibility of that, and after charging me faintly with flattering her face, told me the devil could not be represented by any thing handsome, alledging our constant picturing the _devil_ in all the frightful appearances imaginable. i told her we wrong'd him very much in that, and quoted st. _francis_, to whom the _devil_ frequently appeared in the form of the most incomparably beautiful naked woman, to allure him, and what means he used to turn the appearance into a _devil_ again, and how he effected it. she put by the discourse, and returned to that of angels, and insisted that angels did not always assume beautiful appearances; that sometimes they appear'd in terrible shapes, but that when they did not, it was at best only amiable faces, not exquisite; and that therefore it would not hold, that to be handsome, should always render them suspected. i told her the _devil_ had more occasion to form beauties than other angels had, his business being principally to deceive and ensnare mankind. and then i gave her some examples upon the whole. i found by her discourse she was willing enough to pass for an _angel_, but 'twas the hardest thing in the world to convince her that she was a devil, and she would not come into that by any means; she argued that i knew her father, and that her mother was a very good woman, and was delivered of her in the ordinary way, and that there was such and such ladies who were present in the room when she was born, and that had often told her so. i told her that was nothing in such a case as hers; that when the old gentleman had occasion to transform himself into a fine lady, he could easily dispose of a child, and place himself in the cradle instead of it, when the nurse or mother were asleep; nay, or when they were broad awake either, it was the same thing to him; and i quoted _luther_ to her upon that occasion, who affirms that it had been so. however i said, to convince her that i knew it, (for i would have it that she knew it already) if she pleas'd i would go to my chamber and fetch her my magick looking-glass, where she should see her own picture, not only as it was an angelick picture for the world to admire, but a _devil_ also frightful enough to any body but herself and me that understood it. no, no, _said she_, i'll look in none of your conjuring glasses; i know my self well enough, and i desire to look no otherwise than i am. no, madam, _says i_, i know that very well; nor do you need any better shape than that you appear in, 'tis most exquisitely fine; all the world knows you are a compleat beauty, and that is a clear evidence what you would be if your present appearing form was reduced to its proper personality. _appearing form!_ says she, why, what would you make an _apparition_ of me? an _apparition!_ madam, said i, yes, to be sure; why you know, you are nothing else but an _apparition_; and what else would you be, when it is so infinitely to your advantage? with that, she turn'd pale and angry, and then rose up hastily, and look'd into the glass, (_a large peer-glass being in the room_) where she stood, surveying her self from head to foot, with vanity not a little. i took that time to slip away, and running up into my apartment, i fetch'd my _magic glass_ as i call'd it, in which i had a hollow case so framed behind a looking-glass, that in the first; she would see her own face only; in the second, she would see the _devil_'s face, ugly and frightful enough, but dress'd up with a lady's head-clothes in a circle, the _devil_'s face in the center, and as it were at a little distance behind. i came down again so soon that she did not think the time long, especially having spent it in surveying her fair self; when i return'd, i said, come, madam, do not trouble your self to look there, that is not a glass capable of shewing you any thing; come, take this glass. it will shew me as much of my self, _says she, a little scornfully_, as i desire to see; so she continued looking in the peer-glass; after some time more (for seeing her a little out of humour, i waited to see what observations she would make) i ask'd her if she had view'd her self to her satisfaction? she said she had, and she had seen nothing of _devil_ about her. come, madam, said i, look here; and with that i open'd the looking-glass, and she look'd in it, but saw nothing but her own face; well, _says she_, the glasses agree well enough, i see no difference; what can you make of it? with that i took it a little away; don't you? _says i_, then i shou'd be mistaken very much; so i look'd in it my self, and giving it a turn imperceptible to her, i shew'd it her again, where she saw the _devil_ indeed, dress'd up like a fine lady, but ugly, and _devil_ like as could be desired for a _devil_ to be. she started, and cry'd out most horribly, and told me, she thought i was more of a _devil_ than she, for that she knew nothing of all those tricks, and i did it to fright her, she believ'd i had rais'd the _devil_. i told her it was nothing but her own natural picture, and that she knew well enough, and that i did not shew it her to inform her of it, but to let her know that i knew it too; that so she might make no pretences of being offended when i talk'd familiarly to her of a thing of this nature. very well; so, _says she_, i am a real frightful _devil_, am i? o, madam, says i, don't say, _am i?_ why you know what you are, don't you? a _devil_! ay, certainly; as sure as the rest of the world believes you a lady. i had a great deal of farther discourse with her upon that subject, tho' she would fain have beat me off of it, and two or three times she put the talk off, and brought something else on; but i always found means to revive it, and to attack her upon the reality of her being a devil, till at last i made her downright angry, and then she shew'd it. first she cried, told me i came to affront her, that i would not talk so if sir _ed----_ was by; and that she ought not to be used so. i endeavour'd to pacify her, and told her i had not treated her with any indecency, nor i would not; because while she thought fit to walk abroad _incog._ it was none of my business to discover her; that if she thought fit to tell sir _ed----_ any thing of the discourse, she was very welcome, or to conceal it, (_which i thought the wisest course_) she should do just as she pleas'd; but i made no question i should convince sir _e----_ her husband, that what i said was just, and that i was really so; whether it was for her service or no for him to know it, was for her to consider. this calm'd her a little, and she look'd hard at me a minute without speaking a word, when on a sudden she broke out thus: and you will undertake, _says she_, to convince sir _ed----_ that he has married a _devil_, will ye? a fine story indeed! and what follows? why then it must follow that the child i go with (for she was big with child) will be a _devil_ too, will it? a fine story for sir _ed----_ indeed! isn't it? i don't know that, madam, said i, that's as you order it; by the father's side, _said i_, i know it will not, but what it may by the mother's side, that's a doubt i can't resolve till the _devil_ and i talk farther about it. you and the devil talk together! _says she_, and looks rufully at me; why do you talk with the _devil_ then? ay, madam, _says i_, as sure as ever you did your self; besides, said i, can you question that? pray who am i talking to now? i think you are mad, _says she_; why you will make _devils_ of all the family, it may be, and particularly i must be with child of a _devil_, that's certain. no, madam, _said i_, 'tis not certain, as i said before, i question it. why you say i am the devil, the child, you know, has always most of the mother in it, then that must be a devil too i think, what else can it be, _says she_? i can't tell that, madam, _said i_; that's as you agree among your selves, this kind does not go by generation; that's a dispute foreign to the present purpose. then i entred into a discourse with her of the ends and purposes for which the devil takes up such beautiful forms as hers, and why it always gave me a suspicion when i saw a lady handsomer than ordinary, and set me upon the search to be satisfied whether she was really a woman or an _apparition_? a lady or a devil? allowing all along that her being a devil was quite out of the question. upon that very foot, she took me up again roundly, and so, _says she_, you are very civil to me through all your discourse, for i see it ends all in that, and you take it as a thing confest, that i am a devil! a very pretty piece of good usage indeed! _says she_; _i thank you for it_. nay, madam, _says i_, do not take it ill of me, for i only discover to you that i knew it; i do not tell it you as a secret, for you are satisfied of that another way. satisfied of what? says she, that i am a devil? i think the devil's in you: _and so began to be hot_. a devil! yes, madam, says i, without doubt a meer devil; take it as you please, i can't help that: and so i began to take it ill that she should be disgusted at opening such a well-known truth to her. with that she discover'd it all at once, for she turn'd _fury_, in the very letter of it; flew out in a passion, rail'd at me, curst me most heartily, and immediately disappeared; which you know is the particular mark of a spirit or apparition. we had a great deal of discourse besides this, relating to several other young ladies of her acquaintance, some of which, i said, were mere _apparitions_ like her self; and told her which were so, and which not; and the reason why they were so, and for what uses and purposes, some to delude the world one way, and some another; and she was pretty well pleased to hear that, but she could not bear to hear her own true character, which however, as cunning as she was, made her act the devil at last, as you have heard; and then vanished out of my sight. i have seen her in miniature several times since; but she proves her self still to be the devil of a lady, for she bears malice, and will never forgive me, that i would not let her be an angel; but like a very devil as she is, she endeavours to kill me at a distance; and indeed the poison of her eyes, (basilisk-like) is very strong, and she has a strange influence upon me; but i that know her to be a devil, strive very hard with my self to drive the memory of her out of my thoughts. i have had two or three engagements since this, with other _apparitions_ of the same sex, and i find they are all alike, they are willing enough to be thought angels, but the word devil does not go down at all with them: but 'tis all one, whenever we see an _apparition_, it is so natural to say we have seen the devil, that there's no prevailing with mankind to talk any other language. a gentleman of my acquaintance, the other day, that had courted a lady a long time, had the misfortune to come a little suddenly upon her, when she did not expect him, and found her in such a rage at some of her servants, that it quite disorder'd her, especially a footman; the fellow had done something that was indeed provoking, but not sufficient to put her into such a passion, and so out of her self; nor was she able to restrain her self when she saw her lover come in, but damn'd the fellow, and rag'd like a fury at him. my friend did his best to compose her, and begg'd the fellow's pardon of her, but it would not do; nay, the poor fellow made all the submissions that could be expected, but 'twas the same thing: and so the gentleman, not caring to engage himself farther than became him, withdrew, and came no more at her for three days, in all which time she was hardly cool. the next day my friend came to me, and talking of it in confidence to me, i am afraid, _says he_, i am going to marry a she _devil_, and so told me the story; i took no notice to him, but finding out his mistress, and taking proper measures, with some of my particular skill, i soon found out that it was really so, that she was a mere _apparition_; and had it not been for that accidental disorder of her passions, which discover'd her inside, she might indeed have cheated any man, for she was a lovely devil as ever was seen; she talk'd like an angel, sung like a syren, did every thing, and said every thing that was taking and charming: but what then? it was all apparition, for she was a mere _devil_. it is true, my friend marry'd her, and tho' she was a _devil_ without doubt, yet either she behav'd so well, or he was so good, i never could hear him find fault with her. these are particular instances; but alas! i could run you a length beyond all those examples, and give you such a list of devils among the gay things of the town, that would fright you to think of; and you would presently conclude, with me, that all the perfect beauties are devils, mere apparitions; but time and paper fails, so we must only leave the men the caution, let them venture at their peril. i return to the subject. we have a great many charming _apparitions_ of like kind go daily about the world in compleat masquerade, and, tho' we must not say so, they are in themselves mere _devils_, wicked dangerous murthering devils, that kill various ways, some, basilisk-like, with their eyes; some syren-like, with their tongues; all _murtherers_, even from the _beginning_: it is true, 'tis pity these pretty _apparitions_ should be devils, and be so mischievous as they are; but since it is so, i can do no less than to advertise you of it, that you may shun the devil in whatever shape you meet with him. again, there are some half devils, they say, like the _sagittarii_, half man, half horse, or rather like the _satyr_, who, _they say_, is half devil, half man; or, like my lord bishop, who, _they say_, was half-headed; whether they mean half-witted or no, i do not find authors agreed about it: but if they had voted him such, it had been as kind a thing as any they cou'd say of him, because it would have clear'd him from the scandal of being a devil, or half a devil, for we don't find the devil makes any alliance with f----ls. then as to merry devils, there's my master _g------_, he may indeed have the devil in him, but it must be said, to the credit of possession in general, that satan would have scorn'd to have entred into a soul so narrow that there was not room to hold him, or to take up with so discording a creature, so abject, so scoundrel, as never made a figure among mankind greater than that of a thief, a _moroder_, moulded up into quality, and a raparee dress'd up _a-la-masque_, with a _robe_ and a _coronet_. some little dog-kennel devil may indeed take up his quarters in or near him, and so run into and out of him as his drum beats a call; but to him that was born a _devil_, satan, that never acts to no purpose, cou'd not think him worth being possess'd by any thing better than a devil of a dirty quality; that is to say, a spirit too mean to wear the name of _devil_, without some badge or addition of infamy and meanness to distinguish it by. thus what _devil_ of quality would be confin'd to a _p--------n_, who inheriting all the pride and insolence of his ancestors, without one of their good qualities; the bully, the _billingsgate_, and all the hereditary ill language of his family, without an ounce of their courage; that has been rescued five or six times from the scandal of a coward, by the bravery, and at the hazard of friends, and never fail'd to be ungrateful; that if ever he committed a murther, did it in cold blood, because no body could prove he ever had any hot; who possess'd with a poltroon _devil_, was always wickeder in the dark, than he durst be by day-light; and who, after innumerable passive sufferings, has been turned out of human society, because he could not be kick'd or cuff'd either into good manners or good humour. to say this was a _devil_, an apparition, or even a half _devil_, would be unkind to _satan_ himself, since tho' he (the _devil_) has so many millions of inferior _devils_ under his command, not one cou'd be found base enough to match him, nor one _devil_ found but what would think himself dishonour'd to be employ'd about him. some merry good-for-nothing _devils_ we have indeed, which we might, if we had room, speak of at large, and divert you too with the relation, such as my lady _hatt's devil_ in _essex_, who upon laying a joiner's mallet in the window of a certain chamber, would come very orderly and knock with it all night upon the window, or against the wainscot, and disturb the neighbourhood, and then go away in the morning, as well satisfied as may be; whereas if the mallet was not left, he would think himself affronted, and be as unsufferable and terrifying as possible, breaking the windows, splitting the wainscot, committing all the disorders, and doing all the damage that he was able to the house, and to the goods in it. and again, such as the druming _devil_ in the well at _oundle_ in _northamptonshire_, and such like. a great many antick _devils_ have been seen also, who seem'd to have little or nothing to do, but only to assure us that they can appear if they please, and that there is a reality in the thing call'd apparition. as to shadows of _devils_, and imaginary appearances, such as appear, and yet are invisible at the same time, i had thought to have bestow'd a chapter upon them by themselves, but it may be as much to the purpose to let them alone, as to meddle with them; 'tis said our old friend _luther_ used to be exceedingly troubled with such invisible apparitions, and he tells us much of them, in what they call his table-talk; but with master _luther_'s leave, tho' the _devil_ passes for a very great lyar, i could swallow many things of his own proper making, as soon as some of those i find in a book that goes by his name, particularly the story of the devil in a basket, the child flying out of the cradle, and the like. in a word, the walking _devils_ that we have generally among us, are of the female sex; whether it be that the _devil_ finds less difficulty to manage them, or that he lives quieter with them, or that they are fitter for his business than the men, i shall not now enter into a dispute about that; perhaps he goes better disguis'd in the fair sex than otherwise; antiquity gives us many histories of she-devils, such as we can very seldom match for wickedness among the men; such now as in the text, _lot_'s daughters, _joseph_'s mistress, _sampson_'s _dalilah_, _herod_'s _herodias_, these were certainly _devils_, or play'd the _devil_ sufficiently in their turn; one male apparition indeed the scripture furnishes you with, and that is _judas_; for his master says expresly of him, _one of you is a devil_; not has the _devil_, or is possess'd of the devil; but really is a devil, or is a real devil. how happy is it, that this great secret comes thus to be discover'd to mankind? certainly the world has gone on in ignorance a long time, and at a strange rate, that we should have so many _devils_ continually walking about among us in humane shape, and we know it not. philosophers tell us that there is a world of spirits, and many learned pieces of guess-work they make at it, representing the world to be so near us, that the air, as they describe it, must be full of dragons and _devils_, enough to fright our imaginations with the very thoughts of them; and if they say true, 'tis our great felicity that we cannot see any farther into it than we do, which if we could, would appear as frightful as hell itself; but none of those sages ever told us, till now, that half the people who converse with us are _apparitions_, especially of the women; and among them especially this valuable part, the woman of figure, the fair, the beautiful, or patch'd and painted. this unusual phænomenon has been seen but a little while, and but a little way, and the general part of mankind cannot come into the same notions about it; nay, perhaps they will all think it strange; but be it as strange as it will, the nature of the thing confirms it, this lower sphere is full of _devils_; and some of both sexes have given strange testimonies of the reality of their pre-existent _devilism_ for many ages past, tho' i think it never came to that height as it has now. it is true, in former times satan dealt much in old women, and those, as i have observ'd already, very ugly, _ugly as a witch_, _black as a witch_, _i look like a witch_, all proverbial speeches, and which testify'd what tools it was satan generally work'd with; and these old spectres, they tell us, us'd to ride thro' the air in the night, and upon broomsticks too, all mighty homely doings; some say they us'd to go to visit their grand seignior the _devil_, in those nocturnal perambulations: but be that as it will, 'tis certain the _devil_ has chang'd hands, and that now he walks about the world cloth'd in beauty, cover'd with the charms of the lovely, and he fails not to disguise himself effectually by it, for who would think a beautiful lady could be a masque to the devil? and that a fine face, a divine shape, a heavenly aspect, should bring the _devil_ in her company, nay, should be herself an _apparition_, a mere devil. the enquiry is indeed worth our while, and therefore i hope all the enamour'd beaus and boys, all the beauty-hunters and fortune-hunters, will take heed, for i suppose if they get the _devil_, they will not complain for want of a fortune; and there's danger enough, i assure you, for the world is full of apparitions, _non rosa sine spinis_; not a beauty without a _devil_, the old women spectres, and the young women apparitions; the ugly ones witches, and the handsome ones _devils_; lord ha' mercy, and a [illustration: cross] may be set on the man's door that goes a courting. chap. viii. _of the cloven-foot walking about the world without the_ devil, (viz.) _of witches making bargains for the_ devil, _and particularly of selling the soul to the_ devil. i have dwelt long upon the _devil_ in masque as he goes about the world incog. and especially without his cloven-foot, and have touched upon some of his disguises in the management of his interest in the world; i must say some of his disguises only, for who can give a full account of all his tricks and arts in so narrow a compass as i am prescrib'd to? but as i said, that every _devil_ has not a cloven-foot, so i must add now for the present purpose, that every cloven-foot is not the devil. not but that wherever i should meet the cloven-hoof, i should expect that the _devil_ was not far off, and should be apt to raise the posse against him, to apprehend him; yet it may happen otherwise, that's certain; every coin has its counterfeit, every art its pretender, every whore her admirer, every error its patron, and every day has its devil. i have had some thought of making a full and compleat discovery here of that great doubt which has so long puzzl'd the world, namely, whether there is any such thing, as secret making bargains with the devil, and the first positive assurance i can give you in the case, is, that if there is not, 'tis not his fault, 'tis not for want of his endeavour, 'tis plain, if you will pardon me for taking so mean a step, as that of quoting scripture; i say, 'tis evident he would fain have made a contract with our saviour, and he bid boldly (_give him his due_) namely, _all the kingdoms of the world for one bend of his knee_: impudent seraph! to think thy lord should pay thee homage! how many would agree with him here for a less price! they say, _oliver cromwell_ struck a bargain with him, and that he gave _oliver_ the protectorship, but would not let him call himself king, which stuck so close to that _furioso_, that the mortification spread into his soul, and 'tis said, he dy'd of a gangreen in the spleen. but take notice and do _oliver_ justice; i do not vouch the story, neither does the bishop say one word of it. fame us'd to say, that the old famous duke of _luxemburg_ made a magic compact of this kind; nay, i have heard many an (old woman) officer of the troops, who never car'd to see his face, declare that he carry'd the devil at his back. i remember a certain author of a news paper in _london_ was once taken up, and they say, it cost him _l._ for printing in his news, that _luxemburg_ was _humpback'd_. now if i have resolv'd the difficulty, namely, that he was not hump'd, only carry'd the _devil_ at his back; i think the poor man should have his _l._ again, or i should have it for the discovery. i confess, i do not well understand this compacting with such a fellow as can neither write nor read; nor do i know who is the scrivener between them, or how the indenture can be executed; but that which is worse than all the rest is, that in _the first place_, the _devil_ never keeps articles; he will contract perhaps, and they say he is mighty forward to make conditions; but who shall bind him to the performance, and where is the penalty if he fails? if we agree with him, he will be apt enough to claim his bargain and demand payment; nay, perhaps before it is due; but who shall make him stand to his. besides, he is a knave in his dealing, for he really promises what he cannot perform; witness his impudent proposal to our lord mentioned above. _all these kingdoms will i give_ thee! _lying spirit!_ why they were none of thine to give, no not one of them; for the earth is the lords and the kingdoms thereof, nor were they in his power any more than in his right: so (i have heard that) some poor dismal creatures have sold themselves to the devil for a sum of money, for so much cash, and yet even in that case, when the day of payment came, i never heard that he brought the money or paid the purchase, so that he is a scoundrel in his treaties, for you shall trust for your bargain, but not be able to get your money; and yet for your part, he comes for you to an hour: _of which by it self_. in a word, let me caution you all, when you trade with the devil, either get the price or quit the bargain; the _devil_ is a cunning shaver, he will wriggle himself out of the performance on his side if possible, and yet expect you should be punctual on your side. they tell you of a poor fellow in _herefordshire_, that offer'd to sell his soul to him for a cow, and though the _devil_ promised, and as they say, sign'd the writings, yet the poor countryman could never get the cow of him, but still as he brought a cow to him, some body or other came and challeng'd it, proving that it was lost or stolen from them; so that the man got nothing but the name of a cow-stealer, and was at last carried to _hereford_ goal, and condemn'd to be hang'd for stealing two cows, one after the other: the wicked fellow was then in the greatest distress imaginable, he summon'd his _devil_ to help him out, but he failed him, as the _devil_ always will; he really had not stolen the cows, but they were found in his possession, and he could give no account how he came by them; at last he was driven to confess the truth, told the horrid bargain he had made, and how the _devil_ often promis'd him a cow, but never gave him one, except that several times in the morning early he found a cow put into his yard, but it always prov'd to belong to some of his neighbours: whether the man was hang'd or no, the story does not relate; but this part is to my purpose, that they that make bargains with the _devil_, ought to make him give security for the performance of covenants, and who the devil would get to be bound for him, i can't tell, they must look to that who make the bargain: besides, if he had not had a mind to cheat or baffle the poor man, what need he have taken a cow so near home? if he had such and such powers as we talk of, and as fancy and fable furnish for him, could not he have carried a cow in the air upon a broom-stick, as well as an old woman? could he not have stole a cow for him in _lincolnshire_, and set it down in _herefordshire_, and so have performed his bargain, saved his credit, and kept the poor man out of trouble? so that if the story is true, as i really believe it is, either it is not the devil that makes those bargains, or the devil has not such power as we bestow on him, except on special occasions he gets a permit, and is bid go, as in the case of _job_, the _gadaren hogs_, and the like. we have another example of a man's selling himself to the _devil_, that is very remarkable, and that is in the bible too, and even in that, i do not find, what the _devil_ did for him, in payment of the purchase price. the person selling was _ahab_, of whom the text says expresly, _there was none like_ him, _who did sell himself to work wickedness in the sight of the_ lord, _kings_ xxi. , and the . i think it might have been rendred, if not translated _in spight of the lord_, or _in defiance of god_; for certainly that's the meaning of it; and now allowing me to preach a little upon this text, my sermon shall be very short. _ahab_ sold himself, who did he sell himself to? i answer that question by a question; who would buy him? who, _as we say_, would give any thing for him? and the answer to that is plain also, you may judge of the purchaser by the work he was to do; he that buys a slave in the market, buys him to work for him, and to do such business as he has for him to do: _ahab_ was bought to work wickedness, and who would buy him for that but the _devil_? i think there's no room to doubt but _ahab_ sold himself to the devil; the text is plain that he sold himself, and the work he was sold to do points out the master that bought him; what price he agreed with the _devil_ for, that indeed the text is silent in, so we may let it alone, nor is it much to our purpose, unless it be to enquire whether the _devil_ stood to his bargain or not, and whether he paid the money according to agreement, or cheated him as he did the farmer at _hereford_. this buying and selling between the _devil_ and us, is, i must confess, an odd kind of stock-jobbing, and indeed the _devil_ may be said to sell the _bear-skin_, whatever he buys; but the strangest part is when he comes to demand the transfer; for as i hinted before, whether he performs or no, he expects his bargain to a tittle; there is indeed some difficulty in resolving how and in what manner payment is made; the stories we meet with in our chimney-corner histories, and which are so many ways made use of to make the _devil_ frightful to us and our heirs for ever, are generally so foolish and ridiculous, as, if true or not true, they have nothing material in them, are of no signification, or else so impossible in their nature, that they make no impression upon any body above twelve years old and under seventy; or else are so tragical that antiquity has fabled them down to our taste, that we might be able to hear them and repeat them with less horror than is due to them. this variety has taken off our relish of the thing in general, and made the trade of soul-selling, like our late more eminent bubbles, be taken to be a cheat and to have little in it. however, to speak a little more gravely to it, i cannot say but that since, by the two eminent instances of it above in _ahab_, and in christ himself, the fact is evidently ascertain'd; and that the devil has attempted to make such a bargain on one, and actually did make it with the other. the possibility of it is not to be disputed; but then i must explain the manner of it a little, and bring it down, nearer to our understanding, that it may be more intelligible than it is; for as for this selling the soul, and making a bargain to give the _devil_ possession by livery and seisin on the day appointed, that i cannot come into by any means; no nor into the other part, namely, of the devil coming to claim his bargain, and to demand the soul according to agreement, and upon default of a fair delivery, taking it away by violence _case and all_, of which we have many historical relations pretty current among us; some of which, _for ought i know_, we might have hop'd had been true, if we had not been sure they were false, and others we had reason to fear were false, because it was impossible they should be true. the bargains of this kind, according to the best accounts we have of them, used to consist of two main articles, according to the ordinary stipulations in all covenants; namely, . something to be perform'd on the devil's part, buying. . something to be performed on the man's part, selling. . the _devil_'s part: this was generally some poor trifle, for the devil generally bought good penny-worths, and oftentimes like a compleat sharper, agreed to give what he was not able to procure; that is to say, would bargain for a price he could not pay, as in the case of the _hereford_ man and the cow; for example, . _long life_: this tho' the deluded chapman has often had folly enough to contract for, the devil never had power to make good; and we have a famous story, how true i know not, of a wretch that sold himself to the devil on condition he, _satan_, should assure him ( .) that he should never want victuals; ( .) that he should never be a cold; ( .) that he should always come to him when he call'd him; and ( .) that he should let him live one and twenty years, and then satan was at liberty to have him; that is, i suppose, to take him wherever he could find him. it seems, the fellow's desire to be assur'd of years life, was chiefly, that during that time, he might be as wicked as he would, and should yet be sure not to be hang'd, nay, to be free from all punishment; upon this foot 'tis said he commenc'd rogue, and committed a great many robberies and other villanous things; now it seems the _devil_ was pretty true to his bargain in several of those things; particularly, that two or three times when the fellow was taken up for petty crimes, and call'd for his old friend, he came and frighted the constables so, that they let the offender get away from them: but at length having done some capital crime, a set of constables, or such like officers, seiz'd upon him, who were not to be frighted with the _devil_, in what shape soever he appear'd; so that they carry'd him off, and he was committed to _newgate_ or some other prison as effectual. nor could satan with all his skill unlock his fetters, much less the prison doors; but he was try'd, convicted, and executed. the fellow in his extremity, _they say_, expostulated with the _devil_ for his bargain, the term of years it seems not being expir'd. but the _devil_, it is said, shuffl'd with him, told him a good while, he would get him out, bid him have patience and stay a little, and thus led him on, till he came as it were within sight of the gallows, that is to say, within a day or two of his execution; when the _devil_ cavill'd upon his bargain, told him, he agreed to let him live years, and he had not hindred him, but that he did not covenant to cause him to live that time; that there was a great deal of difference between doing and suffering; that he was to suffer him to live, and that he did; but he could not make him live when he had brought himself to the gallows. whether this story were true or not, for you must not expect we historians should answer for the discourse between the _devil_ and his chaps, because we were not privy to the bargain: i say, whether it was true or not, the inference is to our purpose several ways. . it confirms what i have said of the knavery of the _devil_ in his dealings, and that when he has stock-jobb'd with us on the best conditions he can get, he very seldom performs his bargain. . it confirms what i have likewise said, that the _devil_'s power is limited; with this addition, that he not only cannot destroy the life of man, but that he cannot preserve it; _in short_, he can neither prevent or bring on our destruction. i may be allow'd, i hope, for the sake of the present discourse, to suppose that the _devil_ would have been so just to this wicked, tho' foolish creature, as to have sav'd him from the gallows if he could; but it seems, he at last acknowledg'd that it was not in his power; nay, he could not keep him from being taken and carry'd to prison, after he was gotten into the hands of a bold fellow or two, that were not to be fear'd with his bluster, as some foolish creatures had been before. and how simple, how weak, how unlike any thing of an angelick nature, was it to attempt to save the poor wretch, only by little noises and sham appearances, putting out the candles, rushing and josteling in the dark, _and the like_! if the _devil_ was that mighty seraph, which we have heard of, if he is a god of this world, a prince of the air, a spirit able to destroy cities and make havock in the world; if he can raise tempests and storms, throw fire about the world, and do wonderful things, as an unchain'd _devil_ no doubt could do; what need all this frippery? and what need he try so many ridiculous ways, by the emptiness, nay, the silly nonsensical manner, of which, he shews, that he is able to do no better, and that his power is extinguish'd? _in a word_, he would certainly act otherwise, if he could. _sed caret pedibus_, he wants power. how weak a thing is it then, for any man to expect performance from the _devil_? if he has not power to do mischief, which is his element, his very nature, and on many accounts, is the very sum of his desires; how should he have power to do good? how power to deliver from danger or from death? which deliverance would be in itself a good, and we know it is not in his nature to do good to or for any man? in a word, the _devil_ is strangely impudent, to think that any man should depend upon him for the performance of an agreement of any kind whatever, when he knows himself, that he is not able, if he was honest enough, to be as good as his word. come we next to his expecting our performance to him; tho' he is not so just to us, yet, it seems, he never fails to come and demand payment of us at the very day appointed: he was but a weak trader in things of this nature, who having sold his soul to the _devil_, so our old women's tales call the thing, and when the _devil_ came to demand his bargain, put it off as a thing of no force, for that it was done so long ago, he thought he (_the devil_) had forgot it. it was a better answer, which they tell us, a _lutheran_ divine gave the _devil_ in the name of a poor wretch, who had sold himself to the _devil_, and who was in a terrible fright about his coming for his bargain, as he might well be indeed, if the _devil_ has such a power, as really to come and take it by force. _the story (if you can bear a serious one) is this._ the man was in great horror of mind, and the family fear'd he would destroy himself; at length they sent for a _lutheran_ minister to talk with him, and who after some labour with him, got out the truth (_viz._) that he had sold himself to the _devil_, and that the time was almost expir'd, when he expected the _devil_ would come and fetch him away, and he was sure he would not fail coming to the time to a minute; the minister first endeavour'd to convince him of the horrid crime, and to bring him to a true penitence for that part; and having as he thought made him a sincere penitent, he then began to encourage him, and particularly, desir'd of him, that when the time was come, that the _devil_ should fetch him away, he, the minister, should be in the house with him; accordingly, to make the story short, the time came, the _devil_ came, and the minister was present, when the _devil_ came; what shape he was in, the story does not say; the man said he saw him, and cry'd out; the minister could not see him, but the man affirming he was in the room, the minister said aloud, _in the name of the_ living god, _satan, what comest thou here for?_ the _devil_ answer'd, _i come for my own_; the minister answer'd, _he is not thy own, for jesus christ has redeem'd him, and in his name i charge thee to avoid and touch him not_; at which, says the story, the _devil_ gave a furious stamp (with his cloven-foot i suppose) and went away, and was never known to molest him afterward. another story, tho' it be in it self a long one, i shall abridge (for your reading with the less uneasiness) as follows. a young gentleman of _----berg_, in the elector of _brandenburgh_'s (now the king of _prussia_'s) dominions, being deeply in love with a beautiful lady, but something above his fortune, and whom he could by no means bring to love him again, apply'd himself to an _old thing_ call'd _a witch_, for her assistance, and promised her great things, if she could bring the lady to love him, or any how compass her, so as he might have his will of her; nay, at last he told her he would give up his soul to her, if she would answer his desire. the old hag, it seems, having had some of his money, had very honestly tried what she could do, but all to no purpose, the lady would not comply; but when he offer'd such a great price, she told him, she would consider farther against such a time, and so appointed him the next evening. at the time appointed he comes, and the witch made a long speech to him upon the nicety of the affair; i suppose to prepare him not to be surpriz'd at what was to come; for she suppos'd he was not so very desperately bent as he appear'd to be; she told him it was a thing of very great difficulty; but as he had made such a great offer, of _selling his soul for it_, she had an acquaintance in the house, who was better skill'd (than she was) in such particular things, and would treat with him farther, and she doubted not but that both together they might answer his end. the fellow it seems was still of the same mind, and told her, he car'd not what he pawn'd or sold, if he could but obtain the lady; well, says the old hag, sit still a while, and with that she withdraws. by and by she comes in again with a question in her mouth; pray, says she, do you seek this lady for a wife, or for a mistress, would you marry her, or would you only lie with her? the young man told her _no, no_, he did not expect she would lie with him, therefore he would be satisfied to marry her, but asks her the reason of the question; why truly, says the old hag, my reason is very weighty; for if you would have her for your wife, i doubt, we can do you no service; but if you have a mind to lie with her, the person, i speak of, will undertake it. the man was surpriz'd at that, only he objected that this was a transient or short felicity, and that he should perhaps have her no more; the old hag bid him not fear, but that if she once yielded to be his whore, he might have her as often as he pleased; upon this he consents, for he was stark mad for the lady; he having consented, she told him then, he should follow her, but told him, whoever he saw, he must speak to no body but her, till she gave him leave, and that he should not be surpriz'd, whatever happen'd, for no hurt should befall him; all which he agreed to, and the old woman going out he follow'd her. being upon this led into another room, where there was but very little light, yet enough to let him see that there was no body in it but himself and the woman, he was desired to sit down in a chair next to a table, and the old woman clapping the door too after her, he asked her why she shut the door, and where was the person she told him of? at which she answer'd _there he is_, pointing to a chair at a little distance: the young gentleman turning his head, saw a grave kind of a man sitting in an elbow-chair, tho' he said, he could have sworn there was no body in the chair when the old woman shut the door; however, having promis'd not to speak to any body but the old woman, he said not a word. by and by the woman making abundance of strange gestures and motions, and mumbling over several things which he could not understand, on a suddain a large wicker-chair, which stood by the chimney, removes to the other end of the table which he sat by, but there was no body in the chair; in about two minutes after that the chair remov'd, there appear'd a person sitting in that too, who, the room being, as is said, almost dark, could not be so distinguish'd by the eye, as to see his countenance. after some while, the first man, and the chair he sat in, mov'd, as if they had been one body, to the table also; and the old woman and the two men seem'd to talk together, but the young man could not understand any thing they said; after some time the old witch turn'd to the young gentleman, told him his request was granted, but not for marriage, but the lady should love and receive him. the witch then gave him a stick dipt in tar at both ends, and bid him hold it to a candle, which he did, and instead of burning like a stick it burnt out like a torch; then she bid him break it off in the middle, and light the other end; he did that too, and all the room seem'd to be in a light flame; then she said, deliver one piece here, pointing to one only of the persons, so he gave the first fire-stick to the first man or _apparition_; now says she, deliver the other here, so he gave the other piece to the other apparition, at which they both rose up and spoke to him words, which he said he understood not, and could not repeat, and immediately vanish'd with the fire-sticks and all, leaving the room full of smoke: i do not remember that the story says any thing of brimstone, or the smell of it, but it says the door continu'd fast lock'd, and no body was left in the room but the young gentleman and the witch. now the ceremony being over, he ask'd the witch if the business was done? she said _yes_. well, but says he, have i sold my soul to the devil? yes, says she, you have, and you gave him possession, when you deliver'd the two fire-sticks to him. _to him!_ says he, why, was that the _devil_? yes, says the old hag. at which the young man was in a terrible fright for a while, but it went off again. and what's next, says he, when shall i see the lady for whose sake i have done all this? you shall know that presently, said she, and opening the door, in the next room she presents him with a most beautiful lady, but had charg'd him not to speak a word to her: she was exactly dress'd like, and he presently knew her to be the lady he desir'd; upon which he flew to her and clasped her in his arms, but that moment he had her fast, as he thought, in his arms, she vanish'd out of his sight. finding himself thus disappointed, he upbraids the old woman with betraying him, and flew out with ill language at her, in a great rage; the _devil_ often deluded him thus, after this, with shews and appearances, but still no performance; after a while he gets an opportunity to speak with the lady her self in reality, but she was as positive in her denial as ever, and even took away all hopes of his ever obtaining her, which put him into despair; for now he thought he had given himself up to the _devil_ for nothing, and this brought him to himself; so that he made a penitent confession of his crime to some friends, who took great care of him, and encourag'd him, and at last furnish'd him with such an answer as put the _devil_ into a fright, when he came for the bargain. for satan, it seems, _as the story says_, had the impudence to demand his agreement, notwithstanding he had fail'd in the performance on his part; what the answer was i do not pretend to have seen, but it seems it was something like what is mention'd above, (_viz._) that he was in better hands, and that he durst not touch him. i have heard of another person that had actually sign'd a contract with the _devil_; and upon a fast kept by some protestant or christian divines, while they were praying for the poor man, the devil was oblig'd to come and throw the contract in at the window. but i vouch none of these stories, there may be much in them and much use made of them, even whether exactly such in fact, as they are related, or no; the best use i can make of them, is this, if any wicked desperate wretches have made bargain and sale with _satan_, their only way is to repent, if they know how, and that before he comes to claim them; then batter him with his own guns; play religion against devilism, and perhaps they may drive the _devil_ out of their reach; at least he will not come at them, which is as well. on the other hand, how many stories have we handed about of the devil's really coming with a terrible appearance at the time appointed, and powerfully or by violence carrying away those, that have given themselves thus up to him; nay, and sometimes a piece of the house along with them, as in the famous instance of _sudbury_, _anno_ . it seems he comes with rage and fury upon such occasions, pretending he only comes to take his own, or as if he had leave given him to come and take his goods, _as we say_, where he could find them, and would strike a terror into all that should oppose him. the greatest part of the terror we are usually in upon this occasion, is from a supposition, that when this _hell-fire contract_ is once made, god allows the _devil_ to come and take the wicked creature, how and in what manner he thinks fit, as being given up to him by his own act and deed; but in my opinion there's no divinity at all in that; for as in our law we punish a _felo de se_, or self-murtherer, because, _as the law suggests_, he had no right to dismiss his own life; that he being a subject of the common-wealth, the government claims the _ward_ or custody of him, and so 'twas not murther only, but robbery, and is a felony against the state, robbing the king of his liege-man, as _'tis justly call'd_; so neither has any man a right to dispose of his soul, which belongs to his maker in property and in right of creation: the man then having no right to sell, satan has no right to buy, or at best he has made a purchase without a title, and consequently has no just claim to the possession. it is therefore a mistake to say, that when any of us have been so mad to make such a pretended contract with the devil, that god gives him leave to take it as his due; _'tis no such thing_; the _devil_ has bought, what you had no right to sell, and therefore, as an unlawful oath is to be repented of, and then broken; so your business is to repent of the crime, and then tell the _devil_, you have better consider'd of it, and that you won't stand to your bargain, for you had no power to sell; and if he pretends to violence after that, i am mistaken; i believe the _devil_ knows better. it is true, our old mothers and nurses have told us other things, but they only told us what their mothers and nurses told them, and so the tale has been handed down from one generation of old women to another; but we have no vouchers for the fact other than oral tradition, the credit of which, i confess, goes but a very little way with me; nor do i believe it one jot the more for all the frightful addenda which they generally join to the tale, for it never wants a great variety of that kind. thus they tell us the devil carried away dr. _faustus_ and took a piece of the wall of his garden along with them: thus at _salisbury_ the _devil_ as it is said, and publickly printed, carried away two fellows that had given themselves up to him, and carried away the roof of the house with them, _and the like_; all which i believe my share of; besides, if these stories were really true, they are all against the devil's true interest, _satan_ must be a fool, which is indeed what i never took him to be in the main; this would be the way not to encrease the number of desperadoes, who should thus put themselves into his hand, but to make himself a terror to them; and this is one of the most powerful objections i have against the thing, for the devil, i say, is no fool, that must be acknowledg'd; he knows his own game, and generally plays it sure. i might, before i quit this point, seriously reflect here upon our _beau mond_ (_viz._) the gay part of mankind, especially those of the times we live in, who walk about in a composure and tranquillity inexpressible, and yet as we all know, must certainly have all sold themselves to the devil, for the power of acting the foolishest things with the greater applause; it is true, to be a fool is the most pleasant life in the world, if the fool has but the particular felicity, which few fools want, (_viz._) to think themselves wise: the learned say, it is the dignity and perfection of fools, that they never fail trusting themselves; they believe themselves sufficient and able for every thing; and hence their want or waste of brains is no grievance to them, but they hug themselves in the satiety of their own wit; but to bring other people to have the same notion of them, which they have of themselves, and to have their apish and ridiculous conduct make the same impression on the minds of others, as it does on their own; this requires a general infatuation, and must either be a judgment from heaven, or a mist of hell; nothing but the devil can make all the men of brains applaud a fool, and can any man believe, that the devil will do this for nothing? no, no, he will be well paid for it, and i know no other way they have to compound with him, but this of bargain and sale. 'tis the same thing with rakes and bullies, as 'tis with fools and beaus; and this brings me to the subject of _buying_ and _selling_ it self, and to examine what is understood by it in the world, what people mean by such and such a man selling himself to the devil: i know the common acceptation of it is, that they make some capitulation for some indulgence in wickedness, on conditions of safety and impunity, which the devil promises them; tho' as i said above, he is a _bite_ in that too, for he can't perform the conditions; however, i say, he promises boldly, and they believe him, and for this privilege in wickedness, they consent, that he shall come and fetch them for his own, at such or such a time. this is the state of the case in the general acceptation of it; i do not say 'tis really so, nay 'tis even an inconsistency in it self; for one would think, they need not capitulate with the devil to be so, and so, superlatively wicked, and give him such a price for it, seeing, unless we have a wrong notion of him, he is naturally enclin'd, as well as avow'dly willing to have all men be as superlatively wicked as possibly they can, and must necessarily be always ready to issue out his licenses gratis, as far as his authority will go in the case; and therefore i do not see why the wretches that deal with him, should article with him for a price; but suppose, for argument sake, that it is so, then the next thing is, some capital crime follows the contract, and then the wretch is forsaken, for the devil cannot protect him, as he promised; so he is _trust up_, and like _coleman_ at the gallows, he exclaims that _there is no truth in_ devils. it may be true, however, that under the powerful guard and protection of the devil, men do sometimes go a great way in crime, and that perhaps farther in these our days of boasted morals than was known among our fathers; the only difference that i meet with between the sons of _belial_ in former days, and those of our ages, seems to be in the devil's management, not in theirs; the sum of which amounts to this, that satan seems to act with more cunning, and they with less; for in the former ages of satan's dominion, he had much business upon his hands, all his art and engines, and engineers also, were kept fully employ'd, to wheedle, allure, betray and circumvent people, and draw them into crimes, and they found him, as we may say, a full employment; i doubt not, he was call'd the tempter on that very account; but the case seems quite alter'd now, the tables are turned; then the devil tempted men to sin, _but now, in short_, they tempt the devil; men push into crimes before he pushes them; they out shoot him in his own bow, out run him on his own ground, and, as we say of some hot spurs who ride post, they whip the post-boy; in a word, the devil seems to have no business now but to sit still and look on. this, i must confess, seems to intimate some secret compact between the devil and them; but then it looks, not as is they had contracted with the devil for leave to sin, but that the devil had contracted with them, that they should sin so and so, up to such a degree, and that without giving him the trouble of daily solicitation, private management, and artful screwing up their passions, their affections and their most retir'd faculties, as he was before oblig'd to do. this also appears more agreeable to the nature of the thing; and as it is a most exquisite part of satan's cunning, so 'tis an undoubted testimony of his success; if it was not so, he could never bring his kingdom to such a height of absolute power as he has done; this also solves several difficulties in the affair of the world's present way of sinning, which otherwise it would be very hard to understand; as particularly how some eminent men of quality among us, whose upper rooms are not extraordinary well furnished in other cases, yet are so very witty in their wickedness, that they gather admirers by hundreds and thousands; who, however heavy, lumpish, slow and backward, even by nature, and in force of constitution in better things, yet in their race devil-wards they are of a sudden grown nimble, light of foot, and outrun all their neighbours; fellows that are as empty of sense as beggars are of honesty, and as far from brains as a whore is of modesty; on a sudden you shall find them dip into _polemicks_, study _michael servetus_, _socinus_, and the most learned of their disciples; they shall reason against all religion, as strongly as a philosopher; blaspheme with such a keenness of wit, and satyrise god and eternity, with such a brightness of fancy, as if the soul of a _rochester_ or a _hobbs_ was transmigrated into them; in a little length of time more they banter heaven, burlesque the trinity, and jest with every sacred thing, and all so sharp, so ready, and so terribly witty, as if they were born buffoons, and were singl'd out by nature to be champions for the devil. whence can all this come? how is the change wrought? who but the devil can inject wit in spight of natural dullness, create brains, fill empty heads, and supply the vacuities in the understanding? and will satan do all this for nothing? _no, no_, he is too wise for that; i can never doubt a secret compact, if there is such a thing in nature; when i see a head where there was no head, sense in _posse_ where there is no sense in _esse_, wit without brains, and sight without eyes, 'tis all _devil-work_: could _g----_ write satyrs, that could neither read _latin_ or spell _english_, like old sir _william read_, who wrote a book of opticks, which when it was printed, he did not know which was the right side uppermost, and which the wrong? could this eminent uninform'd beau turn atheist, and make wise speeches against that being, which made him a fool, if the devil had not sold him some wit in exchange for that trifle of his, call'd soul? had he not barter'd his inside with that son of the morning, to have his tongue tip'd with blasphemy, he that knew nothing of a god, but only to swear by him, could never have set up for a wit, to burlesque his providence and ridicule his government of the world. but the devil, as he is god of the world, has one particular advantage, and that is, that when he has work to do he very seldom wants instruments; with this circumstance also, that the degeneracy of human nature supplies him; as the late king of _france_ said of himself, when they told him what a calamity was like to befal his kingdom by the famine: _well_, says the king, then i shall not want soldiers; _and it was so_, want of bread supplied his army with recruits; so want of grace supplied the _devil_ with reprobates for his work. another reason why, i think, the _devil_ has made more bargains of that kind we speak of, in this age, is, because he seems to have laid by his cloven-foot; all his old emissaries, the tools of his trade, the engineers which he employ'd in his mines, such as witches, warlocks, magicians, conjurers, astrologers, and all the hellish train or rabble of human _devils_, who did his drudgery in former days, seem to be out of work: i shall give you a fuller enumeration of them in the next chapter. these, i say, seem to be laid aside; not that his work is abated, or that his business with mankind, for their delusion and destruction is not the same, or perhaps more than ever; but the _devil_ seems to have chang'd hands; the temper and genius of mankind is alter'd, and they are not to be taken by fright and horror, as they were then: the figures of those creatures was always dismal and horrible, and that is it which i mean by the _cloven-foot_; but now wit, beauty and gay things, are the sum of his craft, he manages by the soft and the smooth, the fair and the artful, the kind and the cunning, not by the frightful and terrible, the ugly and the odious. when the _devil_ for weighty dispatches, wanted messengers cunning and bold, he pass'd by the beautiful faces, and pick'd out the _ugly_ and _old_. of these he made _warlocks_ and _witches_, to run of his errands by night, till the over wrought hag-ridden wretches, were as fit as the _devil_, to fright. but whoever has been his adviser, as his kingdom encreases in growth; he now takes his measures much wiser, and trafficks with beauty and youth. disguis'd in the wanton and witty, he haunts both the church and the court, and sometimes he visits the city, where all the best christians resort. thus dress'd up in full masquerade, he the bolder can range up and down, for he better can drive on his trade, in any one's name than his own. chap. ix. _of the tools the_ devil _works with,_ (viz.) _witches, wizards or warlocks, conjurers, magicians, divines, astrologers, interpreters of dreams, tellers of fortunes; and above all the rest, his particular modern privy-counsellors call'd wits and fools._ tho', as i have advanc'd in the foregoing chapter, the _devil_ has very much chang'd hands in his modern management of the world, and that instead of the rabble and long train of implements reckoned up above, he now walks about in beaus, beauties, wits and fools; yet i must not omit to tell you that he has not dismiss'd his former regiments, but like officers in time of peace, he keeps them all in half pay, or like extraordinary men at the custom-house, they are kept at a call, to be ready to fill up vacancies, or to employ when he is more than ordinarily full of business; and therefore it may not be amiss to give some brief account of them, from satan's own memoirs, their performance being no inconsiderable part of his history. nor will it be an unprofitable digression to go back a little to the primitive institution of all these _orders_, for they are very antient, and i assure you, it requires great knowledge of antiquity, to give a particular of their original; i shall be very brief in it. in order then to this enquiry, you must know that it was not for want of servants, that satan took this sort of people into his pay; he had, as i have observ'd in its place, millions of diligent _devils_ at his call, whatever business, and however difficult, he had for them to do; but as i have said above, that our modern people are forwarder than even the _devil_ himself can desire them to be; and that they come before they are call'd, run before they are sent, and crowd themselves into his service; so it seems it was in those early days, when the world was one universal monarchy under his dominion, as i have at large describ'd in its place. in those days the wickedness of the world keeping a just pace with their ignorance, this inferior sort of low priz'd instruments did the _devil_'s work mighty well; they drudg'd on in his black-art so laboriously, and with such good success, that he found it was better to employ them as tools to delude and draw in mankind, than to send his invisible implements about, and oblige them to take such shapes and dresses as were necessary upon every trifling occasion; which, perhaps, was more cost than worship, more pains than pay. having then a set of these voluntiers in his service, the true _devil_ had nothing to do but to keep an exact correspondence with them, and communicate some needful powers to them, to make them be and do something extraordinary, and give them a reputation in their business; and these, in a word, did a great part of, nay almost all the _devil_'s business in the world. to this purpose gave he them power, if we may believe old _glanville_, _baxter_, _hicks_, and other learn'd consultors of oracles, to walk invisible, to fly in the air, ride upon broom-sticks, and other wooden gear, to interpret dreams, answer questions, betray secrets, to talk (gibberish) the universal language, to raise storms, sell winds, bring up spirits, disturb the dead, and torment the living, with a thousand other needful tricks to amuse the world, keep themselves in veneration, and carry on the _devil_'s empire in the world. the first nations among whom these infernal practices were found, were the _chaldeans_; and that i may do justice in earnest, as well as in jest, it must be allow'd that the _chaldeans_, or those of them so call'd, were not conjurers or magicians, only philosophers and studiers of nature, wise, sober and studious men at first, and we have an extraordinary account of them; and if we may believe some of our best writers of fame, _abraham_ was himself famous among them for such magick, as sir _walter raleigh_ expresses it, _qui contemplatione creaturarum cognovit creatorem_. now granting this, it is all to my purpose, namely, that the devil drew these wise men in, to search after more knowledge than nature could instruct them in; and the knowledge of the true god being at that time sunk very low, he debauch'd them all with dreams, apparitions, conjurers, _&c._ till he ruin'd the just notions they had, and made _devils_ of them all, like himself. the learned _senensis_, speaking of this _chaldean_ kind of learning, gives us an account of five sorts of them; you will pardon me for being so grave as to go this length back. . _chascedin_ or _chaldeans_, properly so call'd, being astronomers. . _asaphim_ or _magicians_, such was _zoroastres_ and _balaam_ the son of _beor_. . _chatumim_ or interpreters of dreams and hard speeches, inchanters, _&c._ . _mecasphim_ or witches, call'd at first prophets, afterwards _malefici_ or _venefici_, poisoners. . _gazarim_ or _auruspices_, and diviners, such as divin'd by the entrails of beasts, the liver in particular; mention'd in _ezek._ or as others, call'd augurs. now, as to all these, i suppose, i may do them no wrong, if i say, however justifiable they were in the beginning, the _devil_ got them all into his service at last, and that brings me to my text again, from which the rest was a digression. . the _chascedin_ or _chaldean_ astronomers turned astrologers, fortune-tellers, calculators of nativities, and vile deluders of the people, as if the wisdom of the holy god was in them, as _nebuchadnezzar_ said of _daniel_ on that very account. . the _asaphim_ or magi, or magicians; _sixtus senensis_ says, they were such as wrought by covenants with devils, but turn'd to it from their wisdom, which was to study the practical part of natural philosophy, working admirable effects by the mutual application of natural causes. . the _chartumim_ from being reasoners or disputers upon difficult points in philosophy, became enchanters and conjurers. so, . the _mecasphim_ or prophets, they turn'd to be sorcerers, raisers of spirits, such as wounded by an evil eye, and by bitter curses, and were afterwards fam'd for having familiar converse with the _devil_, and were called witches. . the _gazarim_, from the bare observing of the good and bad omens, by the entrails of beasts, flying of birds, _&c._ were turn'd to sacrists or priests of the heathen idols and sacrificers. thus, i say, first or last the _devil_ engross'd all the wise-men of the east, for so they are call'd; made them all his own, and by them he work'd wonders, that is, he fill'd the world with lying wonders, as if wrought by these men, when indeed it was all his own, from beginning to the end, and set on foot meerly to propagate delusion, impose upon blinded and ignorant men; the god of this world blinded their minds, and they were led away by the subtilty of the _devil_, to say no worse of it, till they became _devils_ themselves, as to mankind; for they carried on the devil's work upon all occasions, and the race of them still continue in other nations, and some of them among our selves, as we shall see presently. the _arabians_ follow'd the _chaldeans_ in this study, while it was kept within its due bounds, and after them the _egyptians_; and among the latter we find that _jannes_ and _jambres_ were famous for their leading _pharaoh_ by their pretended magic performances, to reject the real miracles of _moses_; and history tells us of strange pranks the wise-men, the magicians and the southsayers plaid to delude the people in the most early ages of the world. but, as i say, now, the _devil_ has improv'd himself, so he did then; for the _grecian_ and _roman_ heathen rites coming on, they outdid all the magicians and southsayers, by establishing the _devil_'s lying oracles, which, as a master-piece of hell, did the _devil_ more honour, and brought more homage to him, than ever he had before, or could arrive to since. again, as by the setting up the oracles, all the magicians and southsayers grew out of credit; so at the ceasing of those oracles, the _devil_ was fain to go back to the old game again, and take up with the agency of witches, divinations, inchantments and conjurings, as i hinted before, answerable to the four sorts mention'd in the story of _nebuchadnezzar_, (viz.) _magicians_, _astrologers_, the _chaldeans_ and the _southsayers_: how these began to be out of request, i have mention'd already; but as the _devil_ has not quite given them over, only laid them aside a little for the present, we may venture to ask what they were, and what use he made of them when he did employ them. the truth is, i think, as it was a very mean employment for any thing that wears a human countenance to take up, so i must acknowledge, i think, 'twas a mean low priz'd business for _satan_ to take up with; below the very _devil_; below his dignity as an angelic, tho' condemn'd creature; below him even as a _devil_; to go to talk to a parcel of ugly, deform'd, spiteful, malicious old women; to give them power to do mischief, who never had a will, after they enter'd into the state of _old woman-hood_, to do any thing else: why the _devil_ always chose the ugliest old women he could find; whether _wizardism_ made them ugly, that were not so before, and whether the ugliness, as it was a beauty in witchcraft, did not encrease according to the meritorious performance in the black-trade? these are all questions of moment to be decided, (if human learning can arrive to so much perfection) in ages to come. some say the evil eye and the wicked look were parts of the enchantment, and that the witches, when they were in the height of their business, had a powerful influence with both; that by looking upon any person they could bewitch them, and make the _devil_, _as the scots express it_, ride through them booted and spurr'd; and that hence came that very significant saying, _to look like a witch_. the strange work which the _devil_ has made in the world, by this sort of his agents call'd witches, is such, and so extravagantly wild, that except our hope that most of those tales happen not to be true, i know not how any one could be easy to live near a widow after she was five and fifty. all the other sorts of emissaries which satan employs, come short of these ghosts; and apparitions sometimes come and shew themselves, on particular accounts, and some of those particulars respect doing justice, repairing wrongs, preventing mischief; sometimes in matters very considerable, and on things so necessary to publick benefit, that we are tempted to believe they proceed from some vigilant spirit who wishes us well; but on the other hand, these witches are never concern'd in any thing but mischief; nay, if what they do portends good to one, it issues in hurt to many; the whole tenour of their life, their design in general, is to do mischief, and they are only employ'd in mischief, and nothing else: how far they are furnish'd with ability suitable to the horrid will they are vested with, remains to be describ'd. these witches, 'tis said, are furnish'd with power suitable to the occasion that is before them, and particularly that which deserves to be consider'd, as prediction, and foretelling events, which i insist the author of witchcraft is not accomplish'd with himself, nor can he communicate it to any other: how then _witches_ come to be able to foretel things to come, which, 'tis said, the _devil_ himself cannot know, and which, as i have shewn, 'tis evident he does not know himself, is yet to be determin'd; that witches do foretel, is certain, from the witch of _endor_, who foretold things to _saul_, which he knew not before, namely, that he should be slain in battle the next day, which accordingly came to pass. there are, however, and notwithstanding this particular case, many instances wherein the _devil_ has not been able to foretel approaching events, and that in things of the utmost consequence, and he has given certain foolish or false answers in such cases; the devil's priests, which were summon'd in by the prophet _elija_, to decide the dispute between god and _baal_, had the _devil_ been able to have inform'd them of it, would certainly have receiv'd notice from him, of what was intended against them by _elija_; that is to say, that they would be all cut in pieces; for satan was not such a fool as not to know that _baal_ was a non-entity, a nothing, at best a dead man, perish'd and rotting in his grave; for _baal_ was _bell_ or _belus_, an ancient king of the _assyrian_ monarchy, and he could no more answer by fire to consume the sacrifice, than he could raise himself from the dead. but the priests of _baal_ were left of their master to their just fate, namely, to be a sacrifice to the fury of a deluded people; hence i infer his inability, for it would have been very unkind and ungrateful in him not to have answer'd them, if he had been able. there is another argument raised here most justly against the _devil_, with relation to his being under restraint, and that of greater eminence than we imagine, and it is drawn from this very passage, thus; 'tis not to be doubted but that _satan_, who has much of the element put into his hands, as prince of the air, had a power, or was able potentially speaking, to have answer'd _baal_'s priests by fire; fire being in vertue of his airy principality a part of his dominion; but he was certainly _withheld_ by the superior hand, which gave him that dominion, i mean _withheld_ for the occasion only: so in another case, it was plain that _balaam_, who was one of those sorts of _chaldeans_ mention'd above, who dealt in _divinations_ and _inchantments_, was withheld from cursing israel. some are of opinion that _balaam_ was not a witch or a dealer with the _devil_ because 'tis said of him, or rather he says it of himself, that he saw the visions of god, _numb._ xxiv. . _he hath said_, who _heard the words of_ god, _and knew the knowledge of the most high, which saw the visions of the almighty, falling into a_ trance, _but having his eyes open_: hence they alledge he was one of those magi, which st. _augustin_ speaks of, _de divinatione_, who by the study of nature, and by the contemplation of created beings came to the knowledge of the creature; and that _balaam_'s fault was, that being tempted by the rewards and honours that the king promised him, he intended to have curs'd _israel_; but when his eyes were open'd, and that he saw they were god's own people, he durst not do it; they will have it therefore, that except, _as above_, _balaam_ was a good man, or at least that he had the knowledge of the true god, and the fear of that god upon him, and that he honestly declares this, _numb._ xxii. . _if_ balak _would give me his house full of silver and gold, i cannot go beyond the word of the lord_ my god: where tho' he is call'd a false prophet by some, he evidently owns god, and assumes a property in him, as other prophets did; my god, and i cannot go beyond his orders; but that which gives me a better opinion of _balaam_ than all this is, his plain prophesy of christ, chap. xxiv. . where he calls him the star of _jacob_, and declares, _i shall see him, but not now, i shall behold him, but not nigh; there shall come a star out of_ jacob, _and a scepter shall rise out of_ israel, _and shall smite the corners of_ moab, _and destroy all the children of_ seth, all which express not a knowledge only, but a faith in christ; but i have done preaching, this is all by the by, i return to my business, which is the history. there is another piece of dark practice here, which lies between satan and his particular agents, and which they must give us an answer to, when they can, which i think will not be in haste; and that is about the obsequious _devil_ submitting to be call'd up into visibility, whenever an old woman has her hand cross'd with a white six-pence, _as they call it_: one would think that instead of these vile things call'd witches, being sold to the _devil_, the _devil_ was really sold for a slave to them; for how far soever satan's residence is off of this state of life, they have power, it seems, to fetch him from home, and oblige him to come at their call. i can give little account of this, only that indeed so it is; nor is the thing so strange in its self, as the methods to do it are mean, foolish, and ridiculous; as making a circle and dancing in it, pronouncing such and such words, saying the lord's prayer backward, and the like; now is this agreeable to the dignity of the prince of the air or atmosphere, that he should be commanded forth with no more pomp or ceremony than that of muttering a few words, such as the old witches and he agree about? or is there something else in it, which none of us or themselves understand? perhaps, indeed, he is always with those people call'd witches and conjurers, or at least some of his _camp volant_ are always present, and so upon the least call of the wizard, it is but putting off the misty cloak and showing themselves. then we have a piece of mock pageantry in bringing those things call'd witches or conjurers to justice, that is, first to know if a woman be a witch, throw her into a pond, and if she be a witch, she will swim, and it is not in her own power to prevent it; if she does all she can to sink her self, it will not do, she will swim like a cork. then that a rope will not hang a witch, but you must get a with, a green osyer; that if you nail a horse-shoe on the sill of the door, she cannot come into the house, or go out, if she be in; these and a thousand more, too simple to be believ'd, are yet so vouch'd, so taken for granted, and so universally receiv'd for truth, that there is no resisting them without being thought atheistical. what methods to take to know, who are _witches_, i really know not; but on the other side, i think there are variety of methods to be used to know who are not; _w--- g---_, esq; is a man of fame, his parts are great, because his estate is so; he has threescore and eight lines of _virgil_ by rote, and they take up many of the intervals of his merry discourses; he has just as many witty stories to please society; when they are well told, _once over_, he begins again, and so he lives in a round of wit and learning; he is a man of great simplicity and sincerity; you must be careful not to mistake my meaning, as to the word simplicity; some take it to mean honesty, and so do i, only that it has a negative attending it, in his particular case; in a word, _w---- g----_ is an honest man, and no _conjurer_; a good character, i think, and without impeachment to his understanding, he may be a man of worth for all that; take the other sex, there is the lady _h----_ is another discovery; bless us! what charms in that face! how bright those eyes! how flowing white her breasts! how sweet her voice? add to all, how heavenly, divinely good her temper! how inimitable her behaviour! how spotless her virtue! how perfect her innocence! and to sum up her character, we may add, the lady _h----_ is no _witch_; sure none of our beau critics will be so unkind now as to censure me in those honest descriptions, as if i meant that my good friend _w---- g----_ esq; or my ador'd angel, the bright, the charming lady _h----_ were fools; but what will not those savages, call'd critics, do, whose barbarous nature enclines them to trample on the brightest characters, and to cavil on the clearest expressions? it might be expected of me, however, in justice to my friends, and to the bright characters of abundance of gentlemen of this age, who, by the depth of their politics, and the height of their elevations might be suspected, and might give us room to charge them with subterranean intelligence; i say, it might be expected that i should clear up their fame, and assure the world concerning them, even by name, that they are no _conjurers_, that they do not deal with the _devil_, at least, not by the way witchcraft and divination, such as sir _t---k_, _e--- b---_, esq; my lord _homily_, coll. _swagger_, _jeoffry well with_, esq; capt. _harry go deeper_, mr. _wellcome woollen_, citizen and merchant taylor of _london_, _henry cadaver_, esq; the d---- of _caerfilly_, the marquess of _sillyhoo_, sir _edward thro' and thro'_ bart. and a world of fine gentlemen more, whose great heads and weighty understandings have given the world such occasion to challenge them with being at least descended from the _magi_, and perhaps engaged with old satan in his politics and experiments; but i, that have such good intelligence among _satan_'s ministers of state, as is necessary to the present undertaking, am thereby well able to clear up their characters: and i doubt not, but they will value themselves upon it, and acknowledge their obligation to me, for letting the world know the _devil_ does not pretend to have had any business with them, or to have enroll'd them in the list of his operators; _in a word_, that none of them are _conjurers_: upon which testimony of mine, i expect they be no longer charg'd with, or so much as suspected of having an unlawful quantity of wit, or having any sorts of it about them, that are contraband or prohibited, but that for the future they pass unmolested, and be taken for nothing but what they are, (_viz._) very honest worthy gentlemen. chap. x. _of the various methods the devil takes to converse with mankind._ having spoken something of persons, and particularly of such as the _devil_ thinks fit to employ in his affairs in the world, it comes next of course to say something of the manner how he communicates his mind to them, and by them to the rest of his acquaintance in the world. i take the _devil_ to be under great difficulties in his affairs on his part, especially occasion'd by the bounds which are set him, or which policys oblige him to set to himself, in his access to the conversing with mankind; 'tis evident he is not permitted to fall upon them with force and arms, that is to say, to muster up his infernal troops, and attack them with fire and sword; if he was not loose to act in this manner as he was able, by his own seraphic power to have destroy'd the whole race, and even the earth they dwelt upon, so he would certainly, and long ago have effectually done it; his particular interests and inclinations are well enough known. but in the next place, as he is thus restrain'd from violence, so prudentials restrain him in all his other actings with mankind; and being confin'd to stratagem, and soft still methods, such as persuasion, allurement, feeding the appetite, prompting, and then gratifying corrupt desires, and the like; he finds it for his purpose not to appear in person, except very rarely, and then in disguise; but to act all the rest in the dark, under the vizor of art and craft, making use of persons and methods conceal'd, or at least not fully understood or discover'd. as to the persons whom he employs, i have taken some pains you see to discover some of them; but the methods he uses with them, either to inform and instruct, and give orders to them, or to converse with other people by them, these are very particular, and deserve some place in our memoirs, particularly as they may serve to remove some of our mistakes, and to take off some of the frightful ideas we are apt to entertain in prejudice of this great manager; as if he was no more to be match'd in his politics, than he would be to be match'd in his power, if it was let loose; which is so much a mistake, that on the contrary, we read of several people that have abused and cheated the _devil_, a thing, which i cannot say, is very honest nor just, notwithstanding the old latin proverb, _fallere fallentem non est fraus_, (which men construe, or rather render, by way of banter upon satan) 'tis no sin to cheat the _devil_, which for all that, upon the whole i deny, and alledge, that let the _devil_ act how he will by us, we ought to deal fairly by him. but to come to the business, without circumlocutions; i am to enquire how satan issues out his orders, gives his instructions and fully delivers his mind to his emissaries, of whom i have mention'd some in the title to chap. ix. in order to this, you must form an idea of the _devil_ sitting in great state, in open campaign, with all his legions about him, in the height of the atmosphere; or if you will, at a certain distance from the atmosphere, and above it, that the plan of his encampment might not be hurried round its own axis, with the earth's diurnal motion, which might be some disturbance to him. by this fix'd situation, the earth performing its rotation, he has every part and parcel of it brought to a direct opposition to him, and consequently to his view once in twenty four hours: the last time i was there, if i remember right, he had this quarter of the world, which we call christendom, just under his eye; and as the motion is not so swift, but that his piercing opticks can take a strict view of it _en passant_; for the circumference of it being but twenty one thousand miles, and its circular motion being full twenty four hours performing, he has something more than an hour to view every thousand miles, which, to his supernatural penetration, is not worth naming. as he takes thus a daily view of all the circle, and an hourly view of the parts, he is fully master of all transactions, at least such as are done above board by all mankind; and then he dispatches his emissaries or _aid du camps_ to every part with his orders and instructions: now these emissaries, you are to understand, are not the _witches_ and _diviners_, who i spoke of above, for i call them also emissaries; but they are all _devils_ or (as you know they are call'd) _devil_'s angels; and these may, perhaps, come and converse personally with the sub-emissaries i mention'd, to be ready for their support and assistance on all occasions of business: these are those _devils_ which the witches are said to raise; for we can hardly suppose the master _devil_ comes himself, at the summons of every ugly old woman. these run about into every nook and corner, wherever satan's business calls them, and are never wanting to him; but are the most diligent _devils_ imaginable; like the _turkish chaiux_, they no sooner receive their errand, but they execute it with the utmost alacrity; and as to their speed, it may be truly written as a motto, upon the head of every individual _devil_, _non indiget calcaribus._ these are those, who they tell us our witches, sorcerers, wizards, and such sorts of folks converse freely with, and are therefore call'd their _familiars_; and as they tell us, come to them in human shapes, talk to them with articulate plain voices, as if men, and that yet the said witches, _&c._ know them to be _devils_. history has not yet enlighten'd us in this part of useful knowledge, or at least not sufficiently for a description of the persons or habits of these sorts of appearances; as what shapes they take up, what language they speak, and what particular works they perform, so we must refer it to farther enquiry; but if we may credit history, we are told many famous stories of these appearances; for example, the famous mother _lakland_, who was burnt for a witch at _ipswich_, _anno_ , confessed at the time of her execution, or a little before it, that she had frequent conversation with the _devil_ himself; that she being very poor, and withal of a devilish passionate, cruel and revengeful disposition before, used to wish she had it in her power to do such and such mischievous things to some that she hated; and that the _devil_ himself, who, it seems, knew her temper, came to her one night as she lay in her bed, and was between sleeping and waking, and speaking in a deep hollow voice, told her; if she would serve him in some things he would employ her to do, she should have her will of all her enemies, and should want for nothing: that she was much afraid at first, but that he solliciting her very often, bad her not be afraid of him, and still urg'd her to yield, and as she says, struck his claw into her hand, and tho' it did not hurt her, made it bleed, and with the blood wrote the covenants, that is to say, the bargain between them: being ask'd what was in them, and whether he requir'd her to curse or deny god or christ? she said no. n. b. i do not find she told them whether the _devil_ wrote it with a pen, or whether on paper or parchment, nor whether she sign'd it or no, but it seems he carry'd it away with him. i suppose, if satan's register were examin'd, it might be found among the archives of hell, the rolls of his _acta publica_; and when his historiographer royal publishes them, we may look for it among them. then he furnish'd her with three _devils_, to wait upon her (i suppose) for she confess'd they were to be employ'd in her service; they attended in the shapes of two little dogs and a mole: the first she bewitch'd was her own husband, by which he lay a while in great misery and died; then she sent to one captain _beal_ and burnt a new ship of his just built, which had never been at sea; these and many other horrid things she did and confess'd, and having been twenty years a witch, at last the _devil_ left her, and she was burnt as she deserv'd. that some extraordinary occasions may bring these agents of the _devil_, nay, sometimes the _devil_ himself, to assume human shapes, and appear to other people we cannot doubt; he did thus in the case of our saviour _as a tempter_, and some think he did so to _manasses_ as a familiar, who the scripture charges with sorcery, and having a familiar or devil; fame tells us that st. _dunstan_ frequently converst with him, and finally, took him by the nose; and so of others. but in these modern ages of the world, he finds it much more to his purpose to work under ground as i have observ'd, and to keep upon the reserve; so that we have no authentick accounts of his personal appearance, but what are very antient or very remote from our faith, as well as our enquiry. it seems to be a question that would bear some debating, whether all apparitions are not _devils_ or from the _devil_; but there being so many of those apparitions which we call spirits, which really assume shapes and make appearances in the world, upon such accounts as we know _satan_ himself scorns to be employ'd in, that i must dismiss the question in favour of the _devil_; assuring them, that as he never willingly did any good in his life, so he would be far from giving himself the trouble of setting one foot into the world, on such an errand; and for that reason we maybe assur'd those certain apparitions, which we are told came to detect a murther in _gloucestershire_, and others who appear'd to prevent the ruining an orphan for want of finding a deed, that was not lost, was certainly some other power equally concern'd, and not the _devil_. on the other hand, neither will it follow that _satan_ never appears in human shape; for tho' every apparition may not be the _devil_, yet it does not follow that the _devil_ never makes an apparition: all i shall say to it is, as i have mention'd before, that generally speaking, the _devil_ finds it more for his purpose, to have his interest in the world propagated another way; namely, in private, and his personal appearances are reserv'd for things only of extraordinary consequence, and, as i may say, of evident necessity, where his honour is concern'd, and where his interest could be carried on no other way; not forgetting to take notice that this is very seldom. it remains to enquire, what then those things are which we make so much stir about, and which are call'd _apparitions_, or spirits assuming human shapes, and shewing themselves to people on particular occasions? whether they are evil spirits or good? and tho', indeed, this is out of my way at this time, and does not relate at all to the _devil_'s history, yet i thought it not amiss to mention it; ( .) because, as i have said, i do not wholly exclude satan from all concern in such things; and ( .) because i shall dismiss the question with so very short an answer, namely, that we may determine which are and which are not the _devil_'s, by the errand they come upon; every one to his own business; if it comes of a good errand, you may certainly acquit the _devil_ of it, conclude him innocent, and that he has no hand in it; if it comes of a wicked and devilish errand, you may e'en take him up upon suspicion, 'tis ten to one but you find him at the bottom of it. next to apparitions, we find mankind disturb'd by abundance of little odd reserv'd ways which the _devil_ is shrewdly suspected of having a hand in, such as _dreams_, _noises_, _voices_, &c. smells of brimstone, candles burning blue, and the like. as to dreams, i have nothing to say in satan's prejudice at all there; i make no question but he deals very much in that kind of intelligence, and why should he not? we know _heaven_ it self formerly converst very often with the greatest of men, by the same method, and the _devil_ is known to mimick the methods, as well as the actions of his maker; whether heaven has not quite left off that way of working, we are not certain; but we pretty well know the _devil_ has not left it, and i believe some instances may be given where his worship has been really seen and talk'd to in sleep, as much as if the person had been awake with his eyes open. these are to be distinguish'd too, pretty much by the goodness or badness of the subject; how often have men committed murther, robbery and adultery in a dream, and at the same time except an extraordinary agitation of the soul, and express'd by extraordinary noises in the sleep, by violent sweating and other such ways, the head has never been remov'd from the pillow, or the body so much as turn'd in the bed? whether in such cases, the soul with all the passions and affections being agitated, and giving their full assent to the facts, of whatever kind soever, the man is not as guilty as if the sins so dream'd of his committing, had been actually committed? tho' it be no doubt to me, but that it is so, yet as it is foreign to the present affair, and not at all relating to the _devil_'s history, i leave it to the reverend doctors of the church, as properly belonging to them to decide. i knew a person who the _devil_ so haunted with naked women, fine beautiful ladies in bed with him, and ladies of his acquaintance too, offering their favours to him, and all in his sleep; so that he seldom slept without some such entertainment; the particulars are too gross for my story, but he gave me several long accounts of his night's _amours_, and being a man of a virtuous life and good morals, it was the greatest surprize to him imaginable; for you cannot doubt but that the cunning _devil_ made every thing be acted to the life with him, and in a manner the most wicked; he own'd with grief to me, that the very first attack the _devil_ made upon him, was with a very beautiful lady of his acquaintance, who he had been really something freer than ordinary with in their common conversation; this lady he brought to him in a posture for wickedness, and wrought up his inclination so high in his sleep, that he, as he thought, actually went about to debauch her, she not at all resisting; but that he wak'd in the very moment, to his particular satisfaction. he was greatly concern'd at this part, namely, that he really gave the consent of his will to the fact, and wanted to know if he was not as guilty of adultery, as if he had lain with her; indeed he decided the question against himself, so forcibly, that i, who was of the same opinion before, had nothing to say against it; however, i confirm'd him in it, by asking him these questions. . whether he did not think the _devil_ had the chief hand in such a dream? he answer'd, it could certainly be no body else, it must be the _devil_. . i then ask'd him what reason the _devil_ could have for it, if his consent to the fact in sleep had not been criminal? _that's true indeed_, says he, _i am answer'd_: but then he ask'd another question, which, i confess, is not so easy to answer, namely, how he should prevent being serv'd so again. nor could all my divinity or his own keep the _devil_ from attacking him again; on the other hand, as i have said, he worried him to that degree, that he injur'd his health, bringing naked women to him, sometimes one, sometimes another, sometimes in one posture of lewdness, sometimes in another, sometimes into his very arms, sometimes with such additions as i am not merry enough, and sometimes such as i am not wicked enough to put into your heads; the man, indeed, could not help it, and so the _devil_ was more faulty than he; but as i hinted to him, he might bring his mind to such a stated habit of virtue, as to prevent its assenting to any wicked motion, even in sleep, and that would be the way to put an end to the attempt; and this advice he relish'd very well, and practised, i believe, with success. by this same method, the same _devil_ injects powerful incentives to other crimes, provokes avarice, by laying a great quantity of gold in your view, and no body present, giving you an opportunity to steal it, or some of it, at the same time, perhaps, knowing your circumstances to be such as that you are at that time in a great want of the money. i knew another, who being a tradesman, and in great distress for money in his business, dream'd that he was walking all alone in a great wood, and that he met a little child with a bag of gold in its hand, and a fine necklace of diamonds on its neck, upon the sight, his wants presently dictated to him to rob the child; the little innocent creature, (just so he dream'd) not being able to resist; or to tell who it was, accordingly he consented to take the money from the child, and then to take the diamond necklace from it too, and did so. but the _devil_, (a full testimony, as i told him, that it was the _devil_, not contented with that, hinted to him, that perhaps the child might some time or other know him, and single him out, by crying or pointing, or some such thing, especially if he was suspected and shew'd to it, and therefore it would be better for him to kill the child, prompting him to kill it for his own safety, and that he need do no more but twist the neck of it a little, or crush it with his knee; he told me he stood debating with himself, whether he should do so or not; but that in that instant his heart struck him with the word murther, and he entertain'd a horror of it, refus'd to do it, and immediately waked. he told me, that when he wak'd, he found himself in so violent a sweat as he never had known the like; that his pulse beat with that heat and rage, that it was like a palpitation of the heart to him, and that the agitation of his spirits was such, that he was not fully composed in some hours; tho' the satisfaction and joy that attended him, when he found it was but a dream, assisted much to return his spirits to their due temperament. it is neither my business or inclination to turn divine here, nor is the age i write to sufficiently grave to relish a sermon, if i was disposed to preach, though they must allow the subject would very well bear it; but i shall only ask them, if they think this is not the _devil_, what they think it is? if they believe it is the _devil_, they will act accordingly i hope, or let it alone, as satan and they can agree about it. i should not oblige the _devil_ over much, whatever i might do to those that read it; if i should enter here upon a debate of interests, (_viz._) to enquire whether the _devil_ has not a vast advantage upon mankind this way, and whether it is not much his interest to preserve it; and if i prove the affirmative, i leave it to you to enquire whose interest it is to disappoint and supplant him. in short, i take dreams to be the second best of the advantages the _devil_ has over mankind; the first, i suppose, you all know (_viz._) the treachery of the garrison within; by dreams he may be said to get into the inside of us without opposition; here he opens and locks without a key, and like an enemy laying siege to a fortified city, reason and nature, the governor of the city, keep him out by day, and keep the garrison true to their duty; but in the dark he gets in and parlees with the garrison (the affections and passions) debauches their loyalty, stirring up them to disloyalty and rebellion, so they betray their trust, revolt, mutiny, and go over to the besieger. thus he manages his interest, i say, and insinuates himself into the inside of us, without our consent, nay, without our knowledge; for whatever speculation may do, 'tis evident demonstration does not assist us to discover which way he gets access to the soul, while the organ tied up, and dozed with sleep has lock'd it up from action; that it is so is clear, but how he does it is a secret which i do not find the antients or moderns have yet made a discovery of. that devil of a creature, mother _lakland_, whose story i mention'd above, acknowledg'd that the first time the _devil_ attempted to draw her in to be a witch was in a dream, and even when she consented, she said, she was between sleeping and waking; that is, she did not know whether she was awake or asleep, and the cunning devil it seems was satisfied with her assent given so, when she was asleep, or neither asleep or awake, so taking the advantage of her incapacity to act rationally. the stories of her bewitching several people, and the manner in which they died, are so formidable and extravagant, that i care not to put any one's faith to the stretch about them, tho' publish'd by authority, and testified by abundance of witnesses; but this is recorded in particular, and to my purpose, whether from her own mouth or not, i do not say, namely, the description of a witch, and the difference between witches, and those other of satan's acquaintance who act in his name. . they have consulted and covenanted with a spirit or _devil_. . they have a deputy _devil_, sometimes several to serve and assist them. . these they employ as they please, call them by name, and command their appearance in whatever shape they think fit. . they send them abroad to or into the persons who they design to bewitch, who they always torment, and often murther them, as mother _lakland_ did several. as to the difference between the several devils that appear, it relates to the office of the persons who employ them; as conjurers, who seem to command the particular _devil_ that waits upon them with more authority, and raise them and lay them at pleasure, drawing circles, casting figures, and the like; but the witch, in a more familiar manner, whispers with the devil, keeps the _devil_ in a bag or a sack, sometimes in her pocket, and the like, and like mr. _faux_ shews tricks with him. but all these kinds deal much in dreams, talk with the devil in their sleep, and make other people talk with him in their sleep too; and 'tis on this occasion i mention it here; in short, the devil may well take this opportunity with mankind, for not half the world that came into his measures would comply, if they were awake; but of that hereafter. and yet his thus insinuating himself by dream, does not seem sufficient, in my opinion, to answer the _devil_'s end, and to carry on his business; and therefore we must be forc'd to allow him a kind of actual possession, in particular cases, and that in the souls of some people, by different methods from others; _luther_ is of the opinion that the _devil_ gets a familiarity with some souls just at, or rather before their being embodied; as to the manner and method how he gets in, that is another question, and may be spoken of by it self; besides, why may not he, that at satan's request to enter into the herd of swine, said _go_, give the same commission to possess a sort of creatures so many degrees below the dignity of the _gaderenian_ swine, and open the door too? but as for that, when our lord said _go_, the _devil_ never enquir'd which way he should get in. when then i see nations, or indeed herds of nations set on fire of hell, and as i may say, enflam'd by the _devil_; when i see towns, parties, factions and rabbles of people visibly possess'd; 'tis enough to me that the great master of the devils has said to him, go; there's no need to enquire which way he finds open, or at what postern gate he gets in; as to his appearing, 'tis plain he often gets in without appearing, and therefore the question about his appearing still remains a doubt, and is not very easy to be resolv'd. in the scripture we have some light into it, and that is all the help i find from antiquity, and it goes a great way to solve the phænomena of satan's appearing; what i mean by the scripture giving some light to it, is this; 'tis said in several places, and of several persons, god came to them in a dream, _gen._ xx. . _god came to_ abimelech _in a dream by night_, gen. xxxi. . _and god came to_ laban _the_ syrian _in a dream_, matt. ii. . _the angel of the lord appear'd to_ joseph _in a dream_; short comments are sufficient to plain texts, applying this to my friend when he wanted to be satisfied about the how, relating to his dream (_viz._) how he should come to dream such wicked things? i told him, in short, the case was plain, _the devil came to him in a dream by night_: how and in what manner he form'd the wicked representations, and spread debauch'd appearances before his fancy, by real whispers and voice, according to _milton_, or by what other methods, the learned are not arriv'd to any certainty about it. this leads me necessarily to enquire whether the _devil_ or some of his agents are not always in our company, whether they make any visible appearances or no? for my part i make no question of it, how else could he come at the knowledge of what we do; for as i can allow him no prescience at all, as for many reasons i have observ'd already, he must be able to see and know us, and what we are about when we know nothing of him, or else he could know nothing of us and our affairs, which yet we find otherwise; and this gives him infinite advantage to influence our actions, to judge of our inclinations, and to bring our passions to clash with our reason, as they often do, and get the better of it too. all this he obtains by his being able to walk about invisible, and see when he is not seen, of which i have spoken already; hence that most wise and solid suggestion, that when the candles burn blue the _devil_ is in the room, which great secret in nature, that you may more fully be convinc'd of its imaginary reality, i must tell you the following story which i saw in a letter directed to a particular friend, take it word for word as in the letter; because i do not make my self accountable for the facts, but take them _ad referendum_. sir, we had one day, very early in the morning, and for the most part of the day a great deal of rain with a high wind, and the clouds very thick and dark all day. in the evening the cloudy thick weather continued, tho' not the rain, when being at a friend's house in ---- lane _london_, and several ladies and some gentlemen in the room, besides two or three servants (for we had been eating) the following interlude happen'd for our entertainment: when the cloth was taken away, two large candles were brought upon the table and plac'd there with some bottles and glasses for the gentlemen, who, it seems, were intending to drink and be very merry; two large wax-candles were also set on another table, the ladies being going to cards, also there were two large candles in sconces over or near the chimney, and one more in a looking-glass sconce, on a peer by the window. with all this _apparatus_, the company separating sat down, the gentlemen at their table, and the ladies at theirs, to play _as above_; when after some time the gentleman of the house said hastily to a servant, _what a p---- ails the candles_? and turning to the servant raps out an oath or two, and bids him snuff the candles, for they burnt as if the devil was in the room. the fellow going to snuff one of the candles, snuffs it out, at which his master being in a passion the fellow lights it again immediately at the other candle, and then being in a little hurry, going to snuff the other candle snuffed that out too. the first candle that was relighted (as is usual in such cases) burn'd dim and dull for a good while, and the other being out, the room was much darker than before, and a wench that stood by the ladies table, bawls out to her mistress, _law madam!_ the candles _burn blue_; an old lady that sat by says, _ay betty!_ so they do; upon this one of the ladies starts up, _mercy upon us_, says she, _what is the matter!_ in this unlucky moment another servant, without orders, went to the great peer sconce, and because, _as he thought_, he would be sure to snuff the candle well, he offers to take it down, but very unhappily, i say, the hook came out and down falls the sconce candle and all, and the looking-glass broke all to pieces, with a horrible noise; however, the candle falling out of the sconce did not go out, but lay on the floor burning dully, and as it is usual on such cases, all on one side, _betty_ cries out again, _law madam_, that candle burns blue too; the very moment she said this, the footman that had thrown down the sconce, says to his fellow servant, that came to his assistance, i _think_ the devil _is in the candles to night_, and away he run out of the room, for fear of his master. the old lady, who, upon the maid _betty_'s notion of the candles burning blue, had her head just full of that old _chimney-corner story_, the candles _burn blue when the spirits are in the room_, heard the footman say the word _devil_, but heard nothing else of what he said; upon this she rises up in a terrible fright, and cries out that the footman said the _devil was in the room_; as she was, indeed, frighted out of her wits, she frighted the ladies most terribly, and they all starting up together, down goes the card table, and put the wax-candles out. mrs. _betty_, that had frighted them all, runs to the sconce next the chimney, but that having a long snuff, she cried out it burnt blue too, and she durst not touch it; in short, tho' there were three candles left still burning in the room, yet the ladies we're all so frighted, that they and the maids too run out of the parlour screaming like mad folks. the master in a rage kick'd his first man out of the room, and the second man was run out to avoid, as i said before, the like, so that no servant was to be had, but all was in confusion. the two other gentlemen, who were sitting at the first table, kept their seats composed and easy enough, only concern'd to see all the house in such a fright; it was true, they said, the candles burnt dim and very oddly, but they could not perceive they _burnt blue_, except one of those over the chimney, and that on the table, which was relighted after the fellow had snufft it out. however, the maid, the old lady and the footman that pull'd down the sconce, all insist that the candles _burnt blue_, and all pretend that the devil was certainly in the room, and was the occasion of it; and they now came to me with the story, to desire my opinion of it. this put me upon enquiry into the notion of candles _burning blue_ when spirits are in a room, which upon all the search into things, that i am able to make, amounts to no more than this; that upon any extraordinary emission of sulphureous or of nitrous particles, either in a close room, or in any not very open place, if the quantity be great, a candle or lamp, or any such little blaze of fire will seem to be, or to _burn blue_; and if then they can prove that any such effluvia attends or is emitted from a spirit, then when satan is at hand it may be so. but then 'tis begging the question grossly, because no man can assure us that the devil has any sulphureous particles about him. it is true, the candles burn thus in mines and vaults, and damp places; and 'tis as true that they will do so upon occasion of very damp, stormy and moist air, when an extraordinary quantity of vapours are supposed to be dispers'd abroad, as was the case when this happen'd; and if there was any thing of that in it on that _monday_ night, the candles might, perhaps, burn blue upon that occasion; but that the _devil_ was abroad upon any extraordinary business that night, that i cannot grant, unless i have some better testimony than the _old lady_ that heard the footman's out-cry but by halves, or than mrs. _betty_, who first fancied the candles _burnt blue_; so i must suspend my judgment till i hear farther. this story however may solve a great many of those things which pass for apparitions in the world, and which are laid to the devil's charge, tho' he really may know nothing of the matter; and this would bring me to defend _satan_ in many things, wherein he may truly be said to suffer wrongfully; and if i thought it would oblige him, i might say something to his advantage this way; however, i'll venture a word or two for an injur'd _devil_, take it as you will. first, it is certain, that as this invisibility of the _devil_ is very much to our prejudice, so the doctrine of his visibility is a great prejudice to him, as we make use of it. by his invisibility he is certainly vested with infinite advantages against us; while he can be present with us, and we know nothing of the matter, he informs himself of all our measures, and arms himself in the best and most suitable manner to injure and assault us, as he can counteract all our secret concerted designs, disappoint all our schemes, and except when heaven apparently concerns it self to over-rule him, can defeat all our enterprizes, break all our measures, and do us mischief in almost every part of our life, and all this, because we are not privy to all his motions, as he is to ours. but now for his visibility and his real appearance in the world, and particularly among his disciples and emissaries, such as witches and wizards, demonaists, and the like: here, i think satan has a great deal of loss, suffers manifest injury, and has great injustice done him; and, that therefore i ought to clear this matter up a little, if it be possible, to do justice to satan, and set matters right in the world about him, according to that useful old maxim of setting the saddle upon the right horse, or _giving the_ devil _his due_. first, _as i have said_, we are not to believe every idle head, who pretends even to converse face to face with the _devil_, and who tells us, they have thus seen him, and been acquainted with him every day: many of these pretenders are manifest cheats; and, however, they would have the honour of a private interest in him, and boast how they have him at their beck, can call him this way, and send him that, as they please, raise him and lay him when and how, and as often as they find for their purpose; i say, whatever boasts they make of this kind, they really have nothing of truth in them. now the injuries and injustice done to the _devil_, in these cases, are manifest; namely, that they entitle the _devil_ to all the mischief they are pleased to do in the world; and if they commit a murther or a robbery, fire a house, or do any act of violence in the world, they presently are said to do it by the agency of the _devil_, and the _devil_ helps them; so satan bears the reproach, and they have all the guilt; this is, ( .) a grand cheat upon the world, and ( .) a notorious slander upon the _devil_; and it would be a public benefit to mankind, to have such would-be-devils as these turn'd inside out, that we might know when the _devil_ was really at work among us, and when not; what mischiefs were of his doing, and which were not; and that these fellows might not slip their necks out of the halter, by continually laying the blame of their wickedness upon the _devil_. not that the _devil_ is not very willing to have his hand in any mischief, or in all the mischief that is done in the world; but there are some low priz'd rogueries that are too little for him, beneath the dignity of his operation, and which 'tis really a scandal to the _devil_ to charge upon him. i remember the _devil_ had such a cheat put upon him in _east-smithfield_ once, where a person pretended to converse with the _devil_ face to face, and that in open day too, and to cause him to tell fortunes, foretel good and evil, _&c._ discover stollen goods, tell where they were who stole them, and how to find them again, nay, and even to find out the thieves; but _satan_ was really sandered in the case, the fellow had no more to do with the _devil_ than other people, and perhaps not so much neither: this was one of those they call'd cunning-men, or at least he endeavour'd to pass for such a one, but 'twas all a cheat. besides, what had the _devil_ to do to detect thieves, and restore stollen goods? thieving and robbing, trick and cheat, are part of the craft of his agency, and of the employments which it is his business to encourage; they greatly mistake him, who think he will assist any body in suppressing and detecting such laudable arts and such diligent servants. i won't say, but the _devil_, to draw these people we call _cunning-men_, into a snare, and to push on his farther designs, may encourage them privately, and in a manner that they themselves know nothing of, to make use of his name, and abuse the world about him, till at last they may really believe they do deal with the _devil_, when indeed 'tis only he deals with them, and they know nothing of the matter. in other cases he may encourage them in these little frauds and cheats, and give them leave, as above, to make use of his name to bring them afterwards, and by degrees to have a real acquaintance with him; so bringing the jest of their trade into earnest, till at length prompting them to commit some great villany, he secures them to be his own, by their very fear of his leaving them to be exposed to the world; thus he puts a _jonathan wild_ upon them, and makes them be the very wretches they only pretended to be before: so old _parsons_ of _clithroe_, as fame tells, was twenty five years a _cunning-man_, and twenty two years a witch; that is to say, for five and twenty years, he was only pretending to deal with the _devil_, when satan and he had no manner of acquaintance, and he only put his _leger-de-main_ upon the people in the _devil_'s name, without his leave; but at length the _devil_'s patience being tir'd quite out, he told the old counterfeit, that in short, he had been his stalking horse long enough, and that now, if he thought fit to enter himself, and take a commission, well and good; and he should have a lease to carry on his trade for so many years more, to his heart's content; but if not, he would expose his knavery to the world, for that he should take away his peoples trade no longer; but that he (satan) would set up another in his room, that should make a meer fool of him, and carry away all his customers. upon this, the old man consider'd of it, took the _devil_'s counsel, and listed in his pay; so he, that had plaid his pranks twenty five years as a conjurer, when he was no conjurer, was then forc'd really to deal with the devil, for fear the people should know he did not: till now he had _ambo dexter_, cheated the devil on one hand, and the people on the other; but the _devil_ gain'd his point at last, and so he was a real wizard ever after. but this is not the only way the devil is injur'd neither, for we have often found people pretend upon him in other cases, and of nearer concern to him a great deal, and in articles more weighty, as in particular, in the great business of possession; it is true this point is not thoro'ly understood among men, neither has the devil thought fit to give us those illuminations about it, as i believe he might do; particularly that great and important article, is not, for ought i can see, rightly explain'd, namely; whether there are not two several kinds of possession, (_viz._) some wherein the devil possesses us, and some in which we really possess the devil; the nicety of which i doubt this age, with all its penetration, is not qualified to explain, and a dissertation upon it being too long for this work, especially so near its conclusion, i am oblig'd to omit, as i am also all the practical discourses upon the usefulness and advantages of real possession, whether consider'd one way or other to mankind, all which i must leave to hereafter. but to come back to the point in hand, and to consider the injustice done to the devil, in the various turns and tricks which men put upon him very often in this one article (_viz._) pretending to possession, and to have the devil in them, when really it is not so; certainly the devil must take it very ill, to have all their demented, lunatick tricks charg'd upon him; some of which, nay, most of which are so gross, so simple, so empty, and so little to the purpose, that the _devil_ must be asham'd to see such things pass in his name, or that the world should think he was concern'd in them. it is true, that possession being one of the principal pieces of the devil's artifice in his managing mankind, and in which, with the most exquisite skill he plays the devil among us, he has the more reason to be affronted when he finds himself invaded in this part, and angry that any body should pretend to possess, or be possess'd without his leave, and this may be the reason for ought we know, why so many blunders have been made, when people have pretended to it without him, and he has thought fit not to own them in it; of which we have many examples in history, as in _simon magus_, _the devil of_ london, _the fair maid of_ kent, and several others, whose history it is not worth while to enlarge upon. in short, possessions, as i have said, are nice things, as it is not so easy to mimick the _devil_ in that part, as it may be in some other; designing men have attempted it often, but their manner has been easily distinguish'd, even without the devil's assistance. thus the people of _salem_ in _new-england_ pretended to be bewitch'd, and that a black man tormented them by the instigation of such and such, whom they resolv'd to bring to the gallows: this black man they would have be the _devil_, employ'd by the person who they accus'd for a witch: thus making the _devil_ a page or a footman to the wizard, to go and torment whoever the said wizard commanded, till the _devil_ himself was so weary of the foolish part, that he left them to go on their own way, and at last they over-acted the murthering part so far, that when they confess'd themselves to be witches, and possess'd, and that they had correspondence with the devil, _satan_ not appearing to vouch for them, no jury would condemn them upon their own evidence, and they could not get themselves hang'd, whatever pains they took to bring it to pass. thus you see the _devil_ may be wrong'd, and falsely accus'd in many particulars, and often has been so; there are likewise some other sorts of counterfeit _devils_ in the world, such as _gypsies_, _fortune-tellers_, foretellers of good and bad luck, sellers of winds, raisers of storms, and many more, some practis'd among us, some in foreign parts, too many almost to reckon up; nay i almost doubt whether the devil himself knows all the sorts of them; for 'tis evident he has little or nothing to do with them, i mean not in the way of their craft. these i take to be interlopers, or with the _guinea_ merchants leave, separate traders, and who act under the skreen and protection of satan's power, but without his license or authority; no doubt these carry away a great deal of his trade, that is to say, the trade which otherwise the _devil_ might have carried on by agents or his own; i cannot but say, that while these people would fain be thought _devils_, tho' they really are not, it is but just they should be really made as much _devils_ as they pretended to be, or that _satan_ should do himself justice upon them, as he threaten'd to do upon old _parsons_ of _clithroe_ abovemention'd, and let the world know them. chap. xi. _of divination, sorcery, the black-art, pawawing, and such like pretenders to devilism, and how far the_ devil _is or is not concern'd in them._ tho' i am writing the history of the _devil_, i have not undertaken to do the like of all the kinds of people, male or female, who set up for _devils_ in the world: this would be a task for the _devil_ indeed, and fit only for him to undertake, for their number is and has been prodigious great, and may, with his other legions be rank'd among the innumerable. what a world do we inhabit! where there is not only with us a great _roaring-lyon-devil_ daily seeking whom of us he may devour, and innumerable millions of lesser devils hovering in the whole atmosphere over us, nay, and for ought we know, other millions always invisibly moving about us, and perhaps in us, or at least in many of us; but that have, besides all these, a vast many counterfeit _hocus pocus devils_; human _devils_, who are visible among us, of our own species and fraternity, conversing with us upon all occasions; who like mountebanks set up their stages in every town, chat with us at every tea-table, converse with us in every coffee-house, and impudently tell us to our faces that they are devils, boast of it, and use a thousand tricks and arts to make us believe it too, and that too often with success. it must be confess'd there is a strong propensity in man's nature, especially the more ignorant part of mankind, to resolve every strange thing, or whether really strange or no, if it be but strange to us, into devilism, and to say every thing is the devil, that they can give no account of. thus the famous doctors of the faculty at _paris_, when _john faustus_ brought the first printed books that had then been seen in the world, or at least seen there, into the city, and sold them for manuscripts: they were surpriz'd at the performance, and question'd _faustus_ about it; but he affirming they were manuscripts, and that he kept a great many clarks employ'd to write them, they were satisfied for a while. but looking farther into the work, they observ'd the exact agreement of every book, one with another, that every line stood in the same place, every page a like number of lines, every line a like number of words; if a word was mis-spelt in one, it was mis-spelt also in all, nay, that if there was a blot in one, it was alike in all; they began again to muse, how this should be? in a word, the learned divines not being able to comprehend the thing (and that was always sufficient) concluded it must be the _devil_, that it was done by magick and witchcraft, and that in short, poor _faustus_ (who was indeed nothing but a meer printer) dealt with the _devil_. n. b. _john faustus_ was servant, or journeyman, or compositor, or what you please to call it, to _koster_ of _harlem_, the first inventor of printing; and having printed the psalter, sold them at _paris_ as manuscripts; because as such they yielded a better price. but the learned doctors not being able to understand how the work was perform'd, concluded as above, it was all _the devil_, and that the man was a _witch_; accordingly they took him up for a _magician_ and a _conjurer_, and one that work'd by the _black art_, that is to say, by the help of the _devil_; and in a word, they threaten'd to hang him for a witch, and in order to it, commenc'd a process against him in their criminal courts, which made such a noise in the world as rais'd the fame of poor _john faustus_ to a frightful height, till at last he was oblig'd, for fear of the gallows, to discover the whole secret to them. n. b. this is the true original of the famous dr. _faustus_ or _foster_, of whom we have believ'd such strange things, as that it is become a proverb, _as great as the_ devil _and dr._ foster: whereas poor _faustus_ was no doctor, and knew no more of the _devil_ than another body. thus the magistrates of _bern_ and _switzerland_, finding a gang of _french_ actors of puppet-shew open'd their stage in the town, upon hearing the surprizing accounts which the people gave of their wonderful puppets, how they made them speak, answer questions, and discourse, appear and disappear in a moment, pop up here, as if they rise out of the earth, and down there, as if they vanish'd, and abundance more feats of art, censur'd them as demons; and if they had not pack'd up their trinkets, and disappeared almost as dextrously as their puppets, they had certainly condemn'd the poor puppets to the flames for _devils_, and censur'd, if not otherwise punished their masters. see _the count de rochfort's memoirs_, p. . wonderful operations astonish the mind, especially where the head is not over-burthen'd with brains; and custom has made it so natural to give the _devil_ either the honour or scandal of every thing, that we cannot otherwise account for, that it is not possible to put the people out of the road of it. the _magicians_ were, in the _chaldean_ monarchy, call'd the wisemen; and tho' they are joined with the sorcerers and astrologers in the same place, _dan._ ii. . yet they were generally so understood among those people; but in our language we understand them to be people that have an art to reveal secrets, interpret dreams, foretel events, _&c._ and that use enchantments and sorceries, by all which we understand the same thing; which now in a more vulgar way we express by one general coarse expression, _dealing with the_ devil. the scripture speaks of a spirit of _divination_, _acts_ xvi. . and a wench that was possess'd by this spirit _brought her master much gain by southsaying_, that is to say, according to the learned, by _oracling_ or answering questions; whence you will see in the margin, that this southsaying _devil_ is there call'd _python_, that is, _apollo_, who is often call'd _python_, and who at the oracle of _delphos_ gave out such answers and _double entendres_, as this wench possibly did; and hence all those spirits which were call'd spirits of divination, were in another sense call'd _pythons_. now when the apostle st. _paul_ came to see this creature, this spirit takes upon it to declare that _those men_, meaning st. _paul_ and _timotheus_, _were the servants of the most high god, which shew'd unto them the way of salvation_; this was a good turn of the _devil_, to preserve his authority in the possess'd girl; she brought them gain by southsaying, that is to say, resolving difficult questions, answering doubts, interpreting dreams, _&c._ among these doubts, he makes her give testimony to _paul_ and _timotheus_, to wheedle in with the new christians, and perhaps (tho' very ignorantly) even with _paul_ and _timotheus_ themselves, so to give a kind of credit and respect to her for speaking. but the _devil_, who never speaks truth, but with some sinister end, was discover'd here and detected; his flattering recognition not accepted, and he himself unkennel'd as he deserv'd; there the _devil_ was over-shot in his own bow again. here now was a real possession, and the evil spirits who possess'd her, did stoop to sundry little acts of servitude, that we could give little or no reason for, only that the girl's master might get money by her; but perhaps this was a particular case, and, prepar'd to honour the authority and power the apostles had over evil spirits. but we find these things carried a great way farther in many cases, that is to say, where the parties are thus really possess'd; namely, the _devil_ makes agents of the possess'd parties to do many things for the propagating his interest and kingdom, and particularly for the carrying on his dominion in the world: but i am for the present not so much upon the real possession as the pretended, and particularly we have had many that have believed themselves possess'd, when the _devil_ never believed it of them, and perhaps knew them better; some of these are really poor _devils_ to be pitied, and are what i call _diables imaginaire_; these have notwithstanding done the _devil_ good service, and brought their masters good gain by southsaying. we find possessions acknowledg'd in scripture to be really and personally the _devil_, or according to the text, legions of _devils_ in the plural. the _devil_ or _devils_ rather, which possessed the man among the tombs, is positively affirm'd to be the _devil_ in the scripture; all the evangelists agree in calling him so, and his very works shew it; namely, the mischief he did, as well to the poor creature among the tombs, who was made so fierce, that he was the terror of all the country, as to the herd of swine and to the country in the loss of them. i might preach you a lecture here of the _devil_'s terror upon the approach of our saviour, the dread of his government, and how he acknowledg'd that there was a time for his torment, which was not yet come: _art thou come to torment us before our time?_ it is evident the devil apprehended that christ would chain them up before the day of judgment; and therefore some think the devil here, being, as it were, caught out of his due bounds, possessing the poor man in such a furious manner, was afraid, and petition'd christ not to chain him up for it, and as the text says, _they besought him to suffer them to go away_, &c. that is to say, when they say, art thou come to torment us before the time? the meaning is, they begg'd he would not cast them into torment before the time, which was already fix'd; but that if he would cast them out of the man, he would let them go away, _&c._ the evangelist st. _luke_ says, the _devil besought him that he would not command them to go out into the deep_: our learned annotators think that part is not rightly render'd; adding, that they do not believe the _devil_ fears drowning; but with submission, i believe the meaning is, that they would not be confin'd to the vast ocean, where no inhabitants being to be seen, they would be effectually imprison'd and tied down from doing mischief, which would be a hell to them; as to their going into the swine, that might afford us some allegory; but i am not disposed to jest with the scripture, no nor with the _devil_ neither, farther than needs must. it is evident the _devil_ makes use of very mean instruments sometimes, such as the damsel possess'd with a spirit of divination, and several others. i remember a story, how true i know not, of a weak creature next door to an ideot, who was establish'd in the country for an oracle, and would tell people strange things that should be, long before they came to pass; when people were sick, would tell them whether they should live or die; if people were married, tell how many children they should have; and a hundred such things as fill'd the people with admiration, and they were the easier brought to believe that the girl was possess'd; but then they were divided about her too, and that was the finest spun thread the devil could work, for he carried a great point in it; some said she had a good spirit, and some a bad, some said she was a prophetess, and some that she was the _devil_. now had i been there to decide the question, i should certainly have given it for the latter; if it were only upon this account, namely, that the devil has often found fools very necessary agents for the propagating his interest and kingdom, but we never knew the good spirits do so; on the other hand, it does not seem likely that heaven should deprive a poor creature of its senses, and as it were take her soul from her, and then make her an instrument of instruction to others, and an oracle to declare his decrees by; this does not seem to be rational. but as far as this kind of divination is in use in our days, yet i do not find room to charge the devil with making any great use of fools, unless it be such as he has particularly qualified for his work, for as to _ideots_ and _naturals_, they are perfectly useless to him; but a sort of fools call'd the magi, indeed, we have some reason to think he often works with. we are not arriv'd to a certainty yet, in the settling this great point, namely, what magick is? whether a diabolical art or a branch of the mathematicks? our most learned _lexicon technicum_ is of the latter opinion, and gives the _magic square_ and the _magic lantern_, two terms of art. the _magic square_ is when numbers in _arithmetical proportion_ are dispos'd into such parallels or equal ranks, as that the sums of each row as well _diagonally_ as _laterally_ shall be all equal; for example, , , , , , , , , . place these nine in a square of three, they will _directly_ and _diagonally_ make . thus, +------------+ | | | | -------------| | | | | -------------| | | | | +------------+ this he calls the _magic square_, but gives no reason for the term, nor any account of what infernal operations are wrought by this concurrence of the numbers; neither do i see that there can be any such use made of it. the _magic lantern_ is an optic machine, by the means of which are represented, on a wall in the dark, many phantasms and terrible appearances, _but no_ devil _in all this_, only that they are taken for the effects of magic, by those that are not acquainted with the secret. all this is done by the help of several little painted pieces of glass, only so and so situated, plac'd in certain oppositions to one another, and painted with different figures, the most formidable being plac'd foremost, and such as are most capable of terrifying the spectators; and by this all the figures may be represented upon the opposite wall, in the largest size. i cannot but take notice, that this very piece of optic delusion seems too much akin to the mock possessions and infernal accomplishments, which most of the possessionists of this age pretend to, so that they are most of them meer phantasms and appearances, and no more; nor is the spirit of divination, the magic, the necromancing, and other arts which were call'd diabolical, found to be of any use in modern practice, at least, in these parts of the world; but the devil seems to do most of his work himself, and by shorter methods; for he has so compleat an influence among those that he now lists in his service, that he brings all the common affairs of mankind into a narrower compass in his management, with a dexterity particular to himself, and by which he carries on his interest silently and surely, much more to the detriment of virtue and good government, and consequently much more to his satisfaction, than ever he did before. there is a kind of _magic_ or _sorcery_, or what else you may please to call it, which, tho' unknown to us, is yet, it seems, still very much encourag'd by the _devil_; but this is a great way off, and in countries where the politer instruments, which he finds here, are not to be had; namely, among the _indians_ of _north-america_; this is call'd _pawawing_, and they have their divines, which they call _pawaws_ or witches, who use strange gestures, distortions, horrid smokes, burnings, and scents, and several such things which the sorcerers and witches in ancient times are said to use in casting nativities, in philtres, and in determining, or as they pretended, directing the fate of persons; by burning such and such herbs and roots, such as _helebore_, _wormwood_, _storax_, _devilwort_, _mandrake_, _nightshade_, and abundance more such, which are call'd noxious plants, or the product of noxious plants; also melting such and such minerals, gums, and poisonous things, and by several hellish mutterings and markings over them, the like do these _pawaws_; and the _devil_ is pleased, it seems, (or is permitted) to fall in with these things, and as some people think, appears often to them for their assistance upon those occasions. but be that as it will, he is eas'd of all that trouble here; he can _pawaw_ here himself, without their aid, and having laid them all aside, he negotiates much of his business without ambassadors; he is his own plenipotentiary, for he finds man so easy to come at, and so easy when he is come at, that he stands in no need of secret emissaries, or at least not so much as he used to do. upon the whole, as the world, within the compass of a few pass'd years is advanc'd in all kinds of knowledge and arts, and every useful branch of what they knew before improv'd, and innumerable useful parts of knowledge, which were conceal'd before are discover'd; why should we think the _devil_ alone should stand at a stay, has taken no steps to his farther accomplishment, and made no useful discoveries in his way? that he alone should stand at a stay, and be just the same unimprov'd devil that he was before? no, no, as the world is improv'd every day, and every age is grown wiser and wiser than their fathers; so, no doubt, he has bestirr'd himself too, in order to an encrease of knowledge and discovery, and that he finds every day a nearer way to go to work with mankind than he had before. besides, as men in general seem to have alter'd their manner, and that they move in a higher and more exalted sphere, especially as to vice and virtue; so the _devil_ may have been obliged to change his measures, and alter his way of working; particularly, those things which would take in former times, and which a stupid age would come easily into, won't go down with us now: as the taste of vice and virtue alters, the _devil_ is forc'd to bait his hook with new compositions; the very thing call'd temptation is alter'd in its nature, and that which serv'd to delude our ancestors, whose gross conceptions of things caused them to be manageable with less art, will not do now; the case is quite alter'd; in some things, perhaps, as i hinted above, we come into crime with ease, and may be led by a finger; but when we come to a more refin'd way of sinning, which our ancestors never understood, other and more refin'd politics must be made use of, and the _devil_ has been put upon many useful projects and inventions, to make many new discoveries and experiments to carry on his affairs; and to speak impartially, he is strangely improv'd either in knowledge or experiment, within these few years; he has found out a great many new inventions to shorten his own labour, and carry on his business in the world currently, which he never was master of before, or at least we never knew he was. no wonder then that he has chang'd hands too, and that he has left of pawawing in these parts of the world; that we don't find our houses disturb'd as they used to be, and the stools and chairs walking about out of one room into another, as formerly; that children don't vomit crooked pins and rusty stub nails, as of old, the air is not full of noises, nor the church-yard full of hobgoblins; ghosts don't walk about in winding-sheets, and the good old scolding wives visit and plague their husbands after they are dead, as they did when they were alive. the age is grown too wise to be agitated by these dull scare-crow things which their fore-fathers were tickled with; _satan_ has been obliged to lay by his puppet-shews and his tumblers, those things are grown stale; his morrice-dancing devils, his mountebanking and quacking won't do now; those things, as they may be supposed to be very troublesome to him, (and but that he has servants enough would be chargeable too) are now of no great use in the new management of his affairs. _in a word_, men are too much devils themselves, in the sense that i have call'd them so, to be frighted with such little low priz'd appearances as these; they are better acquainted with the old arch-angel than so, and they seem to tell him they must be treated after another manner, and that then, as they are good-natur'd and tractable, he may deal with them upon better terms. hence the _devil_ goes to work with mankind a much shorter way; for instead of the art of wheedling and whining, together with the laborious part of tricking and sharping, hurrying and driving, frighting and terrifying, all which the _devil_ was put to the trouble of before; in short, he acts the grand manner as the architects call it (i don't know whether our free-masons may understand the word) and therefore i may hereafter explain it, as it is to be diabolically as well as mathematically understood. at present my meaning is, he acts with them immediately and personally by a magnificent transformation, making them meer _devils_ to themselves, upon all needful occasions, and _devils_ to one another too, whenever he (satan), has need of their service. this way of embarking mankind in the _devil_'s particular engagement, is really very modern; and tho' the devil himself may have been long acquainted with the method, and as i have heard, began to practise it towards the close of the _roman_ empire, when men began to act upon very polite principles, and were capable of the most refin'd wickedness, and afterwards with some popes, who likewise were a kind of church devils, such as satan himself could hardly expect to find in the world; yet i do not find that he was ever able to bring it into practice, at least, not so universally as he does now: but now the case is alter'd, and men being generally more expert in wickedness than they were formerly; they suffer the smaller alteration of the species, in being transmigrated; in a word, they turn into _devils_, with no trouble at all hardly, either to the _devil_ or to themselves. this particular would want much the less explanation, could i obtain a license from sir _hellebore wormwood_, bart. or from my lord _thwartover_, baron of _scoundrel hall_ in the kingdom of _ireland_, to write the true history of their own conduct; and how early, and above all, how easily they commenc'd _devils_, without the least impeachment of their characters, as wise men, and without any diminution of that part of their denomination which establish'd them for fools. how many mad fellows appear among us every day in the critical juncture of their transmigration, just when they have so much of the man left as to be known by their names, and enough of the _devil_ taken up to settle their characters? this easiness of the _devil_'s access to these people, and the great convenience it is to him in his general business, is a proof to me that he has no more occasion of diviners, magicians, sorcerers, and whatever else we please to call those people who were formerly so great with him; for what occasion has he to employ _devils_ and wizards to confound mankind, when he is arriv'd to such a perfection of art as to bring men, at least in these parts of the world, to do it all themselves; upon this account we do not find any of the old sorcerers and diviners, magicians or witches appear among us; not that the _devil_ might not be as well able to employ such people as formerly, and qualify them for the employment too, but that really there is no need of them hereabout, the _devil_ having a shorter way, and mankind being much more easily possess'd; not the old _herd of swine_ were sooner agitated, tho' there was full of them together; nature has open'd the door, and the _devil_ has egress and regress at pleasure, so that witches and diviners are quite out of the question. nor let any man be alarm'd at this alteration, in the case as it stands between mankind and the _devil_, and think the _devil_ having gain'd so much ground, may in time, by encroachment, come to a general possession of the whole race, and so we should all come to be _devils_ incarnate; i say, let us not be alarm'd, for satan does not get these advantages by encroachment, and by his infernal power or art, no not at all; but 'tis the man himself does it by his indolence and negligence on one hand, and his complaisance to the _devil_ on the other; and both ways he, as it were, opens the door to him, beckons him with his very hand to come in, and the devil has nothing to do but enter and take possession: now if it be so, and man is so frank to him; you know the _devil_ is no fool not to take the advantage when 'tis offer'd him, and therefore 'tis no wonder if the consequences which i have been just now naming follow. but let no man be discourag'd by this, from reaffirming his natural and religious powers, and venturing to shut the _devil_ out; for the case is plain he may be shut out; the soul is a strong castle, and has a good garrison plac'd within to defend it; if the garrison behave well, and do their duty, it is impregnable, and the cowardly _devil_ must raise his siege and be gone; nay, he must fly, or, as we call it, make his escape, lest he be laid by the heels, that is, lest his weakness be exposed, and all his lurking, lying in wait, ambuscade-tricks; this part would bear a great enlargement, but i have not room to be witty upon him, so you must take it in the gross, the devil lies at _blye bush_, as our country people call it, to watch your coming out of your hold; and if you happen to go abroad unarm'd he seizes upon and masters you with ease. unarm'd, you'll say, what arms should i take? what fence against a flail? what weapons can a man take to fight the _devil_? i could tell you what to fight him with, and what you might fright him with, for the _devil_ is to be frighted with several things besides _holy water_; but 'tis too serious for you, and you'll tell me i am a preaching and a canting, and the like; so i must let the _devil_ manage you rather than displease you with talking scripture and religion. well, but may not the _devil_ be fought with some of his own weapons? is there no dealing with him in a way of human nature? this would require a long answer, and some philosophy might be acted, or at least imitated, and some magic, perhaps; for they tells us there are spells to draw away even the devil himself; as in some places they nail horse-shoes upon the threshold of the door, to keep him out; in other places old pieces of flint, with so many holes and so many corners, and the like: but i must answer in the negative, i don't know what _satan_ might be scar'd at in those days, but he is either grown cunninger since or bolder, for he values none of those things now; i question much whether he would value st. _dunstan_ and his red hot tongs, if he was to meet him now, or st. _francis_ or any of the saints, no not the host itself in full procession; and therefore, tho' you don't care i should preach, yet in short, if you are afraid he should charge upon you and attack you, if you won't make use of those scripture weapons i should have mention'd, and which you may hear of, if you enquire at _eph._ vi. . you must look for better where you think you can find them. but to go on with my work, the devil, i say, is not to be fear'd with maukins, nor does he employ his old instruments, but does much of his work himself without instruments. and yet i must enter a caveat here too, against being misunderstood in my saying the devil stands in no need of agents; for when i speak so, i am to be taken in a limited sense; i don't say he needs them no where, but only that he does not need them in those polite parts of the world which i have been speaking of, and perhaps not much here; but in many remote countries 'tis otherwise still; the _indians_ of _america_ are particularly said to have witches among them, as well in those countries where the _spaniards_ and the _english_ and other nations have planted themselves, as amongst those where the _european_ nations seldom come: _for example_, the people of _canada_, that is, of the countries under the _french_ government of _quebeck_, the equimeaux, and other northern climates, have magicians, wizards and witches, who they call _pilloatas_ or _pillotoas_; these pretend they speak intimately and familiarly with the devil, and receive from him the knowledge of things to come; all which, by the way, i take to be little more than this; that these fellows being a little more cunning than the rest, think, that by pretending to something more than human, they shall make the stronger impressions on the ignorant people; as _mahomet_ amus'd the world with his pigeon, using it to pick peas out of his ear, and persuaded the people it brought him superior revelations and inspirations from paradise. thus these _pillotoas_ gaining an opinion among the people, behave like so many mountebanks of hell, pretending to understand dark things, cure diseases, practise surgery, physick and necromancy altogether; i will not say, but _satan_ may pick out such tools to work with, and i believe does in those parts, but i think he has found a nearer way to the wood with us, and that is sufficient to my present purpose. some would persuade me the _devil_ had a great hand in the late religious breaches in _france_, among the clergy, (_viz._) about the pope's constitution _unigenitus_, and that he made a fair attempt to set the pope and the _gallican_ church together by the ears, for they were all just upon the point or breaking out into a church war, that for ought we knew might have gone farther than the _devil_ himself car'd it should; now i am of the quite contrary opinion, i believe the _devil_ really did not make the breach, but rather heal'd it, for fear it should have gone so far among them as to have set them all in a flame, and have open'd the door to the return of the _hugonots_ again, which it was in a fair way to have done. but be it one way or t'other, the historical part seems to be a little against me; for 'tis certain, the _devil_ both wanted and made use of legions of agents, as well human as infernal, visible and invisible in that great and important affair, and we cannot doubt but he has innumerable instruments still at work about it. like as in _poland_, i make no question but the _devil_ has thousands of his banditti at work at this time, and in another country not far from it, perhaps, preparing matters for the next general diet, taking care to prevent giving any relaxation to the protestants, and to justify the moderate executions at _thorn_, to excite a nation to quarrel with every body who are able to fight with no body; to erect the apostate race of _s----y_ upon a throne which they have no title to, and turn an elective throne into an hereditary, in favour of popery. i might anticipate all your objections, by granting the busy _devil_ at this time employing all his agents and instruments (for i never told you they were idle and useless) in striving to enflame the christian world, and bring a new war to overspread _europe_; i might, perhaps, point out to you some of the measures he takes, the provocatives which his state physicians administer to the courts and counsellors of princes, to foment and ferment the spirits, and members of nations, kingdoms, empires and states in the world, in order to bring these glorious ends of blood and war to pass; for you cannot think but he that knows so much of the _devil_'s affairs, as to write his history, must know something of all these matters more than those that do not know so much as he. but all this is remote to the present case, for this is no impeachment of satan's new methods with mankind, in this part of the world, and in his private and separate capacity; all this only signifies that in his more general and national affairs, the _devil_ acts still by his old methods; and when he is to seduce or embroil nations, he, like other conquerors, subdues them by armies, employs mighty squadrons of _devils_, and sends out strong detachments, with generals and generalissimos to lead them, some to one part of the world, some to another; some to influence one nation, some to manage and direct another, according as business presents, and his occasions require, that his affairs may be carried on currently, and to his satisfaction. if it were not thus, but that the _devil_ by his new and exquisite management, of which i have said so much, had brought mankind in general to be the agents of their own mischiefs, and that the world were so at his beck, that he need but command them to go and fight, declare war, raise armies, destroy cities, kingdoms, countries and people; the world would be a field of blood indeed, and all things would run into confusion presently. but this is not the case at all, heaven has not let go the government of the creation to his subdu'd enemy, the devil; that would overturn the whole system of god, and give satan more power, than ever he was or will be vested with; when, therefore, i speak of a few forward wretches in our day, who are so warm in their wickedness, that they anticipate the devil, save him the trouble to tempt, turn devils to themselves, and gallop hellward faster than he drives; i speak of them as single persons, and acting in their own personal and private capacity, but when i speak of nations and kingdoms, there the devil is oblig'd to go on in the old road, and act by stratagem, by his proper machinery, and to make use of all his arts, and all his agents, just as he has done in all ages, from the beginning of his politic government to this day. and if it was not thus too, what would become of all his numberless legions, of which all ages have heard so much, and all parts of the world have had so much fatal experience? they would seem to be quite out of employment, and be render'd useless in the world of spirits, where it is to be supposed they reside; not the devil himself could find any business for them, which by the way, to busy and mischievous spirits, as they are, would be a hell to them, even before their time; they would be, as it were, doom'd to a state of inactivity, which we may suppose was one part of their expulsion from blessedness and the creation of man; or as they were for the surprising interval between the destruction of mankind by the deluge and _noah_'s coming out of the ark, when indeed they might be said to have nothing at all to do. but this is not satan's case, and therefore let me tell you too, that you may not think i treat the case with more levity than i really do, and than i am sure i intend to do; tho' it is too true that our modern and modish sinners have arrived to more exquisite ways of being wicked, than their fathers, and really seem, as i have said, to need no devil to tempt them; nay, that they do satan's work for him as to others also, and make themselves devils to their neighbours, tempting others to crime even faster than the devil desires them, running before they are sent, and going of the _devil_'s errands _gratis_; by which means satan's work is, as to them, done to his hand, and they may be said to save him a great deal of trouble; yet after all, the devil has still a great deal of business upon his hands, and as well himself as all his legions, find themselves a full employment in disturbing the world, and opposing the glory and kingdom of their great superior, whose kingdom it is their whole business, however vain in its end, to overthrow and destroy, if they were able, or at least to endeavour it. this being the case, it follows of course that the general mischiefs of mankind, as well national and public, as family mischiefs, and even personal, (except as before excepted) lie all still at the _devil_'s door, as much as ever, let his advocates bring him off of it if they can; and this brings us back again to the manner of the devil's management, and the way of his working by human agents, or if you will, the way of human devils, working in affairs of low life, such as we call divination, sorcery, black-art, necromancy, and the like; all which i take to consist of two material parts, and both very necessary for us to be rightly inform'd of. . the part which satan by himself or his inferior _devils_ empowers such people to do, as he is in confederacy with here on earth; to whom he may be said, like the master of an opera or comedy, to give their parts to act, and to qualify them to act it; whether he obliges them to a rehearsal in his presence, to try their talents, and see that they are capable of performing, that indeed i have not enquir'd into. . that part which these empower'd people do voluntier or beyond their commission, to shew their diligence in the service of their new master, and either ( .) to bring grist to their own mill, and make their market of their employment in the best manner they can; or ( .) to gain applause, be admir'd, wonder'd at, and applauded, as if they were ten times more _devils_ than really they are. in a word, the matter consists of what the _devil_ does by the help of these people, and what they do in his name without him; the devil is sometimes cheated in his own business; there are pretenders to witchcraft and black-art, who satan never made any bargain with, but who he connives at, because at least they do his cause no harm, tho' their business is rather to get money, than to render him any service, of which i gave you a remarkable instance before. but to go back to his real agents, of which i reckon two. . those who act by direction and confederacy, as i have said already many do. . those whom he acts in and by, and they (perhaps) know it not, of which sort history gives us plenty of examples, from _machiavel_'s first disciple ---- to the famous cardinal _alberoni_, and even to some more modern than his eminence, of whom i can say no more till farther occasion offers. . those who act by immediate direction of the devil, and in confederacy with him; these are such as i mention'd in the beginning of this chapter, whose arts are truly black, because really infernal; it will be very hard to decide the dispute between those who really act thus in confederacy with the _devil_, and those who only pretend to it; so i shall leave that dispute where i find it; but that there are, or at least have been, a set of people in the world, who really are of his acquaintance, and very intimate with him; and tho', as i have said, he has much alter'd his schemes and chang'd hands of late; yet that there are such people, perhaps of all sorts; and that the devil keeps up his correspondence with them; i must not venture to deny that part, lest i bring upon me the whole posse of the conjuring and bewitching crew, male and female, and they should mob me for pretending to deny them the honour of dealing with the _devil_, which they are so exceeding willing to have the fame of. not that i am hereby oblig'd to believe all the strange things the witches and wizards, who have been allow'd to be such, nay, who have been hang'd for it, have said of themselves; nay, that they have confess'd of themselves, even at the gallows; and if i come to have an occasion to speak freely of the matter, i may perhaps convince you that the devil's possessing power is much lessen'd of late, and that he either is limited, and his fetter shortened more than it has been, or that he does not find the old way (as i said before) so fit for his purpose as he did formerly, and therefore takes other measures, but i must adjourn that to a time and place by itself: but we are told that there are another sort of people, and, perhaps, a great many of them too, in whom and by whom the devil really acts, and they know it not. it would take up a great deal of time and room, too much for this place, so near the close of this work, to describe and mark out the involuntary _devils_ which there are in the world; of whom it may be truly said, that really the _devil_ is in them, and they know it not: now, tho' the _devil_ is cunning and managing, and can be very silent where he finds it for his interest not to be known; yet it is very hard for him to conceal himself, and to give so little disturbance in the house, as that the family should not know who lodged in it; yet, i say, the devil is so subtle and so mischievous an agent, that he uses all manner of methods and craft to reside in such people as he finds for his purpose, whether they will or no, and which is more, whether they know it or no. and let none of my readers be angry or think themselves ill used, when i tell them the devil may be in them, and may act them, and by them, and they not know it; for i must add, it may, perhaps, be one of the greatest pieces of human wisdom in the world, for a man to know when the devil is in him, and when not; when he is a tool and agent of hell, and when he is not; in a word, when he is doing the devil's work, and under his direction, and when not. it is true, this is a very weighty point, and might deserve to be handled in a more serious way than i seem to be talking in all this book; but give me leave to talk of things my own way, and withall, to tell you, that there is no part of this work so seemingly ludicrous, but a grave and well weigh'd mind may make a serious and solid application of it, if they please; nor is there any part of this work, in which a clear sight and a good sense may not see that the author's design is, that they should do so; and as i am now so near the end of my book, i thought it was meet to tell you so, and lead you to it as far as i can. i say, 'tis a great part of human wisdom to know when the _devil_ is acting in us and by us, and when not; the next and still greatest part would be to prevent him, put a stop to his progress, bid him go about his business, and let him know he should carry on his designs no farther in that manner; that we will be his tools no longer; in short, to turn him out of doors, and bring a stronger power to take possession; but this, indeed, is too solid a subject, and too great to begin with here. but now, as to the bare knowing when he is at work with us, i say this, tho' it is considerable, may be done, nor is it so very difficult; _for example_, you have no more to do but look a little into the microcosm of the soul, and see there how the passions which are the blood, and the affections which are the spirit, move in their particular vessels; how they circulate, and in what temper the pulse beats there, and you may easily see who turns the wheel; if a perfect calm possesses the soul; if peace and temper prevail, and the mind feels no tempests rising; if the affections are regular and exalted to vertuous and sublime objects, the spirits cool, and the mind sedate, the man is in a general rectitude of mind, he may be truly said to be _his own man_; heaven shines upon his soul with its benign influences, and he is out of the reach of the evil spirit; for the divine spirit is an influence of peace, all calm and bright, happy and sweet like it self, and tending to every thing that is good both present and future. but on the other hand, if at any time the mind is ruffled, if vapours rise, clouds gather, if passions swell the breast, if anger, envy, revenge, hatred, wrath, strife; if these, or any of these hover over you, much more if you feel them within you; if the affections are possess'd, and the soul hurried down the stream to embrace low and base objects; if those spirits, which are the life and enlivening powers of the soul, are drawn off to parties, and to be engag'd in a vicious and corrupt manner, shooting out wild and wicked desires, and running the man headlong into crime, the case is easily resolv'd, the man is possess'd, the _devil_ is in him; and having taken the fort, or at least the counterscarp and out-works, is making his lodgment to cover and secure himself in his hold, that he may not be dispossess'd. nor can he be easily dispossess'd when he has got such hold as this; and 'tis no wonder, that being lodg'd thus upon the out-works of the soul he continues to sap the foundation of the rest, and by his incessant and furious assaults, reduces the man at last to a surrender. if the allegory be not as just and apposite as you would have it be, you may, however, see by it in a full view, the state of the man, and how the _devil_ carries on his designs; nothing is more common, and i believe there are few thinking minds but may reflect upon it in their own compass, than for our passions and affections to flow out of the ordinary channel; the spirits and blood of the soul to be extravasated, the passions grow violent and outragious, the affections impetuous, corrupt and violently vicious: whence does all this proceed? from heaven we can't pretend it comes; if we must not say 'tis the _devil_, whose door must it lie at? pride swells the passions; avarice moves the affections; and what is pride, and what is avarice, but the _devil_ in the inside of the man? ay, as personally and really as ever he was in the herd of swine. let not any man then, who is a slave to his passions, or who is chain'd down to his covetousness, pretend to take it ill, when i say he has the _devil_ in him, or that he is a _devil_: what else can it be, and how comes it to pass that passion and revenge so often dispossess the man of himself, as to lead him to commit murther, to lay plots and snares for the life of his enemies, and so to thirst for blood? how comes this but by the devil's putting those spirits of the soul into so violent a ferment, into a fever? that the circulation is precipitated to that degree, and that the man too is precipitated into mischief, and at last into ruin; 'tis all the _devil_, tho' the man does not know it. in like manner avarice leads him to rob, plunder and destroy for money, and to commit sometimes the worst of violences to obtain the wicked reward. how many have had their throats cut for their money, have been murther'd on the highway, or in their beds, for the desire of what they had? it is the same thing in other articles, every vice is the devil in a man; lust of rule is the _devil_ of great men, and that ambition is their _devil_ as much as whoring is father ------'s _devil_, one has a _devil_ of one class acting him, one another, and every man's reigning vice is a _devil_ to him. thus the _devil_ has his involuntary instruments, as well as those who act in confederacy with him; he has a very great share in many of us, and acts us, and in us, unknown to our selves tho' we know nothing of it, and indeed tho' we may not suspect it of our selves; like _hazael_ the _assyrian_, who when the prophet told him how he would act the _devil_ upon the poor _israelites_, answer'd with detestation, _is thy servant a dog that he should do this thing_, and yet he was that dog, and did all those cruel things for all that; the _devil_ acting him, or acting in him, to make him wickeder than ever he thought it was possible for him to be. the conclusion. _of the_ devil_'s last scene of liberty, and what may be supposed to be his end, with what we are to understand of his being tormented for ever and ever._ as the _devil_ is a prince of the power of the air, his kingdom is mortal, and must have an end; and as he is call'd the god of this world, that is, the great usurper of the homage and reverence which mankind ought of right to pay to their maker, so his usurpation also, like the world it self, must have an end: satan is call'd the god of the world, as men too much prostrate and prostitute themselves to him, yet he is not the governor of this world; and therefore the homage and worship he has from the world is an usurpation; and this will have an end, because the world it self will have an end; and all mankind, as they had a beginning in time, so must expire and be remov'd before the end of time. since then the _devil_'s empire is to expire and come to an end, and that the _devil_ himself and all his host of _devils_ are immortal seraphs, spirits that are not embodied and cannot die, but are to remain in being; the question before us next will be, what is to become of him? what is his state to be? whether is he to wander, and in what condition is he to remain to that eternity to which he is still to exist? i hope no man will mistake me so much in what i have said as to spirits, which are all flame, not being affected with fire, as if i supposed there was no place of punishment for the _devil_, nor any kind of punishment that could affect them; and so of our spirits also when transform'd into flame. i must be allow'd to speak there of that material fire, by which, as by an allegory, all the terrors of an eternal state are represented to us in scripture, and in the writings of the learned commentators, and by which the pain of sense is describ'd; this, perhaps, i do not understand as they seem to do, and therefore have said, when we're all flame (that is all spirit) we shall all fire (that is, all such fire as this) despise. and thus i claim to be understood. it does not follow from hence, neither do i suggest, or so much as think that infinite power cannot form a something (tho' inconceivable to us here) which shall be as tormenting, and as insupportable to a devil, an apostate seraph, and to a spirit, tho' exalted, unembodied and rarified into _flame_, as fire would be to other bodies; in which i think i am orthodox, and do not give the least occasion to an enemy to charge me with profane speaking, in those words, or to plead for thinking prophanely himself. it must be atheistical to the last degree to suggest, that whereas the _devil_ has been heaping up and amassing guilt ever since the creation of man, encreasing in hatred of god and rebellion against him, and in all possible endeavour to dethrone and depose the majesty of heaven; that yet heaven had not prepar'd, or could not prepare a just penalty for him; and that it should not all end in god's entire victory over hell, and in satan's open condemnation: heaven could not be just to its own glory, if he should not avenge himself upon this rebel, for all his superlative wickedness in his modern as well as ancient station; for the blood of so many millions of his faithful subjects and saints whom he has destroy'd; and if nothing else offer'd it self to prove this part, it would appear undoubted to me; but this, i confess, does not belong to satan's history, and therefore i have reserv'd it to this place, and shall also be the shorter in it. that his condition is to be a state of punishment, and that by torment, the _devil_ himself has own'd, and his calling out to our blessed lord when he cast him out of the furious man among the tombs, is a proof of it, _what have we to do with thee_, and _art thou come to torment us before the time?_ luke viii. . where the _devil_ acknowledges four things, and three of them are directly to my present purpose, and if you won't believe the word of god, i hope you will believe the _devil_, especially when 'tis an open confession against himself. . he confess christ to be the _son of god_ (that by the way) and _no thanks to him_, for that does not want the _devil_'s evidence. . he acknowledges he may be tormented. . he acknowledges christ was able to torment him. . he acknowledges that there is a time appointed when he shall be tormented. as to _how_, in _what manner_, and by _what means_, this tormenting the devil is to be performed or executed, that i take to be as needless to us as 'tis impossible to know, and being not at present inclined to fill your heads and thoughts with weak and imperfect guesses, i leave it where i find it. it is enough to us that this torment of the _devil_ is represented to us by fire, it being impossible for our confin'd thoughts to conceive of torment by any thing in the world more exquisite; whence i conclude, that _devils_ shall at last receive a punishment suitable to their spirituous nature, and as exquisitely tormenting as a burning fire would be to our bodies. having thus settl'd my own belief of this matter, and stated it so, as i think will let you see 'tis rightly sounded, the matter stands thus. satan having been let loose to play his game in this world, has improv'd his time to the utmost; he has not fail'd on all occasions to exert his hatred, rage, and malice at his conqueror and enemy, _namely, his maker_; he has nor fail'd, from principles of meer envy and pride, to pursue mankind with all possible rancour, in order to deprive him of the honour and felicity which he was created for, namely, to succeed the _devil_ and his angels in the state of glory from which they fell. this hatred of god and envy at man, having broken out in so many several ways in the whole series of time from the creation, must necessarily have greatly encreased his guilt; and as heaven is righteous to judge him, must terminate in an encrease of punishment, adequate to his crime, and sufficient to his nature. some have suggested, that there is yet a time to come, when the _devil_ shall exert more rage, and do more mischief than ever yet he has been permitted to do; whether he shall break his chain, or be unchain'd for a time, they cannot tell, nor i neither; and 'tis happy for my work, that even this part too does not belong to his history; if ever it shall be given an account of by mankind, it must be after it is come to pass, for my part is not prophesy of foretelling what the devil shall do, but history of what he has done. thus, good people, i have brought the history of the devil down to _your own times_; i have, as it were, _rais'd him_ for you, and set him in your view, that you may know him and have a care of him. if any cunninger men among you think they are able now to _lay him_ again, and so dispose of him out of your sight, that you shall be troubled no more with him, either here or hereafter, let them go to work with him their own way; you know things future do not belong to an historian, so i leave him among you, wishing you may be able to give no worse an account of him for the time to come, than i have done for the time past. finis. footnotes: [ ] n. b. he never refus'd setting his hand to any opinion, which he thought it for his interest to acknowledge. [ ] mean't of nothing. [ ] _mr._ pool's _words are these_: some refer the words, _this day have i begotten thee_, to the incarnation of the son of god, others to the resurrection: our translators lay the stress on the preposition of which the verb is compounded, and by adding _again_, (viz.) _rais'd up jesus again_, acts xiii. . intend it to be understood of the resurrection; and there is ground for it, in the context, for the resurrection of christ, is that which st. _paul_ had propounded in v. . of the same chapter, as his theme or argument to preach upon. not that christ at his resurrection began to be the son of god, but that he was manifested then to be so. [ ] satan. [ ] the meaning of the word devil is destroyer. see _pool_ upon _acts_ xiii. . [ ] _as great as the devil and doctor_ faustus. vulg. dr. _foster_. transcriber's notes: passages in italics are indicated by _underscore_. additional spacing after some of the quotes is intentional to indicate both the end of a quotation and the beginning of a new paragraph as presented in the original text. long "s" has been modernized. the original text includes greek characters. for this text version these letters have been replaced with transliterations. the text includes two instances of unmatched round brackets; as these require interpretation to close, they have been left unmatched. the following misprints have been corrected: "origiual" corrected to "original" (table of contents) " " corrected to " " (table of contents) " " corrected to " " (table of contents) extraneous "a" removed (page ) "blinding" corrected to "binding" (page ) "decrib'd" corrected to "describ'd" (page ) "battels" corrected to "battles" (page ) "inconcievable" corrected to "inconceivable" (page ) "devils" corrected to "devil's" (page ) "hut" corrected to "but" (page ) "that that" corrected to "that" (page ) "opposs'd" corrected to "oppos'd" (page ) "notwitstanding" corrected to "notwithstanding" (page ) "a as body" corrected to "as a body" (page ) "peoples" corrected to "people's" (page ) "asia" corrected to "asa" (page ) "was" corrected to "saw" (page ) "faling" corrected to "falling" (page ) "christain" corrected to "christian" (page ) "what's is" corrected to "what is" (page ) "disapointed" corrected to "disappointed" (page ) "been" corrected to "seen" (page ) "momentons" corrected to "momentous" (page ) "chritians" corrected to "christians" (page ) "egyytian" corrected to "egyptian" (page ) "magnifience" corrected to "magnificence" (page ) "whereever" corrected to "wherever" (page ) "compliasant" corrected to "complaisant" (page ) "coul'd" corrected to "cou'd" (page ) "acquiantance" corrected to "acquaintance" (page ) "oportunity" corrected to "opportunity" (page ) "har'd" corrected to "hard" (page ) "distingush" corrected to "distinguish" (page ) "whereever" corrected to "wherever" (page ) "the the" corrected to "the" (page ) "chap. vii" corrected to "chap. ix" (page ) "businses" corrected to "business" (page ) other than the corrections listed above, printer's inconsistencies in spelling, punctuation, and hyphenation usage have been retained. [illustration: the devil illustrated molnar] [illustration: dr. millar: "what an ideal couple you two would make."--page . by permission of henry w. savage.] the devil a tragedy of the heart and conscience _novelized by joseph o'brien from henry w. savage's great play_ by ferenc molnar new york grosset & dunlap publishers copyright, , by american-journal-examiner. copyright, , by j. s. ogilvie publishing company. foreword there is a great lesson for all women and men in this wonderful story. it is one that will impress with its power. but i am glad to say that i do not believe fully in its truth. the devil here wins his victory, as he has won many. but each year, as men and women get better, the victories of satan are fewer. good men and good women fight against evil and do not yield. this tragic, heart-breaking story, by the wonderful new writer, tells one side of the battle between good and evil that goes on in every human heart. it has its lesson for all men and women. it is a powerful warning against playing with fire. its lesson, taught in the downfall of the man and woman, is "keep away from evil, and the appearance of evil." beatrice fairfax. the characters karl mahler an artist heinrich his valet mimi his model herman hofmann a banker olga hofmann the banker's wife the devil calling himself dr. millar elsa berg an heiress the scenes are laid in vienna, austria, in karl mahler's studio, and in the conservatory reception-room at the hofmanns', and all the events transpire within the space of one day. list of illustrations. page. dr. millar: "what an ideal couple you two would make" frontispiece mimi: "you do not love me; you have ceased to care for me" "call me dr. millar. my social position is beyond question" "the art dealer," he said sarcastically "they seem to be growing fond of each other," olga said jealously "let only your bare neck show above your cloak, and the tips of your shoes beneath it" "i have begun this, let me finish it. let me dictate this letter" "i wanted to feel that you loved me as i hoped you did" note:--the illustrations used in this book are reproduced from scenes in henry w. savage's production of "the devil," the only version approved by the author. table of contents foreword chapter i chapter ii chapter iii chapter iv chapter v chapter vi chapter vii chapter viii chapter ix chapter x chapter xi chapter xii chapter xiii chapter xiv the moral of "the devil" the devil chapter i herman hofmann, the wealthy banker, and his beautiful young wife, olga, had as their guest at dinner karl mahler, an artist. some years earlier, before hofmann married, mahler, befriended by his family, had been sent away to paris to study art. olga, at that time a dependent ward in the hofmann family, and the poor young art student loved each other with the sweet, pure affection of boy and girl. in the absence of karl, olga yielded to the pressing suit of herman and the importunities of her own relatives, all poor, and became his wife. karl returned to find the sweetheart whom he had kissed for the first time when he told her good-by, married to another. he was not greatly shocked at the discovery, the life of an art student in paris having somewhat dimmed the memory of his boyhood's love, and neither he nor olga alluded to their early romance. for six years the two had been friends, although they never saw each other alone. karl was a frequent visitor at their house and herman was his devoted and loyal friend. olga honestly believed that she loved her husband and had long ago forgotten her love for karl. lately she had interested herself in his future to the extent of proposing for him a bride, elsa berg, a beautiful and youthful heiress, and she had arranged a grand ball, to be given so that the two young people might be brought together. in all the six years of her married life olga had never visited karl's studio. karl had never even offered to paint her portrait. although neither would confess it, some secret prompting made them fear to break down the barriers of convention, and they remained to each other chaperoned and safe. on this evening, however, when karl was with them, the subject of a portrait of olga came up for the first time, and herman declared that it must be painted. "she is more beautiful than any of your models or your patrons," he said to karl. olga was strangely disturbed, she could not tell why. she blushed and looked at karl, whom the proposition seemed to excite to strange eagerness. she did not trust herself to speak, but listened to the artist and her husband. neither olga nor karl could have defined the strange, conflicting emotions with which they separately received herman's proposition. unwillingly olga's mind traveled swiftly back to the old days and her girlhood, and she recalled the day of karl's departure, the day he took her in his arms and kissed her lips and said: "i love you, olga; i will not forget." the memory thrilled her and the color flamed into her cheeks. karl looked at her, so enraptured and absorbed that he could scarcely give attention to herman, who rattled on about the portrait. it was finally settled that the first sitting should be the following day at karl's studio, where olga would be left with him alone. it was there that olga was then to encounter the materialization of the impulses she had been, only half unconsciously, struggling against for six years; the spirit of evil purpose against which good contends; the incarnation of the arch fiend in the attractive shape of a suave, polished, plausible, eloquent man of the world, whose cynicism bridged the years of married life; whose subtle suggestions colored afresh the faded dreams which she believed faintly remembered, and believed would come no more. karl left them with the promise of a sitting on the morrow. karl's fitful slumber was disturbed that night by vague half dreams which oppressed him when he arose. he was filled with misgiving, doubt, uncertainty. his thoughts, half formed, disturbing, were of olga. he tried to think of marriage with elsa, but it was without enthusiasm. warm, beautiful, affectionate, she made no impression on his heart, which seemed like ice. he looked around the studio with aversion. the pictures on the walls seemed no longer to represent the aspiration of the artist; they were mementos of the models who had posed and flirted and talked scandal within his walls. he paced the floor restlessly, nervously, twisting his unlighted cigarette in his fingers until it crumbled, his mouth tight, his eyebrows drawn together. then he seized his hat and overcoat and flung himself out of the door into the gathering winter storm. for an hour he plunged through the snow, the chaos of the storm matching his mood. almost exhausted, he turned back toward his home and entered. the room glowed warmly. in front of the inviting fire was the big arm-chair with its wide seat, comfortable cushions and high pulpit back. as he laid aside his greatcoat he stepped toward the chair, intending to bury himself in its depths and surrender to his mood. a shudder ran over him and he drew back, staring at the seat. it was empty, his eyes assured him, but he could not rid himself of a feeling that it was occupied. he pressed his hands to his eyes and then flung them outward with the gesture of one distraught. "i am going mad!" he thought. he called loudly, harshly: "heinrich! heinrich!" his old servant, alarmed at the unwonted violence of his master's voice, hastened into the room. karl flung aside his coat and heinrich held for him his velvet dressing jacket. he slipped into it, shook himself, and lighted a cigarette. his hands shook with nervousness, and he held them out from him that he might look at them. "oh, what a terrible sight!" he groaned. "monsieur?" heinrich said inquiringly. "has any one been here?" karl asked. "no, monsieur, only ma'm'selle mimi. she is waiting in the studio to pose." with an impatient gesture karl walked across the room, picked up a newspaper, flung himself on a couch and held the sheet before his eyes. he did not even see the print, but he persisted, trying to banish his restless thoughts. heinrich, solicitously brushing and folding karl's coat, waited. the artist looked at him impatiently: "tell ma'm'selle mimi i shall not need her to-day. she may go." "yes, monsieur," heinrich said. the servant stepped to the door of the studio and threw it open. he called out: "ma'm'selle, monsieur karl says he will not need you to-day; you may go home." heinrich withdrew. karl lay at full length on the couch, holding the paper before him. a young woman, daintily featured, with rounded figure whose lines showed through her close-fitting costume, burst into the room. although conscious of her presence and irritated, karl did not look. he pretended to be absorbed in his newspaper. mimi looked at him and waited, but as he did not speak, she ventured timidly: "aren't you going to paint me to-day?" "er--no, not to-day." "do you not love me any more, karl?" the newspaper rattled with the artist's impatience and irritation, but he did not answer. mimi approached him. "you do not love me; you have ceased to care for me. ah, karl, when you loved me you painted me every day. now you paint nothing but landscapes." [illustration: mimi: "you do not love me; you have ceased to care for me."--page . by permission of henry w. savage.] karl forced a laugh. "nonsense!" he said. "you talk like a silly child, mimi." "you say that now, but you did not say such things when you loved me, karl. it is always the way with us poor models. at first it is, 'ah, what shoulders, what beautiful coloring, what perfect ankles!' then you paint us every day. "and then it is, 'what in the world have you done with your figure? it is all angles!' or, 'what on earth have you put on your face? it is as yellow as old parchment.' and then you paint landscapes." mimi burst into tears, and vigorously dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief. she was an extremely pretty girl of the bourgeois type, with heavy coils of straw-colored hair piled high on her head, and big blue eyes that were quick to weep. karl arose, threw aside his paper and essayed to comfort her. "there, there," he said, patting her shoulder, "don't cry, mimi; you are full of folly to-day." as quick to smile as she had been to cry, mimi unveiled her eyes and looked at him eagerly, her lips parting over her white teeth. "then you do love me, karl? ah, tell me that you love me." "yes." "and you will paint me again? if not to-day, perhaps to-morrow?" "perhaps, but i am very busy." he turned from her and sat on the couch again. mimi's mood suddenly turned to anger, and she cried out at him furiously: "i know that you do not love me, and i know why. you are going to be married. "yes, yes," as karl made an impatient gesture; "i know it is true." "you are very silly, mimi," he said. "ah, no; i am not. it is true what i have said. i have heard all about it, but i did not believe it, because i was a fool. you are going to marry ma'm'selle elsa berg, who is said to be very beautiful and who will be a great heiress; and then you will forget me, as you would be glad to do now." "where in the devil have you heard all of this?" karl demanded, springing angrily to his feet. "it does not matter; you cannot deny that it is true." then her mood changed swiftly to contrition, and she went close to karl. "but forgive me; i know it must be. i have always known, and i must have annoyed you. we models are always annoying--in our street clothes. forgive me, karl." she looked appealingly at karl, and he was moved. "never mind, mimi; run along home, now, and i promise to paint you again, perhaps to-morrow, perhaps the next day." she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. then she fled from the room. karl flung himself down on the couch again and hid his face with his arms. chapter ii olga's dream journey had been through the flowering orchard of girlhood, hand in hand with karl, and she awoke with a sense of regret that the realities of everyday life should take the place of such joyous visions. she felt strangely elated during the day, and eagerly waited for the hour when herman was to call for her and take her to karl's studio. "i wonder what it will be like there?" she asked herself a dozen times. "i think i have always been jealous of that studio and its possibilities, and i have always wanted to go there--but i did not dare." then she chided herself for the thought she had not uttered. "why, i am a goose! what am i confessing here to myself? that i am in love with karl? what silly nonsense. come, olga, you are getting romantic." herman came after luncheon and they drove together to the studio building. old heinrich admitted them, his eyes growing big and round at the imposing splendor of herman's greatcoat and the bewildering beauty of the grand lady. karl, in his artist's velvet jacket, hurried forward to greet them. "welcome to my workshop," he cried. "how do you do?" olga said, barely giving him her hand, and turning at once to let her eyes rove curiously around the walls of the room. "how do you do, karl?" herman said. "you see, we are prompt. and now i am curious to see your place." karl watched olga as she surveyed the room. he felt piqued at her seeming lack of interest in him. "so this is your wonderful studio," she said absently. "it is much like a junkshop," karl said deprecatingly. "it is very interesting," olga said. "whose picture is that?" she asked, pointing to a painting of a half nude figure on the wall. "that? oh, that is a model who has posed for me." "oh, yes, i recognize it. we met the girl on the stairs, herman." "oh, yes; that is she." herman busied himself looking at the pictures, chuckling over those that caught his unpoetic fancy, and nudging karl in the ribs at some of them. "i must come again and inspect them more at my leisure," he said. "this afternoon i have to go away." "i am sorry you are not to remain," karl said politely. "oh, i suppose we might put off the sitting in view of the fact that the picture might have been painted any time these last six years," herman said. "but olga has been nervous about the ball we are going to have to-night, and i thought it best to bring her to-day to distract her. you know this is really a house-warming to-night." "and we were obliged to invite so many people," olga said, still looking at the pictures. "i hate these social affairs," herman rattled on, "but i suppose in our position they are inevitable. what time shall i return for olga?" "it grows dark quickly," karl said, looking at his watch. "in another hour we shall not be able to see. suppose you return about o'clock." "very well; and now i must be going. you are coming to the ball to-night, karl? you know you really are the guest of honor; isn't he, olga?" "yes, indeed. karl is to fall in love with his future wife to-night." karl looked at her, but she spoke with perfect self-possession, and lightly. "i shall do my best," he said, and he tried to speak with enthusiasm. "ah, you are not half grateful enough for this treasure, karl; you should be happy," olga said. "of course he should, and he will," herman interposed, moving toward the door. "we will all be happy--you and elsa and karl and i--everybody, i hope." olga went nearer to karl and spoke seriously. "she is a very charming girl, karl." "if you say one word more about that girl i shall fall in love with her immediately, which would be ahead of my matrimonial scheme," karl replied jestingly. "you know i am not obliged to fall in love until to-night." "well, well, i must be off," herman said, as he went up to kiss olga. "good-by, dear; i shall call for you at o'clock." almost against his will, karl asked a question which he had never before in all his life thought of. "aren't you afraid to leave your wife alone?" "alone?" "with me, i mean?" herman looked at him, and then spoke jestingly, but with an effort. "i am hurrying away because i am afraid i shall change my mind and take olga with me," he said. "you are not jealous?" olga asked. "if you don't want the truth--no, i am not," herman replied, and in his tone there was the peculiar meaning which his words did not convey. "if i were not afraid of becoming ridiculous, i should say warningly, 'children, be sure to be good.'" he paused and looked at both of them. then he said: "good-by." as he turned, karl followed and escorted him through the door. olga stood frowning, worried, ill at ease. karl looked at her in surprise when he returned. "what is the matter?" he asked. olga started nervously and looked at him. she pressed her hands before her eyes and for a moment did not speak. she looked away as karl approached her and said tenderly: "are you afraid? please tell me." "i don't know what is the matter with me, but just now, when my husband went away, i felt as if i had been left without a protector." she broke off abruptly, and karl urged her to explain. "what do you mean? i don't understand," he said. "yes, you do, karl," olga said, as she turned and faced him. "you know. i have fought against coming here for six years; ever since my marriage." she looked away from him, around the studio, with its bizarre decorations, and shuddered. "ugh! this place looks like a devil's kitchen," she cried. "these strange things, terrible monsters, cold, white statues, heads without bodies, and you in their midst like a conjurer. i did not notice them while herman was here, but now----" karl turned swiftly toward her. "but now?" he asked. olga looked at him with an expression of terror in her eyes. the two stood thus at bay. left to themselves in the big studio, facing each other, karl and olga were silent. there was a look in karl's eyes that olga had never seen before; there was a tumult in her heart that she had never before felt. it was karl who first recovered himself and broke the silence, trying to speak lightly: "don't be nervous," he said, reassuringly. "this is the reception-room of my studio. every woman i paint comes here." "and do you paint every woman who comes here?" olga asked slowly. "no," karl replied shortly. there was another awkward pause. olga could not tell why she had asked that question any more than karl could have told why he had asked herman if he was not afraid to leave them alone. it was some unsuspected jealousy that prompted it. "did you understand my husband?" olga asked. "yes, i think i did." "he said, 'i trust you.' why should he say that? why should it not be a matter of course?" "you don't think he is really jealous?" olga shook her head. "i don't know," she said. "during the six years we have been together and you have been our friend, he has often pretended to be jealous. this time there was something in his voice that made me believe it was more than pretense. it is the first time he has ever left us alone." they were standing, karl near the door, where he had bidden herman farewell, and olga across the apartment. in an alcove in one corner an open fire burned brightly, casting a red glow over the big, comfortable arm-chair drawn up before it, with its high, pulpit-shaped back toward them. karl walked over to olga and said with quiet earnestness: "we have tried to avoid it, olga; tried for six years. now that the situation is forced upon us, why not be honest? let us talk about it frankly." "i think it was sweet not to discuss it for six long years," olga said, smiling at him. "a clean conscience is like a warm cloak, karl; it enfolds us and makes us feel so comfortable." she tried to make her mood seem light, but karl would not fall in with it. "last night, when it was suggested that i should paint your portrait, you gave me a look i had never seen before," he persisted. "i wonder why?" "i don't know," olga answered, her fear returning. "don't let us talk about it; i don't want to." "you must not be afraid of me, olga; if i were not i you might be frightened. i am fond of you, yes; but respectfully. i do not see what harm can be done by talking everything over quietly. it seems so long ago--seven years--since they told me that herman was to be your husband. it was on the anniversary of the day----" "oh, karl!" she protested, holding out her hands to silence him. "the day we kissed each other," he went on, speaking so quietly that it seemed almost a whisper. "we were almost children then. i was a poor little chap, who gave drawing lessons to herman and his sisters. you were a little waif, fed cake and tea at the millionaire's table. there we met, a beggar boy and a beggar girl, thrown together in a palace. we looked at each other, and i think we understood." olga covered her burning face with her hands, and karl went on: "we kissed each other, quite innocently; just one kiss, the memory of which has almost faded." "yes, karl, faded," olga cried eagerly. "we have grown up sensibly and we never mentioned it." karl seemed not to hear her interruption. he went on: "you became herman's wife and went to live in a palace. i found you there when i came back from paris, still fond of you, but determined never to tell you so, and when i met you again i, too, was somewhat changed. still, when our eyes met, olga, it was with the same look of the two poor, longing little beggars of the years ago. but we did not kiss again." "why not?" olga breathed. "your husband and i are the best of friends," karl said. "though we have met hundreds of times, you and i, we have not mentioned it." olga turned to him gratefully and held out her hand to clasp his. "you are a good, true friend, karl." "are you satisfied now?" karl asked her, smiling. "you are not afraid of me, are you?" "no; but there was something in my husband's voice that frightened me," olga answered. "he knows what we were to each other, and when he was leaving us here alone i think it made him feel uncomfortable. we aren't in love any more, are we, karl?" "no, of course not." "and it is sweet to think that we have not entirely forgotten old times, isn't it?" "yes," he answered absently. "and, of course, if we loved each other still you would not marry, would you, karl?" "of course not," he said shortly. "now you will get married and you will be very, very happy. and i, too, shall be happy, because i want you to marry, and i myself have chosen a sweet, clever girl for you." "exactly," karl acquiesced dryly. "and now let us think no more of it," olga cried, her mood changing to one of gayety. she ran over to the door, turned and faced karl, knocking loudly on the panel. "now for work; we have done nothing," she said. "monsieur, i have come to have my portrait painted." "come in, madame," karl said, bowing gravely and entering into her play. "good-morning." "i have come to have my portrait painted," olga said again. karl forgot the playing and exclaimed seriously: "ah, last night i made a memory sketch of you after i got home. i have made many, very many, but now i see you differently." "why?" olga asked, startled again by his vehemence. "yesterday i saw the lines of your figure; to-day i see your soul," he said. "yesterday you were a model; to-day you are an inspiration." "please, karl; please, don't; we agreed to end everything," she pleaded. "it is hard to end everything so suddenly." "karl, my good friend, i did wrong in coming here," olga said. "now that i did come, let us work. take your colors and brush. we must get through with it as soon as possible." "you are right, olga; as soon as possible." "what shall i do first?" she asked. "take off your hat and coat, please." karl stepped toward her with outstretched hands as if to help her. she drew back, with a little gesture of apprehension. "you mustn't touch me," she said. as she brushed past him karl caught a whiff of fragrance from her hair that was intoxicating. "do you use perfume on your hair?" he asked, quite innocently. "certainly not," she laughed. "oh, then, it is the natural perfume of your hair. pardon me; i stood too close to you." olga removed her hat and cloak. she looked up and saw that karl was regarding her intently. "you seem to be studying my features," she said. "i know them by heart, each one," he answered. "i am thinking of a pose. you know your husband wished a half length in evening gown." "yes; i should have preferred a full length in street costume." "i agree with herman. you must be quick; it is getting dark." "what shall i do?" "your waist; you must take it off; you will find some shawls there from which to select one for your shoulders. i will go into the studio." "oh, karl." "don't mind; i shall close the door. oh, it is snowing terribly," he added as he moved toward the big studio. "snowing! oh, karl, can't we postpone this? i don't feel well to-day; to-morrow i could come and bring my maid." "certainly not; your husband would surely want to know why we did no work to-day. now i will leave you." chapter iii he left the room, closing the studio doors behind him. olga looked apprehensively about her. some mysterious presence seemed to oppress her. she fumbled with nerveless fingers at the buttons of her waist. "oh, what folly!" she cried to herself. "what is the matter with me?" resolutely she set to work and drew from her beautiful shoulders and gleaming, rounded arms the silken waist that covered them. she turned to get the shawl, and the waist fell to the floor, as she recoiled with a shriek of terror from an apparition that arose slowly from the depths of the big arm-chair. where there had been no human being an instant before olga saw a tall, strange-looking man. he was in conventional afternoon attire, save that his waistcoat was red, in sharp contrast to the somber black of his frock coat. his hair was black. his upward pointing eyebrows were black, and his eyes shone like dull-burning lumps of coal. his face was like a mask, matching his immaculate linen in whiteness. it was cynical in its expression and almost sinister as he bowed low, with his hands folded over his breast, and said in a low, musical voice: "pardon me, madam, i think you dropped something." he stooped and picked up the silken waist which had fallen from olga's hands. as he held it out to her she drew back in horror. olga shrank from this strange being, sensible of his serpent-like fascination, even while he repelled her. it flashed across her consciousness that he was something more than human, something worse--the embodiment of malevolent purpose--a man devoid of good--the devil himself. he came from behind the chair, and as he moved toward her his every action heightened the impression she had received. in a situation where any man might have been confused he was perfectly self-possessed. his attitude was neither offensive nor ingratiating. he became at once a part of her surroundings, of her thoughts, yes, of her soul. it was this influence that she felt herself combating with growing weakness. "i hope you will forgive me," his smooth, suave voice went on, breaking the stillness almost melodiously, and he bowed again. "i permitted myself to fall asleep." still olga could not find tongue, and she drew yet farther away. the man, or the devil, watched her as she groped for the shawl, found it and quickly wound its filmy length around her beautiful shoulders and arms. an expression of cynical amusement crossed his face. "excuse me, but i awoke just as you were about to unbutton your blouse," he said. "propriety should have made me close my eyes, but----" "oh!" olga cried, shocked into speech. "oh, i know, madam," he said, with a bow, "you think i am suspicious, and you only came here----" "to have my portrait painted," olga said quickly. "precisely," he acquiesced, with the same cynical expression. "only yesterday i met a lady at the dentist's, and i observed that she permitted him to extract a perfectly good and very pretty tooth." "but i----" olga began, accepting the defensive position into which he placed her, when he interrupted her: "yes, you, i know, speak the truth. i am even at liberty to believe you, but i cannot." for an instant olga recovered her self-possession, and her indignation sprang into a flame that she should be addressed in this manner by a man whom she had never seen before--an intruder. "i don't know why i permit a stranger to talk to me in this fashion," she exclaimed. "it amazes me." the man stepped toward her. terrified, she turned and fled toward the door of the studio. "karl! karl!" she called. the stranger smiled as the doors were flung open and karl burst into the room. the young artist paused, astonished at the presence of the stranger. he was more amazed when the man cried out in the voice of genial comradeship: "hello, karl; how do you do?" "why, how do you do?" karl faltered, looking blankly from olga to the mysterious visitor. "i don't----" "you don't remember me," the other said. "don't you recall me at monte carlo?" "oh, yes, at monte carlo," karl said with dawning recollection. "it was an eventful day," the stranger said. "yes, yes, of course, i remember; it was last fall, when i had lost all my money playing roulette. some one stood behind me, and it was you. i was afraid when i turned and saw you, because i fancied i had seen you a moment before, beside the croupier, grinning at me as my gold pieces were swept away. but when i had lost everything you offered me a handful of gold." "which you refused, but i saw the longing to accept in your eyes." "i did not know you." "but i offered it again and you accepted." "yes, and in ten minutes i had recouped my losses and won $ , besides," karl cried with growing enthusiasm. "i remember indeed. your money seemed to possess mystic luck. when you put it in my hands it glowed, and i thought it was hot. it seemed to burn me." "you were excited, my boy," said the other genially. "but you repaid me and invited me to dine. i could not accept, because i was forced to leave for spain that same evening. i promised, however, to call on you when you needed me--and here i am." he bowed to karl and olga, who stood in speechless astonishment at this strange dialogue. she could understand nothing of this uncanny stranger; this specter in black and white, who seemed to emit a lurid radiance as if his red waistcoat were alive. "it was kind of you to come," karl said. "i am glad." "you were not here when i entered," the visitor said, "and i took a seat in that comfortable arm-chair. the warmth of the fire affected me, and i permitted myself to fall asleep." he indicated, with a sweeping gesture, the big pulpit-backed arm-chair. olga started and cried out: "that chair was empty; i remember quite well, when my husband was here. there was no one in it, i am absolutely certain." karl was so strangely affected by the stranger's presence that he did not notice olga's agitation. the other regarded her with his expression of cynical amusement, bowed gravely and said: "then i was mistaken, madam." "won't you sit down?" karl said. "allow me to present you to--but i can't remember your name." "it does not matter," the other said with an expansive outward gesture of his restless, eloquent hands. "i am a philanthropist, traveling incognito. you may call me anything you like; call me dr. millar." "dr. millar," karl repeated, seeming for the first time to have some doubt as to the character of his guest. "oh, you may rest assured my social position is beyond question," the stranger said, as if divining his thought. [illustration: "call me dr. millar. my social position is beyond question."--page . by permission of henry w. savage.] karl did not heed the irony of his speech, but presented him to olga, who distantly acknowledged his bow. as karl appeared to succumb to this strange influence, she felt herself growing indignant. millar seemed bent on provoking an outburst, and his astonishing remarks in another would have seemed vulgar insolence, but in him they possessed a singular meaning that made both karl and olga shiver. "under different circumstances i should now take my hat and say good-by," millar said, after the introduction. "but my infinite tact compels me to force my presence upon you in this most unpleasant situation." the innuendo stung olga, and she turned to the artist. "karl, i can hardly believe it," she exclaimed, indignantly. "think of it--this man dared to----" "how long has your husband been dead?" millar interrupted with exasperating coolness. "i am not a widow," olga said, surprised that she should reply. "oh, you are divorced?" "i am not." "then if you feel that i have offended you i should think your husband would be the proper man to appeal to," he said with the utmost coolness. he seemed like a trainer, prodding tame animals with sharp prongs out of the lethargy of their caged lives to stir them to viciousness. turning to karl he went on: "however, if you wish it, i am also at your disposal. but do you not see, madam, that it would be an admission on your part?" he spoke as one who had dared read every secret thought of each. bewildered, karl cried out: "what does all this talk mean? i don't understand anything. you come in here unannounced; i don't know how nor from where. you make us feel quite uncomfortable, just as if you had trapped us in some compromising situation." "yes, yes, that is it," olga cried, relieved at karl's outburst. the stranger looked at them amusedly. "you may be as impolite to me as you wish; i cannot go," he said. "why?" olga demanded. "my departure now would mean that i leave you because i have interrupted you. on the other hand, by remaining i prove that i suspect nothing." "there is nothing to suspect," karl declared angrily. "i do not want you here." "then that is settled; let us talk of something else," the visitor remarked with the most casual inattention to karl's rage. "the weather; isn't it snowing beautifully? art; are you preparing anything for the spring exhibition at the royal academy?" "perhaps i may send something," karl answered sullenly. olga's bewilderment gave place to panic. in her mind was formed the purpose of snatching up her waist and rushing from the room. before she could do it the stranger was there, holding the waist out and bowing profoundly. "permit me, madam," he said. with a cry of astonishment olga snatched at the garment. "who are you? where do you come from?" she cried. with his restless, vibrant hands in the air, the stranger said: "i come from nowhere, i go everywhere; i am here." he touched his forehead with his long, white fingers, and his black eyes were fixed upon her. clutching the silken garment she had worn, olga rushed into the studio. millar, man or devil, looked after her and chuckled. chapter iv karl threw himself moodily into a chair as olga fled into the outer studio, and sat there, not looking at his unwelcome visitor. dr. millar seemed to find his dejection amusing. he allowed the silence to remain undisturbed, while he puffed a cigarette. then he said, half to himself, half to karl: "full of temperament, that woman, and pretty, too; extremely pretty." "yes, she is pretty," karl acquiesced, without looking at him. "it's a pity she doesn't love her husband," was the next cynical remark that fell on karl's ears. he wheeled in his seat and looked at the visitor, who went on with perfect coolness: "how do i know? it was apparent when she fancied i had insulted her and turned to you for protection." karl angrily slammed down an ash tray he had picked up in his nervous fingers and began to pace the floor. millar went on in a light tone: "she does not love her husband. he must be a genius or a very commonplace man. marriage always is a failure with such men. common men live so low that women are afraid some one may steal into their lives at night through a cellar window. genius--well, genius lives on the top floor, up toward the clouds, and with so many gloomy steps to climb and no elevator, it's very uncomfortable for a pretty woman. her ideal is one easy flight of stairs to comfortable living rooms on the first floor." karl maintained silence, and continued to walk the floor. he looked at his watch and started toward the door of the reception-room leading into the hall, which was locked. "this is the second time i have seen madam's shoulders," millar remarked, casually, blowing cigarette rings in the air. "what do you mean?" karl demanded, stung to speech by jealousy. "ah, i saw them first in paris, at the louvre, fashioned of snow-white marble. they were the shoulders of venus. am i right, karl?" "i don't know," the artist snapped. "well, you must take my word for it, then," millar said lightly. "i have seen both. and since alcamenes i have known but one sculptor who could form such wonderful shoulders." "who?" karl asked, turning to him. "prosperity," millar replied, sententiously. "such tender, soft, exquisite curves are possible only to women who live perfectly. madam must be the wife of a millionaire." karl fell to pacing the floor again, glancing impatiently at the door through which olga had fled. "is she dressing?" asked millar slyly. "yes," karl answered nervously. "is there a mirror in your studio?" "yes." "madam must be very respectable," millar said in an insinuating tone; "she takes so long to dress." "your remarks are in very bad taste," karl cried angrily, walking up threateningly to his visitor. millar stood erect, without changing his expression of ironical amusement, and said: "do you wish to offend me?" "yes," karl snarled. "then you, too, must be respectable," the visitor said coolly, adding, as karl looked at him with wonder: "in a situation like this only a very respectable man could behave with such infernal stupidity." karl was about to retort when the studio door opened and olga entered. he turned quickly toward her and she went to him without noticing millar. "what time is it?" she asked. "your husband will be here in ten minutes," millar interposed. olga turned toward him and cried accusingly: "then you were not asleep in that chair when my husband was here. you heard him say when he would return." "madam is mistaken. feminine presentiment always feels the approach of the husband ten minutes ahead of time. were it not for those ten minutes there would be more divorced women, but fewer locked doors." as he spoke he walked over and unlocked the door leading into the hall, then turned and looked at them calmly. "is this never to finish?" olga asked. "i tried to change the subject, but karl would not let me," millar answered. "i have not spoken a word," karl protested. "by your actions, karl; by the way you jumped up, impatiently consulted your watch, rushed to the door. poor chap, he was afraid," he added to olga. "afraid!" karl exclaimed. "yes, afraid that your husband would come before you finished dressing. and you were right, karl." "why, my dear olga----" karl began impatiently, when the other interrupted him. "please, please, let us be logical," he urged. "look at the situation. the husband enters suddenly. 'well, here i am, back again, my darling,' he announces. 'where is the picture? i must see the picture.' there is none. karl did not work on the picture. your husband is worried; he does not speak, but he is irritated. he wants to speak and the words stick in his throat. you look at each other, unhappy. nothing has happened, but the mischief is done. what mischief? appearances. whatever you say makes matters worse, and a compromising situation like this is never forgotten by the husband. you go home together in silence." "ah, if it were like that," karl broke in; "but we are not alone. you are here." millar shrugged his shoulders. "ah, that is it; i am here, and with one word i could dispel the illusion," he acquiesced. "but i know myself; i am cursed with a peculiar, sinister sense of humor, and i am afraid i would not say the word. hence, when the husband enters we are all silent. then i say, 'i regret to have arrived at such an inopportune moment.' i take my hat and walk out, leaving you, madam, your husband and karl." he seemed to find keen pleasure in the possibility of forcing the two into a position which would cause them suffering and weaken the barriers of self-control they had built up around that boy and girl love that had come back so vividly to both. had they regarded him as merely human it is certain that karl would have kicked this cynical being out of the studio, with his infernal innuendoes. but there was something supernormal about him. he dominated both the artist and the wife, and they were completely under his spell, struggle as they would to break it. olga shrank from the cruelty of their tormentor. "if this is a jest it is a cruel one," she cried. "true, madam. but there is another way. if you wish it i can be quite truthful. should your husband arrive i can tell him the portrait has not been touched and ask his pardon." "pardon for what?" "for having seen your shoulders." "this is a trap," olga cried, turning toward karl for protection. "what do you want? you overwhelm me with false insinuations. i hardly know you five minutes, and i imagine i feel your long fingers at my throat." "other pretty women do not feel them quite so soon," he murmured, bending toward her. enraged at the attitude of the man, karl stepped toward him. "stop! i won't allow any more of this," he commanded. the entrance of heinrich checked his speech. the old servant said: "the tailor has sent some evening clothes, monsieur karl, but they are not yours." "they are mine," interrupted the stranger. "yours?" karl said in amazement. "yes; they were crushed in my trunk," the other said coolly. "i told the tailor to press them and send them here for the evening. i must dress, as i am invited to the ball of one of the most beautiful women in the city to-night at the residence of the duke of maranese." "but the duke is not living there any more," olga interposed. "he is in madrid." "yes, i know that; i met the duke in paris." "he has sold his house to us. we are living there now, and the ball is given by me," she went on. the man looked at her, his black eyes seeming to burn through her own. shrinking, fearful, fascinated, olga was held in the spell of those eyes. "was i mistaken? am i not invited?" he asked. "yes, you are invited," she faltered. she could not resist the subtle influence of the man, even while every instinct of good made her recoil from him. with a triumphant smile he bowed and said softly: "madam, a little while ago you asked me what i wanted. it was your invitation that i wanted. i thank you." "but my husband," olga said, already repenting of the advantage she had given him. "oh, he will be delighted to see me," the stranger assured her confidently. "he speculates in wheat; i have information that will be of value to him. the crop has turned out worse than was expected. you love your husband; you should be happy that the wheat crop is bad." "i am," olga assented. "we want wheat to be bad because the price will go up." "your husband will make another fortune, and you will have the new gown you want." "how do you know i want a new gown?" olga asked, falling in once more with the devil's humor of the man. "i observe that you have a new hat, and a very pretty one; surely you want a new gown." "you must be married." "married! not i," he exclaimed. "a wife is like a monocle; it looks well, but one sees more clearly without it." "your views seem against marriage; why?" olga asked. the tone of millar became suddenly serious as he said: "you want karl to marry; i want to prevent him from marrying." "please let's not discuss that," karl protested. "pardon me, karl, but an artist should not marry," he went on. "your future wife will swear to stand by your side for life--until the wedding day--and the day after she will be in your way." "not the true wife," olga declared. "ah, but the true wife is always the other fellow's wife," he answered. millar had talked so absorbingly that karl and olga unconsciously drew near to each other. they stood in front of the high pulpit back of the arm-chair, each one resting a hand on the chair back. although they were quite unaware of it, their position suggested that of a young couple, before the altar, about to be joined in wedlock. the cynical humor of the situation struck millar, who walked around them, stood in the chair and leaned over the back, like a preacher in his pulpit. "you are a pessimist," olga declared, looking up at him. "no, not a pessimist; only practical." "i agree with you," karl said. "a man should stay at home." chapter v millar leaned down, placing his hands over karl's and olga's as they rested on the back of the chair. looking at karl, he said: "why didn't you stay at home? you ran away to become an artist. you refused a professional position and ordinary morals; a decent occupation at so much a week. you wanted to go out and seek the golden fleece of fame. now, fight your battle; fight it alone; don't get married." as he spoke he lifted the hands of karl and olga and placed them together, holding them clasped in his own. they thrilled at each other's touch; they looked into each other's eyes, and they hardly heard the cynical devil's voice as millar leaned yet farther toward them and said: "i was thinking what a splendid couple you two would make." olga felt herself yielding to the devilish insinuation of millar. she made no effort to withdraw her hand from karl's; she was completely under his sinister, dominating influence. karl's will seemed equally impotent; he could not shake off the mysterious obsession. this man was more than a mere physical presence; he was a part of their very selves--the weaker, sensual impulses against which they had fought, but which now seemed gaining the mastery. the struggle went on in the soul of each as millar's voice fell melodiously on their ears: "the most important thing to you in life is to find your proper mate. generations of conventional treatment will try to prevent you from doing so, by pretending it is impossible. but down in your hearts, in their depths where truth is not perverted by the veneer of convention, i know and you know that it is the simplest thing on earth. here you are full of talent and longing; here is a woman, beautiful, passionate----" karl made a last struggle against the inevitable consequence of this demon's urging, drawing olga away from him. "i beg of you, don't!" he cried. "when i look at you i fear. please don't speak of it. for six years we have lived peacefully." "say what you will," the soft, even voice persisted, "i can read your eyes and they are telling me. don't believe him; he lies," he went on to olga. "he dreams of her--you--every night and you of him, and he knows it and you know it. ah, i understand the language of your eyes. no matter what you say, that little love light in your eyes discredits you, reveals your inmost thoughts, and i read them through." "let me speak," karl pleaded. "for six years we have lived quietly in peace, good friends, nothing else. olga has not the least interest in me, and i--i am quite, quite indifferent." "any one who thinks karl capable of a base thought must be base and contemptible himself," olga cried. the two were almost hysterical as they stood beside each other, warding off the evil that seemed to emanate from the mysterious person who towered over them from the pulpit-backed chair. karl held olga's right hand in his; his left hand was on her shoulder protectingly. millar spoke quickly, leaning far down toward them: "it is not a base thought; it is a beautiful thought, a thought shedding happiness, warmth and joy upon your otherwise miserable lives. but happiness, warmth and joy have a price that must be paid. he who loves wine too well will go to a drunkard's grave, but while he is drunk with wine angels sing to him. "whatever the price, his happiness is cheaply bought. the poet sings his greatest song when he is about to die, and is a poor, weak, human mortal to live without wine and song and women's lips? a little stump of a candle shines its brightest ere it goes out forever. it should teach you that one glow of warmth is worth all this life can give. life has no object but to be thrown away. it must end; let us end it well. let our raging passions set fire to everything about us, burning, burning, burning until we ourselves are reduced to ashes. those who pretend otherwise are hypocrites and liars." the two listened spellbound to this amazing sermon of sin. karl's arm slipped down to olga's waist. he felt himself drawing her closer to him. "don't be a liar," millar urged, his eyes still burning into them; "don't be a hypocrite. be a rascal, but be a pleasant rascal and the world is yours. look at me; all the world is mine, and what i have told you is the honest confession of all the world. we are baptized, not with water, but with fire. love yourself; only yourself; wear the softest garments, sip the sweetest wine, kiss the prettiest lips." no subtler tempter ever spoke to the hearts of a man and a woman. karl was leaning over olga now; he saw her eyes, her lips, soft, warm, rose-colored, he felt her arms as she clung to him, while over them both gloated the sinister figure of millar--the devil--triumphant, confident that his work was done. there was a crashing ring at the doorbell that acted like an electric shock on the group. karl and olga came to their senses, dazed, trembling, thankful. millar stepped down from the chair, baffled, and turned his back upon them. "my husband!" olga gasped. "mr. moneybags!" millar sneered contemptuously. olga and karl quickly drew apart. both were relieved. olga felt as if she had stepped back from the brink of a terrible precipice, over which she had almost fallen. her face was colorless, and there were lines of agony across her brow. the two unhappy people stood staring at each other for a full minute before heinrich entered and announced herman. it had been growing dark in the studio during the remarkable discourse by millar, but so absorbed had both his listeners been in their own tremendous emotions that they had paid no heed. now, as herman entered, his first exclamation was: "how dark it is in here. i am sorry i am late." heinrich turned on the lights, and the apartment was suddenly illuminated. karl and olga had not yet recovered their self-possession, but karl managed to indicate with a wave of his hand his strange visitor. "dr. millar," he said. millar nodded absently and barely replied to herman's cordial greeting. he was still enraged at the interruption which had prevented the success of his infamous plan. herman turned quickly to karl and olga. "well, children, where is the picture? i am anxious to see it," he exclaimed. "there is no picture," was all karl could say. olga, filled with apprehension at she knew not what, was silent. "no picture!" herman exclaimed. "what have you been doing all this time?" "it has been dark for an hour," karl explained. "yes, but olga has been here for two hours," herman said, looking at his watch. there was an instant of silence that threatened to become painfully embarrassing. olga was about to speak when millar unexpectedly stepped forward, briskly and politely. "my dear monsieur hofmann, it was my fault," he explained. "i came a moment after you left. i had not seen karl in two years. we chatted and the time flew past. it was an extremely interesting conversation and madam was so kind as to invite me to the ball this evening." "you will accept, i trust," herman said with ready hospitality. "yes, thank you," millar said. "i have come direct from odessa, where i have had a talk with the russian wheat magnate." "ah, i know; i shall lose money; the wheat crop is bad," herman said impatiently. "oh, isn't that good for us?" olga asked. "no, dear, it is not; i am short on wheat." "what does short on wheat mean?" olga asked. "it means digging a pit for others and falling into it yourself," millar remarked cynically. "however," he went on, "things are not so bad. i have reliable information that the later crop will be abundant." "good; i am delighted to learn this," herman said, very much pleased with millar, who now spoke pleasantly and ingratiatingly. karl had paid little attention to the colloquy between herman and millar. he tried to speak to olga, but could not catch her eye. she seemed to wish to avoid him. she watched her opportunity, however, and managed to whisper to millar: "i want to speak with you alone." millar brought his subtlety into instant play. turning to herman he asked: "by the way, have you seen the sketch of madam karl made yesterday? it is atrociously bad." "no; where is it? i would like to see it," herman cried eagerly. "it is in the studio," millar said. "you must show it to me, karl," herman said, walking toward the studio door with the young artist. "i am sorry you didn't start on the picture to-day, but i suppose it can't be helped. what in the world were you talking about all that time?" as they went out talking, olga followed slowly. as she passed millar he said: "i will await you here." olga went with karl and her husband. she had hardly left the room when the door from the hall opened and mimi entered. as millar turned toward her with his ironical bow she drew back, affrighted. "oh, excuse me," she murmured. "you wish to see the artist?" millar said. "yes, please." he walked over, took her by the shoulders and coolly pushed her through the door into the hall. "wait there, my dear," he said. "he is engaged just now." then he turned to meet olga, who entered suddenly, looking suspiciously around the room. "i thought i heard a woman's voice," she exclaimed. "the scrubwoman; i sent her away," millar explained. "i wanted to speak with you alone," olga began, turning toward him and speaking very earnestly, "in order to tell you----" "that is not true," millar interrupted her, cynically. "what is not true?" "what you wanted to tell me," he said with exasperating suavity. "you really want to talk with me because you regret that my sermon was interrupted by mr. moneybags." "no, no, i simply want to tell you the truth," she protested. "you may want to tell the truth--but you never do. i might believe you, if you told me you were not telling the truth." "must i think and speak as you wish?" she cried desperately. "no, not yet. what may i do for you, madam?" "please do not come to-night," she implored. millar smiled deprecatingly. she went on rapidly, speaking in a low tone that she might not be overheard by herman and karl. "i am myself again--a happy, dutiful wife. your frivolous morals hurt me. your words, your thoughts, your sinister influence that seems to force me against my will, frighten me. i must confess that i had become interested in your horrible sermon when, thank god, my good husband rang the bell and put an end to it. he came in at the proper moment." "yes, as an object-lesson," millar sneered. "i observed you closely. we three were beginning to understand one another when he came in." "won't you drop the subject?" olga asked. "are you afraid of it?" "no," she answered coldly; "but please don't come to-night." millar bowed deeply, as if granting her request, but he replied coolly: "i shall come." "and if my husband asks you not to come?" "he will ask me to come." "and if i should ask you in the presence of my husband not to come?" "i will agree to this, madam," millar said, looking at her with amusement. "if you do not ask me, in the presence of your husband, to come to-night i will not come. is that fair?" "yes, that is more than nice. it is the first really nice thing you have said," olga said, greatly relieved. she wanted to be rid of this terribly sinister influence; to be out of reach of the being who seemed to compel her thoughts to link her present with the past. she wished to feel again the sweet, wholesome purpose that had inspired her yesterday; to go ahead with her unselfish plans for karl's future. now that he had given his promise, she was eager to be away, and as karl and herman entered she suggested to her husband that it was time to go. "yes, put on your coat," herman said, turning to talk to millar, whom he found interesting. karl helped olga on with her coat, and the touch of it brought back the feeling that had surged over him when he had leaned down to kiss her a few minutes before. "now i see how unworthy is my sketch," he said softly. "do not look at me like that," olga protested. "why not?" karl asked hopelessly. "even when i don't look at you i see you just the same." olga covered her face and turned away from him. "karl, you shall not do my portrait," she said. "come, herman, let us go home," she called to her husband. herman and millar were deep in the discussion of a subject on which the stranger seemed to be amazingly well informed. the business instincts of olga's husband were uppermost, and he did not like to be drawn away, but he said: "we shall continue this talk this evening, then." "no, i regret to say that i can't come; i have made my apologies to madam hofmann. i had forgotten an engagement with the russian consul for this evening." "ah, the russian consul will be at our house. olga, dear, add your entreaties to mine. persuade monsieur millar to come." in dreadful embarrassment olga turned to the smiling, cynical mask of a face that looked at her triumphantly. she could not refuse. "i hope we may have the pleasure of seeing you this evening," she said, and turned wearily toward the door. "thank you, madam," the fiend replied. "i shall be more than delighted." karl interrupted to say that he would not reach the house that evening before o'clock. he explained that he expected an art dealer. in reality he had just recalled his promise to stop at the house of mimi. herman, suspecting his design, made some jesting allusion to it, which caused olga to ask what he meant. he evaded her question, and millar, seeing another excellent opportunity to point a moral, declared that he heard a knock. he walked over to the door, opened it, and to the amazement of the others, ushered the embarrassed little model into the room. "the art dealer," he said sarcastically. olga felt instantly consumed with jealousy. as she and her husband walked out millar said to her: "i will repay you for your invitation, madam. i shall manage to forget my overcoat, and in five minutes i shall return for it and break up the chat which you anticipate with such displeasure." olga could not deny the insinuation. she did feel jealous of the pretty model; she did wish that the girl and karl might not be left alone, and she felt almost grateful to millar for his promise. karl had ushered mimi into the studio, and then he bade his guests good-by. left alone, he threw himself face downward on the sofa, where mimi found him a few minutes later. [illustration: "the art dealer," he said sarcastically.--page . by permission of henry w. savage.] chapter vi karl paid no attention to mimi until she walked over to him and touched him on the shoulder. then he sat up impatiently. "did i not promise to call at your house?" he asked. "why did you come here?" "are you ashamed because i came while all those people were here?" mimi asked, hurt and drawing away from him. "oh, no, not at all. i promised to call, and i can't understand why you did not wait," karl answered. mimi timidly leaned down and put her arms around his neck. then she said pleadingly: "oh, karl, dear, please don't get married." "don't! you'll spoil my collar," karl exclaimed, trying to avoid her embrace. mimi began to cry softly. "before i saw these people i hardly ever thought of your marriage," she said. "but now--karl, dear, my heart aches. please don't get married." karl was touched by her grief, in spite of himself. he reached over and patted her cheek. "there, don't cry, dearie; please don't cry," he said. "it makes you homely." mimi brightened instantly, and her tears vanished, leaving her face smiling. "i am a silly little girl," she said. "yes, you are, but i like you very much," karl said, taking her in his arms. "now, mimi, suppose we talk over our marriage quietly and sensibly. you may as well stay, now that you are here. take off your hat and your jacket." he arose and was helping her off with her red woolen jacket. then he hugged her and said as he kissed her lips: "i am your best friend, after all, mimi, and you are my----" the door opened suddenly and millar entered, taking up karl's speech with: "my overcoat; it is here somewhere. your servant gave me yours." karl and mimi drew away from each other, and millar looked at them, smiling. "it's very singular," he said, "but each time i enter your studio i find a lady disrobing. you might think this was a ladies' tailoring establishment." mimi looked at karl jealously as he glared at millar. then she burst into tears and ran out of the room. karl watched her, and as she slammed the door, he turned to millar and quietly said: "thank you very much." "oh, don't mention it." "i will get your overcoat, and don't let me detain you," said karl with significant emphasis. "i broke the hanger; your man is mending it and will bring it here," millar said coolly, ignoring the marked impoliteness. karl said nothing more, and after a few minutes of silence millar resumed: "i just saw something that touched me deeply. madam hofmann clinging to her husband's arm as if she were begging him to protect her----" "protect her?" karl exclaimed angrily. "you don't mean to protect her from me?" "look here, karl, do you think you are wise to be a fool?" "i prefer not to discuss this subject," karl answered coldly. "you don't seem to understand my position. why, it is absurd; i have seen this woman every day for years; met her and her husband; we have been good friends. that's all, absolutely, and had i thought of anything else i should laugh at myself. in wealth, position, everything, she is above me." "no woman is above her own heart," millar replied cynically. "look at her. she is yours if you want her. just stretch out your hand, my boy, and you have your warmth, your happiness, your joy, unspeakable joy, the most supreme joy possible to a human being, and you are too lazy to reach out your hand. why, another man would toil night and day, risk life and limb for such a woman; yet she drops into your arms unsought--a found treasure." karl laughed bitterly. "a found treasure," he repeated. "perhaps that is why i am indifferent." millar moved over to where the young artist was seated on the couch and sat beside him. he leaned toward karl and spoke low and earnestly, keeping his big, black, glittering eyes fixed on him. "last fall, on the th of september--i shall never forget the date--i had a singular experience," he said. "i put on an old suit of clothes--one i had not worn for some time--and as i picked up the waistcoat a sovereign dropped out from one of the pockets. it had been there no one knew how long. i picked it up, saying to myself, as i turned the gold piece over in my hand, 'i wonder when you got there?' it slipped through my fingers and rolled into some dark corner. "i searched the room trying to find it, but my sovereign had gone. i became nervous. again i searched, with no result. i became angry, took up the rugs, moved the furniture about, and i called my man to help me. i grew feverish with the one thought that i must have that sovereign. suddenly a suspicion seized me. i sprang to my feet and cried to my servant, 'you thief, you have found the sovereign and put it back in your pocket.' he answered disrespectfully. i rushed at him. i saw a knife blade glimmer in his pocket and i drew a pistol--this pistol--from mine." he drew a shining revolver from his hip pocket and laid it on the table at karl's elbow. "and with this pistol i nearly killed a man for a found sovereign which i did not need," he finished quietly. karl was profoundly stirred by the story, although he could hardly tell why. "i give found money away," he said, laughing uncertainly, and adding, "for luck." "so do i," said millar quickly, "but it slipped through my fingers, and what slips through our fingers is what we want--we seek it breathlessly--that is human nature. you, too, will seek your found treasure once it slips through your fingers. and then you will find that worthless thing worth everything. you will find it sweet, dear, precious." karl turned away from him, trying not to listen to him. "kill a man for a found sovereign," he repeated. "that woman will become sweeter, dearer, more precious to you every day," the malignant one went on, his words searing karl's soul. "you will realize that she could have given you wings, that she is the warmth, the color--her glowing passion the inspiration of your work. all this you will realize when she has slipped through your fingers. you might have become a master--a giant. not by loving your art, but by loving her. oh, to be kissed by her, to look into her burning eyes and to kiss her warm, passionate mouth." karl covered his face with his hands. millar picked up the delicately scented shawl which had covered olga's bare shoulders. "this has touched her bosom," he cried, twining it around karl's head and shoulders, so that its fragrance reached his nostrils. the boy lost control of himself and caught the drapery, pressing it to his lips. "both so beautiful," millar persisted in his soft, even, melodious voice. "oh, what you could be to each other. what divine pleasure you would find." dropping the shawl, karl started to his feet. "be quiet! you are trying to drive me mad," he cried. "do you want to ruin me? for god's sake, man, be still!" "afraid again, o puritan," millar sneered. "why, boy, life is only worth living when it is thrown away." "why do you tell me that?" karl demanded. "why do you hover over me? what do you want? who sent you?" "no one; i am here." he again touched his forehead significantly and karl shuddered. "i won't do it; no, no, no! do you hear? i won't," the boy cried hysterically. "i have been her good friend for years--we have been good friends; we will remain good friends. i don't want the found sovereign." "but if it slips through your fingers," millar cried. "suppose another man runs away with her." "who?" karl demanded. "myself," millar replied coolly. "you!" "to-night! this very night!" millar cried, laughing satanically and triumphantly. "to-night i shall play with her as i please. oh, what joy! what exquisite joy! for ten thousand years no lovelier mistress." "what's that?" karl cried, taking a step toward him. "mistress, i said--mistress! she will do whatever i wish--to-night, at her home. you will see, when the lights are bright, when the air is filled with perfume--before day dawns, you will see." "stop, stop!" karl cried warningly. "be there and you will run after your lost sovereign," millar went on tauntingly. "every minute you don't know where she is she is spending with me. a carriage passes you with drawn blinds, and your heart stands still. who is in it? she and i. you see a couple turn the corner with arms lovingly interlocked. who was that? she and i--always she and i. we sit in every carriage. we go around every corner. always she and i--always clinging to each other, always lovingly. the thought maddens you. you run through the streets. a light is extinguished in some room, high up in a house. who is there? she and i. we stand at the window, arm in arm, looking down into your maddened eyes, and we hold each other closer, and we laugh at you." "stop, damn you, stop!" karl cried, beside himself and trying to shut out the terrible monotony of millar's voice. "we laugh at you, you fool," the fiend cried again hoarsely. "and her laughter grows warmer and warmer until she laughs as only a woman can laugh in the midst of delirious joy." with a maddened scream of rage karl reached the table with a bound and snatched up the revolver. but millar, with a spring as lithe and agile as a cat, was there beside him, holding the arm with which he would have shot down the man who was pouring insidious poison into his ears--into his soul. millar smiled as he looked at the helpless boy before him. karl released the revolver, and as he replaced it in his pocket, millar said quietly: "you see, karl, a man may kill a man for a lost sovereign." karl's paroxysm of rage and pain over, he threw himself into a chair and buried his face in his hands. he did not even look up as millar, his cynical glance fixed on him, walked out, closing the door softly behind him. his departure seemed to clear the atmosphere of its oppressive burden of evil, however, and karl jumped to his feet. he made a few turns up and down the studio and then changed his velvet studio jacket for a greatcoat and plunged out of doors into the storm. chapter vii a brisk walk through the snow and gathering darkness revived him and he turned back to the studio with a clearer brain. his old servant, heinrich, met him at the door. "monsieur, the gentleman has returned and is dressing," the old man said, in an awe-struck whisper. "i think he is the devil," he added vindictively. heinrich had been terrified when millar, returning to the studio in karl's absence, had taken possession, with the utmost coolness, of karl's guest-chamber and proceeded to change to the evening clothes which had been sent to him there from the tailor's. unwilling to meet the man again, karl hurried into his own room and locked the door. he did not emerge again until long after millar had completed his dressing and had left the studio. karl tried desperately to drive thoughts of olga from his mind; but the terrible flame of passion which had grown from the tiny, buried spark of boy love that lurked in his heart, under the sinister suggestion of millar, tortured him. he could hardly keep himself from rushing off to olga's house, in advance of the ball, to beg her not to proceed with her design of bringing him and elsa together; to tell her that he loved her and that in all the world there lived no other woman for him. desperately, at last, he remembered his promise to see mimi, and he hurried out and made his way afoot to the tattered little buildings in which she lived, hoping there to find forgetfulness. but, go where he would, the haunting black eyes, the cynical smile, that even, persistent voice, the insidious suggestions of millar, the devil, followed him and would not be shaken off. * * * * * in a state of mind even more desperate than that of karl, olga went home with herman. their journey was as silent as their carriage was silent. herman was absorbed in contemplation of the information millar had given him regarding business affairs in russia, in which he was heavily interested. olga was torn by conflicting emotions. the man had roused in her the dormant love for karl which she believed buried forever. she could not deny to herself now, as she had denied for six years, that she loved him. she knew now that during those six years it had been to karl, not to herman, that she had turned for sympathy, for understanding, and the knowledge maddened her. deep in her heart olga exalted duty before every other virtue, and the duty of a loyal wife before every other duty. she could feel now the crumbling away of all her principles. she had believed for six years that she had given to herman every bit of her love and loyalty, and now she was forced to the self-confession that she had lived a lie, even to herself. she loved karl. but, away from millar's influence, she resolved that she would yet battle with and overcome the terrible impulses he had aroused. she would make the artist love the beautiful, accomplished girl whom she herself had selected for his bride. she would make him happy; make them both happy, even if it meant that she must crush out her own hopes of happiness in doing so. "that is a very remarkable man, that friend of karl's," herman said after they had driven some time in silence. "yes; he is very disagreeable," olga replied. "oh, i don't think so," herman protested. "to me he seemed very agreeable. where does he come from? he seems to have been everywhere and to know everybody." "and everything," assented olga wearily. "i cannot tell you anything about him. karl met him a year ago at monte carlo." "i am glad you persuaded him to come to-night," herman said. "he is going to give me information that will be of great value to me." olga was on the point of telling herman all about the terrible sermon the stranger had preached to them; of his wicked insinuations and of her terrible dread, but she checked herself. herman seemed fatuously delighted by millar, and she could not bring herself to talk to him now. they continued the ride in silence until home was reached. chapter viii herman and olga occupied one of the finest residences in park lane. it had been built by a wealthy nobleman and completed with a princely disregard for expenditure. it stood in the center of a considerable park, surrounded by trees and gardens. preparations were already going forward for the ball when herman and olga reached home. decorators were putting the finishing touches on the magnificent ballroom. florists were banking ferns and potted plants along the stairs and halls. all was bustle and preparation. herman delightedly went forward and examined every detail of the work. olga, who ordinarily would have taken the same keen interest in the preparations, turned wearily away and went to her own room. she dined alone, under the plea of a headache, and did not again appear until the guests began to arrive in the evening. "you look very beautiful, my dear," herman said to her when she entered the drawing-room. her mood had changed. her eyes seemed unnaturally bright. she herself could not tell what had caused the change. when she reached home she had looked forward with shuddering aversion to her second meeting with millar. now she was impatient for him to arrive. she wanted to talk to him; to hear again the soft, persuasive voice, the insidious harmony of his words that seemed to frame for her the thoughts she had never dared express. she was bright, alive, witty, charming in the beauty of her fresh color, her glorious hair, her splendid figure set off charmingly in an evening gown of white satin brocade. she stood at the head of the winding stairway leading to the drawing-room when millar came. the man seemed more suggestive of malignant purpose in his evening clothes than he had been in the afternoon. immaculate in every detail of his dress, his very grooming suggested wickedness. he walked slowly up the stairs, feasting his eyes on olga as she stood with hand extended to meet him. "madam, i am charmed to greet you again," he said. "i congratulate you on the wonderful transformation, and i need not ask in what way it was effected." "it may be that i owe it to you, monsieur," olga replied gayly, her eyes frankly meeting those of millar as he looked at her with admiration he did not attempt to disguise. "i trust we are soon to have the pleasure of seeing karl again." "he will be here--later, i believe," olga answered. "meanwhile, monsieur, i am going to ask you to make yourself agreeable to some of my guests." "madam, i can only make myself disagreeable to them," he replied cynically. "it is not they whom i came to see and entertain." "but you must be entertained now," olga said. "soon i hope we may talk." "we shall talk," millar assured her, bowing. he passed on to greet herman, and was presented to others in the rapidly growing throng. wherever he went olga heard exclamations usually of surprise or dismay from her women guests, and the number that invariably gathered around him at first rapidly diminished. he seemed bent on making himself disagreeable, as he had promised. one elderly spinster to whom he was presented greeted him with an affected lisp, drooping eyes and an inane remark about the terrible cold. "yes, mademoiselle, your teeth will chatter to-night--on the dresser." to another--a portly lady who affected the airs of a girl--he said in his most silken tones: "my dear madam, i must tell you of a splendid remedy for getting thin." "i don't want to get thin," the portly one replied indignantly as she flounced away from him. olga waited impatiently for an opportunity to withdraw with millar into a secluded place, where she might listen to him while he told her the things that she did not dare tell herself. the evening had grown late, however, and karl had arrived before she could get away from her guests. karl had tried to avoid a tête-à-tête with olga, and she took the first opportunity of introducing him to elsa. she rebelled in her soul now at the thought of their marriage, but her will drove her to the fulfilment of her purpose, to that extent at least. but it was with a heart torn with jealousy that she watched karl and elsa move off together, and turned to meet millar, standing beside her with his cynical, sinister smile. elsa berg was a brilliant, vivacious girl, rarely beautiful, with lively blue eyes, chestnut hair and a tall, slender, willowy figure. the romance and excitement of her meeting with karl made her seem doubly beautiful, and she gladdened the artist in him, but he helplessly confessed to himself that she made no impression on his heart. his thoughts were with olga, and he was abstracted, almost to the point of rudeness, while elsa tried to talk with him. "who is that terribly rude person who seems to be frightening every one?" she asked. "he? oh, that is dr. millar, a friend of mine," karl replied. "pooh! i don't see why every one seems so afraid of him," elsa said with a note of challenge in her tone. "i think i shall meet him just to see if he will make me run." "no, no; don't go near him," karl begged. "and why not? has he such a sharp tongue or an evil mind? i can take care of myself." "i don't really think you ought to meet him," karl said, but he spoke without conviction. he suddenly yielded to a curiosity to see what might come of a meeting between elsa and millar. "i don't care; i'm going to hunt him up," she cried, jumping up and scampering off. millar had gone into an anteroom leading out into the beautiful gardens. a number of the company had assembled there as he entered, and it was obvious from the instant silence which ensued that he had been the subject of their discussion. this seemed to gratify his cynical humor, and he looked the assembled men and women--society puppets--over with a cynical grin. elsa was among them, and toward her millar bowed as he said: "i never knew this number of ladies could be so silent. i presume during my absence you have been discussing me kindly." the others did not speak, but elsa turned boldly to millar. "don't flatter yourself that i am afraid of you," she said. "i would say to your face what these people only dare think. indeed, i was just going to look for you." "it is just as well you are here; they might discuss you and your approaching betrothal with karl," millar said. "you--you know!" elsa cried in astonishment. the others seemed tremendously interested at the information millar had imparted, and elsa was embarrassed. she knew the design of her friend olga in bringing her and karl together, but she was not aware that it was known to any one else. millar smiled as he replied: "of course; they would throw you into his arms." while the others who overheard laughed at this sally and elsa blushed furiously, millar went close to her and said: "i must speak to you alone. i will send these people away. leave it to me." elsa drew away and there was a silence in the room. the others began to feel uncomfortable as millar looked slowly from one to the other of them. one or two essayed conversation, and his cutting, insolent replies sent them scurrying from the room. in a few moments only he and elsa remained in the apartment. from the adjoining ballroom came the strains of music and the sound of dancing and bright laughter. millar looked at elsa. "now they are gone," he said. "are you not surprised that i did not go also?" she asked. "you offended me, you know, but i stayed because i want to talk with you." "how charming," millar said with gentle sarcasm. "perhaps you know my nickname--saucy elsa?" said the girl warningly. "oh, yes." "then you should know that your chesterfieldian manners embarrass me," elsa said impatiently as millar bowed again before her. "i have selected you to deliver a most impudent message to that crowd in there, because you are so perfectly impolite." "i am entirely at your disposal, mademoiselle." "how can i be impudent, though, when you are so polite to me?" she cried petulantly. "shall we end the conversation, then?" "oh, no, not yet," elsa cried, embarrassed. then she went on with determination: "when you came in here you said i was the girl they were going to throw into karl's arms." "i did." "but you did not say that i am the girl who permits herself to be thrown into karl's arms. am i right?" "yes." "please sit down," elsa went on, recovering her self-poise, which the baffling politeness of millar had disturbed. he declined the chair with a gesture, but she insisted. "i feel much more commanding when i stand, and i want every advantage," she said. "i want to set you right, and it will be much easier when you sit down and i stand." smiling, millar sat down and looked up at her expectantly. slightly confused, she went on: "i don't want people making fun of me before my face. i know everything. do i make myself clear? you were kind enough to mention the subject, and i shall delegate to you the mission of explaining the true facts to those dummies." she grew quite vehement, and her cheeks flushed. millar looked at her admiringly as he said: "your confidence does me great honor." "as a rule i don't take these people seriously," the girl hurried on. "i have no more interest in them or their opinions than i have in last week's newspapers. but i want them all to know that they have not fooled me into marrying karl. and you all want me to marry him--you all want to throw me into his arms." "pardon me----" millar interrupted, but she went on, unheeding. "don't you think i can see through your transparent schemes? but i'll marry him just the same, if he'll have me. do you understand? i'll marry him." "i do not think you will," millar said quietly. "i tell you i am going to be karl's wife," elsa cried with emphasis. "now that you have graced me with your confidence," millar said, rising, "i feel that i may be quite frank with you. this marriage cannot take place." he pointed to the chair he had vacated and smiled. "now, you sit down, because i am going to set you right," he said. wonderingly, elsa obeyed. millar called a servant who was passing, and said: "you will find a small red leather case in my overcoat pocket. bring it here." the servant went out and he continued to elsa: "i know the reason of this marriage, but you--you don't know the reason, or----" "or what?" "or you don't want to know. hence you are about to consent." "consent to what?" elsa cried. "don't beat around the bush. this is what i am trying to avoid. i am about to consent to become the wife of a man who loves another woman. and, what is more, i intend to go on my honeymoon with a man who has another woman in his heart--who leaves with this other woman everything he should bring to his wife--love, sympathy, enthusiasm, everything. you see, you did not know me." millar was unmoved by her vehement declaration. as the servant re-entered the room and handed him a small, red leather case, he said: "i did not think this subject could excite you to such a degree." "i don't want any one laughing at me," elsa protested. "i want them all to understand that i know quite well the way i am going, and that i go that way proudly, fully conscious of it--that i know everything and yet i consent to be his wife." "why?" millar asked, opening his little satchel. "because--because--i--i love him," the girl answered, and began to sob. millar smiled wickedly as he took from the case a dainty lace handkerchief and held it toward elsa. "pardon me, i always carry this with me," he said. "it is my weeping bag. in it is everything a woman needs for weeping." elsa sobbed and dabbed at her eyes with the handkerchief, not noticing that the man was amused. "i--i love him," she declared. "and take this also," millar said, handing her a little mirror, then a powder puff and a tiny stick of rouge. elsa could not help smiling through her tears at the absurdity of it, as she dabbed and dusted her tear-stained face, looking at herself in the little mirror, until all traces of her weeping were removed. "so this is the far-famed saucy elsa," millar said as he watched her. "no, it isn't," she said rebelliously. "when i came here to-night i was a young, saucy girl. now i am a nervous old woman. what shall i do?" "whatever you do, you must not be discouraged. you must fight--attack the enemy. but first of all you must be pretty." "i shall try," elsa said dolefully. "you must show that woman your teeth. of course it is hard for a young girl to fight a woman," millar went on. "you don't possess so many weapons as a married woman who knows love already--who--may i say something improper?" "please do," she said, her sauciness returning as she held her hands before her eyes and looked at him through her fingers. "a woman who knows all about love that you have yet to learn." "i understand," she said. "but don't mind that; listen. there is not much sentiment in me, but i am a man, and i tell you, little girl, you possess the weapon that will deal the death blow to the most attractive, the most experienced woman in the world. that weapon is purity." "should i listen to all this?" elsa asked. "you should not," millar replied promptly; "but listen just the same. it may help you. and now, go dance with karl. you must conquer. but don't try to be a woman; be a girl. don't try to be saucy." "i don't care to be saucy, but it is so original," elsa said contritely. "don't try to be original," millar said earnestly. "be yourself. be modest. be ashamed of your pure white shoulders. look at karl as if you feared he is trying to steal you away from girlhood land and show you the way to woman's land. and if any one ever dares to call you saucy again, tell him you once met a gentleman to whom you wanted to give a piece of your mind and that you left him with a piece of his mind, feeling very small indeed yourself, and making him feel as if he were the biggest rascal in the world." elsa turned and went toward the other room, meeting karl at the door as millar withdrew behind a curtain of palms. chapter ix millar had played with devilish ingenuity on the tender susceptibilities of elsa. he encouraged her in her love for karl and her determination to win him, evidently with the deliberate purpose that she should repel the boy whose will he had determined to subordinate to his own. he watched as a cat watches its prey the meeting between karl and elsa after he withdrew quietly into the sheltering recess behind the palms. karl had been searching for her and stopped, barring her way into the ballroom. "so here you are at last, miss elsa," he exclaimed. "yes," elsa replied, dropping her eyes demurely. "why are you not in the ballroom?" "i wanted to be alone. if any one really wanted me he could find me." her dejection surprised karl. "you seem sad. are you worried?" "no." "then what has happened?" karl asked. he walked toward her, and as he did so millar emerged from his place of concealment. karl looked at him. "ah, now i understand," he said. "surely you do not mean to suspect that i am the cause of miss elsa's unhappiness," he said blandly. karl ignored him and turned to elsa, looking at her in frank admiration. "you are very pretty to-night," he said, going close to her. "it is because you are yourself--a sweet, pure, natural girl. i like you better this way, elsa. i could take you in my arms and hug you." "oh, karl!" elsa exclaimed, blushing and hiding her face. millar's cynical smile overspread his face, and he turned away, well satisfied with the progress he was making. "excuse me," he murmured. "i must say good-evening to our hostess," and he stole quietly out. the two young people did not notice him. they sat down very close to each other, karl leaning forward and looking into the big blue eyes of the girl. elsa gave a glance at the disappearing figure of millar. "i am awfully glad to be alone with you, elsa," karl said. "you are the one natural thing in this fetid, artificial atmosphere. don't you feel warm?" "yes, as if some hot breeze were blowing through this room. it stifles me." "you never spoke like that before," karl said. his back was toward the ballroom door and he did not see millar usher olga into the room. the man had brought olga that she might witness the fulfilment of her plan, and that he might triumph in her jealousy and further thwart them. elsa saw them come in and seat themselves across the room. "there is olga," she said, "and she, too, is jealous. don't you want to speak to her?" "i have seen her," karl replied without turning around. "i would rather talk with you. it's far more interesting." "they are talking about us," elsa said warningly, as she saw olga and millar look toward them. "oh, what of it?" karl exclaimed impatiently. "let us be glad we are together. i am just beginning to know you, elsa." "why do you look around, then?" elsa said. "am i looking around?" karl asked. "i wasn't aware of it." but even as he spoke he could not help furtively glancing around to see what millar and olga were doing. he remembered the man's declaration in the studio that afternoon and he distrusted and feared him. he was beginning to hate him. by a sheer effort of will he forced himself to turn to elsa. he resolved that he would talk to her; that he would make love to her; that he would marry her and banish from his heart those hateful emotions which millar had aroused. he leaned forward and spoke of love to the girl in low tones, while elsa, with color coming and going in her face, listened and watched the woman she knew for her rival. "our first love usually is our last love--our last love always is the first," karl said. "i don't know," elsa cried demurely. "i have never been in love, although i was disappointed twice," she added gayly. karl was beginning to find his task difficult. his attention wandered to olga. "disappointments; well, yes, who has not been disappointed?" elsa observed his growing inattention, his efforts to concentrate his thoughts on their talk, his futile love-making, and she turned from him coldly. meanwhile millar and olga were having a conversation in which olga was being torn on the rack of her jealous emotions. millar had brought her into the anteroom to show her karl making love to elsa. every circumstance favored his design. olga at first was disposed to withdraw when she saw them. "don't you think we should leave the young people together?" she said. "you are too considerate," millar replied cynically. "they seem to be growing fond of each other," olga said jealously. [illustration: "they seem to be growing fond of each other," olga said jealously.--page . by permission of henry w. savage.] "yes; do you dislike it?" "no." "shall we leave now?" "no; i rather enjoy watching my seed bear fruit." olga tried to speak lightly and smile. millar, watching her closely, saw her lips twitch, and it was with difficulty that she controlled herself. "they are an interesting couple," he said. "can't we discuss something besides these two?" olga asked impatiently. "yes, certainly," millar acquiesced. "i came here to-night to decide a wager," he went on. "what was it?" olga asked absently, looking with jealous eyes at elsa and karl. "i made a wager that you would fall in love with me to-night." olga was startled by the declaration, but she treated it lightly as one of millar's strange sayings. "with whom did you make such a wager?" she asked. "with karl," millar answered quickly. "karl--and what did he say?" olga cried, almost rising from her seat. "i must not tell you now; it might hurt you." "oh, no, it won't; please tell me now," olga pleaded, leaning over the table toward him. millar, too, leaned forward, his face almost touching her white shoulder, his hand touching hers as it rested on the table. it was thus karl saw them with one of those furtive glances, and the glist froze the pretty speech he was trying to make to elsa. the girl, seeing his look, jumped to her feet, exclaiming angrily, and so that all three heard her: "take me to the ballroom immediately. i have promised the next dance." karl also, his face white with passion, had jumped to his feet. elsa, almost in tears, stamped her foot at him. "why do you stand there? take me away. aren't you coming?" she turned and started to the door, karl following. they passed millar and olga, still seated at the table. "i thought you were in the ballroom," olga said sweetly to the girl. "oh, did you?" "i hope you are enjoying the dancing." "i hate dancing, but i shall dance every dance to-night," elsa cried passionately. she looked angrily at olga, who arose and moved toward her. karl stepped between them, giving his arm to elsa. the two walked together, leaving olga looking helplessly into the smiling face of millar. olga looked angrily at the stormy little elsa as she floundered from the room into the ballroom, followed by the enraged karl. millar smiled more cynically than ever as he saw the play of emotion on olga's face. his ruse had worked admirably. he had at least beaten down olga's will, but he had yet to make certain of karl. "how dared she speak like that?" olga demanded, turning to her cynic millar. "karl must love her." "let us not reach conclusions so hastily," millar said. "first let me tell you how karl answered me this afternoon." "when you made the wager?" olga asked quickly. "yes; when i promised to make you fall in love with me." "what did he say?" "he tried to kill me," millar answered slowly. the color rushed to olga's cheeks. her eyes sparkled as she turned them toward her tempter. it was delight she felt; mad, unreasoning joy that karl's love for her had prompted him to kill another who threatened to win her from him. still smiling, millar went on, taking the shining revolver from his pocket and showing it to her: "with his own hands, dear lady, karl tried to kill me with this little pistol. i took it away from him." "he tried to shoot you?" olga exclaimed. "yes; and he would have done so. this is nicely loaded for six." almost to herself olga whispered her next words: "this afternoon he wanted to kill you when you only spoke of making love to me, and now--he saw you whisper in my ear, hold my hand, touch my shoulders. why, he must have fallen in love with----" "don't you think it silly to shoot a friend on account of a woman?" millar interrupted, before she could pronounce elsa's name. "oh, he's fond of me--perhaps you said something about me," olga stumbled on hurriedly. "karl holds me in high regard, but, there is no doubt of it, these young people are in love." "i fear you regret the success of your matrimonial scheme for karl and elsa," millar said. "do you think it will be successful?" she asked eagerly. "i don't know, but we may find out easily enough." "how?" millar took a turn up and down the room, his up-slanting eyebrows drawn together in deep thought. "this afternoon he tried to shoot me when i told him i would make you fall in love with me," he said, stopping in front of olga. "that means love. don't speak to me of respect or regard, my dear lady. they fire off cannons in salute out of respect, but when they draw pistols, that means love. now, you think karl loves this little girl. suppose we find out who is right. we will make karl tell us himself." olga turned away with a gesture of dissent, but millar went on insinuatingly: "of course, i understand it interests you only because you planned this marriage, and after all it is only right that you should feel a certain amount of pride in the success of your plans. is it not so?" "yes, that is true." "very well, then; karl shall tell us which was real--his attempt to murder me or this little affair with elsa." "but how--you don't mean to ask karl?" olga asked in bewilderment. "you are not going to listen at key-holes?" "oh, madam, no." "then how can we make him tell us?" "it is simple; i have a plan. but you must follow my instructions to the letter. don't ask for any reasons; simply do as i say." olga looked at him reflectively. she knew instinctively that he had some new bit of devilish ingenuity, some sinister twist of that marvelous brain, and she was afraid. but she wanted more than anything else to be assured that karl did not love elsa; that her scheme for their marriage had failed, and she replied: "very well, it is agreed." "i saw you once at the opera with a very beautiful cloak that covered you completely from your neck to your shoe tips. have you such a cloak now?" "yes." "good. put this cloak on. let only your bare neck show above it and the tips of your shoes beneath. button it from top to bottom, as if you felt cold. then we shall need but the presence of yourself and karl, here in this room, to solve the problem." [illustration: "let only your bare neck show above your cloak, and the tips of your shoes beneath it."--page . by permission of henry w. savage.] olga looked at millar a moment in silence. there flashed instantly through her mind the full meaning of his daring suggestion, and at first she was on the point of indignant refusal. then she as quickly resolved to carry out the scheme; to beat the man at his own cunning game; to find out for herself what karl really felt. "unconditionally obey me and we shall know everything," millar assured her, observing her hesitation. "this is very mysterious," olga said slowly. "what strange influence do you possess that compels me to obey your will? your eyes seem to have all the wisdom of the world behind them." "you do my eyes poor, scant justice," millar replied. "now go, dear madam. if any one expresses astonishment that you wear a cloak indoors, simply say that you felt cold." "it really is cold," olga said with a little shiver as they turned away. "out this way," millar said quickly, pointing to the palms and a door beyond them. "karl is coming." olga gathered her skirts up and hurried from the room just as karl entered. the young artist caught a glimpse of her dress as she disappeared behind the palms. he looked at millar with jealous rage making his eyes glow. "who was that?" he demanded. "who?" millar asked, blandly. "did olga run away from me?" "no one ran from you that i know of, karl. that is a pretty girl, my young friend, that little elsa." "yes, she is pretty," karl replied absently, sitting down at a table. he was still tortured by the sight of millar leaning over olga, touching her hands, whispering in her ear. he was tormented by the insinuating words the man had uttered in the afternoon when he swore that olga should love him; should be his. he would have liked to take millar's throat in his two hands and throttle him. keenly aware of the inferno he had raised in karl, millar continued to chat affably, karl not deigning to answer. finally millar said: "you seem annoyed." karl lost control of himself and leaped to his feet. he went close to millar, staring into his eyes. "i am annoyed. do you want to know why?" he demanded, putting all the insolence he could command into his tone. "no," millar replied with a smile. "i want to tell you why," karl declared. "please don't," millar said deprecatingly. "yes, i will," karl went on belligerently. "i am amazed at the change which has come over you since this afternoon. don't imagine that it is on account of olga--we won't discuss her at all." "certainly not; she is out of the question," millar assented warmly. "absolutely," karl went on. "i came here this evening determined to ask elsa to marry me." "fine! i am very glad to hear it. i wish you good luck, my boy!" millar cried with enthusiasm. "you are glad?" "delighted," millar assured him. "it does not take you long to change your mind," karl continued, still with a truculent air. "this afternoon you insisted i should not marry elsa. to-night you are delighted at the prospect." "oh, yes; i see the matter now in a different light." "then it was olga who ran away as i entered!" karl almost shouted, glaring at him menacingly. "ran away? why should she run away?" millar asked, pretending embarrassment. "don't act like a cad!" karl cried threateningly. "what do you mean, karl?" "i mean exactly what i say. don't act like a cad. if you were a gentleman you would hide your pleasure." millar pretended to be shocked at the indignation of the young artist, which secretly delighted him. "don't talk that way, karl," he urged. "as you seem to have penetrated my secret, i suppose i might as well--but have you made up your mind to marry elsa?" "absolutely." "and you will not change your mind--you promise?" "i will not change my mind." "well, of course, if that is the case, i can tell you. i----" he hesitated as if embarrassed at his own question. karl cried roughly: "and did you succeed?" "well, i----" "what of her husband?" "ah, karl, he is deaf, dumb and blind," millar cried gleefully. stifled with the pain at his heart, karl turned away. "this afternoon, at my house, you met her for the first time," he said. "ah, karl, she is a clever woman; cleverer than i thought," millar said, affecting tremendous enthusiasm. "she deceived me this afternoon about her true character; she has been deceiving all of you. i am sure of it. oh, she is grand, fantastic, passionate, daring. think of it, karl," he went on, going close to the boy and leaning over him, bringing out his words so that every one seemed to penetrate his heart; "think of it, to-night a kiss behind a door in front of which her husband was standing. danger fascinates her. and just now, a moment before you came, we agreed----" "so it was she?" karl interrupted. "oh, yes, it was she," millar admitted. "i suggested a wild plan, karl; almost too daring for the first day of our acquaintance. her honor, position, everything depend upon its success. of course i did not dream she would carry it out. i suggested it merely to sound the depths of her passion. but she loved the idea and insisted upon doing it this very night. if it fails we are lost." karl trembled with apprehension for olga, whom he believed in the devilish power of this man. "what is it?" he asked. "she will be here in one minute, dressed in an opera cloak--and nothing else. think of it, karl; the daring of it. she will walk through the ballroom on my arm, among all those people, her friends, her husband, with no one in the secret but we two--and you. ah, karl, i told you she would be mine," millar concluded with rapturous accents. with a wild cry karl sprang at millar, hurling one word at him: "liar!" "karl, be careful," millar protested, avoiding him. "it's a lie; a damnable, dirty lie!" karl cried, trying blindly to reach him, to grasp his throat to throttle him. millar deftly avoided him and laughed triumphantly. "i have trapped you who tried to trap me," he cried. "you love olga hofmann." "yes, i love her," karl cried loudly. "i love her, and yet i will marry elsa. now, i have listened to your infernal lies; i have watched you gloat over them. men like you steal a woman's reputation and boast of it and call it a success. but you shall pay for it, now, this minute, when i kick you out of the house. out with you, like a sneak-thief that you are!" he advanced determinedly on millar, who quietly faced him. "remember, karl, that i have the pistol now," he said coolly. "out with you, you sneak-thief; i am not afraid of you," karl cried again. he was about to seize millar by the throat, when he started back in amazement at what seemed to be the fulfilment of the other's sinister promise. olga stepped through the door into the room. she was clothed from head to foot in a beautiful, shimmering, fur-trimmed cloak. above the top button gleamed her bare throat. her white arms projected from the short sleeves. the hem of the skirt fell to the tips of her white satin shoes. as olga entered she gave one glance at karl and then moved away from him, and stood beside the table at which she and millar had been seated. she saw the wild rage stamped on his face, and her woman's intuition made her know that millar had told him what she had divined he meant. the situation frightened her, and she felt on the point of fleeing from the room or casting aside the cloak; but she resolved to see the game through. karl stared at her, rage giving place to amazement, then to despair. for full a minute no one spoke. the music floated in softly from the ballroom, mingled with the hum of voices and laughter. olga was the first to break the stillness, but she did not look at him as she spoke. "karl, this is the first time i have had a chance to talk with you to-night," she said. "what is that?" karl absently asked. he had not heard; his mind was confused, bewildered. millar, cynically misunderstanding his question, said quickly: "why, that is an opera cloak." olga turned quickly, fearful that the remark might cause an eruption which she could not control. she cried impulsively, seeking to divert the threatening train of conversation: "the ball is a great success. every one is merry; every one dances as if it were the first affair of the season. the girls are all as happy as young widows who have just taken off mourning." "i have observed it," millar agreed with enthusiasm. "it is splendid. but why is karl so sad amid all this merry-making?" he added. "why are you sad, karl?" olga asked, turning to him. "i sad? you are silly," karl cried with forced gayety. "i never felt happier in all my life." there was a touch of hysteria in his voice that made olga's heart go out to him. "i am glad you are having such a good time," she said. "yes, yes; i feel like a schoolboy," karl cried wildly; "like a young tiger. i'm mad with joy. i will get drunk to-night. i will drink, drink drink until the angels in heaven sing to me--as you said this afternoon," he added, turning to millar. "no, no, karl," olga pleaded, thoroughly frightened. "why, you never drank. why should you drink to-night?" "because i am doing things to-night i never did before," karl replied bitterly. "i have never been engaged before; to-night i shall be engaged." "good! fine, karl," millar exclaimed. "she is a splendid girl." "splendid girl! what do i care what sort of a girl she is? it's not the girl; it's marriage--something new. i want to see what it is like." "for a bridegroom you are not very gay," millar said tauntingly. "gay! why should i be gay? i am drinking the last bitter drops of my bachelor days--but i'll swallow them, and then--purity." "bravo, karl!" olga said. "oh, i don't care what any one else thinks about it," karl sneered at her. "i am doing this to please myself." olga was hurt and surprised at his tone. she had never seen him so completely beside himself before; she had never heard him speak so bitterly, so vindictively. as she watched him he looked at her, and a spasm of pain contorted his face. he pointed his finger at her accusingly, and cried: "why are you wearing that cloak in the house?" "madam hofmann may be cold," millar suggested quietly. "yes, yes; i am cold," olga said hurriedly, drawing the cloak around her more closely. "you are fortunate to have such a beautiful cloak," millar said, determined now to keep them at the main point of his game. "suppose we do not talk about the cloak," olga said. "you and elsa seemed to get on nicely to-night, karl." "yes," he replied absently. "really, it was charming to watch such devoted young people," millar said. karl flashed a look of hatred at him and turned again to olga. "that cloak is lined with fur, isn't it?" before she could reply millar had interrupted in his silken, insinuating voice: "yes, soft, smooth fur." "i did not speak to you," karl cried at him savagely. "well?" he demanded of olga. "soft, smooth fur," olga replied. "it is cold in here." "nonsense; it is hot. i feel stifling," karl declared. "i feel chilly," olga insisted. "perhaps madam is not dressed warmly enough," millar insinuated. "you should wear plenty of clothes in the winter time, or you may run the chance of taking cold." olga caught her breath and then she answered: "i love to take chances." "you do, eh?" karl cried. "yes; what is it to you?" she asked tauntingly. karl threw his self-control to the winds. with flaming face and a voice that shook with anger, he cried: "aren't you two afraid of me?" olga was afraid and she looked at him apprehensively. millar smiled his cynical, sinister smile and answered: "afraid? i'm not afraid of the husband. why should i be afraid of a moralizing, joyless bridegroom?" karl took a step toward him, when herman entered the room. all three were silent and herman looked at them in surprise. "what is this--a conspiracy?" he asked gayly. "oh, no, merely a conversation," millar said. "well, karl, how are you getting along with elsa?" herman asked, taking the boy by the arm and walking off with him. olga watched them as they disappeared, going into the ballroom, karl evidently reluctant to be taken away. then she turned to millar. "what did you tell him about my cloak?" "about the cloak? nothing." "you did not tell him----" "what?" "he stared at me as if he thought--thought i had on only this cloak." "that is exactly what i told him," millar assured her. "oh, how could you?" "now don't be shocked," millar said cynically. "you knew it. the moment you entered the room you realized that i had told him. and what is more you liked it." "how dare you!" olga gasped, "if i had understood----" "if you had understood, would you have taken off the cloak?" "yes." "well, now you understand, why do you not take it off?" olga raised her head and looked straight into millar's eyes. she said not a word, but drew her cloak more closely about her with a movement that sent a thrill of suspicion and surprise through him. "madam, you didn't really?" he cried in amazement. "do you think i am a child?" she asked. "do you imagine that i did not understand your suggestion from the very first? you wanted me to fool karl. perhaps i have fooled you. how do you know i am not nude beneath this cloak?" "madam!" millar cried in wide-eyed amazement. "now let us see if you will take a chance," olga said. "give me your arm, my dear doctor, and we will walk together through the ballroom." millar was at a loss for a moment. his imperturbable calm was broken. olga had matched her woman's intuition against his cunning and had won. but his bewilderment gave way to undisguised admiration, and, bowing as gallantly as a youthful sweetheart, he gave her his arm. as they were about to leave, however, karl suddenly barred their way, coming hurriedly in from the ballroom. "are you coming in with us, karl?" olga asked, as they paused. "no," karl almost shouted; "and you are not going--you stay here." "what do you mean?" "i mean what i said. you stay here. and you, too," he added to millar. he turned and closed the ballroom door. then he faced them again. "we will settle this thing right here. take off that cloak." "i will not." "by heavens, i'll tear it off," he cried furiously, rushing at her. olga stood unmoved. millar caught karl by the arm and stopped him. "why did you stop him?" olga asked, smiling. she was perfectly self-possessed now and in command of the situation. millar was frankly afraid that she had taken his meaning literally. karl was mad with rage and jealousy. olga was unruffled. "madam, i was afraid," millar said. "you will take it off," karl cried, still held back by millar. "if you do not, i'll find your husband and he shall have the pleasure." olga turned to him sweetly. "karl, will you help me off with my cloak?" she asked. karl almost leaped toward her, but when his hands nearly touched her cloak he drew back, afraid. slowly he backed away from her, while she smiled. "dr. millar, will you help me remove my cloak?" she asked sweetly. millar put out his hands as if to do so, but quickly folded them over his breast, bowed very low and smiled, cynically shaking his head. olga looked first at one and then the other with her tantalizing smile. the three might have been carved of stone, so still were they when herman entered. "hello, karl; i lost you when i went to find elsa," he said. "what are you talking about?" "i think we have been discussing cloaks," millar said. "oh, i see olga is wearing one. isn't it rather warm for that, dear?" "yes, it is, but i felt chilly a while ago," olga answered. "will you help me off with it, herman?" herman stepped to her side as she loosened the clasps, and lifted the beautiful fur-lined garment from her shoulders. she stood before them again in the beauty of her shimmering evening gown, her white arms and shoulders gleaming, her lips parted in a dazzling smile. karl did not speak. he half involuntarily made a step toward olga, and she, fearing what he might say, cried lightly: "now, i have devoted too much time to you two. my guests are departing. i must go. come, herman." chapter x herman took his wife's arm, and together they returned to the ballroom. karl watched them disappear and turned on millar as if to attack him. there was such menace in his manner, the frenzied appearance of his face, that millar put his hand behind him quickly and half drew his revolver. before either spoke, however, elsa entered from the ballroom. she was in her cloak, ready to leave, and said, holding out her hand to karl: "i wanted to say good-by." her voice seemed to awaken karl as from a bad dream. he took her hand eagerly, stepped forward impulsively as if he would take her in his arms and kiss her, but millar interposed himself between them, and a servant entered at the same moment. checked in his advance, karl said: "i shall take you to your carriage." the servant announced that elsa's aunt awaited her. she took karl's arm, and millar directed the servant to follow them. "the sidewalk is very slippery," he said. "take miss elsa's other arm." he was determined not to give the beautiful girl a chance alone with karl. in the young artist's present excited state almost anything might occur to wreck his plans. as the two went out, followed by the servant, olga came in excitedly. she looked around to see that millar was alone and said: "your plan worked splendidly." "what are you going to do now?" asked millar anxiously, as olga sat at a table and took out writing materials. "i am going to write to him," she answered, addressing an envelope. "but what will you say?" "i shall tell him," olga said wearily, with her hands clasped to her forehead, "never to speak to me again. i never want to see him. he must leave town immediately. to think he believed me capable of----" "of what?" "ah, it is all over," olga cried, ignoring him. "i never want to see him again, because----" "because you love him?" "oh, no. after what has happened i hate him." "i am very sorry, madam," millar said contritely. "you need not be," olga assured him. "i am glad it happened. with all your cynicism you are clever and you have done me a great service. when i know that this letter is in his hands again i shall be perfectly happy," she went on, dipping her pen in the ink-well. "you say i have helped you; let me render you one more service," millar urged. "what can that be?" olga asked. "i have begun this; let me finish it. let me dictate this letter. you are excited. you cannot think of things to say. it must be firm, strong." [illustration: "i have begun this, let me finish it. let me dictate this letter."--page . by permission of henry w. savage.] "yes, firm, strong," olga acquiesced. "undoubtedly," millar went on. "let me tell you what to say." wearily olga yielded to his spell. she seemed under hypnotic influence as she replied: "very well, i shall write whatever you tell me to say." millar stood behind her chair, hovering over her like an evil spirit. his singular, expressive hands twitched. "good. i shall try to express your thoughts," he said. "cold, formal?" "yes, it must be so," olga said. "it is finished forever?" "forever." "then write," he ordered. she settled herself to her task. leaning over her, millar suggested a sinister hypnotist bending a helpless victim to his will. he dictated, while olga wrote: "i have found out what i dreaded to learn--that you love me. your behavior to-night convinced me. i could not place any other interpretation on it, and my own heart answered, i cannot, dare not, see you again. god knows i want to; i long for the happiness that i might find with you, but i must not. only the certainty that i am not to see you impels me to this confession. good-by forever." when this was finished olga dropped her pen and stared at the letter. before she could do anything, millar had taken the sheet of paper, blotted it, folded it and placed it within the envelope, which he deposited in his pocket. "what have i written?" olga cried, bewildered. "the last letter," millar replied, with a smile of triumph. "i will deliver it to karl," he said. olga passed her hands wearily over her eyes, and struggled to clear her mind of the strange, intricate network of intrigue, insinuation and suggestion which millar had woven there. she thought she was rid of his sinister influence until her fingers wrote, in obedience to his will, the letter which she would have given anything to have left unwritten. when she looked up, millar was putting the letter in his pocket, and his face wore the evil, cynical smile. "i wrote it, yet i am ashamed of what i have written," she faltered, speaking with difficulty. "i tried to resist--yes, i did--but my hands, my pen, followed your words. you are a very strange man." "i will deliver the letter to karl," millar repeated slowly. "you know i did not mean it; you know i did not want to write it," olga said. "a woman does not always write what she wants," millar said lightly, "but she always wants what she writes." "the letter was not for him; it was for me," olga insisted. she arose and her hand was extended imploringly, begging millar to return the missive to her, when herman entered. the house had grown still. the music was hushed, the guests were gone. only millar, spirit of evil, incarnation of the devil, remained. "this is good of you, to stay behind and entertain the hostess," herman said cordially. "madam hofmann's conversation has been so entertaining that i quite forgot the time," millar said, looking at his watch. "by jove! it is late; i must go immediately." "won't you have some cognac before you go out? the night is cold," herman urged. "no, i thank you; i have an important engagement in the morning, and it is now too late. madam, i must bid you good-night. i have really spent a very pleasant evening." millar started toward the door. olga uttered a half-suppressed cry, and he turned inquiringly. "i left a letter lying here on the table; did you, perhaps, pick it up?" she asked nervously. she was almost weeping and spoke in a half-hysterical tone. millar, without changing countenance, drew the letter from his pocket. "perhaps this is it," he said, holding it up. "if it is of interest to your husband----" he made a movement as if to hand it to herman. fear clutched at olga's heart and she cried quickly: "no, no, it was not that; it was nothing." she forced herself to laugh. millar bowed with impressive politeness and left the room. herman bowed the strange guest out, and then noticed for the first time olga's weariness and distress. "you look tired, dear," he said tenderly. "it has been a long evening." "yes, i am tired," she said sadly. her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright. as she stood leaning against the table herman thought her prettier than he had ever seen her before. he went up to her, took her hands in his and kissed her. "you seem excited, too," he said. "it makes you prettier, and i like it, my dear, sweet, darling wife." olga shrank from his caress so obviously that herman was hurt. she withdrew her hands. "please don't," she said. "i am awfully nervous." "your cheeks are burning, dear," he said, touching them. "don't, herman; i wish to be alone for a few minutes; to rest all alone. please leave me here." "very well, it shall be as you wish," herman replied, adding as he left the room: "but it would be better if you went to sleep." a servant entered, and olga signed to him to extinguish the lights. in a few moments she was alone, in semi-darkness, the room being partially lighted by the reflected light from the garden lamps. as she sat there, the tall, sinister figure of millar, in his fur overcoat and his top hat, passed the window. "it would be better if i went to sleep," olga repeated to herself slowly. just then the shadow of millar, as he passed in front of one of the garden lamps, was thrown against the white wall of the room, and she could hear distinctly his cynical chuckle. with a cry of horror she raised herself to her full height, put out her hands to ward off the evil spell, and shrieked: "no! no! no!" then she sank fainting on the floor. for a moment the shadow lingered above her, and faded. when karl left the home of herman and olga to conduct elsa and her aunt to their carriage he did not return. he was deeply ashamed of the suspicion he had entertained, and humiliated at the trick played upon his overheated imagination by millar. he could not bear to face olga or his tormentor. sending the servant back for his overcoat and hat, he plunged along through the snow, walking briskly. old heinrich had gone to bed when he reached the studio. there remained but a few hours of the night, but karl could not bring himself to sleep. he paced restlessly up and down the studio, his mind tortured by the thoughts so skilfully implanted there by millar. he was not surprised when the door bell rang and it was millar whom he admitted. his strange visitor shook the snow from his great fur coat and laid it aside. then he walked over to the grate where the fire burned cheerfully and stood in front of it, rubbing his hands as he held them out to the blaze. karl resumed his restless march up and down the room. millar watched him cynically for a few moments. "you seem nervous this morning, karl," he said. "i am nervous; i'm crazy," karl answered. "you ought to be very happy," millar insinuated. "ought to be happy! i ought to be miserable--as i am, but it is all through your evil machinations. you have made me reveal all that is evil in me to the woman----" "to the woman you love?" "yes, to the woman i love and have no right to love; to the woman whose honor i have held sacred for six years; to the woman i must never see again." "you will see her again," millar asserted quietly. "how base she must think me," karl went on wildly. "i did not know myself; i did not dream that i could be so rotten." "you will see her again," millar repeated. "she will come to you of her own free will here, in this very studio, to-day, and she will tell you with her lips on yours that she loves you." "stop! i won't listen to your infernal insinuations. you have ruined my happiness; you shall not ruin hers. i want you to keep out of her way. do you understand? i give you fair warning." "my dear karl, you don't know what you are saying. i shall not mar her happiness or yours." "why did you play that evil trick on me to-night?" "why, you dull, young artist? because i wanted to show her that you loved her; that you cared not two straws for that little slip of a girl to whom you were trying to play devoted. because i wanted to show her that her great love is not wasted on an empty-pated ass." "her love!" "of course. her love. she loves you, and has loved you for six years, and you were blind and did not know it." "it is not true. it must not be so. she is a true, loyal wife to my friend." "bah! do you want her to be loyal to that big boor of a husband when she loves you?" "i refuse to listen to you any further. now, let me tell you this. i am going away. i shall not see olga again. i shall close my studio and return to paris. and i wish not to see you again. do you understand? i am going to bed now. when i awake i want you to be gone. don't let me find you here." "you are not hospitable, my dear young friend," millar said, smiling and bowing. he seemed genuinely amused at the passionate outburst of the young artist. "i believe you are the devil!" karl cried. "and you don't find the devil a pleasing personage to look upon, except when he is decked out by poets in the disguise of cupid," millar sneered. karl abruptly left the room, going into his own room and locking the door. he threw himself upon the bed and tried to sleep, but for hours he lay awake, haunted by the sinister shadow of his temptation. left alone, millar sank comfortably back in the big, gothic arm-chair before the fire. the red glow of the flames seemed to absorb him. he was merged in the shadows--light and shadow, as they played around the big chair, from whence there came his devilish chuckle. * * * * * olga's maid, alarmed at the prolonged absence of her mistress, found her moaning on the floor, where she had fallen in a swoon after millar's departure. the maid helped her mistress to her room and to bed. "as soon as it is daylight go to monsieur karl's studio and find out at what time he will arise. let no one else know that you go there. and awaken me as soon as it is possible for me to see him." "yes, madam." olga meant to get to karl to intercept the letter which millar had tricked her into writing. she meant to tell him to go away; to end everything between them. but, although she did not know it, she was blindly obeying the evil will of millar. broad, glaring daylight had come when heinrich entered the reception-room of the studio. he divined no presence. there were no conflicting passions in his old heart. he pottered about, humming an old song to himself, dusting the vases and paintings, stirring the slumbering fire, until the door bell rang. he admitted to the anteroom a beautiful young woman whom he had never seen before. when he returned to the reception-room to ruminate on the situation he was confronted by the figure of millar--the figure of the devil. "i--i beg your pardon; i did not know you were here," he said. "i am here," millar responded cheerfully. "who rang?" "a lady, sir." "a real lady?" "oh, yes, sir." "that's odd. what does she want?" "she wants to see my master, sir, mr. karl." heinrich hurried out and ushered in elsa. the poor little girl had lost her bravado of the night before. she was ready to humble herself. she was stricken with the terrible malady. she was in love; she acknowledged it to herself, and she knew that the man she loved had his heart elsewhere. but she had resolved to make a fight--to win him if she could, and she had taken this desperate move. she was startled, though, when she was ushered into the reception-room and saw millar there, his hands on his breast, bowing profoundly. "you seem to be everywhere," she exclaimed. "what are you doing here? are you karl's secretary?" millar was transformed back into his frock coat, his immaculate trousers, his wine-colored waistcoat. he was again the polished, suave, affable gentleman of the afternoon, with ingratiating manner, cynical smile and insinuating words. "no, i am not karl's servant; only his friend," he said. "how are you feeling to-day?" "oh, very well, thank you. i did not know there was any one in here or i should have waited outside. but as it is only you i do not mind." she resented the presence of this man in the place, and she took a seat, turning her back to him. millar, not in the least disturbed, said: "karl got in very late this morning." "i assume that he did; it was very late when the ball ended." "still, i think he would be very much pleased to know that you are here. will you permit me to acquaint him of the pleasure that awaits him?" "thank you, no; i will wait for him here. this is an interesting room. i have never been here before." "i know that," millar said. "how do you know it?" elsa demanded with spirit. "oh, heinrich told me. a lady may come here secretly every day, but when she comes the first time it cannot be secret, even to heinrich." "i wish i had not come alone," elsa declared. "i know that also," said the imperturbable millar. "how do you know that?" "oh, heinrich told me there was a real lady waiting." "i am glad at least that heinrich recognized me as such," elsa declared indignantly. "he is the only one who has spoken to me as if he realized that." "then he must have thought you the other kind," millar said cynically. "heinrich made a mistake." "i think heinrich is the better judge," elsa said. "an excellent judge, i grant you," millar said, laughing. "he is the one man who should have brought you here. you know only two men have the right to open the door of a bachelor apartment to a young lady. they are his valet and the clergyman. you may choose which of the two you would prefer." elsa turned on him with eyes that flashed indignation. "i was once left alone with a man who kissed me, and i insulted him," she said. "i was once alone with a lady who insulted me and i kissed her," the cynical person replied. "you are horrible!" elsa exclaimed. millar saw her distress and rang the bell. when heinrich entered he said: "get a little red leather pocketbook out of my overcoat." "oh, you need not fear; i shall not cry this morning," elsa said. "i am not apprehensive, but i thought you were laughing," millar said. "when girls laugh i fear they are going to cry. why did you come here?" "i want to have my portrait painted, and i shall come every day," elsa replied. "you mean you want to come every day, and therefore you will have to have your portrait painted," said the cynic. "you are an expert word juggler," said elsa. "do you know that another lady comes here to have her portrait painted?" "yes; that is why i am coming," elsa declared boldly. "i want to see whose portrait will be better." "that is a bold challenge, my little girl; you were not so brave yesterday." "yesterday i was undecided. to-day i have made up my mind to fight. you gave me good advice." "i have some more advice to give you to-day; we did not finish last night." "what is it?" "it is this. do not fight. you were not made to fight." "why not? i am courageous." "yes, you are courageous, but you are not strong. don't fight, because you will batter yourself against an impenetrable wall and suffer defeat. do you know where karl's heart is?" "no." "then let me tell you. he loves olga. he cannot love any one else. he has no room in his heart for any other image. do not make sorrow for yourself, my child. forget. go away. karl is the man for another woman." elsa was courageous. she had set aside her conventional training and ideas when she came to the studio to see karl--to fight for him. now she resolved that millar should not defeat her again. she looked at him squarely and said: "in spite of all that you tell me, i shall not give up." in spite of her resolve to fight she was on the verge of tears. she sat at a table, shrinking from the sinister figure before her. millar inspired her with a nameless terror, and it was almost against her will that she listened. "let me tell you what you must do," he said, sitting down in front of her. "do you know what you should do?" "i don't like to have you sit in judgment on me this way," she protested. "you question me as if you were a judge." "no, it is not that, but you answer as if you were a prisoner. now, little elsa, stand up and listen. you know that karl is in love with olga." "yes, i know it; it is the only thing i do know." "then you should give karl up." "i can't give him up." "you must learn." "how? from whom shall i learn?" "let me see; i think i have here the very person," millar said. he walked over and opened the hall door. "mimi, come in here and wait; it is warmer," he called. chapter xi to the amazement of elsa, the shrinking little model came in, hesitating on the threshold. she wore a red woolen jersey over her bodice that fitted her tightly and made her look very slight and shivering. she looked with wide-open eyes at the beautiful girl and dropped a courtesy as she sat in the seat millar drew out for her. elsa nodded at her in silence, and millar, after watching them a few seconds with a smile of amusement, walked out of the room, whistling softly. mimi was the first to break the silence, squirming under elsa's direct scrutiny. "madam is waiting for the artist?" "yes," elsa replied shortly. "so am i," mimi said, adding, with engaging frankness: "he went on a spree last night. when he does that he always sleeps late." elsa was embarrassed, and there was another interval of silence. then mimi said: "is madam to have her portrait painted?" "yes." "i know all those who come here to be painted," mimi went on. "this is quite like home to me. i am his model. i don't have to pay for my portraits. madam has a splendid profile." "please do not call me madam," elsa said impatiently. "i am miss, like yourself." "i beg your pardon," mimi said. "i am not madam, either. my name is mimi." "my name is elsa." "oh, i know; i have heard of you. you are very rich as well as very beautiful. i know what it means to be rich. once our family was well off, and i did not have to work as a model." "i am sorry you have been unfortunate," elsa said. "but i have heard much of you," the girl went on. she was now tremendously interested in this beautiful woman whose coming, she believed, meant that she would no longer be karl's model. "you see, i know all the things that go on here; i look out for the artist's laundry and sew his buttons on; and i almost know his thoughts." "and do they interest you?" "oh, yes; but it will not be so any more." "why not?" "because he is to be married; because you have come and he will not need me." "why not? he will still paint. he must have models." "yes, but it will not be the same, and i will not come any more." "do you like monsieur karl?" "very much." "does he paint you now?" "ah, no; nothing but landscapes." "then you did not come as a model to-day?" elsa asked. "i come always as a model. if the artist does not treat me as such it is not my fault." she noticed that elsa looked offended, and went on hurriedly, apologetically: "please, if i offend you i will be quiet. but you seem to be so nice. if i were you and you were the model i should not be angry with you." elsa was touched by the pathos in mimi's eyes. "pardon me; i am very, very sorry if i have hurt you," she cried impulsively. "let us be friends." "yes, let's," mimi cried. "you can talk to me about everything. i am not a bad sort, but i have known him for a long while. i was crying when i went away yesterday and he felt sorry for me. he came to the house on his way to the ball last night in his evening clothes, but i would not see him. it must be finished." "was he fond of you?" "i liked him very much," mimi replied simply. "and now?" "ah, now it is different. if a man wants to have another sweetheart, what can we do? it is like the railway. the train comes in and goes and the little station must wait until another train comes." "and you are going to wait for another train? you were fond of him and can speak like that?" "i was fond of him," mimi said. "but i am not silly enough to believe it will last just because i wanted it to last. i knew when it started that i should have to give him up some day. i have learned that. i shall forget him--and hope that he and you will be happy." mimi's tears came unrestrainedly now, and as she looked for her handkerchief elsa picked up millar's weeping satchel, where he had left it on the table, and gave it to the model. mimi dabbed vigorously at her streaming eyes. "i am glad that i met you here," she said when she could control her voice. "i shall be clever to-day and not see him at all. i will go away now and never come back. what time is it?" "it is o'clock," elsa said, looking at her watch. "then i must go. another artist in the next block expects me to pose for him, and his laundress comes at . he is very clever." she stood up and looked around the room at the things on the walls--her own pictures--the place that seemed like home to her. she sobbed as she started toward the door. "good-by, miss," she said. elsa looked after her as she went out. then she looked around the room and was seized with panic. "mimi! mimi!" she called out. the model did not return. elsa seized her hat and fled, just as millar entered from the adjoining room. his chuckle of satanic amusement reached her as she hurried from the house. chapter xii millar's sardonic face was wreathed in smiles as he looked after the two young girls, each of whom carried from his hateful presence a bruised heart. with mimi it was the fate of a child of the underworld--something to which she was pathetically resigned. with her there was no struggle. she knew that when she ceased to charm she must go her way and find another man; a master rather than a sweetheart. elsa could not have told herself what fear made her fly from the studio after mimi, but she feared that she was also doomed to give up the hope of her heart. it was her first cruel disappointment, but mimi had made her see that she was beaten, and, in spite of her earlier resolution to fight, she saw that fighting would bring only unhappiness. she hurried to her waiting carriage and was driven home, where she locked herself in her room to weep alone. and millar, the sinister being, ever at hand with his insidiously evil suggestions, chuckled as he watched them go. he threw himself into a chair and rang the bell for heinrich. the old servant entered rebelliously, but, trained to habits of obedience, he could not give expression to his feeling of hatred and distrust of his master's strange visitor. as for millar, he even seemed to find something amusing in the old man's obvious aversion. "bring me tea and brandy," he ordered peremptorily. "yes, sir." "is your master up?" "yes, sir." "has any one seen him this morning?" "no, sir. madam hofmann's maid was here three times." "what for?" millar demanded quickly. "she wished to know when madam hofmann might see mr. karl. i told her i had strict orders not to call him before o'clock." millar looked at his watch and saw that it was a few minutes after o'clock. "humph! we shall have another visitor shortly," he muttered. "i think i begin to see the completion of my work. it shall be this afternoon. get my tea," he added to heinrich, "and serve it in the studio." the old man went out. millar paced slowly up and down the floor, looking at his watch, until he heard the door bell ring. "the beautiful olga," he said, stepping softly from the reception-room into the studio and leaving the way clear for olga. she was admitted by heinrich. she hurried into the room, looked wildly about her and sank into a seat. for a moment she could not speak. all night and all day, since millar's shadow hovered above her fainting form in her own home, she had been torn by the emotions raised by the letter. it was a confession she had never meant to make. she dreaded the thought of karl ever seeing it. heinrich waited respectfully. "is mr. karl at home?" she asked. "yes, madam." "my maid told me he could not be seen until o'clock. it is now after . may i see him?" "if you will wait a few minutes longer, madam, i will tell him that you are here." heinrich started toward the studio. "one moment," olga called after him. "has any one seen mr. karl to-day?" "no, madam." "has he received no letter?" "no, madam." "thank god!" she exclaimed fervently. "go, heinrich; tell him i am in a great hurry and must see him at once." "i am afraid, madam, you will have to wait a few minutes for mr. karl to dress," heinrich said. "shall i tell dr. millar you are here?" "who?" olga cried, springing up in dread. "dr. millar; the gentleman who was here yesterday," heinrich said. "is he with your master?" olga cried in fright. "yes, madam." "oh, god! am i too late? tell me, did you see dr. millar give a letter to your master?" "he may have done so, madam. i cannot remember." olga walked nervously up and down the room, while heinrich waited, sympathizing at her distress. the old man was mystified, but he felt that millar was to blame for the grief which his young master's beautiful visitor showed. "it may not be too late," olga cried to herself. then she said to heinrich: "please tell dr. millar to come down. do not tell him who is here; simply say a lady wishes to see him at once." "yes, madam." heinrich withdrew, leaving olga, with clenched hands and twitching features, walking up and down the room. it was thus millar saw her as he entered, with his cynical smile, at which she shuddered. "you are the lady who wished to see me at once?" he asked, with his most polite bow. "i am honored, madam." "yes, i sent for you," olga said, not knowing how to begin. "and what may i do for you?" "please tell me quickly--i am trembling--did you----" "yes, dear lady, i delivered your letter." olga sank into her chair and covered her face with her hands, while dry, tearless sobs shook her body. millar looked at her unmoved, and as heinrich entered with the tea tray he turned coolly to the old servant. "put that tea here," he said, indicating a table near olga. "and the brandy. thank you. you may go." he poured himself a cup of tea and began to sip it, looking the while at the terrified woman before him. chapter xiii it was the moment of millar's complete triumph, and he gloated over olga as she sat there, her trembling hands covering her face, much as a large cat gloats over a mouse, helpless beneath his paws. he lied deliberately about the letter, which even then reposed in the inside pocket of his immaculate frock coat. but he reserved it for a final coup. he knew that olga, believing karl was in possession of the letter, would yield to the inevitable; that she would again confess her love, even to karl himself, and that only a miracle of resolution and faith and strength could save the two young people from the abyss of dishonor and unhappiness into which he was about to plunge them. he sipped his tea in silence. several moments elapsed before olga was able to control herself. then she asked, without looking at millar, and her voice was dry with pain: "did--did karl read the letter?" "oh, yes," millar said, with another sip of tea. "oh, god! too late!" she cried. millar arose and stood behind olga's chair, leaning over her and speaking in a soft, low voice. "after he read the letter he buried his face in his pillow and wept," he said. "he wept?" "yes; he wept with joy. i do not like men who weep." olga did not heed his flippancy. she looked up at him imploringly. "i did not want him to get that letter," she said. "i came to ask him to give it back to me unopened. i am too late." "it is not you who are too late; it was i who was too early," millar said deprecatingly. "oh, is this life really a serious matter?" olga exclaimed; "when everything can depend upon one's getting here a few moments before or a few minutes after o'clock?" "that is it exactly," millar said. "we should not take it so seriously." olga looked thoughtfully away from him and said to herself softly: "he wept." "from joy," millar repeated after her, in the same soft voice. "i am afraid to speak to him, and yet i must," olga cried, starting up. "i would like to go far, far away, but i cannot. something seems to hold me here. i cannot, cannot go. what will become of me?" "you will be very happy and will make karl very happy," millar said. heinrich entered and took the tea-things. "mr. karl will be down in a moment," he said. olga clasped her hands tragically and turned an imploring face on millar, who started for the studio door. "good-by," he said. "i will leave you to speak to karl alone." "please don't go," olga implored. "i can hardly remain under the circumstances," he said. he knew that to further his design karl and olga should meet quite alone. he would see to it that even old heinrich did not interrupt them until olga had repeated her confession of love, and the hoax of the letter had been revealed. then he would reappear, with the letter, and they might read it together. olga knew that her own frail, feminine heart would give way if she were left alone to meet karl. evil as she believed millar to be, yet she dreaded his going now. "i am afraid to be alone with him," she said. "won't you please stay?" "but if i stay, how could you speak to karl about the letter?" millar asked. "and you must say something about it, you know. i would only be in the way." olga weakened and began to pace the floor again. "well, i shall be quite frank with him," she said. "i shall be honest. i shall ask him for the last time----" karl's voice was heard in his own room, calling to heinrich. "he is coming," millar said. "i will leave you." "please don't go very far away," olga implored. "i shall be here," millar said, going to a small anteroom adjoining the studio. "if you need me, call." he stepped within the other room and closed the door softly. olga stood, her hands gripping the back of her chair, waiting. karl entered the reception-room and stood for an instant looking at olga. he showed that he, too, had suffered during the night. his face was white and drawn. when he saw olga standing there, a mute statue of despair, he was filled with pity for her and self-abasement. he stepped quickly to her side, caught her hands and kissed them passionately. "i ought to go down on my knees and beg your pardon for my conduct last night, olga," he said. she turned to him quickly, yielding her hands to him, leaning toward him, speaking eagerly. "speak very low; he is in there," she said, pointing to the anteroom where millar was hiding. "let us be brief, karl. i have been very foolish, but i could not control myself. after what happened i wanted to know. i wanted to feel that you loved me as i thought you did, as i hoped you did, day and night, every minute." "olga!" he exclaimed rapturously. [illustration: "i wanted to feel that you loved me as i hoped you did."--page . by permission of henry w. savage.] he was not prepared for this. he feared that he had offended her, and her impulsive declaration swept him from his feet. he watched her face eagerly, hungrily, as she went on, talking very rapidly, and making no effort to disengage her hands, which he held clasped to his breast. "everything has changed since yesterday, karl. but let us try to repeat what we said then. let us shake hands honorably. let us try to be strong and keep our promises, as we have kept them so long, karl. if i have been bold and frivolous it was only because i wanted to know what you thought of me; nothing else. but i am afraid i have been punished too much." her passion swept her along, as she was swayed alternately by love for karl and the saner impulse to flee from him. but the sweetness of knowing that she was loved, of feeling her hands clasped in his, after all her years of self-depression, broke down her resolution. "i fear it is too late, karl. my strength is gone. my will is lost. we have gone back six years. karl, i love you." chapter xiv the last words she whispered with infinite tenderness, and her head fell on his breast. hysterically they clasped each other in their arms and, half laughing, half sobbing, looked into each other's eyes. karl leaned over her, murmuring his love and kissing her eyes and hair. "be careful; he is in there," olga warned him finally, again pointing at the door behind which their evil spirit lurked. then she whispered shyly: "did my letter surprise you?" "letter?" karl asked, astonished. "what letter, dear heart?" "karl, i understand you wish to be discreet," olga said reproachfully, "but it is my first letter and i am not ashamed. let us be honest; i am not afraid. i love you. when i wrote that letter i hardly knew what i was doing, and i must confess i felt ashamed at first. but i am no longer ashamed now; i am proud. sometimes women do not write what they want, karl, but they always want what they write. karl, i would like to read that letter over again in your arms." that letter meant much to olga; it was her only love letter. she had never written to karl before, except in the conventional boy and girl fashion, when she did not know how to express love. her correspondence with herman had always been of the most perfunctory sort. never before had she poured out her soul as she did in this letter. now she wanted to see what she had written; to read it over with the man for whom it was intended. it was with a shock of pain that she beheld karl's indifference, and she was amazed when he added: "i received no letter from you, olga." "what! how can you say so? was not a letter delivered to you this morning?" "i assure you that i did not receive any letter from you," karl said earnestly. the realization of millar's trick was like a blow in the face to olga. she saw now how he had deliberately lied to her, in order that she would certainly repeat her confession of love to karl. in what a bold, forward, disloyal attitude she had been placed! her first impulse was of anger, and she ran toward the anteroom. "doctor! dr. millar!" she called wildly. the door opened noiselessly and millar stood bowing on the threshold. "my--my letter!" olga stammered. "madam, i beg a thousand pardons," millar said suavely. "my only excuse is that some letters are better undelivered." he drew from the inner pocket of his coat a letter, and with a smile and a sweeping bow handed it to karl. "however, i can now make reparation," he said. karl took the letter, looking wonderingly from olga to millar. he held it an instant in his hand and was about to open it, when olga cried: "karl, tear the letter up." karl instantly obeyed her, tearing the envelope into small pieces. "now burn it," olga said. he stepped over to the fireplace and threw the bits of paper on the glowing coals. they started up in a little flame and were quickly reduced to ashes. olga was terrified at the trick millar had played upon her and at its results. she looked in fear from him to karl. "who is this man?" she asked. karl could not answer her. the same question was echoing in his heart. who was this man, this personification of evil? ever there were his insidious wiles to compromise, cajole, trick and betray them. he could not tell. he only knew that he loathed him and that he would drive him out. "are you going now?" he demanded, as millar stood looking at them with his evil smile. millar took the question in the most natural way, disregarding the purposely offensive tone in which karl spoke. "yes, i am; i must," he said, half regretfully. "my train leaves in half an hour. again permit me to beg a thousand pardons. could i have foreseen the anguish that was to follow my failure to deliver madam's letter, nothing in the world could have----" karl interrupted him rudely, determined that he should not beguile them again and that he should not speak of olga or the letter as a thing of importance. "you should know that the letter contained only a conventional message," he said. millar looked at olga, and his smile grew broad as she hung her head and blushed. who should know better than he the confession which she had written and which was now destroyed? "it was quite conventional, i am sure," he said cynically. "you will miss your train," karl said with studied insolence. "heinrich, help the doctor on with his coat." "a thousand thanks," the imperturbable millar said. "madam, good-by. and once more i beg a thousand pardons." neither olga nor karl spoke to him as he walked to the door, looked back at them, bowed low again and chuckled as the door closed after him. olga turned quickly to karl and held out her hands. "he is gone. i am glad. but, karl, i would have given a year of my life if he had delivered my letter to you." "why? tell me what you wrote," he asked eagerly. "i wrote all the things i told you a few moments ago, karl. you know it all now." she went over to the grate and looked sadly into the ashes. "my first love letter," she said softly. "oh, karl, it was my confession of my love for you. i would like to read it over again with you, and then we might forget. i don't want to be afraid. i want to be strong, to be happy. if i only had that letter now." karl took her hands in his, and comforted her. "never mind it, olga; it has served its purpose. it has taught us ourselves, our hearts." "it has taught us that we must be strong, brave and loyal," olga declared warmly. they stood thus, looking into each other's eyes, sanely, clearly, each ready to renounce. the door of the studio opened and millar stood before them again, holding in his extended hand a letter. "i beg a thousand pardons again," he said. "i find i gave karl an old tailor's bill instead of madam's letter." olga eagerly took the letter, opened it and recognized her own handwriting. "my letter, karl!" she exclaimed. both bent close over the letter, reading it eagerly, while millar slipped quietly out of the studio--out of their lives. olga looked up from their reading. "i am glad that i wrote it, karl," she said. "now we will burn it." together they watched it glow brightly into flame and fall into gray ashes. "that is our love begun and ended, karl," olga said quietly. "it was wrong, and now we realize it, don't we? and now, dear boy, you are coming with me." "where?" karl asked. "i am going to take you to elsa," olga answered. with a feeling of elation, karl called heinrich, and was helped into his overcoat. he bent respectfully and kissed olga's hand as they walked out of the studio together. the end the moral of "the devil" by ella wheeler wilcox copyright, , by american journal-examiner. in every human organization dwell the _twins_--the angel and the demon. the angel is the real self; the enduring, immortal self, which goes on from life to life, from planet to planet, until it has made the circuit and ended where it began--at the _source_. the demon is man made; it belongs to the changing, perishable bodies which are created anew with each incarnation; and it goes down, and out, into nothingness, with the disintegration of the animal body. but with each new body, the mortal being usually invents, or adopts, a new devil. a few great souls have passed along through earth without such demoniacal association; christ, the latest and greatest of the masters, held converse with the devil once, on the mountain top, when he was tempted; but that was his only acquaintance with him, because he had finished his circuit, and was ready to become _one with god_. a weak man or woman, with good intentions and desirous of leading a moral life, but lacking _will power_, and inclined to be timid, and fearful, and negative in thought, often adopts a devil formed by some selfish and licentious person, who fashions devils by the wholesale and sends them out to roam over the earth, seeking an open door in a weak mind. when such occurrences are analyzed they are usually called hypnotism. in every liquor saloon, in every gambling den, in every boldly vicious and immoral place, about every race track and pool room, devils swarm. and the weak, the dissipated, the thoughtless and the irresponsible minds are the open doors for them to mass through, into dominion of the human citadel. in many drawing-rooms of fashion, in brilliant restaurants and hotels, where the élite congregate; in sensuously decorated studios, devils also wait day and night, knowing that they will be entertained, if not welcomed, by some of the self-indulgent frequenters of these places. many are the devices employed by the devils of earth to bring about the desired results. drinks, drugs, avarice, money mania, jealousy, love of power, desire to outshine neighbors, lust, sensuality, gross appetites, gourmandism, love of praise, personal conceit and egotism, selfishness in every form--all these are webs which the devils spin about humanity. even beautiful, romantic sentiment, memory and imagination, become aids of the devil, at times, when coarser and more common methods fail in the snaring of a refined soul. many a good wife, who shrinks with horror at the thought of a vulgar amour, or of any act which could pain or anger her husband, has been led into the devil's net by indulging in retrospective dreams of a vanished romance and through the stirring of old ashes to see if one little spark remained. letter writing is a favorite pastime of almost all devils. once they get a romantic man or woman, with a pen in hand and an unoccupied chamber in the heart, and the breed of devils who hang about the domestic hearth, hoping to find rooms to let, chuckle in glee. wives who have believed themselves happy and satisfied, husbands who have been unconscious of any lack in their lives, have fallen by the wayside through an interesting correspondence with some sympathetic "affinity," who was devil-instructed to lead them into trouble. after a man or woman falls into the devil's snare they both call it fate, and proclaim their inability to combat the powerful influence of "destiny." but destiny is _man himself_. the angel dwells always within him, ready to say, "get thee behind me, satan," if the man really wants it said. the angel and the devil both are completely under man's control; the work of man, here in this sphere and in every other, is to develop the _character which will enable him to get back to the source_. unless the man directs the angel to take the ascendancy, there would be no growth in wisdom for him were the angel to interpose. so he remains silent and lets the devil do his work, in order that man may find out for himself the pain and folly of such dominion; and in order that when he again encounters the devil, either in this plane of existence or some other, he may be able to say as christ said, "get thee behind me." always have there been devils; always will there be devils, while humanity is evolving from the lower to the higher states. but always is there the angel, ready to lead the soul to conquest and victory if the soul will call. famous copyright books in popular priced editions re-issues of the great literary successes of the time. library size. printed on excellent paper--most of them with illustrations of marked beauty--and handsomely bound in cloth. price, cents a volume, postpaid. * * * * * beverly of graustark. by george barr mccutcheon. with color frontispiece and other illustrations by harrison fisher. beautiful inlay picture in colors of beverly on the cover. "the most fascinating, engrossing and picturesque of the season's novels."--_boston herald._ "'beverly' is altogether charming--almost living flesh and blood."--_louisville times._ "better than 'graustark'."--_mail and express._ "a sequel quite as impossible as 'graustark' and quite as entertaining."--_bookman._ "a charming love story well told."--_boston transcript._ half a rogue. by harold macgrath. with illustrations and inlay cover picture by harrison fisher. "here are dexterity of plot, glancing play at witty talk, characters really human and humanly real, spirit and gladness, freshness and quick movement. 'half a rogue' is as brisk as a horseback ride on a glorious morning. it is as varied as an april day. it is as charming as two most charming girls can make it. love and honor and success and all the great things worth fighting for and living for the involved in 'half a rogue.'"--_phila. press._ the girl from tim's place. by charles clark munn. with illustrations by frank t. merrill. "figuring in the pages of this story there are several strong characters. typical new england folk and an especially sturdy one, old cy walker, through whose instrumentality chip comes to happiness and fortune. there is a chain of comedy, tragedy, pathos and love, which makes a dramatic story."--_boston herald._ the lion and the mouse. a story of american life. by charles klein, and arthur hornblow. with illustrations by stuart travis, and scenes from the play. the novel duplicated the success of the play; in fact the book is greater than the play. a portentous clash of dominant personalities that form the essence of the play are necessarily touched upon but briefly in the short space of four acts. all this is narrated in the novel with a wealth of fascinating and absorbing detail, making it one of the most powerfully written and exciting works of fiction given to the world in years. barbara winslow, rebel. by elizabeth ellis. with illustrations by john rae, and colored inlay cover. the following, taken from story, will best describe the heroine: a toast: "to the bravest comrade in misfortune, the sweetest companion in peace and at all times the most courageous of women."--_barbara winslow._ "a romantic story, buoyant, eventful, and in matters of love exactly what the heart could desire."--_new york sun._ susan. by ernest oldmeadow. with a color frontispiece by frank haviland. medallion in color on front cover. lord ruddington falls helplessly in love with miss langley, whom he sees in one of her walks accompanied by her maid, susan. through a misapprehension of personalities his lordship addresses a love missive to the maid. susan accepts in perfect good faith, and an epistolary love-making goes on till they are disillusioned. it naturally makes a droll and delightful little comedy; and is a story that is particularly clever in the telling. when patty went to college. by jean webster. with illustrations by c. d. williams. "the book is a treasure."--_chicago daily news._ "bright, whimsical, and thoroughly entertaining."--_buffalo express._ "one of the best stories of life in a girl's college that has ever been written."--_n. y. press._ "to any woman who has enjoyed the pleasures of a college life this book cannot fail to bring back many sweet recollections; and to those who have not been to college the wit, lightness, and charm of patty are sure to be no less delightful."--_public opinion._ the masquerader. by katherine cecil thurston. with illustrations by clarence f. underwood. "you can't drop it till you have turned the last page."--_cleveland leader._ "its very audacity of motive, of execution, of solution, almost takes one's breath away. the boldness of its denouement is sublime."--_boston transcript._ "the literary hit of a generation. the best of it is the story deserves all its success. a masterly story."--_st. louis dispatch._ "the story is ingeniously told, and cleverly constructed."--_the dial._ the gambler. by katherine cecil thurston. with illustrations by john campbell. "tells of a high strung young irish woman who has a passion for gambling, inherited from a long line of sporting ancestors. she has a high sense of honor, too, and that causes complications. she is a very human, lovable character, and love saves her."--_n. y. times._ * * * * * grosset & dunlap, -- new york [transcriber's note: a table of contents has been created for this electronic book. in addition, the following typographical errors from the original edition have been corrected. in chapter iii, a triple quotation mark following "you were not here when i entered" and a single quotation mark preceding "your future wife will swear" were changed to double quotation marks, and "sip the sweeest wine" was changed to "sip the sweetest wine". in chapter vi, a quotation mark was added following "a found treasure". in chapter viii, "the fulfilment of her puropse" was changed to "the fulfilment of her purpose", and "every detal of his dress" was changed to "every detail of his dress". in chapter ix, quotation marks were removed in front of "don't you want to speak to her?" and ""with a wild cry", "the indignation of the yiung artist" was changed to "the indignation of the young artist", and "he advanced determedly" was changed to "he advanced determinedly". in the advertisements, a comma following "boston transcript" was changed to a period, "dominant personalties" was changed to "dominant personalties", and "medalion in color" was changed to "medallion in color". no other corrections were made to the text.] this etext was produced from fantastic universe, september . extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed. _it is not always easy to laugh at satan, or take pleasure in his antics. but when the prince of darkness goes on a vacation or holds a mirror up to human nature at its most luciferian chuckles are certain to arise and follow one another in hilarious profusion. here is a yarn contrived by a craftsman with ironic lightning bolts at his fingertips, as mordantly compelling as it is jovial and jovian. if you liked _satan on holiday_, and were hoping for a sequel you can now rejoice in full measure, for ralph bennitt has provided that longed-for delight._ satan and the comrades _by ... ralph bennitt_ lucifer wasn't sure that just the right improvements had been made in hell. so he used a dash of sulfur with satanic skill. nick felt almost good-humoredly buoyant after his year's holiday as a college boy. about a second after leaving earth he slowed his traveling speed down to the medium velocity of light by shifting from fifth dimension to fourth. though still a million miles above the wastes of chaos and twice that distance from the gates of hell, his x-ray eyes were quick to discern a difference in the road far below him. sin and death had built that broad highway eons before. on leaving hell, presumedly forever to carry on their work among men, they had done a mighty good job of the original construction. but time had worked its ravages with the primrose-lined path, and it was not surprising that on starting his sabbatical leave, nick had ordered his chief engineer to repair the road as a first step in his plan to modernize hell. apparently, old mulciber had done a bang-up job, and nick roared in laughter at evidences of the engineer's genius and those of wily belial, the handsome court wag. the propaganda chief had added advertising at numerous new roadhouses along the way, and unwary shades traveling hellward gazed at beautiful scenes of lush vegetation instead of a dreary expanse like the texas panhandle. this "devilish cantraip sleight" also changed the raw chaos climate to a steady °f and gave off a balmy fragrance of fruits and flowers. ten thousand drachmas, a fictitious unit of currency established by foxy old mammon, was the flat fee for use of the road. blissfully unaware of this "transportation charge," or how it would be paid, numerous phantom pilgrims were sliding down the steeper hills--and having a swell time. their shouts of glee reached nick's largish ears despite the lack of air as mortals know it. clever old mulcie had installed freezing plants here and there to surface the road with glare ice. nick poised above a party of phantom men and girls sliding downhill on their _derrieres_ and ending in a heap at the bottom. a nice change from traveling under their own power. their maximum speed while swift and incomprehensible to mortals, seemed relatively slow to one of hell's old timers. only nick and his best scout, cletus, could move at thought speed--"click-click transportation." drifting on, a pleased smile on his red, bony face, nick paused several times to read belial's welcomings. "die and see the original naples in all its natural beauty," said one sign. "try our hot sulphur springs and become a new soul." gayest pleasures were promised to all and golfers had special attention. "register with the pro at your favorite golf club so you can qualify. no charge for pro's services who'll teach you to break . free lunch and drinks at all nineteenth holes." no fool shade would wonder what he'd qualify for, nor suspect he'd have to shovel eighty million tons of coal and ashes before his handicap would be lowered enough to earn him a set of golf clubs or that the free lunch and drinks were chunks of brimstone, the sulphurous air and styx river water which is always just below boiling point at , °f. hell's thousand of new golf courses, gambling joints and bars would be available only after downtrodden souls had worked a millennia or two at common labor jobs. a shady deal, indeed, but all a part of nick's master plan to get him and his legions back to heaven. by modernizing hades he hoped to annoy "the big boss upstairs" while diverting the attention of those two vigilant celestial watchers, michael and raphael, from the main idea. in a series of bold moves, known only to nick and his board or inner council, mankind would be wiped off the earth--and thus bring the bbu to time. or so nick hoped. as a first step, he had spent a year as pudzy, a college boy, studying electronics and modern skills of all kinds. he had enjoyed the holiday on earth though it irked him to recall that he'd been obliged to do good here and there. the thought of these satanic lapses caused him to frown, but his jolly mood returned when he saw the familiar gates of hell wide open in obedience to his whistle. the whistle's high frequency waves also awakened cerberus, the three-headed watch dog, besides actuating "the dingus." this electronic device nick had stolen to operate the three ponderous triple-fold gates of adamantine, brass and iron. he slowed to supersonic speed, brought back his great red wings and made a neat three-point landing without injuring the needle-sharp dart at the end of his long, black tail. still feeling jovial, he kicked all three of cerberus's heads, then zoomed down through the tunnel to the north bank of the river styx. there he halted to view the ten-lane suspension bridge mulciber had thrown across the steamy black water. nick was wondering how the old genius had accomplished such a feat when a thick black wall dropped across the bridgehead. "cost you five thousand rubles to cross, mister," charon called in a thick voice. the old riverman who had ferried new shades across the earth-hell boundary for eons of time, had just returned after a year's vacation in moscow. he hid a bottle under his brimstone bench, then straightened a gaudy red tie as he weaved forward. a changed devil, charon. his year in redland had done more than put him into a natty summer suit. although not very bright, he had unusual powers of observation. he liked to ape the odd speech of his customers, especially american prospectors. these truculent but harmless old timers worked at odd jobs around the nearby palace grounds, and in the ferryman they found a kindred spirit. nick eyed the loyal old fellow's red tie with amazement. "what, for st. pete's sake, are you drinking, char?" "vodka," charon gasped. recognizing the stern voice, he tried to focus his bleary eyes. "'scuse it, your majesty. i've come a long way and alone. your substitute, pudzy, gimme a bottle 'fore he returned to ameriky, and it's durn cold up there in musk-cow, and so i took a few nips, and i felt so goldurned glad to git back i polished off what was left, so i didn't recognize your majesty when you came zoomin' along, and if you'll sort of overlook--" nick patted the frightened old fellow's scrawny shoulder. "better check in and sleep it off, char." "gosh, stoppin' _you_!" "you let everybody in till i tell you different. forget the toll charge too, you old conniver." "yeah, and look!" chortling with glee, charon tottered back to his station and put one hand across the beam of a photo-electric eye. the ponderous gate slid silently upward. "it weighs fifteen hundred tons, mulcie says, and i don't even push a button." "you still smell like a communist, char," nick said, sniffing the good sulphurous air. "how come you're on the job as bridgekeeper if you've just returned from moscow?" "orders from beelzebub, and it's nigh a half hour by now since this fella came across the bridge. i'm sauntering home, friends with everybody, i am--" "what fellow?" charon scratched his grisly thatch. "come to think of it, i never see 'im afore this. i'm standing back there, looking down at my old skiff and wondering about my job, when this fella comes up. 'this is for you, charon,' he says, and held out your official incombusterible letterhead with the cross-bones and dripping blood--" "yeah, yeah. what does this stranger look like? what's his name? who signed the paper?" "beelzebub signed it. i guess i know the john henry of your number two devil even if i am a dumb ferryman." perhaps sensing he had blundered, charon almost wept. "this paper appoints me head bridge-tender from now to the _end_ of eternity, and, bein' worried about my job, i hopped right to it. you're the first--" "which way did he go? what's he look like?" charon almost said "thataway," as he shook his head and pointed a trembling finger to the distant shore. "lemme see. he wore neat clothes about like mine, and he zoomed off like the upper crust shades do when in a hurry--which ain't often. he has mean little eyes, sort of pale blue, is built wide and short, and talks american good as i do. now't i think of it, he had an impederiment in his speech, and he smelt like a bed of sweet peas." "very good, indeed." scanning the paper, nick smiled as he recognized a forgery of the beelzebub signature. he drew out his pen which writes under fire as well as water, and scribbled "nick," then put the document into the eager hands. "this gives you the job forever--or till i revoke the appointment." "boydy-dumb-deals!" charon shouted. "boss, you oughta hear about my adventures in redland. i had a real gabfest with the new premier, andrei broncov, and his minister of culture, vichy volonsky." nick grinned sardonically. "i heard a little about the most recent changes in the kremlin. are my old sidekicks well? and are they having any particular trouble since liquidating the old gang?" "how come you call that fat crumb, broncov, your sidekick?" charon frowned, trying to collect his wits in the dread presence. "he didn't ask about you. he took me for an illegitimate son of joe stalin's, so how would he know you and i are pals? i bought this red tie and hired a sleeping dictionary to catch onto the language better, and--" "your dictionary probably spilled things to the mvd." "not while my gold held out. anyhow, those punks are way overrated. tricky, maybe, and they lie good. they'd rather bump you off than eat breakfast." "purge is the word. the old comrades broncov threw out a month ago now fully understand its meaning. how is the comrade?" "gosh, boss, i'm sick of hearing that word. they say it just before they knife you. broncov's been busy, all right. since taking over the number one job he's been sending a lot of his best friends down this way. to keep joe stalin company, he told me. he looks fat even if bill shakespeare says this new lot--" "i suppose he and his pals plied you with liquor," nick said. "they tried to drink me under the table." charon cut a laugh in half. "gosh, i durn near forgot. y'know what the sidewinder, bronco, babbled 'fore he passed out? top drawer stuff. only he and this vichy volonskyvich know about it. seems bronco learned, somehow, about your taking a vacation, so he's been torturing a lot of his friends into confessing they plotted agin 'im. he promised them an easy death if they'd carry on down here. how you like that?" "the fools. what's his plan?" "i ain't sure i got it all as his tongue got thicker from the vodka. but i learned hell's full of comrades who've sworn to their god, lee-nine, they'll toss you to the wolves. they aim to pull joe stalin off his clinker-picking job and make him secretary here." "go on," nick urged in ominous tones. "how?" "they've swiped some new secret weapon and figure to obliterate you and every devil in authority so things will be organized nice and cozy when they finally get here. the dumb--" "good report, char." the new weapon did not bother nick much, but from his profound studies of atom smashing he decided anything can happen these days even to a top devil. he continued briskly: "hereafter, sniff all your customers and make sure they don't _smell_ like a red. you know the aroma by now--sweet peas with an underlying stink--so keep your nose peeled. when you spot a comrade, radio-phone the guard. those lads will know what to do you can bet your last ruble." ii the rousing welcome home nick received as he climbed the hill to his great palace would have warmed his heart if he'd owned one. "thanks, boys and girls," he intoned in his best golden voice. "it's swell to be back among you. i haven't time for a speech now, but tune in to channel thirteen tomorrow evening for my fireside chat." he wanted to take off for moscow immediately, but decided to start the war by calling the board. also, the boys would be hurt if he didn't inspect what they'd done during his absence. after a hasty, russian-style dinner of caviar, cabbage and cold horse with a gold flagon of vodka, he ordered azazel, flag bearer and statistician chief, to call a meeting in the throne room. little cletus waylaid his big boss. the scout among the celestials looked like a chubby cherub what with his dimpled cheeks and curly black hair, but he'd proved to be the trickiest imp south of the pearly gates. knowing that raphael had cajoled the little imp into revealing something of the improvements in hades, nick suspected treachery by one of his most trusted scouts. "i hear you've been seeing raphael!" he barked. "aw, i told 'im a pack of lies," cletus scoffed. "maybe rafe figured out something; he's a smart apple. i told 'im everybody here is hot and unhappy like you ordered me to say if they ever caught me. i said our air-conditioning system goes haywire and that we were ripping out a thousand old boilers and coolers. stuff like that." "don't lie to me, you ornery little brat. okay to anybody else but not to me. i happened to hear rafe talking to mike, and they're wise to my plan of making hell attractive." "well, hell," cletus protested, "they saw mulcie's gangs fixing the road. if rafe and them extra-extrapopulated that dope to figure out the truth, why blame me?" "we'll forget it," nick said, vastly relieved to believe his scout had not betrayed him. "i have a job for you. i'm going to moscow and i want your help. light out as soon as you can. requisition as much gold as you can handle by the usual translation method, and include a sack of polished diamonds and rubies. i'll tell mammon it's okay when i arrange for my own supply." "okay, boss. where do we meet? and what am i supposed to look like, and do?" "make yourself bellhop size and register at the droshky hotel as prince navi from baghdad with fifty persian oil wells to sell. let 'em see your gold and jewels. and, remember, you'll account for any dough you toss away to women and bribes. get going!" nick could see into the _near_ future, at least, and he chuckled after cletus vanished through the wall. "the little devil doesn't know what's in store for him." in the throne room, sage old beelzebub sat at the right of his majesty's chair; huge moloch with his evil grin and snaggle teeth, at the left. tall, prissy azazel, always acting important, planted satan's flag and then sat down at a table opposite wide-shouldered mulciber and handsome belial. charter members all of the original organization booted out of heaven some eighteen million years ago when nick's first but not last rebellion flopped. after the customary ritual of renewing their vow to get back to heaven, the gang sat down. nick rapped the arm of his throne and glared at chemos, the lustful one. "cheme," he said, "if you will quit flirting with astarte, the board will take up business." belial snickered when the culprits' red faces grew even redder, and after a wink at the court wit, nick went on: "i intend to take off for moscow after a quick look about with mulcie and belial. incidentally, my compliments on the good work you did on the road." "egad, boss," moloch complained, "why can't you stay home more and line things up for us?" "time enough--" nick sniffed, scowled, then pointed toward a thick pillar near the rear of the big room. "i smell an interloper. thammuz, dagon, drag 'im up here! beel, i fancy he's the one who forged your signature." beelzebub rose in anger when a shadowy figure darted for the door. the intruder moved as fast as any wraith but the two former gods were too quick for him. a brief struggle, then they dragged the eavesdropper before the throne where they held him upside down. "it's the paperhanger!" beelzebub roared. "i guessed that from charon's description," nick said calmly. "he's siding with the reds again--smell him? stand up, adolf, and hear your sentence!" "i didn't do a thing, your majesty," hitler began, but the hot, glowing eyes were too much to face. his knees buckled and he sank, groveling, on the floor. "didn't i send you millions of customers?" he wailed. "haven't i done a good job of sweeping out and collecting garbage? have a heart, nick. i came in here to sweep, and how would i know about this private conference?" "you talk about hearts?" nick flared. "you hung around to listen. you forged beelzebub's signature on my official paper, then put charon in charge of the bridge, thinking he's too dumb to report any commies coming here." "i can prove--" "you get the same chance at that which you gave people in berlin. down the chute with him, boys!" the chute, connecting with a main one leading down to the burning lake, has a flap which belial gleefully lifted. since shades have no mass worth mentioning, the long duct acts like a department store vacuum tube. "oh, my beloved emperor, forgive me," adolf yelled as he felt the suction. "i only wanted to organize a counter-revolution against the communists and--" "ratting on your pals again, eh?" nick sneered. "you stay in the burning lake a thousand earth years. you'll have plenty of time and company for your plotting. let 'im rip!" "no! i'll be forgotten--" "no one remembers you now except as a dung heap." nick turned a thumb downward, and the screeching shade vanished. "like a paper towel in a gale," belial said as he let the flap clang shut. "how'd that creep get a job where he could snoop?" "my fault," beelzebub admitted. "he's a smooth talker. i saw him not long after you left, your majesty, when i went out to inspect the garbage incinerator. he had shaved off his dinky mustache and changed the color of his eyes, but i recognized him." "it's okay, beel." nick patted the heavy shoulder of his top assistant. "the punk did us a left-handed favor in bringing things to a head." he told of how charon had discovered the red plot, then outlined his general plan. "those commies can't stand ridicule," nick summed up. "while i'm gone i want every communist son tossed into the burning lake. alarm all guards and tell them how to identify them--the fragrance of sweet peas with an underlying stink. no one in the ussr has used up a cake of soap in twenty years, and the perfume they add can't quite cover the bo." "must be a lot of commies here," mulciber commented. "how many guards have we, azzy?" azazel, statistics chief, glanced at a roll of incombustible microfilm, and cleared his throat. he liked being called upon, and since he had the history of every shade while on earth, he was the second most feared devil in hades. "after promoting the last batch who qualified for better jobs during the minimum millennium at common labor," azazel said, "and adding--" "never mind the commercial!" grouchy moloch roared. "boss, how do we know all our guards are to be trusted?" "we don't," nick said. "when did we ever trust anybody? but our system of checkers, checkers checking the checkers, super-checkers on up to charter members, hasn't failed yet." "if his eminence, the corpse-snatcher, is satisfied," azazel said, smoothing his sleek black hair, "i shall answer prince mulciber's polite question. we now have on the guards' roll exactly thirteen million four hundred--" "that's close enough." plainly pleased with his title, moloch grinned at the big engineer. "mulcie, why not build a chute straight up into moscow? save the boss trouble. he could take along a few gorillas and toss all those troublemaking stinkers straight into a hot bath." nick joined in the laughter. "trouble with that, molly, the bbu wouldn't stand for it. only death can give the final sting, and even he has to wait for the call. our game is to play it cagey, stick by the few rules the bbu laid down, and stay out of trouble." "how do you aim to handle those fellas?" belial asked. "tell you after i do it." nick guessed the fun-loving propaganda chief wanted to go along, but decided cletus would be a better assistant in a plan already formulated. a boon companion, belial, for any nefarious project. true, he had the quickest wit of the lot, but had worked over-long in the advertising racket, and many of his schemes resembled those of a hen on a hot griddle. nick turned to the secretary. "if you have all this down, asta, i'll consider a motion to adjourn." iii it was an hour short of midnight and snowing in moscow when nick landed in the printing room of pravda, the official red journal. as he had calculated, several sample newspapers had been run off. vichy volonsky, a short, roundheaded man, had held up the rest of the issue while he studied the content through his nose-glasses. editor blochensk and the mechanics anxiously awaited the great man's verdict. an unfavorable one meant the concentration camp for everybody. as minister of culture, volonsky previewed all news personally when not running errands for andrei broncov at a meeting of the inner council. the number two ranking man in the kremlin clique frowned most frighteningly, then, moved by an odd compulsion, walked into a sound-insulated telephone room. he closed the door and stared at it stupidly while looking through the invisible nick. "why did i come in here?" he said. "there's only the usual bilge in the sheet, nothing to telephone the fat slob about. yet something made me." "i did," nick said, suddenly visible. "when i finish, pravda will never be the same again. lie down, vichy!" volonsky opened his mouth, but nick wiggled a finger, and no yell came out. in the wink of an eye, he squeezed out the minister's shade and took its place. "pretty cramped and smelly quarters," nick told himself, "but do or die for good old hades." "what? who are you?" volonsky's phantom teeth chattered. "you must be nick, himself." "russia's patron saint till you amateurs took over. i have business with your boss. i mean andrei broncov. not that it matters, but who conceived the idea of deposing satan? talk, _mujik_, and tell the truth. all of it." "blame broncov, not me," volonsky pleaded. "it was his scheme to kill off several thousand loyal party comrades. they got a choice: be tortured to death, or die quickly and work for a revolution in hell as soon as they arrived. naturally--" "i've heard enough, rat." nick spat contemptuously, and a puff of gray smoke spread rapidly over walls, ceiling and floor. "that will hold you," he jeered, and opened the door. aping the minister's important waddle, he walked over to the great press. editor blochensk stared with fear-bulged eyes. "anything--anything wrong, your excellency comrade?" he asked shakily. "nothing i can't fix." "oh!" the editor clutched his throat. "thank--uh--uh--" "never mind, i know who you mean." muttering words in hell's silent language, nick walked completely around the press. "it's perfect, blochy. don't let the content worry you. it's part of the plan. roll out your papers and deliver them fast. don't question anything. orders from--you know." only minutes ahead of the new volonsky, cletus had entered the lobby of the droshky hotel on red square. the cherubic scout had obeyed orders and made himself bellhop size, large size. he didn't exactly resemble the one in the cigarette ad but he had the kid's twinkle in his dark eyes. and he had already latched onto a luscious blonde; or, more likely, nick concluded, the reverse. having just registered as a persian prince, cletus again clanked down a large sack of gold pieces and a smaller one of jewels. "put these diamonds and rubies into your best safe," he ordered in perfect russian. the clerk's eyes began popping, so did the blonde's and those of a score of spectators, including four hard-faced mvd boys. "and i'll take care of you, honey-navi," the blonde said. "ah, you just love me for my two billion dollars," the imp retorted, and winked at her. as did nick, cletus could plainly see the twist operated on the mvd payroll as well as in her own interests. "i'm selling out my fifty oil wells," he announced, "and i've come to town to see the head man, whoever he is today. i thought i'd let you dumb _mujiks_ bid for the wells before i practically give them to super-san oil company for a measly two hundred million dollars." "of course, prince navi," the clerk said loudly. he nodded toward the four tough lads who, likewise, had not yet noticed the great volonsky. nick rapped on the counter with his six-carat diamond ring. "how about a little service here, comrade?" "one moment, comrade," the clerk said nervously. "what you mean, one moment?" nick roared. "i haven't flown all the way from new york to have a two-bit clerk tell me to wait. i represent super-san oil and i'm here to meet a persian prince navi." "quiet, amerikaner, till--oh, your excellency comrade vychy volonsky!" the mouth of the astonished clerk fell open. then, fearful of making a wrong move in the red game of dirty politics, he failed to guess why the great one should act as a miserable capitalist. "a thousand pardons, your excellency comrade. what can i do for the beloved comrade? i didn't recognize you--" "hush, fool!" nick looked toward cletus just then gazing into the blonde's blue eyes. the four mvd agents went into a quick huddle, then the one with a broken nose bowed to the fake volonsky. "if your excellency comrade will step aside with us, we'll explain this fool's mistake." "put him in the can and question him tomorrow," nick snarled. "anybody can see he's working for the filthy capitalists." "of course, your excellency comrade." broken nose and his three pals escorted nick to a chair beside a column. "i'm lieutenant putov of the mvd," he whispered. "we picked up this prince navi the instant he entered, and have been watching him." "skip the commercial," nick said, almost laughing as he gave moloch's favorite expression. "how come you didn't spot him at one of our airports?" "he must have landed on an abandoned field in his private plane, your excellency comrade." lieutenant putov glanced at the other three equally worried looking plug-uglies. "he's a prince, all right. look at the gold and jewels he tossed to the clerk, several million dol--i mean, several billion rubles. we haven't checked his story, but he claims he's here to sell fifty persian oil wells." "i know _that_, idiot. our spies in baghdad advised us yesterday. that's why i pretend to be with the stinking super-san--wggh!" "what are your excellency comrade's wishes?" "get him away from that blonde before she ruins our plans." "ah, that's nishka, one of us." astonishment widened putov's watery blue eyes. "have you forgotten the night you and she drank--" "you talk too much, putov." nick flapped a hand. "get a car to take me and the prince to the kremlin. hurry it! comrade andrei broncov and i have a council meeting at midnight. you three, bring the prince to me here." cletus and nishka had withdrawn to a sofa in an alcove off the lobby. without effort, nick could see them and hear the female agent saying: "how do i know you have all that money, navi-honey? i'll bet you brought gilt lead and fake jewels just to impress me." "no, but i've been to america," cletus bragged, knowing well his boss would be listening. "so be nice and i'll prove they're real. i've been everywhere but this lousy place. i even lived in egypt." "talk some egyptian for me," nishka wheedled. "i've forgotten most of it," cletus said, cannily dodging the trap. "but i once made a study of the ancient language." he ripped out a stream of what had once been his native tongue. then, partly at least to test nishka's knowledge, he added in english, "how's for looking at my room before we go out on the town?" "wha-at? why, you bad boy!" the girl winked at her three fellow agents coming toward them in a crablike walk, then spoke in cletus' ear: "it's the law, navi-honey, but don't let them worry you. little nishka will stay with you--to the limit." cletus leered at her and rose to accompany the mvd to the front of the lobby. he and nick put on an act, then went to the street followed by a chattering crowd. once inside the sleek car putov had conjured up, nick said: "the heap is wired so we'll talk only in hell language." iv it wasn't far to the grim walls of the kremlin, and as the big car purred across the snowy, radio-stricken square, nick gave cletus the main points of his plan. obviously warned, the police gave a snappy salute and let the car enter the courtyard. a few moments later, hell's emissaries were zooming through long corridors and up to the second floor; walking the last fifty yards. six husky guards armed with sub-machine guns opened the great doors to the premier's private study. "he's been asking for you," a huge guard whispered. "he would, the brainless pup," nick snarled, reading the big fellow's thoughts. a volonsky man called gorkzy. "don't announce us." inside the great room, at a desk almost large enough for a roller skating rink, andrei broncov appeared to be studying a document. true executive, he went on reading till nick coughed. "your excellency comrade broncov, i have brought prince navi. where is the rest of the council?" "ah!" broncov's plump face widened in a smile for cletus. "this is an honor, your highness. i trust you will pardon my preoccupation with affairs of state. they're in a mess--as are all capitals when the old order departs. i supposed you'd be announced." andrei broncov glared at the pseudo volonsky and whispered in a dialect, "the council is waiting below, fool." "nuts," cletus said. "talk english, will you? i can hardly understand your outlandish language. or, speak persian." "my knowledge of your native tongue is not good, but i'm quite at home in english or amerikaner. a russian invented--" "yeah, he knows," nick cut in. "forget the malarkey, bronco. this lad is here on business and has no time for our phoney hooptedo. from his grandfather, the old shah, he inherited fifty of the richest oil wells in asia, and he's giving us a chance to bid on them instead of carrying on a, quote, cold, unquote, war, and steal--" "i understand," broncov said through his big teeth. his lips tightened in his rage over volonsky's direct speech, but he managed to say fairly suavely: "your highness, we appreciate your giving us a chance to buy your wells. surely, a banquet is in order." "no, i want to get out of this place. it's too cold." nick peered over his volonsky nose-glasses. "how much, kid? no fooling." "volonsky!" broncov barked. "mind your speech. i'll handle this little deal. you're excused." "uh-uh." nick grinned. "i stay for _my_ cut." "you both look like a couple of crooks to me," said the young prince. "i want two hundred million dollars--in gold." broncov's hand shook as he reached for a row of buttons. "how about a bit of tea and cakes, or, perhaps something stronger before we discuss this matter with the council? they're waiting just below us, and i'd like to present the deal already consummated." "got any old style lager around?" cletus asked. "we have some good bavarian beer, a stock we--ah--bought some time ago." "i've heard how much you paid the heinies. the beer i want is made in wisconsin, usa, so i think i'll fly over there tonight. super-san oil keeps begging me to visit their country. offered me two hundred million for my wells but only half in gold. i want all gold, and i won't discuss any other terms." "bungler!" broncov whispered in dialect. "why didn't you get him drunk, first? without oil we can't carry on this cold war or kid the peasants much longer. where in hell could we get even two hundred dollars in gold?" "go to hell and find all you want," nick said with a wicked grin. "i understood what you high-binders said," cletus put in. "my cousin told me before i left home communist clucks don't savvy saturday from sunday. everybody knows you top boys have stolen everything not nailed down, and have stashed it away against the time your own people kick out communism for good." "oh, come, prince navi, i don't understand how such an evil story started. our people wouldn't dare--" "wouldn't they?" cletus laughed nastily. "we have spies too, and we know your common herd would settle for anything else. most of them want their church and their tsar back, bad as he was." "bah! the capitalist press started that myth." "why, bronco," nick protested, "you can read that story in pravda, 'the organ of truth.'" the fake minister of culture cleared his throat to keep from laughing when the glowering premier began thinking of various ways to torture unsympathetic comrades. in silent hell language, nick added: "good work, cleet. i'll take it from here." "lies put out by the war mongerers of wall street," broncov shouted. he continued raving, but nick no longer listened. sounds outside the window told him time had begun pressing. he shook the hat he'd been carrying. "gold, is it you want, prince navi? you think we have none? how about this?" a glittering gold piece tinkled on the floor and rolled toward the amazed red premier. puffing, he bent over and scooped up a newly minted coin the size of the american gold eagle. "it's a new issue--i--never mind. we have lots more where this came from, haven't we, comrade vychy?" "i'll say," nick said. "watch!" gold pieces continued falling from the hat, one by one, then in a steady stream. stunned, broncov clutched his throat, muttering: "it can't be true. miracles don't happen." he watched in silence while his minister of culture made a pile of gold coins four feet high. when the floor timbers began creaking, nick made another similar heap; then, others, till the thick walls began bulging inward. "stop!" broncov cried. "a couple of tons is enough." eyes now popping, he waved his arms as the floor sagged under fifty times that weight. "there's the two hundred million for you, prince. the rest is for--us. we'll sign the papers in another room." ignoring frightened cries, nick made more piles of gold next to the windows. outside on red square, people were running in all directions, shouting and waving newspapers. a cannon roared. a hundred or more machine guns began rattling. plainly, the bullets were not fired at any one, for the people were laughing and weeping, singing and dancing. "come here and have a look, bronco," nick suggested. "it's--a trick, a revolution," broncov panted. "damn you, volonsky, you started it." he snatched a heavy revolver from his desk and fired it at nick without warning. the false volonsky laughed when five of the slugs bounced off the invisible shield around him. a sixth bullet splintered the window glass. the other five returned and struck the raging red boss, cutting his face and arms enough to bring streams of blood. he dashed for the door but collided with the six guards who burst into the room. broncov wiped off some of the blood running into his eyes well enough to see all six waving copies of pravda. "what's going on here?" he screamed. "read about it in pravda," bellowed gorkzy, the huge guard. "it always prints the truth--you've taught us." "what truth?" quavered the premier. "put down those guns!" "oh, no. pravda says you were shot trying to escape, and for once it really told the truth." implacably, the big guard brought up his tommy-gun and let it rattle. the stricken red leader took two steps backward and fell to the floor as the other five guns opened up on him in a hell's chatter of death. his falling weight added the last straw to the overstrained floor timbers. they gave way in a roar, and a hundred tons of yellow gold streamed downward in a cataclysmic wave of wealth and death to the council members below. * * * * * poised on air, nick and cletus became invisible to mortal eyes. "that wraps it, cleet. let's see how the boys take it." the six guards were peering down into the ruin below, and at some of the fortune still clinging to the slanting floor. "great nicholas!" gorkzy yelled. "gold!" "just like pravda says," howled another man. "listen! it says: 'volonsky and the mysterious persian prince have disappeared. broncov executed by heroic guards. all members of the once-feared inner council crushed almost beyond recognition when floor crashed upon them from the weight of the gold brought by the prince.'" "and look at this!" roared the big gorkzy. "'all soldiers and police throw down their arms. refuse to shoot the people shouting they want their tsar and church back. satellite countries freed of the odious communist yoke. concentration camps, collective farming, and slave labor abolished. all spies and saboteurs recalled to moscow for trial and punishment. ivan, the tsar, to issue proclamation.'" "what tsar?" the six stared stupidly at one another. one man picked up a shiny gold piece and tested it with his teeth. "the bolsheviks murdered the old goat and all his family. how can this be?" "he probably left plenty of bastards," another man hazarded. "i get it," gorkzy shouted. "prince navi is a grandson. his name is n-a-v-i--ivan spelled backward. why, the smart little devil! and now he's here some place to reign over us." "oh, no," cletus protested as he and nick slithered through the wall. "you aren't going to make me rule over these dopes, boss. have a heart. it's cold here, and the whole country stinks." "that's your punishment, m'lad, for letting raphael and michael catch onto you. you can't prowl around heaven just now so you'll have to work here in hell's rear annex for a while. look!" nick thumbed one of the gold pieces. "your image stamped on all of them. also 'ivan--tsar. in god we trust.'" "okay," cletus said, shuffling a little, then brightening. "anyhow, i'll have nishka." "not if the common folks find out she worked for the mvd." as if to punctuate nick's prophesy, a dozen bombs exploded inside police headquarters. "heck!" cletus shrugged resignedly. "well, lend me that hat, and conjure up a couple million tons of soap--not perfumed." roaring with laughter, nick promised to spread soap over the entire country, then watched the little imp zooming back and forth across red square--sprinkling the snowy pavement with ivan-tsar pieces of gold. * * * * * the satanic laughter lasted till nick had whizzed half way across chaos. "that caper," he told himself gleefully, "will fool the bbu about my plan. or, will it? great hades! i did a _good_ deed." a million miles above the wastes of chaos, he remembered he still wore volonsky whose shade would still be imprisoned in the pravda room. nick shucked out of his unpleasant quarters, halted to watch the thing spinning downward. "cheer up, vych," he laughed. "next century i'll gather up what's left and give it back to you--maybe." none http://www.freeliterature.org asmodeus; or, the devil on two sticks. by alain renÉ le sage. with a biographical notice of the author, by jules janin. [illustration: asmodeus and zambullo fly over madrid] illustrated by tony johannot. [translated by joseph thomas.] george routledge and sons, london: broadway, ludgate hill. new york: broome street. . translator's preface. when i first determined on the publication of a new edition of "the devil on two sticks," i had certainly no idea of engaging in a new translation. i had not read an english version since my boyhood, and naturally conceived that the one which had passed current for upwards of a century must possess sufficient merit to render anything beyond a careful revision, before passing it again through the press, unnecessary. however, on reading a few pages, and on comparing them with the much-loved original, i no longer wondered, as i had so often done, why le diable boiteux was so little esteemed by those who had only known him in his english dress, while gil blas was as great a favourite with the british public as any of its own heroes of story. to account for this, i will not dwell on the want of literal fidelity in the old version, although in some instances that is amusing enough; but the total absence of style, and that too in the translation of a work by one of the greatest masters of verbal melody that ever existed, was so striking as to induce me, rashly perhaps, to endeavour more worthily to interpret the witty and satirical asmodeus for the benefit of those who have not the inestimable pleasure of comprehending him in his _native_ tongue--for, as jules janin observes, he is a devil truly french. in the translation which i here present, i do not myself pretend, at all times, to have rendered the words of the 'graceful cupid' with strict exactness, but i have striven to convey to my reader the ideas which those words import. whether i have succeeded in so doing is for others to determine; but, if i have not, i shall at all events have the satisfaction of failing in company,--which, i am told, however, is only an old bailey sort of feeling after all. i have not thought it necessary to attempt the life of the author; it will be enough to me, for fame, not to have murdered one of his children. i have therefore adopted the life, character, and behaviour of le sage from one of the most talented of modern french writers, and my readers will doubtless congratulate themselves on my resolve. neither have i deemed it needful to enter into the controversy as to the originality of this work, except by a note in page : and this i should probably not have appended, had i, while hunting over the early editions there referred to, observed the original dedication of le sage to 'the illustrious don luis velez de guevara,' in which are the following words: "i have already declared, and do now again declare to the world, that to your diabolo cojuelo i owe the title and plan of this work ...; and i must further own, that if the reader look narrowly into some passages of this performance, he will find i have adopted several of your thoughts. i wish from my soul he could find more, and that the necessity i was under of accommodating my writings to the genius of my own country had not prevented me from copying you exactly." this is surely enough to exonerate le sage from the many charges which have been urged against him; and i quote the concluding sentence of the above, because it is an excuse, from his own pen, for some little liberties which i have, in my turn, thought it necessary to take with his work in the course of my labours. joseph thomas. table of contents. translator's preface. biographical notice of le sage. chapter i. what sort of a devil he of the two sticks was--when and by what accident don cleophas leandro perez zambullo first gained the honour of his acquaintance. chapter ii. what followed the deliverance of asmodeus. chapter iii. where the devil translated the student; and the first fruits of his ecclesiastical elevation. chapter iv. story of the loves of the count de belflor and leonora de cespedes. chapter v. continuation of the story of the loves of the count de belflor and leonora de cespedes. chapter vi. new objects displayed to don cleophas; and his revenge on donna thomasa. chapter vii. the prison, and the prisoners. chapter viii. of various persons exhibited to don cleophas by asmodeus, who reveals to the student what each has done in his day. chapter ix. the madhouse, and its inmates. chapter x. the subject of which is inexhaustible. chapter xi. of the fire, and the doings of asmodeus on the occasion, out of friendship for don cleophas. chapter xii. of the tombs, of their shades, and of death. chapter xiii. the force of friendship. chapter xiv. the squabble between the tragic poet and the comic author. chapter xv. continuation, and conclusion, of the force of friendship. chapter xvi. the dreamers. chapter xvii. in which originals are seen of whom copies are rife. chapter xviii. relating to other matters which the devil exhibited to the student. chapter xix. the captives. chapter xx. of the last history related by asmodeus: how, while concluding it, he was suddenly interrupted; and of the disagreeable manner, for the witty demon, in which he and don cleophas were separated. chapter xxi. of the doings of don cleophas after asmodeus had left him; and of the mode in which the author of this work has thought fit to end it. [illustration: bust of le sage between asmodeus and gil blas] notice of le sage. i shall at once place le sage by the side of molière; he is a comic poet in all the acceptation of that great word,--comedy. he possesses its noble instincts, its good-natured irony, its animated dialogue, its clear and flowing style, its satire without bitterness, he has studied profoundly the various states of life in the heights and depths of the world. he is perfectly acquainted with the manners of comedians and courtiers,--of students and pretty women. exiled from the théâtre-français, of which he would have been the honour, and less fortunate than molière, who had comedians under his direction, and who was the proprietor of his own theatre, le sage found himself obliged more than once to bury in his breast this comedy, from want of a fitting stage for its exhibition, and actors to represent it. thus circumstanced, the author of "turcaret" was compelled to seek a new form, under which he might throw into the world the wit, the grace, the gaiety, the instruction which possessed him. in writing the biography of such men, there is but one thing to do, and that is to praise. the more humble and obscure have they been in their existence, the greater is the duty of him who tells the story of their lives, to heap upon them eulogy and honour. this is a tardy justice, if you will, but it is a justice nevertheless; and besides, of what importance, after all, are these vulgar events? all these biographies are alike. a little more of poverty, a little less of misery, a youth expended in energy, a manhood serious and filled with occupation, an old age respected, honourable; and, at the end of all these labours, all these troubles, all these anguishes of mind and heart, of which your great men alone have the secret,--the académie-française in perspective. then, are you possessed of mediocre talents only? all doors are open to you;--are you a man of genius? the door opens with difficulty;--but, are you perchance one of those excelling spirits who appear but from century to century? it may turn out that the académie-française will not have you at any price. thus did it with the great molière; thus also has it done for le sage; which, by-the-bye, is a great honour for the illustrious author of "gil blas." rené le sage was born in the morbihan, on the th of may, :[ ] and in that year racine produced "les plaideurs," and molière was playing his "avare." the father of le sage was a man slightly lettered,--as much so as could be expected of an honourable provincial attorney, one who lived from day to day like a lord, without troubling himself too much as to the future fortunes of his only son. the father died when the child was only fourteen years of age; and soon afterwards the youthful rené lost his mother. he was now alone, under the guardianship of an uncle, and he was fortunate enough to be placed under the tutelage of those learned masters of the youth of the seventeenth century, the jesuits who subsequently became the instructors of voltaire, as they have been of all france of the great age. thanks to this talented and paternal teaching, our young orphan quickly penetrated into the learned and poetical mysteries of that classic antiquity, which is yet in our days, and will be to the end of time, the exhaustless source of taste, of style, of reason, and of good sense. it is to praise le sage to say that he was educated with as much care and assiduity as molière and racine, as la fontaine and voltaire; they one and all prepared themselves, by severest study, and by respect for their masters, to become masters in their turn; and they have themselves become classic writers, because they reverenced their classic models,--which may, in case of need, serve as an example for the beaux-esprits of our own time. [ ] according to moreri, in his "grand dictionnaire historique," (folio, paris, ,) and he cites as his authority m. titon de tillet's second supplement to the "parnasse français," le sage was born at ruis in brittany, in . there is, however, every reason to believe that m. jules janin is correct, both as to the year and the place of his birth, notwithstanding that mr. chalmers, in his "biographical dictionary," while he assigns to the former the year , places the latter at vannes, as does also the "biographie universelle," which he appears to have followed. but, when this preliminary education was completed, and when he left these learned mansions, all filled with greek and latin, all animated with poetic fervour, le sage encountered those terrible obstacles that await invariably, as he emerges from his studies, every young man without family, and destitute of fortune. the poet juvenal has well expressed it, in one of his sublimest verses: "they with difficulty rise, whose virtues are opposed by the pinching wants of home." "haud facile emergunt, quorum virtutibus obstat res angusta domi." but what matters poverty when one is so young,--when our hopes are so vast, our thoughts so powerful and rich? you have nothing, it is true; but the world itself belongs to you,--the world is your patrimony; you are sovereign of the universe; and around you, the twentieth year touches every thing with its golden wand. your clear and sparkling eye may look in the sun's bright face as dauntless as the eagle's. it is accomplished: all the powers of your soul are awakened, all the passions of your heart join in one swelling choir, to chant _hosanna in excelsis!_ what matter then that you are poor! a verse sublime, a noble thought, a well-turned phrase, the hand of a friend, the soft smile of some bright-eyed damsel as she flits across your path,--there is a fortune for a week. those who, at the commencement of every biography, enter into all sorts of lamentation, and deplore with pathetic voice the mournful destiny of their hero, are not in the secret of the facile joys of poetry, of the exquisite happiness of youth,--the simpletons! they amuse themselves in counting, one by one, the rags that cover yonder handsome form; and they see not, through the holes of the cloak which envelopes it, those herculean arms, or that athletic breast! they look with pity on that poor young man with well-worn hat, and beneath that covering deformed they see not those abundant, black, and tended locks, the flowing diadem of youth! they will tell you, with heart-rending sighs, how happy diderot esteemed himself, when to his crust of bread he joined the luxury of cheese, and how this poor rené le sage drank at his repasts but pure spring water;--a lamentable matter, truly! but diderot, while he ate his cheese, already meditated the shocks of his "encyclopædia"; but this same clear fountain from which you drink, at twenty, in the hollow of your hand, as pure, will intoxicate more surely than will, after twenty other years, alas! the sparkling produce of champagne, poured out in cups of crystal. this is sufficient reason why we should not trouble ourselves overmuch as to the early life of le sage; he was young and handsome, and as he marched, his head upturned like a poet, he met as he went along with those first loves which one always meets when the heart is honest and devoted. a charming woman loved him, and he let her love him to her heart's content; and, without concerning himself as to his good fortune, more than would master gil blas have done on a similar occasion, these first amours of our poet lasted just as long as such sort of amours ought to last--long enough that they should leave no subject for regret, not enough that they should evoke hatred. when, therefore, they had loved each other as much as they could, she and he, they separated, still to please themselves; she found a husband of riper age and better off than her lover; he took a wife more beauteous and less wealthy than his mistress. and blessings on the amiable and devoted girl who consented, with a joyous heart, to encounter all the risks, all the vexations, and also to expose herself to the seducing pleasures of a poetic life! thus le sage entered, almost without thinking of it, into that laborious life in which one must daily expend the rarest and most charming treasures of his mind and soul. as a commencement, he made a translation of the letters of calisthenes, without imagining that he was himself possessed of more wit than all the greeks of the fourth century. the work had no success, and it ought not to have had. he who has the genius of le sage must create original works, or not meddle in the craft. to translate is a trade of manual skill--to imitate, is one of plagiary. however, the failure of this first book rendered le sage less proud and haughty; and he accepted, what he would never have done had he at once succeeded, a pension from m. l'abbé de lyonne. this pension amounted to six hundred francs; and thereupon the biographers of our author are in extacies at the generosity of the abbé de lyonne. six hundred francs! and when we reflect that had le sage lived in our day, depending only on his théâtre de la foire, he would have gained thirty thousand francs a year! in our days, a romance like "gil blas" would not be worth less than five hundred thousand francs; "le diable boiteux" would have brought him a hundred thousand, at least: still, we must not be angry with m. l'abbé de lyonne, for having bestowed a pension of six hundred on the author of "gil blas." the abbé did more; he opened to le sage an admirable treasure of wit, of imagination, and of poetry; he taught him the spanish tongue, that lovely and noble instructress of the great corneille; and it is doubtless no slight honour for the language of cervantes to have given birth in our land to "the cid" and to "gil blas." you may imagine with what delight le sage accepted this instruction, and how perfectly at home he found himself in those elegant and gracious manners; with what good will he studied that smiling gallantry, that loyal jealousy; those duennas in appearance so austere, in reality so accessible; those lovely women, their feet ensatined, their head in the mantilla; those charming mansions, all carved without, and within all silence; those exciting windows, lighted by smiles above, while concerts murmur at their feet! you may imagine if he adopted those lively and coquetish waiting-women, those ingenious and rascally valets, those enormous mantles so favourable to love, those ancient bowers so friendly to its modest blisses! thus, when he had discovered this new world of poesy, of which he was about to be the pizarro and the fernando cortes, and of which corneille had been the christopher columbus, rené le sage clapped his hands for joy. in his noble pride, he stamped his feet on this enchanted land; he began to read, you may fancy with what delight, that admirable epic, "don quixote," which he studied for its grace, its charms, its poetry, its passion; putting for the time aside its satire, and the sarcasm concealed in this splendid drama, as weapons for a later use, when he should attack the financiers. certainly, the abbé de lyonne never dreamt that he was opening to the light this exhaustless mine for the man who was to become the first comic poet of france--since molière is one of those geniuses apart, of whom all the nations of the earth, all literary ages, claim alike with equal right the honour and the glory. the first fruit of this spanish cultivation was a volume of comedies which le sage published, and in which he had translated some excellent pieces of the spanish stage. it contained only one from lopez de vega, so ingenious and so fruitful; that was certainly too few: there was in it not one of calderon de la barca; and that was as certainly not enough. in this book, which i have read with care, in search of some of those luminous rays which betoken the presence of the man of genius wherever he has passed, i have met with nothing but the translator. the original writer does not yet display himself: it is because style is a thing which comes but slowly; it is because, in this heart of comedy more especially, there are certain secrets of trade which no talent can replace, and which must be learned at whatever cost. these secrets le sage learned, as every thing is learned, at his own expense. from a simple translator as he was, he became an arranger of dramatic pieces, and in (the eighteenth century had begun its course, but with timid steps, and none could have predicted what it would become) le sage brought out at the théâtre français a comedy in five acts, "le point d'honneur:" it was a mere imitation from the spanish. the imitation had small success, and le sage comprehended not this lesson of the public; he understood not that something whispered to the pit, so reserved in its applause, that there was in this translator an original poet. to avenge himself, what did le sage? he fell into a greater error still: he set to work translating--will you believe it?--the continuation of "don quixote," as if "don quixote" could have a continuation; as if there were a person in the world, even cervantes himself, who had the right to add a chapter to this famous history! verily, it is strange, indeed, that with his taste so pure, his judgment so correct, le sage should have ever thought of this unhappy _continuation_. this time, therefore, again his new attempt had no success; the parisian public, which, whatever may be said to the contrary, is a great judge, was more just for the veritable quixote than le sage himself; and he had once more to begin anew. however, he yet once more attempted this new road, which could lead him to nothing good. he returned to the charge, still with a spanish comedy, "don césar ursin," imitated from calderon. this piece was played for the first time at versailles, and applauded to the skies by the court, which deceived itself almost as often as the town. le sage now thought that the battle at last was won. vain hope! it was again a battle lost, for, brought from versailles to paris, the comedy of "don césar ursin" was hissed off the stage by the parisian pit, which thus unmercifully annihilated the eulogies of the court, and the first victory of the author. it was now full time to yield to the force of evidence. enlightened by these rude instructions, le sage at last comprehended that it was not permitted to him, to him less than to all others, to be a plagiarist; that originality was one of the grand causes of success; and that to confine himself for ever to this servile imitation of the spanish poets was to become a poet lost. now, therefore, behold him, determined in his turn to be an original poet. this time he no longer copies, he invents; he arranges his fable to his mind, and seeks no further refuge in the phantasmagoria of spain. with original ideas, comes to him originality of style; and he at last lights on that wondrous and imperishable dialogue which may be compared to the dialogue of molière, not for its ease, perhaps, but unquestionably for its grace and elegance. he found at the same time, to his great joy, now that he was himself--that he walked in the footsteps of nobody, he found that the business was much more simple; this time he was at his ease in his plot, which he disposed as it pleased him; he breathed freely in the space which he had opened to himself; nothing constrained his march, any more than his poetical caprice. well! at last then we behold him the supreme moderator of his work, we behold him such as the pit would have him, such as we all hoped he was. this happy comedy, which is, beyond all doubt, the first work of le sage, is entitled "crispin, rival de son maître." when he had finished it, le sage, grateful for the reception which the court had given to "don césar ursin," was desirous that the court should also have the first hearing of "crispin, rival de son maître." he remembered, with great delight, that the first applauses he had received had been echoed from versailles! behold him then producing his new comedy before the court. but, alas! this time the opinion of the court had changed: without regard for the plaudits of versailles, the pit of the paris theatre had hissed "don césar ursin"; versailles in its turn, and as if to take its revenge, now hissed "crispin, rival de son maître." we must allow that, for a mind less strong, here was enough to confound a man for ever, and to make him comprehend nothing either as to the success or the failure of his productions. happily, le sage appealed from the public of versailles to the pit of paris; and as much as "crispin, rival de son maître" had been hissed at versailles, so much was this charming comedy applauded at paris. on this occasion, it was not alone to give the lie to the court, that the pit applauded; paris had refound, in truth, in this new piece, all the qualities of true comedy,--the wit, the grace, the easy irony, the exhaustless pleasantry, a noble frankness, much biting satire, and a moderate seasoning of love. as to those who would turn into accusation the hisses of versailles, they should recollect that more than one chef-d'oeuvre, hissed at paris, has been raised again by the suffrages of versailles;--"les plaideurs" of racine, for instance, which the court restored to the poet with extraordinary applause, with the bursting laughter of louis xiv., which come deliciously to trouble the repose of racine, at five o'clock in the morning. happy times, on the contrary, when poets had, to approve them, to try them, this double jurisdiction; when they could appeal from the censures of the court to the praises of the town, from the hisses of versailles to the plaudits of paris! now we behold rené le sage, to whom nothing opposes: he has divined his true vocation, which is comedy; he understands what may be made of the human race, and by what light threads are suspended the human heart. these threads of gold, of silver, or of brass, he holds them at this moment in his hand, and you will see with what skill he weaves them. already in his head, which bears gil blas and his fortune, ferment the most charming recitals of "le diable boiteux." silence! "turcaret" is about to appear,--turcaret, whom molière would not have forgotten if turcaret had lived in his day; but it was necessary to wait till france should have escaped from the reign, so decorous, of louis xiv., to witness the coming, after the man of the church, after the man of the sword, this man without heart and without mind,--the man of money. in a society like our own, the man of money is one of those bastard and insolent powers which grow out of the affairs of every day, as the mushroom grows out from the dunghill. we know not whence comes this inert force,--we know not how it is maintained on the surface of the world, and nothing tells how it disappears, after having thrown its phosphorus of an instant. it is necessary, in truth, that an epoch should be sufficiently corrupt, and sufficiently stained with infamy, when it replaces, by money, the sword of the warrior, by money the sentence of the judge, by money the intelligence of the legislator, by money the sceptre of the king himself. once that a nation has descended so low, as to adore money on its knees--to require neither fine arts, nor poesy, nor love, it is debased as was the jewish people, when it knelt before the golden calf. happily, of all the ephemeral powers in the world, money is the most ephemeral; we extend to it our right hand, it is true, but we buffet it with our left; we prostrate ourselves before it as it passes along,--yes; but when it has passed, we kick it with our foot! this is what le sage marvellously comprehended, like a great comic poet as he was. he found the absurd and frightful side of those gilded men who divide our finances, menials enriched overnight, who, more than once, by a perfectly natural mistake, have mounted behind their own coaches. and such is turcaret. the poet has loaded him with vices the most disgraceful, with follies the most dishonouring; he tears from this heart, debased by money, every natural affection; and nevertheless, even in this fearful picture, le sage has confined himself within the limits of comedy, and not once in this admirable production does contempt or indignation take the place of laughter. it was then with good cause that the whole race of financiers, as soon as they had heard of turcaret, caballed against this chef-d'oeuvre; the cry resounded in all the rich saloons of paris; it was echoed from the usurers who lent their money to the nobles, and re-echoed by the nobles who condescended to borrow from the usurers; it was a general hue and cry. "le tartufe" of molière never met with greater opposition among the devotees than "turcaret" experienced from financiers; and, to make use of the expression of beaumarchais in reference to "figaro," it required as much mind for le sage to cause his comedy to be played as it did to write it. but on this occasion, again, the public, which is the all-powerful manager in these matters, was more potent than intrigue; monseigneur le grand dauphin, that prince so illustrious by his piety and virtue, protected the comedy of le sage, as his ancestor, louis xiv., had protected that of molière. on this, the financiers, perceiving that all was lost as far as intrigue was concerned, had recourse to money, which is the last reason of this description of upstarts, as cannon is the _ultima ratio_ of kings. this time again the attack availed not: the great poet refused a fortune that his comedy might be played, and unquestionably he made a good bargain by his resolve, preferable a hundred thousand times to all the fortunes which have been made and lost in the rue quincampoix.[ ] the success of "turcaret" ( ) was immense; the parisian enjoyed with rare delight the spectacle of these grasping money-hunters devoted to the most cruel ridicule. what if le sage had deferred the production of this masterpiece! these men would have disappeared, to make room for others of the kind, and they would have carried with them into oblivion the comedy they had paid for. it would have been a _chef-d'oeuvre_ lost to us for ever; and never, that we know of, would the good men on 'change have dealt us a more fatal blow. [ ] in this street, in , the famous projector law established his bank; and the rage for speculation which followed, made it for a time the bourse of paris. a hump-backed man made a large fortune by lending himself as a desk, whereon the speculators might sign their contracts, or the transfer of shares. the rue quincampoix is still a leading street for business, but its trade is now confined to more honest wares, such as drugs and grocery. who would credit it, however? after this superb production, which should have rendered him the master of french comedy, le sage was soon compelled to abandon that ungrateful theatre which understood him not. he renounced,--he, the author of "turcaret,"--pure comedy, to write, as a pastime, farces, little one-act pieces mingled with couplets, which made the life of the théâtre de la foire saint laurent, and of the théâtre de la foire saint germain. unfortunate example for le sage to set, in expending, without thought, all his talent, from day to day, without pity for himself, without profit for anyone. what! the author of "turcaret" to fill exactly the same office as m. scribe; to waste his time, his style, and his genius upon that trifling comedy which a breath can hurry away! and the french comedians were all unmoved, and hastened not to throw themselves at the feet of le sage, to pray, to supplicate him to take under his all-powerful protection that theatre elevated by the genius and by the toils of molière! but these senseless comedians were unable to foresee anything. nevertheless, if he had renounced the théâtre français, le sage had not abandoned true comedy. all the comedies which thronged his brain, he heaped them up in that grand work which is called "gil blas," and which includes within itself alone the history of the human heart. what can be said of "gil blas" which has not already been written? how can i sufficiently eulogise the only book truly gay in the french language? the man who wrote "gil blas" has placed himself in the first rank among all the authors of this world; he has made himself, by the magic of his pen, the cousin-german of rabelais and montaigne, the grandfather of voltaire, the brother of cervantes, and the younger brother of molière; he takes his place, in plenitude of right, in the family of comic poets, who have themselves been philosophers. in the same vein, he has further composed the "bachelier de salamanque," which would be a charming book if "gil blas" existed not, if above all, before writing his "gil blas," he had not written this charming book, "le diable boiteux." and now, _sauve qui peut!_ the devil is let loose upon the town, a devil truly french, who has the wit, the grace, and the vivacity of gil blas. beware! look to yourselves, you the ridiculous and the vicious, who have escaped the high comedy of the stage, for, by the virtue of this all-potent wand, not alone your mansions but your very souls shall in a twinkling change to glass. beware! i say; for asmodeus, the terrible scoffer, is about to plunge his pitiless eye into those mysterious places which you deemed so impenetrable, and to each of you he will reveal his secret history; he will strike you without mercy with that ivory crutch which opens all doors and all hearts; he will proclaim aloud your follies and your vices. none shall escape from that vigilant observer, who, astride upon his crutch, glides upon the roofs of the best secured houses, and divines their ambitions, their jealousies, their inquietudes, and, above all, their midnight wakefulness. considered with relation to its wit without bitterness, its satire which laughs at everything, and with regard to its style, which is admirable, "le diable boiteux" is perhaps the book most perfectly french in our language; it is perhaps the only book that molière would have put his name to after "gil blas." such was this life, all filled with most delightful labour, as also with the most serious toil; thus did this man, who was born a great author, and who has raised to perfection the talent of writing, go on from chef-d'oeuvre to chef-d'oeuvre without pause. the number of his productions is not exactly known; at sixty-five years of age, he yet wrote a volume of _mélanges_, and he died without imagining to himself the glories which were reserved for his name. an amiable and light-hearted philosopher, he was to the end full of wit and good sense; an agreeable gossiper, a faithful friend, an indulgent father, he retired to the little town of boulogne-sur-mer, where he became without ceremony a good citizen, whom everybody shook by the hand without any great suspicion that he was a man of genius. of three sons who had been born to him, two became comedians, to the great sorrow of their noble father, who had preserved for the players, as is plainly perceptible in "gil blas," a well-merited dislike. however, le sage pardoned his two children, and he even frequently went to applaud the elder, who had taken the name of monmenil; and when monmenil died, before his father, le sage wept for him, and never from that time ( ) entered a theatre. his third son, the brother of these two comedians, was a good canon of boulogne-sur-mer; and it was to his house that le sage retired with his wife and his daughter, deserving objects of his affection, and who made all the happiness of his latest days. one of the most affable gentlemen of that time, who would have been remarkable by his talents, even though he had not been distinguished by his nobility, m. le comte de tressan, governor of boulogne-sur-mer, was in the habit of seeing the worthy old man during the last year of his life; and upon that fine face, shaded with thick white hairs, he could still discern that love and genius had been there. le sage rose early, and his first steps took him to seek the sun. by degrees, as the luminous rays fell upon him, thought returned to his forehead, motion to his heart, gesture to his hand, and his eyes were lighted with their wonted fire: as the sun mounted in the skies, this awakened intelligence appeared, on its side, more brilliant and more clear; so much so, that you beheld again before you the author of "gil blas." but, alas! all this animation drooped in proportion as the sun declined; and, when night was come, you had before your eyes but a good old man, whose steps must be tended to his dwelling. thus died he, one day in summer. the sun had shown itself in heaven's topmost height on that bright day; and it had not quite left the earth when le sage called the members of his family around to bless them. he was little less than ninety when he died ( ). to give you an idea of the popularity that this man enjoyed even during his life-time, i will finish with this anecdote: when the "diable boiteux" appeared, in , the success of this admirable and ingenious satire upon human life was so great, the public esteemed the lively epigrams it contains so delightful, that the publisher was obliged to print two editions in one week. on the last day of this week, two gentlemen, their swords by their sides, as was then the custom, entered the bookseller's shop to buy the new romance. a single copy remained to sell: one of these gentlemen would have it, the other also claimed it; what was to be done? why, in a moment, there were our two infuriate readers with their swords drawn, and fighting for the first blood, and the last "diable boiteux." but what, i pray you, had they done, were it a question then of the "diable boiteux" illustrated by tony johannot? jules janin. [illustration: a street in madrid] asmodeus; or, the devil on two sticks. chapter i. what sort of a devil he of the two sticks was--when and by what accident don cleophas leandro perez zambullo first gained the honour of his acquaintance. a night in the month of october covered with its thick darkness the famous city of madrid. already the inhabitants, retired to their homes, had left the streets free for lovers who desired to sing their woes or their delights beneath the balconies of their mistresses; already had the tinkling of guitars aroused the care of fathers, or alarmed the jealousy of husbands; in short, it was near midnight, when don cleophas leandro perez zambullo, a student of alcala, suddenly emerged, by the skylight, from a house into which the incautious son of the cytherean goddess had induced him to enter. he sought to preserve his life and his honour, by endeavouring to escape from three or four hired assassins, who followed him closely, for the purpose of either killing him or compelling him to wed a lady with whom they had just surprised him. [illustration: zambullo fleeing from the hired assassins] against such fearful odds he had for some time valiantly defended himself; and had only flown, at last, on losing his sword in the combat. the bravos followed him for some time over the roofs of the neighbouring houses; but, favoured by the darkness, he evaded their pursuit; and perceiving at some distance a light, which love or fortune had placed there to guide him through this perilous adventure, he hastened towards it with all his remaining strength. after having more than once endangered his neck, he at length reached a garret, whence the welcome rays proceeded, and without ceremony entered by the window; as much transported with joy as the pilot who safely steers his vessel into port when menaced with the horrors of shipwreck. he looked cautiously around him; and, somewhat surprised to find nobody in the apartment, which was rather a singular domicile, he began to scrutinize it with much attention. a brass lamp was hanging from the ceiling; books and papers were heaped in confusion on the table; a globe and mariner's compass occupied one side of the room, and on the other were ranged phials and quadrants; all which made him conclude that he had found his way into the haunt of some astrologer, who, if he did not live there, was in the habit of resorting to this hole to make his observations. he was reflecting on the dangers he had by good fortune escaped, and was considering whether he should remain where he was until the morning, or what other course he should pursue, when he heard a deep sigh very near him. he at first imagined it was a mere phantasy of his agitated mind, an illusion of the night; so, without troubling himself about the matter, he was in a moment again busied with his reflections. [illustration: lucifer, the mountebank's devil] but having distinctly heard a second sigh, he no longer doubted its reality; and, although he saw no one in the room, he nevertheless called out,--"who the devil is sighing here?" "it is i, signor student," immediately answered a voice, in which there was something rather extraordinary; "i have been for the last six months enclosed in one of these phials. in this house lodges a learned astrologer, who is also a magician: he it is who, by the power of his art, keeps me confined in this narrow prison." "you are then a spirit?" said don cleophas, somewhat perplexed by this new adventure. "i am a demon," replied the voice; "and you have come in the very nick of time to free me from slavery. i languish in idleness; for of all the devils in hell, i am the most active and indefatigable." [illustration: uriel, patron of tradesmen] these words somewhat alarmed signor zambullo; but, as he was naturally brave, he quickly recovered himself, and said in a resolute tone: "signor diabolus, tell me, i pray you, what rank you may hold among your brethren. are you an aristocrat, or a burgess?" "i am," replied the voice, "a devil of importance, nay, the one of highest repute in this, as in the other world." "perchance," said don cleophas, "you are the renowned lucifer?" "bah," replied the spirit; "why, he is the mountebank's devil." "are you uriel then?" asked the student. "for shame!" hastily interrupted the voice; "no, he is the patron of tradesmen; of tailors, butchers, bakers, and other cheats of the middle classes." "well, perhaps you are beelzebub?" said leandro. "are you joking?" replied the spirit; "he is the demon of duennas and footmen." "that astonishes me," said zambullo; "i thought beelzebub one of the greatest persons at your court." "he is one of the meanest of its subjects," answered the demon; "i see you have no very clear notions of our hell." [illustration: leviathan, belphegor and ashtaroth] "there is no doubt then," said don cleophas, "that you are either leviathan, belphegor, or ashtaroth." "ah! those three now," replied the voice, "are devils of the first order, veritable spirits of diplomacy. they animate the councils of princes, create factions, excite insurrections, and light the torches of war. they are not such peddling devils as the others you have named." "by the bye! tell me," interrupted the scholar, "what post is assigned to flagel?" "he is the soul of special pleading, and the spirit of the bar. he composes the rules of court, invented the law of libel, and that for the imprisonment of insolvent debtors; in short, he inspires pleaders, possesses barristers, and besets even the judges. [illustration: flagel] "for myself, i have other occupations: i make absurd matches; i marry greybeards with minors, masters with servants, girls with small fortunes with tender lovers who have none. it is i who introduced into this world luxury, debauchery, games of chance, and chemistry. i am the author of the first cookery book, the inventor of festivals, of dancing, music, plays, and of the newest fashions; in a word, i am asmodeus, surnamed the devil on two sticks." "what do i hear," cried don cleophas; "are you the famed asmodeus, of whom such honourable mention is made by agrippa and in the clavicula salamonis? verily, you have not told me all your amusements; you have forgotten the best of all. i am well aware that you sometimes divert yourself by assisting unhappy lovers: by this token, last year only, a young friend of mine obtained, by your favour, the good graces of the wife of a doctor in our university, at alcala." "that is true," said the spirit: "i reserved that for my last good quality. i am the demon of voluptuousness, or, to express it more delicately, cupid, the god of love; that being the name for which i am indebted to the poets, who, i must confess, have painted me in very flattering colours. they say i have golden wings, a fillet bound over my eyes; that i carry a bow in my hand, a quiver full of arrows on my shoulders, and have withal inexpressible beauty. of this, however, you may soon judge for yourself, if you will but restore me to liberty." "signor asmodeus," replied leandro perez, "it is, as you know, long since i have been devoted to you: the perils i have just escaped will prove to you how entirely. i am rejoiced to have an opportunity of serving you; but the vessel in which you are confined is undoubtedly enchanted, and i should vainly strive to open, or to break it: so i do not see clearly in what manner i can deliver you from your bondage. i am not much used to these sorts of disenchantments; and, between ourselves, if, cunning devil as you are, you know not how to gain your freedom, what probability is there that a poor mortal like myself can effect it?" "mankind has this power," answered the demon. "the phial which encloses me is but a mere glass bottle, easy to break. you have only to throw it on the ground, and i shall appear before you in human form." "in that case," said the student, "the matter is easier of accomplishment than i imagined. but tell me in which of the phials you are; i see a great number of them, and all so like one another, that there may be a devil in each, for aught i know." "it is the fourth from the window," replied the spirit. "there is the impress of a magical seal on its mouth; but the bottle will break, nevertheless." "enough," said don cleophas; "i am ready to do your bidding. there is, however, one little difficulty which deters me: when i shall have rendered you the service you require, how know i that i shall not have to pay the magician, in my precious person, for the mischief i have done?" "no harm shall befall you," replied the demon: "on the contrary, i promise to content you with the fruits of my gratitude. i will teach you all you can desire to know; i will discover to you the shifting scenes of this world's great stage; i will exhibit to you the follies and the vices of mankind; in short, i will be your tutelary demon: and, more wise than the genius of socrates, i undertake to render you a greater sage than that unfortunate philosopher. in a word, i am yours, with all my good and bad qualities; and they shall be to you equally useful." "fine promises, doubtless," replied the student; "but if report speak truly, you devils are accused of not being religiously scrupulous in the performance of your undertakings." "report is not always a liar," said asmodeus, "and this is an instance to the contrary. the greater part of my brethren think no more of breaking their word than a minister of state; but for myself, not to mention the service you are about to render me, and which i can never sufficiently repay, i am a slave to my engagements; and i swear by all a devil holds sacred, that i will not deceive you. rely on my word, and the assurances i offer: and what must be peculiarly pleasing to you, i engage, this night, to avenge your wrongs on donna thomasa, the perfidious woman who had concealed within her house the four scoundrels who surprised you, that she might compel you to espouse her, and patch up her damaged reputation." the young zambullo was especially delighted with this last promise. to hasten its accomplishment, he seized the phial; and, without further thought on the event, he dashed it on the floor. it broke into a thousand pieces, inundating the apartment with a blackish liquor: this, evaporating by degrees, was converted into a thick vapour, which, suddenly dissipating, revealed to the astonished sight of the student the figure of a man in a cloak, about two feet six inches high, and supported by two crutches. this little monster had the legs of a goat, a long visage, pointed chin, a dark sallow complexion, and a very flat nose; his eyes, to all appearance very small, resembled two burning coals; his enormous mouth was surmounted by a pair of red mustachios, and ornamented with two lips of unequalled ugliness. [illustration: asmodeus revealed to zambullo] the head of this graceful cupid was enveloped in a sort of turban of red crape, relieved by a plume of cock's and peacock's feathers. round his neck was a collar of yellow cloth, upon which were embroidered divers patterns of necklaces and earrings. he wore a short white satin gown, or tunic, encircled about the middle by a large band of parchment of the same colour, covered with talismanic characters. on the gown, also, were painted various bodices, beautifully adapted for the display of the fair wearers' necks; scarfs of different patterns, worked or coloured aprons, and head-dresses of the newest fashion;--all so extravagant, that it was impossible to admire one more than another. [illustration: detail of the cloak: the spanish lady and her admirer] but all this was nothing as compared with his cloak, the foundation of which was also white satin. its exterior presented an infinity of figures delicately tinted in indian ink, and yet with so much freedom and expression that you would have wondered who the devil could have painted it. on one side appeared a spanish lady covered with her mantilla, and leering at a stranger on the promenade; and on the other a parisian grisette, who before her mirror was studying new airs to victimize a young abbé, at that moment opening the door. here, the gay italian was singing to the guitar beneath the balcony of his mistress; and there, the sottish german, with vest unbuttoned, stupefied with wine, and more begrimed with snuff than a french petit-maître, was sitting, surrounded by his companions, at a table covered with the filthy remnants of their debauch. in one place could be perceived a turkish bashaw coming from the bath, attended by all the houris of his seraglio, each watchful for the handkerchief; and in another an english gentleman, who was gallantly presenting to his lady-love a pipe and a glass of porter. [illustration: the gamesters] besides these there were gamesters, marvellously well portrayed; some, elated with joy, filling their hats with pieces of gold and silver; and others, who had lost all but their honour, and willing to stake on that, now turning their sacrilegious eyes to heaven, and now gnawing the very cards in despair. in short, there were as many curious things to be seen on this cloak as on the admirable shield which vulcan forged for achilles, at the prayer of his mother thetis; with this difference however,--the subjects on the buckler of the grecian hero had no relation to his own exploits, while those on the mantle of asmodeus were lively images of all that is done in this world at his suggestion. chapter ii. what followed the deliverance of asmodeus. upon perceiving that his appearance had not prepossessed the student very greatly in his favour, the demon said to him, smiling: "well, signor don cleophas leandro perez zambullo, you behold the charming god of love, that sovereign master of the human heart. what think you of my air and beauty? confess that the poets are excellent painters." "frankly!" replied don cleophas, "i must say they have a little flattered you. i fancy, it was not in this form that you won the love of psyche." "certainly not," replied the devil: "i borrowed the graces of a little french marquis, to make her dote upon me. vice must be hidden under a pleasing veil, or it wins not even woman. i take what shape best pleases me; and i could have discovered myself to you under the form of the apollo belvi, but that as i have nothing to disguise from you, i preferred you should see me under a figure more agreeable to the opinion which the world generally entertains of me and my performances." "i am not surprised," said leandro, "to find you rather ugly--excuse the phrase, i pray you; the transactions we are about to have with each other demand a little frankness: your features indeed almost exactly realise the idea i had formed of you. but tell me, how happens it that you are on crutches?" "why," replied the demon, "many years ago, i had an unfortunate difference with pillardoc, the spirit of gain, and the patron of pawnbrokers. the subject of our dispute was a stripling who came to paris to seek his fortune. as he was capital game, a youth of promising talents, we contested the prize with a noble ardour. we fought in the regions of mid-air; and pillardoc, who excelled me in strength, cast me on the earth after the mode in which jupiter is related by the poets to have tumbled vulcan. the striking resemblance of our mishaps gained me, from my witty comrades, the sobriquet of the limping devil, or the devil on two sticks, which has stuck to me from that time to this. nevertheless, limping as i am, i am tolerably quick in my movements; and you shall witness for my agility. "but," added he, "a truce to idle talk; let us get out of this confounded garret. my friend the magician will be here shortly; as he is hard at work on rendering a handsome damsel, who visits him nightly, immortal. if he should surprise us, i shall be snug in a bottle in no time; and it may go hard but he finds one to fit you also. so let us away! but first to throw the pieces, of that which was once my prison, out of the window; for such 'dead men' as these _do_ tell tales." "what if your friend does find out that you are 'missing?'" "what!" hastily replied the demon; "i see you have never studied the treatise on compulsions. were i hidden at the extremity of the earth, or in the region where dwells the fiery salamander; though i sought the murkiest cavern of the gnomes, or plunged in the most unfathomable depths of the ocean, i should vainly strive to evade the terrors of his wrath. hell itself would tremble at the potency of his spells. in vain should i struggle: despite myself should i be dragged before my master, to feel the weight of his dreaded chains." [illustration: asmodeus carried off] "that being the case," said the student, "i fear that our intimacy will not be of long duration: this redoubtable necromancer will doubtless soon discover your flight." "that is more than i know," replied the spirit; "there is no foreseeing what may happen." "what!" cried leandro perez; "a demon, and ignorant of the future!" "exactly so," answered the devil; "and they are only our dupes who think otherwise. however, there are enough of them to find good employment for diviners and fortune-tellers, especially among your women of quality; for those are always most eager about the future who have best reason to be contented with the present, which and the past are all we know or care for. i am ignorant, therefore, whether my master will soon discover my absence; but let us hope he will not: there are plenty of phials similar to the one in which i was enclosed, and he may never miss that. besides, in his laboratory, i am something like a law-book in the library of a financier. he never thinks of me; or if he does, he would think he did me too great an honour if he condescended to notice me. he is the most haughty enchanter of my acquaintance: long as he has deprived me of my liberty, we have never exchanged a syllable." "that is extraordinary!" said don cleophas; "what have you done to deserve so much hatred or scorn?" "i crossed him in one of his projects," replied asmodeus. "there was a chair vacant in a certain academy, which he had designed for a friend of his, a professor of necromancy; but which i had destined for a particular friend of my own. the magician set to work with one of the most potent talismans of the cabala; but i knew better than that: i had placed my man in the service of the prime minister; whose word is worth a dozen talismans, with the academicians, any day." while the demon was thus conversing, he was busily engaged in collecting every fragment of the broken phial; which having thrown out of the window, "signor zambullo," said he, "let us begone! hold fast by the end of my mantle, and fear nothing." however perilous this appeared to leandro perez, he preferred the possible danger to the certainty of the magician's resentment; and, accordingly, he fastened himself as well as he could to the demon, who in an instant whisked him out of the apartment. [illustration: asmodeus and zambullo flying over madrid] chapter iii. where the devil translated the student; and the first fruits of his ecclesiastical elevation. cleophas found that asmodeus had not vainly boasted of his agility. they darted through the air like an arrow from the bow, and were soon perched on the tower of san salvador. "well, signor leandro," said the demon as they alighted; "what think you now of the justice of those who, as they slowly rumble in some antiquated vehicle, talk of a devilish bad carriage?" "i must, hereafter, think them most unreasonable," politely replied zambullo. "i dare affirm that his majesty of castile has never travelled so easily; and then for speed, at your rate, one might travel round the world nor care to stretch a leg." "you are really too polite," replied the devil; "but can you guess now why i have brought you here? i intend to show you all that is passing in madrid; and as this part of the town is as good to begin with as any, you will allow that i could not have chosen a more appropriate situation. i am about, by my supernatural powers, to take away the roofs from the houses of this great city; and notwithstanding the darkness of the night, to reveal to your eyes whatever is doing within them." as he spake, he extended his right arm, the roofs disappeared, and the student's astonished sight penetrated the interior of the surrounding dwellings as plainly as if the noon-day sun shone over them. "it was," says luis velez de guevara, "like looking into a pasty from which a set of greedy monks had just removed the crust." [illustration: the miser counting his gold and silver] the spectacle was, as you may suppose, sufficiently wonderful to rivet all the student's attention. he looked amazedly around him, and on all sides were objects which most intensely excited his curiosity. at length the devil said to him: "signor don cleophas, this confusion of objects, which you regard with an evident pleasure, is certainly very agreeable to look upon; but i must render useful to you what would be otherwise but a frivolous amusement. to unlock for you the secret chambers of the human heart, i will explain in what all these persons that you see are engaged. all shall be open to you; i will discover the hidden motives of their deeds, and reveal to you their unbidden thoughts. [illustration: the miser's nephews consulting the sorceress] "where shall we begin? see! do you observe this house to my right? observe that old man, who is counting gold and silver into heaps. he is a miserly citizen. his carriage, which he bought for next to nothing at the sale of an alcade of the cortes, and which to save expense still sports the arms of its late owner, is drawn by a pair of worthless mules, which he feeds according to the law of the twelve tables, that is to say, he gives each, daily, one pound of barley: he treats them as the romans treated their slaves--wisely, but not too well. it is now two years since he returned from the indies, bringing with him innumerable bars of gold, which he has since converted into coin. look at the old fool! with what satisfaction he gloats over his riches. and now, see what is passing in an adjoining chamber of the same house. do you observe two young men with an old woman?" "yes," replied cleophas, "they are probably his children." "no, no!" said the devil, "they are his nephews, and, what is better in their opinion, his heirs. in their anxiety for his welfare, they have invited a sorceress to ascertain when death will take from them their dear uncle, and leave to them the division of his spoil. in the next house there are a pair of pictures worth remarking. one is an antiquated coquette who is retiring to rest, after depositing on her toilet, her hair, her eyebrows and her teeth; the other is a gallant sexagenarian, who has just returned from a love campaign. he has already closed one eye, in its case, and placed his whiskers and peruke on the dressing table. his valet is now easing him of an arm and one leg, to put him to bed with the rest." [illustration: the valet removing the sexagenarian's wooden leg] "if i may trust my eyes," cried zambullo, "i see in the next room a tall young damsel, quite a model for an artist. what a lovely form and air!" "i see," said the devil. "well! that young beauty is an elder sister of the gallant i have just described, and is a worthy pendant to the coquette who is under the same roof. her figure, that you so much admire, is really good; but then she is indebted for it to an ingenious mechanist, whom i patronise. her bust and hips are formed after my own patent; and it is only last sunday that she generously dropped her bustle at the door of this very church, on the occasion of a charity sermon. nevertheless, as she affects the juvenile, she has two cavaliers who ardently dispute her favour;--nay, they have even come to blows on the occasion. madmen! two dogs fighting for a bone. [illustration: the old lady being unlaced by her maid] "prithee, laugh with me at an amateur concert which is performing in a neighbouring mansion; an after-supper offering to apollo. they are singing cantatas. an old counsellor has composed the air; and the words are by an alguazil, who does the amiable after that fashion among his friends--an ass who writes verses for his own pleasure, and for the punishment of others. a harpsichord and clarionet form the accompaniment; a lanky chorister, who squeaks marvellously, takes the treble, and a young girl with a hoarse voice the bass." "what a delightful party!" cried don cleophas. "had they tried expressly to get up a musical extravaganza, they could not have succeeded better." [illustration: the amateur concert] "cast your eyes on that superb mansion," continued the demon; "and you will perceive a nobleman lying in a splendid apartment. he has, near his couch, a casket filled with billets-doux; in which he is luxuriating, that the sweet nothings they contain may lull his senses gently to repose. they ought to be dear to him, for they are from a signora he adores; and who so well appreciates the value of her favours, that she will soon reduce him to the necessity of soliciting the exile of a viceroyalty, for his own support. let us leave him to his slumbers, to watch the stir they are making in the next house to the left. can you distinguish a lady in a bed with red damask furniture? her name is donna fabula. she is of high rank, and is about to present an heir to her spouse, the aged don torribio, whom you see by her side, endeavouring to soothe the pangs of his lady until the arrival of the midwife. is it not delightful to witness so much tenderness? the cries of his dear better-half pierce him to the soul: he is overwhelmed with grief; he suffers as much as his wife. with what care,--with what earnestness does he bend over her!" "really," said leandro, "the man does appear deeply affected; but i perceive, in the room above, a youngster apparently a domestic, who sleeps soundly enough: he troubles himself not for the event." "and yet it ought to interest him," replied asmodeus; "for the sleeper is the first cause of his mistress's sufferings. [illustration: don torribio soothing donna fabula] "but see,--a little beyond," continued the demon: "in that low room, you may observe an old wretch who is anointing himself with lard. he is about to join an assembly of wizards, which takes place to-night between san sebastian and fontarabia. i would carry you thither in a moment, as it would amuse you; but that i fear i might be recognised by the devil who personates the goat." "that devil and you then," said the scholar, "are not good friends?" "no, indeed! you are right," replied asmodeus, "he is that same pillardoc of whom i told you. the scoundrel would betray me, and soon inform the magician of my flight." "you have perhaps had some other squabble with this gentleman?" "precisely so," said the demon: "some ten years ago we had a second difference about a young parisian who was thinking of commencing life. he wanted to make him a banker's clerk; and i, a lady-killer. our comrades settled the dispute by making him a wretched monk. this done, they reconciled us: we embraced; and from that time have been mortal foes." "but, have done with this belle assemblée," said don cleophas; "i am not at all curious to witness it: let us continue our scrutiny into what is before us. what is the meaning of those sparks of fire which issue from yonder cellar?" "they proceed from one of the most absurd occupations of mankind," replied the devil. "the grave personage whom you behold near the furnace is an alchymist; and the flames are gradually consuming his rich patrimony, never to yield him what he seeks in return. between ourselves, the philosopher's stone is a chimera that i myself invented to amuse the wit of man, who ever seeks to pass those bounds which the laws of nature have prescribed for his intelligence. "the alchymist's neighbour is an honest apothecary, who you perceive is still at his labours, with his aged wife and assistant. you would never guess what they are about. the apothecary is compounding a progenerative pill for an old advocate who is to be married to-morrow; the assistant is mixing a laxative potion; and the old lady is pounding astringent drugs in a mortar." [illustration: the apothecary, his wife, and his assistant] "i perceive, in the house facing the apothecary's," said zambullo, "a man who has just jumped out of bed, and is hastily dressing." "pshaw!" replied the spirit, "he need not hurry himself. he is a physician; and has been sent for by a prelate who since he has retired to rest--about an hour--has absolutely coughed two or three times. "but look a little further, in a garret on the right, and try if you cannot distinguish a man half dressed, who is walking up and down the room, dimly lighted by a single lamp." "i see," said the student; "and so clearly that i would undertake to furnish you with an inventory of his chattels,--to wit, a truckle-bed, a three-legged stool, and a deal table; the walls seem to be daubed all over with black paint." "that exalted personage," said asmodeus, "is a poet; and what appears to you black paint, are tragic verses with which he has ornamented his apartment, being obliged, for want of paper, to commit his effusions to the wall." "by his agitation and phrenzied air, i conclude he is now busily engaged on some work of importance," said don cleophas. "you are not far out," replied the devil: "he only yesterday completed the last act of an interesting tragedy, intitled the universal deluge. he cannot be reproached with having violated the unity of place, at all events, as the entire action is limited to noah's ark. [illustration: the poet, composing his dedication] "i can assure you it is a first-rate drama: all the animals talk as learnedly as professors. it of course must have a dedication, upon which he has been labouring for the last six hours; and he is, at this moment, turning the last period. it will be indeed a masterpiece of adulatory composition: every social and political virtue; every grace that can adorn; all that tends to render man illustrious, either by his own deeds or those of his ancestors, are attributed to its object;--never was praise more lavishly bestowed, never was incense burnt more liberally." "for whom, then, of all the world, is so magnificent an apotheosis intended?" "why," replied the demon, "the poet himself has not yet determined that; he has put in every thing but the name. however, he hopes to find some vain noble who may be more liberal than those to whom he has dedicated his former productions; although the purchasers of imaginary virtues are becoming every day more rare. it is not my fault that it is so; for it is a fault corrected in the wealthy patrons of literature, and a great benefit rendered to the public, who were certain to be deluged by trash from the swiss of the press, so long as books were written merely for the produce of their dedications. "apropos of this subject," added the demon, "i will relate to you a curious anecdote. it is not long since an illustrious lady accepted the honour of a dedication from a celebrated novelist, who, by the bye, writes so much in praise of other women, that he thinks himself at liberty to abuse the one peculiarly his own. the lady in question was anxious to see the address before it was printed; and not finding herself described to her taste, she wisely undertook the task, and gave herself all those inconvenient virtues, which the world so much admires. she then sent it to the author, who of course had weighty reasons for adopting it." "hollo!" cried leandro, "surely those are robbers who are entering that house by the balcony." "precisely so," said asmodeus; "they are brigands, and the house is a banker's. watch them! you will be amused. see! they have opened the safe, and are ferreting everywhere; but the banker has been before them. he set out yesterday for holland, and has taken with him the contents of his coffers for fear of accidents. they may make a merit of their visit, by informing his unfortunate depositors of their loss." [illustration: the brigands opening the banker's safe] "there is another thief," said zambullo, "mounting by a silken ladder into a neighbouring dwelling." "you are mistaken there," replied the devil; "at all events it is not gold he seeks. he is a marquis, who would rob a young maiden of the name, of which, however, she is not unwilling to part. never was 'stand and deliver' more graciously received: he of course has sworn he will marry her, and she of course believes him; for a marquis's 'promises' have unlimited credit upon love's exchange." [illustration: the registrar and griffael] "i am curious to learn," interrupted the student, "what that man in a night-cap and dressing-gown is about. he is writing very studiously, and near him is a little black figure, who occasionally guides his hand." "he is a registrar of the civil courts," replied the demon; "and to oblige a guardian, is, for a consideration, altering a decree made in favour of the ward: the gentleman in black, who seems enjoying the sport, is griffael the registrars' devil." "griffael, then," said don cleophas, "is a sort of deputy to flagel; for, as he is the spirit of the bar, the registrars are doubtless included in his department." "not so," replied asmodeus; "the registrars have been thought deserving of their peculiar demon, and i assure you they find him quite enough to do." [illustration: the widow, her lover, and her uncle] "near the registrar's house, you will perceive a young lady on the first floor. she is a widow; and the man, whom you see in the same room, is her uncle, who lodges in an apartment over hers. admire the bashfulness of the dame! she is ashamed to put on her chemise before her aged relative; so, modestly seeks the assistance of her lover, who is hidden in her dressing-room. [illustration: donoso receives the pages in his apartment] "in the same house with the registrar lives a stout graduate, who has been lame from his birth, but who has not his equal in the world for pleasantry. volumnius, so highly spoken of by cicero for his delicate yet pungent wit, was a fool to him. he is known throughout madrid as 'the bachelor donoso,' or 'the facetious graduate;' and his company is sought by old and young, at the court and in the town: in short, wherever there is, or should be, conviviality, he is so much the rage, that he has discharged his cook, as he never dines at home; to which he seldom returns until long after midnight. he is at present with the marquis of alcazinas, who is indebted for this visit to chance only." "how, to chance?" interrupted leandro. "why," replied the demon, "this morning, about noon, the graduate's door was besieged by at least half-a-dozen carriages, each sent for the especial honour of securing his society. the bachelor received the assembled pages in his apartment, and, displaying a pack of cards, thus addressed them:--'my friends, as it is impossible for me to dine in six places at one time, and as it would not appear polite to show an undue preference, these cards shall decide the matter. draw! i will dine with the king of clubs.'" [illustration: the cavalier serenades his inamorata] "what object," said don cleophas, "has yonder cavalier, who is sitting at a door on the other side of the street? is he waiting for some pretty waiting-woman to usher him to his lady's chamber?" "no, no," answered asmodeus; "he is a young castilian, whose modesty exceeds his love; so, after the fashion of the gallants of antiquity, he has come to pass the night at his mistress's portal. listen to the twang of that wretched guitar, with which he accompanies his tender strains! on the second floor you may behold his inamorata: she is weeping as she hears him;--but it is for the absence of his rival. "you observe that new building, which is divided into two wings. one is occupied by the proprietor, the old gentleman whom you see now pacing the apartment, now throwing himself into an easy chair." "he is evidently immersed in some grand project," said zambullo: "who is he? if one may judge by the splendour which is displayed in his mansion, he is a grandee of the first order." "nevertheless," said asmodeus, "he is but an ancient clerk of the treasury, who has grown old in such lucrative employment as to enable him to amass four millions of reals. as he has some compunctions of conscience for the means by which all this wealth has been acquired, and as he expects shortly to be called upon to render his account in another world, where bribery is impracticable, he is about to compound for his sins in this, by building a monastery; which done, he flatters himself that peace will revisit his heart. he has already obtained the necessary permission; but, as he has resolved that the establishment shall consist of monks who are extremely chaste, sober, and of the most christian humility, he is much embarrassed in the selection. he need not build a very extensive convent. "the other wing is inhabited by a fair lady, who has just retired to rest after the luxury of a milk bath. this voluptuary is widow of a knight of the order of saint james, who left her at his death her title only; but fortunately her charms have secured for her valuable friends in the persons of two members of the council of castile, who generously divide her favours and the expenses of her household." "hark!" cried the student; "surely i hear the cries of distress. what dreadful misfortune has occurred?" "a very common one," said the demon: "two young cavaliers have been gambling in a hell (the name is a scandal on the infernal regions), which you perceive so brilliantly illuminated. they quarrelled upon an interesting point of the game, and i naturally drew their swords to settle it: unluckily, they were equally skilful with their weapons, and are both mortally wounded. the elder is married, which is unfortunate; and the younger an only son. the wife and father have just come in time to receive their last sighs; and it is their lamentations that you hear. 'unhappy boy,' cries the fond parent over the still breathing body of his son, 'how often have i conjured thee to renounce this dreadful vice!--how often have i warned thee it would one day cost thee thy life. heaven is my witness, that the fault is none of mine!' men," added the demon, "are always selfish, even in their griefs. meanwhile the wife is in despair. although her husband has dissipated the fortune she brought him on their marriage; although he has sold, to maintain his shameful excesses, her jewels, and even her clothes, not a word of reproach escapes her lips. she is inconsolable for her loss. her grief is vented in frantic exclamations, mixed with curses on the cards, and the devil who invented them; on the place in which her husband fell, and on the people who surround her, and to whom she fondly attributes his ruin." [illustration: the expiring duellists] "how much to be lamented," interrupted the student, "is the love of gaming which possesses so large a portion of mankind; in what an awful state of excitement does it plunge its victims. heaven be praised! i am not included in their legion." "you are in high feather," replied the demon, "in another, whose exploits are not much more ennobling, and scarcely less dangerous. is the conquest of a courtezan a glory worth achievement? is the possession of charms common to a whole city worth the peril of a life? man is an amusing animal! the vision of a mole would enable him to discover the vices of his fellows, while that of the vulture could scarce detect a folly of his own. but let us turn to another affecting spectacle. you can discern, in the house just beyond the one we have been contemplating, a fat old man extended on a bed: he is a canon, who is now in a fit of apoplexy. the two persons, whom you see in his room, are said to be his nephew and niece: they are too much affected by his situation to be able to assist him; so, are securing his valuable effects. by the time this is accomplished, he will be dead; and they will be sufficiently recovered, and at leisure, to weep over his remains. [illustration: the canon's nephew and niece steal his possessions] "close by, you may perceive the funeral of two brothers; who, seized with the same disorder, took equally successful but different means of ensuring its fatality. one of them had the most utter confidence in his apothecary; the other eschewed the aid of medicine: the first died because he took all the trash his doctor sent him; the last because he would take nothing." "well! that is very perplexing," said leandro; "what is a poor sick devil to do?" "why," replied asmodeus, "that is more than the one who has the honour of addressing you can determine. i know, for certain, that there are remedies for most ills; but i am not so sure that there are good physicians to administer them when necessary." "and now i have something more amusing to unriddle. do you not hear a frightful din in the next street? a widow of sixty was married this morning to an adonis of seventeen; and all the merry fellows of that part of the town have assembled to celebrate the wedding by a concert of pots and pans, marrow-bones and cleavers." "you told me," said the student, "that these matches were under your control: at all events, you had no hand in this." "no, truly," answered the demon, "not i. had i been free, i should not have meddled with them. the widow had her scruples; and has married for no better reason than that she may enjoy, without remorse, the pleasures she so dearly loves. these are not the unions i care to form; i prefer troubling people's consciences to setting them at rest." "notwithstanding this charming serenade," said zambullo, "it seems to me that it is not the only concert performing in the neighbourhood." "no," said the cripple; "in a tavern in the same street, a lusty flemish captain, a chorister of the french opera, and an officer of the german guard are singing a trio. they have been drinking since eight in the morning; and each deems it a duty to his country, to see the others under the table." [illustration: the three drinkers] "look for a moment on the house which stands by itself, nearly opposite to that of the apoplectic canon: you will see three very pretty but very notorious courtezans enjoying themselves with as many young courtiers." "they are, indeed, lovely!" exclaimed don cleophas. "i am not surprised that they should be notorious: happy are the lovers who possess them! they seem, however, very partial to their present companions: i envy them their good fortune." "why, you are very green!" replied the demon: "their faces are not disguised with greater skill than are their hearts. however prodigal of their caresses, they have not the slightest tenderness for their foolish swains; their affection is bounded to the purses of their lovers. one of them has just secured the promise of a liberal establishment; and the others are prepared with settlements which they are in expectation of securing ere they part. it is the same with them all. men vainly ruin themselves for the sex: gold buys not love. the well-paid mistress soon treats her lover as a husband: that is a rule which i found necessary to establish in my code of intrigue. but we will leave these fools to taste the pleasures they so dearly purchase; while their valets, who are waiting in the street, console themselves with the pleasing anticipation of enjoying them gratis." "tell me," interrupted leandro perez, "what is passing in that splendid mansion on the left. the house is filled with well-dressed cavaliers and ladies; and all seems dancing and conviviality. it is indeed a joyous festival." "it is another wedding," said asmodeus; "and happy as they now are, it is not three days since that house witnessed the deepest affliction. it is a story worth hearing: it is rather long, certainly; but it will repay your patience." the devil then began as follows. chapter iv. story of the loves of the count de belflor and leonora de cespedes. leonora de cespedes was passionately beloved by the young count de belflor, one of the most distinguished nobles of the court. he had, however, no thoughts of suing for her hand; the daughter of a private gentleman might command his love, but had no pretensions in his eyes to rank above his mistress; and such was the honour he designed for her. accordingly, he followed her everywhere; and lost no opportunity of testifying by his glances the extent of his affection for her person; but he was unable to converse with her, or even to communicate by letter, so incessantly and vigilantly was she guarded by an austere duenna, the lady marcella. he was almost in despair; yet, incited by the obstacles which were thus opposed to his desires, he was constantly occupied in devising means for their attainment, and for deceiving the argus who so carefully watched his io. in the meanwhile, leonora had perceived the attention with which the count regarded her; and flattered by that first homage, so delightful to the unworn heart, she soon yielded to the soft persuasion of his eyes, and insensibly formed for him a passion as violent as his own. the flames of love are seldom kindled at the altar but they burn the temple. i did not, however, fan those thus lighted in her bosom, for the magician had put a stopper on my operations; but nature, and woman's nature especially, is generally potent enough in such cases, without my assistance. indeed, i doubt if she does not manage these matters best by herself; the only difference in our modes of procedure being, that nature saps the heart by slow degrees, while i love to carry it by storm. affairs were in this posture, when leonora, and her eternal governante, going one morning to church, were accosted by an old woman, carrying in her hand one of the largest chaplets ever framed by hypocrisy. "heaven bless you!" said she, addressing herself, with a saintly smile, to the duenna, "the peace of god be with you! have i not the honour of speaking to the lady marcella, the chaste widow of the lamented signor martin rosetta?" "you have," replied the governante. "how fortunate!" exclaimed the old hypocrite; "i have a relation, at this moment lying at my house, who would see you ere he dies. he was intimately acquainted with your dear husband, and has matters of the utmost importance to communicate to you. it is only three days since he arrived in madrid, from flanders, for the express purpose of seeing you; but scarcely had he entered my house when he was stretched on a bed of sickness, and he has now, i fear, but a few hours to live. let us hasten, while there is yet time, to soothe the pangs of his passing spirit: a few steps will bring us to his side." [illustration: leonora, marcella and the old woman] the wary duenna, who had seen enough of the world to be suspicious of the best even of her own sex, still, however, hesitated to follow: which the old lady perceiving, "my dear lady marcella," said she, "surely you do not doubt me. you must have heard of la chichona. why! the licentiate marcos de figuerna and the bachelor mira de mesqua would answer for me as for their grandmothers. if i desire that you accompany me to my house, it is for your good only. heaven forbid that i should touch the smallest portion of that which is your due, and which my poor relation is so anxious to repay to the wife of his friend!" at the word "repay," the lady marcella hesitated no longer: "let us go, my child," said she to leonora; "we will see this good woman's relation;--to visit the sick is among the first of our duties." "verily," said the demon, "charity does cover a multitude of sins!" [illustration: at the house of la chichona] they soon arrived at the house of la chichona, who introduced them to a mean apartment, where they found a man in bed: he had a long beard, and if he were not really desperately ill, he at least appeared to be so. "see, cousin!" said the old woman, presenting the governante; "behold the person whom you sought so anxiously; this is the lady marcella, the respected widow of your friend rosetta." at these words, the old man raised himself on his pillow with apparent difficulty; and, making signs for the duenna to approach him, said with a feeble voice,--"heaven be praised, for its mercy in permitting me to live till now!--to see you, my dear lady, was all that i desired upon earth. indeed, i feared to die, without the satisfaction of seeing you, and of rendering into your hands the hundred ducats which your late husband, my dearest friend, so kindly lent me in my dire necessity, at bruges, when but for that assistance my honour had been for ever lost:--but you must have often heard of me and my adventures." "alas! no," replied marcella, "he never mentioned it to me. god rest his soul! he was ever so generous as to forget the services he rendered to his friends; and so far from boasting of such kindnesses as these, i can declare that i even never heard of his doing a good action in his life." "his was indeed a noble mind," replied the sick man, "as i have perhaps better reason to know than most persons; and to prove this to you i must relate the history of the unfortunate affair from which his liberality so happily released me. but as i shall have to speak of things which should be disclosed to no other ears than thine, honourable as they are to the memory of my deceased friend, it were better that we should be alone." "oh, certainly!" cried chichona, "though it would delight me to hear of the good rosetta, whom you are always praising, we will retire to my closet;" saying which, she led leonora into the next apartment. no sooner had she done so, and closed the door, than without ceremony the old woman thus addressed her companion:--"charming leonora, our moments are too precious to be wasted. you know the young count de belflor, at least by sight. need i say how long he has loved you, and how ardently he desires to tell you so? driven to despair by the vigilance and austerity of marcella, he has had recourse to my assistance to procure him an interview; and i, who could refuse nothing to so handsome a cavalier, have dressed up his valet as the sick man you have just seen, that i might engage your governante's attention and bring you hither." as she finished speaking, the count, who was concealed by the drapery of a little window, discovered himself, and, falling at the feet of leonora: "madam," said he, "pardon the stratagem of a lover, who could no longer conceal from you the passion that is destroying the life to which it alone gives value:--but for this good woman's kindness, i had perished in despair." these words, uttered with respectful earnestness, by a man whose appearance was far from displeasing, affected, while they perplexed leonora, and she remained for some time speechless. but at length recovering herself, she looked, or endeavoured to look, haughtily on her prostrate lover, and replied: "truly you are deeply indebted to your obliging confidante for this attention, but i am not so sure that i have equal reason to be thankful, or that you will gain by her kindness the object you desire." in saying these words, she moved towards the door; but the count, gently detaining her, exclaimed: "stay, adorable leonora! deign to listen to me but for an instant. be not alarmed! my affection for you is pure as your own thoughts. i feel that the artifice to which i have descended must revolt you; but consider how vainly i have striven by more honourable means to address you. you cannot be ignorant that for many months, at the church, in the public walk, at the theatre, i have vainly sought to confirm with my lips that passion which my eyes could not disguise. alas! while i implore pardon for a crime to which the cruelty of the merciless duenna has compelled me, let me also entreat your pity for the torments i have endured; and judge, by the charms which your happy mirror discloses, of the extent of his wretchedness who is banished from their sight." [illustration: belflor woos leonora] belflor did not fail to accompany these words with all the arts of persuasion commonly practised with so much success by my devotees: tender looks, heart-broken sighs, and even a few tears were not wanting; and leonora was of course affected. despite herself, she began to feel those little flutterings of the heart, which are the usual preludes of capitulation with woman; but far from yielding without a struggle to her tenderness, or pity, or weakness, the more sensible she became of treason in the garrison, the more hastily she resolved to vacate the place. "count," she exclaimed, "it is in vain you tell me this. i will listen no longer. do not attempt to detain me: let me leave a house in which my honour is exposed to suspicion; or my cries shall alarm the neighbourhood, and expose your audacity which has dared to insult me." this she uttered with so resolute an air that chichona, who was on very punctilious terms with the police, prayed the count not to push matters to extremity. finding his entreaties useless, he released leonora, who hastened from the apartment, and, what never happened to any maiden before, left it as she had entered it. "let us quit this dangerous house," said leonora, on rejoining her governante: "finish this idle talk,--we are deceived." "what ails you, child?" cried marcella in reply; "and why should we leave this poor man so hastily?" "i will tell you," said leonora; "but let us fly: every instant i remain here but adds to my affliction." however desirous was the duenna to learn the cause of her ward's anxiety, she saw that the best way to be satisfied was to yield to her entreaties; and they quitted the apartment with a celerity which quite discomposed the stately governante, leaving chichona, the count, and his valet as much disconcerted as a company of comedians, when the curtain falls on a wretched farce, which the presiding deities of the pit have consigned to a lower deep. when leonora found herself safely in the street, she related, as well as her extreme agitation, and marcella's exclamations of astonishment, would permit, all that had passed in the chamber with the count and chichona. "i must confess, child," said the duenna, when they had reached home, "that i am exceedingly mortified to hear what you have just been telling me. to think that i have been the dupe of that wicked woman! you will allow, however, that i was not without my doubts. why did i yield them? i should have been suspicious of so much kindness and honesty. i have committed a folly which is absolutely inexcusable in a person of my sagacity and experience. ah! why did you not tell me this in her presence? i would have torn her eyes out: i would have loaded the count de belflor with reproaches for his perfidy: and as for the scoundrel with his ducats and his beard, he should not have had a hair left on his head. but i will return, this instant, with the money which i have received as a real restitution; and if i find them still together, they shall not have waited for nothing." so saying, the enraged widow of the generous rosetta folded her mantilla around her, and left leonora to weep over the treachery of mankind. marcella found the count with chichona, in despair at the failure of his design. most of my pupils, in his place, would have been abashed at seeing her: it is extraordinary what scruples i have to overcome. but belflor was of another stamp: to a thousand good qualities, he added that of yielding implicit obedience to my inspirations. when he loved, nothing could exceed the ardour with which he followed the devoted object of his affections; and though naturally what the world calls an honourable man, he was then capable of violating the most sacred duties for the attainment of his desires. no sooner, therefore, did he perceive marcella, than, as he saw that their fulfilment could only be completed through the duenna's agency, he resolved to spare nothing to win her to his interests. he shrewdly guessed that, rigidly virtuous as the lady appeared, she, like her betters, had her price; and as he was disposed to bid pretty liberally, you will own he did no great injustice to a duenna's fidelity: for so rare a commodity will only be found where lovers are not over-rich, or not sufficiently liberal. the instant marcella entered the room, and perceived the three persons she sought, her tongue went as though possessed; and while she poured a torrent of abuse on the count and chichona, she sent the restitution flying at the head of the valet. the count patiently endured the storm; and throwing himself on his knees before the duenna, to render the scene more moving, he pressed her to take back the purse she had rejected; and offering to add to it a thousand pistoles, he besought her compassion on his sufferings. as marcella had never before been so earnestly entreated, it is no wonder that she was, on this occasion, not inexorable: her invectives, therefore, speedily ceased; and on comparing the tempting sum now offered to her, with the paltry recompence she expected from don luis de cespedes, she was not slow in discovering that it would be much more profitable to turn leonora from her duty, than to keep her in its path. accordingly, after some little affectation, she again received the purse, accepted the offer of the thousand pistoles, promised to assist the count in his designs, and departed at once to labour for their accomplishment. [illustration: belflor bribes marcella] as she knew leonora to be strictly virtuous, she was extremely cautious of exciting the least suspicion of her intelligence with the count, lest the plot should be discovered to don luis, her father; so, desirous of skilfully effecting her ruin, she thus addressed her on her return: "my dear leonora, i have revenged myself on the wretches who deceived us. i found them quite confounded at your virtuous resolution; and, threatening the infamous chichona with your father's resentment, and the most rigorous severity of the law, i bestowed on the count de belflor all the insulting epithets that my anger could suggest. i warrant that the signor will make no more attempts of this kind on you; and that henceforth his gallantries will cease to engage my attention. i thank heaven that, by your firmness, you have escaped the snare that was laid for you. i could weep for joy to think that the deceiver has gained nothing by his stratagem; for these noble signors make it their amusement to seduce the young and innocent. indeed, the greater part even of those who pique themselves on their honourable conduct have no scruples on this point, as though it were no disgrace to carry ruin into virtuous families. not that i think the count absolutely of this character, nor even that he intends studiously to deceive you: we should not judge too harshly of our neighbours; and perhaps, after all, he meant you honourably. although his rank would give him pretensions to the hand of the noblest at our court, your beauty may yet have induced him to resolve on marriage with yourself. in fact, i recollect that in his answers to my reproaches, which i heeded not at the time, i might have perceived something of the sort." "what say you, dear marcella?" interrupted leonora. "if that were his intention, he would have sought me of my father, who would never have refused his daughter to a person of his rank." "what you say is perfectly just," replied the governante, "and i am quite of your opinion; the count's proceedings are certainly suspicious, or rather his designs cannot be good: for a trifle, i would return and scold him again." "no, good marcella," replied leonora, "we had better forget the past, and revenge ourselves by contempt." "very true," said the duenna; "i believe that is the best plan: you are more prudent than myself. but, after all, may we not do the count injustice? who knows that he has not been actuated by the purest and most delicate motives? it is possible that, before obtaining your father's consent, he may have resolved to deserve and to please you; to render your union more delightful by first gaining your heart. if that were so, child, would it be a very great sin to listen to him? tell me your thoughts, love; you know my affection: does your heart incline towards the count, or would it be very disagreeable to marry such a man?" to this malicious question, the too-sincere leonora replied, with down-cast eyes, and face suffused with blushes, by avowing that she had no aversion to the count; but, as modesty prevented her explaining herself more openly, the duenna still pressed her to conceal nothing from her; and at last succeeded, by affected tenderness, in obtaining a full confession of her love. "dearest marcella," said the unsuspicious girl, "since you desire me to speak to you without disguise, i must confess that belflor has appeared to me not unworthy of my love. i was struck by his appearance; and i have heard him so much praised, that i could not remain insensible to the affection he displayed for me. your watchful care to guard me from his addresses has cost me many a sigh: nay, i will own i have in secret wept his absence; and repaid with my tears the sufferings your vigilance has caused him. even at this moment, instead of hating him for the insult he has offered to my honour, my heart against my will excuses him, and throws his fault on your severity." "my child," said the governante, "since you give me reason to believe that his attentions are pleasing to you, i will endeavour to secure this lover." "i am very sensible," replied leonora, "of the kindness you intend me. it is not that the count holds the first place at court; were he but an honourable private gentleman, i should prefer him to all others upon earth, but let us not flatter ourselves: belflor is a noble signor, destined, without doubt, for one of the richest heiresses in our kingdom. let us not expect that he would descend to ally himself with don luis, who has but a moderate fortune to offer with his daughter. no, no," she added, "he entertains for me no such favourable thoughts: he thinks not of me as one worthy to bear his name, but seeks only my dishonour." "ah! wherefore," said the duenna, "will you insist he loves you not well enough to seek your hand? love daily works much greater miracles. one would imagine, to hear you, that heaven had made some infinite distinction between you and the count. do yourself more justice, leonora! he would not condescend, in uniting his destiny with yours. you are of an ancient and noble family, and your alliance would never call a blush upon his cheek. however, you love him," continued she; "and i must therefore see him, and sound him on the subject; and if i find his designs as honourable as they should be, i will indulge him with some slight hopes." "not for the world!" cried leonora; "on no account would i have you seek him: should he but suspect my knowledge of your proceedings, he must cease even to esteem me." "oh! i am more cunning than you think me," answered marcella. "i shall begin by accusing him of a design to seduce you. he of course will not fail to defend himself; i shall listen to his excuses, and shall mark the event: in short, my dear child, leave it to me; i will be as careful of your honour as of my own." towards night, the duenna left the house, and found belflor watching in the neighbourhood. she informed him of her conversation with his mistress, not forgetting to boast of the address with which she had elicited from leonora the confession of her love. nothing could more agreeably surprise the count than this discovery; and accordingly his gratitude was displayed in the most ardent manner; that is to say, he promised to marcella the thousand ducats on the morrow, and to himself the most complete success of his enterprise; well knowing, as he did, that a woman prepossessed is half seduced. they then separated, extremely well satisfied with each other, and the duenna returned to her home. leonora, who had waited for her with extreme anxiety, timidly inquired if she brought any news of the count. "the best news you could hear," replied the governante. "i have seen him, and i can assure you of the purity of his intentions: he declared that his only object is to marry you; and this he confirmed by every oath that man holds sacred. i did not, however, as you may suppose, yield implicitly to these protestations. 'if you are sincere,' said i to him, 'why do you not at once apply to don luis, her father?' 'ah! my dear marcella,' replied he, without appearing in the least embarrassed by this question, 'could you, even, approve that, without assuring myself of leonora's affection, and following, blindly, the dictates of a devouring passion, i should seek her of don luis as a slave? no! her happiness is dearer to me than my own desires; and i have too nice a sense of honour, even to endanger that happiness by an indiscreet avowal.' "while he thus spoke," continued the duenna, "i observed him with extreme attention; and employed all my experience to discover in his eyes if he were really possessed of all the love that he expressed. what shall i say?--he appeared to me penetrated by the truest love; i felt elated with joy, which i took good care, however, to conceal: nevertheless, when i felt persuaded of his sincerity, i thought that, in order to secure for you so important a conquest, it would be but proper to give him some faint idea of your feelings towards him. 'signor,' said i, 'leonora has no aversion for you; i know that she esteems you; and, as far as i can judge, her heart would not be grieved by your addresses.' 'great god,' he cried, transported with delight, 'what do i hear? is it possible, that the charming leonora should be disposed so favourably towards me? what do i not owe to you, kindest marcella, for thus relieving me from such torturing suspense? i am the more rejoiced, too, that this should be announced by you;--you, who have ever opposed my love; you, who have inflicted on me such lengthened suffering. but, my dear marcella, complete my bliss! let me see my divine leonora, and pledge to her my faith; let me swear, in your presence, to be hers only for ever.' "to all these expressions of his devotion," continued the governante, "he added others still more touching. at last, my dear child, he entreated me in so pressing a manner to procure for him a secret interview, that i could not forbear promising he should see you." "ah! why have you done so?" exclaimed leonora, with emotion. "how often have you told me, that a virtuous girl should ever shun such secret conversations,--always wrong, and almost always dangerous?" "certainly," replied the duenna, "i acknowledge to have said so, and a very good maxim it is; but you are not obliged to adhere to it strictly on this occasion; for you may look upon the count as your husband." "he is not so yet," said leonora, "and i ought not to see him until my father permits his addresses." marcella, at this moment, repented of having imbued the mind of her pupil with those notions of propriety which she found so much trouble to overcome. determined, however, at any rate to effect her object, she thus recommenced her attack: "my dear leonora! i am proud to witness so much virtuous delicacy. happy fruit of all my cares! you have truly profited by the lessons i have taught you. i am delighted with the result of my labours. but, child, you have read rather too literally; you construe my maxims too rigidly; your susceptibility is indeed somewhat prudish. however much i pique myself on my severity, i do not quite approve of that precise chastity which arms itself indifferently against guilt or innocence. a girl ceases not to be virtuous who yields her ear only to her lover, especially when she is conscious of the purity which chastens his desires; and she is then no more wrong in responding to his love, than she is for her sensibility to the passion. rely upon me, leonora; i have too much experience, and am too much interested in your welfare, to suffer you to take a step that might be prejudicial to it." "but where would you have me see the count?" said leonora. "in this room, to be sure," replied the duenna. "where could you see him so safely? i will introduce him to-morrow evening." "you are not surely serious, marcella!" exclaimed leonora. "what! think you i would permit a man----" "to be sure you will!" interrupted the duenna; "there is nothing so wonderful in that, as you imagine. it happens daily; and would to heaven that every damsel who receives such visits, had desires as pure as those by which you are animated! besides, what have you to fear? shall not i be with you?" "alas!" said leonora, "should my father surprise us!" "do not trouble yourself about that," replied marcella. "your father is perfectly satisfied as to your conduct: he knows my fidelity, and would not do me so much wrong as to suspect it." poor leonora, thus artfully instigated by the duenna, and secretly moved by her own feelings, could withstand no longer; and at last yielded, although unwillingly, to her governante's proposal. the count was soon informed of marcella's success, of which he was so well satisfied, that he at once gave her five hundred pistoles, and a ring of equal value. the duenna, finding his promises so well performed, was determined to be as scrupulously exact in the fulfilment of her own; and, accordingly, on the following night, when she felt assured that every one in the house was fast asleep, she fastened to the balcony a silken ladder, which the count had provided, and introduced his lordship to the chamber of his mistress. in the meanwhile, the fair leonora was immersed in reflections of the most painfully agitating nature. notwithstanding her affection for the count, and despite her governante's assurances, she bitterly reproached herself for her weakness, in yielding a consent to an interview which she still felt was in violation of her duty; nor could a knowledge of the purity of her intentions bring comfort to her bosom. to receive, by night, in her apartment, a man whose love was unsanctioned by her parent, and not certainly known even by herself, now appeared to her not only criminal, but calculated to degrade her in the estimation of her lover also; and this last thought tortured her almost to madness, when that lover entered. he threw himself on his knees before her; and, apparently penetrated by love and gratitude, thanked her for that confidence in his honour, which had permitted this visit, and assured her of his determination to merit it, by shortly espousing her. however, as he was not as explicit upon this point as leonora desired, "count," said she to him, "i am too anxious to believe that you have no other views than those you express to me; but whatever assurances you may offer must always appear to me suspicious, so long as my father is ignorant of your designs, and has not ratified them by his consent." "madam," replied belflor, "that would have been long since demanded by me, had i not feared to have obtained it at the sacrifice of your repose." "alas!" said leonora, "i do not reproach you that you have not yet sought don luis,--i cannot but be sensible of your delicacy; but nothing now restrains you, and you must at once resolve to see my father, or never to see me more." [illustration: belflor climbs up to leonora's balcony] "what do i hear?" exclaimed the count,--"never to see you more! beauteous leonora! how little sensible are you to the charms of love! did you know how to love like me, you would delight in secret to receive my vows; and, for some time at least, to conceal them from your father as from all the world. oh! who can paint the charms of that mysterious intercourse, in which two hearts indulge, united by a passion as intense as pure." "it may have charms for you," replied leonora; "to me, such intercourse would bring but sorrow: this refinement of tenderness but ill becomes a virtuous maiden. speak not to me of such impure delights! did you esteem me, you had not dared to do so; and were your intentions such as you would persuade me, you would, from your soul, reproach me that i could listen to you with patience. but, alas!" she added, while tears filled her eyes, "my weakness alone has exposed me to this outrage: i have indeed deserved it, that i see you here." "adorable leonora!" cried the count, "you wrong my love most cruelly! your virtue, too scrupulous, is causelessly alarmed. what! can you conceive that, because i have been so happy as to prevail on you to favour my passion, i should cease to esteem you? what injustice! no, madam, i know, too well, the value of your kindness; it can never deprive you of my esteem; and i am ready to do as you require me. i will, to-morrow, see don luis; and nothing shall be wanting on my part to ensure my happiness: but i cannot conceal from you, that i scarcely indulge a hope." "how!" replied; leonora, with extreme surprise; "is it possible that my father should refuse me to the count de belflor?"--"ah! it is that very title which gives me cause for alarm. but i see this surprises you: your astonishment, however, will soon cease. "only a few days ago," continued he, "the king was pleased to declare his will, that i should marry: you know how these matters are managed at our court. he has not, however, named the lady for whom i am intended; but has contented himself with intimating that she is one who will do me honour, and that he has set his mind upon our union. as i was then ignorant of your disposition towards me,--for, as you well know, your rigorous severity has never until now, permitted me to divine it,--i did not let him perceive in me any aversion to the accomplishment of his desires. you may now therefore, judge, madam, whether don luis would hazard the king's displeasure, by accepting me as his son-in-law." "no, doubtless," said leonora; "i know my father well: however desirable he might esteem your alliance, he would not hesitate to renounce it, rather than expose himself to the anger of his majesty. but, even though my father had consented to our union, we should not be less unfortunate; for, belflor, how could you possibly bestow on me a hand which the king has destined for another?" "madam," replied the count, "i will not disguise that your question embarrasses me. still, i am not without hope that, by prudent management with the king, and by availing myself of the influence which his friendship for me secures, i should find means to avoid the misfortune which threatens me; and yourself, lovely leonora, might assist me in so doing, did you but deem me worthy of the happiness of being yours." "i assist you!" she exclaimed; "how could i possibly enable you to avert an union which the king proposes for you?" "ah! madam," he replied, with impassioned looks, "would you deign to receive my vows of eternal fidelity to you, i should have no difficulty in preserving my faith inviolate, without offending my sovereign. permit, charming leonora," he continued, throwing himself at her feet, "permit me to espouse you in the presence of our friend marcella; she is a witness who will vouch for the sanctity of our engagements. i shall thus escape the hateful bonds they would impose upon me; for, should the king still press me to accept the lady he designs for me, i will prostrate myself before him, and, on my knees, confess how long and ardently my love has been devoted to you, and that we are secretly married. however desirous he may be to unite me with another, he is too gracious to think of tearing me from the object i adore, and too just to offer so grievous an affront to your honourable family. "what is your opinion, discreet marcella?" added he, turning towards the governante; "what think you of this project with which love has so opportunely inspired me?" "i am charmed with it," said the duenna; "the rogue, cupid, is never at a loss for an expedient." "and you, dearest leonora," resumed the count, "what do you say to it? can your heart, always mistrustful, refuse its assent to my proposal?" "no," she replied, "provided my father consent to it; and i do not doubt that he will, when you have explained to him your reasons for secrecy." "you must be very cautious how you consult him upon the subject," interrupted the abominable duenna; "you do not know don luis: his notions of honour are too scrupulous to permit him to engage himself with secret amours. the proposal of a private marriage would shock him; besides which, he is too prudent not to foresee the possible consequences of one which interfered with the designs of the king. and, once proposed to him, and his suspicion aroused, his eyes will be constantly upon you; and he will take good care to prevent your marriage, by separating you for ever." "and i should die with grief and despair," cried our courtier. "but madam," continued he, addressing himself to marcella, with an air of profound disappointment, "do you really think, then, that there is no chance of don luis yielding to our prayer?" "not the slightest!" replied the governante. "but suppose he should! exact and scrupulous as he is, he would never consent to the omission of a single religious ceremony on the occasion; and if they are all to be observed in your marriage, the secret will be soon known in madrid." "ah! my dear leonora," said the count, taking her hand, and tenderly pressing it within his own, "must we, then, to satisfy a vain notion of decorum, expose ourselves to the frightful danger of an eternal separation? our happiness is in your hands; since it depends on you alone to bestow yourself on me. a father's consent might, perhaps, spare you some uneasiness; but since our kind marcella has convinced us of the impossibility of obtaining it, yield yourself, without further scruple, to my innocent desires. receive my heart and hand; and when the time shall have arrived, that we may inform don luis of our union, we shall have no difficulty in satisfying him as to our reasons for its concealment." "well, count," said leonora, "i consent to your not at once speaking to my father, but that you first sound the king upon the subject. before, however, i receive thus secretly your hand, i would have this done. see his majesty; tell him even, if necessary, that we are married. let us endeavour, by this show of confidence,----" "alas! madam," interrupted belflor, "what do you ask of me? no, my soul revolts at the thoughts of falsehood. i cannot lie; and you would despise me, could i thus dissemble with the king;--besides, how could i hope for pardon at his hands, should he discover the meanness of which i had been guilty?" "i should never have done, signor don cleophas," continued the demon, "were i to repeat word for word all that belflor said, in order to seduce his lovely mistress; i will only add, that he repeated, without my assistance, all those passionate phrases with which i usually inspire gallants upon similar occasions. but in vain did he swear he would publicly confirm, as soon as possible, the faith which he proposed to pledge in secret: leonora's virtue was proof against his oaths; and the blushing day, which surprised him while he called heaven to witness for his fidelity, compelled him to retire less triumphant than he had anticipated." on the following morning, the duenna, conceiving that her honour, or rather her interest, engaged her not to abandon the enterprise, took an opportunity of reverting to the subject. "leonora," said she, "i am confounded by what passed last evening; you appear to disdain the count's affection, or to regard it as inspired by an unworthy motive. perhaps, however, after all, you remarked something in his person or manner that displeased you?" "no, good governante," replied leonora; "he never appeared to me more amiable; and his conversation discovered to me a thousand new charms." "if that be the case," said the duenna, "i am still more perplexed. you acknowledge to be strongly prepossessed in his favour, and yet refuse to yield in a point, the absolute necessity of which he has so clearly demonstrated." "my dear marcella," replied her ward, "you are wiser, and have had more experience in these matters, than myself; but have you sufficiently reflected on the consequences of a marriage contracted without my father's knowledge?" "yes, certainly," answered the duenna, "i have maturely considered all that; and i regret to find you oppose yourself, with an obstinacy of which i deemed you incapable, to the brilliant establishment which fortune presents so uselessly. have a care that your perverseness does not weary and repel your lover; remember that he may discover the inequality of your station and fortune, which his passion overlooks. while he offers you his faith, receive it without hesitation. his word is his bond; there is no tie more sacred with a man of honour, like belflor: besides, i am witness that he acknowledges you as his wife; and i need not tell you that a testimony like mine would be more than sufficient to condemn a lover who should dare to perjure himself, and attempt to evade a legal contract." by this and similar conversations, the resolution of the artless leonora was at last shaken; and the perils which surrounded her were so adroitly concealed by her perfidious governante, that, some days afterwards, she abandoned herself, without further reflection, to the will of the count. belflor was introduced nightly, by the balcony, into his mistress's apartment; which he left again before daybreak, when summoned by the duenna. one morning, the old lady overslept herself; and aurora had already half opened the golden chambers of the east, when the count hastily departed, as usual. unfortunately, in his hurry to descend the ladder, his foot missed, and he fell heavily on the ground. don luis de cespedes, who slept in the room over leonora's, had that morning risen earlier than usual to attend to some important engagements; and hearing the noise of belflor's fall he opened his window to learn whence it proceeded. to his astonishment, he perceived a man just raising himself, with difficulty, from the earth, while marcella was busily engaged in the balcony with the silken ladder, of which the count had made such bad use in his descent. scarcely believing his eyes, and rubbing them to make sure that he was awake, don luis stood for some time in amazement; but he was too soon convinced that what he saw was no illusion; and that the light of day, although just breaking, was bright enough to discover to him, too clearly, his disgrace. [illustration: don luis de cespedes looking out of the window] afflicted at this fatal sight, transported by a just wrath, he instantly sought the apartment of leonora, holding the light by which he had been writing in one hand, and his sword in the other. with a frantic determination of sacrificing his daughter and her governante to his resentment, he struck the door of their chamber violently, and commanded them to admit him. trembling, they obeyed his summons; when he entered with infuriated looks, and displaying his naked sword: "i come," he cried, "to wash out, in the blood of an infamous child, the stains on the wounded honour of her father; and to punish the crime of a perfidious wretch, who has betrayed his confidence." [illustration: don luis confronts leonora and marcella] they were in a moment on their knees before him; and, as he raised his arm, the trembling duenna exclaimed: "in mercy hold, signor! before you inflict on us the punishment you meditate, deign but to listen to me for a moment." "speak, then, unhappy woman," said don luis; "i will retard my vengeance but for the instant you require: speak, i repeat! tell me all the circumstances of my misfortune. but what do i say,--all the circumstances? alas! i am ignorant but of one; it is, the name of the villain who has dishonoured me." "signor," replied marcella, "the cavalier who has just left us is the count de belflor." "the count de belflor!" repeated don luis; "and where did he see my daughter? by what means has he seduced her? on your life, hide nothing from me!" "signor," replied the governante, "i will relate the whole history to you, with all the sincerity of which i am capable." she then related, with infinite art, all the conversations she had previously narrated to leonora, as having passed between herself and the count; whom she painted in the most flattering colours, as a lover tender, delicate, and sincere, beyond description. as, however, there was no escaping the event in which this heroic love most naturally terminated, she was obliged to avow the truth. but she managed this so adroitly, insisting on the weighty reasons which belflor had for secrecy in his nuptials, and on the regret he had always expressed for its necessity, that she gradually appeased the fury of her master. this she was not slow to perceive; and, to completely soften the old man, she wound up by a peroration that would have done as much honour to a wig as to a gown:--"signor," said she, "i have thus told you the simple truth: now punish us if you will, and plunge your sword into your daughter's bosom! but what say i? no! leonora is innocent; she has but followed the faithful counsels of her to whom you confided the guidance of her conduct. it is my heart against which your sword should be directed; it was i who first introduced the count to her apartment; it is i who formed those ties which bind him to your daughter. i would not perceive the irregularity of his engagement, although unauthorised by you: i saw in him but a son-in-law, whom i was anxious to secure to you; but the channel through which the favours of our court might reach you. i forgot all but the happiness of leonora, and the advancement of your family, in the brilliant alliance of the count. i have erred: the excess of my zeal has made me forgetful of my duty." while the subtle marcella was speaking thus, poor leonora was not sparing of her tears; and her grief appeared so excessive that the good old man could not resist it. he was affected. his anger was changed into compassion; his sword fell on the ground; and, quitting the air of an irritated parent: "ah! my daughter," he cried, while tears sprung from his aged eyes, like water from the rock of horeb, "what a fatal passion is love! alas! you know not yet all the causes it will bring you for affliction. the shame which a father's presence alone excites, can bring tears to your eyes at this moment; but you foresee not the woes which your lover is, perhaps even now, preparing for the future. and you, imprudent marcella, what have you done? into what an abyss has your indiscreet zeal for my family plunged us! i allow that an alliance with a man like belflor might dazzle you, and it is that which alone excuses and saves you; but, miserable that you are, why were you not more cautious with a lover of his station? the greater his credit and favour at court, the more guarded should you have been against his approaches. should he not scruple to break his faith with my daughter, how shall i avenge the insult? shall i implore the power of our laws? a person of his rank can easily shelter himself from its severity. i will suppose that, faithful to his oaths, he would abide by his engagements with my daughter: if the king, as you say, has decreed that he shall marry with another, is it likely that our sovereign will fail to be obeyed?" "oh! my father," replied leonora, "that need not alarm us. the count has assured us that the king would never do so great a violence to his feelings--" "of which i am convinced," interrupted the duenna; "for, besides that the monarch loves belflor too much to exercise so great a tyranny upon his favourite, he is of too noble a character to afflict so grievously the valiant don luis de cespedes, who has devoted to the service of the state the best years of his life." "heaven grant," exclaimed the old man, sighing, "that all my fears are vain! i will seek the count, and demand a full explanation of his conduct: the eyes of a father, alarmed for a daughter's welfare, will pierce his very soul. if i find him what i would hope, and what you would persuade me he is, i will pardon what has passed; but," added he firmly, "if in his discourse i discern the perfidy of his heart, you go, both of you, to bewail in retirement, for the rest of your days, the imprudence of which you have been guilty." as he finished, he took up his sword, and retired to his own room, leaving his daughter and her governante to recover themselves from the fright into which this discovery had so unexpectedly thrown them. [illustration: the lady, her husband and her lover] asmodeus was at this moment interrupted in his recital by the student, who thus addressed him:--"my dear devil, interesting as is the history you are relating to me, my eyes have wandered to an object which prevents my listening to you as attentively as i could wish. i see a lady, who is rather good-looking, seated between a young man and a gentleman old enough to be his grandfather. they seem to enjoy the liqueurs which are on the table near them, but what amuses me, is, that as from time to time the amorous old dotard embraces his mistress, the deceiver conveys her hand to the lips of the other, who covers it with silent kisses. he is doubtless her gallant." "on the contrary," replied the cripple, "he is her husband, and the old fool is her lover. he is a man of consequence,--no less than a commandant of the military order of calatrava; and is ruining himself for the lady, whose complaisant husband holds some inferior place at court she bestows her caresses on the sighing knight, for the sake of his gold; and is unfaithful to him in favour of her husband, from inclination." "that is a marvellously pretty picture," said zambullo. "the husband of course is french?" "no, no," replied the demon: "he is a spaniard. oh! the good city of madrid can boast within its walls a fair proportion of such well-bred spouses: still, they do not swarm here as in paris, which is, beyond contradiction, the most fruitful city of the world in such inhabitants." "i thought so," said don cleophas; "but pardon me, signor asmodeus, if i have broken the thread of the fair leonora's story. continue it, i pray you; it interests me exceedingly; and exhibits such variety in the art of seduction as transports me with admiration." chapter v. continuation of the story of the loves of the count de belflor and leonora de cespedes. don luis, (continued asmodeus), on returning to his apartment, dressed himself hastily, and, while it was still early, repaired to the count; who, not suspecting a discovery, was much surprised by this visit. on the old man's entrance, however, belflor ran to meet him, and, embracing him cordially, exclaimed, "ah signor don luis; i am delighted to see you. to what do i owe this happiness? am i so fortunate as to have an opportunity of serving you?" "signor," replied don luis sternly, "i would speak with you alone." belflor desired his attendants to withdraw; and as soon as they were seated, "signor," said cespedes, "i come to ask of you an explanation of circumstances in which my honour and happiness are deeply interested. i saw you this morning leaving the apartment of my daughter. she has disguised nothing from me: she informed that----" "she has told you that i love her," interrupted the count, to avoid hearing what he knew could not be very agreeable; "but she can but have feebly described all that i feel for her. i am enchanted with her; she is an adorable creature: beauty, wit, virtue,--nothing is wanting to perfect her charms. i am told you have a son, too, who is finishing his studies at alcala: does he resemble his sister? if he have her beauty, and have at all inherited the noble bearing of his father, he must be a perfect cavalier. i die with anxiety to see him; and i assure you that i shall be proud to advance his fortunes." "i am obliged to you for so kind an offer," gravely replied don luis; "but to return to the subject of----" "he must enter the service at once," again interrupted the count: "i charge myself with the care of his interests: he shall not grow old among the crowd of subalterns; on that you may depend." "answer me, count!" replied the old man vehemently, "and cease these interruptions. do you intend, or not, to fulfil the promise----?" "yes, certainly," interrupted belflor for the third time; "i engage faithfully to support your son with all the interest i possess: rely on me; i am a man of my word." "this is too much, count," cried cespedes, rising: "after having seduced my daughter, you dare thus to insult me! but i also am a noble; and the injury you have done me shall not remain unpunished." in finishing these words, he left the count, his heart swelling with anger, and his mind tormented with a thousand projects of revenge. [illustration: don luis de cespedes interviews belflor] on arriving at home, still greatly agitated, he immediately went to leonora's apartment, where he found her with marcella. "it was not without reason," said he, addressing them, "that i was suspicious of the count: he is a traitor; but i will avenge myself. for you, you shall at once hide your shame within a convent: both of you, prepare to leave this house to-morrow; and thank heaven that my wrath contents itself with so moderate a punishment." he then left them, to shut himself in his cabinet, that he might maturely reflect on the conduct it would be proper to observe in so delicate a conjuncture. how poignant was the grief of leonora, when thus informed of belflor's perfidy! she remained for some time motionless; a death-like paleness overspread her lovely features; life itself seemed about to abandon her, and she fell senseless into the arms of her governante. the alarmed duenna at first thought that the victim of her intrigues was really dead; but, on perceiving that she still breathed, used every effort to restore her to consciousness, and at last succeeded. existence, however, had no longer charms for leonora; and when, somewhat recovered, she unclosed her eyelids, and perceived the officious governante busy about her person, "cruel marcella!" she exclaimed, sighing deeply; "wherefore have you drawn me from the happy state in which i was? then, i felt not the horror of my destiny. why did you not let me perish? you, who know so well that life henceforth must be but one long misery, why have you sought to preserve it?" the duenna endeavoured to console her, but her words only added to leonora's sufferings. "it is in vain you would comfort me," she cried, "i will not hear you: strive not to combat my despair. rather seek to add to its profundity; you, who have plunged me into the frightful gulph in which all my hopes are swallowed:--you it was who assured me of the count's sincerity; but for you i had never yielded to my passion for him; i should have insensibly triumphed over it, or at least, he would never have had cause to boast of my weakness. but no! i will not," she continued, "attribute to you my misfortunes; it is myself alone i should accuse. i ought not to have followed your advice, in accepting the faith of a man, without the sanction of my father. however flattering to me were the attentions of count de belflor, i should have despised them, rather than have endeavoured to secure them at the price of my honour: i should have mistrusted him, you! marcella, and myself. for my folly in listening to his perfidious oaths, for the affliction i have caused to the unhappy don luis, and for the dishonour i have brought upon my family, i detest myself; and, far from fearing the state of seclusion with which i am menaced, i would willingly conceal my guilt and shame in the most frightful dungeon in the world." [illustration: marcella tries to console leonora] while her grief thus vented itself in exclamations, and tears streamed from her eyes, she frantically tore her clothes, and revenged the injustice of her lover on the beautiful locks which fell around her neck. the duenna, also, to appear in keeping with her mistress's grief, was not sparing of grimaces; she managed to squeeze out some convenient tears, and directed a thousand imprecations against mankind in general, and against belflor in particular. "is it possible," she cried, "that the count, who had all the semblance of amiability and rectitude, should be so great a villain as to have deceived us both? i cannot get over my surprise, or rather, i cannot even yet persuade myself that he is so." "indeed," said leonora, "when i picture him myself at my feet, what maiden could but have confided to so much tenderness,--to his oaths, which he so daringly called on heaven to witness,--to his boundless transports, which seemed so sincere? his eyes to me discovered a love far more intense than his lips could express; and the very sight of me appeared to charm him:--no, he did not deceive me; i cannot believe it. my father has not spoken to him with sufficient caution; they have quarrelled, and the count has replied to his reproaches less as the lover than the lord. still, may i not deceive myself? i will, however, end this horrible suspense. i will write to belflor,--tell him i expect him here this night: i am resolved he comes to reassure my troubled heart, or to confirm, himself, his treachery." marcella loudly applauded this resolution; she even conceived a hope that the count, all ambitious as he was, might yet be affected by the tears of his leonora, which could not fail at this interview, and that he might determine on espousing her in truth. meanwhile, belflor, relieved of the presence of don luis, was revolving in his mind the probable consequences of the reception he had given to the good old man. he felt certain that all the cespedes, enraged at the injury he had done their family, would unite to avenge it: this, however, gave him but little trouble; the possible loss of leonora occasioned him far greater anxiety. she would, he imagined, at once be placed in a convent, or, at least, that she would be carefully guarded from his sight; and that she was consequently lost to him for ever. this thought afflicted him; and he was occupied in devising some means to prevent so great a misfortune, when his valet entered the apartment, and presented a letter which marcella had placed in his hands. it was from leonora, and ran as follows:-- "my still dearest belflor, "i shall to-morrow quit the world, to bury myself in a convent. dishonoured, odious to my family and to myself, such is the deplorable condition to which i am reduced by listening to you. still i will expect you to-night. in my despair, i seek new tortures: come, and avow to me that your heart disowned the protestations which your lips have made to me; or come to confirm them by your sympathy, which alone can soften the harshness of my destiny. as there may, however, be some danger in this meeting, after what has passed between you and my father, be sure you are accompanied by a friend. although you have rendered life worthless to me, i cannot cease to interest myself in thine. "leonora." while the count perused this letter, which he read over several times, his imagination depicted the situation of leonora, in colours more sombre even than the reality, and he was deeply affected. he bitterly reflected on his past conduct: reason, probity, honour, all whose laws he had violated in the phrenzy of his passion, now regained their empire in his breast. the blindness which selfishness inflicts upon its victims was dissipated; and as the fevered convalescent blushes for the follies which, in the access of his disorder, he has committed, so was belflor ashamed of the meanness and artifice of which he had been guilty to satisfy his lust. "what have i done?" he cried; "wretch that i am, what demon has possessed me? i promised leonora to espouse her, and called on heaven to witness for the lie; i falsely told her that the king had designed me for another; lying, treachery, perjury,--i have hesitated at nothing to corrupt innocence itself. what madness! oh! had i used, to control it, the efforts i have made to gratify my passion! to seduce one of whose beauty and virtue i was unworthy, to abandon her to the wrath of her relations, whom i have equally dishonoured, and to plunge her in misery as a return for the happiness she bestowed on me,--what ingratitude! ought i not then to repair the injury i have inflicted? yes, i ought, and i will; my hand shall at the altar fulfil the pledge i gave for it. who shall oppose me in so righteous a determination? should her tenderness for me at all prejudice her virtue? no, i know too well what that cost me to vanquish. she yielded less to my love than to her confidence in my integrity, and to my vows of fidelity. but, on the other hand, if i resolve on this marriage, i make a great sacrifice,--i, who may pretend to the heiresses of the richest and most noble houses in the kingdom, shall i content myself with the daughter of a respectable gentleman, of small fortune? what will they think of me at court? they will say that i have made a splendid alliance indeed!" belflor, thus divided between love and ambition, knew not how to resolve; but although undetermined whether he should marry leonora or not, he had no difficulty in making up his mind to see her that evening, and at once directed his valet so to inform marcella. don luis was all this time in his cabinet, engaged in reflections on the mode he should adopt to vindicate his honour; and he was not a little embarrassed in his choice. to have recourse to the laws, was to publish his disgrace, besides which, he suspected with great reason that justice was likely to be one side, and the judges on the other. again, he dared not to seek reparation of the king himself; as he believed that prince had views with regard to belflor which must render such an application useless. there remained, then, but his own sword and those of his friends, and on these he concluded to rely. in the heat of his resentment, he at first meditated a challenge to the count; but on consideration of his great age and weakness, he feared to trust his arm; so resolved to confide the matter to his son, whose thrust he thought was likely to be surer than his own. he therefore sent one of his domestics to alcala, with a letter commanding his son's immediate presence in madrid, to revenge, as he stated it, an insult offered to the family of the cespedes. "this son, don pedro, is a cavalier of eighteen years of age, perfectly handsome, and so brave, that he passes at alcala for the most valiant student of that university; but you know him," added the devil, "and i need not enlarge on the subject." "i can answer," said don cleophas, "for his having all the valour and all the merit that can adorn a gentleman." "but this young man," resumed asmodeus, "was not then at alcala, as his father imagined. love had brought him also to madrid, where the object of his passion resided; and where he had met her for the first time, on the prado, on the occasion of his last visit to his family. who she was, he knew not: and his fair conquest had exacted of him a pledge that he would take no steps to inform himself on this head,--and although he was as good as his word, it cost him some trouble to keep it. i need hardly add, that she was of higher rank than her lover; and that, wisely mistrusting the discretion and constancy of a student--no offence to your highness--she thought proper to test him as to these necessary qualifications for a suitor, before she disclosed to him her station or name." [illustration: portrait of don pedro] his thoughts were, of course, more occupied by his lovely incognita than with the philosophy of aristotle; and the vicinity of alcala to madrid occasioned the youthful pedro to play truant to his studies as frequent as yourself; but, i must say, with a better excuse than your donna thomasa afforded. to conceal from his father, don luis, his amorous excursions, he usually lodged at a tavern at the other end of the town, where he passed under a borrowed name; and only went abroad at a certain hour in the morning, that he might repair to a house where the lady, for the love of whom he neglected his ovid, did him the honour to wait, in company with a trusty female attendant. during the rest of the day he shut himself up in his hotel; but as soon as night was come, he wandered fearlessly throughout the city. he happened one evening, as he was traversing a bye-street, to hear the sound of instruments and voices, which attracted his attention, and he stopped to listen. it was a serenade, and tolerably performed; but the cavalier, who was drunk, and naturally brutish, no sooner perceived our student than he hurried towards him, and, without preface,--"friend," said he, with an insolent air, "make yourself scarce; or your curiosity may find you more than you expect." "i would have withdrawn," replied don pedro, proudly, "had you requested me to do so with civility; but i shall now stay, to teach you better manners." "we shall see, then," said the serenading gallant, drawing his sword, "which of us two will give place to the other." don pedro also drew his sword, their weapons were crossed in a moment, and a furious combat ensued; but although the student's adversary was not wanting in skill, he could not parry a mortal thrust of don pedro, and fell dead upon the pavement. the musicians, who had already quitted their instruments, or stopped their singing, and had drawn their swords to protect their patron, now came in a body to avenge his death, and attacked don pedro all together. he, however, gave them satisfactory proofs of what he could do upon occasion; for, besides parrying, with surprising dexterity, all the thrusts which they designed for him, he dealt furiously among them, and found work for them all to protect themselves. still, they were so numerous, and apparently so determined on the student's death, that, skilful as he was with his weapon, they would have most probably accomplished their object, had not the count de belflor, who was accidentally passing through the street, come to his assistance. the count was of too noble a nature to see so many armed men striving against one man to hesitate upon the part he should take. his sword was therefore instantly directed against the musicians, and with so much vigour that they were soon put to flight, some wounded, and the others for fear they should be. the field thus cleared, the student, with what breath remained to him, began to express his sense of the valuable service he had so seasonably received; but belflor at once stopped him: "not a word, my dear sir," said he; "are you not wounded?" "no," replied don pedro. "then let us leave this place at once," said the count: "i see you have killed your man; and it will be dangerous to stay in his company, lest the officers of justice surprise you." they immediately decamped as quickly as possible, and did not stop until they had gained a street at some distance from the field of battle. don pedro, filled with a natural gratitude, then begged the count not to conceal from him the name of a person to whom he owed so great an obligation. belflor made no difficulty in complying with this request; but when in turn he asked that of the student, the latter, unwilling to discover himself to any person in madrid, replied, that he was don juan de maros, and that he should eternally bear in his remembrance the debt of gratitude which he owed to the count. [illustration: the swordfight] "well," said belflor to him, "i will this night give you an opportunity of repaying it in full. i have an appointment, which is not without risk; and i was about, when i fell in with you, to seek the protection of a friend. however, i know your valour, don juan: will you accompany me?" "to doubt it, were to insult me," replied the student: "i cannot better employ the life you have preserved, than in exposing it in your defence. go! i am ready to follow you." accordingly, belflor conducted don pedro to the house of don luis, and they both entered, by the balcony, the apartment of leonora. here don cleophas interrupted the devil: "signor asmodeus," said he, "impossible! what! not know his own father's house? no, no, no; that will never do." "it was not possible he should know it," replied the demon; "for it was a new one: don luis had lately changed his habitation, and had only taken this house a week before; which was just what don pedro did not know, and was what i was just going to tell you when you stopped me. you are too sharp; and have that shocking habit of displaying your intelligence by interrupting people in their stories: get rid of that fault, i pray you." "well," continued the devil, "don pedro did not think he was in his father's house; nor did he even perceive that it was marcella who let him into it; since she received him without a light, in an antechamber, where belflor requested his companion to remain while he was in the next room with his mistress. to this the student made no demur; so quietly sat himself down in a chair, with his drawn sword in his hand for fear of surprise, while his thoughts ran on the favours which he suspected love was heaping on the count, and his wishes that he might be as happy with his incognita,--for although he had no great cause of complaint as to her kindness, still it was not exactly paid after the kind of that of leonora for the count." while he was making, upon this subject, all those pleasing reflections which occur so readily to an impassioned lover, he heard some one endeavouring quietly to open a door, which was not that of the delights, but one which discovered a light through the keyhole. he rose quickly, and advanced towards it; and, as the door opened, presented the point of his sword to his father; for he it was who entered leonora's apartments, for the purpose of seeing that the count was not there. the good old man did not exactly suppose, after what had passed, that his daughter and marcella would dare to receive him again, which had prevented his assigning to them other chambers; but he had thought it probable that, as they were to go to a nunnery on the following day, they might desire to converse with him, for the last time, ere they left his roof. "whoever thou art," said the student, "enter not this room, or it may cost thee thy life." at these words, don luis stared at don pedro, who also regarding the old man with attention, they soon recognised each other. "ah! my son," cried the old man, "with what impatience have i expected you: why did you not inform me of your arrival? did you fear to disturb my rest? alas! that is for ever banished, in the cruel situation in which i am placed." "ah, my father!" said don pedro, utterly amazed, "is it you whom i behold? are not my eyes deceived by some fantastic vision?" "whence this astonishment?" replied don luis; "are you not within your father's house? have i not, a week ago, informed you where to find me?" "just heaven!" cried the student, "what do i hear?--and this then is my sister's apartment." as he finished these words, the count, whom the noise had alarmed, and who expected that his escort was attacked, came out, sword in hand, from leonora's chamber. no sooner did the old man perceive him than, with fury in his eyes, he pointed to belflor, and exclaimed to his son,--"there is the villain who has robbed me of my happiness, and who has stained our honour with a mortal taint. revenge! let us hasten to punish the traitor!" as he thus vented his rage, he opened his dressing-gown, and drew from beneath it his sword, with which he was about to fall on the count, when don pedro restrained him. "stay, my father," said he; "moderate, i entreat you, the fury of your wrath: what are you about to do?" "my son," replied the old man, "you withhold my arm. you doubtless think it is too weak to revenge our wrongs. be it so! do you then exact full satisfaction for the injury he has done us: it was for this purpose that i summoned you to madrid. should you perish, i will take your place; for either shall the count fall beneath our arms, or he shall take from both of us our lives, after having blasted our reputation." "my father," said don pedro, "i cannot yield to your impatience that which it requires of me. far from attempting the life of the count, i am now here to defend it. for that my word is pledged,--to that my honour is assured. let us depart, count," continued he, addressing himself to belflor. "ah! wretch," interrupted don luis, while he surveyed his son with anger and astonishment,--"thus to oppose thyself to a vengeance, which it should be the business of thy life to accomplish! my son, my own son, is leagued, then, with the villain who has corrupted my daughter! but think not to escape my resentment: i will place a sword in the hand of every servant in my house, to punish his treachery and thy despicable meanness." [illustration: don pedro restrains don luis from attacking belflor] "signor," replied don pedro, "be more just towards your son. call him not despicable or mean--he merits not those odious appellations. the count this night saved my life. he proposed to me, in ignorance of my real name, to accompany him here; and i freely consented to share the perils he might run, without knowing that my gratitude imprudently engaged my arm against the honour of my family. my word is passed, then, here to defend his life; that done, i stand acquitted of my obligation towards him: but i am not the less insensible of the wrong that he has done to you and to us all; and to-morrow you shall find that i will as readily shed his blood, as you behold me now determined to preserve it from your hands." the count had witnessed in silence all that passed, so much was he surprised at this extraordinary adventure; he now, however, thus addressed the student: "it is possible that the injury i have inflicted might be but imperfectly avenged by your sword; i will, therefore, present to you a means much more certain of repairing it. i will confess to you that, until this day, i did not intend to marry leonora; but i this morning received from her a letter which touched my heart, and her tears have finished what her letter began. the happiness of being united to your sister is now my dearest hope." "but if the king has destined you for another," said don luis, "how can you dispense----?" "the king has not troubled himself upon the subject," interrupted belflor, blushing: "pardon, i beseech you, that fiction, to a man whose reason was deranged by love; it is a crime that the violence of my passion incited me to commit, and which i expiate in avowing to you my shame." "signor," replied the old man, "after this frankness, which belongs only to noble minds, i cannot doubt your sincerity. i see, with joy, that you are anxious to repair the injury you have done us; my anger yields to this assurance of your contrition; i will forget it for ever in your arms." he advanced towards the count, who rushed to meet him, and they embraced each other cordially. then, turning towards don pedro, "and you, false don juan," said belflor,--"you, who have already gained my esteem by your valour, come, let me vow to you a brother's love." don pedro received the count's embraces with a submissive and respectful air, saying, "signor, in offering to me so valuable a friendship, you secure mine for yourself: rely on me, as one devoted to your service to the last moment of his life." while these cavaliers were thus discoursing, leonora was at the door of her chamber, intently listening to every syllable they uttered. she had been, at the first, tempted to discover herself, and to throw herself in the midst of their swords; but fear, and marcella, had withheld her. but when the adroit duenna saw that matters were arranging very amicably, she guessed that the presence of her mistress, and her own, would spoil nothing. accordingly, she appeared, her handkerchief in one hand and her ward in the other; and, with tears in their eyes, they prostrated themselves before don luis. neither of them, indeed, felt perfectly assured; for they recollected the surprise of the previous night, and feared the old man's reproaches for this renewal of their disobedience. however, raising leonora,--"my child," said he, "dry your tears; i will not upbraid you now: since your lover is disposed to keep the faith he has sworn to you, it is fitting that i should forget the past." "yes, signor don luis," interrupted belflor, "i will indeed keep my faith with leonora; and as some amends for the insult i had intended, as the fullest satisfaction i can give to you, and as a pledge of that friendship i have vowed to don pedro, i offer him in marriage my sister eugenia." "signor!" cried don luis, "how can i express my satisfaction at the honour you confer upon my son? was ever father happier than myself? you overpay me, in joy, for the grief you have caused me." [illustration: don luis raises leonora] though the old man was charmed with the count's proposals, i cannot say as much for his son. being sincerely taken with love for his incognita, he was so overcome with surprise and chagrin at belflor's offer, that he had not a word to say for himself; when the latter, who did not observe his embarrassment, took leave, stating that he should at once order the necessary preparations for this double union, and that he was impatient to be bound to them eternally, by ties so endearing. after his departure, don luis left leonora with the duenna, taking with him his son, who, when they had reached his father's apartment, said, with all the frankness of a student: "signor, do not insist, i pray you, on my marriage with the count's sister; it is enough for the honour of our family, that he should espouse leonora." "what! my son," replied the old man, "can you have any objection to an union with eugenia de belflor?" "yes, my father," said don pedro; "i must confess to you, that union would prove to me the most cruel of punishments; and i will not disguise from you the reason. i love, or, rather, i adore another: for the last six months she has listened to my vows: and now, on her alone depends the happiness of my life." "how miserable is the condition of a father!" exclaimed don luis: "how rarely does he find his children disposed to do as he desires them. but who is this lady that has made such deep impression on your heart?" "that, i do not yet know," replied don pedro. "she has promised to inform me of her name when i shall have satisfied her of my constancy and discretion; but i doubt not she does honour to one of the noblest houses of spain." "and you think then," said the old man, changing his tone, "that i shall be so obliging as to sanction this romantic love!--that i shall permit you to renounce an alliance, as glorious as fortune could offer to you, that you may remain faithful to an illustrious lady of whose very name you are ignorant! do not expect so much of my kindness. no, rather strive to vanquish feelings that are inspired by an object which is most probably unworthy of them; and seek, in so doing, to merit the honour which the count proposes for you." "you speak to me in vain, my father," replied the student; "i feel that i can never forget her whom i have sworn to love--unknown though she be,--and that nothing can tear me from her. were the infanta proposed to me----" "hold!" cried the old man angrily; "it is too much to boast thus insolently of a constancy which excites my displeasure: leave me, and let me not see you again until you are prepared to obey my will." don pedro did not dare to reply to these words, for fear of hearing others more unpleasant still; so he retired to his chamber, where he passed the remainder of the night in reflections in which sorrow was not all unmixed with joy. he thought with grief that he was about to estrange himself from his family, by refusing the hand of belflor's sister; but then he was consoled, when he reflected that his incognita would worthily esteem the greatness of the sacrifice. he even flattered himself that, after so convincing a proof of his fidelity, she would no longer conceal from him her station, which he imagined also must be equal at least to that of eugenia. in this hope, as soon as day appeared, he went out, and directed his steps towards the prado, that he might pass away the time until the hour of his meeting with his mistress. with what impatience did he count the minutes as they lingered,--with what joy did he hail the happy moment when it arrived! he found his fair unknown with donna juanna, the lady at whose house they met; but alas, he found her in tears, and apparently in the deepest affliction. what a sight for a lover! his own grief was forgotten: he approached her with tenderness; and throwing himself on his knees before her, "madam," he exclaimed, "what must i think of the condition in which i see you? what dreadful misfortune do these tears, which pierce my heart, forbode?" "you dream not," she replied, "of the fatal news i bring you. cruel fortune is about to separate us for ever;--yes! we shall meet no more." [illustration: don pedro kneels before his fair unknown] she accompanied these words with so many and such heart-rending sighs, that i know not if don pedro was more affected at what she told him, than at the affliction with which she appeared oppressed in telling it. "just heaven!" he cried, in a transport of fury, which he could not control, "is it thy will that they prevent an union whose innocence is worthy of thy protection? but, madam," he continued, "you are perhaps falsely alarmed! is it certain that they would snatch you from the most faithful of lovers? can it be possible that i should be so unhappy?" "our misfortune is but too certain," answered the unknown; "my brother, upon whom my hand depends, has bestowed it this very day; he has this moment announced to me his decision." "and who is the happy man?" exclaimed don pedro. "tell me! in my despair i will seek him, and----" "i do not know his name," interrupted the unknown. "i cared not to ask, nor did my brother inform me; he told me indeed that it was his wish that i should first see the cavalier." "but, madam," said don pedro, "will you then yield without resistance to your brother's will? will you be dragged to the altar, without complaint? will you go, a willing sacrifice, and abandon me so easily? alas! i have not hesitated to expose myself to the anger of a father for love of you; nor could his menaces for a moment shake my fidelity. no! nor threats, nor persuasion, could move me to espouse another, although the lady he proposed for me was one to whom i had hardly dared aspire." "and who is this lady?" asked the unknown. "she is the sister of the count de belflor," replied the scholar. "ah, don pedro!" cried the unknown, with extreme surprise, "surely, you are mistaken; it cannot be she whom they propose to you. what! eugenia, the sister of belflor? are you sure of what you say?" "yes, madam," replied the student; "the count himself offered me her hand." "how!" cried she, "is it possible that you are the cavalier for whom my brother designs me?" "what do i hear?" cried the student in his turn, "is it possible that my incognita is the count de belflor's sister?" "yes, don pedro," replied eugenia. "but i can hardly believe it myself, at this moment; so difficult do i find it to persuade myself of the happiness you assure to me." don pedro now fell again at her feet, and seizing her hand, he kissed it with all the transport that lovers only can feel who pass suddenly from the depths of despair to the highest pinnacle of hope and joy. while he abandoned himself to the feelings of his heart, eugenia for the first time forgot her reserve, and freely returned his caress--she felt that her love was sanctioned, and gave, her lips where her heart had long been engaged. "alas!" said she, when her love could form itself into words, "what tortures had my brother spared me, had he but here named the husband of his choice! what aversion had i already conceived for my future lord! ah, my dear don pedro, how i have hated you!" "lovely eugenia," replied he, "what charms has that hatred for me now! i will endeavour to merit it by adoring you for ever." after the happy pair had exhausted love's vocabulary, and the tumult of their hearts was somewhat calmed, eugenia was anxious to know by what means the student had gained her brother's friendship. don pedro did not conceal from her the amours of the count and his sister, and related all that had passed the night before. it was for eugenia an additional pleasure to learn that belflor was to marry the sister of her own lover. donna juanna was too much interested in the welfare of her friend not to partake of her joy for this happy event, and warmly congratulated her, as also don pedro thereon. at last the lovers separated, after having agreed that they should not appear to know each other when they met before the count and don luis. don pedro returned to his father, who, finding his son disposed to obey him, was the more pleased, inasmuch as he attributed this ready compliance to the firm manner in which he had spoken to him overnight. they presently received a note from belflor, in which he informed them that he had obtained the king's consent to his marriage, as also for that of his sister with don pedro, on whom his majesty had been pleased to confer a considerable appointment. he added, so diligently had his orders for the nuptials been executed, that everything was arranged for their taking place on the following day; and he came soon after they had received his letter, to confirm what he had written, and to present to them his sister eugenia. [illustration: belflor presents eugenia] don luis received the lady with every mark of affection, and leonora kissed her so much that her brother was almost jealous--although, whatever he might feel, he managed to constrain his love and delight, so as not to give the count the least suspicion of their intelligence. as belflor remarked his sister with great attention, he thought he could discover, notwithstanding her reserve, which he attributed to modesty, that don pedro was by no means displeasing to her. to be certain, however, he took an opportunity of speaking to her aside, and drew from her an avowal of her entire satisfaction. he then informed her of the name and rank of her intended, which he would not before communicate, lest the inequality of the stations should prejudice her against him; all which she feigned, marvellously well, to hear as for the first time. at last, after many compliments, which were remarkable for their sincerity, it was resolved that the weddings should take place at the house of don luis the next day, as belflor had arranged. they were accordingly celebrated this evening, the rejoicing still continues, and now you know why they are so merry in that house. every one is delighted--except the lady marcella: she, while all else are laughing, is at this moment in tears. they are real tears too, this time! for the count de belflor, after the ceremony, informed don luis of the facts which preceded it; and the old gentleman has sent the duenna to the _monasterio de las arrepentidas_, where the thousand pistoles she received for seducing leonora will enable her to repent having done so for the rest of her days. chapter vi. new objects displayed to don cleophas; and his revenge on donna thomasa. the demon now directed the student's attention to another part of the city. "you see," he continued, "that house which is directly under us: it contains something curious enough,--a man loaded with debt and sleeping profoundly." "of course then," said leandro, "he is a person of distinction?" "precisely so," answered asmodeus: "he is a marquis, possessed of a hundred thousand ducats per annum, but whose expenses, nevertheless, exceed his income. his table and his mistresses require that he should support them with credit, but that causes him no anxiety; on the contrary, when he opens an account with a tradesman, he thinks that the latter is indebted to him. 'it is you,' said he the other day to a draper, 'it is you, that i shall henceforth trust with the execution of my orders; it is a preference which you owe to my esteem.' "while the marquis enjoys so tranquilly the sweet repose of which he deprives his creditors, look at a man who----" "stay, signor asmodeus," interrupted don cleophas hastily; "i perceive a carriage in the street, and cannot let it pass without asking what it contains." "hush," said the cripple, lowering his voice, as though he feared he should be heard:--"learn that that vehicle conceals one of the most dignified personages in this kingdom, a president, who is going to amuse himself with an elderly lady of asturia, who is devoted to his pleasures. that he may not be known, he has taken the precaution of imitating caligula, who on a similar occasion disguised himself in a wig. "but,--to return to the picture i was about to present to your sight when you interrupted me,--observe, in the very highest part of the mansion, where sleeps the marquis, a man who is writing in a chamber filled with books and manuscripts." "he is probably," said zambullo, "the steward, labouring to devise some means for discharging his master's obligations." "excellent," exclaimed the devil; "that, indeed, forms a great part of the amusement of such gentry in the service of noblemen! they seek rather to profit from derangement of their masters' affairs than to put them in order. he is not, then, the steward whom you see; he is an author: the marquis keeps him in his house, to obtain the reputation of a patron of literature." "this author," replied don cleophas, "is apparently a man of eminence." "judge for yourself!" replied the demon. "he is surrounded by a thousand volumes, and is composing one, on natural history, in which there will not be a line of his own. he pillages these books and manuscripts without mercy; and, although he does nothing but arrange and connect his larcenies, he has more vanity than the most original writer upon earth. [illustration: the author at work] "you are not aware," continued the spirit, "who lives three doors from this mansion: it is la chichona, the very lady who acted so honourable a part in the story of the count de belflor." "ah!" said leandro, "i am delighted to behold her. the dear creature, so considerate for youth, is doubtless one of the two old ladies whom i perceive in that room. one of them is leaning with both her elbows on the table, looking attentively at the other, who is counting out some money. which of them is la chichona?" "not the one who is counting," said the demon; "her name is la pebrada, and she is a distinguished member of the same profession: they are, indeed, partners; and are at this moment dividing the profits of an adventure which, by their assistance, has terminated favourably. [illustration: la chichona and la pebrada divide the profits] "la pebrada is the more successful of the two: she has among her clients several rich widows, who subscribe to her daily register." "what do you mean by her register?" interrupted the student. "why," replied asmodeus, "it contains the names of all handsome foreigners, and particularly frenchmen, who come to madrid. the instant la pebrada hears of an arrival, away she posts to the hotel of the new comer, to learn every particular as to his country, birth, parentage, and education,--his age, form, and appearance, all which are duly reported to her subscribers; and if, on reflection, the heart of any of her widows is inclined to an acquaintance, she adroitly manages a speedy interview with the stranger." "that is extremely convenient," replied zambullo, smiling, "and in some sort very proper; for, in truth, without these kind ladies and their agents, the youthful foreigner, who comes without introductions to madrid, would lose an immense deal of time in gaining them. but, tell me, are there in other countries widows as generous and women as intriguing?" "capital!" exclaimed the devil--"if there are? why! can you doubt it? i should be unworthy of my demonship if i neglected to provide all large towns with them in plenty." "cast your eyes upon chichona's neighbour,--yon printer, who is working at his press, alone. he has dismissed the devils in his employ these three hours; and he is now engaged, for the night, on a work which he is printing privately." "ah! what may it be?" said leandro. "it treats of insults," replied the demon; "and endeavours to prove that religion is preferable to honour; and that it is better to pardon than to avenge an affront." "oh! the scoundrel!" exclaimed the student "well may he print in secret his infamous book. its author had better not acknowledge his production: i would be one of the first to answer it with a horsewhip. what! can religion forbid the preservation of one's honour?" "let us not discuss that point," interrupted asmodeus, with a malicious smile. "it appears that you have made the most of the lectures on morality you listened to at alcala; and i give you joy of the result." "you may say what you please," interrupted cleophas in his turn, "and so may the writer of this wretched absurdity: but though his reasonings were clear as the noon-day sun, i should despise him and them. i am a spaniard, and nothing is to me so delightful as revenge; and, by the by, since you have pledged yourself to satisfy me for the perfidy of my mistress, i call on you at once to keep your promise." "i yield with pleasure," replied the demon, "to the wrath which agitates your breast. oh! how i love those noble spirits who follow without scruple the dictates of their passions! i will obey your will at once; and indeed, the hour to avenge your wrongs is come: but first i wish to show you something which will amuse you vastly. look beyond the printing-office, and observe with attention what is passing in an apartment, hung with drab cloth." "i perceive," said leandro, "five or six women, who are with eagerness offering phials of something to a sort of valet, and they appear desperately agitated." "they are," replied asmodeus, "devotees, who have great reason to be agitated. there is in the next room a sick inquisitor. this venerable personage, who is about thirty-five years old, is attended by two of his dearest penitents, with untiring watchfulness. one is concocting his gruel, while the other at his pillow is employed in keeping his head warm, and is covering his stomach with a kind of blanket made of at least fifty lamb-skins." "what on earth is the matter with him, then?" asked zambullo. "he has a cold in his head," answered the devil; "and there is danger lest the disorder should extend to his lungs." [illustration: the inquisitor nursed by two penitents] "the ladies whom you see in his antechamber have hastened, on the alarm of his indisposition, with all sorts of remedies. one brings, to allay his apprehended cough, syrups of jujubes, mallows, coral, and coltsfoot; another, to preserve the said lungs of his reverence, syrups of long-life, speedwell, amaranth, and the elixir vitæ; this one, to fortify his brain and stomach, has brought balm, cinnamon, and treacle waters, besides gutta vitæ, and the essences of nutmegs and ambergris; that offers anacardine and bezoardic confections; while a fifth carries tinctures of cloves, gilly-flowers, sunflowers, and of coral and emeralds. all these zealous penitents are boasting to the valet of the virtues of the medicines they offer; and each by turns, drawing him aside, and slipping a ducat in his hand, whispers in his ear: 'laurence, my dear laurence, manage so, i beg of you, that what i bring for the dear man may have the preference.'" "by jupiter!" cried don cleophas, "it must be allowed that inquisitors--even sick inquisitors--are happy mortals." "i can answer for that," replied asmodeus; "i almost envy them their lot, myself; and, like the son of philip of macedon, who once said that he would have been diogenes, if he had not been alexander, i can unhesitatingly say, that, if i were not a devil i would be an inquisitor." "but, signor student," continued he, "let us go! let us away, to punish the ingrate who so ill-requited your tenderness." zambullo instantly seized the end of the demon's cloak, and a second time was whirled with him through the air, until they alighted on the house of donna thomasa. this frail damsel was seated at table, with the four gentlemen who, a few hours before, had so eagerly sought the acquaintance of don cleophas on the roof of her house. he trembled with rage, as he beheld them feasting on a brace of partridges and a rabbit, which, with some choice wine, he had sent to the traitress for his own supper; and, to add to his mortification, he perceived that joy reigned in the repast; and that it was evident, by the deportment of the lady, that the company of these scoundrels was much more agreeable to her than that of himself. "oh! the wretches!" he cried, in a perfect fury, "to see them enjoying themselves at my expense! vastly pleasant, is it not?" "why, i must confess," replied the demon, "that you have witnessed spectacles more pleasing; but he who rejoices in the favours of such fair ones must expect to share them. this sort of thing has happened a thousand times; especially in france, among the abbés, the gentlemen of the long robe, and the financiers." "if i had a sword, though," said leandro, "i would fall upon the villains, and spoil their sport for them." "you would be hardly matched," replied the demon;--"what were one among so many? leave your revenge to me! i will manage it better than you could. i will soon set them together by the ears, in inspiring each of them with a fit of tenderness for your mistress: their swords will be out in no time, and you will be delighted with the uproar." [illustration: the guests quarrel over donna thomasa] asmodeus had no sooner spoken than he breathed forcibly, and from his mouth issued a violet-coloured vapour which descended tortuously, like a fiery serpent, and spread itself round the table of donna thomasa. in an instant, one of her guests, more inflammable than his companions, rose from his seat, and, approaching the lady, embraced her amorously; when the others, in whom the spirit had begun to work, hastened together to snatch from him the dainty prize. each claimed a preference: words ensued; a jealous rage possessed them; blows succeeded, and, as the devil had foretold, they drew their weapons and commenced a furious combat. in the meanwhile donna thomasa exerted her lungs, and the neighbourhood was speedily alarmed by her cries. they call for the police; the police arrive: they break open the door, and find two of the hectors extended on the floor. they seize upon the others, and take them with the helen of the party to prison. in vain did she weep; in vain did she tear her locks, and exclaim in despair:--the tears of unfortunate beauty had no more effect on the cavaliers who conducted her, than they had on her former knight zambullo, who almost died with laughter, in which the god of love most unnaturally joined him. "well!" said the demon to the student, "are you content?" "no, no!" replied don cleophas; "to satisfy me in full, place me upon the prison, that i may have the pleasure of beholding in her dungeon, the miserable who trifled with my love. i feel for her, now, a hatred which exceeds even the affection with which she formerly inspired me." "be it so!" said the devil; "you shall ever find me a slave to your will, though it interfered with mine and my interests,--provided always, that it is safe to indulge you." [illustration: donna thomasa in prison] they flew through the air, and were on the prison before the officers arrived with their captives. the two assassins were at once consigned to one of its lowest deeps, while thomasa was led to a bed of straw, which she was to share with three or four other abandoned women, who had fallen into the hands of justice the same day; and with whom she was destined to be transported to the colonies, which a grateful mother country generally endows with this description of female inhabitants. "i am satisfied," said zambullo; "i have tasted a delicious revenge: my dear thomasa will not pass the night quite so pleasantly as she had anticipated. so, now, if you please, we will continue our observations." "we could not be in a better place, then," replied the spirit. "within these walls is much to interest you. innocent and guilty, in somewhat equal numbers, are here enclosed: it is the hell in which commences the punishment of the one, and the purgatory in which the virtue of the others may be purified,--you see i'm a good catholic, signor student! of both of these species of prisoners i will show you examples, and i will inform you why they are here enfettered." chapter vii. the prison, and the prisoners. "and before i commence my memoirs, just observe the gaolers at the entrance of this horrible place. the poets of antiquity placed but one cerberus at the gate of their hell: there are many more here, however, as you perceive. they are creatures who have lost all the feelings of humanity, if they ever possessed any;--the most malicious of my brethren could hardly replace one of them. but i observe that you are looking with horror on those cells whose only furniture consists of a wretched bed,--those fearful dungeons appear to you so many tombs. you are reasonably astonished at the misery you behold; and you deplore the fate of those unhappy persons whom the law restrains; still, they are not all equally to be pitied; and i will enable you to distinguish between them. "to begin, in that large cell to the right are four men sleeping in two beds; one of them is an innkeeper, accused of having poisoned a foreigner who died suddenly the other day in his house. they assert that the deceased owed his death to the quality of the wine he partook of; the host maintains, that the quantity, alone, killed him: and the accused will be believed, for the stranger was a german." "well! who is in the right, the innkeeper or his accusers?" said don cleophas. "it is difficult to decide," replied the devil "the wine was certainly drugged; but, i' faith, the baron drank so largely, that the judges may for the nonce most conscientiously acquit a tavern-keeper of poisoning his customer." "his bedfellow is an assassin by profession;--not a soldier, but one of those scoundrels who are called _valientes_, and who for four or five pistoles obligingly minister to all who will go to so great an expense for the purpose of secretly ridding themselves of some one to whom they owe an obligation. the third prisoner is a dancing-master, who has been teaching one of his female pupils a step not usually practised in genteel society; and the fourth is an unlucky gallant caught by the patrole in the act of entering, by the balcony, the apartment of a lady, whom he was about to console for the absence of her husband. he has only to declare the charitable object of his visit, to withdraw himself from the hands of justice; but he nobly prefers to suffer as a robber, rather than endanger the reputation of his mistress." "he is a model of discretion, indeed," said the student; "but it must be allowed that the cavaliers of spain excel those of all other nations in affairs of gallantry; i would bet anything that a frenchman, for example, would never permit himself to be hanged under similar circumstances." "and i would back you for that," answered the devil; "he would rather scale the balcony of a lady, of whose favours he could boast, in broad day-light, for the express purpose of proclaiming her disgrace." "in a cell near that of the four men i have just spoken of," continued asmodeus, "is a celebrated witch, who enjoys the reputation of doing all impossible things. by the power of her magic, old dowagers can find, they say, youthful admirers who will love them for their bloom; husbands are rendered faithful to their wives; and coquettes sincerely devoted to the rich fools who keep them: all which is, i need not tell you, absurd enough. her only secret is in persuading people that she has one, and in making the most of that opinion. the holy office is jealous of the poor creature, so have called her to account; and she is likely to be burnt at the first _aúto de fé_." "under this cell, in a dark dungeon, lodges a young tavern keeper."--"what! another?" cried leandro,--"surely these people are going to poison all the world." "mine host, in this case," replied asmodeus, "will not suffer for his wine; it is for an illegal traffic in spirits that he was arrested yesterday, at the instance of the holy office also. i will explain the matter to you in a few words. "an old soldier, having risen by his courage, or rather by his patience, to the rank of serjeant, came to madrid in search of recruits, and demanded a lodging in a tavern to which he was directed by his billet. the host told the serjeant that he certainly had spare rooms in his house, but that he could not think of putting him into any one of them, as they were haunted by a ghost who visited them nightly, and most shockingly ill-treated those who had the temerity to occupy them. the serjeant was not however to be daunted: 'place me,' said he, 'in any room you please; give me a light, some wine, a pipe and tobacco, and never trouble yourself for my safety; ghosts, depend upon it, have the highest respect for an old campaigner, whose hairs have whitened under arms.' "as he appeared so resolute, they showed the old soldier to a chamber, gave him all he had required; and he began to smoke and drink at his ease. the hour of midnight sounded, but no ghost appeared to disturb the profound silence that reigned throughout the house; it seemed as though the spirit did indeed respect the valiant bearing of his new guest: but, between one and two o'clock, the wakeful sentinel was alarmed by a horrible din, as of rattling chains, and beheld, entering his apartment, a fearful spectre, clothed in black, and enveloped with iron chains. our old smoker, not in the least alarmed at this spectacle, rose calmly from his chair, advanced towards the spirit, drew his sword, and gave him with the flat side of it, a terrible blow on the head. "the phantom, unaccustomed to find such courageous tenants in his domain, and perceiving that the soldier was preparing to repeat the blow, fell upon his knees before him, crying out,--'pardon, signor serjeant; for the love of heaven, do not kill me: have pity upon a poor devil, who throws himself at your feet to implore your clemency. i conjure you by st james, who, like yourself, was a valiant soldier----' 'if you would preserve your life,' interrupted the serjeant, 'tell me who you are, and what you do here. speak the truth,--or, by our lady, i will cut you in two, as the knights of old split the giants they encountered.' at these words, the spirit, finding with whom he had to do, saw that he had better lose no time in his explanation. [illustration: william kneels before the serjeant] "'i am,' said he, 'the head-waiter of this inn; my name is william; and i love juanilla, the only daughter of the landlord, and i do not love without return; but as her parents have a better match in view, my sweetheart and myself have arranged that, in order to compel them to choose me for their son-in-law, i shall nightly disguise myself in this manner. i clothe myself in a long black cloak, and put the jack-chain round my neck; and, thus equipped, i go about the house, from the cellar to the garret, making all the noise i can, of which you have heard a specimen. when i arrive at the door of my master and mistress's bed-room, i rattle my chains, and cry loud enough for them to hear,--"hope not to rest in peace, until you have married juanilla to your head-waiter, william!"' "'after having pronounced these words in a hoarse and broken voice, i continue my clatter, and vanish by a window into the chamber where juanilla sleeps alone, to inform her of what i have done. and now, signor serjeant, you may be assured that i have told you the whole truth. i know that after this confession you may ruin me, by informing my master of the affair; but if, instead of thus injuring me, you are inclined to serve me, i swear that my gratitude----' 'ah!' interrupted the soldier, 'what service can you hope from me?' 'you have only in the morning,' replied the young man, 'to say that you have seen the ghost, and that it has so terribly frightened you,----' 'what, the deuce! frightened me!' again interrupted the old warrior; 'do you expect that serjeant hannibal antonio quebrantador is going to say that he was frightened? i would rather say that a hundred thousand devils had me----' 'that is not absolutely necessary,' in his turn interrupted william; 'and after all, it is of no great consequence what you say, provided that you but assist me in my design: only let me marry juanilla, and see myself established by the assistance of her father, and i promise to keep open house for you and all your friends.' "'you are a regular seducer, master william,' cried the soldier; 'you want to join me in a downright cheat: the matter may be serious, and you take it so lightly, as to make me, even, tremble for the consequences. but away with you! continue your infernal noise, and go to juanilla to render your account: i will manage the rest.' [illustration: the serjeant speaks to his host and hostess] "accordingly, on the following morning, the serjeant said to his host and hostess: 'well! i have seen the ghost, conversed with it, and found it very civil and reasonable.' "i am," said he to me, "the great-great-grandfather of the master of this house. i had a daughter, whom i solemnly promised to the father of master william's grandfather: nevertheless, despite my pledge, i gave her hand to another, and died shortly afterwards. ever since then, i have remained in purgatory, suffering for this perjury; and i shall continue in torment until some one of my descendants has married into the family of the head waiter. to accomplish this, i come here nightly; but it is in vain that i command them to unite juanilla and young william,--the son of my grandchild turns a deaf ear to my entreaties, as well as his wife; but tell them, if you please, signor serjeant, that if they do not as i desire of them soon, i shall come to extremities with them, and will plague them both in a way they little dream of."' "the host, who is simple enough, was somewhat shaken by this discourse; but the hostess, still more silly than her husband, was so much affected by it, that she fancied she already saw the ghost at her heels, and at once consented to the match, which took place on the following day. william shortly afterwards took an inn in another part of the town, and serjeant quebrantador failed not to visit him frequently. the new tavern-keeper at first, out of gratitude, filled him with wine at discretion; which so pleased the old moustache, that he took all his friends to the house: he even there enrolled his recruits, and made them drunk at the host's expense. "at last, therefore, master william became tired of constantly wetting so many parching throats; but, on communicating his ideas upon the subject to the serjeant, the latter, with a disregard of his own infraction of their treaty which would have fitted him to command an army, was unjust enough to accuse mine host of ingratitude. william replied, the other rejoined, and the conversation ended, as their first had begun, with a blow of the serjeant's long sword on the thick head of the unfortunate tavern-keeper. some passers-by naturally sided with the civilian: of these quebrantador wounded three or four; and his wrath was yet unsatisfied, when he was suddenly assailed by a host of archers, who arrested him as a disturber of the peace. they conducted him to prison, where he declared all that i have told you; and upon his deposition the ex-head-waiter was encaged also. his father-in-law demands a divorce; and the holy office, hearing that william has acquired some considerable property, has kindly undertaken to investigate the matter." [illustration: the serjeant is restrained from attacking william] "egad!" cried don cleophas, "our holy inquisition is ever alive to its interests. no sooner do they light upon a profitable----" "softly!" interrupted the devil, "have a care how you launch out against that tribunal:--for it, the very walls have ears. they echo even words that the mouth has never spoken; and for myself, i hardly dare to mention it without trembling." "over the unfortunate william, in the first chamber to the left, are two men worthy of your pity; one of them is a youthful valet, whom his master's wife privately indulged with the use of more than her husband's clothes. one day, however, the husband surprised them together; when the lady immediately began crying out for help, and accused the valet of having violated her person. the poor fellow was arrested, of course; and, according to appearances, will be sacrificed to his mistress's reputation. his companion, still less guilty than the valet, is also about to pay the forfeit of his life. he was footman to a duchess who has been robbed of a valuable diamond, which they accuse him of having taken. he will be to-morrow put to the torture, until the rack wrings from him a confession of the theft; and in the meanwhile the lady's maid, who is the real culprit, and whom no one dares to suspect, will moralise with the duchess on the depravity of modern servants." "ah! signor asmodeus," said leandro, "let not the wretched footman perish, i entreat you! his innocence interests me for his life. save him, by your power, from the unjust and cruel torture they would inflict: he deserves----" "you cannot expect it, signor student!" interrupted the demon. "what! do you suppose that i would prevent injustice?--that i would snatch the guiltless from destruction? as well might you pray an attorney to desist from the ruin of the widow or the orphan!" "oh! and it please you," added the devil, "expect not of me that which is contrary to my interest, unless indeed it be of great advantage to yourself. besides, were i willing to deliver yonder prisoner from bondage, how could i effect it?" "how!" repeated zambullo, "do you mean to say that you have not the power so to do?" "certainly," replied the cripple. "had you read the enchiridion, or albertus magnus, you would know that neither i, nor any of my brethren, can liberate a prisoner from his cell: even i, were i so unfortunate as to be within the talons of the law, could only hope to escape by bribing my jailer, or my judges. "in the next room, on the same side, lodges a surgeon convicted of having, in a fit of jealousy, drained the warm blood which wantoned in the veins of his handsome wife, after the model of the death of seneca. he was yesterday tenderly questioned on the rack; and having confessed the crime of which he was accused, he let out the secrets of his profession, by detailing a very novel and interesting mode which he had especially adopted for increasing his practice. he stated that he had been in the habit of wounding persons in the street with a bayonet, and of then lancing himself into his house by a back-door. of course the patient used to call out lustily at this unexpected operation; and as the neighbours flocked around at his cries, the surgeon, mingling with the crowd, and finding a man bathed in his blood, very charitably had him carried to his shop, and dressed the wound with the same hand that had given it. "although the rascally practitioner has confessed to this atrocity, for which a thousand deaths were not one too many, he still hopes that his life will be spared; and it is not improbable that it may be so, seeing that he is related to the lady who has the honour of clouting the little princes of spain: besides which, he is the inventor of a marvellous wash, of which the secret would die with him, and which has the virtues of whitening the skin, and of giving to the wrinkled front the juvenile appearance of fifteen. now, as this incomparable water serves as the fountain of youth to three ladies of the palace, who have united their efforts to save him, he relies so confidently on their credit at court, or rather on that of his wash, that he sleeps tranquilly in the soothing hope that he will awaken to the agreeable intelligence of his pardon." "i perceive, upon a bed in the same room," said the student, "another man, who appears to me to be sleeping peaceably enough; his business is not a very bad one, i expect." "it is a very ticklish affair, though," replied the demon. "that cavalier is a gentleman of biscay, who has enriched himself by the fire of a carbine: i will tell you how. about a fortnight ago, shooting in a forest with his elder and only brother, who was in possession of a large estate, he killed him, by mistake, instead of a partridge." "a very lucky mistake, that," cried don cleophas, laughing, "for a younger son." "yes," replied asmodeus: "but a collateral branch of the family, the members of which would have no objection to see the deceased's estate fall within their line, have disinterestedly prosecuted his murderer on the charge of having designedly shot him, that he might succeed to his property. the accused, however, immediately rendered himself into the hands of justice; and he appears to be so deeply afflicted by the death of his brother, that they can scarcely imagine him guilty of deliberately taking his life." "and has he really nothing with which to reproach himself, beyond his fatal awkwardness?" asked leandro. "no," replied asmodeus; "his design was innocent enough; but when an elder son is in possession of all the wealth of his family, i should certainly not advise him to make a shooting-party in company with his younger brother. "observe attentively those two youths who, in a retreat near to that of the fatal shot, are conversing as merrily as though they were at liberty. they are a pair of veritable _picaros;_ and there is one, especially, who may some day amuse the public with one of those details of roguery which never fail to delight it. he is a modern guzman d'alfarache: it is he who wears the brown velvet vest, and has a plume of feathers in his hat. "not three months since, in this very town, he was page to the count d'onato; and he would still have been in the suite of that nobleman but for a little piece of rascality, which gained for him his present lodging, and which i will narrate to you. "one day, this youth, whose name is domingo, received a hundred lashes, which the count's intendant, otherwise governor of the pages, directed to be bestowed on him as a reward for some trick which appeared to deserve it. domingo was, however, impatient under such a load of obligation; and so, proudly resolved to return it on the first opportunity. he had remarked more than once that the signor don como, as the intendant styled himself, delighted to wash his hands with orange-flower water, and to anoint himself with pastes redolent of the pink or jessamine; that he was more careful of his person than an old coquette, and that, in short, he was one of those coxcombs who imagine that no woman of taste can behold them without loving them. these observations inspired domingo with a scheme for revenge, which he communicated to a young waiting-woman who resided in the neighbourhood, whose assistance he required for the execution of his project, and in whose favour he stood so high that she had none left to grant him. "this damsel, called floretta, in order to have the pleasure of an unrestrained intercourse with the page, introduced him as her cousin into the house of donna luziana, her mistress, whose father was at that time absent from madrid. the cunning domingo, after having informed his pretended relative of her part in his design, going one morning into the apartment of don como, found my gentleman trying on a new dress, looking with complacency at his figure in a mirror, and evidently by no means displeased with its reflection. the page affected to be struck with admiration of this narcissus, and exclaimed, in well-feigned transport: 'upon my honour, signor don como, you have the air of royalty itself. i see, daily, nobles richly clad; but notwithstanding the elegance and splendour of their vestments, i discern in none that dignity of mien which distinguishes you. i will not assert,' added he, 'that with the respect i have for you, i may not regard you with eyes somewhat prepossessed in your favour; but this i can say, that i know of no cavalier at court whom you would not totally eclipse.' "the intendant smiled at this discourse, which offered so agreeable a tribute to his vanity, and graciously replied:--'you flatter me, my friend; or rather, as you say, you esteem me so highly, that your friendship endows me with graces that nature has refused.' 'i cannot think so,' replied the parasite; 'for there is no one who does not speak of you in terms which i dare not repeat, lest you should think i flattered you indeed. i wish you had heard what was said to me yesterday by one of my cousins, who is in the service of a lady of quality.' "don como failed not to ask what it was that domingo's cousin had said of him. 'why,' replied the page, 'i ought hardly to tell you; but she enlarged on the majesty of your figure,--on the charms which are everywhere visible in your person; and, what is better, she told me, in confidence, that the greatest delight of donna luziana, her mistress, is to watch for your passing her house, and to feast her eyes with beholding you.' [illustration: the page flattering don como] "'and who is this lady?' said the intendant,--'where does she live?' 'what!' replied domingo; 'do you not know the only daughter of general don fernando, our neighbour?' 'ah! to be sure i do,' replied don como: 'i remember to have frequently heard of the wealth and surpassing beauty of this luziana; she is not to be despised. but is it possible that i can have attracted her attention?' 'can you doubt it?' exclaimed the page. 'besides, my own cousin told me of the fact; and, though in a humble situation, she is incapable of falsehood, and i would answer for her word with my life.' 'in that case,' said the intendant, 'i should be glad to have a little private conversation with your relative, to engage her in my interest by the customary trifling presents to which her situation entitles her; and if she should advise me to pay court to her mistress, egad! i'll try my fortune. and why not? it is true that there is some difference between my rank and that of don fernando; but still i am a gentleman, and have a good four hundred ducats per annum. there are more extraordinary matches than this made every day.' "the page fortified his governor in his resolution, and procured for him an interview with his cousin; who, finding the intendant disposed to swallow anything, assured him of her mistress's inclination in his favour. 'you have no idea,' said she, 'how often luziana has questioned me as to the handsome cavalier who had made such an impression on her heart; and you may be sure that my replies were neither unpleasing to her, nor unfavourable to you: in short, signor, she loves you; and you have everything to hope from her affection. seek then her hand, openly and without hesitation; justify her secret passion, by showing that she loves a cavalier, not only the most charming and well-made, but the most gallant, of all madrid. give her, in serenades, the delightful assurance that your heart responds to hers; and rely on me to picture your devotion in the most pleasing colours,--an office as agreeable to myself as i hope it will be useful to you.' don como, transported with joy at finding the maid so warmly disposed to serve him, almost stifled her with his caresses; and, placing a worthless ring upon her finger, which he had liberally purchased of a jew, and which had served the same purpose fifty times, he exclaimed,--'dearest floretta! accept this ring as an earnest of my gratitude, until i have an opportunity of more worthily recompensing the favours you are about to shower on me.' "never was lover in greater ecstacy than was our intendant at the result of his conversation with floretta; and as he was indebted to domingo for this happiness, the page not only received his thanks, but was rewarded by the magnificent present of a pair of silk stockings, some shirts trimmed with lace, and a promise of the signor's losing no opportunity which might offer for promoting his interests. 'my dear friend,' said he, on leaving floretta, 'what is your opinion of the steps i should take in this matter? do you think i should commence with an impassioned and sublime epistle to my luziana?' 'decidedly,' replied the page. 'make her a declaration of your love in fitting terms: i have a presentiment that it will not be badly received.' 'well! i think so too,' replied the intendant; 'at all events, i will try the experiment.' accordingly, down he sat to compose the missive; and after having torn in pieces at least fifty scrawls, which would have made the fortune of a german romancist, he at last succeeded in composing a billet-doux which satisfied his scruples. it was conceived in the following grandiloquent and affecting terms:-- "'months have rolled like centuries, oh! lovely luziana, since, inspired by the renown which everywhere proclaims your perfections, my too-sensible soul has yielded to the flames of love, to burn for you alone! my heart consumed in secret, a willing prey to the fires that devoured me; and i never dared proclaim my sufferings to you, much less to seek for consolation. but a happy chance has recently revealed the soothing secret that, from behind the jealous screen which conceals your celestial charms from the eyes of men, you sometimes deign to look with pity on me as i pass;--that, directed by the divinity who guards you, and the destiny of your star,--oh, happy star for me!--you even think of me with kindness. i hasten then in all humility to consecrate my life unto your service; and should i be so fortunate as to obtain permission so to do, to renounce in your favour all ladies past, or present, or to come. "'don como de la higuera.' "domingo and floretta were not a little amused, on the receipt of this letter, at the expense of the poor intendant. but, not contented with the folly they had already induced him to commit, they set their wits to work to compose an answer to the billet which should be sufficiently tender. this done, it was copied by floretta, and delivered by the page on the following day to don como. it was in these words:-- "'i know not who can have so well informed you of my secret sentiments. some one has however betrayed me. still, i pardon the treachery, since, to it i owe an avowal of your love. i see many pass before my window, but i look with pleasure upon you alone; and i am too happy to find that i am dear to you. perhaps i am wrong to feel this delight, and still more wrong to dare to tell you so. if it be a fault in me, your virtues have caused, and must excuse it. "'donna luziana.' "although this letter was rather too warm for the daughter of a spanish general, as its authors had not thought much about ceremony, the presumptuous don como received it without suspicion. he thought sufficiently well of himself to imagine that for him a lady might well forget somewhat of the usages of society. 'ah! domingo,' he cried, with an air of triumph, after having read the letter aloud, 'you see, my friend, that the fish bites. congratulate me! i shall soon be son-in-law to don fernando, or my name's not don como de la higuera.' "'it is beyond a doubt,' said the rascally confidant; 'you seem to have made a tremendous impression on the girl. but, à-propos,' added he, 'i must not forget to tell you that my cousin particularly desired me to say, that to-morrow, at latest, you should serenade your mistress, in order to complete her infatuation.' 'i will on no account omit it,' replied the intendant. 'you may assure your cousin that i will in all things follow her advice; and that to-morrow, without fail, in the middle of the night, the street shall resound with one of the most gallant concerts that was ever heard in madrid.' and away went the intendant to secure the assistance of a celebrated musician, to whom he communicated his project, and whom he charged with the care of its execution. "in the meanwhile, floretta, informed of the intended serenade, and finding her mistress in a desirable mood, said to her,--'madam, i am preparing for you an agreeable diversion.' 'what may that be?' asked luziana. 'why,' replied the waiting-maid, laughing until the tears ran from her eyes, 'there is much to amuse you. an original, one don como, governor of the pages of the count d'onato, has taken it into his head to choose you as the sovereign lady of his thoughts; and he intends, to-morrow, in order that you may no longer remain ignorant of his devotion, to gratify you with the sound of music and sweet voices, in an evening serenade.' donna luziana, whose composition was none of the most grave, and who was far from foreseeing an unpleasant consequence to her in the gallantries of the intendant, instead of regarding the matter seriously, was delighted at the anticipated tribute to her charms; and thus, without knowing what she did, assisted in confirming the amorous don como in an illusion, of which it would have shocked her greatly to have been supposed designedly the author. "the night came, and with it appeared, before the balcony of the lady, two carriages, from which descended the gallant como and his confidant, accompanied by six musicians, vocal and instrumental, who commenced a very decent concert, which lasted for a considerable time. they performed many of the newest airs, and sang all the songs in vogue whose verses told the power of love in uniting hearts despite the obstacles of fortune, and the inequality of rank; while at every couplet, which the general's daughter perceived to be directed to herself, her merriment knew no bounds. "when the serenade was over, and the performers had departed in the carriages which brought them, the crowd which the music had attracted dispersed, and our lover remained in the street with domingo alone. he approached the balcony, whence, in a few minutes, the servant-girl, with her mistress's permission, said to him in a feigned voice: 'is that you, signor don como?' 'who asks me that question?' replied the don in a languishing tone. 'it is,' rejoined the girl, 'donna luziana, who would know if the concert she has heard but now, is an offering of your gallantry to her.' 'it is,' exclaimed the intendant, 'but a shadow of those festivals my love prepares for her who is the marvel of our days, if she will deign receive them from a lover who is sacrificed on the altar of her beauty.' "at this brilliant metaphor, luziana with difficulty restrained her laughter; but, coming forward and putting her head partially out of the little window from which her maid had addressed him, she said to the intendant, as seriously as possible: 'signor don como, you are, i perceive, no novice in the art of love; in you, each gallant cavalier who would gain his lady's heart, may find a model for his conduct. i thank you for your serenade, and feel flattered by your attention; but,' added she, 'retire now, lest we should be observed; another time we may, unrestrained, indulge in further conversation.' as she finished these words, she closed the window, leaving the intendant in the street, highly delighted at the kindness she had displayed for him, and the page greatly astonished that the lady had herself undertaken a part in the comedy. "this little fête, including the carriages and the enormous quantity of wine which its bibulous performers had consumed, cost don como upwards of a hundred ducats; and, two days afterwards, his confidant engaged him in a further outlay, in the following manner. having learned that, on the night of st. john,--a night so celebrated in this city,--floretta was about to join the damsels of her class at the _fiesta del sotillo_, domingo undertook to enliven this dance by a magnificent breakfast at the intendant's expense. [illustration: don como serenades luziana] "'accordingly, signor don como,' said he, on the eve of this festival, 'you are aware of what takes place to-morrow. i thought, however, you would like to be informed that donna luziana intends to repair at break of day to the banks of the mançanarez, to witness the _sotillo_. i need say no more to the corypheus of gallant cavaliers;--you are not the man to neglect so favourable an opportunity, and i am certain that your mistress and her companions will not fare badly to-morrow.' 'of that you may be sure,' replied the governor, 'and i am obliged to you for informing me of her intention: you shall see if i know how to kick the ball as it bounds.' in effect, very early on the following day, four of the count's servants, conducted by domingo, and loaded with every description of cold meat, cooked in all fashions, with an infinite number of small loaves and bottles of delicious wines, arrived on the bank of the river, where floretta and her companions were dancing, like nymphs before the golden throne of aurora. "had that goddess herself appeared, she would hardly have been more cordially greeted than were the wines and cold collation which the page brought on the part of don como; offering, as they did, so agreeable a repast after the delightful fatigues of the dance, which they so agreeably interrupted. the damsels seated themselves on the velvet turf of the meadow, and lost no time in paying due honour to the feast, the while laughing immoderately at the dupe who gave it; for domingo's kind cousin had not omitted to inform them of their benefactor, and his amorous adventure. "while they were in the midst of their rejoicing and their breakfast, they perceived the squire, richly dressed, and mounted on one of the count's steeds, which was ambling towards them. he rode up to his confidant, and gaily saluted the ladies, who rose at his approach, and politely thanked him for his generosity. his eyes wandered among the company in search of donna luziana, as he was anxious to deliver himself of a speech, glittering with compliments as the sward beneath his horse's feet with flowers, and which he had composed during his ride in honour of his mistress. great therefore was his grief, when floretta, taking him aside, informed him that a slight indisposition had prevented her lady from joining in the festival. the don, with a proper display of sensibility on the occasion, was particular in his inquiries as to the ailment; but when the girl informed him that luziana suffered from a cold, caught on the previous night from exposure in the balcony without her veil, talking of him and of his serenade, he was not without consolation to find so sad an accident proceeded from a cause so good. he therefore contented himself with the usual expressions of condolence; and, after praying floretta to continue to interest herself in his behalf with his mistress, took the road to his dwelling, rejoicing more and more at his great good fortune. [illustration: don como at the _sotillo_] "about this time, the intendant received a bill of exchange for a thousand crowns from andalusia, as his portion of the effects of one of his uncles, who had died at seville. on turning this bill into cash, he happened to count it over and place it in a coffer in the presence of domingo, who took so lively an interest in the operation, that, in order to repeat it, he was tempted to appropriate, if possible, the shining gold; and resolved, if successful in so doing, to escape with it into portugal. he related his project in confidence to floretta, and even proposed to her that she should accompany him. now this proposition was undoubtedly one which most people would think worthy of reflection; but the girl, as interested in the matter as the page, accepted it without a moment's hesitation. consequently, one night, while the intendant was labouring in his cabinet to compose a touching letter to his mistress, domingo found means to open the coffer in which the money was confined, to release it from its captivity, and to hasten with the enfranchised crowns into the street. he instantly repaired to the balcony of luziana, and, as a signal which had been agreed upon between him and his confederate, commenced a caterwauling, which disturbed the gravity of all the tabbies in the neighbourhood. the girl, ready to wander with him through the world, promptly responded to the amatory call; and in a few minutes they were on the high road from madrid, together. "they reckoned that, in the event of pursuit, they would have plenty of time to gain the frontiers of portugal before they could be overtaken; but, unfortunately for them, don como discovered the theft, and the flight of his confidant that very night. he gave immediate information to the police, whose officers were without loss of time dispersed on all sides in pursuit of the fugitives, and domingo was taken, near zebreros, in company with his lady. they were quickly brought back to madrid: the girl has been sent to join our friend marcella in _las arrepentidas_, and domingo is, as you perceive, as gay as ever within the walls of this prison." "and the intendant," added don cleophas, "has saved his golden crowns; as of course they have been restored to him." "of course they have not," replied the devil: "the thousand pieces are the proof of the robbery, and the officers of justice understand their business too well to give them up; so that don como, whose loving history is spread throughout madrid, has lost his money and his mistress, and is laughed at by everybody into the bargain." "domingo and his fellow-prisoner have for a neighbour," continued the cripple, "a young castilian who has been arrested for having, in the presence of too many witnesses, struck his father." "oh heaven!" cried leandro, "is it possible? lives there a child, however lost to shame, who can raise his impious hand against a father?" "oh yes," said the demon: "yon castilian is not without example; and i will cite you one whose history is rather remarkable. under the reign of don pedro i., surnamed the just and the cruel, the eighth king of portugal, a youth of twenty fell into the hands of justice for the same crime. don pedro, as much surprised as yourself at the novelty of the case, was curious to interrogate the mother of the criminal, and he examined her so adroitly as to obtain from her a confession, that the real father of this child was a certain reverend prelate. if the castilian's judges were discreet enough to interrogate his mother with equal address, it is probable that it would be attended with a similar avowal. "cast your eyes into a large dungeon beneath the prisoners i have just pointed out to you, and observe what is passing there. do you see those three ill-looking rascals? they are highwaymen. see! they are effecting their escape. some one has furnished them with a dumb-file in a loaf of bread; and they have already cut through one of the thick bars of a window, by which they may gain the court-yard, and from thence the street. they have been more than ten months in prison, and it is upwards of eight since they should have received the public recompense due to their exploits; but, thanks to the tardiness of justice, they are about to begin again their career of robbery and murder. [illustration: a prisoner being beaten up by his fellow inmates] "and now look into that low roofed cell where you perceive twenty or thirty men, some of them stretched upon straw. they are mostly pickpockets, shop-lifters, or professors of other branches of the spartan craft. do you observe five or six of them worrying a sort of labourer, who was introduced to their society this morning for having wounded an alguazil with a stone?" "and what are they thrashing him for?" asked zambullo. "why," replied asmodeus, "because he has not paid his entrance-fees. but," added he, "let us leave this horrible place, and the miserable wretches it contains; they are not in my vocation: we will go elsewhere, in search of objects less disgusting." chapter viii. of various persons exhibited to don cleophas by asmodeus, who reveals to the student what each has done in his day. in a few moments, the demon and his pupil were on the roof of a large mansion, at a considerable distance from that part of the city in which they had left the prisoners. "i have brought you here," said asmodeus, "because i am desirous of informing you what the mass of people who reside in the neighbourhood of the house we are on, have been doing in the course of to-day;--it will amuse you." "doubtless!" replied leandro. "begin, i beseech you: and first for yonder cavalier who is booting in such haste: what weighty matters call him from his home in such a night as this, my mentor?" "he is a captain," replied the cripple, "whose steeds are waiting in the street to carry him to catalonia, where his regiment is stationed. "well! yesterday, our hero, being without cash, applied to one of those gentry who, instead of giving to the poor, wisely lend unto the lords, or captains. 'signor sanguisuela,' said he, 'can you not oblige me with the loan of a thousand ducats?' 'signor captain,' replied the usurer, 'i have them not; but i think i know a friend who has, and will lend them to you:--that is to say, if you will give him your note of hand for a thousand ducats, he will give you four hundred; out of which i shall be content to receive sixty only, as my commission. money is so extremely scarce, that----' 'what usury!' interrupted the officer, hastily. 'what! ask six hundred and sixty ducats for the loan of three hundred and forty? infamous extortion! such hard-hearted scoundrels deserve to be hanged.' "'keep your temper, at all events, signor captain, and go elsewhere for your money,' replied the usurer, with the greatest coolness. 'of what do you complain? do i force you to take the three hundred and forty ducats? heaven forbid! you are free to take them or to leave them.' to this the captain had no reply to make, and went his way; but, on reflecting that he must set out for the camp on the morrow, and that he had no time to lose, he resolved to lose his money; so he returned this morning to the usurer, whom he met at his door, dressed in a short black mantle, a plain collar round his neck, his hair closely trimmed, and with a rosary in his hand, garnished with saintly medals. 'here i am again, signor sanguisuela,' said he; 'i will take the three hundred and forty ducats,--necessity compels me to accept your terms.' 'i am going to mass,' gravely replied the usurer; 'on my return, i will give you that amount.' 'ah! no,' exclaimed the captain; 'i pray you give it me at once: it will but delay you for an instant. i would not entreat you, but my haste is great as is my need.' 'i cannot,' replied sanguisuela: 'i hear mass daily, before i think of following my worldly avocations; it is a rule i have prescribed for my conduct, and i will endeavour religiously to observe it while i live.' [illustration: the captain and the usurer leaving church] "however impatient might be our captain to lay his hands upon the money, he was obliged to comport himself with the rule of the pious sanguisuela: he therefore armed himself with patience, and even, as though he feared that the ducats would escape him, followed the usurer to church. mass performed, he was preparing to leave; when sanguisuela inclined his head towards him, and whispered in his ear: 'stay! one of the most talented men in madrid preaches here this morning, and i would not lose his sermon for the world.' "the captain, to whom the mass had appeared over-long, was in despair at this further call on his endurance: however, needs must--and he remained where he had been driven. the preacher mounted the pulpit, and happened to discourse against usury. the officer was delighted; and observing sanguisuela's countenance, he said within himself: 'if this jew is capable of being touched, now,--if he will but give me six hundred ducats, i shall really think he is not too bad, after all.' the sermon ended, they left the church together, when the captain, addressing his companion, said: 'well, what think you of the preacher? did you not find his sermon extremely forcible? for myself, i was quite affected by it.' 'i am quite of your opinion,' replied the usurer; 'he treated his subject admirably. he is a learned man, and deeply skilled in his profession; and now, let us go, and show that we understand ours as well.'" "hollo!" cried don cleophas, "who are those two women in bed together, and laughing so loudly? egad! they seem merry enough." "they are sisters," replied the devil, "who this morning buried their father. he was an old curmudgeon, who had so great a distaste for matrimony, or rather to portioning his daughters, that he would never listen to a word about their marrying, however advantageous might be the offers made to them. they are at this moment discussing the virtues of the dear deceased. 'he is dead at last,' exclaimed the elder; 'he is dead,--the unnatural father, who so cruelly delighted still to keep us maids: he will, however, no longer oppose our innocent desires.' 'well, sister,' said the younger, 'for myself, i love the substantial; i shall look out for a good rich husband,--stupid, if you please; and the fat don blanco is just the man for my money.' 'softly, sister,' replied the elder; 'we shall have for husbands those to whom we are destined; for marriages, they say, are written in heaven.' 'so much the worse for us,' replied the younger; 'for if dear papa has the luck to be there, he will assuredly tear out our leaf.' the eldest could not help laughing at this sally, and it is that which still amuses them both. [illustration: the two sisters in bed] "in the next house to that of these ladies, in a furnished apartment, lodges an aragonese adventuress. you may see her, while others sleep, admiring in a glass those charms on which she relies, and which have gained for her to-day a conquest to be proud of: like a good general, she studies her positions for attack; and she has just discovered a new one, which will finish her campaign with her lover to-morrow. he is well worth all the pains she can take to secure him, and she is well aware of his promising qualities. to-day, for instance, one of her creditors calling to remind her of an account, which he insists on having settled in cash: 'wait, my good friend,' said she; 'wait but for a few days longer: i am on the point of concluding a most advantageous arrangement with one of the principal persons in the customs.'" "i need not ask you," said leandro, "how a certain cavalier, whom i perceive at this moment, has been passing his day: he appears to be a complete letter-writer. what enormous quantities i behold on his table!" "yes," replied the demon; "and, what is most amusing, all these letters are alike in their contents. he is writing to all his absent friends an account of an adventure which befel him this afternoon. he is in love with a widow of thirty, charming and discreet; he pays to her devotions which she does not despise; he proposes for her hand, and she consents to yield it without hesitation. while preparations are making for their nuptials, he has permission to visit her without ceremony. he went to her house to-day after dinner, and as he chanced to meet with no one to announce his coming, he entered the lady's apartment, where he found her stretched on a couch, _en déshabille_, or, to speak more correctly, almost naked. she was sleeping profoundly. what lover could resist the temptation thus offered to his eyes? he approaches her softly, and steals a gentle kiss. she starts, exclaiming as she wakes, 'what, again! i beseech you, ambrose, leave me to repose.' "the cavalier, as an honourable man, made up his mind on the instant to renounce all pretensions to the widow. he therefore immediately left the apartment; and meeting the servant at the door: 'ambrose,' said he, 'stay! your mistress prays you to indulge her with a brief repose.' [illustration: the lover about to kiss the widow] "two doors beyond the house of this cavalier, i perceive an original of a husband, who is sleeping tranquilly,--lulled to rest by reproaches with which his wife is upbraiding him for having passed the entire day from home. she would be still more bitter against her spouse, did she know how he had spent his day." "it has been most probably occupied in some amorous adventure?" said zambullo. "you have guessed it," replied asmodeus; "and shall hear the detail. "the man is a tradesman, named patricio: he is one of those wedded libertines who live without care, as though they had neither wife nor children: the partner of this fellow, nevertheless, is pretty, amiable, and virtuous; and he has two daughters and one son, all three still in their infancy. he left his family this morning, careless if they had bread to eat, which is not unfrequently the case, and directed his steps toward the great square, attracted thither by the preparations which were making for the bull-fight of to-day. the scaffolds were already erected around the place, and already the more curious in these matters began to take their places. "while gazing at the company, examining first one and then another, he observed a lady finely made and very neatly dressed, who discovered, as she descended from the scaffold, a well-turned leg and foot; and their effect was heightened by rose-tinted silken stockings, and garters of silver lace, the ends of which hung down to her ankles: it was enough to have tempted a saint, and our excitable citizen was almost out of his wits at the sight. he advanced towards the lady, who was accompanied by another whose air sufficiently disclosed that they were both damsels of easy virtue. 'ladies,' said he, accosting them, 'can i be of service to you? you have only to command me, and it will be my happiness to obey.' 'signor cavalier,' replied the nymph with the rose-coloured stockings, 'you appear so obliging, that we will take advantage of your kindness: we have already taken our places, but are leaving them to go to breakfast, as we were unwise enough to leave home this morning without first taking our chocolate. since you are so gallant as to offer your services, may we trouble you to escort us to some hotel, where we may eat a morsel of something? but we must beg you will select as retired a place as possible, for ladies, as you know, cannot be too careful of their reputation.' "at these words, patricio, becoming even more civil and polite than the occasion demanded, took the princesses to a tavern in the neighbourhood, and ordered breakfast. 'what would you like to have, sir?' inquired the host. 'i have the remains of a magnificent dinner, which took place here yesterday: there are larded fowls, partridges from léon, pigeons from old castile, and the best part of a ham from estremadura.' 'more than enough, mine host!' exclaimed the conductor of the two vestals. 'ladies, it is for you to choose;--what would you prefer?' 'whatever you please,' replied they: 'your choice shall be ours.' thereupon the citizen ordered a brace of partridges and a couple of cold fowls, to be served in a private room, as the ladies were too modest to think of eating in public. "they were immediately conducted to a small chamber, and in a few minutes the host appeared with the chosen dishes, some bread, and some wine. our lucretias fell to eating with most unfashionable appetites, and the fowls rapidly disappeared; while the simpleton, who was to pay, was occupied in ogling his luisita,--the name of the lady who had taken his fancy,--in admiring the whiteness of her hand, upon which glittered an enormous ring she had gained by her profession,--and, unable to eat for joy of his good fortune, in lavishing upon the lady all the tender epithets, such as his star or his sun, that his imagination could invent. on inquiring of his goddess if she were married, she told him she was not, but was living under the protection of her brother;--had she added,--by descent from our father adam, she would not have been far from the truth. [illustration: breakfast at the inn] "good eating is nothing without good drinking; so the two harpies, having each demolished a fowl, washed them down with a proportionate quantity of wine; and, consequently, the two flagons which had been placed upon the table were soon exhausted. that they might be more speedily replenished, our gallant left the room with the empty vessels; and he had no sooner closed the door than jacintha, luisita's companion, clawed hold of the two partridges, which were yet untouched, and put them in a spacious pocket which her gown conveniently afforded. our adonis, on returning from his chase of the wine, and remarking that the eatables had vanished, was anxious to know if his venus had eaten enough. 'why,' said she, 'if the pigeons of which the host has spoken be very good, perhaps i might be tempted to taste them; or else a morsel of the ham of estremadura will do.' these words were no sooner uttered than away went patricio again in search of provender, and quickly returned, followed by three of the loving birds and a substantial dish of the ham. the two vultures pounced on their prey like lightning; and as the witless citizen was obliged a third time to leave the room for bread, they sent a pair of the pigeons to keep company with the imprisoned partridges. "after the repast, which ended with a dessert composed of all the fruits the season afforded, the amorous patricio began to press luisita for that payment in kind which he expected from her gratitude. the lady, however, was resolved to look upon it as a treat; but at the same time indulged him with the hopes of a return, telling him there was a time for all things, and that a tavern was not a fitting place in which to testify, without reserve, her satisfaction for all his kindness. then, hearing the clock strike one, she assumed an uneasy air, and said to her companion: 'ah! my dear jacintha, how unfortunate! we shall be too late to find a place to see the bull-fight.' 'excuse me,' replied jacintha; 'this gentleman has only to conduct us where he so politely accosted us, and never fear for our finding a place.' "before leaving the tavern, however, it was necessary to settle with the host, who presented an account amounting to fifty reals. the citizen pulled out his purse; but, as it contained but thirty of the requisite pieces, he was obliged to leave, in pawn, his rosary adorned with numerous medals of silver. this done he esquired the frail ones to the place from whence they came, and obtained for them convenient seats upon one of the scaffolds, the proprietor of which, being known to him, gave him credit for their price. "they were no sooner seated, then they demanded further refreshment, 'i am dying with thirst,' cried one,--'that ham was terribly salt.' 'and so am i', replied the other; 'i could drink an ocean of lemonade.' patricio, who understood but too well what all this meant, left them, in search of what they wanted; but suddenly stopping on his way, he exclaimed to himself: 'madman! where art thou going? would one not think thou hadst a hundred pistoles in thy purse, or in thy house? and thou halt not a single maravedi! what shall i do?' added he. 'to return to the lady without that which she requires is impossible;--and must i, then, abandon so promising an adventure? i cannot resolve on that either.' "while thus embarrassed, he perceived among the spectators one of his friends who had frequently tendered him services, which his pride had always prevented him accepting. but now, lost to shame, he hastened towards him, and without hesitation, begged the loan of a double pistole; possessed of which his courage returned, and hurrying to a confectioner's, he ordered them to carry to his princesses so many iced liqueurs, so many biscuits and sweetmeats, that the doubloon hardly sufficed to meet this new expense. "at length the day ended, and with it the festival; when our citizen conducted his lady to her house, in the pleasing hope of at last reaping the reward of all his thoughtless extravagance. but as they arrived near the door of a house which luisita indicated, as her dwelling, a servant-girl came to meet her, saying with much apparent agitation: 'ah! where have you been until now? your brother, don gaspard heridor, has been waiting for you these two hours, swearing like a trooper.' upon this the sister, in well-feigned alarm, turned towards her gallant, and pressing his hand, said to him in a whisper: 'my brother is a man of most violent temper, but his anger is soon appeased. wait here awhile with patience: i will soon set all to rights; and as he sups from home every night, as soon as he has left the house, jacintha shall inform you, and bring you to me.' [illustration: patricio kisses luisita's hand] "patricio, consoled by this promise, kissed with transport the hand of luisita, who returned his caresses, in order to keep up his spirits, and then entered the house with jacintha and the girl. the poor dupe took patience, as directed, and sat himself down on a stone, a few yards from the door, where he waited for a considerable time, never dreaming of the possibility of their playing him a trick. he only wondered at the stay of don gaspard, and began to fear that this cursed brother had lost his appetite with his passion. "ten o'clock, eleven o'clock, the hour of midnight, sounded; and not until then did his confidence begin to evaporate, and some slight doubts of the good faith of his lady to infuse themselves into his mind. all was darkness around him; when, approaching the door, he entered on tip-toe, and found himself in a narrow passage, in the middle of which his hand encountered a staircase. he dared not ascend it; but, listening attentively, his ears were greeted with the discordant concert which might be expected to proceed from a barking dog, a mewing cat, and a crying child, all performing their parts to admiration. he felt that he was deceived; and he was convinced of the fact when, having explored the passage to its termination, he found himself in another street, parallel with that in which he had, so long, waited for his love. "the ghost of his money rose in judgment against him; and he returned to his own house, moralising on the deceptive influences of rose-coloured stockings. he knocked at the door; it was opened by his wife, a chaplet in her hand, and tears in her eyes. 'ah! patricio,' she said, in a voice which told her affliction; 'how can you thus abandon your home? how can you thus neglect your wife--your children? where have you been from six this morning, when you left us?' the husband, whom this question would have puzzled to answer satisfactorily, and who was, besides, somewhat ashamed of himself, had not a word to say; so he undressed, and got into bed in silence. his wife, however, was not in want of a text; and she read him a lecture, the continuous hum of which, as you perceive, has soothed him to sleep." [illustration: patricio lulled to sleep by his wife's lecture] "and now," continued asmodeus, "cast your eyes upon the large house by the side of that in which the cavalier is writing to his friends the story of his rupture with the mistress of ambrose. do you not remark a young lady sleeping in a bed of crimson satin, embroidered with gold?" "wait!--oh, yes!--i see a lady sleeping; and i fancy i see a book, open, on her pillow." "precisely so," answered the demon. "that lady is a talented young countess, full of life and spirit: she has recently suffered extremely from sleepless nights, and having sent for a physician, one of the most dignified of his class, he has prescribed for her a remedy, derived, he says, from hippocrates himself. the lady, nevertheless, ridiculed his prescription; at which the physician, a crabbed sort of animal, who does not understand joking, said to her, with a proper professional gravity: 'madam, hippocrates is not a man to be laughed at.' 'certainly not, signor doctor,' replied the countess, with the most serious air imaginable; 'far from laughing at so celebrated and learned an author, i think so highly of him, that i feel assured the mere opening of his work will cure me of my sleeplessness. i have in my library a new translation from the pen of azero; it is, i believe, the best: here! find it for me,' added she, turning to her attendant. you behold the magic power of hippocrates! she had not read three pages before she sank into profound repose. "in the countess's stables there is a poor, one-armed soldier, whom the grooms, out of charity, permit, by night, to sleep upon the straw. during the day he begs about the city; and a few hours ago, he had an amusing conversation with another mendicant, who lives near buen-retiro, on the road to the palace. the latter has an excellent business, which he manages so well, that his daughter, who is of a marriageable age, passes among the beggars for a rich heiress. this morning, the soldier accosting the father, said to him: 'signor mendigo, i have lost my right arm; i can no longer serve the king; and, like yourself, i am obliged to gain a livelihood by doing the civil to the passers-by. i know well that of all trades there is not one which does more for those who follow it; and that all that is wanting to it is, that it should be a little more highly esteemed.' 'if it were a bit more honourable,' replied the old man, 'it would not be worth following at all, as we should have too much competition;--all the world would beg if it were not for shame.' [illustration: the two beggars in conversation] "'very true!' replied he of the one arm. 'well, now! i am a brother beggar; and i should be happy to ally myself with so distinguished a member of our profession: you shall give me your daughter.' 'hold! my dear sir,' replied the warm old gentleman; 'you cannot think of such a thing. she must have a better match than you will make. you are not half lame enough. my son-in-law must be a miserable-looking object, who would draw blood out of a stone.' 'do you think, then, that you will find one worse off than i am?' 'to be sure! why, you have only lost an arm; and ought to be absolutely ashamed of yourself, to expect that i will give you my daughter. i'd have you to know that i have already refused a fellow without legs, and who goes about the city in a bowl.' "i must on no account," continued the devil, "omit to call your attention to the house which joins that of the sleeping countess, and which contains a drunken old painter and a satirical poet. the artist left home at seven o'clock this morning in search of a confessor, as his wife was at the point of death; but happening to meet with a boon companion, he went with him to a tavern, and forgot his wife until ten this evening, when he returned to find she had died unshriven. the poet, who enjoys the reputation of having frequently received most striking proofs of the merits of his caustic verses, was swaggering in a _café_ this morning; and in speaking of a person who was absent, exclaimed: 'he is a scoundrel, to whom, some of these days, i must give a good drubbing.' 'that is kind of you,' replied a wag who heard him; 'though i believe, by the bye, that you owe him a good many.' "i had nearly forgotten a scene which took place this morning at a banker's in this street. he is only recently established in madrid, having returned with immense riches about three months ago from peru. his father is an honest cobbler of mediana,[ ] a large village of old castile, near the sierra d'avila, where he lives, contented with his lot, and with his wife, who, like himself, is about sixty years of age. [ ] it is curious, that in the original of the latest paris edition, as also in the third edition, of , the earliest i have been able to consult, and which was published under the superintendence of le sage, this passage stands, "un honnête _capareto_ de viejo et de mediana." there is a note to the word "_capareto_" giving its translation into french as _savetier_. being puzzled by the double name of the village,--"de viejo et de mediana," i sought the assistance of a talented spaniard, signor lazeu, and was surprised to find the spanish for cobbler is "_zapatero de viejo_," or, "shoemaker of old (things)," and that it should consequently have stood in the original "_zapatero de viejo_ de mediana." it has been doubted by many, among others the late h. d. inglis, whether le sage were really the author of le diable boiteux and gil blas; and it has been asserted that he merely translated these works from the unpublished manuscripts of some spanish author. if the error in question were really that of le sage, it would certainly go far to confirm this assertion.--trans. "it is upwards of twenty years since the banker left his father's house, for the indies, in search of a better fortune than he could expect from his parents. during all this time, though lost to sight, he was ever present in their thoughts, and every night and morning saw the poor couple on their knees, praying heaven to shield him with its protection; nor did they fail, on each succeeding sabbath, to entreat their friend the curate to recommend their child to the prayers of his humble flock. as soon as the banker had returned to spain, having hastily established his house of business, he resolved to ascertain, in person, the condition of his parents, whom, in his prosperity, he had never forgotten. with this view, having told his domestics he should be absent for a few days, he set out alone, about a fortnight ago, and journeyed on horseback towards the place of his birth. [illustration: the banker reunited with his parents] "it was about ten o'clock at night, and the good old cobbler was sleeping peaceably beside his spouse, when they were suddenly awakened by the noise which the banker made, as he knocked violently at the door of their little house. 'who's there?' cried the startled pair, together. 'open--open the door!' replied a voice; 'it is your son francillo.' 'tell that to the marines!" replied the ancient son of crispin;--'be off with you, scoundrels! there is nothing here worth stealing. francillo is at this moment in the indies, if he be not dead.' 'your son is not now in the indies,' replied the banker; 'he is returned from peru; it is he who speaks to you: will you refuse to receive him in your arms?' 'let us go down, jacobo,' said the wife; 'i think it is indeed francillo; i seem to recollect his voice.' "they immediately dressed themselves hurriedly; and, as soon as the cobbler had struck a light, they descended, and opened the door. the old woman looked at francillo but for an instant, and, with a mother's instinct, recognised her son: she fell upon his neck, and pressed him to her bosom; while master jacobo, as much transported as his wife, threw his arms around them, and kissed them both by turns. it was some time before the happy family, reunited after so long a separation, could tear themselves apart, or cease those expressions of delight which filled their throbbing hearts. "at length, however, the banker was able to think of his horse, which he unsaddled and led to a stable, already occupied by a cow, whose teeming udders daily yielded their sweet food for his parents. on his return to the house, he related the adventures of his life in peru, and told them of the wealth which he had brought with him to spain. the story was somewhat long, and might have appeared annoying to uninterested listeners; but a son who unbosoms himself after a twenty years' absence, rarely fails to fix the attention of a father and mother. to them nothing was indifferent; they greedily devoured every syllable he uttered, and the most trifling details of his life made upon them the most lively impressions of sorrow or of joy. "he finished his history, by telling them that his wealth would lose all its value unless shared by them, and entreated his father to think no longer of working at his stall. 'no, no, my son,' said master jacobo to him: 'no, no! i love my trade, and i will stick to my last.' 'what,' exclaimed francillo, 'is it not time you lived in peace? i do not ask you to go with me to madrid; i know well that a city life would have no charms for you: i do not propose, then, that you should leave the peaceful village where your days have passed; but, at least, spare yourself a painful toil, and live here at your ease, since it is in your power to do so.' "the mother joined her son in besieging the old cobbler with entreaties; and, at last, master jacobo capitulated. 'well! francillo,' said he, 'to satisfy you i will be a gentleman; that is, i will not work any longer for all the village; i will only mend my own shoes, and those of our good friend the curate.' on this convention, the banker, having swallowed a couple of eggs that they had fried for his supper, went to bed beneath his father's roof, the first time for many years, and slept with a calmness of delight that the good alone are capable of enjoying. "the following day, francillo returned to madrid, after leaving with his father a purse of three hundred pistoles. but, this morning, he was not a little astonished at beholding master jacobo suddenly enter his room. 'ah! my father what brings you here!' 'why, my son,' replied the old man, 'i bring you back your purse. there, take your money; i am determined to live by my trade: i have been miserable ever since i left off work.' 'ah, well! my father,' said francillo, 'return to the village, and continue to work as you will: but, at all events, let it be only to amuse you. take back your purse, too, and do not spare mine.' 'and what, then, do you think i can do with so much money?' asked master jacobo. 'it will enable you to relieve the poor,' replied the banker: 'do with it as the curate and your own conscience shall dictate.' the cobbler, satisfied to accept it on these terms, immediately departed for mediana." [illustration: the cobbler attempts to return the purse to his son] don cleophas had listened, with pleasure, to the history of francillo; and he was about to express his admiration of the good-hearted banker's filial affection, when, at the very moment, his attention was distracted by the most piercing shrieks. "signor asmodeus!" he exclaimed, "what frightful noises do i hear?" "those cries, which rend the air," replied the devil, "proceed from a receptacle for madmen, who tear their throats with shouting, or with singing." "we are not far from the place of their confinement, then," said leandro; "so let us look at them at once." "by all means," replied the demon: "i will afford you that amusement and inform you of the causes of their madness." it was no sooner said than done; and, in a moment, the student found himself on the _casa de los locos_. chapter ix. the madhouse, and its inmates. zambullo surveyed, by turns, with much curiosity, the several rooms and the unfortunate creatures they contained; and while he was reflecting on the scene thus presented to his eyes, the devil said to him: "there they are, my master! you see insanity in every form there;--men and women, laughing idiots and raging maniacs, locks grey with age, and cheeks which still retain their bloom. well! now i will tell you what has turned their heads: we will go from room to room, but will begin with the men. "the first whom you observe, and who appears so violent, is a political fanatic of castile. he is a proud citizen of madrid, in the heart of which he was born; and he is more jealous of the honour of his country than was ever citizen of ancient rome. he went mad with chagrin at reading in the gazette, that twenty-five spaniards had suffered themselves to be beaten by a party of fifty portuguese. "his neighbour is a licentiate, who was so anxious to obtain a benefice, that he played the hypocrite at court during ten long years; and whose brain was turned by despair at finding himself constantly overlooked among the promotions: his madness, however, is not without its advantage; seeing that he at present imagines himself to be archbishop of toledo. and what if he deceive himself? his pleasure is none the less: indeed, i think, that he is so much the more to be envied; since his error is a golden dream, which will only end with his life, and he will not be called to account in the other world for the application of his revenues in this. "the next in rotation is a ward, whom his guardian declared to be insane, that he might have the uncontrolled use of his property: the poor youth has become really mad from rage at his unjust confinement. after the minor, comes a schoolmaster, who lost his wits in search of the _paulo post futurum_ of the greek verb; and, then again, we have a merchant, whose reason was shipwrecked with a vessel that belonged to him, although it had stood the shock of two bankruptcies which had before threatened to engulph him. "the person who is lodged in the next room is the ancient captain zanubio, a neapolitan cavalier, who came to establish himself in madrid, and whom jealousy has settled where he is: you shall hear his history. "he delighted in a youthful spouse, the lady aurora, whom he guarded as the apple of his eye. his house was absolutely inaccessible to all mankind; and aurora never left it but for mass, always accompanied by her aged tithon, or to breathe with him the pure air of the pleasant fields, at an estate near alcantara, whither he sometimes led her. despite his vigilance, however, she had been perceived at church by the cavalier don garcia pacheco, who loved her from the instant that he saw her: he was an enterprising youth, and not unworthy the attention of a pretty woman whom fortune had badly matched. [illustration: zanubio and aurora at church, observed by don garcia] "the difficulty of introducing himself into the house of zanubio was not sufficient to deprive don garcia of hope. as his chin was yet unreaped, and he was fair to behold, he disguised himself as a virgin, took with him a hundred pistoles, and betook himself to the captain's seat, where, he had learned, that gentleman and his lady were shortly expected. watching his opportunity to accost the female who acted as gardener in zanubio's establishment, he addressed her in the style of the heroines of chivalry, who fly from some giant's towers: 'kind lady,' said he, 'i come to throw myself within your arms, and to entreat your pity. i am a maiden of toledo, of wealth and name, but my parents would compel me to give my hand to one whom my heart disowns. to escape this tyranny, i have fled by night; and i now seek shelter from a cruel world. here i shall be safe from pursuit. do not deny me, then, to dwell with you until my friends shall be inspired with more kindly sentiments. there is my purse: do not hesitate to receive it, it is all that i can give you now: but i trust the day will come when i may more properly acknowledge the service which you will render me by your protection.' [illustration: don garcia accosts the female gardener] "the gentle gardener, especially affected by the conclusion of this touching address, replied: 'dear lady, i will receive you with pleasure. i know that there are too many youthful maidens who are sacrificed to aged men; and i know, too, that they are not usually reconciled to their lot. i sympathize with your afflictions: you could not have more fortunately addressed yourself than to me. come! i will place you in a little room, where you may live in confidence of security.' "don garcia passed four days, shut up in the gardener's cottage, anxiously awaiting the arrival of aurora. at last she came, guarded as ever by her jealous spouse, who immediately, according to his usual custom, searched every chamber, from the cellar to the garret, to make sure that he was free from the hated form of man, which might endanger his honour. the gardener, who expected this visitation, anticipated it by informing her master of the manner in which a refuge had been sought with her by a youthful female. zanubio, although extremely mistrustful, had not the slightest suspicion of the deceit now practised on him; he was, however, curious to see the unknown. at the interview which followed, the lady begged him to excuse her concealing her name, stating that it was a reserve which she owed to her family, which she in some sort dishonoured by her flight. she then related to him so pathetic a tale, and in a style so romantic, that the captain was charmed; and while he listened to her narration, he felt a rising inclination for this amiable damsel, which ended in an offer of his services and protection; after which he led her to his wife, flattering himself that this adventure would not end disagreeably to himself. "as soon as aurora beheld don garcia, she blushed and trembled, without knowing why. the cavalier, who perceived her uneasiness, shrewdly guessed that she had observed the attention with which he had regarded her at church. to ascertain this fact, as soon as they were alone, he said to her: 'madam, i have a brother who has often spoken to me of you. he saw you for a moment at your devotions, and from that moment, which he delights to recall a thousand times each day, you have been the idol of his heart;--he loves you to madness.' "as he spoke, aurora scrutinized the features of don garcia, and when he had finished she replied to him: 'you resemble your brother too closely to permit me to remain for an instant the dupe of your stratagem: i see too clearly you are that brother in disguise. i remember, one day while at mass, my mantilla fell back from my face; it was but for an instant, but i saw that you perceived me: i afterwards watched you from curiosity, and your eyes remained fixed on my person. when i left the church, i believe that you failed not to follow me, that you might learn who i was, and the house where i dwelt. i say--i believe you did this, for my head dared not turn to observe you; as my husband was with me, jealous of my slightest motions, and would have made, of one glance, a deep crime. on the morrow and following days, when i went to the church, i always saw you; and your features have become so familiar that i know you despite your disguise.' "'well, madam,' replied the lover, 'i must then unmask:--yes, i am a man, the victim of your charms:--it is indeed don garcia pacheco whom love brings here in the guise of the gentler sex----' 'and you doubtless anticipate,' interrupted aurora, 'that i, sharing your foolish passion, shall lend myself to your design, and assist in confirming my husband in his error. you are, however, deceived: i shall at once expose the deception; my honour and my peace demand it of me. besides, i am not sorry to have an opportunity of showing my husband that vigilance is a less certain safeguard than virtue, and that, jealous and mistrustful as he is, i am more difficult to surprise than himself.' "she had hardly spoken when the captain appeared. he had indistinctly heard a portion of his wife's discourse, and requested to be informed of the subject of their conversation. 'we were speaking,' replied aurora, 'of those youthful cavaliers who dare to hope for love from ladies of a tender age, because united to a husband for whom respect claims the place of passion. as you entered i was saying, that should such a gallant dare to address himself to me,--should he endeavour to introduce himself beneath your roof by some of those artifices to which such madmen have recourse, i should know well how to punish his audacity.' "'and you, madam,' said zanubio, turning to don garcia, 'after what fashion should you treat a youthful cavalier in such a case?' our assumption of a virgin was so much disconcerted at this question, that he was unable to reply; and his embarrassment would certainly have attracted zanubio's attention, had not, at the moment, a servant entered the apartment, to inform the captain that a person who had just arrived from madrid wished to speak with him. "zanubio had no sooner gone out than don garcia, throwing himself at aurora's feet, exclaimed: 'ah, madam, how can you delight thus to perplex me? could you be cruel enough to expose me to the wrath of an enraged husband?' 'no, pacheco,' replied the lady, smiling; 'youthful dames who are so unfortunate as to have aged spouses are not so resentful. be not alarmed! i could not resist the temptation to amuse myself at the expense of your fears; but that is the sum of your punishment; and it is surely not exacting too great a price for my kindness in permitting your continuance here.' at these consoling words all don garcia's alarms were dispelled, and they yielded to hopes, of which aurora was too kind long to delay the realization. "one day, while their reciprocal affection was manifested in a form too clear to be misunderstood, the captain surprised them. had he been the most confiding of men, it would have been impossible, unless his confidence were not extended to his own eyes, to doubt that the lovely unknown was a man in disguise. furious at the scene which presented itself, he hastened to his dressing-room in search of his pistols; but, in the meanwhile, the fond couple escaped,--in their hurry to leave the apartment, double-locking the door, and taking with them the key. they lost no time in gaining a neighbouring village, in which don garcia had taken the precaution to leave his valet with two good horses. there, our hero, having abandoned his petticoats, and placed aurora on a crupper on one of the steeds, mounted and rode with her to a convent, where she prayed him to leave her in the care of an aunt, its abbess; after which he returned to madrid to await the termination of his adventure. [illustration: zanubio discovers aurora in garcia's embrace] "poor zanubio, finding himself imprisoned, shouted with all his lungs, and a servant, hearing his voice, hastened to his assistance: but, if love laughs at locksmiths, locks are sometimes extremely unaccommodating. in vain did the servant and captain try to force the door; and at last the latter, his wrath increasing with his efforts, rushed to the window, and threw himself from it, his pistols in his hands: he fell upon his back, wounded his head, and when his attendants arrived they found him senseless. he was carried bleeding to his chamber, and by deluging him with water, and by other gentle torments used on such occasions, they succeeded in bringing him to life; but his fury returned with his senses. 'where is my wife?' he cried. to this interrogatory they replied, by informing him that they had seen her pass from the garden, in company with the unknown lady, by a little private door. he immediately demanded his pistols, which they dared not refuse him, ordered a horse to be saddled, and without reflecting on his wound, set out, but by another road, in pursuit of the lovers. the day passed in this fruitless search; and when he stopped for the night at a village inn, to repose himself, the fatigue and irritation of his wound brought on a fever and delirium, which nearly cost him his life. [illustration: zanubio throws himself out of the window] "the rest is told in a few words. the captain, after being confined to his bed for a fortnight, in the village, returned still unwell to his country seat; and there, by continually dwelling on his misfortune, he shortly afterwards lost his reason. the relations of aurora were no sooner informed of this event, than they caused him to be brought to madrid, and confined where you now see him; and they have resolved that his wife shall remain in the convent for some years to come, as a punishment for her indiscretion, or, more properly, for a fault which their own cupidity placed her in a situation to be tempted to commit. "the next to whom i shall direct your attention," continued the devil, "is the signor don blaz desdichado, a worthy cavalier, whose deplorable malady is also owing to the loss of his wife, but by death." "that indeed surprises me," said don cleophas. "a husband whom the death of his wife renders insane! well! that is more than i ever expected to spring from conjugal love." "not so fast!" interrupted asmodeus: "don blaz did not lose his reason with his wife; but because, having no children, he was obliged to return to the parents of the deceased fifty thousand ducats which he had received with her, and which the marriage contract compelled him to restore." "ah! that is another affair," replied leandro; "the matter is by no means so wonderful as i imagined. but tell me, if you please, who is that young man that is skipping about like a kid in the next room, and from time to time stopping to laugh until he holds his sides? he is a lively fool enough." "yes," replied the cripple, "and it was excess of joy which made him mad. he was porter to a person of quality; when one day, hearing of the death of a rich contador, to whose wealth he was sole heir, he was so affected by the joyous news that his head was not proof against his good fortune. "we have now come to that tall youth who is twanging the guitar, and accompanying the pathetic strain with his voice: his is a melancholy madness. he is a lover, whom the excessive severity of his mistress reduced to despair, until they were obliged to enclose him here." "alas! how i pity him," exclaimed the student; "permit me to express my sorrow for his misfortune;--it is one to which every susceptible heart is exposed. were it my own fate to love a disdainful beauty, i know not but that i too should love to madness." "i can believe you," replied the demon: "that sentiment would stamp you for a true castilian. one must be born in the centre of that ancient kingdom to be capable of loving until reason sinks with a despised heart. your frenchman is not so tender; and would you appreciate the difference between a gay parisian and a fiery spaniard in this respect, i need only repeat to you the song which yon poor fool is singing, and which his passion inspires even at this moment: spanish song. 'mine eyes gush o'er with floods of wild desire, and hopeless love burns fiercely in my breast; yet not my tears can quench my bosom's fire, nor passion's fire my scalding tears arrest.'[ ] [ ] 'ardo y lloro sin sosiego: llorando y ardiendo tanto, que ni el llanto apaga el fuego, ni el fuego consume el llanto.' "it is thus sings a true castilian whom his lady slights; and now i will repeat to you the words in which a frenchman told his griefs, in a similar case, only a few days ago: french song. 'she who within my bosom reigns, a tyrant's stern control maintains; nor sighs, nor tears, nor prayers can move the least relenting look of love. a kind word, kindly spoken, might have turn'd my darkness into light; but, since my suit is urged in vain, i fly to feed my griefs with payen.'[ ] [ ] 'l'objet qui règne dans mon coeur est toujours insensible à mon amour fidèle, mes soins, mes soupirs, ma langueur, ne sauraient attendrir cette beauté cruelle. o ciel! est-il un sort plus affreux que le mien? ah! puisque je ne puis lui plaire, je renonce au jour qui m'éclaire; venez, mes chers amis, m'enterrer chez payen.' "this payen is undoubtedly a tavern-keeper?" said don cleophas. "exactly so," replied the devil. "but let us continue our observations." "let us then turn to the women," exclaimed leandro; "i am impatient to hear their histories." "i will yield to your impatience," answered the spirit; "but there are yet two or three unfortunates on this side of the house, whom i would first show to you: you may profit by their unhappiness. "you observe, close by the melancholy songster, that pale and haggard face; those teeth, which gnash as though they would make nothing of the iron bars that ornament the window. yon is an honest man, born under influence of malignant star, who, with all the merit in the world, has vainly striven, during twenty years, to secure a modest competence; he has scarcely, with all his efforts, succeeded in gaining his daily bread. his reason fled its seat, on his perceiving a worthless fellow of his acquaintance suddenly mount the top of fortune's wheel by a lucky speculation. "his neighbour, again, is an old secretary, whose head was cracked by a stroke of ingratitude, which he received from a courtier, in whose service he lived during sixty years. no praises were too great for the zeal and fidelity of this ancient servant; who, however, never claimed their just reward, content to let his assiduity and services speak for themselves. his master, far from resembling archelaus, king of macedonia, who refused favours when demanded, and bestowed them when unasked, died forgetful of his merits, leaving him just enough to pass his days in misery, and the refuge of a madhouse. "i will only detain you with one more, and it is with the man who, leaning with his elbows on the window, appears plunged in profound meditation. you see in him a signor hidalgo, of tafalla, a small town of navarre, which he left for madrid that he might make the best use of his wealth. he was bitten with a rage for surrounding himself with the literati of the day; and as these animals are always seen to most advantage at feeding-time, he kept open house for their entertainment. authors are an unpolished and ungrateful race; but, although they despised and snarled at their keeper, he was not contented until they had eaten him out of house and home." "poor fellow," said zambullo: "he no doubt went mad with rage at his awful stupidity." "on the contrary," replied asmodeus, "it was with regret at finding himself unable to keep up his menagerie. well! now let us pay our respects to the ladies," added the devil. "why! how is this?" exclaimed the student: "i only see seven or eight of them. i had expected to have found them here by scores." "ah!" said the devil, smiling, "but they are by no means all confined within these walls. i will take you instantly, if you wish it, to another quarter of the city, where there is a larger house than this, full of mad-women to the very roof." "do not trouble yourself, i beg," replied don cleophas; "i am by no means anxious for their acquaintance: these will suffice." "you are right," replied the devil; "and these too, are almost all youthful ladies of distinction. you may perceive by the attention which is paid to their persons, that they are not ordinary subjects. and now for the story of their madness. "in the first room is the wife of a corregidor, who went mad with rage at being termed plebeian by a lady of the court; in the second, is the spouse of the treasurer-general of the council of the indies: anger also made her mad, at being obliged, in a narrow street, to turn back her carriage to make way for that of the duchess of medina-coeli. the third room is the residence of a merchant's widow, whom regret for the loss of a noble signor's hand robbed of her senses; and the fourth is occupied by a girl of highest rank, named donna beatrice, whose misfortunes are worth your attention. "this young lady was united by the most tender friendship with the donna mencia: they were indeed inseparable. it happened, however, that a handsome chevalier of the order of st. james became acquainted with them both, and they soon were rivals for his heart. as he could not marry the two, and as his affections inclined towards the donna mencia, he paid his court to that lady, and she shortly became his wife. "donna beatrice, jealous of the power of her charms, and mortified to excess by the preference shown to another, conceived a passion for revenge, which, like a woman, or a good spaniard, she nourished at the bottom of her heart. while this passion was yet in its infancy, she received from don jacintho de romarate, a neglected lover of the donna mencia, a letter stating that, being as much insulted as herself by the marriage of his mistress, he had resolved to demand satisfaction of the chevalier for their united wrongs. "this letter gave great delight to beatrice, who desiring but the death of the sinner, wished for nothing more than that his rival should fall beneath jacintho's hand. while anxiously awaiting for so christianly a gratification, it happened, however, that her own brother, having chanced to quarrel with this same jacintho, came to blows with her champion, and fell pierced with wounds of which he died. although duty prompted donna beatrice to avenge her brother's death by citing his murderer before the tribunals of his country, she neglected to do so, as this would have interfered with her revenge; which demonstrates, if such proof were needed, that there is no interest so dear to a woman as that of her beauty. need i remind you, that when ajax violated cassandra in the temple of pallas, that goddess did not on the instant punish the sacrilegious greek? no! she reserved her wrath until its victim should have first redressed the insult offered to her charms by the judgment of the hated paris. but, alas! donna beatrice, less fortunate than minerva, never tasted the sweetness of her anticipated vengeance. romarate perished by the sword of the chevalier, and chagrin for her wrongs, still unpunished, drove the lady into this asylum. "the next who offer themselves to your notice are an attorney's grandmother and an aged marchioness. the ill-temper of the first so annoyed her descendant, that he very quietly got rid of her by placing her here: the other is a lady who has ever been an idol to herself, and instead of aging with becoming resignation, has never ceased to weep the decay of that beauty which formed her only happiness; and at last, one day, when her mirror told, too plainly to be doubted, that all her charms were flown, went mad." "so much the better for the ancient dame," added leandro. "in the derangement of her mind, she will no more perceive the ravages of time." "most assuredly not," replied the devil; "far from beholding in her face the marks of age, her complexion seems to her now a happy blending of the lily and the rose; she sees around her but the graces and the loves,--in a word, she thinks that she is venus herself." "ah! well!" exclaimed the student, "were it not better that thousands should be mad, than that they should know themselves for what they are?" "undoubtedly," replied asmodeus; "but come, we have only one other female to observe; and that is she who dwells in the furthest room, and whom sleep has just visited with rest, after three days and nights of raving. look at her well! what think you of the donna emerenciana?" "that she is beautiful, indeed," answered zambullo. "what horror, that so lovely a creature should be mad! by what fatal accident is she reduced to this dreadful situation?" "listen!" replied the demon; "i will tell you the story of her woes. "donna emerenciana, only daughter of don guillem stephani, lived tranquilly at siguença, in the mansion of her father, when don kimen de lizana came to trouble her repose by those attentions with which he sought to win her heart. flattered by his gallantries, she received their homage with delight; she even had the weakness to lend herself to the artifices to which he resorted that he might speak with her in private; and in a short time exchanged with him vows of eternal love and fidelity. [illustration: the mad-woman donna emerenciana] "the lovers were of equal birth; but the lady was one of the richest heiresses of spain, while don kimen was a younger son. but there was still another obstacle to their union,--don guillem hated the family of the lizana. this he never affected to conceal, whenever they were mentioned; and he seemed more averse to don kimen himself, than to any other of his race. emerenciana, though deeply afflicted at her father's sentiments on this subject, which she felt boded unhappily for her passion, could not resolve to abandon its object; and she therefore continued her secret interviews with her lover, who from time to time, through the assistance of a waiting-maid, ventured even into her chamber by night. "it happened, one of these nights, that don guillem chanced to be awake when the gallant was thus introduced, and thought he heard a noise in his daughter's apartment, which was not far from his own. this was quite enough to arouse a father, and especially one so mistrustful as don guillem. suspicious as he was, he had never imagined the possibility of his daughter's intelligence with don kimen; but not being of a disposition to place too much confidence in any one, he rose quietly from his bed, opened a window which looked into the street, and there patiently waited until he saw that cavalier, whom the light of the moon enabled him to recognize, descending from the balcony by a silken ladder. "what a sight for stephani!--for the most vindictive, the most relentless mortal, that even sicily, which gave him birth, had ever produced. he controlled the first emotions of his terrible wrath, and repressed every exclamation of surprise at what he beheld, that the chief victim which his wounded pride demanded might not be warned of his fate, and attempt to escape the avenger's hand. he so far constrained himself as to wait until the morning, when his daughter had risen, ere he entered her apartment. she was alone, as he approached her, with fury sparkling in his eyes; and, with a voice that made her tremble, he addressed her thus: 'unworthy wretch! whom not the honour of thy race restrains from deeds of infamy, prepare to meet their due reward! this steel,' he added, as he drew a dagger from his bosom, 'shall find a sheath within your heart, unless with truth upon your lips you name the daring villain who brought, last night, dishonour on my house.' [illustration: stephani threatens emerenciana with a dagger] "emerenciana was so overcome by this unexpected discovery and her father's threats, that her tongue refused its office. 'ah! miserable,' continued don guillem, 'thy silence and confusion tell me too plainly all thy guilt! dost think, child, whom i blush to call mine own, that i know not what has passed? i know too well! i saw, myself, the villain, and recognized him for don kimen. 'twas not enough, then, to receive a cavalier at night within thy room!--that cavalier must be the man whom most i loathe! but come! tell me how much i owe him. speak without disguise,--thy sincerity alone can save thy shameful life.' "these last words, terrible as they were, brought with them some slight hope to the unfortunate girl of escaping the fate which menaced her, and she recovered from her fright sufficiently to enable her to reply: 'signor, i cannot deny that i am guilty of listening to lizana; but i call heaven to witness for the purity of his sentiments and conduct. aware as he was of your hatred for his name, he dared not to ask your sanction for his addresses; but it was for no other end than to confer with me how that sanction might be obtained that he sought, and i permitted, his coming here.' 'and who, then,' asked stephani, 'was the willing instrument through which you exchanged your communications?' 'it was,' replied his daughter, 'one of your pages to whom we were indebted for that kindness.' 'enough,' interrupted the father; 'and now to execute the design for which i come!' thereupon displaying his poniard, he made emerenciana sit down, and placing paper and ink before her, compelled her to write to her lover the following letter which he dictated:-- "'dearest love,--only delight of my life,--i hasten to inform you that my father has just set out for his estate, whence he will not return until to-morrow. lose not this happy opportunity. i doubt not you will watch for the coming night with as much impatience as your beloved "'emerenciana.' "as soon as this treacherous letter was written and sealed, don guillem said to his daughter: 'and now summon the page who so well performs the duties you impose on him, and direct him to carry this note to don kimen: but hope not to deceive me; i shall conceal myself behind the drapery of your room, whence i can observe your slightest movement; and if while you charge him with this commission you speak one word, or make the smallest sign which may give him suspicion of your message, i will plunge this dagger in your heart.' emerenciana knew her father too well to dare to disobey him: the page was called, and the letter placed as usual in his hands. "not until then did stephani put up his weapon; but he did not leave his daughter for a moment during the day, nor would he let any one approach her, so that she could communicate to lizana intelligence of the snare which was spread for him. accordingly, when night came, the youthful gallant hastened to the wished-for meeting; but hardly had he entered the door of his mistress's house before he found himself seized by three powerful men, who disarmed him in a moment, tied a bandage over his mouth to prevent his cries, another over his eyes, and bound his hands behind his back. they then placed him in a carriage, which was waiting for the purpose, and having all mounted therein for complete security of the betrayed cavalier's person, they carried him to the seat of stephani, situated near the village of miedes, four leagues from siguença, where they arrived before daybreak. [illustration: don kimen is kidnapped] "the first care of the signor was to cause don kimen to be placed in a vault which received but a feeble light from a hole near the top, so small, that escape by that was impossible. he then ordered julio, a confidential servant, to feed him with bread and water only, to give him but a truss of straw to sleep on, and to say to him every time he carried him food: 'here, base seducer: it is thus that don guillem treats those who are mad enough to dare to insult him!' the cruel sicilian was hardly less severe in his treatment of his daughter: he imprisoned her in a chamber which looked into a small courtyard, deprived her of her attendants, and placed her in the custody of a duenna whom he had chosen, because she was unequalled for her skill in tormenting those committed to her charge. "having thus disposed of the two lovers, he was by no means contented with the punishment already inflicted on them: he had resolved to get rid of don kimen, and had only not done so at once because he wished to avoid any unpleasant consequences which might follow his crime; to manage which, appeared to be somewhat difficult. as he had employed three of his servants in the abduction of the cavalier, he could hardly hope that a secret known to so many persons would always remain undiscovered:--what then was he to do, to shun any impertinent explanations which justice might think it necessary to demand? his resolve was worthy of a conqueror; he assembled his accomplices in a small pavilion, a short distance from the chateau, and after telling them how highly satisfied he was with their zeal, he stated that he had brought them there to receive a substantial reward for their services in money, and that he had prepared a little festival, which he invited them to share. they sat down to enjoy themselves, little dreaming that it was a feast of death; for when their brains were heated with wine, the worthy julio by his master's order brought in a poisoned bowl, which soon ended their rejoicing. the pair then fired the pavilion, and before the flames had brought around them the inhabitants of the neighbouring village, they assassinated emerenciana's two female attendants and the page of whom i have spoken, and threw their bodies into the burning heap. it was really amusing, while the remains of these poor wretches were consuming in this infernal pile, which the peasants strove in vain to extinguish, to witness the profound grief displayed by our sicilian: he appeared inconsolable for the loss of his domestics. [illustration: assassination of the maid-servants and page] "nothing remaining to be feared from any want of discretion on the part of his coadjutors, which might have betrayed him, he thus addressed his confidant: 'my dear julio, my mind is now at peace, and the life of don kimen is at my mercy; but, before i immolate him to my wounded honour, i would enjoy the sweet delight of making him feel how much he has offended me;--the misery and horror of a long and solitary confinement will be more dreadful to him than death itself.' in truth, lizana was by no means comfortable; and, hopeless of ever leaving the dungeon where he wasted, he would have welcomed death as a cheap release from his sufferings. "but, despite his boast of peace, the mind of stephani knew no rest after the exploits he had recently achieved; and ere many days had passed, a new source of inquietude presented itself in the fear lest julio, as he daily saw the prisoner for the purpose of taking him food, should suffer himself to be corrupted by promises. this fear made don guillem resolve to get rid of lizana without loss of time, and then to blow out the brains of his friend julio. but the latter was also not without his own misgivings; and, as he shrewdly suspected that were don kimen once out of the way, he would be found in it, he had made his resolution to take himself off some fine night, with all that was portable in the house, when the darkness would excuse his not distinguishing his master's property from his own. "while these honest gentlemen were each meditating an agreeable surprise for the other, they were one day both unwelcomely accosted at a short distance from the chateau, by about twenty archers of st. hermandad, who surrounded, and greeted them in the name of the king and the law! at this salutation don guillem was somewhat confounded; but, calling the colour to his cheeks, he asked the commandant of the archers whom he sought. 'yourself!' replied the officer: 'you are accused of having unlawfully seized on don kimen de lizana; and i am directed to make strict search for that cavalier within your mansion, and further to make you my prisoner.' stephani, convinced by this answer that he was lost, drew from his person a brace of pistols, exclaiming that he would suffer no one to enter his house; and that he would shoot the commandant without ceremony if he did not instantly take himself off with his troop. the leader of the holy brotherhood, despising this threat, advanced at once towards the sicilian; who, as good as his word, fired, and wounded him slightly in the face. this wound, however, cost the life of the madman who gave it; for the archers in a moment stretched him lifeless at the feet of their injured chief. julio surrendered himself without resistance; and, making a virtue of necessity, cleared his conscience by a frank avowal of all that had occurred,--except that, perceiving his master was really dead, he did him the honour to invest his memory with all the glory attaching to the transaction. "he then conducted the archers to the vault, where they found lizana on his straw bed, securely bound. the unfortunate gentleman, who lived in continual expectation of death, thought it was come at last when he saw so many armed men enter his prison; and was, as you may expect, agreeably surprised to find liberators in those whom he had taken for his executioners. when they had released him from his dungeon, and received his thanks, he asked them how they had learned that he was confined in the place where they found him. 'that,' replied the commandant, 'i will tell you in a few words. [illustration: the liberation of don kimen] "'the night you were entrapped,' said the officer, 'one of don guillem's assistants, whose mistress resided in the neighbourhood, stole a few moments while they were waiting for you, to bid adieu to his sweetheart before his departure, and was indiscreet enough to reveal to her the project of stephani. for a wonder, the lady kept the secret for three whole days; but when the news of the fire at miedes reached siguença, as every body thought it strange that all the servants of the sicilian should have perished in the flames, she naturally took it into her head also that the fire was the work of guillem himself. to revenge her lover's death, therefore, she sought the signor don felix, your father, and related to him all she knew. don felix, alarmed at finding you were in the hands of a man capable of everything, accompanied the lady to the corregidor, who on hearing her story had no doubt of stephani's intentions towards you, and that he was the diabolical incendiary the woman suspected. to make inquiries into all the circumstances of the case, the corregidor instantly despatched orders to me at retortillo, where i live, directing me to repair with my brigade to this chateau, to find you if possible, and to take don guillem, dead or alive. i have happily performed my commission as regards yourself; and i only regret that it is out of my power to conduct the criminal to siguença alive. he compelled us by his furious resistance to dispatch him on the spot.' "the officer, having ended his story, thus continued: 'i will now, signor don kimen, draw up a report of all that has happened here; i will not, however, detain you long, and we will then set out together to release your friends from the anxiety they suffer upon your account.' 'stay, signor commandant,' interrupted julio, 'i will furnish you with matter to lengthen your report: you have got another prisoner to liberate. donna emerenciana is confined in a dismal chamber of this chateau, guarded by a merciless duenna, who upbraids her without ceasing for her love of this cavalier, and torments her by every device she can imagine.' 'oh heaven!' cried lizana, 'is it possible that the barbarous stephani should not have been contented to exercise his cruelty on me alone? let us hasten to deliver the unfortunate lady from the tyranny of her gaoler.' "julio lost no time in conducting the commandant, four or five of the archers, and lizana, to the prison of don guillem's daughter. they knocked at the door; it was opened by the surprised duenna, and you may conceive the delight of don kimen at again beholding his mistress, after having lost her as he supposed for ever. all his hopes revived; nor could he reasonably conceive the possibility of their non-fulfilment, since he who alone stood between him and his happiness, was dead. he threw himself in ecstacy at the feet of emerenciana; when,--picture his horror if you can,--he found, instead of the gentle girl who had listened with tender transport to his vows, a maniac. yes! so well had the duenna succeeded in her efforts, that she had effaced the image of the lover by destroying the canvas on which it was depicted. [illustration: don kimen discovers emerenciana has gone mad] "she remained for some time in apparent meditation, then imagining herself to be the fair angelica, besieged by the tartars in the towers of albraca, and the persons who filled her apartment to be so many paladins come to her rescue, she received them with much politeness. addressing the chief of the holy brotherhood as roland, lizana as brandimart, julio as hubert of the lion, and the archers as antifort, clarion, adrian, and the two sons of the marquis olivier, she said to them: 'brave chevaliers, i no longer fear the emperor agrican, nor queen marphisa: your valour would suffice for my defence against the world itself in arms.' "the officer and his followers could not resist an inclination to laugh at this heroic reception; but poor don kimen was so much afflicted by the unexpected condition in which he found her for whom alone he had wished to live, that reason seemed to be on the point of abandoning him also. recovering himself, however, from his first surprise, and hoping that she might be brought to recognize the unhappy author of her misfortunes, he addressed her tenderly: 'dearest emerenciana,' said he, 'it is lizana speaks to thee: recall thy scattered thoughts, he comes to tell thee that thy griefs are at an end. heaven has heard the prayer of those fond hearts itself united; and its wrath has fallen on the wicked head of him who would have separated two beings made for each other.' "the reply to these words was another speech from the daughter of king galafron to the valiant defenders of albraca, who this time however restrained their mirth. even the commandant, whose profession was not favourable to the kindlier feelings of humanity, was touched with compassion, and observing the profound affliction of don kimen, said to him: 'signor cavalier, do not despair! we have, in siguença, physicians celebrated for their skill in curing the disorders of the mind, and there is yet hope for your unfortunate lady. but let us away! you, signor hubert of the lion,' added he, addressing himself to julio, 'you who know the whereabouts of the stables of this castle, take with you antifort and the two sons of the marquis olivier, bring out the fleetest coursers from their stalls and harness them to the car of our princess; in the meanwhile i will prepare my dispatches.' "so saying, he drew out his writing materials, and having finished his report, he presented his hand to angelica and conducted her to the court-yard, where he found a carriage with four mules, which had been prepared for her reception by the paladins. the lady was placed therein by the side of don kimen; and the commandant having compelled the duenna to enter also, as he thought the corregidor would be glad to have some conversation with the dame, he mounted, and they set out for siguença. this is not all: by order of their chief, the archers bound julio, and placed him in another carriage with the body of don guillem; then mounting their horses they followed the same route. "during the journey, the daughter of stephani uttered a thousand extravagancies, every one of which was as a dagger in the heart of her lover. the presence of the duenna was an additional source of disquiet to him. 'it is you, infamous old woman,' said he to her, 'it is you who by your cruelty have tortured emerenciana to madness.' the old hypocrite endeavoured to justify herself by pleading the instructions of her defunct master. 'it is to don guillem alone,' said she, 'that her misfortunes are attributable: daily did that too rigid father visit her in her room; and it is to his reproaches and threats that the loss of her reason is owing.' "on reaching siguença, the commandant immediately went to give an account of his mission to the corregidor, who after examining julio and the duenna found them lodgings in the prisons of that town, where they reside to this time. lizana, after deposing to all he had suffered from don guillem, repaired to his father's house, where his presence restored joy to his alarmed relations. donna emerenciana was sent by the judge to madrid, where she has a kind uncle by her mother's side, who desired nothing better than the administration of his niece's property, and who was nominated her guardian. as he could not creditably do otherwise than appear desirous of her restoration to sanity, he had recourse to the most famed physicians of this city; but he had nothing to fear, for, after having taken a becoming number of fees, they declared her incurable. on this decision, the guardian, no doubt very reluctantly, placed her here; and here, most likely, she is destined to end her days." "and a sad destiny it is," cried don cleophas; "i am really touched by her misfortunes: donna emerenciana deserved a better fate. and don kimen," added he, "what is become of him? i am curious to learn how he acted." "very reasonably," replied asmodeus: "when he heard that the evil was past a remedy, he went to spanish america. he hopes that by change of scene he may insensibly efface the remembrance of those charms that wisdom and his own peace require he should forget.----but," continued the devil, "after having exhibited to you madmen who are confined, it is time i shewed to you those who deserve to be so." [illustration: tailpiece of a physician taking emerenciana's pulse] chapter x. the subject of which is inexhaustible. "run your eyes over the city, and as we discover subjects worthy of being placed in this museum, i will describe them to you. there is one, already; i must not let him escape: he is a newly-married man. it is just a week since, in consequence of reports which reached his ears relative to the coquetries of a damsel whom he affected, he went in a fury to her house, broke one portion of her furniture, threw the other out of windows, and on the next day mended the matter by espousing her." "a proper candidate, indeed," said zambullo, "for a vacant place in this establishment!" "he has a neighbour," resumed the cripple, "who is not much wiser than himself, a bachelor of forty-five, who, with plenty to live on, would yet swell the train of some noble pauper. and yonder is the widow of an advocate, who, having counted three-score years and more, is about to seek the shelter of a convent, that her reputation may not, as she says, suffer scandal in this wicked world. "i perceive also two virgins, or, to speak more properly, two girls of fifty years of age. they pray heaven, in its mercy, to take to it their father, who keeps them mewed like minors; as they hope, when he is gone, to find handsome men who will marry them for love." "and why not?" inquired the scholar; "there are stranger things than such men to be found." "i am perfectly of your opinion," replied asmodeus: "they may find husbands, doubtless; but they ought not to expect to be so fortunate,--it is therein that their folly consists. "there is no country in the world in which women speak the truth in regard to their age. at paris, about a month ago, a maiden of forty-eight and a woman of sixty-nine had occasion to go before a magistrate as witnesses in a case which concerned the honour of a widow of their acquaintance. the magistrate, first addressing himself to the married lady, asked her age; and, although her years might have been counted by the wrinkles on her brow, she unhesitatingly replied, that she was exactly forty. 'and you, madam,' said the man of law, addressing the single lady in her turn, 'may i ask your age also?' 'we can dispense with that, your worship,' replied the damsel; 'it is a question that ought not to be asked.' 'impossible!' replied he; 'are you not aware that the law requires....' 'oh!' interrupted the lady sharply, 'the law requires nothing of the kind: what matters it to the law what my age may be? it is none of its business.' 'but, madam,' said the magistrate, 'i cannot receive your testimony unless your age be stated; it is a necessary preliminary, i assure you.' 'well,' replied the maiden, 'if it be absolutely necessary, look at me with attention, and put down my age conscientiously.' [illustration: the two ladies before the magistrate] "the magistrate looked at her over his spectacles, and was polite enough to decree that she did not appear above twenty-eight. but when to his question, as to how long she had known the widow, the witness replied--before her marriage: 'i have made a mistake,' said he; 'for i have put you down for twenty-eight, whereas it is nine and twenty years since the lady became a wife.' 'you may state then,' cried the maiden, 'that i am thirty: i may have known the widow since i was one year old.' 'that will hardly do,' replied the magistrate; 'we may as well add a dozen years at once.' 'by no means,' said the lady; 'i will allow another year, if you please; but if my own honour were in question instead of the widow's, i would not add one month more to please the law, or any other body in the world.' "when the two witnesses had left the magistrate, the woman said to the maiden: 'do not you wonder at this noodle, who thinks us young enough to tell him our ages to a day? it is enough, surely, that they should be inscribed on the parish registers, without his poking them into his depositions, for the information of all the world. it would be delightful, truly, to hear recited in open court,--madame richard, aged sixty and so many years, and mademoiselle perinelle, aged forty-five, depose such and so forth. it is too absurd: i have taken care to suppress a good score of years; and you were wise enough to follow my example.' 'what do you mean by following your example?' cried the ancient damsel, with youthful indignation: 'i am extremely obliged to you; but i would have you to know that thirty-five years are the utmost i have seen.' 'why! child,' replied the matron, with a malicious smile, 'you forget yourself: i was present at your birth--ah! what a time it is ago! and your poor father! i knew him well. but we must all die; and he was not young, either: it is nearly forty years since we buried him.' 'oh! my father,' interrupted the virgin, hastily, irritated at the precision of the old dame's tender recollections,--'my father was so old when he married my mother, that she was not likely to have any children by him.' "i perceive in that house opposite," continued the spirit, "two men, who are not over-burdened with sense. one is a youth of family, who can neither keep money in his pocket, nor do entirely without it: he has discovered, therefore, an excellent means of always having a supply. when he is in cash, he lays it out in books, and when his purse is empty, he sells them for the half of their cost. the other is a foreign artist, who seeks for patronage among the ladies as a portrait painter: he is clever, draws correctly, colours to perfection, and is extraordinarily successful in the likeness; but--he never flatters his originals, yet expects the women will flock to him. sheer stupidity! _inter stultos referatur._" "what?" cried the scholar, "have you studied the classics?" "you ought hardly to be surprised at that," replied the devil: "i speak fluently all your barbarous tongues--hebrew, greek, persic, and arabic. nevertheless, i am not vain of my attainments; and that, at all events, is an advantage i have over your learned pedants. "you may see in that large mansion, on the left, a sick lady surrounded by several others, who are in attendance upon her: she is the rich widow of a celebrated architect, whose love for her husband's profession has extended itself to the most foolish admiration of the corinthian capital of society--the higher classes. she has just made her will, by which she bequeaths her immense wealth to grandees of the first class, who are ignorant of her very existence, but whose titles have gained for them their legacies. she was asked whether she would not leave something to a person who had rendered her most important services. 'alas! no,' she replied, with an appearance of regret; 'and i am sorry that i cannot do so. i am not so ungrateful as to deny the obligation which i owe to him; but his humble name would disgrace my will.'" "signor asmodeus," interrupted leandro, "tell me, i pray you, whether the old gentleman whom i perceive so busy reading in his study, does not chance to be one of those who merit to be here confined." "he does, indeed, deserve it," answered the demon: "he is an old licentiate, who is reading a proof of a book which he is passing through the press." "doubtless, some work on morals or theology?" said don cleophas. "not it," replied the cripple; "it is a collection of amatory songs, which he wrote in his youth: instead of burning them, or at least suffering them to fall into the oblivion to which he is fast hastening, he has resolved to print them himself, for fear his heirs should be tempted to do so after his death, and that, out of respect for his memory, they should deprive them of their point by rendering them decent. "there is a little lady living in the same house with our anacreon, whom i must not forget: she is so entirely convinced of the power of her attractions, that no man ever spoke to her whom she did not at once place in the list of her admirers. "but let us turn to a wealthy canon, whom i see a few paces beyond her. he has a very singular phantasy. if he lives frugally, it is not with a view to mortify the flesh, or from a dislike to the grape; if his humility does without a coach and six, it is not from avarice. ah! for what object then does he husband his resources? what does he with his revenues? does he bestow them in alms? no! he expends them in the purchase of paintings, expensive furniture, and jewellery. now, you would naturally expect he bought these things to enjoy them while he lived?--no such thing; he only seeks to swell the inventory of his effects when he shall be no more." "oh! impossible!" cried zambullo: "such a madman as you describe cannot exist on the earth!" "i repeat, nevertheless," replied the devil, "that such is his mania. the only pleasure he derives from these things is in the imagination of how they will figure in his said inventory. does he buy, for instance, a superbly inlaid cabinet; it is neatly packed upon the instant, and carefully stowed away; that it may appear quite new in the eyes of the brokers who may come when he is dead to bargain for his relics. "i will show you one of his neighbours that you will think quite as mad as he,--an old bachelor, recently arrived from the philippine isles, with an enormous fortune which he derived from his father, who was auditor of the court at manilla: his conduct is extraordinary enough. you may see him daily in the antechambers of the king, or of the prime minister. do not fancy, however, that it is ambition which leads him there, to solicit some important charge: he seeks no employment; he asks for nothing. 'what then!' you will say to me, 'does he go there simply to pay his devoirs?' colder still! he never speaks to the minister, to whom indeed he is not even known, nor does he desire to be so. 'what then is his object?'--i will tell you. he wishes to persuade the world of his credit at court." "an amusing original, indeed!" cried the student, bursting with laughter; "he takes great pains to little purpose, truly: you may well place him in the list of madmen." "oh! as to that," replied asmodeus, "i shall shew you many others whom it would be unreasonable to think more wise. for instance, look in yonder house, so splendidly illumined, and you will perceive three men and two ladies sitting round a table. they have just supped together, and they are now playing at cards to while away the night, with which only will they leave their occupation. such is the life these gentle cavaliers and ladies lead. they meet regularly every evening, and break up like fogs only with the sun; when they retire to sleep until darkness again calls them to light and life: they have renounced the face of day and the beauties of nature. would not one say, to behold them thus surrounded with waxen tapers, that they were corpses, waiting for the last sad offices that are rendered to the dead?" "there is no necessity to shut those people from the world," said don cleophas;--"they have ceased to belong to it." "i perceive in the arms of sleep," resumed the cripple, "a man whom i esteem, and who is also attached devotedly to me,--a being formed in my own mould. he is an old bachelor, who idolises the fair sex. you cannot speak to him of a pretty woman, without remarking the delight with which he hears you; if you say that her mouth is small, her lips rubies, her teeth pearls, her cheeks roses on an alabaster vase; in a word, if you paint her in detail, at every stroke he sighs and lifts his eyes, and is visibly excited by his voluptuous imagination. only two days ago, passing the shop of a ladies' shoemaker, he stopped to look with admiration on a pair of diminutive slippers which were there exposed. after contemplating them for some time, with more attention than they deserved, he exclaimed with a languishing air, to a cavalier who accompanied him: 'ah! my friend; there now are slippers which enchant my soul! what darling feet for which they were made! i look on them with too much interest: let us away! the very atmosphere around this place is dangerous.'" [illustration: the old bachelor admires the diminutive slippers] "we may mark that gentleman with black, at all events," said leandro perez. "we may indeed," replied the devil; "and you may tar his nearest neighbour with the same brush, while you are about it--an original of an auditor, who, because he keeps a carriage, blushes whenever he is obliged to put his foot into a public vehicle. he again may be worthily paired with one of his own relations, a wealthy dignitary of the church here, who almost always rides in a hired coach, in order to save two very neat ones, and four splendid mules, which he keeps in his stables. "in the immediate neighbourhood of the auditor and our amatory bachelor, i discover a man to whom, without injustice, no one could deny his title to a strait waistcoat. there he is--a cavalier of sixty, making love to a damsel of sixteen. he visits her daily, and thinks to win her affections by a recital of the conquests of his youth; he hopes that she will love him now for the charms of which he formerly could boast. [illustration: the old cavalier wooing the young girl] "we may place in the same category with the aged swain, another who is sleeping about ten paces from us--a french count, who came to madrid to see the court of spain. this old gentleman, who is nearly seventy years of age, shone with great lustre in the court of his own sovereign, fifty years ago; he was indeed perfectly the rage; all the world envying his manly form, his gallant deportment, and above all the exquisite taste which he displayed in his apparel. he scrupulously preserved the dresses so much admired, and has continued to wear them on all occasions despite the changes of fashion, which in paris occur every day. what, however, is most amusing in the matter is, that he fancies himself at this time as graceful and attractive as in the days of his youth." "there is not the slightest doubt," said don cleophas, "that we may book a place in the _casa de los locos_ for this french signor." "i must reserve another though," replied the demon, "for a lady who resides in a garret, next to the count's mansion. she is an elderly widow, who, from excess of affection for her children, has had the kindness to make over to them all her property; reserving only a small stipend for herself, which, with proper filial gratitude, they take good care never to pay. "i have another subject for the same establishment, in a youth of family, who no sooner has a ducat than he spends it; and who, as he cannot do without the ready, is capable of anything to obtain it. a fortnight ago, his washer-woman, to whom he owed thirty pistoles, came to dun him for that sum, stating that she wanted it particularly, as she was going to be married to a valet-de-chambre, who sought her hand. 'you must have more money than this,' said he, 'for where the devil is the valet-de-chambre who would take you to wife for thirty pistoles?' 'oh! yes,' replied the sudorific dame, 'i have two hundred ducats besides.' 'the deuce!' replied our hero, with emotion--'two hundred ducats! you have only to give them to me, i will marry you myself, and we may then cry quits.' he was taken at his word, and the laundress became his wife. "we must retain three places also for the same number of persons, whom you see returning from supper at a celebrated countess's, and now stopping before that house on the left, where they at present reside. one is a nobleman of an inferior grade, who piques himself on his passion for the _belles lettres;_ the second is his brother, your ambassador to timbuctoo, or some such place; and the third is their foster-brother, a literary toady who follows in their train. they are almost always together, and especially when visiting in the clique to which they belong. the noble praises himself only; the ambassador praises his brother and himself also; but the toady has three things to look after,--the praises of the other two, and the mixing of his own praises with theirs. "two places more! one for a floricultural citizen, who, scarcely gaining his own bread, must need keep a gardener and his wife to look after a dozen plants that languish at his suburban villa; the other for an actor, who, complaining the other day to his brethren on the disagreeables inseparable from a strolling life, observed: 'well, my friends, i am utterly disgusted with my profession; yes, so much so, that i would rather be a humble country gentleman with a thousand ducats a year.' "on whichever side i turn my eyes," continued the spirit, "i see nothing but addled brains. there, for instance, is a chevalier of calatrava, who is so proud, or rather vain, of being privately encouraged by the daughter of a noble signor, that he thinks himself on a par with the first persons of the court. he reminds me of villius, who thought himself son-in-law of sylla, because he was on good terms with the daughter of that dictator; and the resemblance is the more striking, because this chevalier, like the roman, has a _longarenus;_ that is to say, a rival of low degree, who, nevertheless, is still more favoured by the lady than himself. "one would be inclined to affirm that the same men are born anew from time to time, but under other circumstances. i recognize, in that secretary of department, bollanus, who kept measures with nobody, and who affronted all whose appearance was, at first sight, unpleasing to him. i behold again, in that old president, fufidius, who lent his money at five per cent. per month; and marsoeus, who gave his paternal mansion to the actress origo, lives once more in that noble stripling, who is spending with a dancer of the ballet the proceeds of a country seat which he has near the escurial." asmodeus was about to continue, when, suddenly hearing the sound of instruments which were tuning in the neighbourhood, he stopped, and said to don cleophas: "there are musicians at the end of this street, who are just commencing a serenade in honour of the daughter of an _alcade de corte;_ if you would like to witness this piece of gallantry, you have only to say so." "i am a great admirer of this sort of concert," replied zambullo; "let us by all means get near them; there may chance to be some decent voices among the lot." he had hardly spoken, when he found himself on a house adjoining that of the alcade. the serenade was commenced by the instruments alone, which played some new italian airs; and then two of the voices sang alternately the following couplets: "list, while the thousand charms i sing, which round thee such enchantment fling, that even love has plumed his wing to seek thy bower. "thy neck, that shames the mountain snow, thy lip, that mocks the peach's glow, bid cupid's self a captive bow beneath thy power. "thine arched brows as bows are bent to speed the shafts thine eyes have sent; e'en armed love's own mail is rent, resisting them. "thou art, in sooth, a queenly maid; yet hast thou every heart betray'd, that thee its trusting pole-star made; thou priceless gem! "oh! would that i some spell possess'd, while painting thee, to touch thy breast; thou evening star, thou heaven of rest, thou morning sun!"[ ] [ ] "si de tu hermosura quieres una copia con mil gracias; escucha, porque pretendo el pintarla. "es tu frente toda nieve y el alabastro, batallas offreciò al amor, haziendo en ella vaya. "amor labrò de tus cejas dos arcos para su aljava: y debaxo ha descubierto quien le mata. "eres duena de el lugar vandolera de las almas, iman de los alvedrios, linda alhaja. "un rasgo de tu hermosura quisiera yo retratarla; que es estrella, es cielo, es sol; no es sino el alva." "the couplets are gallant and delicate," cried the student. "they seem so to you," replied the demon, "because you are a spaniard: if they were translated into french, for instance, they would not be greatly admired. the readers of that nation would think the expressions too figurative; and would discover an extravagance of imagination in the conceptions, which would be to them absolutely laughable. every nation has its own standard of taste and genius, and will admit no other: but enough of these couplets," continued he, "you will hear music of another kind. "follow with your eyes those four men who have suddenly appeared in the street. see! they pounce upon the serenaders: the latter raise their instruments to defend their heads, but their frail bucklers yield to the blows which fall on them, and are shattered into a thousand pieces. and now see, coming to their assistance, two cavaliers; one of whom is the gallant donor of the serenade. with what fury they charge on the four aggressors! again, with what skill and valour do these latter receive them. what fire sparkles from their swords! see! one of the defenders of the serenade has fallen,--it is he who gave it,--he is mortally wounded. his companion, perceiving his fall, flies to preserve his own life; the aggressors, having effected their object, fly also; the musicians have disappeared during the combat; and there remains upon the spot the unfortunate cavalier alone, who has paid for his gallantry with his life. in the meanwhile, observe the alcade's daughter: she is at her window, whence she has observed all that has passed. this lady is so vain of her beauty,--although that is nothing extraordinary either,--that instead of deploring its fatal effect, she rejoices in the force of her attractions, of which she now thinks more than ever. [illustration: the cavalier apprehended by the watch] "this will not be the end of it. you see another cavalier, who has this moment stopped in the street to assist, were it possible, the unfortunate being who is swimming in his blood. while occupied in this charitable office, see! he is surprised by the watch. they are taking him to prison, where he will remain many months: and he will almost pay as dearly for this transaction as though he were the murderer himself." "this is, indeed, a night of misfortunes!" said zambullo. "and this will not be the last of them," added the devil. "were you, this moment, at the gate of the sun, you would be horror-stricken at the spectacle which is now exhibiting. through the negligence of a domestic, a mansion is on fire, which in its rage has already reduced to ashes the magnificent furniture it contains, and threatens to consume the whole building; but great as might be his loss, don pedro de escolano, to whom the house belongs, would not regret it for a moment, could he but save his only daughter, seraphina, who is likely to perish in the flames." don cleophas expressing the greatest anxiety to see this fire, the cripple transported him in an instant to the gate of the sun, and placed him in a house exactly opposite to that which was burning. chapter xi. of the fire, and the doings of asmodeus on the occasion, out of friendship for don cleophas. in the street beneath them nothing was to be heard but a confused noise, arising from cries of fire from one half of the crowd, and the more appropriate one of water from the other. as soon as leandro was able to comprehend the scene, he saw that the grand staircase, which led to the principal apartments of don pedro's mansion, was all in flames, which also were issuing with clouds of smoke, from every window in the house. "the fire is at its height," said the demon; "it has just reached the roof, and its thousand tongues are spitting in the air millions of brilliant sparks. it is a magnificent sight: so much so, that the persons who have flocked from all parts around it, to assist in extinguishing the flames, are awed into helpless amazement. you may discern in the crowd of spectators an old man in a dressing-gown: it is the signor de escolano. do you not hear his cries and lamentations? he is addressing the men who surround him, and conjuring them to rescue his child. but in vain does he implore them,--in vain does he offer all his wealth,--none dares expose his life to save the ill-fated lady, who is only sixteen, and whose beauty is incomparable. the old man is in despair: he accuses them of cowardice; he tears his hair and beard; he beats his breast; the excess of his grief has made him almost mad. seraphina, poor girl, abandoned by her attendants, has just swooned with terror in her own apartment, where, in a few minutes, a dense smoke will stifle her. she is lost to him for ever: no mortal can save her." "ah! signor asmodeus," exclaimed leandro perez, prompted by feelings of generous compassion, "if you love me, yield to the pity which desolates my heart: reject not my humble prayer when i entreat you to save this lovely girl from the horrid death which threatens her. i demand it, as the price of the service i rendered but now to you. do not, this time, oppose yourself to my desires: i shall die with grief if you refuse me." the devil smiled on witnessing the profound emotion of the student. "the fire warms you, signor zambullo," said he. "verily! you would have made an exquisite knight-errant: you are courageous, compassionate for the sufferings of others, and particularly prompt in the service of sorrowing damsels. you would be just the man, now, to throw yourself in the midst of the furnace yonder, like an amadis, to attempt the deliverance of the beauteous seraphina, and to restore her safe and sound to her disconsolate father." "would to heaven!" replied don cleophas, "that it were possible. i would undertake the task without hesitation." "pity that your death," resumed the cripple, "would be the sole reward of so noble an exploit! i have already told you that human courage can avail nothing on the occasion. well! i suppose, to gratify you, i must meddle in the matter; so observe how i shall set about it: you can watch from hence all my operations." he had no sooner spoken these words than, borrowing the form of leandro perez, to the great astonishment of the student, he alighted unobserved amid the crowd, which he elbowed without ceremony, and quickly passing through it, rushed into the fire as into his natural element. the spectators who beheld him, alarmed at the apparent madness of the attempt, uttered a cry of horror. "what insanity!" said one; "is it possible that interest can blind a man to such an extent as this? none but a downright idiot could have been tempted by any proffered recompence to dare such certain death." "the rash youth," said another, "must be the lover of don pedro's daughter; and in the desperation of his grief has resolved to save his mistress or to perish with her." in short, they predicted for him the fate of empedocles,[ ] when, a minute afterwards, they saw him emerge from the flames with seraphina in his arms. the air resounded with acclamations, and the people were loud in their praises of the brave cavalier who had performed so noble a feat. when rashness ends in success, critics are silent; and so this prodigy now appeared to the assembled multitude as a very natural result of a spaniard's daring. [ ] a sicilian poet and philosopher, who threw himself into the crater of mount Ætna. [illustration: the rescue of seraphina] as the lady was still insensible, her father did not dare to give himself up to joy: he feared that, although thus miraculously delivered from the fire, she would die before his eyes, from the terrible impression made upon her mind by the peril she had encountered. he was, however, soon reassured, when, recovering from her swoon, her eyes opened, and looking on the old man, she said to him with an affectionate voice: "signor, i should have had more occasion for affliction than rejoicing at the preservation of my life, were not yours also in safety." "ah! my child," replied her father, embracing her, "nothing is lost since you are saved. but let us thank," exclaimed he, presenting to her the double of cleophas,--"let us testify our gratitude to this young cavalier. he is your preserver; it is to him you owe your life. how can we repay that debt? not all that i possess would suffice to cancel the obligation he has conferred upon us." to these observations the devil replied, with an air which would have done don cleophas credit: "signor, i am noble, and a castilian. i seek no other reward for the service i have had the happiness to render you than the pleasure of having dried your tears, and of having saved from the flames the lovely object which they threatened to devour;--surely such a service is its own reward." the disinterestedness and generosity of their benefactor raised for him the highest feelings of admiration and esteem in the breast of the signor de escolano, who entreated him to call upon them, and offered him his warmest friendship. the devil replied in fitting terms to the frank advances of the old man; and, after many other compliments had passed, the father and daughter retired to a small building which remained uninjured, at the bottom of the garden. the demon then rejoined the student, who, seeing him return under his former guise, said to him: "signor asmodeus, have my eyes deceived me? were you not but now in my shape and figure?" "excuse the liberty," replied the cripple; "and i will tell you the motive for this metamorphosis. i have formed a grand design: i intend that you should marry seraphina, and, under your form, i have already inspired her with a violent passion for your lordship. don pedro, also, is highly satisfied with you, because i told him that in rescuing his daughter i had no other object than to render them both happy, and that the honour of having happily terminated so perilous an adventure was a sufficient reward for a spanish gentleman. the good man has a noble soul, and will not easily be outdone in generosity; and he is at this moment deliberating within himself whether he shall not give you his daughter, as the most worthy return he can make to you for having saved her life. [illustration: don pedro and seraphina thank zambullo] "well! while he is hesitating," added the cripple, "let us get out of this smother into a place more favourable for continuing our observations." and so saying, away he flew with the student to the top of a high church filled with splendid tombs. chapter xii. of the tombs, of their shades, and of death. asmodeus now said to the student: "before we continue our observations on the living, we will for a few moments disturb the peaceful rest of those who lie within this church. i will glance over all the tombs; reveal the secrets they contain, and the feelings which have prompted their elevation. "the first of those which are on our right contains the sad remains of a general officer, who, like another agamemnon, on his return from the wars found an Ægisthus in his house; in the second, reposes a young cavalier of noble birth, who, desirous of displaying in the sight of his mistress his strength and skill at a bull-fight, was gored to death by his furious opponent; and in the third lies an old prelate who left this world rather unceremoniously. he had made his will in the vigour of health, and was imprudent enough to read it to his domestics, whom, like a good master, he had not forgotten: his cook was in a hurry to receive his legacy. "in the fourth mausoleum rests a courtier who never rested in his lifetime. even at sixty years of age, he was daily seen in attendance on the king, from the levée until his majesty retired for the night: in recompense for all these attentions the king loaded him with favours." "and was he, now," said don cleophas, "the man to use his influence for others?" "for no one," replied the devil: "he was liberal of his promises of service to his friends, but he was religiously scrupulous of never keeping them." "the scoundrel!" exclaimed leandro. "were we to think of lopping off the superfluous members of society,--men that like tumours on the body politic draw all its nourishment to themselves, it is with courtiers like this one would begin." "the fifth tomb," resumed asmodeus, "encloses the mortal remains of a signor, ever zealous for the interests of his country, and jealous of the glory of the king his master, in whose service he spent the best years of his life as ambassador to rome or france, to england or portugal. he ruined himself so effectually by his embassies that he did not leave behind him enough to defray the expenses of his funeral, which the king has therefore paid out of gratitude for his services. "let us turn to the monuments on the other side. the first is that of a great merchant who left enormous wealth to his children; but, lest they should forget, in its flood, the humble source from which it, like themselves, was derived, he directed that his name and occupation should be graven on his tomb, to the no small annoyance of his descendants. "the next stone which surpasses every other in the church for its magnificence, is regarded with much admiration by all travellers." "in truth," said zambullo, "it appears to me deserving of its reputation. i am absolutely enchanted by those two kneeling figures--how exquisitely are they chiselled? not phidias himself could have surpassed the sculpture of this splendid work! but tell me, dear asmodeus, what in their lives were those whom these all-breathing marbles represent?" the cripple replied: "you behold a duke and his noble spouse: the former was grand chamberlain to his majesty, and the duchess was celebrated for her extreme piety. i must, however, relate to you an anecdote of her grace, which you will think rather lively for a devotee;--it is as follows. "she had been for a long time in the habit of confessing her sins to a monk of the order of mercy, one don jerome d'aguilar, a good man, and a famous preacher, with whom she was highly satisfied, when there suddenly appeared at madrid a dominican, who captivated the town by the novelty of his style, and the comfortable doctrines on which he insisted. this new orator was named the brother placidus: the people flocked to his sermons as to those of cardinal ximenes; and as his reputation grew, the court, led to hear him by curiosity, became more loud in his praises than the town. "our duchess at first made it a point of honour to hold out against the renown of the new-comer, nor could even curiosity induce her to go to hear him, that she might judge for herself of his eloquence. she acted thus from a desire to prove to her spiritual director, that, like a good and grateful penitent, she sympathised with him in the chagrin which the presence of brother placidus must have caused him. but the dominican made so much noise, that at last she yielded to the temptation of seeing him, still however assured of her own fidelity: she saw him, heard him preach, liked him, followed him; and the little inconstant absolutely formed the project of putting herself under his direction. "it was, however, necessary to get rid of her old confessor, and this was not an easy matter; a spiritual guide cannot be thrown off like a lover; a devotee would not like to be thought a coquette, or to lose the esteem of the director whom she abandons; so what did the duchess? she sought don jerome, and with an air of sorrow which spoke a real affliction, said to him: 'father, i am in despair: you see me in amazement;--in a grief,--in a perplexity of mind which i cannot depict.' 'what ails you then, madam?' replied d'aguilar. 'would you believe it?' she replied; 'my husband, who has ever had the most perfect confidence in my virtue, after having seen me for so long a time under your guidance, has, without appearing in the least suspicious of myself, become suddenly jealous of you, and desires that you may no longer be my confessor. did you ever hear of a similar caprice? in vain have i objected that by his suspicions he insulted not only myself, but a man of the strictest piety, freed from the tyranny of the passions; i only increased his jealous fears by my vindication of your sacred honour.' "don jerome, despite his shrewdness, was taken in by this story: it is true that it was told with such demonstrations of candour as would have deceived all the world. although sorry to lose a penitent of such importance, he did not fail to exhort her to obey her husband's will; but the eyes of his reverence were opened at last, and the trick discovered, when he learned that the lady had chosen brother placidus as his successor. "after the grand chamberlain and his cunning spouse," continued the devil, "comes a more modest tomb, which has only recently received the ill-assorted remains of a president of the council of the indies and his young wife. this president, in his sixty-third year, married a girl of twenty: he had by a former wife two children, whom he was about to leave penniless, when a fit of apoplexy carried him off; and his wife died twenty-four hours after him from vexation at his not having lived three days longer. "and now we have arrived at the most respectable monument this church contains. for it every spaniard has as much veneration, as the romans had for the tomb of romulus." "of what great personage, then, does it contain the ashes?" asked leandro perez. "of a prime minister of spain," replied asmodeus; "and never did that monarchy possess his equal. the king left, with confidence, the cares of government to this great man; who so worthily acquitted himself of the charge, that monarch and subjects were equally contented. under his ministry the state was ever flourishing, and its people happy; for his maxims of government were founded on the sure principles of humanity and religion. still, although his life was blameless, he was not free from apprehension at his death,--the responsibility of his office might indeed make the best of mortals tremble. "in a corner, a little beyond the tomb of this worthy minister, you may discern a marble tablet placed against one of the columns. say! shall i open the sepulchre beneath it, and display before your eyes all that remains of a lowly maiden who perished in the flower of her youth, when her modest beauty won for her the love and admiration of all who beheld her? it has returned to its primeval dust, that fragile form, which in its life possessed so dangerous a beauty as to keep her fond parent in continual alarm, lest its bright temptation should expose her to the wiles of the seducer;--a misfortune which might have befallen had she lived much longer, for already was she the idol of three young cavaliers, who, inconsolable for her loss, died shortly afterwards by their own hands. their tragical history is engraven in letters of gold on the stone i shewed you, with three little figures which represent the despairing lovers in the act of self-destruction: one is draining a glass of poison; another is falling on his sword; and the third is tying a cord about his neck, having chosen to die by hanging." the demon finding that the student laughed with all his might at this sorrowful story, and that the idea of the three figures thus depicted on the maiden's monument amused him, said: "since you find food for mirth in the artist's imagination, i am almost in the mind to carry you this moment to the banks of the tagus, and there shew you a monument erected by the will of a dramatic author, in the church of a village near almaraz, whither he had retired, after having led a long and joyous life at madrid. this scribe had produced a vast number of comedies full of ribald wit and low obscenity; but repenting of his outrages upon decency ere he died, and desirous of expiating the scandal they had caused, he directed that they should carve upon his tomb a sort of pile, composed of books, bearing the names of the various pieces he had written, and that beside it they should place the image of modesty, who, with lighted torch, should be about to consign them to the flames. "besides the dead whose monuments i have described to you, there are within this church an infinity of others without a stone to mark the spot where their ashes repose. i see their shades wandering solemnly around: they glide along, passing and repassing one after another before us, without disturbing the profound quiet which reigns in this holy place. they speak not; but i read in their silence all their thoughts." "i am annoyed without measure," exclaimed don cleophas, "that i cannot, like you, have the pleasure of beholding them!" "that pleasure i can give you then," replied asmodeus; "nothing is more easy." the demon just touched the student's eyes, and by a delusion caused him to perceive a great number of pallid spectres. [illustration: the sculpture of modesty burning the books] as he looked on these apparitions, zambullo trembled. "what!" said the devil to him, "you are agitated! is it with fear of these ghostly visitants? let not their ghastly apparel alarm you! look at it well! it will adorn your own majestic person some of these days. it is the uniform of the shades: collect yourself, and fear nothing. is it possible your assurance can fail you now,--you, who have had the daring to look on me? these gentry are harmless compared with myself." the student, at these words, recalling his wonted courage, looked on the phantoms with tranquillity; which the demon perceiving: "bravo!" said he. "well! now," he continued, "regard these shadows with attention! you will perceive that the occupant of the stately mausoleum is confounded with the inhabitant of the unstoned grave. the ranks by which they were distinguished in their lives died with them; and the grand chamberlain and the prime minister are no more now than the lowliest citizen that moulders in this church. the greatness of these noble shades ended with their days, as that of the strutting hero of a tragedy falls with the curtain." "i have a remark to make," interrupted leandro. "i see a lonely spirit hovering about, and seeming to shun all contact with his fellows." "rather say," replied the demon, "and you will speak the truth, that his fellows shun all company with him: and what now think you is that poor ghost? he was an old notary, who had the vanity to be buried in a leaden coffin; which has so offended the self-love of the more humble tenants of the surrounding tombs, that they resolved to black-ball him, and will not therefore permit his shade to mix with theirs." "i have another observation yet to make," resumed don cleophas. "two shadows, just now, on meeting, stopped for a moment to look upon each other, and then passed each on his way." "they are, or rather were, two intimate friends," replied the devil; "one was a painter, and the other a musician: they both drew their inspiration from the bottle; but were, otherwise, honest fellows enough. it is worthy of note that they both brushed off in the same year; and when their spirits meet, struck by the remembrance of their former delights, they say to each other by their sorrowful but expressive silence: 'ah! my friend, we shall drink no more.'" "grammercy!" cried the student, "what do i see. at the other end of the church are two spirits, who are passing along together, but badly matched. their forms and manners are immensely different: one is of enormous height, and moves with corresponding gravity, while the other is of dwarf-like stature, and passes o'er the ground like a breath." "the giant," replied the cripple, "was a german, who lost his life in a debauch, by drinking three healths with tobacco mixed inadvertently in his wine; and the little ghost is that of a parisian, who, with the gallantry belonging to his countrymen, was imprudent enough, on entering this very church, to present the holy water to a young lady who was leaving it: as a reward for his politeness, he was saluted on the same day with the contents of a carbine, which left him here a moral for all too attentive frenchmen. "for myself," continued asmodeus, "i have been looking at three spirits which i discerned among the crowd; and i must tell you by what means they were separated from their earthly companions. they animated the charming forms of as many female performers, who made as much noise at madrid, in their time, as did origo, cytheris and arbuscula, in theirs, at rome; and, like their said prototypes, they possessed the exquisite art of amusing mankind in public, and of privately ruining the same amiable animal. but, alas! all things must have an end, and these were the finales of those celebrated ladies: one died suddenly of envy, at an apopletic fit of applause, from the pit, which fell upon a lovely first-night; another found in excessive good cheer, at home, the infallible drop which follows it; and, the third, undertaking the dangerous character, for an actress, of a vestal, became so excited with her part that she died of a miscarriage behind the scenes. "but we will leave to their reposes(!) all these shades," again continued the demon; "we have passed them sufficiently in review. i will now present to your sight a spectacle which, as a man, must impress you with a deeper feeling than the sight of the dead. i am about, by the same power which has rendered the shades of the departed visible to your sight, to present to you the vision of death himself. yes! you shall behold that insatiable enemy of the human race, who prowls unceasingly in the haunts of man, unperceived by his victims; who surrounds the earth, in his speed, in the twinkling of an eye; and who strikes by his power, its most distant inhabitants at the same moment. "look towards the east! he rises on your sight. a million birds of baneful omen fly before his advent in terror, and announce his presence with funereal cries. his tireless hand is armed with the fatal scythe which mows successive generations as they spring from earth. but if, as mocking at humanity, on one wing is depicted war, pestilence, famine, shipwreck, conflagration, with other direful modes by which he sweeps upon his prey, the other shows the priests who offer to him daily hecatombs in sport; as youthful doctors, who receive from himself their diplomas, after swearing, in his presence, never to practise surgery or medicine contrary to the rules of the courts." although don cleophas suspected that all he saw was an illusion, and that it was merely to gratify his taste for the marvellous that the devil raised this form of death before his eyes, he could not look on it without trembling. he assumed, however, all the courage he was possessed of, and said to the demon: "this fearful spectre will not, i suppose, pass vainly over madrid: he will doubtless leave some awful traces of his flight?" "yes! certainly," replied the cripple; "he comes not here for nothing; and it depends but on yourself to be the witness of his visitation." "i take you at your word," exclaimed the student; "let us follow in his train; let me visit with him the unhappy families on whom he will expend his present wrath. what tears are about to flow!" "beyond a doubt," replied asmodeus; "but many which come at convenience. death, despite his horrors, causes at least as much joy as grief." [illustration: death flies over the poor man's bed] our two spectators took their flight, and followed the grim monarch in his progress. he entered first a modest house, whose owner lay in helpless sickness on his bed; the autocrat but touched the poor man with his scythe, and he expired in the midst of his weeping relations, who instantly commenced an affecting concert of cries and lamentions. "there is no mockery here," said the demon: "the wife and children of this worthy citizen loved him with real affection: besides, they depended on him for their bread; and the belly is rarely a hypocrite. "not so, however, is it in the next house, in which you perceive his grisly majesty now occupied in releasing a bed-ridden old gentleman from his pains. he is an aged counsellor who, having always lived a bachelor of law, has passed his life as badly as he could, that he might leave behind him a good round sum for the benefit of his three nephews, who have flocked round his bed on hearing that he is about to quit it, at last. they of course displayed an extreme affliction, and very well they did it; but are now, you see, letting fall the mask, and are preparing to do their duties as heirs, after having performed their parts as relations. how they will rummage the old gentleman's effects! what heaps of gold and silver will they discover! 'how delightful!' said one of these heart-broken descendants to another, this moment,--'how delightful is it for nephews to be blessed with avaricious old uncles, who renounce the pleasures of life for their sakes!'" "a superb funeral oration," said leandro perez. "oh! as to that," replied the devil, "the majority of wealthy parents, who live to a good old age, ought not to expect a better from their own children. "while these heritors are joyfully seeking the treasures of the deceased, death is directing his flight to a large house, in which resides a young nobleman who has the small-pox. this noble, one of the brightest ornaments of the court, is about to perish, just as his star is rising, despite the famed physician who attends him,--or rather because he is attended by this learned doctor. [illustration: death approaches the pious monk] "but see! with what rapidity does the fatal scythe perform its operations. already has it completed the destiny of the youthful lord, and its unblunted edge is turned elsewhere. it hovers over yonder convent; it darts into its deepest cell, sweeps over a pious monk, and cuts the thread of the penitent and mortifying life that he has led during forty years. death, all-fearful as he is, had no terrors for this holy man; so, in revenge, he seeks a mansion where his presence will be unwelcome indeed. he flies towards a licentiate of importance, who has only recently been appointed to the bishopric of albarazin. this prelate is busily occupied with preparations for repairing to his diocese with all the pomp which in our day accompanies the princes of the church. nevertheless, he is about to take his departure for the other world, where he will arrive with as few followers as the poor monk; and i am not sure that he will be quite as favourably received." "oh heavens!" cried zambullo; "death stoops upon the palace of the king. alas! one stroke of his fatal scythe, and ail spain will be plunged in dreadful consternation." "well may you tremble," said the cripple; "for the barbarian has no more respect for kings than for their meanest slaves. but be not alarmed," he added, a moment afterwards, "he aims not at the monarch yet; his business now is with a courtier only, one of those noble lords whose only occupation is to swell his master's train: such ministers as these are not exactly those the state can least afford to lose." "but it would seem," replied the student, "that the spectre king is not contented with so mean a prize as the parasite you speak of. see! he hovers still about the royal house; and, this time, near the chamber of the queen." "just so," replied the devil, "and he might be worse employed: he is about to cut the windpipe of an amiable dame who delights to sow divisions in her sovereign's court; and who is now mortally chagrined, because two ladies whom she had cleverly set by the ears, have been unreasonable enough to become sincerely reconciled with each other. [illustration: the grieving wife tears her hair] "and now, my master, you will hear cries of real affliction," continued the demon. "death enters that splendid mansion to the left; and a scene as touching as the world's stage offers is about to be acted there. look, if you can, on the heart-rending tragedy." "in truth," said don cleophas, "i perceive a lady struggling in the arms of her attendants, and tearing her hair with signs of deepest grief. tell me its cause!" "look in the room adjoining, and you will see cause enough," replied the devil. "you observe the man stretched on that stately couch: it is her dying husband,--to her a loss indeed! their story is affecting, and deserves to be written:--i have a great mind to relate it to you." "you will give me great pleasure in so doing," interrupted leandro: "the sorrows of this world do not move less than its vices and follies amuse me." "it is rather long," resumed asmodeus, "but it is too interesting to annoy you on that account. besides, i will confess to you, that, all demon as i am, i am sick of following the track of death: let us leave him in his search of newer victims." "with all my heart," replied zambullo: "i am more curious to hear your promised narrative of suffering humanity, than to see my fellow-mortals, one after another, hurried into eternity." the cripple then commenced as follows, after having transported the student on to the roof of one of the highest houses in the strada d'alcala. chapter xiii. the force of friendship. a young cavalier of toledo, accompanied by his valet-de-chambre, was journeying with all possible speed from the place of his birth, in order to avoid the consequences of a tragical adventure in which he had unfortunately been engaged. he was about two leagues from the town of valencia, when, at the entrance of a wood, he fell in with a lady who was alighting hastily from a carriage. no veil obscured her charms, which were more than enough to dazzle a youthful beholder; and, as the lovely damsel appeared in trouble, it is not to be wondered that the cavalier, imagining that she sought assistance, offered her his protection and his services. "generous unknown," said the lady, "i will not refuse your proffered aid: heaven, it would seem, has sent you here to avert a dreadful misfortune. two cavaliers have met to fight within this wood;--i this moment saw them enter. hasten with me, i entreat you, and assist me to prevent their fatal design." as she spoke, she plunged into the forest, and the toledan, throwing his horse's rein to his attendant, followed her as quickly as he was able. they had not gone a hundred yards before they heard the clashing of arms, and almost immediately discovered the two gentlemen, who were thrusting at each other with becoming fury. the toledan drew his sword but to separate theirs; and by its assistance, and by entreaties uttered in exclamations, he managed to suspend their pastime, while he inquired the subject of their difference. "brave cavalier," said one of the combatants, "you see in me, don fabricio de mendoza, and in my opponent, don alvaro ponza. we both love donna theodora, the lady by whom you are accompanied; but we love to little purpose, for, despite our endeavours to win her affections, she treats our attentions with disdain. for myself, i should have been contented to worship an unwilling deity; but my rival, instead of acting with as much wisdom, has resolved to have the shrine to himself, and so has brought me here." "it is true," interrupted don alvaro, "that i have so determined; and it is because i believe that, my rival away, donna theodora might deign to listen to my vows. i seek then the life of don fabricio, to rid myself of a man who stands in the way of my happiness." "signor cavalier," said the toledan, "i cannot approve of your reasons for duelling; besides that, you are injuring the lady who is the object of your strife. you must be aware that it will soon be known that you have been fighting for her; and the honour of your mistress should surely be dearer to you than happiness or life itself. and what, too, can he who may be successful expect to gain by his victory? can he hope that, after having staked a lady's reputation on the quarrel, she will thank him for his folly? what madness! believe me, it were far better, that, acting as becomes the names you bear, you should control your jealous wrath. be men and pledge me your sacred words to bind yourselves by the terms i shall propose to you, and your quarrel may be adjusted without a deed of blood." [illustration: the toledan cavalier parts the duellists] "ah! but how?" cried don alvaro. "why," replied the toledan, "let the lady determine the question; let her choose between yourself and don fabricio; and let the slighted lover, instead of seeking to injure his more fortunate rival, leave the field at once." "agreed!" said don alvaro; "and i swear it by all that is sacred. let donna theodora decide between us. she may prefer, if she will, my rival to myself: this even would be less unbearable than the dread suspense in which i now exist." "and i," said don fabricio in his turn,--"i call heaven to witness, that if the divine object of my love declares not in my favour, i will fly from the sight of her perfections; and if i cannot forget them, i will at least behold them no more." on this the toledan, turning to donna theodora, said: "madam, it is for you now, by a single word, to disarm these two rivals for your love: you have only to name him whose constancy your favours would reward." "signor cavalier," replied the lady, "try some other means of reconciling them. why should i become the victim of their disagreement? i esteem, in all sincerity, both don fabricio and don alvaro; but i love neither: and it were surely unjust, that, to prevent the stain with which their disputes may sully my name, i should be compelled to excite hopes that my heart disavows." "it is too late to dissemble, madam," resumed the toledan; "you must now declare yourself. although these cavaliers are equally good-looking, i doubt not that you can discern more merit in one than in the other; and i am confirmed in that opinion by the alarm with which but now i saw you agitated." "you misinterpret that alarm," replied donna theodora. "the loss of either of these gentlemen would affect me beyond a doubt, and i should never cease to reproach myself with his death, although its innocent cause; but if i appeared to you greatly agitated, i can assure you that it was the peril to which my own honour was exposed that excited all my fear." the impetuous don alvaro ponza now lost all patience. "enough!" he exclaimed, with an air of fury; "since the lady refuses to end the matter peaceably, let the fate of arms decide;" and as he spoke, he raised his weapon against don fabricio, who on his part prepared to receive him. on this, the lady, more alarmed by the fury of don alvaro than decided by her own inclination, exclaimed wildly: "hold! noble cavaliers; i will do as you desire. since there is no other means of preventing a strife in which my reputation is involved, i declare in favour of don fabricio de mendoza." these words had no sooner escaped her lips, than the discarded ponza, without uttering a syllable, hastened to his horse, which he had fastened to a tree, released it, threw himself into the saddle, and disappeared, after casting one look of intense fury on his rival and implacable mistress. the fortunate mendoza, on the contrary, was in ecstasies; now humbling himself in his joy at the feet of donna theodora, and now embracing the toledan, unable to contain the satisfaction with which his heart was filled, or to find words to express his gratitude. in the meanwhile the lady, freed from the presence of the burning don alvaro, had become more tranquil; and it was with grief she reflected that she had engaged to permit the addresses of a lover, whom, while she truly esteemed his merit, her heart told her she could never love. [illustration: don fabricio at the feet of donna theodora] "signor don fabricio," she said to him, timidly, "i trust you will not abuse the preference i have just avowed for you; you owe it only to the necessity in which i found myself placed of declaring between yourself and don alvaro. i can say with truth that i have ever thought more highly of you than of him;--there are noble qualities that you possess of which alvaro cannot boast; i have always looked on you with justice as the most perfect cavalier valencia contains; i have even no hesitation in saying that the attentions of such a man would be flattering to the vanity of any woman; but, how honourable soever they might be to me, i feel bound to tell you that my heart is still untouched, and that it is with sorrow i behold in you an affection for myself so great as your every action displays. i will not, however, take from you all hope of winning my affections; my present indifference may arise from the effects of that grief which still fills my bosom for the loss of my late husband, don andrea de cifuentes, who died about a year ago. although we were not long united, and although he was advanced in years when my parents, dazzled by his riches, compelled me to espouse him, i was yet much afflicted by his loss, and the wound is still green which his death inflicted. "ah! was he not worthy of my regret?" she added. "he was indeed unlike those aged and jealous tyrants, who, unable to persuade themselves that a youthful wife can be virtuous enough to excuse their weakness, watch all her motions with suspicion, or place over her some hideous duenna as a spy. alas! he had in my honour a confidence of which a young and much-loved husband would be hardly capable. his kindness was unbounded, and his only study, to anticipate my every wish. you may suppose, then, mendoza, that such a man as don andrea de cifuentes is not easily forgotten. no! he is ever present in my thoughts; and the fond recollection of his amiability and love for me may excuse my indifference for objects which might otherwise attract me." "ah! madam," exclaimed don fabricio, interrupting donna theodora, "how great is my delight to learn from those lovely lips that it is from no dislike for myself that you have slighted all my cares! i can still then hope that the day will come when my constancy may be rewarded." "it will not be my fault if that do not happen," replied the lady, "since i consent that you should visit me, and will not forbid you to speak to me of love. you shall strive, then, to win me to the world and to yourself by your attentions; and i promise to conceal not from you any favourable impression you may make: but if, mendoza, despite your efforts, my heart refuses to be happy, remember that i give you no right to reproach me." don fabricio was about to reply; but the lady, placing her hand in that of the toledan, turned away, and hastened towards her carriage. he therefore unbound his horse, and leading it through the thicket by the bridle, followed his mistress, and arrived just in time to see her enter the vehicle, which she did with as much agitation as she had left it, although arising from a very different cause. the toledan and himself accompanied donna theodora to the gate of valencia, where they separated,--she taking the road to her own house, and don fabricio taking the toledan with him to his. after a slight repose, mendoza entertained the stranger with a sumptuous repast, and in the course of conversation asked him what had brought him to valencia, and whether he proposed to stay there for any time. "for as short a time as possible," replied the toledan; "i am here only on my way to the sea, that i may embark in the first vessel that leaves the shores of spain. it matters little to me in what part of the world i go to end a life of unhappiness, except that the more distant from this fatal clime the better." "what do i hear?" exclaimed don fabricio with surprise. "what can have disgusted you with your native land, and caused you to look with hate on that which all men love so fondly?" "after what has occurred to me," replied the toledan, "my country is to me unbearable, and to leave it, for ever, my only desire." "ah! signor cavalier," cried mendoza, affected with compassion, "i am impatient to learn your misfortunes! if i cannot relieve them, i am at least disposed to share them. your appearance from the first prepossessed me in your favour, your bearing and manners charmed me, and already i feel deeply interested in your destiny." "you afford me, signor don fabricio," replied the toledan, "the greatest consolation i could receive; and in return for the kindness you are pleased to express for me, it delights me to be able to say, with truth, that on seeing you with don alvaro ponza my heart inclined towards yourself. a feeling, with which i never was inspired at the first sight of any one before, made me fear lest donna theodora should decide in favour of your rival; and it was with joy i heard her state her preference for you. since then, you have so gained upon that first impression, that, far from desiring to conceal my griefs, i seek with a sort of pleasure to unbosom them to you: learn then my misfortunes. "i was born in toledo, and my name is don juan de zarata. i lost my parents while almost in my infancy; so that at an early age i found myself in the enjoyment of a yearly income of four thousand ducats, which i inherited from them. as my hand was at my own disposal, and as i was rich enough to be able to bestow it where my heart should dictate, i married, early, a maiden of exquisite beauty; careless that she added nothing to my fortune, and that her rank was inferior to my own. i loved her, and i was happy; and that i might enjoy to the full the pleasure of possessing one so dear to me, i had not been long married before i sought with her a small estate which i possessed a few leagues from toledo. "we lived there, for some time, in unity and bliss; when it chanced that the duke de naxera, whose seat was in the neighbourhood, came one day, when he was hunting, to refresh himself at my house. he saw my wife, and unfortunately became enamoured of her. i suspected his passion from the first; and was not long before i was too certainly convinced of its existence by the eagerness with which he sought my friendship, that up to this time he had wholly neglected. his hunting parties were now never complete without me; he loaded me with presents, and still more with his offers of service. "i became alarmed by his evident design, and prepared for our return to toledo. heaven doubtless inspired me with this resolution; for, had i acted upon it, and thus taken from the duke his opportunities of seeing my wife, i should have avoided all the misfortunes which followed a contrary course. my confidence in her virtue, however, soon reassured me. it appeared to me impossible that a being whom i had raised from obscurity to her present position, from motives of affection alone, could be ungrateful enough to consent to my disgrace. alas! i little thought that ambition and vanity, two feelings common to every woman, were the greatest vices in the character of my wife. "no sooner, therefore, had the duke managed to inform her of his sentiments towards her, than she took credit to herself for so important a conquest. the attachment of a man approached by all the world with the titles of your grace and your highness tickled her pride, and filled her mind with the most absurd notions; so that she was indefinitely exalted in her own opinion, and thought the less of me. all that i had done for love of her, instead of exciting feelings of gratitude, now appeared but a contemptible offering to her charms, of which she no longer thought me worthy; and she seems not to have doubted that if the noble duke, who flattered her by his homage, had seen her before she had thrown herself away on me, he would have eagerly sought her hand. infatuated by these absurd notions, and seduced by some well-timed presents which flattered her vanity, she yielded to the secret assiduities of his grace. "although they corresponded frequently, i had not for some time the slightest suspicion of their communications; but, at last, my eyes were unfortunately opened to my disgrace. one day i returned from hunting somewhat earlier than usual, and went directly to the apartment of my wife, who expected nothing less than to see me. she had just received a letter from her paramour, and was at the moment preparing a reply. she could not disguise her emotion at my unexpected coming; and as i perceived on the table paper and ink, i trembled,--for the truth rushed on my mind with the speed of all unwelcome conclusions. i commanded her to show me what she was writing, which she refused; so that i was compelled to use violence in order to satisfy my jealous curiosity, and drew from her bosom, in spite of her resistance, a letter which was to the following effect:-- "'must i for ever languish in the despair of seeing thee again? hast thou then cruelty enough to call sweet hopes into my heart, and let the short-lived blisses perish from delay? don juan leaves thee daily for the chase, or to repair to toledo: would not love then snatch these happy opportunities with eager joy? think of the passion which consumes my life! pity me, lady! and remember that if the happiness is great we hope to share, the greater is the torment which bars us its possession.' [illustration: the toledan reads the duke's letter] "as i read this epistle, my blood boiled with fury. my hand sought the hilt of my stiletto, and my first inclination was to plunge it in the unfaithful breast of her who had betrayed me; but a moment's reflection told me that i should thus revenge but half my shame, and that another victim was demanded to appease my wrath. i therefore controlled myself, and, dissimulating as well as i was able, said to my wife: 'madam, you have done wrong in listening to the duke; the splendour of his rank should not have been sufficient to dazzle you. however, youth finds delight in the trappings of nobility; and i am willing to believe that your guilt extends no further, and that my honour is still in safe keeping with you. i forgive, then, your want of discretion; but it is on condition that you return to the paths of duty, and that henceforth, sensible to the affection which animates my bosom, you will think it enough to deserve it.' "i did not wait for a reply, but left the apartment; as much to give her an opportunity of collecting herself, as to seek that solitude in which alone my mind could free itself from the anger which inflamed me. if i did not regain my tranquillity, i at least affected an air of composure during that and the following day; and on the third, pretending to have business of importance which called me to toledo, i told my wife that i was obliged to leave her for some time, and that i did so in full confidence of her virtue and good conduct. "i set out; but, instead of going to toledo, as soon as night came to assist my project, i returned home secretly, and concealed myself in the room of a trusty servant, whence i could observe any one who entered the house. i had no doubt that the duke was informed of my absence, and that he would not fail to make the most of so desirable a circumstance. how i longed to surprise them together! i promised myself an ample vengeance. "nevertheless, i was deceived in my expectations. instead of remarking any preparations for the reception of an expected lover, i on the contrary perceived that the doors were scrupulously closed against everybody; and three days having passed without the appearance of the duke, or any of his people, i began to think that my wife had repented of her fault, and that she had broken off all connection with her seducer. "as this opinion took possession of my mind, my desire of revenge dissipated; until, at last, yielding to those emotions of affection for my wife which anger had only suspended, i hastened to her apartment, and, embracing her with transport, exclaimed: 'madam, i restore you my esteem and my love. i come to tell you that i have not been to toledo, but that i pretended to have gone there only to test your discretion. you can forgive this deception in a husband whose jealousy was not entirely without foundation. i feared lest your mind, seduced by too brilliant illusions, should be incapable of a return to virtue; but, thank heaven! you have seen your error, and i trust that our felicity may henceforth be unbroken.' "my wife appeared affected at these words, and, while tears fell from her eyes, exclaimed: 'unhappy have i been, to give you reason to suspect my fidelity! in vain do i detest myself for having so justly excited your anger against me! in vain is it that, since i saw you, my eyes have unceasingly o'erflowed with tears; my grief and my remorse are alike unavailing; i can never regain the confidence i have lost.' 'i restore it to you,' i replied, interrupting her, afflicted by the sorrow which she displayed--'i restore it to you; you have repented of the past; and i will, too gladly, forget it.' "i kept my word; and, from that moment, my love for her was as great and as confiding as ever. i began again to taste those joys which had been so cruelly interrupted; they came to me, indeed, with redoubled zest; for my wife, as though she had been anxious to efface from my recollection all traces of the injury she had done me, took greater pains to please me. i thought i found more warmth in her caresses; in short, i almost rejoiced at the event which had told me how much was still left for me to love. "shortly after our reconciliation i was seized with illness. although my ailment was not alarming, it is inconceivable how deeply it appeared to afflict my wife. all day she was by my side; and at night, as i was in a separate room, she never failed to visit me frequently, that she might convince herself of the progress of my recovery: her whole care appeared devoted to me, and all her anxiety to anticipate my every want; it seemed as though her whole life depended solely on mine. you may suppose that i was not insensible to all this show of tenderness, and i was never weary of expressing to her my gratitude for her attentions. however, signor mendoza, they were not so sincere as i imagined. "my health was beginning to improve, when, one night, my valet-de-chambre came to awaken me. 'signor,' said he, with emotion, 'i am sorry to disturb your repose; but i am too much interested in your honour to conceal from you what is at this moment passing beneath your roof. the duke of naxera is with my mistress.' "i was so astounded by this information, that i looked for some time at my servant without being able to speak; and the more i thought of what he told me, the more difficulty i found in believing it. 'no! fabio,' at last i said to him; 'no, it is impossible that my wife can be capable of such infamy! you must be mistaken.' 'signor,' replied fabio; 'would to heaven that i could think so! but my eyes are not easily deceived. ever since you have been ill, i have suspected that the duke was introduced almost nightly into my lady's apartment. this evening, i concealed myself, to confirm or dispel my suspicions; and i have but too good reason to know that they were not unfounded.' [illustration: fabio awakens his master] "i hesitated no longer; but arose, and putting on my dressing gown, armed myself with my sword, and went in a perfect phrenzy towards my wife's chamber, fabio following with a light. as we entered the room, the alarmed duke, who was sitting on the bed, rose, and taking a pistol from his girdle, aimed at me and fired; but thanks to his confusion, he missed me. i rushed on him, and in a moment thrust my sword into his heart. then turning to my wife, who was already more dead than alive: 'and you!' said i, 'infamous wretch, receive the reward of your perfidy.' and so saying, i plunged my sword, still reeking with the blood of her paramour, into her bosom. [illustration: the toledan prepares to kill his wife] "i am sensible of the crime my fury induced me to commit; and i acknowledge, signor don fabricio, that a faithless spouse may be sufficiently punished without taking her life; but where is the man who, under such excitement, could have preserved the cool temperament of the judge? picture to yourself this perfidious woman attending me in sickness; imagine if you can, all that display of affection which she lavished upon me; think of all the circumstances,--of the enormity of her deception, and then say if her death weighs heavily against a husband animated with rage, to whom all this comes suddenly as lightning from the cloud. "my tragical history is finished in a few words. my vengeance thus fully satiated, i dressed hastily, certain that i had no time to lose; for i knew well that the duke's relations would search for me in every corner of spain, and that, as the power of my own family would be but as a feather in the scale to turn their wrath, there was no safety for me but in a foreign country. i therefore chose two of my best horses, and taking with me all the jewels and money i possessed, i left my house before daybreak, followed by the servant of whose fidelity i had recently been so well assured, and took the road to valencia with the intention of sailing in the first vessel which should steer for italy. it thus happened that, passing yesterday near the wood in which you were, i met donna theodora, and, at her entreaty, followed to assist in separating yourself and don alvaro." when the toledan had ended this narrative, don fabricio said to him: "signor don juan, you have justly avenged yourself on the duke de naxera. be not alarmed as to anything his relations can do; you shall stay, if you please, with me, until an opportunity offers for your passage into italy. my uncle is governor of valencia; you will therefore be more secure from danger here than elsewhere, and you will remain with one who would be united with you henceforth in bonds of strictest friendship." zarata replied to mendoza in terms which expressed his grateful sense of the former's kindness, and at once accepted the proffered asylum. "and now it is, signor don cleophas," continued asmodeus, "that i shall exhibit to you the power of sympathy: such was the inclination which drew these two young cavaliers towards each other, that, in a few days, there existed between them a friendship not surpassed by that of orestes and pylades. with dispositions alike formed for virtue, they possessed a similarity of tastes which was certain to render that which pleased don fabricio equally agreeable to don juan--their characters were identical; in short, they were formed for each other. don fabricio, especially, was charmed with the deportment of his new friend; and lost no opportunity of endeavouring to exalt him in the estimation of the donna theodora. "this lady now received them frequently at her house; but, though her doors were open at the bidding of mendoza, her heart was still inaccessible to his attentions. mortified to find his love thus slighted, he could not forbear complaining of her indifference to his friend, who endeavoured to console him with the assurance that the most insensible of women might be won to feeling at the last, and that nothing was wanting to lovers but patience to await for the favourable moment: he bade him then to keep up his courage, and to hope that, sooner or later, his mistress would yield to his assiduity and affection. this advice, though philosophical enough, was insufficient to assure the timid mendoza, who began to despair of success with the widow of cifuentes; and the anxiety of suspense so preyed upon his spirits, that don juan could not behold him without feelings of compassion. alas! poor don juan was himself ere long more to be pitied than his friend. "whatever reason the toledan had to be disgusted with the sex, after the abominable treachery he had met with, he could not long look upon the donna theodora without loving her. far, however, from yielding to a passion which he felt to be an injury to mendoza, he struggled with all his might to vanquish it; and convinced that this was only to be accomplished by flying from the bright eyes which had kindled the flame, he wisely resolved to shun the lady who possessed them. consequently whenever don fabricio asked his company to his mistress's house, he managed to find some pretext to excuse himself from going with him. "on the other hand, mendoza never went to see the donna theodora, but she asked him why he no longer was accompanied by don juan. one day, when, for the hundredth time she put this question to her lover, the latter answered, smiling, that his friend had his reasons for absenting himself. 'and what reasons, then, can he have for flying me?' said donna theodora. 'why, madam,' replied mendoza; 'yesterday, when i pressed him, as usual, to come with me, and expressed some surprise at his refusal to do so, he confided to me a secret, which i must reveal in order to justify him in your eyes. he told me that he had formed a liaison in valencia; and, that as he had not long to stay in this town, every moment was precious to him.' "'i cannot exactly admit the validity of his excuse,' replied the widow of cifuentes, blushing; 'it is not permitted to lovers that they should abandon their friends.' don fabricio, who observed the colour which tinged the cheeks of the donna theodora, thought that self-love alone had caused the blush, and that, like all pretty women, she could not bear to be neglected, even by a person who was indifferent to her. he was, however, deceived. a deeper feeling than wounded vanity inspired the emotion she displayed. she loved: but for fear that mendoza should discover her sentiments, she changed the subject, and, during the conversation that followed, affected a gaiety which would have deceived him, had he not already deceived himself. "as soon as donna theodora was alone, she abandoned herself to reflection. then, for the first time, she felt all the strength of the attachment she had conceived for don juan; and, little thinking how deeply that feeling was shared by its object,--'oh love!' she cried: 'cruel and unjust art thou, who delightest to kindle passion in the hearts of those who care not for each other! i love not don fabricio, and he adores me; i languish for don juan, and his heart is possessed by another. ah! mendoza, reproach me not with my indifference for thee; thy friend has indeed avenged thee.' "as she spoke, grief filled her eyes with tears, and jealousy possessed her breast; but hope, who loves to soothe the sorrows of despairing lovers, took refuge in her mind, and filled it with bright images of joys to come. it suggested to her that her rival could not be very formidable, and that don juan was less the captive of her charms than the object of her favours, and that the ties which bound them could not therefore be difficult to break. she resolved, however, to judge for herself, and at once to see the toledan. with this view she sent word that she wished to speak with him: he came; and, when they were alone, she thus addressed him: "'i could never have believed that love could make a gallant man forgetful of his duties to a lady; nevertheless, don juan, since it has possessed you, you have become a stranger to my house. i think i have a right to upbraid you for this neglect; i am unwilling, however, to believe that you have yourself resolved to shun me, and will suppose that your mistress has forbidden your coming here. tell me, don juan, that it is so, and i will excuse you. i know a lover is not master of his will, and that he dares not disobey the woman to whom he has resigned it.' "'madam,' replied the toledan, 'i confess that my conduct may reasonably surprise you; but, in pity, ask me not to justify myself: content yourself with hearing from my lips that i shun you not without good cause.' 'whatever may be that cause,' interrupted donna theodora, visibly affected, 'i request you will not conceal it.' 'well, madam,' replied don juan, 'you shall be obeyed; but be not angry if you learn from me more than you would wish to know. "'don fabricio,' he continued, 'has doubtless related to you the adventure which compelled me to quit castile. in flying from toledo, my heart filled with hatred against womankind, i bade defiance to the sex ever to touch that heart again. with this disposition, i approached valencia; i met you, and, what perhaps none have ever sustained before, i met your eyes without yielding to their influence. i saw you again and again with impunity; but, alas! dearly i have paid for my pride of heart. you have conquered! your beauty, your mind,--all your charms were turned against a rebel to your sway; in a word, i feel for you now all the love that you were formed by nature to inspire. "'this, madam, is what has driven me from your sight. the mistress, to whom they told you i was devoted, exists but in the imagination of mendoza; and it was to prevent in him a suspicion of the truth, which my constant refusals to accompany him here might have engendered, that i conjured her into life.' "this confession, unexpected as it was by donna theodora, could not fail to fill her bosom with delight, nor could she conceal it from the toledan. it is true she took no great pains to do so, and that, instead of regarding him with indignation for his presumption, her eyes beamed with tenderness as she said: 'you have revealed to me your secret, don juan; it is fair that i should discover mine to you: listen! "'regardless of the overtures of alvaro ponza, and little affected by the addresses of mendoza, i lived in tranquil joy, when chance brought you to the wood where we met. agitated as i was by the scene which then was passing, i was nevertheless struck by the gentle and respectful manner in which you offered me your services; and the frankness and courage which you displayed in separating the two furious rivals for my love inspired me with the most favourable opinion of your character. the means by which you proposed to terminate their disputes, indeed, displeased me, and it was with repugnance that i resolved to choose between the combatants; but, i believe i must not disguise from you, that yourself in great part contributed to increase the difficulty of my decision. at the moment when, compelled by necessity, my tongue proclaimed the name of don fabricio, i felt that my heart had already declared in favour of the unknown. from that day, which, after what you have just avowed, i may call a happy one, your virtues have constantly augmented the esteem you then inspired. "'why should i affect to hide these feelings from you? i confess them with no greater candour than i told mendoza that i loved him not. a woman whose misfortune is to love a being whom she may not hope to wed, may bury in her heart the passion which consumes it; but when her bosom's lord is one who nourishes an equal tenderness for her, silence were weakness, and dissimulation shame. yes, i am indeed happy that your love is mine, and i render thanks to heaven which i trust has destined us for each other.' "having thus spoken, the lady waited for don juan's answer, and to give him an opportunity of expressing all the gratitude which she naturally thought the declaration she had made must inspire; but her lover, instead of appearing enchanted by the confession he had just listened to, remained sad and thoughtful. "'what means this silence?' she at length exclaimed. 'what! when for you, zarata, i forget my sex's pride; and, what another would have deemed a fate to envy, show you a heart all filled with love for you,--can you repel the bliss which such a heart bestows;--be coldly silent to its fond disclosure, and look with grief when all things promise joy? alas! don juan, my kindness for you has a strange effect, indeed.' "'and what other, madam, can it have upon a heart like mine?' replied the toledan, mournfully. 'the greater kindness you avow for me, the greater is the misery i suffer. you are not ignorant of all i owe to don fabricio; you know the tender friendship which unites us: can i then build my happiness upon the ruins of his dearest hopes?' 'you are too scrupulous,' resumed the donna theodora: 'i have promised to mendoza nothing. i can bestow my love, nor merit his reproaches; and you may well accept it, nor yet do him a wrong. i acknowledge that the sorrows of your friend may cause you some unhappiness; but, don juan, can that o'erbalance in your mind the destiny which waits you?' "'yes, madam,' replied the toledan, with respectful firmness; 'a friend like don fabricio has greater weight with me than you can well imagine. could you possibly conceive the tenderness, the strength of that feeling which binds us to each other, you would pity me indeed. mendoza has no secrets now with me; my interests have become his own; the slightest matter which concerns myself commands his strict regard: in a word, madam, i share his soul with you. "'ah! if you wished me to profit by your kindness, you should have disclosed it ere those ties were formed which bind me now to him. delighted to have won your affections, i should then have seen in don fabricio but a rival; and my heart, steeled against the friendship which he offered to me, would have escaped its bonds; i should then have been free from all obligation towards him: but, madam, it is now too late. i have received all the services it was in his power to render me; i have indulged all the feelings which those services induced; gratitude and esteem now unite to reduce me to the cruel necessity of renouncing the inestimable prize you present for my acceptance.' "while the toledan was speaking thus, tears fell fast from the eyes of donna theodora; and, as he concluded, she hid her face in her handkerchief to conceal her distress. don juan was of course affected; his constancy began to evaporate, and he felt that his stay was dangerous. 'adieu, madam,' he continued, while sighs impeded his utterance,--'adieu! i must fly to preserve my honour; your tears overcome me--all else i could withstand. i leave you for ever; and go, far hence, to deplore the loss of that happiness which my friendship for don fabricio inexorably demands as a sacrifice.' and as he finished, he hastily retired, with as much resolution as just enabled him to do so. [illustration: the toledan bids farewell to donna theodora] "after his departure, the widow of cifuentes was distracted by a thousand conflicting emotions. she felt ashamed at having declared her love to a man whom its bright temptation had not won; but, unable to doubt his affection for her person, and assured that his refusal of her hand originated in no other feeling than an unexampled constancy for his friend, she was sufficiently reasonable to admire so rare an instance of virtue. nevertheless, as it is in the nature of men, and more particularly in the nature of women, to feel annoyed when all things do not happen as they wish, she resolved to go into the country on the morrow, in order to dissipate her grief, or rather to augment it; for solitude is nurse to love, and strengthens the young passion while he strives to hush its cries. "meanwhile, don juan, not finding mendoza on his return, shut himself in his own apartment, and gave way to the affliction he had restrained during his interview with donna theodora; for, after what he had sacrificed to friendship, he felt himself at liberty to indulge in grief for its loss. it was not long, however, before mendoza came to break on his retirement, and judging by his friend's appearance that he was ill, he displayed so much uneasiness that don juan was obliged to plead a want of rest, in order to account for his altered looks. mendoza left him to repose; but he went out with so much grief depicted on his countenance, that the toledan was still more afflicted by his sympathy. 'oh heaven!' he exclaimed, 'why is it that the most tender friendship should bring to me nothing but misfortune?' "on the following day, don fabricio was yet in bed, when they came to inform him that donna theodora had set out, with all her establishment, for her seat at villareal, and that it was unlikely she would shortly return to valencia. this information caused him less inquietude on account of his severance from the object of his devotion, than because a mystery had been made to him of her departure. without being able to determine on its cause, a gloomy presentiment pervaded his mind as to its effect on his happiness. "he instantly arose, that he might seek his friend, as much to converse with him on the subject which occupied his mind, as to inquire the state of zarata's health; but, before he had completed his toilet, don juan entered his room, saying: 'i come to dissipate whatever apprehension you may entertain for me; i feel myself again restored to health.' 'the good news you tell me,' replied mendoza, 'consoles me somewhat for the unwelcome intelligence i have just received.' 'ah! what is that?' asked the toledan anxiously. 'why,' replied don fabricio, after having dismissed his attendants, 'donna theodora has gone this morning into the country, where they expect she will remain for some time. this sudden resolution astonishes me. why has it been concealed? what think you, don juan? have i not cause to be alarmed?' "zarata took good care not to communicate his real thoughts upon the subject, but endeavoured to persuade mendoza that donna theodora might change her residence without giving him any reason for alarm. don fabricio, however, unconvinced by the arguments of his friend, interrupted him, saying: 'that is all very well, zarata; but you cannot remove my fears of having imprudently done or said something which has displeased the donna theodora; and it is to punish my indiscretion that she leaves me without deigning even to inform me of my fault. "'i will not, however, remain in uncertainty. let us hasten, don juan, to follow her; i will at once order our horses.' 'i would advise you,' said the toledan, 'to seek her alone; if it be as you think, witnesses are worse than needless.' 'don juan cannot be unwelcome,' replied mendoza; 'donna theodora is aware that you know all that passes in my heart: she esteems you; and far from being in my way, you will assist me to appease her anger against me.' "'no, no, fabricio,' replied the toledan, 'my presence will avail you nothing. take my advice, and go alone, i conjure you!' 'again no, my dear don juan,' interrupted mendoza, 'we will go together; i expect this kindness of your friendship.' 'what tyranny! exclaimed the toledan, with evident vexation; 'why ask you of my friendship what that very feeling should deny you most?' "these words, which don fabricio could not comprehend, and the tone in which they were uttered, surprised him greatly. he looked at his friend for some time without speaking. at last, he said to him gravely: 'don juan, what mean you? what horrible suspicion breaks upon my mind? ah! it is too much, to wound me by your terrible constraint! speak! whence arises this unwillingness to accompany me to donna theodora?' "'i would have concealed it from you,' replied the toledan, 'but, since you compel me to disclose the truth, i will dissimulate no longer. let us, my dear mendoza, no more rejoice in the similarity of our dispositions; it is but too perfect: the shafts which wounded you, have neither spared your friend. donna theodora----' 'what! you my rival?' interrupted don fabricio, turning pale as death. 'from the instant that my love for the widow of cifuentes became apparent to myself,' replied don juan, 'i strove to stifle the passion. i have, as you know, sedulously avoided her sight: i at least triumphed over my feelings, if i could not destroy them. "'yesterday, however, donna theodora sent word that she desired to see me. i went to her; when she asked me why i seemed to shun her. i endeavoured to excuse myself as well as i was able; but, as my excuses did not satisfy her, i was compelled at last to avow the real cause of my absence. i imagined that, after this declaration, she would have approved the motives of my apparent neglect; but my unlucky star had decreed--shall i tell you? yes, mendoza, it is useless attempting to deceive you,--i found theodora disposed to favour my love.' "although don fabricio was one of the mildest and most reasonable of men, yet, at this confession, he was seized with a fury beyond his control; and, again interrupting his friend, he exclaimed: 'hold! don juan, plunge at once your dagger in my breast; but continue not this fatal recital. what! not contented with avowing your passion for her whom i adore, must you tell me too that your love is returned? by heaven! this is a strange confidence you dare to venture on with me. you put our friendship to a test indeed. but what say i! our friendship? you have broken it, in nourishing the traitorous feelings you have just imparted. "'oh! how have i been deceived! i thought you generous even to excess, and find you basely false; stooping to win the heart of her whose love were insult to your friend. this is indeed an unexpected blow; and falls with double weight since coming from the hand ...' 'do me more justice,' in his turn interrupted the toledan; 'reflect with patience ere you speak: i am not the traitor which you deem me. hear me. you will repent the injuries you heap upon your friend.' "don juan then related all that had passed between the widow of cifuentes and himself, the tender confession she had made to him of love, and all the arguments she used to win him to indulge his own. he repeated to him then his firm reply; and, as he spoke of the determination he displayed, the wrath of don fabricio yielded by degrees. 'in short,' added don juan, 'friendship conquered love; and i rejected that of donna theodora, despite her tears. but, gods, those tears! what trouble filled my soul at sight of them! i cannot recollect them now without trembling at the danger i encountered. i began to feel myself relent; and, for a few moments, mendoza, my heart indeed betrayed you. i did not, however, yield to my weakness, but escaped those dangerous tears by hasty flight. still it is not enough to have gone safely through the past,--the future must be feared. i shall therefore hasten my departure from valencia; i will no more behold the lovely theodora. and now, will don fabricio accuse his friend of ingratitude and perfidy?' "'no!' replied mendoza, embracing the toledan; 'my eyes are opened, and i find him faithful as my heart could wish. pardon those unjust reproaches to a jealous lover, who in a moment finds himself deprived of all his hopes. alas! should i have expected that the donna theodora could have long beheld you, and have failed to love?--that she could resist the influence of those attractions which at once so drew you to myself? no! and i embrace my friend again. i attribute my misfortunes but to destiny; and, far from feeling hatred to yourself, my affection is increased by your noble conduct. what! can you renounce for me possession of the lovely theodora,--can you yield for friendship's sake so great a prize, and shall i be insensible of the sacrifice? can you conquer the passion which consumes you, and shall i make no endeavour so to vanquish mine? no! i will not be outdone in generosity of soul. obey, don juan, the dictate of your heart; espouse the object of our mutual affections; my heart may groan in secret if it will; be it so! mendoza intreats you to consult your own.' "'in vain do you intreat me,' replied zarata: 'i love her but too dearly, as i have told you; but, mendoza, your happiness shall never be the price of mine.' 'and the happiness of donna theodora,' said don fabricio, 'shall that then count for nothing? let not false delicacy weigh with us now: her passion for yourself has ended all my hopes. what though, for me, you shunned those fatal eyes, to lead in distant lands a life of woe,--what would it serve me now? she loves me not, and never will; heaven reserved that bliss for you alone. from the moment that she saw you, her heart declared for you; nature prompted the emotion: in a word, you alone can render her happy. receive then the heart she offers with her hand; crown her desires and your own; leave me to my fate; and make not three persons miserable, when the wretchedness of one alone is all that destiny requires.'" asmodeus was here obliged to suspend his narration, and listen to the student, who said to him: "well, all that you tell me is sufficiently surprising; but are there really such amiable people upon earth? i never met within this nether world but friends who strive, not for such mistresses as you depict the donna theodora, but for the arrantest coquettes. what! a lover to renounce the being he adores, by whom his love is shared, and all lest he should render some poor friend unhappy? that may do well for some romancer's pen, which fain would picture men the creatures they should be, for fear of telling them the things they are." "i own, with you," asmodeus replied, "the virtue that i tell you of is rare; but still, my dear cleophas, it exists; not in romances only, but in the principles of man's own nature. it is true that, since the deluge, i have seen but two examples of the like, and this is one; but, let us return to our history. "the two friends continued still their amicable strife, and, as each was still unwilling to yield the palm of generosity to the other, their amorous sentiments remained suspended, during several days. they ceased to talk of donna theodora, each seemed afraid to breathe her very name; but, while friendship triumphed over love in the city of valencia, love, as though he would revenge the insult offered to his power, reigned with tyranny without its walls, and was there obeyed without scruple. "donna theodora was all this time in the solitude of villareal, which was not far distant from the sea. there, abandoning herself to her passion for don juan, she dreamt of its reward; and nuptial visions floated in her mind, despite the friendship the toledan had recently displayed for don fabricio, his too much loved rival. "one day, while the glorious splendour of the setting sun chained her to the margin of its bed, she perceived a boat which made towards the shore. as it approached, she saw that it contained seven or eight men, whose aspect was far from prepossessing; and as they came still nearer, she observed that their faces were covered with masks, and that they were armed. "trembling with fear, for it was not easy to divine any good object for this unlooked-for descent, she turned hastily towards her home. looking from time to time behind her as she fled, she saw them land; and, as they instantly appeared to be endeavouring to overtake her, she began to run with all her might. but as she was not as swift of foot as atalanta, and as the masks were light and fleet, they came up with her, just as she had reached the entrance of her grounds, and seized her. [illustration: donna theodora carried off by the masked men] "the shrieks of the donna theodora, and a girl who accompanied her, were loud enough however to attract the attention of some servants without the house; and these giving the alarm to those within, the whole establishment, to a man, turned out armed with clubs and pitchforks. but in the meantime, two of the most robust among the masqueraders had taken the lady and her damsel in their arms, and bore them towards the boat, while the remainder remained to give battle to the domestics, who, albeit not paid for fighting, did their utmost. the combat was long, but swords carried the day against pitchforks, and the gentlemen in dominoes were fast regaining the vessel to join their prize. it was time indeed they did so; for ere their embarkation was completed, four or five cavaliers were to be distinguished on the road from valencia, riding at their topmost speed, and apparently anxious to be in time for the rescue of the donna theodora. the ravishers saw them; and made such good haste to get out to sea, that the cavaliers arrived too late to attain the accomplishment of their object. [illustration: the masked men rowing away] "these cavaliers were don fabricio and don juan. mendoza had received a letter, only a few hours before, informing him, on good authority, that don alvaro was in the island of majorca; that he had equipped a sort of sloop, and that with some twenty scoundrels who had nothing to lose, he intended to carry off the widow of cifuentes on the first occasion of her visiting her seat at villareal. on this, the toledan and himself, with their personal attendants, had set out immediately from valencia, in order to inform donna theodora of the projected attempt. they had, unfortunately, arrived just in time to discern on the sea-shore a number of persons who appeared to be engaged in mortal strife; and, suspecting that it might be as they feared, had hastened with all expedition to oppose the infamous design of don alvaro. but, with all their haste, they arrived but to witness the abduction they had especially come to prevent. "in the meanwhile, alvaro ponza, joyful at his success, was hurrying from the coast with his prey, and was observed to join a small armed vessel which was awaiting him in the distance. words cannot convey an idea of the grief of the two friends; the air rang with imprecations against don alvaro: their grief and rage, however, were alike unavailing. the domestics of the donna theodora, excited by so laudable an example, were not sparing of their lamentations; the shore resounded with cries: fury, desolation, and despair reigned where all before had been tranquil joy, or the sweet grief of love. the rape of the beauteous helen herself did not excite at the court of sparta an equal consternation." chapter xiv. the squabble between the tragic poet and the comic author. leandro perez, at this point of the narrative, could not help again interrupting the devil: "signor asmodeus," said he, "i really cannot control my curiosity to know the meaning of something which attracts my attention, in spite of the pleasure i receive in listening to you. i see, in a room near us, two men fighting in their shirts, and several others in their dressing-gowns who are hastening to part them: tell me, i pray you, what it is all about." the demon, ever ready to please the student, without further pressing replied as follows: "the persons whom you behold in their shirts, or so much of them as is left in the struggle, are two french authors; and the mediators in the strife are two germans, a fleming, and an italian. they all lodge in that same house, which is a sort of lodging-house devoted exclusively to foreigners. one of these authors writes tragedies, and the other comedies. the former, disgusted for some reason or other with his own country, has come to spain; and the latter also, discontented with his prospects in paris, has performed the same journey, in the hope of finding in madrid a better fortune. "the tragic poet is vain and presumptuous, having obtained, despite the opinions of those whose breath should be fame, a tolerable reputation in his own country. to keep his pegasus in wind, he rides it daily; and not being able to sleep this night, he commenced a piece, the subject of which is taken from the iliad. he has finished one scene; and as his smallest fault is that, so common to his brethren, of cramming into other people's throats the trash which he has ejected, he rose from his table, where he was writing in his shirt, took a candle, and, as he was, went to rouse the comic author, who, making a better use of his time, was sleeping profoundly. "the latter, awakened by the noise made at his door, went to open it to the other, who, with the air of one possessed, entered the room exclaiming: 'down on your knees, my friend; down, and worship a genius whom melpomene inspires. i have given birth to poetry--: but, what do i say?--i have done it! apollo himself dictated the verses to me. were i at paris, i should go from house to house to read the precious lines; i only wait for day that i may charm with them our talented ambassador, and every other frenchman who has the luck to be within madrid; but, before i shew them to a soul, i come to recite them to you.' [illustration: the tragic poet at the comic author's door] "'i am much obliged by the preference,' replied the comic author, yawning with all his might; 'it is rather unlucky though, that you did not choose a better time. i went to bed extremely late,--can hardly keep my eyes unclosed,--and i will not answer for hearing all the verses you have to read to me, without tumbling to sleep again.' 'oh! i will answer for that myself,' interrupted the tragic poet. 'were you dead, the scene that i have just composed would recall you to life again. in my writings, there are none of your namby-pamby sentiments,--none of your common-place expressions, sustained alone by rhyme: masculine thoughts, and easy versification, move the heart and strike upon the mind. i am none of those wretched poetasters, whose pitiable creations glide upon the stage like shadows, and like them depart;--which go to utica to amuse the africans. my compositions, worthy to be consecrated with my statue in the library of apollo palatinus, draw crowds after thirty representations. but come,' added this modest poet, 'you shall hear the verses of which i wish to offer you the first incense. [illustration: phoenix assists achilles's captives] "'this is my tragedy, the death of patroclus. scene the first, brisëis and the other captives of achilles appear. they tear their hair and beat their breasts, to express the grief with which they are filled by the death of patroclus. unable even to support themselves, utterly prostrated by despair, they fall upon the stage. this, you will say, is a little daring; but that is exactly what i aim at. let the small fry who swim in the waters of helicon keep within the narrow bounds of imitation, without daring to o'erleap them; it is well, there is prudence in their timidity: but for me, i love invention; and i hold that, to move and overcome your spectators, you must present to their minds images which they could never have expected. "'the captives, then, are lying on the earth. phoenix, governor of achilles, is with them. he assists them to rise, one after another; and, having placed them on their feet, he commences the argument of the drama in these lines:-- hector shall fall; and troy itself be spread in ruins, to avenge patroclus dead. proud agamemnon, camelus the grave, nestor the wise, and eumelus the brave, leontes, skilled to hurl the spear along, smooth-tongued ulysses, diomed the strong, arm with achilles. lo! that hero drives tow'rds ilium's gates--appalling ilium's wives-- his steeds immortal, urged across the plain so swift, the eye toils after them with pain. but still he cries: dear xanthus, balius, fly! and when around ten thousand corses lie, when pallid trojans scamper off like fillies, regain your camp, but not without achilles. xanthus replies, bowing his head: you may be sure, achilles, we'll your will obey; but, while our pace with your impatience strives, know that to you the fatal hour arrives-- the ox-eyed juno thus the steed enlightening,-- and now the car moves with a speed quite frightening. the greeks, beholding, utter cries of joy, so loud, they shake the very walls of troy. achilles, armed by vulcan for the war, appears more brilliant than the morning star; or like the sun, when, in its bright career, it bursts on earth, dispelling night and fear; or brilliant as the fires on mountains lighted, to guide poor swains, bewilder'd or benighted.[ ] [ ] priam va perdre hector et sa superbe ville; les grecs veulent venger le compagnon d'achille, le fier agamemnon, le divin camélus, nestor, pareil aux dieux, le vaillant eumélus, léonte, de la pique adroit à l'exercice, le nerveux diomède, et l'éloquent ulysse. achille s'y prépare, et déjà ce héros pousse vers ilium ses immortels chevaux; pour arriver plus tôt où sa fureur l'entraîne, quoique l'oeil qui les voit ne les suive qu'à peine, il leur dit: chers xanthus, balius, avancez; et lorsque vous serez du carnage lassés, quand les troyens fuyant rentreront dans leur ville, regagnez notre camp, mais non pas sans achille. xanthus baisse la tête, et répond par ces mots: achille, vous serez content de vos chevaux, ils vont aller au gré de votre impatience; mais de votre trépas l'instant fatal s'avance. junon aux yeux de boeuf ainsi le fait parler, et d'achille aussitôt le char semble voler. les grecs, en le voynt, de mille cris de joie soudain font retentir le rivage de troie. ce prince, revêtu des armes de vulcain, paraît plus éclatant que l'astre du matin, ou tel que le soleil, commençant sa carrière, s'élève pour donner au monde la lumière; ou brillant comme un feu que les villageois font pendant l'obscure nuit sur le sommet du mont. "'i stop,' continued the tragic poet, 'to let you breathe a moment; for if i were to recite to you the whole of my scene at once, the beauty of my versification, and the great number of brilliant passages and sublime ideas that it contains, would smother you to a certainty. but remark the aptness of this comparison,-- or brilliant as the fires on mountains lighted, to guide poor swains bewilder'd or benighted. "'it is not all the world who could appreciate that; but you, who have mind, and a clearness of perception,--you must be enchanted with it.' 'i am so, doubtless,' replied the comic author, smiling contemptuously; 'nothing can be more beautiful; and i am persuaded you will not fail to describe, in your tragedy, the care taken by thetis to drive away the trojan flies which approach the body of patroclus.' 'you may spare your jests as to that,' replied the tragic poet;--'an author who has talent may venture everything. the very incident you mention is perhaps the one most capable of being rendered into heroic verse; and i shall not lose the opportunity, you may depend upon it. "'all my works,' he continued complacently, 'bear the impress of genius; so that when i read them it would delight you to witness the applause they elicit: i am compelled to stop after every verse, to receive its laudatory tribute. i remember that one day, at paris, i was reading a tragedy in the house of a wealthy patron of literature, in which all the wits of the capital generally assemble about dinner-time, and in which i may say, without vanity, that i do not pass for a pradon. the dowager countess of vieille-brune was there, a lady of exquisite taste--i am her favourite poet. well, at the first scene, the hot tears ran down her cheeks; during the reading of my second act, she was obliged to change her handkerchief; her sobs were beyond her control in the third; at the end of the fourth she was nearly in hysterics; and i expected, at the catastrophe, that she would have absolutely died with the hero of my piece.' "at these words, although the comic author endeavoured strenuously to preserve his gravity, a burst of laughter escaped him. 'ah!' he exclaimed, 'how well do i recognize her ladyship by your description! the good countess is one who cannot endure comedy: so strong is her aversion for the merry muse, that she hurries from her box after the dagger or the bowl has done its work, that she may not lose an atom of her mimic grief. tragedy is her pet passion; and be it good or bad, so long as it presents unhappy love, so surely may you bid her tears to flow. honestly, did i pretend to the heroics, i should wish for other admirers than the countess.' "'oh! as to that, i have others too,' replied the tragic poet. 'i am the approved of thousands, male and female, of the highest rank----' 'i should also mistrust the suffrages of the quality,' interrupted the comic author; 'i should have no great confidence in their judgment: i will tell you why. auditors of this description are, for the most part, too much occupied with themselves to pay great attention to the reading of a poem; or are caught for the moment by high-sounding verse, or the feeble delicacy of some sickly sentiment. either is sufficient to induce their praise of an author's labours, whatever else of better they may lack. on the contrary, let but a line rustle their gentle ears too harshly, and it is enough that they exclaim against the piece, however good.' "'well!' resumed the lachrymose inditer, 'since you would have me suspicious of this tribunal, i rely on the applauses of the pit.' 'bah! talk not to me of your pit,' replied the other; 'its judgment is guided by caprice. stupidly won by the novelty of a first representation, it will be for months enraptured by a wretched piece. it is true that in the end it discovers its folly; and, then, it never forgives an author for having received from it an undeserved renown, or cheated it into mercy.' "'that is a misfortune for which i have nothing to fear,' said the tragic poet; 'my pieces are reprinted as often as they are played. this, now, never occurs with comedies; printing exhibits their feebleness. comedies being but trifles,--the lighter productions of mind....' 'softly! my tragic friend; softly!' interrupted the other: 'you are getting somewhat warm. speak, i beg of you, of comedy with less irreverence to me. do you think, now, a comic piece less difficult to write than tragedy? undeceive yourself! it is far less easy to make good men laugh, than it is to make them weep. learn that a subject drawn from ordinary life requires talent of as high an order as do the stilted heroes of antiquity.' "'i'faith,' cried the tragic poet with an air of raillery, 'i am delighted to hear you so express yourself.' 'well! monsieur calidas, to avoid disputation, i agree henceforth to as greatly admire your productions as i have heretofore despised them.' 'i care little for your contempt, monsieur giblet,' hastily replied the comic author; 'and in return for your insolence, i will plainly tell you my opinion of the rubbish you have just been inflicting on me: your verse is a mixture of bombast and absurdity, and the ideas, although borrowed from homer, have, in passing through your brain, become tinctured with its vulgarity. achilles talks to his horses, and his horses reply to him; what nonsense! it is a pity they were not asses, for then you could have put into their mouths with propriety your splendid comparison of the village bonfire on the top of a mountain. it is doing no honour to the ancients to pillage them after this fashion: their works are undoubtedly filled with beauties; but it requires greater taste than you possess to make of them a fitting use, or to enable you to borrow from them to advantage.' "'since you have not sufficient elevation of soul,' retorted giblet, 'to appreciate the merits of my poetry, and to punish you for having dared to criticise my scene, i will not read to you the remainder.' 'what, i wonder, have i done, that i should have been punished by being compelled to listen to the beginning?' replied calidas. 'it well becomes you indeed to despise my comedies! learn that the very worst that i could write will be clever compared with anything that you can compose, and that it is much easier to inflate the cheeks with hollow sentiments and sounding words, than it is to enlighten the mind by pointed wit or a delicate irony.' "'thank heaven!' exclaimed the tragic poet, with an awful expression of disdain, 'if in its rigour it denies me your esteem, i may easily console myself for my misfortune. the court, however, thinks more favourably of my tragedies; and the pension with which in its grace it has been pleased----' 'pshaw! think not to dazzle me with your pensions,' interrupted calidas; 'i know too well how they may be obtained to esteem your works the more for that. and to prove to you your folly, in thinking more highly of yourself than of comic authors, and that it is easier to compose serious dramas than comic pieces, i am resolved if i return to france, and do not succeed in my own line, that i will descend to making tragedies.' "'for a scribbler of farces,' said the tragic poet, 'you are not over modest.' 'for a versifier who only owes his reputation to borrowed plumes,' replied the comic author, 'you would fain have one think rather too highly of you.' 'you are an insolent scoundrel,' exclaimed the sombre genius. 'if i were not in your room, little monsieur calidas, the catastrophe of this adventure should teach you to respect the buskin.' 'let not that consideration restrain you, i entreat, lanky monsieur giblet,' replied calidas; 'if you wish to receive a thrashing, i would as soon give it you in my own room as elsewhere.' [illustration: calidas and giblet come to blows] "immediately, they seized each other by the throat and hair; and kicks and cuffs were exchanged with generous ardour. an italian, who lay in a neighbouring chamber, having listened to the overture of this drama, and hearing the noise of the incidental combat, judged that it was quite time for the spectators to assemble when the play had begun. he rose, therefore, and out of compassion for the french authors, although italian, he filled the house with his cries. on this the fleming and the two germans hastened with himself in their dressing-gowns to the theatre of strife, and the piece is, as you see, just terminating by the separation of the combatants." "this squabble is amusing enough," said don cleophas. "but, it would appear from what you tell me that tragic writers in france imagine themselves to be much more important personages than those who devote themselves to comedy." "certainly!" replied asmodeus. "the former think themselves as much exalted over the latter, as are the stately heroes of tragedies above the intriguing servants of comic pieces." "indeed! and on what do they found this opinion of themselves?" inquired the student. "is it then really so much more difficult to write the one than the other?" "the question you put to me," replied the devil, "is one which has been a hundred times debated, and is so to this day. for myself, this is my decision, with all deference to those who differ from me in opinion. i say that it is not more easy to compose a comic than a tragic piece; for if it were so, we must conclude that a tragic poet would be more capable of writing a comedy, than the best comic author; the which is not borne out by experience. according to me, then, each of these two descriptions of poem requires a genius of a different character, but of an equal capability. "it is time, however, to end this digression. i will therefore resume the thread of the history, which you so unceremoniously interrupted." chapter xv. continuation, and conclusion, of the force of friendship. success had not attended the endeavours of the servants of donna theodora to prevent her being carried away; but they had at least opposed it with courage, and their resistance had been fatal to some of the companions of alvaro ponza. among others, whose wounds had not permitted them to follow their comrades, there was a man, stretched almost lifeless on the sand, whom they recognized as one of alvaro's own attendants. perceiving that he still breathed, they carried him to the house, and spared no pains to restore him to his senses. in this they at last succeeded, although the quantity of blood which had escaped from his numerous wounds had reduced his stream of life to its lowest ebb, and left him extremely weak. to induce him to speak, they promised to take every care to prolong his days, and not to deliver him into the hands of justice, provided that he would inform them of the place to which his master had designed to take the donna theodora. gratified by these assurances, although the state to which he was reduced left him but small hope to profit by their realization, he rallied all his remaining strength, and, with a faltering voice, confirmed by his confession the information that don fabricio had received. he added, however, that don alvaro designed to conduct the widow of cifuentes to sassari, in the island of sardinia, where he had a relation whose protection and power promised him a safe asylum. [illustration: alvaro's attendant is carried away] the deposition of the dying man, for he expired a few hours afterwards, raised mendoza and the toledan from complete despair; and as their stay at donna theodora's seat was now useless, they at once returned to valencia. after debating for some time on the steps most expedient to be taken, they resolved to seek their common enemy in his chosen retreat, and in a few days embarked, without attendants, at denia, for port mahon, not doubting that they would there find some means of transport to the island of sardinia. it so happened that scarcely had they reached their destined port, when they learned that a vessel freighted for cagliari was about to sail, and in it they immediately secured a passage. the vessel left the island of minorca with breezes friendly to their hopes; but five or six hours after their departure there came on a calm, and night brought with it winds directly in their teeth; so that they were obliged to tack about and wait for a favourable change. three days were thus passed in sailing without progress; when, on the fourth, about two hours after noon, they discovered a strange sail, all its canvas spread, and bearing down directly upon them. at first they took it for a merchantman, bound for the shores they steered from; but observing that it came within the range of cannon-shot without showing its colours, they began to fear it was a corsair. they were not deceived: it was a tunisian pirate, which approached them in full expectation that the christians would yield without a blow. as it came near enough, however, for the corsairs to discern what was passing on board of their expected prey, and to observe that the sails were reefed and the guns run out, they guessed that the affair was likely to turn out more seriously than they had expected. they therefore shortened sail, wore round, hurriedly cleared the deck, and prepared for action. a brisk exchange of shots soon commenced, and the christians, taking advantage of the surprise which their unexpected resistance had occasioned, began to prevail over their opponent; but an algerine pirate, larger and of heavier metal than either of the others, arriving in the middle of the action, took part with its brother of tunis, and the christians were thus placed between two fires. [illustration: the slave on the bow of the algerine pirate ship] discouraged by this unlooked-for circumstance, and feeling that it was useless to continue the unequal strife, they gradually slackened their fire, and at last it ceased altogether. on this a slave appeared on the bow of the algerine vessel, who hailed them in their own language, bidding them, if they hoped for mercy, to strike to algiers. a turk then advanced, holding in his hand a green silk flag studded with silver crescents interlacing each other, which he waved in the air. the christians, looking upon further resistance as hopeless, gave themselves up to all the grief that the idea of slavery inspires in the breasts of freemen, until the master of the vessel, fearing that a further delay of submission would only serve to irritate their barbarian conqueror, hauled down his colours, threw himself into a boat with some of his sailors, and went to surrender to the algerine corsair. [illustration: surrender] the latter immediately sent a portion of his crew on board the spanish vessel to examine, or rather to pillage it of all that it contained. the tunisian pirate gave similar orders to some of his men, so that all the passengers it contained were in an instant disarmed and plundered, and were shortly afterwards exchanged into the algerine vessel, when the two pirates divided their prisoners by lot. it would have been at least some consolation for mendoza and his friend to have both fallen into the hands of the same corsair; they would have found their chains somewhat the less heavy to have borne them together; but fortune, apparently disposed to make them feel the terrors of her caprice, allotted don fabricio to the pirate of tunis, and don juan to his competitor of algiers. picture to yourself the grief of the two friends, when told that they must part. they threw themselves at the feet of the corsairs, and entreated them that they might not be separated. but their entreaties were vain; the barbarians before whom they knelt were too much accustomed to the sight of human misery not to be proof against the prayers of their present victims. on the contrary, judging by their demeanour that the two captives were men of wealth and station, and that they would consequently pay a weighty ransom, they were the more resolved to divide them. mendoza and zarata, perceiving that they were in the power of men with hearts insensible to all but gain, turned towards each other, their looks expressing the depth of their affliction. but when the booty had been shared, and the tunisian pirate prepared to return to his own vessel with his proportion, and the slaves which it included, they seemed as though they would expire with despair. mendoza rushed into the arms of the toledan, and embracing him, exclaimed: "must we then separate? cruel necessity! is it not enough that we should be borne to slavery, and unavenged? must we even be denied to bear in union the sorrows to which we are destined? ah! don juan, what have we done that heaven should thus visit us with its terrible wrath?" "seek not elsewhere the cause of our disgrace," replied don juan: "i only am to blame. the death of two unfortunates, immolated to my revenge, although excused to mortal eyes, is deep offence to heaven; and you, my friend, are punished for the fault of loving one who took upon himself the vengeance that belongs to god alone." [illustration: mendoza and zarata are separated] while they spoke thus, tears, strangers to the eyes of men, streamed down their cheeks, and sighs but choked their utterance. so touching was their grief, that those who shared their fate were yet as much affected by the sight as with their own misfortune. not so the wretches who formed the crew of the tunisian corsair. perceiving that mendoza was the last to quit the algerine vessel, they tore him without ceremony from the arms of the toledan; and, as they dragged him away, added blows to insult. "adieu, dear friend," he cried: "adieu for ever! donna theodora is yet unavenged! and, parted from you, the miseries that these wretches prepare will be the least that slavery can bring to me." don juan was unable to reply to the exclamations of his friend; the treatment that he saw him endure filled his breast with a horror which deprived him of speech. and so, signor don cleophas, as the course of my narrative requires that we should follow the toledan, we will leave don fabricio, in solemn silence, to be conducted on board of the tunisian pirate. the algerine returned toward his port, where, having arrived, he conducted his slaves to the house of the superintending basha, and thence to the public market. an officer of the dey, mezzomorto, purchased don juan for his master; and the new slave was at once employed as an assistant in the gardens of the harem. this occupation, although laborious for a gentleman, was however, the less disagreeable to don juan, on account of the solitude to which it left him; for, situated as he was, it was a pleasure to have at least the liberty of indulging his own melancholy thoughts. incessantly occupied with his misfortunes, his mind, far from endeavouring to lighten them with hope, seemed to delight in dwelling on the past, and to inspire his bosom with gloomiest presages for the future. [illustration: mezzomorto approaches zarata in the garden] one day he was occupied with his work, murmuring the while one of his now usual songs of sorrow, when the dey, who was walking in the garden, came upon him without being perceived, and stopped to listen. pleased with his voice, and moved by curiosity, he approached the captive and asked his name. the toledan replied, that he was called alvaro; for, following the usual custom with slaves, of concealing their station, he thought fit to change his name, and, as the outrage upon donna theodora was ever uppermost in his thoughts, the name of the detested alvaro had come soonest to his lips when suddenly asked his own. mezzomorto, who spoke the spanish language tolerably well, then questioned him as to the customs of spain, and particularly as to the conduct observed by those of its cavaliers who would render themselves agreeable to their ladies;--to all of which don juan replied in such a manner as to greatly please the dey. "alvaro," said he to him at last, "you appear to be intelligent; and i judge you to have been a man of rank in your own country: but, however that may be, you are fortunate enough to please me, and i will honour you with my confidence." at these words, don juan prostrated himself before the dey, and with well-affected humility, kissed the hem of his master's robe, and after touching with it his eyes and forehead, arose, and stood before him in silence. "to begin by giving you proof of my regard," resumed the dey, "you know, that in my seraglio, i have some of the fairest women which europe can offer for my pleasures. among these, however, there is one whose beauty is beyond compare; nor do i believe that the grand signor himself possesses so exquisite a creature, although for him the winds of heaven daily waft ships with their lovely burden from all quarters of the globe. in her visage the dazzling sun seems reflected, and her form is graceful as the rose's stem which grows in the gardens of eram. my soul is enchanted with her perfections. [illustration: the unhappy beauty of the seraglio] "alas! this miracle of nature, all beauteous as she is, maintains and nourishes the deepest grief; which neither time nor all the efforts of my love can dissipate. although fortune has yielded her to my will, i have ever respected her grief, and controlled my desires; and unlike those who, placed as i am, seek but the momentary gratifications of sense, i fain would win her heart, and have striven to gain it by respectful attentions, such as the vilest mussulman that lives would feel degraded to offer to the fairest christian slave. "still, all my cares seem but to add to her affliction; and i will not disguise that its obstinacy begins to weary me. the sense of slavery is not imprinted in the minds of others of my slaves in characters so deep, but that a look of favour from myself can soon efface or gild them; so that i may well tire of this incessant grief. nevertheless, before i abandon myself to the passion which transports me, i would make one last endeavour to touch her insensible heart; and i will leave this task to you. as my fair slave is christian, and even of your own country, she may confide in you, and you may persuade her to my wishes better than another. go, then! tell her of my riches and my power; tell her that among my many slaves, i care for only her; and, if it must be so, bid her even hope that she may one day be the honoured wife of mezzomorto. tell her that i would rather win her love, than receive the hand of a sultana from the grace of his highness the sultan himself." don juan threw himself a second time before the dey; and although not over-delighted with this commission, assured him that he would do his utmost to execute it to his satisfaction. "enough!" replied mezzomorto, "leave your work and follow me. i am about, contrary to our usages, to permit you privately to see this slave. but, tremble, if you dare abuse the confidence i place in you! tortures, such as even were never yet inflicted by the turks, shall punish your temerity. strive to overcome your own sorrows, and dream of liberty as the reward of ending the sufferings that i endure." don juan threw down his hoe, and silently followed the dey, who, when they entered the palace, left him, that he might prepare the afflicted captive to receive his messenger of love. [illustration: the unhappy beauty salutes mezzomorto] she was with two aged slaves, who retired as soon as mezzomorto appeared. the beauteous slave herself saluted the dey with great respect, but she could not behold him without greater fear, as indeed had ever been the case when he presented himself before her. he perceived it, and to reassure her mind: "amiable captive," he said, "i come but to inform you that among my slaves there is a spaniard with whom you would perhaps be glad to converse. if you wish to see him, i will give him permission to speak with you, and even alone." as the lovely slave expressed no objection to receive her countryman: "i go," resumed the dey, "to send him to you: may he, by the information he conveys, serve to relieve you of your troubles!" he left her as he spoke; and as he went out, meeting the toledan, said to him in a low voice: "enter! and when you have communicated what i desire, come to my cabinet and inform me of the result." zarata entered as he was directed, closed the door, and bowed before the favoured slave, who returned his salute, without either particularly observing the other. when, however, their eyes at last met, a cry of surprise and joy escaped them both: "oh heaven!" exclaimed the toledan, approaching the captive, "is it not a vision that deceives mine eyes? can it be the donna theodora whom i see?" "ah! don juan," ere he had uttered these words, cried the lady he addressed, "is it indeed yourself who speaks to me?" "yes, madam," replied the toledan, while he fell upon his knee and tenderly kissed her hand, "it is don juan. let these tears, that my eyes, rejoiced to behold you again, cannot restrain; let this transport, that you alone can excite in the heart of him who kneels before you, witness for my presence! i murmur no longer against my destiny, since it conducts me to you--alas! what does my ecstacy inspire? i forget that you are in chains. by what unhappy chance do i find you here? how have you escaped from the frantic passion of alvaro? ah, what horror fills my soul to mention his very name! how do i tremble to learn the fate for which heaven reserved you, when it abandoned you to his perfidy!" [illustration: don juan kisses donna theodora's hand] "heaven," replied the donna theodora, "has avenged me on alvaro ponza. had i but time to relate to you----" "time!" interrupted don juan,--"you have plenty, and to spare. the dey himself permitted me to see you, and, what may well surprise you, alone. profit by the happy moments which his confidence affords, and inform me of all that has happened to you since you were carried off by alvaro." "and who, then, told you that it was by him i was taken away?" inquired donna theodora. "alas! madam, i know it but too well," replied the toledan. he then shortly narrated the manner in which he had become acquainted with alvaro's design, and had witnessed its execution; how mendoza and himself had followed him in the hope of preserving her from his violence, or to revenge it; and of their unfortunate, but for this meeting, encounter with the pirates, and its consequence. as soon as he had finished this recital, donna theodora began the story of heir own sufferings, as follows: "i need not dwell upon my astonishment at finding myself seized by a masked band of ruffians--indeed, i had hardly time to wonder at the outrage, for i swooned in the arms of the first who laid hold of me; and when i recovered my senses, which must have been after the lapse of some hours, i found myself alone with agnes, one of my own attendants, in a cabin on the poop of a vessel, in the open sea, sailing with all its canvass spread before the wind. "the perfidious agnes, on perceiving my tears, exhorted me to bear my misfortune with patience; but from a few words which dropped from her as she spoke, i was not long in divining that she was in the confidence of alvaro, who shortly afterwards appeared. throwing himself at my feet: 'madam,' he exclaimed, 'pardon to a too fond lover the means by which he has dared to possess himself of your person! you know how deeply i have loved you, and how ardently i disputed with mendoza for your heart, up to the fatal day when you declared your preference for him. had my passion been the cold and empty feeling that mortals dignify with the name of love, i might have vanquished it as easily as such a feeling is inspired; but my misfortune was beyond consolation. i live but to adore those charms; and, despised though i be, i cannot free myself from their spell. but, madam, let not the fury of my passion alarm you! i have not deprived you of liberty, that i may rob you of honour; i seek only that, in the retreat unto which we are hastening, a sacred tie may unite our hearts for ever.' "he continued in this strain for some time, but in terms which i cannot remember. to hear him, it would have seemed that, in forcing me to wed him, he did me no wrong; and that where i saw but an insolent ravisher, i should have beheld alone an impassioned lover. as, however, while he spoke thus, i answered him but with tears, and exhibited an evident despair, he left me; but not without making signs to agnes, which i plainly understood as directions for her to second, as well as she was able, the splendid arguments by which he had sought to dazzle my weak understanding. "she did her best; representing to me that, after the éclat of an abduction, i could not do otherwise than graciously accept the offered hand of alvaro ponza; that, whatever aversion i might feel for his excessive tenderness, my reputation demanded of my heart this sacrifice. as, however, the necessity which she painted, of a hated marriage, was not exactly the way to dry my tears, i still remained inconsolable; and agnes had exhausted all her eloquence, when we suddenly heard upon the deck a noise which attracted the attention of us both. "this noise, which proceeded from alvaro's people, was caused by the apparition of a large ship, which was sweeping with its wings all spread upon us; and from which, as our vessel was by no means so good a sailer, there was no escaping. down it came, and we soon heard cries of 'lie to, and send a boat aboard!' but alvaro ponza and his men, who knew what they had to expect from yielding, chose rather to die, or at least to run the chance of a combat. the action was sharp, but of short duration: i cannot pretend to give you its details, and will therefore only say, that alvaro and every one of his crew perished, after fighting like men who preferred death to slavery. for myself and agnes, we were removed into the other vessel, which belonged to mezzomorto, and was commanded by aby aly osman, one of his officers. [illustration: alvaro and his crew are killed] "aby aly looked at me for some time, with much surprise; and recognizing me, by my dress, for a spaniard, he said to me in almost pure castilian: 'moderate your grief, lady, for having fallen into slavery: it is a consolation in our woes to know that they are inevitable. but what do i speak of?--woe! happiness alone awaits you. you are far too lovely for the homage of christian dogs. heaven never made you for the pleasure of the miserable wretches whom we trample under foot. you were formed to receive the admiration of the men of the world; a mussulman alone is worthy to possess such beauty. i shall return at once,' he added, 'to algiers. albeit i have made no other prize, i know our dey too well not to be persuaded that with you i shall not be all unwelcome. i have no great fear that he will condemn my impatience to place within his hands a beauty whom our prophet must have sent on earth expressly for his enjoyment, and to be the light of his harem.' "these compliments, don juan, told me too plainly all i had to fear, and my tears flowed the faster as he spoke. aby aly was pleased, however, to interpret my fears after his own fashion; and, laughing at my timidity, gave orders to sail towards algiers. never was port so dreaded by the ship-bound habitant of ocean! sometimes i threw myself on my knees, and implored heaven for its protection; at others, my doubting spirit wished for the assistance of man in christian guise who might come to my rescue, or sink the pirate vessel, which contained me, in the waves,--or that these in their mercy would engulph us. then, again, i hoped that my tears, and the sorrow which caused them, would render me so unsightly that the tyrant to whom they bore me might fly my sight with horror. vain wishes, that my modesty had formed! we arrived at the dreaded port; they conducted me to the palace; i appeared before mezzomorto. "i know not what aby aly said on presenting me to his master, nor what the latter replied, for they spoke in their own tongue; but i thought i could perceive by the looks and gestures of the dey that i had the misfortune to please him. but what, after they had conversed thus for some time, was addressed to me in my own language, completed my despair by confirming me in the opinion i had formed. [illustration: donna theodora and aby aly before mezzomorto] "vainly i cast myself before him, offering him whatever sum he chose to name as my ransom; in vain did i tempt his avarice by the promise of all that i possessed, or could command: he answered me by saying, that i offered him in my own person more than all the riches in the world could bestow. he then conducted me to this apartment, the most splendid his palace contains, and from that hour to the present moment, he has spared no pains to dispel the grief with which he sees me overcome. all his slaves who either dance, sing, or play, have tried by his command their skill before me. he removed from me agnes, because he thought that she served to remind me of my home, and i am now attended by two aged female slaves, whose sole discourse is of love and the dey, and of the happiness which through his favour i may secure. "need i say, don juan, that all their efforts to divert my grief add but to its intensity, and that nothing can console me? captive in this detestable palace, which resounds from day to day with the cries of innocence oppressed, i suffer less from the mere loss of liberty than from the terror which the hated tenderness of the dey inspires. it is true i have hitherto found in him but a lover gentle and respectful; but i am not the less alarmed. i fear lest, wearied by a semblance of devotion, which cannot but constrain him to put on, he should resume the rights of power; and this fear agitates me without ceasing, making of my life but one long torment." as donna theodora finished these words, she wept; and her tears fell like iron on the heart of poor don juan. "it is not without cause," he at last exclaimed, "that you look on the future with dread; i am, myself, as much alarmed for it as you. the respect of the dey is melting faster than even you imagine; your submissive lover will soon abandon all the mildness he assumes. alas! i know too well the dangers which surround you. "but," he continued, his voice changing as he spoke, "shall i calmly witness your dishonour? slave though i be, he may feel the weight of my despair. before mezzomorto injures you, i will plunge in his heart----" "ah! don juan," interrupted the widow of cifuentes, "what dreadful project do you dream of? for heaven's sake, think of it no more! with what dreadful cruelties would they avenge his death! torments the most refined--i cannot think of them without trembling! besides, to what end would you encounter such a peril? in taking the life of the dey, would you restore me to liberty? alas! i should be sold to some other tyrant who would treat me with less respect than mezzomorto. no!" she exclaimed, throwing herself on her knees, "it is thou, almighty father, who canst alone protect me. thou knowest my weakness, and the infamous designs of him in whose power i am placed. thou, who forbiddest me to save myself by poison or the steel, thou wilt save me in thy justice from a crime that is abhorrent in thy sight." "yes, madam," replied zarata, "heaven will avert the misfortune with which you are threatened! i feel already that it inspires me;--the ideas which flash across my mind are doubtless prompted by its mercy. hear me! the dey has permitted me to see you, only that i might induce you to return his love. it is time that i rendered him an account of our interview; and, in so doing, i shall deceive him. i will tell him that your grief may be overcome; that his conduct towards you has already won for him your esteem, and that, from a continuance in that conduct, he has everything to hope. do you assist me in my design? when he comes next to visit you, let him find you less sorrowful than usual; and appear, at least, to be interested in his conversation." "what a task would you impose on me!" interrupted donna theodora. "how is my soul, always frank and open, to assume such a disguise, and what will be the fruit of so painful a deception?" "the dey," replied zarata, "will be flattered by this change in your deportment, and will be anxious to complete his conquest of you by gentle means. in the meanwhile, i will endeavour to effect your freedom: it will be difficult, i acknowledge; but i am acquainted with a slave on whose address and enterprise some reliance may be placed. "i leave you," he continued, "as no time is to be lost: we shall meet again. i now go to the dey; whose impetuous ardour i hope to restrain by some well-invented fables. and you, madam, prepare to receive him; constrain yourself to deceit. let your eyes, which his presence offends, display neither hatred nor pride; let your lips, which now unclose but to express your affliction, form for him honeyed words of respect; you must indirectly promise all, in order that you may concede nothing." "enough!" replied the lady, "i will do as you desire, since the danger that impends over me compels me to this cruel necessity. go! don juan, employ all your thoughts to end my slavery: my freedom will be doubly sweet, if owing to you." as soon as the toledan repaired to mezzomorto, the latter cried with great emotion: "well! alvaro, what news do you bring to me of my lovely captive? have you inclined her to listen to my vows? tell me not that her ceaseless grief refuses to yield to my tenderness; or i swear, by the head of the commander of the faithful himself, that force shall wring from her what affection cannot win." "signor," replied don juan, "that oath were useless now: you will have no need of violence to gratify your passion. your slave is young,--has never loved;--and she whose pride disdained the offers of the noblest of her native land, in which she lived as queen, and here exists in chains, may well ask time to reconcile her haughty spirit to her new condition. this, proud as she is, habit will soon effect; and even now, i dare affirm, the yoke is felt less heavy: the kindness you have shown, the respectful cares which she could never have expected from yourself, have already lessened her misfortune, and must triumph over her disdain. continue, signor, this gentle observance; continue--and complete the charm which dissipates her grief, by new attentions to each fond caprice; and you will shortly find her yield to your desires, and lose her love of liberty, encircled in your arms." "your words enrapture me," exclaimed the dey: "the hopes which you inspire engage me to what you will. yes! i will restrain my impatient love, that i may satisfy it the more worthily. but, do you not deceive me, or are you not deceived yourself? i will this moment see my lovely mistress; i will endeavour to discern in her eyes some expression of the flattering appearances you speak of." and so saying, he hastened to seek theodora; while the toledan returned to the garden, where he found the slave whose skill he proposed to employ in the liberation of the widow of cifuentes. this slave, named francisco, was a navarrese, and was perfectly acquainted with algiers and its customs, having there served two or three masters before he was purchased by the dey as a gardener. "francisco, my friend," said don juan, accosting him, "you see me in deep affliction. there is, in the harem of the dey, a young lady of the highest distinction of valencia: she has entreated mezzomorto to name a ransom of any amount; but he refuses to do so, having fallen in love with her." "and why should that annoy you so much?" asked francisco. "because i come from the same town," replied the toledan; "her relations and my own are intimately connected; and there is nothing which i would not do to restore her to liberty." "well! though that is no easy matter to accomplish," said francisco, "i dare undertake to bring it about, provided her relations are disposed to come down pretty handsomely." "be assured of that," replied don juan; "i answer for their gratitude, and especially for her own. her name is donna theodora: she is the widow of a man who has left her immense possessions, and she is generous as rich. for myself, i am a spaniard, and a noble; my word may suffice to convince you of what i state." "well, again!" resumed the gardener: "on the faith of your word then, i will seek a catalonian renegade whom i know, and propose to him----" "what say you?" interrupted the toledan, in alarm;--"would you confide in a wretch who has not been ashamed to abandon his religion for----" "although a renegade," interrupted francisco, in his turn, "he is nevertheless an honest man. he is rather deserving of your pity than contempt; and, if the crime he has committed can be excused at all, i think he may be pardoned. i will tell you his history in a few words. "he was born in barcelona, where he practised as a surgeon. finding, however, that he was worse off there than his patients, he resolved to establish himself at carthagena, thinking of course to better his condition. he accordingly embarked with his mother, for that town; but they were taken on the way by a pirate, who brought them hither. they were sold; his mother to a moor, and he to a turk, who used him so badly that he assumed the turban to release himself from slavery, as also to enable him to free his parent, who was no better off in the house of the moor, her master. with this view, he entered into service with the dey, and made several voyages, in which he gained four hundred patacoons: he employed a portion of this in the ransom of his mother; and, to make the best use of the remainder, took it in his head to scour the seas on his own account. "appointed captain, he purchased a small open vessel, and with some turkish seamen who had sailed with him before, he set out to cruize between alicant and carthagena, and returned to algiers, laden with booty. he repeated this several times; and succeeded always so well that at last he was able to arm a large vessel, with which he made several prizes, but was in the end unfortunate. one day, he was imprudent enough to attack a french frigate, which so mauled his ship that it was with difficulty he escaped, and regained algiers. as pirates are judged here, like their betters elsewhere, according to their success, the renegade gained the contempt of the turks as the reward of his misfortune. disgusted by this injustice, he sold his vessel, and retired to a house without the town; where, since then, he has lived on the produce of his ship, and what remained of the fruits of his former enterprises, in company with his mother, and attended by several slaves. "i often go to see him, for he served with me under my first master, and we are intimate friends. he conceals nothing from me; and, only three days ago, he told me, with tears in his eyes, that, despite his wealth, he had known no peace since he had renounced his faith; that to appease the remorse which preyed on him without ceasing, he was sometimes tempted to trample his turban under foot, and, at the risk of being burned alive, to repair, by a public avowal of his repentance, the insult he had offered to the mediator whom in secret he still adored. "such is the renegade whom i am about to consult," continued francisco: "surely, a man like him may be trusted by you. i will seek him, under pretext of going to the bagnio; i will represent to him, that instead of consuming his life in vain regret at his exclusion from the bosom of the church, he should act so as to assure his forgiveness and reception; that to do this he has only to equip a vessel, as if, disgusted with a life of inaction, he intended to resume his piracies; and that, with this vessel, we may gain the coast of valencia, where, once arrived, donna theodora will give him wherewith to pass the remainder of his life in tranquillity at barcelona." "yes! my dear francisco," cried don juan, transported with joy at the hope thus raised by the navarrese slave,--"yes! you may promise all this, and more, to your renegade friend; both he and yourself may be sure of a rich reward. but, do you conceive it possible to execute the project you conceive?" "there may be difficulties," replied francisco, "which i do not contemplate; but, rely on it, that i and my friend will overcome them all." "alvaro," he added, as they parted, "i hope well for our enterprise; and i trust that, when we meet again, i shall have good news to tell you." with what anxiety did the toledan await the return of francisco! at last he came. "i have seen the renegade," he said, "and have opened to him our design. after much deliberation, we have arranged that, to save time, he shall purchase a vessel already fitted for sea; that, as it is permitted to employ slaves as sailors, he shall take with him those who now serve him; that, however, to guard against suspicion, he shall also engage some dozen others, as if he really designed what he pretended; but that, two days before the time fixed for his departure, he shall embark, by night, with his own people, and weigh anchor, after coming for us with his boat to a little door which leads from the garden, close by the sea. this is our plan; of which you can inform the captive lady, assuring her that in a fortnight from this time she shall be free." how great was the joy of zarata, to be able to convey such welcome intelligence to the donna theodora! to obtain permission to see her, on the following day, he sought, without appearing to do so, mezzomorto; and, having met with him: "signor," said he, "dare i enquire how you have found your lovely slave? are my hopes fulfilled?--" "i am delighted," interrupted the dey; "her eyes no longer shun the tender glance of mine; her words, which heretofore presented but the picture of her griefs, no longer breathe complaint; and for the first time, she seemed to listen to my own without aversion. "it is to you, alvaro," he continued, "that i owe this happy change: i see," he added, good-humouredly, "that you are in favour with the ladies of your country. i will trust you, however, to speak with her again, that you may finish well what you have so well begun. exhaust thy fertile genius to attain the bliss i seek, and thy chains are turned to gold. yes! i swear, by the spirit of our holy prophet, that i will restore you to your home, so loaded with my favours, that your christian friends shall not believe you, when you tell them you return from slavery." the toledan, although somewhat conscience-stricken, did not fail to continue mezzomorto in the flattering error he indulged. affecting gratitude for his kindness, and under pretext of hastening its accomplishment, he left the dey at once to see the charming slave; and, finding her alone in her apartment, he lost no time in informing her of what the navarrese and the renegade intended on her behalf. the lady was of course greatly delighted to hear that already such strides were making towards her deliverance. "is it possible," she cried, "that i may hope again to see valencia, my own dear native land? joy, joy!" she continued,--"after so many dangers and alarms, to live in peace once more with you! ah! don juan, this is happiness indeed! can i doubt that your heart partakes of it? remember, zarata, that, in snatching me from the dey, you bear away your wife!" "alas!" replied the toledan, sighing deeply, "how delicious were those words to my expecting soul, did not the remembrance of an unhappy aspirant for thy love dash their sweet fragrance with alloy! pardon me, madam, that at such a moment i should think of aught but you! but you must acknowledge that a friend like mendoza merits thy pity as my own. it was for thee he left valencia; it was in search of thee that he became a slave; and i feel sure that, at tunis, he is not bowed down so much by the weight of his chains, as with despair at failing to avenge thee." "he merited indeed a happier lot," said donna theodora; "and i call heaven to witness that i am deeply affected at what he suffers on my account. yes! i accuse myself of the pains which he endures; but, such is my destiny, my heart can never be their recompense." this conversation was interrupted by the coming of the two old dames who attended on the widow of cifuentes. don juan immediately assumed the confidant of the dey: "yes, fair lady," said he to theodora, "you have deprived him of liberty who keeps you in chains. mezzomorto, your master and my own, the most loving and the most amiable of turks, is your slave. treat him with the favour you now deign to show him, and soon will a joyous end arrive to his sufferings and your own." zarata bowed respectfully as he pronounced these words, the purport of which was well understood by the lady to whom they were addressed, and left the apartment. [illustration: portrait of mezzomorto] during the following week, affairs remained in this position in the palace of the dey. in the meantime, however, the renegade had purchased a small sloop, and was making preparations for its putting to sea; but, six days before it was ready, a new subject for alarm occurred to don juan. mezzomorto sent for him, and, taking him into his cabinet: "alvaro," he said, "thou art free!--free to return when thou wilt to spain; the reward that i have promised now awaits thee. i have seen my lovely slave this day;--ah! how unlike the creature whose sorrow filled my breast with anguish! daily does the feeling of captivity grow weaker; and so bright are now her charms, that i have resolved at once to make her mine: in two days she shall be my wife." don juan changed colour at these words, and, with all the effort that he made to constrain them, could not conceal his trouble and surprise from the dey, who asked him the cause of this emotion. "signor," replied the toledan, with embarrassment, "i cannot control my astonishment at hearing one of the greatest princes of the ottoman empire avow his intention of so far humbling himself as to wed with a slave. i know that this is not without precedent; but, for the illustrious mezzomorto, who might aspire to the daughter of the highest in the service of the sultan, to"--"i agree to what you say," interrupted the dey; "i might marry with the daughter of the grand vizier, and even hope to succeed him in his office: but i have great wealth, and small ambition. i prefer repose, and the delights i enjoy here in my vice-royalty, to the dangerous honours to which we are no sooner elevated, than the fear of our sovereign, or the jealousy of the envious who surround him, prepares for us a fall. besides, i love this slave; and her beauty and virtue render her worthy of the rank to which my affection calls her. "it is however necessary," he added, "that she should at once renounce her religion, to attain the honour for which i destine her. think you that absurd prejudices will induce her to despise that honour?" "no, signor," replied don juan; "i am persuaded that on reflection, she will hold her faith as too small a sacrifice to your love. but, permit me to say that this should not be proposed too hastily. there is no doubt that the idea of abandoning the creed she lisped almost on her mother's bosom will at first revolt her: give her therefore time to reflect on the inducements to a change. when she remembers that, instead of using your power over her person, and then abandoning her to grow old among the neglected slaves of your caprice, you seek to unite her to yourself for ever, by a marriage which crowns her with honour, her gratitude--her woman's vanity--will by degrees vanquish her scruples. defer therefore for a week, at least, the execution of your design." the dey remained for some time in deep thought: the delay that his confidant proposed suited but ill to his desires; nevertheless, the counsel appeared judicious. "i yield to your advice, alvaro," at last he said, "impatient as i am to press the lovely captive to my heart. i will wait a week, as you request. go!" he continued, "see her at once, and dispose her to fulfil my wishes, when that time shall have passed. i am anxious that alvaro, who so well has tutored the fair one to my will, should have the honour of tendering to her my hand." don juan hastened to the apartment of theodora, and informed her of what had passed between the dey and himself, that she might conduct herself accordingly. he also informed her that in six days the vessel would be ready; and, as she was anxious to know how, when the time arrived, she was to escape, seeing that all the doors of the rooms she had to traverse, in the usual way of reaching the staircase, were well secured: "let not that embarrass you," he answered; "a window of your ante-room looks upon the garden; and you may thence descend, by a ladder which i will take care to provide." the six days added their units to eternity, and francisco informed the toledan that the renegade was prepared to sail on the coming night: you may guess with what impatience it was expected. it came, and, graciously for the fugitives, shrouded in its thickest mantle to cover their flight. at the appointed moment, don juan placed the ladder against the window of the ante-room, and the watchful captive hastened to descend, trembling with agitation and suspense. she reached the ground in safety, and leaning on the arm of the toledan, the latter lost no time in conducting her to the little door which opened on the sea. [illustration: donna theodora descends the ladder] they walked with hasty steps, enjoying, by anticipation, the happiness of recovered freedom; but fortune, not even now disposed to favour these unhappy lovers, plunged them into grief more dire than they had yet experienced, and of a nature that they least expected. [illustration: donna theodora and zarata hurry away] they had already left the garden, and were advancing to the shore, where the sloop awaited them, when a man whom they took for an accomplice in their escape, and of whom, therefore, they had no suspicion, came upon don juan, sword in hand, and thrust it in his breast. "perfidious alvaro ponza!" he exclaimed, "it is thus that don fabricio de mendoza punishes a base seducer: you deserve not that i should attack you openly as an honest man." the toledan could not resist the force of the blow, which stretched him on the earth; and, at the same moment, donna theodora, whom he supported, struck with surprise, with grief and fear, fell in a swoon beside him. "ah! mendoza," cried don juan, "what have you done? it is your friend whose bosom you have pierced!" "gracious heaven!" exclaimed don fabricio, "is it possible that i have assassinated----" "i pardon you my death," interrupted zarata; "destiny is alone to blame, or rather it has so willed it, to end our misfortunes. yes! my dear mendoza, i die contented, since i restore to your hands the donna theodora, who will convince you that my friendship for you has never belied itself for an instant." [illustration: zarata stabbed by mendoza] "too generous friend," said don fabricio, prompted by a feeling of despair, "you shall not die alone; the same point which wounded you shall punish your assassin: if my error may excuse my crime, it cannot console me for its committal." as he spoke, he turned his sword against his breast, plunged it therein nearly to the hilt, and fell upon the body of don juan, who fainted less from loss of blood, than from horror at the frenzy of his friend. francisco and the renegade, who were not ten paces from the spot, and who had their reasons for not having defended the slave alvaro, were amazed to hear the last words of don fabricio, and still more so to witness his last act. they had heard enough, however, to know that he had been mistaken, and that the wounded pair were friends, instead of deadly enemies, as they had believed. they now therefore hastened to their assistance; but, finding them both senseless, as also the donna theodora, they were at a loss how to proceed. francisco advised that they should content themselves with bearing off the lady, leaving the two cavaliers on the shore; where, according to him, if they were not already dead, they would soon be so. the renegade, however, was not of this opinion: he said that it would be cruel to abandon the two unfortunates; that their wounds were probably not mortal, and that he would look to them when on board his vessel, where he had been provident enough to stow away all the implements of his ancient trade. to this, francisco made no objection; so, as they both agreed that there was no inducement to stay where they were, by the assistance of some slaves, they carried the unhappy widow of cifuentes, and her still more unfortunate lovers, to the boat, and soon joined their ship. there, no time was lost in spreading the sails; while some upon their knees poured forth to heaven the most fervent prayers which fear could suggest, that they might escape the cruisers of the dey. [illustration: theodora, zarata and mendoza are carried to the boat] the renegade, having left the management of the vessel to a french slave whom he could trust, gave his attention to his passengers. the lady, of course, claimed his first care; and, having restored her to life, he took his measures so skilfully, that don fabricio and the toledan also speedily recovered their senses. donna theodora, who had swooned the instant don juan was struck, was greatly astonished on her recovery to behold mendoza; and, although she soon comprehended that the latter had wounded himself for having incautiously assailed his friend, she could not look upon him but as the murderer of the man she loved. "you would have been affected, don cleophas, could you have seen these three persons at the moment i speak of: the deathlike stillness from which they had emerged would not have commanded half your pity. there was donna theodora, gazing on don juan with eyes which spoke all the feelings of a soul filled with grief and despair; while the two friends, each fondly turning upon her their dying looks, were striving to control the sighs which rent their hearts." the scene lasted for some time in silence, which mendoza was the first to break. "madam," said he, addressing donna theodora, "i die; but i have the satisfaction of knowing you are free. would to heaven that thy liberty were owing to myself! but it has decreed that you should owe that obligation to him whose image you cherish in your heart. i love too much my rival to complain; and trust that the blow which my blindness dealt may be too light to prevent his sweet reward." the lady answered not this touching speech. insensible, for the time, to the fate of mendoza, she could not restrain the feelings of aversion which the condition of the toledan, over whom she hung, inspired in her bosom towards him who had caused it. the regenade surgeon now examined and probed the wounds of the two friends. beginning with zarata, he pronounced it favourable, inasmuch as the sword had only glanced through the muscles of the left breast, without touching any of the vital parts. this report, while it lessened the grief of donna theodora, gave great delight to don fabricio, who, turning his head towards the lady, exclaimed, "madam, i die without regret, since the life of my friend is out of danger: you will forgive me now." he pronounced these words with so much pathos, that the widow of cifuentes was moved beyond expression. as she no longer feared for don juan, she ceased to hate mendoza, and beheld in him now but an object of the deepest pity. "ah! don fabricio," she exclaimed, her generous nature resuming its influence, "let them attend to your wound; it is, i trust, not more dangerous than that of your friend. let not your feelings interfere to render the cares of those who love you useless. live!--if i cannot yield felicity to you, at least i will never bestow it on another. friendship and compassion shall restrain the hand that i would give to don juan: i will sacrifice for you, as he has done, the dearest wishes of my heart." [illustration: mendoza addresses donna theodora] don fabricio would have replied; but the surgeon, fearing that in his case, as in trouble generally, talking would only increase the ill, imposed silence, while he examined his wound. on so doing, he saw that it was likely to prove mortal, as the sword had penetrated the lungs, and the consequent loss of blood had been excessive. having however dressed it with care, he left the cavaliers to repose; and that a matter so essential to them, in their present state, might be secured, he took with him, as he left the cabin, donna theodora, whose presence seemed likely to disturb it. but despite all these precautions, mendoza was seized with fever, and towards midnight the wound began to bleed afresh. the renegade then thought it right to inform him that all hope of recovery was over, and that, if he had anything which he wished to communicate to his friend, or to donna theodora, he had no time to lose. the toledan was greatly affected on hearing the declaration of the surgeon: for don fabricio, he listened to it with indifference. he calmly requested that the regenade would summon the widow of cifuentes to his side. donna theodora hastened to the dying man, in a state more easy to conceive than to describe: tears streamed down her cheeks, and sobs choked her utterance;--so violent was her affliction, that mendoza could not repress his agitation at the sight. "madam," he exclaimed, "i am unworthy of the precious drops which dim those lovely eyes: restrain them, i entreat you, and listen to me for a few moments. and you also, my dear zarata," he continued, observing the excess of grief in which his friend indulged, "control your feelings for a while, and hear me. i well know that to you this separation is a painful shock; your friendship is too well assured for me to doubt it; but wait, both of you, until the earth shall have hidden me from your sight; and honour, with those marks of tenderness and pity, my silent grave. "suspend until then your affliction; i feel it now more than the loss of life. let me relate to you the way by which the fate that pursues me conducted me this night to the fatal shore which i have stained with the blood of my friend, and my own. you must be anxious to learn how it happened that i mistook don juan for alvaro; i will tell you, if the short time which it is permitted me to live will enable me to do so. "some hours after the vessel in which i was had quitted that wherein i had left don juan, we met a french privateer, which attacked and took the tunisian pirate, and landed us near alicant. i was no sooner free, than i thought on the ransom of my friend; and, to effect this i went to valencia to obtain the necessary funds. there, learning that at barcelona some brothers of the holy order of redemption were just about to sail for algiers, i set out for the former town. before leaving valencia, however, i begged my uncle the governor, don francisco de mendoza, to use all his influence with the court of madrid to obtain the pardon of zarata, that, on his return with me, he might be reinstated in his former possessions, which had been confiscated in consequence of the death of the duke of naxera. "as soon as we had arrived at algiers, i went to all the places frequented by the slaves; but in vain did i run them through, i found not the object of my search. this morning, i met the regenade catalonian, to whom this vessel belongs, and whom i recognized as a man who had formerly attended my uncle. i told him the motive of my voyage, and requested him to make strict inquiry for my friend. 'i am sorry,' he replied, 'that it is out of my power to serve you. i leave algiers to-night, with a lady of valencia, one of the dey's slaves.' 'and who is this lady,' i demanded. 'she is called the donna theodora,' was his startling answer. "the surprise which i exhibited at this information told the regenade at once that i was interested in this lady's fate. he therefore informed me of the design which he had formed for her liberation; and as, during his recital, he mentioned the slave alvaro, i had no doubt that it was alvaro ponza himself of whom he spoke. when he had finished: 'assist me in my resentment!' i exclaimed, with transport; 'furnish me with the means of avenging myself upon my enemy!' 'you shall soon be satisfied,' replied the regenade; 'but, tell me first what subject of complaint you have against this same alvaro.' i related to him all our history; which, when he had heard: 'enough!' he cried, 'you shall accompany me to-night. they will point out to you your rival; and, when you have punished him for his villany, you shall take his place, and join with us in conducting donna theodora to valencia.' "nevertheless, my impatience did not cause me to forget don juan. i left the money for his ransom in the hands of francisco capati, an italian merchant, who resides at algiers, and who promised me to effect it, if by any means he could discover him. at last, the night arrived; i went to the house of the regenade, who led me, as he had promised to the sea shore. we concealed ourselves near a little door, whence shortly issued a man who came directly towards us, and, pointing to two persons who followed him, said 'there are alvaro and donna theodora.' "furious at this sight, i drew my sword, ran to meet the unfortunate alvaro, and, imagining that it was my hated rival whom i struck, i thrust my weapon into the bosom of the faithful friend whom i had come to seek. but, heaven be praised!" he continued with emotion, "my error will not cost him his life, nor cause eternal grief to donna theodora." "ah! mendoza," interrupted the lady, "you do injustice to my tears; never shall i console myself for your own loss. even should i espouse your friend, it will be only to unite our griefs: your love, your friendship, your misfortunes will ever be present to our recollection,--the sole topic for our tongues." "it is too much, madam," replied don fabrido; "i am not worthy thus to trouble thy repose. permit, i entreat thee, zarata to call thee his, on the day when he shall have revenged thy wrongs on alvaro ponza." "don alvaro," said the widow of cifuentes, "is no more; on the same day that he forced me from my home, he was killed by the pirate who enslaved me." "madam," replied mendoza, "my wavering soul rejoices at the welcome news; my friend will be the sooner happy. follow without control your mutual inclinations. i see, with joy, the hour approach which removes from you, for ever, the obstacle which your generous compassion has raised against your happiness. may your days glide in peace, and in an union which the envy of fortune may never dare to trouble! adieu, madam;--adieu, don juan!--think sometimes, in your joy, of one who has never loved but you." donna theodora and the toledan were unable to reply to this affectionate address, except by tears, which redoubled as he spoke. mendoza, therefore, perceiving their grief, thus continued: "but i have done with earth! death already points me out my way; and i have not yet supplicated the divine mercy to pardon me for having, by my own folly, shortened a life of which it should have alone disposed." he spoke no more; but, raising his eyes to heaven, appeared to be engaged in mental prayer for its forgiveness; when a gurgling in his throat told that a last outbreaking of his wound had taken place, and he expired. don juan, as he heard the fatal rattling which indicated what was passing, was maddened with despair. his hands sought his own wound; and tearing it open, he would have soon joined his friend, but that the renegade and francisco threw themselves upon him, and withheld his fury: donna theodora, woman-like, forgetful of her own woes at sight of the transport of the toledan, hastened to soothe him by her tenderness; and--what will not love do?--soon brought him to himself: in short, the lover triumphed over the friend. but, if reason regained its sway, it was only to resist the insensate frenzy of his grief, and not to weaken its sentiment. the renegade, who, among the many things which he was bearing from algiers, happened to have balsam of arabia, and other precious requisites, undertook to embalm the body of mendoza, at the request of donna theodora and her now unrivalled lover; who were anxious to render to their friend's remains all proper honours of sepulture at valencia. love, with them, did nothing but sigh and moan, during the voyage; not so, however, with their companions: they were rejoiced by favourable winds, which soon brought them in sight of the coast of spain, to the inexpressible delight of those, which included the whole crew, who had never expected to behold it again. when the vessel had happily arrived at the port of denia, every one took his own course. for the widow of cifuentes and the toledan, they sent a courier to valencia, with letters for the governor and the friends of donna theodora. alas! while the intelligence of the return of this lady brought joy to her relations, that of the death of his nephew caused the deepest affliction to don francisco de mendoza. the poor old man, accompanied by the relatives of the released lady, lost no time in repairing to denia; and there, insisting on beholding the body of the unhappy don fabricio, he bathed it with his tears, uttering such deep complaints as melted the hearts of the beholders. then, turning to the toledan, he requested to be informed of the unfortunate events which had brought his nephew to so sad an end. [illustration: don francisco de mendoza mourning his nephew] "i will tell you," replied zarata: "far from seeking to efface them from my memory, i feel a mournful pleasure in recalling them to my mind, and in indulging my grief." he then related to don francisco all that had occurred; and this recital, while it brought fresh tears to his own eyes, added to those which flowed from those of his aged listener. meanwhile the friends of theodora were occupied in testifying the delight which was elidted by her unexpected return, and in felicitating her on the miraculous manner in which she had been delivered from the tyranny of mezzomorto. after all things had been satisfactorily explained, they placed the body of don fabricio in a hearse, and bore it to valencia. it was not, however, buried there, because, as the period of the vice-royalty of don francisco was nearly expired, that nobleman was preparing to return to madrid, where he had resolved that his nephew should be interred. while the preparations for the funeral were making, the widow of cifuentes was employed in loading francisco and the renegade with the fruits of her gratitude. the navarrese retired to his own province, and the surgeon returned with his mother to barcelona, where he sought once more the bosom of the church, in which he lives to this day snugly enough. and now, when all was completed, don francisco received an express from the court, conveying the pardon of don juan, which the king, notwithstanding his consideration for the house of naxera, had been unable to refuse to all the mendozas who had united to ask the grace. this pardon was the more welcome to the toledan, inasmuch as it gave him liberty to accompany the body of his friend to its last home, which he would not otherwise have dared to do. at last the sorrowful procession, attended by a numerous concourse of noble mourners, set out for madrid; where it was no sooner arrived, than all that remained of don fabricio was deposited in yonder church, where zarata and the donna theodora, with the permission of the mendozas, erected a splendid monument to his memory. nor did they bury their grief with their friend: they bore at least its outward sign for the unusual space of an entire year, that the world might know how deeply they deplored his loss. [illustration: zarata falls from his horse] after having exhibited such signal proofs of their affection for mendoza, they married; but by an inconceivable effort of the force of friendship, don juan for a length of time still preserved a melancholy that not even love could banish. don fabricio, his dear don fabricio, was ever present in his thoughts by day; and, by night, he saw him in his dreams, and mostly as he had beheld him when the last sigh escaped him. his mind, however, began to be relieved from these saddening visions,--the charms of his beloved theodora, which had ever possessed his soul, commenced their triumph over his baneful remembrances; in short, don juan once more touched upon happiness. but, a few days since, while hunting, he was thrown from his horse, fell upon his head, and fractured his skull. physicians could not save him; he is just dead: and it is theodora whom you see, in the arms of the two women, and who will probably soon follow him to the grave. chapter xvi. the dreamers. leandro perez, as soon as asmodeus had finished this narrative, said to him: "a very pretty picture of friendship have you presented! but, rare though it be to see two men so bound by love as the toledan and don fabricio, i imagine it were quite impossible to find two rivals of the softer sex, who could so generously sacrifice to each other, for friendship's sake, the man they love." "doubtless!" replied the devil: "that is a sight the world ne'er saw, and one that, as it grows older, it probably never will see. women have no affection for each other. i will suppose two who think themselves friends; i will even go the length to suppose that they never speak ill of one another when apart,--so extraordinary are the ties which bind them. well! see them together; and incline the least towards the one, and rage shall fill the bosom of the other; not that she cares an atom for yourself, but because she would be preferred by all. such is the character of woman: jealousy occupies too large a portion of her heart to leave room for friendship." "the history of these peerless friends," replied don cleophas, "possesses a slight touch of the romantic, and has led us somewhat from our object. the night is far advanced, and we shall soon behold the brilliant heralds of the coming day: i expect of you, therefore, a new pleasure. i perceive a great number of persons still sleeping, and wish you to satisfy my curiosity by informing me of their dreams." "willingly!" replied the demon. "you are, i see, an admirer of _les tableaux changeants;_ i will gratify your taste." "thanks!" said zambullo: "i expect that i am about to hear of rare absurdities in these same dreams." "and why?" asked the cripple: "you, so well versed in ovid, do you not know that it is towards break of day that dreams visit the mind with presages of truth, because at that time the soul is disengaged from the vapours of digestion?" "oh! as to that," replied the student, "despite of master ovid, i have no faith in dreams." "you are wrong, then," exclaimed asmodeus: "you should neither treat them as fantastic visions, nor yet believe them all; they are liars, who sometimes speak the truth. the emperor augustus, whose head had well adorned a student's shoulders, despised not dreams which turned upon his fate; and nearly took it in his head, at the battle of philippi, to strike his tent, on hearing of a dream which regarded himself. i could cite a thousand examples to you, which would convince you of your folly in this respect; but i forbear to do so, that i may at once satisfy the new desire which prompts you. "we will begin by this handsome mansion on our right. its proprietor, whom you see ensconced in that superb apartment, is a liberal and gallant noble. he is dreaming that he is at the opera, listening to a new prima donna; and that the voice of the syren is just enslaving his heart. "in the next apartment lies the countess, his wife, who loves play to madness. she dreams that she has no money, and that she is pawning her diamonds with a jeweller, who is lending her thereon three hundred pistoles, deducting only a very moderate discount. "in the next house, on the same side, lives a marquis of the same stamp as the count, and who, for the moment, is in love with a celebrated, but capricious, beauty. he dreams that he is borrowing largely of an usurer for the purpose of securing her to himself; while his steward, who is sleeping at the top of the house, is dreaming that he is growing rich as fast as his master is hastening to ruin. well! what think you of these dreams? is there anything in them so extravagant?" "no! on my life," replied don cleophas, "i begin to think ovid is right: but who is that man whom i see, lying with his mustachios in paper, and preserving in his sleep an air of gravity which would indicate that he is no ordinary cavalier." "he is a country gentleman," replied the demon,--"a viscount of aragon, imbued with all the pride of that province. his soul at this moment swims in delight; he dreams that he is with a grandee who is yielding to him precedence in a public ceremony. "but," continued asmodeus, "i observe in the same house two brothers, apothecaries, whose dreams are particularly unpleasant. one of them is reading, in his sleep, an ordinance which decrees that doctors shall not be paid, except when they have cured their patients; and his brother is occupied with a similar law, which ordains that medical attendants shall head the procession at the funeral of all who die in their hands." "i could wish," interrupted zambullo, "that these decrees were as true as they would be just; and that your doctor were thus compelled to be present at the burial of his innocent patient, as a _lieutenant criminel_, in france, is bound to witness the execution of the guilty wretch whom he has condemned." "i like your comparison," exclaimed the devil: "it might be said in such a case, however, that the one merely superintends the execution of his own sentence; but that the other, having already performed his especial function, pursues his victim after death." "hollo!" cried the student, "who is that personage rubbing his eyes, and rising in such tremendous haste?" "he," replied asmodeus, "is a noble signor who is soliciting an appointment, as governor, in the indies. a frightful dream has startled him from sleep: he fancied himself at court, and that the premier had passed him with averted eyes. and there, too, is a youthful damsel, waking to the world, not over contented with her dream. she is a lady of rank, and not more handsome than discreet. she has two lovers; for one of whom she nourishes a passion the most tender, and for the other an aversion, almost amounting to horror. well! in her sleep just now, she saw, upon his knees before her, the gallant she detests; and he was so impassioned, so assiduous, that had she not awakened, she would have treated him with even greater kindness than she ever bestowed on the lover whom she favours: nature, during sleep, signor student, throws off the yoke of reason, and of virtue. "cast your eyes upon that house at the corner of this street: it belongs to an attorney. behold him and his wife sleeping in twin bedsteads, in that room hung with ancient tapestry, embroidered with grotesque figures. the man of law dreams that he is about to visit one of your hospitals for the charitable purpose of relieving a sick client with his own money; while the lady imagines that her husband is driving out of his house a sturdy clerk, of whom he has become suddenly jealous." [illustration: the lady of rank's dream] "i hear ungentle snorings break on the stillness round us," said leandro perez; "and i fancy they proceed from yonder plump old man, whom i discern in the house adjoining that of the attorney." "precisely so," answered asmodeus. "it is a canon chanting in his sleep his _benedicite_. "his neighbour, there, is a silk-mercer, who vends his costly wares, at his own price, to titled customers, for their time. his lordly ledger is inscribed with debts amounting to above a hundred thousand ducats; and he is dreaming that his debtors are bringing him their gold; while his creditors are horrified with visions of his own bankruptcy." "these dreams," said the student, "certainly have not emerged from sleep's dark temple by the same gate." "i fancy not, indeed," replied the demon: "the first has passed by the ivory portal of the leaden god, and the other from that of horn. "the house adjoining that of the mercer is occupied by a celebrated bookseller. he has recently published a work which has been extremely successful. on bringing it out, he promised to give the author fifty pistoles, in addition to the price agreed for, should the book run to a second edition; and he is at this moment dreaming that he is reprinting it without informing the unfortunate scribe of the fact." "ah!" exclaimed zambullo, "there is no need to ask from which door that dream proceeded; and i have not the slightest doubt of its proving one of the least deceitful visions he ever had in his life. i am perfectly acquainted with those worthy gentlemen, the booksellers. heaven help the poor authors who fall into their hands! to cheat them, is the mystery of their craft." "nothing can be more true," replied the cripple; "but, it appears, you have yet to become acquainted with those as worthy gentry--the authors. they are six of one and half-a-dozen of the other: it is impossible to decide on their relative merits. by the bye, i will relate to you an adventure which occurred not a century ago, in this very town, and which will enlighten you on the subject. "three booksellers were supping together at a tavern; and the conversation naturally turned on the scarcity of good modern authors. thereupon, one of them said to his brethren: 'my friends, i must tell you, however, in confidence, that i have been in luck's way within these few days. i have purchased a manuscript, for which i paid rather dearly, it is true, but it is by an author--oh! it is uncoined gold.' one of those whom he addressed now interrupted him; and boasted of having been equally fortunate on the preceding day in a similar purchase. 'and i, gentlemen,' at last exclaimed the third, in his turn,--'i will not be behindhand in confidence with you; i will show you the gem of manuscripts, of which i only this morning became the happy owner.' as he finished, each drew from his capacious pocket the precious acquisition he had made; when these miracles of authorship turned out to be as many copies of a new theatrical piece, entitled the wandering jew, which the astonished bibliopoles found had been sold to each of them separately. "near the bookseller, in the next house," continued the devil, "you may perceive a timid and respectful lover just awaking. he loves one of the most sprightly of widows; and was dreaming, but this moment, that, beside her in the covert of a dusky wood, whose shade lent courage to his modest spirit, he was so tender,--so gallant in his speech, that his fair mistress could not help exclaiming: 'ah! you are becoming absolutely dangerous! if i were not steeled against the flattery of men, i should be lost. but you are all deceivers! i never trust to words;--actions alone can win me,'--'and what actions, madam, do you ask of me?' interrupted the gentle swain: 'must i, to prove the excess of my passion, undertake the twelve labours of hercules?' 'lord! no, nicaise,' replied the lady, 'much less would content me.' thereupon--he awoke." [illustration: the timid lover's dream] "prythee, tell me," said the student, "why yonder man, in that dark-coloured bed, tosses about so furiously." "he," replied the cripple, "is a talented licentiate; and his present agitation arises from a dream, in which he is disputing in favour of the immortality of the soul, with a little doctor of medicine, who is as good a catholic as he is a physician. in the same house, over the licentiate, lodges a gentleman of estramadura, named don balthazar fanfarronico, who has come post-haste to court, to demand a reward for having valiantly slain a portuguese, by a musket-shot, in ambush. and of what do you imagine he is dreaming? nothing less than that he is appointed to the government of antequera, at which he is very naturally dissatisfied: he thinks he deserves a viceroyalty at least. [illustration: man on horseback shot by another, in ambush] "in a furnished house close by, i discover two distinguished personages, whose dreams are far from pleasant. one of them is governor of a fortress, where he is now sustaining a fancied siege, and which, after a faint resistance, he is on the point of surrendering, with himself and garrison, at discretion. the other is the bishop of murcia, whom his majesty has charged with the task of eulogising a deceased princess, whose funeral takes place in a day or two. he has, in imagination, just ascended the pulpit; and there has his imagination left him, for he has stopped short in the exordium of his discourse." "it is not impossible," said don cleophas, "that this misfortune may really befall the worthy prelate." "no, truly," replied the devil; "for it is not very long since his grace found himself in a similar predicament on a like occasion. "and now, if you would like to behold a somnambulist, look into the stables of this same house: what see you?" "i perceive," answered leandro perez, "a man walking in his shirt, and holding, what seems to me, a horse-comb in his hand." "well!" replied the demon, "he is a sleeping groom. nightly does he rise in sleep to curry his pampered charge, and then betake himself to bed again. his fellow-servants look on the sleek coats of the horses as the frolic work of some wanton sprite; and the groom himself shares this opinion with them. "in the large house, opposite, lives an aged chevalier of the fleece, who was formerly viceroy of mexico. he has fallen sick; and, as he fears he is about to die, his viceroyalty begins to trouble him: true it is that he exercised his functions so as to justify his present inquietude; the chronicles of new spain, unless they be belied, make no too honourable mention of his name. he has just started from a dream, whose horrid visions float before him still, and which will probably bring about their own fulfilment in his death." "ah!" exclaimed zambullo, "that must be something extraordinary." "you shall hear," replied asmodeus: "there is really something in it rather singular. the sickly lordling dreamt he was in the valley of the dead, where all the victims of his injustice and inhumanity thronged fiercely round, and heaped upon him menaces and insult. they pressed upon, and would have torn him limb from limb; but, as their hot breath seemed to burn his very brain, he thought he took to flight, and saved himself from their fury. he had no sooner escaped, than he found himself in a large hall, hung all around with black cloth, where, sitting at a table upon which were three covers, he saw his father and his grandfather. his two dismal companions solemnly beckoned him to approach; and, with all the gravity which belongs to the dead, said to him: 'we have waited for you long: come, take your place beside us.'" "oh! the wretched dream," interrupted the student; "i could forgive the poor devil, for the fright he is in!" "to make up for it," resumed the cripple, "his niece, who reposes in the apartment over his, passes the night in bliss: sleep brings to her its brightest illusions. she is a maiden of from twenty-five to thirty, ugly as myself, and not much better made. she dreams that her uncle, to whom she is sole heiress, has ceased to live; and that she sees, in swarms around her, amiable signors, who dispute for the honour of her slightest glance." "if i do not deceive myself," said don cleophas, "i hear some one laughing behind us." "it is no deception," replied the devil; "it is a widow laughing in her sleep, a few paces from us. she is a woman who affects the prude, and who loves nothing so well as a little friendly scandal: she dreams that she is chatting with an ancient devotee, whose conversation could hardly fail to delight one of her taste. "i cannot help laughing in my turn, to see, in the room under that of the widow, an honest cit, who lives with difficulty on the little he possesses, but who dreams that he is picking up pieces of gold and silver, and that the more he gathers the more remain to glean: he has already filled a large coffer." "poor fellow!" said leandro; "he will not enjoy his treasure long." "no!" replied the cripple; "and when he awakes he will be like the really rich, when dying: he will see all his wealth disappear." "if you are curious to know the dreams of two actresses who live near each other, i will relate them to you. one is dreaming that she is catching birds with a call; that she strips them as she takes them, and then throws them to be devoured by a large tom-cat in which she delights, and which has all the profit of her skill. the other dreams that she is driving from her house greyhounds and coach-dogs, which for a long time have sunned themselves in her presence, having resolved to confine her affections to a pretty little lap-dog, which has recently gained her favour." "two dreams absurd enough!" cried the student; "i fancy that if at madrid, as formerly in rome, there were interpreters of dreams, they would be sadly puzzled to explain these." "not so much as you think," replied the devil: "a very small acquaintance with the domestic habits of your syrens of the stage, would enable them to render their sense perfectly intelligible." [illustration: the actress feeding birds to the tom-cat] "well! for myself," exclaimed don cleophas, "they are past my comprehension, and that troubles me little: i would rather be informed who is that lady sleeping in a bed with amber velvet hangings, bordered with silver fringe, and near which, upon a small table, i perceive a book and a wax-candle." "she is a lady of illustrious family," replied the demon, "whose establishment is mounted in gallant style, and who loves to see her livery adorned by young and handsome men. she is accustomed to read in bed, and cannot sleep without her favourite author. last night she was indulging in the metamorphoses of ovid: in consequence, she is at this moment dreaming, extravagantly enough, that jupiter has become amorous of her charms, and has entered her service in the form of a favourite page. [illustration: the actress, lap-dog under her arm, driving out the other dogs] "apropos of metamorphoses, there is another subject who will amuse you. you perceive that man, tasting in the calm of sleep the exquisite pleasure of imagined flattery. he is an actor, a veteran of such ancient service, that there is not a grey-beard in madrid who can say he witnessed his first appearance. he has been so long behind the scenes, that he may be said to have become theatrified. he is not without talent, but, like most of his profession, he is so vain that he thinks the part of man beneath him. of what think you is this hero of the slips now dreaming. he imagines that he is on the point of death; and that round his couch are assembled all the deities of olympus, to decide on what they are to do with a mortal of his importance. he listens while mercury insists before the council of the gods that a comedian so famed, after having so often had the honour of mimicking themselves, and jove's own person, on the stage, should not be subject to the common fate of man, but merits a reception as a brother god by those who now surround him. mercury finishes by moving accordingly, and momus seconds the motion; but the male and female members of the celestial parliament murmuring at the proposition of so extraordinary an apotheosis, jupiter, to put an end to the debate, is about to decree, of his sovereign authority, that the aged son of thespis shall be transformed into a theatrical statue, for the amusement of future generations." the devil was about to continue, but zambullo interrupted him, exclaiming: "hold! signor asmodeus, you forget that it is day. i am afraid they will perceive us from the street. if the gentle public should remark your lordship, we shall hear such an uproar as we may be glad to put an end to." [illustration: the actor transformed into a statue] "never fear!" replied the demon; "they will not see us. i have the power ascribed to the fabulous deities of whom i spoke but now; and like to the amorous son of saturn, who, upon mount ida, shrouded himself in a cloud, to hide from the world the blisses he shared with juno, i am about to envelope you and myself in a misty veil which the searching eye of man cannot pierce, but which shall not prevent you from beholding those things which i wish you to observe." as he spoke, they were suddenly surrounded by a vapour, which, although dense as the smoke of a battle-field, offered no obstacle to the sight of the student. "so now to return to our dreamers," continued the cripple,----"but i do not consider," he added, "that the mode in which you have consumed the night must have fatigued you. i advise, therefore, that you let me bear you to your home, and leave you to a few hours' sleep. in the meanwhile, i will just take a turn round the earth, and amuse myself after my fashion; taking care to rejoin you by the time you awake, when we will continue our laugh at the expense of the swarming world." "i have no desire to sleep, and am not in the least fatigued," replied don cleophas; "so, instead of leaving me, do me the pleasure to expound the various objects which occupy the yawning brains of the persons whom i see already risen, and who are preparing as it seems to me, to leave their houses: what can possibly call them out so early?" "what you ask me is well worth your knowledge," answered the demon; "you shall gaze on a picture of the cares, the emotions, the anguish that poor mortal man gives himself during life, to occupy, with the vain hope of happiness, the little space which is granted him between the cradle and the tomb." chapter xvii. in which originals are seen of whom copies are rife. "observe, in the first place, that troop of beggars which you see already in the street. they are libertines, mostly of good birth, who, like the monks, live on the principle of community of property; and who pass their nights in debauch at their haunts, where they are at all times well supplied with bread, meat, and wine. they are about to separate, each to perform his part in the churches of this godly city; and to-night, when reassembled, they will drink to the charitable fools who piously contribute to their orgies. you cannot but admire these scoundrels, who so well know the semblances which art adopts to inspire pity: why, coquettes are less adept to elicit love. "look at those three rogues who are walking off together. he who, leaning upon crutches, trembles as he moves, and seems to halt with pain,--who, as he hobbles on, you would momentarily think must fall upon his face,--despite his long white beard and wrinkled front, he is a youthful scamp, so strong and swift, would head the hunted deer. the one beside him, with that awful scald, is a graceful adolescent, whose head is covered with a bladder skin which hides as beauteous curls as ever adorned a courtly page. the third, who gyrates in a bowl, is a comic rascal, that can bring such lamentable noises from his stomach as to move the bowels of all ancient ladies, who even hasten from the topmost floors to his relief. "while these mummers, under the mask of poverty, prepare to cheat the public into charity, i observe hosts of worthy artisans, who, spaniards though they be, are on the road to earn their bread by the sweat of their careworn brows. on all sides you may behold men rising from their beds, or dressing hastily, that they may begin anew their various parts upon this busy stage. how many projects formed in the visionary night are about to be carried into execution, or to vanish with the sober light of morn! what schemes prompted by love, by interest, or ambition, are about to be attempted!" "what see i in the street?" interrupted don cleophas. "who is that woman loaded with saintly medals, who walks, preceded by a footman, in such anxious haste? she has some pressing business in hand, beyond a doubt." "indeed she has," replied the devil; "she is a venerable matron, hurrying to a neighbouring house where her ministry is suddenly required. she seeks a fair comedian who suffers for the fault of eve, and near whom are a brace of cavaliers in sore perplexity. one of these is her spouse, and the other a noble friend, who is greatly interested as to the result: for the labours of your actresses resemble those of alcmena; there being ever a jupiter and an amphitryon who share in their production. "would not one swear now, to look on that mounted cavalier, carrying a carbine in his hand, that he was a sportsman about to war with the hares and partridges who besiege the neighbourhood of madrid? nevertheless, it is no love of shooting which calls him forth so early: he is after other game; and is bent towards a village, where he will disguise himself as a peasant, that he may enter, without suspicion, the farm where his mistress resides, under the vigilant eye of an experienced mother. "that young graduate, passing along with such enormous strides, is going, according to his daily custom, to inquire after the health of an aged canon, his uncle, whose prebendary he has in his eye. do you see, in that house opposite to us, a man putting on his cloak, evidently preparing to go out? he is an honest and rich citizen, whom a matter of grave interest has kept awake all night. he has an only daughter, of marriageable years, and he is unable to make up his mind whether he shall give her hand to a young attorney who solicits it, or to a proud hidalgo who demands it; and he is therefore going to consult his friends on the subject: in truth, he may well feel embarrassed. he is justly alarmed lest, by resolving on the gentleman, he should have a son-in-law who would despise him; and on the other hand he fears, that if he decide for the attorney, he will introduce into his house a worm which will consume all that it contains. "look at the neighbour of this anxious parent. you may perceive, in that house so magnificently furnished, a man in a dressing-gown of scarlet brocade, embroidered with flowers of gold: there is a wit for you, who affects the lord in spite of his lowly origin. ten years ago, he had not twenty maravedis wherewith to bless himself; and now, he boasts an annual revenue of ten thousand ducats. his equipage is in the best taste; but he keeps it on the savings of his table; whose frugality is such that he generally picks his chicken by himself. sometimes, however, his ostentation compels him to regale his illustrious friends: to-day, for instance, he gives a dinner to some councillors of state; and, in anticipation, he has just sent for a pastry-cook, with whom he will haggle for a maravedi, before he agrees with him on the bill of fare, which it will be his next care to display to advantage." "you are describing a scaly villain, indeed!" cried zambullo. "oh! as to that," replied asmodeus, "all beggars whom fortune suddenly enriches become either misers or spendthrifts: it is the rule." "tell me," said the student, "who is that lovely woman at her toilet, talking with that handsome cavalier?" "ah! truly," exclaimed the cripple, "you have hit on a subject which well deserves your attention. the lady is a german widow, who lives at madrid on her dower, and who visits in the best society; and the young man who is with her is the signor don antonio de monsalva. "this cavalier, although a member of one of the noblest families in spain, has pledged himself to the widow to espouse her; he has even given her a conditional promise of forfeiture to the amount of three thousand pistoles. he is, however, crossed in his love by his relations, who threaten to confine him if he do not immediately break off all connexion with the fair german, whom they look upon as an adventurer. the gallant, mortified to find his friends all thus opposed to his design, went yesterday evening to his mistress, who, perceiving his uneasiness, asked him its cause. this, after some hesitation, he told her, assuring her at the same time that whatever obstacles his family might raise, nothing should shake his constancy. the widow appeared delighted at his firmness, and they parted at midnight highly satisfied with each other. [illustration: the cavalier visits the german widow] "monsalva has returned this morning, as you see, to pay his devoirs to the lady, whom finding at her toilet, he used every effort to beguile the time by new protestations of devotion. during the conversation, his saxon mistress was releasing her auburn curls from the papers which had confined them during the night; and our cavalier, happening to take up one of these, heedlessly unfolded it, and, to his great surprise, observed therein his own hand-writing. 'what! madam,' said he, smiling, 'is this the use you make of these pledges of my affection?' 'yes! monsalva,' replied the lady; 'you behold the value that i put upon the promises of lovers who would marry me in opposition to their friends; they make excellent _papillotes_.' when, indeed, the cavalier discovered that it was his pledge of forfeiture which his mistress had thus destroyed, he was filled with admiration at this unlooked-for proof of disinterestedness, and he is now very properly vowing to her for the thousandth time, eternal fidelity. "cast your eyes," continued the devil, "upon that tall man who is passing beneath us; he has a large common-place book under his arm, an ink-bottle hanging at his girdle, and a guitar slung at his back." "he is an odd-looking fellow indeed," cried the student: "i would lay my life he is an original." "it is beyond a doubt," replied the demon, "that he is a curious compound enough. there are such things as cynical philosophers in spain; and there goes one. he is walking towards the buen-retiro, to reach a meadow in which there is a fountain, whose refreshing waters form a brook that glides like a silver serpent through the flowers. there will he pass the day, contemplating the beauties of nature, tinkling his guitar, and noting the reflections that the scene inspires in his common-place book. he carries in his pockets his ordinary food, that is to say, a piece of bread and some onions. such is the sober life that he has led during ten years past; and were some aristippus to say to him, as was erst spoken to diogenes: 'if thou knewest how to pay thy court to the great, thou wouldst not eat onions;' this modern philosopher would reply: 'i could pay my court to the great as well as thou, if i would abase one man so low, as to make him cringe before another.' "in truth, however, this philosopher formerly mixed greatly with the nobility; he even owes his fortune to their patronage; but, compelled to feel, as all must who move among persons more exalted than themselves, that the friendship of these lordlings was to him but an honourable species of servitude, he broke off all connection with them. at the time i speak of he kept his carriage; this he subsequently put down, on reflecting that, as he rolled along, the mud from his wheels was splashed perhaps upon his betters. distributing his wealth among his indigent friends, he reserved for himself no more than would enable him to live as moderately as he does; and he kept so much, only because it appeared to him no less shameful for a philosopher to beg his bread from the people than from the aristocracy. "pity the cavalier who follows this philosopher, and whom you see accompanied by a dog. he can boast his descent from one of the most ancient and noble houses of castile. he has been rich; but he ruined himself, like the timon of lucian, by feasting his friends every day; and, particularly, by giving splendid fêtes on the births and marriages of all the princes and princesses of spain; in a word, on every occasion for rejoicing that he could make or find. no sooner did the discreet parasites who flocked round him see the ring slip over his purse than they abandoned his house and himself; one friend alone remains faithful to him now;--it is his dog." [illustration: the ruined cavalier and his dog] "tell me! signor asmodeus," cried leandro perez; "to whom belongs the carriage stopping before that house?" "it is the property of a rich contador, who comes here every morning to visit a frail beauty, whom this ancient sinner of moorish race protects, and whom he loves to distraction. he learned last night that his female friend had been unfaithful, and in the fury which this intelligence induced, he wrote her a letter full of reproaches and threats. you would never guess what part the lady took on this occasion: instead of having the impudence to deny the fact, she sent to the treasurer this morning, owning that he was justly angered at her conduct; that he ought henceforth to despise her, since she had been capable of deceiving so gallant a lover; that she acknowledged and detested her fault; and that, to punish herself, she had already sacrificed those locks which he had so often admired; in short, that she had resolved to consecrate, in a nunnery, the remainder of her days to repentance. "the old dotard was unable to withstand the well-feigned remorse of his mistress, and has risen thus early to console her. he found her in tears; and so well has she played her part that he has just assured her of a full pardon for the past: nay, more, to compensate for the sacrifice of her much-prized tresses, he is, at this moment, promising to enable her to cut a figure in the world, by purchasing for her a handsome country-house, which is just about to be sold, near the escurial." "all the shops are opened, i perceive," said the student; "and i observe already a cavalier now entering a tavern." "that cavalier," replied asmodeus, "is a youth of family, who is troubled with the prevailing mania for writing nonsense, that he may pass as an author. he is not absolutely without talent; he has even enough to enable him to detect its want in the dramas which are at present produced on your stage; but not so much as to qualify him to write a tolerable one himself. he has gone into that house to order a grand repast: he gives a dinner to-day to four comedians, whose good graces he would purchase in favour of a wretched comedy of his concoction, which he is on the point of presenting to their company. what will not money do? "apropos of authors," continued the devil, "there now are two just meeting in the street. do you notice the mocking style of their salutes? they despise each other thoroughly: and they are right. one of them writes as easily as the poet crispinus, whom horace compares to the bellows of a forge; and the other wastes a vast deal of time in composing works as cold and insipid as a water ice." "who is the little man descending from his carriage at the door of that church?" asked zambullo. "he is a person worthy your remark," replied the cripple. "it is not yet ten years since he abandoned the office of a notary, in which he was senior clerk, to shut himself up in the carthusian monastery of saragoza. at the end of a six-months noviciate, however, he left the convent, and re-appeared in madrid; where those who had formerly known him were amazed to see him all at once become one of the principal members of the council of the indies. his sudden fortune is still the wonder of the town. some say he has sold himself to the devil; others, that he is the beloved of some rich dowager; and some, again, insist that he must have found a treasure." "well! you know all about it, of course," interrupted don cleophas. "i should wonder if i did not," replied the demon; "but i will unveil this mystery for you. [illustration: the novice unearths the casket] "during his aforesaid noviciate, it happened one day that our intended monk, in digging a deep hole in his appointed garden, lighted on a brazen coffer, which he opened, of course, and within which he found a golden casket containing some thirty diamonds of the purest water. although the pious horticulturist knew little enough of precious stones, he shrewdly suspected that whoever had placed them there was wiser; so resolving on the course which, in one of the comedies of plautus, is adopted by gripus, who abandons fishing when he has found a treasure, he threw off his gown, returned to madrid, and by the assistance of a friendly jeweller, transmuted his diamonds into pieces of gold, and his pieces of gold into an office which has procured for him an exalted station in society." chapter xviii. relating to other matters which the devil exhibited to the student. "i must indulge you with a laugh," continued asmodeus, "at the cost of an amusing character whom you see walking into that coffee-house, over the way. he is a biscayan physician, and is going to sip his cup of chocolate; after which he will return to his home to pass the day at chess. "while he is thus engaged, do not be alarmed for his patients; he has none: and if he had, the moments he employs in play would not be the worst for them. he moves from his chess-board in the evening to repair to the house of a rich and handsome widow, with whom he would be happy to mate, and for whom he affects a knightly passion. when he is with her, a rascally valet, his only domestic, and who is aware of his practice with the widow, brings him a false list, studded with the names of noble lords and ladies who have sent to seek the doctor. the lady dreams not he is playing false, and the biscayan is therefore fast entrapping her into a false move, which will win him the game. [illustration: three girls getting up] "but," continued the devil, "let us stop a moment at that house close by; i would have you remark what is passing there before we look elsewhere. run your eyes over the rooms: what do you observe?" "why, i can discern some maidens, whose beauty dazzles me," replied the student. "some are just leaving their beds, and others have already risen. what charms do they present to my feasting eyes! i can fancy i behold the nymphs of diana, but more lovely than the poets have depicted them." "if those maidens, as you call them, and whom you admire so much," replied the cripple, "have the graces of diana's nymphs, they assuredly want their chastity to complete the picture. they are a parcel of good-natured females, who live upon a common fund. as dangerous as the fair damsels of chivalry who arrested, by their charms, the knights who passed before their castle walls, they seek to draw your less heroic youths within their bowers. and woe betide those whom they ensnare! to warn the passer-by of the peril which awaits him, beacons should be set before their doors, as such friendly monitors are placed on dangerous coasts to mark the places mariners should shun." "i need not ask you," said leandro perez, "whither go those signors whom i see lolling in their carriages: they are doubtless going to the levée of the king." "you have said it," replied the devil; "and if you also would attend it, i will carry you there before them: we shall have amusement enough, i promise you." "you could not have proposed a thing more suited to my taste," replied zambullo; "and i anticipate all the pleasure you have promised me." the demon, although eager to satisfy don cleophas in his desires, carried him leisurely towards the palace, so that, in their way, the student, perceiving some workmen employed upon a lofty doorway, asked if it were the portal of a church they were constructing. "no," replied asmodeus, "it is the entrance to a new market; and it is magnificent as you see. however, though they raised its arch until its point were lost in clouds, it would be still unworthy of two latin lines which are to adorn its front." "what say you?" cried leandro;--"what a notion would you give me of the verses that you speak of! i die with anxiety to hear them." "i will repeat them, then," replied the devil; "and do you prepare to admire them. 'quam bene mercurius nunc merces vendit opimas, momus ubi fatuos vendidit ante sales! "in these two lines is concealed one of the most delicate puns imaginable." "i cannot say i yet perceive its point," said the student; "i do not clearly understand what is referred to by your _fatuos sales_." "you are not then aware," replied the devil, "that on the spot where they are building this market for the sale of provisions, there formerly stood a monkish college in which youth was inducted to the humanities. the rectors of this college were in the habit of getting up plays, in which the students figured on the stage. these plays were, as you may suppose, flat enough as to effect and language; and were enlivened by ballets, so amusingly absurd, that everything danced, even to preterites and supines." "there! that is quite enough," interrupted zambullo; "i am quite alive to the stuff of which college pieces are composed--excuse my pun--but the inscription is admirable." asmodeus and don cleophas had scarcely reached the grand staircase of the palace, when the courtiers commenced the inflating labour of mounting its polished steps. as they passed our unseen watchers, the devil did the honour of announcing them to the student: "there," said he, pointing with his finger as he spoke, "there is the count de villalonso, of the house of puebla d'ellerena; this is the marquis de castro fueste; that is don lopez de los rios, president of the council of finance; and here is the count de villa hombrosa." he did not, however, content himself thus with naming them; each had his legend: and the demon's sardonic spirit found in the character of each some weakness to laugh at, or some vices to lay bare. none passed before him unnoted. "that signor," said he of one, "is affable and obliging; and listens to you with an air of kindness. do you ask his protection, he grants it freely; nay, proffers you his interest. it is pity that a man who loves so much to assist his fellow-creatures should have a memory so bad, that a quarter of an hour after you have spoken to him, he should forget all you have asked and he has promised. "that duke," said he, speaking of another, "is one of the best characters that haunts the court. he is not, like most of his equals, one man at this moment and another the next; there is no caprice, no inequality in his disposition. i may add to this, that he pays not with ingratitude the affection that is shown for him, or the services that are rendered in his behalf. unfortunately, again, he is too slothful to reward these kindnesses as they deserve: he leaves so long to be desired what is so rightfully expected, that when the favour is at last obtained, it is felt to have been dearly purchased." after the demon had thus exhibited to the student the good and evil qualities of a great number of signors, he conducted him into a room in which there were all sorts and conditions of men, but especially so many chevaliers, that don cleophas could not help exclaiming: "what numberless knights! by our lady! there must be enough and to spare of them in spain." "i can answer for that," replied the cripple; "and it is not at all surprising, since to be dubbed companion of st. jago, or of calatrava, your vigilants require no five-and-twenty thousand crowns in pocket or estate, as did formerly the knights of ancient rome: you perceive therefore that knighthood is an article most admirably assorted. "observe," continued the devil, "that common-looking fellow behind us." "hush!" interrupted zambullo; "speak softly, or the man will hear you." "no, no," replied asmodeus; "the same charm which renders us invisible, prevents our being heard. examine him well: he is a catalonian, returned from the philippines, where he ranged the seas as a pirate. could you conceive, to look on him, that you beheld a thunderbolt of war? nevertheless, he has performed, in his vocation, prodigies of valour. he is here this morning, to present a petition to the king, in which he asks, as a recompense for his services, a certain post, which is vacant. i doubt, however, if he will succeed, inasmuch as he has neglected duly to possess the prime minister with a proper notion of his merits." "i perceive on the right of the pirate," said leandro perez, "a tall and bulky man, who is sufficiently impressed with an idea of his own importance: to judge of his station by the pride of his bearing, he is some wealthy grandee, certainly." "nothing can be further from the truth," replied the demon: "he is one of the poorest of hidalgos, who lives on the profits of a gaming-table, under the protection of one of the ministers. "but i see a licentiate, who must not pass without your notice: it is he whom you can perceive near the first window, in conversation with a cavalier clad in velvet of a silver grey. they are discoursing of a matter yesterday decided by the king; but i will tell you its history. "two months ago, this licentiate, who is an academician of toledo, published a work on morals, which shocked the orthodox opinions of all your grey-headed authors of castile: they found it full of vigorous expressions and words newly introduced. it required no more to unite them against so singular a production; and they therefore instantly assembled, and agreed upon a petition to his majesty, praying him to condemn the book as one written in a style dangerous to the purity and simplicity of the spanish tongue. [illustration: the three commissioners reporting to the king] "the petition appearing worthy of attention to his majesty, he named three commissioners to examine the work; and they estimating its style to be really reprehensible, and the more so from its peculiar brilliancy, upon their report the king has decreed that, under pain of his displeasure, those academicians of toledo who write after the manner of the licentiate shall not dare to publish another book; and further that, in order to preserve the language of castile in all its purity, such academicians, after their decease, shall be replaced by persons of the first quality alone." "that is indeed a marvellous decision!" cried zambullo, laughing: "the lovers of our vulgar tongue have henceforth nought to fear." "excuse me," replied the devil; "but your writers who endanger that noble chastity of style which forms the delight of all discerning readers, are not confined to the toledan academy." don cleophas was now curious to learn who was the cavalier in silver-grey habiliments, whom he beheld conversing with the hardy moralist. "he," said the cripple, "is a catalonian, an officer of the spanish guard, and of course a younger son; but he is a youth whose tongue is pointed as the sword he wears. to give you an example of his wit, i will tell you of a repartee that he made yesterday to a lady whom he met in high society. but to enable you to enjoy its pungency, i must inform you that he has a brother, don andrea de prada, who was some years since, an officer, like himself, in the same corps. "it happened one day that a farmer of the king's revenues came to this don andrea, and said to him: 'signor de prada, i bear the same name as you, but our families are different. i am aware that you belong to one of the noblest houses in catalonia, but at the same time that you are not rich. now, i am of a poor family, and have lots of wealth. can we not find a means, therefore, to communicate to each other that which we mutually want? have you your titles of nobility?' 'certainly!' replied don andrea. 'that being the case,' continued the other, 'if you will confide the documents to my hands, i will place them in those of an ingenious genealogist, who will set to work upon them, and will make us relations in spite of our ancestors. on my part, as in duty bound, i will make my kinsman a present of thirty thousand pistoles: is it a bargain?' don andrea, dazzled by the proposition, accepted it at once, gave the parchments to the farmer, and with the money he received purchased an estate in his native province, where he now resides at his ease. "his younger brother, who gained nothing by the transaction, was dining yesterday at a house where the conversation turned by chance on the signor de prada, farmer of the king's revenues. on this, the lady of whom i spoke, turning to the young officer, asked if the wealthy signor were not related to him. 'no,' replied he, 'i have not that honour; but i believe he is a relation of my brother's.'" the student laughed, as well he might, at this family distinction, which appeared to him rather novel. but perceiving at the moment a little man following a courtier, he cried out: "bah! but yon homunculus will lose nothing for the want of reverence to the signor whom he shadows. he has some precious favour to intreat, beyond all doubt." "i shall not occupy your time in vain," replied the devil, "in telling you the object of the obsequiousness you observe. the little man is an honest citizen, who is proprietor of a country house in the suburbs of madrid, near which are some mineral springs of fashionable celebrity. he has lent this house, rent free, for three months to this signor, that the latter may drink the waters: he is at this moment very humbly beseeching his noble tenant to serve him on a pressing opportunity which offers; and the signor is very politely declining to do so. "i must not let yon cavalier of plebeian race escape me. see, where he wades through the expecting throng with all the air of one of note. he has become immensely rich by force of calculation, and in his proud mansion has as many servants as your first grandee; his table would put to shame for delicacy and abundance that of a minister of state. he has a carriage for himself, one for his wife, and another for his children; and in his stables may be seen the best of mules and the most splendid horses in the world. only yesterday, he bought, and paid for on the nail, a superb train of noble animals, that the prince of spain had partially agreed for, but had thought too dear." "what insolence!" exclaimed leandro. "a turk, now, who beheld that lump of arrogance, poised on so dangerous a height, would watch each instant for its sudden fall." "i know nothing of the time to come," replied asmodeus, "but think your turk would not be far from right. "ah! what is that i see?" continued the demon with surprise. "did i wonder at any thing, i should disbelieve my eyes. i absolutely discern within this room a poet--the last whom i should expect to see. how dares he come within these walls?--he who could write in terms offensive to their noblest visitants. he must count indeed on the contempt that he is held in! [illustration: the chief magistrate and his page] "but mark particularly that venerable man who enters now, supported by a page. observe with what respect the crowd divides to make way for him. that is the signor don josé de reynaste e ayala, chief magistrate of the police: he comes hither to inform the king of the events of last night in the capital. methinks, signor student, that we could assist him in his report! however, regard him with admiration, for he deserves it." "in truth," replied zambullo, "he looks like a man of worth." "it would be well for spain," replied the cripple, "if all its corregidors would take him for their model. he has none of that intemperate zeal which urges those who should administer the law to violate its spirit from impetuosity or caprice; and he respects too much the sacred freedom of the person to deprive the meanest of his fellow-subjects of that blessed right on the mere information of an alguazil, a clerk, or even a secretary of police. he knows those gentlemen too well; and that, for the most of them, their venal souls will scruple not to traffic on the fund of his authority. when a man stands before him, accused of crime, he may be sure that justice will be done towards him; the evidence is sifted until truth is discovered; and thus the prisons, instead of echoing the sighs of innocence, perform their proper office of holding the guilty. even these are not abandoned to the licence which ordinarily reigns in gaols. he visits, as a man, those whom, as a magistrate, he has condemned, and is careful that inhumanity, in its dispensers, shall not add rigour to the law." [illustration: the chief magistrate visiting a prisoner] "what an eulogium!" exclaimed leandro; "you paint a man whom angels might agree to worship! you rouse my curiosity to witness his reception by the king." "i am annoyed," replied the devil, "to be obliged to tell you of my inability to gratify a wish that i expected, without at least exposing myself to insult. it is not in my vocation, nor am i permitted, to intrude myself on kings; their cabinet is the domain of leviathan, belphegor, and ashtaroth; i informed you, from my bottle, that these three demons preside over the councils of princes. all others of our craft are denied the entrée at court; and i know not what i could have been thinking of, when i offered to bring you here: it was a dangerous flight to take, i can assure you. if my three loving brethren should perceive me, they would show me no favour, i promise you, and between ourselves, i would rather avoid the conflict." "that being so," replied the student, "let us be off as quickly as you please: i should die with grief to see you curried by those wretched grooms, without being able to help you; for if i lent you a hand, i expect you would shine none the brighter for my assistance." "most decidedly not," replied asmodeus; "they would never feel the blows that you could deal them, and you would have the satisfaction of dying under theirs. "but," he continued, "to console you for your exclusion from the cabinet of your potent sovereign, i will procure you a pleasure quite equal to the one you lose." and as he finished these words, he took the student's hand, and away they went, as fast as the devil could fly, toward the monastery of mercy. chapter xix. the captives. in a moment they were on a house adjoining the monastery, at the gate of which there was a vast concourse of persons, of all ages and of both sexes. "here's a crowd!" exclaimed leandro perez. "what ceremony can call so many good folks together?" "why," replied asmodeus, "it is one which you have never witnessed, though it may be seen from time to time within madrid. three hundred slaves, all subjects of the crown of spain, are expected to arrive each minute: they return from algiers, where they have been recently purchased by some fathers of the redemption. every street through which they are to pass will be lined with spectators to welcome them." "it is true, indeed," replied zambullo, "that i have never had the curiosity to behold a similar exhibition; and, if this be the treat which your worship has reserved to gratify my taste, i must tell you frankly that you need not have so boasted of its piquancy." "oh! i know you well enough," replied the devil, "not to be aware that it is no joyous spectacle for you to look upon the misery of your fellows; but when i tell you that, in bringing you here to view it under its present form, i am about to reveal certain singular circumstances attending the captivity of some, and the equally curious embarrassment in which others will find themselves on returning to their homes, i am persuaded that you will not be unthankful for the amusement i have provided." "certainly not," replied the student; "you put another face upon the matter; and you will afford me much pleasure by your promised revelations." during this discussion, loud shouts were suddenly heard from the populace as they beheld the approaching captives, who marched two by two, in their slaves' dresses, each bearing his chain upon his shoulders. they were preceded by a considerable number of monks of the order of mercy, who had been to meet them, and who rode on mules caparisoned in black serge, as if they headed a funeral: one of these good fathers carried the standard of redemption. the younger captives came first; the more aged followed; and the procession was closed by an aged monk of the same order as the first, who, mounted on a diminutive steed, had all the air of a prophet: this was the chief of the missionary expedition. to him every eye was attracted, as much by his excessive gravity, as by a long white beard which flowed down his bosom, and gave to the features of this moses of the spaniards a venerable aspect, lighted as they were by a heartfelt joy at having been the instrument of restoring so many of his christian brethren to their country. "the captives whom you see," commenced the cripple, "are not all equally rejoiced at their restoration to liberty. if there be some whose hearts beat with pleasure at the thought that they are about to see once more their dearest friends, there are others not a little fearful that, during the time they have been estranged from their families, events may have occurred which will bring tortures to their minds more cruel than the most refined of slavery itself. [illustration: the procession] "for instance, the two who first approach are in the latter category. the one, a native of the little town of velilla in aragon, after having passed ten years in bondage with the turk, without once hearing of his much-loved wife, comes home to find her bound again in wedlock, and the mother of five little ones who can claim no kin with him. the other, son of a wool-merchant of segovia, was carried off by a corsair nearly twenty years ago: he returns with a lively apprehension that matters have gravely changed during that time with his family, and he will find himself a prophet in his loss. his father and mother are dead; and his brothers, who shared their wealth, have dissipated it foolishly enough." "my attention is rivetted," exclaimed the student, "upon a slave whom, by his looks, i judge to be delighted that he is no longer exposed to the seducing influence of the bastinado." "the captive whom you speak of," replied the devil, "has good reason to rejoice at his deliverance: he has learnt, since his return, that an aunt to whom he is sole heir has just been released from her troubles, and that he is consequently about to enjoy the free use of her brilliant fortune. this it is which now occupies his thoughts so agreeably, and gives to his appearance that air of satisfaction which you remark. "how all unlike is he to the unhappy cavalier who walks beside him; the tortures of suspense fill his bosom incessantly: i will tell you on what they impend. when he was taken by a pirate of algiers, as he was passing into italy from spain, he loved a maiden and by her was loved: he dreads lest, while he was in chains, his fair one's constancy may have failed her." "has he been long a slave then?" asked zambullo. "eighteen months," replied asmodeus. "pooh!" exclaimed leandro perez, "i fancy our gallant is a prey to causeless fear; he has hardly put his mistress's fidelity to such a test as to have need for great alarm." "there you are mistaken," replied the cripple; "his princess no sooner heard that he was captive to the moor, than she hastened to provide herself with a more fortunate lover. "would you credit now," continued the demon, "that the man who follows immediately behind the two we have been speaking of, and whom that thick and sandy beard so horribly disfigures, was once a very handsome man? nothing, however, can be more certain; and you see, in that bent and hideous figure, the hero of a story remarkable enough to induce me to relate it to you. [illustration: fabricio] "his name is fabricio, and he was hardly fifteen years of age when his father, a wealthy cultivator of cinquello, a large village of the kingdom of leon, died. he lost his mother shortly afterwards; so that, being an only son, he became thus early the master of a considerable property, the management of which was confided to an uncle, who happened to be honest. fabricio completed his studies at salamanca, where he had been previously placed; he then particularly devoted himself to the noble accomplishments of riding and fencing; in a word, he neglected nothing which might concur to render him worthy the sweet regards of donna hippolita, sister of a vegetating signor, whose cottage was about a couple of gun-shots from cinquello. "this lady was beautiful in the extreme, and about the age of fabricio, who, having seen her from his infancy, had, to speak vulgarly, sucked in with his mother's milk the love which occupied his soul in manhood. hippolita, on her side, could not help perceiving that fabricio was not ill-made; but, knowing him to be the son of a husbandman, she had never deigned to look on him with attention. her pride was only equalled by her loveliness, and by the haughty bearing of her brother, don thomaso de xaral, who was probably unsurpassed, even in spain, for his lordly want of money, and his beggarly pride. "this inflated country gentleman lived in a small house which he dignified by the name of castle, but which to speak properly was a ruin, so little had the winds respected his nobility. however, although his means did not enable him to repair his mansion, and although he had hardly enough to sustain himself, he must needs keep a valet to attend upon his person; nay, he even kept a moorish female to wait upon his sister. "it was a refreshing sight to witness, in the village, on sundays and at every festival, don thomaso habited in crimson velvet, but sadly faded, and a little hat, overshadowed with an ancient plume of yellow feathers, which were carefully enshrined, like relics, on the common days of the year. disporting this frippery, which to him was proof apparent of his noble birth, he would affect the grandee, and seemed to think that he amply repaid the reverence that was offered to him when he condescended to notice it by an approving smile. his fair sister was not less vain than himself of the antiquity of her race; and she joined to this folly that of such self-congratulation on her charms, that she lived in the most perfect confidence that ere long some noble signor would come to beg the honour of her hand. "such were the characters of don thomaso and the beauteous hippolita. fabricio, aware of their foibles, and in order to insinuate himself into the estimation of persons so exalted, lost no opportunity of flattering their pride by the most respectful seeming; and so well did he manage, that the brother and sister at last were graciously pleased to allow him frequent occasions for paying his homage to them. as he was as well informed of their poverty as of their vanity, he was tempted every day to make offer of his purse; and was only withheld from doing so by the uncertainty as to which of their failings was the greater: nevertheless, his ingenious generosity found a way of relieving the one without causing the other to blush. 'signor,' said he one day to don thomaso in private, 'i have a thousand ducats which i would entrust in safe hands: have the kindness to take care of them for me;--permit me to owe this obligation to you.' "i need hardly tell you that xaral consented; but besides being short of money, he had the very soul for a trustee. he therefore made no scruple of taking charge of the sum proposed; and no sooner was it in his possession, than, without ceremony, he employed a good part of it in putting his house in order, and adding thereto sundry little conveniences. a new dress of splendid light blue velvet was bought, and made at salamanca; and a green plume, also purchased there, came to snatch from the olden plume of yellow the glory which had pertained to it from time immemorial, of adorning the noble front of don thomaso. the lovely hippolita had also her compliment, and was entirely new-rigged. and thus did xaral quickly melt the ducats which had been confided to him, not once reflecting that they did not belong to him, or that he would never be able to restore them. indeed, he would not have scrupled thus to use them, had such extraordinary thoughts occurred to him; he would have felt that it was perfectly proper a plebeian should pay for the patronage of so noble a person as himself. "fabricio had foreseen all this; but had at the same time flattered himself, that out of love for his money, if not for himself, don thomaso would live with him on terms of greater intimacy; that hippolita by degrees would become accustomed to his attentions, and finally pardon the audacity which had inspired him to elevate his thoughts to her. in effect, his intercourse with them certainly increased, and they displayed for him a consideration that he had never before appeared to deserve: a rich man is ever appreciated by the great, when he will consent to act for them the part of the wolf to romulus and remus. xaral and his sister, who until now had nothing known of riches but the name, had no sooner tasted the intoxicating draught, than they deemed fabricio, the source whence it flowed, an object not to be neglected; and they therefore exhibited towards him such marks of respect, and almost affection, as made him think his money well bestowed. he was soon convinced that he had really won upon them; and that wisely reflecting it is the lot of the proudest signors to be obliged, in order to sustain their pretensions, to graft their noble scions on the stocks of the fortunate vulgar, they now looked on him without disdain. with this notion, which flattered his own self-love, fabricio resolved to propose for hippolita to her brother. "on the first favourable opportunity which offered to speak with don thomaso on the subject, he informed him that he had dared aspire to the honour of becoming his brother-in-law; and that, as the price of such concession, not only would he abandon all claim to the money deposited in his hands, but that he would add to it a present of a thousand pistoles. the haughty xaral coloured at this proposition, which awakened his slumbering pride; and in the excitation of the moment, could scarcely refrain from displaying the utter contempt in which he held the son of an industrious father. but, however insulted he felt at the temerity of fabricio, he constrained himself; and, as respectfully as his nature would permit, replied that in a matter of such importance he could not at once determine; that he must consult hippolita, and that it would even be necessary to summon a conclave of his noble relatives thereupon. "with this answer he dismissed the gallant, and forthwith convoked a diet composed of certain hidalgos of his neighbourhood, with whom he claimed affinity, and who, like himself, were all infected with demophobia. with these he consulted, not as to whether they were of opinion that he should bestow his sister upon fabricio, but on the most proper steps to be adopted in order sufficiently to punish the insolent young man, who, forgetful of the meanness of his origin, had dared pretend to the hand of a lady of the rank of hippolita. "as soon as he had exposed to the assembly this presumptuous demand,--as he mentioned the name of fabricio, and uttered the words, 'son of a husbandman,'--you should have seen how the eyes of all the nobles lighted up with fury. each of them vomited fire and flame against the audacious groundling; and with one voice they all insisted, that his death beneath the cudgels of their domestics alone could expiate the vile affront he had offered to their family by the proposal of so scandalous an union. however, on mature consideration, the offended members of the diet agreed to spare the culprit's life; but, in order to teach him that first and far most useful knowledge--of himself, they resolved to play him such a trick as he should have reason to remember while he lived. "various were the schemes proposed: the one on which they at last decided was as follows. hippolita was to feign a sensibility for the passion of fabricio; and, under pretence of consoling her unhappy lover for the refusal which don thomaso would have given to his proposal for her hand, she was to make an assignation for some particular evening to receive him at the castle; where, at the moment of his introduction by the moorish female, the friends of the signor would surprise him with the waiting-maid, and compel him to espouse her. "the sister of xaral at first inclined to favour this piece of rascality; she even joined in thinking that her reputation demanded of her to consider as an insult the addresses of a person in a station so inferior to her own. but these haughty feelings soon yielded to others more gentle, prompted by pity; or rather, love suddenly vanquished all pride of heart in the bosom of hippolita. "from that moment, she looked on all things with a different eye. the obscure origin of fabricio now appeared to her more than compensated by a nobility of disposition; and she perceived in him but a cavalier worthy of her tenderest affection. remark again, signor student, and with all due admiration, how prodigious are the changes which this passion can effect: the very girl who yesterday imagined that a monarch's heir scarce merited the honour of possessing her, to-day is all enamoured of a ploughman's son, and is flattered by pretensions which before she had regarded as disgraceful. far therefore from assisting her brother in his purposed revenge, and yielding to the new-born passion which now reigned supreme within her soul, hippolita entered into secret correspondence with fabricio, by means of her moorish attendant, who frequently of an evening introduced the gallant into the cottage. thus baffled in his design, don thomaso soon became suspicious of the truth; and watching his sister, he was convinced by his own eyes that, instead of fulfilling the wishes of her relations, she had betrayed them. [illustration: hippolita's moorish servant admits fabricio] "he instantly informed two of his cousins of the discovery he had made: 'vengeance! don thomaso, vengeance!' they exclaimed, infuriate at such baseness in one of their illustrious race. xaral, who did not require urging to exact satisfaction for an indignity of this nature, replied, with true spanish modesty, 'that they should find he knew well how to use his sword when its employment was called for to avenge his honour;' and he entreated them to come to his house on a particular night. [illustration: don thomaso and his cousins surprise fabricio and hippolita] "they came at the appointed time, and were secretly received and concealed in a small room by don thomaso; who left them, saying that he would return the instant the lover entered his doors, should he think fit to come at all that evening. this did not fail to happen; the unlucky stars of our lovers had decreed that they should choose that very night for their meeting. "don fabricio was already with his dear hippolita, listening to and repeating for the hundredth time those sweet avowals which make up the dialogue of lovers, but which, though spoken from eternity, have still the charm of novelty, when they were disagreeably interrupted by the cavaliers who waited to surprise them. don thomaso and his cousins, with all the courage of three against one, rushed upon fabricio, who had scarcely time to draw in his defence; but perceiving at once that their object was to assassinate him, he fought with a courage which makes one equal to three; he wounded all his assailants, and exerting the skill he had acquired at salamanca, managed to keep them at his sword's point till he had gained the door, when he made off at full speed. "upon this, xaral, maddened with rage at beholding his enemy escape him, after having with impunity dishonoured his house, turned all his fury against the unfortunate hippolita, and plunged his sword into her heart. after which his two relatives returned to their homes, extremely mortified at the bad success of their plot, and with no other consolation than their wounds. there we will leave them," continued asmodeus. "when we have passed in review the other captives, i will finish the history of this one. i will relate to you how, after justice, or rather the law, had possessed itself of his effects on account of this mournful event, the pirates seized his person, with about as good reason, when he happened to be making a voyage." "while you were telling me this story of love and pride," said don cleophas, "i observed a young man whose countenance bespeaks such sorrow at his heart, that i wonder i did not interrupt you to inquire its cause." "you will lose nothing by your discretion," replied the demon; "i can tell you now all you desire to know. the captive whose dejection attracted your notice, is a youth of family from valladolid. two years was he in slavery, but with a patron who possessed a very pretty wife. the lady looked with favour on the slave, and the slave, as in duty bound, repaid the lady's favours with interest. the patron, becoming suspicious as to the nature of his slave's labours, hastened to sell the christian to the brothers of the redemption, lest he should be irreligiously employed in the propagation of mahometanism. the tender castilian, ever since, has done nothing but weep for the loss of his patroness; liberty itself cannot console him." "an old man of good appearance attracts my attention there," said leandro perez; "who, and what, is he?" the devil replied: "he is a barber, of guipuscoa, who is about to return to biscay after a captivity of forty years. when he fell into the hands of a corsair, in going from valencia to the island of sardinia, he had a wife, two sons, and a daughter. of all these, one son alone remains; and he, more lucky than his father, has been to peru, whence he has safely returned with immense wealth to his native province, in which he has recently purchased two handsome estates." "what pleasure!" exclaimed the student, "what delight awaits this happy son, to behold again his long-lost parent, and to be enabled to render his declining years peaceful and agreeable!" "you," replied the cripple, "speak like a child whom tenderness and duty prompt; the son of the biscayan barber is of a sterner mould: the unlooked-for coming of his sire to him will bring more grief than joy. instead of welcoming him to his mansion at guipuscoa, and sparing nothing to mark the bliss he feels at pressing him once more to his bosom, he will probably be filial enough to make him steward of one of his estates. "behind this captive, whose good looks you admire so much, is another as like an old baboon as are two drops of water to each other: he is a little aragonese physician. he has not been a fortnight in algiers; for as soon as the turks knew what was his profession, they resolved, rather than suffer him to remain among them, to place him without ransom in the hands of the fathers of mercy, who would certainly never have purchased him, and who bring him back with compunction to spain. "you who feel so sensibly the woes of others, ah! how would you grieve for that other slave, he who wears upon his head that little cap of brown cloth, did you but know the ills he has endured during twelve years, in the house of an english renegade, his patron." "and who is this unhappy captive?" asked zambullo. "he is a cordelier of navarre," replied the demon. "i must own, however, that for myself, i rejoice that he has suffered so severely; since, by his eternal preaching, he has prevented more than a hundred christian slaves from adopting the turban." "well! to imitate your frankness," replied don cleophas, "i must say that i am really afflicted to think that this good father should have been so long at the mercy of the barbarian." "as to that," replied asmodeus, "you are as unwise to regret it, as i to rejoice. the good monk has turned his dozen years' captivity to so good account, that he will find his advantage in having passed that time in suffering instead of in his cell, where he would have striven with temptations that he would not at all times have vanquished." "the first captive after the monks," said leandro perez, "has a most complacent air for a man who returns from slavery: he excites my curiosity to know his history." "you anticipate me," replied the cripple; "i was just about to tell you all about him. you see in him, a citizen of salamanca, an unfortunate father, a mortal rendered insensible to misfortune by the weight of those he has experienced. i am tempted to relate to you the painful details of his life, and to leave the rest of the captives to their fates; besides, there is scarcely another whose adventures are worth the trouble of telling." the student, who began to tire of this sombre procession, stated that he asked for nothing better; whereupon, the devil began the history contained in the following chapter. [illustration: tailpiece of the aragonese physician and the cordelier of navarre] chapter xx. of the last history related by asmodeus: how, while concluding it, he was suddenly interrupted; and of the disagreeable manner, for the witty demon, in which he and don cleophas were separated. "pablos de bahabon, son of an alcade of a village in old castile, after having divided with his sister and brother the small inheritance which their father, although one of the most avaricious of men, had left them, set out for salamanca with the intention of increasing the number of students in its university. he was well made, not without wit, and was just entering upon his twenty-third year. "with a thousand ducats in his possession, and a disposition fitted to get rid of them, it was not long before he was the talk of the town. the young men, without exception, were eager to cultivate his friendship; the strife, was who were to be included in the joyous parties which don pablos gave every day. i say don pablos, because he had assumed the don, that he might live on equal terms with the students whose nobility would otherwise have demanded a formality in his intercourse with them, anything but pleasant. so well did he love gaiety and the good things of this world, and so badly did he manage the only thing which can always command them,--his purse, that at the end of fifteen months he found it one morning empty. he contrived, however, to get on for some time longer, partly by credit and partly by borrowing; but he soon found that these are resources which speedily fail when a man has no other. "this having come to pass, his friends perceiving that their visits were anything but agreeable,--to themselves, they ceased to call; and his creditors commenced paying him their respects, with an assiduity which was anything but delightful to poor don pablos. for although he assured the latter that he was in daily expectation of receiving bills of exchange from his relations, there were some who were uncivil enough to decline waiting their arrival; and they were so sharp in their legal proceedings that our hero was on the point of finishing his studies in jail, when one day he met an acquaintance while walking on the banks of the tormes, who said to him: 'signor don pablos, beware! i warn you that an alguazil and his archers are on the look-out for you, and they intend to pay you the honour of a guard on your return to the city.' "bahabon, alarmed at this intended public attention to his person, which suited so ill to the state of his private affairs, resolved to shun this demonstration of respect, and instantly took to flight and the road to corita. in his anxiety for privacy, he had not walked far before he turned off to plunge into a neighbouring wood, in which he resolved to conceal himself until night should lend her friendly shades to enable him to travel more secure from observation. it was at that season of the year when the trees are decked in their proudest apparel, and he therefore chose the best dressed in the forest, that it might spare a covering for him: into this he mounted, and arranged himself upon a branch whose wavy ornaments shrouded him from sight. "feeling secure in his elevated seat, he by degrees soon lost all fear of the too attentive alguazil; and as men usually make the best reflections on their conduct when thought is too late to avail them, he recalled all the follies he had committed, and promised to himself, that if ever he again should be in fortune's way, he would make a better use of her favours. most especially he vowed to be no more the dupe of seeming friends, who lead young men into dissipation, and whose attachment finishes with the last bottle. "while thus occupied with the busy thoughts which come like creditors into the distressed mind, night recalled him to his situation. disengaging himself from the sheltering leaves, and shaking hands with the friendly branch, he was preparing to descend, when, by as much light as the moon could throw into the forest, he thought he could discern the figure of a man. as he looked, his former fears returned: and he imagined it must be the alguazil, who, having tracked his footsteps, was seeking him in the wood. his fears redoubled when he saw the man, after walking round it two or three times, sit himself down at the foot of the very tree in which he was." asmodeus interrupted the course of his narrative in this place: "signor don cleophas," said he, "permit me to enjoy for a while the perplexity i occasion in your mind at this moment. you are desperately anxious to know now, who can this mortal be that comes so inopportunely, and what can have brought him thither. well, that is what you shall learn: i will not abuse your patience. [illustration: bahabon watches the bag being buried] "after the man had seated himself at the foot of the tree, whose thick foliage almost hid him from the sight of don pablos, he reposed for a few seconds, and then rose and began digging the ground with a poniard. having made a deep hole, and placed therein a leathern bag, he refilled it, covered it over carefully with the moss-grown turf he had removed, and then retired. bahabon, who had strained his eyes to watch these operations, and whose fears were changed to anxious joy during their progress, scarcely waited until the man was out of sight ere he descended from his hiding-place to disinter the sack, in which he doubted not to find a good store of silver or of gold. his knife was sufficient for the purpose; but, had he wanted that, he felt such ardour for the work, that he would have penetrated with his nails into the bowels of the earth. "the instant that he had the bag in his possession, just handling it sufficiently to feel convinced that it contained good sounding coin, he hastened to quit the wood with his prey, less fearing to meet the alguazil in his altered state, than the man to whom the bag of right belonged. intoxicated with delight at having made so good a stroke, our student walked lightly all the night, without caring whither he went, or feeling in the least degree incommoded with his burden. but, as day broke, he stopped under some trees near the village of molorido, less, in truth, to repose, than to satisfy at last the curiosity which burned within him to know what it was indeed the sack enclosed. untying it with that agreeable trembling which you experience at the moment you are about to enjoy an anticipated but unknown pleasure, he found therein honest double-pistoles, and, to his unspeakable delight, counted no less of these than two hundred and fifty. "after having contemplated them for some time with a voluptuous eagerness, he began seriously to reflect on what he ought to do; and having made up his mind, he stowed away the doubloons in his pockets, threw the bag into a ditch, and repaired to molorido. he entered the first decent inn; and then, while they were preparing his breakfast, he hired a mule, upon which he returned the same day to salamanca. "he clearly perceived, by the surprise which his acquaintances displayed at seeing him again, that they were in the secret of his sudden evasion; but he had his story by heart. he stated that, being short of money, and not receiving it from home, although he had written twenty times to relate his pressing need, he had determined to go for it himself, and that, the evening previous, as he entered molorido, he had met his steward with the needful, so that he was now in a situation to undeceive all those who had decreed him a man of straw. he added, that he intended to convince his creditors that they were wrong in distressing an honest man who would have long since satisfied their claims, had his steward been more punctual in the remittance of his rents. "in reality, on the following day he called a meeting of his creditors, and paid them all to the last maravedi. no sooner did the very friends who had abandoned him in poverty hear of these extraordinary proceedings, than they quickly flocked around him, to flatter him by their homage, hoping to enjoy themselves again at his expense; but he was not to be caught a second time. faithful to the vow he had made in the forest, he treated them with disdain, and changing entirely his course of life, he devoted himself to the study of the law with zeal and assiduity. "however, you will say, he was all this while conscientiously expending double-pistoles not very honestly acquired. to this i have no reply to make than that he did what nine-tenths of the world are daily doing in similar circumstances. he of course intended to make proper restitution at some future time; that is, if he should chance to discover to whom the doubloons belonged. in the meantime, tranquillizing himself with the goodness of his intentions, he disposed of the money without scruple, patiently awaiting this discovery, which nevertheless he made before twelve months were over. "about this time, it was reported in salamanca that a citizen of that town, one ambrosio piquillo, having gone to the neighbouring wood to seek for a bag, filled with gold and silver coin, which he had there deposited nearly a year before, had turned up only the earth in which he had buried it, and that this misfortune had reduced the poor man to beggary. "i must say, in justice to bahabon, that the secret reproaches of his conscience were not made in vain. he ascertained the dwelling of ambrosio, whom he found in a wretched chamber whose entire furniture consisted of a truckle-bed and a single chair. 'my friend,' said he with admirable hypocrisy as he entered, 'i have heard the public report of the cruel accident which has befallen you, and, charity obliging us to aid one another according to our means, i have come to bring you a trifling assistance; but i should like to hear from yourself the story of your misfortune.' "'signor cavalier,' replied piquillo, 'i will relate it to you in a few words. i had the misfortune to have a son who robbed me. discovering his dishonesty, and fearing that he would help himself to a leathern sack in which there were two hundred and fifty doubloons, i thought i could not do better than bury them in the wood to which i had the imprudence to take them. since that unlucky day, my son has stripped me of all else that i possessed, and he at last disappeared with a woman whom he had carried off by force. finding myself thus reduced by the libertinage of my worthless child, or rather by my misplaced indulgence for his faults, i determined on recourse to the leathern bag; but alas! my only remaining means of subsistence had been cruelly carried away.' "as the poor man recounted his loss, his grief was renewed, and his tears fell fast as he spoke, don pablos, affected at beholding them, said to him: 'my dear ambrosio, we must console ourselves for all the crosses we encounter during life. your tears are useless; they cannot bring back your double-pistoles, which, if some scoundrel has laid hands on them, are indeed lost to you. but who knows? they may have fallen into the possession of some worthy man, who, when he learns that they belong to you, will hasten to restore them. you may yet see them again: live at least in that hope; and, in the meanwhile,' added he, giving him ten of his own doubloons, 'take these, and come to me in a week from this time.' he then gave his name and address, and went out overwhelmed with confusion at the benedictions heaped upon him by ambrosio, who could not find words to express his gratitude. such, for the most part, are your generous actions: you would find little cause for admiration, could you but penetrate their motives. "at the week's end, piquillo, mindful of what don pablos had said to him, went to his house. bahabon received him kindly, and said to him: 'my friend, from the excellent character i everywhere hear of you, i have resolved to contribute all in my power to set you on your feet again: my interest and my purse shall not be wanting to effect this. as a beginning in the business,' he continued, 'what think you i have already done? i am intimate with several persons as much distinguished by their charity as their station: these i have sought; and i have so effectually inspired them with compassion for your situation, that i have collected from them two hundred crowns, which i am about to give you.' as he finished, he went into his cabinet, whence he returned in a moment with a linen bag, in which he had placed this sum in silver, and not in doubloons, for fear that the citizen, on receiving so many double-pistoles, should begin to suspect the truth; whereas, by this piece of management, he effectually secured his object, which was to make restitution in such a manner as might conciliate his reputation with his conscience. "ambrosio, far from thinking that these crowns were a portion of his money restored, took them, in good faith, as the product of a collection made on his behalf; and, after repeatedly thanking don pablos for his kindness, he returned to his habitation, grateful to heaven for having created a cavalier who took so much interest in his misfortunes. "on the following day he met one of his friends, who was in no better plight than himself, and who said to him: 'i leave salamanca to-morrow, to set out for cadiz, where i intend to embark in a vessel bound for new spain. i have no great reason to be contented with my position here, and my heart tells me i shall be more fortunate in mexico. if you will take my advice, you will go with me; that is, if you have but a hundred crowns.' 'i should not have much trouble to find two hundred,' replied piquillo; 'and i would undertake this voyage willingly, were i sure to gain a living in the indies.' thereupon, his friend boasted of the fertility of new spain, and represented to him so many ways of there enriching himself, that ambrosio, yielding to his powers of persuasion, now thought of nothing but the necessary preparations for setting out with his friend to cadiz. but before he left salamanca, he took care to address a letter to bahabon, informing him that, finding a promising opportunity of going to the indies, he was anxious to profit by it, in order to see whether fortune could be induced to smile more kindly on him in another country than in his own; that he took the liberty of stating this to him, assuring him that he should gratefully preserve during life the remembrance of his goodness. "the departure of ambrosio somewhat annoyed don pablos, as it disconcerted the plan he had formed for discharging the debt he owed him. but, when he reflected that the poor citizen might in a few years return to salamanca, he became gradually reconciled to what had happened, and applied himself more diligently than ever to master the complications of civil and ecclesiastical legalities. so great was the progress he made, as much by the powers of his mind and its aptitude for his profession, as by the application i have spoken of, that he became a shining light in the university, of which he was ultimately chosen rector. in this position he was not contented to sustain its dignity by the extent and solidity of his scientific acquirements; he searched so deeply into his own heart, that he acquired all those habits of virtue which constitute a man of worth. "during his rectorship, he learned that in one of the prisons of salamanca there was a young man accused of rape. on hearing this, he remembered that piquillo's son had carried off a woman by force. he therefore made inquiries as to this prisoner, and, finding that it was indeed the son of ambrosio, he generously undertook his defence. what deserves most to be admired in the science of the law, signor student, is, that it furnishes arms for offence and defence equally; and as our rector was an adroit fencer with these deadly weapons, he used them to good effect on this occasion in favour of the accused. it is true, that he joined to his legal skill the interest of his friends, and the most pressing solicitation, which, probably, as in most cases, did more than all the rest. "the guilty youth, therefore, came out of this affair whiter than snow. on going to thank his liberator, the latter said to him: 'it is out of respect for your father that i have rendered you this service. i love him; and to give you a further proof of my affection for him, if you will live in this town, and here lead the life of an honest man, i will take care of your welfare; if, on the contrary, you desire, like ambrosio, to seek your fortune in the indies, you may reckon on fifty pistoles for your outfit: i present them to you.' the young piquillo replied: 'since i am honoured by the protection of your lordship, i should be wrong to quit a place where i enjoy so great an advantage. i will not leave salamanca, and i promise you solemnly that i will conduct myself to your satisfaction.' on this assurance, the rector placed in his hands twenty pistoles, saying: 'take this, my friend; embrace some honest profession; employ your time well, and rely on it that i will not abandon you.' "two months afterwards, it happened that the young piquillo, who from time to time paid his respects to don pablos, one day appeared before him in tears. 'what ails you?' asked bahabon. 'signor,' replied the son of ambrosio, 'i have just heard news which cuts me to the soul. my father has been taken by a corsair of algiers, and is at this moment in chains: an old salamancan, lately returned from barbary, where he was ten years in captivity, and whom the fathers of mercy have redeemed, told me not an hour since that he had left ambrosio in slavery. alas!' he added, striking his breast and tearing his hair, 'wretch that i am! it was my infamous behaviour which reduced my father to the necessity of burying his money, and afterwards to leave his country! it is i who have delivered him to the barbarian who loads him with fetters. ah! signor don pablos, why did you shield me from the vengeance of the law? since you love my father, you should have avenged him, and have suffered me to expiate, by an ignominious death, the crime of having caused all his misfortunes.' [illustration: piquillo's son before bahabon] "these exclamations, evidently betokening an erring mind's return to virtue, together with the natural expressions of the young piquillo's sincere grief, greatly affected the rector. 'my child,' he said to him, 'i see with pleasure that you repent of your past transgressions. dry up your tears: it is enough for me to know what has become of ambrosio to give you assurance of beholding him again. his deliverance depends but on an easy ransom, which i shall cheerfully provide; and how great soever may have been the sufferings he has endured, i feel persuaded that on his return, to find in you a son restored to virtue, and filled with tenderness for him, he will not complain of the rigour of his destiny.' "don pablos, by this assurance, dismissed the son of ambrosio with a lightened heart; and, a few days afterwards, he set out for madrid. on his arrival in this capital, he placed in the hands of the fathers of mercy a purse containing a hundred pistoles, to which was attached a label bearing these words: 'this sum is given to the fathers of the redemption, for the ransom of a poor citizen of salamanca, named ambrosio piquillo, now captive in algiers.' the good monks, in their recent voyage, acting in pursuance of the directions of the rector, did not fail to purchase ambrosio, and you beheld him in that slave whose tranquil air excited your attention." "in my opinion," said don cleophas, "bahabon has worthily repaid the debt he owed to this luckless citizen." "don pablos, however," replied asmodeus, "thinks differently. he will not be contented until he has restored to him both principal and interest; the delicacy of his conscience even extends so far as to scruple at his retention of the wealth he has gained since he has become rector of the university; and when he sees ambrosio, he intends saying to him: 'ambrosio, my friend, do not regard me as your benefactor; you behold in me the scoundrel who disinterred the money you had buried in the wood. it is not enough that i restore to you the doubloons i robbed you of, since by their means it is that i have raised myself to the station i now enjoy: all that i possess belongs to you; i will retain so much alone as you shall please to----'" asmodeus suddenly stopped in his relation; a trembling seized him as he spoke, and an unearthly paleness overspread his visage. [illustration: the magician discovers asmodeus's absence] "why, what's the matter now?" exclaimed the student; "what wonderful emotion agitates you thus, and chains your willing tongue?" "ah! signor leandro," answered the demon with tremulous voice, "what misery for me! the magician who kept me prisoned in my bottle, has discovered that i am absent without leave; and prepares e'en now such mighty spiritings, to call me back to his laboratory, as i must fain obey." "alas!" exclaimed zambullo, quite affected, "i am mortified beyond expression! what a loss am i about to suffer! must we, then, my dear asmodeus, separate for ever?" "i trust not," replied the devil. "the magician may require some office of my ministry; and if i have the fortune to assist him in his projects, perhaps, out of gratitude, he may restore me to liberty. should that arrive, as i hope it may, rely on my rejoining you at once; on condition, however, that you reveal not to mortal ears what has this night passed between us. should you be weak enough to confide this to any one, i warn you," continued asmodeus emphatically, "that you will never see me more. [illustration: asmodeus embraces zambullo] "i have one consolation in leaving you," he resumed, "which is, that at least i have made your fortune. you will marry the lovely seraphina, into whose bosom it has been my business to instil a doting passion for your lordship. the signor don pedro de escolano, too, has made up his mind to bestow her hand upon you: and do you take care not to let so splendid a gift escape your own. but, mercy on me!" he concluded, "i hear already the potent master who constrains me; all hell resounds with the echoes of the fearful words pronounced by this redoubtable magician: i dare not stay a moment longer. farewell, my dear zambullo! we may meet again." as he ceased, he embraced don cleophas, and, after having dropped the student in his own apartment on his way to the laboratory, disappeared. chapter xxi. of the doings of don cleophas after asmodeus had left him; and of the mode in which the author of this work has thought fit to end it. upon the retreat of asmodeus, the student, feeling fatigued at having passed all the night upon his legs, and by the extraordinary bustle in which he had been occupied, undressed himself and went to bed. agitated as his mind may be supposed to have been, it is no wonder that he lay for some time restless; but at last, paying with compound interest to morpheus the tribute which all mortals owe to his sombre majesty, he fell into a deathlike sleep, in which he passed the whole of that day and the following night. twenty-four hours had he been thus lost to the world, when don luis de lujana, a young cavalier whom he numbered among his friends, entered his chamber, singing out lustily, "hollo! signor don cleophas, get up with you!" at this salutation, zambullo awoke. "are you aware," said don luis to him, "that you have been in bed since yesterday morning?" "impossible!" exclaimed leandro. "not the less true for that," replied his friend; "twice have you slept the clock's dull round. all the inmates of the house assure me of this fact." [illustration: zambullo awakened by his friend] the student, astonished at the trance from which he emerged, feared at first that his adventures with asmodeus were but an illusion. he could not, however, persist in this belief; and when he recalled to himself certain circumstances of his intercourse with the demon, he soon ceased to doubt of its reality. but, to make assurance doubly sure, he rose, dressed himself quickly, and went out with don luis, whom he took, without saying why, in the direction of the gate of the sun. arrived there, and perceiving the mansion of don pedro almost reduced to ashes, don cleophas feigned surprise. "what do i behold?" he cried. "what dreadful ravages has fire made here! to whom did this unlucky house belong, and when was it thus consumed?" don luis de lujana, having replied to these two questions, thus continued: "this fire is less spoken of in the town on account of the great damage it has done, than for a circumstance which attended it, and of which i will tell you. the signor don pedro de escolano has an only daughter, who is lovely as the day: they say that she was in a room all filled with fire and smoke, in which it seemed certain she must perish; but that nevertheless her life was saved by a youthful cavalier, whose name i have not heard;--it forms the subject of conversation throughout madrid. the young man's daring is lauded to the skies; and it is believed that, as a reward for his success, however humble my gentleman may be, he may well hope to gain a life interest in the daughter of the don." leandro perez listened to don luis without appearing to take the slightest interest in what he heard; then getting rid of his friend, under some specious pretext, he gained the prado, where, seating himself beneath a tree, he was soon plunged in a profound reverie. the devil first came flitting through his mind. "ah! my dear asmodeus," he exclaimed, "i cannot too much regret you. you, in a moment, would have borne me round the world; and, with you, should i have journeyed without any of the usual devilries of travelling: gentle spirit, you are a loss indeed! but," he added a moment afterwards, "my loss, perhaps, is not quite irreparable: why should i despair of seeing the demon again? it may fall out, as he himself suggested, that the magician will shortly restore him to freedom and to me." as the devil left his mind the lady entered it; upon which he resolved at once to seek don pedro in his temporary abode, moved principally by curiosity to see the lovely seraphina. as soon as he appeared before don pedro, that signor rushed towards him with open arms, and embracing him, exclaimed: "welcome! generous cavalier, i began to feel angry at your absence. 'what!' said i, 'don cleophas, after the pressing invitation which i gave him to my house, still to shun my sight! he ill indeed repays the impatience of my soul to testify for him the friendship and esteem which fill it.'" zambullo bowed respectfully at this kindly objurgation; and, in order to excuse his seeming coldness, replied to the old man, that he had feared to incommode him in the confusion which the event of the preceding day must have occasioned. "i cannot listen to such an excuse," resumed don pedro; "you can never be unwelcome in a house which but for your noble conduct would have been a house of mourning indeed. but," he added, "follow me, if you please; you have other thanks than mine to receive." and taking the student's hand, he led him to the apartment of seraphina. "my child," said don pedro, as he entered the room, where this lady was reposing from the noon-day heat, "i present to you the gentleman who so courageously saved your life. show to him now, if you can, how deeply sensible you are of the obligation he conferred, since the danger from which he rescued you deprived you of the power to do so on the spot." on this, the signora seraphina, opening a mouth of roses to express the gratitude of her heart to leandro perez, paid him in compliments so warm and graceful, as would charm my readers as much as they did their blushing object, could i repeat each honeyed word; but as they have not been faithfully reported, i think it better to omit them altogether, than chance to spoil them by my own imperfect knowledge in such matters. [illustration: seraphina thanks zambullo] i will only say, that don cleophas thought he beheld and listened to some bright divinity, and that he was at once the victim of his eyes and ears. to say that he loved her, is a thing of course; but, far from regarding the beauteous form before him as a possession to which he might aspire, his heart foreboded, despite all that the demon had assured him, that they would never pay at such a price the service they imagined him to have rendered. as her charms increased in their effect upon his mind, doubts, teasing doubts, came threatening to destroy the infant hope, first-cherished child of love. what completed his mystification on the subject, was, that don pedro during the lengthened conversation which ensued, not once e'en touched upon the tender theme; but contented himself with loading him with civilities, without hinting in the slightest degree that he had any desire for the honour of his relationship. seraphina, too, as polite as her father, while she did not fail in expressions of the deepest gratitude, dropped no one word whose magic charm would serve zambullo to conjure visions of wedding joys; so that our student left the signor escolano and his daughter with love as his companion, but leaving hope behind him. "asmodeus, my friend," he muttered as he walked along, as though the devil still were by his side, "when you assured me that don pedro was disposed to adopt me as his son-in-law, and that seraphina burned with passion lighted in her heart by you for me, it must have pleased you to make merry at my cost, or else you know as little of the present time as of that which is to come." he now regretted that he had ever seen the dangerous beauty; and looking on the love which filled his breast as an unhappy passion which he ought to stifle in its infancy, he resolved to set about it in earnest. he even reproached himself for having desired to gain his point, supposing he had found the father all disposed to give his daughter to him; and represented to himself that it would have been disgraceful to have owed his happiness to a deception like that he had projected. he was yet occupied with these reflections, when don pedro, having sent to seek him on the following day, said to him: "signor leandro perez, it is time i proved to you by deeds, that in obliging me you have not to do with one of those who repay a benefit in courtly phrases. you saved my daughter: and i wish that she, herself, should recompense the peril you encountered for her sake. i have consulted seraphina thereupon, and find her ready to obey my will; nay, i can say with pride, i recognized her for my child indeed when i proposed that she should give her hand to him who saved her life. she showed her joy by transports which at once convinced my soul her generosity responds to mine. it is settled therefore that you shall marry with my daughter." after having spoken thus, the good signor de escolano, who reasonably expected that don cleophas would have gone down on his knees to thank him for so great a boon, was sufficiently surprised to find him speechless, and displaying an evident embarrassment. "speak, zambullo!" he at length exclaimed. "what am i to infer from the confusion which my proposition to you has occasioned? what possible objection can you have? what! a private gentleman--although respectable--to refuse an alliance which a noble would have courted! has then the honour of my house some blemish of which i am ignorant?" [illustration: the marriage of zambullo and seraphina] "signor," replied leandro, "i know too well the space that heaven has set between us." "why then," returned don pedro, "seem you to care so little for a marriage which does you so much honour? confess! don cleophas, you love some maiden, and have pledged your faith; and it is your honour now which bars your road to fortune." "had i," replied the student, "a mistress to whom my vows had bound my future fate, it is not fortune that should bid me break them; but it is no such tie that now compels me to reject your proffered bounty. honour, it is true, compels me to renounce the glorious destiny that you would tempt me with; but, far from seeking to abuse your kindness, i am about to undeceive you to my own undoing. i am not the deliverer of seraphina." "what do i hear!" exclaimed don pedro, in utter astonishment. "it was not you who rescued seraphina from the flames which threatened her with instant death! it was not don cleophas who had the courage to risk his life to save her!" "no, signor," replied zambullo; "mortal man would have vainly essayed to shield her from her fate; learn that it was a devil to whom you owe your daughter's life." these words only increased the astonishment of don pedro, who, not conceiving that he was to understand them literally, entreated the student to explain himself. upon which leandro, regardless of the loss of the demon's friendship, related all that had passed between asmodeus and himself. having finished, the old man resumed, and said to don cleophas: "the confidence you have reposed in me confirms me in my design of giving you my daughter. you were her chief deliverer. had you not thus intreated the devil whom you speak of to snatch her from the death which menaced her, it is clear that he would have suffered her to perish. it is you then who preserved the life of seraphina, which cannot be better devoted than to the happiness of your own. you deserve her; and i again offer you her hand with the half of my estate." leandro perez at these words, which removed all his conscientious scruples, threw himself at the feet of don pedro to thank him for his generosity. in a few weeks, the marriage was celebrated with a magnificence suitable to the espousal of the heir of the signor de escolano, and to the great satisfaction of the relations of our student, who was thus amply repaid for the few hours' freedom he had procured for the devil on two sticks. [illustration: tailpiece of asmodeus in his bottle] the sorrows of satan or the strange experience of one geoffrey tempest, millionaire a romance by marie corelli methuen & co. ltd., london _ essex street w.c._ _first published november second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, eighth, ninth, tenth editions eleventh, twelfth, thirteenth, fourteenth, fifteenth, sixteenth, seventeenth, eighteenth, nineteenth, twentieth, twenty-first, twenty-second, twenty-third, twenty-fourth, twenty-fifth, twenty-sixth, twenty-seventh, twenty-eighth, twenty-ninth, thirtieth, thirty-first, thirty-second editions thirty-third, thirty-fourth, thirty-fifth, thirty-sixth editions thirty-seventh, thirty-eighth, thirty-ninth editions fortieth and forty-first editions forty-second edition forty-third and forty-fourth editions forty-fifth and forty-sixth editions forty-seventh edition forty-eighth edition forty-ninth and fiftieth editions fifty-first edition fifty-second and fifty-third editions fifty-fourth edition fifty-fifth edition fifty-sixth edition fifty-seventh edition fifty-eighth edition fifty-ninth edition sixtieth edition sixty-first edition sixty-second and sixty-third editions sixty-fourth edition sixty-fifth edition (cheap edition) sixty-sixth edition " " sixty-seventh edition " " sixty-eighth edition " " reprinted, _ . catalogue no. /v printed in great britain the sorrows of satan i do you know what it is to be poor? not poor with the arrogant poverty complained of by certain people who have five or six thousand a year to live upon, and who yet swear they can hardly manage to make both ends meet, but really poor,--downright, cruelly, hideously poor, with a poverty that is graceless, sordid and miserable? poverty that compels you to dress in your one suit of clothes till it is worn threadbare,--that denies you clean linen on account of the ruinous charges of washerwomen,--that robs you of your own self-respect, and causes you to slink along the streets vaguely abashed, instead of walking erect among your fellow-men in independent ease,--this is the sort of poverty i mean. this is the grinding curse that keeps down noble aspiration under a load of ignoble care; this is the moral cancer that eats into the heart of an otherwise well-intentioned human creature and makes him envious and malignant, and inclined to the use of dynamite. when he sees the fat idle woman of society passing by in her luxurious carriage, lolling back lazily, her face mottled with the purple and red signs of superfluous eating,--when he observes the brainless and sensual man of fashion smoking and dawdling away the hours in the park, as if all the world and its millions of honest hard workers were created solely for the casual diversion of the so-called 'upper' classes,--then the good blood in him turns to gall, and his suffering spirit rises in fierce rebellion, crying out--"why in god's name, should this injustice be? why should a worthless lounger have his pockets full of gold by mere chance and heritage, while i, toiling wearily from morn till midnight, can scarce afford myself a satisfying meal?" why indeed! why should the wicked flourish like a green bay-tree? i have often thought about it. now however i believe i could help to solve the problem out of my own personal experience. but ... such an experience! who will credit it? who will believe that anything so strange and terrific ever chanced to the lot of a mortal man? no one. yet it is true;--truer than much so-called truth. moreover i know that many men are living through many such incidents as have occurred to me, under precisely the same influence, conscious perhaps at times, that they are in the tangles of sin, but too weak of will to break the net in which they have become voluntarily imprisoned. will they be taught, i wonder, the lesson i have learned? in the same bitter school, under the same formidable taskmaster? will they realize as i have been forced to do,--aye, to the very fibres of my intellectual perception,--the vast, individual, active mind, which behind all matter, works unceasingly, though silently, a very eternal and positive god? if so, then dark problems will become clear to them, and what seems injustice in the world will prove pure equity! but i do not write with any hope of either persuading or enlightening my fellow-men. i know their obstinacy too well;--i can gauge it by my own. my proud belief in myself was, at one time, not to be outdone by any human unit on the face of the globe. and i am aware that others are in similar case. i merely intend to relate the various incidents of my career in due order exactly as they happened,--leaving to more confident heads the business of propounding and answering the riddles of human existence as best they may. during a certain bitter winter, long remembered for its arctic severity, when a great wave of intense cold spread freezing influences not alone over the happy isles of britain, but throughout all europe, i, geoffrey tempest, was alone in london and well-nigh starving. now a starving man seldom gets the sympathy he merits,--so few can be persuaded to believe in him. worthy folks who have just fed to repletion are the most incredulous, some of them being even moved to smile when told of existing hungry people, much as if these were occasional jests invented for after-dinner amusement. or, with that irritating vagueness of attention which characterizes fashionable folk to such an extent that when asking a question they neither wait for the answer nor understand it when given, the well-dined groups, hearing of some one starved to death, will idly murmur 'how dreadful!' and at once turn to the discussion of the latest 'fad' for killing time, ere it takes to killing them with sheer _ennui_. the pronounced fact of being hungry sounds coarse and common, and is not a topic for polite society, which always eats more than sufficient for its needs. at the period i am speaking of however, i, who have since been one of the most envied of men, knew the cruel meaning of the word hunger, too well,--the gnawing pain, the sick faintness, the deadly stupor, the insatiable animal craving for mere food, all of which sensations are frightful enough to those who are, unhappily, daily inured to them, but which when they afflict one who has been tenderly reared and brought up to consider himself a 'gentleman,'--god save the mark! are perhaps still more painful to bear. and i felt that i had not deserved to suffer the wretchedness in which i found myself. i had worked hard. from the time my father died, leaving me to discover that every penny of the fortune i imagined he possessed was due to swarming creditors, and that nothing of all our house and estate was left to me except a jewelled miniature of my mother who had lost her own life in giving me birth,--from that time i say, i had put my shoulder to the wheel and toiled late and early. i had turned my university education to the only use for which it or i seemed fitted,--literature. i had sought for employment on almost every journal in london,--refused by many, taken on trial by some, but getting steady pay from none. whoever seeks to live by brain and pen alone is, at the beginning of such a career, treated as a sort of social pariah. nobody wants him,--everybody despises him. his efforts are derided, his manuscripts are flung back to him unread, and he is less cared for than the condemned murderer in gaol. the murderer is at least fed and clothed,--a worthy clergyman visits him, and his gaoler will occasionally condescend to play cards with him. but a man gifted with original thoughts and the power of expressing them, appears to be regarded by everyone in authority as much worse than the worst criminal, and all the 'jacks-in-office' unite to kick him to death if they can. i took both kicks and blows in sullen silence and lived on,--not for the love of life, but simply because i scorned the cowardice of self-destruction. i was young enough not to part with hope too easily;--the vague idea i had that my turn would come,--that the ever-circling wheel of fortune would perchance lift me up some day as it now crushed me down, kept me just wearily capable of continuing existence,--though it was merely a continuance and no more. for about six months i got some reviewing work on a well-known literary journal. thirty novels a week were sent to me to 'criticise,'--i made a habit of glancing hastily at about eight or ten of them, and writing one column of rattling abuse concerning these thus casually selected,--the remainder were never noticed at all. i found that this mode of action was considered 'smart,' and i managed for a time to please my editor who paid me the munificent sum of fifteen shillings for my weekly labour. but on one fatal occasion i happened to change my tactics and warmly praised a work which my own conscience told me was both original and excellent. the author of it happened to be an old enemy of the proprietor of the journal on which i was employed;--my eulogistic review of the hated individual, unfortunately for me, appeared, with the result that private spite outweighed public justice, and i was immediately dismissed. after this i dragged on in a sufficiently miserable way, doing 'hack work' for the dailies, and living on promises that never became realities, till, as i have said, in the early january of the bitter winter alluded to, i found myself literally penniless and face to face with starvation, owing a month's rent besides for the poor lodging i occupied in a back street not far from the british museum. i had been out all day trudging from one newspaper office to another, seeking for work and finding none. every available post was filled. i had also tried, unsuccessfully, to dispose of a manuscript of my own,--a work of fiction which i knew had some merit, but which all the 'readers' in the publishing offices appeared to find exceptionally worthless. these 'readers' i learned, were most of them novelists themselves, who read other people's productions in their spare moments and passed judgment on them. i have always failed to see the justice of this arrangement; to me it seems merely the way to foster mediocrities and suppress originality. common sense points out the fact that the novelist 'reader' who has a place to maintain for himself in literature would naturally rather encourage work that is likely to prove ephemeral, than that which might possibly take a higher footing than his own. be this as it may, and however good or bad the system, it was entirely prejudicial to me and my literary offspring. the last publisher i tried was a kindly man who looked at my shabby clothes and gaunt face with some commiseration. "i'm sorry," said he, "very sorry, but my readers are quite unanimous. from what i can learn, it seems to me you have been too earnest. and also, rather sarcastic in certain strictures against society. my dear fellow, that won't do. never blame society,--it buys books! now if you could write a smart love-story, slightly _risqué_,--even a little more than _risqué_ for that matter; that is the sort of thing that suits the present age." "pardon me," i interposed somewhat wearily--"but are you sure you judge the public taste correctly?" he smiled a bland smile of indulgent amusement at what he no doubt considered my ignorance in putting such a query. "of course i am sure,"--he replied--"it is my business to know the public taste as thoroughly as i know my own pocket. understand me,--i don't suggest that you should write a book on any positively indecent subject,--that can be safely left to the 'new' woman,"--and he laughed,--"but i assure you high-class fiction doesn't sell. the critics don't like it, to begin with. what goes down with them and with the public is a bit of sensational realism told in terse newspaper english. literary english,--addisonian english,--is a mistake." "and i am also a mistake i think," i said with a forced smile--"at any rate if what you say be true, i must lay down the pen and try another trade. i am old-fashioned enough to consider literature as the highest of all professions, and i would rather not join in with those who voluntarily degrade it." he gave me a quick side-glance of mingled incredulity and depreciation. "well, well!" he finally observed--"you are a little quixotic. that will wear off. will you come on to my club and dine with me?" i refused this invitation promptly. i knew the man saw and recognised my wretched plight,--and pride--false pride if you will--rose up to my rescue. i bade him a hurried good-day, and started back to my lodging, carrying my rejected manuscript with me. arrived there, my landlady met me as i was about to ascend the stairs, and asked me whether i would 'kindly settle accounts' the next day. she spoke civilly enough, poor soul, and not without a certain compassionate hesitation in her manner. her evident pity for me galled my spirit as much as the publisher's offer of a dinner had wounded my pride,--and with a perfectly audacious air of certainty i at once promised her the money at the time she herself appointed, though i had not the least idea where or how i should get the required sum. once past her, and shut in my own room, i flung my useless manuscript on the floor and myself into a chair, and--swore. it refreshed me to swear, and it seemed natural,--for though temporarily weakened by lack of food, i was not yet so weak as to shed tears,--and a fierce formidable oath was to me the same sort of physical relief which i imagine a fit of weeping may be to an excitable woman. just as i could not shed tears, so was i incapable of apostrophizing god in my despair. to speak frankly, i did not believe in any god--_then_. i was to myself an all-sufficing mortal, scorning the time-worn superstitions of so-called religion. of course i had been brought up in the christian faith; but that creed had become worse than useless to me since i had intellectually realized the utter inefficiency of christian ministers to deal with difficult life-problems. spiritually i was adrift in chaos,--mentally i was hindered both in thought and achievement,--bodily, i was reduced to want. my case was desperate,--i myself was desperate. it was a moment when if ever good and evil angels play a game of chance for a man's soul, they were surely throwing the dice on the last wager for mine. and yet, with it all, i felt i had done my best. i was driven into a corner by my fellow-men who grudged me space to live in, but i had fought against it. i had worked honestly and patiently;--all to no purpose. i knew of rogues who gained plenty of money; and of knaves who were amassing large fortunes. their prosperity appeared to prove that honesty after all was _not_ the best policy. what should i do then? how should i begin the jesuitical business of committing evil that good, personal good, might come of it? so i thought, dully, if such stray half-stupefied fancies as i was capable of, deserved the name of thought. the night was bitter cold. my hands were numbed, and i tried to warm them at the oil-lamp my landlady was good enough to still allow me the use of, in spite of delayed cash-payments. as i did so, i noticed three letters on the table,--one in a long blue envelope suggestive of either a summons or a returned manuscript,--one bearing the melbourne postmark, and the third a thick square missive coroneted in red and gold at the back. i turned over all three indifferently, and selecting the one from australia, balanced it in my hand a moment before opening it. i knew from whom it came, and idly wondered what news it brought me. some months previously i had written a detailed account of my increasing debts and difficulties to an old college chum, who finding england too narrow for his ambition had gone out to the wider new world on a speculative quest of gold mining. he was getting on well, so i understood, and had secured a fairly substantial position; and i had therefore ventured to ask him point-blank for the loan of fifty pounds. here, no doubt, was his reply, and i hesitated before breaking the seal. "of course it will be a refusal," i said half-aloud,--"however kindly a friend may otherwise be, he soon turns crusty if asked to lend money. he will express many regrets, accuse trade and the general bad times and hope i will soon 'tide over.' i know the sort of thing. well,--after all, why should i expect him to be different to other men? i've no claim on him beyond the memory of a few sentimental arm-in-arm days at oxford." a sigh escaped me in spite of myself, and a mist blurred my sight for the moment. again i saw the grey towers of peaceful magdalen, and the fair green trees shading the walks in and around the dear old university town where we,--i and the man whose letter i now held in my hand,--strolled about together as happy youths, fancying that we were young geniuses born to regenerate the world. we were both fond of classics,--we were brimful of homer and the thoughts and maxims of all the immortal greeks and latins,--and i verily believe, in those imaginative days, we thought we had in us such stuff as heroes are made of. but our entrance into the social arena soon robbed us of our sublime conceit,--we were common working units, no more,--the grind and prose of daily life put homer into the background, and we soon discovered that society was more interested in the latest unsavoury scandal than in the tragedies of sophocles or the wisdom of plato. well! it was no doubt extremely foolish of us to dream that we might help to regenerate a world in which both plato and christ appear to have failed,--yet the most hardened cynic will scarcely deny that it is pleasant to look back to the days of his youth if he can think that at least then, if only once in his life, he had noble impulses. the lamp burned badly, and i had to re-trim it before i could settle down to read my friend's letter. next door some-one was playing a violin, and playing it well. tenderly and yet with a certain amount of _brio_ the notes came dancing from the bow, and i listened, vaguely pleased. being faint with hunger i was somewhat in a listless state bordering on stupor,--and the penetrating sweetness of the music appealing to the sensuous and æsthetic part of me, drowned for the moment mere animal craving. "there you go!" i murmured, apostrophizing the unseen musician,--"practising away on that friendly fiddle of yours,--no doubt for a mere pittance which barely keeps you alive. possibly you are some poor wretch in a cheap orchestra,--or you might even be a street-player and be able to live in this neighbourhood of the _élite_ starving,--you can have no hope whatever of being the 'fashion' and making your bow before royalty,--or if you have that hope, it is wildly misplaced. play on, my friend, play on!--the sounds you make are very agreeable, and seem to imply that you are happy. i wonder if you are?--or if, like me, you are going rapidly to the devil!" the music grew softer and more plaintive, and was now accompanied by the rattle of hailstones against the window-panes. a gusty wind whistled under the door and roared down the chimney,--a wind cold as the grasp of death and searching as a probing knife. i shivered,--and bending close over the smoky lamp, prepared to read my australian news. as i opened the envelope, a bill for fifty pounds, payable to me at a well-known london banker's, fell out upon the table. my heart gave a quick bound of mingled relief and gratitude. "why jack, old fellow, i wronged you!" i exclaimed,--"your heart is in the right place after all." and profoundly touched by my friend's ready generosity, i eagerly perused his letter. it was not very long, and had evidently been written off in haste. dear geoff, i'm sorry to hear you are down on your luck; it shows what a crop of fools are still flourishing in london, when a man of your capability cannot gain his proper place in the world of letters, and be fittingly acknowledged. i believe it's all a question of wire-pulling, and money is the only thing that will pull the wires. here's the fifty you ask for and welcome,--don't hurry about paying it back. i am doing you a good turn this year by sending you a friend,--a real friend, mind you!--no sham. he brings you a letter of introduction from me, and between ourselves, old man, you cannot do better than put yourself and your literary affairs entirely in his hands. he knows everybody, and is up to all the dodges of editorial management and newspaper cliques. he is a great philanthropist besides,--and seems particularly fond of the society of the clergy. rather a queer taste you will say, but his reason for such preference is, as he has explained to me quite frankly, that he is so enormously wealthy that he does not quite know what to do with his money, and the reverend gentlemen of the church are generally ready to show him how to spend some of it. he is always glad to know of some quarter where his money and influence (he is very influential) may be useful to others. he has helped me out of a very serious hobble, and i owe him a big debt of gratitude. i've told him all about you,--what a smart fellow you are, and what a lot dear old alma mater thought of you, and he has promised to give you a lift up. he can do anything he likes; very naturally, seeing that the whole world of morals, civilization and the rest is subservient to the power of money,--and _his_ stock of cash appears to be limitless. _use him_; he is willing and ready to be used,--and write and let me know how you get on. don't bother about the fifty till you feel you have tided over the storm. ever yours boffles. i laughed as i read the absurd signature, though my eyes were dim with something like tears. 'boffles' was the nickname given to my friend by several of our college companions, and neither he nor i knew how it first arose. but no one except the dons ever addressed him by his proper name, which was john carrington,--he was simply 'boffles,' and boffles he remained even now for all those who had been his intimates. i refolded and put by his letter and the draft for the fifty pounds, and with a passing vague wonder as to what manner of man the 'philanthropist' might be who had more money than he knew what to do with, i turned to the consideration of my other two correspondents, relieved to feel that now, whatever happened, i could settle up arrears with my landlady the next day as i had promised. moreover i could order some supper, and have a fire lit to cheer my chilly room. before attending to these creature comforts however, i opened the long blue envelope that looked so like a threat of legal proceedings, and unfolding the paper within, stared at it amazedly. what was it all about? the written characters danced before my eyes,--puzzled and bewildered, i found myself reading the thing over and over again without any clear comprehension of it. presently a glimmer of meaning flashed upon me, startling my senses like an electric shock, ... no--no--!--impossible! fortune never could be so mad as this!--never so wildly capricious and grotesque of humour! it was some senseless hoax that was being practised upon me, ... and yet, ... if it were a joke, it was a very elaborate and remarkable one! weighted with the majesty of the law too! ... upon my word and by all the fantastical freakish destinies that govern human affairs, the news seemed actually positive and genuine! ii steadying my thoughts with an effort, i read every word of the document over again deliberately, and the stupefaction of my wonder increased. was i going mad, or sickening for a fever? or could this startling, this stupendous piece of information be really true? because,--if indeed it were true, ... good heavens!--i turned giddy to think of it,--and it was only by sheer force of will that i kept myself from swooning with the agitation of such sudden surprise and ecstasy. if it were true--why then the world was mine!--i was king instead of beggar;--i was everything i chose to be! the letter,--the amazing letter, bore the printed name of a noted firm of london solicitors, and stated in measured and precise terms that a distant relative of my father's, of whom i had scarcely heard, except remotely now and then during my boyhood, had died suddenly in south america, leaving me his sole heir. "_the real and personal estate now amounting to something over five millions of pounds sterling, we should esteem it a favour if you could make it convenient to call upon us any day this week in order that we may go through the necessary formalities together. the larger bulk of the cash is lodged in the bank of england, and a considerable amount is placed in french government securities. we should prefer going into further details with you personally rather than by letter. trusting you will call on us without delay, we are, sir, yours obediently...._" five millions! i, the starving literary hack,--the friendless, hopeless, almost reckless haunter of low newspaper dens,--i, the possessor of "over five millions of pounds sterling"! i tried to grasp the astounding fact,--for fact it evidently was,--but could not. it seemed to me a wild delusion, born of the dizzy vagueness which lack of food engendered in my brain. i stared round the room;--the mean miserable furniture,--the fireless grate,--the dirty lamp,--the low truckle bedstead,--the evidences of penury and want on every side;--and then,--then the overwhelming contrast between the poverty that environed me and the news i had just received, struck me as the wildest, most ridiculous incongruity i had ever heard of or imagined,--and i gave vent to a shout of laughter. "was there ever such a caprice of mad fortune!" i cried aloud--"who would have imagined it! good god! i! i, of all men in the world to be suddenly chosen out for this luck! by heaven!--if it is all true, i'll make society spin round like a top on my hand before i am many months older!" and i laughed loudly again; laughed just as i had previously sworn, simply by way of relief to my feelings. some one laughed in answer,--a laugh that seemed to echo mine. i checked myself abruptly, somewhat startled, and listened. rain poured outside, and the wind shrieked like a petulant shrew,--the violinist next door was practising a brilliant roulade up and down his instrument,--but there were no other sounds than these. yet i could have sworn i heard a man's deep-chested laughter close behind me where i stood. "it must have been my fancy;" i murmured, turning the flame of the lamp up higher in order to obtain more light in the room--"i am nervous i suppose,--no wonder! poor boffles!--good old chap!" i continued, remembering my friend's draft for fifty pounds, which had seemed such a godsend a few minutes since--"what a surprise is in store for you! you shall have your loan back as promptly as you sent it, with an extra fifty added by way of interest for your generosity. and as for the new mæcenas you are sending to help me over my difficulties,--well, he may be a very excellent old gentleman, but he will find himself quite out of his element this time. i want neither assistance nor advice nor patronage,--i can buy them all! titles, honours, possessions,--they are all purchaseable,--love, friendship, position,--they are all for sale in this admirably commercial age and go to the highest bidder! by my soul!--the wealthy 'philanthropist' will find it difficult to match me in power! he will scarcely have more than five millions to waste, i warrant! and now for supper,--i shall have to live on credit till i get some ready cash,--and there is no reason why i should not leave this wretched hole at once, and go to one of the best hotels and swagger it!" i was about to leave the room on the swift impulse of excitement and joy, when a fresh and violent gust of wind roared down the chimney, bringing with it a shower of soot which fell in a black heap on my rejected manuscript where it lay forgotten on the floor, as i had despairingly thrown it. i hastily picked it up and shook it free from the noisome dirt, wondering as i did so, what would be its fate now?--now, when i could afford to publish it myself, and not only publish it but advertise it, and not only advertise it, but 'push' it, in all the crafty and cautious ways known to the inner circles of 'booming'! i smiled as i thought of the vengeance i would take on all those who had scorned and slighted me and my labour,--how they should cower before me!--how they should fawn at my feet like whipt curs, and whine their fulsome adulation! every stiff and stubborn neck should bend before me;--this i resolved upon; for though money does not always conquer everything, it only fails when it is money apart from brains. brains and money together can move the world,--brains can very frequently do this alone without money, of which serious and proved fact those who have no brains should beware! full of ambitious thought, i now and then caught wild sounds from the violin that was being played next door,--notes like sobbing cries of pain, and anon rippling runs like a careless woman's laughter,--and all at once i remembered i had not yet opened the third letter addressed to me,--the one coroneted in scarlet and gold, which had remained where it was on the table almost unnoticed till now. i took it up and turned it over with an odd sense of reluctance in my fingers, which were slow at the work of tearing the thick envelope asunder. drawing out an equally thick small sheet of notepaper also coroneted, i read the following lines written in an admirably legible, small and picturesque hand. dear sir. i am the bearer of a letter of introduction to you from your former college companion mr john carrington, now of melbourne, who has been good enough to thus give me the means of making the acquaintance of one, who, i understand, is more than exceptionally endowed with the gift of literary genius. i shall call upon you this evening between eight and nine o'clock, trusting to find you at home and disengaged. i enclose my card, and present address, and beg to remain, very faithfully yours lucio rimânez. the card mentioned dropped on the table as i finished reading the note. it bore a small, exquisitely engraved coronet and the words prince lucio rimÂnez. while, scribbled lightly in pencil underneath was the address 'grand hotel.' i read the brief letter through again,--it was simple enough,--expressed with clearness and civility. there was nothing remarkable about it,--nothing whatever; yet it seemed to me surcharged with meaning. why, i could not imagine. a curious fascination kept my eyes fastened on the characteristic bold handwriting, and made me fancy i should like the man who penned it. how the wind roared!--and how that violin next door wailed like the restless spirit of some forgotten musician in torment! my brain swam and my heart ached heavily,--the drip drip of the rain outside sounded like the stealthy footfall of some secret spy upon my movements. i grew irritable and nervous,--a foreboding of evil somehow darkened the bright consciousness of my sudden good fortune. then an impulse of shame possessed me,--shame that this foreign prince, if such he were, with limitless wealth at his back, should be coming to visit me,--_me_, now a millionaire,--in my present wretched lodging. already, before i had touched my riches, i was tainted by the miserable vulgarity of seeking to pretend i had never been really poor, but only embarrassed by a little temporary difficulty! if i had had a sixpence about me, (which i had not) i should have sent a telegram to my approaching visitor to put him off. "but in any case," i said aloud, addressing myself to the empty room and the storm-echoes--"i will not meet him to-night. i'll go out and leave no message,--and if he comes he will think i have not yet had his letter. i can make an appointment to see him when i am better lodged, and dressed more in keeping with my present position,--in the meantime, nothing is easier than to keep out of this would-be benefactor's way." as i spoke, the flickering lamp gave a dismal crackle and went out, leaving me in pitch darkness. with an exclamation more strong than reverent, i groped about the room for matches, or failing them, for my hat and coat,--and i was still engaged in a fruitless and annoying search, when i caught a sound of galloping horses' hoofs coming to an abrupt stop in the street below. surrounded by black gloom, i paused and listened. there was a slight commotion in the basement,--i heard my landlady's accents attuned to nervous civility, mingling with the mellow tones of a deep masculine voice,--then steps, firm and even, ascended the stairs to my landing. "the devil is in it!" i muttered vexedly--"just like my wayward luck!--here comes the very man i meant to avoid!" iii the door opened,--and from the dense obscurity enshrouding me i could just perceive a tall shadowy figure standing on the threshold. i remember well the curious impression the mere outline of this scarcely discerned form made upon me even then,--suggesting at the first glance such a stately majesty of height and bearing as at once riveted my attention,--so much so indeed that i scarcely heard my landlady's introductory words "a gentleman to see you sir,"--words that were quickly interrupted by a murmur of dismay at finding the room in total darkness. "well to be sure! the lamp must have gone out!" she exclaimed,--then addressing the personage she had ushered thus far, she added--"i'm afraid mr tempest isn't in after all, sir, though i certainly saw him about half-an-hour ago. if you don't mind waiting here a minute i'll fetch a light and see if he has left any message on his table." she hurried away, and though i knew that of course i ought to speak, a singular and quite inexplicable perversity of humour kept me silent and unwilling to declare my presence. meanwhile the tall stranger advanced a pace or two, and a rich voice with a ring of ironical amusement in it called me by my name-- "geoffrey tempest, are you there?" why could i not answer? the strangest and most unnatural obstinacy stiffened my tongue,--and, concealed in the gloom of my forlorn literary den i still held my peace. the majestic figure drew nearer, till in height and breadth it seemed to suddenly overshadow me; and once again the voice called-- "geoffrey tempest, are you there?" for very shame's sake i could hold out no longer,--and with a determined effort i broke the extraordinary dumb spell that had held me like a coward in silent hiding, and came forward boldly to confront my visitor. "yes i _am_ here," i said--"and being here i am ashamed to give you such a welcome as this. you are prince rimânez of course;--i have just read your note which prepared me for your visit, but i was hoping that my landlady, finding the room in darkness, would conclude i was out, and show you downstairs again. you see i am perfectly frank!" "you are indeed!" returned the stranger, his deep tones still vibrating with the silvery clang of veiled satire--"so frank that i cannot fail to understand you. briefly, and without courtesy, you resent my visit this evening and wish i had not come!" this open declaration of my mood sounded so brusque that i made haste to deny it, though i knew it to be true. truth, even in trifles, always seems unpleasant! "pray do not think me so churlish,"--i said--"the fact is, i only opened your letter a few minutes ago, and before i could make any arrangements to receive you, the lamp went out, with the awkward result that i am forced to greet you in this unsociable darkness, which is almost too dense to shake hands in." "shall we try?" my visitor enquired, with a sudden softening of accent that gave his words a singular charm; "here is my hand,--if yours has any friendly instinct in it the twain will meet,--quite blindly and without guidance!" i at once extended my hand, and it was instantly clasped in a warm and somewhat masterful manner. at that moment a light flashed on the scene,--my landlady entered, bearing what she called 'her best lamp' alit, and set it on the table. i believe she uttered some exclamation of surprise at seeing me,--she may have said anything or nothing,--i did not hear or heed, so entirely was i amazed and fascinated by the appearance of the man whose long slender hand still held mine. i am myself an average good height, but he was fully half a head taller than i, if not more than that,--and as i looked straightly at him, i thought i had never seen so much beauty and intellectuality combined in the outward personality of any human being. the finely shaped head denoted both power and wisdom, and was nobly poised on such shoulders as might have befitted a hercules,--the countenance was a pure oval, and singularly pale, this complexion intensifying the almost fiery brilliancy of the full dark eyes, which had in them a curious and wonderfully attractive look of mingled mirth and misery. the mouth was perhaps the most telling feature in this remarkable face,--set in the perfect curve of beauty, it was yet firm, determined, and not too small, thus escaping effeminacy,--and i noted that in repose it expressed bitterness, disdain and even cruelty. but with the light of a smile upon it, it signified, or seemed to signify, something more subtle than any passion to which we can give a name, and already with the rapidity of a lightning flash, i caught myself wondering what that mystic undeclared something might be. at a glance i comprehended these primary details of my new acquaintance's eminently prepossessing appearance, and when my hand dropped from his close grasp i felt as if i had known him all my life! and now face to face with him in the bright lamp-light, i remembered my actual surroundings,--the bare cold room, the lack of fire, the black soot that sprinkled the nearly carpetless floor,--my own shabby clothes and deplorable aspect, as compared with this regal-looking individual, who carried the visible evidence of wealth upon him in the superb russian sables that lined and bordered his long overcoat which he now partially unfastened and threw open with a carelessly imperial air, the while he regarded me, smiling. "i know i have come at an awkward moment," he said--"i always do! it is my peculiar misfortune. well-bred people never intrude where they are not wanted,--and in this particular i'm afraid my manners leave much to be desired. try to forgive me if you can, for the sake of this,"--and he held out a letter addressed to me in my friend carrington's familiar handwriting. "and permit me to sit down while you read my credentials." he took a chair and seated himself. i observed his handsome face and easy attitude with renewed admiration. "no credentials are necessary," i said with all the cordiality i now really felt--"i have already had a letter from carrington in which he speaks of you in the highest and most grateful terms. but the fact is----well!--really, prince, you must excuse me if i seem confused or astonished ... i had expected to see quite an old man ..." and i broke off, somewhat embarrassed by the keen glance of the brilliant eyes that met mine so fixedly. "no one is old, my dear sir, nowadays!" he declared lightly--"even the grandmothers and grandfathers are friskier at fifty than they were at fifteen. one does not talk of age at all now in polite society,--it is ill-bred, even coarse. indecent things are unmentionable--age has become an indecent thing. it is therefore avoided in conversation. you expected to see an old man you say? well, you are not disappointed--i _am_ old. in fact you have no idea how very old i am!" i laughed at this piece of absurdity. "why, you are younger than i,"--i said--"or if not, you look it." "ah, my looks belie me!" he returned gaily--"i am like several of the most noted fashionable beauties,--much riper than i seem. but come, read the introductory missive i have brought you,--i shall not be satisfied till you do." thus requested, and wishing to prove myself as courteous as i had hitherto been brusque, i at once opened my friend's note and read as follows,-- dear geoffrey. the bearer of this, prince rimânez, is a very distinguished scholar and gentleman, allied by descent to one of the oldest families in europe, or for that matter, in the world. you, as a student and lover of ancient history, will be interested to know that his ancestors were originally princes of chaldea, who afterwards settled in tyre,--from thence they went to etruria and there continued through many centuries, the last scion of the house being the very gifted and genial personage who, as my good friend, i have the pleasure of commending to your kindest regard. certain troublous and overpowering circumstances have forced him into exile from his native province, and deprived him of a great part of his possessions, so that he is, to a considerable extent a wanderer on the face of the earth, and has travelled far and seen much, and has a wide experience of men and things. he is a poet and musician of great skill, and though he occupies himself with the arts solely for his own amusement, i think you will find his practical knowledge of literary matters eminently useful to you in your difficult career. i must not forget to add that in all matters scientific he is an absolute master. wishing you both a cordial friendship, i am, dear geoffrey, yours sincerely john carrington. the signature of 'boffles' had evidently been deemed out of place this time and somehow i was foolishly vexed at its omission. there seemed to be something formal and stiff in the letter, almost as if it had been written to dictation, and under pressure. what gave me this idea i know not. i glanced furtively at my silent companion,--he caught my stray look and returned it with a curiously grave fixity. fearing lest my momentary vague distrust of him had been reflected in my eyes i made haste to speak-- "this letter, prince, adds to my shame and regret that i should have greeted you in so churlish a manner this evening. no apology can condone my rudeness,--but you cannot imagine how mortified i felt and still feel, to be compelled to receive you in this miserable den,--it is not at all the sort of place in which i should have liked to welcome you...." and i broke off with a renewed sense of irritation, remembering how actually rich i now was, and that in spite of this, i was obliged to seem poor. meanwhile the prince waived aside my remarks with a light gesture of his hand. "why be mortified?" he demanded. "rather be proud that you can dispense with the vulgar appurtenances of luxury. genius thrives in a garret and dies in a palace,--is not that the generally accepted theory?" "rather a worn-out and mistaken one i consider,"--i replied; "genius might like to try the effect of a palace for once,--it usually dies of starvation." "true!--but in thus dying, think how many fools it afterwards fattens! there is an all-wise providence in this, my dear sir! schubert perished of want,--but see what large profits all the music-publishers have made since out of his compositions! it is a most beautiful dispensation of nature,--that honest folk should be sacrificed in order to provide for the sustenance of knaves!" he laughed, and i looked at him in a little surprise. his remark touched so near my own opinions that i wondered whether he were in jest or earnest. "you speak sarcastically of course?" i said--"you do not really believe what you say?" "oh, do i not!" he returned, with a flash of his fine eyes that was almost lightning-like in its intensity--"if i could not believe the teaching of my own experience, what would be left to me? i always realize the '_needs must_' of things--how does the old maxim go--'needs must when the devil drives.' there is really no possible contradiction to offer to the accuracy of that statement. the devil drives the world, whip in hand,--and oddly enough, (considering that some belated folk still fancy there is a god somewhere) succeeds in managing his team with extraordinary ease!" his brow clouded and the bitter lines about his mouth deepened and hardened,--anon he laughed again lightly and continued--"but let us not moralize,--morals sicken the soul both in church and out of it,--every sensible man hates to be told what he _could_ be and what he _won't_ be. i am here to make friends with you if you permit,--and to put an end to ceremony, will you accompany me back to my hotel where i have ordered supper?" by this time i had become indescribably fascinated by his easy manner, handsome presence and mellifluous voice,--the satirical turn of his humour suited mine,--i felt we should get on well together,--and my first annoyance at being discovered by him in such poverty-stricken circumstances somewhat abated. "with pleasure!" i replied--"but first of all, you must allow me to explain matters a little. you have heard a good deal about my affairs from my friend john carrington, and i know from his private letter to me that you have come here out of pure kindness and goodwill. for that generous intention i thank you! i know you expected to find a poor wretch of a literary man struggling with the direst circumstances of disappointment and poverty,--and a couple of hours ago you would have amply fulfilled that expectation. but now, things have changed,--i have received news which completely alters my position,--in fact i have had a very great and remarkable surprise this evening...." "an agreeable one i trust?" interposed my companion suavely. i smiled. "judge for yourself!" and i handed him the lawyer's letter which informed me of my suddenly acquired fortune. he glanced it through rapidly,--then folded and returned it to me with a courteous bow. "i suppose i should congratulate you,"--he said--"and i do. though of course this wealth which seems to content you, to me appears a mere trifle. it can be quite conveniently run through and exhausted in about eight years or less, therefore it does not provide absolute immunity from care. to be rich, really rich, in my sense of the word, one should have about a million a year. then one might reasonably hope to escape the workhouse!" he laughed,--and i stared at him stupidly, not knowing how to take his words, whether as truth or idle boasting. five millions of money a mere trifle! he went on without apparently noticing my amazement-- "the inexhaustible greed of a man, my dear sir, can never be satisfied. if he is not consumed by desire for one thing, he is for another, and his tastes are generally expensive. a few pretty and unscrupulous women for example, would soon relieve you of your five millions in the purchase of jewels alone. horse-racing would do it still more quickly. no, no,--you are not rich,--you are still poor,--only your needs are no longer so pressing as they were. and in this i confess myself somewhat disappointed,--for i came to you hoping to do a good turn to some one for once in my life, and to play the foster-father to a rising genius--and here i am--forestalled,--as usual! it is a singular thing, do you know, but nevertheless a fact, that whenever i have had any particular intentions towards a man i am always forestalled! it is really rather hard upon me!" he broke off and raised his head in a listening attitude. "what is that?" he asked. it was the violinist next door playing a well-known "ave maria." i told him so. "dismal,--very dismal!" he said with a contemptuous shrug. "i hate all that kind of mawkish devotional stuff. well!--millionaire as you are, and acknowledged lion of society as you shortly will be, there is no objection i hope, to the proposed supper? and perhaps a music-hall afterwards if you feel inclined,--what do you say?" he clapped me on the shoulder cordially and looked straight into my face,--those wonderful eyes of his, suggestive of both tears and fire, fixed me with a clear masterful gaze that completely dominated me. i made no attempt to resist the singular attraction which now possessed me for this man whom i had but just met,--the sensation was too strong and too pleasant to be combated. only for one moment more i hesitated, looking down at my shabby attire. "i am not fit to accompany you, prince," i said--"i look more like a tramp than a millionaire." he glanced at me and smiled. "upon my life, so you do!" he averred.--"but be satisfied!--you are in this respect very like many another croesus. it is only the poor and proud who take the trouble to dress well,--they and the dear 'naughty' ladies, generally monopolize tasteful and becoming attire. an ill-fitting coat often adorns the back of a prime minister,--and if you see a woman clad in clothes vilely cut and coloured, you may be sure she is eminently virtuous, renowned for good works, and probably a duchess!" he rose, drawing his sables about him. "what matter the coat if the purse be full!" he continued gaily.--"let it once be properly paragraphed in the papers that you are a millionaire, and doubtless some enterprising tailor will invent a 'tempest' ulster coloured softly like your present garb, an artistic mildewy green! and now come along,--your solicitor's communication should have given you a good appetite, or it is not so valuable as it seems,--and i want you to do justice to my supper. i have my own _chef_ with me, and he is not without skill. i hope, by the way, you will at least do me this much service,--that pending legal discussion and settlement of your affairs, you will let me be your banker?" this offer was made with such an air of courteous delicacy and friendship, that i could do no more than accept it gratefully, as it relieved me from all temporary embarrassment. i hastily wrote a few lines to my landlady, telling her she would receive the money owing to her by post next day,--then, thrusting my rejected manuscript, my only worldly possession, into my coat-pocket, i extinguished the lamp, and with the new friend i had so suddenly gained, i left my dismal lodgings and all its miserable associations for ever. i little thought the time would come when i should look back to the time spent in that small mean room as the best period of my life,--when i should regard the bitter poverty i then endured, as the stern but holy angel meant to guide me to the highest and noblest attainment,--when i should pray desperately with wild tears to be as i was then, rather than as i am now! is it well or ill for us i wonder, that the future is hidden from our knowledge? should we steer our ways clearer from evil if we knew its result? it is a doubtful question,--at anyrate my ignorance for the moment was indeed bliss. i went joyfully out of the dreary house where i had lived so long among disappointments and difficulties, turning my back upon it with such a sense of relief as could never be expressed in words,--and the last thing i heard as i passed into the street with my companion, was a plaintive long-drawn wail of minor melody, which seemed to be sent after me like a parting cry, by the unknown and invisible player of the violin. iv outside, the prince's carriage waited, drawn by two spirited black horses caparisoned in silver; magnificent thoroughbreds, which pawed the ground and champed their bits impatient of delay,--at sight of his master the smart footman in attendance threw the door open, touching his hat respectfully. we stepped in, i preceding my companion at his expressed desire; and as i sank back among the easy cushions, i felt the complacent consciousness of luxury and power to such an extent that it seemed as if i had left my days of adversity already a long way behind me. hunger and happiness disputed my sensations between them, and i was in that vague light-headed condition common to long fasting, in which nothing seems absolutely tangible or real. i knew i should not properly grasp the solid truth of my wonderful good luck till my physical needs were satisfied and i was, so to speak, once more in a naturally balanced bodily condition. at present my brain was in a whirl,--my thoughts were all dim and disconnected,--and i appeared to myself to be in some whimsical dream from which i should wake up directly. the carriage rolled on rubber-tyred wheels and made no noise as it went,--one could only hear the even rapid trot of the horses. by-and-by i saw in the semi-darkness my new friend's brilliant dark eyes fixed upon me with a curiously intent expression. "do you not feel the world already at your feet?" he queried half playfully, half ironically--"like a football, waiting to be kicked? it is such an absurd world, you know--so easily moved. wise men in all ages have done their best to make it less ridiculous,--with no result, inasmuch as it continues to prefer folly to wisdom. a football, or let us say a shuttlecock among worlds, ready to be tossed up anyhow and anywhere, provided the battledore be of gold!" "you speak a trifle bitterly, prince"--i said--"but no doubt you have had a wide experience among men?" "i have," he returned with emphasis--"my kingdom is a vast one." "you are a ruling power then?" i exclaimed with some astonishment--"yours is not a title of honour only?" "oh, as your rules of aristocracy go, it _is_ a mere title of honour"--he replied quickly--"when i say that my kingdom is a vast one, i mean that i rule wherever men obey the influence of wealth. from this point of view, am i wrong in calling my kingdom vast?--is it not almost boundless?" "i perceive you are a cynic,"--i said--"yet surely you believe that there are some things wealth cannot buy,--honour and virtue for example?" he surveyed me with a whimsical smile. "i suppose honour and virtue _do_ exist--" he answered--"and when they are existent of course they cannot be bought. but my experience has taught me that i can always buy everything. the sentiments called honour and virtue by the majority of men are the most shifty things imaginable,--set sufficient cash down, and they become bribery and corruption in the twinkling of an eye! curious--very curious. i confess i found a case of unpurchaseable integrity once, but only once. i may find it again, though i consider the chance a very doubtful one. now to revert to myself, pray do not imagine i am playing the humbug with you or passing myself off under a _bogus_ title. i am a _bona-fide_ prince, believe me, and of such descent as none of your oldest families can boast,--but my dominions are long since broken up and my former subjects dispersed among all nations,--anarchy, nihilism, disruption and political troubles generally, compel me to be rather reticent concerning my affairs. money i fortunately have in plenty,--and with that i pave my way. some day when we are better acquainted, you shall know more of my private history. i have various other names and titles besides that on my card--but i keep to the simplest of them, because most people are such bunglers at the pronunciation of foreign names. my intimate friends generally drop my title, and call me lucio simply." "that is your christian name--?" i began. "not at all--i have no 'christian' name,"--he interrupted swiftly and with anger--"there is no such thing as 'christian' in my composition!" he spoke with such impatience that for a moment i was at a loss for a reply. at last-- "indeed!" i murmured vaguely. he burst out laughing. "'indeed!' that is all you can find to say! indeed and again indeed the word 'christian' vexes me. there is no such creature alive. _you_ are not a christian,--no one is really,--people pretend to be,--and in so damnable an act of feigning are more blasphemous than any fallen fiend! now i make no pretences of the kind,--i have only one faith--" "and that is?"-- "a profound and awful one!" he said in thrilling tones--"and the worst of it is that it is true,--as true as the workings of the universe. but of that hereafter,--it will do to talk of when we feel low-spirited and wish to converse of things grim and ghastly,--at present here we are at our destination, and the chief consideration of our lives, (it is the chief consideration of most men's lives) must be the excellence or non-excellence of our food." the carriage stopped and we descended. at first sight of the black horses and silver trappings, the porter of the hotel and two or three other servants rushed out to attend upon us; but the prince passed into the hall without noticing any of them and addressed himself to a sober-looking individual in black, his own private valet, who came forward to meet him with a profound salutation. i murmured something about wishing to engage a room for myself in the hotel. "oh, my man will see to that for you"--he said lightly--"the house is not full,--at anyrate all the best rooms are not taken; and of course you want one of the best." a staring waiter, who up to that moment, had been noting my shabby clothes with that peculiar air of contempt commonly displayed by insolent menials to those whom they imagine are poor, overheard these words, and suddenly changing the derisive expression of his foxy face, bowed obsequiously as i passed. a thrill of disgust ran through me, mingled with a certain angry triumph,--the hypocritical reflex of this low fellow's countenance, was, i knew, a true epitome of what i should find similarly reflected in the manner and attitude of all 'polite' society. for there the estimate of worth is no higher than a common servant's estimate, and is taken solely from the money standard;--if you are poor and dress shabbily you are thrust aside and ignored,--but if you are rich, you may wear shabby clothes as much as you like, you are still courted and flattered, and invited everywhere, though you may be the greatest fool alive or the worst blackguard unhung. with vague thoughts such as these flitting over my mind, i followed my host to his rooms. he occupied nearly a whole wing of the hotel, having a large drawing-room, dining-room and study _en suite_, fitted up in the most luxurious manner, besides bedroom, bathroom, and dressing-room, with other rooms adjoining, for his valet and two extra personal attendants. the table was laid for supper, and glittered with the costliest glass, silver and china, being furthermore adorned by baskets of the most exquisite fruit and flowers, and in a few moments we were seated. the prince's valet acted as head-waiter, and i noticed that now this man's face, seen in the full light of the electric lamps, seemed very dark and unpleasant, even sinister in expression,--but in the performance of his duties he was unexceptionable, being quick, attentive, and deferential, so much so that i inwardly reproached myself for taking an instinctive dislike to him. his name was amiel, and i found myself involuntarily watching his movements, they were so noiseless,--his very step suggesting the stealthy gliding of a cat or a tiger. he was assisted in his work by the two other attendants who served as his subordinates, and who were equally active and well-trained,--and presently i found myself enjoying the choicest meal i had tasted for many and many a long day, flavoured with such wine as connoisseurs might be apt to dream of, but never succeed in finding. i began to feel perfectly at my ease, and talked with freedom and confidence, the strong attraction i had for my new friend deepening with every moment i passed in his company. "will you continue your literary career now you have this little fortune left you?" he inquired, when at the close of supper amiel set the choicest cognac and cigars before us, and respectfully withdrew--"do you think you will care to go on with it?" "certainly i shall"--i replied--"if only for the fun of the thing. you see, with money i can force my name into notice whether the public like it or not. no newspaper refuses paying advertisements." "true!--but may not inspiration refuse to flow from a full purse and an empty head?" this remark provoked me not a little. "do you consider me empty-headed?" i asked with some vexation. "not at present. my dear tempest, do not let either the tokay we have been drinking, or the cognac we are going to drink, speak for you in such haste! i assure you i do not think you empty-headed,--on the contrary, your head, i believe from what i have heard, has been and is full of ideas,--excellent ideas, original ideas, which the world of conventional criticism does not want. but whether these ideas will continue to germinate in your brain, or whether, with the full purse, they will cease, is now the question. great originality and inspiration, strange to say, seldom endow the millionaire. inspiration is supposed to come from above,--money from below! in your case however both originality and inspiration may continue to flourish and bring forth fruit,--i trust they may. it often happens, nevertheless that when bags of money fall to the lot of aspiring genius, god departs and the devil walks in. have you never heard that?" "never!" i answered smiling. "well, of course the saying is foolish, and sounds doubly ridiculous in this age when people believe in neither god nor devil. it implies however that one must choose an up or a down,--genius is the up, money is the down. you cannot fly and grovel at the same instant." "the possession of money is not likely to cause a man to grovel"--i said--"it is the one thing necessary to strengthen his soaring powers and lift him to the greatest heights." "you think so?" and my host lit his cigar with a grave and pre-occupied air--"then i'm afraid, you don't know much about what i shall call natural psychics. what belongs to the earth tends earthwards,--surely you realize that? gold most strictly belongs to the earth,--you dig it out of the ground,--you handle it and dispose of it in solid wedges or bars--it is a substantial metal enough. genius belongs to nobody knows where,--you cannot dig it up or pass it on, or do anything with it except stand and marvel--it is a rare visitant and capricious as the wind, and generally makes sad havoc among the conventionalities of men. it is as i said an 'upper' thing, beyond earthly smells and savours,--and those who have it always live in unknown high latitudes. but money is a perfectly level commodity,--level with the ground;--when you have much of it, you come down solidly on your flat soles and down you stay!" i laughed. "upon my word you preach very eloquently against wealth!" i said--"you yourself are unusually rich,--are you sorry for it?" "no, i am not sorry, because being sorry would be no use"--he returned--"and i never waste my time. but i am telling you the truth--genius and great riches hardly ever pull together. now i, for example,--you cannot imagine what great capabilities i had once!--a long time ago--before i became my own master!" "and you have them still i am sure"--i averred, looking expressively at his noble head and fine eyes. the strange subtle smile i had noticed once or twice before lightened his face. "ah, you mean to compliment me!" he said--"you like my looks,--many people do. yet after all there is nothing so deceptive as one's outward appearance. the reason of this is that as soon as childhood is past, we are always pretending to be what we are not,--and thus, with constant practice from our youth up, we manage to make our physical frames complete disguises for our actual selves. it is really wise and clever of us,--for hence each individual is so much flesh-wall through which neither friend nor enemy can spy. every man is a solitary soul imprisoned in a self-made den,--when he is quite alone he knows and frequently hates himself,--sometimes he even gets afraid of the gaunt and murderous monster he keeps hidden behind his outwardly pleasant body-mask, and hastens to forget its frightful existence in drink and debauchery. that is what i do occasionally,--you would not think it of me, would you?" "never!" i replied quickly, for something in his voice and aspect moved me strangely--"you belie yourself, and wrong your own nature." he laughed softly. "perhaps i do!" he said carelessly--"this much you may believe of me--that i am no worse than most men! now to return to the subject of your literary career,--you have written a book, you say,--well, publish it and see the result--if you only make one 'hit' that is something. and there are ways of arranging that the 'hit' shall be made. what is your story about? i hope it is improper?" "it certainly is not;"--i replied warmly--"it is a romance dealing with the noblest forms of life and highest ambitions;--i wrote it with the intention of elevating and purifying the thoughts of my readers, and wished if i could, to comfort those who had suffered loss or sorrow--" rimânez smiled compassionately. "ah, it won't do!" he interrupted--"i assure you it won't;--it doesn't fit the age. it might go down, possibly, if you could give a 'first-night' of it as it were to the critics, like one of my most intimate friends, henry irving,--a 'first-night' combined with an excellent supper and any amount of good drinks going. otherwise it's no use. if it is to succeed by itself, it must not attempt to be literature,--it must simply be indecent. as indecent as you can make it without offending advanced women,--that is giving you a good wide margin. put in as much as you can about sexual matters and the bearing of children,--in brief, discourse of men and women simply as cattle who exist merely for breeding purposes, and your success will be enormous. there's not a critic living who won't applaud you,--there's not a school-girl of fifteen who will not gloat over your pages in the silence of her virginal bedroom!" such a flash of withering derision darted from his eyes as startled me,--i could find no words to answer him for the moment, and he went on-- "what put it into your head, my dear tempest, to write a book dealing with, as you say, 'the noblest forms of life'? there are no noble forms of life left on this planet,--it is all low and commercial,--man is a pigmy, and his aims are pigmy like himself. for noble forms of life seek other worlds!--there _are_ others. then again, people don't want their thoughts raised or purified in the novels they read for amusement--they go to church for that, and get very bored during the process. and why should you wish to comfort folks who, out of their own sheer stupidity generally, get into trouble? they wouldn't comfort _you_,--they would not give you sixpence to save you from starvation. my good fellow, leave your quixotism behind you with your poverty. live your life to yourself,--if you do anything for others they will only treat you with the blackest ingratitude,--so take my advice, and don't sacrifice your own personal interests for any consideration whatever." he rose from the table as he spoke and stood with his back to the bright fire, smoking his cigar tranquilly,--and i gazed at his handsome figure and face with just the faintest thrill of pained doubt darkening my admiration. "if you were not so good-looking i should call you heartless"--i said at last--"but your features are a direct contradiction to your words. you have not really that indifference to human nature which you strive to assume,--your whole aspect betokens a generosity of spirit which you cannot conquer if you would. besides, are you not always trying to do good?" he smiled. "always! that is, i am always at work endeavouring to gratify every man's desire. whether that is good of me, or bad, remains to be proved. men's wants are almost illimitable,--the only thing none of them ever seem to wish, so far as i am concerned, is to cut my acquaintance!" "why, of course not! after once meeting you, how could they!" i said, laughing at the absurdity of the suggestion. he gave me a whimsical side-look. "their desires are not always virtuous," he remarked, turning to flick off the ash of his cigar into the grate. "but of course you do not gratify them in their vices!" i rejoined, still laughing--"that would be playing the part of a benefactor somewhat too thoroughly!" "ah now i see we shall flounder in the quicksands of theory if we go any further"--he said--"you forget, my dear fellow, that nobody can decide as to what _is_ vice, or what _is_ virtue. these things are chameleon-like, and take different colours in different countries. abraham had two or three wives and several concubines, and he was the very soul of virtue according to sacred lore,--whereas my lord tom-noddy in london to-day has one wife and several concubines, and is really very much like abraham in other particulars, yet he is considered a very dreadful person. 'who shall decide when doctors disagree!' let's drop the subject, as we shall never settle it. what shall we do with the rest of the evening? there is a stout-limbed, shrewd wench at the tivoli, dancing her way into the affections of a ricketty little duke,--shall we go and watch the admirable contortions with which she is wriggling into a fixed position among the english aristocracy? or are you tired, and would you prefer a long night's rest?" to tell the truth i was thoroughly fatigued, and mentally as well as physically worn out with the excitements of the day,--my head too was heavy with the wine to which i had so long been unaccustomed. "upon my word i think i would rather go to bed than anything--" i confessed--"but what about my room?" "oh, amiel will have attended to that for you,--we'll ask him." and he touched the bell. his valet instantly appeared. "have you got a room for mr tempest?" "yes, your excellency. an apartment in this corridor almost facing your excellency's suite. it is not as well furnished as it might be, but i have made it as comfortable as i can for the night." "thanks very much!" i said--"i am greatly obliged to you." amiel bowed deferentially. "thank _you_, sir." he retired, and i moved to bid my host good-night. he took my proffered hand, and held it in his, looking at me curiously the while. "i like you, geoffrey tempest;" he said--"and because i like you, and because i think there are the makings of something higher than mere earthy brute in you, i am going to make you what you may perhaps consider rather a singular proposition. it is this,--that if you don't like _me_, say so at once, and we will part now, before we have time to know anything more of each other, and i will endeavour not to cross your path again unless you seek me out. but if on the contrary, you do like me,--if you find something in my humour or turn of mind congenial to your own disposition, give me your promise that you will be my friend and comrade for a while, say for a few months at any rate. i can take you into the best society, and introduce you to the prettiest women in europe as well as the most brilliant men. i know them all, and i believe i can be useful to you. but if there is the smallest aversion to me lurking in the depths of your nature"--here he paused,--then resumed with extraordinary solemnity--"in god's name give it full way and let me go,--because i swear to you in all sober earnest that i am not what i seem!" strongly impressed by his strange look and stranger manner, i hesitated one moment,--and on that moment, had i but known it, hung my future. it was true,--i had felt a passing shadow of distrust and repulsion for this fascinating yet cynical man, and he seemed to have guessed it. but now every suspicion of him vanished from my mind, and i clasped his hand with renewed heartiness. "my dear fellow, your warning comes too late!" i said mirthfully--"whatever you are, or whatever you choose to think you are, i find you most sympathetic to my disposition, and i consider myself most fortunate in knowing you. my old friend carrington has indeed done me a good turn in bringing us together, and i assure you i shall be proud of your companionship. you seem to take a perverse delight in running yourself down!--but you know the old adage, 'the devil is not so black as he is painted'?" "and that is true!" he murmured dreamily--"poor devil! his faults are no doubt much exaggerated by the clergy! and so we are to be friends?" "i hope so! i shall not be the first to break the compact!" his dark eyes rested upon me thoughtfully, yet there seemed to be a lurking smile in them as well. "compact is a good word"--he said--"so,--a compact we will consider it. i meant to improve your material fortunes,--you can dispense with that aid now; but i think i can still be of service in pushing you on in society. and love--of course you will fall in love if you have not already done so,--have you?" "not i!" i answered quickly, and with truth--"i have seen no woman yet who perfectly fulfils my notions of beauty." he burst out laughing violently. "upon my word you are not wanting in audacity!" he said--"nothing but perfect beauty will suit you, eh? but consider, my friend, you, though a good-looking well-built man, are not yourself quite a phoebus apollo!" "that has nothing to do with the matter"--i rejoined--"a man should choose a wife with a careful eye to his own personal gratification, in the same way that he chooses horses or wine,--perfection or nothing." "and the woman?"--rimânez demanded, his eyes twinkling. "the woman has really no right of choice"--i responded,--for this was my pet argument and i took pleasure in setting it forth--"she must mate wherever she has the chance of being properly maintained. a man is always a man,--a woman is only a man's appendage, and without beauty she cannot put forth any just claim to his admiration or his support." "right!--very right, and logically argued!"--he exclaimed, becoming preternaturally serious in a moment--"i myself have no sympathy with the new ideas that are in vogue concerning the intellectuality of woman. she is simply the female of man,--she has no real soul save that which is a reflex of his, and being destitute of logic, she is incapable of forming a correct opinion on any subject. all the imposture of religion is kept up by this unmathematical hysterical creature,--and it is curious, considering how inferior a being she is, what mischief she has contrived to make in the world, upsetting the plans of the wisest kings and counsellors, who as mere men, should undoubtedly have mastered her! and in the present age she is becoming more than ever unmanageable." "it is only a passing phase"--i returned carelessly--"a fad got up by a few unloved and unlovable types of the feminine sex. i care very little for women--i doubt whether i shall ever marry." "well you have plenty of time to consider, and amuse yourself with the fair ones, _en passant_"--he said watching me narrowly--"and in the meantime i can take you round the different marriage-markets of the world if you choose, though the largest one of them all is of course this very metropolis. splendid bargains to be had, my dear friend!--wonderful blonde and brunette specimens going really very cheap. we'll examine them at our leisure. i'm glad you have yourself decided that we are to be comrades,--for i am proud;--i may say damnably proud;--and never stay in any man's company when he expresses the slightest wish to be rid of me. good-night!" "good-night!" i responded. we clasped hands again and they were still interlocked, when a sudden flash of lightning blazed vividly across the room, followed instantaneously by a terrific clap of thunder. the electric lights went out, and only the glow of the fire illumined our faces. i was a little startled and confused,--the prince stood still, quite unconcerned, his eyes shining like those of a cat in the darkness. "what a storm!" he remarked lightly--"such thunder in winter is rather unusual. amiel!" the valet entered, his sinister countenance resembling a white mask made visible in the gloom. "these lamps have gone out,"--said his master--"it's very odd that civilized humanity has not yet learned the complete management of the electric light. can you put them in order, amiel?" "yes, your excellency." and in a few moments, by some dexterous manipulation which i did not understand and could not see, the crystal-cased jets shone forth again with renewed brilliancy. another peal of thunder crashed overhead, followed by a downpour of rain. "really remarkable weather for january,"--said rimânez, again giving me his hand--"good-night my friend! sleep well." "if the anger of the elements will permit!" i returned, smiling. "oh, never mind the elements. man has nearly mastered them or soon will do so, now that he is getting gradually convinced there is no deity to interfere in his business. amiel, show mr tempest to his room." amiel obeyed, and crossing the corridor, ushered me into a large, luxurious apartment, richly furnished, and lit up by the blaze of a bright fire. the comforting warmth shone welcome upon me as i entered, and i who had not experienced such personal luxury since my boyhood's days, felt more than ever overpowered by the jubilant sense of my sudden extraordinary good fortune. amiel waited respectfully, now and then furtively glancing at me with an expression which to my fancy had something derisive in it. "is there anything i can do for you sir?" he inquired. "no thank you,"--i answered, endeavouring to throw an accent of careless condescension into my voice--for somehow i felt this man must be kept strictly in his place--"you have been very attentive,--i shall not forget it." a slight smile flickered over his features. "much obliged to you, sir. good-night." and he retired, leaving me alone. i paced the room up and down more dreamily than consciously, trying to think,--trying to set in order the amazing events of the day, but my brain was still dazed and confused, and the only image of actual prominence in my mind was the striking and remarkable personality of my new friend rimânez. his extraordinary good looks, his attractive manner, his curious cynicism which was so oddly mixed with some deeper sentiment to which i could not give a name, all the trifling yet uncommon peculiarities of his bearing and humour haunted me and became indissolubly mingled as it were with myself and all the circumstances concerning me. i undressed before the fire, listening drowsily to the rain, and the thunder which was now dying off into sullen echoes. "geoffrey tempest, the world is before you--" i said, apostrophizing myself indolently--"you are a young man,--you have health, a good appearance, and brains,--added to these you now have five millions of money, and a wealthy prince for your friend. what more do you want of fate or fortune? nothing,--except fame! and that you will get easily, for now-a-days even fame is purchaseable--like love. your star is in the ascendant,--no more literary drudgery for you my boy!--pleasure and profit and ease are yours to enjoy for the rest of your life. you are a lucky dog!--at last you have your day!" i flung myself upon the soft bed, and settled myself to sleep,--and as i dozed off, i still heard the rumble of heavy thunder in the distance. once i fancied i heard the prince's voice calling "amiel! amiel!" with a wildness resembling the shriek of an angry wind,--and at another moment i started violently from a profound slumber under the impression that someone had approached and was looking fixedly at me. i sat up in bed, peering into the darkness, for the fire had gone out;--then i turned on a small electric night-lamp at my side which fully illumined the room,--there was no one there. yet my imagination played me such tricks before i could rest again that i thought i heard a hissing whisper near me that said-- "peace! trouble him not. let the fool in his folly sleep!" v the next morning on rising i learned that 'his excellency' as prince rimânez was called by his own servants and the employés of the 'grand,' had gone out riding in the park, leaving me to breakfast alone. i therefore took that meal in the public room of the hotel, where i was waited upon with the utmost obsequiousness, in spite of my shabby clothes, which i was of course still compelled to wear, having no change. when would i be pleased to lunch? at what hour would i dine? should my present apartment be retained?--or was it not satisfactory? would i prefer a 'suite' similar to that occupied by his excellency? all these deferential questions first astonished and then amused me,--some mysterious agency had evidently conveyed the rumour of my wealth among those best fitted to receive it, and here was the first result. in reply i said my movements were uncertain,--i should be able to give definite instructions in the course of a few hours, and that in the meantime i retained my room. the breakfast over i sallied forth to go to my lawyers, and was just about to order a hansom when i saw my new friend coming back from his ride. he bestrode a magnificent chestnut mare, whose wild eyes and strained quivering limbs showed she was fresh from a hard gallop and was scarcely yet satisfied to be under close control. she curveted and danced among the carts and cabs in a somewhat risky fashion, but she had her master in rimânez, who if he had looked handsome by night looked still more so by day, with a slight colour warming the natural pallor of his complexion and his eyes sparkling with all the zest of exercise and enjoyment. i waited for his approach, as did also amiel, who as usual timed his appearance in the hotel corridor in exact accordance with the moment of his master's arrival. rimânez smiled as he caught sight of me, touching his hat with the handle of his whip by way of salutation. "you slept late, tempest"--he said, as he dismounted and threw the reins to a groom who had cantered up after him,--"to-morrow you must come with me and join what they call in fashionable slang parlance the liver brigade. once upon a time it was considered the height of indelicacy and low breeding to mention the 'liver' or any other portion of one's internal machinery,--but we have done with all that now, and we find a peculiar satisfaction in discoursing of disease and unsavoury medical matters generally. and in the liver brigade you see at a glance all those interesting fellows who have sold themselves to the devil for the sake of the flesh-pots of egypt,--men who eat till they are well-nigh bursting, and then prance up and down on good horses,--much too respectable beasts by the way to bear such bestial burdens--in the hope of getting out of their poisoned blood the evil they have themselves put in. they think me one of them, but i am not." he patted his mare and the groom led her away, the foam of her hard ride still flecking her glossy chest and forelegs. "why do you join the procession then?" i asked him, laughing and glancing at him with undisguised approval as i spoke, for he seemed more admirably built than ever in his well-fitting riding gear--"you are a fraud!" "i am!" he responded lightly--"and do you know i am not the only one in london! where are you off to?" "to those lawyers who wrote to me last night;--bentham and ellis is the name of the firm. the sooner i interview them the better,--don't you think so?" "yes--but see here,"--and he drew me aside--"you must have some ready cash. it doesn't look well to apply at once for advances,--and there is really no necessity to explain to these legal men that you were on the verge of starvation when their letter arrived. take this pocket-book,--remember you promised to let me be your banker,--and on your way you might go to some well-reputed tailor and get properly rigged out. ta-ta!" he moved off at a rapid pace,--i hurried after him, touched to the quick by his kindness. "but wait--i say--lucio!" and i called him thus by his familiar name for the first time. he stopped at once and stood quite still. "well?" he said, regarding me with an attentive smile. "you don't give me time to speak"--i answered in a low voice, for we were standing in one of the public corridors of the hotel--"the fact is i have some money, or rather i can get it directly,--carrington sent me a draft for fifty pounds in his letter--i forgot to tell you about it. it was very good of him to lend it to me,--you had better have it as security for this pocket-book,--by-the-bye how much is there inside it?" "five hundred, in bank notes of tens and twenties,"--he responded with business-like brevity. "five hundred! my dear fellow, i don't want all that. it's too much!" "better have too much than too little nowadays,"--he retorted with a laugh--"my dear tempest, don't make such a business of it. five hundred pounds is really nothing. you can spend it all on a dressing-case for example. better send back john carrington's draft,--i don't think much of his generosity considering that he came into a mine worth a hundred thousand pounds sterling, a few days before i left australia." i heard this with great surprise, and, i must admit with a slight feeling of resentment too. the frank and generous character of my old chum 'boffles' seemed to darken suddenly in my eyes,--why could he not have told me of his good fortune in his letter? was he afraid i might trouble him for further loans? i suppose my looks expressed my thoughts, for rimânez, who had observed me intently, presently added-- "did he not tell you of his luck? that was not very friendly of him--but as i remarked last night, money often spoils a man." "oh i daresay he meant no slight by the omission," i said hurriedly, forcing a smile--"no doubt he will make it the subject of his next letter. now as to this five hundred"-- "keep it, man, keep it"--he interposed impatiently--"what do you talk about security for? haven't i got _you_ as security?" i laughed. "well, i am fairly reliable now"--i said--"and i'm not going to run away." "from _me_?" he queried, with a half cold half kind glance; "no,--i fancy not!" he waved his hand lightly and left me, and i, putting the leather case of notes in my inner breast-pocket, hailed a hansom and was driven off rapidly to basinghall street where my solicitors awaited me. arrived at my destination, i sent up my name, and was received at once with the utmost respect by two small chips of men in rusty black who represented 'the firm.' at my request they sent down their clerk to pay and dismiss my cab, while i, opening lucio's pocket book, asked them to change me a ten-pound note into gold and silver which they did with ready good-will. then we went into business together. my deceased relative, whom i had never seen as far as i myself remembered, but who had seen me as a motherless baby in my nurse's arms, had left me everything he possessed unconditionally, including several rare collections of pictures, jewels and curios. his will was so concisely and clearly worded that there were no possibilities of any legal hair-splitting over it,--and i was informed that in a week or ten days at the utmost everything would be in order and at my sole disposition. "you are a very fortunate man mr tempest;"--said the senior partner mr bentham, as he folded up the last of the papers we had been looking through and put it by--"at your age this princely inheritance may be either a great boon to you or a great curse,--one never knows. the possession of such enormous wealth involves great responsibilities." i was amused at what i considered the impertinence of this mere servant of the law in presuming to moralize on my luck. "many people would be glad to accept such responsibilities and change places with me"--i said with a flippant air--"you yourself, for example?" i knew this remark was not in good taste, but i made it wilfully, feeling that he had no business to preach to me as it were on the responsibilities of wealth. he took no offence however,--he merely gave me an observant side-glance like that of some meditative crow. "no mr tempest, no"--he said drily--"i do not think i should at all be disposed to change places with you. i feel very well satisfied as i am. my brain is my bank, and brings me in quite sufficient interest to live upon, which is all that i desire. to be comfortable, and pay one's way honestly is enough for me. i have never envied the wealthy." "mr bentham is a philosopher,"--interposed his partner, mr ellis smiling--"in our profession mr tempest, we see so many ups and downs of life, that in watching the variable fortunes of our clients, we ourselves learn the lesson of content." "ah, it is a lesson that i have never mastered till now!" i responded merrily--"but at the present moment i confess myself satisfied." they each gave me a formal little bow, and mr bentham shook hands. "business being concluded, allow me to congratulate you," he said politely--"of course, if you should wish at any time to entrust your legal affairs to other hands, my partner and myself are perfectly willing to withdraw. your deceased relative had the highest confidence in us...." "as i have also, i assure you,"--i interrupted quickly--"pray do me the favour to continue managing things for me as you did for my relative, and be assured of my gratitude in advance." both little men bowed again, and this time mr ellis shook hands. "we shall do our best for you, mr tempest, shall we not bentham?" bentham nodded gravely. "and now what do you say--shall we mention it bentham?--or shall we not mention it?" "perhaps," responded bentham sententiously--"it would be as well to mention it." i glanced from one to the other, not understanding what they meant. mr ellis rubbed his hands and smiled deprecatingly. "the fact is mr tempest, your deceased relative had one very curious idea--he was a shrewd man and a clever one, but he certainly had one very curious idea--and perhaps if he had followed it up to any extent, it might--yes, it might have landed him in a lunatic asylum and prevented his disposing of his extensive fortune in the--er--the very just and reasonable manner he has done. happily for himself and--er--for you, he did not follow it up, and to the last he retained his admirable business qualities and high sense of rectitude. but i do not think he ever quite dispossessed himself of the idea itself, did he bentham?" bentham gazed meditatively at the round black mark of the gas-burner where it darkened the ceiling. "i think not,--no, i think not," he answered--"i believe he was perfectly convinced of it." "and what was it?" i asked, getting impatient--"did he want to bring out some patent?--a new notion for a flying-machine, and get rid of his money in that way?" "no, no, no!" and mr ellis laughed a soft pleasant little laugh over my suggestion--"no, my dear sir--nothing of a purely mechanical or commercial turn captivated his imagination. he was too,--er--yes, i think i may say too profoundly opposed to what is called 'progress' in the world to aid it by any new invention or other means whatever. you see it is a little awkward for me to explain to you what really seems to be the most absurd and fantastic notion,--but--to begin with, we never really knew how he made his money, did we bentham?" bentham shook his head and pursed his lips closely together. "we had to take charge of large sums, and advise as to investments and other matters,--but it was not our business to inquire where the cash came from in the first place, was it, bentham?" again bentham shook his head solemnly. "we were entrusted with it;"--went on his partner, pressing the tips of his fingers together caressingly as he spoke--"and we did our best to fulfil that trust--with--er--with discretion and fidelity. and it was only after we had been for many years connected in business that our client mentioned--er--his idea;--a most erratic and extraordinary one, which was briefly this,--that he had sold himself to the devil, and that his large fortune was one result of the bargain!" i burst out laughing heartily. "what a ridiculous notion!" i exclaimed--"poor man!--a weak spot in his brain somewhere evidently,--or perhaps he used the expression as a mere figure of speech?" "i think not;"--responded mr ellis half interrogatively, still caressing his fingers--"i think our client did not use the phrase 'sold to the devil' as a figure of speech merely, mr bentham?" "i am positive he did not,"--said bentham seriously--"he spoke of the 'bargain' as an actual and accomplished fact." i laughed again with a trifle less boisterousness. "well, people have all sorts of fancies now-a-days"--i said; "what with blavatskyism, besantism and hypnotism, it is no wonder if some folks still have a faint credence in the silly old superstition of a devil's existence. but for a thoroughly sensible man...." "yes--er, yes;"--interrupted mr ellis--"your relative, mr tempest, _was_ a thoroughly sensible man, and this--er--this idea was the only fancy that ever appeared to have taken root in his eminently practical mind. being only an idea, it seemed hardly worth mentioning--but perhaps it is well--mr bentham agreeing with me--that we _have_ mentioned it." "it is a satisfaction and relief to ourselves,"--said mr bentham, "to have had it mentioned." i smiled, and thanking them, rose to go. they bowed to me once more, simultaneously, looking almost like twin brothers, so identically had their united practice of the law impressed itself upon their features. "good-day mr tempest,"--said mr bentham--"i need scarcely say that we shall serve you as we served our late client, to the best of our ability. and in matters where advice may be pleasant or profitable, we may possibly be of use to you. may we ask whether you require any cash advances immediately?" "no, thank you,"--i answered, feeling grateful to my friend rimânez for having placed me in a perfectly independent position to confront these solicitors--"i am amply provided." they seemed, i fancied, a trifle surprised at this, but were too discreet to offer any remark. they wrote down my address at the grand hotel, and sent their clerk to show me to the door. i gave this man half-a-sovereign to drink my health which he very cheerfully promised to do,--then i walked round by the law courts, trying to realize that i was not in a dizzy dream, but that i was actually and solidly, five times a millionaire. as luck would have it, in turning a corner i jostled up against a man coming the other way, the very publisher who had returned me my rejected manuscript the day before. "hullo!" he exclaimed stopping short. "hullo!" i rejoined. "where are you off to?" he went on--"going to try and place that unlucky novel? my dear boy, believe me it will never do as it is...." "it will do, it shall do;"--i said calmly--"i am going to publish it myself." he started. "publish it yourself! good heavens!--it will cost you--ah!--sixty or seventy, perhaps a hundred pounds." "i don't care if it costs me a thousand!" a red flush came into his face, and his eyes opened in astonishment. "i thought ... excuse me ..." he stammered awkwardly; "i thought money was scarce with you----" "it was," i answered drily--"it isn't now." then, his utterly bewildered look, together with the whole topsy-turviness of things in my altered position, struck me so forcibly that i burst out laughing, wildly, and with a prolonged noise and violence that apparently alarmed him, for he began looking nervously about him in all directions as if meditating flight. i caught him by the arm. "look here man," i said, trying to conquer my almost hysterical mirth--"i'm not mad--don't you think it,--i'm only a--millionaire!" and i began laughing again; the situation seemed to me so sublimely ridiculous. but the worthy publisher did not see it at all--and his features expressed so much genuine alarm that i made a further effort to control myself and succeeded. "i assure you on my word of honour i'm not joking--it's a fact. last night i wanted a dinner, and you, like a good fellow, offered to give me one,--to-day i possess five millions of money! don't stare so! don't have a fit of apoplexy! and as i have told you, i shall publish my book myself at my own expense, and it _shall_ succeed! oh i'm in earnest, grim earnest, grim as death!--i've more than enough in my pocketbook to pay for its publication _now_!" i loosed my hold of him, and he fell back stupefied and confused. "god bless my soul!" he muttered feebly--"it's like a dream!--i was never more astonished in my life!" "nor i!" i said, another temptation to laughter threatening my composure,--"but strange things happen in life, as in fiction. and that book which the builders--i mean the readers--rejected, shall be the headstone of the corner--or--the success of the season! what will you take to bring it out?" "take? i? i bring it out!" "yes, you--why not? if i offer you a chance to turn an honest penny shall your paid pack of 'readers' prevent your accepting it? fie! you are not a slave,--this is a free country. i know the kind of people who 'read' for you,--the gaunt unlovable spinster of fifty,--the dyspeptic book-worm who is a 'literary failure' and can find nothing else to do but scrawl growling comments on the manuscript of promising work,--why in heaven's name should you rely on such incompetent opinion? i'll pay you for the publication of my book at as stiff a price as you choose and something over for good-will. and i guarantee you another thing--it shall not only make my name as an author, but yours as a publisher. i'll advertise royally, and i'll work the press. everything in this world can be done for money ..." "stop, stop,"--he interrupted.--"this is so sudden! you must let me think of it--you must give me time to consider----" "take a day for your meditations then," i said--"but no longer. for if you don't say yes, i'll get another man, and he'll have the big pickings instead of you! be wise in time, my friend!--good-day!" he ran after me. "stay,--look here! you're so strange, so wild--so erratic you know! your head seems quite turned!" "it is! the right way round this time!" "dear dear me," and he smiled benevolently--"why, you don't give me a chance to congratulate you. i really do, you know--i congratulate you sincerely!" and he shook me by the hand quite fervently. "and as regards the book i believe there was really no fault found with it in the matter of literary style or quality,--it was simply too--too transcendental, and unlikely therefore to suit the public taste. the domestic-iniquity line is what we find pays best at present. but i will think about it--where will a letter find you?" "grand hotel," i responded, inwardly amused at his puzzled and anxious expression--i knew he was already mentally calculating how much he could make out of me in the pursuit of my literary whim--"come there, and lunch or dine with me to-morrow if you like--only send me a word beforehand. remember, i give you just a day's grace to decide,--it must be yes or no, in twenty-four hours!" and with this i left him, staring vaguely after me like a man who has seen some nameless wonder drop out of the sky at his feet. i went on, laughing to myself inaudibly, till i saw one or two passers-by looking at me so surprisedly that i came to the conclusion that i must put a disguise on my thoughts if i would not be taken for a madman. i walked briskly, and presently my excitement cooled down. i resumed the normal condition of the phlegmatic englishman who considers it the height of bad form to display any personal emotion whatever, and i occupied the rest of the morning in purchasing some ready-made apparel which by unusual good luck happened to fit me, and also in giving an extensive, not to say extravagant order to a fashionable tailor in sackville street who promised me everything with punctuality and despatch. i next sent off the rent i owed to the landlady of my former lodgings, adding five pounds extra by way of recognition of the poor woman's long patience in giving me credit, and general kindness towards me during my stay in her dismal house,--and this done i returned to the grand in high spirits, looking and feeling very much the better for my ready-made outfit. a waiter met me in the corridor and with the most obsequious deference, informed me that 'his excellency the prince' was waiting luncheon for me in his own apartments. thither i repaired at once, and found my new friend alone in his sumptuous drawing-room, standing near the full light of the largest window and holding in his hand an oblong crystal case through which he was looking with an almost affectionate solicitude. "ah, geoffrey! here you are!" he exclaimed--"i imagined you would get through your business by lunch time, so i waited." "very good of you!" i said, pleased at the friendly familiarity he displayed in thus calling me by my christian name--"what have you got there?" "a pet of mine,"--he answered, smiling slightly--"did you ever see anything like it before?" vi i approached and examined the box he held. it was perforated with finely drilled holes for the admission of air, and within it lay a brilliant winged insect coloured with all the tints and half-tints of the rainbow. "is it alive?" i asked. "it is alive, and has a sufficient share of intelligence,"--replied rimânez. "i feed it and it knows me,--that is the utmost you can say of the most civilized human beings; they know what feeds them. it is quite tame and friendly as you perceive,"--and opening the case he gently advanced his forefinger. the glittering beetle's body palpitated with the hues of an opal; its radiant wings expanded, and it rose at once to its protector's hand and clung there. he lifted it out and held it aloft, then shaking it to and fro lightly, he exclaimed-- "off, sprite! fly, and return to me!" the creature soared away through the room and round and round the ceiling, looking like a beautiful iridescent jewel, the whirr of its wings making a faint buzzing sound as it flew. i watched it fascinated, till after a few graceful movements hither and thither, it returned to its owner's still outstretched hand, and again settled there making no further attempt to fly. "there is a well-worn platitude which declares that 'in the midst of life we are in death'"--said the prince then softly, bending his dark deep eyes on the insect's quivering wings--"but as a matter of fact that maxim is wrong as so many trite human maxims are. it should be 'in the midst of death we are in life.' this creature is a rare and curious production of death, but not i believe the only one of its kind. others have been found under precisely similar circumstances. i took possession of this one myself in rather a weird fashion,--will the story bore you?" "on the contrary"--i rejoined eagerly, my eyes fixed on the radiant bat-shaped thing that glittered in the light as though its veins were phosphorescent. he paused a moment, watching me. "well,--it happened simply thus,--i was present at the uncasing of an egyptian female mummy;--her talismans described her as a princess of a famous royal house. several curious jewels were tied round her neck, and on her chest was a piece of beaten gold quarter of an inch thick. underneath this gold plate, her body was swathed round and round in an unusual number of scented wrappings; and when these were removed it was discovered that the mummified flesh between her breasts had decayed away, and in the hollow or nest thus formed by the process of decomposition, this insect i hold was found alive, as brilliant in colour as it is now!" i could not repress a slight nervous shudder. "horrible!" i said--"i confess, if i were you, i should not care to make a pet of such an uncanny object. i should kill it, i think." he kept his bright intent gaze upon me. "why?" he asked. "i'm afraid, my dear geoffrey, you are not disposed to study science. to kill the poor thing who managed to find life in the very bosom of death, is a cruel suggestion, is it not? to me, this unclassified insect is a valuable proof (if i needed one) of the indestructibility of the germs of conscious existence; it has eyes, and the senses of taste, smell, touch and hearing,--and it gained these together with its intelligence, out of the dead flesh of a woman who lived, and no doubt loved and sinned and suffered more than four thousand years ago!" he broke off,--then suddenly added--"all the same i frankly admit to you that i believe it to be an evil creature. i do indeed! but i like it none the less for that. in fact i have rather a fantastic notion about it myself. i am much inclined to accept the idea of the transmigration of souls, and so i please my humour sometimes by thinking that perhaps the princess of that royal egyptian house had a wicked, brilliant, vampire soul,--and that ... _here it is_!" a cold thrill ran through me from head to foot at these words, and as i looked at the speaker standing opposite me in the wintry light, dark and tall, with the 'wicked, brilliant, vampire soul' clinging to his hand, there seemed to me to be a sudden hideousness declared in his excessive personal beauty. i was conscious of a vague terror, but i attributed it to the gruesome nature of the story, and, determining to combat my sensations, i examined the weird insect more closely. as i did so, its bright beady eyes sparkled, i thought, vindictively, and i stepped back, vexed with myself at the foolish fear of the thing which overpowered me. "it is certainly remarkable,"--i murmured--"no wonder you value it,--as a curiosity. its eyes are quite distinct, almost intelligent in fact." "no doubt she had beautiful eyes,"--said rimânez smiling. "she? whom do you mean?" "the princess, of course!" he answered, evidently amused; "the dear dead lady,--some of whose personality must be in this creature, seeing that it had nothing but her body to nourish itself upon." and here he replaced the creature in its crystal habitation with the utmost care. "i suppose"--i said slowly, "you, in your pursuit of science, would infer from this that nothing actually perishes completely?" "exactly!" returned rimânez emphatically. "there, my dear tempest, is the mischief,--or the deity,--of things. nothing can be entirely annihilated;--not even a thought." i was silent, watching him while he put the glass case with its uncanny occupant away out of sight. "and now for luncheon," he said gaily, passing his arm through mine--"you look twenty per cent. better than when you went out this morning, geoffrey, so i conclude your legal matters are disposed of satisfactorily. and what else have you done with yourself?" seated at table with the dark-faced amiel in attendance, i related my morning's adventures, dwelling at length on my chance meeting with the publisher who had on the previous day refused my manuscript, and who now, i felt sure, would be only too glad to close with the offer i had made him. rimânez listened attentively, smiling now and then. "of course!" he said, when i had concluded. "there is nothing in the least surprising in the conduct of the worthy man. in fact i think he showed remarkable discretion and decency in not at once jumping at your proposition,--his pleasant hypocrisy in retiring to think it over, shows him to be a person of tact and foresight. did you ever imagine that a human being or a human conscience existed that could not be bought? my good fellow, you can buy a king if you only give a long price enough; and the pope will sell you a specially reserved seat in his heaven if you will only hand him the cash down while he is on earth! nothing is given free in this world save the air and the sunshine,--everything else must be bought,--with blood, tears and groans occasionally,--but oftenest with money." i fancied that amiel, behind his master's chair, smiled darkly at this,--and my instinctive dislike of the fellow kept me more or less reticent concerning my affairs till the luncheon was over. i could not formulate to myself any substantial reason for my aversion to this confidential servant of the prince's,--but do what i would the aversion remained, and increased each time i saw his sullen, and as i thought, sneering features. yet he was perfectly respectful and deferential; i could find no actual fault with him,--nevertheless when at last he placed the coffee, cognac, and cigars on the table and noiselessly withdrew, i was conscious of a great relief, and breathed more freely. as soon as we were alone, rimânez lit a cigar and settled himself for a smoke, looking over at me with a personal interest and kindness which made his handsome face more than ever attractive. "now let us talk,"--he said--"i believe i am at present the best friend you have, and i certainly know the world better than you do. what do you propose to make of your life? or in other words how do you mean to begin spending your money?" i laughed. "well, i shan't provide funds for the building of a church, or the endowment of a hospital,"--i said--"i shall not even start a free library, for these institutions, besides becoming centres for infectious diseases, generally get presided over by a committee of local grocers who presume to consider themselves judges of literature. my dear prince rimânez, i mean to spend my money on my own pleasure, and i daresay i shall find plenty of ways to do it." rimânez fanned away the smoke of his cigar with one hand, and his dark eyes shone with a peculiarly vivid light through the pale grey floating haze. "with your fortune, you could make hundreds of miserable people happy;"--he suggested. "thanks, i would rather be happy myself first"--i answered gaily--"i daresay i seem to you selfish,--you are philanthropic i know; i am not." he still regarded me steadily. "you might help your fellow-workers in literature...." i interrupted him with a decided gesture. "that i will never do, my friend, though the heavens should crack! my fellow-workers in literature have kicked me down at every opportunity, and done their best to keep me from earning a bare livelihood,--it is my turn at kicking now, and i will show them as little mercy, as little help, as little sympathy as they have shown me!" "revenge is sweet!" he quoted sententiously--"i should recommend your starting a high-class half-crown magazine." "why?" "can you ask? just think of the ferocious satisfaction it would give you to receive the manuscripts of your literary enemies, and reject them! to throw their letters into the waste-paper basket, and send back their poems, stories, political articles and what not, with '_returned with thanks_' or '_not up to our mark_' type-written on the backs thereof! to dig knives into your rivals through the medium of anonymous criticism! the howling joy of a savage with twenty scalps at his belt would be tame in comparison to it! i was an editor once myself, and i know!" i laughed at his whimsical earnestness. "i daresay you are right,"--i said--"i can grasp the vengeful position thoroughly! but the management of a magazine would be too much trouble to me,--too much of a tie." "_don't_ manage it! follow the example of all the big editors, and live out of the business altogether,--but take the profits! you never see the real editor of a leading daily newspaper you know,--you can only interview the sub. the real man is, according to the seasons of the year, at ascot, in scotland, at newmarket, or wintering in egypt,--he is supposed to be responsible for everything in his journal, but he is generally the last person who knows anything about it. he relies on his 'staff'--a very bad crutch at times,--and when his 'staff' are in a difficulty, they get out of it by saying they are unable to decide without the editor. meanwhile the editor is miles away, comfortably free from worry. you could bamboozle the public in that way if you liked." "i could, but i shouldn't care to do so," i answered--"if i had a business i would not neglect it. i believe in doing things thoroughly." "so do i!" responded rimânez promptly. "i am a very thorough-going fellow myself, and whatever my hand findeth to do, i do it with my might!--excuse me for quoting scripture!" he smiled, a little ironically i thought, then resumed--"well, in what, at present does your idea of enjoying your heritage consist?" "in publishing my book," i answered. "that very book i could get no one to accept,--i tell you, i will make it the talk of london!" "possibly you will"--he said, looking at me through half-closed eyes and a cloud of smoke,--"london easily talks. particularly on unsavoury and questionable subjects. therefore,--as i have already hinted,--if your book were a judicious mixture of zola, huysmans and baudelaire, or had for its heroine a 'modest' maid who considered honourable marriage a 'degradation,' it would be quite sure of success in these days of new sodom and gomorrah." here he suddenly sprang up, and flinging away his cigar, confronted me. "why do not the heavens rain fire on this accursed city! it is ripe for punishment,--full of abhorrent creatures not worth the torturing in hell to which it is said liars and hypocrites are condemned! tempest, if there is one human being more than another that i utterly abhor, it is the type of man so common to the present time, the man who huddles his own loathly vices under a cloak of assumed broad-mindedness and virtue. such an one will even deify the loss of chastity in woman by the name of 'purity,'--because he knows that it is by her moral and physical ruin alone that he can gratify his brutal lusts. rather than be such a sanctimonious coward i would openly proclaim myself vile!" "that is because yours is a noble nature"--i said--"you are an exception to the rule." "an exception? i?"--and he laughed bitterly--"yes, you are right; i am an exception among men perhaps,--but i am one with the beasts in honesty! the lion does not assume the manners of the dove,--he loudly announces his own ferocity. the very cobra, stealthy though its movements be, evinces its meaning by a warning hiss or rattle. the hungry wolf's bay is heard far down the wind, intimidating the hurrying traveller among the wastes of snow. but man gives no clue to his intent--more malignant than the lion, more treacherous than the snake, more greedy than the wolf, he takes his fellow-man's hand in pretended friendship, and an hour later defames his character behind his back,--with a smiling face he hides a false and selfish heart,--flinging his pigmy mockery at the riddle of the universe, he stands gibing at god, feebly a-straddle on his own earth-grave--heavens!"--here he stopped short with a passionate gesture--"what should the eternities do with such a thankless, blind worm as he!" his voice rang out with singular emphasis,--his eyes glowed with a fiery ardour; startled by his impressive manner i let my cigar die out and stared at him in mute amazement. what an inspired countenance!--what an imposing figure!--how sovereignly supreme and almost god-like in his looks he seemed at the moment;--and yet there was something terrifying in his attitude of protest and defiance. he caught my wondering glance,--the glow of passion faded from his face,--he laughed and shrugged his shoulders. "i think i was born to be an actor"--he said carelessly--"now and then the love of declamation masters me. then i speak--as prime ministers and men in parliament speak--to suit the humour of the hour, and without meaning a single word i say!" "i cannot accept that statement"--i answered him, smiling a little--"you do mean what you say,--though i fancy you are rather a creature of impulse." "do you really!" he exclaimed--"how wise of you!--good geoffrey tempest, how very wise of you! but you are wrong. there never was a being created who was less impulsive, or more charged with set purpose than i. believe me or not as you like,--belief is a sentiment that cannot be forced. if i told you that i am a dangerous companion,--that i like evil things better than good,--that i am not a safe guide for any man, what would you think?" "i should think you were whimsically fond of under-estimating your own qualities"--i said, re-lighting my cigar, and feeling somewhat amused by his earnestness--"and i should like you just as well as i do now,--perhaps better,--though that would be difficult." at these words, he seated himself, bending his steadfast dark eyes full upon me. "tempest, you follow the fashion of the prettiest women about town,--they always like the greatest scoundrels!" "but you are not a scoundrel;"--i rejoined, smoking peacefully. "no,--i'm not a scoundrel, but there's a good deal of the devil in me." "all the better!" i said, stretching myself out in my chair with lazy comfort--"i hope there's something of him in me too." "do you believe in him?" asked rimânez smiling. "the devil? of course not!" "he is a very fascinating legendary personage;"--continued the prince, lighting another cigar and beginning to puff at it slowly--"and he is the subject of many a fine story. picture his fall from heaven!--'lucifer son of the morning'--what a title, and what a birthright! to be born of the morning implies to be a creature formed of translucent light undefiled, with all the warm rose of a million orbs of day colouring his bright essence, and all the lustre of fiery planets flaming in his eyes. splendid and supreme, at the right hand of deity itself he stood, this majestic arch-angel, and before his unwearied vision rolled the grandest creative splendours of god's thoughts and dreams. all at once he perceived in the vista of embryonic things a new small world, and on it a being forming itself slowly as it were into the angelic likeness,--a being weak yet strong, sublime yet foolish,--a strange paradox, destined to work its way through all the phases of life, till imbibing the very breath and soul of the creator it should touch conscious immortality,--eternal joy. then lucifer, full of wrath, turned on the master of the spheres, and flung forth his reckless defiance, crying aloud--'wilt thou make of this slight poor creature an angel even as i? i do protest against thee and condemn! lo, if thou makest man in our image i will destroy him utterly, as unfit to share with me the splendours of thy wisdom,--the glory of thy love!' and the voice supreme in accents terrible and beautiful replied; 'lucifer, son of the morning, full well dost thou know that never can an idle or wasted word be spoken before me. for free-will is the gift of the immortals; therefore what thou sayest, thou must needs do! fall, proud spirit from thy high estate!--thou and thy companions with thee!--and return no more till man himself redeem thee! each human soul that yields unto thy tempting shall be a new barrier set between thee and heaven; each one that of its own choice doth repel and overcome thee, shall lift thee nearer thy lost home! when the world rejects thee, i will pardon and again receive thee,--but _not till then_.'" "i never heard exactly that version of the legend before,"--i said,--"the idea that man should redeem the devil is quite new to me." "is it?" and he looked at me fixedly--"well--it is one form of the story, and by no means the most unpoetical. poor lucifer! his punishment is of course eternal, and the distance between himself and heaven must be rapidly increasing every day,--for man will never assist him to retrieve his error. man will reject god fast enough and gladly enough--but never the devil. judge then, how, under the peculiar circumstances of his doom, this 'lucifer, son of the morning,' satan, or whatever else he is called, must hate humanity!" i smiled. "well he has one remedy left to him"--i observed--"he need not tempt anybody." "you forget!--he is bound to keep his word, according to the legend"--said rimânez--"he swore before god that he would destroy man utterly,--he must therefore fulfil that oath, if he can. angels, it would seem, may not swear before the eternal without endeavouring at least to fulfil their vows,--men swear in the name of god every day without the slightest intention of carrying out their promises." "but it's all the veriest nonsense,"--i said somewhat impatiently--"all these old legends are rubbish. you tell the story well, and almost as if you believed in it,--that is because you have the gift of speaking with eloquence. nowadays no one believes in either devils or angels;--i, for example, do not even believe in the soul." "i know you do not"--he answered suavely--"and your scepticism is very comfortable because it relieves you of all personal responsibility. i envy you! for--i regret to say, i am compelled to believe in the soul." "compelled!" i echoed--"that is absurd--no one can compel you to accept a mere theory." he looked at me with a flitting smile that darkened rather than lightened his face. "true! very true! there is no compelling force in the whole universe,--man is the supreme and independent creature,--master of all he surveys and owning no other dominion save his personal desire. true--i forgot! let us avoid theology, please, and psychology also,--let us talk about the only subject that has any sense or interest in it--namely, money. i perceive your present plans are definite,--you wish to publish a book that shall create a stir and make you famous. it seems a modest enough campaign! have you no wider ambitions? there are several ways, you know, of getting talked about. shall i enumerate them for your consideration?" i laughed. "if you like!" "well, in the first place i should suggest your getting yourself properly paragraphed. it must be known to the press that you are an exceedingly rich man. there is an agency for the circulation of paragraphs,--i daresay they'll do it sufficiently well for about ten or twenty guineas." i opened my eyes a little at this. "oh, is that the way these things are done?" "my dear fellow, how else should they be done?" he demanded somewhat impatiently--"do you think _anything_ in the world is done without money? are the poor, hard-working journalists your brothers or your bosom friends that they should lift you into public notice without getting something for their trouble? if you do not manage them properly in this way, they'll abuse you quite heartily and free of cost,--that i can promise you! i know a 'literary agent,' a very worthy man too, who for a hundred guineas down, will so ply the paragraph wheel that in a few weeks it shall seem to the outside public that geoffrey tempest, the millionaire, is the only person worth talking about, and the one desirable creature whom to shake hands with is next in honour to meeting royalty itself." "secure him!" i said indolently--"and pay him _two_ hundred guineas! so shall all the world hear of me!" "when you have been paragraphed thoroughly," went on rimânez--"the next move will be a dash into what is called 'swagger' society. this must be done cautiously and by degrees. you must be presented at the first levée of the season, and later on, i will get you an invitation to some great lady's house, where you will meet the prince of wales privately at dinner. if you can oblige or please his royal highness in any way so much the better for you,--he is at least the most popular royalty in europe, so it should not be difficult to you to make yourself agreeable. following upon this event, you must purchase a fine country seat, and have _that_ fact 'paragraphed'--then you can rest and look round,--society will have taken you up, and you will find yourself in the swim!" i laughed heartily,--well entertained by his fluent discourse. "i should not," he resumed--"propose your putting yourself to the trouble of getting into parliament. that is no longer necessary to the career of a gentleman. but i should strongly recommend your winning the derby." "i daresay you would!" i answered mirthfully--"it's an admirable suggestion,--but not very easy to follow!" "if you wish to win the derby," he rejoined quietly--"you _shall_ win it. i'll guarantee both horse and jockey!" something in his decisive tone impressed me, and i leaned forward to study his features more closely. "are you a worker of miracles?" i asked him jestingly--"do you mean it?" "try me!" he responded--"shall i enter a horse for you?" "you can't; it's too late," i said. "you would need to be the devil himself to do it. besides i don't care about racing." "you will have to amend your taste then,"--he replied--"that is, if you want to make yourself agreeable to the english aristocracy, for they are interested in little else. no really great lady is without her betting book, though she may be deficient in her knowledge of spelling. you may make the biggest literary _furore_ of the season, and that will count as nothing among 'swagger' people, but if you win the derby you will be a really famous man. personally speaking i have a great deal to do with racing,--in fact i am devoted to it. i am always present at every great race,--i never miss one; i always bet, and i never lose! and now let me proceed with your social plan of action. after winning the derby you will enter for a yacht race at cowes, and allow the prince of wales to beat you just narrowly. then you will give a grand dinner, arranged by a perfect _chef_,--and you will entertain his royal highness to the strains of 'britannia rules the waves,' which will serve as a pretty compliment. you will allude to the same well-worn song in a graceful speech,--and the probable result of all this will be one, or perhaps two royal invitations. so far, so good. with the heats of summer you will go to homburg to drink the waters there whether you require them or not,--and in the autumn you will assemble a shooting-party at the country seat before-mentioned which you will have purchased, and invite royalty to join you in killing the poor little partridges. then your name in society may be considered as made, and you can marry whatever fair lady happens to be in the market!" "thanks!--much obliged!" and i gave way to hearty laughter--"upon my word lucio, your programme is perfect! it lacks nothing!" "it is the orthodox round of social success," said lucio with admirable gravity--"intellect and originality have nothing whatever to do with it,--only money is needed to perform it all." "you forget my book"--i interposed--"i know there is some intellect in that, and some originality too. surely that will give me an extra lift up the heights of fashionable light and leading." "i doubt it!" he answered--"i very much doubt it. it will be received with a certain amount of favour of course, as a production of a rich man amusing himself with literature as a sort of whim. but, as i told you before, genius seldom develops itself under the influence of wealth. then again 'swagger' folks can never get it out of their fuddled heads that literature belongs to grub street. great poets, great philosophers, great romancists are always vaguely alluded to by 'swagger' society as 'those sort of people.' those sort of people are so 'interesting' say the blue-blooded noodles deprecatingly, excusing themselves as it were for knowing any members of the class literary. you can fancy a 'swagger' lady of elizabeth's time asking a friend--'o do you mind, my dear, if i bring one master william shakespeare to see you? he writes plays, and does something or other at the _globe_ theatre,--in fact i'm afraid he acts a little--he's not very well off poor man,--but _these sort of people_ are always so amusing!' now you, my dear tempest, are not a shakespeare, but your millions will give you a better chance than he ever had in his life-time, as you will not have to sue for patronage, or practise a reverence for 'my lord' or 'my lady,'--these exalted personages will be only too delighted to borrow money of you if you will lend it." "i shall not lend,"--i said. "nor give?" "nor give." his keen eyes flashed approval. "i am very glad," he observed, "that you are determined not to 'go about doing good' as the canting humbugs say, with your money. you are wise. spend on yourself,--because your very act of spending cannot but benefit others through various channels. now i pursue a different course. i always help charities, and put my name on subscription-lists,--and i never fail to assist a certain portion of clergy." "i rather wonder at that--" i remarked--"especially as you tell me you are not a christian." "yes,--it does seem strange,--doesn't it?"--he said with an extraordinary accent of what might be termed apologetic derision--"but perhaps you don't look at it in the proper light. many of the clergy are doing their utmost best to _destroy_ religion,--by cant, by hypocrisy, by sensuality, by shams of every description,--and when they seek my help in this noble work, i give it,--freely!" i laughed "you must have your joke evidently"--i said, throwing the end of my finished cigar into the fire--"and i see you are fond of satirizing your own good actions. hullo, what's this?" for at that moment amiel entered, bearing a telegram for me on a silver salver. i opened it,--it was from my friend the publisher, and ran as follows-- "accept book with pleasure. send manuscript immediately." i showed this to rimânez with a kind of triumph. he smiled. "of course! what else did you expect? only the man should have worded his telegram differently, for i do not suppose he would accept the book with pleasure if he had to lay out his own cash upon it. 'accept money for publishing book with pleasure' should have been the true message of the wire. well, what are you going to do?" "i shall see about this at once"--i answered, feeling a thrill of satisfaction that at last the time of vengeance on certain of my enemies was approaching--"the book must be hurried through the press as quickly as possible,--and i shall take a particular pleasure in personally attending to all the details concerning it. for the rest of my plans,--" "leave them to me!" said rimânez laying his finely shaped white hand with a masterful pressure on my shoulder; "leave them to me!--and be sure that before very long i shall have set you aloft like the bear who has successfully reached the bun on the top of a greased pole,--a spectacle for the envy of men, and the wonder of angels!" vii the next three or four weeks flew by in a whirl of excitement, and by the time they were ended i found it hard to recognize myself in the indolent, listless, extravagant man of fashion i had so suddenly become. sometimes at stray and solitary moments the past turned back upon me like a revolving picture in a glass with a flash of unwelcome recollection, and i saw myself worn and hungry, and shabbily clothed, bending over my writing in my dreary lodging, wretched, yet amid all my wretchedness receiving curious comfort from my own thoughts which created beauty out of penury, and love out of loneliness. this creative faculty was now dormant in me,--i did very little, and thought less. but i felt certain that this intellectual apathy was but a passing phase,--a mental holiday and desirable cessation from brain-work to which i was deservedly entitled after all my sufferings at the hands of poverty and disappointment. my book was nearly through the press,--and perhaps the chiefest pleasure of any i now enjoyed was the correction of the proofs as they passed under my supervision. yet even this, the satisfaction of authorship, had its drawback,--and my particular grievance was somewhat singular. i read my own work with gratification of course, for i was not behind my contemporaries in thinking well of myself in all i did,--but my complacent literary egoism was mixed with a good deal of disagreeable astonishment and incredulity, because my work, written with enthusiasm and feeling, propounded sentiments and inculcated theories which i personally did not believe in. now, how had this happened, i asked myself? why had i thus invited the public to accept me at a false valuation? i paused to consider,--and i found the suggestion puzzling. how came i to write the book at all, seeing that it was utterly unlike me as i now knew myself? my pen, consciously or unconsciously, had written down things which my reasoning faculties entirely repudiated,--such as belief in a god,--trust in the eternal possibilities of man's diviner progress,--i credited neither of these doctrines. when i imagined such transcendental and foolish dreams i was poor,--starving,--and without a friend in the world;--remembering all this, i promptly set down my so-called 'inspiration' to the action of an ill-nourished brain. yet there was something subtle in the teaching of the story, and one afternoon when i was revising some of the last proof sheets i caught myself thinking that the book was nobler than its writer. this idea smote me with a sudden pang,--i pushed my papers aside, and walking to the window, looked out. it was raining hard, and the streets were black with mud and slush,--the foot-passengers were drenched and miserable,--the whole prospect was dreary, and the fact that i was a rich man did not in the least lift from my mind the depression that had stolen on me unawares. i was quite alone, for i had my own suite of rooms now in the hotel, not far from those occupied by prince rimânez; i also had my own servant, a respectable, good sort of fellow whom i rather liked because he shared to the full the instinctive aversion i felt for the prince's man, amiel. then i had my own carriage and horses with attendant coachman and groom,--so that the prince and i, though the most intimate friends in the world, were able to avoid that 'familiarity which breeds contempt' by keeping up our own separate establishments. on this particular afternoon i was in a more miserable humour than ever my poverty had brought upon me, yet from a strictly reasonable point of view i had nothing to be miserable about. i was in full possession of my fortune,--i enjoyed excellent health, and i had everything i wanted, with the added consciousness that if my wants increased i could gratify them easily. the 'paragraph wheel' under lucio's management had been worked with such good effect that i had seen myself mentioned in almost every paper in london and the provinces as the 'famous millionaire,'--and for the benefit of the public, who are sadly uninstructed on these matters, i may here state as a very plain unvarnished truth, that for forty pounds,[ ] a well-known 'agency' will guarantee the insertion of _any_ paragraph, provided it is not libellous, in no less than four hundred newspapers. the art of 'booming' is thus easily explained, and level-headed people will be able to comprehend why it is that a few names of authors are constantly mentioned in the press, while others, perhaps more deserving, remain ignored. merit counts as nothing in such circumstances,--money wins the day. and the persistent paragraphing of my name, together with a description of my personal appearance and my 'marvellous literary gifts,' combined with a deferential and almost awe-struck allusion to the 'millions' which made me so interesting--(the paragraph was written out by lucio and handed for circulation to the 'agency' aforesaid with 'money down')--all this i say brought upon me two inflictions,--first, any amount of invitations to social and artistic functions,--and secondly, a continuous stream of begging-letters. i was compelled to employ a secretary, who occupied a room near my suite, and who was kept hard at work all day. needless to say i refused all appeals for money;--no one had helped _me_ in my distress, with the exception of my old chum 'boffles,'--no one save he had given me even so much as a word of sympathy,--i was resolved now to be as hard and as merciless as i had found my contemporaries. i had a certain grim pleasure in reading letters from two or three literary men, asking for work 'as secretary or companion,' or failing that, for the loan of a little cash to 'tide over present difficulties.' one of these applicants was a journalist on the staff of a well-known paper who had promised to find _me_ work, and who instead of doing so, had, as i afterwards learned, strongly dissuaded his editor from giving me any employment. he never imagined that tempest the millionaire, and tempest the literary hack, were one and the same person,--so little do the majority think that wealth can ever fall to the lot of authors! i wrote to him myself however and told him what i deemed it well he should know, adding my sarcastic thanks for his friendly assistance to me in time of need,--and herein i tasted something of the sharp delight of vengeance. i never heard from him again, and i am pretty sure my letter gave him material not only for astonishment but meditation. yet with all the advantages over both friends and enemies which i now possessed i could not honestly say i was happy. i knew i could have every possible enjoyment and amusement the world had to offer,--i knew i was one of the most envied among men, and yet,--as i stood looking out of the window at the persistently falling rain, i was conscious of a bitterness rather than a sweetness in the full cup of fortune. many things that i had imagined would give me intense satisfaction had fallen curiously flat. for example, i had flooded the press with the most carefully worded and prominent advertisements of my forthcoming book, and when i was poor i had pictured to myself how i should revel in doing this,--now that it was done i cared nothing at all about it. i was simply weary of the sight of my own advertised name. i certainly did look forward with very genuine feeling and expectation to the publication of my work when that should be an accomplished fact,--but to-day even that idea had lost some of its attractiveness owing to this new and unpleasant impression on my mind that the contents of that book were as utterly the reverse of my own true thoughts as they could well be. a fog began to darken down over the streets in company with the rain,--and disgusted with the weather and with myself, i turned away from the window and settled into an arm-chair by the fire, poking the coal till it blazed, and wondering what i should do to rid my mind of the gloom that threatened to envelop it in as thick a canopy as that of the london fog. a tap came at the door, and in answer to my somewhat irritable "come in!" rimânez entered. "what, all in the dark tempest!" he exclaimed cheerfully--"why don't you light up?" "the fire's enough,"--i answered crossly--"enough at any rate to think by." "and have you been thinking?" he inquired laughing--"don't do it. it's a bad habit. no one thinks now-a-days,--people can't stand it--their heads are too frail. once begin to think and down go the foundations of society,--besides thinking is always dull work." "i have found it so," i said gloomily--"lucio, there is something wrong about me somewhere." his eyes flashed keen, half-amused inquiry into mine. "wrong? oh no, surely not! what _can_ there be wrong about you, tempest? are you not one of the richest men living?" i let the satire pass. "listen, my friend," i said earnestly--"you know i have been busy for the last fortnight correcting the proofs of my book for the press,--do you not?" he nodded with a smiling air. "well i have arrived almost at the end of my work and i have come to the conclusion that the book is not me,--it is not a reflex of my feelings at all,--and i cannot understand how i came to write it." "you find it stupid perhaps?" said lucio sympathetically. "no," i answered with a touch of indignation--"i do not find it stupid." "dull then?" "no,--it is not dull." "melodramatic?" "no,--not melodramatic." "well, my good fellow, if it is not dull or stupid or melodramatic, what is it!" he exclaimed merrily--"it must be something!" "yes,--it is this,--it is beyond me altogether." and i spoke with some bitterness. "quite beyond me. i could not write it now,--i wonder i could write it then. lucio, i daresay i am talking foolishly,--but it seems to me i must have been on some higher altitude of thought when i wrote the book,--a height from which i have since fallen." "i'm sorry to hear this," he answered, with twinkling eyes--"from what you say it appears to me you have been guilty of literary sublimity. oh bad, very bad! nothing can be worse. to write sublimely is a grievous sin, and one which critics never forgive. i'm really grieved for you, my friend--i never thought your case was quite so desperate." i laughed in spite of my depression. "you are incorrigible, lucio!" i said--"but your cheerfulness is very inspiriting. all i wanted to explain to you is this,--that my book expresses a certain tone of thought which purporting to be _mine_, is not _me_,--in short, i, in my present self have no sympathy with it. i must have changed very much since i wrote it." "changed? why yes, i should think so!" and lucio laughed heartily--"the possession of five millions is bound to change a man considerably for the better--or worse! but you seem to be worrying yourself most absurdly about nothing. not one author in many centuries writes from his own heart or as he truly feels--when he does, he becomes well-nigh immortal. this planet is too limited to hold more than one homer, one plato, one shakespeare. don't distress yourself--you are neither of these three! you belong to the age, tempest,--it is a decadent ephemeral age, and most things connected with it are decadent and ephemeral. any era that is dominated by the love of money only, has a rotten core within it and must perish. all history tells us so, but no one accepts the lesson of history. observe the signs of the time,--art is made subservient to the love of money--literature, politics and religion the same,--_you_ cannot escape from the general disease. the only thing to do is to make the best of it,--no one can reform it--least of all you, who have so much of the lucre given to your share." he paused,--i was silent, watching the bright fire-glow and the dropping red cinders. "what i am going to say now," he proceeded in soft, almost melancholy accents--"will sound ridiculously trite,--still it has the perverse prosiness of truth about it. it is this--in order to write with intense feeling, you must first _feel_. very likely when you wrote this book of yours, you were almost a human hedge-hog in the way of feeling. every prickly point of you was erect and responsive to the touch of all influences, pleasant or the reverse, imaginative or realistic. this is a condition which some people envy and others would rather dispense with. now that you, as a hedge-hog, have no further need for either alarm, indignation or self-defence, your prickles are soothed into an agreeable passiveness, and you partially cease to feel. that is all. the 'change' you complain of is thus accounted for;--you have nothing to feel about,--hence you cannot comprehend how it was that you ever felt." i was conscious of irritation at the calm conviction of his tone. "do you take me for such a callous creature as all that?" i exclaimed--"you are mistaken in me, lucio. i feel most keenly----" "what do you feel?" he inquired, fixing his eyes steadily upon me--"there are hundreds of starving wretches in this metropolis,--men and women on the brink of suicide because they have no hope of anything in this world or the next, and no sympathy from their kind--do you feel for them? do _their_ griefs affect _you_? you know they do not,--you know you never think of them,--why should you? one of the chief advantages of wealth is the ability it gives us to shut out other people's miseries from our personal consideration." i said nothing,--for the first time my spirit chafed at the truth of his words, principally because they _were_ true. alas, lucio!--if i had only known then what i know now! "yesterday," he went on in the same quiet voice--"a child was run over here, just opposite this hotel. it was _only_ a poor child,--mark that 'only.' its mother ran shrieking out of some back-street hard by, in time to see the little bleeding body carted up in a mangled heap. she struck wildly with both hands at the men who were trying to lead her away, and with a cry like that of some hurt savage animal fell face forward in the mud--dead. she was only a poor woman,--another 'only.' there were three lines in the paper about it headed 'sad incident.' the hotel-porter here witnessed the scene from the door with as composed a demeanor as that of a fop at the play, never relaxing the serene majesty of his attitude,--but about ten minutes after the dead body of the woman had been carried out of sight, he, the imperial, gold-buttoned being, became almost crook-backed in his servile haste to run and open the door of your brougham, my dear geoffrey, as you drove up to the entrance. this is a little epitome of life as it is lived now-a-days,--and yet the canting clerics swear we are all equal in the sight of heaven! we may be, though it does not look much like it,--and if we are, it does not matter, as we have ceased to care how heaven regards us. i don't want to point a moral,--i simply tell you the 'sad incident' as it occurred,--and i am sure you are not the least sorry for the fate of either the child who was run over, or its mother who died in the sharp agony of a suddenly broken heart. now don't say you are, because i know you're not!" "how can one feel sorry for people one does not know or has never seen,--" i began. "exactly!--how is it possible? and there we have it--how can one feel, when one's self is so thoroughly comfortable as to be without any other feeling save that of material ease? thus, my dear geoffrey, you must be content to let your book appear as the reflex and record of your past when you were in the prickly or sensitive stage,--now you are encased in a pachydermatous covering of gold, which adequately protects you from such influences as might have made you start and writhe, perhaps even roar with indignation, and in the access of fierce torture, stretch out your hands and grasp--quite unconsciously--the winged thing called fame!" "you should have been an orator,"--i said, rising and pacing the room to and fro in vexation,--"but to me your words are not consoling, and i do not think they are true. fame is easily enough secured." "pardon me if i am obstinate;"--said lucio with a deprecatory gesture--"notoriety is easily secured--very easily. a few critics who have dined with you and had their fill of wine, will give you notoriety. but fame is the voice of the whole civilized public of the world." "the public!" i echoed contemptuously--"the public only care for trash." "it is a pity you should appeal to it then;"--he responded with a smile--"if you think so little of the public why give it anything of your brain? it is not worthy of so rare a boon! come, come tempest,--do not join in the snarl of unsuccessful authors who take refuge, when marked unsaleable, in pouring out abuse on the public. the public is the author's best friend and truest critic. but if you prefer to despise it, in company with all the very little literature-mongers who form a mutual admiration society, i tell you what to do,--print just twenty copies of your book and present these to the leading reviewers, and when they have written you up (as they will do--i'll take care of that) let your publisher advertise to the effect that the 'first and second large editions' of the new novel by geoffrey tempest, are exhausted, one hundred thousand copies having been sold in a week! if that does not waken up the world in general, i shall be much surprised!" i laughed,--i was gradually getting into a better humour. "it would be quite as fair a plan of action as is adopted by many modern publishers," i said--"the loud hawking of literary wares now-a-days reminds me of the rival shouting of costermongers in a low neighbourhood. but i will not go quite so far,--i'll win my fame legitimately if i can." "you can't!" declared lucio with a serene smile--"it's impossible. you are too rich. that of itself is not legitimate in literature, which great art generally elects to wear poverty in its button-hole as a flower of grace. the fight cannot be equal in such circumstances. the fact that you are a millionaire must weigh the balance apparently in your favour for a time. the world cannot resist money. if i, for example, became an author, i should probably with my wealth and influence, burn up every one else's laurels. suppose that a desperately poor man comes out with a book at the same time as you do, he will have scarcely the ghost of a chance against you. he will not be able to advertise in your lavish style,--nor will he see his way to dine the critics as you can. and if he should happen to have more genius than you, and you succeed, your success will _not_ be legitimate. but after all, that does not matter much--in art, if in nothing else, things always right themselves." i made no immediate reply, but went over to my table, rolled up my corrected proofs and directed them to the printers,--then ringing the bell i gave the packet to my man, morris, bidding him post it at once. this done, i turned again towards lucio and saw that he still sat by the fire, but that his attitude was now one of brooding melancholy, and that he had covered his eyes with one hand on which the glow from the flames shone red. i regretted the momentary irritation i had felt against him for telling me unwelcome truths,--and i touched him lightly on the shoulder. "are _you_ in the dumps now lucio?" i said--"i'm afraid my depression has proved infectious." he moved his hand and looked up,--his eyes were large and lustrous as the eyes of a beautiful woman. "i was thinking," he said, with a slight sigh--"of the last words i uttered just now,--_things always right themselves_. curiously enough in art they always do,--no charlatanism or sham lasts with the gods of parnassus. but in other matters it is different. for instance _i_ shall never right myself! life is hateful to me at times, as it is to everybody." "perhaps you are in love?" i said with a smile. he started up. "in love! by all the heavens and all the earths too, that suggestion wakes me with a vengeance! in love! what woman alive do you think could impress _me_ with the notion that she was anything more than a frivolous doll of pink and white, with long hair frequently not her own? and as for the tom-boy tennis-players and giantesses of the era, i do not consider them women at all,--they are merely the unnatural and strutting embryos of a new sex which will be neither male nor female. my dear tempest, i hate women. so would you if you knew as much about them as i do. they have made me what i am, and they keep me so." "they are to be much complimented then,"--i observed--"you do them credit!" "i do!" he answered slowly--"in more ways than one!" a faint smile was on his face, and his eyes brightened with that curious jewel-like gleam i had noticed several times before. "believe me, i shall never contest with you such a slight gift as woman's love, geoffrey. it is not worth fighting for. and _apropos_ of women, that reminds me,--i have promised to take you to the earl of elton's box at the haymarket to-night,--he is a poor peer, very gouty and somewhat heavily flavoured with port-wine, but his daughter, lady sibyl, is one of the belles of england. she was presented last season and created quite a _furore_. will you come?" "i am quite at your disposition"--i said, glad of any excuse to escape the dullness of my own company and to be in that of lucio, whose talk, even if its satire galled me occasionally, always fascinated my mind and remained in my memory--"what time shall we meet?" "go and dress now, and join me at dinner,"--he answered; "and we'll drive together to the theatre afterwards. the play is on the usual theme which has lately become popular with stage-managers,--the glorification of a 'fallen' lady, and the exhibition of her as an example of something superlatively pure and good, to the astonished eyes of the innocent. as a play it is not worth seeing,--but perhaps lady sibyl is." he smiled again as he stood facing me,--the light flames of the fire had died down to a dull uniform coppery red,--we were almost in darkness, and i pressed the small button near the mantelpiece that flooded the room with electric light. his extraordinary beauty then struck me afresh as something altogether singular and half unearthly. "don't you find that people look at you very often as you pass, lucio?" i asked him suddenly and impulsively. he laughed. "not at all. why should they? every man is so intent on his own aims, and thinks so much of his own personality that he would scarcely forget his _ego_ if the very devil himself were behind him. women look at me sometimes, with the affected coy and kitten-like interest usually exhibited by the frail sex for a personable man." "i cannot blame them!" i answered, my gaze still resting on his stately figure and fine head with as much admiration as i might have felt for a noble picture or statue--"what of this lady sibyl we are to meet to-night,--how does she regard you?" "lady sibyl has never seen me,"--he replied--"and i have only seen her at a distance. it is chiefly for the purpose of an introduction to her that the earl has asked us to his box this evening." "ha ha! matrimony in view!" i exclaimed jestingly. "yes--i believe lady sibyl is for sale,"--he answered with the callous coldness that occasionally distinguished him and made his handsome features look like an impenetrable mask of scorn--"but up to the present the bids have not been sufficiently high. and i shall not purchase. i have told you already, tempest, i hate women." "seriously?" "most seriously. women have always done me harm,--they have wantonly hindered me in my progress. and why i specially abominate them is, that they have been gifted with an enormous power for doing good, and that they let this power run to waste and will not use it. their deliberate enjoyment and choice of the repulsive, vulgar and common-place side of life disgusts me. they are much less sensitive than men, and infinitely more heartless. they are the mothers of the human race, and the faults of the race are chiefly due to them. that is another reason for my hatred." "do you want the human race to be perfect?" i asked astonished--"because, if you do, you will find that impossible." he stood for a moment apparently lost in thought. "everything in the universe is perfect,"--he said, "except that curious piece of work--man. have you never thought out any reason why he should be the one flaw,--the one incomplete creature in a matchless creation?" "no, i have not,"--i replied--"i take things as i find them." "so do i,"--and he turned away, "and as i find _them_, so they find _me_! au revoir! dinner in an hour's time remember!" the door opened and closed--he was gone. i remained alone for a little, thinking what a strange disposition was his,--what a curious mixture of philosophy, worldliness, sentiment and satire seemed to run like the veins of a leaf through the variable temperament of this brilliant, semi-mysterious personage who had by mere chance become my greatest friend. we had now been more or less together for nearly a month, and i was no closer to the secret of his actual nature than i had been at first. yet i admired him more than ever,--without his society i felt life would be deprived of half its charm. for though, attracted as human moths will be by the glare of my glittering millions, numbers of so-called 'friends' now surrounded me, there was not one among them who so dominated my every mood and with whom i had so much close sympathy as this man,--this masterful, half cruel, half kind companion of my days, who at times seemed to accept all life as the veriest bagatelle, and myself as a part of the trivial game. [ ] a fact. viii no man, i think, ever forgets the first time he is brought face to face with perfect beauty in woman. he may have caught fleeting glimpses of loveliness on many fair faces often,--bright eyes may have flashed on him like star-beams,--the hues of a dazzling complexion may now and then have charmed him, or the seductive outlines of a graceful figure;--all these are as mere peeps into the infinite. but when such vague and passing impressions are suddenly drawn together in one focus,--when all his dreamy fancies of form and colour take visible and complete manifestation in one living creature who looks down upon him as it were from an empyrean of untouched maiden pride and purity, it is more to his honour than his shame, if his senses swoon at the ravishing vision, and he, despite his rough masculinity and brute strength, becomes nothing but the merest slave to passion. in this way was i overwhelmed and conquered without any chance of deliverance when sibyl elton's violet eyes, lifted slowly from the shadow of their dark lashes, rested upon me with that indefinable expression of mingled interest and indifference which is supposed to indicate high breeding, but which more frequently intimidates and repulses the frank and sensitive soul. the lady sibyl's glance repelled, but i was none the less attracted. rimânez and i had entered the earl of elton's box at the haymarket between the first and second acts of the play, and the earl himself, an unimpressive, bald-headed, red-faced old gentleman, with fuzzy white whiskers, had risen to welcome us, seizing the prince's hand and shaking it with particular effusiveness. (i learned afterwards that lucio had lent him a thousand pounds on easy terms, a fact which partly accounted for the friendly fervour of his greeting.) his daughter had not moved; but a minute or two later when he addressed her somewhat sharply, saying "sibyl! prince rimânez and his friend, mr geoffrey tempest," she turned her head and honoured us both with the chill glance i have endeavoured to describe, and the very faintest possible bow as an acknowledgment of our presence. her exquisite beauty smote me dumb and foolish,--i could find nothing to say, and stood silent and confused, with a strange sensation of bewilderment upon me. the old earl made some remark about the play, which i scarcely heard though i answered vaguely and at hap-hazard,--the orchestra was playing abominably as is usual in theatres, and its brazen din sounded like the noise of the sea in my ears,--i had not much real consciousness of anything save the wondrous loveliness of the girl who faced me, clad in pure white, with a few diamonds shining about her like stray dewdrops on a rose. lucio spoke to her, and i listened. "at last, lady sibyl," he said, bending towards her deferentially. "at last i have the honour of meeting you. i have seen you often, as one sees a star,--at a distance." she smiled,--a smile so slight and cold that it scarcely lifted the corners of her lovely lips. "i do not think i have ever seen _you_," she replied. "and yet there is something oddly familiar in your face. i have heard my father speak of you constantly,--i need scarcely say his friends are always mine." he bowed. "to merely speak to lady sibyl elton is counted sufficient to make the man so privileged happy," he said. "to be her friend is to discover the lost paradise." she flushed,--then grew suddenly very pale, and shivering, she drew her cloak towards her. rimânez wrapped its perfumed silken folds carefully round her beautiful shoulders,--how i grudged him the dainty task! he then turned to me, and placed a chair just behind hers. "will you sit here geoffrey?" he suggested--"i want to have a moment's business chat with lord elton." recovering my self-possession a little, i hastened to take the chance he thus generously gave me to ingratiate myself in the young lady's favour, and my heart gave a foolish bound of joy because she smiled encouragingly as i approached her. "you are a great friend of prince rimânez?" she asked softly, as i sat down. "yes, we are very intimate," i replied--"he is a delightful companion." "so i should imagine!" and she looked over at him where he sat next to her father talking earnestly in low tones--"he is singularly handsome." i made no reply. of course lucio's extraordinary personal attractiveness was undeniable,--but i rather grudged her praise bestowed on him just then. her remarks seemed to me as tactless as when a man with one pretty woman beside him loudly admires another in her hearing. i did not myself assume to be actually handsome, but i knew i was better looking than the ordinary run of men. so out of sudden pique i remained silent, and presently the curtain rose and the play was resumed. a very questionable scene was enacted, the 'woman with the past' being well to the front of it. i felt disgusted at the performance and looked at my companions to see if they too were similarly moved. there was no sign of disapproval on lady sibyl's fair countenance,--her father was bending forward eagerly, apparently gloating over every detail,--rimânez wore that inscrutable expression of his in which no feeling whatever could be discerned. the 'woman with the past' went on with her hysterical sham-heroics, and the mealy-mouthed fool of a hero declared her to be a 'pure angel wronged,' and the curtain fell amid loud applause. one energetic hiss came from the gallery, affecting the occupants of the stalls to scandalized amazement. "england has progressed!" said rimânez in soft half-bantering tones--"once upon a time this play would have been hooted off the stage as likely to corrupt the social community. but now the only voice of protest comes from the 'lower' classes." "are you a democrat, prince?" inquired lady sibyl, waving her fan indolently to and fro. "not i! i always insist on the pride and supremacy of worth,--i do not mean money value, but intellect. and in this way i foresee a new aristocracy. when the high grows corrupt, it falls and becomes the low;--when the low educates itself and aspires, it becomes the high. this is simply the course of nature." "but, god bless my soul!" exclaimed lord elton--"you don't call this play low or immoral do you? it's a realistic study of modern social life--that's what it is. these women you know,--these poor souls with a past--are very interesting!" "very!" murmured his daughter.--"in fact it would seem that for women with no such 'past' there can be no future! virtue and modesty are quite out of date, and have no chance whatever." i leaned towards her, half whispering, "lady sibyl, i am glad to see this wretched play offends you." she turned her deep eyes on me in mingled surprise and amusement. "oh no, it doesn't," she declared--"i have seen so many like it. and i have read so many novels on just the same theme! i assure you, i am quite convinced that the so-called 'bad' woman is the only popular type of our sex with men,--she gets all the enjoyment possible out of life,--she frequently makes an excellent marriage, and has, as the americans say 'a good time all round.' it's the same thing with our convicted criminals,--in prison they are much better fed than the honest working-man. i believe it is quite a mistake for women to be respectable,--they are only considered dull." "ah, now you are only joking!" i said with an indulgent smile. "you know that in your heart you think very differently!" she made no answer, as just then the curtain went up again, disclosing the unclean 'lady' of the piece, "having a good time all round" on board a luxurious yacht. during the unnatural and stilted dialogue which followed, i withdrew a little back into the shadow of the box, and all that self-esteem and assurance of which i had been suddenly deprived by a glance at lady sibyl's beauty, came back to me, and a perfectly stolid coolness and composure succeeded to the first feverish excitement of my mind. i recalled lucio's words--"_i believe lady sibyl is for sale_"--and i thought triumphantly of my millions. i glanced at the old earl, abjectly pulling at his white whiskers while he listened anxiously to what were evidently money schemes propounded by lucio. then my gaze came back appraisingly to the lovely curves of lady sibyl's milk-white throat, her beautiful arms and bosom, her rich brown hair of the shade of a ripe chestnut, her delicate haughty face, languid eyes and brilliant complexion,--and i murmured inwardly--"all this loveliness is purchaseable, and i will purchase it!" at that very instant she turned to me and said-- "you are the famous mr tempest, are you not?" "famous?" i echoed with a deep sense of gratification--"well,--i am scarcely that,--yet! my book is not published ..." her eyebrows arched themselves surprisedly. "your book? i did not know you had written one?" my flattered vanity sank to zero. "it has been extensively advertised," i began impressively,--but she interrupted me with a laugh. "oh i never read advertisements,--it's too much trouble. when i asked if you were the famous mr tempest, i meant to say were you the great millionaire who has been so much talked of lately?" i bowed a somewhat chill assent. she looked at me inquisitively over the lace edge of her fan. "how delightful it must be for you to have so much money!" she said--"and you are young too, and good-looking." pleasure took the place of vexed _amour-propre_ and i smiled. "you are very kind, lady sibyl!" "why?" she asked laughing,--such a delicious little low laugh--"because i tell you the truth? you _are_ young and you _are_ good-looking! millionaires are generally such appalling creatures. fortune, while giving them money, frequently deprives them of both brains and personal attractiveness. and now do tell me about your book!" she seemed to have suddenly dispensed with her former reserve, and during the last act of the play, we conversed freely, in whispers which assisted us to become almost confidential. her manner to me now was full of grace and charm, and the fascination she exerted over my senses became complete. the performance over, we all left the box together, and as lucio was still apparently engrossed with lord elton i had the satisfaction of escorting lady sibyl to her carriage. when her father joined her, lucio and i both stood together looking in at the window of the brougham, and the earl, getting hold of my hand shook it up and down with boisterous friendliness. "come and dine,--come and dine!" he spluttered excitedly; "come--let me see,--this is tuesday--come on thursday. short notice and no ceremony! my wife is paralysed i'm sorry to say,--she can't receive,--she can only see a few people now and then when she is in the humour,--her sister keeps house and does the honours,--aunt charlotte, eh sibyl?--ha-ha-ha! the deceased wife's sister's bill would never be any use to me, for if my wife were to die i shouldn't be anxious to marry miss charlotte fitzroy! ha ha ha! a perfectly unapproachable woman sir!--a model,--ha ha! come and dine with us, mr tempest,--lucio, you bring him along with you, eh? we've got a young lady staying with us,--an american, dollars, accent and all,--and by jove i believe she wants to marry me ha ha ha! and is waiting for lady elton to go to a better world first, ha ha! come along--come and see the little american, eh? thursday shall it be?" over the fair features of lady sibyl there passed a faint shadow of annoyance at her father's allusion to the "little american," but she said nothing. only her looks appeared to question our intentions as well as to persuade our wills, and she seemed satisfied when we both accepted the invitation given. another apoplectic chuckle from the earl and a couple of handshakes,--a slight graceful bow from her lovely ladyship, as we raised our hats in farewell, and the elton equipage rolled away, leaving us to enter our own vehicle, which amid the officious roarings of street-boys and policemen had just managed to draw up in front of the theatre. as we drove off, lucio peered inquisitively at me--i could see the steely glitter of his fine eyes in the semi-darkness of the brougham,--and said-- "well?" i was silent. "don't you admire her?" he went on--"i must confess she is cold,--a very chilly vestal indeed,--but snow often covers volcanoes! she has good features, and a naturally clear complexion." despite my intention to be reticent, i could not endure this tame description. "she is perfectly beautiful,"--i said emphatically. "the dullest eyes must see that. there is not a fault to be found with her. and she is wise to be reserved and cold--were she too lavish of her smiles and too seductive in manner, she might drive many men not only into folly, but madness." i felt rather than saw the cat-like glance he flashed upon me. "positively, geoffrey, i believe that notwithstanding the fact that we are only in february, the wind blows upon you due south, bringing with it odours of rose and orange-blossom! i fancy lady sibyl has powerfully impressed you?" "did you wish me to be impressed?" i asked. "i? my dear fellow, i wish nothing that you yourself do not wish. i accommodate my ways to my friends' humours. if asked for my opinion i should say it is rather a pity if you are really smitten with the young lady, as there are no obstacles to be encountered. a love-affair, to be conducted with spirit and enterprise should always bristle with opposition and difficulty, real or invented. a little secrecy and a good deal of wrong-doing, such as sly assignations and the telling of any amount of lies--such things add to the agreeableness of love-making on this planet--" i interrupted him. "see here, lucio, you are very fond of alluding to 'this' planet as if you knew anything about other planets"--i said impatiently. "_this_ planet, as you somewhat contemptuously call it, is the only one _we_ have any business with." he bent his piercing looks so ardently upon me that for the moment i was startled. "if that is so," he answered, "why in heaven's name do you not let the other planets alone? why do you strive to fathom their mysteries and movements? if men, as you say, have no business with any planet save this one why are they ever on the alert to discover the secret of mightier worlds,--a secret which haply it may some day terrify them to know!" the solemnity of his voice and the inspired expression of his face awed me. i had no reply ready, and he went on-- "do not let us talk, my friend, of planets, not even of this particular pin's point among them known as earth. let us return to a better subject--the lady sibyl. as i have already said, there are no obstacles in the way of your wooing and winning her, if such is your desire. geoffrey tempest, as mere author of books would indeed be insolent to aspire to the hand of an earl's daughter, but geoffrey tempest, millionaire, will be a welcome suitor. poor lord elton's affairs are in a bad way--he is almost out-at-elbows;--the american woman who is boarding with him----" "boarding with him!" i exclaimed--"surely he does not keep a boarding-house?" lucio laughed heartily. "no, no!--you must not put it so coarsely, geoffrey. it is simply this, that the earl and countess of elton give the prestige of their home and protection to miss diana chesney (the american aforesaid) for the trifling sum of two thousand guineas per annum. the countess being paralyzed, is obliged to hand over her duties of chaperonage to her sister miss charlotte fitzroy,--but the halo of the coronet still hovers over miss chesney's brow. she has her own suite of rooms in the house, and goes wherever it is proper for her to go, under miss fitzroy's care. lady sibyl does not like the arrangement, and is therefore never seen anywhere except with her father. she will not join in companionship with miss chesney, and has said so pretty plainly." "i admire her for it!" i said warmly--"i really am surprised that lord elton should condescend----" "condescend to what?" inquired lucio--"condescend to take two thousand guineas a year? good heavens man, there are no end of lords and ladies who will readily agree to perform such an act of condescension. 'blue' blood is getting thin and poor, and only money can thicken it. diana chesney is worth over a million dollars and if lady elton were to die conveniently soon, i should not be surprised to see that 'little american' step triumphantly into her vacant place." "what a state of topsy-turveydom!" i said, half angrily. "geoffrey, my friend, you are really amazingly inconsistent! is there a more flagrant example of topsy-turveydom than yourself for instance? six weeks ago, what were you? a mere scribbler, with flutterings of the wings of genius in your soul, but many uncertainties as to whether those wings would ever be strong enough to lift you out of the rut of obscurity in which you floundered, struggling and grumbling at adverse fate. now, as millionaire, you think contemptuously of an earl, because he ventures quite legitimately to add a little to his income by boarding an american heiress and launching her into society where she would never get without him. and you aspire, or probably mean to aspire to the hand of the earl's daughter, as if you yourself were a descendant of kings. nothing can be more topsy-turvey than _your_ condition!" "my father was a gentleman," i said, with a touch of hauteur, "and a descendant of gentlemen. we were never common folk,--our family was one of the most highly esteemed in the counties." lucio smiled. "i do not doubt it, my dear fellow,--i do not in the least doubt it. but a simple 'gentleman' is a long way below--or above--an earl. have it which side you choose!--because it really doesn't matter nowadays. we have come to a period of history when rank and lineage count as nothing at all, owing to the profoundly obtuse stupidity of those who happen to possess it. so it chances, that as no resistance is made, brewers are created peers of the realm, and ordinary tradesmen are knighted, and the very old families are so poor that they have to sell their estates and jewels to the highest bidder, who is frequently a vulgar 'railway-king' or the introducer of some new manure. you occupy a better position than such, since you inherit your money with the farther satisfaction that you do not know how it was made." "true!" i answered meditatively,--then, with a sudden flash of recollection i added--"by the way i never told you that my deceased relative imagined that he had sold his soul to the devil, and that this vast fortune of his was the material result!" lucio burst into a violent fit of laughter. "no! not possible!" he exclaimed derisively--"what an idea! i suppose he had a screw loose somewhere! imagine any sane man believing in a devil! ha, ha, ha! and in these advanced days too! well, well! the folly of human imaginations will never end! here we are!"--and he sprang lightly out as the brougham stopped at the grand hotel--"i will say good-night to you, tempest. i've promised to go and have a gamble." "a gamble? where?" "at one of the select private clubs. there are any amount of them in this eminently moral metropolis--no occasion to go to monte carlo! will you come?" i hesitated. the fair face of lady sibyl haunted my mind,--and i felt, with a no doubt foolish sentimentality, that i would rather keep my thoughts of her sacred, and unpolluted by contact with things of lower tone. "not to-night;"--i said,--then half smiling, i added--"it must be rather a one-sided affair for other men to gamble with you, lucio! you can afford to lose,--and perhaps they can't." "if they can't, they shouldn't play,"--he answered--"a man should at least know his own mind and his own capacity; if he doesn't, he is no man at all. as far as i have learned by long experience, those who gamble like it, and when _they_ like it, _i_ like it. i'll take you with me to-morrow if you care to see the fun,--one or two very eminent men are members of the club, though of course they wouldn't have it known for worlds. you shan't lose much--i'll see to that." "all right,--to-morrow it shall be!"--i responded, for i did not wish to appear as though i grudged losing a few pounds at play--"but to-night i think i'll write some letters before going to bed." "yes--and dream of lady sibyl!" said lucio laughing--"if she fascinates you as much when you see her again on thursday you had better begin the siege!" he waved his hand gaily, and re-entering his carriage, was driven off at a furious pace through the drifting fog and rain. ix my publisher, john morgeson,--the estimable individual who had first refused my book, and who now, moved by self-interest, was devoting his energies assiduously to the business of launching it in the most modern and approved style, was not like shakespeare's _cassio_, strictly 'an honourable man.' neither was he the respectable chief of a long-established firm whose system of the cheating of authors, mellowed by time, had become almost sacred;--he was a 'new' man, with new ways, and a good stock of new push and impudence. all the same, he was clever, shrewd and diplomatic, and for some reason or other, had secured the favour of a certain portion of the press, many of the dailies and weeklies always giving special prominence to his publications over the heads of other far more legitimately dealing firms. he entered into a partial explanation of his methods, when, on the morning after my first meeting with the earl of elton and his daughter, i called upon him to inquire how things were going with regard to my book. "we shall publish next week,"--he said, rubbing his hands complacently, and addressing me with all the deference due to my banking account--"and as you don't mind what you spend, i'll tell you just what i propose to do. i intend to write out a mystifying paragraph of about some seventy lines or so, describing the book in a vague sort of way as '_likely to create a new era of thought_'--or, '_ere long everybody who is anybody will be compelled to read this remarkable work_,'--or '_as something that must be welcome to all who would understand the drift of one of the most delicate and burning questions of the time_.' these are all stock phrases, used over and over again by the reviewers,--there's no copyright in them. and the last one always 'tells' wonderfully, considering how old it is, and how often it has been made to do duty, because any allusion to a '_delicate and burning question_' makes a number of people think the novel must be improper, and they send for it at once!" he chuckled at his own perspicuity, and i sat silent, studying him with much inward amusement. this man on whose decision i had humbly and anxiously waited not so many weeks ago was now my paid tool,--ready to obey me to any possible extent for so much cash,--and i listened to him indulgently while he went on unravelling his schemes for the gratification of _my_ vanity, and the pocketing of _his_ extras. "the book has been splendidly advertised"--he went on; "it could not have been more lavishly done. orders do not come in very fast yet--but they will,--they will. this paragraph of mine, which will take the shape of a 'leaderette,' i can get inserted in about eight hundred to a thousand newspapers here and in america. it will cost you,--say a hundred guineas--perhaps a trifle more. do you mind that?" "not in the least!" i replied, still vastly amused. he meditated a moment,--then drew his chair closer to mine and lowered his voice a little. "you understand i suppose, that i shall only issue two hundred and fifty copies at first?" this limited number seemed to me absurd, and i protested vehemently. "such an idea is ridiculous!" i said--"you cannot supply the trade with such a scanty edition." "wait, my dear sir, wait,--you are too impatient. you do not give me time to explain. all these two hundred and fifty will be _given away_ by me in the proper quarters on the day of publication,--never mind how,--they _must_ be given away--" "why?" "why?" and the worthy morgeson laughed sweetly--"i see, my dear mr tempest, you are like most men of genius--you do not understand business. the reason why we give the first two hundred and fifty copies away is in order to be able to announce at once in all the papers that '_the first large edition of the new novel by geoffrey tempest being exhausted on the day of publication, a second is in rapid preparation_.' you see we thus hoodwink the public, who of course are not in our secrets, and are not to know whether an edition is two hundred or two thousand. the second edition will of course be ready behind the scenes, and will consist of another two hundred and fifty." "do you call that course of procedure honest?" i asked quietly. "honest? my dear sir! honest?" and his countenance wore a virtuously injured expression--"of course it is honest! look at the daily papers! such announcements appear every day--in fact they are getting rather too common. i freely admit that there are a few publishers here and there who stick up for exactitude and go to the trouble of not only giving the number of copies in an edition, but also publishing the date of each one as it was issued,--this may be principle if they like to call it so, but it involves a great deal of precise calculation and worry! if the public like to be deceived, what is the use of being exact! now, to resume,--your second edition will be sent off 'on sale or return' to provincial booksellers, and then we shall announce--"in consequence of the enormous demand for the new novel by geoffrey tempest, the large second edition is out of print. a third will be issued in the course of next week." and so on, and so on, till we get to the sixth or seventh edition (always numbering two hundred and fifty each) in three volumes; perhaps we can by skilful management work it to a tenth. it is only a question of diplomacy and a little dexterous humbugging of the trade. then we shall arrive at the one-volume issue, which will require different handling. but there's time enough for that. the frequent advertisements will add to the expense a bit, but if you don't mind--" "i don't mind anything," i said--"so long as i have my fun." "your fun?" he queried surprisedly--"i thought it was fame you wanted, more than fun!" i laughed aloud. "i'm not such a fool as to suppose that fame is secured by advertisement," i said--"for instance i am one of those who think the fame of millais as an artist was marred when he degraded himself to the level of painting the little green boy blowing bubbles of pears's soap. that was an advertisement. and that very incident in his career, trifling though it seems, will prevent his ever standing on the same dignified height of distinction with such masters in art as romney, sir peter lely, gainsborough or reynolds." "i believe there is a great deal of justice in what you say;" and morgeson shook his head wisely--"viewed from a purely artistic and sentimental standpoint you are right." and he became suddenly downcast and dubious. "yes,--it is a most extraordinary thing how fame does escape people sometimes just when they seem on the point of grasping it. they are 'boomed' in every imaginable way, and yet after a time nothing will keep them up. and there are others again who get kicked and buffeted and mocked and derided----" "like christ?" i interposed with a half smile. he looked shocked,--he was a non-conformist,--but remembering in time how rich i was, he bowed with a meek patience. "yes"--and he sighed--"as you suggest, mr tempest, like christ. mocked and derided and opposed at every turn,--and yet by the queerest caprice of destiny, they succeed in winning a world-wide fame and power----" "like christ again!" i said mischievously, for i loved to jar his non-conformist conscience. "exactly!" he paused, looking piously down. then with a return of secular animation he added--"but i was not thinking of the great example just then, mr tempest--i was thinking of a woman." "indeed!" i said indifferently. "yes--a woman, who despite continued abuse and opposition is rapidly becoming celebrated. you are sure to hear of her in literary and social circles"--and he gave me a furtive glance of doubtful inquiry--"but she is not rich, you know,--only famous. however,--we have nothing to do with her just now--so let us return to business. the one uncertain point in the matter of your book's success is the attitude of the critics. there are only six leading men who do the reviews, and between them they cover all the english magazines and some of the american too, as well as the london papers. here are their names"--and he handed me a pencilled memorandum,--"and their addresses, as far as i can ascertain them, or the addresses of the papers for which they most frequently write. the man at the head of the list, david mcwhing, is the most formidable of the lot. he writes everywhere about everything,--being a scotchman he's bound to have his finger in every pie. if you can secure mcwhing, you need not trouble so much about the others, as he generally gives the 'lead,' and has his own way with the editors. he is one of the 'personal friends' of the editor of the _nineteenth century_ for example, and you would be sure to get a notice there, which would otherwise be impossible. no reviewer _can_ review anything for that magazine unless he _is_ one of the editor's friends.[ ] you must manage mcwhing, or he might, just for the sake of 'showing off,' cut you up rather roughly." "that would not matter," i said, diverted at the idea of 'managing mcwhing,'--"a little slating always helps a book to sell." "in some cases it does,"--and morgeson stroked his thin beard perplexedly--"but in others it most emphatically does _not_. where there is any very decided or daring originality, adverse criticism is always the most effective. but a work like yours requires fostering with favour,--wants 'booming' in short----" "i see!" and i felt distinctly annoyed--"you don't think my book original enough to stand alone?" "my dear sir!--you are really--really--! what shall i say?" and he smiled apologetically--"a little brusque? i think your book shows admirable scholarship and delicacy of thought,--if i find fault with it at all, it is perhaps because i am dense. the only thing it lacks in my opinion is what i should call _tenaciousness_, for want of a better expression,--the quality of holding the reader's fancy fixed like a nail. but after all this is a common failing of modern literature; few authors feel sufficiently themselves to make others feel." i made no reply for a moment. i was thinking of lucio's remarks on this very same subject. "well!" i said at last--"if i had no feeling when i wrote the book, i certainly have none now. why man, i felt every line of it!--painfully and intensely!" "ay, ay indeed!" said morgeson soothingly--"or perhaps you _thought_ you felt, which is another very curious phase of the literary temperament. you see, to convince people at all, you must first yourself be convinced. the result of this is generally a singular magnetic attraction between author and public. however i am a bad hand at argument,--and it is possible that in hasty reading i may have gathered a wrong impression of your intentions. anyhow the book shall be a success if we can make it so. all i venture to ask of you is that you should personally endeavour to manage mcwhing!" i promised to do my best, and on this understanding we parted. i realised that morgeson was capable of greater discernment than i had imagined, and his observations had given me material for thought which was not altogether agreeable. for if my book, as he said, lacked tenacity, why then it would not take root in the public mind,--it would be merely the ephemeral success of a season,--one of those brief 'booms' in literary wares for which i had such unmitigated contempt,--and fame would be as far off as ever, except that spurious imitation of it which the fact of my millions had secured. i was in no good humour that afternoon, and lucio saw it. he soon elicited the sum and substance of my interview with morgeson, and laughed long and somewhat uproariously over the proposed 'managing' of the redoubtable mcwhing. he glanced at the five names of the other leading critics and shrugged his shoulders. "morgeson is quite right,"--he said--"mcwhing is intimate with the rest of these fellows--they meet at the same clubs, dine at the same cheap restaurants and make love to the same painted ballet-girls. all in a comfortable little fraternal union together, and one obliges the other on their several journals when occasion offers. oh yes! i should make up to mcwhing if i were you." "but how?" i demanded, for though i knew mcwhing's name well enough having seen it signed _ad nauseam_ to literary articles in almost every paper extant, i had never met the man; "i cannot ask any favour of a press critic." "of course not!" and lucio laughed heartily again--"if you were to do such an idiotic thing what a slating you'd get for your pains! there's no sport a critic loves so much as the flaying of an author who has made the mistake of lowering himself to the level of asking favours of his intellectual inferiors! no, no, my dear fellow!--we shall manage mcwhing quite differently,--_i_ know him, though you do not." "come, that's good news!" i exclaimed--"upon my word lucio, you seem to know everybody." "i think i know most people worth knowing--" responded lucio quietly--"though i by no means include mr mcwhing in the category of worthiness. i happened to make his personal acquaintance in a somewhat singular and exciting manner. it was in switzerland, on that awkward ledge of rock known as the mauvais pas. i had been some weeks in the neighbourhood on business of my own, and being surefooted and fearless, was frequently allowed by the guides to volunteer my services with theirs. in this capacity of amateur guide, capricious destiny gave me the pleasure of escorting the timid and bilious mcwhing across the chasms of the mer de glace, and i conversed with him in the choicest french all the while, a language of which, despite his boasted erudition, he was deplorably ignorant. i knew who he was i must tell you, as i know most of his craft, and had long been aware of him as one of the authorised murderers of aspiring genius. when i got him on the mauvais pas, i saw that he was seized with vertigo; i held him firmly by the arm and addressed him in sound strong english thus--'mr mcwhing, you wrote a damnable and scurrilous article against the work of a certain poet' and i named the man--'an article that was a tissue of lies from beginning to end, and which by its cruelty and venom embittered a life of brilliant promise, and crushed a noble spirit. now, unless you promise to write and publish in a leading magazine a total recantation of this your crime when you get back to england,--_if_ you get back!--giving that wronged man the 'honourable mention' he rightly deserves,--down you go! i have but to loosen my hold!' geoffrey, you should have seen mcwhing then! he whined, he wriggled, he clung! never was an oracle of the press in such an unoracular condition. 'murder!--murder!' he gasped, but his voice failed him. above him towered the snow peaks like the summits of that fame he could not reach and therefore grudged to others,--below him the glittering ice-waves yawned in deep transparent hollows of opaline blue and green,--and afar off the tinkling cowbells echoed through the still air, suggestive of safe green pastures and happy homes. 'murder!' he whispered gurglingly. 'nay!' said i, ''tis i should cry murder!--for if ever an arresting hand held a murderer, mine holds one now! your system of slaying is worse than that of the midnight assassin, for the assassin can but kill the body,--_you_ strive to kill the soul. you cannot succeed, 'tis true, but the mere attempt is devilish. no shouts, no struggles will serve you here,--we are alone with eternal nature,--give the man you have slandered his tardy recognition, or else, as i said before--down you go!' well, to make my story short, he yielded, and swore to do as i bade him,--whereupon placing my arm round him as though he were my tender twin-brother, i led him safely off the mauvais pas and down the kindlier hill, where, what with the fright and the remains of vertigo, he fell a'weeping grievously. would you believe it, that before we reached chamounix we had become the best friends in the world? he explained himself and his rascally modes of action, and i nobly exonerated him,--we exchanged cards,--and when we parted, this same author's bug-bear mcwhing, overcome with sentiment and whisky toddy (he is a scotchman you know) swore that i was the grandest fellow in the world, and that if ever he could serve me he would. he knew my princely title by this time, but he would have given me a still higher name. 'you are not--_hic_--a poet yourself?' he murmured, leaning on me fondly as he rolled to bed. i told him no. 'i am sorry--very!' he declared, the tears of whisky rising to his eyes, 'if you had been i would have done a great thing for you,--i would have boomed you,--_for nothing_!' i left him snoring nobly, and saw him no more. but i think he'll recognize me, geoffrey;--i'll go and look him up personally. by all the gods!--if he had only known who held him between life and death upon the mauvais pas!" i stared, puzzled. "but he did know"--i said--"did you not say you exchanged cards?" "true, but that was afterwards!" and lucio laughed; "i assure you, my dear fellow, we can 'manage' mcwhing!" i was intensely interested in the story as he told it,--he had such a dramatic way of speaking and looking, while his very gestures brought the whole scene vividly before me like a picture. i spoke out my thought impulsively. "you would certainly have made a superb actor, lucio!" "how do you know i am not one?" he asked with a flashing glance, then he added quickly--"no,--there is no occasion to paint the face and prance over the boards before a row of tawdry footlights like the paid mimes, in order to be histrionically great. the finest actor is he who can play the comedy of life perfectly, as i aspire to do. to walk well, talk well, smile well, weep well, groan well, laugh well--and die well!--it is all pure acting,--because in every man there is the dumb dreadful immortal spirit who is real,--who cannot act,--who is,--and who steadily maintains an infinite though speechless protest against the body's lie!" i said nothing in answer to this outburst,--i was beginning to be used to his shifting humours and strange utterances,--they increased the mysterious attraction i had for him, and made his character a perpetual riddle to me which was not without its subtle charm. every now and then i realized, with a faintly startled sense of self-abasement, that i was completely under his dominance,--that my life was being entirely guided by his control and suggestion,--but i argued with myself that surely it was well it should be so, seeing he had so much more experience and influence than i. we dined together that night as we often did, and our conversation was entirely taken up with monetary and business concerns. under lucio's advice i was making several important investments, and these matters gave us ample subject for discussion. at about eleven o'clock, it being a fine frosty evening and fit for brisk walking, we went out, our destination being the private gambling club to which my companion had volunteered to introduce me as a guest. it was situated at the end of a mysterious little back street, not far from the respectable precincts of pall-mall, and was an unpretentious looking house enough outside, but within, it was sumptuously though tastelessly furnished. apparently, the premises were presided over by a woman,--a woman with painted eyes and dyed hair who received us first of all within the lamp-lighted splendours of an anglo-japanese drawing-room. her looks and manner undisguisedly proclaimed her as a _demi-mondaine_ of the most pronounced type,--one of those 'pure' ladies with a 'past' who are represented as such martyrs to the vices of men. lucio said something to her apart,--whereupon she glanced at me deferentially and smiled,--then rang the bell. a discreet looking man-servant in sober black made his appearance, and at a slight sign from his mistress who bowed to me as i passed her, proceeded to show us upstairs. we trod on a carpet of the softest felt,--in fact i noticed that everything was rendered as noiseless as possible in this establishment, the very doors being covered with thick baize and swinging on silent hinges. on the upper landing, the servant knocked very cautiously at a side-door,--a key turned in the lock, and we were admitted into a long double room, very brilliantly lit with electric lamps, which at a first glance seemed crowded with men playing at _rouge et noir_ and _baccarat_. some looked up as lucio entered and nodded smilingly,--others glanced inquisitively at me, but our entrance was otherwise scarcely noticed. lucio drawing me along by the arm, sat down to watch the play,--i followed his example and presently found myself infected by the intense excitement which permeated the room like the silent tension of the air before a thunderstorm. i recognised the faces of many well known public men,--men eminent in politics and society whom one would never have imagined capable of supporting a gambling club by their presence and authority. but i took care to betray no sign of surprise, and quietly observed the games and the gamesters with almost as impassive a demeanour as that of my companion. i was prepared to play and to lose,--i was not prepared however for the strange scene which was soon to occur and in which i, by force of circumstances was compelled to take a leading part. [ ] the author has mr knowles's own written authority for this fact. x as soon as the immediate game we were watching was finished, the players rose, and greeted lucio with a good deal of eagerness and effusion. i instinctively guessed from their manner that they looked upon him as an influential member of the club, a person likely to lend them money to gamble with, and otherwise to oblige them in various ways, financially speaking. he introduced me to them all, and i was not slow to perceive the effect my name had upon most of them. i was asked if i would join in a game of baccarat, and i readily consented. the stakes were ruinously high, but i had no need to falter for that. one of the players near me was a fair-haired young man, handsome in face and of aristocratic bearing,--he had been introduced to me as viscount lynton. i noticed him particularly on account of the reckless way he had of doubling his stakes suddenly and apparently out of mere bravado, and when he lost, as he mostly did, he laughed uproariously as though he were drunk or delirious. on first beginning to play i was entirely indifferent as to the results of the game, caring nothing at all as to whether i had losses or gains. lucio did not join us, but sat apart, quietly observant, and watching me, so i fancied, more than anyone. and as chance would have it, all the luck came my way, and i won steadily. the more i won the more excited i became, till presently my humour changed and i was seized by a whimsical desire to lose. i suppose it was the touch of some better impulse in my nature that made me wish this for young lynton's sake. for he seemed literally maddened by my constant winnings, and continued his foolhardy and desperate play,--his young face grew drawn and sharply thin, and his eyes glittered with a hungry feverishness. the other gamesters, though sharing in his run of ill-luck, seemed better able to stand it, or perhaps they concealed their feelings more cleverly,--anyhow i know i caught myself very earnestly wishing that this devil's luck of mine would desert me and set in the young viscount's direction. but my wishes were no use,--again and again i gathered up the stakes, till at last the players rose, viscount lynton among them. "well, i'm cleaned out!" he said, with a loud forced laugh. "you must give me my chance of a _revanche_ to-morrow, mr tempest!" i bowed. "with pleasure!" he called a waiter at the end of the room to bring him a brandy and soda, and meanwhile i was surrounded by the rest of the men, all of them repeating the viscount's suggestion of a 'revanche,' and strenuously urging upon me the necessity of returning to the club the next night in order to give them an opportunity of winning back what they had lost. i readily agreed, and while we were in the midst of talk, lucio suddenly addressed young lynton. "will you make up another game with me?" he inquired. "i'll start the bank with this,"--and he placed two crisp notes of five hundred pounds each on the table. there was a moment's silence. the viscount was thirstily drinking his brandy-and-soda, and glanced over the rim of his tall tumbler at the notes with covetous bloodshot eyes,--then he shrugged his shoulders indifferently. "i can't stake anything," he said; "i've already told you i'm cleaned out,--'stony-broke,' as the slang goes. it's no use my joining." "sit down, sit down, lynton!" urged one man near him. "i'll lend you enough to go on with." "thanks, i'd rather not!" he returned, flushing a little. "i'm too much in your debt already. awfully good of you all the same. you go on, you fellows, and i'll watch the play." "let me persuade you viscount lynton," said lucio, looking at him with his dazzling inscrutable smile--"just for the fun of the thing! if you do not feel justified in staking money, stake something trifling and merely nominal, for the sake of seeing whether the luck will turn"--and here he took up a counter--"this frequently represents fifty pounds,--let it represent for once something that is not valuable like money,--your soul, for example!" a burst of laughter broke from all the men. lucio laughed softly with them. "we all have, i hope, enough instruction in modern science to be aware that there is no such thing as a soul in existence"--he continued. "therefore, in proposing it as a stake for this game at baccarat, i really propose less than one hair of your head, because the hair is a something, and the soul is a nothing! come! will you risk that non-existent quantity for the chance of winning a thousand pounds?" the viscount drained off the last drop of brandy, and turned upon us, his eyes flushing mingled derision and defiance. "done!" he exclaimed; whereupon the party sat down. the game was brief,--and in its rapid excitement, almost breathless. six or seven minutes sufficed, and lucio rose, the winner. he smiled as he pointed to the counter which had represented viscount lynton's last stake. "i have won!" he said quietly. "but you owe me nothing, my dear viscount, inasmuch as you risked--nothing! we played this game simply for fun. if souls had any existence of course i should claim yours;--i wonder what i should do with it by the way!" he laughed good-humouredly. "what nonsense, isn't it!--and how thankful we ought to be that we live in advanced days like the present, when such silly superstitions are being swept aside by the march of progress and pure reason! good-night! tempest and i will give you, your full revenge to-morrow,--the luck is sure to change by then, and you will probably have the victory. again--good-night!" he held out his hand,--there was a peculiar melting tenderness in his brilliant dark eyes,--an impressive kindness in his manner. something--i could not tell what--held us all for the moment spellbound as if by enchantment, and several of the players at other tables, hearing of the eccentric stake that had been wagered and lost, looked over at us curiously from a distance. viscount lynton, however, professed himself immensely diverted, and shook lucio's proffered hand heartily. "you are an awfully good fellow!" he said, speaking a little thickly and hurriedly--"and i assure you seriously if i had a soul i should be very glad to part with it for a thousand pounds at the present moment. the soul wouldn't be an atom of use to me and the thousand pounds would. but i feel convinced i shall win to-morrow!" "i am equally sure you will!" returned lucio affably, "in the meantime, you will not find my friend here, geoffrey tempest, a hard creditor,--he can afford to wait. but in the case of the lost soul,"--here he paused, looking straight into the young man's eyes,--"of course _i_ cannot afford to wait!" the viscount smiled vaguely at this pleasantry, and almost immediately afterwards left the club. as soon as the door had closed behind him, several of the gamesters exchanged sententious nods and glances. "ruined!" said one of them in a _sotto-voce_. "his gambling debts are more than he can ever pay"--added another--"and i hear he has lost a clear fifty thousand on the turf." these remarks were made indifferently, as though one should talk of the weather,--no sympathy was expressed,--no pity wasted. every gambler there was selfish to the core, and as i studied their hardened faces, a thrill of honest indignation moved me,--indignation mingled with shame. i was not yet altogether callous or cruel-hearted, though as i look back upon those days which now resemble a wild vision rather than a reality, i know that i was becoming more and more of a brutal egoist with every hour i lived. still i was so far then from being utterly vile, that i inwardly resolved to write to viscount lynton that very evening, and tell him to consider his debt to me cancelled, as i should refuse to claim it. while this thought was passing through my mind, i met lucio's gaze fixed steadily upon me. he smiled,--and presently signed to me to accompany him. in a few minutes we had left the club, and were out in the cold night air under a heaven of frostily sparkling stars. standing still for a moment, my companion laid his hand on my shoulder. "tempest, if you are going to be kind-hearted or sympathetic to undeserving rascals, i shall have to part company with you!" he said, with a curious mixture of satire and seriousness in his voice--"i see by the expression of your face that you are meditating some silly disinterested action of pure generosity. now you might just as well flop down on these paving stones and begin saying prayers in public. you want to let lynton off his debt,--you are a fool for your pains. he is a born scoundrel,--and has never seen his way to being anything else,--why should you compassionate him? from the time he first went to college till now, he has been doing nothing but live a life of degraded sensuality,--he is a worthless rake, less to be respected than an honest dog!" "yet some one loves him i daresay!" i said. "some one loves him!" echoed lucio with inimitable disdain--"bah! three ballet girls live on him if that is what you mean. his mother loved him,--but she is dead,--he broke her heart. he is no good i tell you,--let him pay his debt in full, even to the soul he staked so lightly. if i were the devil now, and had just won the strange game we played to-night, i suppose according to priestly tradition, i should be piling up the fire for lynton in high glee,--but being what i am, i say let the man alone to make his own destiny,--let things take their course,--and as he chose to risk everything, so let him pay everything." we were by this time walking slowly into pall mall,--i was on the point of making some reply, when catching sight of a man's figure on the opposite side of the way, not far from the marlborough club, i uttered an involuntary exclamation. "why there he is!" i said--"there is viscount lynton!" lucio's hand closed tightly on my arm. "you don't want to speak to him now, surely!" "no. but i wonder where he's going? he walks rather unsteadily." "drunk, most probably!" and lucio's face presented the same relentless expression of scorn i had so often seen and marvelled at. we paused a moment, watching the viscount strolling aimlessly up and down in front of the clubs,--till all at once he seemed to come to a sudden resolution, and stopping short, he shouted, "hansom!" a silent-wheeled smart vehicle came bowling up immediately. giving some order to the driver, he jumped in. the cab approached swiftly in our direction,--just as it passed us the loud report of a pistol crashed on the silence. "good god!" i cried reeling back a step or two--"he has shot himself!" the hansom stopped,--the driver sprang down,--club-porters, waiters, policemen and no end of people starting up from heaven knows where, were on the scene on an instant,--i rushed forward to join the rapidly gathering throng, but before i could do so, lucio's strong arm was thrown round me, and he dragged me by main force away. "keep cool, geoffrey!" he said--"do you want to be called up to identify? and betray the club and all its members? not while i am here to prevent you! check your mad impulses, my good fellow,--they will lead you into no end of difficulties. if the man's dead he's dead, and there's an end of it." "lucio! you have no heart!" i exclaimed, struggling violently to escape from his hold--"how can you stop to reason in such a case! think of it! _i_ am the cause of all the mischief!--it is my cursed luck at baccarat this evening that has been the final blow to the wretched young fellow's fortunes,--i am convinced of it!--i shall never forgive myself--" "upon my word, geoffrey, your conscience is very tender!" he answered, holding my arm still more closely and hurrying me away despite myself--"you must try and toughen it a little if you want to be successful in life. your 'cursed luck' you think, has caused lynton's death? surely it is a contradiction in terms to call luck 'cursed,'--and as for the viscount, he did not need that last game at baccarat to emphasise his ruin. you are not to blame. and for the sake of the club, if for nothing else, i do not intend either you or myself to be mixed up in a case of suicide. the coroner's verdict always disposes of these incidents comfortably in two words--'temporary insanity.'" i shuddered. my soul sickened as i thought that within a few yards of us was the bleeding corpse of the man i had so lately seen alive and spoken with,--and notwithstanding lucio's words i felt as if i had murdered him. "'temporary insanity'"--repeated lucio again, as if speaking to himself--"all remorse, despair, outraged honour, wasted love, together with the scientific modern theory of reasonable nothingness--life a nothing, god a nothing,--when these drive the distracted human unit to make of himself also a nothing, 'temporary insanity' covers up his plunge into the infinite with an untruthful pleasantness. however, after all, it is as shakespeare says, a mad world!" i made no answer. i was too overcome by my own miserable sensations. i walked along almost unconscious of movement, and as i stared bewilderedly up at the stars they danced before my sight like fireflies whirling in a mist of miasma. presently a faint hope occurred to me. "perhaps," i said, "he has not really killed himself? it may be only an attempt?" "he was a capital shot"--returned lucio composedly,--"that was his one quality. he has no principles,--but he was a good marksman. i cannot imagine his missing aim." "it is horrible! an hour ago alive, ... and now ... i tell you, lucio, it is horrible!" "what is? death? it is not half so horrible as life lived wrongly,"--he responded, with a gravity that impressed me in spite of my emotion and excitement--"believe me, the mental sickness and confusion of a wilfully degraded existence are worse tortures than are contained in the priestly notions of hell. come come, geoffrey, you take this matter too much to heart,--you are not to blame. if lynton has given himself the 'happy dispatch' it is really the best thing he could do,--he was of no use to anybody, and he is well out of it. it is positively weak of you to attach importance to such a trifle. you are only at the beginning of your career----" "well, i hope that career will not lead me into any more such tragedies as the one enacted to-night,"--i said passionately--"if it does, it will be entirely against my will!" lucio looked at me curiously. "nothing can happen to you against your will"--he replied; "i suppose you wish to imply that i am to blame for introducing you to the club? my good fellow, you need not have gone there unless you had chosen to do so! i did not bind and drag you there! you are upset and unnerved,--come into my room and take a glass of wine,--you will feel more of a man afterwards." we had by this time reached the hotel, and i went with him passively. with equal passiveness i drank what he gave me, and stood, glass in hand, watching him with a kind of morbid fascination as he threw off his fur-lined overcoat and confronted me, his pale handsome face strangely set and stern, and his dark eyes glittering like cold steel. "that last stake of lynton's, ... to you--" i said falteringly--"his soul----" "which _he_ did not believe in, and which _you_ do not believe in!" returned lucio, regarding me fixedly. "why do you now seem to tremble at a mere sentimental idea? if fantastic notions such as god, the soul, and the devil were real facts, there would perhaps be cause for trembling, but being only the brainsick imaginations of superstitious mankind, there is nothing in them to awaken the slightest anxiety or fear." "but you"--i began--"you say you believe in the soul?" "i? i am brainsick!" and he laughed bitterly--"have you not found that out yet? much learning hath driven me mad, my friend! science has led me into such deep wells of dark discovery, that it is no wonder if my senses sometimes reel,--and i believe--at such insane moments--in the soul!" i sighed heavily. "i think i will go to bed," i answered. "i am tired out,--and absolutely miserable!" "alas, poor millionaire!" said lucio gently,--"i am sorry, i assure you, that the evening has ended so disastrously." "so am i!" i returned despondently. "imagine it!" he went on, dreamily regarding me--"if my beliefs,--my crack-brained theories,--were worth anything,--which they are not--i could claim the only positive existing part of our late acquaintance viscount lynton! but,--where and how to send in my account with him? if i were satan now...." i forced a faint smile. "you would have cause to rejoice!" i said. he moved two paces towards me, and laid his hands gently on my shoulders. "no, geoffrey"--and his rich voice had a strange soft music in it--"no, my friend! if i were satan i should probably lament!--for every lost soul would of necessity remind me of my own fall, my own despair,--and set another bar between myself and heaven! remember,--the very devil was an angel once!" his eyes smiled, and yet i could have sworn there were tears in them. i wrung his hand hard,--i felt that notwithstanding his assumed coldness and cynicism, the fate of young lynton had affected him profoundly. my liking for him gained new fervour from this impression, and i went to bed more at ease with myself and things in general. during the few minutes i spent in undressing i became even able to contemplate the tragedy of the evening with less regret and greater calmness,--for it was certainly no use worrying over the irrevocable,--and, after all, what interest had the viscount's life for me? none. i began to ridicule myself for my own weakness and disinterested emotion,--and presently, being thoroughly fatigued, fell sound asleep. towards morning however, perhaps about four or five o'clock, i woke suddenly as though touched by an invisible hand. i was shivering violently, and my body was bathed in a cold perspiration. in the otherwise dark room there was something strangely luminous, like a cloud of white smoke or fire. i started up, rubbing my eyes,--and stared before me for a moment, doubting the evidence of my own senses. for, plainly visible and substantially distinct, at a distance of perhaps five paces from my bed, stood three figures, muffled in dark garments and closely hooded. so solemnly inert they were,--so heavily did their sable draperies fall about them that it was impossible to tell whether they were men or women,--but what paralysed me with amazement and terror was the strange light that played around and above them,--the spectral, wandering, chill radiance that illumined them like the rays of a faint wintry moon. i strove to cry out,--but my tongue refused to obey me--and my voice was strangled in my throat. the three remained absolutely motionless,--and again i rubbed my eyes, wondering if this were a dream or some hideous optical delusion. trembling in every limb, i stretched my hand towards the bell intending to ring violently for assistance,--when--a voice, low and thrilling with intense anguish, caused me to shrink back appalled, and my arm fell nerveless at my side. "_misery!_" the word struck the air with a harsh reproachful clang, and i nearly swooned with the horror of it. for now one of the figures moved, and a face gleamed out from beneath its hooded wrappings--a face white as whitest marble and fixed into such an expression of dreadful despair as froze my blood. then came a deep sigh that was more like a death-groan, and again the word, "_misery!_" shuddered upon the silence. mad with fear, and scarcely knowing what i did, i sprang from the bed, and began desperately to advance upon these fantastic masqueraders, determined to seize them and demand the meaning of this practical and untimely jest,--when suddenly all three lifted their heads and turned their faces on me,--such faces!--indescribably awful in their pallid agony,--and a whisper more ghastly than a shriek, penetrated the very fibres of my consciousness--"_misery!_" with a furious bound i flung myself upon them,--my hands struck _empty space_. yet there--distinct as ever--they stood, glowering down upon me, while my clenched fists beat impotently _through_ and _beyond_ their seemingly corporeal shapes! and then--all at once--i became aware of their eyes,--eyes that watched me pitilessly, stedfastly, and disdainfully,--eyes that like witch-fires, seemed to slowly burn terrific meanings into my very flesh and spirit. convulsed and almost frantic with the strain on my nerves, i abandoned myself to despair,--this awful sight meant death i thought,--my last hour had surely come! then--i saw the lips of one of those dreadful faces move ... some superhuman instinct in me leaped to life, ... in some strange way i thought i knew, or guessed the horror of what that next utterance would be, ... and with all my remaining force i cried out-- "no! no! not that eternal doom! ... not yet!" fighting the vacant air, i strove to beat back those intangible weird shapes that loomed above me, withering up my soul with the fixed stare of their angry eyes, and with a choking call for help, i fell, as it were, into a pit of darkness, where i lay mercifully unconscious. xi how the ensuing hours between this horrible episode and full morning elapsed i do not know. i was dead to all impressions. i woke at last, or rather recovered my senses to see the sunlight pouring pleasantly through the half-drawn curtains at my window, and to find myself in bed in as restful a position as though i had never left it. was it then merely a vision i had seen?--a ghastly sort of nightmare? if so, it was surely the most abhorrent illusion ever evolved from dreamland! it could not be a question of health, for i had never felt better in my life. i lay for some time quiescent, thinking over the matter, with my eyes fixed on that part of the room where those three shapes had seemingly stood; but i had lately got into such a habit of cool self-analysis, that by the time my valet brought my early cup of coffee, i had decided that the whole thing was a dreadful fantasy, born of my own imagination, which had no doubt been unduly excited by the affair of viscount lynton's suicide. i soon learned that there was no room left for doubt as to that unhappy young nobleman's actual death. a brief account of it was in the morning papers, though as the tragedy had occurred so late at night there were no details. a vague hint of 'money difficulties' was thrown out in one journal,--but beyond that, and the statement that the body had been conveyed to the mortuary there to await an inquest, there was nothing said, either personal or particular. i found lucio in the smoking-room, and it was he who first silently pointed out to me the short paragraph headed 'suicide of a viscount.' "i told you he was a good shot!" he commented. i nodded. somehow i had ceased to feel much interest in the subject. my emotion of the previous evening had apparently exhausted all my stock of sympathy and left me coldly indifferent. absorbed in myself and my own concerns, i sat down to talk and was not long before i had given a full and circumstantial account of the spectral illusion which had so unpleasantly troubled me during the night. lucio listened, smiling oddly. "that old tokay was evidently too strong for you!" he said, when i had concluded my story. "did you give me old tokay?" i responded laughing--"then the mystery is explained! i was already overwrought, and needed no stimulant. but what tricks the imagination plays us to be sure! you have no idea of the distinct manner in which those three phantoms asserted themselves! the impression was extraordinarily vivid." "no doubt!" and his dark eyes studied me curiously. "impressions often _are_ very vivid. see what a marvellously real impression this world makes upon us, for example!" "ah! but then the world _is_ real!" i answered. "is it? you accept it as such, i daresay, and things are as they appear to each separate individual. no two human beings think alike; hence there may be conflicting opinions as to the reality or non-reality of this present world. but we will not take unnecessary plunges into the infinite question of what _is_, as contrasted with what appears to be. i have some letters here for your consideration. you have lately spoken of buying a country estate--what say you to willowsmere court in warwickshire? i have had my eye on that place for you,--it seems to me just the very thing. it is a magnificent old pile; part of it dates from elizabeth's time. it is in excellent repair; the grounds are most picturesque, the classic river avon winds with rather a broad sweep through the park,--and the whole thing, with a great part of the furniture included, is to be sold for a mere song;--fifty thousand pounds cash. i think you had better go in for it; it would just suit your literary and poetic tastes." was it my fancy, or had his musical voice the faintest touch of a sneer as he uttered the last words? i would not allow myself to think this possible, and answered quickly,-- "anything _you_ recommend must be worth looking at, and i'll certainly go and see it. the description sounds well, and shakespeare's country always appeals to me. but wouldn't you like to secure it for yourself?" he laughed. "not i! i live nowhere for long. i am of a roving disposition, and am never happy tied down to one corner of the earth. but i suggest willowsmere to you for two reasons,--first that it is charming and perfectly appointed; secondly, that it will impress lord elton considerably if he knows you are going to buy it." "how so?" "why, because it used to be his property"--returned lucio quietly--"till he got into the hands of the jews. he gave them willowsmere as security for loans, and latterly they have stepped in as owners. they've sold most of the pictures, china, bric-a-brac and other valuables. by the way, have you noticed how the legended god still appears to protect the house of israel? particularly the 'base usurer' who is allowed to get the unhappy christian into his clutches nine times out of ten? and no remedy drops from heaven! the jew always triumphs. rather inconsistent isn't it, on the part of an equitable deity!" his eyes flashed strange scorn. anon he resumed--"as a result of lord elton's unfortunate speculations, and the jews' admirable shrewdness, willowsmere, as i tell you is in the market, and fifty thousand pounds will make you the envied owner of a place worth a hundred thousand." "we dine at the eltons' to-night, do we not?" i asked musingly. "we do. you cannot have forgotten that engagement and lady sibyl so soon surely!" he answered laughing. "no, i have not forgotten"--i said at last, after a little silence. "and i will buy this willowsmere. i will telegraph instructions to my lawyers at once. will you give me the name and address of the agents?" "with pleasure, my dear boy!" and lucio handed me a letter containing the particulars concerning the sale of the estate and other items. "but are you not making up your mind rather suddenly? hadn't you better inspect the property first? there may be things you object to----" "if it were a rat-infested barrack," i said resolutely--"i would still buy it! i shall settle the matter at once. i wish to let lord elton know this very night that i am the future owner of willowsmere!" "good!"--and my companion thrust his arm through mine as we left the smoking-room together--"i like your swiftness of action geoffrey. it is admirable! i always respect determination. even if a man makes up his mind to go to hell, i honour him for keeping to his word, and going there straight as a die!" i laughed, and we parted in high good-humour,--he to fulfil a club engagement, i to telegraph precise instructions to my legal friends messrs bentham and ellis, for the immediate purchase in my name at all costs, risks or inconveniences, of the estate known as willowsmere court in the county of warwick. that evening i dressed with more than common care, giving my man morris almost as much trouble as if i had been a fidgetty woman. he waited upon me however with exemplary patience, and only when i was quite ready did he venture to utter what had evidently been on his mind for some time. "excuse me sir,"--he then observed--"but i daresay you've noticed that there's something unpleasant-like about the prince's valet, amiel?" "well, he's rather a down-looking fellow if that's what you mean,"--i replied--"but i suppose there's no harm in him." "i don't know about that sir,"--answered morris severely; "he does a great many strange things i do assure you. downstairs with the servants he goes on something surprising. sings and acts and dances too, as if he were a whole music-hall." "really!" i exclaimed in surprise--"i should never have thought it." "nor should i sir, but it's a fact." "he must be rather an amusing fellow then,"--i continued, wondering that my man should take the accomplishments of amiel in such an injured manner. "oh, i don't say anything against his amusingness,"--and morris rubbed his nose with a doubtful air--"it's all very well for him to cut capers and make himself agreeable if he likes,--but it's the deceit of him that surprises me sir. you'd think to look at him that he was a decent sort of dull chap with no ideas beyond his duty, but really sir, it's quite the contrary, if you'll believe me. the language he uses when he's up to his games downstairs is something frightful! and he actually swears he learnt it from the gentlemen of the turf, sir! last night he was play acting, and taking off all the fashionable folks,--then he took to hypnotising--and upon my word it made my blood run cold." "why, what did he do?" i asked with some curiosity. "well, sir, he took one of the scullery-maids and sat her in a chair and just pointed at her. pointed at her and grinned, for all the world like a devil out of a pantomime. and though she is generally a respectable sober young woman, if she didn't get up with a screech and commence dancing round and round like a lunatic, while he kept on pointing. and presently she got to jumping and lifting her skirts that high that it was positively scandalous! some of us tried to stop her and couldn't; she was like mad, till all at once number twenty-two bell rang--that's the prince's room,--and he just caught hold of her, set her down in her chair again and clapped his hands. she came to directly, and didn't know a bit what she'd been doing. then twenty-two bell rang again, and the fellow rolled up his eyes like a clergyman and said, 'let us pray!' and off he went." i laughed. "he seems to have a share of humour at anyrate,"--i said; "i should not have thought it of him. but do you think these antics of his are mischievous?" "well that scullery girl is very ill to-day,"--replied morris; "i expect she'll have to leave. she has what she calls the 'jumps' and none of us dare tell her how she got them. no sir, believe me or not as you like, there's something very queer about that amiel. and another thing i want to know is this--what does he do with the other servants?" "what does he do with the other servants?" i repeated bewilderedly--"what on earth do you mean?" "well sir, the prince has a _chef_ of his own hasn't he?" said morris enumerating on his fingers--"and two personal attendants besides amiel,--quiet fellows enough who help in the waiting. then he has a coachman and groom. that makes six servants altogether. now none of these except amiel are ever seen in the hotel kitchens. the _chef_ sends all the meals in from somewhere, in a heated receptacle--and the two other fellows are never seen except when waiting at table, and they don't live in their own rooms all day, though they _may_ sleep there,--and nobody knows where the carriage and horses are put up, or where the coachman and groom lodge. certain it is that both they and the _chef_ board out. it seems to me very mysterious." i began to feel quite unreasonably irritated. "look here, morris," i said--"there's nothing more useless or more harmful than the habit of inquiring into other people's affairs. the prince has a right to live as he likes, and do as he pleases with his servants--i am sure he pays royally for his privileges. and whether his cook lives in or out, up in the skies or down in a cellar is no matter of mine. he has been a great traveller and no doubt has his peculiarities; and probably his notions concerning food are very particular and fastidious. but i don't want to know anything about his ménage. if you dislike amiel, it's easy to avoid him, but for goodness sake don't go making mysteries where none exist." morris looked up, then down, and folded one of my coats with special care. i saw i had effectually checked his flow of confidence. "very well, sir,"--he observed, and said no more. i was rather diverted than otherwise at my servant's solemn account of amiel's peculiarities as exhibited among his own class,--and when we were driving to lord elton's that evening i told something of the story to lucio. he laughed. "amiel's spirits are often too much for him,"--he said--"he is a perfect imp of mischief and cannot always control himself." "why, what a wrong estimate i have formed of him!" i said--"i thought he had a peculiarly grave and somewhat sullen disposition." "you know the trite saying--appearances are deceptive?" went on my companion lightly--"it's extremely true. the professed humourist is nearly always a disagreeable and heavy man personally. as for amiel, he is like me in the respect of not being at all what he seems. his only fault is a tendency to break the bounds of discipline, but otherwise he serves me well, and i do not inquire further. is morris disgusted or alarmed?" "neither i think," i responded laughing--"he merely presents himself to me as an example of outraged respectability." "ah then, you may be sure that when the scullery-maid was dancing, he observed her steps with the closest nicety;" said lucio--"very respectable men are always particular of inspection into these matters! soothe his ruffled feelings, my dear geoffrey, and tell him that amiel is the very soul of virtue! i have had him in my service for a long time, and can urge nothing against his character as a man. he does not pretend to be an angel. his tricks of speech and behaviour are the result of a too constant repression of his natural hilarity, but he is really an excellent fellow. he dabbled in hypnotic science when he was with me in india; i have often warned him of the danger there is in practising this force on the uninitiated. but--a scullery-maid!--heavens!--there are so many scullery-maids! one more or less with the 'jumps' will not matter. this is lord elton's." the carriage stopped before a handsome house situated a little back from park lane. we were admitted by a man-servant gorgeous in red plush, white silk hose and powdered wig, who passed us on majestically to his twin-brother in height and appearance, though perhaps a trifle more disdainful in bearing, and he in his turn ushered us upstairs with the air of one who should say "see to what ignominious degradation a cruel fate reduces so great a man!" in the drawing-room we found lord elton, standing on the hearth-rug with his back to the fire, and directly opposite him in a low arm chair, reclined an elegantly attired young lady with very small feet. i mention the feet, because as i entered they were the most prominent part of her person, being well stretched out from beneath the would-be concealment of sundry flounced petticoats towards the warmth of the fire which the earl rather inconsiderately screened from view. there was another lady in the room sitting bolt upright with hands neatly folded on her lap, and to her we were first of all introduced when lord elton's own effusive greetings were over. "charlotte, allow me,--my friends, prince lucio rimânez--mr geoffrey tempest; gentlemen, my sister-in-law, miss charlotte fitzroy." we bowed; the lady gave us a dignified bend of the head. she was an imposing looking spinster, with a curious expression on her features which was difficult to construe. it was pious and prim, but it also suggested the idea that she must have seen something excessively improper once in her life and had never been able to forget it. the pursed-up mouth, the round pale-coloured eyes and the chronic air of insulted virtue which seemed to pervade her from head to foot all helped to deepen this impression. one could not look at miss charlotte long without beginning to wonder irreverently what it was that had in her long past youth so outraged the cleanly proprieties of her nature as to leave such indelible traces on her countenance. but i have since seen many english women look so, especially among the particularly 'high bred,' old and plain-featured of the "upper ten." very different was the saucy and bright physiognomy of the younger lady to whom we were next presented, and who, raising herself languidly from her reclining position, smiled at us with encouraging familiarity as we made our salutations. "miss diana chesney,"--said the earl glibly--"you perhaps know her father, prince,--you must have heard of him at any rate--the famous nicodemus chesney, one of the great railway-kings." "of course i know him"--responded lucio warmly--"who does not! i have met him often. a charming man, gifted with most remarkable humour and vitality--i remember him perfectly. we saw a good deal of each other in washington." "did you though?" said miss chesney with a somewhat indifferent interest,--"he's a queer sort of man to my thinking; rather a cross between the ticket-collector and custom-house officer combined, you know! i never see him but what i feel i must start on a journey directly--railways seem to be written all over him. i tell him so. i say 'pa, if you didn't carry railway-tracks in your face you'd be better looking.' and you found him humorous, did you?" laughing at the novel and free way in which this young person criticised her parent, lucio protested that he did. "well i don't,"--confessed miss chesney--"but that may be because i've heard all his stories over and over again, and i've read most of them in books besides,--so they're not much account to me. he tells some of them to the prince of wales whenever he can get a chance,--but he don't try them off on me any more. he's a real clever man too; he's made his pile quicker than most. and you're quite right about his vitality,--my!--his laugh takes you into the middle of next week!" her bright eyes flashed merrily as she took a comprehensive survey of our amused faces. "think i'm irreverent, don't you?" she went on--"but you know pa's not a 'stage parent' all dressed out in lovely white hair and benedictions,--he's just an accommodating railway-track, and he wouldn't like to be reverenced. do sit down, won't you?"--then turning her pretty head coquettishly towards her host--"make them sit down, lord elton,--i hate to see men standing. the superior sex, you know! besides you're so tall," she added, glancing with unconcealed admiration at lucio's handsome face and figure, "that it's like peering up an apple-tree at the moon to look at you!" lucio laughed heartily, and seated himself near her--i followed his example; the old earl still kept his position, legs a-straddle, on the hearth-rug, and beamed benevolence upon us all. certainly diana chesney was a captivating creature; one of those surface-clever american women who distinctly divert men's minds without in the least rousing their passions. "so you're the famous mr tempest?" she said, surveying me critically--"why, it's simply splendid for you isn't it? i always say it's no use having a heap of money unless you're young,--if you're old, you only want it to fill your doctor's pockets while he tries to mend your poor tuckered-out constitution. i once knew an old lady who was left a legacy of a hundred thousand pounds when she was ninety-five. poor old dear, she cried over it. she just had sense enough to understand what a good time she couldn't have. she lived in bed, and her only luxury was a halfpenny bun dipped in milk for her tea. it was all she cared for." "a hundred thousand pounds would go a long way in buns!" i said smiling. "wouldn't it just!" and the fair diana laughed--"but i guess _you'll_ want something a little more substantial for your cash mr tempest! a fortune in the prime of life is worth having. i suppose you're one of the richest men about just now, aren't you?" she put the question in a perfectly naïve frank manner and seemed to be unconscious of any undue inquisitiveness in it. "i may be one of the richest,"--i replied, and as i spoke the thought flashed suddenly across me how recently i had been one of the poorest!--"but my friend here, the prince, is far richer than i." "is that so!" and she stared straight at lucio, who met her gaze with an indulgent, half satirical smile--"well now! i guess pa's no better than a sort of pauper after all! why, you must have the world at your feet!" "pretty much so,"--replied lucio composedly--"but then, my dear miss chesney, the world is so very easily brought to one's feet. surely _you_ know that?" and he emphasized the words by an expressive look of his fine eyes. "i guess you mean compliments,"--she replied unconcernedly--"i don't like them as a rule, but i'll forgive you this once!" "do!" said lucio, with one of his dazzling smiles that caused her to stop for a moment in her voluble chatter and observe him with mingled fascination and wonderment. "and you too are young, like mr tempest,"--she resumed presently. "pardon me!" interrupted lucio--"i am many years older." "really!" exclaimed lord elton at this juncture--"you don't look it, does he charlotte?" miss fitzroy thus appealed to, raised her elegant tortoise-shell-framed glasses to her eyes and peered critically at us both. "i should imagine the prince to be slightly the senior of mr tempest"--she remarked in precise high-bred accents--"but only very slightly." "anyhow," resumed miss chesney "you're young enough, to enjoy your wealth aren't you?" "young enough, or old enough;--just as you please;"--said lucio with a careless shrug--"but as it happens--i do _not_ enjoy it!" miss chesney's whole aspect now expressed the most lively astonishment. "what does money do for you?" went on lucio, his eyes dilating with that strange and wistful expression which had often excited my curiosity--"the world is at your feet, perhaps; yes--but _what_ a world! what a trumpery clod of kickable matter! wealth acts merely as a kind of mirror to show you human nature at its worst. men skulk and fawn about you, and lie twenty times in as many hours in the hope to propitiate you and serve their own interests; princes of the blood willingly degrade themselves and their position to borrow cash of you,--your intrinsic merit (if you have any) is thought nothing of,--your full pockets are your credentials with kings, prime ministers and councillors! you may talk like a fool, laugh like a hyena and look like a baboon, but if the chink-chink of your gold be only sufficiently loud, you may soon find yourself dining with the queen if such be your ambition. if, on the contrary you happen to be truly great, brave, patient, and enduring, with a spark in you of that genius which strengthens life and makes it better worth living,--if you have thoughts which take shape in work that shall endure when kingdoms are swept away like dust before the wind, and if, with all this you are yet poor in current coin, why then,--you shall be spurned by all the crowned dummies of the world,--you shall be snubbed by the affluent starch-maker and the croesus who lives on a patent pill,--the tradesman from whom you buy bedsteads and kitchen ware, can look down upon you with lordly scorn, for does he not by virtue of his wealth alone, drive a four-in-hand, and chat on easy and almost patronizing terms with the prince of wales? the wealthy denizens of snob-land delight in ignoring nature's elected noblemen." "but supposing" said miss chesney quickly, "you happen to be a nature's nobleman yourself, and have the advantage of wealth besides, surely you must fairly allow that to be rather a good thing, mustn't you?" lucio laughed a little-- "i will retort upon you in your own words fair lady, and say 'i guess you mean compliments.' what i venture to imply however, is that even when wealth does fall to the lot of one of these 'nature's noblemen,' it is not _because_ of his innate nobility that he wins social distinction. it is simply because he is rich. that is what vexes me. i for example, have endless friends who are not my friends so much as the friends of my income. they do not trouble to inquire as to my antecedents,--what i am or where i came from is of no importance. neither are they concerned in how i live or what i do; whether i am sick or well, happy or unhappy, is equally with them a matter of indifference. if they knew more about me, it would perhaps be better in the long run. but they do not want to know,--their aims are simple and unconcealed,--they wish to make as much out of me, and secure as much advantage to themselves by their acquaintance with me as possible. and i give them their full way,--they get all they want,--and more!" his musical voice lingered with a curiously melancholy impressiveness on the last word,--and this time, not only miss chesney, but we all, looked at him as though drawn by some irresistible magnetic spell, and for a moment there was silence. "very few people have any real friends,"--said lord elton presently. "and in that respect i suppose we're none of us worse off than socrates, who used to keep two chairs only in his house 'one for myself, and another for a friend--when i find him!' but you are a universal favourite lucio,--a most popular fellow--and i think you're rather hard on your set. people must look after themselves you know--eh?" lucio bowed his head gravely. "they must indeed," he replied--"especially as the latest news of science is that god has given up the business." miss fitzroy looked displeased,--but the earl laughed uproariously. at that moment a step was heard outside, approaching the open doorway of the drawing-room, and miss chesney's quick ears caught the sound. she shook herself out of her reclining attitude instantly and sat erect. "it's sibyl!" she said with a half-laughing half-apologetic flash of her brown eyes at us all--"i never can loll before sibyl!" my heart beat fast as the woman whom poets might have called the goddess of their dreams, but whom i was now disposed to consider as an object of beauty lawfully open to my purchase, entered, clad in simple white, unrelieved by any ornaments save a golden waistbelt of antique workmanship, and a knot of violets nestled among the lace at her bosom. she looked far lovelier than when i had first seen her at the theatre; there was a deeper light in her eyes and a more roseate flush on her cheeks, while her smile as she greeted us was positively dazzling. something in her presence, her movements, her manner, sent such a tide of passion through me that for a moment my brain whirled in a dizzy maze, and despite the cold calculations i had made in my own mind as to the certainty i had of winning her for my wife, there was a wondrous charm of delicate dignity and unapproachableness about her that caused me for the moment to feel ashamed, and inclined to doubt even the power of wealth to move this exquisite lily of maidenhood from her sequestered peace. ah, what fools men are! how little do we dream of the canker at the hearts of these women 'lilies' that look so pure and full of grace! "you are late, sibyl," said her aunt severely. "am i?" she responded with languid indifference--"so sorry! papa, are you an extemporized fire-screen?" lord elton hastily moved to one side, rendered suddenly conscious of his selfish monopoly of the blaze. "are you not cold, miss chesney?" continued lady sibyl, in accents of studied courtesy--"would you not like to come nearer the fire?" diana chesney had become quite subdued, almost timid in fact. "thank-you!"--she murmured, and her eyes drooped with what might have been called retiring maiden modesty, had not miss chesney's qualities soared far beyond that trite description. "we heard some shocking news this morning, mr tempest," said lady sibyl, looking at lucio rather than at me--"no doubt you read it in the papers,--an acquaintance of ours, viscount lynton, shot himself last night." i could not repress a slight start. lucio gave me a warning glance, and took it upon himself to reply. "yes, i read a brief account of the affair--terrible indeed! i also knew him slightly." "did you? well, he was engaged to a friend of mine," went on lady sibyl--"i myself think she has had a lucky escape, because though he was an agreeable man enough in society, he was a great gambler, and very extravagant, and he would have run through her fortune very quickly. but she cannot be brought to see it in that light,--she is dreadfully upset. she had set her heart on being a viscountess." "i guess," said miss chesney demurely, with a sly sparkle of her eyes--"it's not only americans who run after titles. since i've been over here i've known several real nice girls marry downright mean dough-heads just for the sake of being called 'my lady' or 'your grace.' i like a title very well myself--but i also like a man attached to it." the earl smothered a chuckling laugh,--lady sibyl gazed meditatively into the fire and went on as though she had not heard. "of course my friend will have other chances,--she is young and handsome--but i really think, apart from the social point of view, that she was a little in love with the viscount----" "nonsense! nonsense!" said her father somewhat testily. "you always have some romantic notion or other in your head sibyl,--one 'season' ought to have cured you of sentiment--ha-ha-ha! she always knew he was a dissolute rascal, and she was going to marry him with her eyes wide open to the fact. when i read in the papers that he had blown his brains out in a hansom, i said 'bad taste--bad taste! spoiling a poor cabby's stock-in-trade to satisfy a selfish whim!' ha-ha!--but i thought it was a good riddance of bad rubbish. he would have made any woman's life utterly miserable." "no doubt he would!" responded lady sibyl, listlessly; "but, all the same, there is such a thing as love sometimes." she raised her beautiful liquid eyes to lucio's face, but he was not looking her way, and her steadfast gaze met mine instead. what my looks expressed i know not; but i saw the rich blood mantle warmly in her cheeks, and a tremor seemed to pass through her frame,--then she grew very pale. at that moment one of the gorgeous footmen appeared at the doorway. "dinner is served, my lud." "good!" and the earl proceeded to 'pair' us all. "prince, will you take miss fitzroy,--mr tempest, my daughter falls to your escort,--i will follow with miss chesney." we set off in this order down the stairs, and as i walked behind lucio with lady sibyl on my arm, i could not help smiling at the extreme gravity and earnestness with which he was discussing church matters with miss charlotte, and the sudden enthusiasm that apparently seized that dignified spinster at some of his remarks on the clergy, which took the form of the most affectionate and respectful eulogies, and were totally the reverse of the ideas he had exchanged with me on the same subject. some spirit of mischief was evidently moving him to have a solemn joke with the high-bred lady he escorted, and i noted his behaviour with a good deal of inward amusement. "then you know the dear canon?" i heard miss charlotte say. "most intimately!" replied lucio with fervour--"and i assure you i am thankful to have the privilege of knowing him. a truly perfect man!--almost a saint--if not quite!" "so pure-minded!" sighed the spinster. "so free from every taint of hypocrisy!" murmured lucio with intense gravity. "ah yes! yes indeed! and so----" here they passed into the dining-room and i could hear no more. i followed with my beautiful partner, and in another minute we were all seated at table. xii the dinner went on in the fashion of most dinners at great houses,--commencing with arctic stiffness and formality, thawing slightly towards the middle course, and attaining to just a pleasant warmth of mutual understanding when ices and dessert gave warning of its approaching close. conversation at first flagged unaccountably, but afterwards brightened under lucio's influence to a certain gaiety. i did my best to entertain lady sibyl, but found her like most 'society' beauties, somewhat of a vague listener. she was certainly cold, and in a manner irresponsive,--moreover i soon decided that she was not particularly clever. she had not the art of sustaining or appearing to sustain interest in any one subject; on the contrary, she had, like many of her class, an irritating habit of mentally drifting away from you into an absorbed reverie of her own in which you had no part, and which plainly showed you how little she cared for anything you or anyone else happened to be saying. many little random remarks of hers however implied that in her apparently sweet nature there lurked a vein of cynicism and a certain contempt for men, and more than once her light words stung my sense of self-love almost to resentment, while they strengthened the force of my resolve to win her and bend that proud spirit of hers to the meekness befitting the wife of a millionaire and--a genius. a genius? yes,--god help me!--that is what i judged myself to be. my arrogance was two-fold,--it arose not only from what i imagined to be my quality of brain, but also from the knowledge of what my wealth could do. i was perfectly positive that i could buy fame,--buy it as easily as one buys a flower in the market,--and i was more than positive that i could buy love. in order to commence proving the truth of this, i threw out a 'feeler' towards my object. "i believe," i said suddenly, addressing the earl--"you used to live in warwickshire at willowsmere court did you not?" lord elton flushed an apoplectic red, and swallowed a gulp of champagne hastily. "yes-er-yes. i--er had the place for some time,--rather a bore to keep up,--wants quite an army of servants." "just so;" i replied with a nod of appreciative comprehension--"i presume it will require a considerable domestic retinue. i have arranged to purchase it." lady sibyl's frigid composure was at last disturbed--she looked strangely agitated,--and the earl stared till his eyes seemed likely to fall out of his head. "you? _you_ are going to buy willowsmere?" he ejaculated. "yes. i have wired to my lawyers to settle the matter as quickly as possible"--and i glanced at lucio whose steel-bright eyes were fixed on the earl with curious intentness,--"i like warwickshire,--and as i shall entertain a great deal i think the place will suit me perfectly." there was a moment's silence. miss charlotte fitzroy sighed deeply, and the lace bow on her severely parted hair trembled visibly. diana chesney looked up with inquisitive eyes and a little wondering smile. "sibyl was born at willowsmere,"--said the earl presently in rather a husky voice. "a new charm is added to its possession by that knowledge,"--i said gently, bowing to lady sibyl as i spoke--"have you many recollections of the place?" "indeed, indeed i have!" she answered with a touch of something like passion vibrating in her accents--"there is no corner of the world i love so well! i used to play on the lawns under the old oak-trees, and i always gathered the first violets and primroses that came out on the banks of the avon. and when the hawthorn was in full flower i used to make believe that the park was fairyland and i the fairy queen----" "as you were and are!" interposed lucio suddenly. she smiled and her eyes flashed,--then she went on more quietly-- "it was all very foolish, but i loved willowsmere, and love it still. and i often saw in the fields on the other side of the river which did not belong to the estate, a little girl about my own age, playing all by herself and making long daisy-chains and buttercup balls,--a little girl with long fair curls and a sweet baby face. i wanted to know her and speak to her, but my nurse would never let me because she was supposed to be 'beneath' me." lady sibyl's lip curled scornfully at this recollection. "yet she was well-born; she was the orphan child of a very distinguished scholar and gentleman, and had been adopted by the physician who attended her mother's deathbed, she having no living relatives left to take care of her. and she--that little fair-haired girl,--was mavis clare." as this name was uttered, a sort of hush fell on our party as though an 'angelus' had rung; and lucio looking across at me with peculiar intentness asked, "have you never heard of mavis clare, tempest?" i thought a moment before replying. yes,--i had heard the name,--connected with literature in some dim and distant way, but i could not remember when or how. for i never paid any attention to the names of women who chose to associate themselves with the arts, as i had the usual masculine notion that all they did, whether in painting, music or writing, must of necessity be trash and unworthy of comment. women, i loftily considered, were created to amuse men,--not to instruct them. "mavis clare is a genius,"--lady sibyl said presently--"if mr tempest has not heard of her, there is no doubt he _will_ hear. i often regret that i never made her acquaintance in those old days at willowsmere,--the stupidity of my nurse often rankles in my mind. 'beneath me'--indeed!--and how very much she is above me now! she still lives down there,--her adopted parents are dead and she rents the lovely little house they inhabited. she has bought some extra land about it and improved the place wonderfully. indeed i have never seen a more ideal poet's corner than lily cottage." i was silent, feeling somewhat in the background on account of my ignorance as to the gifts and the position of the individual they all seemed to recognize as a celebrity of importance. "rather an odd name, mavis, isn't it?"--i at last ventured to observe. "yes,--but it suits her wonderfully. she sings quite as sweetly as any thrush, so she merits her designation." "what has she done in literature?" i continued. "oh,--only a novel!" replied lucio with a smile--"but it has a quality unusual to novels; it lives! i hope, tempest, that your forthcoming work will enjoy the same vitality." here lord elton who had been more or less brooding darkly over his glass of wine ever since i had mentioned my purchase of willowsmere, roused himself from his reverie. "why, god bless my soul!" he exclaimed--"you don't mean to tell me you have written a novel mr tempest?" (was it possible he had never noticed all the prominent advertisements of my book in every paper, i thought indignantly!) "what do you want to do that for, with your immense position?" "he hankers after fame!" said lucio half kindly, half satirically. "but you've got fame!" declared the earl emphatically--"everybody knows who you are by this time." "ah, my dear lord, that is not enough for the aspirations of my gifted friend"--responded lucio, speaking for me, his eyes darkening with that mystic shadow of mingled sorrow and scorn which so frequently clouded their lustrous brilliancy; "he does not particularly care for the 'immense position' that is due to wealth alone, because that does not lift him a jot higher than maple of tottenham court road. he seeks to soar beyond the furniture man,--and who shall blame him? he would be known for that indescribable quality called genius,--for high thoughts, poetry, divine instincts, and prophetic probings into the heart of humanity,--in short, for the power of the pen, which topples down great kingdoms like card-houses and sticks foolscaps on the heads of kings. generally it is the moneyless man or woman who is endowed with this unpurchaseable power,--this independence of action and indifference to opinion,--the wealthy seldom do anything but spend or hoard. but tempest means to unite for once in his own person the two most strenuously opposed forces in nature,--genius and cash,--or in other words, god and mammon." lady sibyl turned her head towards me;--there was a look of doubt and wonder on her beautiful face. "i am afraid,"--she said half smiling, "that the claims of society will take up too much of your time, mr tempest, to allow you to continue the writing of books. i remember you told me the other evening that you were about to publish a novel. i suppose you were--originally i mean--an author by profession?" a curious sense of anger burned dully within me. 'originally' an author? was i not one still? was i to be given credit for nothing but my banking-book? 'originally'? why, i had never been an actual 'author' till now,--i had simply been a wandering literary hack,--a stray 'super' of grub street, occasionally engaged to write articles 'to order' on any subject that came uppermost, at a starvation rate of pay, without any visible prospect of rising from that lowest and dirtiest rung of the literary ladder. i felt myself growing red, then pale,--and i saw that lucio was looking at me fixedly. "i _am_ an author, lady sibyl"--i said at last--"and i hope i may soon prove my right to be acknowledged as one. 'author' is in my opinion, a prouder title than king, and i do not think any social claims will deter me from following the profession of literature, which i look upon as the highest in the world." lord elton fidgetted uneasily in his chair. "but your people"--he said--"your family--are they literary?" "no members of my family are now living,"--i answered somewhat stiffly--"my father was john tempest of rexmoor." "indeed!" and the earl's face brightened considerably--"dear me, dear me! i used to meet him often in the hunting field years ago. you come of a fine old stock, sir!--the tempests of rexmoor are well and honourably known in county chronicles." i said nothing, feeling a trifle heated in temper, though i could not have quite explained why. "one begins to wonder,"--said lucio then in his soft smooth accents--"when one is the descendant of a good english county family,--a distinct cause for pride!--and moreover has the still more substantial fact of a large fortune to support that high lineage, why one should trouble to fight for merely literary honours! you are far too modest in your ambitions, tempest!--high-seated as you are upon bank-notes and bullion, with all the glory of effulgent county chronicles behind you, you still stoop to clutch the laurel! fie, my dear fellow! you degrade yourself by this desire to join the company of the immortals!" his satirical tone was not lost upon the company; and i, who saw that in his own special way he was defending the claims of literature against those of mere place and money, felt soothed and grateful. the earl looked a trifle annoyed. "that's all very fine," he said--"but you see it isn't as if mr tempest were driven by necessity to write for his living"-- "one may love work for the work's sake without any actual necessity for doing it,"--i interposed--"for example,--this mavis clare you speak of,--is she,--a woman,--driven by necessity?" "mavis clare hasn't a penny in the world that she does not earn,"--said lord elton gruffly--"i suppose that if she did not write she would starve." diana chesney laughed. "i guess she's a long way off starvation just now,"--she remarked, her brown eyes twinkling--"why, she's as proud as the proudest,--drives in the park in her victoria and pair with the best in the land, and knows all the 'swagger' people. she's nowhere near grub street _i_ should say. i hear she's a splendid business woman, and more than a match for the publishers all round." "well i should rather doubt that,"--said the earl with a chuckle. "it needs the devil himself to match the publishers." "you are right!"--said lucio--"in fact i daresay that in the various 'phases' or transmigrations of the spirit into differing forms of earthy matter, the devil (should he exist at all) has frequently become a publisher,--and a particularly benevolent publisher too!--by way of diversion." we all smiled. "well, i should imagine mavis clare to be a match for anybody or anything,"--said lady sibyl--"of course she is not rich,--but she spends her money wisely and to effective advantage. i do not know her personally,--i wish i did; but i have read her books, which are quite out of the common. she is a most independent creature too; quite indifferent to opinions"-- "i suppose she must be extremely plain then"--i observed; "plain women always try to do something more or less startling in order to attract the attention denied to their personality." "true,--but that would not apply to miss clare. she is pretty, and knows how to dress besides." "_such_ a virtue in literary women!" exclaimed diana chesney--"some of them _are_ such dowdies!" "most people of culture," went on lady sibyl--"in our set at any rate, are accustomed to look upon miss clare as quite an exception to the usual run of authors. she is charming in herself as well as in her books, and she goes everywhere. she writes with inspiration,--and always has something so new to say--" "that of course all the critics are down upon her?" queried lucio. "oh, naturally! but _we_ never read reviews." "nor anyone else i should hope,"--said lord elton with a laugh--"except the fellows who write them, ha--ha--ha! i call it damned impertinence--excuse the word--on the part of a newspaper hack to presume to teach _me_ what i ought to read, or what i ought to appreciate. i'm quite capable of forming my own judgment on any book that ever was written. but i avoid all the confounded 'new' poets,--avoid 'em like poison, sir--ha--ha! anything but a 'new' poet; the old ones are good enough for me! why sir, these reviewers who give themselves such airs with a pennorth of ink and a pen, are mostly half-grown half-educated boys who for a couple of guineas a week undertake to tell the public what _they_ think of such and such a book, as if anyone cared a jot about their green opinions! ridiculous--quite ridiculous!--what do they take the public for i wonder! editors of responsible journals ought to know better than to employ such young coxcombs just because they can get them cheap----" at this juncture the butler came up behind his master's chair and whispered a few words. the earl's brow clouded,--then he addressed his sister-in-law,-- "charlotte, lady elton sends word that she will come into the drawing-room to-night. perhaps you had better go and see that she is made comfortable." and, as miss charlotte rose, he turned to us saying--"my wife is seldom well enough to see visitors, but this evening she feels inclined for a little change and distraction from the monotony of her sick-room. it will be very kind of you two gentlemen to entertain her,--she cannot speak much, but her hearing and sight are excellent, and she takes great interest in all that is going on. dear dear me!" and he heaved a short troubled sigh--"she used to be one of the brightest of women!" "the sweet countess!" murmured miss chesney with patronizing tenderness--"she is quite lovely still!" lady sibyl glanced at her with a sudden haughty frown which showed me plainly what a rebellious temper the young beauty held in control; and i fell straightway more in love,--according to _my_ idea of love,--than ever. i confess i like a woman to have a certain amount of temper. i cannot endure your preternaturally amiable female who can find nothing in all the length or breadth of the globe to move her to any other expression than a fatuous smile. i love to see the danger-flash in bright eyes,--the delicate quiver of pride in the lines of a lovely mouth, and the warm flush of indignation on fair cheeks. it all suggests spirit, and untamed will; and rouses in a man the love of mastery that is born in his nature, urging him to conquer and subdue that which seems unconquerable. and all the desire of such conquest was strong within me, when at the close of dinner i rose and held the door open for the ladies to pass out of the room. as the fair sibyl went, the violets she wore at her bosom dropped. i picked them up and made my first move. "may i keep these?" i said in a low tone. her breath came and went quickly,--but she looked straight in my eyes with a smile that perfectly comprehended my hidden meaning. "you may!" she answered. i bowed,--closed the door behind her, and secreting the flowers, returned, well-satisfied, to my place at table. xiii left with myself and lucio, lord elton threw off all reserve, and became not only familiar, but fawning in his adulation of us both. an abject and pitiable desire to please and propitiate us expressed itself in his every look and word; and i firmly believe that if i had coolly and brutally offered to buy his fair daughter by private treaty for a hundred thousand pounds, that sum to be paid down to him on the day of marriage, he would have gladly agreed to sell. apart however from his personal covetousness, i felt and knew that my projected courtship of lady sibyl would of necessity resolve itself into something more or less of a market bargain, unless indeed i could win the girl's love. i meant to try and do this, but i fully realized how difficult, nay, almost impossible it would be for her to forget the fact of my unhampered and vast fortune, and consider me for myself alone. herein is one of the blessings of poverty which the poor are frequently too apt to forget. a moneyless man if he wins a woman's love knows that such love is genuine and untainted by self-interest; but a rich man can never be truly certain of love at all. the advantages of a wealthy match are constantly urged upon all marriageable girls by both their parents and friends,--and it would have to be a very unsophisticated feminine nature indeed that could contemplate a husband possessing five millions of money, without a touch of purely interested satisfaction. a very wealthy man can never be sure even of friendship,--while the highest, strongest and noblest kind of love is nearly always denied to him, in this way carrying out the fulfilment of those strange but true words--"how hardly shall he that is a rich man, enter the kingdom of heaven!" the heaven of a woman's love, tried and proved true through disaster and difficulty,--of her unflinching faithfulness and devotion in days of toil and bitter anguish,--of her heroic self-abnegation, sweetness and courage through the darkest hours of doubt and disappointment;--this bright and splendid side of woman's character is reserved by divine ordinance for the poor man. the millionaire can indeed wed whomsoever he pleases among all the beauties of the world,--he can deck his wife in gorgeous apparel, load her with jewels and look upon her in all the radiance of her richly adorned loveliness as one may look upon a perfect statue or matchless picture,--but he can never reach the deeper secrets of her soul or probe the well-springs of her finer nature. i thought this even thus early in the beginning of my admiration for lady sibyl elton, though i did not then dwell upon it as i have often done since. i was too elated with the pride of wealth to count the possibilities of subtle losses amid so many solid gains; and i enjoyed to the full and with a somewhat contemptuous malice the humble prostration of a 'belted earl' before the dazzling mine of practically unlimited cash as represented to him in the persons of my brilliant comrade and myself. i took a curious sort of pleasure in patronizing him, and addressed him with a protecting air of indulgent kindness whereat he seemed gratified. inwardly i laughed as i thought how differently matters would have stood, supposing i had been indeed no more than 'author'! i might have proved to be one of the greatest writers of the age, but if, with that, i had been poor or only moderately well off, this same half bankrupt earl who privately boarded an american heiress for two thousand guineas a year, would have deemed it a 'condescension' to so much as invite me to his house,--would have looked down upon me from his titled nothingness and perhaps carelessly alluded to me as 'a man who writes--er--yes--er--rather clever i believe!' and then would have thought no more about me. for this very cause as 'author' still, though millionaire, i took a fantastic pleasure in humiliating his lordship as much as possible, and i found the best way to do this was to talk about willowsmere. i saw that he winced at the very name of his lost estate, and that notwithstanding this, he could not avoid showing his anxiety as to my intentions with regard to its occupation. lucio, whose wisdom and foresight had suggested my becoming the purchaser of the place, assisted me in the most adroit fashion to draw him out and to make his character manifest, and by the time we had finished our cigars and coffee i knew that the 'proud' earl of elton, who could trace his lineage to the earliest days of the crusaders, was as ready to bend his back and crawl in the dust for money as the veriest hotel-porter expectant of a sovereign 'tip.' i had never entertained a high opinion of the aristocracy, and on this occasion it was certainly not improved, but remembering that the spendthrift nobleman beside me was the father of lady sibyl, i treated him on the whole with more respect than his mean and grasping nature deserved. on returning to the drawing-room after dinner i was struck by the chill weirdness that seemed to be imparted to it by the addition of lady elton's couch, which, placed near the fire, suggested a black sarcophagus in bulk and outline. it was practically a narrow bed on wheels, though partially disguised by a silk coverlet draped skilfully so as to somewhat hide its coffin-like shape. the extended figure of the paralysed countess herself presented a death-like rigidity; but her face as she turned it towards us on our entrance, was undisfigured as yet and distinctly handsome, her eyes especially being large, clear, and almost brilliant. her daughter introduced us both in a low tone, and she moved her head slightly by way of acknowledgment, studying us curiously the while. "well, my dear"--said lord elton briskly, "this is an unexpected pleasure! it is nearly three months since you honoured us with your company. how do you feel?" "better," she replied slowly, yet distinctly, her gaze now fixed with wondering intentness on prince rimânez. "mother found the room rather cold"--explained lady sibyl--"so we brought her as near to the fire as possible. it _is_ cold"--and she shivered--"i fancy it must be freezing hard." "where is diana?" asked the earl, looking about in search of that lively young lady. "miss chesney has gone to her own room to write a letter;" replied his daughter somewhat frigidly--"she will be back directly." at this moment lady elton feebly raised her hand and pointed to lucio, who had moved aside to answer some question asked of him by miss charlotte. "who is that?" she murmured. "why, mother dear, i told you"--said lady sibyl gently--"that is prince lucio rimânez, papa's great friend." the countess's pallid hand still remained lifted, as though it were frozen in air. "_what_ is he?" the slow voice again inquired,--and then the hand dropped suddenly like a dead thing. "now helena, you must not excite yourself"--said her husband, bending over her couch with real or assumed anxiety; "surely you remember all i have told you about the prince? and also about this gentleman, mr geoffrey tempest?" she nodded, and her eyes, turning reluctantly away from rimânez, regarded me fixedly. "you are a very young man to be a millionaire,"--were her next words, uttered with evident difficulty--"are you married?" i smiled, and answered in the negative. her looks wandered from me to her daughter's face,--then back to me again with a singularly intent expression. finally, the potent magnetism of lucio's presence again attracted her, and she indicated him by a gesture. "ask your friend ... to come here ... and speak to me." rimânez turned instinctively at her request, and with his own peculiar charm and gallant grace of bearing, came to the side of the paralysed lady, and taking her hand, kissed it. "your face seems familiar to me,"--she said, speaking now, as it seemed, with greater ease--"have i ever met you before?" "dear lady, you may have done so"--he replied in dulcet tones and with a most captivating gentleness of manner--"it occurs to me, now i think of it, that years ago, i saw once, as a passing vision of loveliness, in the hey-day of youth and happiness, helena fitzroy, before she was countess of elton." "you must have been a mere boy--a child,--at that time!" she murmured faintly smiling. "not so!--for you are still young, madame, and i am old. you look incredulous? alas, why is it i wonder, i may not look the age i am! most of my acquaintances spend a great part of their lives in trying to look the age they are not; and i never came across a man of fifty who was not proud to be considered thirty-nine. my desires are more laudable,--yet honourable eld refuses to impress itself upon my features. it is quite a sore point with me i assure you." "well, how old are you really?" asked lady sibyl smiling at him. "ah, i dare not tell you!" he answered, returning the smile; "but i ought to explain that in my countings i judge age by the workings of thought and feeling, more than by the passing of years. thus it should not surprise you to hear that i feel myself old,--old as the world!" "but there are scientists who say that the world is young;" i observed, "and that it is only now beginning to feel its forces and put forth its vigour." "such optimistic wise-acres are wrong," he answered,--"the world is a veritable husk of a planet; humanity has nearly completed all its allotted phases, and the end is near." "the end?" echoed lady sibyl,--"do you believe the world will ever come to an end?" "i do, most certainly. or, to be more correct, it will not actually perish, but will simply change. and the change will not agree with the constitution of its present inhabitants. they will call the transformation the day of judgment. i should imagine it would be a fine sight." the countess gazed at him wonderingly,--lady sibyl seemed amused. "i would rather not witness it,"--said lord elton gruffly. "oh, why?" and rimânez looked about with quite a cheerful air--"a final glimpse of the planet ere we _a_scend or _de_scend to our future homes elsewhere, would be something to remember! madame"--here he addressed lady elton; "are you fond of music?" the invalid smiled gratefully, and bent her head in acquiescence. miss chesney had just entered the room and heard the question. "do you play?" she exclaimed vivaciously, touching him on the arm with her fan. he bowed. "i do. in an erratic sort of fashion. i also sing. music has always been one of my passions. when i was very young,--ages ago,--i used to imagine i could hear the angel israfel chanting his strophes amid the golden glow of heavenly glory,--himself white-winged and wonderful, with a voice out-ringing beyond the verge of paradise!" as he spoke, a sudden silence fell upon us all. something in his accent touched my heart to a strange sense of sorrow and yearning, and the countess of elton's dark eyes, languid with long suffering, grew soft as though with repressed tears. "sometimes," he continued more lightly--"just at odd moments--i like to believe in paradise. it is a relief, even to a hardened sinner like myself, to fancy that there _may_ exist something in the way of a world better than this one." "surely sir," said miss charlotte fitzroy severely--"you believe in heaven?" he looked at her and smiled slightly. "madame, forgive me! i do not believe in the clerical heaven. i know you will be angry with me for this frank confession! but i cannot picture the angels in white smocks with goose wings, or the deity as a somewhat excitable personage with a beard. personally i should decline to go to any heaven which was only a city with golden streets; and i should object to a sea of glass, resenting it as a want of invention on the part of the creative intelligence. but----do not frown, dear miss fitzroy!--i do believe in heaven all the same,--a different kind of heaven,--i often see it in my dreams!" he paused, and again we were all silent, gazing at him. lady sibyl's eyes indeed, rested upon him with such absorbed interest, that i became somewhat irritated, and was glad, when turning towards the countess once more, he said quietly. "shall i give you some music now, madame?" she murmured assent, and followed him with a vaguely uneasy glance as he crossed over to the grand piano and sat down. i had never heard him either play or sing; in fact so far as his accomplishments went, i knew nothing of him as yet except that he was a perfect master of the art of horsemanship. with the first few bars he struck i half started from my chair in amazement;--could a mere pianoforte produce such sounds?--or was there some witchery hidden in the commonplace instrument, unguessed by any other performer? i stared around me, bewildered,--i saw miss charlotte drop her knitting abstractedly,--diana chesney, lying lazily back in one corner of the sofa, half closed her eyelids in dreamy ecstasy,--lord elton stood near the fire resting one arm on the mantelpiece and shading his fuzzy brows with his hand,--and lady sibyl sat beside her mother, her lovely face pale with emotion, while on the worn features of the invalided lady there was an expression of mingled pain and pleasure difficult to describe. the music swelled into passionate cadence,--melodies crossed and re-crossed each other like rays of light glittering among green leaves,--voices of birds and streams and tossing waterfalls chimed in with songs of love and playful merriment;--anon came wilder strains of grief and angry clamour; cries of despair were heard echoing through the thunderous noise of some relentless storm,--farewells everlastingly shrieked amid sobs of reluctant shuddering agony;--and then, as i listened, before my eyes a black mist gathered slowly, and i thought i saw great rocks bursting asunder into flame, and drifting islands in a sea of fire,--faces, wonderful, hideous, beautiful, peered at me out of a darkness denser than night, and in the midst of this there came a tune, complete in sweetness and suggestion,--a piercing sword-like tune that plunged into my very heart and rankled there,----my breath failed me,--my senses swam,--i felt that i must move, speak, cry out, and implore that this music, this horribly insidious music should cease ere i swooned with the voluptuous poison of it,--when, with a full chord of splendid harmony that rolled out upon the air like a breaking wave, the intoxicating sounds ebbed away into silence. no one spoke,--our hearts were yet beating too wildly with the pulsations roused by that wondrous lyric storm. diana chesney was the first to break the spell. "well, that beats everything i've ever heard!" she murmured tremulously. i could say nothing,--i was too occupied with my own thoughts. something in the music had instilled itself into my blood, or so i fancied, and the clinging subtle sweetness of it, moved me to strange emotions that were neither wise, nor worthy of a man. i looked at lady sibyl; she was very pale,--her eyes were cast down and her hands were trembling. on a sudden impulse i rose and went to rimânez where he still sat at the piano, his hands dumbly wandering over the keys. "you are a great master"--i said--"a wonderful performer! but do you know what your music suggests?" he met my fixed gaze, shrugged his shoulders, and shook his head. "crime!" i whispered--"you have roused in me evil thoughts of which i am ashamed. i did not think that was possible to so divine an art." he smiled, and his eyes glittered with the steely brightness of stars on a wintry night. "art takes its colours from the mind, my dear friend;"--he said--"if you discover evil suggestions in my music, the evil, i fear, must be in your own nature." "or in yours!" i said quickly. "or in mine;"--he agreed coldly--"i have often told you i am no saint." i stood hesitatingly, looking at him. for one moment his great personal beauty appeared hateful to me, though i knew not why. then the feeling of distrust and repulsion slowly passed, leaving me humiliated and abashed. "pardon me, lucio!" i murmured regretfully--"i spoke in haste; but truly your music almost put me in a state of frenzy,--i never heard anything in the least like it----" "nor i,"--said lady sibyl, who just then moved towards the piano--"it was marvellous! do you know, it quite frightened me?" "i am sorry!" he answered with a penitent air--"i know i am quite a failure as a pianist--i am not sufficiently 'restrained,' as the press men would say." "a failure? good god!" exclaimed lord elton at this juncture--"why, if you played like that in public, you'd drive everyone frantic!" "with alarm?" queried lucio, laughing--"or with disgust?" "nonsense! you know what i mean very well. i have always had a contempt for the piano as an instrument, but by jove! i never heard such music as yours even in a full orchestra. it is extraordinary!--it is positively magnificent! where in the world did you study?" "in nature's conservatoire;"--replied rimânez lazily. "my first 'maestro' was an amiable nightingale. he, singing on a branch of fir when the moon was full, explained with liquid-noted patience, how to construct and produce a pure roulade, cadenza and trill,--and when i had learned thus far, he showed me all the most elaborate methods of applying rhythmic tune to the upward and downward rush of the wind, thus supplying me with perfect counterpoint. chords i learned from old neptune, who was good enough to toss a few of his largest billows to the shore for my special benefit. he nearly deafened me with his instructions, being somewhat excitable and loud-voiced,--but on finding me an apt pupil, he drew back his waves to himself with so much delicacy among the pebbles and sand, that at once i mastered the secret of playing _arpeggi_. once too i had a finishing lesson from a dream,--a mystic thing with wild hair and wings--it sang one word in my ears, and the word was unpronounceable in mortal speech,--but after many efforts i discovered it lurking in the scale of sound. the best part of it all was, that my instructors asked no fees!" "i think you are a poet as well as a musician,"--said lady sibyl. "a poet! spare me!--my dear young lady, why are you so cruel as to load me with so vile an imputation! better be a murderer than a poet,--one is treated with much more respect and courteous consideration,--by the press at anyrate. the murderer's breakfast-menu will be given due place in many of the most estimable journals,--but the poet's lack of both breakfast and dinner will be deemed his fitting reward. call me a live-stock producer, a horse-breeder, a timber-merchant,--anything but a poet! why even tennyson became an amateur milkman to somewhat conceal and excuse the shame and degradation of writing verse!" we all laughed. "well, you must admit," said lord elton, "that we've had rather too much of poets lately. it's no wonder we're sick of them, and that poetry has fallen into disrepute. poets are such a quarrelsome lot too--effeminate, puling, unmanly humbugs!" "you are speaking of the newly 'discovered' ones of course," said lucio--"yes, they are a weedy collection. i have sometimes thought that out of pure philanthropy i would start a bon-bon manufactory, and employ them to write mottoes for the crackers. it would keep them out of mischief and provide them with a little pocket-money, for as matters stand they do not make a farthing by their books. but i do not call them 'poets' at all,--they are mere rhymers. one or two real poets do exist, but, like the prophets of scripture, they are not 'in society,' nor can they get their logs rolled by any of their contemporaries. they are not favourites with any 'set'; that is why i am afraid my dear friend tempest will never be accepted as the genius he is; society will be too fond of him to let him go down into dust and ashes to gather the laurel." "it is not necessary to go down into dust and ashes for that," i said. "i assure you it is!--" he answered gaily--"positively imperative. the laurel flourishes best so,--it will not grow in a hot-house." at that moment diana chesney approached. "lady elton would like to hear you sing, prince--" she said--"will you give us that pleasure? do! something quite simple, you know,--it will set our nerves straight after your terribly beautiful music! you'd hardly believe it perhaps,--but i really feel quite unstrung!" he folded his hands with a droll air of penitence. "forgive me!" he said, "i'm always, as the church service says, doing those things i ought not to do." miss chesney laughed, a trifle nervously. "oh, i forgive you!" she replied--"on condition that you sing." "i obey!" and with that he turned again to the piano, and playing a strange wild minor accompaniment sang the following stanzas: sleep, my belovëd, sleep! be patient!--we shall keep our secret closely hid beneath the coffin-lid,-- there is no other place in earth or air for such a love as ours, or such despair! and neither hell nor heaven shall care to win our loathëd souls, rejoicing in their sin! sleep!--for my hand is sure,-- the cold steel bright and pure strikes through thy heart and mine shedding our blood like wine;-- sin's sweetness is too sweet, and if the shame of love must be our curse, we hurl the blame back on the gods who gave us love with breath and tortured us from passion into death! this strange song, sung in the most glorious of baritones, full and rich, and vibrating with power and sweetness, had a visibly thrilling effect upon us all. again we were struck dumb with surprise and something like fear,--and again diana chesney broke the silence. "you call that simple!" she said, half petulantly. "quite so. love and death are the simplest things in the world"--replied lucio.--"the ballad is a mere trifle,--it is entitled 'the last love-song' and is supposed to be the utterance of a lover about to kill his mistress and himself. such events happen every day,--you know that by the newspapers,--they are perfectly common-place----" he was interrupted by a sharp clear voice ringing imperatively across the room-- "where did you learn that song?" xiv it was the paralysed countess who spoke. she had managed to partly raise herself on her couch, and her face expressed positive terror. her husband hurried to her side,--and, with a curiously cynical smile on his lips, rimânez rose from the piano. miss charlotte, who had sat rigidly upright and silent for some time, hastened to attend upon her sister, but lady elton was singularly excited, and appeared to have gained a sudden access of unnatural vigour. "go away,--i'm not ill,"--she said impatiently--"i feel better,--much better than i have done for months. the music does me good." and addressing her husband, she added--"ask your friend to come and sit here by me,--i want to talk to him. he has a magnificent voice,--and--i know that song he sang,--i remember reading it--in a manuscript album--long ago. i want to know where he found it--" rimânez here advanced with his gentle tread and courteous bearing, and lord elton gave him a chair beside the invalid. "you are working miracles on my wife,"--he said--"i have not seen her so animated for years." and leaving the two to talk, he crossed over to where lady sibyl, myself and miss chesney were all seated in a group, chatting more or less unrestrainedly. "i have just been expressing the hope that you and your daughter will pay me a visit at willowsmere, lord elton," i said. his brows contracted a little, but he forced a smile. "we shall be delighted,"--he mumbled--"when do you take possession?" "as soon as it is at all feasible"--i replied--"i shall wait in town till the next levée is over, as both my friend and myself have arranged to be presented." "oh--ah--yes!--er--yes! that is always advisable. and it's not half such a troublesome business as a drawing-room is for the ladies. it's soon over,--and low bodices are not _de rigeur_--ha--ha--ha! who is your presenter?" i named a distinguished personage, closely connected with the court, and the earl nodded. "a very good man,--you could not have a better"--he said complacently--"and this book of yours,--when does it come out?" "next week." "we must get it,--we must certainly get it,"--said lord elton, assuming interest,--"sybil, you must put it down on your library list." she assented, though, as i thought a trifle indifferently. "on the contrary you must allow me to present it to you;" i said--"it will be a pleasure to me which i hope you will not deny." "you are very kind,"--she answered, lifting her beautiful eyes to mine as she spoke--"but the librarian at mudie's is sure to send it--he knows i read everything. though i confess i never buy any books except those by mavis clare." again that woman's name! i felt annoyed, but took care not to show my annoyance. "i shall be jealous of mavis clare," i said playfully. "most men are!" she replied quietly. "you are indeed an enthusiastic partisan of hers!" i exclaimed, somewhat surprised. "yes, i suppose i am. i like to see any member of my sex distinguish herself as nobly as she does. i have no genius of my own, and that is one of the reasons why i honour it so much in other women." i was about to make some suitable compliment by way of response to this remark, when we were all violently startled from our seats by a most horrible cry,--a gasping scream such as might be wrung from some tortured animal. aghast at the sound we stood for a moment inert, staring at rimânez, who came quickly towards us with an air of grave concern. "i am afraid," he said softly--"that the countess is not so well,--perhaps you had better go to her--" another shriek interrupted his words, and transfixed with horror we saw lady elton struggling in the throes of some sudden and terrific convulsion, her hands beating the air as if she were fighting with an unseen enemy. in one second her face underwent such hideous contortions as robbed it of all human semblance, and between the agonized pantings of her difficult breath, her half-choked voice could be heard uttering wild cries-- "mercy!--mercy!--oh god--god! tell sibyl!--pray--pray to god,--pray--" and with that she fell heavily back, speechless and unconscious. all was instant confusion. lady sibyl rushed to her mother's side, with miss charlotte,--diana chesney hung back trembling and afraid,--lord elton sprang to the bell and rang it furiously. "fetch the doctor!" he cried to the startled servant--"lady elton has had another shock! she must be taken to her room at once!" "can i be of any service?" i inquired, with a side-glance at rimânez, who stood gravely apart, a statuesquely composed figure of silence. "no no,--thanks all the same!" and the earl pressed my hand gratefully--"she should not have come downstairs,--it has been too exciting for her. sybil, don't look at her, my dear--it will only unnerve you,--miss chesney, pray go to your room,--charlotte can do all that is possible----" as he spoke two of the men-servants came in to carry the insensible countess upstairs,--and as they slowly bore her on her coffin-like couch past me, one of them drew the coverlet across her face to conceal it. but not so quickly that i could not see the awful change impressed upon it,--the indelible horror that was stamped on the drawn features,--horror such as surely never was seen except in a painter's idea of some lost soul in torment. the eyes were rolled up and fixed in their sockets like balls of glass, and in them also was frozen the same frenzied desperate look of fear. it was a dreadful face!--so dreadful in its ghastly immovableness that i was all at once reminded of my hideous vision of the previous night, and the pallid countenances of the three phantoms that had scared me in my sleep. lady elton's looks now resembled theirs! sickened and appalled i averted my eyes, and was glad to see rimânez taking farewell of his host, the while he expressed his regret and sympathy with him in his domestic affliction. i myself, approaching lady sibyl, pressed her cold and trembling hand in mine, and respectfully kissed it. "i am deeply sorry!" i murmured--"i wish i could do anything to console you!" she looked at me with dry calm eyes. "thank-you. but the doctors have always said that my mother would have another shock depriving her of speech. it is very sad; she will probably live for some years like that." i again expressed my sympathy. "may i come and inquire about you all to-morrow?" i asked. "it will be very kind of you,"--she answered quietly. "shall i see you if i come?" i said in a lower tone. "if you wish it,--certainly!" our eyes met; and i knew by instinct that she read my thoughts. i pressed her hand again and was not repulsed,--then bowing profoundly, i left her to make my adieux to lord elton and miss chesney, who seemed terribly upset and frightened. miss charlotte fitzroy had left the room in attendance on her sister, and she did not return to bid us good-night. rimânez lingered a moment behind me to say another word or two to the earl, and when he joined me in the hall and threw on his opera-coat, he was smiling to himself somewhat singularly. "an unpleasant end for helena, countess of elton"--he said, when we were in our brougham, driving away--"paralysis is perhaps the worst of all the physical punishments that can befall a 'rapid' lady." "was she 'rapid'?" "well,--perhaps 'rapid' is too mild a term, but i can find no other;"--he answered--"when she was young,--she is barely fifty now,--she did everything that could be done by woman at her worst and wildest. she had scores of lovers,--and i believe one of them cleared off her husband's turf-debts,--the earl consenting gladly,--on a rather pressing occasion." "what disgraceful conduct!" i exclaimed. he looked at me with an expression of cynical amusement. "think so? the 'upper ten' quite condone that sort of thing in their own set now-a-days. it is all right. if a lady has lovers, and her husband beams benevolence on the situation what can be said? nothing. how very tender your conscience is, geoffrey!" i sat silent, thinking. my companion lit a cigarette and offered me one. i took it mechanically without lighting it. "i made a mistake this evening,"--he went on--"i should not have sung that 'last love-song.' the fact is, the words were written by one of her ladyship's former admirers, a man who was something of a poet in his way,--and she had an idea that she was the only person living who had ever seen the lines. she wanted to know if i knew the man who composed them, and i was able to say that i did--very intimately. i was just explaining how it was, and why i knew him so well, when the distressing attack of convulsions came on, and finished our conversation." "she looked horrible!" i said. "the paralysed helen of a modern troy? yes,--her countenance at the last was certainly not attractive. beauty combined with wantonness frequently ends in the drawn twitch, fixed eye and helpless limbs of life-in-death. it is nature's revenge on the outraged body,--and do you know, eternity's revenge on the impure soul is extremely similar?" "what do you know about it?" i said, smiling in spite of myself as i looked at his fine face, expressive of perfect health and splendid intellectuality--"your absurd fancies about the soul are the only traces of folly i discover in you." "really? well i am glad i have something of the fool in my disposition,--foolishness being the only quality that makes wisdom possible. i confess i have odd, very odd notions about the soul." "i will excuse them--" i said, laughing--god forgive me, in my own insensate blind conceit,--the while he regarded me fixedly--"in fact i will excuse anything for the sake of your voice. i do not flatter you, lucio,--you sing like an angel." "don't use impossible comparisons;"--he replied--"have you ever heard an angel sing?" "yes!" i answered smiling--"i have,--this very night!" he turned deadly pale. "a very open compliment!" he said, forcing a laugh,--and with almost rough haste, he suddenly let down the window of the carriage though the night was bitter cold--"this vehicle is suffocating me,--let us have some air. see how the stars are shining!--like great crown jewels--deity's regalia! hard frost, like hard times, brings noble works into prominence. yonder, far off, is a star you can hardly perceive; red as a cinder at times and again blue as the lightning,--i can always discover it, though many cannot. it is algol,--judged by superstitious folk to be an evil star. i love it chiefly on account of its bad reputation,--it is no doubt much maligned. it may be a cold quarter of hell where weeping spirits sit frozen in ice made of their own congealed tears,--or it may be a preparatory school for heaven--who knows! yonder too, shines venus,--your star geoffrey!--for you are in love my friend!--come confess it! are you not?" "i am not sure;"--i answered slowly--"the phrase 'in love' scarcely describes my present feeling...." "you have dropped these,"--he said suddenly, picking up a fast fading knot of violets from the floor of the brougham and holding them towards me. he smiled, as i uttered an exclamation of annoyance. they were lady sibyl's flowers which i had inadvertently let fall, and i saw he knew it. i took them from his hand in silence. "my dear fellow, do not try to hide your intentions from your best friend,"--he said seriously and kindly--"you wish to marry the earl of elton's beautiful daughter, and you shall. trust me!--i will do everything i can to promote your desire." "you will?" i exclaimed with unconcealed delight, for i fully recognised the influence he had over sibyl's father. "i will, i promise--" he answered gravely--"i assure you that such a marriage would be one after my own heart. i'll do all i can for you,--and i have made many matches in my time!" my heart beat high with triumph,--and when we parted that night i wrung his hand fervently and told him i was devoutly grateful to the fates for sending me such a good friend as he was. "grateful to--whom did you say?" he asked with a whimsical look. "to the fates!" "are you really? they are very ugly sisters i believe. perhaps they were your ghostly visitors of last night!" "god forbid!" i ejaculated. "ah! god never forbids the fulfilment of his own laws!" he answered--"to do so he would have to destroy himself." "if he exists at all!" i said carelessly. "true! if--!" and with this, we separated to our different quarters in the 'grand.' xv after that evening i became a regular and welcome visitor at lord elton's house, and was soon on terms of the most friendly intimacy with all the members of his family, including even the severely pious miss charlotte fitzroy. it was not difficult for me to see that my matrimonial aspirations were suspected,--and though the encouragement i received from lady sibyl herself was so slight as to make me doubtful whether after all my hopes of winning her would ever be realized, the earl made no secret of his delight at the idea of securing me as a son-in-law. such wealth as mine was not to be met with every day,--and even had i been a blackleg of the turf or a retired jockey, instead of an 'author,' i should, with five millions at my back, have been considered quite as desirable a suitor for the lady sibyl's hand. rimânez scarcely ever went with me to the eltons' now, pleading as excuse much pressing business and many social engagements. i was not altogether sorry for this. greatly as i admired and honoured him, his extraordinary physical beauty and fascination of manner were in dangerous contrast to my merely 'ordinary good-looking' personality, and it seemed to me impossible that any woman, seeing much of him, could be expected to give me the preference. all the same i had no fear that he would ever voluntarily become my rival,--his antipathy to women was too deep-rooted and sincere for that. on this point indeed his feelings were so strong and passionate that i often wondered why the society sirens who eagerly courted his attention remained so blind and unconscious to the chill cynicism that lurked beneath his seeming courtesy,--the cutting satire that was coupled with apparent compliment, and the intensity of hatred that flamed under the assumed expression of admiring homage in his flashing eyes. however it was not my business to point out to those who could not, or would not, see the endless peculiarities of my friend's variable disposition. i did not pay much heed to them even so far as i myself was concerned, for i had grown accustomed to the quick changes he was wont to ring on all the gamut of human feeling, and absorbed in my own life-schemes i did not trouble myself to intimately study the man who had in a couple of months become my _fidus achates_. i was engrossed at the moment in doing all i could to increase the earl of elton's appreciative sense of my value as a man and a millionaire, and to this end i paid some of his pressing debts, lent him a large sum of money without demanding interest or promise of repayment, and stocked his cellar with presents of such rare old wines as he had not been able to afford to purchase for himself for many years. thus was confidence easily engendered between us, even to that point of affection which displayed itself in his lordship's readiness to thrust his arm through mine when we sauntered together down piccadilly, and his calling me 'my dear boy' in public. never shall i forget the bewildered amazement of the scrubby little editor of a sixpenny magazine who met me face to face thus accompanied in the park one morning! that he knew the earl of elton by sight was evident, and that he also knew me his apoplectic stare confessed. he had pompously refused to even read any of my offered contributions on the ground that i had 'no name,'--and now--! he would have given a month's salary if i had but condescended to recognize him! i did not so condescend,--but passed him by, listening to, and laughing with my intended future father-in-law, who was retailing an extremely ancient joke for my benefit. the incident was slight, even trumpery,--yet it put me in a good humour, for one of the chiefest pleasures i had out of my wealth was the ability to repay with vengeful interest all the contempt and insult that had beaten me back from every chance of earning a livelihood while i was poor. in all my visits to the eltons, i never saw the paralysed countess again. since the last terrible visitation of her dread disease, she had not moved. she merely lived and breathed--no more. lord elton told me that the worst part of her illness at present, so far as it affected those who had to attend upon her, was the particularly hideous alteration of her face. "the fact is," he said, not without a shudder--"she's dreadful to look at,--positively dreadful!--no longer human, you know. she used to be a lovely woman,--now she is literally frightful. her eyes especially;--they are as scared and wild as if she had seen the devil. quite an awful expression i assure you!--and it never alters. the doctors can do nothing--and of course it's very trying for sibyl, and everybody." i assented sympathetically; and realising that a house holding such a figure of living death within it must of necessity be more or less gloomy and depressing to a young and vigorous nature, i lost no opportunity of giving lady sibyl whatever slight pleasures were in my power to procure, for her distraction and entertainment. costly flowers, boxes for the opera and 'first nights' at the play,--every sort of attention that a man can pay to a woman without being considered officious or intrusive i offered, and was not repulsed. everything progressed well and favourably towards the easy attainment of my wishes,--i had no difficulties, no troubles of any kind,--and i voluntarily led a life of selfishly absorbed personal gratification, being commended and encouraged therein by a whole host of flatterers and interested acquaintances. willowsmere court was mine, and every newspaper in the kingdom had commented on the purchase, in either servile or spiteful paragraphs. my lawyers had warmly congratulated me on the possession of so admirable a property which they, in strict accordance with what they conceived to be their duty, had personally inspected and approved. the place was now in the hands of a firm of decorators and furnishers, recommended by rimânez, and it was expected to be in perfect order for my habitation in early summer, at which time i purposed entertaining a large house-party of more or less distinguished people. meantime, what i had once considered would be the great event of my life, took place,--namely the publication of my book. trumpeted forth by the most heraldic advertisements, it was at last launched on the uncertain and fluctuating tide of public favour, and special 'advance' copies were sent to the office of every magazine and journal in london. the day after this was done, lucio, as i now familiarly called him, came in to my room with a mysterious and mischievous air. "geoffrey," he said--"i'm going to lend you five hundred pounds!" i looked up with a smile. "what for?" he held out a cheque towards me. glancing at it i saw that the sum he mentioned was filled in and endorsed with his signature, but that the name of the person to whom the money was to be made payable, had not yet been written. "well? what does it mean?" "it means"--replied he--"that i am going to see mr mcwhing this morning. i have an appointment with him at twelve. you, as geoffrey tempest, the author of the book mr mcwhing is going to criticise and make a 'boom' of, could not possibly put your name to such a cheque. it would not be 'good form'--it might crop up afterwards and so betray 'the secrets of the prison-house.' but for me it is another affair. i am going to 'pose' as your businessman--your 'literary agent' who pockets ten per cent. of the profits and wants to make a 'big thing' out of you, and i'm going to talk the matter over with the perfectly practical mcwhing who has, like every true scot, a keen eye for the main chance. of course it will be in confidence,--strict confidence!" and he laughed--"it's all a question of business you know,--in these commercial days, literature has become a trade like everything else, and even critics only work for what pays them. as indeed why should they not?" "do you mean to tell me mcwhing will take that five hundred?" i asked dubiously. "i mean to tell you nothing of the kind. i would not put the matter so coarsely for the world! this money is not for mcwhing,--it is for a literary charity." "indeed! i thought you had an idea perhaps of offering a bribe...." "bribe! good heavens! bribe a critic! impossible, my good geoffrey!--such a thing was never heard of--never, never, never!" and he shook his head and rolled up his eyes with infinite solemnity--"no no! press people never take money for anything--not even for 'booming' a new gold-mining company,--not even for putting a notice of a fashionable concert into the morning post. everything in the english press is the just expression of pure and lofty sentiment, believe me! this little cheque is for a charity of which mr mcwhing is chief patron,--you see the civil list pensions all go by favour to the wrong persons nowadays; to the keeping of lunatic versifiers and retired actresses who never could act--the actual bona-fide 'genius' never gets anything out of government, and moreover would scorn to take a farthing from that penurious body, which grudges him anything higher than a money-recognition. it is as great an insult to offer a beggarly pension of fifty or a hundred pounds a year to a really great writer as to give him a knighthood,--and we cannot fall much lower than to be a knight, as knights go. the present five hundred pounds will help to relieve certain 'poor and proud' but pressing literary cases known to mcwhing alone!" his expression at this moment was so extraordinary, that i entirely failed to fathom it. "i have no doubt i shall be able to represent the benevolent and respectable literary agent to perfection--of course i shall insist on my ten per cent.!"--and he began laughing again. "but i can't stop to discuss the matter now with you--i'm off. i promised mcwhing to be with him at twelve o'clock precisely, and it's now half-past-eleven. i shall probably lunch with him, so don't wait for me. and concerning the five hundred, you needn't be in my debt an hour longer than you like--i'll take a cheque for the money back from you this evening." "all right"--i said--"but perhaps the great oracle of the cliques will reject your proposals with scorn." "if he does, then is utopia realized!"--replied lucio, carefully drawing on his gloves as he spoke--"where's a copy of your book? ah--here's one--smelling newly of the press," and he slipped the volume into his overcoat pocket; "allow me, before departure, to express the opinion that you are a singularly ungrateful fellow, geoffrey! here am i, perfectly devoted to your interests,--and despite my princedom actually prepared to 'pose' to mcwhing as your 'acting manager' _pro tem_, and you haven't so much as a thank-you to throw at me!" he stood before me smiling, the personification of kindness and good humour. i laughed a little. "mcwhing will never take _you_ for an acting manager or literary agent,"--i said--"you don't look it. if i seem churlish i'm sorry--but the fact is i am disgusted ..." "at what?" he inquired, still smiling. "oh, at the humbug of everything,"--i answered impatiently; "the stupid farce of it all. why shouldn't a book get noticed on its own merits without any appeal to cliquism and influential wire-pulling on the press?" "exactly!" and he delicately flicked a grain of dust off his coat while speaking--"and why shouldn't a man get received in society on his own merits, without any money to recommend him or any influential friend to back him up?" i was silent. "the world is as it is made,"--he went on, regarding me fixedly--"it is moved by the lowest and pettiest motives,--it works for the most trivial, ridiculous and perishable aims. it is not a paradise. it is not a happy family of united and affectionate brethren. it is an over-populated colony of jabbering and quarrelsome monkeys, who fancy they are men. philosophers in old days tried to teach it that the monkey-type should be exterminated for the growth and encouragement of a nobler race,--but they preached in vain--there never were enough real men alive to overcome the swarming majority of the beasts. god himself, they say, came down from heaven to try and set wrong things right, and to restore if possible his own defaced image to the general aspect of humanity,--and even he failed." "there is very little of god in this world"--i said bitterly; "there is much more devil!" he smiled,--a musing, dreamy smile that transfigured his countenance and made him look like a fine apollo absorbed in the thought of some new and glorious song. "no doubt!" he said, after a little pause--"mankind certainly prefer the devil to any other deity,--therefore if they elect him as their representative, it is scarcely to be wondered at that he governs where he is asked to govern. and yet--do you know geoffrey--this devil,--if there is one,--can hardly, i think, be quite so bad as his detractors say. i myself don't believe he is a whit worse than a nineteenth-century financier!" i laughed aloud at the comparison. "after that," i said--"you had better go to mcwhing. i hope you will tell him that i am the triple essence of all the newest 'discoveries' rolled into one!" "never fear!" returned lucio,--"i've learned all my stock-phrases by heart--a 'star of the first magnitude' etc.,--i've read the _athenæum_ till i've got the lingo of the literary auctioneer well-nigh perfect, and i believe i shall acquit myself admirably. au revoir!" he was gone; and i, after a little desultory looking over my papers, went out to lunch at arthur's, of which club i was now a member. on my way i stopped to look in at a bookseller's window to see if my 'immortal' production was yet on show. it was not,--and the volume put most conspicuously to the front among all the 'newest books' was one entitled 'differences. by mavis clare.' acting on a sudden impulse i went in to purchase it. "has this a good sale?" i asked, as the volume was handed to me. the clerk at the counter opened his eyes wide. "sale?" he echoed--"well, i should think so--rather! why everybody's reading it!" "indeed!" and i turned over the uncut pages carelessly--"i see no allusion whatever to it in the papers." the clerk smiled and shrugged his shoulders. "no--and you're not likely to, sir"--he said--"miss clare is too popular to need reviews. besides, a large number of the critics,--the 'log-rollers' especially, are mad against her for her success, and the public know it. only the other day a man came in here from one of the big newspaper offices and told me he was taking a few notes on the books which had the largest sales,--would i tell him which author's works were most in demand? i said miss clare took the lead,--as she does,--and he got into a regular rage. said he--'that's the answer i've had all along the line, and however true it is, it's no use to me because i dare not mention it. my editor would instantly scratch it out--he hates miss clare.' 'a precious editor you've got!' i said, and he looked rather queer. there's nothing like journalism, sir, for the suppression of truth!" i smiled, and went away with my purchase, convinced that i had wasted a few shillings on a mere piece of woman's trash. if this mavis clare was indeed so 'popular,' then her work must naturally be of the 'penny dreadful' order, for i, like many another literary man, laboured under the ludicrous inconsistency of considering the public an 'ass' while i myself desired nothing so much as the said 'ass's' applause and approval!--and therefore i could not imagine it capable of voluntarily selecting for itself any good work of literature without guidance from the critics. of course i was wrong; the great masses of the public in all nations are always led by some instinctive sense of right, that moves them to reject the false and unworthy, and select the true. completely prepared, like most men of my type to sneer and cavil at the book, chiefly because it was written by a feminine hand, i sat down in a retired corner of the club reading-room, and began to cut and skim the pages. i had not read many sentences before my heart sank with a heavy sense of fear and,--jealousy!--the slow fire of an insidious envy began to smoulder in my mind. what power had so gifted this author--this mere _woman_,--that she should dare to write better than i! and that she should force me, by the magic of her pen to mentally acknowledge, albeit with wrath and shame, my own inferiority! clearness of thought, brilliancy of style, beauty of diction, all these were hers, united to consummate ease of expression and artistic skill,--and all at once, in the very midst of reading, such a violent impulse of insensate rage possessed me that i flung the book down, dreading to go on with it. the potent, resistless, unpurchaseable quality of genius!--ah, i was not yet so blinded by my own conceit as to be unable to recognize that divine fire when i saw it flashing up from every page as i saw it now; but, to be compelled to give that recognition to a woman's work, galled and irritated me almost beyond endurance. women, i considered, should be kept in their places as men's drudges or toys--as wives, mothers, nurses, cooks, menders of socks and shirts, and housekeepers generally,--what right had they to intrude into the realms of art and snatch the laurels from their masters' brows! if i could but get the chance of reviewing this book, i thought to myself savagely!--i would misquote, misrepresent, and cut it to shreds with a joy too great for words! this mavis clare, 'unsexed,' as i at once called her in my own mind simply because she had the power i lacked,--wrote what she had to say with a gracious charm, freedom, and innate consciousness of strength,--a strength which forced me back upon myself and filled me with the bitterest humiliation. without knowing her i hated her,--this woman who could win fame without the aid of money, and who was crowned so brightly and visibly to the world that she was beyond criticism. i took up her book again and tried to cavil at it,--over one or two dainty bits of poetic simile and sentiment i laughed,--enviously. when i left the club later in the day, i took the book with me, divided between a curious desire to read it honestly through with justice to it and its author, and an impulse to tear it asunder and fling it into the road to be crushed in the mud under rolling cab and cart wheels. in this strange humour rimânez found me, when at about four o'clock he returned from his mission to david mcwhing, smiling and--triumphant. "congratulate me geoffrey!" he exclaimed as he entered my room--"congratulate me, and yourself! i am _minus_ the five hundred pound cheque i showed you this morning!" "mcwhing has pocketed it then,"--i said sullenly--"all right! much good may it do him, and his 'charity'!" rimânez gave me a quick observant glance. "why, what has happened to you since we parted?" he inquired, throwing off his overcoat and sitting down opposite to me--"you seem out of temper! yet you ought to be a perfectly happy man--for your highest ambition is about to be gratified. you said you wished to make your book and yourself 'the talk of london,'--well, within the next two or three weeks you will see yourself praised in a very large number of influential newspapers as the newest discovered 'genius' of the day, only a little way removed from shakespeare himself (three of the big leading magazines are guaranteed to say that) and all this through the affability of mr mcwhing, and the trifling sum of five hundred pounds! and are you not satisfied? really, my friend, you are becoming difficult!--i warned you that too much good fortune spoils a man." with a sudden movement i flung down mavis clare's book before him. "look at this"--i said--"does _she_ pay five hundred pounds to david mcwhing's charity?" he took up the volume and glanced at it. "certainly not. but then,--she gets slandered--not criticized!" "what does that matter!" i retorted--"the man from whom i bought this book says that everybody is reading it." "exactly!" and rimânez surveyed me with a curious expression, half of pity, half of amusement--"but you know the old axiom, my dear geoffrey?--'you may lead a horse to the water but you cannot make him drink.' which statement, interpreted for the present occasion, means that though certain log-rollers, headed by our estimable friend mcwhing, may drag the horse--i.e. the public, up to their own particularly prepared literary trough, they cannot force it to swallow the mixture. the horse frequently turns tail and runs away in search of its own provender,--it has done so in the case of miss clare. when the public choose an author for themselves, it is a dreadful thing of course for other authors,--but it really can't be helped!" "why should they choose mavis clare?" i demanded gloomily. "ah, why indeed!" he echoed smiling--"mcwhing would tell you they do it out of sheer idiotcy;--the public would answer that they choose her because she has genius." "genius!" i repeated scornfully--"the public are perfectly incapable of recognizing such a quality!" "you think so?" he said still smiling--"you really think so? in that case it's very odd isn't it, how everything that is truly great in art and literature becomes so widely known and honoured, not only in this country but in every civilized land where people think or study? you must remember that all the very famous men and women have been steadily 'written down' in their day, even to the late english laureate, tennyson, who was 'criticized' for the most part in the purest billingsgate,--it is only the mediocrities who are ever 'written up.' it seems as if the stupid public really had a hand in selecting these 'great,' for the reviewers would never stand them at any price, till driven to acknowledge them by the popular _force majeure_. but considering the barbarous want of culture and utter foolishness of the public, geoffrey, what _i_ wonder at, is that you should care to appeal to it at all!" i sat silent,--inwardly chafing under his remarks. "i am afraid--" he resumed, rising and taking a white flower from one of the vases on the table to pin in his button-hole--"that miss clare is going to be a thorn in your side, my friend! a man rival in literature is bad enough,--but a woman rival is too much to endure with any amount of patience! however you may console yourself with the certainty that _she_ will never get 'boomed,'--while you--thanks to my tender fostering of the sensitive and high-principled mcwhing, will be the one delightful and unique 'discovery' of the press for at least one month, perhaps two, which is about as long as any 'new star of the first magnitude' lasts in the latter-day literary skies. shooting-stars all of them!--such as poor old forgotten béranger sang of-- "les etoiles qui filent, 'qui filent,--qui filent--et disparaissent!'" "except--mavis clare!" i said. "true! except mavis clare!" and he laughed aloud,--a laugh that jarred upon me because there was a note of mockery in it--"she is a small fixture in the vast heavens,--or so it seems--revolving very contentedly and smoothly in her own appointed orbit,--but she is not and never will be attended by the brilliant meteor-flames that will burst round _you_, my excellent fellow, at the signal of mcwhing! fie geoffrey!--get over your sulks! jealous of a woman! be ashamed,--is not woman the inferior creature?, and shall the mere spectre of a feminine fame cause a five-fold millionaire to abase his lofty spirit in the dust? conquer your strange fit of the spleen, geoffrey, and join me at dinner!" he laughed again as he left the room,--and again his laughter irritated me. when he had gone, i gave way to the base and unworthy impulse that had for some minutes been rankling within me, and sitting down at my writing table, penned a hasty note to the editor of a rather powerful magazine, a man whom i had formerly known and worked for. he was aware of my altered fortunes and the influential position i now occupied, and i felt confident he would be glad to oblige me in any matter if he could. my letter, marked '_private and confidential_' contained the request that i might be permitted to write for his next number, an anonymous 'slashing' review of the new novel entitled 'differences' by mavis clare. xvi it is almost impossible for me to describe the feverish, irritated and contradictory state of mind in which i now began to pass my days. with the absolute fixity of my fortunes, my humours became more changeful than the wind, and i was never absolutely contented for two hours together. i joined in every sort of dissipation common to men of the day, who with the usual inanity of noodles, plunged into the filth of life merely because to be morally dirty was also at the moment fashionable and much applauded by society. i gambled recklessly, solely for the reason that gambling was considered by many leaders of the 'upper ten' as indicative of 'manliness' and 'showing _grit_.' "i hate a fellow who grudges losing a few pounds at play,"--said one of these 'distinguished' titled asses to me once--"it shows such a cowardly and currish disposition." guided by this 'new' morality, and wishing to avoid the possibility of being called "cowardly and currish," i indulged in baccarat and other ruinous games almost every night, willingly losing the 'few pounds' which in my case meant a few hundreds, for the sake of my occasional winnings, which placed a number of 'noble' rakes and blue-blooded blacklegs in my power for 'debts of honour,' which are supposed to be more strictly attended to and more punctually paid than any debts in the world, but which, as far as i am concerned, are still owing. i also betted heavily, on everything that could be made the subject of a bet,--and not to be behind my peers in 'style' and 'knowledge of the world' i frequented low houses and allowed a few half-nude brandy-soaked dancers and vulgar music-hall 'artistes' to get a couple of thousand pounds worth of jewels out of me, because this sort of thing was called 'seeing life' and was deemed part of a 'gentleman's' diversion. heavens!--what beasts we all were, i and my aristocratic boon companions!--what utterly worthless, useless, callous scoundrels!--and yet,--we associated with the best and the highest in the land;--the fairest and noblest ladies in london received us in their houses with smiles and softly-worded flatteries--we--whose presence reeked with vice; we, 'young men of fashion' whom, if he had known our lives as they were, an honest cobbler working patiently for daily bread, might have spat upon, in contempt and indignation that such low rascals should be permitted to burden the earth! sometimes, but very seldom, rimânez joined our gambling and music-hall parties, and on such occasions i noticed that he, as it were, 'let himself go' and became the wildest of us all. but though wild he was never coarse,--as _we_ were; his deep and mellow laughter had a sonorous richness in it that was totally unlike the donkey's 'hee-haw' of our 'cultured' mirth,--his manners were never vulgar; and his fluent discourse on men and things, now witty and satirical, now serious almost to pathos, strangely affected many of those who heard him talk, myself most of all. once, i remember, when we were returning late from some foolish carouse,--i with three young sons of english peers, and rimânez walking beside us,--we came upon a poorly clad girl sobbing and clinging to the iron railing outside a closed church door. "oh god!" she wailed--"oh dear god! do help me!" one of my companions seized her by the arm with a lewd jest, when all at once rimânez stepped between. "leave her alone!" he said sternly--"let her find god if she can!" the girl looked up at him terrified, her eyes streaming with tears, and he dropped two or three gold pieces into her hand. she broke out crying afresh. "oh god bless you!" she cried wildly--"god bless you!" he raised his hat and stood uncovered in the moonlight, his dark beauty softened by a strangely wistful expression. "i thank you!" he said simply--"you make me your debtor." and he passed on; we followed, somewhat subdued and silenced, though one of my lordling friends sniggered idiotically. "you paid dearly for that blessing, rimânez!" he said--"you gave her three sovereigns;--by jove! i'd have had something more than a blessing if i had been you." "no doubt!" returned rimânez--"you deserve more,--much more! i hope you will get it! a blessing would be of no advantage whatever to _you_;--it is, to _me_." how often i have thought of this incident since! i was too dense to attach either meaning or importance to it then,--self-absorbed as i was, i paid no attention to circumstances which seemed to have no connection with my own life and affairs. and in all my dissipations and so-called amusements, a perpetual restlessness consumed me,--i obtained no real satisfaction out of anything except my slow and somewhat tantalizing courtship of lady sibyl. she was a strange girl; she knew my intentions towards her well enough; yet she affected not to know. each time i ventured to treat her with more than the usual deference, and to infuse something of the ardour of a lover into my looks or manner, she feigned surprise. i wonder why it is that some women are so fond of playing the hypocrite in love? their own instinct teaches them when men are amorous; but unless they can run the fox to earth, or in other words, reduce their suitors to the lowest pitch of grovelling appeal, and force them to such abasement that the poor passion-driven fools are ready to fling away life, and even honour, dearer than life, for their sakes, their vanity is not sufficiently gratified. but who, or what am i that i should judge of vanity,--i whose egregious and flagrant self-approbation was of such a character that it blinded me to the perception and comprehension of everything in which my own ego was not represented! and yet,--with all the morbid interest i took in myself, my surroundings, my comfort, my social advancement, there was one thing which soon became a torture to me,--a veritable despair and loathing,--and this, strange to say, was the very triumph i had most looked forward to as the crown and summit of all my ambitious dreams. my book,--the book i had presumed to consider a work of genius,--when it was launched on the tide of publicity and criticism, resolved itself into a sort of literary monster that haunted my days and nights with its hateful presence; the thick, black-lettered, lying advertisements scattered broadcast by my publisher, flared at me with an offensive insistence in every paper i casually opened. and the praise of the reviewers! ... the exaggerated, preposterous, fraudulent 'boom'! good god!--how sickening it was!--how fulsome! every epithet of flattery bestowed upon me filled me with disgust, and one day when i took up a leading magazine and saw a long article upon the 'extraordinary brilliancy and promise' of my book, comparing me to a new Æschylus and shakespeare combined, with the signature of david mcwhing appended to it, i could have thrashed that erudite and assuredly purchased scot within an inch of his life. the chorus of eulogy was well-nigh universal; i was the 'genius of the day'--the 'hope of the future generation,'--i was the "book of the month,"--the greatest, the wittiest, most versatile, most brilliant scribbling pigmy that had ever honoured a pot of ink by using it! of course i figured as mcwhing's 'discovery,'--five hundred pounds bestowed on his mysterious 'charity' had so sharpened his eyesight that he had perceived me shining brightly on the literary horizon before anyone else had done so. the press followed his 'lead' obediently,--for though the press,--the english press at least,--is distinctly unbribable, the owners of newspapers are not insensible to the advantages of largely paying advertisements. moreover, when mr mcwhing announced me as his 'find' in the oracular style which distinguished him, some other literary gentlemen came forward and wrote effective articles about me, and sent me their compositions carefully marked. i took the hint,--wrote at once to thank them, and invited them to dinner. they came, and feasted royally with rimânez and myself;--(one of them wrote an 'ode' to me afterwards),--and at the conclusion of the revels, we sent two of the 'oracles' home, considerably overcome by champagne, in a carriage with amiel to look after them, and help them out at their own doors. and my 'boom' expanded,--london 'talked' as i had said it should; the growling monster metropolis discussed me and my work in its own independent and peculiar fashion. the 'upper ten' subscribed to the circulating libraries, and these admirable institutions made a two or three hundred copies do for all demands, by the simple expedient of keeping subscribers waiting five or six weeks till they grew tired of asking for the book, and forgot all about it. apart from the libraries, the public did not take me up. from the glowing criticisms that appeared in all the papers, it might have been supposed that 'everybody who was anybody' was reading my 'wonderful' production. such however was not the case. people spoke of me as 'the great millionaire,' but they were indifferent to the bid i had made for literary fame. the remark they usually made to me wherever i went was--"you have written a novel, haven't you? what an odd thing for _you_ to do!"--this, with a laugh;--"i haven't read it,--i've so little time--i must ask for it at the library." of course a great many never did ask, not deeming it worth their while; and i whose money, combined with the resistless influence of rimânez, had started the favourable criticisms that flooded the press, found out that the majority of the public never read criticisms at all. hence, my anonymous review of mavis clare's book made no effect whatever on _her_ popularity, though it appeared in the most prominent manner. it was a sheer waste of labour,--for everywhere this woman author was still looked upon as a creature of altogether finer clay than ordinary, and still her book was eagerly devoured and questioned and admired; and still it sold by thousands, despite a lack of all favourable criticism or prominent advertisement. no one guessed that i had written what i am now perfectly willing to admit was a brutally wanton misrepresentation of her work,--no one, except rimânez. the magazine in which it appeared was a notable one, circulating in every club and library, and he, taking it up casually one afternoon, turned to that article at once. "you wrote this!" he said, fixing his eyes upon me,--"it must have been a great relief to your mind!" i said nothing. he read on in silence for a little; then laying down the magazine looked at me with a curiously scrutinizing expression. "there are some human beings so constituted," he said, "that if they had been with noah in the ark according to the silly old legend, they would have shot the dove bearing the olive-leaf, directly it came in sight over the waste of waters. you are of that type geoffrey." "i do not see the force of your comparison," i murmured. "do you not? why, what harm has this mavis clare done to you? your positions are entirely opposed. you are a millionaire; she is a hard-working woman dependent on her literary success for a livelihood, and you, rolling in wealth do your best to deprive her of the means of existence. does this redound to your credit? she has won her fame by her own brain and energy alone,--and even if you dislike her book need you abuse her personally as you have done in this article? you do not know her; you have never seen her, ..." "i hate women who write!" i said vehemently. "why? because they are able to exist independently? would you have them all the slaves of man's lust or convenience? my dear geoffrey, you are unreasonable. if you admit that you are jealous of this woman's celebrity and grudge it to her, then i can understand your spite, for jealousy is capable of murdering a fellow-creature with either the dagger or the pen." i was silent. "is the book such wretched stuff as you make it out to be?" he asked presently. "i suppose some people might admire it,"--i said curtly, "i do not." this was a lie; and of course he knew it was a lie. the work of mavis clare had excited my most passionate envy,--while the very fact that sibyl elton had read her book before she had thought of looking at mine, had accentuated the bitterness of my feelings. "well," said rimânez at last, smiling as he finished reading my onslaught--"all i can say geoffrey, is that this will not touch mavis clare in the least. you have overshot the mark, my friend! her public will simply cry "what a shame!" and clamour for her work more than ever. and as for the woman herself,--she has a merry heart, and she will laugh at it. you must see her some day." "i don't want to see her," i said. "probably not. but you will scarcely be able to avoid doing so when you live at willowsmere court." "one is not obliged to know everybody in the neighbourhood,"--i observed superciliously. lucio laughed aloud. "how well you carry your fortunes, geoffrey!" he said--"for a poor devil of a grub-street hack who lately was at a loss for a sovereign, how perfectly you follow the fashions of your time! if there is one man more than another that moves me to wondering admiration it is he who asserts his wealth strenuously in the face of his fellows, and who comports himself in this world as though he could bribe death and purchase the good-will of the creator. it is such splendid effrontery,--such superlative pride! now i, though over-wealthy myself, am so curiously constituted that i cannot wear my bank-notes in my countenance as it were,--i have put in a claim for intellect as well as gold,--and sometimes, do you know, in my travels round the world, i have been so far honoured as to be taken for quite a poor man! now _you_ will never have that chance again;--you are rich and you look it!" "and you,--" i interrupted him suddenly, and with some warmth--"do you know what _you_ look? you imply that i assert my wealth in my face; do you know what _you_ assert in your every glance and gesture?" "i cannot imagine!" he said smiling. "contempt for us all!" i said--"immeasurable contempt,--even for me, whom you call friend. i tell you the truth, lucio,--there are times, when in spite of our intimacy i feel that you despise me. i daresay you do; you have an extraordinary personality united to extraordinary talents; you must not however expect all men to be as self-restrained and as indifferent to human passions as yourself." he gave me a swift, searching glance. "expect!" he echoed--"my good fellow, i expect nothing at all,--from men. they, on the contrary,--at least all those _i_ know--expect everything from me. and they get it,--generally. as for 'despising' you, have i not said that i admire you? i do. i think there is something positively stupendous in the brilliant progress of your fame and rapid social success." "my fame!" i repeated bitterly--"how has it been obtained? what is it worth?" "that is not the question;" he retorted with a little smile; "how unpleasant it must be for you to have these gouty twinges of conscience geoffrey! of course no fame is actually worth much now-a-days,--because it is not classic fame, strong in reposeful old-world dignity,--it is blatant noisy notoriety merely. but yours, such as it is, is perfectly legitimate, judged by its common-sense commercial aspect, which is the only aspect in which anyone looks at anything. you must bear in mind that no one works out of disinterestedness in the present age,--no matter how purely benevolent an action may appear on the surface, self lies at the bottom of it. once grasp this fact, and you will perceive that nothing could be fairer or more straightforward than the way you have obtained your fame. you have not 'bought' the incorruptible british press; you could not do that; that is impossible, for it is immaculate, and bristles stiffly all over with honourable principles. there is no english paper existing that would accept a cheque for the insertion of a notice or a paragraph; not one!" his eyes twinkled merrily,--then he went on--"no,--it is only the foreign press that is corrupt, so the british press says;--john bull looks on virtuously aghast at journalists who, in dire stress of poverty, will actually earn a little extra pay for writing something or somebody 'up' or 'down.' thank heaven, _he_ employs no such journalists; his pressmen are the very soul of rectitude, and will stoically subsist on a pound a week rather than take ten for a casual job 'to oblige a friend.' do you know geoffrey, when the judgment day arrives, who will be among the first saints to ascend to heaven with the sounding of trumpets?" i shook my head, half vexed, half amused. "all the english (not foreign) editors and journalists!" said lucio with an air of pious rapture--"and why? because they are so good, so just, so unprejudiced! their foreign brethren will be reserved for the eternal dance of devils of course--but the britishers will pace the golden streets singing alleluia! i assure you i consider british journalists generally the noblest examples of incorruptibility in the world--they come next to the clergy as representatives of virtue, and exponents of the three evangelical counsels,--voluntary poverty, chastity, and obedience!" such mockery glittered in his eyes, that the light in them might have been the reflection of clashing steel. "be consoled, geoffrey," he resumed--"your fame is honourably won. you have simply, through me, approached one critic who writes in about twenty newspapers and influences others to write in other twenty,--that critic being a noble creature, (all critics are noble creatures) has a pet 'society' for the relief of authors in need (a noble scheme you will own) and to this charity i subscribe out of pure benevolence, five hundred pounds. moved by my generosity and consideration, (particularly as i do not ask what becomes of the five hundred) mcwhing 'obliges' me in a little matter. the editors of the papers for which he writes accept him as a wise and witty personage; _they_ know nothing about the charity or the cheque,--it is not necessary for them to know. the whole thing is really quite a reasonable business arrangement;--it is only a self-tormenting analyst like you who would stop to think of such a trifle a second time." "if mcwhing really and conscientiously admired my book for itself;" i began. "why should you imagine he does not?" asked lucio--"myself, i believe that he is a perfectly sincere and honorable man. i think he means all he says and writes. i consider that if he had found your work not worthy of his commendation, he would have sent me back that cheque for five hundred pounds, torn across in a noble scorn!" and with this, throwing himself back in his chair, he laughed till the tears came into his eyes. but i could not laugh; i was too weary and depressed. a heavy sense of despair was on my mind; i felt that the hope which had cheered me in my days of poverty,--the hope of winning real fame, so widely different a thing to notoriety, had vanished. there was some quality in the subtle glory which could not be won by either purchase or influence. the praise of the press could not give it. mavis clare, working for her bread, had it,--i, with millions of money, had not. like a fool i had thought to buy it; i had yet to learn that all the best, greatest, purest and worthiest things in life are beyond all market-value and that the gifts of the gods are not for sale. about a fortnight after the publication of my book, we went to court, my comrade and i, and were presented by a distinguished officer connected with the immediate and intimate surroundings of the royal household. it was a brilliant scene enough,--but, without doubt, the most brilliant personage there was rimânez. i was fairly startled at the stately and fascinating figure he made in his court suit of black velvet and steel ornaments; accustomed as i was to his good looks, i had never seen them so enhanced by dress as on this occasion. i had been tolerably well satisfied with my own appearance in the regulation costume till i saw him; then my personal vanity suffered a decided shock, and i realized that i merely served as a foil to show off and accentuate the superior attractions of my friend. but i was not envious of him in any way,--on the contrary i openly expressed the admiration i frankly felt. he seemed amused. "my dear boy, it is all flunkeydom;" he said--"all sham and humbug. look at this--" and he drew his light court rapier from its sheath--"there is no real use in this flimsy blade,--it is merely an emblem of dead chivalry. in old times, if a man insulted you, or insulted a woman you admired, out flashed a shining point of tempered toledo steel that could lunge--so!" and he threw himself into a fencing attitude of incomparable grace and ease--"and you pricked the blackguard neatly through the ribs or arm and gave him cause to remember you. but now--" and he thrust the rapier back in its place--"men carry toys like these as a melancholy sign to show what bold fellows they were once, and what spiritless cravens they are now,--relying no more on themselves for protection, but content to go about yelling 'police! police!' at the least threat of injury to their worthless persons. come, it's time we started, geoffrey!--let us go and bow our heads before another human unit formed precisely like ourselves, and so act in defiance of death and the deity, who declare all men to be equal!" we entered our carriage and were soon on our way to st james's palace. "his royal highness the prince of wales is not exactly the creator of the universe;"--said lucio suddenly, looking out of the window as we approached the line of soldiery on guard outside. "why no!" i answered laughing--"what do you say that for?" "because there is as much fuss about him as if he were,--in fact, more. the creator does not get half as much attention bestowed upon him as albert edward. we never attire ourselves in any special way for entering the presence of god; we don't put so much as a clean mind on." "but then,"--i said indifferently--"god is _non est_,--and albert edward is _est_." he smiled,--and his eyes had a scornful gleam in their dark centres. "that is your opinion?" he queried--"well, it is not original,--many choice spirits share it with you. there is at least one good excuse for people who make no preparation to enter the presence of god,--in going to church, which is called the 'house of god,' they do not find god at all; they only discover the clergyman. it is somewhat of a disappointment." i had no time to reply, as just then the carriage stopped, and we alighted at the palace. through the intervention of the high court official who presented us, we got a good place among the most distinguished arrivals, and during our brief wait, i was considerably amused by the study of their faces and attitudes. some of the men looked nervous,--others conceited; one or two radical notabilities comported themselves with an air as if they and they alone were to be honoured for allowing royalty to hold these functions at all; a few gentlemen had evidently donned their levée dress in haste and carelessness, for the pieces of tissue-paper in which their steel or gilt coat-buttons had been wrapped by the tailor to prevent tarnish, were still unremoved. discovering this fortunately before it was too late, they occupied themselves by taking off these papers and casting them on the floor,--an untidy process at best, and one that made them look singularly ridiculous and undignified. each man present turned to stare at lucio; his striking personality attracted universal attention. when we at last entered the throne-room, and took our places in line, i was careful to arrange that my brilliant companion should go up before me, as i had a strong desire to see what sort of an effect his appearance would produce on the royal party. i had an excellent view of the prince of wales from where i myself waited; he made an imposing and kingly figure enough, in full uniform with his various orders glittering on his broad breast; and the singular resemblance discovered by many people in him to henry viii. struck me more forcibly than i should have thought possible. his face however expressed a far greater good-humour than the pictured lineaments of the capricious but ever popular 'bluff king hal,'--though on this occasion there was a certain shade of melancholy, even sternness on his brow, which gave a firmer character to his naturally mobile features,--a shadow, as i fancied of weariness, tempered with regret,--the look of one dissatisfied, yet resigned. a man of blunted possibilities he seemed to me,--of defeated aims, and thwarted will. few of the other members of the royal family surrounding him on the daïs, possessed the remarkable attraction he had for any observant student of physiognomy,--most of them were, or assumed to be, stiff military figures merely who bent their heads as each guest filed past with an automatic machine-like regularity implying neither pleasure, interest, nor good-will. but the heir-apparent to the greatest empire in the world expressed in his very attitude and looks, an unaffected and courteous welcome to all,--surrounded as he was, and as such in his position must ever be, by toadies, parasites, sycophants, hypocritical self-seekers, who would never run the least risk to their own lives to serve him, unless they could get something personally satisfactory out of it, his presence impressed itself upon me as full of the suggestion of dormant but none the less resolute power. i cannot even now explain the singular excitation of mind that seized me as our turn to be presented arrived;--i saw my companion advance, and heard the lord chamberlain announce his name;--'prince lucio rimânez'; and then;--why then,--it seemed as if all the movement in the brilliant room suddenly came to a pause! every eye was fixed on the stately form and noble countenance of my friend as he bowed with such consummate courtliness and grace as made all other salutations seem awkward by comparison. for one moment he stood absolutely still in front of the royal daïs,--facing the prince as though he sought to impress him with the fact of his presence there,--and across the broad stream of sunshine which had been pouring into the room throughout the ceremony, there fell the sudden shadow of a passing cloud. a fleeting impression of gloom and silence chilled the atmosphere,--a singular magnetism appeared to hold all eyes fixed on rimânez; and not a man either going or coming, moved. this intense hush was brief as it was curious and impressive;--the prince of wales started slightly, and gazed at the superb figure before him with an expression of eager curiosity and almost as if he were ready to break the frigid bonds of etiquette and speak,--then controlling himself with an evident effort he gave his usual dignified acknowledgment of lucio's profound reverence, whereupon my comrade passed on,--slightly smiling. i followed next,--but naturally made no impression beyond the fact of exciting a smothered whisper from some-one among the lesser royalties who caught the name 'geoffrey tempest,' and at once murmured the magic words "five millions!"--words which reached my ears and moved me to the usual weary contempt which was with me growing into a chronic malady. we were soon out of the palace, and while waiting for our carriage in the covered court-yard entrance, i touched rimânez on the arm. "you made a veritable sensation lucio!" "did i?" he laughed. "you flatter me geoffrey." "not at all. why did you stop so long in front of the daïs?" "to please my humour!" he returned indifferently--"and partly, to give his royal highness the chance of remembering me the next time he sees me." "but he seemed to recognise you,"--i said--"have you met him before?" his eyes flashed. "often! but i have never till now made a public appearance at st james's. court costume and 'company manners' make a difference to the looks of most men,--and i doubt,--yes, i very much doubt, whether, even with his reputed excellent memory for faces, the prince really knew me to-day for what i am!" xvii it must have been about a week or ten days after the prince of wales's levée that i had the strange scene with sibyl elton i am about to relate; a scene that left a painful impression on my mind and should have been sufficient to warn me of impending trouble to come had i not been too egotistical to accept any portent that presaged ill to myself. arriving at lord elton's house one evening, and ascending the stairs to the drawing-room as was now my usual custom, unannounced and without ceremony, i found diana chesney there alone and in tears. "why, what's the matter?" i exclaimed in a rallying tone, for i was on very friendly and familiar terms with the little american--"you, of all people in the world, having a private 'weep'! has our dear railway papa 'bust up'?" she laughed, a trifle hysterically. "not just yet, you bet!" she answered, lifting her wet eyes to mine and showing that mischief still sparkled brightly in them,--"there's nothing wrong with the funds as far as i know. i've only had a,----well, a sort of rumpus here with sibyl." "with sibyl?" "yes,"--and she rested the point of her little embroidered shoe on a footstool and looked at it critically--"you see it's the catsup's 'at home' to-night, and i'm invited and sibyl's invited; miss charlotte is knocked up with nursing the countess, and of course i made sure that sibyl would go. well, she never said a word about it till she came down to dinner, and then she asked me what time i wanted the carriage. i said 'aren't you going too?' and she looked at me in that provoking way of hers,--_you_ know!--a look that takes you in from your topmost hair to your shoe-edge,--and answered 'did you think it possible!' well, i flared up, and said of course i thought it possible,--why shouldn't it be possible? she looked at me in the same way again and said--'to the _catsups_? with _you_!' now, you know, mr tempest, that was real downright rudeness, and more than i could stand so i just gave way to my mind. 'look here,' i said--'though you are the daughter of an earl, you needn't turn up your nose at mrs catsup. she isn't half bad,--i don't speak of her money,--but she's a real good sort, and has a kind heart, which it appears to me is more than you have. mrs catsup would never treat me as unkindly as you do.' and then i choked,--i could have burst out in a regular yell, if i hadn't thought the footman might be outside the door listening. and sibyl only smiled, that patent ice-refrigerator smile of hers, and asked--'would you prefer to live with mrs catsup?' of course i told her no,--nothing would induce me to live with mrs catsup, and then she said--'miss chesney, you pay my father for the protection and guarantee of his name and position in english social circles, but the companionship of my father's daughter was not included in the bargain. i have tried to make you understand as distinctly as i can that i will not be seen in society with you,--not because i dislike you,--far from it,--but simply because people would say i was acting as your paid companion. you force me to speak plainly, and i am sorry if i offend. as for mrs catsup, i have only met her once, and she seemed to me very common and ill-bred. besides i do not care for the society of tradespeople.' and with that she got up and sailed out,--and i heard her order the carriage for me at ten. it's coming round directly, and just look at my red eyes! it's awfully hard on me,--i know old catsup made his pile out of varnish, but varnish is as good as anything else in the general market. and----and----it's all out now, mr tempest,--and you can tell sibyl what i've said if you like; i know you're in love with her!" i stared, bewildered by her voluble and almost breathless outburst. "really, miss chesney," i began formally. "oh yes, miss chesney, miss chesney--it's all very well!" she repeated impatiently, snatching up a gorgeous evening cloak which i mutely volunteered to put on, an offer she as mutely accepted--"i'm only a girl, and it isn't my fault if i've got a vulgar man for a father who wants to see me married to an english nobleman before he dies,--that's _his_ look-out--_i_ don't care about it. english noblemen are a ricketty lot in _my_ opinion. but i've as good a heart as anyone, and i could love sibyl if she'd let me, but she _won't_. she leads the life of an ice-berg, and doesn't care a rap for anyone. she doesn't care for you, you know!--i wish she did,--she'd be more human!" "i'm very sorry for all this,"--i said, smiling into the piquante face of the really sweet-natured girl, and gently fastening the jewelled clasp of her cloak at her throat--"but you mustn't mind it so much. you are a dear little soul diana,--kind and generous and impulsive and all the rest of it,--but,--well----english people are very apt to misunderstand americans. i can quite enter into your feelings,--still you know lady sibyl is very proud----" "proud!" she interrupted--"my! i guess it must feel something splendid to have an ancestor who was piked through the body on bosworth field, and left there for the birds to eat. it seems to give a kind of stiffness in the back to all the family ever afterwards. shouldn't wonder if the descendants of the birds who ate him felt kinder stuck up about it too!" i laughed,--she laughed with me, and was quite herself again. "if i told you _my_ ancestor was a pilgrim father, you wouldn't believe me i expect!" she said, the corners of her mouth dimpling. "i should believe anything from _your_ lips!" i declared gallantly. "well, believe that, then! swallow it down if you can! i can't! he was a pilgrim father in the _mayflower_, and he fell on his knees and thanked god as soon as he touched dry land in the true pilgrim-father way. but he couldn't hold a candle to the piked man at bosworth." here we were interrupted by the entrance of a footman. "the carriage is waiting, miss." "thanks,--all right. good-night mr tempest,--you'd better send word to sibyl you are here; lord elton is dining out, but sibyl will be at home all the evening." i offered her my arm, and escorted her to the carriage, feeling a little sorry for her as she drove off in solitary state to the festive 'crush' of the successful varnisher. she was a good girl, a bright girl, a true girl,--vulgar and flippant at times, yet on the whole sincere in her better qualities of character and sentiment,--and it was this very sincerity which, being quite unconventional and not at all _la mode_, was misunderstood, and would always be misunderstood by the higher and therefore more hypocritically polished circles of english society. i returned to the drawing-room slowly and meditatively, telling one of the servants on my way to ask lady sibyl if she could see me for a few moments. i was not kept waiting long; i had only paced the room twice up and down when she entered, looking so strangely wild and beautiful that i could scarcely forbear uttering an exclamation of wonder. she wore white as was always her custom in the evenings,--her hair was less elaborately dressed than usual, and clustered over her brow in loose wavy masses,--her face was exceedingly pale, and her eyes appeared larger and darker by comparison--her smile was vague and fleeting like that of a sleep-walker. she gave me her hand; it was dry and burning. "my father is out--" she began. "i know. but i came to see _you_. may i stay a little?" she murmured assent, and sinking listlessly into a chair, began to play with some roses in a vase on the table beside her. "you look tired lady sibyl,"--i said gently--"are you not well?" "i am quite well--" she answered--"but you are right in saying i am tired. i am dreadfully tired!" "you have been doing too much perhaps?--your attendance on your mother tries you----" she laughed bitterly. "attendance on my mother!--pray do not credit me with so much devotion. i never attend on my mother. i cannot do it; i am too much of a coward. her face terrifies me; and whenever i do venture to go near her, she tries to speak, with such dreadful, such ghastly efforts, as make her more hideous to look at than anyone can imagine. i should die of fright if i saw her often. as it is, when i do see her i can scarcely stand--and twice i have fainted with the horror of it. to think of it!--that that living corpse with the fearful fixed eyes and distorted mouth should actually be _my mother_!" she shuddered violently, and her very lips paled as she spoke. i was seriously concerned, and told her so. "this must be very bad for your health,"--i said, drawing my chair closer to hers--"can you not get away for a change?" she looked at me in silence. the expression of her eyes thrilled me strangely,--it was not tender or wistful, but fierce, passionate and commanding. "i saw miss chesney for a few moments just now"--i resumed,--"she seemed very unhappy." "she has nothing to be unhappy about--" said sibyl coldly--"except the time my mother takes in dying. but she is young; she can afford to wait a little for the elton coronet." "is not----may not this be a mistaken surmise of yours?" i ventured gently--"whatever her faults, i think the girl admires and loves you." she smiled scornfully. "i want neither her love nor her admiration,"--she said--"i have few women-friends and those few are all hypocrites whom i mistrust. when diana chesney is my step-mother, we shall still be strangers." i felt i was on delicate ground, and that i could not continue the conversation without the risk of giving offence. "where is _your_ friend?" asked sibyl suddenly, apparently to change the subject--"why does he so seldom come here now?" "rimânez? well, he is a very queer fellow, and at times takes an abhorrence for all society. he frequently meets your father at the club, and i suppose his reason for not coming here is that he hates women." "all women?" she queried with a little smile. "without exception!" "then he hates me?" "i did not say that--" i answered quickly--"no one could hate you, lady sibyl,--but truly, as far as prince rimânez is concerned, i expect he does not abate his aversion to womankind (which is his chronic malady) even for you." "so he will never marry?" she said musingly. i laughed. "oh, never! that you may be quite sure of." still playing with the roses near her, she relapsed into silence. her breath came and went quickly; i saw her long eyelashes quiver against the pale rose-leaf tint of her cheeks,--the pure outline of her delicate profile suggested to my mind one of fra angelico's meditative saints or angels. all at once, while i yet watched her admiringly, she suddenly sprang erect, crushing a rose in her hand,--her head thrown back, her eyes flashing, her whole frame trembling. "oh, i cannot bear it!" she cried wildly--"i cannot bear it!" i started up astonished, and confronted her. "sibyl!" "oh, why don't you speak, and fill up the measure of my degradation!" she went on passionately--"why don't you tell _me_, as you tell my father, your purpose in coming here?--why don't you say to _me_, as you say to him, that your sovereign choice has fastened upon me,--that i am the woman out of all the world you have elected to marry! look at me!" and she raised her arms with a tragic gesture; "is there any flaw in the piece of goods you wish to purchase? this face is deemed worthy of the fashionable photographer's pains; worthy of being sold for a shilling as one of england's 'beauties,'--this figure has served as a model for the showing-off of many a modiste's costume, purchased at half-cost on the understanding that i must state to my circle of acquaintance the name of the maker or designer,--these eyes, these lips, these arms are all yours for the buying! why do you expose me to the shame of dallying over your bargain?--by hesitating and considering as to whether, after all, i am worthy of your gold!" she seemed seized by some hysterical passion that convulsed her, and in mingled amazement, alarm and distress, i sprang to her and caught her hands in my own. "sibyl, sibyl!" i said--"hush--hush! you are overwrought with fatigue and excitement,--you cannot know what you are saying. my darling, what do you take me for?--what is all this nonsense in your mind about buying and selling? you know i love you,--i have made no secret of it,--you must have seen it in my face,--and if i have hesitated to speak, it is because i feared your rejection of me. you are too good for me, sibyl,--too good for any man,--i am not worthy to win your beauty and innocence. my love, my love--do not give way in this manner"--for as i spoke she clung to me like a wild bird suddenly caged--"what can i say to you, but that i worship you with all the strength of my life,--i love you so deeply that i am afraid to think of it; it is a passion i dare not dwell upon, sibyl,--i love you too well,--too madly for my own peace----" i trembled, and was silent,--her soft arms clinging to me robbed me of a portion of my self-control. i kissed the rippling waves of her hair; she lifted her head and looked up at me, her eyes alit with some strange lustre that was not love as much as fear,--and the sight of her beauty thus yielded as it were to my possession, broke down the barriers of restraint i had hitherto imposed upon myself. i kissed her on the lips,--a long passionate kiss that, to my excited fancy, seemed to mingle our very beings into one,--but while i yet held her in my arms, she suddenly released herself and pushed me back. standing apart from me she trembled so violently that i feared she would fail,--and i took her hand and made her sit down. she smiled,--a very wan smile. "what did you feel then?" she asked. "when, sibyl?" "just now,--when you kissed me?" "all the joys of heaven and fires of hell in a moment!" i said. she regarded me with a curious musing frown. "strange! do you know what _i_ felt?" i shook my head smiling, and pressed my lips on the soft small hand i held. "nothing!" she said, with a kind of hopeless gesture--"i assure you, absolutely nothing! i cannot feel. i am one of your modern women,--i can only think,--and analyse." "think and analyse as much as you will, my queen,"--i answered playfully--"if you will only think you can be happy with me. that is all i desire." "can you be happy with _me_?" she asked--"wait--do not answer for a moment, till i tell you what i am. you are altogether mistaken in me." she was silent for some minutes, and i watched her anxiously. "i was always intended for this"--she said slowly at last,--"this, to which i have now come,--to be the property of a rich man. many men have looked at me with a view to purchase, but they could not pay the price my father demanded. pray do not look so distressed!--what i say is quite true and quite commonplace,--all the women of the upper classes,--the unmarried ones,--are for sale now in england as utterly as the circassian girls in a barbarian slave-market. i see you wish to protest, and assure me of your devotion,--but there is no need of this,--i am quite sure you love me,--as much as any man can love,--and i am content. but you do not know me really,--you are attracted by my face and form,--and you admire my youth and innocence, which you think i possess. but i am not young--i am old in heart and feeling. i was young for a little while at willowsmere, when i lived among flowers and birds and all the trustful honest creatures of the woods and fields,--but one season in town was sufficient to kill my youth in me,--one season of dinners and balls, and--fashionable novel-reading. now _you_ have written a book, and therefore you must know something about the duties of authorship,--of the serious and even terrible responsibility writers incur when they send out to the world books full of pernicious and poisonous suggestion to contaminate the minds that have hitherto been clean and undiseased. your book has a noble motive; and for this i admire it in many parts, though to me it is not as convincing as it might have been. it is well written too; but i gained the impression while reading it, that you were not altogether sincere yourself in the thoughts you strove to inculcate,--and that therefore you just missed what you should have gained." "i am sure you are right,"--i said, with a wholesome pang of humiliation--"the book is worthless as literature,--it is only the 'boom' of a season!" "at any rate,"--she went on, her eyes darkening with the intensity of her feeling--"you have not polluted your pen with the vileness common to many of the authors of the day. i ask you, do you think a girl can read the books that are now freely published, and that her silly society friends tell her to read,--'because it is so dreadfully _queer_!'--and yet remain unspoilt and innocent? books that go into the details of the lives of outcasts?--that explain and analyse the secret vices of men?--that advocate almost as a sacred duty 'free love' and universal polygamy?--that see no shame in introducing into the circles of good wives and pure-minded girls, a heroine who boldly seeks out a man, _any_ man, in order that she may have a child by him, without the 'degradation' of marrying him? i have read all those books,--and what can you expect of me? not innocence, surely! i despise men,--i despise my own sex,--i loathe myself for being a woman! you wonder at my fanaticism for mavis clare,--it is only because for a time her books give me back my self-respect, and make me see humanity in a nobler light,--because she restores to me, if only for an hour, a kind of glimmering belief in god, so that my mind feels refreshed and cleansed. all the same, you must not look upon me as an innocent young girl geoffrey,--a girl such as the great poets idealized and sang of,--i am a contaminated creature, trained to perfection in the lax morals and prurient literature of my day." i looked at her in silence, pained, startled, and with a sense of shock, as though something indefinably pure and precious had crumbled into dust at my feet. she rose and began pacing the room restlessly, moving to and fro with a slow yet fierce grace that reminded me against my wish and will of the movement of some imprisoned and savage beast of prey. "you shall not be deceived in me,"--she said, pausing a moment and eyeing me sombrely--"if you marry me, you must do so with a full realization of the choice you make. for with such wealth as yours, you can of course wed any woman you fancy. i do not say you could find a girl better than i am; i do not think you could in _my_ 'set,' because we are all alike,--all tarred with the same brush, and filled with the same merely sensual and materialistic views of life and its responsibilities as the admired heroines of the 'society' novels we read. away in the provinces, among the middle classes it is possible you might discover a really good girl of the purest blush-rose innocence,--but then you might also find her stupid and unentertaining, and you would not care for that. my chief recommendation is that i am beautiful,--you can see that; everybody can see that,--and i am not so affected as to pretend to be unconscious of the fact. there is no sham about my external appearance; my hair is not a wig,--my complexion is natural,--my figure is not the result of the corset-maker's art,--my eyebrows and eyelashes are undyed. oh yes,--you can be sure that the beauty of my body is quite genuine!--but it is not the outward expression of an equally beautiful soul. and this is what i want you to understand. i am passionate, resentful, impetuous,--frequently unsympathetic, and inclined to morbidness and melancholy, and i confess i have imbibed, consciously or unconsciously, that complete contempt of life and disbelief in a god, which is the chief theme of nearly all the social teachings of the time." she ceased,--and i gazed at her with an odd sense of mingled worship and disillusion, even as a barbarian might gaze at an idol whom he still loved, but whom he could no longer believe in as divine. yet what she said was in no way contrary to my own theories,--how then could i complain? i did not believe in a god; why should i inconsistently feel regret that she shared my unbelief? i had involuntarily clung to the old-fashioned idea that religious faith was a sacred duty in womanhood; i was not able to offer any reason for this notion, unless it was the romantic fancy of having a good woman to pray for one, if one had no time and less inclination to pray for one's self. however, it was evident sibyl was 'advanced' enough to do without superstitious observances; _she_ would never pray for me;--and if we had children, she would never teach them to make their first tender appeals to heaven for my sake or hers. i smothered a slight sigh, and was about to speak, when she came up to me and laid her two hands on my shoulders. "you look unhappy, geoffrey,"--she said in gentler accents--"be consoled!--it is not too late for you to change your mind!" i met the questioning glance of her eyes,--beautiful, lustrous eyes as clear and pure as light itself. "i shall never change, sibyl," i answered--"i love you,--i shall always love you. but i wish you would not analyse yourself so pitilessly,--you have such strange ideas--" "you think them strange?" she said--"you should not,--in these 'new women' days! i believe that, thanks to newspapers, magazines and 'decadent' novels, i am in all respects eminently fitted to be a wife!" and she laughed bitterly--"there is nothing in the rôle of marriage that i do not know, though i am not yet twenty. i have been prepared for a long time to be sold to the highest bidder, and what few silly notions i had about love,--the love of the poets and idealists,--when i was a dreamy child at willowsmere, are all dispersed and ended. ideal love is dead,--and worse than dead, being out of fashion. carefully instructed as i have been in the worthlessness of everything but money, you can scarcely be surprised at my speaking of myself as an object of sale. marriage for me _is_ a sale, as far as my father is concerned,--for you know well enough that however much you loved me or i loved you, he would never allow me to marry you if you were not rich, and richer than most men. i want you to feel that i fully recognize the nature of the bargain struck; and i ask you not to expect a girl's fresh, confiding love from a woman as warped in heart and mind as i am!" "sibyl,"--i said earnestly--"you wrong yourself; i am sure you wrong yourself! you are one of those who can be in the world yet not of it; your mind is too open and pure to be sullied, even by contact with evil things. i will believe nothing you say against your own sweet and noble character,--and, sibyl, let me again ask you not to distress me by this constant harping on the subject of my wealth, or i shall be inclined to look upon it as a curse,--i should love you as much if i were poor----" "oh, you might love me"--she interrupted me, with a strange smile--"but you would not dare to say so!" i was silent. suddenly she laughed, and linked her arms caressingly round my neck. "there, geoffrey!" she said--"i have finished my discourse,--my bit of ibsenism, or whatever other ism affects me,--and we need not be miserable about it. i have said what was in my mind; i have told you the truth, that in heart i am neither young nor innocent. but i am no worse than all my 'set' so perhaps you had better make the best of me. i please your fancy, do i not?" "my love for you cannot be so lightly expressed, sibyl!" i answered in rather a pained tone. "never mind,--it is my humour so to express it"--she went on--"i please your fancy, and you wish to marry me. well now, all i ask is, go to my father and buy me at once! conclude the bargain! and when you have bought me,--don't look so tragic!" and she laughed again--"and when you have paid the clergyman, and paid the bridesmaids (with monogram lockets or brooches) and paid the guests (with wedding-cake and champagne) and cleared up all scores with everybody, even to the last man who shuts the door of the nuptial brougham,--will you take me away,--far away from this place--this house, where my mother's face haunts me like a ghost in the darkness; where i am tortured by terrors night and day,--where i hear such strange sounds, and dream of such ghastly things,--" here her voice suddenly broke, and she hid her face against my breast--"oh yes, geoffrey, take me away as quickly as possible! let us never live in hateful london, but at willowsmere; i may find some of the old joys there,--and some of the happy bygone days." touched by the appealing pathos of her accents, i pressed her to my heart, feeling that she was scarcely accountable for the strange things she said in her evidently overwrought and excitable condition. "it shall be as you wish, my darling," i said--"the sooner i have you all to myself the better. this is the end of march,--will you be ready to marry me in june?" "yes," she answered, still hiding her face. "and now sibyl," i went on--"remember,--there must be no more talk of money and bargaining. tell me what you have not yet told me,--that you love me,--and would love me even if i were poor." she looked up, straightly and unflinchingly full into my eyes. "i cannot tell you that,"--she said,--"i have told you i do not believe in love; and if you were poor i certainly should not marry you. it would be no use!" "you are frank, sibyl!" "it is best to be frank, is it not?" and she drew a flower from the knot at her bosom, and began fastening it in my coat--"geoffrey what is the good of pretence? you would hate to be poor, and so should i. i do not understand the verb 'to love,'--now and then when i read a book by mavis clare, i believe love may exist, but when i close the book my belief is shut up with it. so do not ask for what is not in me. i am willing--even glad to marry you; that is all you must expect." "all!" i exclaimed, with a sudden mingling of love and wrath in my blood, as i closed my arms about her and kissed her passionately--"all!--you impassive ice-flower, it is not all!--you shall melt to my touch and learn what love _is_,--do not think you can escape its influence, you dear, foolish, beautiful child! your passions are asleep,--they must wake!" "for you?" she queried, resting her head back against my shoulder, and gazing up at me with a dreamy radiance in her lovely eyes. "for me!" she laughed. "'oh bid me love, and i will love!'"--she hummed softly under her breath. "you will, you must, you shall!" i said ardently. "i will be your master in the art of loving!" "it is a difficult art!" she said--"i am afraid it will take a life-time to complete my training, even with my 'master.'" and a smile still lingered in her eyes, giving them a witch-like glamour, when i kissed her again and bade her good-night. "you will tell prince rimânez the news?" she said. "if you wish it." "of course i wish it. tell him at once. i should like him to know." i went down the stairs,--she leaned over the balustrade looking after me. "good-night geoffrey!" she called softly. "good-night sibyl!" "be sure you tell prince rimânez!" her white figure disappeared; and i walked out of the house in a chaotic state of mind, divided between pride, ecstasy and pain,--the engaged husband of an earl's daughter,--the lover of a woman who had declared herself incapable of love and destitute of faith. xviii looking back through the space of only three years to this particular period of my life, i can remember distinctly the singular expression of lucio's face when i told him that sibyl elton had accepted me. his sudden smile gave a light to his eyes that i had never seen in them before,--a brilliant yet sinister glow, strangely suggestive of some inwardly suppressed wrath and scorn. while i spoke he was, to my vexation, toying with that uncanny favourite of his, the 'mummy-insect,'--and it annoyed me beyond measure to see the repulsive pertinacity with which the glittering bat-like creature clung to his hand. "women are all alike,"--he said with a hard laugh, when he had heard my news,--"few of them have moral force enough to resist that temptation of a rich marriage." i was irritated at this. "it is scarcely fair of you to judge everything by the money-standard,"--i said,--then, after a little pause i added what in my own heart i knew to be a lie,--"she,--sibyl,--loves me for myself alone." his glance flashed over me like lightning. "oh!--sets the wind in that quarter! why then, my dear geoffrey, i congratulate you more heartily than ever. to conquer the affections of one of the proudest girls in england, and win her love so completely as to be sure she would marry you even if you had not a sou to bless yourself with--this is a victory indeed!--and one of which you may well be proud. again and yet again i congratulate you!" tossing the horrible thing he called his 'sprite' off to fly on one of its slow humming circuits round the room, he shook my hand fervently, still smiling,--and i,--feeling instinctively that he was as fully aware of the truth as i was, namely, that had i been a poor author with nothing but what i could earn by my brains, the lady sibyl elton would never have looked at me, much less agreed to marry me,--kept silence lest i should openly betray the reality of my position. "you see"--he went on, with a cheerful relentlessness--"i was not aware that any old-world romance graced the disposition of one so apparently impassive as your beautiful fiancée. to love for love's sake only, is becoming really an obsolete virtue. i thought lady sibyl was an essentially modern woman, conscious of her position, and the necessity there was for holding that position proudly before the world at all costs,--and that the pretty pastoral sentiments of poetical phyllises and amandas had no place in her nature. i was wrong, it seems; and for once i have been mistaken in the fair sex!" here he stretched out his hand to the 'sprite,' that now came winging its way back, and settled at once on its usual resting-place; "my friend, i assure you, if you have won a true woman's true love, you have a far greater fortune than your millions,--a treasure that none can afford to despise." his voice softened,--his eyes grew dreamy and less scornful,--and i looked at him in some astonishment. "why lucio, i thought you hated women?" "so i do!" he replied quickly--"but do not forget why i hate them! it is because they have all the world's possibilities of good in their hands, and the majority of them deliberately turn these possibilities to evil. men are influenced entirely by women, though few of them will own it,--through women they are lifted to heaven or driven to hell. the latter is the favourite course, and the one almost universally adopted." his brow darkened, and the lines round his proud mouth grew hard and stern. i watched him for a moment,--then with sudden irrelevance i said-- "put that abominable 'sprite' of yours away, will you? i hate to see you with it!" "what, my poor egyptian princess!" he exclaimed with a laugh--"why so cruel to her geoffrey? if you had lived in her day, you might have been one of her lovers! she was no doubt a charming person,--i find her charming still! however, to oblige you--" and here, placing the insect in its crystal receptacle he carried it away to the other end of the room. then, returning towards me slowly, he said--"who knows what the 'sprite' suffered as a woman, geoffrey! perhaps she made a rich marriage, and repented it! at anyrate i am sure she is much happier in her present condition!" "i have no sympathy with such a ghastly fancy,"--i said abruptly--"i only know that _she_ or _it_ is a perfectly loathsome object to me." "well,--some 'transmigrated' souls _are_ loathsome objects to look at;"--he declared imperturbably--"when they are deprived of their respectable two-legged fleshly covering, it is extraordinary what a change the inexorable law of nature makes in them!" "what nonsense you talk, lucio!" i said impatiently--"how can you know anything about it!" a sudden shadow passed over his face, giving it a strange pallor and impenetrability. "have you forgotten"--he said in deliberately measured accents--"that your friend john carrington, when he wrote that letter of introduction i brought from him to you, told you in it, that in all matters scientific i was an 'absolute master?' in these 'matters scientific' you have not tested my skill,--yet you ask--'how can i know?' i answer that i do know--many things of which you are ignorant. do not presume too much on your own intellectual capability my friend,--lest i prove it naught!--lest i demonstrate to you, beyond all possibility of consoling doubt, that the shreds and strippings of that change you call death, are only so many embryos of new life which you _must_ live, whether you will or no!" somewhat abashed by his words and still more by his manner, i said-- "pardon me!--i spoke in haste of course,--but you know my theories--" "most thoroughly!" and he laughed, with an immediate resumption of his old manner--"'every man his own theory' is the fashionable motto of the hour. each little biped tells you that he has his 'own idea' of god, and equally 'his own' idea of the devil. it is very droll! but let us return to the theme of love. i feel i have not congratulated you half enough,--for surely fortune favours you singularly. out of the teeming mass of vain and frivolous femininity, you have secured a unique example of beauty, truth and purity,--a woman, who apart from all self-interest and worldly advantage, weds you, with five millions, for yourself alone! the prettiest poem in the world could be made out of such an exquisitely innocent maiden type! you are one of the luckiest men alive; in fact, you have nothing more to wish for!" i did not contradict him, though in my own mind i felt that the circumstances of my engagement left much to be desired. i, who scoffed at religion, wished it had formed part of the character of my future wife,--i, who sneered at sentiment, craved for some expression of it in the woman whose beauty attracted my desires. however i determinedly smothered all the premonitions of my own conscience, and accepted what each day of my idle and useless life brought me without considering future consequences. the papers soon had the news that "a marriage has been arranged and will shortly take place between sibyl, only daughter of the earl of elton, and geoffrey tempest, the famous millionaire." not 'famous author' mark you!--though i was still being loudly 'boomed.' morgeson, my publisher, could offer me no consolation as to my chances of winning and keeping a steady future fame. the tenth edition of my book was announced, but we had not actually disposed of more than two thousand copies, including a one-volume issue which had been hastily thrust on the market. and the work i had so mercilessly and maliciously slated,--'differences' by mavis clare was in its thirtieth thousand! i commented on this with some anger to morgeson, who was virtuously aggrieved at my complaint. "dear me, mr tempest, you are not the only writer who has been 'boomed' by the press and who nevertheless does not sell,"--he exclaimed--"no one can account for the caprices of the public; they are entirely beyond the most cautious publisher's control or calculation. miss clare is a sore subject to many authors besides yourself,--she always 'takes' and no one can help it. i sympathize with you in the matter heartily, but i am not to blame. at any rate the reviewers are all with you,--their praise has been almost unanimous. now mavis clare's 'differences,' though to my thinking a very brilliant and powerful book, has been literally cut to pieces whenever it has been noticed at all,--and yet the public go for her and don't go for you. it isn't my fault. you see people have got compulsory education now, and i'm afraid they begin to mistrust criticism, preferring to form their own independent opinions; if this is so, of course it will be a terrible thing, because the most carefully organized clique in the world will be powerless. everything has been done for you that can be done, mr tempest,--i am sure i regret as much as yourself that the result has not been all you expected or desired. many authors would not care so much for the public approval; the applause of cultured journalism such as you have obtained, would be more than sufficient for them." i laughed bitterly. 'the applause of cultured journalism!' i thought i knew something of the way in which such applause was won. almost i began to hate my millions,--golden trash that could only secure me the insincere flattery of fair-weather friends,--and that could not give me fame,--such fame as has sometimes been grasped in a moment by a starving and neglected genius, who in the very arms of death, succeeds in mastering the world. one day in a fit of disappointment and petulance i said to lucio-- "you have not kept all your promises, my friend!--you told me you could give me fame!" he looked at me curiously. "did i? well,--and are you not famous?" "no. i am merely notorious," i retorted. he smiled. "the word fame, my good geoffrey, traced to its origin means 'a breath'--the breath of popular adulation. you have that--for your wealth." "but not for my work!" "you have the praise of the reviewers!" "what is that worth!" "everything!" he answered smiling--"in the reviewers' own opinion!" i was silent. "you speak of work;" he went on--"now the nature of work i cannot exactly express, because it is a divine thing and is judged by a divine standard. one must consider in all work two things; first, the object for which it is undertaken, and secondly the way in which it is performed. all work should have a high and unselfish intent,--without this, it perishes and is not considered work at all,--not at least by the eternal judges invisible. if it _is_ work, truly and nobly done in every sense of the word, it carries with it its own reward, and the laurels descend from heaven shaped ready for wearing,--no earthly power can bestow them. i cannot give you _that_ fame,--but i have secured you a very fair imitation of it." i was obliged to acquiesce, though more or less morosely,--whereat i saw that he was somewhat amused. unwilling to incur his contempt i said no more concerning the subject that was the nearest to my heart, and wore out many sleepless hours at night in trying to write a new book,--something novel and daring, such as should force the public to credit me with a little loftier _status_ than that obtained by the possession of a huge banking account. but the creative faculty seemed dead in me,--i was crushed by a sense of impotence and failure; vague ideas were in my brain that would not lend themselves to expression in words,--and such a diseased love of hypercriticism controlled me, that after a miserably nervous analysis of every page i wrote, i tore it up as soon as it was written, thus reducing myself to a state of mind that was almost unbearable. early in april i made my first visit to willowsmere, having received information from the head of the firm of decorators and furnishers employed there, that their work was close on completion, and that they would be glad of a visit of inspection from me. lucio and i went down together for the day, and as the train rushed through a green and smiling landscape, bearing us away from the smoke, dirt and noise of the restless modern babylon, i was conscious of a gradually deepening peace and pleasure. the first sight of the place i had recklessly purchased without so much as looking at it, filled me with delight and admiration. it was a beautiful old house, ideally english and suggestive of home-happiness. ivy and jessamine clung to its red walls and picturesque gables,--through the long vista of the exquisitely wooded grounds, the silver gleam of the avon river could be discerned, twisting in and out like a ribbon tied in true love-knots,--the trees and shrubs were sprouting forth in all their fresh spring beauty,--the aspect of the country was indescribably bright and soothing, and i began to feel as if a burden had been suddenly lifted from my life leaving me free to breathe and enjoy my liberty. i strolled from room to room of my future abode, admiring the taste and skill with which the whole place had been fitted and furnished, down to the smallest detail of elegance, comfort and convenience. here my sibyl was born, i thought, with a lover-like tenderness,--here she would dwell again as my wife, amid the lovely and beloved surroundings of her childhood,--and we should be happy--yes, we should be happy, despite all the dull and heartless social doctrines of the modern world. in the spacious and beautiful drawing-room i stopped to look out from the windows on the entrancing view of lawn and woodland that stretched before me,--and as i looked, a warm sense of gratitude and affection filled me for the friend to whose good offices i owed this fair domain. turning, i grasped him by the hand. "it is all your doing, lucio!" i said--"i feel i can never thank you enough! without you i should perhaps never have met sibyl,--i might never have heard of her, or of willowsmere; and i never could have been as happy as i am to-day!" "oh, you are happy then?" he queried with a little smile--"i fancied you were not!" "well--i have not been as happy as i expected to be;" i confessed,--"something in my sudden accession to wealth seems to have dragged me down rather than lifted me up,----it is strange----" "it is not strange at all"--he interrupted,--"on the contrary it is very natural. as a rule the most miserable people in the world are the rich." "are you miserable, for instance?" i asked, smiling. his eyes rested on me with a dark and dreary pathos. "are you too blind to see that i am?" he answered, his accents vibrating with intense melancholy--"can you think i am happy? does the smile i wear,--the disguising smile men put on as a mask to hide their secret agonies from the pitiless gaze of unsympathetic fellow-creatures,--persuade you that i am free from care? as for my wealth,--i have never told you the extent of it; if i did, it might indeed amaze you, though i believe it would not now arouse your envy, considering that your trifling five millions have not been without effect in depressing your mind. but i,--i could buy up kingdoms and be none the poorer,--i could throne and unthrone kings and be none the wiser,--i could crush whole countries under the iron heel of financial speculation,--i could possess the world,--and yet estimate it at no higher value than i do now,--the value of a grain of dust circling through infinity, or a soap-bubble blown on the wind!" his brows knitted,--his face expressed pride, scorn and sorrow. "there is some mystery about you lucio;"--i said--"some grief or loss that your wealth cannot repair--and that makes you the strange being you are. one day perhaps you will confide in me ..." he laughed loudly,--almost fiercely;--and clapped me heavily on the shoulder. "i will!" he said--"i will tell you my history! and you, excellent agnostic as you are, shall 'minister to a mind diseased,' and 'pluck out the memory of a rooted sorrow!' what a power of expression there was in shakespeare, the uncrowned but actual king of england! not the 'rooted sorrow' alone was to be 'plucked out' but the very 'memory' of it. the apparently simple line holds complex wisdom; no doubt the poet knew, or instinctively guessed the most terrible fact in all the universe ..." "and what is that?" "the eternal consciousness of memory--" he replied--"god can not forget,--and in consequence of this, his creatures _may_ not!" i forbore to reply, but i suppose my face betrayed my thoughts, for the cynical smile i knew so well played round his mouth as he looked at me. "i go beyond your patience, do i not!" he said, laughing again--"when i mention god,--who is declared by certain scientists to be non-existent except as a blind, indifferent natural force or atom-producer;--you are bored! i can see that at a glance. pray forgive me! let us resume our tour of inspection through this charming abode. you will be very difficult to satisfy if you are not a very emperor of contentment here;--with a beautiful wife and plenty of cash, you can well afford to give fame the go-by." "i may win it yet!" i said hopefully--"in this place, i feel i could write something worthy of being written." "good! the 'divine flutterings' of winged thoughts are in your brain! apollo grant them strength to fly! and now let us have luncheon,--afterwards we shall have time to take a stroll." in the dining-room i found an elegant repast prepared, which rather surprised me, as i had given no orders, having indeed forgotten to do so. lucio however had, it appeared, not forgotten, and an advance telegram from him had placed certain caterers at leamington on their mettle, with the result that we sat down to a feast as delicate and luxurious as any two epicures could desire. "now i want you to do me a favour, geoffrey,"--said lucio, during our luncheon--"you will scarcely need to reside here till after your marriage; you have too many engagements in town. you spoke of entertaining a big house-party down here,--i wouldn't do that if i were you,--it isn't worth while. you would have to get in a staff of servants, and leave them all afterwards to their own devices while you are on your honeymoon. this is what i propose,--give a grand fête here in honour of your betrothal to lady sibyl, in may--and let me be the master of the revels!" i was in the mood to agree to anything,--moreover the idea seemed an excellent one. i said so and rimânez went on quickly-- "you understand of course, that if i undertake to do a thing i always do it thoroughly, and brook no interference with my plans. now as your marriage will be the signal for our parting,--at any rate for a time,--i should like to show my appreciation of your friendship, by organizing a brilliant affair of the kind i suggest,--and if you will leave it all to me, i guarantee you shall hold such a fête as has never been seen or known in england. and it will be a personal satisfaction to me if you consent to my proposal." "my dear fellow--" i answered--"of course i consent--willingly! i give you _carte blanche_,--do as you like; do all you like! it is most friendly and kind of you! but when are we to make this sensation?" "you are to be married in june?" he asked. "yes,--in the second week of the month." "very well. the fête shall be held on the twenty-second of may,--that will give society time to recover from the effect of one burst of splendour in order to be ready for another,--namely the wedding. now we need not talk of this any more--it is settled,--the rest devolves on me. we've got three or four hours to spare before we take the train back to town,--suppose we take a saunter through the grounds?" i assented to this, and accompanied him readily, feeling in high spirits and good humour. willowsmere and its peaceful loveliness seemed to cleanse my mind of all corroding influences;--the blessed silence of the woods and hills, after the rush and roar of town life, soothed and cheered me, and i walked beside my companion with a light heart and smiling face,--happy, and filled with a dim religious faith in the blue sky, if not in the god beyond it. we sauntered through the fair gardens which were now mine, and then out through the park into a lovely little lane,--a true warwickshire lane, where the celandines were strewing the grass with their bright gold coinage, and the star-wort thrust up fairy bouquets of white bloom between buttercups and lover, and where the hawthorn-buds were beginning to show themselves like minute snow-pellets among the glossy young green. a thrush warbled melodiously,--a lark rose from almost our very feet and flung itself joyously into the sky with a wild outburst of song,--a robin hopped through a little hole in the hedge to look at us in blithe inquisitiveness as we passed. all at once lucio stopped and laid his hand on my shoulder,--his eyes had the beautiful melancholy of a far-off longing which i could neither understand nor define. "listen, geoffrey!" he said--"listen to the silence of the earth while the lark sings! have you ever observed the receptive attitude in which nature seems to wait for sounds divine!" i did not answer,--the silence around us was indeed impressive;--the warbling of the thrush had ceased, and only the lark's clear voice pealing over-head, echoed sweetly through the stillness of the lane. "in the clerical heaven," went on lucio dreamily--"there are no birds. there are only conceited human souls braying forth 'alleluia'! no flowers are included,--no trees; only 'golden streets.' what a poor and barbarous conception! as if a world inhabited by deity would not contain the wonders, graces and beauties of all worlds! even this little planet is more naturally beautiful than the clerical heaven,--that is, it is beautiful wherever man is not. i protest--i have always protested,--against the creation of man!" i laughed. "you protest against your own existence then!" i said. his eyes darkened slowly to a sombre brooding blackness. "when the sea roars and flings itself in anger on the shore, it craves its prey--mankind!--it seeks to wash the fair earth clean of the puny insect that troubles the planet's peace! it drowns the noxious creature when it can, with the aid of its sympathizing comrade the wind! when the thunder crashes down a second after the lightning, does it not seem to you that the very clouds combine in the holy war? the war against god's one mistake;--the making of humanity,--the effort to sweep it out of the universe as one erases a weak expression in an otherwise perfect poem! you and i, for example, are the only discords in to-day's woodland harmony. we are not particularly grateful for life,--we certainly are not content with it,--we have not the innocence of a bird or a flower. we have more knowledge you will say,--but how can we be sure of that? our wisdom came from the devil in the first place, according to the legend of the tree of knowledge,--the fruit of which taught both good and evil, but which still apparently persuades man to evil rather than good, and leads him on to a considerable amount of arrogance besides, for he has an idea he will be immortal as a god in the hereafter,--ye majestic heavens!--what an inadequately stupendous fate for a grain of worthless dust,--a dwarfish atom such as he!" "well, _i_ have no ideas of immortality"--i said--"i have told you that often. this life is enough for me,--i want and expect no other." "aye, but if there were another!" answered lucio, fixing me with a steady look--"and--if you were not asked your opinion about it--but simply plunged headlong into a state of terrible consciousness in which you would rather not be----" "oh come," i said impatiently--"do not let us theorise! i am happy to-day!--my heart is as light as that of the bird singing in the sky; i am in the very best of humours, and could not say an unkind word to my worst enemy." he smiled. "is that your humour?" and he took me by the arm--"then there could be no better opportunity for showing you this pretty little corner of the world;"--and walking on a few yards, he dexterously turned me down a narrow path, leading from the lane, and brought me face to face with a lovely old cottage, almost buried in the green of the young spring verdure, and surrounded by an open fence overgrown with hawthorn and sweet-briar,--"keep firm hold over your temper geoffrey,--and maintain the benignant tranquillity of your mind!--here dwells the woman whose name and fame you hate,--mavis clare!" xix the blood rushed to my face, and i stopped abruptly. "let us go back," i said. "why?" "because i do not know miss clare and do not want to know her. literary women are my abhorrence,--they are always more or less unsexed." "you are thinking of the 'new' women i suppose,--but you flatter them,--they never had any sex to lose. the self-degrading creatures who delineate their fictional heroines as wallowing in unchastity, and who write freely on subjects which men would hesitate to name, are unnatural hybrids of no-sex. mavis clare is not one of them,--she is an 'old-fashioned' young woman. mademoiselle derino, the dancer, is 'unsexed,' but you did not object to her on that score,--on the contrary i believe you have shown your appreciation of her talents by spending a considerable amount of cash upon her." "that's not a fair comparison"--i answered hotly--"mademoiselle derino amused me for a time." "and was not your rival in art!" said lucio with a little malicious smile--"i see! still,--as far as the question of being 'unsexed' goes, i, personally, consider that a woman who shows the power of her intellect is more to be respected than the woman who shows the power of her legs. but men always prefer the legs,--just as they prefer the devil to the deity. all the same, i think, as we have time to spare, we may as well see this genius." "genius!" i echoed contemptuously. "feminine twaddler, then!" he suggested, laughing--"let us see this feminine twaddler. she will no doubt prove as amusing as mademoiselle derino in her way. i shall ring the bell and ask if she is at home." he advanced towards the creeper-covered porch,--but i stood back, mortified and sullen, determined not to accompany him inside the house if he were admitted. suddenly a blithe peal of musical laughter sounded through the air, and a clear voice exclaimed-- "oh tricksy! you wicked boy! take it back directly and apologise!" lucio peered through the fence, and then beckoned to me energetically. "there she is!" he whispered, "there is the dyspeptic, sour, savage old blue-stocking,--there, on the lawn,--by heaven!--she's enough to strike terror into the heart of any man--and millionaire!" i looked where he pointed, and saw nothing but a fair-haired woman in a white gown, sitting in a low basket-chair, with a tiny toy terrier on her lap. the terrier was jealously guarding a large square dog-biscuit nearly as big as himself, and at a little distance off sat a magnificent rough-coated st bernard, wagging his feathery tail to and fro, with every sign of good-humour and enjoyment. the position was evident at a glance,--the small dog had taken his huge companion's biscuit from him and had conveyed it to his mistress,--a canine joke which seemed to be appreciated and understood by all the parties concerned. but as i watched the little group, i did not believe that she whom i saw was mavis clare. that small head was surely never made for the wearing of deathless laurels, but rather for a garland of roses, (sweet and perishable) twined by a lover's hand. no such slight feminine creature as the one i now looked upon could ever be capable of the intellectual grasp and power of 'differences,' the book i secretly admired and wondered at, but which i had anonymously striven to 'quash' in its successful career. the writer of such a work, i imagined, must needs be of a more or less strong physique, with pronounced features and an impressive personality. this butterfly-thing, playing with her dog, was no type of a 'blue-stocking,' and i said as much to lucio. "that cannot be miss clare," i said--"more likely a visitor,--or perhaps the companion-secretary. the novelist must be very different in appearance to that frivolous young person in white, whose dress is distinctly parisian, and who seems to have nothing whatever to do but amuse herself." "tricksy!" said the clear voice again--"take back the biscuit and apologise!" the tiny terrier looked round with an innocently abstracted air, as if in the earnestness of his own thoughts, he had not quite caught the meaning of the sentence. "tricksy!" and the voice became more imperative--"take it back and apologise!" with a comical expression of resignation to circumstances, 'tricksy' seized the large biscuit, and holding it in his teeth with gingerly care, jumped from his mistress's knee and trotting briskly up to the st bernard who was still wagging his tail and smiling as visibly as dogs often can smile, restored his stolen goods with three short yapping barks as much as to say "there! take it!" the st bernard rose in all his majestic bulk and sniffed at it,--then sniffed his small friend, apparently in dignified doubt as to which was terrier and which was biscuit,--then lying down again, he gave himself up to the pleasure of munching his meal, the while "tricksy" with wild barks of delight performed a sort of mad war-dance round and round him by way of entertainment. this piece of dog-comedy was still going on, when lucio turned away from his point of observation at the fence, and going up to the gate, rang the bell. a neat maid-servant answered the summons. "is miss clare at home?" he asked. "yes sir. but i am not sure whether she will receive you,--" the maid replied--"unless you have an appointment?" "we have no appointment,"--said lucio,--"but if you will take these cards,--" here he turned to me--"geoffrey, give me one of yours!" i complied, somewhat reluctantly. "if you will take these cards"--he resumed--"to miss clare, it is just possible she may be kind enough to see us. if not, it will be our loss." he spoke so gently and with such an ingratiating manner that i could see the servant was at once prepossessed in his favour. "step in, sir, if you please,--" she said smiling and opening the gate. he obeyed with alacrity,--and i, who a moment ago had resolved not to enter the place, found myself passively following him under an archway of sprouting young leaves and early budding jessamine into 'lily cottage'--which was to prove one day, though i knew it not then, the only haven of peace and security i should ever crave for,--and, craving, be unable to win! the house was much larger than it looked from the outside; the entrance-hall was square and lofty, and panelled with fine old carved oak, and the drawing-room into which we were shown was one of the most picturesque and beautiful apartments i had ever seen. there were flowers everywhere,--books,--rare bits of china,--elegant trifles that only a woman of perfect taste would have the sense to select and appreciate,--on one or two of the side-tables and on the grand piano were autograph-portraits of many of the greatest celebrities in europe. lucio strolled about the room, making soft comments. "here is the autocrat of all the russias," he said, pausing before a fine portrait of the tsar--"signed by the imperial hand too. now what has the 'feminine twaddler' done to deserve that honour i wonder! here in strange contrast, is the wild-haired paderewski,--and beside him the perennial patti,--there is her majesty of italy, and here we have the prince of wales,--all autographed likenesses. upon my word, miss clare seems to attract a great many notabilities around her without the aid of hard cash. i wonder how she does it, geoffrey?"--and his eyes sparkled half maliciously--"can it be a case of genius after all? look at those lilies!" and he pointed to a mass of white bloom in one of the windows--"are they not far more beautiful creatures than men and women? dumb--yet eloquent of purity!--no wonder the painters choose them as the only flowers suitable for the adornment of angels." as he spoke the door opened, and the woman we had seen on the lawn entered, carrying her toy terrier on one arm. was she mavis clare? or some-one sent to say that the novelist could not receive us? i wondered silently, looking at her in surprise and something of confusion,--lucio advanced with an odd mingling of humility and appeal in his manner which was new to me. "we must apologise for our intrusion, miss clare,"--he said--"but happening to pass your house, we could not resist making an attempt to see you. my name is----rimânez"--he hesitated oddly for a second, then went on--"and this is my friend mr geoffrey tempest, the author,----" the young lady raised her eyes to mine with a little smile and courteous bend of her head--"he has, as i daresay you know, become the owner of willowsmere court. you will be neighbours, and i hope, friends. in any case if we have committed a breach of etiquette in venturing to call upon you without previous introduction, you must try and forgive us! it is difficult,--to me impossible,--to pass the dwelling of a celebrity without offering homage to the presiding genius within." mavis clare,--for it was mavis clare,--seemed not to have heard the intended compliment. "you are very welcome," she said simply, advancing with a pretty grace, and extending her hand to each of us in turn, "i am quite accustomed to visits from strangers. but i already know mr tempest very well by reputation. won't you sit down?" she motioned us to chairs in the lily-decked window-corner, and rang the bell. her maid appeared. "tea, janet." this order given, she seated herself near us, still holding her little dog curled up against her like a small ball of silk. i tried to converse, but could find nothing suitable to say,--the sight of her filled me with too great a sense of self-reproach and shame. she was such a quiet graceful creature, so slight and dainty, so perfectly unaffected and simple in manner, that as i thought of the slaughtering article i had written against her work i felt like a low brute who had been stoning a child. and yet,--after all it was her genius i hated,--the force and passion of that mystic quality which wherever it appears, compels the world's attention,--this was the gift she had that i lacked and coveted. moved by the most conflicting sensations i gazed abstractedly out on the shady old garden,--i heard lucio conversing on trifling matters of society and literature generally, and every now and then her bright laugh rang out like a little peal of bells. soon i felt, rather than saw, that she was looking steadily at me,--and turning, i met her eyes,--deep dense blue eyes, candidly grave and clear. "is this your first visit to willowsmere court?" she asked. "yes," i answered, making an effort to appear more at my ease--"i bought the place,--on the recommendation of my friend the prince here,--without looking at it." "so i heard,"--she said, still observing me curiously--"and you are satisfied with it?" "more than satisfied--i am delighted. it exceeds all my best expectations." "mr tempest is going to marry the daughter of the former owner of willowsmere,"--put in lucio,--"no doubt you have seen it announced in the papers?" "yes;"--she responded with a slight smile--"i have seen it--and i think mr tempest is much to be congratulated. lady sibyl is very lovely,--i remember her as a beautiful child when i was a child myself--i never spoke to her, but i often saw her. she must be charmed at the prospect of returning as a bride to the old home she loved so well." here the servant entered with the tea, and miss clare, putting down her tiny dog, went to the table to dispense it. i watched her move across the room with a sense of vague wonder and reluctant admiration,--she rather resembled a picture by greuze in her soft white gown with a pale rose nestled amid the old flemish lace at her throat,--and as she turned her head towards us, the sunlight caught her fair hair and turned it to the similitude of a golden halo circling her brows. she was not a beauty; but she possessed an undoubted individual charm,--a delicate attractiveness, which silently asserted itself, as the breath of honeysuckle hidden in the tangles of a hedge, will delight the wayfarer with sweet fragrance though the flowers be unseen. "your book was very clever, mr tempest"--she said suddenly, smiling at me--"i read it as soon as it came out. but do you know i think your article was even cleverer?" i felt myself growing uncomfortably red in the face. "to what article do you allude, miss clare?" i stammered confusedly--"i do not write for any magazine." "no?" and she laughed gaily--"but you did on this occasion! you 'slated' me very smartly!--i quite enjoyed it. i found out that you were the author of the philippic,--not through the editor of the journal--oh no, poor man! he is very discreet; but through quite another person who must be nameless. it is very difficult to prevent me from finding out whatever i wish to know, especially in literary matters! why, you look quite unhappy!" and her blue eyes danced with fun as she handed me my cup of tea--"you really don't suppose i was hurt by your critique, do you? dear me, no! nothing of that kind ever affronts me,--i am far too busy to waste any thought on reviews or reviewers. only your article was so exceptionally funny!" "funny?" i echoed stupidly, trying to smile, but failing in the effort. "yes, funny!" she repeated--"it was so very angry that it became amusing. my poor 'differences'! i am really sorry it put you into such a temper,--temper does exhaust one's energies so!" she laughed again and sat down in her former place near me, regarding me with a frankly open and half humorous gaze which i found i could not meet with any sort of composure. to say i felt foolish, would inadequately express my sense of utter bafflement. this woman with her young unclouded face, sweet voice and evidently happy nature, was not at all the creature i had imagined her to be,--and i struggled to say something,--anything,--that would furnish a reasonable and coherent answer. i caught lucio's glance,--one of satirical amusement,--and my thoughts grew more entangled than ever. a distraction however occurred in the behaviour of the dog tricksy, who suddenly took up a position immediately opposite lucio, and lifting his nose in air began to howl with a desolate loudness astonishing in so small an animal. his mistress was surprised. "tricksy, what _is_ the matter?" she exclaimed, catching him up in her arms where he hid his face shivering and moaning;--then she looked steadily at lucio--"i never knew him do such a thing before"--she said--"perhaps you do not like dogs, prince rimânez?" "i am afraid they do not like _me_!" he replied, deferentially. "then pray excuse me a moment!" she murmured, and left the room, to return immediately without her canine favorite. after this i noticed that her blue eyes often rested on lucio's handsome countenance with a bewildered and perplexed expression, as if she saw something in his very beauty that she disliked or distrusted. meanwhile i had recovered a little of my usual self-possession, and i addressed her in a tone which i meant to be kind, but which i knew was somewhat patronizing. "i am very glad, miss clare, that you were not offended at the article you speak of. it was rather strong i admit,--but you know we cannot all be of the same opinion ..." "indeed no!" she said quietly and with a slight smile--"such a state of things would make a very dull world! i assure you i was not and am not in the least offended--the critique was a smart piece of writing, and made not the slightest effect on me or on my book. you remember what shelley wrote of critics? no? you will find the passage in his preface to 'the revolt of islam,' and it runs thus,--'i have sought to write as i believe that homer, shakespeare, and milton wrote, with an utter disregard of anonymous censure. i am certain that calumny and misrepresentation, though it may move me to compassion cannot disturb my peace. i shall understand the expressive silence of those sagacious enemies who dare not trust themselves to speak. i shall endeavour to extract from the midst of insult and contempt and maledictions, those admonitions which may tend to correct whatever imperfections such censurers may discern in my appeal to the public. if certain critics were as clear-sighted as they are malignant, how great would be the benefit to be derived from their virulent writings! as it is, i fear i shall be malicious enough to be amused with their paltry tricks and lame invectives. should the public judge that my composition is worthless, i shall indeed bow before the tribunal from which milton received his crown of immortality, and shall seek to gather, if i live, strength from that defeat, which may nerve me to some new enterprise of thought which may _not_ be worthless!'" as she gave the quotation, her eyes darkened and deepened,--her face was lighted up as by some inward illumination,--and i discovered the rich sweetness of the voice which made the name of 'mavis' suit her so well. "you see i know my shelley!" she said with a little laugh at her own emotion--"and those words are particularly familiar to me, because i have had them painted up on a panel in my study. just to remind me, in case i should forget, what the really great geniuses of the world thought of criticism,--because their example is very encouraging and helpful to a humble little worker like myself. i am not a press-favourite--and i never get good reviews,--but--" and she laughed again--"i like my reviewers all the same! if you have finished your tea, will you come and see them?" come and see them! what did she mean? she seemed delighted at my visible surprise, and her cheeks dimpled with merriment. "come and see them!" she repeated--"they generally expect me at this hour!" she led the way into the garden,--we followed,--i, in a bewildered confusion of mind, with all my ideas respecting 'unsexed females' and repulsive blue-stockings upset by the unaffected behaviour and charming frankness of this 'celebrity' whose fame i envied, and whose personality i could not but admire. with all her intellectual gifts she was yet a lovable woman,--ah mavis!--how lovable and dear i was destined in misery to know! mavis, mavis!--i whisper your sweet name in my solitude,--i see you in my dreams, and kneeling before you i call you angel!--my angel at the gate of a lost paradise, whose sword of genius turning every way, keeps me back from all approach to my forfeited tree of life! xx scarcely had we stepped out on the lawn before an unpleasant incident occurred which might have ended dangerously. at his mistress's approach the big st bernard dog rose from the sunny corner where he had been peacefully dozing, and prepared to greet her,--but as soon as he perceived us he stopped short with an ominous growl. before miss clare could utter a warning word, he made a couple of huge bounds and sprang savagely at lucio as though to tear him in pieces,--lucio with admirable presence of mind caught him firmly by the throat and forced him backwards. mavis turned deathly pale. "let me hold him! he will obey me!" she cried, placing her little hand on the great dog's neck--"down, emperor! down! how dare you! down sir!" in a moment 'emperor' dropped to the ground, and crouched abjectly at her feet, breathing heavily and trembling in every limb. she held him by the collar, and looked up at lucio who was perfectly composed, though his eyes flashed dangerously. "i am so very sorry!" she murmured,--"i forgot,--you told me dogs do not like you. but what a singularly marked antipathy, is it not? i cannot understand it. emperor is generally so good-natured,--i must apologize for his bad conduct--it is quite unusual. i hope he has not hurt you?" "not at all!" returned lucio affably but with a cold smile; "i hope i have not hurt _him_,--or distressed _you_!" she made no reply, but led the st bernard away and was absent for a few minutes. while she was gone, lucio's brow clouded, and his face grew very stern. "what do you think of her?" he asked me abruptly. "i hardly know what to think," i answered abstractedly--"she is very different to what i imagined. her dogs are rather unpleasant company!" "they are honest animals!" he said morosely--"they are no doubt accustomed to candour in their mistress, and therefore object to personified lies." "speak for yourself!" i said irritably--"they object to you, chiefly." "am i not fully aware of that?" he retorted--"and do i not speak for myself? you do not suppose i would call you a personified lie, do you,--even if it were true! i would not be so uncivil. but i am a living lie, and knowing it i admit it, which gives me a certain claim to honesty above the ordinary run of men. this woman-wearer of laurels is a personified truth!--imagine it!--she has no occasion to pretend to be anything else than she is! no wonder she is famous!" i said nothing, as just then the subject of our conversation returned, tranquil and smiling, and did her best, with the tact and grace of a perfect hostess, to make us forget her dog's ferocious conduct, by escorting us through all the prettiest turns and twisting paths of her garden, which was quite a bower of spring beauty. she talked to us both with equal ease, brightness and cleverness, though i observed that she studied lucio with close interest, and watched his looks and movements with more curiosity than liking. passing under an arching grove of budding syringas, we presently came to an open court-yard paved with blue and white tiles, having in its centre a picturesque dove-cote built in the form of a chinese pagoda. here pausing, mavis clapped her hands. a cloud of doves, white, grey, brown, and opalescent answered the summons, circling round and round her head, and flying down in excited groups at her feet. "here are my reviewers!" she said laughing--"are they not pretty creatures? the ones i know best are named after their respective journals,--there are plenty of anonymous ones of course, who flock in with the rest. here, for instance, is the 'saturday review'"--and she picked up a strutting bird with coral-tinted feet, who seemed to rather like the attention shown to him--"he fights with all his companions and drives them away from the food whenever he can. he is a quarrelsome creature!"--here she stroked the bird's head--"you never know how to please him,--he takes offence at the corn sometimes and will only eat peas, or _vice versa_. he quite deserves his name,--go away, old boy!" and she flung the pigeon in the air and watched it soaring up and down--"he _is_ such a comical old grumbler! there is the 'speaker'"--and she pointed to a fat fussy fantail--"he struts very well, and fancies he's important, you know, but he isn't. over there is 'public opinion,'--that one half-asleep on the wall; next to him is the 'spectator,'--you see he has two rings round his eyes like spectacles. that brown creature with the fluffy wings all by himself on that flower-pot is the 'nineteenth century,'--the little bird with the green neck is the 'westminster gazette,' and the fat one sitting on the platform of the cote is the 'pall-mall.' he knows his name very well--see!" and she called merrily--"pall mall! come boy!--come here!" the bird obeyed at once, and flying down from the cote settled on her shoulder. "there are so many others,--it is difficult to distinguish them sometimes,"--she continued,--"whenever i get a bad review i name a pigeon,--it amuses me. that draggle-tailed one with the muddy feet is the 'sketch,'--he is not at all a well-bred bird i must tell you!--that smart-looking dove with the purple breast is the 'graphic,' and that bland old grey thing is the 'i. l. n.' short for 'illustrated london news.' those three white ones are respectively 'daily telegraph,' 'morning post,' and 'standard.' now see them all!" and taking a covered basket from a corner she began to scatter corn and peas and various grains in lavish quantities all over the court. for a moment we could scarcely see the sky, so thickly the birds flocked together, struggling, fighting, swooping downwards, and soaring upwards,--but the wingëd confusion soon gave place to something like order when they were all on the ground and busy, selecting their respective favourite foods from the different sorts provided for their choice. "you are indeed a sweet-natured philosopher"--said lucio smiling, "if you can symbolize your adverse reviewers by a flock of doves!" she laughed merrily. "well, it is a remedy against all irritation,"--she returned; "i used to worry a good deal over my work, and wonder why it was that the press people were so unnecessarily hard upon me, when they showed so much leniency and encouragement to far worse writers,--but after a little serious consideration, finding that critical opinion carried no sort of conviction whatever to the public, i determined to trouble no more about it,--except in the way of doves!" "in the way of doves, you feed your reviewers,"--i observed. "exactly! and i suppose i help to feed them even as women and men!" she said--"they get something from their editors for 'slashing' my work,--and they probably make a little more out of selling their 'review copies.' so you see the dove-emblem holds good throughout. but you have not seen the 'athenæum,'--oh, you _must_ see him!" with laughter still lurking in her blue eyes, she took us out of the pigeon-court, and led the way round to a sequestered and shady corner of the garden, where, in a large aviary-cage fitted up for its special convenience, sat a solemn white owl. the instant it perceived us, it became angry, and ruffling up its downy feathers, rolled its glistening yellow eyes vindictively and opened its beak. two smaller owls sat in the background, pressed close together,--one grey, the other brown. "cross old boy!" said mavis, addressing the spiteful-looking creature in the sweetest of accents--"haven't you found any mice to kill to-day? oh, what wicked eyes!--what a snappy mouth!" then turning to us, she went on--"isn't he a lovely owl? doesn't he look wise?--but as a matter of fact he's just as stupid as ever he can be. that is why i call him the 'athenæum'! he looks so profound, you'd fancy he knows everything, but he really thinks of nothing but killing mice all the time,--which limits his intelligence considerably!" lucio laughed heartily, and so did i,--she looked so mischievous and merry. "but there are two other owls in the cage"--i said--"what are their names?" she held up a little finger in playful warning. "ah, that would be telling secrets!" she said--"they're all the 'athenæum'--the holy three,--a sort of literary trinity. but why a trinity i do not venture to explain!--it is a riddle i must leave you to guess!" she moved on, and we followed across a velvety grass-plot bordered with bright spring-flowers, such as crocuses, tulips, anemones, and hyacinths, and presently pausing she asked--"would you care to see my work-room?" i found myself agreeing to this proposition with an almost boyish enthusiasm. lucio glanced at me with a slight half-cynical smile. "miss clare, are you going to name a pigeon after mr tempest?" he inquired--"he played the part of an adverse critic, you know--but i doubt whether he will ever do so again!" she looked round at me and smiled. "oh, i have been merciful to mr tempest,"--she replied; "he is among the anonymous birds whom i do not specially recognise!" she stepped into the arched embrasure of an open window which fronted the view of the grass and flowers, and entering with her we found ourselves in a large room, octagonal in shape, where the first object that attracted and riveted the attention was a marble bust of the pallas athene whose grave impassive countenance and tranquil brows directly faced the sun. a desk strewn with papers occupied the left-hand side of the window-nook,--in a corner draped with olive-green velvet, the white presence of the apollo belvedere taught in his inscrutable yet radiant smile, the lesson of love and the triumphs of fame,--and numbers of books were about, not ranged in formal rows on shelves as if they were never read, but placed on low tables and wheeled stands, that they might be easily taken up and glanced at. the arrangement of the walls chiefly excited my interest and admiration, for these were divided into panels, and every panel had, inscribed upon it in letters of gold, some phrase from the philosophers, or some verse from the poets. the passage from shelley which mavis had recently quoted to us, occupied, as she had said, one panel, and above it hung a beautiful bas-relief of the drowned poet copied from the monument at via reggio. another and broader panel held a fine engraving of shakespeare, and under the picture appeared the lines-- "to thine own self be true, and it must follow as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man." byron was represented,--also keats; but it would have taken more than a day to examine the various suggestive quaintnesses and individual charms of this 'workshop' as its owner called it, though the hour was to come when i should know every corner of it by heart, and look upon it as a haunted outlaw of bygone ages looked upon 'sanctuary.' but now time gave us little pause,--and when we had sufficiently expressed our pleasure and gratitude for the kindness with which we had been received, lucio, glancing at his watch, suggested departure. "we could stay on here for an indefinite period miss clare,"--he said with an unwonted softness in his dark eyes; "it is a place for peace and happy meditation,--a restful corner for a tired soul." he checked a slight sigh,--then went on--"but trains wait for no man, and we are returning to town to-night." "then i will not detain you any longer," said our young hostess, leading the way at once by a side-door, through a passage filled with flowering plants, into the drawing-room where she had first entertained us--"i hope, mr tempest," she added, smiling at me,--"that now we have met, you will no longer desire to qualify as one of my pigeons! it is scarcely worth while!" "miss clare," i said, now speaking with unaffected sincerity--"i assure you, on my honour, i am very sorry i wrote that article against you. if i had only known you as you are--" "oh, that should make no difference to a critic!" she answered merrily. "it would have made a great difference to me"--i declared; "you are so unlike the objectionable 'literary woman,'--" i paused, and she regarded me smilingly with her bright clear candid eyes,--then i added--"i must tell you that sibyl,--lady sibyl elton--is one of your most ardent admirers." "i am very pleased to hear that,"--she said simply--"i am always glad when i succeed in winning somebody's approval and liking." "does not everyone approve and admire you?" asked lucio. "oh no! by no means! the 'saturday' says i only win the applause of shop-girls!" and she laughed--"poor old 'saturday'!--the writers on its staff are so jealous of any successful author. i told the prince of wales what it said the other day, and he was very much amused." "you know the prince?" i asked, in a little surprise. "well, it would be more correct to say that he knows me," she replied--"he has been very amiable in taking some little interest in my books. he knows a good deal about literature too,--much more than people give him credit for. he has been here more than once,--and has seen me feed my reviewers--the pigeons, you know! he rather enjoyed the fun i think!" and this was all the result of the 'slating' the press gave to mavis clare! simply that she named her doves after her critics, and fed them in the presence of whatever royal or distinguished visitors she might have (and i afterwards learned she had many) amid, no doubt, much laughter from those who saw the 'spectator'-pigeon fighting for grains of corn, or the 'saturday review' pigeon quarrelling over peas! evidently no reviewer, spiteful or otherwise, could affect the vivacious nature of such a mischievous elf as she was. "how different you are--how widely different--to the ordinary run of literary people!" i said involuntarily. "i am glad you find me so,"--she answered--"i hope i _am_ different. as a rule literary people take themselves far too seriously, and attach too much importance to what they do. that is why they become such bores. i don't believe anyone ever did thoroughly good work who was not perfectly happy over it, and totally indifferent to opinion. i should be quite content to write on, if i only had a garret to live in. i was once very poor,--shockingly poor; and even now i am not rich, but i've got just enough to keep me working steadily, which is as it should be. if i had more, i might get lazy and neglect my work,--then you know satan might step into my life, and it would be a question of idle hands and mischief to follow, according to the adage." "i think you would have strength enough to resist satan,--" said lucio, looking at her stedfastly, with sombre scrutiny in his expressive eyes. "oh, i don't know about that,--i could not be sure of myself!" and she smiled--"i should imagine he must be a dangerously fascinating personage. i never picture him as the possessor of hoofs and a tail,--common-sense assures me that no creature presenting himself under such an aspect would have the slightest power to attract. milton's conception of satan is the finest"--and her eyes darkened swiftly with the intensity of her thoughts--"a mighty angel fallen!--one cannot but be sorry for such a fall, if the legend were true!" there was a sudden silence. a bird sang outside, and a little breeze swayed the lilies in the window to and fro. "good-bye, mavis clare!" said lucio very softly, almost tenderly. his voice was low and tremulous--his face grave and pale. she looked up at him in a little surprise. "good-bye!" she rejoined, extending her small hand. he held it a moment,--then, to my secret astonishment, knowing his aversion to women, stooped and kissed it. she flushed rosily as she withdrew it from his clasp. "be always as you are mavis clare!"--he said gently--"let nothing change you! keep that bright nature of yours,--that unruffled spirit of quiet contentment, and you may wear the bitter laurel of fame as sweetly as a rose! i have seen the world; i have travelled far, and have met many famous men and women,--kings and queens, senators, poets and philosophers,--my experience has been wide and varied, so that i am not altogether without authority for what i say,--and i assure you that the satan of whom you are able to speak with compassion, can never trouble the peace of a pure and contented soul. like consorts with like,--a fallen angel seeks the equally fallen,--and the devil,--if there be one,--becomes the companion of those only who take pleasure in his teaching and society. legends say he is afraid of a crucifix,--but if he is afraid of anything i should say it must be of that 'sweet content' concerning which your country's shakespeare sings, and which is a better defence against evil than the church or the prayers of the clergy! i speak as one having the right of age to speak,--i am so many many years older than you!----you must forgive me if i have said too much!" she was quite silent; evidently moved and surprised at his words; and she gazed at him with a vaguely wondering, half-awed expression,--an expression which changed directly i myself advanced to make my adieu. "i am very glad to have met you, miss clare,"--i said--"i hope we shall be friends!" "there is no reason why we should be enemies i think," she responded frankly--"i am very pleased you came to-day. if ever you want to 'slate' me again, you know your fate!--you become a dove,--nothing more! good-bye!" she saluted us prettily as we passed out, and when the gate had closed behind us we heard the deep and joyous baying of the great dog 'emperor,' evidently released from 'durance vile' immediately on our departure. we walked on for some time in silence, and it was not till we had re-entered the grounds of willowsmere, and were making our way to the drive where the carriage which was to take us to the station already awaited us, that lucio said-- "well; now, what do you think of her?" "she is as unlike the accepted ideal of the female novelist as she can well be," i answered, with a laugh. "accepted ideals are generally mistaken ones,"--he observed, watching me narrowly--"an accepted ideal of divinity in some church pictures is an old man's face set in a triangle. the accepted ideal of the devil is a nondescript creature, with horns, hoofs (one of them cloven) and a tail, as miss clare just now remarked. the accepted ideal of beauty is the venus de medicis,--whereas your lady sibyl entirely transcends that much over-rated statue. the accepted ideal of a poet is apollo,--he was a god,--and no poet in the flesh ever approaches the god-like! and the accepted ideal of the female novelist, is an elderly, dowdy, spectacled, frowsy fright,--mavis clare does not fulfil this description, yet she is the author of 'differences.' now mcwhing, who thrashes her continually in all the papers he can command, _is_ elderly, ugly, spectacled and frowsy,--and he is the author of--nothing! women-authors are invariably supposed to be hideous,--men-authors for the most part _are_ hideous. but their hideousness is not noted or insisted upon,--whereas, no matter how good-looking women-writers may be, they still pass under press-comment as frights, because the fiat of press-opinion considers they ought to be frights, even if they are not. a pretty authoress is an offence,--an incongruity,--a something that neither men nor women care about. men don't care about her, because being clever and independent, she does not often care about them,--women don't care about her, because she has the effrontery to combine attractive looks with intelligence, and she makes an awkward rival to those who have only attractive looks without intelligence. so wags the world!-- o wild world!--circling through æons untold,-- 'mid fires of sunrise and sunset,--through flashes of silver and gold,-- grain of dust in a storm,--atom of sand by the sea,-- what is your worth, o world, to the angels of god and me! he sang this quite suddenly, his rich baritone pealing out musically on the warm silent air. i listened entranced. "what a voice you have!" i exclaimed--"what a glorious gift!" he smiled, and sang on, his dark eyes flashing-- o wild world! mote in a burning ray flung from the spherical heavens millions of spaces away-- sink in the ether or soar! live with the planets or die!-- what should i care for your fate, who am one with the infinite sky! "what strange song is that?" i asked, startled and thrilled by the passion of his voice--"it seems to mean nothing!" he laughed, and took my arm. "it does mean nothing!" he said--"all drawing-room songs mean nothing. mine is a drawing-room song--calculated to waken emotional impulses in the unloved spinster religiously inclined!" "nonsense!" i said, smiling. "exactly! that is what i say. it _is_ nonsense!" here we came up to the carriage which waited for us--"just twenty minutes to catch the train, geoffrey! off we go!" and off we did go,--i watching the red gabled roofs of willowsmere court shining in the late sunshine, till a turn in the road hid them from view. "you like your purchase?" queried lucio presently. "i do. immensely!" "and your rival, mavis clare? do you like her?" i paused a moment, then answered frankly, "yes. i like her. and i will admit something more than that to you now. i like her book. it is a noble work,--worthy of the most highly-gifted man. i always liked it--and because i liked it, i slated it." "rather a mysterious course of procedure!" and he smiled; "can you not explain?" "of course i can explain,"--i said--"explanation is easy. i envied her power--i envy it still. her popularity caused me a smarting sense of injury, and to relieve it i wrote that article against her. but i shall never do anything of the kind again. i shall let her grow her laurels in peace." "laurels have a habit of growing without any permission,"--observed lucio significantly--"in all sorts of unexpected places too. and they can never be properly cultivated in the forcing-house of criticism." "i know that!" i said quickly, my thoughts reverting to my own book, and all the favourable criticisms that had been heaped upon it--"i have learned that lesson thoroughly, by heart!" he looked at me fixedly. "it is only one of many you may have yet to learn"--he said--"it is a lesson in fame. your next course of instruction will be in love!" he smiled,--but i was conscious of a certain dread and discomfort as he spoke. i thought of sibyl and her incomparable beauty----sibyl, who had told me she could not love,--had we both to learn a lesson? and should we master it?--or would it master us? xxi the preparations for my marriage now went on apace,--shoals of presents began to arrive for sibyl as well as for myself, and i was introduced to an hitherto undemonstrated phase (as far as i personally was concerned) of the vulgarity and hypocrisy of fashionable society. everyone knew the extent of my wealth, and how little real necessity there was for offering me or my bride-elect costly gifts; nevertheless, all our so-called 'friends' and acquaintances, strove to outvie each other in the gross cash-value, if not in the good taste, of their various donations. had we been a young couple bravely beginning the world on true love, in more or less uncertainty as to our prospects and future income, we should have received nothing either useful or valuable,--everyone would have tried to do the present-giving in as cheap and mean a way as possible. instead of handsome services of solid silver, we should have had a meagre collection of plated teaspoons; instead of costly editions of books sumptuously enriched with fine steel engravings, we might possibly have had to express our gratitude for a ten-shilling family bible. of course i fully realized the actual nature and object of the lavish extravagance displayed on this occasion by our social 'set,'--their gifts were merely so many bribes, sent with a purpose which was easy enough to fathom. the donors wished to be invited to the wedding in the first place,--after that, they sought to be included in our visiting-list, and foresaw invitations to our dinners and house-parties;--and more than this they calculated on our influence in society, and the possible chance there might be in the dim future of our lending some of them money should pressing occasion require it. in the scant thankfulness and suppressed contempt their adulatory offerings excited, sibyl and i were completely at one. she looked upon her array of glittering valuables with the utmost weariness and indifference, and flattered my self-love by assuring me that the only things she cared at all for were the riviére of sapphires and diamonds i had given her as a betrothal-pledge, together with an engagement-ring of the same lustrous gems. yet i noticed she also had a great liking for lucio's present, which was a truly magnificent masterpiece of the jeweller's art. it was a girdle in the form of a serpent, the body entirely composed of the finest emeralds, and the head of rubies and diamonds. flexible as a reed, when sibyl put it on, it appeared to spring and coil round her waist like a living thing, and breathe with her breathing. i did not much care for it myself as an ornament for a young bride,--it seemed to me quite unsuitable,--but as everyone else admired it and envied the possessor of such superb jewels, i said nothing of my own distaste. diana chesney had shown a certain amount of delicate sentiment and refinement in her offering,--it was a very exquisite marble statue of psyche, mounted on a pedestal of solid silver and ebony. sibyl thanked her, smiling coldly. "you have given me an emblem of the soul,"--she said; "no doubt you remembered i have no soul of my own!" and her airy laugh had chilled poor diana 'to the marrow,' as the warm-hearted little american herself, with tears, assured me. at this period i saw very little of rimânez. i was much occupied with my lawyers on the question of 'settlements.' messrs bentham and ellis rather objected to the arrangement by which i gave the half of my fortune to my intended wife unconditionally; but i would brook no interference, and the deed was drawn up, signed, sealed and witnessed. the earl of elton could not sufficiently praise my 'unexampled generosity'--my 'noble character;'--and walked about, eulogising me everywhere, till he almost turned himself into a public advertisement of the virtues of his future son-in-law. he seemed to have taken a new lease of life,--he flirted with diana chesney openly,--and of his paralysed spouse with the fixed stare and deathly grin, he never spoke, and, i imagine, never thought. sibyl herself was always in the hands of dressmakers and milliners,--and we only saw each other every day for a few minutes' hurried chat. on these occasions she was always charming,--even affectionate; and yet,--though i was full of passionate admiration and love for her, i felt that she was mine merely as a slave might be mine; that she gave me her lips to kiss as if she considered i had a right to kiss them because i had bought them, and for no other reason,--that her pretty caresses were studied, and her whole behaviour the result of careful forethought and not natural impulsiveness. i tried to shake off this impression, but it still remained persistently, and clouded the sweetness of my brief courtship. meanwhile, slowly and almost imperceptibly, my 'boomed' book dropped out of notice. morgeson presented a heavy bill of publishing costs which i paid without a murmur; now and then an allusion to my 'literary triumphs' cropped up in one or other of the newspapers, but otherwise no one spoke of my 'famous' work, and few read it. i enjoyed the same sort of cliquey reputation and public failure attending a certain novel entitled 'marius the epicurean.' the journalists with whom i had come in contact began to drift away like flotsam and jetsam; i think they saw i was not likely to give many more 'reviewing' dinners or suppers, and that my marriage with the earl of elton's daughter would lift me into an atmosphere where grub-street could not breathe comfortably or stretch its legs at ease. the heap of gold on which i sat as on a throne, divided me gradually from even the back courts and lower passages leading to the temple of fame,--and almost unconsciously to myself i retreated step by step, shading my eyes as it were from the sun, and seeing the glittering turrets in the distance, with a woman's slight figure entering the lofty portico, turning back her laurelled head to smile sorrowfully and with divinest pity upon me, ere passing in to salute the gods. yet, if asked about it, everyone on the press would have said that i had had a great success. i--only i--realized the bitterness and truth of my failure. i had not touched the heart of the public;--i had not succeeded in so waking my readers out of the torpor of their dull and commonplace every-day lives, that they should turn towards me with outstretched hands, exclaiming--"more,--more of these thoughts which comfort and inspire us!--which make us hear god's voice proclaiming 'all's well!' above the storms of life!" i had not done it,--i could not do it. and the worst part of my feeling on this point was the idea that possibly i might have done it had i remained poor! the strongest and healthiest pulse in the composition of a man,--the necessity for hard work,--had been killed in me. i knew i need not work; that the society in which i now moved thought it ridiculous if i did work; that i was expected to spend money and 'enjoy' myself in the idiotic fashion of what the 'upper ten' term enjoyment. my acquaintances were not slow in suggesting plans for the dissipation of my surplus cash,--why did i not build for myself a marble palace on the riviera?--or a yacht to completely outshine the prince of wales's 'britannia'? why did i not start a theatre? or found a newspaper? not one of my social advisers once proposed my doing any private personal good with my fortune. when some terrible case of distress was published, and subscriptions were raised to relieve the object or objects of suffering, i invariably gave ten guineas, and allowed myself to be thanked for my 'generous assistance.' i might as well have given ten pence, for the guineas were no more to me in comparison than the pence. when funds were started to erect a statue to some great man who had, in the usual way of the world, been a victim of misrepresentation till his death, i produced my ten guineas again, when i could easily have defrayed the whole cost of the memorial, with honour to myself, and been none the poorer. with all my wealth i did nothing noteworthy; i showered no unexpected luck in the way of the patient, struggling workers in the hard schools of literature and art; i gave no 'largesse' among the poor;--and when a thin, eager-eyed curate, with a strong earnest face called upon me one day, to represent, with much nervous diffidence, the hideous sufferings of some of the sick and starving in his district down by the docks, and suggested that i might possibly care to alleviate a few of these direful sorrows as a satisfaction to myself, as well as for the sake of human brotherhood, i am ashamed to say i let him go with a sovereign, for which he heaped coals of fire on my head by his simple 'god bless you, and thank you.' i could see he was himself in the grip of poverty,--i could have made him and his poor district gloriously happy by a few strokes of my pen on a cheque for an amount i should never have missed,--and yet--i gave him nothing but that one piece of gold, and so allowed him to depart. he invited me, with earnest good-will, to go and see his starving flock,--"for, believe me mr tempest," said he--"i should be sorry if you thought, as some of the wealthy are unhappily apt to do, that i seek money simply to apply it to my own personal uses. if you would visit the district yourself, and distribute whatever you pleased with your own hand, it would be infinitely more gratifying to me, and would have a far better effect on the minds of the people. for, sir, the poor will not always be patient under the cruel burdens they have to bear." i smiled indulgently, and assured him, not without a touch of satire in my tone, that i was convinced all clergymen were honest and unselfish,--and then i sent my servant to bow him out with all possible politeness. and that very day i remember, i drank at my luncheon chateau yquem at twenty-five shillings a bottle. i enter into these apparently trifling details because they all help to make up the sum and substance of the deadly consequences to follow,--and also because i wish to emphasize the fact that in my actions i only imitated the example of my compeers. most rich men to-day follow the same course as i did,--and active personal good to the community is wrought by very few of them. no great deed of generosity illumines our annals. royalty itself leads no fashion in this,--the royal gifts of game and cast-off clothing sent to our hospitals are too slight and conventional to carry weight. the 'entertainments for the poor' got up by some of the aristocrats at the east end, are nothing, and less than nothing. they are weak sops to our tame 'lion couchant' offered in doubtful fear and trembling. for our lion is wakeful and somewhat restive,--there is no knowing what may happen if the original ferocity of the beast is roused. a few of our over-rich men might considerably ease the load of cruel poverty in many quarters of the metropolis if they united themselves with a noble unselfishness in the strong and determined effort to do so, and eschewed red-tapeism and wordy argument. but they remain inert;--spending solely on their own personal gratification and amusement,--and meanwhile there are dark signs of trouble brooding. the poor, as the lean and anxious curate said, will not always be patient! i must not here forget to mention, that through some secret management of rimânez, my name, much to my own surprise, appeared on the list of competitors for the derby. how, at so late an hour, this had been effected, i knew no more than where my horse 'phosphor' came from. it was a superb animal, but rimânez, whose gift to me it was, warned me to be careful as to the character of the persons admitted into the stables to view it, and to allow no one but the horse's own two attendants to linger near it long on any pretext. speculation was very rife as to what 'phosphor's' capabilities really were; the grooms never showed him off to advantage during exercise. i was amazed when lucio told me his man amiel would be the jockey. "good heavens!--not possible!" i exclaimed. "can he ride?" "like the very devil!"--responded my friend with a smile: "he will ride 'phosphor' to the winning-post." i was very doubtful in my own mind of this; a horse of the prime minister's was to run, and all the betting was on that side. few had seen 'phosphor,' and those few, though keen admirers of the animal's appearance, had little opportunity of judging its actual qualities, thanks to the careful management of its two attendants, who were dark-faced, reticent-looking men, somewhat after amiel's character and complexion. i myself was quite indifferent as to the result of the contest. i did not really care whether 'phosphor' lost or won the race. i could afford to lose; and it would be little to me if i won, save a momentary passing triumph. there was nothing lasting, intellectual or honourable in the victory,--there _is_ nothing lasting, intellectual or honourable in anything connected with racing. however, because it was 'fashionable' to be interested in this particular mode of wasting time and money, i followed the general 'lead,' for the sake of 'being talked about,' and nothing more. meanwhile, lucio, saying little to me concerning it, was busy planning the betrothal-fête at willowsmere, and designing all sorts of 'surprise' entertainments for the guests. eight hundred invitations were sent out; and society soon began to chatter volubly and excitedly on the probable magnificence of the forthcoming festival. eager acceptances poured in; only a few of those asked were hindered from attending by illness, family deaths or previous engagements, and among these latter, to my regret, was mavis clare. she was going to the sea-coast to stay with some old friends, and in a prettily-worded letter explained this, and expressed her thanks for my invitation, though she found herself unable to accept it. how curious it was that when i read her little note of refusal i should experience such a keen sense of disappointment! she was nothing to me,--nothing but a 'literary' woman who, by strange chance, happened to be sweeter than most women _un_literary; and yet i felt that the fête at willowsmere would lose something in brightness lacking her presence. i had wanted to introduce her to sibyl, as i knew i should thus give a special pleasure to my betrothed,--however, it was not to be, and i was conscious of an inexplicable personal vexation. in strict accordance with the promise made, i let rimânez have his own way entirely with regard to all the arrangements for what was to be the _ne plus ultra_ of everything ever designed for the distraction, amusement and wonderment of listless and fastidious 'swagger' people, and i neither interfered, nor asked any questions, content to rely on my friend's taste, imagination and ingenuity. i only understood that all the plans were being carried out by foreign artists and caterers,--and that no english firms would be employed. i did venture once to inquire the reason of this, and got one of lucio's own enigmatical replies:-- "nothing english is good enough for the english,"--he said--"things have to be imported from france to please the people whom the french themselves angrily designate as 'perfide albion.' you must not have a 'bill of fare'; you must have a 'menu'; and all your dishes must bear french titles, otherwise they will not be in good form. you must have french 'comediennes' and 'danseuses' to please the british taste, and your silken draperies must be woven on french looms. lately too, it has been deemed necessary to import parisian morality as well as parisian fashions. it does not suit stalwart great britain at all, you know,--stalwart great britain, aping the manners of paris, looks like a jolly open-faced, sturdy-limbed giant, with a doll's bonnet stuck on his leonine head. but the doll's bonnet is just now _la mode_. some day i believe the giant will discover it looks ridiculous, and cast it off with a burst of genuine laughter at his own temporary folly. and without it, he will resume his original dignity;--the dignity that best becomes a privileged conqueror who has the sea for his standing-army." "evidently you like england!" i said smiling. he laughed. "not in the very least! i do not like england any more than any other country on the globe. i do not like the globe itself; and england comes in for a share of my aversion as one of the spots on the trumpery ball. if i could have my way, i should like to throne myself on a convenient star for the purpose and kick out at earth as she whirls by in space, hoping by that act of just violence to do away with her for ever!" "but why?" i asked, amused--"why do you hate the earth? what has the poor little planet done to merit your abhorrence?" he looked at me very strangely. "shall i tell you? you will never believe me!" "no matter for that!" i answered smiling--"say on!" "what has the poor little planet done?" he repeated slowly--"the poor little planet has done--nothing. but it is what the gods have done with this same poor little planet, that awakens my anger and scorn. they have made it a living sphere of wonders,--endowed it with beauty borrowed from the fairest corners of highest heaven,--decked it with flowers and foliage,--taught it music,--the music of birds and torrents and rolling waves and falling rains,--rocked it gently in clear ether, among such light as blinds the eyes of mortals,--guided it out of chaos, through clouds of thunder and barbëd shafts of lightning, to circle peacefully in its appointed orbit, lit on the one hand by the vivid splendours of the sun, and on the other by the sleepy radiance of the moon;--and more than all this, they have invested it with a divine soul in man! oh, you may disbelieve as you will,--but notwithstanding the pigmy peeps earth takes at the vast and eternal ocean of science, the soul is here, and all the immortal forces with it and around it! nay, the gods--i speak in the plural, after the fashion of the ancient greeks--for to my thinking there are many gods emanating from the supreme deity,--the gods, i say, have so insisted on this fact, that one of them has walked the earth in human guise, solely for the sake of emphasizing the truth of immortality to these frail creatures of seemingly perishable clay! for this i hate the planet;--were there not, and are there not, other and far grander worlds that a god should have chosen to dwell on than this one!" for a moment i was silent, out of sheer surprise. "you amaze me!" i said at last--"you allude to christ, i suppose; but everybody is convinced by this time that he was a mere man like the rest of us; there was nothing divine about him. what a contradiction you are! why, i remember you indignantly denied the accusation of being a christian." "of course,--and i deny it still"--he answered quickly--"i have not a fat living in the church that i should tell a lie on such a subject. i am not a christian; nor is anyone living a christian. to quote a very old saying 'there never was a christian save one, and he was crucified.' but though i am not a christian i never said i doubted the existence of christ. that knowledge was forced upon me,--with considerable pressure too!" "by a reliable authority?" i inquired with a slight sneer. he made no immediate reply. his flashing eyes looked, as it were, through me and beyond me at something far away. the curious pallor that at times gave his face the set look of an impenetrable mask, came upon him then, and he smiled,--an awful smile. so might a man smile out of deadly bravado, when told of some dim and dreadful torture awaiting him. "you touch me on a sore point,"--he said at last, slowly, and in a harsh tone--"my convictions respecting certain religious phases of man's development and progress, are founded on the arduous study of some very unpleasant truths to which humanity generally shuts its eyes, burying its head in the desert-sands of its own delusions. these truths i will not enter upon now. some other time i will initiate you into a few of my mysteries." the tortured smile passed from his face, leaving it intellectually composed and calm as usual,--and i hastily changed the subject, for i had made up my mind by this time that my brilliant friend had, like many exceptionally gifted persons, a 'craze' on one topic, and that topic a particularly difficult one to discuss as it touched on the superhuman and therefore (to my thinking) the impossible. my own temperament, which had, in the days of my poverty, fluctuated between spiritual striving and material gain, had, with my sudden access to fortune, rapidly hardened into the character of a man of the world worldly, for whom all speculations as to the unseen forces working in and around us, were the merest folly, not worth a moment's waste of thought. i should have laughed to scorn anyone who had then presumed to talk to me about the law of eternal justice, which with individuals as well as nations, works, not for a passing 'phase,' but for all time towards good, and not evil,--for no matter how much a man may strive to blind himself to the fact, he has a portion of the divine within him, which if he wilfully corrupts by his own wickedness, he must be forced to cleanse again and yet again, in the fierce flames of such remorse and such despair as are rightly termed the quenchless fires of hell! xxii on the afternoon of the twenty-first of may, i went down, accompanied by lucio, to willowsmere, to be in readiness for the reception of the social swarm who were to flock thither the next day. amiel went with us,--but i left my own man, morris, behind, to take charge of my rooms in the grand, and to forward late telegrams and special messages. the weather was calm, warm and bright,--and a young moon showed her thin crescent in the sky as we got out at the country station and stepped into the open carriage awaiting us. the station-officials greeted us with servile humility, eyeing lucio especially with an almost gaping air of wonderment; the fact of his lavish expenditure in arranging with the railway company a service of special trains for the use of the morrow's guests, had no doubt excited them to a speechless extent of admiration as well as astonishment. when we approached willowsmere, and entered the beautiful drive, bordered with oak and beech, which led up to the house, i uttered an exclamation of delight at the festal decorations displayed, for the whole avenue was spanned with arches of flags and flowers, garlands of blossoms being even swung from tree to tree, and interlacing many of the lower branches. the gabled porch at the entrance of the house was draped with crimson silk and festooned with white roses,--and as we alighted, the door was flung open by a smart page in brilliant scarlet and gold. "i think," said lucio to me as we entered--"you will find everything as complete as this world's resources will allow. the retinue of servants here are what is vulgarly called 'on the job'; their payment is agreed upon, and they know their duties thoroughly,--they will give you no trouble." i could scarcely find words to express my unbounded satisfaction, or to thank him for the admirable taste with which the beautiful house had been adorned. i wandered about in an ecstasy of admiration, triumphing in such a visible and gorgeous display of what great wealth could really do. the ball-room had been transformed into an elegant bijou theatre, the stage being concealed by a curtain of thick gold-coloured silk on which the oft-quoted lines of shakespeare were embroidered in raised letters,-- "all the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players." turning out of this into the drawing-room, i found it decorated entirely round with banks of roses, red and white, the flowers forming a huge pyramid at one end of the apartment, behind which, as lucio informed me, unseen musicians would discourse sweet harmony. "i have arranged for a few 'tableaux vivants' in the theatre to fill up a gap of time;"--he said carelessly--"fashionable folks now-a-days get so soon tired of one amusement that it is necessary to provide several in order to distract the brains that cannot think, or discover any means of entertainment in themselves. as a matter of fact, people cannot even converse long together because they have nothing to say. oh, don't bother to go out in the grounds on a tour of inspection just now,--leave a few surprises for yourself as well as for your company to-morrow. come and have dinner!" he put his arm through mine and we entered the dining-room. here the table was laid out with costly fruit, flowers and delicacies of every description,--four men-servants in scarlet and gold stood silently in waiting, with amiel, in black as usual, behind his master's chair. we enjoyed a sumptuous repast served to perfection, and when it was finished, we strolled out in the grounds to smoke and talk. "you seem to do everything by magic, lucio;"--i said, looking at him wonderingly--"all these lavish decorations,--these servants--" "money, my dear fellow,--nothing but money"--he interrupted with a laugh--"money, the devil's pass-key! you can have the retinue of a king without any of a king's responsibilities, if you only choose to pay for it. it is merely a question of cost." "and taste!" i reminded him. "true,--and taste. some rich men there are who have less taste than a costermonger. i know one who has the egregious vulgarity to call the attention of his guests to the value of his goods and chattels. he pointed out for my admiration one day, an antique and hideous china plate, the only one of that kind in the world, and told me it was worth a thousand guineas. 'break it,'--i said coolly--'you will then have the satisfaction of knowing you have destroyed a thousand guineas' worth of undesirable ugliness.' you should have seen his face! he showed me no more _curios_!" i laughed, and we walked slowly up and down for a few minutes in silence. presently i became aware that my companion was looking at me intently, and i turned my head quickly to meet his eyes. he smiled. "i was just then thinking," he said, "what you would have done with your life if you had not inherited this fortune, and if,--if _i_ had not come your way?" "i should have starved, no doubt,"--i responded--"died like a rat in a hole,--of want and wretchedness." "i rather doubt that;" he said meditatively--"it is just possible you might have become a great writer." "why do you say that now?" i asked. "because i have been reading your book. there are fine ideas in it,--ideas that might, had they been the result of sincere conviction, have reached the public in time, because they were sane and healthy. the public will never put up for long with corrupt 'fads' and artificial 'crazes.' now you write of god,--yet according to your own statement, you did not believe in god even when you wrote the words that imply his existence,--and that was long before i met you. therefore the book was not the result of sincere conviction, and that's the key-note of your failure to reach the large audience you desired. each reader can see you do not believe what you write,--the trumpet of lasting fame never sounds triumph for an author of that calibre." "don't let us talk about it for heaven's sake!" i said irritably--"i know my work lacks something,--and that something may be what you say or it may not,--i do not want to think about it. let it perish, as it assuredly will; perhaps in the future i may do better." he was silent,--and finishing his cigar, threw the end away in the grass where it burned like a dull red coal. "i must turn in," he then observed,--"i have a few more directions to give to the servants for to-morrow. i shall go to my room as soon as i have done,--so i'll say good-night." "but surely you are taking too much personal trouble,"--i said--"can't i help in any way?" "no, you can't,"--he answered smiling. "when i undertake to do anything i like to do it in my own fashion, or not at all. sleep well, and rise early." he nodded, and sauntered slowly away over the dewy grass. i watched his dark tall figure receding till he had entered the house; then, lighting a fresh cigar, i wandered on alone through the grounds, noting here and there flowery arbours and dainty silk pavilions erected in picturesque nooks and corners for the morrow. i looked up at the sky; it was clear and bright,--there would be no rain. presently i opened the wicket-gate that led into the outer by-road, and walking on slowly, almost unconsciously, i found myself in a few minutes opposite 'lily cottage.' approaching the gate i looked in,--the pretty old house was dark, silent and deserted. i knew mavis clare was away,--and it was not strange that the aspect of her home-nest emphasized the fact of her absence. a cluster of climbing roses hanging from the wall, looked as if they were listening for the first sound of her returning footsteps; across the green breadth of the lawn where i had seen her playing with her dogs, a tall sheaf of st john's lilies stood up white against the sky, their pure hearts opened to the star-light and the breeze. the scent of honey-suckle and sweet-briar filled the air with delicate suggestions,--and as i leaned over the low fence, gazing vaguely at the long shadows of the trees on the grass, a nightingale began to sing. the sweet yet dolorous warble of the 'little brown lover of the moon,' palpitated on the silence in silver-toned drops of melody; and i listened, till my eyes smarted with a sudden moisture as of tears. strangely enough, i never thought of my betrothed bride sibyl then, as surely, by all the precedents of passion, i should have done at such a moment of dreamful ecstasy. it was another woman's face that floated before my memory;--a face not beautiful,--but merely sweet,--and made radiant by the light of two tender, wistful, wonderfully innocent eyes,--a face like that of some new daphne with the mystic laurel springing from her brows. the nightingale sang on and on,--the tall lilies swayed in the faint wind as though nodding wise approval of the bird's wild music,--and, gathering one briar-rose from the hedge, i turned away with a curious heaviness at my heart,--a trouble i could not analyse or account for. i explained my feeling partly to myself as one of regret that i had ever taken up my pen to assault, with sneer and flippant jest, the gentle and brilliantly endowed owner of this little home where peace and pure content dwelt happily in student-like seclusion;--but this was not all. there was something else in my mind,--something inexplicable and sad,--which then i had no skill to define. i know now what it was,--but the knowledge comes too late! returning to my own domains, i saw through the trees a vivid red light in one of the upper windows of willowsmere. it twinkled like a lurid star, and i guided my steps by its brilliancy as i made my way across the winding garden-paths and terraces back to the house. entering the hall, the page in scarlet and gold met me, and with a respectful obeisance, escorted me to my room where amiel was in waiting. "has the prince retired?" i asked him. "yes, sir." "he has a red lamp in his window has he not?" amiel looked deferentially meditative. yet i fancied i saw him smile. "i think----yes,--i believe he has, sir." i asked no more questions, but allowed him to perform his duties as valet in silence. "good-night sir!" he said at last, his ferret eyes fastened upon me with an expressionless look. "good-night!" i responded indifferently. he left the room with his usual cat-like stealthy tread, and when he had gone, i,--moved by a sudden fresh impulse of hatred for him,--sprang to the door and locked it. then i listened, with an odd nervous breathlessness. there was not a sound. for fully quarter of an hour i remained with my attention more or less strained, expectant of i knew not what; but the quiet of the house was absolutely undisturbed. with a sigh of relief i flung myself on the luxurious bed,--a couch fit for a king, draped with the richest satin elaborately embroidered,--and falling soundly asleep i dreamed that i was poor again. poor,--but unspeakably happy,--and hard at work in the old lodging, writing down thoughts which i knew, by some divine intuition and beyond all doubt, would bring me the whole world's honour. again i heard the sounds of the violin played by my unseen neighbour next door, and this time they were triumphal chords and cadences of joy, without one throb of sorrow. and while i wrote on in an ecstasy of inspiration, oblivious of poverty and pain, i heard, echoing through my visions, the round warble of the nightingale, and saw, in the far distance, an angel floating towards me on pinions of light, with the face of mavis clare. xxiii the morning broke clear, with all the pure tints of a fine opal radiating in the cloudless sky. never had i beheld such a fair scene as the woods and gardens of willowsmere when i looked upon them that day illumined by the unclouded sunlight of a spring half-melting into summer. my heart swelled with pride as i surveyed the beautiful domain i now owned,--and thought how happy a home it would make when sibyl, matchless in her loveliness, shared with me its charm and luxury. "yes,"--i said half-aloud--"say what philosophers will, the possession of money does insure satisfaction and power. it is all very well to talk about fame, but what is fame worth, if, like carlyle, one is too poor to enjoy it! besides, literature no longer holds its former high prestige,--there are too many in the field,--too many newspaper-scribblers, all believing they are geniuses,--too many ill-educated lady-paragraphists and 'new' women, who think they are as gifted as georges sand or mavis clare. with sibyl and willowsmere, i ought to be able to resign the idea of fame--literary fame--with a good grace." i knew i reasoned falsely with myself,--i knew that my hankering for a place among the truly great of the world, was as strong as ever,--i knew i craved for the intellectual distinction, force, and pride which make the thinker a terror and a power in the land, and which so sever a great poet or great romancist from the commoner throng that even kings are glad to do him or her honour,--but i would not allow my thoughts to dwell on this rapidly vanishing point of unattainable desire. i settled my mind to enjoy the luscious flavour of the immediate present, as a bee settles in the cup of honey-flowers,--and, leaving my bedroom, i went downstairs to breakfast with lucio in the best and gayest of humours. "not a cloud on the day!" he said, meeting me with a smile, as i entered the bright morning-room, whose windows opened on the lawn--"the fête will be a brilliant success, geoffrey." "thanks to you!" i answered--"personally i am quite in the dark as to your plans,--but i believe you can do nothing that is not well done." "you honour me!" he said with a light laugh--"you credit me then with better qualities than the creator! for what he does, in the opinion of the present generation, is exceedingly ill done! men have taken to grumbling at him instead of praising him,--and few have any patience with or liking for his laws." i laughed. "well, you must admit those laws are very arbitrary!" "they are. i entirely acknowledge the fact!" we sat down to table, and were waited upon by admirably-trained servants who apparently had no idea of anything else but attendance on our needs. there was no trace of bustle or excitement in the household,--no sign whatever to denote that a great entertainment was about to take place that day. it was not until the close of our meal that i asked lucio what time the musicians would arrive. he glanced at his watch. "about noon i should say,"--he replied--"perhaps before. but whatever their hour, they will all be in their places at the proper moment, depend upon it. the people i employ--both musicians and 'artistes'--know their business thoroughly, and are aware that i stand no nonsense." a rather sinister smile played round his mouth as he regarded me. "none of your guests can arrive here till one o'clock,--as that is about the time the special train will bring the first batch of them from london,--and the first 'déjeuner' will be served in the gardens at two. if you want to amuse yourself there's a maypole being put up on the large lawn,--you'd better go and look at it." "a maypole!" i exclaimed--"now that's a good idea!" "it used to be a good idea,"--he answered--"when english lads and lasses had youth, innocence, health and fun in their composition, a dance round the maypole hand in hand, did them good and did nobody harm. but now there are no lads and lasses,--enervated old men and women in their teens walk the world wearily, speculating on the uses of life,--probing vice, and sneering down sentiment, and such innocent diversions as the maypole no longer appeal to our jaded youth. so we have to get 'professionals' to execute the may-revels,--of course the dancing is better done by properly trained legs; but it means nothing, and _is_ nothing, except a pretty spectacle." "and are the dancers here?" i asked, rising and going towards the window in some curiosity. "no, not yet. but the may-pole is;--fully decorated. it faces the woods at the back of the house,--go and see if you like it." i followed his suggestion, and going in the direction indicated, i soon perceived the gaily-decked object which used to be the welcome signal of many a village holiday in shakespeare's old-world england. the pole was already set up and fixed in a deep socket in the ground, and a dozen or more men were at work, unbinding its numerous trails of blossom and garlands of green, tied with long streamers of vari-coloured ribbon. it had a picturesque effect in the centre of the wide lawn bordered with grand old trees,--and approaching one of the men, i said something to him by way of approval and admiration. he glanced at me furtively and unsmilingly, but said nothing,--and i concluded from his dark and foreign cast of features, that he did not understand the english language. i noted, with some wonder and slight vexation that all the workmen were of this same alien and sinister type of countenance, very much after the unattractive models of amiel and the two grooms who had my racer 'phosphor' in charge. but i remembered what lucio had told me,--namely, that all the designs for the fête were carried out by foreign experts and artists,--and after some puzzled consideration, i let the matter pass from my mind. the morning hours flew swiftly by, and i had little time to examine all the festal preparations with which the gardens abounded,--so that i was almost as ignorant of what was in store for the amusement of my guests as the guests themselves. i had the curiosity to wait about and watch for the coming of the musicians and dancers, but i might as well have spared myself this waste of time and trouble, for i never saw them arrive at all. at one o'clock, both lucio and i were ready to receive our company,--and at about twenty minutes past the hour, the first instalment of 'swagger society' was emptied into the grounds. sibyl and her father were among these,--and i eagerly advanced to meet and greet my bride-elect as she alighted from the carriage that had brought her from the station. she looked supremely beautiful that day, and was, as she deserved to be, the cynosure of all eyes. i kissed her little gloved hand with a deeper reverence than i would have kissed the hand of a queen. "welcome back to your old home, my sibyl!" i said to her in a low voice tenderly, at which words she paused, looking up at the red gables of the house with such wistful affection as filled her eyes with something like tears. she left her hand in mine, and allowed me to lead her towards the silken-draped, flower-decked porch, where lucio waited, smiling,--and as she advanced, two tiny pages in pure white and silver glided suddenly out of some unseen hiding-place, and emptied two baskets of pink and white rose-leaves at her feet, thus strewing a fragrant pathway for her into the house. they vanished as completely and swiftly as they had appeared,--some of the guests uttered murmurs of admiration, while sibyl gazed about her, blushing with surprise and pleasure. "how charming of you, geoffrey!" she said, "what a poet you are to devise so pretty a greeting!" "i wish i deserved your praise!" i answered, smiling at her--"but the poet in question is prince rimânez,--he is the master and ruler of to-day's revels." again the rich colour flushed her cheeks, and she gave lucio her hand. he bowed over it in courtly fashion,--but did not kiss it as he had kissed the hand of mavis clare. we passed into the house, through the drawing-room, and out again into the gardens, lord elton being loud in his praise of the artistic manner in which his former dwelling had been improved and embellished. soon the lawn was sprinkled with gaily attired groups of people,--and my duties as host began in hard earnest. i had to be greeted, complimented, flattered, and congratulated on my approaching marriage by scores of hypocrites who nearly shook my hand off in their enthusiasm for my wealth. had i become suddenly poor, i thought grimly, not one of them would have lent me a sovereign! the guests kept on arriving in shoals, and when there were about three or four hundred assembled, a burst of exquisite music sounded, and a procession of pages in scarlet and gold, marching two by two appeared, carrying trays full of the rarest flowers tied up in bouquets, which they offered to all the ladies present. exclamations of delight arose on every side,--exclamations which were for the most part high-pitched and noisy,--for the 'swagger set' have long ceased to cultivate softness of voice or refinement of accent,--and once or twice the detestable slang word, 'ripping' escaped from the lips of a few dashing dames, reputed to be 'leaders' of style. repose of manner, dignity and elegance of deportment, however, are no longer to be discovered among the present 'racing' duchesses and gambling countesses of the bluest blue blood of england, so one does not expect these graces of distinction from them. the louder they can talk, and the more slang they can adopt from the language of their grooms and stable-boys, the more are they judged to be 'in the swim' and 'up to date.' i speak, of course, of the modern scions of aristocracy. there are a few truly 'great ladies' left, whose maxim is still '_noblesse oblige_,'--but they are quite in the minority and by the younger generation are voted either 'old cats' or 'bores.' many of the 'cultured' mob that now swarmed over my grounds had come out of the sheerest vulgar curiosity to see what 'the man with five millions' could do in the way of entertaining,--others were anxious to get news, if possible, of the chances of 'phosphor' winning the derby, concerning which i was discreetly silent. but the bulk of the crowd wandered aimlessly about, staring impertinently or enviously at each other, and scarcely looking at the natural loveliness of the gardens or the woodland scenery around them. the brainlessness of modern society is never so flagrantly manifested as at a garden-party, where the restless trousered and petticoated bipeds move vaguely to and fro, scarcely stopping to talk civilly or intelligently to one another for five minutes, most of them hovering dubiously and awkwardly between the refreshment-pavilion and the band-stand. in my domain they were deprived of this latter harbour of refuge, for no musicians could be seen, though music was heard,--beautiful wild music which came first from one part of the grounds and then from another, and to which few listened with any attention. all were, however, happily unanimous in their enthusiastic appreciation of the excellence of the food provided for them in the luxurious luncheon tents of which there were twenty in number. men ate as if they had never eaten in their lives before, and drank the choice and exquisite wines with equal greed and gusto. one never entirely realises the extent to which human gourmandism can go till one knows a few peers, bishops and cabinet-ministers, and watches those dignitaries feed _ad libitum_. soon the company was so complete that there was no longer any need for me to perform the fatiguing duty of 'receiving'; and i therefore took sibyl in to luncheon, determining to devote myself to her for the rest of the day. she was in one of her brightest and most captivating moods,--her laughter rang out as sweetly joyous as that of some happy child,--she was even kind to diana chesney, who was also one of my guests, and who was plainly enjoying herself with all the _verve_ peculiar to pretty american women, who consider flirtation as much of a game as tennis. the scene was now one of great brilliancy, the light costumes of the women contrasting well with the scarlet and gold liveries of the seemingly innumerable servants that were now everywhere in active attendance. and, constantly through the fluttering festive crowd, from tent to tent, from table to table, and group to group, lucio moved,--his tall stately figure and handsome face always conspicuous wherever he stood, his rich voice thrilling the air whenever he spoke. his influence was irresistible, and gradually dominated the whole assemblage,--he roused the dull, inspired the witty, encouraged the timid, and brought all the conflicting elements of rival position, character and opinion into one uniform whole, which was unconsciously led by his will as easily as a multitude is led by a convincing orator. i did not know it then, but i know now, that metaphorically speaking, he had his foot on the neck of that 'society' mob, as though it were one prostrate man;--that the sycophants, liars and hypocrites whose utmost idea of good is wealth and luxurious living, bent to his secret power as reeds bend to the wind,--and that he did with them all whatsoever he chose,--as he does to this very day! god!--if the grinning, guzzling sensual fools had only known what horrors were about them at the feast!--what ghastly ministers to pleasurable appetite waited obediently upon them!--what pallid terrors lurked behind the gorgeous show of vanity and pride! but the veil was mercifully down,--and only to me has it since been lifted! luncheon over, the singing of mirthful voices, tuned to a kind of village roundelay, attracted the company, now fed to repletion, towards the lawn at the back of the house, and cries of delight were raised as the maypole came into view, i myself joining in the universal applause, for i had not expected to see anything half so picturesque and pretty. the pole was surrounded by a double ring of small children,--children so beautiful in face and dainty in form, that they might very well have been taken for little fairies from some enchanted woodland. the boys were clad as tiny foresters, in doublets of green, with pink caps on their curly locks,--the girls were in white, with their hair flowing loosely over their shoulders, and wreaths of may-blossom crowning their brows. as soon as the guests appeared on the scene, these exquisite little creatures commenced their dance, each one taking a trail of blossom or a ribbon pendant from the may-pole, and weaving it with the others into no end of beautiful and fantastic designs. i looked on, as amazed and fascinated as anyone present, at the wonderful lightness and ease with which these children tripped and ran;--their tiny twinkling feet seemed scarcely to touch the turf,--their faces were so lovely,--their eyes so bright, that it was a positive enchantment to watch them. each figure they executed was more intricate and effective than the last, and the plaudits of the spectators grew more and more enthusiastic, till presently came the _finale_, in which all the little green foresters climbed up the pole and clung there, pelting the white-robed maidens below with cowslip-balls, knots of roses, bunches of violets, posies of buttercups, daisies and clover, which the girl-children in their turn laughingly threw among the admiring guests. the air grew thick with flowers, and heavy with perfume, and resounded with song and laughter;--and sibyl, standing at my side, clapped her hands in an ecstasy. "oh, it is lovely--lovely!" she cried--"is this the prince's idea?" then as i answered in the affirmative, she added, "where, i wonder, did he find such exquisitely pretty little children!" as she spoke, lucio himself advanced a step or two in front of the other spectators and made a slight peremptory sign. the fairy-like foresters and maidens, with extraordinary activity, all sprang away from the may-pole, pulling down the garlands with them, and winding the flowers and ribbons about themselves so that they looked as if they were all tied together in one inextricable knot,--this done, they started off at a rapid run, presenting the appearance of a rolling ball of blossom, merry pipe-music accompanying their footsteps, till they had entirely disappeared among the trees. "oh do call them back again!" entreated sibyl, laying her hand coaxingly on lucio's arm,--"i should so like to speak to two or three of the prettiest!" he looked down at her with an enigmatical smile. "you would do them too much honour, lady sibyl," he replied--"they are not accustomed to such condescension from great ladies and would not appreciate it. they are paid professionals, and, like many of their class, only become insolent when praised." at that moment diana chesney came running across the lawn, breathless. "i can't see them anywhere!" she declared pantingly--"the dear little darlings! i ran after them as fast as i could; i wanted to kiss one of those perfectly scrumptious boys, but they're gone!--not a trace of them left! it's just as if they had sunk into the ground!" again lucio smiled. "they have their orders,--" he said curtly--"and they know their place." just then, the sun was obscured by a passing black cloud, and a peal of thunder rumbled over-head. looks were turned to the sky, but it was quite bright and placid save for that one floating shadow of storm. "only summer thunder,"--said one of the guests--"there will be no rain." and the crowd that had been pressed together to watch the 'maypole dance' began to break up in groups, and speculate as to what diversion might next be provided for them. i, watching my opportunity, drew sibyl away. "come down by the river;"--i whispered--"i must have you to myself for a few minutes." she yielded to my suggestion, and we walked away from the mob of our acquaintance, and entered a grove of trees leading to the banks of that part of the avon which flowed through my grounds. here we found ourselves quite alone, and putting my arm round my betrothed, i kissed her tenderly. "tell me," i said with a half-smile--"do you know how to love yet?" she looked up with a passionate darkness in her eyes that startled me. "yes,--i know!" was her unexpected answer. "you do!" and i stopped to gaze intently into her fair face--"and how did you learn?" she flushed red,--then grew pale,--and clung to me with a nervous, almost feverish force. "very strangely!" she replied--"and--quite suddenly! the lesson was easy, i found;--too easy! geoffrey,"--she paused, and fixed her eyes full on mine--"i will tell you how i learnt it, ... but not now, ... some other day." here she broke off, and began to laugh rather forcedly. "i will tell you ... when we are married." she glanced anxiously about her,--then, with a sudden abandonment of her usual reserve and pride, threw herself into my arms and kissed my lips with such ardour as made my senses reel. "sibyl--sibyl!" i murmured, holding her close to my heart----"oh my darling,--you love me!--at last you love me!" "hush!--hush!" she said breathlessly--"you must forget that kiss,----it was too bold of me--it was wrong--i did not mean it, ... i, ... i was thinking of something else. geoffrey!"--and her small hand clenched on mine with a sort of eager fierceness--"i wish i had never learned to love; i was happier before i knew!" a frown knitted her brows. "now"--she went on in the same breathless hurried way--"i _want_ love! i am starving, thirsting for it! i want to be drowned in it, lost in it, killed by it! nothing else will content me!" i folded her still closer in my arms. "did i not say you would change, sibyl?" i whispered--"your coldness and insensibility to love was unnatural and could not last,--my darling, i always knew that!" "you always knew!" she echoed a little disdainfully--"ah, but you do not know even now what has chanced to me. nor shall i tell you--yet. oh geoffrey!--" here she drew herself out of my embrace, and stooping, gathered some bluebells in the grass--"see these little flowers growing so purely and peacefully in the shade by the avon!--they remind me of what i was, here in this very place, long ago. i was quite as happy, and i think as innocent as these blossoms; i had no thought of evil in my nature,--and the only love i dreamed of was the love of the fairy prince for the fairy princess,--as harmless an idea as the loves of the flowers themselves. yes!--i was then all i should like to be now,--all that i am not!" "you are everything that is beautiful and sweet!"--i told her, admiringly, as i watched the play of retrospective and tender expression on her perfect face. "so you judge,--being a man who is perfectly satisfied with his own choice of a wife!" she said with a flash of her old cynicism--"but i know myself better than you know me. you call me beautiful and sweet,--but you cannot call me good! i am not good. why, the very love that now consumes me is----" "what?" i asked her quickly, seizing her hands with the blue-bells in them, and gazing searchingly into her eyes--"i know before you speak, that it is the passion and tenderness of a true woman!" she was silent for a moment. then she smiled, with a bewitching languor. "if you know, then i need not tell you"--she said--"so, do not let us stay here any longer talking nonsense;--'society' will shake its head over us and accuse us of 'bad form,' and some lady-paragraphist will write to the papers, and, say--'mr tempest's conduct as a host left much to be desired, as he and his bride-elect were "spooning" all the day.'" "there are no lady-paragraphists here,"--i said laughing, and encircling her dainty waist with one arm as i walked. "oh, are there not, though!" she exclaimed, laughing also, "why, you don't suppose you can give any sort of big entertainment without them do you? they permeate society. old lady maravale, for example, who is rather reduced in circumstances, writes a guinea's worth of scandal a week for one of the papers. and _she_ is here,--i saw her simply gorging herself with chicken salad and truffles an hour ago!" here pausing, and resting against my arm, she peered through the trees. "there are the chimneys of lily cottage where the famous mavis clare lives," she said. "yes, i know,"--i replied readily--"rimânez and i have visited her. she is away just now, or she would have been here to-day." "do you like her?" sibyl queried. "very much. she is charming." "and ... the prince ... does he like her?" "well, upon my word," i answered with a smile--"i think he likes her more than he does most women! he showed the most extraordinary deference towards her, and seemed almost abashed in her presence. are you cold, sibyl?" i added hastily, for she shivered suddenly and her face grew pale--"you had better come away from the river,--it is damp under these trees." "yes,--let us go back to the gardens and the sunshine;"--she answered dreamily--"so your eccentric friend,--the woman-hater,--finds something to admire in mavis clare! she must be a very happy creature i think,--perfectly free, famous, and believing in all good things of life and humanity, if one may judge from her books." "well, taken altogether, life isn't so very bad!" i observed playfully. she made no reply,--and we returned to the lawns where afternoon tea was now being served to the guests, who were seated in brilliant scattered groups under the trees or within the silken pavilions, while the sweetest music,--and the strangest, if people had only had ears to hear it,--both vocal and instrumental, was being performed by those invisible players and singers whose secret whereabouts was unknown to all, save lucio. xxiv just as the sun began to sink, several little pages came out of the house, and with low salutations, distributed among the guests daintily embossed and painted programmes of the 'tableaux vivants,' prepared for their diversion in the extemporized bijou theatre. numbers of people rose at once from their chairs on the lawn, eager for this new spectacle, and began to scramble along and hustle one another in that effective style of 'high-breeding' so frequently exhibited at her majesty's drawing-rooms. i, with sibyl, hastily preceded the impatient, pushing crowd, for i wished to find a good seat for my beautiful betrothed before the room became full to over-flowing. there proved however, to be plenty of accommodation for everybody,--what space there was seemed capable of limitless expansion, and all the spectators were comfortably placed without difficulty. soon we were all studying our programmes with considerable interest, for the titles of the 'tableaux' were somewhat original and mystifying. they were eight in number, and were respectively headed--'society,'--'bravery: ancient and modern,'--'a lost angel,'--'the autocrat,'--'a corner of hell,'--'seeds of corruption,'--'his latest purchase,'--and 'faith and materialism.' it was in the theatre that everyone became at last conscious of the weirdly beautiful character of the music that had been surging round them all day. seated under one roof in more or less enforced silence and attention, the vague and frivolous throng grew hushed and passive,--the 'society' smirk passed off certain faces that were as trained to grin as their tongues were trained to lie,--the dreadful giggle of the unwedded man-hunter was no longer heard,--and soon the most exaggerated fashion-plate of a woman forgot to rustle her gown. the passionate vibrations of a violoncello, superbly played to a double harp accompaniment, throbbed on the stillness with a beseeching depth of sound,--and people listened, i saw, almost breathlessly, entranced, as it were, against their wills, and staring as though they were hypnotized, in front of them at the gold curtain with its familiar motto-- "all the world's a stage and all the men and women merely players." before we had time to applaud the violoncello solo however, the music changed,--and the mirthful voices of violins and flutes rang out in a waltz of the giddiest and sweetest tune. at the same instant a silvery bell tinkled, and the curtain parted noiselessly in twain, disclosing the first tableau--"society." an exquisite female figure, arrayed in evening-dress of the richest and most extravagant design, stood before us, her hair crowned with diamonds, and her bosom blazing with the same lustrous gems. her head was slightly raised,--her lips were parted in a languid smile,--in one hand she held up-lifted a glass of foaming champagne,--her gold-slippered foot trod on an hour-glass. behind her, catching convulsively at the folds of her train, crouched another woman in rags, pinched and wretched, with starvation depicted in her face,--a dead child lay near. and, overshadowing this group, were two supernatural shapes,--one in scarlet, the other in black,--vast and almost beyond the stature of humanity,--the scarlet figure represented anarchy, and its blood-red fingers were advanced to clutch the diamond crown from 'society's' brow,--the sable-robed form was death, and even as we looked, it slowly raised its steely dart in act to strike! the effect was weird and wonderful,--and the grim lesson the picture conveyed, was startling enough to make a very visible impression. no one spoke,--no one applauded,--but people moved restlessly and fidgetted on their seats,--and there was an audible sigh of relief as the curtain closed. opening again, it displayed the second tableau--'bravery--ancient and modern.' this was in two scenes;--the first one depicted a nobleman of elizabeth's time, with rapier drawn, his foot on the prostrate body of a coarse ruffian who had evidently, from the grouping, insulted a woman whose slight figure was discerned shrinking timidly away from the contest. this was 'ancient bravery,'--and it changed rapidly to 'modern,' showing us an enervated, narrow-shouldered, pallid dandy in opera-coat and hat, smoking a cigarette and languidly appealing to a bulky policeman to protect him from another young noodle of his own class, similarly attired, who was represented as sneaking round a corner in abject terror. we all recognised the force of the application, and were in a much better humour with this pictured satire than we had been at the lesson of 'society.' next followed 'a lost angel,' in which was shown a great hall in the palace of a king, where there were numbers of brilliantly attired people, all grouped in various attitudes, and evidently completely absorbed in their own concerns, so much so as to be entirely unconscious of the fact that in their very midst, stood a wondrous angel, clad in dazzling white, with a halo round her fair hair, and a glory, as of the sunset, on her half drooping wings. her eyes were wistful,--her face was pensive and expectant; she seemed to say, "will the world ever know that i am here?" somehow,--as the curtain slowly closed again, amid loud applause, for the picture was extraordinarily beautiful, i thought of mavis clare, and sighed. sibyl looked up at me. "why do you sigh?" she said--"it is a lovely fancy,--but the symbol is wasted in the present audience,--no one with education believes in angels now-a-days." "true!" i assented; yet there was a heaviness at my heart, for her words reminded me of what i would rather have forgotten,--namely her own admitted lack of all religious faith. 'the autocrat,' was the next tableau, and represented an emperor enthroned. at his footstool knelt a piteous crowd of the starving and oppressed, holding up their lean hands to him, clasped in anguished petition, but he looked away from them as though he saw them not. his head was turned to listen to the side-whisper of one who seemed, by the courtly bend and flattering smile, to be his adviser and confidant,--yet that very confidant held secreted behind his back, a drawn dagger, ready to strike his sovereign to the heart. "russia!" whispered one or two of the company, as the scene was obscured; but the scarcely-breathed suggestion quickly passed into a murmur of amazement and awe as the curtain parted again to disclose "a corner of hell." this tableau was indeed original, and quite unlike what might have been imagined as the conventional treatment of such a subject. what we saw was a black and hollow cavern, glittering alternately with the flashings of ice and fire,--huge icicles drooped from above, and pale flames leaped stealthily into view from below, and within the dark embrasure, the shadowy form of a man was seated, counting out gold, or what seemed to be gold. yet as coin after coin slipped through his ghostly fingers, each one was seen to change to fire,--and the lesson thus pictured was easily read. the lost soul had made its own torture, and was still at work intensifying and increasing its own fiery agony. much as this scene was admired for its rembrandt effect of light and shade, i, personally, was glad when it was curtained from view; there was something in the dreadful face of the doomed sinner that reminded me forcibly and unpleasantly of those ghastly three i had seen in my horrid vision on the night of viscount lynton's suicide. 'seeds of corruption' was the next picture, and showed us a young and beautiful girl in her early teens, lying on a luxurious couch _en deshabille_, with a novel in her hand, of which the title was plainly seen by all;--a novel well-known to everyone present, and the work of a much-praised living author. round her, on the floor, and cast carelessly on a chair at her side, were other novels of the same 'sexual' type,--all their titles turned towards us, and the names of their authors equally made manifest. "what a daring idea!" said a lady in the seat immediately behind me--"i wonder if any of those authors are present!" "if they are they won't mind!" replied the man next to her with a smothered laugh--"those sort of writers would merely take it as a first-class advertisement!" sibyl looked at the tableau with a pale face and wistful eyes. "that is a _true_ picture!" she said under her breath--"geoffrey, it is painfully true!" i made no answer,--i thought i knew to what she alluded; but alas!--i did not know how deeply the 'seeds of corruption' had been sown in her own nature, or what a harvest they would bring forth. the curtain closed,--to open again almost immediately on "his latest purchase." here we were shown the interior of a luxurious modern drawing-room, where about eight or ten men were assembled, in fashionable evening-dress. they had evidently just risen from a card-table,--and one of them, a dissipated looking brute, with a wicked smile of mingled satire and triumph on his face was pointing to his 'purchase,'--a beautiful woman. she was clad in glistening white like a bride,--but she was bound, as prisoners are bound, to an upright column, on which the grinning head of a marble silenus leered above her. her hands were tied tightly together,--with chains of diamonds; her waist was bound,--with thick ropes of pearls;--a wide collar of rubies encircled her throat;--and from bosom to feet she was netted about and tied,--with strings of gold and gems. her head was flung back defiantly with an assumption of pride and scorn,--her eyes alone expressed shame, self-contempt, and despair at her bondage. the man who owned this white slave was represented, by his attitude, as cataloguing and appraising her 'points' for the approval and applause of his comrades, whose faces variously and powerfully expressed the differing emotions of lust, cruelty, envy, callousness, derision, and selfishness, more admirably than the most gifted painter could imagine. "a capital type of most fashionable marriages!" i heard some-one say. "rather!" another voice replied--"the orthodox 'happy couple' to the life!" i glanced at sibyl. she looked pale,--but smiled as she met my questioning eyes. a sense of consolation crept warmly about my heart as i remembered that now, she had, as she told me 'learnt to love,'--and that therefore her marriage with me was no longer a question of material advantage alone. she was not my 'purchase,'--she was my love, my saint, my queen!--or so i chose to think, in my foolishness and vanity! the last tableau of all was now to come,--"faith and materialism," and it proved to be the most startling of the series. the auditorium was gradually darkened,--and the dividing curtain disclosed a ravishingly beautiful scene by the sea-shore. a full moon cast its tranquil glory over the smooth waters, and,--rising on rainbow-wings from earth towards the skies, one of the loveliest creatures ever dreamed of by poet or painter, floated angel-like upwards, her hands holding a cluster of lilies clasped to her breast,--her lustrous eyes full of divine joy, hope, and love. exquisite music was heard,--soft voices sang in the distance a chorale of rejoicing;--heaven and earth, sea and air,--all seemed to support the aspiring spirit as she soared higher and higher, in ever-deepening rapture, when,--as we all watched that aerial flying form with a sense of the keenest delight and satisfaction,--a sudden crash of thunder sounded,--the scene grew dark,--and there was a distant roaring of angry waters. the light of the moon was eclipsed,--the music ceased; a faint lurid glow of red shone at first dimly, then more vividly,--and 'materialism' declared itself,--a human skeleton, bleached white and grinning ghastly mirth upon us all! while we yet looked, the skeleton itself dropped to pieces,--and one long twining worm lifted its slimy length from the wreck of bones, another working its way through the eye-holes of the skull. murmurs of genuine horror were heard in the auditorium,--people on all sides rose from their seats--one man in particular, a distinguished professor of sciences, pushed past me to get out, muttering crossly--"this may be very amusing to some of you, but to me, it is disgusting!" "like your own theories, my dear professor!" said a rich laughing voice, as lucio met him on his way, and the bijou theatre was again flooded with cheerful light--"they are amusing to some, and disgusting to others!----pardon me!--i speak of course in jest! but i designed that tableau specially in your honour!" "oh, you did, did you?" growled the professor--"well, i didn't appreciate it." "yet you should have done, for it is quite scientifically correct,"--declared lucio laughing still. "faith,--with the wings, whom you saw joyously flying towards an impossible heaven, is _not_ scientifically correct,--have you not told us so?--but the skeleton and the worms were quite of your _cult_! no materialist can deny the correctness of that 'complexion to which we all must come at last.' positively, some of the ladies look quite pale! how droll it is, that while everybody (to be fashionable, and in favour with the press) must accept materialism as the only creed, they should invariably become affrighted, or let us say offended, at the natural end of the body, as completed by material agencies!" "well, it was not a pleasant subject, that last tableau,"--said lord elton, as he came out of the theatre with diana chesney hanging confidingly on his arm--"you cannot say it was festal!" "it was,--for the worms!" replied lucio gaily--"come, miss chesney,--and you tempest, come along with lady sibyl,--let us go out in the grounds again, and see my will-o'-the-wisps lighting up." fresh curiosity was excited by this remark; the people quickly threw off the gruesome and tragic impression made by the strange 'tableaux' just witnessed,--and poured out of the house into the gardens chattering and laughing more noisily than ever. it was just dusk,--and as we reached the open lawn we saw an extraordinary number of small boys, clad in brown, running about with will-o'-the-wisp lanterns. their movements were swift and perfectly noiseless,--they leaped, jumped and twirled like little gnomes over flowerbeds, under shrubberies, and along the edges of paths and terraces, many of them climbing trees with the rapidity and agility of monkeys, and wherever they went they left behind them a trail of brilliant light. soon, by their efforts, all the grounds were illuminated with a magnificence that could not have been equalled even by the historic fêtes at versailles,--tall oaks and cedars were transformed to pyramids of fire-blossoms,--every branch was loaded with coloured lamps in the shape of stars,--rockets hissed up into the clear space showering down bouquets, wreaths and ribbons of flame,--lines of red and azure ran glowingly along the grass-borders, and amid the enthusiastic applause of the assembled spectators, eight huge fire-fountains of all colours sprang up in various corners of the garden, while an enormous golden balloon, dazzlingly luminous, ascended slowly into the air and remained poised above us, sending from its glittering car hundreds of gem-like birds and butterflies on fiery wings, that circled round and round for a moment and then vanished. while we were yet loudly clapping the splendid effect of this sky-spectacle, a troop of beautiful girl-dancers in white came running across the grass, waving long silvery wands that were tipped with electric stars, and to the sound of strange tinkling music, seemingly played in the distance on glass bells, they commenced a fantastic dance of the wildest yet most graceful character. every shade of opaline colour fell upon their swaying figures from some invisible agency as they tripped and whirled,--and each time they waved their wands, ribbons and flags of fire were unrolled and tossed high in air where they gyrated for a long time like moving hieroglyphs. the scene was now so startling, so fairy-like and wonderful, that we were well-nigh struck speechless with astonishment,--too fascinated and absorbed even to applaud, we had no conception how time went, or how rapidly the night descended,--till all at once without the least warning, an appalling crash of thunder burst immediately above our heads, and a jagged fork of lightning tore the luminous fire-balloon to shreds. two or three women began to scream,--whereupon lucio advanced from the throng of spectators and stood in full view of all, holding up his hand. "stage thunder, i assure you!" he said playfully, in a clear somewhat scornful voice--"it comes and goes at my bidding. quite a part of the game, believe me!--these sort of things are only toys for children. again--again, ye petty elements!" he cried, laughing, and lifting his handsome face and flashing eyes to the dark heavens--"roar your best and loudest!--roar, i say!" such a terrific boom and clatter answered him as baffled all description,--it was as if a mountain of rock had fallen into ruins,--but having been assured that the deafening noise was 'stage thunder' merely, the spectators were no longer alarmed, and many of them expressed their opinion that it was 'wonderfully well done.' after this, there gradually appeared against the sky a broad blaze of red light like the reflection of some great prairie fire,--it streamed apparently upward from the ground, bathing us all where we stood, in its blood-like glow. the white-robed dancing-girls waltzed on and on, their arms entwined, their lovely faces irradiated by the lurid flame, while above them now flew creatures with black wings, bats and owls, and great night-moths, that flapped and fluttered about for all the world as if they were truly alive and not mere 'stage properties.' another flash of lightning,--and one more booming thud of thunder,----and lo!--the undisturbed and fragrant night was about us, clear, dewy and calm,--the young moon smiled pensively in a cloudless heaven,--all the dancing-girls had vanished,--the crimson glow had changed to a pure silvery radiance, and an array of pretty pages in eighteenth century costumes of pale pink and blue, stood before us with lighted flaming torches, making a long triumphal avenue, down which lucio invited us to pass. "on, on fair ladies and gallant gentlemen!" he cried--"this extemporized path of light leads,--not to heaven--no! that were far too dull an ending!--but to supper! on!--follow your leader!" every eye was turned on his fine figure and striking countenance, as with one hand he beckoned the guests,--between the double line of lit torches he stood,--a picture for a painter, with those dark eyes of his alit with such strange mirth as could not be defined, and the sweet, half-cruel, wonderfully attractive smile playing upon his lips;--and with one accord the whole company trooped pell-mell after him, shouting their applause and delight. who could resist him!--not one in that assemblage at least;--there are few 'saints' in society! as i went with the rest, i felt as though i were in some gorgeous dream,--my senses were all in a whirl,--i was giddy with excitement and could not stop to think, or to analyse the emotions by which i was governed. had i possessed the force or the will to pause and consider, i might possibly have come to the conclusion that there was something altogether beyond the ordinary power of man displayed in the successive wonders of this brilliant 'gala,'--but i was, like all the rest of society, bent merely on the pleasure of the moment, regardless of how it was procured, what it cost me, or how it affected others. how many i see and know to-day among the worshippers of fashion and frivolity who are acting precisely as i acted then! indifferent to the welfare of everyone save themselves, grudging every penny that is not spent on their own advantage or amusement, and too callous to even listen to the sorrows or difficulties or joys of others when these do not in some way, near or remote, touch their own interests, they waste their time day after day in selfish trifling, wilfully blind and unconscious to the fact that they are building up their own fate in the future,--that future which will prove all the more a terrible reality in proportion to the extent of our presumption in daring to doubt its truth. more than four hundred guests sat down to supper in the largest pavilion,--a supper served in the most costly manner and furnished with luxuries that represented the utmost pitch of extravagance. i ate and drank, with sybil at my side, hardly knowing what i said or did in the whirling excitement of the hour,--the opening of champagne-bottles, the clink of glasses, the clatter of plates, the loud hum of talk interspersed with monkey-like squeals or goat-like whinnies of laughter, over-ridden at intervals by the blare of trumpet-music and drums,--all these sounds were as so much noise of rushing waters in my ears,--and i often found myself growing abstracted and in a manner confused by the din. i did not say much to sibyl,--one cannot very well whisper sentimental nothings in the ear of one's betrothed when she is eating ortolans and truffles. presently, amid all the hubbub, a deep bell struck twelve times, and lucio stood up at the end of one of the long tables, a full glass of foaming champagne in his hand-- "ladies and gentlemen!" there was a sudden silence. "ladies and gentlemen!" he repeated, his brilliant eyes flashing derisively, i thought, over the whole well-fed company, "midnight has struck and the best of friends must part! but before we do so, let us not forget that we have met here to wish all happiness to our host, mr geoffrey tempest and his bride-elect, the lady sibyl elton." here there was vociferous applause. "it is said"--continued lucio, "by the makers of dull maxims, that 'fortune never comes with both hands full'--but in this case the adage is proved false and put to shame,--for our friend has not only secured the pleasures of wealth, but the treasures of love and beauty combined. limitless cash is good, but limitless love is better, and both these choice gifts have been bestowed on the betrothed pair whom to-day we honour. i will ask you to give them a hearty round of cheering,--and then it must be good-night indeed, though not farewell,--for with the toast of the bride and bridegroom-elect, i shall also drink to the time,--not far distant perhaps,--when i shall see some of you, if not all of you again, and enjoy even more of your charming company than i have done to-day!" he ceased amid a perfect hurricane of applause,--and then everyone rose and turned towards the table where i sat with sibyl, and naming our names aloud, drank wine, the men joining in hearty shouts of "hip, hip, hip hurrah!" yet,--as i bowed repeatedly in response to the storm of cheering, and while sibyl smiled and bent her graceful head to right and left, my heart sank suddenly with a sense of fear. was it my fancy--or did i hear peals of wild laughter circling round the brilliant pavilion and echoing away, far away into distance? i listened, glass in hand. "hip, hip, hip hurrah!" shouted my guests with gusto. "ha--ha--! ha--ha!" seemed shrieked and yelled in my ears from the outer air. struggling against this delusion, i got up and returned thanks for myself and my future bride in a few brief words which were received with fresh salvos of applause,--and then we all became aware that lucio had sprung up again in his place, and was standing high above us all, with one foot on the table and the other on the chair, confronting us with a fresh glass of wine in his hand, filled to the brim. what a face he had at that moment!--what a smile! "the parting cup, my friends!" he exclaimed--"to our next merry meeting!" with plaudits and laughter the guests eagerly and noisily responded,--and as they drank, the pavilion was flooded by a deep crimson illumination as of fire. every face looked blood-red!--every jewel on every woman flashed like a living flame!--for one brief instant only,--then it was gone, and there followed a general stampede of the company,--everybody hurrying as fast as they could into the carriages that waited in long lines to take them to the station, the last two 'special' trains to london being at one a.m. and one thirty. i bade sibyl and her father a hurried good-night,--diana chesney went in the same carriage with them, full of ecstatic thanks and praise to me for the splendours of the day which she described in her own fashion as "knowing how to do it,--" and then the departing crowd of vehicles began to thunder down the avenue. as they went an arch of light suddenly spanned willowsmere court from end to end of its red gables, blazing with all the colours of the rainbow, in the middle of which appeared letters of pale blue and gold, forming what i had hitherto considered as a funereal device, "sic transit gloria mundi! vale!" but, after all, it was as fairly applicable to the ephemeral splendours of a fête as it was to the more lasting marble solemnity of a sepulchre, and i thought little or nothing about it. so perfect were all the arrangements, and so admirably were the servants trained, that the guests were not long in departing,--and the grounds were soon not only empty, but dark. not a vestige of the splendid illuminations was left anywhere,--and i entered the house fatigued, and with a dull sense of bewilderment and fear on me which i could not explain. i found lucio alone in the smoking-room at the further end of the oak-panelled hall, a small cosily curtained apartment with a deep bay window which opened directly on to the lawn. he was standing in this embrasure with his back to me, but he turned swiftly round as he heard my steps and confronted me with such a wild, white, tortured face that i recoiled from him, startled. "lucio, you are ill!" i exclaimed--"you have done too much to-day." "perhaps i have!" he answered in a hoarse unsteady voice, and i saw a strong shudder convulse him as he spoke,--then, gathering himself together as it were by an effort, he forced a smile--"don't be alarmed, my friend!--it is nothing,--nothing but the twinge of an old deep-seated malady,--a troublesome disease that is rare among men, and hopelessly incurable." "what is it?" i asked anxiously, for his death-like pallor alarmed me. he looked at me fixedly, his eyes dilating and darkening, and his hand fell with a heavy pressure on my shoulder. "a very strange illness!" he said, in the same jarring accents. "remorse! have you never heard of it, geoffrey? neither medicine nor surgery are of any avail,--it is 'the worm that dieth not, and the flame that cannot be quenched.' tut!--let us not talk of it,--no one can cure me,--no one will! i am past hope!" "but remorse,--if you have it, and i cannot possibly imagine why, for you have surely nothing to regret,--is not a physical ailment!" i said wonderingly. "and physical ailments are the only ones worth troubling about, you think?" he queried, still smiling that strained and haggard smile--"the body is our chief care,--we cosset it, and make much of it, feed it and pamper it, and guard it from so much as a pin-prick of pain if we can,--and thus we flatter ourselves that all is well,--all _must_ be well! yet it is but a clay chrysalis, bound to split and crumble with the growth of the moth-soul within,--the moth that flies with blind instinctiveness straight into the unknown, and is dazzled by excess of light! look out here,"--he went on with an abrupt and softer change of tone--"look out at the dreamful shadowy beauty of your gardens now! the flowers are asleep,--the trees are surely glad to be disburdened of all the gaudy artificial lamps that lately hung upon their branches,--there is the young moon pillowing her chin on the edge of a little cloud and sinking to sleep in the west,--a moment ago there was a late nightingale awake and singing. you can feel the breath of the roses from the trellis yonder! all this is nature's work,--and how much fairer and sweeter it is now than when the lights were ablaze and the blare of band-music startled the small birds in their downy nests!--yet 'society' would not appreciate this cool dusk, this happy solitude;--'society' prefers a false glare to all true radiance. and what is worse it tries to make true things take a second place as adjuncts to sham ones,--and there comes in the mischief." "it is just like you to run down your own indefatigable labours in the splendid successes of the day,"--i said laughing--"you may call it a 'false glare' if you like, but it has been a most magnificent spectacle,--and certainly in the way of entertainments it will never be equalled or excelled." "it will make you more talked about than even your 'boomed' book could do!" said lucio, eyeing me narrowly. "not the least doubt of that!" i replied--"society prefers food and amusement to any literature,--even the greatest. by-the-by, where are all the 'artistes,'--the musicians and dancers?" "gone!" "gone!" i echoed amazedly--"already! good heavens! have they had supper?" "they have had everything they want, even to their pay," said lucio, a trifle impatiently--"did i not tell you geoffrey, that when i undertake to do anything, i do it thoroughly or not at all?" i looked at him,--he smiled, but his eyes were sombre and scornful. "all right!" i responded carelessly, not wishing to offend him,--"have it your own way! but, upon my word, to me it is all like devil's magic!" "what is?" he asked imperturbably. "everything!--the dancers,--the number of servants and pages--why, there must have been two or three hundred of them,--those wonderful 'tableaux,'--the illuminations,--the supper,--everything i tell you!--and the most astonishing part of it now is, that all these people should have cleared out so soon!" "well, if you elect to call money devil's magic, you are right,"--said lucio. "but surely in some cases, not even money could procure such perfection of detail"----i began. "money can procure anything!"--he interrupted, a thrill of passion vibrating in his rich voice,--"i told you that long ago. it is a hook for the devil himself. not that the devil could be supposed to care about world's cash personally,--but he generally conceives a liking for the company of the man who possesses it;--possibly he knows what that man will do with it. i speak metaphorically of course,--but no metaphor can exaggerate the power of money. trust no man or woman's virtue till you have tried to purchase it with a round sum in hard cash! money, my excellent geoffrey, has done everything for _you_,--remember that!--you have done nothing for yourself." "that's not a very kind speech,"--i said, somewhat vexedly. "no? and why? because it's true? i notice most people complain of 'unkindness' when they are told a truth. it _is_ true, and i see no unkindness in it. you've done nothing for yourself and you're not expected to do anything--except," and he laughed--"except just now to get to bed, and dream of the enchanting sibyl!" "i confess i am tired,"--i said, and an unconscious sigh escaped me--"and you?" his gaze rested broodingly on the outer landscape. "i also am tired," he responded slowly--"but i never get away from my fatigue, for i am tired of myself. and i always rest badly. good-night!" "good-night!" i answered,--and then paused, looking at him. he returned my look with interest. "well?" he asked expressively. i forced a smile. "well!" i echoed--"i do not know what i should say,--except--that i wish i knew you as you are. i feel that you were right in telling me once that you are not what you seem." he still kept his eyes fixed upon me. "as you have expressed the wish,"--he said slowly--"i promise you you _shall_ know me as i am some-day! it may be well for you to know,--for the sake of others who may seek to cultivate my company." i moved away to leave the room. "thanks for all the trouble you have taken to-day,"--i said in a lighter tone--"though i shall never be able to express my full gratitude in words." "if you wanted to thank anybody, thank god that you have lived through it!" he replied. "why?" i asked, astonished. "why? because life hangs on a thread,--a society crush is the very acme of boredom and exhaustion,--and that we escape with our lives from a general guzzle and giggle is matter for thanksgiving,--that's all! and god gets so few thanks as a rule that you may surely spare him a brief one for to-day's satisfactory ending." i laughed, seeing no meaning in his words beyond the usual satire he affected. i found amiel, waiting for me in my bedroom, but i dismissed him abruptly, hating the look of his crafty and sullen face, and saying i needed no attendance. thoroughly fatigued, i was soon in bed and asleep,--and the terrific agencies that had produced the splendours of the brilliant festival at which i had figured as host, were not revealed to me by so much as a warning dream! xxv a few days after the entertainment at willowsmere, and before the society papers had done talking about the magnificence and luxury displayed on that occasion, i woke up one morning, like the great poet byron, "to find myself famous." not for any intellectual achievement,--not for any unexpected deed of heroism,--not for any resolved or noble attitude in society or politics,--no!--i owed my fame merely to a quadruped;--'phosphor' won the derby. it was about a neck-and-neck contest between my racer and that of the prime minister, and for a second or so the result seemed doubtful,--but, as the two jockeys neared the goal, amiel, whose thin wiry figure clad in the brightest of bright scarlet silk, stuck to his horse as though he were a part of it, put 'phosphor' to a pace he had never yet exhibited, appearing to skim along the ground at literally flying speed, the upshot being that he scored a triumphant victory, reaching the winning-post a couple of yards or more ahead of his rival. acclamations rent the air at the vigour displayed in the 'finish'--and i became the hero of the day,--the darling of the populace. i was somewhat amused at the premier's discomfiture,--he took his beating rather badly. he did not know me, nor i him,--i was not of his politics, and i did not care a jot for his feelings one way or the other, but i was gratified, in a certain satirical sense, to find myself suddenly acknowledged as a greater man than he, because i was the owner of the derby-winner! before i well knew where i was, i found myself being presented to the prince of wales, who shook hands with me and congratulated me;--all the biggest aristocrats in england were willing and eager to be introduced to me;--and inwardly i laughed at this exhibition of taste and culture on the part of 'the gentlemen of england that live at home at ease.' they crowded round 'phosphor,' whose wild eye warned strangers against taking liberties with him, but who seemed not a whit the worse for his exertions, and who apparently was quite ready to run the race over again with equal pleasure and success. amiel's dark sly face and cruel ferret eyes were evidently not attractive to the majority of the gentlemen of the turf, though his answers to all the queries put to him, were admirably ready, respectful and not without wit. but to me the whole sum and substance of the occasion was the fact that i, geoffrey tempest, once struggling author, now millionaire, was simply by virtue of my ownership of the derby-winner, 'famous' at last!--or what society considers famous,--that fame that secures for a man the attention of 'the nobility and gentry,' to quote from tradesmen's advertisements,--and also obtains the persistent adulation and shameless pursuit of all the _demi-mondaines_ who want jewels and horses and yachts presented to them in exchange for a few tainted kisses from their carmined lips. under the shower of compliments i received, i stood, apparently delighted,--smiling, affable and courteous,--entering into the spirit of the occasion, and shaking hands with my lord that, and sir something nobody, and his serene highness the grand duke so-and-so of beer-land, and his other serene lowness of small-principality,--but in my secret soul i scorned these people with their social humbug and hypocrisy,--scorned them with such a deadly scorn as almost amazed myself. when presently i walked off the course with lucio, who as usual seemed to know and to be friends with everybody, he spoke in accents that were far more grave and gentle than i had ever heard him use before. "with all your egotism, geoffrey, there is something forcible and noble in your nature,--something which rises up in bold revolt against falsehood and sham. why, in heaven's name do you not give it way?" i looked at him amazed, and laughed. "give it way? what do you mean? would you have me tell humbugs that i know them as such?,--and liars that i discern their lies? my dear fellow, society would become too hot to hold me!" "it could not be hotter--or colder--than hell, if you believed in hell, which you do not,"--he rejoined, in the same quiet voice--"but i did not assume that you should say these things straight out and bluntly, to give offence. an affronting candour is not nobleness,--it is merely coarse. to act nobly is better than to speak." "and what would you have me do?" i asked curiously. he was silent for a moment, and seemed to be earnestly, almost painfully considering,--then he answered,-- "my advice will seem to you singular, geoffrey,--but if you want it, here it is. give, as i said, the noble, and what the world would call the quixotic part of your nature full way,--do not sacrifice your higher sense of what is right and just for the sake of pandering to anyone's power or influence,--and--say farewell to _me_! i am no use to you, save to humour your varying fancies, and introduce you to those great,--or small,--personages you wish to know for your own convenience or advantage,--believe me, it would be much better for you and much more consoling at the inevitable hour of death, if you were to let all this false and frivolous nonsense go, and me with it! leave society to its own fool's whirligig of distracted follies,--put royalty in its true place, and show it that all its pomp, arrogance and glitter are worthless, and itself a nothing, compared to the upright standing of a brave soul in an honest man,--and, as christ said to the rich ruler--'sell half that thou hast and give to the poor.'" i was silent for a minute or so out of sheer surprise, while he watched me earnestly, his face pale and expectant. a curious shock of something like compunction startled my conscience, and for a brief space i was moved to a vague regret,--regret that with all the enormous capability i possessed of doing good to numbers of my fellow-creatures with the vast wealth i owned, i had not attained to any higher moral attitude than that represented by the frivolous folk who make up what is called the 'upper ten' of society. i took the same egotistical pleasure in myself and my own doings as any of them,--and i was to the full as foolishly conventional, smooth-tongued and hypocritical as they. they acted their part and i acted mine,--none of us were ever our real selves for a moment. in very truth, one of the reasons why 'fashionable' men and women cannot bear to be alone is, that a solitude in which they are compelled to look face to face upon their secret selves becomes unbearable because of the burden they carry of concealed vice and accusing shame. my emotion soon passed however, and slipping my arm through lucio's, i smiled, as i answered-- "your advice, my dear fellow, would do credit to a salvationist preacher,--but it is quite valueless to me, because impossible to follow. to say farewell for ever to you, in the first place, would be to make myself guilty of the blackest ingratitude,--in the second instance, society, with all its ridiculous humbug, is nevertheless necessary for the amusement of myself and my future wife,--royalty moreover, is accustomed to be flattered, and we shall not be hurt by joining in the general inane chorus;--thirdly, if i did as the visionary jew suggested----" "what visionary jew?" he asked, his eyes sparkling coldly. "why, christ of course!" i rejoined lightly. the shadow of a strange smile parted his lips. "it is the fashion to blaspheme!" he said,--"a mark of brilliancy in literature, and wit in society! i forgot! pray go on,--if you did as christ suggested----" "yes,--if i gave half my goods to the poor, i should not be thanked for it, or considered anything but a fool for my pains." "you would wish to be thanked?" he said. "naturally! most people like a little gratitude in return for benefits." "they do. and the creator, who is always giving, is supposed to like gratitude also,"--he observed--"nevertheless he seldom gets it!" "i do not talk of hyperphysical nothingness,"--i said with impatience--"i am speaking of the plain facts of this world and the people who live in it. if one gives largely, one expects to be acknowledged as generous,--but if i were to divide my fortune, and hand half of it to the poor, the matter would be chronicled in about six lines in one of the papers, and society would exclaim 'what a fool!'" "then let us talk no more about it,"--said lucio, his brows clearing, and his eyes gathering again their wonted light of mockery and mirth--"having won the derby, you have really done all a nineteenth-century civilization expects you to do, and for your reward, you will be in universal demand everywhere. you may hope soon to dine at marlborough house,--and a little back-stair influence and political jobbery will work you into the cabinet if you care for it. did i not tell you i would set you up as successfully as the bear who has reached the bun on the top of the slippery pole, a spectacle for the envy of men and the wonder of angels? well, there you are!--triumphant!--a great creature geoffrey!--in fact, you are the greatest product of the age, a man with five millions and owner of the derby-winner! what is the glory of intellect compared to such a position as yours! men envy you,--and as for angels,--if there are any,--you may be sure they _do_ wonder! a man's fame guaranteed by a horse, is something indeed to make an angel stare!" he laughed uproariously, and from that day he never spoke again of his singular proposition that i should 'part with him,' and let the "nobler" nature in me have its way. i was not to know then that he had staked a chance upon my soul and lost it,--and that from henceforward he took a determined course with me, implacably on to the appalling end. my marriage took place on the appointed day in june with all the pomp and extravagant show befitting my position, and that of the woman i had chosen to wed. it is needless to describe the gorgeousness of the ceremony in detail,--any fashionable 'ladies paper' describing the wedding of an earl's daughter to a five-fold millionaire, will give an idea, in hysterical rhapsody, of the general effect. it was an amazing scene,--and one in which costly millinery completely vanquished all considerations of solemnity or sacredness in the supposed 'divine' ordinance. the impressive command: "i require and charge ye both, as ye will answer at the dreadful day of judgment,"--did not obtain half so much awed attention as the exquisite knots of pearls and diamonds which fastened the bride's silver-embroidered train to her shoulders. 'all the world and his wife' were present,--that is, the social world, which imagines no other world exists, though it is the least part of the community. the prince of wales honoured us by his presence: two great dignitaries of the church performed the marriage-rite, resplendent in redundant fulness of white sleeve and surplice, and equally imposing in the fatness of their bodies and unctuous redness of their faces; and lucio was my 'best man.' he was in high, almost wild spirits,--and, during our drive to the church together, had entertained me all the way with numerous droll stories, mostly at the expense of the clergy. when we reached the sacred edifice, he said laughingly as he alighted-- "did you ever hear it reported, geoffrey, that the devil is unable to enter a church, because of the cross upon it, or within it?" "i have heard some such nonsense,"--i replied, smiling at the humour expressed in his sparkling eyes and eloquent features. "it _is_ nonsense,--for the makers of the legend forgot one thing;" he continued, dropping his voice to a whisper as we passed under the carved gothic portico--"the cross may be present,----but----so is the clergyman! and wherever a clergyman is, the devil may surely follow!" i almost laughed aloud at his manner of making this irreverent observation, and the look with which he accompanied it. the rich tones of the organ creeping softly on the flower-scented silence however, quickly solemnized my mood,--and while i leaned against the altar-rails waiting for my bride, i caught myself wondering for the hundredth time or more, at my comrade's singularly proud and kingly aspect, as with folded arms and lifted head, he contemplated the lily-decked altar and the gleaming crucifix upon it, his meditative eyes bespeaking a curious mingling of reverence and contempt. one incident i remember, as standing out particularly in all the glare and glitter of the brilliant scene, and this occurred at the signing of our names in the register. when sibyl, a vision of angelic loveliness in all her bridal white, affixed her signature to the entry, lucio bent towards her,-- "as 'best man' i claim an old-fashioned privilege!" he said, and kissed her lightly on the cheek. she blushed a vivid red,--then suddenly grew ghastly pale,--and with a kind of choking cry, reeled back in a dead faint in the arms of one of her bridesmaids. it was some minutes before she was restored to consciousness,--but she made light both of my alarm and the consternation of her friends,--and assuring us that it was nothing but the effect of the heat of the weather and the excitement of the day, she took my arm and walked down the aisle smilingly, through the brilliant ranks of her staring and envious 'society' friends, all of whom coveted her good fortune, not because she had married a worthy or gifted man,--that would have been no special matter for congratulation,--but simply because she had married five millions of money! i was the appendage to the millions--nothing further. she held her head high and haughtily, though i felt her tremble as the thundering strains of the 'bridal march' from lohengrin poured sonorous triumph on the air. she trod on roses all the way,--i remembered that too, ... afterwards! her satin slipper crushed the hearts of a thousand innocent things that must surely have been more dear to god than she;--the little harmless souls of flowers, whose task in life, sweetly fulfilled, had been to create beauty and fragrance by their mere existence, expired to gratify the vanity of one woman to whom nothing was sacred. but i anticipate,--i was yet in my fool's dream,--and imagined that the dying blossoms were happy to perish thus beneath her tread! a grand reception was held at lord elton's house after the ceremony,--and in the midst of the chattering, the eating and the drinking, we,--my newly made wife and i,--departed amid the profuse flatteries and good wishes of our 'friends' who, primed with the very finest champagne, made a very decent show of being sincere. the last person to say farewell to us at the carriage-door was lucio,--and the sorrow i felt at parting with him was more than i could express in words. from the very hour of the dawning of my good fortune we had been almost inseparable companions,--i owed my success in society,--everything, even my bride herself,--to his management and tact,--and though i had now won for my life's partner the most beautiful of women, i could not contemplate even the temporary breaking of the association between myself and my gifted and brilliant comrade, without a keen pang of personal pain amid my nuptial joys. leaning his arms on the carriage-window, he looked in upon us both, smiling. "my spirit will be with you both in all your journeyings!" he said--"and when you return, i shall be one of the first to bid you welcome home. your house-party is fixed for september, i believe?" "yes,--and you will be the most eagerly desired guest of all invited!" i replied heartily, pressing his hand. "fie, for shame!" he retorted laughingly--"be not so disloyal of speech, geoffrey! are you not going to entertain the prince of wales?--and shall anyone be more 'eagerly-desired' than he? no,--i must play a humble third or even fourth on your list where royalty is concerned,--_my_ princedom is alas! not that of wales,--and the throne i might claim (if i had anyone to help me, which i have not) is a long way removed from that of england!" sibyl said nothing,--but her eyes rested on his handsome face and fine figure with an odd wonder and wistfulness, and she was very pale. "good-bye lady sibyl!" he added gently--"all joy be with you! to us who are left behind, your absence will seem long,--but to _you_,--ah!--love gives wings to time, and what would be to ordinary folks a month of mere dull living, will be for you nothing but a moment's rapture! love is better than wealth,--you have found that out already i know!--but i think--and hope--that you are destined to make the knowledge more certain and complete! think of me sometimes! au revoir!" the horses started,--a handful of rice flung by the society idiot who is always at weddings, rattled against the door and on the roof of the brougham, and lucio stepped back, waving his hand. to the last we saw him,--a tall stately figure on the steps of lord elton's mansion,--surrounded by an ultra-fashionable throng, ... bridesmaids in bright attire and picture-hats,--young girls all eager and excited-looking, each of them no doubt longing fervently for the day to come when they might severally manage to secure as rich a husband as myself, ... match-making mothers and wicked old dowagers, exhibiting priceless lace on their capacious bosoms, and ablaze with diamonds, ... men with white button-hole bouquets in their irreproachably fitting frock-coats,--servants in gay liveries, and the usual street-crowd of idle sight-seers;--all this cluster of faces, costumes and flowers, was piled against the grey background of the stone portico,--and in the midst, the dark beauty of lucio's face and the luminance of his flashing eyes made him the conspicuous object and chief centre of attraction, ... then, ... the carriage turned a sharp corner,--the faces vanished,--and sibyl and i realised that from henceforward we were left alone,--alone to face the future and ourselves,--and to learn the lesson of love ... or hate ... for evermore together! xxvi i cannot now trace the slow or swift flitting by of phantasmal events, ... wild ghosts of days or weeks that drifted past, and brought me gradually and finally to a time when i found myself wandering, numb and stricken and sick at heart, by the shores of a lake in switzerland,--a small lake, densely blue, with apparently a thought in its depths such as is reflected in a child's earnest eye. i gazed down at the clear and glistening water almost unseeingly,--the snow-peaked mountains surrounding it were too high for the lifting of my aching sight,--loftiness, purity, and radiance were unbearable to my mind, crushed as it was beneath a weight of dismal wreckage and ruin. what a fool was i ever to have believed that in this world there could be such a thing as happiness! misery stared me in the face,--life-long misery,--and no escape but death. misery!--it was the word which like a hellish groan, had been uttered by the three dreadful phantoms that had once, in an evil vision, disturbed my rest. what had i done, i demanded indignantly of myself, to deserve this wretchedness which no wealth could cure?--why was fate so unjust? like all my kind, i was unable to discern the small yet strong links of the chain i had myself wrought, and which bound me to my own undoing,--i blamed fate, or rather god,--and talked of injustice, merely because _i_ personally suffered, never realizing that what i considered unjust was but the equitable measuring forth of that eternal law which is carried out with as mathematical an exactitude as the movement of the planets, notwithstanding man's pigmy efforts to impede its fulfilment. the light wind blowing down from the snow peaks above me ruffled the placidity of the little lake by which i aimlessly strolled,--i watched the tiny ripples break over its surface like the lines of laughter on a human face, and wondered morosely whether it was deep enough to drown in! for what was the use of living on,--knowing what i knew! knowing that she whom i had loved, and whom i loved still in a way that was hateful to myself, was a thing viler and more shameless in character than the veriest poor drab of the street who sells herself for current coin,--that the lovely body and angel-face were but an attractive disguise for the soul of a harpy,--a vulture of vice, ... my god!--an irrepressible cry escaped me as my thoughts went on and on in the never-ending circle and problem of incurable, unspeakable despair,--and i threw myself down on a shelving bank of grass that sloped towards the lake and covered my face in a paroxysm of tearless agony. still inexorable thought worked in my brain, and forced me to consider my position. was she,--was sibyl--more to blame than i myself for all the strange havoc wrought? i had married her of my own free will and choice,--and she had told me beforehand--"i am a contaminated creature, trained to perfection in the lax morals and prurient literature of my day." well,--and so it had proved! my own blood burned with shame as i reflected how ample and convincing were the proofs!--and, starting up from my recumbent posture i paced up and down again restlessly in a fever of self-contempt and disgust. what could i do with a woman such as she to whom i was now bound for life? reform her? she would laugh me to scorn for the attempt. reform myself? she would sneer at me for an effeminate milksop. besides, was not i as willing to be degraded as she was to degrade me?--a very victim to my brute passions? tortured and maddened by my feelings i roamed about wildly, and started as if a pistol-shot had been fired near me when the plash of oars sounded on the silence and the keel of a small boat grated on the shore, the boatman within it respectfully begging me in mellifluous french to employ him for an hour. i assented, and in a minute or two was out on the lake in the middle of the red glow of sunset which turned the snow-summits to points of flame, and the waters to the hue of ruby wine. i think the man who rowed me saw that i was in no very pleasant humour, for he preserved a discreet silence,--and i, pulling my hat partly over my eyes, lay back in the stern, still busy with my wretched musings. only a month married!--and yet,--a sickening satiety had taken the place of the so-called 'deathless' lover's passion. there were moments even, when my wife's matchless physical beauty appeared hideous to me. i knew her as she was,--and no exterior charm could ever again cover for me the revolting nature within. and what puzzled me from dawn to dusk was her polished, specious hypocrisy,--her amazing aptitude for lies! to look at her,--to hear her speak,--one would have deemed her a very saint of purity,--a delicate creature whom a coarse word would startle and offend,--a very incarnation of the sweetest and most gracious womanhood,--all heart and feeling and sympathy. everyone thought thus of her,--and never was there a greater error. heart she had none; that fact was borne in upon me two days after our marriage while we were in paris, for there a telegram reached us announcing her mother's death. the paralysed countess of elton had, it appeared, expired suddenly on our wedding-day, or rather our wedding night,--but the earl had deemed it best to wait forty-eight hours before interrupting our hymeneal happiness with the melancholy tidings. he followed his telegram by a brief letter to his daughter, in which the concluding lines were these--"as you are a bride and are travelling abroad, i should advise you by no means to go into mourning. under the circumstances it is really not necessary." and sibyl had readily accepted his suggestion, keeping generally however to white and pale mauve colourings in her numerous and wonderful toilettes, in order not to outrage the proprieties too openly in the opinions of persons known to her, whom she might possibly meet casually in the foreign towns we visited. no word of regret passed her lips, and no tears were shed for her mother's loss. she only said, "what a good thing her sufferings are over!" then, with a little sarcastic smile, she had added-- "i wonder when we shall receive the elton-chesney wedding cards!" i did not reply, for i was pained and grieved at her lack of all gentle feeling in the matter, and i was also, to a certain extent, superstitiously affected by the fact of the death occurring on our marriage-day. however this was now a thing of the past; a month had elapsed,--a month in which the tearing-down of illusions had gone on daily and hourly,--till i was left to contemplate the uncurtained bare prose of life and the knowledge that i had wedded a beautiful feminine animal with the soul of a shameless libertine. here i pause and ask myself,--was not i also a libertine? yes,--i freely admit it,--but the libertinage of a man, while it may run to excess in hot youth, generally resolves itself, under the influence of a great love, into a strong desire for undefiled sweetness and modesty in the woman beloved. if a man has indulged in both folly and sin, the time comes at last, when, if he has any good left in him at all, he turns back upon himself and lashes his own vices with the scorpion-whip of self-contempt till he smarts with the rage and pain of it,--and then, aching in every pulse with his deserved chastisement, he kneels in spirit at the feet of some pure, true-hearted woman whose white soul, like an angel, hovers compassionately above him, and there lays down his life, saying "do what you will with it,--it is yours!" and woe to her who plays lightly with such a gift, or works fresh injury upon it! no man, even if he has in his day, indulged in 'rapid' living, should choose a 'rapid' woman for his wife,--he had far better put a loaded pistol to his head and make an end of it! the sunset-glory began to fade from the landscape as the little boat glided on over the tranquil water, and a great shadow was on my mind, like the shadow of that outer darkness which would soon be night. again i asked myself--was there no happiness possible in all the world? just then the angelus chimed from a little chapel on the shore, and as it rang, a memory stirred in my brain moving me well-nigh to tears. mavis clare was happy!--mavis, with her frank fearless eyes, sweet face and bright nature,--mavis, wearing her crown of fame as simply as a child might wear a wreath of may-blossom,--she, with a merely moderate share of fortune which even in its slight proportion was only due to her own hard incessant work,--she was happy. and i,--with my millions,--was wretched! how was it? why was it? what had i done? i had lived as my compeers lived,--i had followed the lead of all society,--i had feasted my friends and effectually 'snubbed' my foes,--i had comported myself exactly as others of my wealth comport themselves,--and i had married a woman whom most men, looking upon once, would have been proud to win. nevertheless there seemed to be a curse upon me. what had i missed out of life? i knew,--but was ashamed to own it, because i had previously scorned what i called the dream-nothings of mere sentiment. and now i had to acknowledge the paramount importance of those 'dream-nothings' out of which all true living must come. i had to realize that my marriage was nothing but the mere mating of the male and female animal,--a coarse bodily union, and no more;--that all the finer and deeper emotions which make a holy thing of human wedlock, were lacking,--the mutual respect, the trusting sympathy,--the lovely confidence of mind with mind,--the subtle inner spiritual bond which no science can analyse, and which is so much closer and stronger than the material, and knits immortal souls together when bodies decay--these things had no existence, and never would exist between my wife and me. thus, as far as i was concerned, there was a strange blankness in the world,--i was thrust back upon myself for comfort and found none. what should i do with my life, i wondered drearily! win fame,--true fame,--after all? with sibyl's witch-eyes mocking my efforts?--never! if i had ever had any gifts of creative thought within me, _she_ would have killed it! the hour was over,--the boatman rowed me in to land, and i paid and dismissed him. the sun had completely sunk,--there were dense purple shadows darkening over the mountains, and one or two small stars faintly discernible in the east. i walked slowly back to the villa where we were staying,--a 'dépendance' belonging to the large hotel of the district, which we had rented for the sake of privacy and independence, some of the hotel-servants being portioned off to attend upon us, in addition to my own man morris, and my wife's maid. i found sibyl in the garden, reclining in a basket-chair, her eyes fixed on the after-glow of the sunset, and in her hands a book,--one of the loathliest of the prurient novels that have been lately written by women to degrade and shame their sex. with a sudden impulse of rage upon me which i could not resist, i snatched the volume from her and flung it into the lake below. she made no movement of either surprise or offence,--she merely turned her eyes away from the glowing heavens, and looked at me with a little smile. "how violent you are to-day, geoffrey!" she said. i gazed at her in sombre silence. from the light hat with its pale mauve orchids that rested on her nut-brown hair, to the point of her daintily embroidered shoe, her dress was perfect,--and _she_ was perfect. _i_ knew that,--a matchless piece of womanhood ... outwardly! my heart beat,--there was a sense of suffocation in my throat,--i could have killed her for the mingled loathing and longing which her beauty roused in me. "i am sorry!" i said hoarsely, avoiding her gaze--"but i hate to see you with such a book as that!" "you know its contents?" she queried, with the same slight smile. "i can guess." "such things have to be written, they say nowadays,"--she went on--"and, certainly, to judge from the commendation bestowed on these sort of books by the press, it is very evident that the wave of opinion is setting in the direction of letting girls know all about marriage before they enter upon it, in order that they may do so with their eyes wide open,--_very_ wide open!" she laughed, and her laughter hurt me like a physical wound. "what an old-fashioned idea the bride of the poets and sixty-years-ago romancists seems now!" she continued--"imagine her!--a shrinking tender creature, shy of beholders, timid of speech, ... wearing the emblematic veil, which in former days, you know, used to cover the face entirely, as a symbol that the secrets of marriage were as yet hidden from the maiden's innocent and ignorant eyes. now the veil is worn flung back from the bride's brows, and she stares unabashed at everybody,--oh yes, indeed we know quite well what we are doing now when we marry, thanks to the 'new' fiction!" "the new fiction is detestable,"--i said hotly--"both in style and morality. even as a question of literature i wonder at your condescending to read any of it. the woman whose dirty book i have just thrown away--and i feel no compunction for having done it,--is destitute of grammar as well as decency." "oh, but the critics don't notice that,"--she interrupted, with a delicate mockery vibrating in her voice--"it is apparently not their business to assist in preserving the purity of the english language. what they fall into raptures over is the originality of the 'sexual' theme, though i should have thought all such matters were as old as the hills. i never read reviews as a rule, but i did happen to come across one on the book you have just drowned,--and in it, the reviewer stated he had cried over it!" she laughed again. "beast!" i said emphatically--"he probably found in it some glozing-over of his own vices. but you, sibyl--why do you read such stuff?--how can you read it?" "curiosity moved me in the first place,"--she answered listlessly--"i wanted to see what makes a reviewer cry! then when i began to read, i found that the story was all about the manner in which men amuse themselves with the soiled doves of the highways and bye-ways,--and as i was not very well instructed in that sort of thing, i thought i might as well learn! you know these unpleasant morsels of information on unsavoury subjects are like the reputed suggestions of the devil,--if you listen to one, you are bound to hear more. besides, literature is supposed to reflect the time we live in,--and that kind of literature being more prevalent than anything else, we are compelled to accept and study it as the mirror of the age." with an expression on her face that was half mirth and half scorn, she rose from her seat, and looked down into the lovely lake below her. "the fishes will eat that book,--" she observed--"i hope it will not poison them! if they could read and understand it, what singular ideas they would have of us human beings!" "why don't you read mavis clare's books?" i asked suddenly--"you told me you admired her." "so i do,--immensely!" she answered,--"i admire her and wonder at her, both together. how that woman can keep her child's heart and child's faith in a world like this, is more than i can understand. it is always a perfect marvel to me,--a sort of supernatural surprise. you ask me why don't i read her books,--i do read them,--i've read them all over and over again,--but she does not write many, and one has to wait for her productions longer than for those of most authors. when i want to feel like an angel, i read mavis clare,--but i more often am inclined to feel the other way, and then her books are merely so many worries to me." "worries?" i echoed. "yes. it is worrying to find somebody believing in a god when _you_ can't believe in him,--to have beautiful faiths offered to you which _you_ can't grasp,--and to know that there is a creature alive, a woman like yourself in everything except mind, who is holding fast a happiness which you can never attain,--no, not though you held out praying hands day and night and shouted wild appeals to the dull heavens!" at that moment she looked like a queen of tragedy,--her violet eyes ablaze,--her lips apart,--her breast heaving;----i approached her with a strange nervous hesitation and touched her hand. she gave it to me passively,--i drew it through my arm, and for a minute or two we paced silently up and down the gravel walk. the lights from the monster hotel which catered for us and our wants, were beginning to twinkle from basement to roof,--and just above the châlet we rented, a triad of stars sparkled in the shape of a trefoil. "poor geoffrey!" she said presently, with a quick upward glance at me,--"i am sorry for you! with all my vagaries of disposition i am not a fool, and at anyrate i have learned how to analyse myself as well as others. i read you as easily as i read a book,--i see what a strange tumult your mind is in! you love me--and you loathe me!--and the contrast of emotion makes a wreck of you and your ideals. hush,--don't speak; i know,--i know! but what would you have me be? an angel? i cannot realize such a being for more than a fleeting moment of imagination. a saint? they were all martyred. a good woman? i never met one. innocent?--ignorant? i told you before we married that i was neither; there is nothing left for me to discover as far as the relations between men and women are concerned,--i have taken the measure of the inherent love of vice in both sexes. there is not a pin to choose between them,--men are no worse than women,--women no worse than men. i have discovered everything--except god!--and i conclude no god could ever have designed such a crazy and mean business as human life." while she thus spoke, i could have fallen at her feet and implored her to be silent. for she was, unknowingly, giving utterance to some of the many thoughts in which i myself had frequently indulged,--and yet, from her lips they sounded cruel, unnatural, and callous to a degree that made me shrink from her in fear and agony. we had reached a little grove of pines,--and here in the silence and shadow i took her in my arms and stared disconsolately upon the beauty of her face. "sibyl!" i whispered--"sibyl, what is wrong with us both? how is it that we do not seem to find the loveliest side of love?--why is it that even in our kisses and embraces, some impalpable darkness comes between us, so that we anger or weary each other when we should be glad and satisfied? what is it? can you tell? for you know the darkness is there!" a curious look came into her eyes,--a far-away strained look of hungry yearning, mingled, as i thought, with compassion for me. "yes, it is there!" she answered slowly--"and it is of our own mutual creation. i believe you have something nobler in your nature, geoffrey, than i have in mine,--an indefinable something that recoils from me and my theories despite your wish and will. perhaps if you had given way to that feeling in time, you would never have married me. you speak of the loveliest side of love,--to me there is no lovely side,--it is all coarse and horrible! you and i for instance,--cultured man and woman,--we cannot, in marriage, get a flight beyond the common emotions of hodge and his girl!" she laughed violently, and shuddered in my arms. "what liars the poets are, geoffrey! they ought to be sentenced to life-long imprisonment for their perjuries! they help to mould the credulous beliefs of a woman's heart;--in her early youth she reads their delicious assurances, and imagines that love will be all they teach,--a thing divine and lasting beyond earthly countings;--then comes the coarse finger of prose on the butterfly-wing of poesy, and the bitterness and hideousness of complete disillusion!" i held her still in my arms with the fierce grasp of a man clinging to a spar ere he drowns in mid-ocean. "but i love you sibyl!----my wife, i love you!" i said, with a passion that choked my utterance. "you love me,--yes, i know, but how? in a way that is abhorrent to yourself!" she replied--"it is not poetic love,--it is man's love, and man's love is brute love. so it is,--so it will be,--so it must be. moreover the brute-love soon tires,--and when it dies out from satiety there is nothing left. nothing, geoffrey,--absolutely nothing but a blank and civil form of intercourse, which i do not doubt we shall be able to keep up for the admiration and comment of society!" she disengaged herself from my embrace, and moved towards the house. "come!" she added, turning her exquisite head back over her shoulder with a feline caressing grace that she alone possessed, "you know there is a famous lady in london who advertises her saleable charms to the outside public by means of her monogram worked into the lace of all her window-blinds, thinking it no doubt good for trade! i am not quite so bad as that! you have paid dearly for me i know;--but remember i as yet wear no jewels but yours, and crave no gifts beyond those you are generous enough to bestow,--and my dutiful desire is to give you as much full value as i can for your money." "sibyl, you kill me!" i cried, tortured beyond endurance, "do you think me so base----" i broke off with almost a sob of despair. "you cannot help being base," she said, steadily regarding me,--"because you are a man. i am base because i am a woman. if we believed in a god, either of us, we might discover some different way of life and love--who knows?--but neither you nor i have any remnant of faith in a being whose existence all the scientists of the day are ever at work to disprove. we are persistently taught that we are animals and nothing more,--let us therefore not be ashamed of animalism. animalism and atheism are approved by the scientists and applauded by the press,--and the clergy are powerless to enforce the faith they preach. come geoffrey, don't stay mooning like a stricken parsifal under those pines,--throw away that thing which troubles you, your conscience,--throw it away as you have thrown the book i was lately reading, and consider this,--that most men of your type take pride and rejoice in being the prey of a bad woman!--so you should really congratulate yourself on having one for a wife!--one who is so broad-minded too, that she will always let you have your own way in everything you do, provided you let her have hers! it is the way all marriages are arranged nowadays,--at any rate in _our_ set,--otherwise the tie would be impossible of endurance. come!" "we cannot live together on such an understanding, sibyl!" i said hoarsely, as i walked slowly by her side towards the villa. "oh yes, we can!" she averred, a little malign smile playing round her lips--"we can do as others do,--there is no necessity for us to stand out from the rest like quixotic fools, and pose as models to other married people,--we should only be detested for our pains. it is surely better to be popular than virtuous,--virtue never pays! see, there is our interesting german waiter coming to inform us that dinner is ready; please don't look so utterly miserable, for we have not quarrelled, and it would be foolish to let the servants think we have." i made no answer. we entered the house, and dined,--sibyl keeping up a perfect fire of conversation, to which i replied in mere monosyllables,--and after dinner we went as usual to sit in the illuminated gardens of the adjacent hotel, and hear the band. sibyl was known, and universally admired and flattered by many of the people staying there,----and, as she moved about among her acquaintances, chatting first with one group and then with another, i sat in moody silence, watching her with increasing wonderment and horror. her beauty seemed to me like the beauty of the poison-flower, which, brilliant in colour and perfect in shape, exhales death to those who pluck it from its stem. and that night, when i held her in my arms, and felt her heart beating against my own in the darkness, an awful dread arose in me,--a dread as to whether i might not at some time or other be tempted to strangle her as she lay on my breast----strangle her as one would strangle a vampire that sucked one's blood and strength away! xxvii we concluded our wedding-tour rather sooner than we had at first intended, and returned to england and willowsmere court, about the middle of august. i had a vague notion stirring in me that gave me a sort of dim indefinable consolation, and it was this,--i meant to bring my wife and mavis clare together, believing that the gentle influence of the gracious and happy creature, who, like a contented bird in its nest, dwelt serene in the little domain so near my own, might have a softening and wholesome effect upon sibyl's pitiless love of analysis and scorn of all noble ideals. the heat in warwickshire was at this time intense,--the roses were out in their full beauty, and the thick foliage of the branching oaks and elms in my grounds afforded grateful shade and repose to the tired body, while the tranquil loveliness of the woodland and meadow scenery, comforted and soothed the equally tired mind. after all, there is no country in the world so fair as england,--none so richly endowed with verdant forests and fragrant flowers,--none that can boast of sweeter nooks for seclusion and romance. in italy, that land so over-praised by hysterical _poseurs_ who foolishly deem it admirable to glorify any country save their own, the fields are arid and brown, and parched by the too fervent sun,--there are no shady lanes such as england can boast of in all her shires,--and the mania among italians for ruthlessly cutting down their finest trees, has not only actually injured the climate, but has so spoilt the landscape that it is difficult to believe at all in its once renowned, and still erroneously reported charm. such a bower of beauty as lily cottage was in that sultry august, could never have been discovered in all the length and breadth of italy. mavis superintended the care of her gardens herself,--she had two gardeners, who under her directions, kept the grass and trees continually watered,--and nothing could be imagined more lovely than the picturesque old-fashioned house, covered with roses and tufts of jessamine that seemed to tie up the roof in festal knots and garlands, while around the building spread long reaches of deep emerald lawn, and bosky arbours of foliage where all the most musical song-birds apparently found refuge and delight, and where at evening a perfect colony of nightingales kept up a bubbling fountain of delicious melody. i remember well the afternoon, warm, languid and still, when i took sibyl to see the woman-author she had so long admired. the heat was so great that in our own grounds all the birds were silent, but when we approached lily cottage the first thing we heard was the piping of a thrush up somewhere among the roses,--a mellow liquid warble expressing 'sweet content,' and mingling with the subdued coo-cooings of the dove 'reviewers' who were commenting on whatever pleased or displeased them in the distance. "what a pretty place it is!" said my wife, as she peeped over the gate, and through the odorous tangles of honeysuckle and jessamine--"i really think it is prettier than willowsmere. it has been wonderfully improved." we were shown in,--and mavis, who had expected our visit did not keep us waiting long. an she entered, clad in some gossamer white stuff that clung softly about her pretty figure and was belted in by a simple ribbon, an odd sickening pang went through my heart. the fair untroubled face,--the joyous yet dreamy student eyes,--the sensitive mouth, and above all, the radiant look of happiness that made the whole expression of her features so bright and fascinating, taught me in one flash of conviction all that a woman might be, and all that she too frequently is not. and i had hated mavis clare!--i had even taken up my pen to deal her a wanton blow through the medium of anonymous criticism, ... but this was before i knew her,--before i realized that there could be any difference between her and the female scarecrows who so frequently pose as 'novelists' without being able to write correct english, and who talk in public of their 'copy' with the glibness gained from grub street and the journalists' cheap restaurant. yes--i had hated her,----and now----now, almost i loved her! sibyl, tall, queenly and beautiful, gazed upon her with eyes that expressed astonishment as well as admiration. "to think that you are the famous mavis clare!" she said, smiling, as she held out her hand--"i always heard and knew that you did not look at all literary, but i never quite realized that you could be exactly what i see you are!" "to look literary does not always imply that you _are_ literary!" returned mavis, laughing a little--"too often i am afraid you will find that the women who take pains to _look_ literary are ignorant of literature! but how glad i am to see you, lady sibyl! do you know i used to watch you playing about on the lawns at willowsmere when i was quite a little girl?" "and i used to watch you,"--responded sibyl--"you used to make daisy-chains and cowslip-balls in the fields opposite on the other side of the avon. it is a great pleasure to me to know we are neighbours. you must come and see me often at willowsmere." mavis did not answer immediately,--she busied herself in pouring out tea and dispensing it to both of us. sibyl, who was always on the alert for glimpses of character, noticed that she did not answer, and repeated her words coaxingly. "you will come, will you not? as often as you like,--the oftener the better. we must be friends, you know!" mavis looked up then, a frank sweet smile in her eyes. "do you really mean it?" she asked. "mean it!" echoed sibyl--"why, of course i do!" "how can you doubt it!" i exclaimed. "well, you must both forgive me for asking such a question"--said mavis still smiling--"but you see you are now among what are called the 'county magnates,' and county magnates consider themselves infinitely above all authors!" she laughed outright, and her blue eyes twinkled with fun. "i think many of them estimate writers of books as some sort of strange outgrowth of humanity that is barely decent. it is deliciously funny and always amuses me,--nevertheless, among my many faults, the biggest one is, i fancy, pride, and a dreadfully obstinate spirit of independence. now, to tell you the truth, i have been asked by many so-called 'great' people to their houses, and when i _have_ gone, i have generally been sorry for it afterwards." "why?" i asked--"they honour themselves by inviting you." "oh, i don't think they take it in that way at all!" she replied, shaking her fair head demurely--"they fancy they have performed a great act of condescension,--whereas it is really i who condescend, for it is very good of me, you know, to leave the society of the pallas athene in my study for that of a flounced and frizzled lady of fashion!" her bright smile again irradiated her face and she went on--"once i was asked to luncheon with a certain baron and baroness who invited a few guests "to meet me," so they said. i was not introduced to more than one or two of these people,--the rest sat and stared at me as if i were a new kind of fish or fowl. then the baron showed me his house, and told me the prices of his pictures and his china,--he was even good enough to explain which was dresden and which was delft ware, though i believe, benighted author as i am, i could have instructed him equally on these, and other matters. however i managed to smile amicably through the whole programme, and professed myself charmed and delighted in the usual way;--but they never asked me to visit them again,--and, (unless indeed they wanted me to be impressed with their furniture-catalogue) i can never make out what i did to be asked at all, and what i have done never to be asked any more!" "they must have been _parvenus_,"--said sibyl indignantly--"no well-bred people would have priced their goods to you, unless they happened to be jews." mavis laughed--a merry little laugh like a peal of bells,--then she continued-- "well, i will not say who they were,--i must keep something for my 'literary reminiscences' when i get old! then all these people will be named, and go down to posterity as dante's enemies went down to dante's hell! i have only told you the incident just to show you why i asked you if you meant it, when you invited me to visit you at willowsmere. because the baron and baroness i have spoken of 'gushed' over me and my poor books to such an extent that you would have fancied i was to be for evermore one of their dearest friends,--and they _didn't_ mean it! other people i know embrace me effusively and invite me to their houses, and _they_ don't mean it! and when i find out these shams, i like to make it very clear on my own side that i do not seek to be embraced or invited, and that if certain great folks deem it a 'favour' to ask me to their houses, i do not so consider it, but rather think the 'favour' is entirely on my part if i accept the invitation. and i do not say this for my own self at all,--self has nothing to do with it,--but i do say it and strongly assert it for the sake of the dignity of literature as an art and profession. if a few other authors would maintain this position, we might raise the standard of letters by degrees to what it was in the old days of scott and byron. i hope you do not think me too proud?" "on the contrary, i think you are quite right"--said sibyl earnestly--"and i admire you for your courage and independence. some of the aristocracy are, i know, such utter snobs that often i feel ashamed to belong to them. but as far as we are concerned, i can only assure you that if you will honour us by becoming our friend as well as neighbour, you shall not regret it. do try and like me if you can!" she bent forward with a witching smile on her fair face. mavis looked at her seriously and admiringly. "how beautiful you are!" she said frankly--"everybody tells you this of course,--still, i cannot help joining in the general chorus. to me, a lovely face is like a lovely flower,--i must admire it. beauty is quite a divine thing, and though i am often told that the plain people are always the good people, i never can quite believe it. nature is surely bound to give a beautiful face to a beautiful spirit." sibyl, who had smiled with pleasure at the first words of the open compliment paid her by one of the most gifted of her own sex, now flushed deeply. "not always, miss clare,"--she said, veiling her brilliant eyes beneath the droop of her long lashes--"one can imagine a fair fiend as easily as a fair angel." "true!" and mavis looked at her musingly,--then suddenly laughing in her blithe bright way, she added--"quite true! really i cannot picture an ugly fiend,--for the fiends are supposed to be immortal, and i am convinced that immortal ugliness has no part in the universe. downright hideousness belongs to humanity alone,--and an ugly face is such a blot on creation that we can only console ourselves by the reflection that it is fortunately perishable, and that in course of time the soul behind it will be released from its ill-formed husk, and will be allowed to wear a fairer aspect. yes, lady sibyl, i will come to willowsmere; i cannot refuse to look upon such loveliness as yours as often as i may!" "you are a charming flatterer!" said sibyl, rising and putting an arm round her in that affectionate coaxing way of hers which seemed so sincere, and which so frequently meant nothing--"but i confess i prefer to be flattered by a woman rather than by a man. men say the same things to all women,--they have a very limited répertoire of compliments,--and they will tell a fright she is beautiful, if it happens to serve their immediate purpose. but women themselves can so hardly be persuaded to admit that any good qualities exist either inwardly or outwardly in one another, that when they do say a kind or generous thing of their own sex it is a wonder worth remembering. may i your study?" mavis willingly assented,--and we all three went into the peaceful sanctum where the marble pallas presided, and where the dogs tricksy and emperor were both ensconced,--emperor sitting up on his haunches and surveying the prospect from the window, and tricksy with a most absurd air of importance, imitating the larger animal's attitude precisely, at a little distance off. both creatures were friendly to my wife and to me, and while sibyl was stroking the st bernard's massive head, mavis said suddenly, "where is the friend who came with you here first, prince rimânez?" "he is in st petersburg just now,"--i answered--"but we expect him in two or three weeks to stay with us on a visit for some time." "he is surely a very singular man,"--said mavis thoughtfully--"do you remember how strangely my dogs behaved to him? emperor was quite restless and troublesome for two or three hours after he had gone." and in a few words, she told sibyl the incident of the st bernard's attack upon lucio. "some people have a natural antipathy to dogs,"--said sibyl, as she heard--"and the dogs always find it out, and resent it. but i should not have thought prince rimânez had an antipathy to any creatures except--women!" and she laughed, a trifle bitterly. "except women!" echoed mavis surprisedly--"does he hate women? he must be a very good actor then,--for to me he was wonderfully kind and gentle." sibyl looked at her intently, and was silent for a minute. then she said-- "perhaps it is because he knows you are unlike the ordinary run of women and have nothing in common with their usual trumpery aims. of course he is always courteous to our sex,--but i think it is easy to see that his courtesy is often worn as a mere mask to cover a very different feeling." "you have perceived that, then, sibyl?" i said with a slight smile. "i should be blind if i had not perceived it"--she replied; "i do not however blame him for his pet aversion,--i think it makes him all the more attractive and interesting." "he is a great friend of yours?" inquired mavis, looking at me as she put the question. "the very greatest friend i have,"--i replied quickly--"i owe him more than i can ever repay,--indeed i have to thank him even for introducing me to my wife!" i said the words unthinkingly and playfully, but as i uttered them, a sudden shock affected my nerves,--a shock of painful memory. yes, it was true!--i owed to him, to lucio, the misery, fear, degradation and shame of having such a woman as sibyl was, united to me till death should us part. i felt myself turning sick and giddy,--and i sat down in one of the quaint oak chairs that helped to furnish mavis clare's study, allowing the two women to pass out of the open french window into the sunlit garden together, the dogs following at their heels. i watched them as they went,--my wife, tall and stately, attired in the newest and most fashionable mode,--mavis, small and slight, with her soft white gown and floating waist-ribbon,--the one sensual, the other spiritual,--the one base and vicious in desire,--the other pure-souled and aspiring to noblest ends,--the one, a physically magnificent animal,--the other merely sweet-faced and ideally fair like a sylph of the woodlands,--and looking, i clenched my hands as i thought with bitterness of spirit what a mistaken choice i had made. in the profound egotism which had always been part of my nature i now actually allowed myself to believe that i might, had i chosen, have wedded mavis clare,--never for one moment imagining that all my wealth would have been useless to me in such a quest, and that i might as well have proposed to pluck a star from the sky as to win a woman who was able to read my nature thoroughly, and who would never have come down to my money-level from her intellectual throne,--no, not though i had been a monarch of many nations. i stared at the large tranquil features of the pallas athene,--and the blank eyeballs of the marble goddess appeared to regard me in turn with impassive scorn. i glanced round the room, and at the walls adorned with the wise sayings of poets and philosophers,--sayings that reminded me of truths which i knew, yet never accepted as practicable; and presently my eyes were attracted to a corner near the writing-desk which i had not noticed before, where there was a small dim lamp burning. above this lamp an ivory crucifix gleamed white against draperies of dark purple velvet,--below it, on a silver bracket, was an hour-glass through which the sand was running in glistening grains, and round the entire little shrine was written in letters of gold "now is the acceptable time!"--the word 'now' being in larger characters than the rest. 'now' was evidently mavis's motto,--to lose no moment, but to work, to pray, to love, to hope, to thank god and be glad for life, all in the 'now'--and neither to regret the past nor forebode the future, but simply do the best that could be done, and leave all else in child-like confidence to the divine will. i got up restlessly,--the sight of the crucifix curiously annoyed me;--and i followed the path my wife and mavis had taken through the garden. i found them looking in at the cage of the 'athenæum' owls,--the owl-in-chief being as usual puffed out with his own importance, and swelling visibly with indignation and excess of feather. sibyl turned as she saw me,--her face was bright and smiling. "miss clare has very strong opinions of her own, geoffrey," she said--"she is not as much captivated by prince rimânez as most people are,--in fact, she has just confided to me that she does not quite like him." mavis blushed, but her eyes met mine with fearless candour. "it is wrong to say what one thinks, i know,--" she murmured in somewhat troubled accents--"and it is a dreadful fault of mine. please forgive me mr tempest! you tell me the prince is your greatest friend,--and i assure you i was immensely impressed by his appearance when i first saw him, ... but afterwards, ... after i had studied him a little, the conviction was borne in upon me that he was not altogether what he seemed." "that is exactly what he says of himself,"--i answered, laughing a little--"he has a mystery i believe,--and he has promised to clear it up for me some day. but i'm sorry you don't like him, miss clare,--for he likes you." "perhaps when i meet him again my ideas may be different"--said mavis gently--"at present, ... well,--do not let us talk of it any more,--indeed i feel i have been very rude to express any opinion at all concerning one for whom you and lady sibyl have so great a regard. but somehow i seemed impelled, almost against my will, to say what i did just now." her soft eyes looked pained and puzzled, and to relieve her and change the subject, i asked if she was writing anything new. "oh yes,"--she replied--"it would never do for me to be idle. the public are very kind to me,--and no sooner have they read one thing of mine than they clamour for another, so i am kept very busy." "and what of the critics?" i asked, with a good deal of curiosity. she laughed. "i never pay the least attention to them," she answered, "except when they are hasty and misguided enough to write lies about me,--then i very naturally take the liberty to contradict those lies, either through my own statement or that of my lawyers. apart from refusing to allow the public to be led into a false notion of my work and aims, i have no grudge whatever against the critics. they are generally very poor hard-working men, and have a frightful struggle to live. i have often, privately, done some of them a good turn without their knowledge. a publisher of mine sent me an ms. the other day by one of my deadliest enemies on the press, and stated that my opinion would decide its rejection or acceptance,--i read it through, and though it was not very brilliant work, it was good enough, so i praised it as warmly as i could, and urged its publication, with the stipulation that the author should never be told i had had the casting vote. it has just come out i see,--and i'm sure i hope it will succeed." here she paused to gather a few deep damask roses, which she handed to sibyl. "yes,--critics are very badly, even cruelly paid,"--she went on musingly--"it is not to be expected that they should write eulogies of the successful author, while they continue unsuccessful,--such work could not be anything but gall and wormwood to them. i know the poor little wife of one of them,--and settled her dressmaker's bill for her because she was afraid to show it to her husband. the very week afterwards he slashed away at my last book in the most approved style in the paper on which he is employed, and got, i suppose, about a guinea for his trouble. of course he didn't know about his little wife and her dunning dressmaker; and he never will know, because i have bound her over to secrecy." "but why do you do such things?" asked sibyl astonished; "i would have let his wife get into the county court for her bill, if i had been you!" "would you?" and mavis smiled gravely--"well, i could not. you know who it was that said 'bless them that curse you, and do good to them that hate you'? besides, the poor little woman was frightened to death at her own expenditure. it is pitiful, you know, to see the helpless agonies of people who _will_ live beyond their incomes,--they suffer much more than the beggars in the street who make frequently more than a pound a day by merely whining and snivelling. the critics are much more in evil case than the beggars--few of them make even a pound a day, and of course they regard as their natural enemies the authors who make thirty to fifty pounds a week. i assure you i am very sorry for critics all round,--they are the least-regarded and worst-rewarded of all the literary community. and i never bother myself at all about what they say of me, except as i before observed, when in their haste they tell lies,--then of course it becomes necessary for me to state the truth in simple self-defence as well as by way of duty to my public. but as a rule i hand over all my press-notices to tricksy there,"--indicating the minute yorkshire terrier who followed closely at the edge of her white gown,--"and he tears them to indistinguishable shreds in about three minutes!" she laughed merrily, and sibyl smiled, watching her with the same wonder and admiration that had been expressed in her looks more or less since the beginning of our interview with this light-hearted possessor of literary fame. we were now walking towards the gate, preparatory to taking our departure. "may i come and talk to you sometimes?" my wife said suddenly, in her prettiest and most pleading voice--"it would be such a privilege!" "you can come whenever you like in the afternoons,"--replied mavis readily--"the mornings belong to a goddess more dominant even than beauty;--work!" "you never work at night?" i asked. "indeed no! i never turn the ordinances of nature upside down, as i am sure i should get the worst of it if i made such an attempt. the night is for sleep--and i use it thankfully for that blessed purpose." "some authors can only write at night though," i said. "then you may be sure they only produce blurred pictures and indistinct characterization," said mavis--"some i know there are, who invite inspiration through gin or opium, as well as through the midnight influences, but i do not believe in such methods. morning, and a freshly rested brain are required for literary labour,--that is, if one wants to write a book that will last for more than one 'season.'" she accompanied us to the gate and stood under the porch, her big dog beside her, and the roses waving high over her head. "at any rate work agrees with you,"--said sibyl fixing upon her a long, intent, almost envious gaze--"you look perfectly happy." "i _am_ perfectly happy,"--she answered, smiling--"i have nothing in all the world to wish for, except that i may die as peacefully as i have lived." "may that day be far distant!" i said earnestly. she raised her soft meditative eyes to mine. "thank you!" she responded gently--"but i do not mind when it comes, so long as it finds me ready." she waved her hand to us as we left her and turned the corner of the lane,--and for some minutes we walked on slowly in absolute silence. then at last sibyl spoke-- "i quite understand the hatred there is in some quarters for mavis clare,"--she said--"i am afraid i begin to hate her myself!" i stopped and stared at her, astonished and confounded. "you begin to hate her----you?--and why?" "are you so blind that you cannot perceive why?" she retorted, the little malign smile i knew so well playing round her lips--"because she is happy! because she has no scandals in her life, and because she dares to be content! one longs to make her miserable! but how to do it? she believes in a god,--she thinks all he ordains is right and good. with such a firm faith as that, she would be happy in a garret earning but a few pence a day. i see now perfectly how she has won her public,--it is by the absolute conviction she has herself of the theories of life she tries to instil. what can be done against her? nothing! but i understand why the critics would like to 'quash' her,--if i were a critic, fond of whiskey-and-soda, and music-hall women, i should like to quash her myself for being so different to the rest of her sex!" "what an incomprehensible woman you are, sibyl!" i exclaimed with real irritation,--"you admire miss clare's books,--you have always admired them,--you have asked her to become your friend,--and almost in the same breath you aver you would like to 'quash' her or to make her miserable! i confess i cannot understand you!" "of course you cannot!" she responded tranquilly, her eyes resting upon me with a curious expression, as we paused for an instant under the deep shade of a chestnut tree before entering our own grounds--"i never supposed you could, and unlike the ordinary _femme incomprise_, i have never blamed you for your want of comprehension. it has taken me some time to understand myself, and even now i am not quite sure that i have gauged the depths or shallownesses of my own nature correctly. but on this matter of mavis clare, can you not imagine that badness may hate goodness? that the confirmed drunkard may hate the sober citizen? that the outcast may hate the innocent maiden? and that it is possible that i,--reading life as i do, and finding it loathsome in many of its aspects,--distrusting men and women utterly,--and being destitute of any faith in god,--may hate,--yes _hate_,"--and she clenched her hand on a tuft of drooping leaves and scattered the green fragments at her feet--"a woman who finds life beautiful, and god existent,--who takes no part in our social shams and slanders,--and who in place of my self-torturing spirit of analysis, has secured an enviable fame and the honour of thousands, allied to a serene content? why it would be something worth living for, to make such a woman wretched for once in her life!--but, as she is constituted, it is impossible to do it." she turned from me and walked slowly onward,--i following in a pained silence. "if you do not mean to be her friend, you should tell her so,"--i said presently--"you heard what she said about pretended protestations of regard?" "i heard,"--she replied morosely--"she is a clever woman, geoffrey, and you may trust her to find me out without any explanation!" as she said this, i raised my eyes and looked full at her,--her exceeding beauty was becoming almost an agony to my sight, and in a sudden fool's paroxysm of despair i exclaimed-- "o sibyl, sibyl! why were you made as you are!" "ah, why indeed!" she rejoined, with a faint mocking smile--"and why, being made as i am, was i born an earl's daughter? if i had been a drab of the street, i should have been in my proper place,--and novels would have been written about me, and plays,--and i might have become such a heroine as should cause all good men to weep for joy because of my generosity in encouraging their vices! but as an earl's daughter, respectably married to a millionaire, am a mistake of nature. yet nature does make mistakes sometimes geoffrey, and when she does they are generally irremediable!" we had now reached our own grounds, and i walked, in miserable mood, beside her across the lawn towards the house. "sibyl,"--i said at last--"i had hoped you and mavis clare might be friends." she laughed. "so we shall be friends i daresay,--for a little while"--she replied--"but the dove does not willingly consort with the raven, and mavis clare's way of life and studious habits would be to me insufferably dull. besides, as i said before, she, as a clever woman and a thinker, is too clear-sighted not to find me out in the course of time. but i will play humbug as long as i can. if i perform the part of 'county lady' or 'patron,' of course she won't stand me for a moment. i shall have to assume a much more difficult rôle,--that of an honest woman!" again she laughed,--a cruel little laugh that chilled my blood, and paced slowly into the house through the open windows of the drawing-room. and i, left alone in the garden among the nodding roses and waving trees, felt that the beautiful domain of willowsmere had suddenly grown hideous and bereft of all its former charm, and was nothing but a haunted house of desolation,--haunted by an all-dominant and ever victorious spirit of evil. xxviii one of the strangest things in all the strange course of our human life is the suddenness of certain unlooked-for events, which, in a day or even an hour, may work utter devastation where there has been more or less peace, and hopeless ruin where there has been comparative safety. like the shock of an earthquake, the clamorous incidents thunder in on the regular routine of ordinary life, crumbling down our hopes, breaking our hearts, and scattering our pleasures into the dust and ashes of despair. and this kind of destructive trouble generally happens in the midst of apparent prosperity, without the least warning, and with all the abrupt fierceness of a desert-storm. it is constantly made manifest to us in the unexpected and almost instantaneous downfall of certain members of society who have held their heads proudly above their compeers and have presumed to pose as examples of light and leading to the whole community; we see it in the capricious fortunes of kings and statesmen, who are in favour one day and disgraced the next, and vast changes are wrought with such inexplicable quickness that it is scarcely wonderful to hear of certain religious sects who, when everything is prospering more than usually well with them, make haste to put on garments of sackcloth, and cast ashes on their heads, praying aloud "prepare us, o lord, for the evil days which are at hand!" the moderation of the stoics, who considered it impious either to rejoice or grieve, and strove to maintain an equable middle course between the opposing elements of sorrow and joy, without allowing themselves to be led away by over-much delight or over-much melancholy, was surely a wise habit of temperament. i, who lived miserably as far as my inner and better consciousness was concerned, was yet outwardly satisfied with the material things of life and the luxuries surrounding me,--and i began to take comfort in these things, and with them endeavoured to quell and ignore my more subtle griefs, succeeding so far in that i became more and more of a thorough materialist every day, loving bodily ease, appetizing food, costly wine, and personal indulgence to a degree that robbed me gradually of even the desire for mental effort. i taught myself moreover, almost insensibly, to accept and tolerate what i knew of the wanton side of my wife's character,--true, i respected her less than the turk respects the creature of his harem,--but like the turk, i took a certain savage satisfaction in being the possessor of her beauty, and with this feeling, and the brute passion it engendered, i was fain to be content. so that for a short time at least, the drowsy satisfaction of a well-fed, well-mated animal was mine,--i imagined that nothing short of a stupendous financial catastrophe to the country itself could exhaust my stock of cash,--and that therefore there was no necessity for me to exert myself in any particular branch of usefulness, but simply to 'eat drink and be merry' as solomon advised. intellectual activity was paralysed in me,--to take up my pen and write, and make another and higher bid for fame, was an idea that now never entered my mind; i spent my days in ordering about my servants, and practising the petty pleasures of tyranny on gardeners and grooms, and in generally giving myself airs of importance, mingled with an assumption of toleration and benevolence, for the benefit of all those in my employ. i knew the proper thing to do, well enough!--i had not studied the ways of the over-wealthy for nothing,--i was aware that the rich man never feels so thoroughly virtuous as when he has inquired after the health of his coachman's wife, and has sent her a couple of pounds for the outfit of her new-born baby. the much prated-of 'kindness of heart' and 'generosity' possessed by millionaires, generally amounts to this kind of thing,--and when, if idly strolling about my parklands, i happened to meet the small child of my lodge-keeper, and then and there bestowed sixpence upon it, i almost felt as if i deserved a throne in heaven at the right hand of the almighty, so great was my appreciation of my own good-nature. sibyl, however, never affected this sort of county-magnate beneficence. she did nothing at all among our poor neighbours;--the clergyman of the district unfortunately happened to let slip one day a few words to the effect that "there was no great want of anything among his parishioners, owing to the continual kindness and attention of miss clare,"--and sibyl never from that moment proffered any assistance. now and then she took her graceful person into lily cottage and sat with its happy and studious occupant for an hour,--and occasionally the fair author herself came and dined with us, or had 'afternoon tea' under the branching elms on the lawn,--but even i, intense egotist as i was, could see that mavis was scarcely herself on these occasions. she was always charming and bright of course,--indeed the only times in which i was able to partially forget myself and the absurdly increasing importance of my personality in my own esteem, were when she, with her sweet voice and animated manner, brought her wide knowledge of books, men, and things, to bear on the conversation, thus raising it to a higher level than was ever reached by my wife or me. yet i now and then noticed a certain vague constraint about her,--and her frank eyes had frequently a pained and questioning look of trouble when they rested for any length of time on the enchanting beauty of sibyl's face and form. i, however, paid little heed to these trifling matters, my whole care being to lose myself more and more utterly in the enjoyment of purely physical ease and comfort, without troubling myself as to what such self-absorption might lead in the future. to be completely without a conscience, without a heart and without sentiment was, i perceived, the best way to keep one's appetite, and preserve one's health;--to go about worrying over the troubles of other people, or put one's self out to do any good in the world, would involve such an expenditure of time and trouble as must inevitably spoil one's digestion,--and i saw that no millionaire or even moderately rich man cares to run the risk of injuring his digestion for the sake of performing a kindness to a poorer fellow-creature. profiting by the examples presented to me everywhere in society, i took care of _my_ digestion, and was particular about the way in which my meals were cooked and served,--particular too, as to the fashion in which my wife dressed for those meals,--for it suited my supreme humour to see her beauty bedecked as suitably and richly as possible, that i might have the satisfaction of considering her 'points' with the same epicurean fastidiousness as i considered a dish of truffles or specially prepared game. i never thought of the stern and absolute law--"unto whom much is given, even from him should much be required;"--i was scarcely aware of it in fact,--the new testament was of all books in the world the most unfamiliar to me. and while i wilfully deafened myself to the voice of conscience,--that voice which ever and anon urged me in vain to a nobler existence,--the clouds were gathering, ready to burst above me with that terrific suddenness such as always seems to us who refuse to study the causes of our calamities, as astonishing and startling as death itself. for we are always more or less startled at death notwithstanding that it is the commonest occurrence known. towards the middle of september my 'royal and distinguished' house-party arrived and stayed at willowsmere court for a week. of course it is understood that whenever the prince of wales honours any private residence with a visit, he selects, if not all, at any rate the greater part of those persons who are to be invited to meet him. he did so in the present instance, and i was placed in the odd position of having to entertain certain people whom i had never met before, and who, with the questionable taste frequently exhibited among the 'upper ten,' looked upon me merely as "the man with the millions," the caterer for their provisions, and no more,--directing their chief attention to sibyl, who was by virtue of her birth and associations one of their 'set,' and pushing me, their host, more or less into the background. however the glory of entertaining royalty more than sufficed for my poor pride at that time, and with less self-respect than an honest cur, i was content to be snubbed and harassed and worried a hundred times a day by one or the other of the 'great' personages who wandered at will all over my house and grounds, and accepted my lavish hospitality. many people imagine that it must be an 'honour' to entertain a select party of aristocrats, but i, on the contrary, consider that it is not only a degradation to one's manlier and more independent instincts, but also a bore. these highly-bred, highly-connected individuals, are for the most part unintelligent, and devoid of resources in their own minds,--they are not gifted as conversationalists or wits,--one gains no intellectual advantage from their society,--they are simply dull folk, with an exaggerated sense of their own importance, who expect wherever they go, to be amused without trouble to themselves. out of all the visitors at willowsmere the only one whom it was really a pleasure to serve was the prince of wales himself,--and amid the many personal irritations i had to suffer from others, i found it a positive relief to render him any attention, however slight, because his manner was always marked by that tact and courtesy which are the best attributes of a true gentleman whether he be prince or peasant. in his own affable way, he went one afternoon to see mavis clare, and came back in high good-humour, talking for some time of nothing but the author of 'differences,' and of the success she had achieved in literature. i had asked mavis to join our party before the prince came, as i felt pretty sure he would not have erased her name from the list of guests submitted to him,--but she would not accept, and begged me very earnestly not to press the point. "i like the prince,"--she had said--"most people like him who know him,--but i do not always like those who surround him,--pardon me for my frankness! the prince of wales is a social magnet,--he draws a number of persons after him who by dint of wealth, if not intelligence, can contrive to 'push' into his set. now i am not an advocate of 'push'--moreover i do not care to be seen with 'everybody';--this is my sinful pride you will say, or as our american cousins would put it, my 'cussedness.' but i assure you, mr tempest, the best possession i have, and one which i value a great deal more even than my literary success, is my absolute independence, and i would not have it thought, even erroneously, that i am anxious to mix with the crowd of sycophants and time-servers who are only too ready to take advantage of the prince's good-nature." and, acting upon her determination, she had remained more than ever secluded in her cottage-nest of foliage and flowers during the progress of the week's festivities,--the result being, as i have stated, that the prince 'dropped in' upon her quite casually one day, accompanied by his equerry, and probably for all i knew, had the pleasure of seeing the dove 'reviewers' fed, and squabbling over their meal. much as we had desired and expected the presence of rimânez at our gathering, he did not appear. he telegraphed his regrets from paris, and followed the telegram by a characteristic letter, which ran thus:-- my dear tempest. you are very kind to wish to include me, your old friend, in the party you have invited to meet his royal highness, and i only hope you will not think me churlish for refusing to come. i am sick to death of royalties,--i have known so many of them in the course of my existence that i begin to find their society monotonous. their positions are all so exactly alike too,--and moreover have always been alike from the days of solomon in all his glory, down to the present blessed era of victoria, queen and empress. one thirsts for a change; at least i do. the only monarch that ever fascinated my imagination particularly was richard coeur de lion; there was something original and striking about that man, and i presume he would have been well worth talking to. and charlemagne was doubtless, as the slangy young man of the day would observe, 'not half bad.' but for the rest,--_un fico!_ much talk is there made about her majesty elizabeth, who was a shrew and a vixen and blood-thirsty withal,--the chief glory of her reign was shakespeare, and he made kings and queens the dancing puppets of his thought. in this, though in nothing else, i resemble him. you will have enough to do in the entertainment of your distinguished guests, for i suppose there is no amusement they have not tried, and found more or less unsatisfactory, and i am sorry i can suggest nothing particularly new for you to do. her grace the duchess of rapidryder is very fond of being tossed in a strong table-cloth between four able-bodied gentlemen of good birth and discretion, before going to bed o' nights,--she cannot very well appear on a music-hall stage you know, owing to her exalted rank,--and this is a child-like, pretty and harmless method of managing to show her legs, which she rightly considers, are too shapely to be hidden. lady bouncer, whose name i see in your list, always likes to cheat at cards,--i would aid and abet her in her aim if i were you, as if she can only clear her dressmaker's bill by her winnings at willowsmere, she will bear it in mind, and be a useful social friend to you. the honourable miss fitz-gander who has a great reputation for virtue, is anxious, for pressing and particular reasons, to marry lord noodles,--if you can move on matters between them into a definite engagement of marriage before her lady-mother returns from her duty-visits in scotland, you will be doing her a good turn, and saving society a scandal. to amuse the men i suggest plenty of shooting, gambling, and unlimited smoking. to entertain the prince, do little,--for he is clever enough to entertain himself privately with the folly and humbug of those he sees around him, without actually sharing in the petty comedy. he is a keen observer,--and must derive infinite gratification from his constant study of men and manners, which is sufficiently deep and searching to fit him for the occupation of even the throne of england. i say 'even,' for at present, till time's great hour-glass turns, it is the grandest throne in the world. the prince reads, understands, and secretly laughs to scorn the table-cloth vagaries of the duchess of rapidryder, the humours of my lady bouncer and the nervous pruderies of the honourable miss fitz-gander. and there is nothing he will appreciate so much in his reception as a lack of toadyism, a sincere demeanour, an unostentatious hospitality, a simplicity of speech, and a total absence of affectation. remember this, and take my advice for what it is worth. of all the royalties at present flourishing on this paltry planet, i have the greatest respect for the prince of wales, and it is by reason of this very respect that i do not intend, on this occasion at any rate, to thrust myself upon his notice. i shall arrive at willowsmere when your 'royal' festivities are over. my homage to your fair spouse, the lady sibyl, and believe me, yours as long as you desire it lucio rimânez. i laughed over this letter and showed it to my wife, who did not laugh. she read it through with a closeness of attention that somewhat surprised me, and when she laid it down there was a strange look of pain in her eyes. "how he despises us all!" she said slowly--"what scorn underlies his words! do you not recognise it?" "he was always a cynic,--" i replied indifferently--"i never expect him to be anything else." "he seems to know some of the ways of the women who are coming here--" she went on in the same musing accents; "it is as if he read their thoughts, and perceived their intentions at a distance." her brows knitted frowningly, and she seemed for some time absorbed in gloomy meditation. but i did not pursue the subject,--i was too intent on my own fussy preparations for the prince's arrival to care about anything else. and, as i have said, royalty, in the person of one of the most genial of men, came and went through the whole programme devised for his entertainment, and then departed again with his usual courteous acknowledgments for the hospitality offered and accepted,--leaving us, as he generally leaves everybody, charmed with his good-humour and condescension, provided his temper has not been ruffled. when, with his exit from the scene, the whole party broke up, leaving my wife and me to our own two selves once more, there came a strange silence and desolation over the house that was like the stealthy sense of some approaching calamity. sibyl seemed to feel it as much as i did,--and though we said nothing to each other concerning our mutual sensations, i could see that she was under the same cloud of depression as myself. she went oftener to lily cottage, and always from these visits to the fair-haired student among the roses, came back, i hopefully fancied in softer mood,--her very voice was gentler,--her eyes more thoughtful and tender. one evening she said-- "i have been thinking, geoffrey, that perhaps there is some good in life after all, if i could only find it out and _live_ it. but you are the last person to help me in such a matter." i was sitting in an arm-chair near the open window, smoking, and i turned my eyes upon her with some astonishment and a touch of indignation. "what do you mean, sibyl?" i asked--"surely you know that i have the greatest desire to see you always in your best aspect,--many of your ideas have been most repugnant to me...." "stop there!" she said quickly, her eyes flashing as she spoke--"my ideas have been repugnant to you, you say? what have _you_ done, you as my husband, to change those ideas? have you not the same base passions as i?--and do you not give way to them as basely? what have i seen in you from day to day that i should take you as an example? you are master here, and you rule with all the arrogance wealth can give,--you eat, drink and sleep,--you entertain your acquaintances simply that you may astonish them by the excess of luxury in which you indulge,--you read and smoke, shoot and ride, and there an end,--you are an ordinary, not an exceptional man. do you trouble to ask what is wrong with _me_?--do you try, with the patience of a great love, to set before me nobler aims than those i have consciously or unconsciously imbibed?--do you try to lead me, an erring, passionate, misguided woman, into what i dream of as the light,--the light of faith and hope which alone gives peace?" and suddenly, burying her head in the pillows of the couch on which she leaned, she broke into a fit of smothered weeping. i drew my cigar from my mouth and stared at her helplessly. it was about an hour after dinner, and a warm soft autumnal evening,--i had eaten and drunk well, and i was drowsy and heavy-brained. "dear me!" i murmured--"you seem very unreasonable, sibyl! i suppose you are hysterical...." she sprang up from the couch,--her tears dried on her cheeks as though by sheer heat of the crimson glow that flushed them, and she laughed wildly. "yes, that is it!" she exclaimed--"hysteria!--nothing else! it is accountable for everything that moves a woman's nature. a woman has no right to have any emotions that cannot be cured by smelling-salts! heart-ache?--pooh!--cut her stay-lace! despair and a sense of sin and misery?--nonsense!--bathe her temples with vinegar! an uneasy conscience?--ah!--for an uneasy conscience there is nothing better than sal volatile! woman is a toy,--a breakable fool's toy;--and when she _is_ broken, throw her aside and have done with her,--don't try to piece together the fragile rubbish!" she ceased abruptly, panting for breath,--and before i could collect my thoughts or find any words wherewith to reply, a tall shadow suddenly darkened the embrasure of the window, and a familiar voice enquired-- "may i, with the privilege of friendship, enter unannounced?" i started up. "rimânez!" i cried, seizing him by the hand. "nay, geoffrey, my homage is due here first,"--he replied, shaking off my grasp, and advancing to sibyl, who stood perfectly still where she had risen up in her strange passion--"lady sibyl, am i welcome?" "can you ask it!" she said, with an enchanting smile, and in a voice from which all harshness and excitement had fled; "more than welcome!" here she gave him both her hands which he respectfully kissed. "you cannot imagine how much i have longed to see you again!" "i must apologise for my sudden appearance, geoffrey,"--he then observed, turning to me--"but as i walked here from the station and came up your fine avenue of trees, i was so struck with the loveliness of this place and the exquisite peace of its surroundings, that, knowing my way through the grounds, i thought i would just look about and see if you were anywhere within sight before i presented myself at the conventional door of entrance. and i was not disappointed,--i found you, as i expected, enjoying each other's society!--the happiest and most fortunate couple existent,--people whom, out of all the world i should be disposed to envy, if i envied worldly happiness at all, which i do not!" i glanced at him quickly;--he met my gaze with a perfectly unembarrassed air, and i concluded that he had not overheard sibyl's sudden melodramatic outburst. "have you dined?" i asked, with my hand on the bell. "thanks, yes. the town of leamington provided me with quite a sumptuous repast of bread and cheese and ale. i am tired of luxuries you know,--that is why i find plain fare delicious. you are looking wonderfully well, geoffrey!--shall i offend you if i say you are growing--yes--positively stout?--with the stoutness befitting a true county gentleman, who means to be as gouty in the future as his respectable ancestors?" i smiled, but not altogether with pleasure; it is never agreeable to be called 'stout' in the presence of a beautiful woman to whom one has only been wedded a matter of three months. "_you_ have not put on any extra flesh;--" i said, by way of feeble retort. "no"--he admitted, as he disposed his slim elegant figure in an arm-chair near my own--"the necessary quantity of flesh is a bore to me always,--extra flesh would be a positive infliction. i should like, as the irreverent though reverend sidney smith said, on a hot day, 'to sit in my bones,' or rather, to become a spirit of fine essence like shakespeare's ariel, if such things were possible and permissible. how admirably married life agrees with _you_, lady sibyl!" his fine eyes rested upon her with apparent admiration,--she flushed under his gaze i saw, and seemed confused. "when did you arrive in england?" she inquired. "yesterday,"--he answered,--"i ran over channel from honfleur in my yacht,--you did not know i had a yacht, did you tempest?--oh, you must come for a trip in her some day. she is a quick vessel, and the weather was fair." "is amiel with you?" i asked. "no. i left him on board the yacht. i can, as the common people say, 'valet myself' for a day or two." "a day or two?" echoed sibyl--"but you surely will not leave us so soon? you promised to make a long visit here." "did i?" and he regarded her steadily, with the same languorous admiration in his eyes--"but, my dear lady sibyl, time alters our ideas, and i am not sure whether you and your excellent husband are of the same opinion as you were when you started on your wedding-tour. you may not want me now!" he said this with a significance to which i paid no heed whatever. "not want you!" i exclaimed--"i shall always want you lucio,--you are the best friend i ever had, and the only one i care to keep. believe me!--there's my hand upon it!" he looked at me curiously for a minute,--then turned his head towards my wife. "and what does lady sibyl say?" he asked in a gentle, almost caressing tone. "lady sibyl says," she answered with a smile, and the colour coming and going in her cheeks--"that she will be proud and glad if you will consider willowsmere your home as long as you have leisure to make it so,--and that she hopes,--though you are reputed to be a hater of women,--" here she raised her beautiful eyes and fixed them full upon him--"you will relent a little in favour of your present châtelaine!" with these words, and a playful salutation, she passed out of the room into the garden, and stood on the lawn at a little distance from us, her white robes shimmering in the mellow autumnal twilight,--and lucio, springing up from his seat, looked after her, clapping his hand down heavily on my shoulder. "by heaven!" he said softly, "a perfect woman! i should be a churl to withstand her,--or you, my good geoffrey,"--and he regarded me earnestly--"i have led a very devil of a life since i saw you last,--it's time i reformed,--upon my soul it is! the peaceful contemplation of virtuous marriage will do me good!--send for my luggage to the station, geoffrey, and make the best of me,--_i've come to stay!_" xxix a tranquil time now ensued; a time which, though i knew it not, was just that singular pause so frequently observed in nature before a storm, and in human life before a crushing calamity. i put aside all troublesome and harassing thoughts, and became oblivious of everything save my own personal satisfaction in the renewal of the comradeship between myself and lucio. we walked together, rode together, and passed most of our days in each other's company,--nevertheless though i gave my friend much of my closest confidence i never spoke to him of the moral obliquities and perversions i had discovered in sibyl's character,--not out of any consideration for sibyl, but simply because i knew by instinct what his reply would be. he would have no sympathy with my feelings. his keen sense of sarcasm would over-rule his friendship, and he would retort upon me with the question--what business had i, being imperfect myself, to expect perfection in my wife? like many others of my sex i had the notion that i, as man, could do all i pleased, when i pleased and how i pleased; i could sink to a level lower than that of the beasts if i chose,--but all the same i had the right to demand from my wife the most flawless purity to mate with my defilement. i was aware how lucio would treat this form of arrogant egoism,--and with what mocking laughter he would receive any expression of ideas from me on the subject of morality in woman. so i was careful to let no hint of my actual position escape me,--and i comported myself on all occasions to sibyl with special tenderness and consideration, though she, i thought, appeared rather to resent my playing the part of lover-husband too openly. she was herself, in lucio's presence, strangely erratic of humour, by turns brilliant and mournful,--sometimes merry and anon depressed: yet never had she displayed a more captivating grace and charm of manner. how foolish and blind i was all the while!--how dead to any perception of the formation and sequence of events! absorbed in gross material pleasures, i ignored all the hidden forces that make the history of an individual life no less than of a whole nation, and looked upon each day that dawned almost as if it had been my own creation and possession, to waste as i thought fit,--never considering that days are but so many white leaflets from god's chronicle of human life, whereon we place our mark, good or bad, for the just and exact summing-up of our thoughts and deeds here after. had any one dared to say this truth to me then, i should have bade him go and preach nonsense to children,--but _now_,--when i recall those white leaves of days that were unrolled before me fresh and blank with every sunrise, and with which i did nothing save scrawl my own ego in a foul smudge across each one, i tremble, and inwardly pray that i may never be forced to send back my self-written record! yet of what use is it to pray against eternal law? it is eternal law that we shall ourselves count up our own misdeeds at the final reckoning,--hence it is no wonder that many are found who prefer not to believe in a future after death. rightly do such esteem it better to die utterly, than be forced to live again and look back upon the wilful evil they have done! october ripened slowly and almost imperceptibly towards its end, and the trees put on their gorgeous autumnal tints of burning crimson and gold. the weather remained fine and warm, and what the french canadians poetically term the 'summer of all saints' gave us bright days and cloudless moonlit evenings. the air was so mild that we were always able to take our coffee after dinner on the terrace overlooking the lawn in front of the drawing-room,--and it was on one of these balmy nights that i was the interested spectator of a strange scene between lucio and mavis clare,--a scene i should have thought impossible of occurrence had i not myself witnessed it. mavis had dined at willowsmere; she very rarely so honoured us; and there were a few other guests besides. we had lingered over the coffee longer than usual, for mavis had given an extra charm to the conversation by her eloquent vivacity and bright humour, and all present were anxious to hear, see and know as much of the brilliant novelist as possible. but when a full golden moon rose in mellow splendour over the tree-tops, my wife suggested a stroll in the grounds, and everyone agreeing to the proposal with delight, we started,--more or less together,--some in couples, some in groups of three or four. after a little desultory rambling however, the party got separated in the rose-gardens and adjacent shrubberies, and i found myself alone. i turned back to the house to get my cigar-case which i had left on a table in the library, and passing out again in another direction i strolled slowly across the grass, smoking as i went, towards the river, the silver gleam of which could clearly be discerned through the fast-thinning foliage overhanging its banks. i had almost reached the path that followed the course of the winding water, when i was brought to a standstill by the sound of voices--one, a man's, low and persuasive,--the other a woman's, tender, grave and somewhat tremulous. neither voice could be mistaken; i recognized lucio's rich penetrating tones, and the sweet _vibrante_ accents of mavis clare. out of sheer surprise i paused,--had lucio fallen in love, i wondered, half-smiling?--was i about to discover that the supposed 'woman-hater' had been tamed and caught at last? by mavis too!--little mavis, who was not beautiful according to accepted standards, but who had something more than beauty to enravish a proud and unbelieving soul,--here, as my thoughts ran on, i was conscious of a foolish sense of jealousy,--why should he choose mavis, i thought, out of all women in the world? could he not leave her in peace with her dreams, her books and her flowers?--safe under the pure, wise, impassive gaze of pallas athene, whose cool brows were never fevered by a touch of passion? something more than curiosity now impelled me to listen, and i cautiously advanced a step or two towards the shadow of a broad elm where i could see without being seen. yes, there was rimânez,--standing erect with folded arms, his dark, sad, inscrutable eyes fixed on mavis, who stood opposite to him a few paces off, looking at him in her turn with an expression of mingled fascination and fear. "i have asked you mavis clare,"--said lucio slowly--"to let me serve you. you have genius--a rare quality in a woman,--and i would advance your fortunes. i should not be what i am if i did not try to persuade you to let me help on your career. you are not rich,--i could show you how to become so. you have a great fame--that i grant; but you have many enemies and slanderers who are for ever trying to pull you down from the throne you have won. i could bring these to your feet, and make them your slaves. with your intellectual power, your personal grace and gifts of temperament, i could, if you would let me guide you, give you such far-reaching influence as no woman has possessed in this century. i am no boaster,--i can do what i say and more; and i ask nothing from you in return except that you should follow my advice implicitly. my advice, let me tell you is not difficult to follow; most people find it easy!" his expression of face, i thought, was very singular as he spoke,--it was so haggard, dreary and woe-begone that one might have imagined he was making some proposal that was particularly repugnant to him, instead of offering to perform the benevolent action of helping a hard-working literary woman to achieve greater wealth and distinction. i waited expectantly for mavis to reply. "you are very good, prince rimânez," she said, after a little pause--"to take any thought for me at all. i cannot imagine why you should do so; for i am really nothing to you. i have of course heard from mr tempest of your great wealth and influence, and i have no doubt you mean kindly. but i have never owed anything to any one,--no one has ever helped me,--i have helped myself, and still prefer to do so. and really i have nothing to wish for,--except--when the time comes--a happy death. it is true i am not rich,--but then i do not want to be rich. i would not be the possessor of wealth for all the world! to be surrounded with sycophants and flatterers,--never to be able to distinguish false friends from true,--to be loved for what you _have_ and not for what you _are_!--oh no, it would be misery to me. and i have never craved for power,--except perhaps the power to win love. and that i have,--many people love my books, and through my books love me,--i feel their love, though i may never see or know them personally. but i am so conscious of their sympathy that i love them in return without the necessity of personal acquaintance. they have hearts which respond to _my_ heart,--that is all the power i care about." "you forget your numerous enemies!" said lucio, still morosely regarding her. "no, i do not forget them,"--she returned,--"but--i forgive them! they can do me no harm. as long as i do not lower myself, no one else can lower me. if my own conscience is clear, no reproaches can wound. my life is open to all,--people can see how i live, and what i do. i try to do well,--but if there are those who think i do ill, i am sorry,--and if my faults can be amended i shall be glad to amend them. one must have enemies in this world,--that is, if one makes any sort of position,--people without enemies are generally nonentities. all who succeed in winning some little place of independence must expect the grudging enmity of hundreds who cannot find even the smallest foothold, and are therefore failures in the battle of life,--i pity these sincerely, and when they say or write cruel things of me, i know it is only spleen and disappointment that moves both their tongues and pens, and freely pardon them. they cannot hurt or hinder me,--in fact, no one can hurt or hinder me but myself." i heard the trees rustle slightly,--a branch cracked,--and peering through the leaves, i saw that lucio had advanced a step closer to where mavis stood. a faint smile was on his face, softening it wonderfully and giving an almost supernatural light to his beautiful dark features. "fair philosopher, you are almost a feminine marcus aurelius in your estimate of men and things!"--he said; "but--you are still a woman--and there is one thing lacking to your life of sublime and calm contentment--a thing at whose touch philosophy fails, and wisdom withers at its root. love, mavis clare!--lover's love,--devoted love, blindly passionate,--this has not been yours as yet to win! no heart beats against your own,--no tender arms caress you,--you are alone. men are for the most part afraid of you,--being brute fools themselves, they like their women to be brute fools also,--and they grudge you your keen intellect,--your serene independence. yet which is best?--the adoration of a brute fool, or the loneliness pertaining to a spirit aloft on some snowy mountain-peak, with no companions but the stars? think of it!--the years will pass, and you must needs grow old,--and with the years will come that solitary neglect which makes age bitter. now, you will doubtless wonder at my words--yet believe me i speak the truth when i say that i can give you love,--not _my_ love, for i love none,--but i can bring to your feet the proudest men in any country of the world as suitors for your hand. you shall have your choice of them, and your own time for choosing,--and whomsoever you love, him you shall wed, ... why--what is wrong with you that you shrink from me thus?" for she had retreated, and was gazing at him in a kind of horror. "you terrify me!" she faltered,--and as the moonlight fell upon her i could see that she was very pale--"such promises are incredible--impossible! you speak as if you were more than human! i do not understand you, prince rimânez,--you are different to anyone i ever met, and ... and ... something in me stronger than myself warns me against you. what are you?--why do you talk to me so strangely? pardon me if i seem ungrateful ..., oh, let us go in--it is getting quite late i am sure, and i am cold ..." she trembled violently, and caught at the branch of a tree to steady herself,--rimânez stood immovably still, regarding her with a fixed and almost mournful gaze. "you say my life is lonely,"--she went on reluctantly and with a note of pathos in her sweet voice--"and you suggest love and marriage as the only joys that can make a woman happy. you may be right. i do not presume to assert that you are wrong. i have many married women-friends--but i would not change my lot with any one of them. i have dreamed of love,--but because i have not realized my dream i am not the less content. if it is god's will that i should be alone all my days, i shall not murmur, for _my_ solitude is not actual loneliness. work is a good comrade,--then i have books, and flowers and birds--i am never really lonely. and that i shall fully realize my dream of love one day i am sure,--if not here, then hereafter. i can wait!" as she spoke, she looked up to the placid heavens where one or two stars twinkled through the arching boughs,--her face expressed angelic confidence and perfect peace,--and rimânez advancing a step or two, fully confronted her with a strange light of exultation in his eyes. "true,--you can wait, mavis clare!" he said in deep clear tones from which all sadness had fled--"you can afford to wait! tell me,--think for a moment!--can you remember me? is there a time on which you can look back, and looking, see my face, not here but elsewhere? think! did you ever see me long ago--in a far sphere of beauty and light, when you were an angel, mavis,--and i was--not what i am now! how you tremble! you need not fear me,--i would not harm you for a thousand worlds! i talk wildly at times i know;--i think of things that are past,--long long past,--and i am filled with regrets that burn my soul with fiercer heat than fire! and so neither world's wealth, world's power, nor world's love will tempt you, mavis!--and you,--a woman! you are a living miracle then,--as miraculous as the drop of undefiled dew which reflects in its tiny circumference all the colours of the sky, and sinks into the earth sweetly, carrying moisture and refreshment where it falls. i can do nothing for you--you will not have my aid--you reject my service? then as i may not help you, you must help _me_!"--and dropping before her, he reverently took her hand and kissed it--"i ask a very little thing of you,--pray for me! i know you are accustomed to pray, so it will be no trouble to you,--_you_ believe god hears you,--and when i look at you, _i_ believe it too. only a pure woman can make faith possible to man. pray for me then, as one who has fallen from his higher and better self,--who strives, but who may not attain,--who labours under heavy punishment,--who would fain reach heaven, but who by the cursëd will of man, and man alone, is kept in hell! pray for me, mavis clare! promise it!--and so shall you lift me a step nearer the glory i have lost!" i listened, petrified with amazement. could this be lucio?--the mocking, careless, cynical scoffer i knew, as i thought, so well?--was it really he who knelt thus like a repentant sinner, abasing his proud head before a woman? i saw mavis release her hand from his, the while she stood looking down upon him in alarm and bewilderment. presently she spoke in sweet yet tremulous accents-- "since you desire it so earnestly, i promise,"--she said--"i will pray that the strange and bitter sorrow which seems to consume you may be removed from your life----" "sorrow!" he echoed, interrupting her and springing to his feet with an impassioned gesture--"woman,--genius,--angel, whatever you are, do not speak of _one_ sorrow for me! i have a thousand thousand sorrows!--aye a million million, that are as little flames about my heart, and as deeply seated as the centres of the universe! the foul and filthy crimes of men,--the base deceits and cruelties of women,--the ruthless, murderous ingratitude of children,--the scorn of good, the martyrdom of intellect, the selfishness, the avarice, the sensuality of human life, the hideous blasphemy and sin of the creature to the creator--these are _my_ endless sorrows!--these keep me wretched and in chains, when i would fain be free. these create hell around me, and endless torture,--these bind and crush me and pervert my being till i become what i dare not name to myself, or to others. and yet, ... as the eternal god is my witness, ... i do not think i am as bad as the worst man living! i may tempt--but i do not pursue,--i take the lead in many lives, yet i make the way i go so plain that those who follow me do so by their own choice and free will more than by my persuasion!" he paused,--then continued in a softer tone--"you look afraid of me,--but be assured you never had less cause for terror. you have truth and purity--i honour both. you will have none of my advice or assistance in the making of your life's history,--to-night therefore we part, to meet no more on earth. never again, mavis clare!--no, not through all your quiet days of sweet and contented existence will i cross your path,--before heaven i swear it!" "but why?" asked mavis gently, approaching him now as she spoke, with a soft grace of movement, and laying her hand on his arm--"why do you speak with such a passion of self-reproach? what dark cloud is on your mind? surely you have a noble nature,--and i feel that i have wronged you in my thoughts, ... you must forgive me--i have mistrusted you--" "you do well to mistrust me!" he answered, and with these words he caught both her hands and held them in his own, looking at her full in the face with eyes that flashed like jewels, "your instinct teaches you rightly. would there were many more like you to doubt me and repel me! one word,--if, when i am gone, you ever think of me, think that i am more to be pitied than the veriest paralysed and starving wretch that ever crawled on earth,--for he, perchance, has hope--and i have none. and when you pray for me--for i hold you to this promise,--pray for one who dares not pray for himself! you know the words, 'lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil'? to-night you have been led into temptation, though you knew it not, but you have delivered yourself from evil as only a true soul can. and now farewell! in life i shall see you no more:--in death,--well! i have attended many death-beds in response to the invitations of the moribund,--but i shall not be present at yours! perhaps, when your parting spirit is on the verge between darkness and light, you may know who i was, and am!--and you may thank god with your last breath that we parted to-night--as we do now--forever!" he loosened his grasp of her,--she fell back from him pale and terrified,--for there was something now in the dark beauty of his face that was unnatural and appalling. a sombre shadow clouded his brows,--his eyes had gleams in them as of fire,--and a smile was on his lips, half tender, half cruel. his strange expression moved even me to a sense of fear, and i shivered with sudden cold, though the air was warm and balmy. slowly retreating, mavis moved away, looking round at him now and then as she went, in wistful wonder and alarm,--till in a minute or two her slight figure in its shimmering silken white robe, had vanished among the trees. i lingered, hesitating and uncertain what to do,--then finally determining to get back to the house if possible without being noticed, i made one step, when lucio's voice, scarcely raised, addressed me-- "well, eavesdropper! why did you not come out of the shadow of that elm-tree and see the play to a better advantage?" surprised and confused, i advanced, mumbling some unintelligible excuse. "you saw a pretty bit of acting here," he went on, striking a match and lighting a cigar the while he regarded me coolly, his eyes twinkling with their usual mockery--"you know my theory, that all men and all women are purchaseable for gold? well, i wanted to try mavis clare. she rejected all my advantageous offers, as you must have heard, and i could only make matters smooth by asking her to pray for me. that i did this very melodramatically i hope you will admit? a woman of that dreamy idealistic temperament always likes to imagine that there is a man who is grateful for her prayers!" "you seemed very much in earnest about it!" i said, vexed with myself that he had caught me spying. "why, of course!" he responded, thrusting his arm familiarly through mine--"i had an audience! two fastidious critics of dramatic art heard me rant my rantings,--i had to do my best!" "two critics?" i repeated perplexedly. "yes. you on one side,--lady sibyl on the other. lady sibyl rose, after the custom of fashionable beauties at the opera, before the last scene, in order to get home in good time for supper!" he laughed wildly and discordantly, and i felt desperately uncomfortable. "you must be mistaken lucio--" i said--"that _i_ listened i admit,--and it was wrong of me to do so,--but my wife would never condescend ..." "ah, then it must have been a sylph of the woods that glided out of the shadow with a silken train behind her and diamonds in her hair!" he retorted gaily--"tut geoffrey!--don't look so crestfallen. i have done with mavis clare, and she with me. i have not been making love to her,--i have simply, just to amuse myself, tested her character,--and i find it stronger than i thought. the combat is over. she will never go my way,--nor, i fear, shall i ever go hers!" "upon my word, lucio," i said with some irritation--"your disposition seems to grow more and more erratic and singular every day!" "does it not!" he answered with a droll affectation of interested surprise in himself--"i am a curious creature altogether! wealth is mine and i care not a jot for it,--power is mine and i loathe its responsibility;--in fact i would rather be anything but what i am! look at the lights of your 'home, sweet home' geoffrey!" this he said as we emerged from among the trees on to the moonlit lawn, from whence could be seen the shining of the electric lamps in the drawing-room--"lady sibyl is there,--an enchanting and perfect woman, who lives but to welcome you to her embracing arms! fortunate man!--who would not envy you! love!--who would, who could exist without it--save me! who, in europe at least, would forego the delights of kissing,--(which the japanese by-the-by consider a disgusting habit),--without embraces,--and all those other endearments which are supposed to dignify the progress of true love! one never tires of these things,--there is no satiety! i wish i could love somebody!" "so you can, if you like,"--i said, with a little uneasy laugh. "i cannot. it is not in me. you heard me tell mavis clare as much. i have it in my power to make other people fall in love, somewhat after the dexterous fashion practised by match-making mothers,--but for myself, love on this planet is too low a thing--too brief in duration. last night, in a dream,--i have strange dreams at times,--i saw one whom possibly i could love,--but she was a spirit, with eyes more lustrous than the morning, and a form as transparent as flame;--she could sing sweetly, and i watched her soaring upward, and listened to her song. it was a wild song, and to many mortal ears meaningless,--it was something like this ..." and his rich baritone pealed lusciously forth in melodious tune-- into the light, into the heart of the fire! to the innermost core of the deathless flame i ascend,--i aspire! under me rolls the whirling earth with the noise of a myriad wheels that run ever round and about the sun,-- over me circles the splendid heaven strewn with the stars of morn and even, and i a queen of the air serene, float with my flag-like wings unfurled, alone--alone--'twixt god and the world! here he broke off with a laugh. "she was a strange spirit,"--he said--"because she could see nothing but herself ''twixt god and the world.' she was evidently quite unaware of the numerous existing barriers put up by mankind between themselves and their maker. i wonder what unenlightened sphere she came from!" i looked at him in mingled wonder and impatience. "you talk wildly,"--i said--"and you sing wildly. of things that mean nothing, and _are_ nothing." he smiled, lifting his eyes to the moon, now shining her fullest and brightest. "true!" he replied--"things which have meaning and are valuable, have all to do with money or appetite, geoffrey! there is no wider outlook evidently! but we were speaking of love, and i hold that love should be eternal as hate. here you have the substance of my religious creed if i have any,--that there are two spiritual forces ruling the universe--love and hate,--and that their incessant quarrel creates the general confusion of life. both contend one against the other,--and only at judgment-day will it be proved which is the strongest. i am on the side of hate myself,--for at present hate has scored all the victories worth winning, while love has been so often martyred that there is only the poor ghost of it left on earth." at that moment my wife's figure appeared at the drawing-room window, and lucio threw away his half-smoked cigar. "your guardian-angel beckons!" he said, looking at me an odd expression of something like pity mingled with disdain,--"let us go in." xxx the very next night but one after lucio's strange interview with mavis clare, the thunderbolt destined to wreck my life and humiliate me to the dust, fell with appalling suddenness. no warning given!--it came at a moment when i had dared to deem myself happy. all that day,--the last day i was ever to know of pride or self-gratulation,--i had enjoyed life to the full; it was a day too in which sibyl had seemed transformed to a sweeter, gentler woman than i had hitherto known her,--when all her attractions of beauty and manner were apparently put forth to captivate and enthrall me as though she were yet to be wooed and won. or,--did she mean to bewitch and subjugate lucio? of this i never thought,--never dreamed:--i only saw in my wife an enchantress of the most voluptuous and delicate loveliness,--a woman whose very garments seemed to cling to her tenderly as though proud of clothing so exquisite a form,--a creature whose every glance was brilliant, whose every smile was a ravishment,--and whose voice, attuned to the softest and most caressing tones appeared in its every utterance to assure me of a deeper and more lasting love than i had yet enjoyed. the hours flew by on golden wings,--we all three,--sibyl, myself and lucio,--had attained, as i imagined, to a perfect unity of friendship and mutual understanding,--we had passed that last day together in the outlying woods of willowsmere, under a gorgeous canopy of autumn leaves, through which the sun shed mellow beams of rose and gold,--we had had an _al fresco_ luncheon in the open air,--lucio had sung for us wild old ballads and love-madrigals till the very foliage had seemed to tremble with joy at the sound of such entrancing melody,--and not a cloud had marred the perfect peace and pleasure of the time. mavis clare was not with us,--and i was glad. somehow i felt that of late she had been more or less a discordant element whenever she had joined our party. i admired her,--in a sort of fraternal half-patronizing way i even loved her,--nevertheless i was conscious that her ways were not as our ways,--her thoughts not as our thoughts. i placed the fault on her of course; i concluded that it was because she had what i elected to call 'literary egoism,' instead of by its rightful name, the spirit of honourable independence. i never considered the inflated quality of my own egoism,--the poor pride of a 'cash and county' position, which is the pettiest sort of vain-glory anyone can indulge in,--and after turning the matter over in my mind, i decided that mavis was a very charming young woman with great literary gifts, and an amazing pride, which made it totally impossible for her to associate with many 'great' people, so-called,--as she would never descend to the necessary level of flunkeyish servility which they expected, and which _i_ certainly demanded. i should almost have been inclined to relegate her to 'grub street,' had not a faint sense of justice as well as shame held me back from doing her that indignity even in my thoughts. however i was too much impressed with my own vast resources of unlimited wealth, to realize the fact that anyone who, like mavis, earns independence by intellectual work and worth alone, is entitled to feel a far greater pride than those who by mere chance of birth or heritage become the possessors of millions. then again, mavis clare's literary position was, though i liked her personally, always a kind of reproach to me when i thought of my own abortive efforts to win the laurels of fame. so that on the whole i was glad she did not spend that day with us in the woods;--of course, if i had paid any attention to the "trifles which make up the sum of life" i should have remembered that lucio had told her he would "meet her no more on earth,"--but i judged this to be a mere trifle of hasty and melodramatic speech, without any intentional meaning. so my last twenty-four hours of happiness passed away in halcyon serenity,--i felt a sense of deepening pleasure in existence, and i began to believe that the future had brighter things in store for me than i had lately ventured to expect. sibyl's new phase of gentleness and tenderness towards me, combined with her rare beauty, seemed to augur that the misunderstandings between us would be of short duration, and that her nature, too early rendered harsh and cynical by a 'society' education would soften in time to that beautiful womanliness which is, after all, woman's best charm. thus i thought, in blissful and contented reverie, reclining under the branching autumnal foliage, with my fair wife beside me, and listening to the rich tones of my friend lucio's magnificent voice pealing forth sonorous, wild melodies, as the sunset deepened in the sky and the twilight shadows fell. then came the night--the night which dropped only for a few hours over the quiet landscape, but for ever over me! we had dined late, and, pleasantly fatigued with our day in the open air, had retired early. i had latterly grown a heavy sleeper, and i suppose i must have slumbered some hours, when i was awakened suddenly as though by an imperative touch from some unseen hand. i started up in my bed,--the night-lamp was burning dimly, and by its glimmer i saw that sibyl was no longer at my side. my heart gave one bound against my ribs and then almost stood still--a sense of something unexpected and calamitous chilled my blood. i pushed aside the embroidered silken hangings of the bed and peered into the room,--it was empty. then i rose hastily, put on my clothes and went to the door,--it was carefully shut, but not locked as it had been when we retired for the night. i opened it without the least noise, and looked out into the long passage,--no one there! immediately opposite the bedroom door there was a winding oak staircase leading down to a broad corridor, which in former times had been used as a music-room or picture-gallery,--an ancient organ, still sweet of tone, occupied one end of it with dull golden pipes towering up to the carved and embossed ceiling,--the other end was lit by a large oriel window like that of a church, filled with rare old stained glass, representing in various niches the lives of the saints, the centre subject being the martyrdom of st stephen. advancing with soft caution to the balustrade overlooking this gallery, i gazed down into it, and for a moment could see nothing on the polished floor but the criss-cross patterns made by the moonlight falling through the great window,--but presently, as i watched breathlessly, wondering where sibyl could have gone to at this time of night, i saw a dark tall shadow waver across the moonlit network of lines, and i heard the smothered sound of voices. with my pulses beating furiously, and a sensation of suffocation in my throat,--full of strange thoughts and suspicions which i dared not define, i crept slowly and stealthily down the stair, till as my foot touched the last step i saw--what nearly struck me to the ground with a shock of agony--and i had to draw back and bite my lips hard to repress the cry that nearly escaped them. there,--there before me in the full moonlight, with the colours of the red and blue robes of the painted saints on the window glowing blood-like and azure about her, knelt my wife,--arrayed in a diaphanous garment of filmy white which betrayed rather than concealed the outline of her form,--her wealth of hair falling about her in wild disorder,--her hands clasped in supplication,--her pale face upturned; and above her towered the dark imposing figure of lucio! i stared at the twain with dry burning eyes,--what did this portend? was she--my wife--false? was he--my friend--a traitor? "patience----patience!----" i muttered to myself--"this is a piece of acting doubtless----such as chanced the other night with mavis clare!----patience!----let us hear this----this comedy!" and, drawing myself close up against the wall, i leaned there, scarcely drawing breath, waiting for _her_ voice,--for _his_;--when they spoke i should know,----yes, i should know all! and i fastened my looks on them as they stood there,--vaguely wondering even in my tense anguish, at the fearful light on lucio's face,--a light which could scarcely be the reflection of the moon, as he backed the window,--and at the scorn of his frowning brows. what terrific humour swayed him?--why did he, even to my stupefied thought appear more than human?--why did his very beauty seem hideous at that moment, and his aspect fiendish? hush--hush! _she_ spoke,--my wife,--i heard her every word--heard all and endured all, without falling dead at her feet in the extremity of my dishonour and despair! "i love you!" she wailed--"lucio, i love you, and my love is killing me! be merciful!--have pity on my passion!--love me for one hour, one little hour!--it is not much to ask, and afterwards,--do with me what you will,--torture me, brand me an outcast in the public sight, curse me before heaven--i care nothing--i am yours body and soul--i love you!" her accents vibrated with mad idolatrous pleading,--i listened infuriated, but dumb. "hush,--hush!" i told myself "this is a comedy--not yet played out!" and i waited, with every nerve strained, for lucio's reply. it came, accompanied by a laugh, low and sarcastic. "you flatter me!" he said--"i regret i am unable to return the compliment!" my heart gave a throb of relief and fierce joy,--almost i could have joined in his ironical laughter. she--sibyl--dragged herself nearer to him. "lucio--lucio!" she murmured--"have you a heart? can you reject me when i pray to you thus?--when i offer you all myself,--all that i am, or ever hope to be? am i so repugnant to you? many men would give their lives if i would say to them what i say to you,--but they are nothing to me--you alone are my world,--the breath of my existence!--ah, lucio, can you not believe, will you not realize how deeply i love you!" he turned towards her with a sudden fierce movement that startled me,--and the cloud of scorn upon his brows grew darker. "i know you love me!" he said, and from where i stood i saw the cold derisive smile flash from his lips to his eyes in lightning-like mockery--"i have always known it! your vampire soul leaped to mine at the first glance i ever gave you,--you were a false foul thing from the first, and you recognized your master! yes--your master!" for she had uttered a faint cry as if in fear,--and he, stooping, snatched her two hands and grasped them hard in his own--"listen to the truth of yourself for once from one who is not afraid to speak it!--you love me,--and truly your body and soul are mine to claim, if i so choose! you married with a lie upon your lips; you swore fidelity to your husband before god, with infidelity already in your thoughts, and by your own act made the mystical blessing a blasphemy and a curse! wonder not then that the curse has fallen! i knew it all!--the kiss i gave you on your wedding-day put fire in your blood and sealed you mine!--why, you would have fled to me that very night, had i demanded it,--had i loved you as you love me,--that is, if you choose to call the disease of vanity and desire that riots in your veins, by such a name as love! but now hear _me_!" and as he held her two wrists he looked down upon her with such black wrath depicted in his face as seemed to create a darkness round him where he stood,--"i hate you! yes--i hate you, and all such women as you! for you corrupt the world,--you turn good to evil,--you deepen folly into crime,--with the seduction of your nude limbs and lying eyes, you make fools, cowards and beasts of men! when you die, your bodies generate foulness,--things of the mould and slime are formed out of the flesh that was once fair for man's delight,--you are no use in life--you become poison in death,--i hate you all! i read your soul--it is an open book to me--and it is branded with a name given to those who are publicly vile, but which should, of strict right and justice, be equally bestowed on women of your position and type, who occupy pride and place in this world's standing, and who have not the excuse of poverty for selling themselves to the devil!" he ceased abruptly and with passion, making a movement as though to fling her from him,--but she clung to his arm,--clung with all the pertinacity of the loathly insect he had taken from the bosom of the dead egyptian woman and made a toy of to amuse his leisure! and i, looking on and listening, honoured him for his plain speaking, for his courage in telling this shameless creature what she was in the opinion of an honest man, without glozing over her outrageous conduct for the sake of civility or social observance. my friend,--my more than friend! he was true,--he was loyal--he had neither desire nor intent to betray or dishonour me. my heart swelled with gratitude to him, and also with a curious sense of feeble self-pity,--compassionating myself intensely, i could have sobbed aloud in nervous fury and pain, had not my desire to hear more, repressed my personal excitement and emotion. i watched my wife wonderingly--what had become of her pride that she still knelt before the man who had taunted her with such words as should have been beyond all endurance? "lucio! ... lucio!" she whispered, and her whisper sounded through the long gallery like the hiss of a snake--"say what you will--say all you will of me,--you can say nothing that is not true. i am vile--i own it. but is it of much avail to be virtuous? what pleasure comes from goodness?--what gratification from self-denial? there is no god to care! a few years, and we all die, and are forgotten even by those who loved us,--why should we lose such joys as we may have for the mere asking? surely it is not difficult to love even me for an hour?--am i not fair to look upon?--and is all this beauty of my face and form worthless in your sight, and you no more than man? murder me as you may with all the cruelty of cruel words, i care nothing!--i love you--love you!"--and in a perfect passion of self-abandonment she sprang to her feet, tossing back her rich hair over her shoulders, and stood erect, a very bacchante of wild loveliness--"look at me! you shall not,--you dare not spurn such a love as mine!" dead silence followed her outburst,--and i stared in fascinated awe at lucio as he turned more fully round and confronted her. the expression of his countenance struck me then as quite unearthly,--his beautiful broad brows were knitted in a darkling line of menace,--his eyes literally blazed with scorn, and yet he laughed,--a low laugh, resonant with satire. "shall not!--dare not!" he echoed disdainfully--"woman's words,--woman's ranting!--the shriek of the outraged feminine animal who fails to attract, as she thinks, her chosen mate. such a love as yours!--what is it? degradation to whosoever shall accept it,--shame to whosoever shall rely upon it! you make a boast of your beauty; your mirror shows you a pleasing image,--but your mirror lies!--as admirably as you do! you see within it not the reflection of yourself, for that would cause you to recoil in horror, ... you merely look upon your fleshly covering, a garment of tissues, shrinkable, perishable, and only fit to mingle with the dust from which it sprang. your beauty! i see none of it,--i see you! and to me you are hideous, and will remain hideous for ever. i hate you!--i hate you with the bitterness of an immeasurable and unforgiving hatred,--for you have done me a wrong,--you have wrought an injury upon me,--you have added another burden to the load of punishment i carry!" she made a forward movement with outstretched arms,--he repulsed her by a fierce gesture. "stand back!" he said--"be afraid of me, as of an unknown terror! o pitiless heaven!--to think of it!--but a night ago i was lifted a step nearer to my lost delight!--and now this woman drags me back, and down!--and yet again i hear the barring of the gates of paradise! o infinite torture! o wicked souls of men and women!--is there no touch of grace or thought of god left in you!--and will ye make my sorrows eternal!" he stood, lifting his face to the light where it streamed through the oriel window, and the moonbeams colouring themselves faintly roseate as they filtered through the painted garments of st stephen, showed a great and terrible anguish in his eyes. i heard him with amazement and awe,--i could not imagine what he meant by his strange words,--and it was evident by her expression, that my reckless and abandoned wife was equally mystified. "lucio,"--she murmured--"lucio, ... what is it ... what have i done?--i who would not wound you for the world?--i who but seek your love, lucio, to repay it in full with such fond passion and tenderness as you have never known! for this and this only, i married geoffrey,--i chose your friend as husband because he was your friend!" (o perfidious woman!) "and because i saw his foolish egotism--his pride in himself and his riches,--his blind confidence in me and in you;--i knew that i could, after a time, follow the fashion of many another woman in my set and choose my lover,--ah, my lover!--i had chosen him already,--i have chosen you, lucio!--yes, though you hate me you cannot hinder me from loving you,--i shall love you till i die!" he turned his gaze upon her steadily,--the gloom deepening on his brows. "and after you die?" he said--"will you love me then?" there was a stern derision in his tone which appeared to vaguely terrify her. "after death! ..." she stammered. "yes,--after death!" he repeated sombrely--"there _is_ an after;--as your mother knows!" a faint exclamation escaped her,--she fixed her eyes upon him affrightedly. "fair lady," he went on--"your mother was, like yourself, a voluptuary. she, like you, made up her mind to 'follow the fashion' as you put it, as soon as her husband's 'blind' or willing confidence was gained. she chose, not one lover but many. you know her end. in the written but miscomprehended laws of nature, a diseased body is the natural expression of a diseased mind,--her face in her last days was the reflex of her soul. you shudder?--the thought of her hideousness is repellent to your self-conscious beauty? yet the evil that was in her is also in you,--it festers in your blood slowly but surely, and as you have no faith in god to cure the disease, it will have its way--even at the final moment when death clutches at your throat and stops your breathing. the smile upon your frozen lips then will not be the smile of a saint, believe me, but of a sinner! death is never deceived, though life may be. and afterwards ... i ask again, will you love me, do you think? ... when you know who i am?" i was myself startled at his manner of putting this strange question;--i saw her lift her hands beseechingly towards him, and she seemed to tremble. "when i know who you are!" she repeated wonderingly--"do i not know? you are lucio,--lucio rimânez--my love,--my love!--whose voice is my music,--whose beauty i adore,--whose looks are my heaven" ... "and hell!" he interposed, with a low laugh--"come here!" she went towards him eagerly, yet falteringly. he pointed to the ground,--i saw the rare blue diamond he always wore on his right hand, flash like a flame in the moonrays. "since you love me so well,"--he said--"kneel down and worship me!" she dropped on her knees--and clasped her hands,--i strove to move,--to speak,--but some resistless force held me dumb and motionless;--the light from the stained glass window fell upon her face, and showed its fairness illumined by a smile of perfect rapture. "with every pulse of my being i worship you!" she murmured passionately--"my king!--my god! the cruel things you say but deepen my love for you,--you can kill, but you can never change me! for one kiss of your lips i would die,--for one embrace from you i would give my soul! ..." "have you one to give?" he asked derisively--"is it not already disposed of? you should make sure of that first! stay where you are and let me look at you! so!--a woman, wearing a husband's name, holding a husband's honour, clothed in the very garments purchased with a husband's money, and newly risen from a husband's side, steals forth thus in the night, seeking to disgrace him and pollute herself by the vulgarest unchastity! and this is all that the culture and training of nineteenth-century civilization can do for you? myself, i prefer the barbaric fashion of old times, when rough savages fought for their women as they fought for their cattle, treated them as cattle, and kept them in their place, never dreaming of endowing them with such strong virtues as truth and honour! if women were pure and true, then the lost happiness of the world might return to it,--but the majority of them are like you, liars, ever pretending to be what they are not. i may do what i choose with you, you say? torture you, kill you, brand you with the name of outcast in the public sight, and curse you before heaven--if i will only love you!--all this is melodramatic speech, and i never cared for melodrama at any time. i shall neither kill you, brand you, curse you, nor love you;--i shall simply--call your husband!" i stirred from my hiding-place,--then stopped. she sprang to her feet in an insensate passion of anger and shame. "you dare not!" she panted--"you dare not so ... disgrace me!" "disgrace you!" he echoed scornfully--"that remark comes rather late, seeing you have disgraced yourself!" but she was now fairly roused. all the savagery and obstinacy of her nature was awakened, and she stood like some beautiful wild animal at bay, trembling from head to foot with the violence of her emotions. "you repulse me,--you scorn me!" she muttered in hurried fierce accents that scarcely rose above an angry whisper--"you make a mockery of my heart's anguish and despair, but you shall suffer for it! i am your match,--nay your equal! you shall not spurn me a second time! you ask, will i love you when i know who you are,--it is your pleasure to deal in mysteries, but i have no mysteries--i am a woman who loves you with all the passion of a life,--and i will murder myself and you, rather than live to know that i have prayed you for your love in vain. do you think i came unprepared?--no!" and she suddenly drew from her bosom a short steel dagger with a jewelled hilt, a _curio_ i recognized as one of the gifts to her on her marriage; "love me, i say!--or i will stab myself dead here at your feet, and cry out to geoffrey that you have murdered me!" she raised the weapon aloft,--i almost sprang forward--but i drew back again quickly as i saw lucio seize the hand that held the dagger and drag it firmly down,--while, wresting the weapon from her clutch he snapped it asunder and flung the pieces on the floor. "your place was the stage, madam!" he said--"you should have been the chief female mime at some 'high-class' theatre! you would have adorned the boards, drawn the mob, had as many lovers, stagey and private as you pleased, been invited to act at windsor, obtained a payment-jewel from the queen, and written your name in her autograph album. that should undoubtedly have been your 'great' career--you were born for it--made for it! you would have been as brute-souled as you are now,--but that would not have mattered,--mimes are exempt from chastity!" in the action of breaking the dagger, and in the intense bitterness of his speech he had thrust her back a few paces from him, and she stood breathless and white with rage, eyeing him in mingled passion and terror. for a moment she was silent,--then advancing slowly with the feline suppleness of movement which had given her a reputation for grace exceeding that of any woman in england, she said in deliberately measured accents-- "lucio rimânez, i have borne your insults as i would bear my death at your hands, because i love you. you loathe me, you say--you repulse me,--i love you still! you cannot cast me off--i am yours! you shall love me, or i will die,--one of the two. take time for thought,--i leave you to-night,--i give you all to-morrow to consider,--love me,--give me yourself,--be my lover,--and i will play the comedy of social life as well as any other woman,--so well that my husband shall never know. but refuse me again as you have refused me now, and i will make away with myself. i am not 'acting,'--i am speaking calmly and with conviction; i mean what i say!" "do you?" queried lucio coldly--"let me congratulate you! few women attain to such coherence!" "i will put an end to this life of mine;" she went on, paying no sort of heed to his words--"i cannot endure existence without your love, lucio!" and a dreary pathos vibrated in her voice--"i hunger for the kisses of your lips,--the clasp of your arms! do you know--do you ever think of your own power?--the cruel, terrible power of your eyes, your speech, your smile,--the beauty which makes you more like an angel than a man,--and have you no pity? do you think that ever a man was born like you?" he looked at her as she said this, and a faint smile rested on his lips--"when you speak, i hear music--when you sing, it seems to me that i understand what the melodies of a poet's heaven must be;--surely, surely you know that your very looks are a snare to the warm weak soul of a woman! lucio!--" and emboldened by his silence, she stole nearer to him--"meet me to-morrow in the lane near the cottage of mavis clare...." he started as if he had been stung--but not a word escaped him. "i heard all you said to her the other night;" she continued, advancing yet a step closer to his side--"i followed you,--and i listened. i was well-nigh mad with jealousy--i thought--i feared--you loved her,--but i was wrong. i never do thank god for anything,--but i thanked god that night that i was wrong! she was not made for you--i am! meet me outside her house, where the great white rose-tree is in bloom--gather one,--one of those little autumnal roses and give it to me--i shall understand it as a signal--a signal that i may come to you to-morrow night and not be cursed or repulsed, but loved,--loved!--ah lucio! promise me!--one little rose!--the symbol of an hour's love!--then let me die; i shall have had all i ask of life!" with a sudden swift movement, she flung herself upon his breast, and circling her arms about his neck, lifted her face to his. the moonbeams showed me her eyes alit with rapture, her lips trembling with passion, her bosom heaving, ... the blood surged up to my brain, and a red mist swam before my sight, ... would lucio yield? not he!--he loosened her desperate hands from about his throat, and forced her back, holding her at arm's length. "woman, false and accurséd!" he said in tones that were sonorous and terrific--"you know not what you seek! all that you ask of life shall be yours in death!--this is the law,--therefore beware what demands you make lest they be too fully granted! a rose from the cottage of mavis clare?--a rose from the garden of eden!--they are one and the same to me! not for my gathering or yours! love and joy? for the unfaithful there is no love,--for the impure there is no joy. add no more to the measure of my hatred and vengeance!--go while there is yet time,--go and front the destiny you have made for yourself--for nothing can alter it! and as for me, whom you love,--before whom you have knelt in idolatrous worship--" and a low fierce laugh escaped him--"why,--restrain your feverish desires, fair fiend!--have patience!--we shall meet ere long!" i could not bear the scene another moment, and springing from my hiding-place, i dragged my wife away from him and flung myself between them. "let me defend you, lucio, from the pertinacities of this wanton!" i cried with a wild burst of laughter--"an hour ago i thought she was my wife,--i find her nothing but a purchased chattel, who seeks a change of masters!" xxxi for one instant we all three stood facing each other,--i breathless and mad with fury,--lucio calm and disdainful,--my wife staggering back from me, half-swooning with fear. in an access of black rage, i rushed upon her and seized her in my arms. "i have heard you!" i said--"i have seen you! i have watched you kneel before my true friend, my loyal comrade there, and try your best to make him as vile as yourself! i am that poor fool, your husband,--that blind egoist whose confidence you sought to win--and to betray! i am the unhappy wretch whose surplus of world's cash has bought for him in marriage a shameless courtezan! you dare to talk of love? you profane its very name! good god!--what are such women as you made of? you throw yourselves into our arms,--you demand our care--you exact our respect--you tempt our senses--you win our hearts,--and then you make fools of us all! fools, and worse than fools,--you make us men without feeling, conscience, faith, or pity! if we become criminals, what wonder! if we do things that shame our sex, is it not because you set us the example? god--god! i, who loved you,--yes, loved you in spite of all that my marriage with you taught me,--i, who would have died to save you from a shadow of suspicion,--i am the one out of all the world you choose to murder by your treachery!" i loosened my grasp of her,--she recovered her self-possession by an effort, and looked at me straightly with cold unfeeling eyes. "what did you marry me for?" she demanded--"for my sake or your own?" i was silent,--too choked with wrath and pain to speak. all i could do was to hold out my hand to lucio, who grasped it with a cordial and sympathetic pressure. yet ... i fancied he smiled! "was it because you desired to make me happy out of pure love for me?" pursued sibyl--"or because you wished to add dignity to your own position by wedding the daughter of an earl? your motives were not unselfish,--you chose me simply because i was the 'beauty' of the day whom london men stared at and talked of,--and because it gave you a certain 'prestige' to have me for your wife, in the same way as it gave you a footing with royalty to be the owner of the derby-winner. i told you honestly what i was before our marriage,--it made no effect upon your vanity and egoism. i never loved you,--i could not love you, and i told you so. you have heard, so you say, all that has passed between me and lucio,--therefore you know why i married you. i state it boldly to your face,--it was that i might have your intimate friend for my lover. that you should pretend to be scandalized at this is absurd; it is a common position of things in france, and is becoming equally common in england. morality has always been declared unnecessary for men,--it is becoming equally unnecessary for women!" i stared at her, amazed at the glibness of her speech, and the cool convincing manner in which she spoke, after her recent access of passion and excitement. "you have only to read the 'new' fiction,"--she went on, a mocking smile lighting up her pale face, "and indeed all 'new' literature generally, to be assured that your ideas of domestic virtue are quite out of date. both men and women are, according to certain accepted writers of the day, at equal liberty to love when they will, and where they may. polygamous purity is the 'new' creed! such love, in fact, so we are taught, constitutes the only 'sacred' union. if you want to alter this 'movement,' and return to the old-fashioned types of the modest maiden and the immaculate matron, you must sentence all the 'new' writers of profitable pruriency to penal servitude for life, and institute a government censorship of the modern press. as matters stand, your attitude of the outraged husband is not only ridiculous,--it is unfashionable. i assure you i do not feel the slightest prick of conscience in saying i love lucio,--any woman might be proud of loving him;--he, however, will not, or cannot love me,--we have had a 'scene,' and you have completed the dramatic effect by witnessing it,--there is no more to be said or done in the affair. i do not suppose you can divorce me,--but if you can, you may--i shall make no defence." she turned, as if to go;--i still stared dumbly at her, finding no words to cope with her effrontery,--when lucio's voice, attuned to a grave and soothing suavity, interposed,-- "this is a very painful and distressing state of things,"--he said, and the strange half-cynical, half contemptuous smile still rested on his lips--"but i must positively protest against the idea of divorce, not only for her ladyship's sake, but my own. i am entirely innocent in the matter!" "innocent!" i exclaimed, grasping him again by the hand; "you are nobility itself, lucio!--as loyal a friend as ever man had! i thank you for your courage,--for the plain and honest manner in which you have spoken. i heard all you said! nothing was too strong,--nothing could be too strong to awaken this misguided woman to a sense of her outrageous conduct,--her unfaithfulness----" "pardon me!" he interrupted delicately--"the lady sibyl can scarcely be called unfaithful, geoffrey. she suffers,----from----let us call it, a little exaltation of nerves! in thought she may be guilty of infidelity, but society does not know that,--and in act she is pure,--pure as the newly-driven snow,--and as the newly-driven snow, will society, itself immaculate, regard her!" his eyes glittered,--i met his chill derisive glance. "you think as i do, lucio!" i said hoarsely--"you feel with me, that a wife's unchaste thought is as vile as her unchaste act. there is no excuse,--no palliative for such cruel and abominable ingratitude. why,"--and my voice rose unconsciously as i turned fiercely again towards sibyl--"did i not free you and your family from the heavy pressure of poverty and debt? have i grudged you anything? are you not loaded with jewels?--have you not greater luxuries and liberties than a queen? and do you not owe me at least some duty?" "i owe you nothing!" she responded boldly--"i gave you what you paid for,--my beauty and my social position. it was a fair bargain!" "a dear and bitter one!" i cried. "maybe so. but such as it was, you struck it,--not i. you can end it when you please,--the law ..." "the law will give you no freedom in such a case,"--interposed lucio with a kind of satirical urbanity--"a judicial separation on the ground of incompatibility of temper might be possible certainly--but would not that be a pity? her ladyship is unfortunate in her tastes,--that is all!--she selected me as her _cavaliere servente_, and i refused the situation,--hence there is nothing for it but to forget this unpleasant incident, and try to live on a better understanding for the future----" "do you think"--said my wife, advancing with her proud head uplifted in scorn, the while she pointed at me--"do you think i will live with him after what he has seen and heard to-night? what do you take me for?" "for a very charming woman of hasty impulses and unwise reasoning,"--replied lucio, with an air of sarcastic gallantry--"lady sibyl, you are illogical,--most of your sex are. you can do no good by prolonging this scene,--a most unpleasant and trying one to us poor men. you know how we hate 'scenes'! let me beg of you to retire! your duty is to your husband; pray heaven he may forget this midnight delirium of yours, and set it down to some strange illness rather than to any evil intention." for all answer she came towards him, stretching out her arms in wild appeal. "lucio!" she cried--"lucio, my love! good-night!--good-bye!" i sprang between him and her advancing form. "before my very face!" i exclaimed--"o infamous woman! have you no shame?" "none!" she said, with a wild smile--"i glory in my love for such a king of worth and beauty! look at him!--and then look at yourself in the nearest mirror that reflects so poor and mean a picture of a man! how, even in your egoism, could you deem it possible for a woman to love _you_ when _he_ was near! stand out of the light!--you interpose a shadow between my god and me!" as she uttered these mad words, her aspect was so strange and unearthly, that out of sheer stupefied wonder, i mechanically did as she bade me, and stood aside. she regarded me fixedly. "i may as well say good-bye to you also,"--she observed--"for i shall never live with you again." "nor i with you!" i said fiercely. "nor i with you--nor i with you!" she repeated like a child saying a lesson--"of course not!--if i do not live with you, you cannot live with me!" she laughed discordantly; then turned her beseeching gaze once more upon lucio--"good-bye!" she said. he looked at her with a curious fixity, but returned no word in answer. his eyes flashed coldly in the moonlight like sharp steel, and he smiled. she regarded him with such passionate intentness that it seemed as though she sought to draw his very soul into herself by the magnetism of her glance,--but he stood unmoved, a very statue of fine disdain and intellectual self-repression. my scarcely controlled fury broke out again at the sight of her dumb yearning, and i gave vent to a shout of scornful laughter. "by heaven, a veritable new venus and reluctant adonis!" i cried deliriously--"a poet should be here to immortalize so touching a scene! go--go!"--and i motioned her away with a furious gesture--"go, if you do not want me to murder you! go, with the proud consciousness that you have worked all the mischief and ruin that is most dear to the heart of a woman,--you have spoilt a life and dishonoured a name,--you can do no more,--your feminine triumph is complete! go!--would to god i might never see your face again!--would to god i had been spared the misery of having married you!" she paid no attention whatever to my words, but kept her eyes fixed on lucio. retreating slowly, she seemed to feel rather than see her way to the winding stair, and there, turning, she began to ascend. half way up she paused--looked back and fully confronted us once more,--with a wild wicked rapture on her face she kissed her hands to lucio, smiling like a spectral woman in a dream,--then she went onward and upward step by step, till the last white fold of her robe had vanished,--and we two,--my friend and i,--were alone. facing one another we stood, silently,--i met his sombre eyes and thought i read an infinite compassion in them!--then,--while i yet looked upon him, something seemed to clutch my throat and stop my breathing,--his dark and beautiful countenance appeared to me to grow suddenly lurid as with fire,--a coronal of flame seemed to tremble above his brows,--the moonlight glistened blood-red!--a noise was in my ears of mingled thunder and music as though the silent organ at the end of the gallery were played by hands invisible;--struggling against these delusive sensations, i involuntarily stretched out my hands ... "lucio! ..." i gasped--"lucio ... my friend! i think, ... i am, ... dying! my heart is broken!" as i spoke, a great blackness closed over me,--and i fell senseless. xxxii oh, the blessedness of absolute unconsciousness! it is enough to make one wish that death were indeed annihilation! utter oblivion,--complete destruction,--surely this would be a greater mercy to the erring soul of man than the terrible god's-gift of immortality,--the dazzling impress of that divine 'image' of the creator in which we are all made, and which we can never obliterate from our beings. i, who have realized to the full the unalterable truth of eternal life,--eternal regeneration for each individual spirit in each individual human creature,--look upon the endless futures through which i am compelled to take my part with something more like horror than gratitude. for i have wasted my time and thrown away priceless opportunities,--and though repentance may retrieve these, the work of retrieval is long and bitter. it is easier to lose a glory than to win it; and if i could have died the death that positivists hope for at the very moment when i learned the full measure of my heart's desolation, surely it would have been well! but my temporary swoon was only too brief,--and when i recovered i found myself in lucio's own apartment, one of the largest and most sumptuously furnished of all the guest-chambers at willowsmere,--the windows were wide open, and the floor was flooded with moonlight. as i shuddered coldly back to life and consciousness, i heard a tinkling sound of tune, and opening my eyes wearily i saw lucio himself seated in the full radiance of the moon with a mandoline on his knee from which he was softly striking delicate impromptu melodies. i was amazed at this,--astounded that while i personally was overwhelmed with a weight of woe, _he_ should still be capable of amusing himself. it is a common idea with us all that when we ourselves are put out, no one else should dare to be merry,--in fact we expect nature itself to wear a miserable face if our own beloved ego is disturbed by any trouble,--such is the extent of our ridiculous self-consciousness. i moved in my chair and half rose from it,--when lucio, still thrumming the strings of his instrument _piano pianissimo_, said-- "keep still, geoffrey! you'll be all right in a few minutes. don't worry yourself." "worry myself!" i echoed bitterly--"why not say don't kill yourself!" "because i see no necessity to offer you that advice at present--" he responded coolly--"and if there were necessity, i doubt if i should give it,--because i consider it better to kill one's self than worry one's self. however opinions differ. i want you to take this matter lightly." "lightly!--take my own dishonour and disgrace lightly!" i exclaimed, almost leaping from my chair--"you ask too much!" "my good fellow, i ask no more than is asked and expected of a hundred 'society' husbands to-day. consider!--your wife has been led away from her soberer judgment and reasoning by an exalted and hysterical passion for me on account of my looks,--not for myself at all--because she really does not know _me_,--she only sees me as i appear to be. the love of handsome exterior personalities is a common delusion of the fair sex--and passes in time like other women's diseases. no actual dishonour or disgrace attaches to her or to you,--nothing has been seen, heard, or done, _in public_. this being so, i can't understand what you are making a fuss about. the great object of social life, you know, is to hide all savage passions and domestic differences from the gaze of the vulgar crowd. you can be as bad as you like in private--only god sees--and that does not matter!" his eyes had a mocking lustre in them,--twanging his mandoline, he sang under his breath, "if she be not fair for me what care i how fair she be!" "that is the true spirit, geoffrey,"--he went on--"it sounds flippant to you no doubt in your present tragic frame of mind,--but it is the only way to treat women, in marriage or out of it. before the world and society, your wife is like cæsar's, above suspicion. only you and i (we will leave god out) have been the witnesses of her attack of hysteria ..." "hysteria, you call it! she loves you!" i said hotly--"and she has always loved you. she confessed it,--and you admitted that you always knew it!" "i always knew she was hysterical--yes--if that is what you mean;"--he answered--"the majority of women have no real feelings, no serious emotions--except one--vanity. they do not know what a great love means,--their chief desire is for conquest,--and failing in this, they run up the gamut of baffled passion to the pitch of frenetic hysteria, which with some becomes chronic. lady sibyl suffers in this way. now listen to me. i will go off to paris or moscow or berlin at once,--after what has happened, of course i cannot stay here,--and i give you my word i will not intrude myself into your domestic circle again. in a few days you will tide over this rupture, and learn the wisdom of supporting the differences that occur in matrimony, with composure----" "impossible! i will not part with you!" i said vehemently--"nor will i live with her! better the companionship of a true friend than that of a false wife!" he raised his eyebrows with a puzzled half humorous expression--then shrugged his shoulders, as one who gives up a difficult argument. rising, he put aside his mandoline and came over to me, his tall imposing figure casting a gigantic shadow in the brilliant moonbeams. "upon my word, you put me in a very awkward position geoffrey,--what is to be done? you can get a judicial separation if you like, but i think it would be an unwise course of procedure after barely four months of marriage. the world would be set talking at once. really it is better to do anything than give the gossips a chance for floating scandal. look here--don't decide anything hastily,--come up to town with me for a day, and leave your wife alone to meditate upon her foolishness and its possible consequences,--then you will be better able to judge as to your future movements. go to your room, and sleep till morning." "sleep!" i repeated with a shudder--"in that room where she----" i broke off with a cry and looked at him imploringly--"am i going mad, i wonder! my brain seems on fire! if i could forget! ... if i could forget! lucio--if you, my loyal friend, had been false to me i should have died,--your truth, your honour have saved me!" he smiled--an odd, cynical little smile. "tut----i make no boast of virtue"--he rejoined--"if the lady's beauty had been any temptation to me i might have yielded to her charms,--in so doing i should have been no more than man, as she herself suggested. but perhaps i _am_ more than man!--at anyrate bodily beauty in woman makes no sort of effect on me, unless it is accompanied by beauty of soul,--then it does make an effect, and a very extraordinary one. it provokes me to try how deep the beauty goes--whether it is impervious or vulnerable. as i find it, so i leave it!" i stared wearily at the moonlight patterns on the floor. "what am i to do?" i asked--"what would you advise?" "come up to town with me,"--he replied--"you can leave a note for your wife, explaining your absence,--and at one of the clubs we will talk over the matter quietly, and decide how best to avoid a social scandal. meanwhile, go to bed. if you won't go back to your own room, sleep in the spare one next to mine." i rose mechanically and prepared to obey him. he watched me furtively. "will you take a composing draught if i mix it for you?" he said--"it is harmless, and will give you a few hours' sleep." "i would take poison from your hand!" i answered recklessly--"why don't you mix _that_ for me?--and then, ... then i should sleep indeed,--and forget this horrible night!" "no,--unfortunately you would not forget!" he said, going to his dressing-case and taking out a small white powder which he dissolved gradually in a glass of water--"that is the worst of what people call dying. i must instruct you in a little science by-and-by, to distract your thoughts. the scientific part of death,--the business that goes on behind the scenes you know--will interest you very much--it is highly instructive, particularly that section of it which i am entitled to call the regeneration of atoms. the brain-cells are atoms, and within these, are other atoms called memories, curiously vital and marvellously prolific! drink this,"--and he handed me the mixture he had prepared--"for temporary purposes it is much better than death--because it does numb and paralyse the conscious atoms for a little while, whereas death only liberates them to a larger and more obstinate vitality." i was too self-absorbed to heed or understand his words, but i drank what he gave me submissively and returned the glass,--he still watched me closely for about a minute. then he opened the door of the apartment which adjoined his own. "throw yourself on that bed and close your eyes,"--he continued in somewhat peremptory accents--"till morning breaks i give you a respite,--" and he smiled strangely--"both from dreams and memories! plunge into oblivion, my friend!--brief as it is and as it must ever be, it is sweet!--even to a millionaire!" the ironical tone of his voice vexed me,--i looked at him half reproachfully, and saw his proud beautiful face, pale as marble, clear-cut as a cameo, soften as i met his eyes,--i felt he was sorry for me despite his love of satire,--and grasping his hand i pressed it fervently without offering any other reply. then, going into the next room as he bade me, i lay down, and falling asleep almost instantly, i remembered no more. xxxiii with the morning came full consciousness; i realized bitterly all that had happened, but i was no longer inclined to bemoan my fate. my senses were stricken, as it seemed, too numb and rigid for any further outbreak of passion. a hard callousness took the place of outraged feeling; and though despair was in my heart, my mind was made up to one stern resolve,--i would look upon sibyl no more. never again should that fair face, the deceitful mask of a false nature, tempt my sight and move me to pity or forgiveness,--that i determined. leaving the room in which i had passed the night, i went to my study and wrote the following letter;-- sibyl. after the degrading and disgraceful scene of last night you must be aware that any further intercourse between us is impossible. prince rimânez and i are leaving for london; we shall not return. you can continue to reside at willowsmere,--the house is yours,--and the half of my fortune unconditionally settled upon you on our marriage-day will enable you to keep up the fashions of your 'set,' and live with that luxury and extravagance you deem necessary to an 'aristocratic' position. i have decided to travel,--and i intend to make such arrangements as may prevent, if possible, our ever meeting again,--though i shall of course do my best for my own sake, to avoid any scandal. to reproach you for your conduct would be useless; you are lost to all sense of shame. you have abased yourself in the humiliation of a guilty passion before a man who despises you,--who, in his own loyal and noble nature, hates you for your infidelity and hypocrisy,--and i can find no pardon for the wrong you have thus done to me, and the injury you have brought upon my name. i leave you to the judgment of your own conscience,--if you have one,--which is doubtful. such women as you, are seldom troubled with remorse. it is not likely you will ever see me or the man to whom you have offered your undesired love again,--make of your life what you can or will, i am indifferent to your movements, and for my own part, shall endeavour as much as may be, to forget that you exist. your husband, geoffrey tempest. this letter, folded and sealed, i sent to my wife in her own apartments by her maid,--the girl came back and said she had delivered it, but that there was no answer. her ladyship had a severe headache and meant to keep her room that morning. i expressed just as much civil regret as a confidential maid would naturally expect from the newly-wedded husband of her mistress,--and then, giving instructions to my man morris to pack my portmanteau, i partook of a hurried breakfast with lucio in more or less silence and constraint, for the servants were in attendance, and i did not wish them to suspect that anything was wrong. for their benefit, i gave out that my friend and i were called suddenly to town on urgent business,--that we might be absent a couple of days, perhaps longer,--and that any special message or telegram could be sent on to me at arthur's club. i was thankful when we at last got away,--when the tall, picturesque red gables of willowsmere vanished from my sight,--and when finally, seated in a railway smoking-carriage reserved for our two selves, we were able to watch the miles of distance gradually extending between us and the beautiful autumnal woods of poet-haunted warwickshire. for a long time we kept silence, turning over and pretending to read the morning's papers,--till presently flinging down the dull and wearisome 'times' sheet, i sighed heavily, and leaning back, closed my eyes. "i am truly very much distressed about all this;" said lucio then, with extreme gentleness and suavity--"it seems to me that _i_ am the adverse element in the affair. if lady sibyl had never seen _me_,----" "why, then i should never have seen _her_!" i responded bitterly--"it was through you i met her first." "true!" and he eyed me thoughtfully--"i am very unfortunately placed!--it is almost as if i were to blame, though no-one could be more innocent or well-intentioned than myself!" he smiled,--then went on very gravely--"i really should avoid scandalous gossip if i were you,--i do not speak of my own involuntary share in the disaster,--what people say of me is quite immaterial; but for the lady's sake----" "for my own sake i shall try to avoid it;" i said brusquely, whereat his eyes glittered strangely--"it is myself i have to consider most of all. i shall, as i hinted to you this morning, travel for a few years." "yes,--go on a tiger-hunting expedition in india,"--he suggested--"or kill elephants in africa. it is what a great many men do when their wives forget themselves. several well-known husbands are abroad just now!" again the brilliant enigmatical smile flashed over his face,--but i could not smile in answer. i stared moodily out of the window at the bare autumnal fields, past which the train flew,--bare of harvest,--stripped of foliage--like my own miserable life. "come and winter with me in egypt,"--he continued--"come in my yacht 'the flame,'--we will take her to alexandria,--and then do the nile in a dahabeah, and forget that such frivolous dolls as women exist except to be played with by us 'superior' creatures and thrown aside." "egypt----the nile!" i murmured,--somehow the idea pleased me--"yes,----why not?" "why not indeed!" he echoed--"the proposal is agreeable to you i am sure. come and see the land of the old gods,--the land where my princess used to live and torture the souls of men!--perhaps we may discover the remains of her last victim,----who knows!" i avoided his gaze;--the recollection of the horrible winged thing he persisted in imagining to be the transmigrated soul of an evil woman, was repugnant to me. almost i felt as if there were some subtle connection between that hateful creature and my wife sibyl. i was glad when the train reached london, and we, taking a hansom, were plunged into the very vortex of human life. the perpetual noise of traffic, the motley crowds of people, the shouting of news-boys and omnibus-conductors,--all this hubbub was grateful to my ears, and for a time at least, distracted my thoughts. we lunched at the savoy, and amused ourselves with noting the town noodles of fashion,--the inane young man in the stocks of the stiff high collar, and wearing the manacles of equally stiff and exaggerated cuffs, a veritable prisoner in the dock of silly custom,--the frivolous fool of a woman, painted and powdered, with false hair and dyed eyebrows, trying to look as much like a paid courtezan as possible,--the elderly matron, skipping forward on high heels, and attempting by the assumption of juvenile airs and graces to cover up and conceal the obtrusive facts of a too obvious paunch and overlapping bosom,--the would-be dandy and 'beau' of seventy, strangely possessed by youthful desires, and manifesting the same by goat-like caperings at the heels of young married women;--these and such-like contemptible units of a contemptible social swarm, passed before us like puppets at a country fair, and aroused us in turn to laughter or disdain. while we yet lingered over our wine, a man came in alone, and sat down at the table next to ours;--he had with him a book, which, after giving his orders for luncheon, he at once opened at a marked place and began to read with absorbed attention,--i recognised the cover of the volume and knew it to be mavis clare's "differences." a haze floated before my sight,--a sensation of rising tears was in my throat,--i saw the fair face, earnest eyes, and sweet smile of mavis,--that woman-wearer of the laurel-crown,--that keeper of the lilies of purity and peace. alas, those lilies!--they were for me "des fleurs étranges,[ ] avec leurs airs de sceptres d'anges; de thyrses lumineux pour doigts de séraphins,-- leurs parfums sont trop forts, tout ensemble, et trop fins!" i shaded my eyes with one hand,--yet under that shade i felt that lucio watched me closely. presently he spoke softly, just as if he had read my thoughts. "considering the effect a perfectly innocent woman has on the mind of even an evil man, it's strange, isn't it that there are so few of them!" i did not answer. "in the present day," he went on--"there are a number of females clamouring like unnatural hens in a barn-yard about their 'rights' and 'wrongs.' their greatest right, their highest privilege, is to guide and guard the souls of men. this, they for the most part, throw away as worthless. aristocratic women, royal women even, hand over the care of their children to hired attendants and inferiors, and then are surprised and injured if those children turn out to be either fools or blackguards. if i were controller of the state, i would make it a law that every mother should be bound to nurse and guard her children herself as nature intended, unless prevented by ill-health, in which case she would have to get a couple of doctor's certificates to certify the fact. otherwise, any woman refusing to comply with the law should be sentenced to imprisonment with hard labour. this would bring them to their senses. the idleness, wickedness, extravagance and selfishness of women, make men the boors and egotists they are." i looked up. "the devil is in the whole business;"--i said bitterly--"if women were good, men would have nothing to do with them. look round you at what is called 'society'! how many men there are who deliberately choose tainted women for their wives, and leave the innocent uncared for! take mavis clare----" "oh, you were thinking of mavis clare, were you?" he rejoined, with a quick glance at me--"but she would be a difficult prize for any man to win. she does not seek to be married,--and she is not uncared for, since the whole world cares for her." "that is a sort of impersonal love;"--i answered--"it does not give her the protection such a woman needs, and ought to obtain." "do you want to become her lover?" he asked with a slight smile--"i'm afraid you've no chance!" "i! her lover! good god!" i exclaimed, the blood rushing hotly to my face at the mere suggestion--"what a profane idea!" "you are right,--it _is_ profane;"--he agreed, still smiling--"it is as though i should propose your stealing the sacramental cup from a church, with just this difference,--you might succeed in running off with the cup because it is only the church's property, but you would never succeed in winning mavis clare, inasmuch as she belongs to god. you know what milton says: 'so dear to heaven is saintly chastity that when a soul is found sincerely so, a thousand liveried angels lacquey her, driving far off each thing of sin and guilt, and in clear dream and solemn vision tell her of things which no gross ear can hear, till oft converse with heavenly habitants begin to cast a beam on th'outward shape the unpolluted temple of the mind, and turns it by degrees to the soul's essence till all be made immortal!' he quoted the lines softly and with an exquisite gravity. "that is what you see in mavis clare,"--he continued--"that 'beam on the outward shape' which 'turns it by degrees to the soul's essence,'--and which makes her beautiful, without what is called beauty by lustful men." i moved impatiently, and looked out from the window near which we were seated, at the yellow width of the flowing thames below. "beauty, according to man's ordinary standard," pursued lucio, "means simply good flesh,--nothing more. flesh, arranged prettily and roundly on the always ugly skeleton beneath,--flesh, daintily coloured and soft to the touch, without scar or blemish. plenty of it too, disposed in the proper places. it is the most perishable sort of commodity,--an illness spoils it,--a trying climate ruins it,--age wrinkles it,--death destroys it,--but it is all the majority of men look for in their bargains with the fair sex. the most utter _roué_ of sixty that ever trotted jauntily down piccadilly pretending to be thirty, expects like shylock his 'pound' or several pounds of youthful flesh. the desire is neither refined nor intellectual, but there it is,--and it is solely on this account that the 'ladies' of the music-hall become the tainted members and future mothers of the aristocracy." "it does not need the ladies of the music-hall to taint the already tainted!" i said. "true!" and he looked at me with kindly commiseration--"let us put the whole mischief down to the 'new' fiction!" we rose then, having finished luncheon, and leaving the savoy we went on to arthur's. here we sat down in a quiet corner and began to talk of our future plans. it took me very little time to make up my mind,--all quarters of the world were the same to me, and i was really indifferent as to where i went. yet there is always something suggestive and fascinating about the idea of a first visit to egypt, and i willingly agreed to accompany lucio thither, and remain the winter. "we will avoid society"--he said--"the well-bred, well-educated 'swagger' people who throw champagne-bottles at the sphinx, and think a donkey-race 'ripping fun' shall not have the honour of our company. cairo is full of such dancing dolls, so we will not stay there. old nile has many attractions; and lazy luxury on a dahabeah will soothe your overwrought nerves. i suggest our leaving england within a week." i consented,--and while he went over to a table and wrote some letters in preparation for our journey, i looked through the day's papers. there was nothing to read in them,--for though all the world's news palpitates into great britain on obediently throbbing electric wires, each editor of each little pennyworth, being jealous of every other editor of every other pennyworth, only admits into his columns exactly what suits his politics or personally pleases his taste, and the interests of the public at large are scarcely considered. poor, bamboozled, patient public!--no wonder it is beginning to think that a halfpenny spent on a newspaper which is only purchased to be thrown away, enough and more than enough. i was still glancing up and down the tedious columns of the americanized pall mall gazette, and lucio was still writing, when a page-boy entered with a telegram. "mr tempest?" "yes." and i snatched the yellow-covered missive and tore it open,--and read the few words it contained almost uncomprehendingly. they ran thus-- "return at once. something alarming has happened. afraid to act without you. mavis clare." a curious chill came over me,--the telegram fell from my hands on the table. lucio took it up and glanced at it. then, regarding me stedfastly, he said-- "of course you must go. you can catch the four-forty train if you take a hansom." "and you?" i muttered. my throat was dry and i could scarcely speak. "i'll stay at the grand, and wait for news. don't delay a moment,--miss clare would not have taken it upon herself to send this message, unless there had been serious cause." "what do you think--what do you suppose----" i began. he stopped me by a slight imperative gesture. "i think nothing--i suppose nothing. i only urge you to start immediately. come!" and almost before i realized it, he had taken me with him out into the hall of the club, where he helped me on with my coat, gave me my hat, and sent for a cab to take me to the railway station. we scarcely exchanged farewells,--stupefied with the suddenness of the unexpected summons back to the home i had left in the morning, as i thought, for ever, i hardly knew what i was doing or where i was going, till i found myself alone in the train, returning to warwickshire as fast as steam would bear me, with the gloom of the deepening dusk around me, and such a fear and horror at my heart as i dared not think of or define. what was the 'something alarming' that had happened? how was it that mavis clare had telegraphed to me? these, and endless other questions tormented my brain,--and i was afraid to suggest answers to any of them. when i arrived at the familiar station, there was no one waiting to receive me, so i hired a fly, and was driven up to my own house just as the short evening deepened into night. a low autumnal wind was sighing restlessly among the trees like a wandering soul in torment; not a star shone in the black depths of the sky. directly the carriage stopped, a slim figure in white came out under the porch to meet me,--it was mavis, her angel's face grave and pale with emotion. "it is you at last!" she said in a trembling voice----"thank god you have come!" [ ] _edmond rostand._ '_la princesse lointaine._' xxxiv i grasped her hands hard. "what is it?"--i began;--then, looking round i saw that the hall was full of panic-stricken servants, some of whom came forward, confusedly murmuring together about being 'afraid,' and 'not knowing what to do.' i motioned them back by a gesture and turned again to mavis clare. "tell me,--quick--what is wrong?" "we fear something has happened to lady sibyl,"--she replied at once--"her rooms are locked, and we cannot make her hear. her maid got alarmed, and ran over to my house to ask me what was best to be done,--i came at once, and knocked and called, but could get no response. you know the windows are too high to reach from the ground,--there is no ladder on the premises long enough for the purpose,--and no one can climb up that side of the building. i begged some of the servants to break open the door by force,--but they would not,--they were all afraid; and i did not like to act on my own responsibility, so i telegraphed for you----" i sprang away from her before she had finished speaking and hurried upstairs at once,--outside the door of the ante-room which led into my wife's luxurious 'suite' of apartments, i paused breathless. "sibyl!" i cried. there was not a sound. mavis had followed me, and stood by my side, trembling a little. two or three of the servants had also crept up the stairs, and were clinging to the banisters, listening nervously. "sibyl!" i called again. still absolute silence. i turned round upon the waiting and anxious domestics with an assumption of calmness. "lady sibyl is probably not in her rooms at all;"--i said; "she may have gone out unobserved. this door of the ante-chamber has a spring-lock,--it can easily get fast shut by the merest accident. bring a strong hammer,--or a crowbar,--anything that will break it open,--if you had had sense you would have obeyed miss clare, and done this a couple of hours ago." and i waited with enforced composure, while my instructions were carried out as rapidly as possible. two of the men-servants appeared with the necessary tools, and very soon the house resounded with clamour,--blow after blow was dealt upon the solid oaken door for some time without success,--the spring lock would not yield,--neither would the strong hinges give way. presently however, after ten minutes' hard labour, one of the finely carved panels was smashed in,--then another,--and, springing over the débris i rushed through the ante-room into the boudoir,--then paused, listening, and calling again, "sibyl!" no one followed me,--some indefinable instinct, some nameless dread, held the servants back, and mavis clare as well. i was alone, ... and in complete darkness. groping about, with my heart beating furiously, i sought for the ivory button in the wall which would, at pressure, flood the rooms with electric light, but somehow i could not find it. my hand came in contact with various familiar things which i recognised by touch,--rare bits of china, bronzes, vases, pictures,--costly trifles that were heaped up as i knew, in this particular apartment with a lavish luxury and disregard of cost befitting a wanton eastern empress of old time,--cautiously feeling my way along, i started with terror to see, as i thought, a tall figure outline itself suddenly against the darkness,--white, spectral and luminous,--a figure that, as i stared at it aghast, raised a pallid hand and pointed me forward with a menacing air of scorn! in my dazed horror at this apparition, or delusion, i stumbled over the heavy trailing folds of a velvet _portiére_, and knew by this that i had passed from the boudoir into the adjoining bedroom. again i stopped,--calling "sibyl!" but my voice had scarcely strength enough to raise itself above a whisper. giddy and confused as i was, i remembered that the electric light in this room was fixed at the side of the toilet-table, and i stepped hurriedly in that direction, when all at once in the thick gloom i touched something clammy and cold like dead flesh, and brushed against a garment that exhaled faint perfume, and rustled at my touch with a silken sound. this alarmed me more thoroughly than the spectre i fancied i had just seen,--i drew back shudderingly against the wall,--and in so doing, my fingers involuntarily closed on the polished ivory stud which, like a fairy talisman in modern civilization, emits radiance at the owner's will. i pressed it nervously,--the light blazed forth through the rose-tinted shells which shaded its dazzling clearness, and showed me where i stood, ... within an arm's length of a strange, stiff white creature that sat staring at itself in the silver-framed mirror with wide-open, fixed and glassy eyes! "sibyl!" i gasped--"my wife ... ! ..." but the words died chokingly in my throat. was it indeed my wife?--this frozen statue of a woman, watching her own impassive image thus intently? i looked upon her wonderingly,--doubtingly,--as if she were some stranger;--it took me time to recognize her features, and the bronze-gold darkness of her long hair which fell loosely about her in a lavish wealth of rippling waves, ... her left hand hung limply over the arm of the chair in which, like some carven ivory goddess, she sat enthroned,--and tremblingly, slowly, reluctantly, i advanced and took that hand. cold as ice it lay in my palm much as though it were a waxen model of itself;--it glittered with jewels,--and i studied every ring upon it with a curious, dull pertinacity, like one who seeks a clue to identity. that large turquoise in a diamond setting was a marriage-gift from a duchess,--that opal her father gave her,--the lustrous circle of sapphires and brilliants surmounting her wedding-ring was my gift,--that ruby i seemed to know,----well, well! what a mass of sparkling value wasted on such fragile clay! i peered into her face,--then at the reflection of that face in the mirror,--and again i grew perplexed,--was it, could it be sibyl after all? sibyl was beautiful,--_this_ dead thing had a devilish smile on its blue, parted lips, and frenzied horror in its eyes! suddenly something tense in my brain seemed to snap and give way,--dropping the chill fingers i held, i cried aloud-- "mavis! mavis clare!" in a moment she was with me,--in a glance she comprehended all. falling on her knees by the dead woman she broke into a passion of weeping. "oh, poor girl!" she cried--"oh, poor, unhappy, misguided girl!" i stared at her gloomily. it seemed to me very strange that she should weep for sorrows not her own. there was a fire in my brain,--a confused trouble in my thoughts,--i looked at my dead wife with her fixed gaze and evil smile, sitting rigidly upright, and robed in the mocking sheen of her rose-silk peignoir, showered with old lace, after the costliest of paris fashions,--then at the living, tender-souled, earnest creature, famed for her genius throughout the world, who knelt on the ground, sobbing over the stiffening hand on which so many rare gems glistened derisively,--and an impulse rose in me stronger than myself, moving me to wild and clamorous speech. "get up, mavis!" i cried--"do not kneel there! go,--go out of this room,--out of my sight! you do not know what she was--this woman whom i married,--i deemed her an angel, but she was a fiend,--yes, mavis, a fiend! look at her, staring at her own image in the glass,--you cannot call her beautiful--_now_! she smiles, you see,--just as she smiled last night when, ... ah, you know nothing of last night! i tell you, go!" and i stamped my foot almost furiously,--"this air is contaminated,--it will poison you! the perfume of paris and the effluvia of death intermingled are sufficient to breed a pestilence! go quickly,--inform the household their mistress is dead,--have the blinds drawn down,--show all the exterior signs of decent and fashionable woe!"--and i began laughing deliriously--"tell the servants they may count upon expensive mourning,--for all that money can do shall be done in homage to king death! let everyone in the place eat and drink as much as they can or will,--and sleep, or chatter as such menials love to do, of hearses, graves and sudden disasters;--but let _me_ be left alone,--alone with _her_;--we have much to say to one another!" white and trembling, mavis rose up and stood gazing at me in fear and pity. "alone? ..." she faltered--"you are not fit to be alone!" "no, i am not fit to be, but i must be,"--i rejoined quickly and harshly--"this woman and i loved--after the manner of brutes, and were wedded or rather mated in a similar manner, though an archbishop blessed the pairing, and called upon heaven to witness its sanctity! yet we parted ill friends,--and dead though she is, i choose to pass the night with her,--i shall learn much knowledge from her silence! to-morrow the grave and the servants of the grave may claim her, but to-night she is mine!" the girl's sweet eyes brimmed over with tears. "oh you are too distracted to know what you are saying," she murmured--"you do not even try to discover how she died!" "that is easy enough to guess,"--i answered quickly, and i took up a small dark-coloured bottle labelled 'poison' which i had already perceived on the toilet-table--"this is uncorked and empty. what it contained i do not know,--but there must be an inquest of course,--people must be allowed to make money for themselves out of her ladyship's rash act! and see there,--" here i pointed to some loose sheets of note-paper covered with writing, and partially concealed by a filmy lace handkerchief which had evidently been hastily thrown across them, and a pen and inkstand close by--"there is some admirable reading prepared for me doubtless!--the last message from the beloved dead is sacred, mavis clare; surely you, a writer of tender romances, can realize this!--and realizing it, you will do as i ask you,--leave me!" she looked at me in deep compassion, and slowly turned to go. "god help you!" she said sobbingly--"god console you!" at this, some demon in me broke loose, and springing to her side i caught her hands in mine. "do not dare to talk of god!" i said in passionate accents; "not in this room,--not in _that_ presence! why should you call curses down upon me? the help of god means punishment,--the consolations of god are terrible! for strength must acknowledge itself weak before he will help it,--and a heart must be broken before he will console it! but what do i say!--i believe in _no_ god--! i believe in an unknown force that encompasses me and hunts me down to the grave, but nothing more. _she_ thought as i do,--and with reason,--for what has god done for her? she was made evil from the first,--a born snare of satan...." something caught my breath here,--i stopped, unable to utter another word. mavis stared at me affrighted, and i stared back again. "what is it?" she whispered alarmedly. i struggled to speak,--finally, with difficulty i answered her-- "nothing!" and i motioned her away with a gesture of entreaty. the expression of my face must have startled or intimidated her i fancy, for she retreated hastily and i watched her disappearing as if she were the phantom of a dream,--then, as she passed out through the boudoir, i drew close the velvet portiére behind her and locked the intermediate door. this done i went slowly back to the side of my dead wife. "now sibyl,"--i said aloud--"we are alone, you and i--alone with our own reflected images,--you dead, and i living! you have no terrors for me in your present condition,--your beauty has gone. your smile, your eyes, your touch cannot stir me to a throb of the passion you craved, yet wearied of! what have you to say to me?--i have heard that the dead can speak at times,--and you owe me reparation,--reparation for the wrong you did me,--the lie on which you based our marriage,--the guilt you cherished in your heart! shall i read your petition for forgiveness here?" and i gathered up the written sheets of note-paper in one hand, feeling them rather than seeing them, for my eyes were fixed on the pallid corpse in its rose-silk 'negligée' and jewels, that gazed at itself so pertinaciously in the shining mirror. i drew a chair close to it, and sat down, observing likewise the reflection of my own haggard face in the glass beside that of the self-murdered woman. turning presently, i began to scrutinize my immovable companion more closely--and perceived that she was very lightly clothed,--under the silk peignoir there was only a flowing white garment of soft fine material lavishly embroidered, through which the statuesque contour of her rigid limbs could be distinctly seen. stooping, i felt her heart,--i knew it was pulseless; yet i half imagined i should feel its beat. as i withdrew my hand, something scaly and glistening caught my eye, and looking i perceived lucio's marriage-gift circling her waist,--the flexible emerald snake with its diamond crest and ruby eyes. it fascinated me,----coiled round that dead body it seemed alive and sentient,--if it had lifted its glittering head and hissed at me i should scarcely have been surprised. i sat back for a moment in my chair, almost as rigid as the corpse beside me,--i stared again, as the corpse stared always, into the mirror which pictured us both, we 'twain in one,' as the sentimentalists aver of wedded folk, though in truth it often happens that there are no two creatures in the world more widely separated than husband and wife. i heard stealthy movements and suppressed whisperings in the passage outside, and guessed that some of the servants were there watching and waiting,--but i cared nothing for that. i was absorbed in the ghastly night interview i had planned for myself, and i so entered into the spirit of the thing, that i turned on all the electric lamps in the room, besides lighting two tall clusters of shaded candles on either side of the toilet-table. when all the surroundings were thus rendered as brilliant as possible, so that the corpse looked more livid and ghastly by comparison, i seated myself once more, and prepared to read the last message of the dead. "now sibyl,"--i muttered, leaning forward a little, and noting with a morbid interest that the jaws of the corpse had relaxed a little within the last few minutes, and that the smile on the face was therefore more hideous--"confess your sins!--for i am here to listen. such dumb, impressive eloquence as yours deserves attention!" a gust of wind fled round the house with a wailing cry,--the windows shook, and the candles flickered. i waited till every sound had died away, and then--with a glance at my dead wife, under the sudden impression that she had heard what i said, and knew what i was doing, i began to read. xxxv thus ran the 'last document,' commencing abruptly and without prefix;-- "i have made up my mind to die. not out of passion or petulance,--but from deliberate choice, and as i think, necessity. my brain is tired of problems,--my body is tired of life; it is best to make an end. the idea of death,--which means annihilation,--is very sweet to me. i am glad to feel that by my own will and act i can silence this uneasy throbbing of my heart, this turmoil and heat of my blood,--this tortured aching of my nerves. young as i am, i have no delight now in existence,--i see nothing but my love's luminous eyes, his god-like features, his enthralling smile,--and these are lost to me. for a brief while he has been my world, life and time,--he has gone,--and without him there is no universe. how could i endure the slow, wretched passing of hours, days, weeks, months and years alone?--though it is better to be alone than in the dull companionship of the self-satisfied, complacent and arrogant fool who is my husband. he has left me for ever, so he says in a letter the maid brought to me an hour ago. it is quite what i expected of him,--what man of his type could find pardon for a blow to his own _amour propre_! if he had studied my nature, entered into my emotions, or striven in the least to guide and sustain me,--if he had shown me any sign of a great, true love such as one sometimes dreams of and seldom finds,--i think i should be sorry for him now,--i should even ask his forgiveness for having married him. but he has treated me precisely as he might treat a paid mistress,--that is, he has fed me, clothed me, and provided me with money and jewels in return for making me the toy of his passions,--but he has not given me one touch of sympathy,--one proof of self-denial or humane forbearance. therefore, i owe him nothing. and now he, and my love who will not be my lover, have gone away together; i am free to do as i will with this small pulse within me called life, which is after all, only a thread, easily broken. there is no one to say me nay, or to hold my hand back from giving myself the final _quietus_. it is well i have no friends; it is good for me that i have probed the hypocrisy and social sham of the world, and that i have mastered the following hard truths of life,--that there is no love without lust,--no friendship without self-interest,--no religion without avarice,--and no so-called virtue without its accompanying stronger vice. who, knowing these things, would care to take part in them! on the verge of the grave i look back along the short vista of my years, and i see myself a child in this very place, this wooded willowsmere; i can note how that life began to which i am about to put an end. pampered, petted and spoilt, told that i must 'look pretty' and take pleasure in my clothes, i was even at the age of ten, capable of a certain amount of coquetry. old _roués_, smelling of wine and tobacco, were eager to take me on their knees and pinch my soft flesh;--they would press my innocent lips with their withered ones,--withered and contaminated by the kisses of _cocottes_ and 'soiled doves' of the town!--i have often wondered how it is these men can dare to touch a young child's mouth, knowing in themselves what beasts they are! i see my nurse,--a trained liar and time-server, giving herself more airs than a queen, and forbidding me to speak to this child or that child, because they were 'beneath' me;--then came my governess, full of a prurient prudery, as bad a woman in morals as ever lived, yet 'highly recommended' and with excellent references, and wearing an assumption of the strictest virtue, like many equally hypocritical clergymen's wives i have known. i soon found her out,--for even as a child i was painfully observant,--and the stories she and my mother's french maid used to tell, in lowered voices now and then broken by coarse laughter, were sufficient to enlighten me as to her true character. yet, beyond having a supreme contempt for the woman who practised religious austerity outwardly, and was at heart a rake, i gave small consideration to the difficult problem such a nature suggested. i lived,--how strange it seems that i should be writing now of myself, as past and done with!--yes, i lived in a dreamy, more or less idyllic state of mind, thinking without being conscious of thought, full of fancies concerning the flowers, trees and birds,--wishing for things of which i knew nothing,--imagining myself a queen at times, and again, a peasant. i was an omnivorous reader,--and i was specially fond of poetry. i used to pore over the mystic verse of shelley, and judged him then as a sort of demi-god;--and never, even when i knew all about his life, could i realize him as a man with a thin, shrieking falsetto voice and 'loose' notions concerning women. but i am quite sure it was good for his fame that he was drowned in early youth with so many melancholy and dramatic surroundings,--it saved him, i consider, from a possibly vicious and repulsive old age. i adored keats till i knew he had wasted his passion on a fanny brawn,--and then the glamour of him vanished. i can offer no reason for this,--i merely set down the fact. i made a hero of lord byron,--in fact he has always formed for me the only heroical type of poet. strong in himself and pitiless in his love for women, he treated them for the most part as they merited, considering the singular and unworthy specimens of the sex it was his misfortune to encounter. i used to wonder, when reading these men's amorous lines, whether love would ever come my way, and what beatific state of emotion i should then enjoy. then came the rough awakening from all my dreams,--childhood melted into womanhood,--and at sixteen i was taken up to town with my parents to "know something of the ways and manners of society," before finally 'coming out.' oh, those ways and manners! i learnt them to perfection! astonished at first, then bewildered, and allowed no time to form any judgment on what i saw, i was hurried through a general vague 'impression' of things such as i had never imagined or dreamed of. while i was yet lost in wonderment, and kept constantly in companionship with young girls of my own rank and age, who nevertheless seemed much more advanced in knowledge of the world than i, my father suddenly informed me that willowsmere was lost to us,--that he could not afford to keep it up,--and that we should return there no more. ah, what tears i shed!--what a fury of grief consumed me!--i did not then comprehend the difficult entanglements of either wealth or poverty;--all i could realize was that the doors of my dear old home were closed upon me for ever. after that, i think i grew cold and hard in disposition; i had never loved my mother very dearly,--in fact i had seen very little of her, as she was always away visiting, if not entertaining visitors, and she seldom had me with her,--so that when she was suddenly struck down by a first shock of paralysis, it affected me but little. she had her doctors and nurses,--i had my governess still with me; and my mother's sister, aunt charlotte, came to keep house for us,--so i began to analyse society for myself, without giving any expression of my opinions on what i observed. i was not yet 'out,' but i went everywhere where girls of my age were invited, and perceived things without showing that i had any faculty of perception. i cultivated a passionless and cold exterior,--a listless, uninterested and frigid demeanor,--for i discovered that this was accepted by many people as dullness or stupidity, and that by assuming such a character, certain otherwise crafty persons would talk more readily before me, and betray themselves and their vices unawares. thus my 'social education' began in grim earnest;--women of title and renown would ask me to their 'quiet teas,' because i was what they were pleased to call a 'harmless girl--' 'rather pretty, but dull,'--and allow me to assist them in entertaining the lovers who called upon them while their husbands were out. i remember that on one occasion, a great lady famous for two things, her diamonds and her intimacy with the queen, kissed her 'cavaliere servente,' a noted sporting earl, with considerable _abandon_ in my presence. he muttered something about me,--i heard it;--but his amorous mistress merely answered in a whisper--"oh, it's only sibyl elton,--she understands nothing." afterwards however, when he had gone, she turned to me with a grin and remarked--"you saw me kiss bertie, didn't you? i often do; he's quite like my brother!" i made no reply,--i only smiled vaguely; and the next day she sent me a valuable diamond ring, which i at once returned to her with a prim little note, stating that i was much obliged, but that my father considered me too young as yet to wear diamonds. why do i think of these trifles now i wonder!--now when i am about to take my leave of life and all its lies! ... there is a little bird singing outside my bedroom window,--such a pretty creature! i suppose it is happy?--it should be, as it is not human... the tears are in my eyes as i listen to its sweet warbling, and think that it will be living and singing still to-day at sunset when i am dead! * * * * * that last sentence was mere sentiment, for i am not sorry to die. if i felt the least regret about it i should not carry out my intention. i must resume my narrative,--for it is an analysis i am trying to make of myself, to find out if i can whether there are no excuses to be found for my particular disposition,--whether it is not after all, the education and training i have had that have made me what i am, or whether indeed i was born evil from the first. the circumstances that surrounded me, did not, at any rate, tend to soften or improve my character. i had just passed my seventeenth birthday, when one morning my father called me into his library and told me the true position of his affairs. i learned that he was crippled on all sides with debt,--that he lived on advances made to him by jew usurers,--and that these advances were trusted to him solely on the speculation that i, his only daughter, would make a sufficiently rich marriage to enable him to repay all loans with heavy interest. he went on to say that he hoped i would act sensibly,--and that when any men showed indications of becoming suitors for my hand, i would, before encouraging them, inform him, in order that he might make strict enquiries as to their actual extent of fortune. i then understood, for the first time, that i was for sale. i listened in silence till he had finished,--then i asked him--'love, i suppose, is not to be considered in the matter?' he laughed, and assured me it was much easier to love a rich man than a poor one, as i would find out after a little experience. he added, with some hesitation, that to help make both ends meet, as the expenses of town life were considerable, he had arranged to take a young american lady under his charge, a miss diana chesney, who wished to be introduced into english society, and who would pay two thousand guineas a year to him for that privilege, and for aunt charlotte's services as chaperône. i do not remember now what i said to him when i heard this,--i know that my long suppressed feelings broke out in a storm of fury, and that for the moment he was completely taken aback by the force of my indignation. an american boarder in _our_ house!--it seemed to me as outrageous and undignified as the conduct of a person i once heard of, who, favoured by the queen's patronage with 'free' apartments in kensington palace, took from time to time on the sly, an american or colonial 'paying-guest,' who adopted forthwith the address of her majesty's birthplace as her own, thus lowering the whole prestige of that historic habitation. my wrath however was useless;--the bargain was arranged,--my father, regardless of his proud lineage and the social dignity of his position, had degraded himself, in my opinion, to the level of a sort of superior lodging-house keeper,--and from that time i lost all my former respect for him. of course it can be argued that i was wrong,--that i ought to have honoured him for turning his name to monetary account by loaning it out as a protective shield and panoply for an american woman without anything but the dollars of a vulgar 'railway-king' to back her up in society,--but i could not see it in that light. i retreated into myself more than ever,--and became more than pleasantly known for my coldness, reserve and hauteur. miss chesney came, and strove hard to be my friend,--but she soon found that impossible. she is a good-hearted creature i believe,--but she is badly bred and badly trained as all her compatriots are, more or less, despite their smattering of an european education; i disliked her from the first, and have spared no pains to show it. yet i know she will be countess of elton as soon as it is decently possible,--say, after the year's ceremonious mourning for my mother has expired, and perhaps three months' hypocritical wearing of black for me,--my father believes himself to be still young and passably good-looking, and he is quite incapable of resisting the fortune she will bring him. when she took up her fixed abode in our house and aunt charlotte became her paid chaperône, i seldom went out to any social gatherings, for i could not endure the idea of being seen in her companionship. i kept to my own room a great deal, and thus secluded, read many books. all the fashionable fiction of the day passed through my hands, much to my gradual enlightenment, if not to my edification. one day,--a day that is stamped on my memory as a kind of turning-point in my life,--i read a novel by a woman which i did not at first entirely understand,--but on going over some of its passages a second time, all at once its horrible lasciviousness flashed upon me, and filled me with such genuine disgust that i flung it on the ground in a fit of loathing and contempt. yet i had seen it praised in all the leading journals of the day; its obscenities were hinted at as 'daring,'--its vulgarities were quoted as 'brilliant wit,'--in fact so many laudatory columns were written about it in the press that i resolved to read it again. encouraged by the 'literary censors' of the time, i did so, and little by little the insidious abomination of it filtered into my mind and _stayed there_. i began to think about it,--and by-and-by found pleasure in thinking about it. i sent for other books by the same tainted hand, and my appetite for that kind of prurient romance grew keener. at this particular juncture as chance or fate would have it, an acquaintance of mine, the daughter of a marchioness, a girl with large black eyes, and those full protruding lips which remind one unconsciously of a swine's snout, brought me two or three odd volumes of the poems of swinburne. always devoted to poetry, and considering it to be the highest of the arts, and up to that period having been ignorant of this writer's work, i turned over the books with eagerness, expecting to enjoy the usual sublime emotions which it is the privilege and glory of the poet to inspire in mortals less divinely endowed than himself, and who turn to him "for help to climb beyond the highest peaks of time." now i should like, if i could do so, to explain clearly the effect of this satyr-songster upon my mind,--for i believe there are many women to whom his works have been deadlier than the deadliest poison, and far more soul-corrupting than any book of zola's or the most pernicious of modern french writers. at first i read the poems quickly, with a certain pleasure in the musical swing and jangle of rhythm, and without paying much attention to the subject-matter of the verse,--but presently, as though a lurid blaze of lightning had stripped a fair tree of its adorning leaves, my senses suddenly perceived the cruelty and sensuality concealed under the ornate language and persuasive rhymes,--and for a moment i paused in my reading, and closed my eyes, shuddering and sick at heart. was human nature as base and abandoned as this man declared it to be? was there no god but lust? were men and women lower and more depraved in their passions and appetites than the very beasts? i mused and dreamed,--i pored over the 'laus veneris'--'faustine' and 'anactoria,' till i felt myself being dragged down to the level of the mind that conceived such outrages to decency,--i drank in the poet's own fiendish contempt of god, and i read over and over again his verses 'before a crucifix' till i knew them by heart;--till they rang in my brain as persistently as any nursery jingle, and drove my thoughts into as haughty a scorn of christ and his teachings, as any unbelieving jew. it is nothing to me now,--now, when without hope, or faith or love, i am about to take the final plunge into eternal darkness and silence,--but for the sake of those who _have_ the comfort of a religion i ask, why, in a so-called christian country, is such a hideous blasphemy as 'before a crucifix' allowed to circulate among the people without so much as one reproof from those who elect themselves judges of literature? i have seen many noble writers condemned unheard,--many have been accused of blasphemy, whose works tend quite the other way,--but these lines are permitted to work their cruel mischief unchecked, and the writer of them is glorified as though he were a benefactor to mankind. i quote them here, from bitter memory, that i may not be deemed as exaggerating their nature-- "so when our souls look back to thee, they sicken, seeing against thy side, _too foul to speak of or to see_, the leprous likeness of a bride, whose kissing lips through his lips grown _leave their god rotten to the bone_. when we would see thee man, and know what heart thou had'st towards man indeed, lo, thy blood-blackened altars; lo, the lips of priests that pray and feed, _while their own hell's worm curls and licks the poison of the crucifix_. thou bad'st the children come to thee,-- _what children now but curses come_, what manhood in that god can be who sees their worship and is dumb?-- no soul that lived, loved, wrought, and died _is this, their carrion crucified!_ nay, if their god and thou be one if thou and _this thing_ be the same, thou should'st not look upon the sun, _the sun grows haggard at thy name!_ come down, be done with, cease, give o'er, hide thyself, strive not, _be no more!_" from the time of reading this, i used to think of christ as 'carrion crucified';--if i ever thought at all. i found out that no one had ever reproached swinburne for this term,--that it did not interfere with his chances for the laureateship,--and that not even a priest of the church had been bold-spoken or zealous enough in his master's cause to publicly resent the shameless outrage. so i concluded that swinburne must, after all, be right in his opinions, and i followed the lazy and unthinking course of social movement, spending my days with such literature as stored my brain with a complete knowledge of things evil and pernicious. whatever soul i had in me was killed; the freshness of my mind was gone,--swinburne, among others, had helped me to live mentally, if not physically, through such a phase of vice as had poisoned my thoughts for ever. i understand there is some vague law in existence about placing an interdiction on certain books considered injurious to public morals,--if there is such a rule, it has been curiously lax concerning the author of 'anactoria'--who, by virtue of being a poet, passes unquestioned into many a home, carrying impure suggestion into minds that were once cleanly and simple. as for me, after i had studied his verse to my heart's content, nothing remained sacred,--i judged men as beasts and women as little better,--i had no belief in honour, virtue or truth,--and i was absolutely indifferent to all things save one, and that was my resolve to have my own way as far as love was concerned. i might be forced to marry without love for purely money-considerations,--but all the same, love i would have, or what i called love;--not an 'ideal' passion by any means, but precisely what mr swinburne and a few of the most-praised novelists of the day had taught me to consider as love. i began to wonder when and how i should meet my lover,--such thoughts as i had at this time indeed would have made moralists stare and uplift their hands in horror,--but to the exterior world i was the very pink and pattern of maidenly decorum, reserve and pride. men desired, but feared me; for i never gave them any encouragement, seeing as yet none among them whom i deemed worthy of such love as i could give. the majority resembled carefully trained baboons,--respectably clothed and artistically shaven,--but nevertheless all with the spasmodic grin, the leering eye and the uncouth gestures of the hairy woodland monster. when i was just eighteen i 'came out' in earnest--that is, i was presented at court with all the foolish and farcical pomp practised on such occasions. i was told before going that it was a great and necessary thing to be 'presented,'--that it was a guarantee of position, and above all of reputation,--the queen received none whose conduct was not rigidly correct and virtuous. what humbug it all was!--i laughed then, and i can smile now to think of it,--why, the very woman who presented me had two illegitimate sons, unknown to her lawful husband, and she was not the only playful sinner in the court comedy! some women were there that day whom since even _i_ would not receive--so openly infamous are their lives and characters, yet they make their demure curtseys before the throne at stated times, and assume to be the very patterns of virtue and austerity. now and then, it chances in the case of an exceedingly beautiful woman, of whom all the others are jealous, that for her little slips she is selected as an 'example' and excluded from court, while her plainer sisters, though sinning seventy times seven against all the laws of decency and morality, are still received,--but otherwise, there is very little real care exercised as to the character and prestige of the women whom the queen receives. if any one of them _is_ refused, it is certain she adds to her social enormities, the greater crime of being beautiful, otherwise there would be no one to whisper away her reputation! i was what is called a 'success' on my presentation day. that is, i was stared at, and openly flattered by certain members of my sex who were too old and ugly to be jealous, and treated with insolent contempt by those who were young enough to be my rivals. there was a great crush to get into the throne-room; and some of the ladies used rather strong language. one duchess, just in front of me, said to her companion--'do as i do,--_kick out_! bruise their shins for them--as hard as you can,--we shall get on faster then!' this choice remark was accompanied by the grin of a fishwife and the stare of a drab. yet it was a 'great' lady who spoke,--not a transatlantic importation, but a woman of distinguished lineage and connection. her observation however was only one out of many similar speeches which i heard on all sides of me during the 'distinguished' mélée,--a thoroughly ill-mannered 'crush,' which struck me as supremely vulgar and totally unfitting the dignity of our sovereign's court. when i curtsied before the throne at last, and saw the majesty of the empire represented by a kindly faced old lady, looking very tired and bored, whose hand was as cold as ice when i kissed it, i was conscious of an intense feeling of pity for her in her high estate. who would be a monarch, to be doomed to the perpetual receiving of a company of fools! i got through my duties quickly, and returned home more or less wearied out and disgusted with the whole ceremony,--and next day i found that my 'debût' had given me the position of a 'leading beauty'; or in other words that i was now formally put up for sale. that is really what is meant by being 'presented' and 'coming out,'--these are the fancy terms of one's parental auctioneer. my life was now passed in dressing, having my photograph taken, giving 'sittings' to aspiring fashionable painters, and being 'inspected' by men with a view to matrimony. it was distinctly understood in society that i was not to be sold under a certain figure per annum,--and the price was too high for most would-be purchasers. how sick i grew of my constant exhibition in the marriage-market! what contempt and hatred was fostered in me for the mean and pitiable hypocrisies of my set! i was not long in discovering that money was the chief-motive power of all social success,--that the proudest and highest personages in the world could be easily gathered together under the roof of any vulgar plebeian who happened to have enough cash to feed and entertain them. as an example of this, i remember a woman, ugly, passée and squint-eyed, who during her father's life was only allowed about half-a-crown a week as pocket-money up to her fortieth year,--and who, when that father died, leaving her in possession of half his fortune, (the other half going to illegitimate children of whom she had never heard, he having always posed as a pattern of immaculate virtue) suddenly blossomed out as a 'leader' of fashion, and succeeded, through cautious scheming and ungrudging toadyism, in assembling some of the highest people in the land under her roof. ugly and passée though she was, and verging towards fifty, with neither grace, wit, nor intelligence, through the power of her cash alone she invited royal dukes and 'titles' generally to her dinners and dances,--and it is to their shame that they actually accepted her invitations. such voluntary degradations on the part of really well-connected people i have never been able to understand,--it is not as if they were actually in want of food or amusement, for they have a surfeit of both every season,--and it seems to me that they ought to show a better example than to flock in crowds to the entertainments of a mere uninteresting and ugly nobody just because she happens to have money. i never entered her house myself though she had the audacity to invite me,--i learned moreover, that she had promised a friend of mine a hundred guineas if she could persuade me to make one appearance in her rooms. for my renown as a 'beauty' combined with my pride and exclusiveness, would have given her parties a _prestige_ greater than even royalty could bestow,--_she_ knew that and _i_ knew that,--and knowing it, never condescended to so much as notice her by a bow. but though i took a certain satisfaction in thus revenging myself on the atrocious vulgarity of _parvenus_ and social interlopers, i grew intensely weary of the monotony and emptiness of what fashionable folks call 'amusement,' and presently falling ill of a nervous fever, i was sent down to the seaside for a few weeks' change of air with a young cousin of mine, a girl i rather liked because she was so different to myself. her name was eva maitland--she was but sixteen and extremely delicate--poor little soul! she died two months before my marriage. she and i, and a maid to attend us, went down to cromer,--and one day, sitting on the cliffs together, she asked me timidly if i knew an author named mavis clare? i told her no,--whereupon she handed me a book called 'the wings of psyche.' "do read it!" she said earnestly--"it will make you feel so happy!" i laughed. the idea of a modern author writing anything to make one feel happy, seemed to me quite ludicrous, the aim of most of them being to awaken a disgust of life, and a hatred of one's fellow-creatures. however, to please eva, i read the 'wings of psyche,'--and if it did not make me actually happy, it moved me to a great wonder and deep reverence for the woman-writer of such a book. i found out all about her,--that she was young, good-looking, of a noble character and unblemished reputation, and that her only enemies were the press-critics. this last point was so much in her favour with me that i at once bought everything she had ever written, and her works became, as it were, my haven of rest. her theories of life are strange, poetic, ideal and beautiful;--though i have not been able to accept them or work them out in my own case, i have always felt soothed and comforted for a while in the very act of wishing they were true. and the woman is like her books,--strange, poetic, ideal and beautiful,--how odd it is to think that she is within ten minutes walk of me now!--i could send for her if i liked, and tell her all,--but she would prevent me carrying out my resolve. she would cling to me woman-like and kiss me, and hold my hands and say 'no, sibyl, no! you are not yourself,--you must come to me and rest!' an odd fancy has seized me, ... i will open my window and call her very gently,--she might be in the garden coming here to see me,--and if she hears and answers, who knows!--why, perhaps my ideas may change, and fate itself may take a different course! * * * * * well, i have called her. i have sent her name 'mavis!' softly out on the sunshine and still air three times, and only a little brown namesake of hers, a thrush, swinging on a branch of fir, answered me with his low autumnal piping. mavis! she will not come,--to-day god will not make her his messenger. she cannot guess--she does not know this tragedy of my heart, greater and more poignant than all the tragedies of fiction. if she did know me as i am, i wonder what she would think of me! * * * * * let me go back to the time when love came to me,--love, ardent, passionate, and eternal! ah, what wild joy thrilled through me! what mad ecstasy fired my blood!--what delirious dreams possessed my brain!--i saw lucio,--and it seemed as if the splendid eyes of some great angel had flashed a glory in my soul! with him came his friend, the foil to his beauty,--the arrogant, self-satisfied fool of a millionaire, geoffrey tempest,--he who bought me, and who by virtue of his purchase, is entitled by law to call himself my husband ..." here i paused in my reading and looked up. the dead woman's eyes appeared now to regard me as steadily as herself in the opposite mirror,--the head was a little more dropped forward on the breast, and the whole face very nearly resembled that of the late countess of elton when the last shock of paralysis had rendered her hideous disfigurement complete. "to think i loved _that_!" i said aloud, pointing at the corpse's ghastly reflection--"fool that i was indeed!--as great a fool as all men are who barter their lives for the possession of a woman's mere body! why if there were any life after death,--if such a creature had a soul that at all resembled this poisoned clay, the very devils might turn away aghast from such a loathly comrade!" the candles flickered and the dead face seemed to smile,--a clock chimed in the adjoining room, but i did not count the hour,--i merely arranged the manuscript pages i held more methodically, and read on with renewed attention. xxxvi "from the moment i saw lucio rimânez"--went on sibyl's 'dying speech'--"i abandoned myself to love and the desire of love. i had heard of him before from my father who had (as i learned to my shame) been indebted to him for monetary assistance. on the very night we met, my father told me quite plainly that now was my chance to get 'settled' in life. 'marry rimânez or tempest, whichever you can most easily catch,' he said--'the prince is fabulously wealthy--but he keeps up a mystery about himself and no one knows where he actually comes from,--besides which he dislikes women;--now tempest has five millions and seems an easy-going fool,--i should say you had better go for tempest.' i made no answer and gave no promise either way. i soon found out however that lucio did not intend to marry,--and i concluded that he preferred to be the lover of many women, instead of the husband of one. i did not love him any the less for this,--i only resolved that i would at least be one of those who were happy enough to share his passion. i married the man tempest, feeling that like many women i knew, i should when safely wedded, have greater liberty of action,--i was aware that most modern men prefer an amour with a married woman to any other kind of _liaison_,--and i thought lucio would have readily yielded to the plan i had pre-conceived. but i was mistaken,--and out of this mistake comes all my perplexity, pain and bewilderment i cannot understand why my love,--beloved beyond all word or thought,--should scorn me and repulse me with such bitter loathing! it is such a common thing now-a-days for a married woman to have her own lover, apart from her husband _de convenance_! the writers of books advise it,--i have seen the custom not only excused but advocated over and over again in long and scientific articles that are openly published in leading magazines. why then should i be blamed or my desires considered criminal? as long as no public scandal is made, what harm is done? i cannot see it,--it is not as if there were a god to care,--the scientists say there is no god! * * * * * i was very startled just now. i thought i heard lucio's voice calling me. i have walked through the rooms looking everywhere, and i opened my door to listen, but there is no one. i am alone. i have told the servant not to disturb me till i ring; ... i shall never ring! now i come to think of it, it is singular that i have never known who lucio really is. a prince, he says--and that i can well believe,--though truly princes now-a-days are so plebeian and common in look and bearing that he seems too great to belong to so shabby a fraternity. from what kingdom does he come?--to what nation does he belong? these are questions which he never answers save equivocally. * * * * * i pause here, and look at myself in the mirror. how beautiful i am! i note with admiration the deep and dewy lustre of my eyes and their dark silky fringes,--i see the delicate colouring of my cheeks and lips,--the dear rounded chin with its pretty dimple,--the pure lines of my slim throat and snowy neck,--the glistening wealth of my long hair. all this was given to me for the attraction and luring of men, but my love, whom i love with all this living, breathing, exquisite being of mine, can see no beauty in me, and rejects me with such scorn as pierces my very soul. i have knelt to him,--i have prayed to him,--i have worshipped him,--in vain! hence it comes that i must die. only one thing he said that had the sound of hope, though the utterance was fierce, and his looks were cruel,--'patience!' he whispered--'we shall meet ere long!' what did he mean?--what possible meeting can there be now, when death must close the gate of life, and even love would come too late! * * * * * i have unlocked my jewel-case and taken from it the deadly thing secreted there,--a poison that was entrusted to me by one of the physicians who lately attended my mother. 'keep this under lock and key,' he said, 'and be sure that it is used only for external purposes. there is sufficient in this flask to kill ten men, if swallowed by mistake.' i look at it wonderingly. it is colourless,--and there is not enough to fill a teaspoon, ... yet ... it will bring down upon me an eternal darkness, and close up for ever the marvellous scenes of the universe! so little!--to do so much! i have fastened lucio's wedding-gift round my waist,--the beautiful snake of jewels that clings to me as though it were charged with an embrace from him,--ah! would i could cheat myself into so pleasing a fancy! ... i am trembling, but not with cold or fear,--it is simply an excitation of the nerves,----an instinctive recoil of flesh and blood at the near prospect of death.... how brilliantly the sun shines through my window!--its callous golden stare has watched so many tortured creatures die without so much as a cloud to dim its radiance by way of the suggestion of pity! if there were a god i fancy he would be like the sun,--glorious, changeless, unapproachable, beautiful, but pitiless! * * * * * out of all the various types of human beings i think i hate the class called poets most. i used to love them and believe in them; but i know them now to be mere weavers of lies,--builders of cloud castles in which no throbbing life can breathe, no weary heart find rest. love is their chief motive,--they either idealize or degrade it,--and of the love we women long for most, they have no conception. they can only sing of brute passion or ethical impossibilities,--of the mutual great sympathy, the ungrudging patient tenderness that should make love lovely, they have no sweet things to say. between their strained æstheticism and unbridled sensualism, my spirit has been stretched on the rack and broken on the wheel, ... i should think many a wretched woman wrecked among love's disillusions must curse them as i do! * * * * * i am ready now, i think. there is nothing more to say. i offer no excuses for myself. i am as i was made,--a proud and rebellious woman, self-willed and sensual, seeing no fault in free love, and no crime in conjugal infidelity,--and if i am vicious, i can honestly declare that my vices have been encouraged and fostered in me by most of the literary teachers of my time. i married, as most women of my set marry, merely for money,--i loved, as most women of my set love, for mere bodily attraction,--i die, as most women of my set will die, either naturally or self-slain, in utter atheism, rejoicing that there is no god and no hereafter! * * * * * i had the poison in my hand a moment ago, ready to take, when i suddenly felt someone approaching me stealthily from behind, and glancing up quickly at the mirror i saw ... my mother! her face, hideous and ghastly as it had been in her last illness, was reflected in the glass, peering over my shoulder! i sprang up and confronted her,----she was gone! and now i am shivering with cold, and i feel a chill dampness on my forehead,--mechanically i have soaked a handkerchief with perfume from one of the silver bottles on the dressing table, and have passed it across my temples to help me recover from this sick swooning sensation. to _recover_!--how foolish of me, seeing i am about to die. i do not believe in ghosts,--yet i could have sworn my mother was actually present just now,--of course it was an optical delusion of my own feverish brain. the strong scent on my handkerchief reminds me of paris--i can see the shop where i bought this particular perfume, and the well-dressed doll of a man who served me, with his little waxed moustache, and his indefinable french manner of conveying a speechless personal compliment while making out a bill.... laughing at this recollection, i see my face radiate in the glass,--my eyes flash into vivid lustre, and the dimples near my lips come and go, giving my expression an enchanting sweetness. yet in a few hours this loveliness will be destroyed,--and in a few days, the worms will twine where the smile is now! * * * * * an idea has come upon me that perhaps i ought to say a prayer. it would be hypocritical,--but conventional. to die fashionably, one ought to concede a few words to the church. and yet ... to kneel down with clasped hands and tell an inactive, unsympathetic, selfish, paid community called the church, that i am going to kill myself for the sake of love and love's despair, and that therefore i humbly implore its forgiveness for the act seems absurd,--as absurd as to tell the same thing to a non-existent deity. i suppose the scientists do not think what a strange predicament their advanced theories put the human mind in at the hour of death. they forget that on the brink of the grave, thoughts come that will not be gainsaid, and that cannot be appeased by a learned thesis.... however i will not pray,--it would seem to myself cowardly that i who have never said my prayers since i was a child, should run over them now in a foolish babbling attempt to satisfy the powers invisible,--i could not, out of sheer association, appeal to mr swinburne's 'crucified carrion'! besides i do not believe in the powers invisible at all,--i feel that once outside this life, 'the rest' as hamlet said 'is silence.' * * * * * i have been staring dreamily and in a sort of stupefaction at the little poison-flask in my hand. _it is quite empty now._ i have swallowed every drop of the liquid it contained,--i took it quickly and determinately as one takes nauseous medicine, without allowing myself another moment of time for thought or hesitation. it tasted acrid and burning on my tongue,--but at present i am not conscious of any strange or painful result. i shall watch my face in the mirror and trace the oncoming of death,--this will be at any rate a new sensation not without interest! * * * * * my mother is here,--here with me in this room! she is moving about restlessly, making wild gestures with her hands and trying to speak. she looks as she did when she was dying,--only more alive, more sentient. i have followed her up and down, but am unable to touch her,--she eludes my grasp. i have called her 'mother! mother!' but no sound issues from her white lips. her face is so appalling that i was seized with a convulsion of terror a moment ago and fell on my knees before her imploring her to leave me,--and then she paused in her gliding to and fro and--smiled! what a hideous smile it was! i think i lost consciousness, ... for i found myself lying on the ground. a sharp and terrible pain running through me made me spring to my feet, ... and i bit my lips till they bled, lest i should scream aloud with the agony i suffered and so alarm the house. when the paroxysm passed i saw my mother standing quite near to me, dumbly watching me with a strange expression of wonder and remorse. i tottered past her and back to this chair where i now sit,----i am calmer now, and i am able to realize that she is only the phantom of my own brain--that i _fancy_ she is here while _knowing_ she is dead. * * * * * torture indescribable has made of me a writhing, moaning, helpless creature for the past few minutes. truly that drug was deadly;--the pain is horrible ... horrible! ... it has left me quivering in every limb and palpitating in every nerve. looking at my face in the glass i see that it has already altered. it is drawn and livid,--all the fresh rose-tint of my lips has gone,--my eyes protrude unnaturally, ... there are dull blue marks at the corners of my mouth and in the hollows of my temples, and i observe a curious quick pulsation in the veins of my throat. be my torment what it will, now there is no remedy,--and i am resolved to sit here and study my own features to the end. 'the reaper whose name is death' must surely be near, ready to gather my long hair in his skeleton hand like a sheaf of ripe corn, ... my poor beautiful hair!--how i have loved its glistening ripples, and brushed it, and twined it round my fingers, ... and how soon it will lie like a dank weed in the mould! * * * * * a devouring fire is in my brain and body,--i am burning with heat and parched with thirst,--i have drunk deep draughts of cold water, but this has not relieved me. the sun glares in upon me like an open furnace,--i have tried to rise and close the blind against it, but find i have no force to stand upright. the strong radiance blinds me:--the silver toilet boxes on my table glitter like so many points of swords. it is by a powerful effort of will that i am able to continue writing,--my head is swimming round,--and there is a choking sensation in my throat. * * * * * a moment since i thought i was dying. torn asunder as it were by the most torturing pangs, i could have screamed for help,--and would have done so, had voice been left me. but i cannot speak above a whisper,--i mutter my own name to myself 'sibyl! sibyl!' and can scarcely hear it. my mother stands beside me,--apparently waiting;--a little while ago i thought i heard her say 'come, sibyl! come to your chosen lover!' now i am conscious of a great silence everywhere,--a numbness has fallen upon me, and a delicious respite from pain,--but i see my face in the glass and know it is the face of the dead. it will soon be all over,--a few more uneasy breathings,--and i shall be at rest. i am glad,--for the world and i were never good friends;--i am sure that if we could know, before we were born, what life really is, we should never take the trouble to live! * * * * * a horrible fear has suddenly beset me. what if death were not what the scientists deem it,--suppose it were another form of life? can it be that i am losing reason and courage together? ... or what is this terrible misgiving that is taking possession of me? ... i begin to falter ... a strange sense of horror is creeping over me ... i have no more physical pain, but something worse than pain oppresses me ... a feeling that i cannot define. i am dying ... dying!--i repeat this to myself for comfort, ... in a little while i shall be deaf and blind and unconscious, ... why then is the silence around me now broken through by sound? i listen,--and i hear distinctly the clamour of wild voices mingled with a sullen jar and roll as of distant thunder! ... my mother stands closer to me, ... she is stretching out her hand to touch mine! * * * * * oh god! ... let me write--write--while i can! let me yet hold fast the thread which fastens me to earth,--give me time--time before i drift out, lost in yonder blackness and flame! let me write for others the awful truth, as i see it,--there is no death! none--none!--_i cannot die._ i am passing out of my body,--i am being wrenched away from it inch by inch in inexplicable mystic torture,--but i am not dying,--i am being carried forward into a new life, vague and vast! ... i see a new world full of dark forms, half shaped yet shapeless!--they float towards me, beckoning me on. i am actively conscious--i hear, i think, i know! death is a mere human dream,--a comforting fancy; it has no real existence,--there is nothing in the universe but life! o hideous misery!--_i cannot die!_ in my mortal body i can scarcely breathe,--the pen i try to hold writes of itself rather than through my shaking hand,--but these pangs are the throes of birth--not death! ... i hold back,--with all the force of my soul i strive not to plunge into that black abyss i see before me--but--_my mother drags me with her_,--i cannot shake her off! i hear her voice now;--she speaks distinctly, and laughs as though she wept; 'come sibyl! soul of the child i bore, come and meet your lover! come and see upon whom you fixed your faith! soul of the woman i trained, return to that from whence you came!' still i hold back,--nude and trembling i stare into a dark void--and now there are wings about me,--wings of fiery scarlet!--they fill the space,--they enfold me,--they propel me,--they rush past and whirl around me, stinging me as with flying arrows and showers of hail! * * * * * let me write on,--write on, with this dead fleshly hand, ... one moment more time, dread god! ... one moment more to write the truth,--the terrible truth of death whose darkest secret, life, is unknown to men! i live!--a new, strong, impetuous vitality possesses me, though my mortal body is nearly dead. faint gasps and weak shudderings affect it still,--and i, outside it and no longer of it, propel its perishing hand to write these final words--_i live!_ to my despair and horror,--to my remorse and agony, i live!--oh the unspeakable misery of this new life! and worst of all,--god whom i doubted, god whom i was taught to deny, this wronged, blasphemed, and outraged god exists! and i could have found him had i chosen,--this knowledge is forced upon me as i am torn from hence,--it is shouted at me by a thousand wailing voices! ... too late!--too late!--the scarlet wings beat me downward,--these strange half-shapeless forms close round and drive me onward ... to a further darkness, ... amid wind and fire! * * * * * serve me, dead hand, once more ere i depart, ... my tortured spirit must seize and compel you to write down this thing unnameable, that earthly eyes may read, and earthly souls take timely warning! ... i know at last whom i have loved!--whom i have chosen, whom i have worshipped! ... oh god, have mercy! ... i know who claims my worship now, and drags me into yonder rolling world of flame! ... his name is ........" here the manuscript ended,--incomplete and broken off abruptly,--and there was a blot on the last sentence as though the pen had been violently wrenched from the dying fingers and hastily flung down. the clock in the west room again chimed the hour. i rose stiffly from my chair, trembling,--my self-possession was giving way, and i began to feel at last unnerved. i looked askance at my dead wife,--she, who with a superhuman dying effort had declared herself to be yet alive,--who, in some imaginable strange way had seemingly written _after_ death, in a frantic desire to make some appalling declaration which nevertheless remained undeclared. the rigid figure of the corpse had now real terrors for me,--i dared not touch it,--i scarcely dared look at it, ... in some dim inscrutable fashion i felt as if "scarlet wings" environed it, beating me down, yet pressing me on,--me too, in my turn! with the manuscript gathered close in my hand, i bent nervously forward to blow out the wax lights on the toilet table, ... i saw on the floor the handkerchief odorous with the french perfume the dead woman had written of,--i picked it up and placed it near her where she sat, grinning hideously at her own mirrored ghastliness. the flash of the jewelled serpent round her waist caught my eyes anew as i did this, and i stared for a moment at its green glitter, dumbly fascinated,--then, moving stealthily, with the cold sweat pouring down my back and every pulse in me rendered feeble by sheer horror, i turned to leave the room. as i reached the portiére and lifted it, some instinct made me look back at the dread picture of the leading "society" beauty sitting stark and livid pale before her own stark and livid-pale image in the glass,--what a "fashion-plate" she would make now, i thought, for a frivolous and hypocritical "ladies' paper!" "you say you are not dead, sibyl!" i muttered aloud--"not dead, but living! then, if you are alive, where are you, sibyl?----where are you?" the heavy silence seemed fraught with fearful meaning,--the light of the electric lamps on the corpse and on the shimmering silk garment wrapped round it appeared unearthly,--and the perfume in the room had a grave-like earthy smell. a panic seized me, and dragging frantically at the portiére till all its velvet folds were drawn thickly together, i made haste to shut out from my sight the horrible figure of the woman whose bodily fairness i had loved in the customary way of sensual men,--and left her without so much as a pardoning or pitying kiss of farewell on the cold brow. for, ... after all i had myself to think of, ... and she was dead! xxxvii i pass over all the details of polite "shock," affected sorrow, and feigned sympathy of society at my wife's sudden death. no one was really grieved about it,--men raised their eyebrows, shrugged their shoulders, lit extra cigarettes and dismissed the subject as too unpleasant and depressing to dwell upon,--women were glad of the removal of a too beautiful and too much admired rival, and the majority of fashionable folk delighted in having something "thrilling" to talk about in the tragic circumstances of her end. as a rule, people are seldom or never unselfish enough to be honestly sorry for the evanishment of some leading or brilliant figure from their midst,--the vacancy leaves room for the pushing in of smaller fry. be sure that if you are unhappily celebrated for either beauty, wit, intellect, or all three together, half society wishes you dead already, and the other half tries to make you as wretched as possible while you are alive. to be missed at all when you die, some one must love you very deeply and unselfishly; and deep unselfish love is rarer to find among mortals than a pearl in a dust-bin. thanks to my abundance of cash, everything concerning sibyl's suicide was admirably managed. in consideration of her social position as an earl's daughter, two doctors certified (on my paying them very handsome fees) that hers was a 'death by misadventure,'--namely, through taking an accidental overdose of a powerful sleeping draught. it was the best report to make,--and the most respectable. it gave the penny press an opportunity of moralizing on the dangers that lurked in sleeping draughts generally,--and tom, dick, and harry all wrote letters to their favorite periodicals (signing their names in full) giving _their_ opinions as to the nature of sleeping draughts, so that for a week at least the ordinary dullness of the newspapers was quite enlivened by ungrammatical _gratis_ 'copy.' the conventionalities of law, decency and order were throughout scrupulously observed and complied with,--everybody was paid (which was the chief thing), and everybody was, i believe, satisfied with what they managed to make out of the death-payment. the funeral gave joy to the souls of all undertakers,--it was so expensive and impressive. the florist's trade gained something of an impetus by the innumerable orders received for wreaths and crosses made of the costliest flowers. when the coffin was carried to the grave, it could not be seen for the load of blossoms that covered it. and amid all the cards and 'loving tokens' and 'farewell dearests' and 'not-lost-but-gone-befores'--that ticketed the white masses of lilies, gardenias and roses which were supposed to symbolize the innocence and sweetness of the poisoned corpse they were sent to adorn, there was not one honest regret,--not one unfeigned expression of true sorrow. lord elton made a sufficiently striking figure of dignified parental woe, but on the whole i think he was not sorry for his daughter's death, since the only opposing obstacle to his marriage with diana chesney was now removed. i fancy diana herself was sorry, so far as such a frivolous little american could be sorry for anything,--perhaps, however it would be more correct to say that she was frightened. sibyl's sudden end startled and troubled her,--but i am not sure that it grieved her. there is such a difference between unselfish grief, and the mere sense of nervous personal shock! miss charlotte fitzroy took the news of her niece's death with that admirable fortitude which frequently characterizes religious spinsters of a certain age. she put by her knitting,--said 'god's will be done!' and sent for her favorite clergyman. he came, stayed with her some hours drinking strong tea,--and the next morning at church administered to her communion. this done, miss fitzroy went on the blameless and even tenor of her way, wearing the same virtuously distressed expression as usual, and showed no further sign of feeling. i, as the afflicted millionaire-husband, was no doubt the most interesting figure on the scene; i was, i know very well got up, thanks to my tailor, and to the affectionate care of the chief undertaker who handed me my black gloves on the day of the funeral with servile solicitude, but in my heart i felt myself to be a far better actor than henry irving, and if only for my admirable mimicry of heart-break, more fully worthy of the accolade. lucio did not attend the obsequies,--he wrote me a brief note of sympathy from town, and hinted that he was sure i could understand his reasons for not being present. i did understand, of course,--and appreciated his respect, as i thought, for me and my feelings,--yet strange and incongruous as it may seem, i never longed so much for his company as i did then! however,--we had a glorious burial of my fair and false lady,--prancing horses drew coroneted carriages in a long defile down the pretty warwickshire lanes to the grey old church, picturesque and peaceful, where the clergyman and his assistants in newly-washed surplices, met the flower-laden coffin, and with the usual conventional mumblings, consigned it to the dust. there were even press-reporters present, who not only described the scene as it did _not_ happen, but who also sent fancy sketches, to their respective journals, of the church as it did _not_ exist. i mention this simply to show how thoroughly all "proper forms" were carried out and conceded to. after the ceremony all we "mourners" went back to willowsmere to luncheon, and i well remember that lord elton told me a new and _risqué_ joke over a glass of port before the meal was finished. the undertakers had a sort of festive banquet in the servants' hall,--and taking everything into due consideration, my wife's death gave a great deal of pleasure to many people, and put useful money into several ready pockets. she had left no blank in society that could not be easily filled up,--she was merely one butterfly out of thousands, more daintily coloured perhaps and more restless in flight,--but never judged as more than up to the butterfly standard. i said no one gave her an honest regret, but i was wrong. mavis clare was genuinely, almost passionately grieved. she sent no flowers for the coffin, but she came to the funeral by herself, and stood a little apart waiting silently till the grave was covered in,--and then, just as the "fashionable" train of mourners were leaving the churchyard, she advanced and placed a white cross of her own garden-lilies upon the newly-turned brown mould. i noticed her action, and determined that before i left willowsmere for the east with lucio (for my journey had only been postponed a week or two on account of sibyl's death) she should know all. the day came when i carried out this resolve. it was a rainy and chill afternoon, and i found mavis in her study, sitting beside a bright log fire with her small terrier in her lap and her faithful st bernard stretched at her feet. she was absorbed in a book,--and over her watched the marble pallas inflexible and austere. as i entered she rose, and putting down the volume and her pet dog together, she advanced to meet me with an intense sympathy in her clear eyes, and a wordless pity in the tremulous lines of her sweet mouth. it was charming to see how sorry she felt for me,--and it was odd that i could not feel sorry for myself. after a few words of embarrassed greeting i sat down and watched her silently, while she arranged the logs in the fire to make them burn brighter, and for the moment avoided my gaze. "i suppose you know,"--i began with harsh abruptness--"that the sleeping-draught story is a polite fiction? you know that my wife poisoned herself intentionally?" mavis looked at me with a troubled and compassionate expression. "i feared it was so--" ... she began nervously. "oh there is nothing either to fear or to hope"--i said with some violence--"_she did it._ and can you guess why she did it? because she was mad with her own wickedness and sensuality,--because she loved with a guilty love, my friend lucio rimânez." mavis gave a little cry as of pain, and sat down white and trembling. "you can read quickly, i am sure,"--i went on. "part of the profession of literature is the ability to skim books and manuscripts rapidly, and grasp the whole gist of them in a few minutes;--read _this_--" and i handed her the rolled-up pages of sibyl's dying declaration--"let me stay here, while you learn from that what sort of a woman she was, and judge whether, despite her beauty, she is worth a regret!" "pardon me,--" said mavis gently--"i would rather not read what was not meant for my eyes." "but it _is_ meant for your eyes,"--i retorted impatiently--"it is meant for everybody's eyes apparently,--it is addressed to nobody in particular. there is a mention of you in it. i beg--nay i command you to read it!--i want your opinion on it,--your advice; you may possibly suggest, after perusal, the proper sort of epitaph i ought to inscribe on the monument i am going to build to her sacred and dear memory!" i covered my face with one hand to hide the bitter smile which i knew betrayed my thoughts, and pushed the manuscript towards her. very reluctantly she took it,--and slowly unrolling it, began to read. for several minutes there was a silence, broken only by the crackling of the logs on the fire, and the regular breathing of the dogs who now both lay stretched comfortably in front of the wood blaze. i looked covertly at the woman whose fame i had envied,--at the slight figure, the coronal of soft hair,--the delicate, drooping sensitive face,--the small white classic hand that held the written sheets of paper so firmly, yet so tenderly,--the very hand of the greek marble psyche;--and i thought what short-sighted asses some literary men are who suppose they can succeed in shutting out women like mavis clare from winning everything that fame or fortune can offer. such a head as hers, albeit covered with locks fair and caressable, was not meant, in its fine shape and compactness, for submission to inferior intelligences whether masculine or feminine,--that determined little chin which the firelight delicately outlined, was a visible declaration of the strength of will and the indomitably high ambition of its owner,--and yet, ... the soft eyes,--the tender mouth,--did not these suggest the sweetest love, the purest passion that ever found place in a woman's heart? i lost myself in dreamy musing,--i thought of many things that had little to do with either my own past or present. i realized that now and then at rare intervals god makes a woman of genius with a thinker's brain and an angel's soul,--and that such an one is bound to be a destiny to all mortals less divinely endowed, and a glory to the world in which she dwells. so considering, i studied mavis clare's face and form,--i saw her eyes fill with tears as she read on;--why should she weep, i wondered, over that 'last document' which had left me unmoved and callous? i was startled almost as if from sleep when her voice, thrilling with pain, disturbed the stillness,--she sprang up, gazing at me as if she saw some horrible vision. "oh, are you so blind," she cried, "as not to see what this means? can you not understand? do you not know your worst enemy?" "my worst enemy?" i echoed amazed--"you surprise me, mavis,--what have i, or my enemies or friends to do with my wife's last confession? she raved,--between poison and passion, she could not tell, as you see by her final words, whether she was dead or alive,--and her writing at all under such stress of circumstances was a phenomenal effort,--but it has nothing to do with me personally." "for god's sake do not be so hard-hearted!"--said mavis passionately--"to me these last words of sibyl's,--poor, tortured, miserable girl!--are beyond all expression horrible and appalling. do you mean to tell me you have no belief in a future life?" "none." i answered with conviction. "then this is nothing to you?--this solemn assurance of hers that she is not dead, but living again,--living too, in indescribable misery!--you do not believe it?" "does anyone believe the ravings of the dying!" i answered--"she was, as i have said, suffering the torments of poison and passion,--and in those torments wrote as one tormented...." "is it impossible to convince you of the truth?" asked mavis solemnly,--"are you so diseased in your spiritual perceptions as not to _know_, beyond a doubt, that this world is but the shadow of the other worlds awaiting us? i assure you, as i live, you will have that terrible knowledge forced upon you some day! i am aware of your theories,--your wife had the same beliefs or rather non-beliefs as yourself,--yet _she_ has been convinced at last! i shall not attempt to argue with you. if this last letter of the unhappy girl you wedded cannot open your eyes to the eternal facts you choose to ignore, nothing will ever help you. you are in the power of your enemy!" "of whom are you speaking, mavis?" i asked astonished, observing that she stood like one suddenly appalled in a dream, her eyes fixed musingly on vacancy, and her lips trembling apart. "your enemy--your enemy!" she repeated with energy--"it seems to me as if his shadow stood near you now! listen to this voice from the dead--sibyl's voice!----what does she say?----'_oh god, have mercy!----i know who claims my worship now and drags me into yonder rolling world of flame ... his name is--_'" ... "well!" i interrupted eagerly----"she breaks off there; his name is----" "lucio rimânez!" said mavis in a thrilling tone--"i do not know from whence he came,--but i take god to witness my belief that he is a worker of evil,--a fiend in beautiful human shape,--a destroyer and a corrupter! the curse of him fell on sibyl the moment she met him,--the same curse rests on you! leave him if you are wise,--take your chance of escape while it remains to you,--and never let him see your face again!" she spoke with a kind of breathless haste as though impelled by a force not her own,--i stared at her amazed, and in a manner irritated. "such a course of action would be impossible to me, mavis,"--i said somewhat coldly--"the prince rimânez is my best friend--no man ever had a better;--and his loyalty to me has been put to a severe test under which most men would have failed. i have not told you all." and i related in a few words the scene i had witnessed between my wife and lucio in the music-gallery at willowsmere. she listened,--but with an evident effort,--and pushing back her clustering hair from her brows she sighed heavily. "i am sorry,--but it does not alter my conviction!"--she said--"i look upon your best friend as your worst foe. and i feel you do not realize the awful calamity of your wife's death in its true aspect. will you forgive me if i ask you to leave me now?----lady sibyl's letter has affected me terribly--i feel i cannot speak about it any more.... i wish i had not read it...." she broke off with a little half-suppressed sob,--i saw she was unnerved, and taking the manuscript from her hand, i said half-banteringly-- "you cannot then suggest an epitaph for my wife's monument?" she turned upon me with a grand gesture of reproach. "yes i can!"--she replied in a low indignant voice--"inscribe it as--'from a pitiless hand to a broken heart!' that will suit the dead girl,--and you, the living man!" her rustling gown swept across my feet,--she passed me and was gone. stupefied by her sudden anger, and equally sudden departure, i stood inert,--the st bernard rose from the hearth-rug and glowered at me suspiciously, evidently wishing me to take my leave,--pallas athene stared, as usual, through me and beyond me in a boundless scorn,--all the various objects in this quiet study seemed silently to eject me as an undesired occupant. i looked round it once longingly as a tired outcast may look on a peaceful garden and wish in vain to enter. "how like her sex she is after all!" i said half aloud--"she blames _me_ for being pitiless,--and forgets that sibyl was the sinner,--not i! no matter how guilty a woman may be, she generally manages to secure a certain amount of sympathy,--a man is always left out in the cold." a shuddering sense of loneliness oppressed me as my eyes wandered round the restful room. the odour of lilies was in the air, exhaled, so i fancied, from the delicate and dainty personality of mavis herself. "if i had only known her first,--and loved her!" i murmured, as i turned away at last and left the house. but then i remembered i had hated her before i ever met her,--and not only had i hated her, but i had vilified and misrepresented her work with a scurrilous pen under the shield of anonymity, and out of sheer malice,--thus giving her in the public sight, the greatest proof of her own genius a gifted woman can ever win,--man's envy! xxxviii two weeks later i stood on the deck of lucio's yacht 'the flame,'--a vessel whose complete magnificence filled me, as well as all other beholders, with bewildered wonderment and admiration. she was a miracle of speed, her motive power being electricity; and the electric engines with which she was fitted were so complex and remarkable as to baffle all would-be inquirers into the secret of their mechanism and potency. a large crowd of spectators gathered to see her as she lay off southampton, attracted by the beauty of her shape and appearance,--some bolder spirits even came out in tugs and row-boats, hoping to be allowed to make a visit of inspection on board, but the sailors, powerfully-built men of a foreign and somewhat unpleasing type, soon intimated that the company of such inquisitive persons was undesirable and unwelcome. with white sails spread, and a crimson flag flying from her mast, she weighed anchor at sunset on the afternoon of the day her owner and i joined her, and moving through the waters with delicious noiselessness and incredible rapidity, soon left far behind her the english shore, looking like a white line in the mist, or the pale vision of a land that might once have been. i had done a few quixotic things before departing from my native country,--for example, i had made a free gift of his former home willowsmere, to lord elton, taking a sort of sullen pleasure in thinking that he, the spendthrift nobleman, owed the restoration of his property to _me_,--to me who had never been either a successful linen-draper or furniture-man, but simply an author, one of 'those sort of people' whom my lord and my lady imagine they can 'patronize' and neglect again at pleasure without danger to themselves. the arrogant fools invariably forget what lasting vengeance can be taken for an unmerited slight by the owner of a brilliant pen! i was glad too, in a way, to realize that the daughter of the american railway-king would be brought to the grand old house to air her 'countess-ship,' and look at her prettily pert little physiognomy in the very mirror where sibyl had watched herself die. i do not know why this idea pleased me, for i bore no grudge against diana chesney,--she was vulgar but harmless, and would probably make a much more popular châtelaine at willowsmere court than my wife had ever been. among other things, i dismissed my man morris, and made him miserable,--with the gift of a thousand pounds, to marry and start a business on. he was miserable because he could not make up his mind what business to adopt, his anxiety being to choose the calling that would 'pay' best,--and also, because though he 'had his eye' upon several young women, he could not tell which among them would be likely to be least extravagant, and the most serviceable as a cook and housekeeper. the love of money and the pains of taking care of it, embittered his days as it embitters the days of most men, and my unexpected munificence towards him burdened him with such a weight of trouble as robbed him of natural sleep and appetite. i cared nothing for his perplexities however, and gave him no advice, good or bad. my other servants i dismissed, each with a considerable gift of money, not that i particularly wished to benefit _them_, but simply because i desired them to speak well of _me_. and in this world it is very evident that the only way to get a good opinion is to pay for it! i gave orders to a famous italian sculptor for sibyl's monument, english sculptors having no conception of sculpture,--it was to be of exquisite design, wrought in purest white marble, the chief adornment being the centre-figure of an angel ready for flight, with the face of sibyl faithfully copied from her picture. because, however devilish a woman may be in her life-time, one is bound by all the laws of social hypocrisy to make an angel of her as soon as she is dead! just before i left london i heard that my old college-friend 'boffles,' john carrington, had met with a sudden end. busy at the 'retorting' of his gold, he had been choked by the mercurial fumes and had died in hideous torment. at one time this news would have deeply affected me, but now, i was scarcely sorry. i had heard nothing of him since i had come into my fortune,--he had never even written to congratulate me. always full of my own self-importance, i judged this as great neglect on his part, and now that he was dead i felt no more than any of us feel now-a-days at the loss of friends. and that is very little,--we have really no time to be sorry,--so many people are always dying!--and we are in such a desperate hurry to rush on to death ourselves! nothing seemed to touch me that did not closely concern my own personal interest,--and i had no affections left, unless i may call the vague tenderness i had for mavis clare an affection. yet, to be honest, this very emotion was after all nothing but a desire to be consoled, pitied and loved by her,--to be able to turn upon the world and say "this woman whom you have lifted on your shield of honour and crowned with laurels,--she loves _me_--she is not yours, but _mine_!" purely interested and purely selfish was the longing,--and it deserved no other name than selfishness. my feelings for rimânez too began at this time to undergo a curious change. the fascination i had for him, the power he exercised over me remained as great as ever, but i found myself often absorbed in a close study of him, strangely against my own will. sometimes his every look seemed fraught with meaning,--his every gesture suggestive of an almost terrific authority. he was always to me the most attractive of beings,--nevertheless there was an uneasy sensation of doubt and fear growing up in my mind regarding him,--a painful anxiety to know more about him than he had ever told me,--and on rare occasions i experienced a sudden shock of inexplicable repulsion against him which like a tremendous wave threw me back with violence upon myself and left me half-stunned with a dread of i knew not what. alone with him, as it were, on the wide sea, cut off for a time from all other intercourse than that which we shared together, these sensations were very strong upon me. i began to note many things which i had been too blind or too absorbed in my own pursuits to observe before; the offensive presence of amiel, who acted as chief steward on board the yacht, filled me now not only with dislike, but nervous apprehension,--the dark and more or less repulsive visages of the crew haunted me in my dreams;--and one day, leaning over the vessel's edge and gazing blankly down into the fathomless water below, i fell to thinking of strange sorceries of the east, and stories of magicians who by the exercise of unlawful science did so make victims of men and delude them that their wills were entirely perverted and no longer their own. i do not know why this passing thought should have suddenly overwhelmed me with deep depression,--but when i looked up, to me the sky had grown dark, and the face of one of the sailors who was near me polishing the brass hand-rail, seemed singularly threatening and sinister. i moved to go to the other side of the deck, when a hand was gently laid on my shoulder from behind, and turning, i met the sad and splendid eyes of lucio. "are you growing weary of the voyage geoffrey?" he asked--"weary of those two suggestions of eternity--the interminable sky, the interminable sea? i am afraid you are!--man easily gets fatigued with his own littleness and powerlessness when he is set afloat on a plank between air and ocean. yet we are travelling as swiftly as electricity will bear us,--and, as worked in this vessel, it is carrying us at a far greater speed than you perhaps realize or imagine." i made no immediate answer, but taking his arm strolled slowly up and down. i felt he was looking at me, but i avoided meeting his gaze. "you have been thinking of your wife?" he queried softly and, as i thought, sympathetically--"i have shunned,--for reasons you know of,--all allusion to the tragic end of so beautiful a creature. beauty is, alas!--so often subject to hysteria! yet--if you had any faith, you would believe she is an angel now!" i stopped short at this, and looked straight at him. there was a fine smile on his delicate mouth. "an angel!" i repeated slowly--"or a devil? which would you say she is?--you, who sometimes declare that you believe in heaven,--and hell?" he was silent, but the dreamy smile remained still on his lips. "come, speak!" i said roughly--"you can be frank with me, you know,--angel or devil--which?" "my dear geoffrey!" he remonstrated gently and with gravity--"a woman is always an angel,--both here and hereafter!" i laughed bitterly. "if that is part of your faith i am sorry for you!" "i have not spoken of my faith,"--he rejoined in colder accents, lifting his brilliant eyes to the darkening heaven--"i am not a salvationist, that i should bray forth a creed to the sound of trump and drum." "all the same, you _have_ a creed;"--i persisted--"and i fancy it must be a strange one! if you remember, you promised to explain it to me----" "are you ready to receive such an explanation?" he asked in a somewhat ironical tone--"no, my dear friend!--permit me to say you are _not_ ready--not yet! my beliefs are too positive to be brought even into contact with your contradictions,--too frightfully real to submit to your doubts for a moment. you would at once begin to revert to the puny, used-up old arguments of voltaire, schopenhauer and huxley,--little atomic theories like grains of dust in the whirlwind of my knowledge! i can tell you i believe in god as a very actual and positive being,--and that is presumably the first of the church articles." "you believe in god!" i echoed his words, staring at him stupidly. he seemed in earnest. in fact he had always seemed in earnest on the subject of deity. vaguely i thought of a woman in society whom i slightly knew,--an ugly woman, unattractive and mean-minded, who passed her time in entertaining semi-royalties and pushing herself amongst them,--she had said to me one day--[ ] "i hate people who believe in god, don't you? the idea of a god makes me _sick_!" "you believe in god!" i repeated again dubiously. "look!" he said, raising his hand towards the sky--"there a few drifting clouds cover millions of worlds, impenetrable, mysterious, yet _actual_;--down there--" and he pointed to the sea, "lurk a thousand things of which, though the ocean is a part of earth, human beings have not yet learned the nature. between these upper and lower spaces of the incomprehensible yet absolute, you, a finite atom of limited capabilities stand, uncertain how long the frail thread of your life shall last, yet arrogantly balancing the question with your own poor brain, as to whether you,--_you_ in your utter littleness and incompetency shall condescend to accept a god or not! i confess, that of all astonishing things in the universe, this particular attitude of modern mankind is the most astonishing to me!" "your own attitude is?----" "the reluctant acceptance of such terrific knowledge as is forced upon me,--" he replied with a dark smile--"i do not say i have been an apt or a willing pupil,--i have had to suffer in learning what i know!" "do you believe in hell?" i asked him suddenly--"and in satan, the arch-enemy of mankind?" he was silent for so long that i was surprised, the more so as he grew pale to the lips, and a curious, almost deathlike rigidity of feature gave his expression something of the ghastly and terrible. after a pause he turned his eyes upon me,--an intense burning misery was reflected in them, though he smiled. "most assuredly i believe in hell! how can i do otherwise if i believe in heaven? if there is an up there must be a down; if there is light, there must also be darkness! and, ... concerning the arch-enemy of mankind,--if half the stories reported of him be true, he must be the most piteous and pitiable figure in the universe! what would be the sorrows of a thousand million worlds, compared to the sorrows of satan!" "sorrows!" i echoed--"he is supposed to rejoice in the working of evil!" "neither angel nor devil can do that,"--he said slowly--"to rejoice in the working of evil is a temporary mania which affects man only. for actual joy to come out of evil, chaos must come again, and god must extinguish himself." he stared across the dark sea,--the sun had sunk, and one faint star twinkled through the clouds. "and so i again say--the sorrows of satan! sorrows immeasurable as eternity itself,--imagine them! to be shut out of heaven!--to hear all through the unending æons, the far-off voices of angels whom once he knew and loved!--to be a wanderer among deserts of darkness, and to pine for the light celestial that was formerly as air and food to his being,--and to know that man's folly, man's utter selfishness, man's cruelty, keep him thus exiled, an outcast from pardon and peace! man's nobleness may lift the lost spirit almost within reach of his lost joys,--but man's vileness drags him down again,--easy was the torture of sisyphus compared with the torture of satan! no wonder that he loathes mankind!--small blame to him if he seeks to destroy the puny tribe eternally,--little marvel that he grudges them their share of immortality! think of it as a legend merely,"--and he turned upon me with a movement that was almost fierce--"christ redeemed man,--and by his teaching, showed how it was possible for man to redeem the devil!" "i do not understand you--" i said feebly, awed by the strange pain and passion of his tone. "do you not? yet my meaning is scarcely obscure! if men were true to their immortal instincts and to the god that made them,--if they were generous, honest, fearless, faithful, reverent, unselfish, ... if women were pure, brave, tender and loving,--can you not imagine that in the strong force and fairness of such a world, 'lucifer, son of the morning' would be moved to love instead of hate?--that the closed doors of paradise would be unbarred--and that he, lifted towards his creator on the prayers of pure lives, would wear again his angel's crown? can you not realize this, even by way of a legendary story?" "why yes, as a legendary story the idea is beautiful,"--i admitted--"and to me, as i told you once before, quite new. still, as men are never likely to be honest or women pure, i'm afraid the poor devil stands a bad chance of ever getting redeemed!" "i fear so too!" and he eyed me with a curious derision--"i very much fear so! and his chances being so slight, i rather respect him for being the arch-enemy of such a worthless race!" he paused a moment, then added--"i wonder how we have managed to get on such an absurd subject of conversation? it is dull and uninteresting as all 'spiritual' themes invariably are. my object in bringing you out on this voyage is not to indulge in psychological argument, but to make you forget your troubles as much as possible, and enjoy the present while it lasts." there was a vibration of compassionate kindness in his voice which at once moved me to an acute sense of self-pity, the worst enervator of moral force that exists. i sighed heavily. "truly i have suffered"--i said--"more than most men!" "more even than most millionaires deserve to suffer!" declared lucio, with that inevitable touch of sarcasm which distinguished some of his friendliest remarks--"money is supposed to make amends to a man for everything,--and even the wealthy wife of a certain irish 'patriot' has not found it incompatible with affection to hold her moneybags close to herself while her husband has been declared a bankrupt. how she has 'idolized' him, let others say! now, considering _your_ cash-abundance, it must be owned the fates have treated you somewhat unkindly!" the smile that was half-cruel and half-sweet radiated in his eyes as he spoke,--and again a singular revulsion of feeling against him moved me to dislike and fear. and yet,--how fascinating was his company! i could not but admit that the voyage with him to alexandria on board 'the flame' was one of positive enchantment and luxury all the way. there was nothing in a material sense left to wish for,--all that could appeal to the intelligence or the imagination had been thought of on board this wonderful yacht which sped like a fairy ship over the sea. some of the sailors were skilled musicians, and on tranquil nights or at sunset, would bring stringed instruments and discourse to our ears the most dulcet and ravishing melodies. lucio himself too would often sing,--his luscious voice resounding, as it seemed, over all the visible sea and sky, with such passion as might have drawn an angel down to listen. gradually my mind became impregnated with these snatches of mournful, fierce, or weird minor tunes,--and i began to suffer in silence from an inexplicable depression and foreboding sense of misery, as well as from another terrible feeling to which i could scarcely give a name,--a dreadful _uncertainty of myself_, as of one lost in a wilderness and about to die. i endured these fits of mental agony alone,--and in such dreary burning moments, believed i was going mad. i grew more and more sullen and taciturn, and when we at last arrived at alexandria i was not moved to any particular pleasure. the place was new to me, but i was not conscious of novelty,--everything seemed flat, dull, and totally uninteresting. a heavy almost lethargic stupor chained my wits, and when we left the yacht in harbour and went on to cairo, i was not sensible of any personal enjoyment in the journey, or interest in what i saw. i was only partially roused when we took possession of a luxurious dahabeah, which, with a retinue of attendants, had been specially chartered for us, and commenced our lotus-like voyage up the nile. the reed-edged, sluggish yellow river fascinated me,--i used to spend long hours reclining at full length in a deck-chair, gazing at the flat shores, the blown sand-heaps, the broken columns and mutilated temples of the dead kingdoms of the past. one evening, thus musing, while the great golden moon climbed languidly up into the sky to stare at the wrecks of earthly ages i said-- "if one could only see these ancient cities as they once existed, what strange revelations might be made! our modern marvels of civilization and progress might seem small trifles after all,--for i believe in our days we are only re-discovering what the peoples of old time knew." lucio drew his cigar from his mouth and looked at it meditatively. then he glanced up at me with a half-smile-- "would you like to see a city resuscitated?" he inquired--"here, in this very spot, some six thousand years ago, a king reigned, with a woman not his queen but his favourite, (quite a lawful arrangement in those days) who was as famous for her beauty and virtue, as this river is for its fructifying tide. here civilization had progressed enormously,--with the one exception that it had not outgrown faith. modern france and england have beaten the ancients in their scorn of god and creed, their contempt for divine things, their unnameable lasciviousness and blasphemy. this city"----and he waved his hand towards a dreary stretch of shore where a cluster of tall reeds waved above the monster fragment of a fallen column,--"was governed by the strong pure faith of its people more than anything,--and the ruler of social things in it was a woman. the king's favourite was something like mavis clare in that she possessed genius,--she had also the qualities of justice, intelligence, love, truth and a most noble unselfishness,--she made this place happy. it was a paradise on earth while she lived,--when she died, its glory ended. so much can a woman do if she chooses,--so much does she _not_ do, in her usual cow-like way of living!" "how do you know all this you tell me of?" i asked him. "by study of past records"--he replied--"i read what modern men declare they have no time to read. you are right in the idea that all 'new' things are only old things re-invented or re-discovered,--if you had gone a step further and said that some of men's present lives are only the continuation of their past, you would not have been wrong. now, if you like, i can by my science, show you the city that stood here long ago,--the 'city beautiful' as its name is, translated from the ancient tongue." i roused myself from my lounging attitude and looked at him amazedly. he met my gaze unmoved. "you can show it to me!" i exclaimed--"how can you do such an impossible thing?" "permit me to hypnotize you,"--he answered smiling,--"my system of hypnotism is, very fortunately, not yet discovered by meddlesome inquirers into occult matters,--but it never fails of its effect,--and i promise you, you shall, under my influence, see not only the place, but the people." my curiosity was strongly excited, and i became more eager to try the suggested experiment than i cared to openly show. i laughed however, with affected indifference. "i am perfectly willing!" i said--"all the same, i don't think you can hypnotize me,--i have much too strong a will of my own----" at which remark i saw a smile, dark and saturnine, hover on his lips--"but you can make the attempt." he rose at once, and signed to one of our egyptian servants. "stop the dahabeah, azimah," he said--"we will rest here for the night." azimah, a superb-looking eastern in picturesque white garments, put his hands to his head in submission and retired to give the order. in another few moments the dahabeah had stopped. a great silence was around us,--the moonlight fell like yellow wine on the deck,--in the far distance across the stretches of dark sand, a solitary column towered so clear-cut against the sky that it was almost possible to discern upon it the outline of a monstrous face. lucio stood still, confronting me,--saying nothing, but looking me steadily through and through, with those wonderful mystic, melancholy eyes that seemed to penetrate and burn my very flesh. i was attracted as a bird might be by the basilisk eyes of a snake,--yet i tried to smile and say something indifferent. my efforts were useless,--personal consciousness was slipping from me fast,--the sky, the water and the moon whirled round each other in a giddy chase for precedence;--i could not move, for my limbs seemed fastened to my chair with weights of iron, and i was for a few minutes absolutely powerless. then suddenly my vision cleared (as i thought)--my senses grew vigorous and alert, ... i heard the sound of solemn marching music, and there,--there in the full radiance of the moon, with a thousand lights gleaming forth from high cupolas, shone the 'city beautiful'! [ ] said in the author's hearing by one of the 'lady leaders' of 'smart' society. xxxix a vision of majestic buildings, vast, stately and gigantic!----of streets crowded with men and women in white and coloured garments adorned with jewels,--of flowers that grew on the roofs of palaces and swung from terrace to terrace in loops and garlands of fantastic bloom,--of trees, broad-branched and fully leafed,--of marble embankments overlooking the river,--of lotus-lilies growing thickly below, by the water's edge,--of music that echoed in silver and brazen twangings from the shelter of shady gardens and covered balconies,--every beautiful detail rose before me more distinctly than an ivory carving mounted on an ebony shield. just opposite where i stood or seemed to stand, on the deck of a vessel in the busy harbour, a wide avenue extended, opening up into huge squares embellished with strange figures of granite gods and animals,--i saw the sparkling spray of many fountains in the moonlight, and heard the low persistent hum of the restless human multitudes that thronged the place as thickly as bees clustered in a hive. to the left of the scene i could discern a huge bronze gate guarded by sphinxes; there was a garden beyond it, and from that depth of shade a girl's voice, singing a strange wild melody, came floating towards me on the breeze. meanwhile the marching music i had first of all caught the echo of, sounded nearer and nearer,--and presently i perceived a great crowd approaching with lighted torches and garlands of flowers. soon i saw a band of priests in brilliant robes that literally blazed with sun-like gems,--they were moving towards the river, and with them came young boys and little children, while on either side, maidens white-veiled and rose-wreathed, paced demurely, swinging silver censers to and fro. after the priestly procession walked a regal figure between ranks of slaves and attendants,--i knew it for the king of this 'city beautiful,' and was almost moved to join in the thundering acclamations which greeted his progress. and that snowy palanquin, carried by lily-crowned girls, that followed his train,--who occupied it? ... what gem of his land was thus tenderly enshrined? i was consumed by an extraordinary longing to know this,--i watched the white burden coming nearer to my point of vantage,--i saw the priests arrange themselves in a semi-circle on the river-embankment, the king in their midst, and the surging shouting multitude around,--then came the brazen clangour of many bells, intermixed with the rolling of drums and the shrilling sound of reed-pipes lightly blown upon,--and, amid the blaze of the flaring torches, the white palanquin was set down upon the ground. a woman, clad in some silvery glistening tissue, stepped forth from it like a sylph from the foam of the sea, but----she was veiled,--i could not discern so much as the outline of her features,--and the keen disappointment of this was a positive torture to me. if i could but see her, i thought, i should know something i had never hitherto guessed! "lift, oh lift the shrouding veil, spirit of the city beautiful!" i inwardly prayed--"for i feel i shall read in your eyes the secret of happiness!" but the veil was not withdrawn, ... the music made barbaric clamour in my ears, ... the blaze of strong light and colour blinded me, ... and i felt myself reeling into a dark chaos, where as i imagined, i chased the moon, as she flew before me on silver wings,--then ... the sound of a rich baritone trolling out a light song from a familiar modern _opera bouffe_ confused and startled me,----and in another second i found myself staring wildly at lucio, who, lying easily back in his deck-chair, was carolling joyously to the silent night and the blank expanse of sandy shore, in front of which our dahabeah rested motionless. with a cry i flung myself upon him. "where is she?" i exclaimed--"_who_ is she?" he looked at me without replying, and smiling quizzically, released himself from my sudden grasp. i drew back shuddering and bewildered. "i saw it all!" i murmured--"the city--the priests,--the people--the king!----all but her face! why was that hidden from me!" and actual tears rose to my eyes involuntarily,--lucio surveyed me with evident amusement. "what a 'find' you would be to a first-class 'spiritual' impostor playing his tricks in cultured and easily-gulled london society!" he observed--"you seem most powerfully impressed by a passing vision!" "do you mean to tell me," i said earnestly "that what i saw just now was the mere thought of your brain conveyed to mine?" "precisely!" he responded--"i know what the 'city beautiful' was like, and i was able to draw it for you on the canvas of my memory and present it as a complete picture to your inward sight. for you _have_ an inward sight,--though like most people, you live unconscious of that neglected faculty." "but--who was she?" i repeated obstinately. "'she' was, i presume, the king's favourite. if she kept her face hidden from you as you complain, i am sorry!--but i assure you it was not my fault! get to bed, geoffrey,--you look dazed. you take visions badly,--yet they are better than realities, believe me!" somehow i could not answer him. i left him abruptly and went below to try and sleep, but my thoughts were all cruelly confused, and i began to be more than ever overwhelmed with a sense of deepening terror,--a feeling that i was being commanded, controlled and, as it were, driven along by a force that had in it something unearthly. it was a most distressing sensation,--it made me shrink at times, from the look of lucio's eyes,--now and then indeed i almost cowered before him, so increasingly great was the indefinable dread i had of his presence. it was not so much the strange vision of the 'city beautiful' that had inspired this in me,--for after all, that was only a trick of hypnotism, as he had said, and as i was content to argue it with myself,--but it was his whole manner that suddenly began to impress me as it had never impressed me before. if any change was slowly taking place in my sentiments towards him, so surely it seemed was he changing equally towards me. his imperious ways were more imperial,--his sarcasm more sarcastic,--his contempt for mankind more openly displayed and more frequently pronounced. yet i admired him as much as ever,--i delighted in his conversation, whether it were witty, philosophical or cynical,--i could not imagine myself without his company. nevertheless the gloom on my mind deepened,--our nile trip became infinitely wearisome to me, so much so, that almost before we had got half-way on our journey up the river, i longed to turn back again and wished the voyage at an end. an incident that occurred at luxor was more than sufficient to strengthen this desire. we had stayed there for several days exploring the district and visiting the ruins of thebes and karnac, where they were busy excavating tombs. one afternoon they brought to light a red granite sarcophagus intact,--in it was a richly painted coffin which was opened in our presence, and was found to contain the elaborately adorned mummy of a woman. lucio proved himself an apt reader of hieroglyphs, and he translated in brief, and with glib accuracy the history of the corpse as it was pictured inside the sepulchral shell. "a dancer at the court of queen amenartes;" he announced for the benefit of several interested spectators who with myself, stood round the sarcophagus--"who because of her many sins, and secret guilt which made her life unbearable, and her days full of corruption, died of poison administered by her own hand, according to the king's command, and in presence of the executioners of law. such is the lady's story,--condensed;--there are a good many other details of course. she appears to have been only in her twentieth year. well!" and he smiled as he looked round upon his little audience,--"we may congratulate ourselves on having progressed since the days of these over-strict ancient egyptians! the sins of dancers are not, with us, taken _au grand serieux_! shall we see what she is like?" no objection was raised by the authorities concerned in the discoveries,--and i, who had never witnessed the unrolling of a mummy before, watched the process with great interest and curiosity. as one by one of the scented wrappings were removed, a long tress of nut-brown hair became visible,--then, those who were engaged in the task, used more extreme and delicate precaution, lucio himself assisting them to uncover the face. as this was done, a kind of sick horror stole over me,--brown and stiff as parchment though the features were, their contour was recognisable,--and when the whole countenance was exposed to view i could almost have shrieked aloud the name of '_sibyl!_' for it was like her!--dreadfully like!--and as the faint, half-aromatic half-putrid odours of the unrolled cerements crept towards me on the air, i reeled back giddily and covered my eyes. irresistibly i was reminded of the subtle french perfume exhaled from sibyl's garments when i found her dead,--that, and this sickly effluvia were similar! a man standing near me saw me swerve as though about to fall, and caught me on his arm. "the sun is too strong for you i fear?" he said kindly--"this climate does not suit everybody." i forced a smile and murmured something about a passing touch of vertigo,--then, recovering myself i gazed fearfully at lucio, who was studying the mummy attentively with a curious smile. presently stooping over the coffin he took out of it a piece of finely wrought gold in the shape of a medallion. "this, i imagine must be the fair dancer's portrait,"--he said, holding it up to the view of all the eager and exclaiming spectators--"quite a treasure-trove! an admirable piece of ancient workmanship, besides being the picture of a very lovely woman. do you not think so, geoffrey?" he handed me the medallion,--and i examined it with deadly and fascinated interest,--the face was exquisitely beautiful,--but assuredly it was the face of sibyl! i never remember how i lived through the rest of that day. at night, as soon as i had an opportunity of speaking to rimânez alone, i asked him ... "did you see,----did you not recognize? ..." "that the dead egyptian dancer resembled your late wife?" he quietly continued--"yes,--i noticed it at once. but that should not affect you. history repeats itself,--why should not lovely women repeat themselves? beauty always has its double somewhere, either in the past or future." i said no more,--but next morning i was very ill,--so ill that i could not rise from my bed, and passed the hours in restless moaning and irritable pain that was not so much physical as mental. there was a physician resident at the hotel at luxor, and lucio, always showing himself particularly considerate for my personal comfort, sent for him at once. he felt my pulse, shook his head, and after much dubious pondering, advised my leaving egypt immediately. i heard his mandate given with a joy i could scarcely conceal. the yearning i had to get quickly away from this 'land of the old gods' was intense and feverish,--i loathed the vast and awful desert silences, where the sphinx frowns contempt on the puny littleness of mankind,--where the opened tombs and coffins expose once more to the light of day, faces that are the very semblances of those we ourselves have known and loved in our time,--and where painted history tells us of just such things as our modern newspapers chronicle, albeit in different form. rimânez was ready and willing to carry out the doctor's orders,--and arranged our return to cairo and from thence to alexandria, with such expedition as left me nothing to desire, and filled me with gratitude for his apparent sympathy. in as short a time as abundance of cash could make possible, we had rejoined 'the flame,' and were _en route_, as i thought, for france or england. we had not absolutely settled our destination, having some idea of coasting along the riviera,--but my old confidence in rimânez being now almost restored, i left this to him for decision, sufficiently satisfied in myself that i had not been destined to leave my bones in terror-haunted egypt. and it was not till i had been about a week or ten days on board, and had made good progress in the recovery of my health, that the beginning of the end of this never-to-be-forgotten voyage was foreshadowed to me in such terrific fashion as nearly plunged me into the darkness of death,--or rather let me now say, (having learned my bitter lesson thoroughly) into the fell brilliancy of that life beyond the tomb which we refuse to recognise or realize till we are whirled into its glorious or awful vortex! one evening, after a bright day of swift and enjoyable sailing over a smooth and sunlit sea, i retired to rest in my cabin, feeling almost happy. my mind was perfectly tranquil,--my trust in my friend lucio was again re-established,--and i may add, so was my old arrogant and confident trust in myself. my access to fortune had not, so far, brought me either much joy or distinction,--but it was not too late for me yet to pluck the golden apples of hesperides. the various troubles i had endured, though of such recent occurrence, began to assume a blurred indistinctness in my mind, as of things long past and done with,--i considered the strength of my financial position again with satisfaction, to the extent of contemplating a second marriage--and that marriage with--mavis clare! no other woman should be my wife, i mentally swore,--she, and she only should be mine! i foresaw no difficulties in the way,--and full of pleasant dreams and self-delusions i settled myself in my berth, and dropped easily off to sleep. about midnight i awoke, vaguely terrified, to see the cabin full of a strong red light and fierce glare. my first dazed impression was that the yacht was on fire,--the next instant i became paralysed and dumb with horror. sibyl stood before me! ... sibyl, a wild, strange, tortured writhing figure, half nude, waving beckoning arms, and making desperate gestures,--her face was as i had seen it last in death, livid and hideous, ... her eyes blazed mingled menace, despair, and warning upon me! round her a living wreath of flame coiled upwards like a twisted snake, ... her lips moved as though she strove to speak, but no sound came from them,----and while i yet looked at her, she vanished! i must have lost consciousness then,--for when i awoke it was broad day. but this ghastly visitation was only the first of many such,--and at last, _every night_ i saw her thus, sheeted in flame, till i grew well-nigh mad with fear and misery. my torment was indescribable,--yet i said nothing to lucio, who watched me, as i imagined, narrowly,--i took sleeping-draughts in the hope to procure unbroken rest, but in vain,--always i woke at one particular moment, and always i had to face this fiery phantom of my dead wife, with despair in her eyes and an unuttered warning on her lips. this was not all. one day in the full sunlight of a quiet afternoon, i entered the saloon of the yacht alone, and started back amazed to see my old friend john carrington seated at the table, pen in hand, casting up accounts. he bent over his papers closely,--his face was furrowed and very pale,--but so life-like was he, so seemingly substantial that i called him by name, whereat he looked up,--smiled drearily, and was gone! trembling in every limb i realized that here was another spectral terror added to the burden of my days; and sitting down, i tried to rally my scattered forces and reason out what was best to be done. there was no doubt i was very ill;--these phantoms were the warning of brain-disease. i must endeavour, i thought, to keep myself well under control till i got to england,--there i determined to consult the best physicians, and put myself under their care till i was thoroughly restored. "meanwhile"--i muttered to myself--"i will say nothing, ... not even to lucio. he would only smile, ... and i should hate him! ..." i broke off, wondering at this. for was it possible i should ever hate him? surely not! that night by way of a change, i slept in a hammock on deck, hoping to dispel midnight illusions by resting in the open air. but my sufferings were only intensified. i woke as usual, ... to see, not only sibyl, but also to my deadly fear, the three phantoms that had appeared to me in my room in london on the evening of viscount lynton's suicide. there they were,--the same, the very same!--only this time all their livid faces were lifted and turned towards me, and though their lips never moved, the word 'misery!' seemed uttered, for i heard it tolling like a funeral bell on the air and across the sea! ... and sibyl, with her face of death in the coils of a silent flame, ... sibyl smiled at me!----a smile of torture and remorse! ... god!--i could endure it no longer! leaping from my hammock, i ran towards the vessel's edge, ... one plunge into the cool waves, ... ha!--there stood amiel, with his impenetrable dark face and ferret eyes! "can i assist you sir?" he inquired deferentially. i stared at him,--then burst into a laugh. "assist me? why no!--you can do nothing. i want rest, ... and i cannot sleep here, ... the air is too close and sulphureous,----the very stars are burning hot! ..." i paused,--he regarded me with his usual gravely derisive expression. "i am going down to my cabin"--i continued, trying to speak more calmly----"i shall be _alone_ there ... perhaps!" again i laughed wildly and involuntarily, and staggered away from him down the deck-stairs, afraid to look back lest i should see those three figures of fate following me. once safe in my cabin i shut to the door violently, and in feverish haste, seized my case of pistols. i took out one and loaded it. my heart was beating furiously,--i kept my eyes fixed on the ground, lest they should encounter the dead eyes of sibyl. "one click of the trigger--" i whispered--"and all is over! i shall be at peace,--senseless,--sightless and painless. horrors can no longer haunt me, ... i shall sleep!" i raised the weapon steadily to my right temple, ... when suddenly my cabin-door opened, and lucio looked in. "pardon me!" he said, as he observed my attitude--"i had no idea you were busy! i will go away. i would not disturb you for the world!" his smile had something fiendish in its fine mockery;--moved with a quick revulsion of feeling i turned the pistol downwards and held its muzzle firmly against the table near me. "_you_ say that!" i exclaimed in acute anguish,--"_you_ say it--seeing me thus! i thought you were my friend!" he looked full at me, ... his eyes grew large and luminous with a splendour of scorn, passion and sorrow intermingled. "did you?" and again the terrific smile lit up his pale features,--"you were mistaken! _i am your enemy!_" a dreadful silence followed. something lurid and unearthly in his expression appalled me, ... i trembled and grew cold with fear. mechanically i replaced the pistol in its case,----then i gazed up at him with a vacant wonder and wild piteousness, seeing that his dark and frowning figure seemed to increase in stature, towering above me like the gigantic shadow of a storm-cloud! my blood froze with an unnameable sickening terror, ... then, thick darkness veiled my sight, and i dropped down senseless! xl thunder and wild tumult,--the glare of lightning,--the shattering roar of great waves leaping mountains high and hissing asunder in mid-air,--to this fierce riot of savage elements let loose in a whirling boisterous dance of death, i woke at last with a convulsive shock. staggering to my feet i stood in the black obscurity of my cabin, trying to rally my scattered forces,--the electric lamps were extinguished, and the lightning alone illumined the sepulchral darkness. frantic shoutings echoed above me on deck,--fiend-like yells that sounded now like triumph, now like despair, and again like menace,--the yacht leaped to and fro like a hunted stag amid the furious billows, and every frightful crash of thunder threatened, as it seemed, to split her in twain. the wind howled like a devil in torment,--it screamed and moaned and sobbed as though endowed with a sentient body that suffered acutest agony,--anon it rushed downwards with an angry swoop as of wide-flapping wings, and at each raging gust i thought the vessel must surely founder. forgetting everything but immediate personal danger, i tried to open my door. it was locked outside!--i was a prisoner! my indignation at this discovery exceeded every other feeling, and beating with both hands on the wooden panels, i called, i shouted, i threatened, i swore,----all in vain! thrown down twice by the topsy-turvey lurching of the yacht, i still kept up a desperate hammering and calling, striving to raise my voice above the distracting pandemonium of noise that seemed to possess the ship from end to end, but all to no purpose,--and finally, hoarse and exhausted, i stopped and leaned against the unyielding door to recover breath and strength. the storm appeared to be increasing in force and clamour,--the lightning was well-nigh incessant, and the clattering thunder followed each flash so instantaneously as to leave no doubt but that it was immediately above us. i listened,--and presently heard a frenzied cry-- "breakers ahead!" this was followed by peals of discordant laughter. terrified, i strained my ears for every sound,--and all at once some-one spoke to me quite closely, as though the very darkness around me had found a tongue. "breakers ahead! throughout the world, storm and danger and doom! doom and death!--but afterwards--life!" a certain intonation in these words filled me with such frantic horror that i fell on my knees in abject misery, and almost prayed to the god i had through all my life disbelieved in and denied. but i was too mad with fear to find words;--the dense blackness,--the horrid uproar of the wind and sea,--the infuriated and confused shouting,--all this was to my mind as though hell itself had broken loose, and i could only kneel dumbly and tremble. suddenly a swirling sound as of an approaching monstrous whirlwind made itself heard above all the rest of the din,--a sound that gradually resolved itself into a howling chorus of thousands of voices sweeping along on the gusty blast,----fierce cries were mingled with the jarring thunder, and i leapt erect as i caught the words of the clangorous shout-- "ave sathanas! ave!" rigidly upright, with limbs stiffening for sheer terror, i stood listening,--the waves seemed to roar "ave sathanas!"--the wind shrieked it to the thunder,--the lightning wrote it in a snaky line of fire on the darkness "ave sathanas!" my brain swam round and grew full to bursting,--i was going mad,--raving mad surely!--or why should i thus distinctly hear such unmeaning sounds as these? with a sudden access of superhuman force i threw the whole weight of my body against the door of my cabin in a delirious effort to break it open,--it yielded slightly,--and i prepared myself for another rush and similar attempt,--when all at once it was flung widely back, admitting a stream of pale light, and lucio, wrapped in heavy shrouding garments, confronted me. "follow me, geoffrey tempest,--" he said in low clear tones--"your time has come!" as he spoke, all self-possession deserted me,--the terrors of the storm, and now the terror of his presence, overwhelmed my strength, and i stretched out my hands to him appealingly, unknowing what i did or said. "for god's sake...!" i began wildly. he silenced me by an imperious gesture. "spare me your prayers! for god's sake, for your own sake, and for mine! follow!" he moved before me like a black phantom in the pale strange light surrounding him,--and i, dazzled, dazed and terror-stricken, trod in his steps closely, moved, as it seemed by some volition not my own, till i found myself alone with him in the saloon of the yacht, with the waves hissing up against the windows like live snakes ready to sting. trembling and scarcely able to stand i sank on a chair,--he turned round and looked at me for a moment meditatively. then he threw open one of the windows,--a huge wave dashed in and scattered its bitter salt spray upon me where i sat,--but i heeded nothing,--my agonised looks were fixed on him,--the being i had so long made the companion of my days. raising his hand with a gesture of authority he said-- "back, ye devils of the sea and wind!--ye which are not god's elements but my servants, the unrepenting souls of men! lost in the waves, or whirled in the hurricane, whichever ye have made your destiny, get hence and cease your clamour! this hour is mine!" panic-stricken i heard,--aghast i saw the great billows that had shouldered up in myriads against the vessel, sink suddenly,--the yelling wind dropped, silenced,--the yacht glided along with a smooth even motion as though on a tranquil inland lake,--and almost before i could realize it, the light of the full moon beamed forth brilliantly and fell in a broad stream across the floor of the saloon. but in the very cessation of the storm the words "ave sathanas!" trembled as it were upwards to my ears from the underworld of the sea, and died away in distance like a parting echo of thunder. then lucio faced me,--with what a countenance of sublime and awful beauty! "do you know me now, man whom my millions of dross have made wretched?--or do you need me to tell you who i am?" my lips moved,--but i could not speak; the dim and dreadful thought that was dawning on my mind seemed as yet too frenzied, too outside the boundaries of material sense for mortal utterance. "be dumb,--be motionless!--but hear and feel!" he continued--"by the supreme power of god,--for there is no other power in any world or any heaven,--i control and command you at this moment, your own will being set aside for once as naught! i choose you as one out of millions to learn in this life the lesson that all must learn hereafter;--let every faculty of your intelligence be ready to receive that which i shall impart,--and teach it to your fellow-men if you have a conscience as you have a soul!" again i strove to speak,--he seemed so human,--so much my friend still, though he had declared himself my enemy,----and yet ... what was that lambent radiance encircling his brows?--that burning glory steadily deepening and flashing from his eyes? "you are one of the world's 'fortunate' men,--" he went on, surveying me straightly and pitilessly--"so at least this world judges you, because you can buy its good-will. but the forces that govern all worlds, do not judge you by such a standard,--you cannot buy _their_ good-will, not though all the churches should offer to sell it you! they regard you as you _are_, stripped soul-naked,--not as you _seem_! they behold in you a shameless egoist, persistently engaged in defacing their divine image of immortality,--and for that sin there is no excuse and no escape but punishment. whosoever prefers self to god, and in the arrogance of that self, presumes to doubt and deny god, invites another power to compass his destinies,--the power of evil, made evil and kept evil by the disobedience and wickedness of man alone,--that power whom mortals call satan, prince of darkness,--but whom once the angels knew as lucifer, prince of light!" ... he broke off,--paused,--and his flaming regard fell full upon me. "do you know me, ... now?" i sat a rigid figure of fear, dumbly staring, ... was this man, for he seemed man, mad that he should thus hint at a thing too wild and terrible for speech? "if you do not know me,--if you do not feel in your convicted soul that you are aware of me,--it is because you will not know! thus do i come upon men, when they rejoice in their wilful self-blindness and vanity!--thus do i become their constant companion, humouring them in such vices as they best love!--thus do i take on the shape that pleases _them_, and fit myself to their humours! _they_ make me what i am;--they mould my very form to the fashion of their flitting time. through all their changing and repeating eras, they have found strange names and titles for me,--and their creeds and churches have made a monster of me,--as though imagination could compass any worse monster than the devil in man!" frozen and mute i heard, ... the dead silence, and his resonant voice vibrating through it, seemed more terrific than the wildest storm. "you,--god's work,--endowed as every conscious atom of his creation is endowed,--with the infinite germ of immortality;--you, absorbed in the gathering together of such perishable trash as you conceive good for yourself on this planet,--you dare, in the puny reach of your mortal intelligence to dispute and question the everlasting things invisible! you, by the creator's will, are permitted to see the natural universe,--but in mercy to you, the veil is drawn across the super-natural! for such things as exist there, would break your puny earth-brain as a frail shell is broken by a passing wheel,--and because you cannot see, you doubt! you doubt not only the surpassing love and wisdom that keeps you in ignorance till you shall be strong enough to bear full knowledge, but you doubt the very fact of such another universe itself. arrogant fool!--your hours are counted by super-natural time!--your days are compassed by super-natural law!--your every thought, word, deed and look must go to make up the essence and shape of your being in super-natural life hereafter!--and what you _have been_ in your soul _here_, must and shall be the aspect of your soul _there_! that law knows no changing!" the light about his face deepened,--he went on in clear accents that vibrated with the strangest music. "men make their own choice and form their own futures," he said--"and never let them dare to say they are not _free_ to choose! from the uttermost reaches of high heaven the spirit of god descended to them as man,--from the uttermost depths of lowest hell, i, the spirit of rebellion, come,--equally as man! but the god-in-man was rejected and slain,--i, the devil-in-man live on, forever accepted and adored! man's choice this is--not god's or mine! were this self-seeking human race once to reject me utterly, i should exist no more as i am,--nor would they exist who are with me. listen, while i trace your career!--it is a copy of the lives of many men;--and judge how little the powers of heaven can have to do with you!--how much the powers of hell!" i shuddered involuntarily;--dimly i began to realize the awful nature of this unearthly interview. "you, geoffrey tempest, are a man in whom a thought of god was once implanted,--that subtle fire or note of music out of heaven called genius. so great a gift is rarely bestowed on any mortal,--and woe betide him, who having received it, holds it as of mere personal value, to be used for self and not for god! divine laws moved you gently in the right path of study,--the path of suffering, of disappointment, of self-denial and poverty,--for only by these things is humanity made noble and trained in the ways of perfection. through pain and enduring labour the soul is armed for battle, and strengthened for conquest. for it is more difficult to bear a victory well, than to endure many buffetings of war! but you,--you resented heaven's good-will towards you,--the valley of humiliation suited you not at all. poverty maddened you,--starvation sickened you. yet poverty is better than arrogant wealth,--and starvation is healthier than self-indulgence! you could not wait,--your own troubles seemed to you enormous,--your own efforts laudable and marvellous,--the troubles and efforts of others were nothing to you;--you were ready to curse god and die. compassionating yourself, admiring yourself and none other, with a heart full of bitterness, and a mouth full of cursing, you were eager to make quick havoc of both your genius and your soul. for this cause, your millions of money came----and,--_so did i_!" standing now full height he confronted me,--his eyes were less brilliant, but, they reflected in their dark splendour a passionate scorn and sorrow. "o fool!--in my very coming i warned you!--on the very day we met i told you i was not what i seemed! god's elements crashed a menace when we made our compact of friendship! and i,--when i saw the faint last struggle of the not quite torpid soul in you to resist and distrust me, did i not urge you to let that better instinct have its way? you,--jester with the supernatural!--you,--base scoffer at christ! a thousand hints have been given you,--a thousand chances of doing such good as must have forced me to leave you,--as would have brought me a welcome respite from sorrow,--a moment's cessation of torture!" his brows contracted in a sombre frown,--he was silent a moment,--then he resumed-- "now learn from me the weaving of the web you so willingly became entangled in! your millions of money were mine!--the man that left you heir to them, was a wretched miser, evil to the soul's core! by virtue of his own deeds he and his dross were mine! and maddened by the sheer accumulation of world's wealth, he slew himself in a fit of frenzy. he lives again in a new and much more realistic phase of existence, and knows the actual value of mankind's cash-payments! this _you_ have yet to learn!" he advanced a step or two, fixing his eyes more steadily upon me. "wealth is like genius,--bestowed not for personal gratification, but for the benefit of those who lack it. what have _you_ done for your fellow-men? the very book you wrote and launched upon the tide of bribery and corruption was published with the intention to secure applause for yourself, not to give help or comfort to others. your marriage was prompted by lust and ambition, and in the fair sensuality you wedded, you got your deserts! no love was in the union,--it was sanctified by the blessing of fashion, but not the blessing of god. you have done without god; so you think! every act of your existence has been for the pleasure and advancement of yourself,--and this is why i have chosen you out to hear and see what few mortals ever hear or see till they have passed the dividing-line between this life and the next. i have chosen you because you are a type of the apparently respected and unblamable man;--you are not what the world calls a criminal,--you have murdered no-one,--you have stolen no neighbour's goods--, your unchastities and adulteries are those of every 'fashionable' vice-monger,--and your blasphemies against the divine are no worse than those of the most approved modern magazine-contributors. you are guilty nevertheless of the chief crime of the age--sensual egotism--the blackest sin known to either angels or devils, because hopeless. the murderer may repent, and save a hundred lives to make up for the one he snatched,--the thief may atone with honest labour,--the adulterer may scourge his flesh and do grim penance for late pardon,--the blasphemer may retrieve his blasphemies,--but for the egoist there is no chance of wholesome penitence, since to himself he is perfect, and counts his creator as somewhat inferior. this present time of the world breathes egotism,--the taint of self, the hideous worship of money, corrodes all life, all thought, all feeling. for vulgar cash, the fairest and noblest scenes of nature are wantonly destroyed without public protest,[ ]--the earth, created in beauty, is made hideous,--parents and children, wives and husbands are ready to slay each other for a little gold,--heaven is barred out,--god is denied,--and destruction darkens over this planet, known to all angels as the sorrowful star! be no longer blind, millionaire whose millions have ministered to self without relieving sorrow!----for when the world is totally corrupt,--when self is dominant,--when cunning supersedes honesty,--when gold is man's chief ambition,--when purity is condemned,--when poets teach lewdness, and scientists blasphemy,--when love is mocked, and god forgotten,--the end is near! i take my part in that end!--for the souls of mankind are not done with when they leave their fleshly tenements! when this planet is destroyed as a bubble broken in the air, the souls of men and women live on,--as the soul of the woman you loved lives on,--as the soul of the mother who bore her, lives on,--aye!--as all my worshippers live on through a myriad worlds, a myriad phases, till they learn to shape their destinies for heaven! and i, with them live on, in many shapes, in many ways!--when they return to god cleansed and perfect, so shall i return!--but not till then!" he paused again,--and i heard a faint sighing sound everywhere as of wailing voices, and the name "ahrimanes!" was breathed suddenly upon the silence. i started up listening, every nerve strained----ahrimanes?--or rimânez? i gazed fearfully at him, ... always beautiful, his countenance was now sublime, ... and his eyes shone with a lustrous flame. "you thought me friend!" he said--"you should have known me foe! for everyone who flatters a man for his virtues, or humours him in his vices is that man's worst enemy, whether demon or angel! but you judged me a fitting comrade,--hence i was bound to serve you,--i and my followers with me. you had no perception to realize this,--you, supreme scorner of the supernatural! little did you think of the terrifying agencies that worked the wonders of your betrothal feast at willowsmere! little did you dream that fiends prepared the costly banquet and poured out the luscious wine!" at this, a smothered groan of horror escaped me,--i looked wildly round me, longing to find some deep grave of oblivious rest wherein to fall. "aye!" he continued--"the festival was fitted to the time of the world to-day!--society, gorging itself blind and senseless, and attended by a retinue from hell! my servants looked like men!--for truly there is little difference 'twixt man and devil! 'twas a brave gathering!--england has never seen so strange a one in all her annals!" the sighing, wailing cries increased in loudness,--my limbs shook under me, and all power of thought was paralysed in my brain. he bent his piercing looks upon me with a new expression of infinite wonder, pity and disdain. "what a grotesque creation you men have made of me!" he said--"as grotesque as your conception of god! with what trifling human attributes you have endowed me! know you not that the changeless, yet ever-changing essence of immortal life can take a million million shapes and yet remain unalterably the same? were i as hideous as your churches figure me,--could the eternal beauty with which all angels are endowed, ever change to such loathsomeness as haunts mankind's distorted imaginations, perchance it would be well,--for none would make of me their comrade, and none would cherish me as friend! as fits each separate human nature, so seems my image,--for thus is my fate and punishment commanded. yet even in this mask of man i wear, men own me their superior,--think you not that when the supreme spirit of god wore that same mask on earth, men did not know him for their master? yea, they did know!--and knowing, murdered him,--as they ever strive to murder all divine things as soon as their divinity is recognised. face to face i stood with him upon the mountain-top, and there fulfilled my vow of temptation. worlds and kingdoms, supremacies and powers!----what were they to the ruler of them all! 'get thee hence, satan!' said the golden-sounding voice;--ah!--glorious behest!--happy respite!--for i reached the very gate of heaven that night, and heard the angels sing!" his accents sank to an infinitely mournful cadence. "what have your teachers done with me and my eternal sorrows?" he went on--"have not they, and the unthinking churches, proclaimed a lie against me, saying that i rejoice in evil? o man to whom, by god's will and because the world's end draws nigh, i unveil a portion of the mystery of my doom, learn now once and for all, that there is no possible joy in evil!--it is the despair and the discord of the universe,--it is man's creation,--my torment,--god's sorrow! every sin of every human being adds weight to my torture, and length to my doom,--yet my oath against the world must be kept! i have sworn to tempt,--to do my uttermost to destroy mankind,--but man has not sworn to yield to my tempting. he is free!--let him resist and i depart;--let him accept me, i remain! eternal justice has spoken,--humanity, through the teaching of god made human, must work out its own redemption,--and mine!" here, suddenly advancing he stretched out his hand,--his figure grew taller, vaster and more majestic. "come with me now!" he said in a low penetrating voice that sounded sweet, yet menacing--"come!--for the veil is down for you to-night! you shall understand with whom you have dwelt so long in your shifting cloud-castle of life!--and in what company you have sailed perilous seas!--one, who proud and rebellious, like you, errs less, in that he owns god as his master!" at these words a thundering crash assailed my ears,--all the windows on either side of the saloon flew open, and showed a strange glitter as of steely spears pointed aloft to the moon,-- ... then, ... half-fainting, i felt myself grasped and lifted suddenly and forcibly upwards, ... and in another moment found myself on the deck of 'the flame,' held fast as a prisoner in the fierce grip of hands invisible. raising my eyes in deadly despair,--prepared for hellish tortures, and with a horrible sense of conviction in my soul that it was too late to cry out to god for mercy,--i saw around me a frozen world!--a world that seemed as if the sun had never shone upon it. thick glassy-green walls of ice pressed round the vessel on all sides and shut her in between their inflexible barriers!--fantastic palaces, pinnacles, towers, bridges and arches of ice formed in their architectural outlines and groupings the semblance of a great city,--over all the coldly glistening peaks, the round moon, emerald-pale, looked down,--and standing opposite to me against the mast, i beheld, ... not lucio, ... but an angel! [ ] witness the destruction of foyers, to the historical shame and disgrace of scotland and scotsmen. xli crowned with a mystic radiance as of trembling stars of fire, that sublime figure towered between me and the moonlit sky; the face, austerely grand and beautiful, shone forth luminously pale,--the eyes were full of unquenchable pain, unspeakable remorse, unimaginable despair! the features i had known so long and seen day by day in familiar intercourse were the same,--the same, yet transfigured with ethereal splendour, while shadowed by an everlasting sorrow! bodily sensations i was scarcely conscious of;--only the soul of me, hitherto dormant, was awake and palpitating with fear. gradually i became aware that others were around me, and looking, i saw a dense crowd of faces, wild and wonderful,--imploring eyes were turned upon me in piteous or stern agony,--and pallid hands were stretched towards me more in appeal than menace. and i beheld as i gazed, the air darkening, and anon lightening with the shadow and the brightness of wings!--vast pinions of crimson flame began to unfurl and spread upwards all round the ice-bound vessel,--upwards till their glowing tips seemed well-nigh to touch the moon. and he, my foe, who leaned against the mast, became likewise encircled with these shafted pinions of burning rose, which like finely-webbed clouds coloured by a strong sunset, streamed outward flaringly from his dark form and sprang aloft in a blaze of scintillant glory. and a voice infinitely sad, yet infinitely sweet, struck solemn music from the frozen silence. "steer onward, amiel! onward, to the boundaries of the world!" with every spiritual sense aroused, i glanced towards the steerman's wheel,--was _that_ amiel whom i had instinctively loathed?--that being, stern as a figure of deadliest fate, with sable wings and tortured countenance? if so, i knew him now for a fiend in very truth!--if burning horror and endless shame can so transfigure the soul of man! a history of crime was written in his anguished looks, ... what secret torment racked him no living mortal might dare to guess! with pallid skeleton hands he moved the wheel;--and as it turned, the walls of ice around us began to split with a noise of thunder. "onward amiel!" said the great sad voice again--"onward where never man hath trod,--steer on to the world's end!" the crowd of weird and terrible faces grew denser,--the flaming and darkening of wings became thicker than driving storm-clouds rent by lightning,--wailing cries, groans and dreary sounds of sobbing echoed about me on all sides, ... again the shattering ice roared like an earthquake under the waters, ... and, unhindered by her frozen prison-walls, the ship moved on! dizzily, and as one in a mad dream i saw the great glittering bergs rock and bend forward,--the massive ice-city shook to its foundations, ... glistening pinnacles dropped and vanished, ... towers lurched over, broke and plunged into the sea,--huge mountains of ice split up like fine glass, yawning asunder with a green glare in the moonlight as the 'flame' propelled, so it seemed, by the demon-wings of her terrific crew, cut through the frozen passage with the sharpness of a sword and the swiftness of an arrow! whither were we bound? i dared not think,--i deemed myself dead. the world i saw was not the world i knew,--i believed i was in some spirit-land beyond the grave, whose secrets i should presently realize perchance too well! on,--on we went,--i keeping my strained sight fixed for the most part on the supreme shape that always confronted me,--that angel-foe whose eyes were wild with an eternity of sorrows! face to face with such an immortal despair, i stood confounded and slain forever in my own regard,--a worthless atom, meriting naught but annihilation. the wailing cries and groans had ceased,--and we sped on in an awful silence,--while countless tragedies,--unnameable histories,--were urged upon me in the dumb eloquence of the dreary faces round me, and the expressive teaching of their terrific eyes! soon the barriers of ice were passed,--and the 'flame' floated out beyond them into a warm inland sea, calm as a lake, and bright as silver in the broad radiance of the moon. on either side were undulating shores, rich with lofty and luxuriant verdure,--i saw the distant hazy outline of dusky purple hills,--i heard the little waves plashing against hidden rocks, and murmuring upon the sand. delicious odours filled the air;--a gentle breeze blew, ... was this the lost paradise?--this semi-tropic zone concealed behind a continent of ice and snow? suddenly, from the tops of the dark branching trees, came floating the sound of a bird's singing,--and so sweet was the song, so heart-whole was the melody, that my aching eyes filled with tears. beautiful memories rushed upon me,--the value and graciousness of life,--life on the kindly sunlit earth,--seemed very dear to my soul! life's opportunities,--its joys, its wonders, its blessings, all showered down upon a thankless race by a loving creator,--these appeared to me all at once as marvellous! oh for another chance of such life!--to redeem the past,--to gather up the wasted gems of lost moments,--to live as a man should live, in accordance with the will of god, and in brotherhood with his fellow-men! ... the unknown bird sang on in a cadence like that of a mavis in spring, only more tunefully,--surely no other woodland songster ever sang half so well! and as its dulcet notes dropped roundly one by one upon the mystic silence, i saw a pale creature move out from amid the shadowing of black and scarlet wings,--a white woman-shape, clothed in her own long hair. she glided to the vessel's edge, and there she leaned, with anguished face upturned,--it was the face of sibyl! and even while i looked upon her, she cast herself wildly down upon the deck and wept! my soul was stirred within me, ... i saw in very truth all that she might have been,--i realized what an angel a little guiding love and patience might have made her, ... and at last i pitied her! i never pitied her before! and now many familiar faces shone upon me like white stars in a mist of rain,--all faces of the dead,--all marked with unquenchable remorse and sorrow. one figure passed before me drearily, in fetters glistening with a weight of gold,--i knew him for my college-friend of olden days; another, crouching on the ground in fear, i recognised as him who had staked his last possession at play, even to his immortal soul,--i even saw my father's face, worn and aghast with grief, and trembled lest the sacred beauty of her who had died to give me birth, should find a place among these direful horrors. but no!--thank god i never saw her!----_her_ spirit had not lost its way to heaven! again my eyes reverted to the mover of this mystic scene,--that fallen splendour whose majestic shape now seemed to fill both earth and sky. a fiery glory blazed about him, ... he raised his hand, ... the ship stopped,--and the dark steersman rested motionless on the wheel. round us the moonlit landscape was spread like a glittering dream of fairyland,--and still the unknown bird of god sang on with such entrancing tenderness as must have soothed hell's tortured souls. "lo, here we pause!" said the commanding voice--"here, where the distorted shape of man hath never cast a shadow!--here,--where the arrogant mind of man hath never conceived a sin!--here, where the godless greed of man hath never defaced a beauty, or slain a woodland thing!--here, the last spot on earth left untainted by man's presence! here is the world's end!--when this land is found, and these shores profaned,--when mammon plants its foot upon this soil,--then dawns the judgment-day! but, until then, ... here, where only god doth work perfection, angels may look down undismayed, and even fiends find rest!" a solemn sound of music surged upon the air,--and i who had been as one in chains, bound by invisible bonds and unable to stir, was suddenly liberated. fully conscious of freedom i still faced the dark gigantic figure of my foe,--for his luminous eyes were now upon me, and his penetrating voice addressed me only. "man, deceive not thyself!" he said--"think not the terrors of this night are the delusion of a dream or the snare of a vision! thou art awake,--not sleeping,--thou art flesh as well as spirit! this place is neither hell nor heaven nor any space between,--it is a corner of thine own world on which thou livest. wherefore know from henceforth that the supernatural universe in and around the natural is no lie,--but the chief reality, inasmuch as god surroundeth all! fate strikes thine hour,--and in this hour 'tis given thee to choose thy master. now, by the will of god, thou seest me as angel;--but take heed thou forget not that among men i am as man! in human form i move with all humanity through endless ages,--to kings and counsellors, to priests and scientists, to thinkers and teachers, to old and young, i come in the shape their pride or vice demands, and am as one with all. self finds in me another ego;--but from the pure in heart, the high in faith, the perfect in intention, i do retreat with joy, offering naught save reverence, demanding naught save prayer! so am i,--so must i ever be,--till man of his own will releases and redeems me. mistake me not, but know me!--and choose thy future for truth's sake and not out of fear! choose and change not in any time hereafter,--this hour, this moment is thy last probation,--choose, i say! wilt thou serve self and me? or god only?" the question seemed thundered on my ears, ... shuddering, i looked from right to left, and saw a gathering crowd of faces, white, wistful, wondering, threatening and imploring,--they pressed about me close, with glistening eyes and lips that moved dumbly. and as they stared upon me i beheld another spectral thing,--the image of myself!--a poor frail creature, pitiful, ignorant, and undiscerning,--limited in both capacity and intelligence, yet full of strange egotism and still stranger arrogance; every detail of my life was suddenly presented to me as in a magic mirror, and i read my own chronicle of paltry intellectual pride, vulgar ambition and vulgarer ostentation,--i realised with shame my miserable vices, my puny scorn of god, my effronteries and blasphemies; and in the sudden strong repulsion and repudiation of my own worthless existence, being and character, i found both voice and speech. "god only!" i cried fervently--"annihilation at his hands, rather than life without him! god only! i have chosen!" my words vibrated passionately on my own ears, ... and ... even as they were spoken, the air grew misty with a snowy opalescent radiance, ... the sable and crimson wings uplifted in such multitudinous array around me, palpitated with a thousand changeful hues, ... and over the face of my dark foe a light celestial fell like the smile of dawn! awed and afraid i gazed upward, ... and there i saw a new and yet more wondrous glory, ... a shining figure outlined against the sky in such surpassing beauty and vivid brilliancy as made me think the sun itself had risen in vast angel-shape on rainbow pinions! and from the brightening heaven there rang a silver voice, clear as a clarion-call,-- "_arise, lucifer, son of the morning! one soul rejects thee,--one hour of joy is granted thee! hence and arise!_" earth, air, and sea blazed suddenly into fiery gold,--blinded and stunned, i was seized by compelling hands and held firmly down by a force invisible, ... the yacht was slowly sinking under me! overwhelmed with unearthly terrors, my lips yet murmured, "god! god only!" the heavens changed from gold to crimson--anon to shining blue, ... and against this mass of wavering colour that seemed to make a jewelled archway of the sky, i saw the form of him whom i had known as man, swiftly ascend god-like, with flaming pinions and upturned glorious visage, like a vision of light in darkness! around him clustered a million winged shapes,--but he, supreme, majestic, wonderful, towered high above them all, a very king of splendour, the glory round his brows resembling meteor-fires in an arctic midnight,--his eyes, twin stars, ablaze with such great rapture as seemed half agony! breathless and giddy, i strained my sight to follow him as he fled; ... and heard the musical calling of strange sweet voices everywhere, from east to west, from north to south. "lucifer! ... belovëd and unforgotten! lucifer, son of the morning! arise! ... arise! ..." with all my remaining strength i strove to watch the vanishing upward of that sublime luminance that now filled the visible universe,--the demon-ship was still sinking steadily, ... invisible hands still held me down, ... i was falling,--falling,--into unimaginable depths, ... when another voice, till then unheard, solemn yet sweet, spoke aloud-- "bind him hand and foot, and cast him into the outermost darkness of the world! there let him find my light!" i heard,--yet felt no fear. "god only!" i said, as i sank into the vast profound,--and lo! while the words yet trembled on my lips, i saw the sun! the sweet earth's sun!--the kindly orb familiar,--the lamp of god's protection,--its golden rim came glittering upwards in the east,--higher and higher it rose, making a shining background for that mighty figure, whose darkly luminous wings now seemed like sable storm-clouds stretched wide across the horizon! once more ... yet once, ... the angel-visage bent its warning looks on me, ... i saw the anguished smile, ... the great eyes burning with immortal sorrows! ... then, i was plunged forcibly downwards and thrust into an abysmal grave of frozen cold. xlii the blue sea--the blue sky!--and god's sunshine over all! to this i woke, after a long period of unconsciousness, and found myself afloat on a wide ocean, fast bound to a wooden spar. so strongly knotted were my bonds that i could not stir either hand or foot, ... and after one or two ineffectual struggles to move i gave up the attempt, and lay submissively resigned to my fate, face upturned and gazing at the infinite azure depths above me, while the heaving breath of the sea rocked me gently to and fro like an infant in its mother's arms. alone with god and nature, i, a poor human wreck, drifted,----lost, yet found! lost on this vast sea which soon should serve my body as a sepulchre, ... but found, inasmuch as i was fully conscious of the existence and awakening of the immortal soul within me,--that divine, actual and imperishable essence, which now i recognised as being all that is valuable in a man in the sight of his creator. i was to die, soon and surely;--this i thought, as the billows swayed me in their huge cradle, running in foamy ripples across my bound body, and dashing cool spray upon my brows,--what could i do now, doomed and helpless as i was, to retrieve my wasted past? nothing! save repent,--and could repentance at so late an hour fit the laws of eternal justice? humbly and sorrowfully i considered, ... to me had been given a terrific and unprecedented experience of the awful reality of the spirit-world around us,--and now i was cast out on the sea as a thing worthless, i felt that the brief time remaining to me of life in this present sphere was indeed my "last probation," as that supernatural wonder, the declared enemy of mankind, whom still in my thoughts i called lucio, had declared. "if i dared,--after a life's denial and blasphemy,--turn to christ!" i said--"would he,--the divine brother and friend of man,--reject me?" i whispered the question to the sky and sea, ... solemn silence seemed to invest the atmosphere, and marvellous calm. no other answer came than this, ... a deep and charmëd peace, that insensibly stole over my fretting conscience, my remorseful soul, my aching heart, my tired mind. i remembered certain words heard long ago, and lightly forgotten. "_him who cometh unto me will i in no wise cast out._" looking up to the clear heavens and radiant sun, i smiled; and with a complete abandonment of myself and my fears to the divine will, i murmured the words that in my stress of mystic agony had so far saved me,-- "god only! whatsoever he shall choose for me in life, in death, and after death, is best." and closing my eyes, i resigned my life to the mercy of the soft waves, and with the sunbeams warm upon my face, i slept. * * * * * * * * * i woke again with an icy shudder and cry,--rough cheery voices sounded in my ears,--strong hands were at work busily unfastening the cords with which i was bound, ... i was on the deck of a large steamer, surrounded by a group of men,--and all the glory of the sunset fired the seas. questions were poured upon me, ... i could not answer them, for my tongue was parched and blistered, ... lifted upright upon my feet by sturdy arms, i could not stand for sheer exhaustion. dimly, and in feeble dread i stared around me,----was this great vessel with smoking funnels and grinding engines another devil's craft set sailing round the world! too weak to find a voice i made dumb signs of terrified inquiry, ... a broad-shouldered bluff-looking man came forward, whose keen eyes rested on me with kindly compassion. "this is an english vessel," he said--"we are bound for southampton. our helmsman saw you floating ahead,--we stopped and sent a boat for rescue. where were you wrecked? any more of the crew afloat?" i gazed at him, but could not speak. the strangest thoughts crowded into my brain, moving me to wild tears and laughter. england! the word struck clashing music on my mind, and set all my pulses trembling. england! the little spot upon the little world, most loved and honoured of all men, save those who envy its worth! i made some gesture, whether of joy or mad amazement i know not,----had i been able to speak i could have related nothing that those men around me could have comprehended or believed, ... then i sank back again in a dead swoon. they were very good to me, all those english sailors. the captain gave me his own cabin,--the ship's doctor attended me with a zeal that was only exceeded by his curiosity to know where i came from, and the nature of the disaster that had befallen me. but i remained dumb, and lay inert and feeble in my berth, grateful for the care bestowed upon me, as well as for the temporary exhaustion that deprived me of speech. for i had enough to do with my own thoughts,--thoughts far too solemn and weighty for utterance. i was saved,--i was given another chance of life in the world,--and _i knew why_! my one absorbing anxiety now was to retrieve my wasted time, and to do active good where hitherto i had done nothing! the day came at last, when i was sufficiently recovered to be able to sit on deck and watch with eager eyes the approaching coast-line of england. i seemed to have lived a century since i left it,--aye, almost an eternity,--for time is what the soul makes it, and no more. i was an object of interest and attention among all the passengers on board, for as yet i had not broken silence. the weather was calm and bright, ... the sun shone gloriously,--and far off the pearly rim of shakespeare's 'happy isle' glistened jewel-like upon the edge of the sea. the captain came and looked at me,--nodded encouragingly,--and after a moment's hesitation, said-- "glad to see you out on deck! almost yourself again, eh?" i silently assented with a faint smile. "perhaps"--he continued, "as we're so near home, you'll let me know your name? it's not often we pick up a man alive and drifting in mid-atlantic." in mid-atlantic! what force had flung me there i dared not think, ... nor whether it was hellish or divine. "my name?" i murmured, surprised into speech,--how odd it was i had never thought of myself lately as having a name or any other thing belonging to me!--"why certainly! geoffrey tempest is my name." the captain's eyes opened widely. "geoffrey tempest! dear me! ... _the_ mr tempest?----the great millionaire that _was_?" it was now my turn to stare. "that _was_?" i repeated--"what do you mean?" "have you not heard?" he asked excitedly. "heard? i have heard nothing since i left england some months ago--with a friend, on board his yacht ... we went on a long voyage and ... a strange one! we were wrecked, ... you know the rest, and how i owe my life to your rescue. but of news i am ignorant ..." "good heavens!" he interrupted quickly--"bad news travels fast as a rule they say,--but you have missed it ... and i confess i don't like to be the bearer of it ..." he broke off, and his genial face looked troubled. i smiled,--yet wondered. "pray speak out!" i said--"i don't think you can tell me anything that will deeply affect me,--_now_. i know the best and worst of most things in the world, i assure you!" he eyed me dubiously;--then, going into his smoking-cabin, he brought me out an american newspaper seven days old. he handed it to me pointing to its leading columns without a word. there i saw in large type--"a millionaire ruined! enormous frauds! monster forgeries! gigantic swindle! on the track of bentham and ellis!" my brain swam for a minute,--then i read on steadily, and soon grasped the situation. the respectable pair of lawyers whom i had implicitly relied on for the management of all my business affairs in my absence, had succumbed to the temptation of having so much cash in charge for investment,--and had become a pair of practised swindlers. dealing with the same bank as myself, they had forged my name so cleverly that the genuineness of the signature had never been even suspected,--and, after drawing enormous sums in this way, and investing in various 'bubble' companies with which they personally were concerned, they had finally absconded, leaving me almost as poor as i was when i first heard of my inherited fortune. i put aside the paper, and looked up at the good captain, who stood watching me with sympathetic anxiety. "thank you!" i said--"these thieves were my trusted lawyers,--and i can cheerfully say that i am much more sorry for them than i am for myself. a thief is always a thief,--a poor man, if he be honest, is at any rate the thief's superior. the money they have stolen will bring them misery rather than pleasure,--of that i am convinced. if this account be correct, they have already lost large sums in bogus companies,--and the man bentham, whom i thought the very acme of shrewd caution has sunk an enormous amount of capital in a worn-out gold mine. their forgeries must have been admirably done!--a sad waste of time and cleverness. it appears too that the investments i have myself made are worthless;--well, well!--it does not matter,--i must begin the world again, that's all!" he looked amazed. "i don't think you quite realize your own misfortune, mr tempest"--he said--"you take it too quietly by half. you'll think worse of it presently." "i hope not!" i responded, with a smile--"it never does to think the worst of anything. i assure you i realize perfectly. i am in the world's sight a ruined man,--i quite understand!" he shrugged his shoulders with quite a desperate air, and left me. i am convinced he thought me mad,--but i knew i had never been so sane. i did indeed entirely comprehend my 'misfortune,' or rather the great chance bestowed on me of winning something far higher than all the coffers of mammon; i read in my loss of world's cash the working of such a merciful providence and pity as gave me a grander hope than any i had ever known. clear before me rose the vision of that most divine and beautiful necessity of happiness,--work!--the grand and too often misprized angel of labour, which moulds the mind of man, steadies his hands, controls his brain, purifies his passions, and strengthens his whole mental and physical being. a rush of energy and health filled my veins,--and i thanked god devoutly for the golden opportunities held out afresh for me to accept and use. gratitude there should be in every human soul for every gift of heaven,--but nothing merits more thankfulness and praise to the creator than the call to work, and the ability to respond to it. england at last! i bade farewell to the good ship that had rescued me, and to all on board her, most of whom now knew my name and looked upon me with pity as well as curiosity. the story of my being wrecked on a friend's yacht was readily accepted,--and the subject of that adventure was avoided, as the general impression was that my friend, whoever he was, had been drowned with his crew, and that i was the one survivor. i did not offer any further explanation, and was content to so let the matter rest, though i was careful to send both the captain and the ship's doctor a handsome recompense for their united attention and kindness. i have reason to believe, from the letters they wrote me, that they were more than satisfied with the sums received, and that i really did some actual good with those few last fragments of my vanished wealth. on reaching london, i interviewed the police concerning the thieves and forgers, bentham and ellis, and stopped all proceedings against them. "call me mad if you like,"--i said to the utterly confounded chief of the detective force--"i do not mind! but let these rascals keep the trash they have stolen. it will be a curse to them, as it has been to me! it is devil's money! half of it was already gone, being settled on my late wife,--at her death, it reverted by the same deed of settlement, to any living members of her family, and it now belongs to lord elton. i have lived to make a noble earl rich, who was once bankrupt,--and i doubt if he would lend me a ten-pound-note for the asking! however, i shall not ask him. the rest has gone into the universal waste of corruption and sham--let it stay there! i shall never bother myself to get it back. i prefer to be a free man." "but the bank,--the principle of the thing!" exclaimed the detective with indignation. i smiled. "exactly! the principle of the thing has been perfectly carried out. a man who has too much money _creates_ forgers and thieves about him,--he cannot expect to meet with honesty. let the bank prosecute if it likes,--i shall not. i am free!--free to work for my living. what i earn i shall enjoy,--what i inherited, i have learnt to loathe!" with that i left him, puzzled and irate,--and in a day or two the papers were full of strange stories concerning me, and numerous lies as well. i was called 'mad,' 'unprincipled,' 'thwarting the ends of justice,'--and sundry other names, while scurrilous civilities known only to the penny paragraphist were heaped upon me by the score. to complete my entire satisfaction, a man on the staff of one of the leading journals, dug out my book from mudie's underground cellar, and 'slashed' it with a bitterness and venom only excelled by my own violence when anonymously libelling the work of mavis clare! and the result was remarkable,--for in a sudden wind of caprice, the public made a rush for my neglected literary offspring,--they took it up, handled it tenderly, read it lingeringly, found something in it that pleased them, and finally bought it by thousands! ... whereat the astute morgeson, as virtuous publisher, wrote to me in wonder and congratulation, enclosing a cheque for a hundred pounds on 'royalties,' and promising more in due course, should the 'run' continue. ah, the sweetness of that earned hundred pounds! i felt a king of independence!--realms of ambition and attainment opened out before me,--life smiled upon me as it had never smiled before. talk of poverty! i was rich!----rich with a hundred pounds made out of my own brain-labour,--and i envied no millionaire that ever flaunted his gold beneath the sun! i thought of mavis clare, ... but dared not dwell too long upon her gentle image. in time perhaps, ... when i had settled down to fresh work, ... when i had formed my life as i meant to form it, in the habits of faith, firmness and unselfishness, i would write to her and tell her all,--all, even to that dread insight into worlds unseen, beyond the boundaries of an unknown region of everlasting frozen snow! but now,----now i resolved to stand alone,--fighting my battle as a man should fight, seeking for neither help nor sympathy, and trusting not in self, but god only. moreover i could not induce myself yet to look again upon willowsmere. the place was terror-haunted for me; and though lord elton with a curious condescension, (seeing that it was to me he owed the free gift of his former property) invited me to stay there, and professed a certain lame regret for the 'heavy financial losses' i had sustained, i saw in the tone of his epistle that he looked upon me somewhat in the light of a madman after my refusal to take up the matter of my absconding solicitors, and that he would rather i stayed away. and i did stay away;--and even when his marriage with diana chesney took place with great pomp and splendour, i refused his invitation to be present. in the published list of guests, however which appeared in the principal papers, i was scarcely surprised to read the name of 'prince lucio rimânez.' i now took a humble room and set to work on a new literary enterprise, avoiding everyone i had hitherto known, for being now almost a poor man, i was aware that 'swagger society' wished to blot me from its visiting-list. i lived with my own sorrowful thoughts,--musing on many things, training myself to humility, obedience, and faith with fortitude,--and day by day i did battle with the monster, egotism, that presented itself in a thousand disguises at every turn in my own life as well as in the lives of others. i had to re-form my character,--to mould the obstinate nature that rebelled, and make its obstinacy serve for the attainment of higher objects than world's renown,--the task was difficult,--but i gained ground a little with every fresh effort. i had lived for some months like this in bitter self-abasement, when all the reading world was suddenly electrified by another book of mavis clare's. my lately favoured first work was again forgotten and thrust aside,--hers, slated and screamed at as usual by the criticasters, was borne along to fame by a great wave of honest public praise and enthusiasm. and i? i rejoiced!--no longer grudging or envious of her sweet fame, i stood apart in spirit as it were, while the bright car of her triumph went by, decked, not only with laurels, but with roses,--the blossoms of a people's love and honour. with all my soul i reverenced her genius,--with all my heart i honoured her pure womanliness! and in the very midst of her brilliant success, when all the world was talking of her, she wrote to me, a simple little letter, as gracious as her own fair name. dear mr tempest, i heard by chance the other day that you had returned to england. i therefore send this note to the care of your publisher to express my sincere delight in the success your clever book has now attained after its interval of probation. i fancy the public appreciation of your work must go far to console you for the great losses you have had both in life and fortune, of which i will not here speak. when you feel that you can bear to look again upon scenes which i know will be sure to rouse in your mind many sad and poignant memories, will you come and see me? your friend mavis clare. a mist came before my eyes,--i almost felt her gentle presence in my room,--i saw the tender look, the radiant smile,--the innocent yet earnest joy in life and love of purity that emanated from the fair personality of the sweetest woman i had ever known. she called herself my friend!--... it was a privilege of which i felt myself unworthy! i folded the letter and put it near my heart to serve me as a talisman, ... she, of all bright creatures in the world surely knew the secret of happiness! ... some-day, ... yes, ... i would go and see her, ... my mavis that sang in her garden of lilies,--some day when i had force and manliness enough to tell her all,--save my love for her! for that, i felt, must never be spoken,--self must resist self, and clamour no more at the gate of a forfeited paradise! some day i would see her, ... but not for a long time, ... not till i had, in part at least, worked out my secret expiation. as i sat musing thus, a strange memory came into my brain, ... i thought i heard a voice resembling my own, which said-- "_lift, oh lift the shrouding veil, spirit of the city beautiful! for i feel i shall read in your eyes the secret of happiness!_" a cold shudder ran through me,--i sprang up erect, in a kind of horror. leaning at my open window i looked down into the busy street below,--and my thoughts reverted to the strange things i had seen in the east,--the face of the dead egyptian dancer, uncovered to the light again after two thousand years,--the face of sibyl!--then i remembered the vision of the "city beautiful," in which one face had remained veiled,--the face i most desired to see!----and i trembled more and more as my mind, despite my will, began to weave together links of the past and present, till they seemed growing into one and the same. was i again to be the prey of evil forces?----did some new danger threaten me?--had i, by some unconscious wicked wish invited new temptation to assail me? overcome by my sensations, i left my work and went out into the fresh air, ... it was late at night,--and the moon was shining. i felt for the letter of mavis,--it pressed against my heart, a shield against all vileness. the room i occupied was in a house not far from westminster abbey, and i instinctively bent my steps towards that grey old shrine of kings and poets dead. the square around it was almost deserted,----i slackened my pace, strolling meditatively along the narrow paved way that forms a short cut across into old palace yard, ... when suddenly a shadow crossed my path, and looking up, i came face to face with----lucio! the same as ever,--the perfect impersonation of perfect manhood! ... his countenance, pale, proud, sorrowful yet scornful, flashed upon me like a star!----he looked full at me, and a questioning smile rested on his lips! my heart almost stopped beating, ... i drew a quick sharp breath, ... again i felt for the letter of mavis, and then, ... meeting his gaze fixedly and straightly in my turn, i moved slowly on in silence. he understood,--his eyes flashed with the jewel-like strange brilliancy i knew so well, and so well remembered,--and drawing back he stood aside and--let me pass! i continued my walk steadily, though dazed and like one in a dream,--till reaching the shadowed side of the street opposite the houses of parliament, i stopped for a moment to recover my startled senses. there again i saw him!----the superb man's form,--the angel's face,--the haunting, splendid sorrowful eyes!----he came with his usual ease and grace of step into the full moonlight and paused,--apparently waiting for some one. for me?--ah no!--i kept the name of god upon my lips,--i gathered all the strength of faith within my soul,--and though i was wholesomely afraid of myself, i feared no other foe! i lingered therefore--watching;--and presently i saw a few members of parliament walking singly and in groups towards the house,--one or two greeted the tall dark figure as a friend and familiar, and others knew him not. still he waited on, ... and so did i. at last, just as big ben chimed the quarter to eleven, one man whom i instantly recognised as a well-known cabinet minister, came walking briskly towards the house, ... then, and then only, he, whom i had known as lucio, advanced smiling. greeting the minister cordially, in that musical rich voice i knew of old, he took his arm,--and they both walked on slowly, talking earnestly. i watched them till their figures receded in the moonlight, ... the one tall, kingly and commanding, ... the other burly and broad, and self-assertive in demeanour;--i saw them ascend the steps, and finally disappear within the house of england's imperial government,--devil and man,--together! +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | | | transcriber's note | | | | inconsistent hyphenation and word boundaries have been | | retained: any rate / anyrate, bluebells / blue-bells, | | commonplace / common-place, deathlike / death-like, | | goodwill / good-will, honeysuckle / honey-suckle, maypole / | | may-pole, notepaper / note-paper, nowadays / now-a-days, | | overhead / over-head, pall mall / pall-mall, pocket book / | | pocketbook / pocket-book, someone / some-one, supernatural / | | super-natural, uplifted / up-lifted. | | | | minor punctuation and spelling repairs have been made | | without comment. | | | +--------------------------------------------------------------+ generously made available by the internet archive.) is the devil a myth? by c. f. wimberly _author of "the vulture's claw," "new clothes for the old man," "the cry in the night," "the winepress," "the lost legacy," etc., etc._ new york chicago toronto fleming h. revell company london and edinburgh copyright, , by fleming h. revell company new york: fifth avenue chicago: north wabash ave. london: paternoster square edinburgh: princes street _with the fondest recollections and appreciation of one, "in age and feebleness extreme," who taught me the first lessons about the being of these studies; one who contributed her all to the rearing of noble ideals, martha m. wimberly, my mother, this book is lovingly dedicated by the author_ preface it is the writer's firm conviction, in these days when the most enthusiastic "bookworm" cannot even keep up with the titles of the book output, that an earnest, sensible reason should be given for adding another to the already endless list of books. we have enough books to-day, "good, bad, indifferent," with which, if they were collected, to build another cyclops pyramid. the sage of the old testament declared in his day, concerning the endless making of books; such a statement, compared with modern writing and publishing of books, sounds amusing. every possible subject, vagary, or ism, for which a book could be written, is overworked. bible themes of all grades, from orthodoxy to ultra higher criticism, have flooded the land. especially is the iconoclast in much evidence; he is free lance, and shows no quarters. cardinal tenets of bible faith, so long unquestioned, are being smitten with a merciless hand. disintegration is the most obvious fact among us; nothing is too sacred for the crucible of what is termed "scholarship." but why this book? let us take a little survey. over against the modern idea, that the race is endowed with all the inherent elements of goodness necessary to its regeneration, there is a correspondent belief that _evil_ is only an error. when the race by social and mental evolution succeeds in eliminating all the superstitions and false dogmas, the body politic will be self-curative, like the physical body, restoring itself by means of inspiration, respiration, exercise, sleep, food, etc., once the causes of disease are eliminated from the system. for several decades we have been approaching the doctrine which denies all personalism--either good or bad. when we repudiate the bible teaching, that the source of all evil emanates from a great personality, the bible teaching of the incarnation suffers in the same proportion. the title of this book is a question, and one by no means strained, if considered from the view-point of modern thought. we have undertaken an answer. if by reason and revelation we can arrive at a satisfactory conclusion, the gain thereby cannot be overestimated. if the personality of satan can be successfully consigned to the religious junk pile, our bible is at once thrown into a jumble of contradictions and inconsistencies. the result will be even worse than our enemies claim for it now. one of the late recognized writers on the old testament says: "the old testament is no longer considered valuable among scholars as a sacred oracle, but it is valuable in that it is the history of a people." _if the devil is a myth, our bible can be nothing better than historical chaos._ in the preparation of these pages, we wish to acknowledge with deep gratitude the assistance of mr. s. d. gordon, author of "quiet talks"; dr. i. m. haldeman, author and preacher; dr. gross alexander, editor, author, and preacher; dr. w. b. godbey, an author of great learning and extensive travel; dr. b. carradine, evangelist and author; dr. h. c. morrison, college president, editor, author, and evangelist; prof. l. t. townsend, and hon. philip mauro. if the reading of this book shall bring to any struggling soul helpful information concerning our common enemy, we shall be doubly repaid for the labour of its preparation. we send it forth saturated with prayer. c. f. w. _madisonville, ky._ contents i. the problem of evil ii. the origin of evil iii. lucifer iv. devil--satan--serpent--dragon v. diabolus--demonia--abaddon-apollyon vi. the devil a "blockade" vii. the great magician viii. the roaring lion ix. an angel of light x. the sower of tares xi. the arch slanderer xii. the double accuser xiii. satan a spy xiv. the quack doctor xv. the devil a theologian xvi. the devil a theologian (_continued_) xvii. the devil's righteousness xviii. the world's tempter xix. the confidence man xx. the trapper xxi. the incomparable archer xxii. the father of liars xxiii. the kingship of satan xxiv. the devil's handmaiden xxv. the astute author xxvi. the hypnotist xxvii. devil possession xxviii. devil oppression xxix. devil abduction xxx. the rationale of suicide xxxi. devil worship xxxii. victory through the victor xxxiii. the arrest and imprisonment xxxiv. the final consummation xxxv. satanic symbol in nature i the problem of evil "and god saw that the wickedness of man was great in the earth, and that every imagination of the thoughts of his heart was only evil continually."--_genesis vi. ._ that we may appreciate this discussion, removed as far as possible from theological terminology and theories, and get a concrete view-point, the following head-lines from a single issue of a metropolitan daily will suffice: "war clouds hanging low;" "men higher up involved;" "eighty-seven divorces on docket;" "blood flows in the streets;" "gaunt hunger among strikers;" "arrested for forgery;" "a white slave victim;" "attempted train robbery;" "kills wife and ends own life;" "two men bite dust;" "investigate bribery." this fearful list may be duplicated almost every day in the year. our land is deluged with crime, without respect to person or place; its blight touches all circles from the slum to the four hundred. wealth and poverty, culture and ignorance, fame and obscurity, suffer alike from this pandora box scourge. the march of history--the pilgrimage of the race, has enjoyed but little respite from tears and blood. those who strive to maintain a standard of purity, righteousness, and honour, are beset by strange, powerful, intangible influences, from the cradle to the grave. the child in swaddling clothes has a predisposition to willfullness, deception, and disobedience; paroxysms of passion and anger are manifested with the slightest provocation. notwithstanding the barriers thrown up by the home and society; the incentives and assurances for noble, industrious living, the dykes are continually giving way, so that police power and the frowning walls of penal institutions are insufficient to check the overflow. the church of god, with its open book, ringing out messages of life and hope at every corner; the object lessons on the "wages of sin," sweeping in full view before us, like the reel-film of a motion picture--do not seem to lessen the harvest of moral shipwreck. according to some recent police records and statistics, only about one-half of the country's criminals are apprehended; if this is true of those who violate the law, a much smaller per cent. of those who break the perfect moral law, as related to domestic and religious life, are ever exposed. when these facts are considered, the perspective for the reign of righteousness is lurid and hopeless. the country has been amazed, recently, at the revelations of how municipal and national treasuries are being looted by extortion, extravagance, and misrule, on the part of men holding positions as a sacred trust. civilization fosters and maintains a traffic which has not one redeeming feature; besides killing directly and indirectly more men daily than were blown up in the battle-ship _maine_. let us view the problem of evil from another angle: a writer on the subject of food supplies says the earth each year furnishes an abundant quantity of fruits, meats, cereals, and vegetables to feed all her peoples; yet gaunt famine is never entirely removed. even in america a surprising per cent. of our people are underfed and underclothed. "fifty thousand go to bed hungry every night in new york city," declares a professor of economics. the same ratio obtains in other large cities of our land. scenes of pinching poverty occur within a few blocks of the most wanton luxury and extravagance. one lady spends fifty thousand dollars--enough to satisfy all the hungry--on one evening's entertainment. oranges rot on the pacific coast by car-loads, when the children of the ghetto scarcely taste them. nature fills her storehouses, and tries to scatter with a prodigal hand, but her resources are cornered and controlled by a criminal system which revolves around the "almighty dollar"--the root of all evil. are we to conclude that man's free agency is responsible for this moral monstrosity? or, to be theologically particular, shall we say, free agency dominated by an innate disposition to evil: human depravity, original sin, the carnal mind? allowing the fullest latitude to the free moral agency of the race; allowing the evil nature, like the foul soil producing a continuous crop of vile weeds, to produce an inexorable bent, or predisposition to sin, operating on man's free agency--have we a full and sufficient explanation of the presence and power of evil? the carnal mind is enmity with god, not subject to his laws; but the carnal mind is in competition with a _human_ nature, wherein are found emotions and sentiments that are far from being all sinful: sympathy, tenderness, benevolence, paternal and filial love, sex-love, and honesty. again, we rarely find environment as an unmixed evil. notwithstanding these hindrances the press almost daily has details and delineations of crimes so fearful and shocking that no trace of the human appears. frequently we hear of a man, who has committed some dreadful outrage, personified as "beast," "fiend," "inhuman," etc. a young man in his teens, wishing to marry, but being under age and without sufficient means, decided that if he could dispose of his father, mother, brother, and sister--the farm and property would all be his, then, unmolested, could consummate his matrimonial plans. whereupon, armed with an axe, at the midnight hour, he executes his "fiendish" plot. another man, with a young and beautiful wife, and the father of two bright children, becomes infatuated with a young woman in a distant state; he woos and wins her affections; he returns home to arrange "some business matters" on the day preceding the wedding. this business matter was to dispose of his wife and children, which he did; on the following night, led to the marriage altar an innocent, unsuspecting girl. a young minister commits double murder, and on the following day enters his pulpit and preaches from the text: "let the words of my mouth, and the meditations of my heart, be acceptable in thy sight, o lord." these cases are actual occurrences, mentioned for emphasis only, that the problem of evil may be studied from life. these examples prove conclusively that the problem goes deeper than human depravity or free agency; both are accessories--conditions, binding cords, as it were, but the jarring stroke comes from a mightier hand. the unregenerated heart has been called a "playground," and a "coaling station" for the headmaster of all villainies. it was more than wounded pride and vanity that propagated the scheme of haman, whereby a whole nation was to be destroyed at a single stroke. vengeance and hate are terrible passions, but only as they are fanned by the breath of an inhabitant of the inferno can they go to such extremes. it was more than a desire to crush out heresy that could instigate a "st. bartholomew's day," then sing the te deum after the bloody deed was accomplished. we shall endeavour in the subsequent pages to throw a few rays of light, in obscure corners, on the problem of evil through its multiform phases and ramifications. ii the origin of evil "and the great dragon was cast out, that old serpent, called the devil, and satan, which deceiveth the whole world: he was cast out into the earth, and his angels were cast out with him."--_revelation xii. ._ it requires but a casual survey of this problem to reach a conclusion that its hideousness cannot be explained by any other hypothesis than the power of an invisible personality. when we scrutinize the footprints of the race, it will be found that progress has been along a dark, slimy trail; the infidels and philosophers who are loud in their boastings of inherent goodness will have difficulty in reconciling this fact. all who think are confronted with an ever-recurring question--yea, exclamations: why do such things happen? what meaneth these barbarities, ravages, cruelties? why so much domestic discord, ending in ruin--so many suicides? why do men and women hurl themselves over the precipice of vice and deadly indulgences--when even a novice might easily see the inevitable? for a parallel we are reminded of an incident in war: log-chains were used when the cannon-ball supply was exhausted; lanes the width of the chain length were mowed through the ranks of the opposing army. these chasms of death were closed up each time, only to be cut down again by the next discharge. the pathway of ruin is thronged--the "broad road" is easy; however, there is something stranger than this utter blindness: the victims laugh and shout on this highway, paved as it is by the macadam of crushed humanity. now, can there be found a rationale for this dreadful twist in human affairs--this seeming unfathomable conundrum? we cannot believe that god would create a "footstool" in which sin, suffering, and misery were to abound; no such provision could have been in the divine plan. in the word of god alone we find the explanation of it all. the word gives an unmistakable account of an insurrection in heaven: "michael and his angels fought against the dragon, and the dragon fought and his angels, and prevailed not." this strange warfare was inaugurated by the great archangelic leader. this "war in heaven" could have but one ending: the complete overthrow of the disturber and his followers. they were cast out, and are, beyond a doubt, swarming around this sin-blinded planet--invisible, yet personal and all but omnipresent. when we remember that one-third of the angelic population of heaven cast their lot with this chieftain, his strength and personality can be somewhat understood. it is written: "the tail (influence) of the dragon drew the third part of the stars (angels) of heaven, and cast them down to the earth." in their relation to heaven, the dragon and his angels met with irremediable ruin; now, defeated, humiliated, maddened, doomed, this fallen archangel and his innumerable myrmidons are filling the whole earth with every curse that can be conjured up by their superior, supernatural intelligence. there can be no room to doubt the truth of this hellish propaganda, as he is called the "god of this world." it must be kept clearly in mind that the powers of darkness can, in no sense, mean an ethereal, impersonal spirit of evil--or perverseness of weak human nature; but rather a being who rules and commands legions upon legions of subjects--_demons_, each of them endowed with all the powers and gifts possessed when they were ministering emissaries of god. they are now "the angels which kept not their first estate." we have no way to estimate the size of this satanic army, marshalled for the destruction of the race and the overthrow of christ's kingdom. however, we read in the tenth chapter of revelation that two hundred million were turned loose in the earth at one time. ten thousand were in the country of the gadarenes when the master entered there; no wonder the entire land was kept in terror, even though their incarnation seemed to have been limited to one man living in a graveyard. seven demons were cast out of one woman. we should keep in mind the distinction between "the devil" and demons; there is but one _devil_, but the demons are swarming the length and breadth of the whole earth. just as god directs his angels in ministeries of righteousness, so this god of darkness directs his angels to do his nefarious will. there are feats so daring and important that the devil, it seems, will not trust to his underlings. he engineered in person the temptations of the master; he entered the heart of judas, and caused him to sell his lord, then commit suicide. the bible undoubtedly teaches that satan and his cohorts, having access to our fallen natures (which became so through his contribution of "forbidden fruit"--his great triumph in the garden), are inciting this world to all the crimes known to our criminal dockets. think of the train wreckers, rapists, incendiaries, white slavers, riots, strikes, grafters, gamblers, etc.; and as paul has catalogued them: "unrighteousness, fornication, wickedness, maliciousness, envy, deceit, malignity, whisperers, backbiters, haters of god, despiteful, proud, boasters, inventors of evil things, disobedient to parents, covenant breakers, without natural affection, implacable, unmerciful." no one can consider this long, gruesome list of iniquities without a feeling that they originated, somehow, in the realm of supernatural darkness. the worst things that can be said of fallen humanity is its availability and susceptibility to the machinations of this past master of the pit, whose only ambition is to rob the blood of its purchase possessions by wrecking the souls for whom christ died. our sinful nature responds to his touch; the wonderful gamut of the soul is capable of being swept its entire length by his skill. a master player on god's greatest instrument--his masterpiece. all the fearful deeds committed seem to be acts of volition, and they are; but in the dark background lurks another superior will responsible for the initiative. iii lucifer "how art thou fallen from heaven, o lucifer, son of the morning! how art thou cut down to the ground, which did weaken the nations!"--_isaiah xiv. ._ "and the third angel sounded, and there fell a great star from heaven, burning as it were a lamp."--_revelation viii. ._ "and the fifth angel sounded, and i saw a star fall from heaven unto the earth; and to him was given the key of the bottomless pit."--_revelation ix. ._ it is reasonable to believe that all intelligent beings are morally free; and if free, are on probation. intelligence, will-power, free agency, and probation are logically inseparable, regardless of place or environment. without question, in the natural world this is true, and therefore must be true in the spiritual world. that men, angels, archangels, and redeemed spirits never attain a state of character beyond the possibility of free choice is a most fearful responsibility. but for the imperialism of intelligent will, the _fall of angels_ is unreasonable, improbable, impossible. just how temptation can assail the inhabitants of heaven--the land, we are told, "where the wicked cease from troubling and the weary are at rest"--is beyond all human comprehension. startling as this truth appears to be, the bible teaches it in unmistakable language. "lucifer, son of the morning," an archangel, a great being, created in holiness, standing near the throne of god. his name means "light bearer," indicative of his glorious office. we can scarcely imagine such honour, such power, such distinction. just what the high-calling of "light bearer" was, as it was performed under the highest commission in the universe, the book fails to tell us; but the office of lucifer was surely the peer of michael or gabriel, if not above them in rank. brilliancy and splendour radiated from his person. may we dare, not altogether by the imagination, to venture into that remote, prehistoric time when the second person of the trinity--the anointed one--the logos, a being of perfection, made in the image of the invisible god, became a manifestation. that one of whom "the whole family in heaven and earth is named"; sharing the glory and honour equally with the father, on a throne in the heavenlies. milton and others believe that the presence of this manifestation aroused in lucifer a consuming spirit of ambition and envy; he at once aspired to the place and power which god reserved for his only begotten son. we get still another side-light on the personality of lucifer, when we consider his gigantic scheme. aaron burr planned the overthrow of his country, and dreamed of rulership; such a vision were impossible in the mind of any but a master of assemblies--an empire builder. lucifer saw himself a ruler above that of a creator, as "all things were made by him." no wonder the inspired exclamation concerning him: "how art thou fallen, o lucifer." when the climax of his overthrow came, he "fell like lightning out of heaven." the honourable cognomen is now lost forever; the glory of holiness has given place to the dishonour of despair. in the language of the poet, he "preferred to rule in hell rather than serve in heaven." this light bearer of paradise is still a prince, but in the dark regions of endless woe; "ruler of the darkness of this world." this archangel who felt himself capable of heavenly authority finds an easier task here below. speaking to the master, hear his presumption and audacity, "all these things (the kingdoms of the world, and the glory of them) will i give thee, if thou wilt fall down and worship me." what was the condition named? the restoration of what he had lost: that the son of god pay him homage and obeisance. baffled in this crowning stroke, he slunk away only to study the vantage more discreetly, reinforce, and reassert. let us keep in mind that intelligence and personality are not affected by the status of character; magnetic power and influence over others are not lost when the life is wholly given over to evil. piety and holiness may be displaced by treachery and hate, but the force of personality remains. if any change takes place, the individual becomes more subtle and more insidious in schemes to further selfish interests. if a righteous man, endowed with unusual powers, fall into a life of sin, he carries over into his wickedness all his former gifts and faculties--nothing is lost. this proposition enables us to further appreciate the marvellous capabilities of the fallen lucifer. besides the trinity, there are none superior in the universe. god allows his enemies, both men and devils, to continue a proprietary control of their talents, whether they be one or ten. there will be no devestments until the last shifting of the scene. when we remember all the attributes, previous advantages, and present opportunities of the greatest of all apostates, the conundrum of human actions, individually and nationally, begins slowly to unravel. the fight is not alone with men in sin, but with the "prince of the powers of the air." when lucifer rebelled and met the just rebuke of god's wrath, all his glory, power, and brilliancy became demonized. then, through all the millenniums there has been not one hour of relaxation; no armistice for the invisible warfare. just as saints grow in faith, vision, and divine illumination, devils sink lower and lower; but at the same time develop in skill and efficiency by a continual application of their debased energies. it is therefore reasonable to believe that our "common enemy" is far more formidable than the day he was cast into the earth. our ability to encounter him successfully becomes a more hopeless struggle with the passing days. if, in the days of paul, it were expedient to have on the "whole armour of god" to meet him, nothing short of "all the fullness of god" is the paramount need to-day. iv devil--satan--serpent--dragon "and there was war in heaven: michael and his angels fought against the dragon; and the dragon fought and his angels, and prevailed not; neither was their place found any more in heaven. and the great dragon was cast out, that old serpent, called the devil, and satan, which deceiveth the whole world: he was cast out into the earth, and his angels were cast out with him."--_revelation xii. - ._ names were significant in bible times; they are given to-day at random, but then names were indicative of character. when character changed, the name changed: jacob to israel; saul to paul, etc. while the subject of these pages remained the holy, shining light bearer of heaven, he was lucifer, but that name was lost to him forever. so varied were his passions, characteristics, and powers that must be known by appropriate names, and each, as given, designates some phase of his multiform personality. _devil._ not only did lucifer lose name and character; he exchanged a brilliant, glorious external appearance (to eyes that penetrate the invisible) for one ugly, loathsome, beastly. if language can be interpreted literally, the eye of inspiration and revelation sees him a _devil--sair_ in the hebrew, "hairy one," "he goat," etc. the he goat, in the bible, stands for all that is low and base. those who partake of the _sair_ nature, in the last day, are called _goats_. he divided the sheep from the goats. god teaches us spiritual lessons in all nature, especially by the animal kingdom, and as the goat is a synonym for the lowest instincts of the animal; we find a being created in the highest realm of spiritual life sinking to the lowest level of brute life. if no further delineation were given--no other name than devil--the fall was from one extreme to the other. this cognomen carried further has a second meaning: _spoiler_, one whose touch soils and besmirches, rearranges; bright spots are smeared with black soot; flowers with sweet odour, after his blight passes over them, send out a stench; hearts of purity are defiled and debauched; faces of beauty become marred and ugly. whenever and wherever it serves his purpose, cosmos becomes chaos. he is a spoiler. _satan._ in this familiar title we see him in the character rôle which dominates all his actions. as satan he is the _hater_. of all the evil passions of the soul, hate is the most terrible. as manifested in human relationships, the hater is a murderer. somehow hate seems to be a resultant of wrath, malice, envy, jealousy, and revenge. hatred in the bosom of the weak or cowardly affects only its possessor; but hatred burning in the soul of one who is strong and courageous, nothing belonging to the object of his hatred is secure: life, personal property, or reputation. we want carefully to note the full significance of hatred; then place beside it the one who hates--yes, as no other being in all the universe can hate. he is the father of haters; the tragedies of all kinds, filling the world with terror, because of murders, bomb explosions, incendiaries, poisonings, are but the scattered rays reflected and deflected from this full orb of hate as he revolves in his sphere of darkness. satan hates god, hates the holy ghost, but the full force of his hate, of necessity, is directed towards the _son_ of god, his rival for place and power. the supreme work of the son was the atonement; now, the interest and anxiety of heaven has been transferred to this planet. the supreme triumph of the second person of the trinity was accomplished on the cross where he paid the price of human redemption. his energies are now directed to the breaking down of all that was accomplished on the cross. every movement, every motive, every virtue, coming directly or indirectly from the merits of the atonement, become at once the object of satanic hatred. therefore every inch of territory conquered by the gospel propaganda was and is a victory over his hateful protest. _serpent._ at the very suggestion of this title our nature recoils. the "nachash," and "zachal," mean "_fearful_"--"_creeper_," therefore a fearful creeper. the snake is the most repulsive and dangerous of all reptiles. there is a strange antipathy about a snake; his nature is so still, so sneaking, so oily; the appearance of one produces an involuntary shudder. who has not felt the disgust at seeing men and women--"charmers"--take a number of the sleek, slimy monsters from a cage, and wind them around arms, neck, and body? the horror felt towards the snake is not an accident; it was in the guise of a serpent the downfall of the race was accomplished. men and women who are subtle, smooth, deceitful, treacherous, secretive are called "snakes in the grass." their plans and movements are under cover; they strike or sting from an hidden covert. the serpent is synonymous with the hiss, the blazing eye, the forked tongue, the poison; once it catches the eye of a bird the poor thing may wail and flutter, but it is powerless to escape. the bird is drawn into the jaws of death by a strange magnetism. this enemy of god and race is a serpent, slipping cautiously, noiselessly through all the dark, tangled mysteries about us. no one can fathom or interpret his cunning movements; we are stung, poisoned, charmed, fastened in the slimy coils, and yet do not know it. we have most to fear from the enemy who operates in the dark. this fallen archangel is never so dangerous as when acting in the personification of a serpent. _dragon._ in the hebrew it is "tannoth," _howler_--_jackal_; making a noise like the howling jackal in the wilderness. again we are appalled at this title. the dragon is represented as a monstrous animal having the form of a serpent, with crested head, wings, and tremendous claws; ferocious and dangerous. the scriptures have appropriated this fabulous monster--believed to have existed in days of mythology as the most dreaded creature on land or sea--to enforce and emphasize the danger of him who seeks our destruction. he is called the "great red dragon"--or fiery dragon, howling like a vicious jackal. it was in this peculiar manifestation that he stood before the woman and sought to destroy the man child as soon as he was born; then cast a flood after her as she fled from his presence. the dragon incarnates himself, and king herod at once seeks to destroy the infant jesus (matt. ii.; rev. xii. - ). v diabolus--demonia--abaddon-apollyon "then shall he say also unto them on the left hand, depart from me, ye cursed, into everlasting fire, prepared for the devil and his angels."--_matthew xxv. ._ "and they had a king over them, which is the angel of the bottomless pit, whose name in the hebrew tongue is abaddon, but in the greek tongue hath his name apollyon."--_revelation ix. ._ we now desire to analyze more minutely the greek names diabolus and demonia; reference was made to this distinction in a former chapter. in the authorized version the two names are often translated or rather _used_ interchangeably; devil for demon, and vice versa. we read of a "legion of devils," "seven devils," "cast out devils," "possessed with devils," etc. technically--literally translated, these statements are incorrect. demonia should never read devil--but _demon_; diabolus always means, not a devil, but _the devil_. _diabolus._ this name designates him more as to his ruling and authority than to the elements of his character. we have noticed already the meaning of devil, but from the original word we get more explicit meaning as to his rank of authority. as lucifer we do not know his ruling rank, but in his lost estate he ranks as commander-in-chief. whatever we may say of him, the prefix, "arch," designating his angel rank, can be logically attached: archspoiler--arch-deceiver--archaccuser--archslanderer, etc. however, if accurately defined, diabolus means _calumniator_--archcalumniator; a propagator of calumny. acting in the capacity of calumniator, he seeks out and defames the innocent. he sends out a million rumours daily which would be, if tangible, cases for libel in any court. _demonia._ a demon--a fallen angel--evil spirit, an imp. literally, a _shade_--a dark spot, moving as noiselessly and rapidly as a shadow. the many references in the new testament to "devil," and "devils," should always be _demons_; the great multitude, so often found in one place, come from the innumerable concourse which constitute the "powers of darkness." shadow spirits, men and women who are controlled by these dark, shadowy imps, "love darkness rather than light because their deeds are evil." the transformation, as we learned, which took place with lucifer was just as great and radical with his angel followers; the difference was only that of degree of rank. _abaddon-apollyon._ we have coupled the hebrew and greek names together, as each means exactly the same. we call the attention of the reader to the variety of names, all of which are so nearly alike, but convey a significant difference. abaddon-apollyon means _destroyer_. he has been discussed as a "spoiler," but one who destroys carries the work farther than the spoiler. as abaddon or apollyon he is the king of the abyss, or "bottomless pit," and when he appears it is with purpose and equipment for destruction. just as god sent the "destroying angel" throughout egypt, bringing a curse upon pharaoh for his hardness of heart, this mighty messenger of the abyss visits his destruction wherever and whenever he finds, not the absence of the typical blood upon the door, but when he finds it, or any evidence of allegiance to the one whose sacrificial blood he seeks to destroy. as abaddon-apollyon he assumes the part of finisher of his task; when we see him a _destroyer_, we have a full-sized photograph--leaving out not a single line of countenance, or a single character or attribute of his composite nature. he may soil, spoil, deceive, traduce, accuse, slander, wound, etc., but the ultimate aim is destruction. "when sin is finished it bringeth forth death." we see how the two great rivals stand over against each other in their respective spheres: "for this cause the son of god was manifested, that he might destroy the works of the devil." with the same degree of purpose, the devil seeks to destroy the work of the son of god. the devil seeks to destroy truth, righteousness, virtue, religion, hope, faith, visions of god, power of the blood, thoughts of eternity and heaven. every beautiful, holy thing on earth he would destroy, leaving behind only black, charred cinders where once were the flowers of eden. just as he destroyed the earthly paradise in the long ago, so he would blot from our hopes and aspirations the paradise of the soul. his ambition and supreme joy would be to turn this world over to god blighted and wrecked by his finishing touches, while hell echoed with triumphant shouts--an infernal jubilee. abaddon-apollyon: archdestroyer. vi the devil a "blockade" "wherefore we would have come unto you, even i paul, once and again; but satan hindered us."--_ thessalonians ii. ._ "but the prince of the kingdom of persia withstood me one and twenty days; but, lo, michael, one of the chief princes, came to help me."--_daniel x. ._ we find another striking interpretation couched in the title of devil. the church in its organization is called _militant_, because it is engaged in a moral and religious warfare. the writings of paul bristle with military terms, as two mighty armies are contending and contesting for dominion. each army is fighting under a leader; the surging campaign has changed its base of operation--the battle-field has been transferred from heaven to this planet. the rivalry between christ and satan has, many times, changed _modus operandi_, but the spirit of the contest and the end--all for which they contend--change not. the title-word of this chapter is not a bible term; we appropriate and accommodate it because of its military meaning. strictly in keeping with the use of terms, the "blockade" belongs to naval operations; but any movement, reconnoitre, or countermarch, which interferes, hinders, or hedges up the way of progress, is a blockade. a campaign ends in failure because of obstructions thrown up, access to base of supplies cut off, reinforcements thwarted in reaching the scene of activities, etc., convey the idea set forth in the key scriptures used giving emphasis to the chapter heading. the apostle paul had all the advantages of equipment; his intellectual attainments the very best; he was a recognized leader of men, a chosen vessel of the lord, and full of the holy ghost. no man besides the master was more able to withstand the opposition of the "prince of darkness." yet satan actually prevents him from going to thessalonica to comfort and strengthen the struggling church at that place--literally hedges up the way. a careful examination of the tenth chapter of daniel gives us a conversation between the prophet and a "voice,"--a "vision"--having an appearance "like the similitude of the sons of men"; evidently an angel of high rank, whose mission was to encourage daniel, but he also acknowledges that the "prince of persia" hindered him from coming twenty days. this mighty angel, it seems, was helpless trying to reach daniel, until michael came upon the scene. it was michael who led the triumphant battle against him when he was overthrown in heaven. he alone was able to meet the "prince of persia," the _devil_. we can, therefore, understand how successfully satan can hinder--blockade the progress of righteousness wherever he chooses to concentrate his depraved energies. volumes would be required to record the worthy enterprises in the church of god which went down in failure, yet with no tangible explanation. sudden reverses, turning the whole current of affairs, are daily happenings; revival efforts to reach certain communities, certain individuals, find insurmountable hindrances. it is the work of the "blockade." such occurrences are generally regarded as "unfortunate coincidents" rather than a resultant of some deep-laid plans--invisible and impersonal. a baby cries at a critical moment, a dog creates an uproar, the fire-bell rings, the engine becomes disabled; landslides, swollen streams, sudden illness, and many others similar, which are never credited to the proper source or cause. the bible concedes to satan the dignity of being the god of this world; therefore he must of necessity control, to some extent, the physical phenomena, directing them to an advantage. we do not venture a dogmatic position as to what extent the hindrances in the physical world are due to his power; but the bible most clearly teaches that he is an obstructionist. there are hundreds of ways and places where moral and religious blockades obtain. it would seem that in the blaze of the last century of civilization war would be impossible. why could not our civil war have been averted? in the retrospect, we can see how easily it might have been settled without such horror and bloodshed. the hague with its millions of endowment is grinding away on international troubles, yet arbitration fails more often than it succeeds. but war continues, and all efforts in that direction generally meet a "stone wall of opposition." must we conclude that all these lapses, coming in direct conflict with human weal and happiness, are just "happen-sos"? unthinkable! "satan hindered," declares the great apostle. "the prince of persia withstood me twenty and one days," says the angel. vii the great magician "put on the whole armour of god, that ye may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil."--_ephesians vi. ._ "for they are the spirits of devils working miracles, which go forth unto the kings of the earth and of the whole world."--_revelation xvi. ._ from the earliest records of history men have lived who seemed to possess strange, occult powers. magicians--performing miracles, setting aside, apparently, well-known physical laws. moses met the sorcerers and magicians of egypt in close competition. there are men to-day, on lecture platforms, performing feats which are miracles; there seems to be no visible explanation. "the hand is quicker than the eye," it is said; watches are pounded to pieces before your eyes, the fragments crammed into a gun; the gun is discharged, and the watch will be hanging on a hook, running as if nothing had happened. we once saw a man sewed up in a tarpaulin, placed in a huge trunk, and the trunk strapped securely. in less than five minutes the man came out from an enclosure where the trunk was placed; not one buckle loosened, and not one stitch in the tarpaulin broken. cannonballs are taken from hats; live ducks, rabbits, and a dozen tin vessels are drawn from one hat in rapid succession. cards are made to jump out of the deck when called by name. one magician laid his assistant on a table, cut off his head with a large knife, lifted the gory head by the hair and placed it on another table; then carried on a conversation with the severed head in the presence of the astonished audience. every one knows these wonderful feats are done by some kind of magic, but for all we can see they are done; the most astute observer cannot detect the secret. the apostle exhorts the believers to put on the whole armour of god, to be able to stand (not to be swept away or captured) against the wiles of the devil. then the devil is a trickster--a sleight-of-hand performer--a magician. one of his many methods to accomplish his purpose, we find, is delusion: practicing sleights, tricks, and works of magic on the gullibility of his victims. how many unsophisticated men and boys have been robbed in daylight on a street corner by some little "game," or trick, by a sharper. farms have been deeded away for nothing in return. now, if we were to catalogue all the tricks of all the conjurers of all ages, we have in this evil chieftain a consummation, an embodiment of them all; he is not only a magician, but the chief of them. he incessantly seeks victims more astutely than the crook seeks the ignorant with a purpose of robbery. observe the text says, "wiles of the devil"; not one, but many; while we are penetrating and avoiding one of his "wiles," behold, we are in the meshes of another. human intellect cannot fathom the feats of magic performed in friendly entertainment, where every opportunity is given to examine--then how much more are we at the mercy of séances concocted, not to entertain, but to delude and capture. the astrologers, soothsayers, and magicians; the clairvoyants, ancient and modern, are insignificant compared with this great magician. is he not superior and supernatural, possessed with unearthly powers? are there any combinations and hidden laws of which he is unacquainted? besides, no one is more familiar with the weaknesses and susceptibility of human nature than he. so astute and cunning are his "wiles"--tricks of magic--paul seems to feel that only the girdings and enduements of god, giving spiritual illumination to the things invisible, can withstand them. the antithesis of the apostle's exhortation leaves no doubt in our mind as to his meaning: if we strive and contend in our own wisdom, deception and defeat are inevitable. to be explicit, does it not look as if multitudes are under a delusion--seeing things through distorted and false lenses--when words and actions, by the best and truest people on earth, are seen as blatant hypocrisy? does it not look as if a sleight-of-hand expert were manipulating the ideals of this pleasure-mad generation; hiding the true character and dangers which lurk in every indulgence and excess? "presto, veto--change;" there you are, safe, satisfied, happy. "spirits of devils," declares the seer of patmos, "working miracles, going to the kings, and to the whole world." the arena wherein he practices his deadly delusions is the whole world. no places exempt; no peoples immune. the whole armour of god is the only sure protection. viii the roaring lion "be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour."--_ peter v. ._ thus far we have studied diabolus under various titles and cognomens which deal almost exclusively with the secret side of his nature: the propaganda of hidden arts. the caption of this chapter will indicate quite a different proposition. this title swings him into full view, stripped of all deception and legerdemain. the lion walks up and down the earth, showing no quarters, making no apologies for his presence. when he roams in the forests, he is king; he allows no beast to interfere or question his rights, and none dare to do it. he kills, tears to pieces, and devours whatever he can catch; his roar strikes terror to all the forest dwellers. the lion, therefore, is noisy; his approach is with loud demonstration. there is something in noise that weakens and frightens; the keen clap of thunder, the shout of an approaching army, the blast of ram's horns, the loud proclaiming of the sword of the lord and gideon are historical examples of victories by noise. the lion is also powerful; no other beast has a chance in a match with him. one stroke with his mighty paw is death. he walks about conscious of his strength; an ox or a buffalo are no more his equal than a mouse contending with a cat. the lion is vicious; his going forth has one definite object--"seeking to devour." the lion presupposes that all the earth belongs to him; deer, antelopes, panthers, buffaloes, horses, cattle, etc., have no rights or possessions of which he feels under the slightest obligation to respect. the devil does not come out _in person_: hoofs, horns, claws, bushy mane--the make-up of a lion, building up his kingdom by tearing down and destroying men and institutions opposed to him. he does these things, as a lion, by incarnating himself in men, evil combines, corrupt politics, vicious society, the liquor traffic, the white slave system, etc. as he appropriates and embodies these institutions by entering in and possessing the men who are leaders, he no longer acts as a conjurer or snake, but a _lion_. the fullness of the earth, and they that dwell therein, belong to him, to use, desecrate, prostitute, kill, devour, or destroy, just so he may best serve and satisfy his insatiable appetite. cities are to be officered and governed, not for the peaceful protection of their citizens, but for plunder, boodle, and graft. men who desire to be public servants in deed and in truth must fight "a roaring lion." the man who steps to the front with a desire to question and curtail the exploitations of the "officials," the "traffic," the "gang," places his life at once in imminent peril. threats, black hand letters, pistols, poison, bombs, and torches are the instruments boldly used to destroy the man or men who do not believe that these human lions should be allowed to filch and devour the privileges and possessions of others. we find our "adversary, the devil, as a roaring lion, walking about, seeking whom he may devour," has three methods which he uses according to the exigencies of the case. it is first a "roar," a bluff, or bulldoze: the threat of the "boss," whether he be a political boss, an ecclesiastical boss, or a liquor boss, accomplishes wonders in coercion; it frightens and cowers the weak-kneed and backboneless. the crack of the slave-driver's whip brought the obstreperous negro into humble submission. men in office, in pulpits, in editorial rooms, have been awed into silence by the roar of men "higher up." then truth, righteousness, justice, and conscience are crucified; and behind the scene leering devils hold a jubilee of triumph. however, the bluff and bulldoze will not always succeed; and when these loud, but mild methods fail, the boycott is ordered. those who can stand undaunted in the presence of roaring threats will quail before the prospects of financial ruin. employees are discharged, patronage cut off, positions given to others, preachers asked to resign. somehow evil is so compactly organized, wires of connection are so completely in touch with every nook and corner, that the "boss" sits quietly at the switchboard and issues orders. the "big stick" and boycott have carried many elections; municipal, state, and national; they have made merchandise of sovereignty, and bargain counters of conscience. "your clerk must take his name off that petition, or we will withdraw our patronage;" "his wife is an active worker in the w. c. t. u.--you must discharge him," were the identical words overheard in a private office. business and public men dread the boycott. behind the boycott is our "adversary, the devil." but the bluff and boycott by no means mark the limit when the self-assumed rights and privileges of the lion are questioned. few can rise above the threat and intimidation; but the roaring activities of the boss will not always suffice. the lion in corrupt politics, in evil traffics, in priestly bigotry and intolerance, will not hesitate to stab, shoot, or burn to get rid of an offensive opposer. it is not necessary to discuss facts so well known as these; but we are investigating the sources; we want to locate the bacilli rather than examine the pustule. we wish to reiterate a previous statement; the "roaring lion" is never heard if the still fight, the oily snake methods serve to a better advantage. the apostle's exhortation is timely: "be vigilant, be sober"--be on the alert constantly, and be at your best, as an "adversary" who knows no boundary lines in his work of subjugation and destruction has declared war to the end. ix an angel of light "for such are false apostles, deceitful workers, transforming themselves into the apostles of christ. and no marvel; for satan himself is transformed into an angel of light."--_ corinthians xi. - ._ the devil is a person, with a great personality; but like human beings, he is not equally endowed in all the attributes of his nature. however, the book gives us no information as to his weaknesses. he is all superlative strength; but if at any point there is a special endowed faculty that would seem to overshadow the others, it is surely manifested when satan is transformed into an _angel of light_. the reason for this is obvious; it is a return to his old office of "light bearer." when he can effectively serve his purpose by this startling transformation--darkness to light--he is at once in a realm where he is familiar with every inch of the territory. a close observation of the signs of the times--the happenings in social and religious circles--will reveal the fact that _light_ is not only his most familiar rôle, but his favourite rôle. the world is attracted by things that are bright, beautiful, cheerful; anything that hides the sombre side of life, throws a mystic veil over its realities, and helps us to forget--whether it be books, music, lectures, or the nonentities of society--outweigh all else in the casting of accounts and in forming comparative estimates. if satan were allowed to pose for a full sized picture of himself, just as he wishes to be seen by the children of this generation, no portrait painter could produce a specimen of rarer beauty; it would grace the walls of the most exclusive parlour, and attract special attention in any great art gallery of the world. there would be no sharp angles, no coarse, sensuous lines, no out-of-date adornment--the traditional fiery-red would not appear, but rather the most delicate tints and shades of colour. the features would be the most graceful and artistic combination of curves and circles. the "hairy one," the jackal, the snake, the lion, the shadow, the spoiler at once become as "beautiful as a dream." amazing transformation! "the devil of to-day" is not only an apostle of sunshine, but of beauty. this world is full of beauty; and why should we not forever keep the ugly and distorted in the background? the development of the beautiful should be one of the fine arts. think only of beauty; speak only of beauty; see only the _beautiful_; then the sinful and unlovely will disappear. an angel of light--how suggestive! as an apostle of sunshine his mission is to flood the world with light, and he does it; but observe--it is _his_ light; it neither warms nor illuminates, but for spectacular purposes it answers every demand. it reveals new standards of duty; proves the wrathful things in the word of god to be spurious, and the old plan of salvation obsolete and unsuited to the present day needs. such words as self-denial, crucifixion, dead to sin, judgment day, cross bearing, etc., so prominent in the new testament, must not be given a literal interpretation. such truths cast an unnecessary gloom over the souls of otherwise happy people. "the devil of to-day" believes that ethical culture should be the slogan, the watchword, the shibboleth of every pulpit and rostrum. religion without refinement is absurd; the esthetic taste should be looked after more than belief in some abstract bible doctrine; then the race would be free from the bondage of creed and fear. true religion is nothing more than a just appreciation of art, literature, science, philosophy, and nature. god is in all these things rather than some musty, stereotyped statement of faith. he further believes it is a waste of energy for women to be organizing into societies to study and help conditions among the slums or heathen lands, and urging upon the hard worked people to pay a tenth of their income to support missionaries who are better fed and housed than themselves. far better devote the time to social clubs, book circles, euchre and bridge parties, and dressing properly. we want to call attention again to a truth often overlooked: the devil and demons are never satisfied in a disembodied state; when they cannot enter the souls of men, they seek something else. they will enter a swine when there is nothing better available. we believe "the prince of the air" can wield a powerful influence, unincarnated, _in the air_, but he schemes and works best when he can possess and direct intelligent flesh and blood. just now the machinery of the church and all the auxiliaries are devoting their energies to various branches of social service; this is good, christlike, and necessary; the point we raise, germane to this subject, is not the work, but the abuse of the idea: social service and humanitarianism are not religion. they are the fruits of the good samaritan spirit in the world, but they cannot take the place of personal relationship to god. "though i give my body to be burned, and all my goods to feed the poor," says paul, "it profiteth me nothing" without love--divine love. the angel-of-light gospel places the emphasis on works without faith. love the world, enjoy its lusts and allurements, disregard all puritanic ideals of life, be a part of all worldliness--but be kind, cheerful, optimistic, generous, benevolent: help humanity. "pay the fiddler," then dance as you please. do penance when your conscience lashes you; but buy indulgences by works of supererogation. "on with the dance, let joy be unconfined." a concrete example will illustrate the proposition before us, and also reveal the power of polished, cultured emissary of "sunshine and smiles." the little city had a population of about fifteen hundred people; there were four churches of nearly equal strength. each congregation had a large flourishing organization of young people. scarcely any worldliness obtained--dancing and card playing rarely ever. the pious, consecrated young people attracted no little attention. finally there came to the place a young woman fresh from college and conservatory as teacher of music and delsarte. she was an adept at all the niceties of modern society; things took on new colour at once. the work began with a literary club, then cards, then the dance. she was beautiful and magnetic; in six months the "stupid meetin's" of the league and christian endeavour were abandoned for things more exhilarating. the religious foundation which had been crystallizing for years among the simple hearted boys and girls gave place to the gayeties imported from the classic circles of city and college life. she moved among them "an angel of light." x the sower of tares "the kingdom of heaven is like a man that sowed good seed in his field: but while men slept, his enemy came and sowed tares among the wheat and went away."--_matthew xiii. - ._ "the field is the world; the good seed are the children of the kingdom; but the tares are the children of the wicked one; the enemy that sowed them is the devil."--_matthew xiii. - ._ the parable of the sower is one of common-sense appeal; the sensible farmer sows only good seed. the growing of tares among the wheat is not in the original plan. good seed were sown, but behold the tares! whence came they? while the servants slept an enemy came and sowed them. the master gives us his own interpretation: he is the sower--the good seed are the children of the kingdom, men and women into whose hearts the truth has entered--the converted part of the church. the sleeping of the servants is the unwatchfulness of the church: coldness, indifference, backslidden. the enemy seizes the opportunity--the carelessness of christ's servants--and sows _bad seed_. the enemy is the devil--the wicked one; the bad seed are the children of the devil. growing side by side in this world-field are the children of god and the children of the devil. the tare, or cheat, in appearance resembles the wheat; it grows exactly the same height, and viewed casually, or at a distance, cannot be detected from the genuine. only the threshing and sifting bring out the difference. these tares are the propaganda of the devil, but a perfect imitation of the children of the kingdom. they make a profession, adhere to the same rules and regulations, profess and maintain, outwardly, a standard of morality, wear all the regalia--even particular about details. we observe another striking resemblance: strange as it may seem, these tares--children of the devil--seek as their guide no books of heathen philosophy, or twentieth century atheism; they make great capital of the bible; the ceremonies and ordinances are carried out to the letter. on a day of dress parade and review they meekly grade a . such an inconsistency is so glaring as to be almost unthinkable; but the parable teaches it beyond a doubt. the devil sows into the church his children: _a corrupt profession of jesus christ_. in a former chapter we studied the devil as a _destroyer_; and it will be remembered that in a preceding parable he came as a vulture devouring the seed; now he seeks to further weaken and hinder by adulteration. while continuing the battering-ram process from without, a reversed method is used; he scales the ramparts and places his cohorts on the inside, and, wherever possible, assumes leadership in a campaign of self-destruction. we are amazed at such audacity, but the master, who is a rival in the field, has illuminated the parable for us. there is a note of optimism ringing out in the land to the effect that the day of triumph is at hand; doors are opening, walls are crumbling, conservative nations are studying our religion, municipalities are being renovated, higher standards in public life are demanded, the church is lifting the race out of superstition and prejudice--we are about to see a "nation born in a day." what does it mean? it means that satan is being chained--defeated, etc. this sounds good and plausible; but a closer inspection will reveal, not a retreat, not an armistice, not a victory, but a _change of base_. twenty years ago a leading teacher said: "unless the signs of the times fail, the true church of christ is about to enter upon the most serious struggle of her history. she is no longer called merely to fight an open foe without, but as dr. green, of princeton, says, 'the battle rages around the citadel,' and she is forced to fight the traitors within. the real enemy is to be found on the inside." if such a condition were true then, what is it to-day, since the last two decades have been the most revolutionary in the history of the church on the line of skepticism and advanced thought? the _free thinkers' magazine_ recently had this to say: "tom paine's work is now carried on by the descendants of his persecutors; all he said about the bible is being said in substance by orthodox divines, and from chairs of theology." another writer observes: "no need of bridlaughs and ingersols wasting time preaching against the early chapters of genesis, sneering at the story of temptation, cavilling at the record of long lives, denying the confusion of tongues, doubting if not denying the deluge, when christian ministers, on account of their official position, are doing the same work more effectually." "freedom of thought in religion," said an orthodox preacher at tom paine's one hundredth anniversary, "just what he stood for, is what most of us have come to. in his own day vilified as an atheist--to-day he is looked upon as a defender of just principles of faith." there is a wide range of opinions found in the growing crop of tares: some are literalists, touching biblical interpretation, getting the minutia of husks, but rejecting the kernel--the envelope, but missing the message; others remain in the church, preach a gospel shelter under her roof--eat her bread, but deny the supernatural _in toto_. few, if any, are honest enough to step out. the devil prefers his _cheat_ to grow in the same soil prepared for the wheat. no place is so wholesome and convenient for the children of the devil as inside the church of god. why is not the wrath of god poured out on the children of the devil who have assumed place and power in his church? the same processes used for the removal of the tares would injure and uproot some of the wheat. there is now no remedy; at an unguarded moment the harm was done. the enemy continues to enter every available door, sowing, sowing, sowing--beside all waters. not until the angelic reapers thrust in their sickles for the harvest will the children of the devil cease to occupy, influence, and control. xi the arch slanderer "for god doth know that in the day ye eat thereof, then your eyes shall be opened, and ye shall be as gods, knowing good and evil."--_genesis iii. ._ "but put forth thine hand now and touch all that he hath, and he will curse thee to thy face."--_job i. ._ it is the first scene of the human drama; the staging is in an earthly paradise; perfection is written on everything animate and inanimate. with but one restriction man roams through edenic beauties, a being "good and very good," happy and holy. his communion with god is unbroken; fountains of love are opened in his heart as he beholds the beautiful mate at his side. our wildest imaginations cannot estimate the glories of that life-morning; but behold the serpent. he utters his first words in the scheme of ruin, and it is a slander against god. "aha, he knows if you eat you will be like he is--knowing all things, be as gods; he is not treating you fairly; the case is misrepresented. you will not die, but you will be wise. why does he keep back such privileges from you?" as a result of this slander, the paradise is lost. flowers, fruits, peace and plenty are exchanged for weeds, briers, toil, sweat, suffering, death. again we find his impudent presence on the day job is offering sacrifices. reading between the lines, we can imagine a conversation like this: "you here? you are looking for some pretense to discount my people; you say none are good--all hypocrites. what do you think of my servant job? what have you to say about him?" "oh, of course," says the slanderer, "you have him hedged around--blessing him continually. it pays job to be good; just take away your special care of his material welfare and see--he will curse thee to thy face." an artist once painted a picture of the human tongue in a way to represent his conception of how the "tongue of slander" should appear. it was long, coiled like a serpent, tapering at the end into a barbed spear point; from each of the papilla, scarcely visible, was a needle point, from which oozed a green, slimy poison. the slandering tongue is "a fire, a world of iniquity--it defileth the whole body--it is set on fire of hell." the slanderer is no respecter of persons; he rakes and scrapes the uttermost parts of the earth for victims: king and peasant, rich and poor, priest and prophet; living or dead suffer alike when once this vile, inhuman spirit touches them. bacon said: "calumny crosses oceans, scales mountains, and traverses deserts with greater ease than the scythian abaris, and, like him, rides on a poisoned arrow." the winds of the arabian desert not only produce death, but rapid decomposition of the body; so doth slander destroy every virtue of human character. the cloven-hoof slanderer, like the filthy worm, leaves behind a trail of offal and stench though his pathway wind through a bower of earth's sweetest flowers. a writer has said: "so deep does the slanderer sink in the murky waters of degradation and infamy that, could an angel apply an archimedian moral lever to him, with heaven as a fulcrum, he could not in a thousand years raise him to the grade of a convict felon." "whose edge is sharper than a sword; whose tongue out-venoms all the worms of nile; whose breath rides on the posting winds, and doth belie all corners of the world; kings, queens, and states, maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave this viperous slander enter." iago is said to be the greatest villain in fiction or history; the revolting crimes of herod--slaughtering the innocent--does not compare with iago. herod saw in the man child a possible rival, and blinded by jealousy and ambition, he becomes the most heartless murderer--of all times. but what was the crime of iago? slander! with no object in view, no advantage to gain, and too much of a coward to make an open charge, he slanders by insinuation the beautiful desdemona until the enraged othello strangles her to death. how can we reconcile this base passion in human character, as slander has no other avenue of expression? it is unnatural, inhuman, and hellish. the wolf and tiger devour to satisfy hunger; the vulture eats and fattens on rotting carcases, but the slanderer does neither. with the blood cruelty of a savage beast, the degraded appetite of the scavenger, the destroyed victims of fiendish passion only intensify and burn, but never satisfy the slanderer. this spirit was never born among men; its origin is the region of the damned, where hunger gnaws, thirst fires, lust arouses, revenge consumes--but satisfaction is unknown. the hot breath of slander comes from a bourne where dead hopes spring up eternal. the caption of the chapter denominates the devil as the arch slanderer; we use it because there is no word of sufficient strength to convey the idea; "arch" fails to convey the whole truth in this case. archangel is an intelligible term, as there are many of high order; there is, however, but one slanderer. just as he is the "father of liars"--propagating all lies--his relation to liars does not admit of comparison. he slandered from the day of his fall; he is the father of slanderers. whether it be circulated in the "submerged world," the quiet circles of church life, or among the "four hundred" of fashion--it is a deflected arrow from the one great quiver. no being--holy men, angels, or the son of god--can escape the tongues dripping the venom of slander through the subtle incarnation of that fountainhead of every evil suggestion or insinuation. whatever destroys happiness, creates doubt and suspicion among the people, ending in litigation, divorces, and murders, fulfills the mission of slander. the caldron from which exudes this vile stench--filling all the earth--is seething and boiling in the bottomless pit, or wherever the throne of his majesty--the devil--is located. the society of earth will never be free from the poison of evil-speaking until the archslanderer is arrested, chained, and located in the penitentiary prepared for him from the foundation of the world. xii the double accuser "hast not thou made an hedge about him, and about his house, and about all that he hath on every side? thou hast blessed the work of his hands, and his substance is increased in the land."--_job i. ._ "now is come salvation, and strength, and the kingdom of our god, and the power of his christ: for the accuser of our brethren is cast down, which accused them before our god day and night."--_revelation xii. ._ when we consider the diabolus character--his strength and opportunity, whereby he visits his vengeance upon a weak, susceptible race, we can readily understand that his make-up would be far from complete without a continuous outflow of slander. but his courage and audacity stand out in glaring relief when we find him an accuser. it does not require large intelligence or bravery to be a slanderer--only baseness of character--but to be an accuser, face to face with false charges, especially in the presence of one who has power over all things, reveals an impudent bravery that dazes the judgment. when questioned of god about his presence among devout spirits--as they were assembled for worship--he answered in the manner of a guilty boy: "just going to and fro in the earth." peter tells us that his mission of going to and fro is of seeking and devouring. he is then reminded of job's character--how that this saint is perfect and just; satan's blighting influence has not been able to touch and overthrow the aged job. in his shrewd rejoinder satan accuses god of two sins: _partiality and falsehood_. translated into its literal meaning, the language would be about as follows: "i deny that job is perfect; but for the protection you have thrown around him he would be as other men. his pretended piety is hypocrisy; he serves you because you have blest him with abundance; he has not fallen into sin because you have hedged him about. if you treated job as you treat others, his holiness would soon be about as genuine as mine." satan accuses god of protecting his servant and blessing him in material things in a special and partial manner, viz: "a respecter of persons." but the fiercest accusation is hidden in his reply to god's question, also put in the form of a question, and finished by an emphatic declaration: job is not the man god said he was; "but put forth thine hand and touch all that he hath, and he will curse thee to thy face." a being who can stand before the lord god, of whom the hosts of heaven sing and shout--he, himself, once among the number--saying: "holy, holy, holy," and accuse him of being guilty of partiality and falsehood--what may _we_ expect from him? the word says he accuses the saints day and night. observe that he accuses the _saints_, those who are striving in righteousness. the man who lies, cheats in business, accumulates a fortune, and lives all the vices without apology is not an object of malicious accusation. the scandals in select circles cause only a ripple, even though the offenses occupy much space of the associated press. the principles of such affairs are often staged as heroes and heroines for the entertainment of a morbid public taste. satan accuses the saints; the presumption is shouted from the housetops: "there is none that doeth good, no not one." the saints--every good man and woman--must at some time face charges against their moral or religious character. this hellish machination goes on day and night. it is reasonable to conclude that much of the unrest, depression, and backslidings among the people of god may be traced to this cause; innocent men and women have not only cast away their hope through rumoured accusations, but have been driven to desperation and suicide. the reader must keep in mind the suggestion made in a former chapter: that while satan has the power by his presence of himself, or his minions, to create an atmosphere, unfathomable, impenetrable, yet surcharged with horror and dread; but his activities are seldom apart from human instrumentalities. just as he is the arch slanderer, through the word of mouth, so is he the accuser, both of god and saints, through human personalities under his control. a flood sweeps away, or lightning destroys a man's possessions; he looks up, curses and accuses god of cruelty and injustice. death enters the home; the mourners charge god falsely. his accusations are confined to no particular method; the one most suited to the case is used, whether self-condemnation or from another. self-reproach, through memory and meditation, is a most powerful agency in carrying on this work. once we begin to think on our ways--seeking to turn our steps unto the testimony of god--we face a life of sins and blunders mountain high and unsurmountable. but when faith takes wings and lifts the agonizing soul "out of the mire and clay," an everlasting reminder of the _past_ clings to us, often robbing us of peace and joy. how many christians have grown weary and given up because of memories blackened by consequences of past sins--sins which god said, if we confess and forsake, he would "remember them against us no more forever." if the truth, which can never be revealed until the judgment day, could be known! our asylums are swarming with unfortunates who have lost mental balance because of remorse and condemnation, resulting from an accusing memory. wherever satan is unable to lure the saints into actual transgression their life and usefulness are often destroyed by tormenting spirits accusing them day and night the book holds out no deliverance from this scourge until the accuser is forever cast down by the wrath of god at the final shifting of the scene. xiii satan a spy "and the lord said unto satan, whence comest thou? then satan answered the lord, and said, from going to and fro in the earth, and from walking up and down in it."--_job i. ._ the spy is the most dangerous man in the army; more is he to be feared than the genius of a napoleon or a lee. the sphere in which he operates has no duplicate in military activities; his bravery, boldness, and daring are unexcelled. whether he be called from the ranks, or from among the commissioned officers, his counsel and suggestions get a hearing in the highest commandery of the army. the movements of a spy are unknown even to his own corps, much less to the enemy. after receiving authority for such a perilous undertaking he is a free lance, going and coming at will. not only does he go beyond the enemy's line, but mingles freely with them in the camp. there is nothing in his appearance to indicate who or what he is. to-day he is a civilian peddling fruits among the soldiers, or innocently driving a yoke of steers along the street or country road; to-morrow he is within the camp, dressed in their gay uniform, familiar with passwords and countersigns. then he appears as a decrepit old woman, seeking a son who "run away to jine the solgers." in a few hours he is quietly resting or joking with the boys of his own regiment. when a spy is captured all military courtesies are set aside; he is not even allowed the honour of a court-martial; but without trial he is executed at once. it is of special interest, in view of the application to our subject, to notice the particular business of a spy. just as his movements are unknown, so is his mission unknown. he hurries to and fro, gathering up such bits of information here and there as he deems important for the cause he represents. if he belongs to the federal forces he appears clothed in the "butternut gray"; then by tactics of bravery and nerve he enters the confederate gray lines. the slightest blunder is certain death. he takes a mental inventory of the whole situation, but in such a way as to attract the attention of no one. the strength of the fortifications, the size and number of the batteries, the commissary department, and the chances and probabilities of reinforcements. in a moment, under the cover of night, he fades out into the darkness and is gone. the budget of information is placed at the earliest possible moment into the war councils of his own army. satan plays the rôle of a crafty spy; he has access, by some mysterious power, to the heart life of men. at no point of the game for immortal trophies is he so dangerous as when he can take advantage because of his secret knowledge of men's weaknesses and sins. only a vicious degenerate can be tempted into all the crimes known to the docket of the bible; few beings on this planet but are fortified at some point of character. they may be weak in many ways--but early training or environment have helped them to become strong in some particulars. the spy seeks to know when and where a blow may be struck in the enemy's lines, at a place of least resistance. the soul battles are exactly the same; we have no special battles where we are strong; things that might overcome another will mean nothing to us. our battles are ever fought around the points of weak fortification; the enemy rarely, if ever, has the pleasure of shouting over our downfall from the best that is in us. the victories of athletic games--the pugilistic bouts in the sporting arena, the mortal duel with rapiers, the battle-fields where thousands fell--have been lost and won by the application of this principle. the general with his field-glass sees a weakening in the enemy's line and orders a charge; the duelist observes a shortening of breath or an awkward movement and seizes the opportunity. it is the weak link in the chain of life that breaks; sins of the lower nature--sensuality--might not appeal to some who fall an easy victim to pride, ambition, or covetousness; others who are liberal, honest to the cent, unassuming, are helpless when tempted in the realm of lower passions. we are at an incalculable disadvantage when our enemy is familiar with our vulnerable points. so long as the heart is unregenerated and unpurified by the cleansing power of the holy ghost, satan has access to every nook and corner of our heart life. he enters and discovers every vulnerable and invulnerable section of the soul's fortification. the tempted and fallen are often unable to tell how it was done. "why did you go there?" or, "why did you do it?" oh, so many, many times do we hear the answer: "i do not know." a friend once showed me a little iron safe in which he kept his valuable papers. this safe had a very ingenious lock; the combinations were such, and the mechanism so wonderful, that it was capable of _three hundred thousand combinations_. why and how are sane men and women overcome? they were met at a certain place, under peculiar circumstances; met by several--a word, a smile, an argument, a pressure of the hand. how was it done? they do not know. somehow the attack came in a way which rendered them helpless to resist. one effort failed--a dozen failed; but as often as it failed the expert changed the _combination_, until the door yielded, and an entrance into the citadel of mansoul was effected. _three hundred thousand combinations._ the spy has information from within; and, therefore, the most dangerous man in the army. satan, by his supernatural powers directing his practice and experience for several millenniums, is a crafty, sagacious spy, acquainted with all the weaknesses and emotions of the human heart. who is equal to such an enemy? contending alone, _no one_ on this sin-burdened footstool. xiv the quack doctor "having the form of godliness, but denying the power thereof: from such turn away."--_ timothy iii. ._ we do not agree with some late views of the nature of sin--that it is a physical and mental disorder: the resultant of heredity, food, soil, climate and social environment. if the root of the difficulty springs from these primary causes, the whole problem of evil could be wiped out in one generation by the application of sanitary laws and social betterment. in the bible sin is known by several disease terms, but always such diseases as were incurable by any treatment known in those days: leprosy, born blind, deadly poison, paralytic, etc. sin is a disease, and the whole man, body, mind, and spirit, is more or less affected therefrom; but it is, in particular, a soul malady, going deeper than human remedies can reach, whether social or medicinal. to cure this soul disease the race has sought eagerly from the day cain and abel built their altars. all the ramifications of civilization have had one all-absorbing desire: a readjustment of something fundamentally wrong within. this fight for an atonement with the creator has been a long, heart-sore pilgrimage; it has painted the blackest pages of history and committed the bloodiest crimes. this human drama has been enacted in tragedy and tears. why is it so? because deeper than any other heart-throb is the consciousness of personal uncleanness, and the bitter anguish it has caused. the dead civilizations, on their monuments and mausoleums, have left behind, carved indelibly, one story--whether on the banks of the nile, the areopagus of greece, or the land of the montezumas--it is the story of feeling in the dark after god. they had the disease and sought for a remedy. from the days of the astrologers and soothsayers, anxious souls have been victimized by every fad, fake and fanaticism in their search for relief. the venders of pulverized snake skins and lizard tongues, in their day, found as willing a patronage as the cultured proprietors of sanitariums to-day. the long-haired man on a goods box can do a flourishing business, if he has the gift of gab to convince the crowd his stuff will _cure_. the quack doctor does not handle a variety of medicine; he knows just enough of anatomy and materia medica to make his speech sound scholarly--but his remedy, costing less than the price of one visit from a physician, will cure all the ills of the human body. like de soto, we are seeking the fountain of perennial youth--the elixir of life. just as the disease of the body and a passion to live open wide the door to charlatans, fakirs, and "healers" claiming powers direct from gabriel to beelzebub, so the disease of the soul, and a hunger for eternal life--"deep calling unto deep"--has opened the door of the heart to the religious doctor with his cure-all prescriptions. out from unknown depths comes the yearning for readjustment and reconciliation with god. no being, beside the godhead, is more familiar with the secret hopes and impulses of the soul--than satan. the long-haired quack on the street, bawling his "junk," is not half so anxious to defraud the crowd as satan is to prescribe remedies that will not cure. his chief aspiration is to flood the land with bogus treatments which not only fail to cure, but they preempt the disease-infected spots so as to prevent the introduction of the genuine remedy. the quack doctor is, no doubt, pleased when an imaginary cure has been wrought by his wares; but satan is filled with wrath if some of his formulas strike deeper than he anticipated, and a soul emerges from darkness unto light. this, however, does not often occur; he is too cunning to advertise to a hungry, sin-sick world that which will bring permanent relief. the beating of tom-toms by an upper congo medicine man to drive away evil spirits has about the same efficacy as much that may be found in the esthetic circles of the world's religiosity. "a form of godliness," be it ever so beautiful and orderly, which does not seek and obtain the inner power is just another way of beating tom-toms. we look with compassion upon the poor benighted heathen woman who trots around the temple of her god one hundred times on a moonlight night; but how much improvement over her plan of salvation do we find in the blaze of twentieth century christian enlightenment, if our religion consists of just "doing something," rather than having _faith_ in a power that saves through the impartation of the holy ghost? at no time in the history of the church have we done so many things as we are doing now--all good; but observe: the church and the world go hand in hand. it is a rare exception when an essential difference can be seen in the life and business methods of the professor and non-professor. "they will have a form of godliness," says paul, "but deny the power." it was not a dream or hallucination which took the rich and poor, in the long ago, out from the world and caused them to give up even their lives cheerfully; it was an application of the power. they had tested the "fountain opened in the house of david for sin and uncleanness." "oh, that fountain deep and wide, flowing from the wounded side, that was pierced for our redemption, long ago; in thy ever cleansing wave, there is found all power to save; it's the power that healed the nations long ago." in the multitude of pretenses, makeshifts: forms, ceremonies, chantings, genuflections, ordinances, will worship, self-righteousness, "wondrous works,"--"form of godliness"--who is responsible? it is the great quack doctor that is deceiving the world; those who will not be dragged into sin and ruin he surfeits their lives with a "form of godliness, but deny the power" plan of salvation. xv the devil a theologian "now the spirit speaketh expressly, that in the latter times some shall depart from the faith, giving heed to seducing spirits, and doctrines of devils."--_ timothy iv. ._ theology is defined as "the science which treats of god, his existence, character, government, and doctrines," or the science of religion--a system of truth derived from the scriptures. the caption of this article--the devil a theologian--jars our spiritual nerve centres. there are three things necessary to produce a theologian: experience, information, ability. from every possible view-point the devil is preëminently qualified to formulate a system of doctrinal statements having all the earmarks of genuineness and credentials of authenticity. in our discussion of the devil's theology we shall not, at the present, touch upon the theories and vile imaginations of demon-possessed men, but the finer phases of truth, beautifully presented by his apostles with a show of orthodox reasonableness. by the term devil's theology--doctrines--we do not mean his beliefs--get the distinction--but what he wants us to believe. he is every whit orthodox; he believes the old book; he does not indorse the _new theology_, or the so-called higher learning, only as it may be turned to his advantage. the word of god is a mighty reality to him; he has met its blazing truths, and has been burned by its power. he has millions of skeptics and doubters blindly following his delusions, but he is a believer in the "old school"; he "believes and trembles." we call attention to the term "doctrines"--therefore religious beliefs: reasonable, plausible, satisfying beliefs. what are they? first: ritualism is religion; when we have gone through a certain proscribed programme--whether it be a chant, reading prayers, or burning a dim light--there you are. how do we know we are religious? we have gone the rounds, said the required number of ave maries, counted the rosary, etc., etc., therefore the work is done. it sounds harsh to place these beautiful ceremonies, which have doubtless comforted so many hearts, in the enemy's catalogue; but the pharisees were rigid ritualists, yet christ denounced them as miserable hypocrites--"whited sepulchres." anything he can get us to adopt, having a semblance of reality, yet does not save--does not deal directly with the sin question, he shouts over our delusion. he appropriates ritualism for religion and it becomes his doctrine. a second doctrine: good resolution for regeneration. there has never been as much strenuous evangelism, of a certain quality, as we are having to-day. great cities unite in stupendous revival effort; no expense is spared; the leading masters of assemblies are called as workers. the zeal and motives of it all are commendable; but the bane of such evangelism is this: the work stops at the resolution period. men are brought under conviction, and the devil at once proposes his compromise. not until the "big meeting" closes do the convicted multitudes discover the deception. herein is the explanation of the lethargy, depression, and utter indifference which so often obtain after a "sweeping revival." faith is then shaken, and sometimes permanently, in the truth of a conscious, know-so salvation. if the prodigal son had stopped after passing a good resolution with himself he would have died at the swine pen without the knowledge of the father's love, the kiss, the robe, the ring, and the fatted calf. a sinner must not only "quit his meanness" but straighten out his meanness. regeneration is not by the will of the flesh, the will of man, not of blood; but it is to be born of god--born from above--a new creature. doctrines floating under the banner of evangelism which do not get believers into the kingdom must be listed with the enemy. a third doctrine: sentiment is salvation. we are a sentimental people; esthetic and humanitarian developments of recent years have done much to soften our barbarian instincts. if sentiment were salvation, this land would be redeemed. many think we are rapidly becoming a saved nation; those who enjoy such reflections should stand at the entrance of any theatre on sunday, or a pleasure garden, or a ball park; then hurry around to the entrance of the finest, best equipped church in the city for comparison. sentiment is educated emotion. rome used to shout over the bloody scenes in the amphitheatre; now we can weep over the unfortunate girl who goes down in spectacular glory behind the footlights. sentiment makes us rejoice with those who do rejoice, and weep with those who weep; it moves us to deeds of charity. satan then has no difficulty in persuading us that we are religious--spiritually redeemed; if we weep over our loved ones, our emotions are very religious. the most grief we ever witnessed at a funeral was in the home of a saloon-keeper; the dead wife and mother, a depraved opium and morphine eater; the home was utterly irreligious, but the grief was hysterical, explosive. the sacrifices of god are a broken and a contrite heart--over sins committed, producing a godly sorrow, and not a sentiment. again, the devil takes great delight in telling the unsaved and unchurched masses that religion is all selfishness; the poor are made to feel that the church is the rich man's institution. notwithstanding the efforts of god's people to reach and help the lost they are represented as mean and selfish, pretending a pious fraud, with no bread for the hungry and no helping hand for the needy. we build stately temples of worship to gratify our pride and vanity with money earned by the sweat and toil of the poor man; money that ought to be given to the poor. judas protested against breaking the alabaster box. the church is a place for dress parade; the humble and meanly clad are not wanted. all such is malicious slander against god, his church and his people; but as stereotyped as this may sound, it is being used effectually everywhere. if a church preaches salvation from sin, it is the poor man's best friend; but reference to the church and the preacher is often hissed in gatherings of toiling men. unless there shall come to this land the establishment of the righteousness of christ, as taught in his gospel, we shall see another reign of terror; the fires of restlessness, hate, and discontent are smouldering in every shop, factory, and mine. "the golden age will never come until it is brought in by the golden rule of christ." the devil is busy keeping these facts from becoming known. the doctrine stated: we are in it to serve a selfish end; take away our hope of advantages, and our faith becomes religious junk. xvi the devil a theologian (_continued_) one of the devil's tactics is to make much ado about nothing. it is astonishing how sane people can be deluded over childish non-essentials. think of the doctrine of abstinence; at certain seasons be holy with a vengeance. it is a mortal sin to let down during certain days and moons; no meats, no riotous gormandizing, no wine, no dancing, no theatre going, when the season is holy. but are we not so commanded concerning the sabbath day? the sabbath day must be kept holy, but if our moral standard and relationship fall below during the week what we are supposed to make them on sabbath, our piety is a farce. an incident will illustrate. it was a steamboat excursion; drinking and dancing were freely indulged in by the hilarious passengers. a _parson_ was among them; he danced not, neither did he look upon the wine that was red. he looked sad--_it was lent_. one week later we beheld this same _parson_ in full evening dress gracefully waltzing with one of the lambs of his flock. amazing spectacle! robes of holiness to-day, with fastings and prayers; to-morrow, broadcloth, perfume, patent leathers, and arms encircling a maiden in the dizzy whirl of the dance. paul saw such times coming and warned against them. there are many more, but we shall mention only one more: the gigantic system of saints' worship. what does this mean? anything that diverts and absorbs the attention away from things fundamental is surely of evil origin. his fall began when he conceived hatred and jealousy of jesus; now if he can get people to pay a part or all of their homage to mary, or any one of the many "saints," just so the son of god is robbed of his glory and neglected, his devilish malice is somewhat gratified. there is a long list of dead worthies who are reverenced and supplicated unto daily; but high over all is the "virgin mother of god." after the birth of the saviour mary was the wife of joseph, and bore children as a natural mother--she was not a virgin. "thou shalt have no other gods before me;" "thou shalt not make unto thee any graven images--thou shalt not bow down to them." "doctrines of devils." spiritual minded students of the bible and human conduct are forced to the conclusion that the devil is not only a wise theologian, but he is a great _preacher_; and, as we have learned, he has a mighty gospel which he preaches with effectiveness and power. he has clearly defined doctrines which he promulgates at such times and places as will best meet the desired end. but with cunning craftiness he preaches his dogmas and tenets everywhere: housetops, society parlours, centres of business, legislatures, court rooms, barrooms, and bawdy houses, as well as in pulpits. this sounds like a strange mixture: "the sacred desk" associated with such an array of evil--_ad absurdum_. if the pulpit is immune, why paul's exhortation? doctrines presuppose a preacher, and also an effort to gain an audience whenever and wherever possible. yes, the devil preaches, and if doors are barred he forces an entrance: home and foreign missions, slums, emigrants, aristocrats and sports. he has access to scores of avenues where the gospel of christ never enters; but under the cover of human interests he takes the field with our lord jesus and his ministers, offering a more beautiful, excellent, easier and successful way. as god's method of saving the world is by the foolishness of preaching, what better agency of opposition could be launched than _preaching_? nothing. far stronger is the expulsive than the opposing power. the most dangerous poison in the world is the kind that hides its death in a cup of sweetness; a child eats a sugar-coated pill and never recovers. hell is peopled by the multitudes who have drunk at the devil's fountain of soothing, satisfying poison. he keeps his deluded patrons from the fountain of cleansing by an easier way to delectable fountains, the waters of which paralyze with the chill of death. we note another very remarkable fact concerning the devil's doctrines and his style of preaching. christ's ministers often fail because of a lack of adaptability; "he overshot his crowd" is the comment often heard. the genius of this subject does not make this mistake; he is a past-master at adaptability; to those who have a feeble, fluttering conscience for spiritual things he has the sincere milk of the word that soothes and sustains; but for his robust followers, whom he has bound in chains stronger than those which bound prometheus, he gives the meat of diabolism, prepared and seasoned by a skill of six thousand years' practice. place your ear at the keyhole where his children are conducting a "revival meeting"--high carnival of sin--and hear the ideas of god, salvation, preachers, the church, and the hereafter. this is the strong gospel referred to; the gospel that fires the masses with hate and prejudice against the only means of human redemption. yes, he preaches, preaches, preaches, and from every nook and corner; ten messengers to one preaching the christ; his preachers support themselves, and touch the highways and byways; his lines are gone out into all the earth, circumscribing sea and land. the devil gets an intelligent hearing. he has a long catalogue of doctrines, but he does not believe a single one of them. we should be wise enough to eliminate them from our creed also. xvii the devil's righteousness "woe unto them! for they have gone in the way of cain."--_jude ._ "for they being ignorant of god's righteousness, and going about to establish their own righteousness, have not submitted themselves unto the righteousness of god."--_romans x. ._ we are becoming, according to the canons of this world, a righteous nation; the standard of civic and commercial righteousness is elevated as never before. sleuth-hounds are scenting every indication of misrule and running to earth evil-doers, high and low. our cities are keeping tab rigidly on sewerage, cesspools, and outhouses; a persistent war is being waged on flies, mosquitoes, and germs of all kinds. private citizens are everywhere organizing to coöperate with officials for public welfare. corporation and municipal rings must answer at the bar of an outraged public conscience. righteousness is in the air; it resounds from the pulpit, platform and press. chautauqua specialists who have discovered some deflection in the political and social woof and warp declare, amid salutes of fluttering handkerchiefs, the righteousness of twentieth century standards. preaching on the cardinal doctrines of the bible has been displaced by rhetorical messages on altruism: light, ethics, mercy, cleanness, goodness. "the fatherhood of god and the brotherhood of man," with a flavour of intellectualism, is the gospel that is now being emphasized with much gusto, and never fails to solicit the indorsement of all denominations. "be good and do good" is the _multum in parvo_ of present day righteousness. who but a chronic faultfinder could object to this upward move, so obvious now in all directions? the world is getting kinder, more sympathetic, more charitable; creed lines are dissolving like snow under an april sun; sectarian prejudice is dying under the withering frown of new ideals. does this not indicate a gradual leavening of the "whole lump"? the spirit of christ, they tell us, is being adopted everywhere. he is mounting the throne of universal empire, and the time surely is not far distant when the social, political, commercial and domestic life will be regenerated by his influence. yes--it would appear so to be; much that is done bears a christian label; it comes in the name of christ; but, says a writer, "it is the christ of bethlehem and not the christ of the cross." it is the human christ and not the sacrificial--the exponent of a blood atonement. the righteousness that has the full swing of modern religionists makes much of christ's "example," his beautiful character and self-abandonment--"he went about doing good." much attention is given to studying his leadership, his pedagogy, his art of public address, his humanity. his example and not his sacrifice saves the world; step by step the human christ has displaced the christ of calvary; his atonement was misguided zeal. this propaganda, on the surface, is reasonable and popular; but close scrutiny will reveal a poison as dangerous as it is subtle. it leaves out the blood; it is a glorification of man. "count the number of the beast, for it is the number of man." this issue is an old one; it became an entering wedge in the religious life when the first services were held after the fall. cain and abel made altars; cain piled his high with beautiful, luscious fruits of the field. no festal board ever looked more tempting, loaded with sweet smelling fruit, having variegated colours, than the altar which cain presented to god. they were the results of his own sweat and toil; he offered them as the "first fruits." but god rejected the offering; somehow the very beauty and attractiveness of it all insulted him. abel's altar was smeared with blood; on top lay a limp, bleeding lamb. nothing attractive about this picture; our esthetic nature recoils at the gore and cruelty of such an offering. yet god graciously accepted this bloody, unsightly offering; and no doubt rained fire upon it--anyhow, abel was justified. why did god reject the one and accept the other? cain and abel alike had been taught from their infancy that "without the shedding of blood there shall be no remission of sin." by transgression man stood as an alien before god; he had forfeited divine favour. notwithstanding, cain boldly brought before god a bloodless sacrifice, and presumes to force him to accept it. through all the millenniums before christ every approach to god must contain in the sacrifices and offerings an element which reminded god of the coming atonement. he declared: "for the life of the flesh is the blood, and i have given it to you upon the altar to make an atonement for your soul. for it is the blood that maketh an atonement for the soul" (lev. xvii. ). coming directly to the point: all this new notion of things, touching man's religion, fast becoming prevalent is the "way of cain," with a twentieth century touch and terminology. what is the essence of this new righteousness? what does it do? observe, it sets aside god's estimate of man, and ignores the plan of redemption he established at the beginning in types and shadows, then consummated in the atoning death of his son on the cross. the righteousness of to-day has much in it to commend; but it utterly disregards the only feature upon which god places emphasis. the blood and the cross, as of old, is an offense; they have found a more excellent way, but it is the "way of cain." it is offering self-righteousness rather than seeking the righteousness of god. the bloody offering of abel suggested suffering, punishment, death, judgment--but it honoured god. modern righteousness scoffs at the abel offerings by hanging a wreath of flowers on the cross, bearing a perfumed tag, "with sympathy." it is cain setting up business in town once more. a sacrificial propitiation for sin is unnecessary when we have "inherent goodness." the modern righteousness contends that each man has self-redemptive qualities; all he needs is a chance. salvation is not internal, but external. the cainites are filling the earth; they are preaching the popular sermons, writing the magazine articles, the poetry, the fiction; they occupy the chief synagogue seats of seminaries; they are conspicuous at all chatauquas and baccalaureate occasions. it is a well-known psychological fact that evil cannot exist apart from personality--whether it be bad laws, bad books, bad town, or a bad house. whence comes all this audacious, undermining insult to the whole sweep of god's plan for saving the world? whence comes all this preaching about righteousness which places the crown on man, and robs the cross of its glory? the righteousness being sounded in double diapason and angelus keys is _the righteousness of the devil_. bear in mind it is _righteousness_, and a high type of it, he demands; he wants the offering of cain to cover up all the needs of the soul--cheat the blood of its merit--insult god, and lead the race through a bowery of flowers, fruits, and music on to its ruin. anything to cheat the depositum of the gospel--that which gives a title to heaven--the precious blood. the righteousness that leaves out the blood is the "way of cain"--"the righteousness of the devil." xviii the world's tempter "again, the devil taketh him up into an exceeding high mountain, and showeth him all the kingdoms of the world, and the glory of them; and sayeth unto him, all these things will i give thee, if thou wilt fall down and worship me."--_matthew iv. - ._ temptation is a seduction: meaning to allure or entice one to evil. it is submitting a proposition which carries with it inducements of pleasure or gain. the mind that accedes readily and willingly to an act is not tempted. a temptation is a clash of wills, one being superior to the other if the contest results in a yielding. the word embodies the idea of an elastic--"stretched to the snapping point." if there is no response, no struggle against desire--it is not a temptation. the master was very man as well as very god; yet strange as it may seem--_he was really tempted_, and just as we are. our purpose in this discussion is not to analyze the different phases of our lord's temptation--the tests to which he was subjected,--but we wish to emphasize one thing: he was _tempted_. the appeals came from his old time enemy; his rival for supremacy. he was not taken unawares; the facts were clearly before him, just who and what it all meant--yet he was tempted. the diabolical assault did not cease until his threefold nature was "stretched to the snapping point." it came from an inferior being, and for sake of illustration, had the scheme succeeded, the sun of righteousness would have gone down forever. not only would the great plan of human redemption have proved abortive, but satan would have snatched the sceptre from the hand of the anointed one and shouted his victory in the face of god. we are amazed to think of the only begotten being near the yielding point in the presence of the fallen lucifer, but the book says he was tempted. some may contend that he could not have yielded; all the while he was conscious of divine security. this conclusion forces another untenable proposition: if he could not have yielded, his humanity was not real, but veiled in his divinity; the temptation was only a shadow. we insist that as a man jesus was tempted; he could have called to his aid supernatural intervention, but he did not. the issue was met as every man must meet it; it was manhood that conquered. had he yielded, both manhood and divinity would have become subservient to the enemy. "fall down and worship me" was the proposition. now we wish to make a few deductions from our lord's temptation. whatever includes the greater includes the lesser--_a fortiori_. natural man reached his highest expression in jesus of nazareth; he was god's exponent of human perfection. there were no weaknesses, no lack of pose or symmetry; his penetration and judgment of others were absolutely accurate. from the beginning he had known the evil one who faced him. now, with all those perfect endowments, the record says _he was tempted_. the ingenuity of satan was sufficient to bring out all the resources of the son of god. here was the greatest, wisest, purest and strongest man that ever walked upon the earth--susceptible, influenced, strained to the "snapping point," when attacked by the tempter. what will be the inevitable fate of you and me, dear reader, whenever he selects us as his victims? the unmistakable teachings of the word are that every temptation to which man is or ever has been subjected came fresh from the seething caldron of the pit. the student of human conduct has observed universal adaptability of all temptation. a great sagacious intelligence seems to be managing personally, through his cohorts, this campaign of promising propositions. there are some who can be incited to commit horrible crimes, such as murder, incendiary, born perhaps with vicious tendencies, but this class is comparatively small; others are susceptible to deeds of milder character. it would matter little to an army approaching a fortification where or how the attack should be made if the walls at every point were weak and crumbling. no time is spent in reconnoitre and playing for position; but if the battlements be strong, a faulty place must be located if there be one. satan rarely ever blunders in laying his temptations; he is a most skillful strategist. as the world's tempter he reveals an ingenuity that is truly astounding; it should cause the bravest heart to shudder once the eyes are opened to the source. knowledge of his approaches, marches, countermarches, advancings, and retreats--all with a specific object--ought to be a great breakwater. a writer gives us a striking word picture of satan's methods: "as the enemy who lays siege to a city finds out the weakest portion of the wall, or the best spot to batter it, or the lowest and safest place to scale it, or where the intervening obstacle may be easiest overcome, or where an advantage may be taken, or where an entrance may be effected, or when is the best time, or what is the best means to secure the desired end, so the arch-deceiver and destroyer of souls goes about, watchful, intent upon ruin, scanning all the powers of the mind, inspecting all the avenues to the heart and assailing every unguarded spot. sometimes he attacks our understanding by injecting erroneous doctrine; sometimes our affections by excessive devotion to things we love; sometimes our wills by strengthening them in wrong directions; sometimes our imaginations by vain, foolish, trifling thoughts; and sometimes our feelings by too high or too low excitation." some one has called satan and his subordinates not omnipresent, but "shifting imps." they swarm the air, invisible, because they are spirit, watching for opportunities to edge their way into the hearts of mankind. they are shifting position, always to a point of least resistance. like a current of electricity, always flowing from a point of higher potential pressure to one of lower, if points are connected by a conductor. the metallic substances from which the current starts and towards which it flows are called "electrodes," and are always of different potentiality. the current passes from the one of higher to the lower. man in his own strength is the lower, and unprotected by the spirit of god cannot resist the evil currents flowing from satan continually. xix the confidence man "in whom the god of this world hath blinded the minds of them which believe not, lest the light of the glorious gospel of christ, who is the image of god, should shine unto them."--_ corinthians iv. ._ history is one long, tragic recital of human sorrow and suffering; but there is far more unwritten history than has ever been recorded on the printed page. along the march of civilization all that has come down to us are the lives and doings of great men; we know little of the heart agonies of the race--such as cannot be recorded--language is inadequate. most of history is a record of man's inhumanity to man, but historians deal with these dark pages only on the higher levels. the greatest suffering, the bitterest cries of anguish, the deepest wails of despair are in the lowlands of human life: down where its pathos can never be known. the darkest tragedies of war are lost by the gallant heroism of some officer; the blood and carnage are overshadowed and forgotten by the heralds of victory. the real pathos of war remains unnoticed by the chroniclers and correspondents; it is found in the heart suffering of the dying in the trenches; the black pall that settles over the homes made desolate by the news from the front. the saddest stories of life will never be told; they are the voiceless agonies and smothered sobs from victims of human treachery and deceit. millions are shambling on their weary way, waiting for the end, whose hearts are dead and buried in graves of misplaced confidence. more domestic lights have been extinguished, more love dreams turned from a sweet phantasy to an horrid nightmare, more bodies fished from the river, more shocking tragedies have resulted directly from this cause--misplaced and wrecked confidence--than from all other causes of human wretchedness. an illustration from actual life will serve to bring the caption of this chapter--the confidence man--out in bold relief. an honest old farmer, whose horizon had not extended beyond the obscure indiana neighbourhood, sold his little home and started for kansas, hoping to enlarge his possessions and give his sons and daughters a larger sphere of opportunity. that they might see the wonders of a great city, arrangements were secured for a three days' stop-over at st. louis. the confidence man saw them pass through the iron gate into the lobby. he first noted the train on which they had come to the city. with great enthusiasm he greeted the old gentleman, introduced himself, extending a business card of his "firm." with cunning palaver, and the guilelessness of the farmer--item after item of information as to name and where they came from were obtained. the man who said he thought he recognized the old gentleman soon became satisfied of it--having an uncle living in the same county--and "i have often heard him speak of you, etc., etc." it required only a short time to not only gain the confidence of the whole family, but also to get all the facts concerning their business affairs: how much the little farm brought, and how much they had left to begin life in the west, and actual cash on hand. there was not a hitch in the scheme; the new friend (?) loaded them with kindnesses and courtesies, paid all the bills at lunch and theatre--took the young people into the mysteries of the great wonderland--all so new and strange. it was the last afternoon; father and mr. confidence man were returning from a tour of sightseeing. they met a man walking in great haste; looking up he saw the two men, and suddenly laid violent hands on the "farmer's friend," demanding the payment of a note three days overdue. they quarrelled; all manner of apologies were made, that he was "entertaining an old friend, etc.," all of which caused the shylock to grow more enraged and unreasonable; they almost came to blows. finally the old man's benefactor asked to see him for a moment alone. then meekly humble, and with many regrets, asked for a loan of enough to pay the note. "we will go right down to my office, and i will reimburse you with big interest for the kindness." the honest old man was only too glad for an opportunity of returning, by such a little act, the kindness that had been shown him. the note was almost one thousand dollars; when the bills were counted out, less than ten dollars remained in his purse--the savings of a lifetime. proceeding on their way until they reached the first saloon, "it is my treat, uncle," said the man. after the drinks were served, he asked to be excused for a moment, and stepped into a back room from the bar--he was seen no more. after a long time, the barkeeper informed the old man that his _friend_ was one of the worst crooks in st. louis. with less than ten dollars he staggered out of the saloon, wandered over the city dazed and half insane. on the following day he was found down on the wharf crying like a child. what had happened? he had been in the hands of a confidence man. there are being formed in all walks of life--high and low--associations and alliances, spurred on and incited by extravagant promises--the hook baited according to the fish--which culminates in certain disaster. the pathway of life is strewn with victims of confidence friends--instead of friends. as in all these subtle and dangerous diversions we believe every trap and scheme are under the direct control and supervision of satan--playing the rôle of confidence man. many with a natural impulse for pleasure knock, and at once arms are wide open to receive them; lust beckons, and the broad way becomes choked with her votaries; covetousness shouts her promises, and the love of money soon burns out every high and holy aspiration. fame holds the chaplet in full view, and men are ready to exchange heaven in order to have it pressed upon their brow. but alas, in the end--in the end--"it biteth like a serpent and stingeth like an adder." when the curtain falls, too late to recover, we shall be found on eternity's shore, shipwrecked, robbed, ruined--victims of the great seducer. no one but an incarnate devil could stoop to the low plane of confidence man in business and social life; but think of what it means: by flattering promises, smiles, and kindness force an entrance into the heart life, and when once in possession, desecrate, prostitute, and destroy. we insist that it takes a devil-possessed man to operate in this particular field, and the world is full of such. we therefore conclude he is the god of this planet, blinding the eyes of his unnumbered victims. xx the trapper "and that they may recover themselves out of the snare of the devil, who are taken captive by him at his will."--_ timothy ii. ._ "surely he will deliver thee from the snare of the fowler."--_psalm xci. ._ to be a trapper requires something more than setting traps and baiting them. the old trapper returns from a season spent among mountains, rivers, and forests--ladened with valuable furs of every kind: beaver, bear, otter, fox, mink, wildcat, coon, opossum, etc. remember the animal kingdom is infinite in variety; no two alike. a trap that will catch a beaver will not answer as a bear trap; a coon and a mink are as far removed from each other as a polished american and a native of madagascar. a coon will not go within a rod of a chain, but have little if any keenness of scent for protection. a rat will not go near an object if the smell of human hands is on it. volumes of natural history would be inadequate to give the details of differentiation of the animal kingdom. the old trapper in his log cabin has never read a page of zoölogy, but is far more familiar with the ways of the furry folk than the scientists who write our books on natural history. the trapper is a graduate from the school of association; he has studied the traits and pranks of the forest inhabitants by observation at close range. he knows just where the mink can be caught, and just how the trap must be baited and concealed; he has the same information about all the rest, and can apply it. once when a child, we were enraptured until late bedtime by the stories of an old trapper: telling about "the different varmints." without drawing on his imagination, he could have added many chapters to the tales of "uncle remus." the facts about our furry friends are far more interesting than fiction; the trapper knows about these facts. the psalmist calls satan a fowler; one who sets traps for old and young as the fowler sets traps for fowls. how is it done? leaves and weeds are carefully cleared away, and the trap is skillfully set by a trigger, so that the slightest touch will spring it. the ground is also cleared for several rods leading off in front of the trap; suitable food is scattered under the trap and all along the clean strip of ground. the birds excitedly follow the line of "food"--walking under the trap where it is scattered in abundance. in the scuffle, the trigger is soon touched; behold the trap falls, and they are caught; oh, how they beat their heads against the prison bars until they are covered with blood, but all is over. they are caught in the snare of the fowler. every animal and fowl will flee from the approach of danger; the trap must be hid, or in some way made to appear as something harmless; nature has endowed them to seek always self-preservation. with nothing but instinct to guide, they are easily caught by the skill and cunning of man, but never caught in the open; some, however, are more easily caught than others, but they must be trapped. the bible teaches that the devil is a trapper; his snares are set everywhere--they are man traps; no spider ever spun a web more accurately for the moth than satan's traps to catch men. it requires certain bait and certain traps for each particular animal and bird, but the snares for men are legion. man has a threefold nature: body, mind, and spirit; each of these have many avenues of approach. as the trapper gains his knowledge of the furry tribe by association, so the trapper of men, by the application of supernatural powers, in close contact and intimate association through the past millenniums, has become intimately acquainted with man. there are no facts touching his habitat, food, passions, ambitions, weaknesses, yearnings, etc.--whether in the realm of body, mind or spirit--but the cunning trapper of the pit is more minutely acquainted than man is acquainted with himself. if guileless and unsuspecting men and women were the only victims, the situation would not be so serious; not that one soul is of more value than another, but the facts are: _no one_ seems to be capable of discovering his hidden snares. the greatest and wisest--alexanders, anthonys, napoleons, kings, sages and philosophers--have been captured by him at his will. what a shudder would go over the race if it could penetrate the veil of mystery and see the traps towards which we are moving; moving on to certain capture, but for providential oversight and guidance. domestic traps, political traps, social traps, business traps, religious traps; the location and bait are suited to individual likes and dislikes. "my soul be on thy guard; ten thousand foes arise." our country is just beginning to awake to a system of trapping now being carried on in every city and town, so gigantic and heinous that we are dazed and frightened at its boldness. the great white slave traffic is carried on by traps, pure and simple; as carefully planned and skillfully executed as the methods of an old trapper who remains in the primeval forest to supply the fur market. the feelers and tentacles of this human devil-fish are running out in the highways and hedges: the factories, mills, department stores. but the traffic is not confined to the poor, uneducated girls at the ribbon counter or waist factory; girls of culture and experience are caught, but the bait used is very different. when once caught, not one in ten thousand ever escapes. a being less than a fallen archangel could never have instituted the white slave traffic. a man or woman not incarnated by the devil or some of his minions could never promulgate a system so vile, so inhuman, so hellish, as the traffic of innocent flesh and blood, to be offered and burned on the altars of lust for gain. compared with the white slave traffic, as it is prosecuted by the panderers and procurers, negro slavery, at its worst, the extermination of which the bloodiest war ever fought on this planet was waged, is like the vilest ribaldry ever sung in a den of vice to a te deum. lest we forget--satan is an expert trapper--the king of trappers. xxi the incomparable archer "wherefore take unto you the whole armour of god.... stand therefore, having your loins girt about with truth, and having on the breastplate of righteousness.... above all, taking the shield of faith, wherewith ye shall be able to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked."--_ephesians vi. , , ._ when traps, tricks, seductions, and quackery, temptations, etc., fail, satan adds victims to his long list by destroying them at long range. while in a mountain peak vision of inspiration paul sees the enemy as a wrestler, a trickster, a schemer, and even a more dangerous rôle than either: a skilled marksman. by keeping close to god, and keeping ourselves unspotted from the world, we may stay his blighting touch from personal contact; but there seems to be no absolute safety until we are shielded by the "whole armour of god." there are "evil days," days of visitation and distress, over which no one has control; at such times we may not be conscious of any satanic presence; yet confusion, doubt, fear and anxiety have complete control over mind and heart. these days, and their depressing effect, can only be warded off by the protection of the "whole armour"; for emphasis, paul mentions it twice in the same paragraph. an armour is a coat of mail covering the body, made so as to be impenetrable to the missile of death. the apostle does not stop with a partial equipment; the head and feet also must be properly covered. especially does he emphasize the _shield_--that great polished, concave steel disk, strapped to the left arm, so that a thrust from sword, arrow, or spear can be easily deflected. as it is carried on the arm it can be raised or lowered so as to protect the whole body. this arrow-protecting shield must be wrought in faith, that mysterious relation which unites the soul with god. the antithesis of paul's language implies that when satan makes certain efforts to wound the soul, the shield of faith alone can save. the fight is not ended when we come out victor in a hand to hand conflict, but must next prepare to meet a shower of "fiery darts." a dart is an arrow shot from a bow; a fiery dart is a flaming torch attached to the arrow. in all ages, until the days of powder and firearms, soldiers were equipped with bow and arrows. arrowheads were made of steel, and as keen as needles. the battle-axe and broadsword were used when the lines met, but showers of arrows would fall upon the enemy with as much fatality as a round of grape and canister. often the arrows would be freshly dipped in a deadly poison, and in that case the slightest wound would result in certain death. when a fort or city was being besieged, the arrows would carry a ball of tow, having been saturated in oil; hundreds of these flaming darts would fall on the inside of the fortification and start a general conflagration. this method was practiced by the american indians when they could not reach a fort, blockhouse, or stockade because of the white man's gun; these flaming torches, falling in great number, were more to be dreaded than the tomahawk and scalping knife of the savages. satan shoots "fiery darts"--arrows--at us; he may come, as he did to the master, and find nothing in us; our hearts may be clean. but from a source entirely unexpected--here comes a flaming arrow--burning its way into the heart, igniting with hatred and misunderstanding friends and enemies in a manner never dreamed of before. how often the blow comes from the one place least expected, and for that reason all the more deadly. we are guarded in some directions, but over the walls of our stockade the devil sends his fiery darts, and we are swept away in a satanic conflagration. it requires the "whole armour"--and the shield of faith to quench the flaming arrows from his quiver. he is the world's incomparable archer; when all other methods fail, he shoots us with poisoned, fiery darts. the mother of achilles baptized him in the river styx, making him invulnerable to the weapons of the enemy; she held him by the heel during the baptismal ceremony; the heel only remained untouched by the protecting waters of the fabulous styx. one of the gods became acquainted with this fact, and shot him to death in the heel, the one vulnerable spot. again, we repeat, we are not safe without the "whole armour of god," and the "shield of faith." bear in mind, also, the incomparable archer takes a more deliberate aim if it is a shining mark, and exults most when he can lay low in the dust, wounded and disabled, one dowered with unusual capacity for noble service. xxii the father of liars "ye are of your father the devil, and the lusts of your father ye will do. he was a murderer from the beginning, and abode not in the truth, because there is no truth in him. when he speaketh a lie, he speaketh of his own: for he is a liar, and the father of it."--_john viii. ._ "sin has many tools, but a lie is a handle which fits them all."--_o. w. holmes._ satan opened his propaganda with a slanderous lie; this lie was believed by the innocent parents of the race. simple and modest as this lie seemed to be, it opened a crevice in the moral government of god. confidence, fellowship, and filial relations were destroyed by the breach. the nature and character of a lie may best be understood, and we can get the estimate god places on it, by carefully studying the damages it wrought. eden was lost, god's favour lost, peace and plenty lost, innocence lost; humiliation, fear, banishment, toil, sweat, suffering and death took the place of eden's pristine glories. nothing so reveals the depths to which lucifer had fallen--and his great intelligence, losing none of its acumen, exercised in a way fitting to his depravity of character, as the launching of a lie. he has done nothing since--which more clearly exemplifies the being our bible teaches that he is. an egg was laid and a lie was hatched; this lie has gone out spreading at a geometrical progression until the infinitude of god's footstool has felt the discordant jar. a lie, and the father of it; think of this tremendous statement. the thought will overwhelm our intelligence. suppose all the peoples that have lived on the earth were lined up: to simplify matters--consider the billion and a half supposed to be living on the earth to-day; just a small part of the number belongs to civilized, christianized nations. what is the situation? under all the light of education and moral standards, justice, full and untrammelled, can scarcely be had, because of false swearing. an eminent authority says nine-tenths of the race has a price; this means that only one-tenth will rigidly adhere to the whole truth. how few will swear to their own hurt and change not. let us study this gigantic proposition from another view-point: every unregenerated heart is full of deceit. in every unregenerated heart there is a germ of all the sins of the decalogue; lying is one of the "shall nots." a close student of men will agree with the apostle paul, when he said: "i have no confidence in the flesh." carnality will not swear against its own interests; the status of civilization, whether in religion or morals, does not seem to control this matter. when we consider the falsehood and false swearing which obtain among the _best_ people, socially, financially, and so often religiously, then think of the millions living without moral standards, we can begin to appreciate the amount of lying carried on in this world. as lying is one of the outputs of carnality, and human selfishness is the tap root of carnality, and selfishness dominates the entire race, with rare exceptions here and there, we can understand how easily and naturally prevarication and lying become efficient tools to further personal interests. we once attended a celebrated criminal case in court; scores of witnesses were summoned on both sides; a bar of attorneys fought desperately every inch of ground. the prosecution covered the case beyond any question to the perfect satisfaction of the jury. and the witnesses were, in the main, both respectable and intelligent. but behold, when the defense produced their side of the case, the witnesses equally honest looking and intelligent, every point of evidence made by the prosecution was absolutely refuted. a new story was told; a new case from the one just stated. think of it--on both sides there were eye-witnesses; then every witness on one side or the other perjured themselves--and perhaps all of them on both sides. so completely has the father of liars woven the spirit of falsehood into the moral fibre of men that a sense of its fearful character is almost obliterated. men make fortunes, secure positions, are elected to office, destroy rivals, win unsuspecting love, seduce innocence, and subdue kingdoms, by being an obedient offspring of their father, inheriting his disposition and ability to breathe out falsehood. liars are children of the devil. think of the almost infinite resources for evil: "father of liars" does not fully justify the situation. while it is true he originated the first lie, and the lying spirit has ever widened through the stream of racial propagation; but the clearer interpretation signifies that he is the father of _lies_. "see," he whispers, "the advantages to be gained--don't be white livered--tell it; get the hush money--make the promise--swear you did not see it--tell her how devotedly you love her, etc." who has not met these insidious pulls on the conscience? yes, but he is only acting now as a tempter. quite true; but when the will gives away, the oath, the promise, the false statement is made under a furious lashing of the conscience. the lie belongs to him; he originated--suggested--formulated it; then literally drew it out with quite as much pain as is felt during the extraction of a tooth by a dentist. it has been said: "the devil will leave his own brat on your door-step, then accuse you of being its father." this is an inelegant, though a striking statement of a great truth. when he is unable to bring forth--deliver, etc.--his own conception, he at once charges us of being guilty of the thing conceived: the lie, vile imagination, or whatever it may be, quoting scripture to prove it: "as a man thinketh in his heart, so is he." "now," he declares, "you are guilty anyhow; why not enjoy the benefits?" father of lies; millions of them spawned every day and hour: big lies, little lies, business lies, social lies, political lies, and not a few--religious lies, black lies, white lies, church lies. xxiii kingship of satan "wherein in time past ye walked according to the prince of the power of the air, the spirit that now worketh in the children of disobedience."--_ephesians ii. ._ "for we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places."--_ephesians vi. ._ in a former chapter we discussed the origin of satan, he being an archangel--lucifer--a great shining leader of the heavenly hosts; now in his fallen estate he is no less a leader. a writer has said: "he seems to have been the rightful prince of this earth, but he has become the traitor-prince through being untrue to the trust; and the usurper-prince through seeking to retain control of the earth as his own dominion, through deceiving man, to whom the earth's dominion was given, into obeying him, and in utter defiance of god." the angels which kept not their first estate, but went down with his insurrection, are his subjects. he is superior in all villainies, but the scriptures call him a king ruling his cohorts, and is the "angel of the bottomless pit." as angel he retains his old title, but as _king_, his relations stand out significantly. as chief devil--archdemon--the title would imply rather _primus inter pares_; as commander-in-chief, a general of the highest rank. he is all these things: he gives special oversight to field operations, conducts personally great campaigns, retreats here, advances there, charges yonder--but his real aim is to get this world back under his own control; he would put himself in god's place--drive him out, dethrone him, kill him off, that he might take it all to himself, and rule supremely. however, he is _king_, and as such he is raised above the rank of leadership and commander. we are already familiar with his rank, but the purpose of this chapter is to show, specifically, that as a king his kingship has a much wider range than the bottomless pit. it is threefold. first, as angel of the bottomless pit, he is king of the _underworld_, the land of shadows, gloom, utter darkness; the land of eternal despair. we must depend upon the _infernos_, evolved from a burning imagination, in order to get any conception of that region. fearful as the scenes are, a close reading of the scriptures will reveal a condition of things so terrible that the things seen by dante and virgil are not overdrawn. over this land of woe and suffering satan is the unlimited monarch. second, he is king of the _upper world_. this statement sounds very strange; it would appear that god is entirely ruled out of his creation. but observe the language: "prince of the power of the air." just what this means in its fullness no one should dare to be dogmatic, but certainly the language cannot be meaningless words. we can but conclude that satan, in some measure, controls the forces of the physical world: storms, cyclones, cloud bursts, tidal waves, lightning bolts, earthquakes, etc. certainly, as a _destroyer_, he uses the agencies of destruction; his business is to fill the world with doubt, fear, distress and suffering. a man has a little child killed by lightning, and he curses god. does this not look as if a diabolical schemer was manipulating the affair some way? we must admit his power is permitted, and that proposition forces another to the front. why does god allow or permit his ravages? we have no answer; the ravages go on. we might ask with just as much reason: "why doesn't god kill the devil?" he certainly is able to do it, or at least stop his progress. but he does not; satan is evidently running at large, filling the world with broken hearts and all the accompanying evils which, otherwise, would not occur. that we may be able to strengthen our opinion as to the prerogatives of this "prince of the power of the air," let us remember the circumstances of job's calamities. this case is undoubtedly authentic, and the record says that satan actually controlled the powers of the air. the servant of job thought god rained fire on the sheep and burned them, but the whole affair had been turned over to the tormentor. the visitations sent on the faithful man of uz were not from the hand of god; they were manipulated by his satanic lordship--the devil. then a great wind came--possibly a tornado or cyclone--and blew the house down wherein job's children were enjoying themselves. concerning satan's relation--controlling and directing the forces of nature--we shall not conture a dogmatic position. the definite statements and incidents from the inspired record are significant indeed. strange things occur: a great vessel loaded with sunday revellers goes down with scarcely a moment's warning; a tidal wave destroys thousands; an earthquake leaves a city in ruins with fearful loss of life. does the loving, compassionate father send these calamities? would it not be a terrible indictment? but the bible gives incidents where he did send death-dealing visitations upon the people. certainly. many believe that god uses satan, in his vicious administration, to visit his wrath upon places and people. however, god has given him the title of "prince of the power of the air"--the "wickedness in high places." the third realm of his kingship is terrestrial; in this he is given a stronger title than prince or king; "the god of this world." besides, he is the "prince of darkness," and the "prince of this world." so real are his presence and power manifested here that paul declares the contest is like a wrestling boute. this figure, examined closely, will open up a great continent of truth concerning our enemy, of whom we must meet in hand to hand conflict. see the wrestlers writhe and strain; agony is depicted on their faces; the muscles contract into hard knots, perspiration bursting from every pore. all the strength of every nerve and muscle, wrought up to their full capacity, is exerted. "we wrestle," he declares, and not with flesh and blood; but "against principalities and against powers," "rulers of the darkness of this world." the great religious reformers since paul's day have left a similar testimony concerning this terrestrial enemy; his personality has never been questioned by men who were positive powers in the realm of spiritual warfare. after martin luther had produced a nation-wide reformation, having been delivered from the bondage of a benedictine monk by a revelation to his own soul that the "just shall live by faith," he declared: "satan semper mehi dixit falsum dogma." shall we deny the oft told story that luther threw his inkstand at them (demons) when they actually appeared unto him in person? is it unreasonable? they were alarmed at his triumphs, and wanted to terrify him. the kingship of satan in the under world and upper world are bible statements; his kingship in the world about us is a bible fact confirmed by human testimony. xxiv the devil's handmaiden "be not drunk on wine wherein is excess, but be ye filled with the spirit."--_ephesians v. ._ "no drunkard shall inherit the kingdom of god."--_ corinthians vi. ._ the fallen lucifer knew from the beginning that his work must necessarily be in competition with the son of god; therefore he has invested his genius to originate a duplicate for all that christ has done for us. knowing that the letter killeth, but the spirit maketh alive, he seeks to furnish all the appearances, and as far as possible duplicate experiences: reformation without repentance; conviction without conversion; conversion without regeneration; membership without adoption; baptism with water without the baptism of the holy ghost; physical and emotional pleasure without the "joy of salvation." the prophet isaiah exhorts the people to say: "praise the lord," and, "with joy draw water out of the wells of salvation," and, "cry out and shout, thou inhabitant of zion, etc." the psalmist, also, gives out a continuous stream of joyous praise. in all ages people have at sundry times and places shouted out the joy of the lord. this emotional expression is by no means the only test of experimental salvation, as nothing honours god so much as simple, unemotional faith; but there are times of refreshing from the presence of the lord. this contrast of emotional experience we wish to examine. we must keep in mind the bitter rivalry between the prince of light, and the prince of darkness. the heart of a contest of this character is the expulsive power of the one over against the other. satan studies assiduously every experience, every angle of advancement of christ's kingdom, and proceeds to furnish a duplicate. he knows that the followers of jesus often rejoice with a fullness of joy--unspeakable, as it were; to meet this, he soon discovered that the exhilaration of drunkenness produced a splendid expulsive power. he proposes and promises his followers all the joys furnished by his rival; however pleasant they are always shams, and "at last it biteth like a serpent and stingeth like an adder." a beverage that would produce drunkenness has been a curse from the earliest history. we call attention to two events, each one of which was so great that it left a blight sufficient to turn the course of human history into darker and bloodier channels. the first followed closely upon the remarkable deliverance from the flood. the ark had settled; life began its routine, fresh from the awful calamity. noah built an altar and worshipped god; but before the perfume of the holy incense evaporated, that faithful servant of the most high became _beastly drunk_, and his son ham looked upon his nakedness and shame. the children of ham must carry the curse until the end. the other followed closely upon a deliverance from fire. lot was a citizen of sodom, but he had not defiled himself; the iniquity of the place came up before god, and he destroyed it; not, however, until his angel led this righteous man to a place of safety. through the entreaties of his designing daughters, as they were resting in the mountains, lot became intoxicated unto idiocy. we must draw a veil over the shameful scene that occurred during his debauch; but the tribes of moab and ammon, war-like savages of the desert unto this day, was the terrible resultant. they are the incorrigible followers of the crescent rather than the cross. wherever drunkenness has touched humanity it has blighted and withered like a sirocco from sahara. no one but a fallen archangel could have invented such a beverage. yet the character of liquors used by the race in its infancy for carnival pleasures, compared with the output of the modern distillery and brewery, are as moonshine to the blistering heat of the summer sun. satan profits by experience; he has not been idle during the centuries. solomon warned against "looking upon the wine when it was red, and turneth itself in the cup"--fermentation. if fermented grape juice should, at that time, bring forth such an inspired warning, what language would be necessary to depict the character of the low grade, adulterated fire-water sold in the saloons and dives of america and europe? the true spirit and character of liquor cannot be understood if viewed as a stimulating beverage, satisfying and inflaming human passions. its author soon discovered that such an unmixed evil must answer at the bar of an outraged individual and public conscience. he saw that if liquor succeeded in all he had planned, it must send its roots deeper down than taste and appetite. hence this handmaiden of the devil has now become one of the most gigantic trusts on earth, blooming out into commercial, political, and industrial proportions. the whole business lives and moves and has its being on misery and bloodshed on one side of the counter; loot and plunder, coupled with an insane lust for gold, on the other side of the counter. it has not one redeeming feature; but so carefully has it sheltered itself by a devil-fish organization that it stands like a gibraltar. it has become so great that the actual investments in the business aggregate billions; an army larger than the combined forces, north and south, at any one time during the civil war are being supported; over one hundred millions go annually into the national exchequer. china has been called a sleeping giant; woe to the nations once she is awakened. in the liquor traffic we have a giant that never sleeps. twenty-four hours each day--like giant despair--he enslaves and imprisons the multitudes. so tremendous has this organization grown that its work does not stop with social demoralization, but with little difficulty can dictate governmental policies, throttle legislation, and bribe juries. again, we cannot judge or estimate the liquor traffic until we follow it down through its labyrinth of social, financial, and moral declension. not until we see it face to face, glaring and defiant, in the haunts where finished products are on exhibition. the "scarlet annex," temples of lust, and the white slaver's headquarters are united in the place where labour troubles are hatched, mob violence gathers fuel, and feud hatred is crystallized into bloodshed. where gamblers, thugs, yeggmen, murderers, anarchists, jail-birds, and burglars hold high carnival. we must see the bloated faces, the bleeding magdalenas, human beasts, and wife beaters, as they wallow in filth and obscenity, before the perspective is correct. the inauguration of liquor as a duplicate for god's greatest manifestation of himself--the infilling of the holy spirit--was a master stroke. in a wild, reckless debauch it supplements man's every need and hunger. in the crazed brain there is a vision of wealth, power, revenge, joy. the drunkard is clay in the liquor-demon's hand; if a coward, liquor makes him bold; if sympathetic, liquor deadens his heart; if honest, liquor makes him a thief; if a loving father or son, liquor makes him a brute. behold the handmaiden of the devil--king alcohol: the most efficient ally of the "angel of the bottomless pit." xxv the astute author "till i come give heed to reading."--_ timothy iv. ._ "of the making of books there is no end."--_ecclesiastes xii. ._ when we remember the crude methods of book making in the days of solomon, compared with the facilities of modern publishing houses, his statement has in it a touch of humour. to-day manuscripts are turned over to printers and binders, and in two weeks an edition of from five to fifty thousand copies are ready for the market. there are three million volumes in our libraries; and, a writer has said, enough new books come from the press annually to build a pyramid as large as st. paul's cathedral, london. mr. carnegie is planting his libraries in every town and city in america. evening and morning papers are laid at our doors with flaming head-lines of all that has happened the world over in the last twenty-four hours. detailed descriptions of murders, scandals, elopements, court scenes, betrayals, etc. magazines, representing every phase of life and industry, are multiplying continually. the literature of a nation is potentially its food for character building, morally and spiritually. now what are we reading? editors are calling for "stuff" with "human interest." the manuscript with "preaching" gets a return slip instead of a check; writers are governing themselves by this canon. the most popular writers of fiction a decade ago, who wrote books with high moral and spiritual tone, have step by step eliminated _religion_, and now deal with socialistic questions and new thought problems. the most popular novels are teaching false standards of life, and some of the "best sellers" are base libels on religion and the church. this is the situation, and a close observation of the output of the high-class, reputable publishers will confirm it. why is this the status of our book makers? book writing and publishing, like all other branches of human endeavour, have become commercialized; writers and publishers are pandering to a vitiated taste for revenue only. it is not literature editors are seeking, but stories that will sell. a librarian of one of our large cities told the writer that seventy-five per cent. of the books called for and read were positively harmful to the highest ideals. if such is true on this plane of literature, what can be said of the publishing houses which produce nothing but books utterly vile and immoral? it is said there are two thousand publishing concerns in new york city issuing just such literature, circulated secretly in many instances. an army of writers are employed to furnish so many "thrillers" monthly. these "stories" deal with the lowest, vilest passions of humanity. what is true of new york is also true of chicago and other cities. enough stories have been written of the james boys, wild bill, buffalo bill, and other border heroes (?), could they have lived to take the least part in so many situations, to have required a century to pass through them all. as much blood as was shed actually at shiloh has been shed by the writers of border outlawry during the past twenty-five years. the indirect influence of the books of the james boys have caused more bloodshed than those missouri bandits spilt by their unerring marksmanship. a penniless orphan boy was adopted by his well-to-do uncle, who gave him all the comforts and opportunities of an actual son. early in his teens he became a novel fiend--the lowest and vilest type; reading several each week. when scarcely fifteen years old, he armed himself with his uncle's pistol, took from the barn the finest horse, and left in the early morning. the gentleman, suspecting the truth concerning the missing horse and boy, called a neighbour, and the two gave chase to the young ingrate. they came upon him late in the day, and as the uncle seized the bridle rein, the nephew shot him through the heart, and wounded the neighbour before he could be pulled from the horse and overpowered. a beautiful girl was found dead in central park, new york. her face, form, and the fabric of her clothing showed plainly that she belonged to a home of wealth and culture. in one hand was an empty vial labelled deadly poison; in the other hand, gripped in the paroxysms of her last struggle, was a paperback novel. the explanation was simple: the heroine had a downfall, and rather than face her shame, committed suicide. if you will observe the throng of factory girls, overworked, underpaid, heart-hungry from which the white slaver reaps a rich harvest, they will be reading the class of book mentioned. they enter into the sacred relation of married life with false, distorted ideals, the end of which is often ruin: infidelity to marriage vows, abandonment, and divorce court. there is another department of literature, written with but one purpose in view: the overthrow of orthodox faith. a thousand questions are raised which the common people cannot answer. why is it the unchurched masses are continually drifting farther and farther from the church and what it stands for? labour unions have almost repudiated religion; class hatred was never more pronounced than to-day, notwithstanding the loud proclamation of human brotherhood. say what you will as to causes, this condition is not an accident; we must go far up the turbid stream to find the source of these defiling waters. when we find the source, it will be found that behind all these insidious influences stands the inspiring author. why is there such an incessant effort to divert the minds of the best people from personal relationship of jesus through faith in his blood? where is the author, the editor--even religious editors--who stand four-square for the bible of our fathers and mothers? we are glad to say there are a few exceptions; but the drift of writers and editors is away from fundamentals. satan boldly and thievishly appropriates every available avenue to the soul; wherever his cold, clammy hand touches, it leaves a chill of death. beyond a question more writers than we ever dreamed are only amanuenses of the astute author. xxvi the hypnotist "even him, whose coming is after the working of satan with all power and signs and lying wonders."--_ thessalonians ii. ._ "and deceiveth them that dwell on the earth by the means of those miracles which he had power to do in the sight of the beast."--_revelation xiii. ._ "awake thou that sleepest, and arise from the dead."--_ephesians v. ._ just where the natural and the supernatural exists is a most difficult psychological problem. many marvellous doings and strange apparitions, from the beginning, were attributed to the supernatural. these same wonders are now known to be the application of physical and psychological laws. the "enchanters," "soothsayers," "diviners," "magicians," and "fortune tellers" have awed the simple-minded and superstitious in all ages. a clear understanding of hypnotism, mesmerism, telepathy, odylic force, psychological phenomena, clairvoyance, black art, and spiritism, will throw light on many of these supposed supernatural mysteries. under whatever name demonstrations may be known, they are all various phases of certain well-established laws touching our physical, mental, and psychical being. one of the most common, and best understood, of these mystery workings is hypnotism which, defined, is "an artificial trance, or an artificially induced state, in which the mind becomes passive." the subject, however, acts readily upon suggestion or direction; and upon regaining normal consciousness, retains little or no recollection of the actions or ideas dominant during this condition. hypnotism is purely mental and physical; but this strange power which one can exercise over another strikingly illustrates the influence which satan exercises over millions of blinded subjects. we shall avoid any attempt to discuss the science and philosophy of hypnotism; this phase of the subject is not germane to our discussion. all these subtle laws of mind, acting in relation to the body, only now being understood by scholars, are undoubtedly familiar to our common enemy. we believe that centuries before man knew anything about psychic laws, as understood to-day, strange, unaccountable influences were operating on the wills and consciences of men. hypnotism is a form of sleep; but during the time the subject can receive and obey instructions. they are absolutely under the control of the hypnotist. paul caught an extraordinary vision of sin when he exclaimed to the ephesians: "awake thou that sleepest, and arise from the dead." here is a fearful figure of sin: that it is sleep--semi-consciousness-- unconsciousness; yet they think, act, move about, enjoy, love, hate, etc., etc., and they are as one asleep. observe this state is, if allowed to remain _in articulo mortis_, hypnotism, conducted by the master of black art; and they obey his will, over against observation, warning, wisdom, experience of others, even of themselves. voices may call loud and long, but do not awaken the soul under the satanic spell. there are many freaks of hypnotic influence which illustrate vividly the power of sin--and back of the sin, the sin personality. we have seen subjects placed under hypnotic sleep, and they would remain in this condition for twenty-four hours. the demonstration was made in a large department store, facing a stone-paved street, which roared day and night with cars and heavy traffic. hundreds of people swarmed about the sleeping man, laughing and talking loudly. not until the hypnotist came and touched the subject did he arouse from the heavy slumber. a still more remarkable demonstration is reported to have been accomplished in an eastern city. we give as authority the _associated press_. after the subject was placed under the hypnotic trance, he was dressed like one being prepared for burial, then put in a coffin, hauled to the cemetery in a hearse. the "corpse" was then lowered in a grave of the proper depth, the grave filled to the ground level. the air tube from the coffin to the top was large enough to enable a light to be reflected on the face of the sleeper. "buried alive," said the report. he was left in the grave several hours. if superior mind force can accomplish such marvellous feats on human will, what may we expect from supernatural mind force with a burning ambition to subdue? the columns of our _dailies_ are filled with reports of the doings of men and women that cannot be explained on any other hypothesis. think of the insane, unreasonable, illogical risk in all manner of sin--for what? a momentary taste of some "forbidden fruit." we hear that self-preservation is the first law of our being; but how often this law is utterly ignored for sensuous gratification. those who do these things are unable to understand their insane conduct until it is all over. "oh, i can see it all now," is the despairing cry so often heard. of course, the hypnotic spell is removed. how easy it is to sit and philosophize on the actions of people. "why would any sane person do such a thing?" a sane person would not; the why of all these human twists is very simple when we are willing to admit the literal teaching of god's book concerning our indefatigable enemy. "the apostate angel and his followers by pride and blasphemy against god and malice against men became liars and murderers by tempting men to do sins" (jude , r. v.). why did the prodigal son do such an insane, sinful act? why? well, he came to himself, but not until the harm was wrought. why have ten thousand prodigals since that day been guilty of the same insane conduct? the answer is obvious. why did judas sell his lord?--he who had been so highly honoured: chosen, ordained, sent out? "satan entered into judas;" there you have the whole truth. by and by, judas came to himself; then remorse and despair not only caused him to return the money, but destroy himself. in a subsequent chapter we shall discuss more particularly the suicide problem; but we are satisfied judas was a victim of two satanic schemes: the hypnotic spell deadened his reason and judgment to do the deed; then, after the crucifixion, despair gripped him like a vice. who would say that judas was excluded from the saviour's dying prayer: "father forgive them"? peter denied christ, then lied and blasphemed about it. he was restored; but satan's power over judas was not broken. his end was satan's finished work. what he did to judas he purposes to do with every "subject"--utter destruction. we once saw a snake charm a bird; the serpent's head was lifted several inches--eyes blazing, and red tongue flashing. the bird fluttered, gave a piteous wail, but was helplessly walking into the jaws of death. now the question arises: what about the freedom of the will? do we ever cease to be free agents? certainly we do not; the hypnotic subject exercises free choice; that is never destroyed, but he acts under a compelling _vis uturga_--power behind. xxvii devil possession "as they went out, behold, they brought to him a dumb man possessed with a devil. and when the devil was cast out, the dumb spake."--_matthew ix. - ._ "o generation of vipers, how can ye, being evil, speak good things?"--_matthew xii. ._ one characteristic, which has been prominent in the varied manifestations of satan studied so far, is adaptability. methods that were available in the days of our lord cannot be used successfully now. by some secret unknown to us the devil enters into the souls of men. this is a mystery; so is, also, the filling of the holy spirit a mystery. the devil possessed king saul, judas, ananias and sapphira, and many are the instances recorded in the ministry of the saviour. devil possession, it seemed, was very common; christ was continually casting them out, and he also gave his apostles power likewise to cast them out. we do not believe the enemy has abandoned his old profession: an evil spirit despises a disembodied state; if people are fortified and shielded against his entrance--then the swine. as cold air whistles and roars about every crack and cranny, entering in from all directions, so evil spirits--devil and demons--press their entrance into the soul. if it is true they cannot enter except by permission,--they pry and pound until resistance is impossible, unless divine reinforcement comes to the rescue. there are maniacs, violent, desperate, incurable, to-day as truly demon possessed as was the man who lived among the tombs. this, however, is not his modern _modus operandi_; desperate maniacs could then terrorize a whole community. our great asylums have solved this problem; even the immediate family is relieved of the burden and fear. those who do not accept the theory of demon possession should explain a case at present in one of our institutions. it is a boy, at the time it attracted attention, only twelve years of age, thin, emaciated, and by no means abnormal in any particular. this child would remain quiet for days; during this time he possessed no strength beyond one of his age. at unexpected moments he would be seized with violent contortions, frothing at the mouth, and snapping like a mad dog; and a continuous flow of the most obscene language and blasphemy while the spell lasted. this is not the strangest part: he had the strength of a giant; it required four or five men to overpower him. one man was helpless in his hands; he would literally hurl them to the floor. compare this story with the one in the fifth chapter of mark: "and when he was come out of the ship, immediately there met him out of the tombs a man with an unclean spirit, who had his dwelling among the tombs; and no man could bind him, no not with chains, because that he had been often bound with fetters and chains, and the chains had been plucked asunder by him, and the fetters broken in pieces: neither could any man tame him." in countries where the gospel light has not yet shown full-orbed, demon possession with manifestations similar to those of bible times are known to be common. f. b. meyer relates numerous cases in russia; many by prayer were cast out in the name of jesus christ. "i confess," he says, "these incidents have greatly impressed me. i wonder how far it would be right to deal with certain forms of drunkenness and impurity as cases of demon-possession. it may be there is more of this demon work among us than we know, and especially in cases of mania." dr. howard taylor, of the china island mission, it is said, was accustomed to diagnose the symptoms of demon-possession in the same way as of any other disease. dr. nevins, of the presbyterian mission board, tells of hundreds of cases, witnessed by himself, where by faith in the son of god the demons were cast out, and the victims were clothed and in their right mind. cotton mather says of salem witchcraft: "those persons said to be bewitched would swoon, froth at the mouth, their bodies would cramp into irregular shapes; meanwhile they would utter accusations against good people who, they said, had bewitched them. this excited sympathy of the court. as soon as the court rendered judgment, those bewitched victims would be relieved of their physical cramps and mental torture." salem witchcraft was real cases of demon-possession, but the court blundered in that the demons were located in the wrong persons. sir walter scott says that similar manifestations of satan as were witnessed at the time of the salem witchcraft occurred simultaneously in every country on earth. he writes again: "anna cole, living at hartford, was taken with strange fits which caused her to express strange things unknown to herself, her tongue being guided by a demon. she confessed to the minister that she had been familiar with a devil." pages could be filled with modern examples which coincide so exactly with new testament records that we have no doubt the causes are the same. professor webster, late of wheaton college, said in a lecture before the students: "i once knew a man possessed of a demon. he became so vicious that he had to be confined in a cell in jail. when he heard any one swear or blaspheme, he would go into convulsions of laughter. when any one used the name of god or christ, he would curse everything good, and foam at the mouth. he possessed superhuman strength, like the man living among the tombs." the soul is god's masterpiece, created to be the habitat of the paraclete, but may, as truly, become the habitat of a demon. we believe that diabolus has so organized his forces that his minions represent various sins; they are specialists--skilled labourers: drink demons, lust demons, lying demons, anger demons, theft demons, pride, blasphemy, etc. demon possession to-day expresses itself in sins we try to control by means of courts, education, etc. homes become a miniature hell because of drink, pride, lust, or lying demons. our penitentiaries are crowded with men who were controlled by a demon, forced them into drink, anger, or theft, until the deed was committed. we may feel thankful that there are so few scriptural cases of demon possession about us--the old time possession. the wise enemy has shifted, but at the same time has greatly enlarged his field of operation. there are no witch victims to-day: the courts would not punish the witches, but the bewitched would be safely cared for in an asylum. but observe, there are ten thousand other insidious ways in which he possesses men and women, enlarging his kingdom daily; his victims multiply, but not among the tombs. the name of jesus continues to be the only remedy. xxviii devil oppression "so went satan forth from the presence of the lord, and smote job with sore boils from the sole of his foot to his crown."--_job ii. ._ "who went about doing good, and healing all that were oppressed of the devil."--_acts x. ._ a necessary concomitant of demon possession is its influence upon the individual's moral faculties; an entirely new type of moral tastes are developed: tempers, sympathies, and, especially, doctrines which are diametrically opposed to genuine spiritual religion and revelation. demon possession bitterly and persistently rejects, whether by a nominal professor or unbeliever, the doctrines of repentance, new birth, etc., through a blood atonement. in demon possession the fight is on the inside; in demon oppression the fight is on the outside. in the one, satan controls the man: body, mind and soul; in the other, he depresses, afflicts the man: body, mind, and soul. in the one, the victim is the incarnation of evil; in the other the victim is generally the purest and holiest of men and women. the devil or demons may be ejected by the power of the holy ghost, but the hellish enterprise is never given up; all the engineering of the pit is utilized to keep ransomed souls out of the kingdom. once a choice is made, all hell is aroused unto wrath and riot to torment, nag, and finally drag the discouraged pilgrim back into sin and apostasy. this is often accomplished successfully through an afflicted body. who knows but that the drama enacted in the land of uz has been repeated many, many times since job sat on his ash pile? "but," says the objector, "sickness and disease come as a result of exposure, natural laws violated, inoculation by infection and contagion." true, but remember he is the "prince of the power of the air." what he did once he can do again, and more efficiently. think of the strenuous war being waged on germs, microbes, and bacilli; we have diseases more violent than ever before. yet when the race of life was less complicated and simple, none of the modern precautions were thought of; flies swarmed about everything placed on the table, and their mission thought to be one of beneficence. there are many actual and implied statements in the bible which teach that disease and sickness are often the result of demon oppression; a large part of our lord's ministry was relieving those who were oppressed of the devil and demons. then his work is just as effective in the realm of the mind; the mental faculties, filled with confusion and doubt, are incapable of exercising their normal functions. multitudes are able, because of their intelligence, to guard the approaches through the physical organism, or to the extent of subjection at least; but are as completely oppressed in mind as others are in body. we do not claim that any are entirely immune from his attacks; but he is wise and sagacious enough to select such victims for specific oppression as will best satisfy and gratify his diabolical pleasure in seeing the followers of his rival suffer. he oppresses only such as he is unable to possess. many have been so troubled mentally that christian living becomes a life and death struggle. here we find another example of "wrestling not with flesh and blood." but some of satan's greatest victories and rejoicings come from soul oppression. we believe this to be the real secret of our lord's agony in the garden; it was the devil's last opportunity to thwart the great plan of salvation. oh, to cheat calvary; put our "lamb slain from the foundation of the world" in such physical, mental, and soul burdened agony he would refuse at the last moment to do all the will of his father. how near he came to accomplishing the diabolical scheme we learn from the story as given by inspiration. we remember his piteous remark as they left the paschal room: "my soul is exceedingly sorrowful, even unto death"; then he cries out in anguish: "if it is possible, let this cup pass from me." never was he nearer the great father heart, and never was he more a man than at this time; and as a man, perhaps during the terrible crisis, he did not analyze his sufferings and emotions. all the powers of hell were combined to crush him at the hour for which he came into the world. every student of soul tragedy can appreciate, in a limited degree, the experiences of gethsemane. paul had this exact experience in mind when he wrote of the "evil days" in which we had to "wrestle." what are evil days? days when the heavens are brass, and the fountains of prayer are dried up; a cold, sinking sensation clutches the heart. the mind is in a jumble, plans are thwarted, the mail brings a message of some deception or betrayal, the hand slips, fires go out, trains missed, pressing duties remain undone; nervous anxiety and evil forebodings chill the soul. the mind and heart are filled with dread; cold perspiration swells into beads upon the brow. evil days! oh, how we stumble and blunder; we cannot even think of advancement. paul says we can only stand still, and having done all, stand. many who are not familiar with the nature of such "days" will cast away their faith, believing that their "feelings" are the index to the state of grace in the heart. but, thank god, a crushing defeat came to this traitor-prince in that the full programme leading up to the world's great atonement was carried out to the letter. it was not the physical fear of death which caused the blood-sweating agony of our lord; if so, thousands have met the martyr's end far more triumphantly than did he. some believe it was the weight of the world's sin breaking his heart. both the physical dread of death and sin burden may have entered into the garden tragedy; but it was, we repeat with emphasis, the myrmidons of hell taking the advantage of his humanity at the crisis of his life: _it was devil oppression_. devil oppression does not always come in a diseased body, a confused mind, or in days of soul depression. but sometimes they are new, instantaneous, fierce, overwhelming, and always from different angles and approaches. a vile suggestion, a remembered sin, long ago under the blood, a strong inclination to commit revolting deeds. an eminent, and deeply-pious divine of the south tells in his autobiography that while alone in his study, in meditation and prayer, he was strangely assaulted by the devil. for more than an hour the inclination to blaspheme was almost beyond his control; it seemed that vile oaths would well up in his mouth and almost leap from his tongue. so terrible was the attack that deliverance came only after a long struggle on his face crying out audibly to god. then the dark cloud of bat-winged vampires, almost visible, left as mysteriously as they came. it was devil oppression. xxix devil abduction "now the spirit speaketh expressly, that in the latter times some shall depart from the faith, giving heed to seducing spirits."--_ timothy iv. ._ "and no marvel; for satan himself is transformed into an angel of light."--_ corinthians xi. ._ we used the above scriptures in a former chapter, but with special reference to "doctrines"; the part we wish to emphasize now, "giving heed to seducing spirits": that is to say, be led away or abducted by the devil or demon. there are four classes of people who may be subjected to the seductive influence of evil spirits. we should keep in mind that the "prince of this world" and his emissaries were once angels, and of course, when necessary, can bring their angelic attributes into seductive usefulness. one of the problems facing the church and all religious workers is to keep the converts or communicants in line; steady them in the presence of deflecting influences. the church is suffering from the inroads of every conceivable brand: isms, cults, fads, worldliness, etc., which always mean, not only usefulness paralyzed, but the loss of church and bible ideals. how many among us who once ran well, but are now tilted, side-tracked, derailed, and ditched. we are encompassed about with ten thousand plausible, seductive tenets, arguments and theories, which if yielded to will result in utter religious ruin. there are four classes of possible victims, all sincere and conscientious, none of which are basely wicked. first: the unregenerate who are blindly seeking the light, but following the inner voice and promptings, rather than the word of god. these become easy victims to the charms (?) of christian science, theosophy, spiritualism, mormonism, etc. once inducted, there follows a mental refreshing, and a carnal peace, which bring the "soul rest" and "assurance" they eagerly sought. these cults are lauded and believed as modern "revelations," but they are only _new clothes_ stretched over the dried mental mummies which lived and moved in the early centuries and dead civilizations. various shades and deductions from old hindoo philosophy, egyptian magic, gnosticism, stoicism, Ã�stheticism, asceticism are paraded so as to catch the cultured, twentieth century devotee. in whatever form it may come, the beauty worshippers of Ã�stheticism, the mental anesthetics of christian science, or the debasing sensuality of mormonism, it is "led away by the devil or a demon." a writer on modern spirits says: "extraordinary spiritism of to-day is but the continuation of the worship of the old idol tammuz, as worshipped by the corrupt israelites and canaanites, and the adonis, as worshipped by the greeks. the indecent practices of these mediums made it necessary to seek darkness to cover their vileness." ezekiel, in the eighth chapter, speaks of it; the delphic oracle practiced the same iniquity: the personification of lust. the second class of possible victims is the regenerated believer or nominal professor of religion. it is the belief of the writer that no greater havoc is being wrought anywhere in the realm of religious aspiration than is being done to-day among professing church-members, sane, perchance--who once knew the secrets of saving faith. to this class there seems to be two horns in the dilemma of abduction. as an eminent author says: "if we give the preponderant attention to the providences which appertain to the body, there is danger of becoming deistical and materialistic in our views. if we study the word alone, without due appreciation of the spirit and providence, there is danger of drifting away into dead formality, drying up, becoming creedistic, theoretical, and unspiritual." what can check the materialistic trend of the times? what can save the church from reflex influences of modern materialism? somehow, we have reached the place where things must appeal to the senses: we must taste, handle, smell, see, etc.; things in the church, as well as out, have jostled down to a metallic basis: something for so much. in the same degree, deny it as we will, our religion ceases to be a religion of faith. then, on the other hand, the history of christendom from the beginning, without an exception, proves the second horn to the dilemma: as we lose the spiritual afflatus, we become ceremonial. upon this reef of rocks our church is crashing to-day. we see only the material; we have a mania for statistics, figures. our sunday-schools seek organization, grades, banners, honour rolls, numbers. great schools are pushed with enthusiasm by unconverted officers and teachers. about ninety per cent. swarm out and away from the church and rarely if ever remain for the preaching of the word. in fearful, glaring reality we can see in all this ceremonialism and dress parade demoniacal abduction. the third class is much smaller; they are the select few who live in the inner circle of things. having been brought from darkness unto light they seek to walk in all the light, and to live continually in the good, acceptable, and perfect will of god. this class are the sworn, uncompromising enemies of satan's kingdom; but often their zeal is without knowledge. perchance, many are weak and unlearned. satan will leave the multitude of mystery workers and formalists to make havoc among these saintly ones. all that he accomplishes here cuts like a two-edged sword: the individual ruin, and the deadening, paralyzing influence to the cause of truth. by what method does he gain access? abduction is only possible here where preponderant emphasis is placed on the leadership of the spirit without careful, diligent adhesion to the word. the word is the spirit's weapon; without it he is handicapped. what is the result? fanaticism, dreams, visions, wild-fire, extreme positions on dress, food, domestic relations, etc., until they are "led away by a demon beyond recall." shipwrecked, "affinities," free love, infidelity, are inevitable. wherever societies, communities, or churches become inoculated with the virus of any of these phases of fanaticism--untold harm surely follows. the devil is responsible for the religious "craze," and will then exaggerate by lies and misrepresentation before the unbelievers. the fourth class are, of all, the most to be pitied, and no work of the "angel of the pit" is so hellish as his operation and strategy upon an awakened soul. those who are in religious work are grieved continually at seeing the process chilled and defeated at a point which would soon result in deliverance from the bondage of evil. satan actually assumes the person of the holy ghost. strange and amazing as this sounds, it is nevertheless true. as soon as the soul is awakened he assumes a general godfather sort of relation to the penitent one. advice and suggestions flood his mind: his pride, clothes, reputation, business, and all are used as arguments. "you should be a christian--join the church--it is your duty; but when you make a start, _be sure_ you have a genuine experience. you are conscientious--anything but a hypocrite with you. now this is not an opportune time, etc., etc.," on and on, until the penitent refuses to arise and go to his father's house. procrastination; satan literally drags him away from the mercy seat. how can he do this? where is the holy ghost all this time? why does he not protect his identity? so long as a man is in sin he has a nature that is not subject to the law of god, and cannot be: carnal mind, old man. on this territory satan has right of way; under the guise of one seeking to help them in their confusion and sorrow, he manipulates until prevenient grace is grieved away. the poor deluded soul has been "led away by a demon." it is devil abduction. xxx the rationale of suicide "and he cast down the pieces of silver in the temple, and went and hanged himself."--_matthew xxvii. ._ "he drew out his sword, and would have killed himself, supposing that the prisoners had been fled."--_acts xvi. ._ the devil was a murderer from the beginning of human history; his first bloodshed was fratricide--growing out of religious jealousy. he is the father of murder and murderers. this crime, provoked or unprovoked, is monstrous; the passions that incite it were born in the pit. then what may be said of self-murder: suicide? it is the most fearful, unnatural, abnormal of all forms of demise. every impulse of reason and judgment revolts at the thought. the master himself drew back from death; the book says death is an enemy. various and satisfactory explanations always follow the news of suicide, "financial reverses," "ill health," "public exposure," "domestic troubles," "melancholia," etc., etc. these explanations will not stand under the light of close scrutiny; reverses and misfortunes are generally contributing causes, but not sufficient to answer fully the horrors of suicide. we hesitate to discuss this gruesome subject, but the character study of these pages would not be complete without it. we speak not with any degree of dogmatism or claim of superior insight to hidden truth, but in the fear of god we are persuaded that not a single case of suicide, since the race took up its painful march, came about from natural causes. satan, the embodiment of monstrosities, is responsible. suicide is numbered among our vexing problems; reckoned on the basis of population, suicide has increased one hundred and fifty per cent. in two decades. scientists are tremendously interested; thoughtful people are alarmed. psychological and sociological authorities tell us that _poverty_, _disappointed affection_, and _dissipation_ are the chief causes. the problem can never be solved by social and scientific speculation. we must cross over the borderland into the supernatural before all the angles of the problem are met and satisfied. there is some strange history connected with suicide. greek philosophers wrote about it; whether among heathen or civilized peoples, it was considered a disgrace. the greeks buried them at night--on the public highways, and without religious ceremonies; and their goods were confiscated for the crown. we wish to emphasize a former statement: suicide is _unnatural_; it sets aside her first law. the law of self-preservation holds good in every walk of life; when we cease to love life, the deepest principle of our being is out of balance. the body is holy, and when it is destroyed, the highest _felo de se_ is committed; not only so, it is assuming the prerogative which belongs alone to god. "it is appointed unto man once to die." life is a sacred gift. there are two kinds of suicide: the responsible and irresponsible. the first often appears to have been deliberately planned, the act of a sane, rational mind. however, the best alienists say some phase of insanity always accompanies this rash act. the second are mentally deranged, for which there are many causes. two classes, also, as to character are found among the unfortunates: the religious and irreligious. what then may we conclude from the most mysterious tragedy on earth? satan always scores a victory when a neighbourhood is shocked by the news of a suicide; the victory is direct and indirect. if the victim is prepared or unprepared, sane or insane, the crime can somehow never be forgiven. a strange demoralizing influence is always felt; a feeling of horror and depression. if the victim is pious, and many, many are the most devout in the church, do they forfeit their salvation by the _felo de se_? not necessarily. now we wish to say here, with every word underscored: _no sane, devout person will destroy themselves_. where, then, is the motive and victory of satan? much, every way. the whole church or community will be religiously paralyzed. it is generally believed that no self-murderer can be saved. but behold a sainted mother in israel found hanging in the barn: we have in mind just such an incident, and remember also the gloom, the depression, the silent whispers, the downcast look on the faces of all who knew her. satan may know that he has nothing directly to gain, but, indirectly, doubt and discouragement prevail. anything to get the world to doubt god. a very devout man, writing of a personal experience, says: "there seemed to be some designing spirit near me for days that constantly whispered in my ear, and sometimes it seemed almost audible, "go kill thyself; you have disgraced your redeemer and you are not fit to live." scores of such testimonies are on record. think of the logical traps used by the designer to incite the deed: if poverty, "my family will be cared for better than i can." if a suffering body, "this will cure me of my pain." if fear of exposure, "that will end it--charity will forgive me then." if hopeless over some sin, "better die than face the disgrace. it will solve all the problems," says the tempter. it is often remarked concerning some one: "how cowardly;" but it is not cowardice; it is inability to answer the devil's logic to commit suicide. again, gruesome as it is, and here is more strange evidence in favour of the satanic explanation: it is fearfully contagious. professor bailey, of yale, said that the report of a suicide by any special method will be followed by others in the same manner. morbid, despondent people hear of it and follow the example. that which should be revolting in the extreme possesses a strange charm. ingersol toured the country at one time advocating suicide as the best way out of life's difficulties. many took his advice and a fearful epidemic followed. one young man in a rural community of illinois committed suicide; three others, all associates, followed in a few weeks. no special motive could be given for either. we are forced to place the blame where it belongs, and sympathize with the victims. xxxi devil worship "then he forsook god which made him, and lightly esteemed the rock of his salvation. they provoked him to jealousy with strange gods, with abominations provoked they him to anger. they sacrificed unto devils, not to god; to gods whom they knew not."--_deuteronomy xxxii. - ._ "but i say the things which the gentiles sacrificed, they sacrificed to devils, and not to god: and i would not that ye should have fellowship with devils. ye cannot drink the cup of the lord, and the cup of devils: ye cannot be partakers of the lord's table, and the table of devils."--_ corinthians x. - ._ satan's consuming passion is thirst for power. he is the "prince of darkness," but also the "god of this world," and this long period of satanic rule is called _night_. god's glorious sabbath of rest was superseded by the black intervention of toil and suffering. satan's scheming fight has been for the rulership of this world. he succeeded in winning the entire antediluvian world, which to save the coming generations necessitated the flood. he began adroitly with the only remaining family; swept the postdiluvian peoples into midnight heathenism. to-day, nearly one billion descendants of noah worship not god--but _demonian_--demons, just what the greeks and romans worshipped in apostolic times. no less than two hundred and fifty million are devil worshippers by name. satan began his fight of opposition by assuming the form or incarnating himself in the body of a snake. therefore it is not an accident, growing out of mythological tradition, that serpent worship has been the chief religion of many peoples. the egyptians worshipped set, which personified all evil--enemy of all good--they called typhon, a monstrous serpent-like animal. to this god human sacrifices were offered on great religious holidays. it is no accident that the millions who know not the true god nevertheless, some way, learned to worship the devil, and generally in the form of a serpent. the egyptians had a serpent-god in typhon; the canaanites worshipped a snake in the days of abraham; the babylonians worshipped python, which is a specie of the most deadly reptile on earth, and another name for typhon. on the monuments and tablets of many dead civilizations the engravings of serpents show their particular customs of devil worship. the american indians were snake worshippers; in ohio an altar more than a half mile in length remains in good preservation. this altar is one of the wonders, being a perfect outline of a gigantic snake. we readily see that tribal association and tradition have had nothing to do with the customs of our own aborigines; the same being who inspired the peoples of the old orient, millenniums ago, to worship the snake-devil inspired our red men in his primeval forest. david speaks of demon worship: "yea they sacrificed their sons and daughters unto _shadim_." jereboam built places to worship evil spirits; the ordained priests to serve the altars of "satyrs," and children were offered. the molech of the canaanites was also devil worship; when the israelites forgot god, they "caused their children to pass through the fire unto molech," an evil god. the damsel whom paul delivered possessed the spirit of python--the snake. the priestesses of the delphic oracles prophesied by the spirit of python; this was the dominant religion throughout greece. the aztec war god of the montezumas, where two hundred and fifty thousand human skulls were found in the temple, was a bloody system of devil worship. the yezidis of persia, descendants of the early python worshippers, worship the devil to-day, and are known as such. we are not confined to heathenism, ancient or modern, to find the same religion of "divinations." the best authorities of spiritualism believe that the supernatural, occult demonstrations, as produced in their séances, are from demon agencies. the whole system of mythology grew out of what is to-day the work of mediums. the old testament is filled with statements concerning "familiar spirits"; they heard voices, received messages, saw physical disturbances--just as may be witnessed at any spiritual séance. the most reliable of mediums do not deny that evil spirits (damned demons) come to them at times. one fact is noteworthy: when men and women become spiritists, they discard all the essentials of the christian faith. they are modern types of demon possession. it is no unusual thing during a séance to hear a regular clash of voices: blasphemy, oaths, vulgar, obscene language, terrible threats, etc. what connection do we find between devil worship and modern spiritualism? first, the moral condition among the spiritists is exactly as it was among the ancient priests and priestesses in the temples of devil worship; they literally worshipped the devil in their corrupt, degrading practices. now, among the votaries of spiritualism, every iniquity, crime, and indecency known among men and women are daily carried on. such is the testimony of one of their travelling lecturers. one of their noted mediums when under control delivered this message: "curse the marriage institution; cursed be the relation of husband and wife; cursed be all who sustain the legal marriage." from what source could we expect such a vile deliverance? second, their mediums actually pray to satan. one of their advocates at the opening of a debate with a christian minister at san jose, cal., prayed in the following language: "o devil, prince of demons in the christian's hell; oh, thou monarch of the bottomless pit; thou king of scorpions, i beseech thee to hear my prayer. thou seest the terrible straits in which i am placed, matched in debate with a big gun of christianity. remember, o prince of brimstone, that when thou stretchest forth thine arm the christian god cannot stand before thee for a moment. bless thy servant in his labours for thee; fill his mouth with wisdom; enable him to defend thee from the false charges of thy sulphurous majesty, so that this audience may know and realize that thou art a prayer hearing and a prayer answering devil" (abbreviated). similar prayers are frequently published in the _banner of light_, the organ of this cult; prayers formulated in the same language as prayers offered to the god of heaven. it cannot be doubted that pagan religion and modern spiritualism are devil worship, shifting under various forms and ceremonies in different ages and places. rev. b. clough, missionary in ceylon, says: "i now state, and i wish it to be heard in every corner of the christian world, that the devil is regularly, systematically, and ceremoniously worshipped by a large majority of the inhabitants of the island of ceylon." we repeat: his consuming passion is to be worshipped. xxxii victory through the victor "this is the victory that overcometh the world, even our faith. who is he that overcometh the world, but he that believeth that jesus christ is the son of god?"--_ john v. - ._ "ye are of god, little children, and have overcome them: because greater is he that is in you than he that is in the world."--_ john iv. ._ one of the grave dangers of to-day is that satan is no longer regarded as a personality. even among those whose faith is founded on the word of god, the idea of an orthodox devil smacks of superstition and an exploded hoax from the dark ages. "let us hear the love side of the gospel; away with this devil and hell business--it's too dreadful," they declare. his real existence and personality are ridiculed in many pulpits and lecture platforms. when these ideas become common among the people who think, a wide open field remains for him to work unmolested. we can also go to the other extreme: that is, to think him a greater being than the son of god. those who have followed us through these chapter studies will, we fear, come to some such conclusion. who can be equal for such a mighty prince? now this biography was undertaken that we might have a full, life-sized photo of our enemy. in this we cannot exaggerate the true status of the case; any less conception of satan than we have portrayed will put us at a serious disadvantage in the life struggle. he is a real foe, and we must meet him in the open, under cover, and invisibly. let it be written in black-faced caps, and heavily underscored: satan is all we can find out about him--plus, with emphasis on the plus. we want to keep in mind clearly the enemy, the battle-ground, and the battle; we can never match swords with him; to ignore him--big, cunning, supernatural, eternally at it--will be the most dangerous folly. but--there is victory, complete, overwhelming victory for every one who fights; but bear in mind it must be a fighter. there is one name which never fails to reverberate from the throne of god to the cavernous pits of darkness; this name shakes loose the grip, untangles the web of all the allied powers of the prince of night. satan is mighty, jesus is almighty; he met his waterloo. jesus was never defeated. his first defeat was when he was an archangel; he was overthrown and cast out of heaven. jesus said: "i was present when satan fell like lightning from heaven." he was also defeated in the wilderness; again in the garden, and at calvary. in fact, on every battle-field where he met the lord christ the defeat was stunning, humiliating. now we are in mortal combat with him, and we must not forget--he has been many times defeated. a writer says: "we have the advantage of fighting a defeated foe." standing alone, we are doomed to utter defeat, capture, ruin; but if our fight is coupled with the name of jesus, our triumph is as certain as our defeat will be without him. so long as we muster in as munitions of war our intellect, self-sufficiency, egotism, etc., the cohorts will laugh at our delusion. there is but one who can out-general his maneuvres, silence his thunderings, checkmate his diabolical acumen, know his oily, snaky approaches, penetrate his angelic beneficence, understand his insidious schemes: that one knew him from the beginning, and--outranked him in heaven and conquered him on earth. this question arises: if satan has been conquered, and jesus is yet contending with him for world-wide supremacy--why the almost universal triumph of evil? why is true righteousness at such a discount? why are the fighters failing and falling all around us? if these questions cannot be answered with a degree of sound reasoning, the whole problem of life, bible, god, atonement, gospel are in a hopeless tangle. a chinese puzzle does not compare with a riddle of everything worth while, visible and invisible. satan undoubtedly controls the machinery of this world. then wherein is the "victory that overcometh the world"? let us keep in mind the power, resources, opportunities, organization, and management of satan; also the blindness and bondage of sin, and--the free agency of man. so long as man remains carnally-minded and free, the enemy has undisputed right of way; while the heart is carnal, impure, unsanctified, the controlling motive power of man's life "is not subject to the law of god, neither indeed can be." he has in his own bosom a traitor, an alien to the government of god. "to be carnally minded is death," says paul. the "old leaven must be purged out"; we must "put off the old man (carnal mind) and his deeds, and put on the new man, etc." this putting off is absolutely necessary. jesus cannot only defeat satan, but he can destroy the "works of the devil"--one of which is the alien principle of our nature. "for this purpose the son of god was manifested, that he might destroy the works of the devil." the life, death, and resurrection of jesus--the god-man--is an everlasting atonement and a propitiation for sin. sin is the rubicon of our battle; once we solve, in all its fullness, the problem of sin, we rob satan of his fulcrum power. he came to jesus and found nothing: no availability, no sin, no yielding, no fellowship. he was tempted, but _without sin_. our victory must be twofold: first, through the merits of the everlasting blood covenant we may be saved from sin unto salvation--reconciliation, forgiveness. then by the fuller benefits of the atonement we may "enter into the holiest by the blood." only the pure in heart can stand the approaches of satan by way of our natural appetites. the triumphs of modern surgery are only possible by means of sterilized instruments. please observe--with all the meaning that can be couched in language: the sinful, unregenerated heart is not only in danger of being overcome, but is already in blind bondage to satan. the power of sin, both actual and original, must be broken by the pardoning grace of god through faith in the atoning blood; and the heart cleansed and empowered by the baptism of the holy ghost. the second inevitable concomitant of victory is copartnership with jesus, the captain of our salvation--"looking unto jesus the author and finisher of our faith." diabolus and his minions cannot stand before this name. his final overthrow was when jesus cried out on the cross: "it is finished." now at the sight of jesus, the cross, or the blood, the phalanx of darkness slinks away. let us lay hold of eternal life by an unfaltering faith in the blood that cleanseth, and "the name high over all: in earth, in heaven, in hell." "and they overcame him through the blood of the lamb, and the word of their testimony." amen and amen. xxxiii the arrest and imprisonment "for the devil is come down unto you, having great wrath, because he knoweth that he hath but a short time."--_revelation xii. ._ "and i saw an angel come down from heaven, having the key of the bottomless pit and a great chain in his hand. and he laid hold on the dragon, that old serpent, which is the devil, and satan, and bound him a thousand years, and cast him into the bottomless pit, and shut him up, and set a seal upon him."--_revelation xx. - ._ the fact of a possible victory through the name of our great conqueror does not alone satisfy all the items of the indictment. if such were the only background to the picture, great as it is, the human drama is not only a fierce tragedy, but a miserable farce. thank god, personal victory is not all; there is a rift in the dark satanic cloud which has hung over the world for so many millenniums. satan is in great wrath, and his power and influence grow steadily stronger; more and more his iron grip fastens about the throat of the world. the apostasy of which christ and his apostles wrote is becoming a reality. satan will score one more gigantic victory; then is our "blessed hope of his glorious appearing," when he shall come and catch away his bride--the church, both dead and alive; that part of his following who are united to him and are earnestly yearning for his coming. this event is called by devout scholars "the rapture." just where, how, when, or how long, we have only a vague prophetic conjecture. "where, lord?" they ask. "and he said unto them, wheresoever the body is, thither will the eagles be gathered together." when the rapture shall have taken place, satan will have undisputed dominion; then shall the "man of sin" appear, setting himself up as god--to be worshipped. his reign will be the great tribulation; all the influences of righteousness will, for the time, be removed--the earth will reek in corruption and bloodshed. it is implied that, so terrible will be this time, divine intervention must necessarily shorten the tribulation, else no flesh will be left on the earth. the great tribulation will be the climax of the devil's rule on earth. it seems that he will incarnate himself in a man, giving him supernatural knowledge and power. however, something spectacular and sensational will soon occur. when the leader of a gang of thugs or desperadoes is arrested, his followers are filled with fear and consternation; then think of the excitement. an angel officer will break in on the scene--yes, that is exactly what the book tells us: the high sheriff of heaven will suddenly step down from headquarters, and will lay hold--arrest the old dragon--satan--devil--serpent (observe all his names are mentioned). whatever his titles and distinctions of the past have been, they will not save him in that hour. the apocalyptic vision is unmistakable. some can see in this wonderful language only an allegory: the good influences are to gradually bind the influences of evil, and to expect such an event as the literal arrest of the devil is a wild, irrational, unscientific, unreasonable dream. our lord said, speaking of the time of the end, that the same social conditions as prevailed in the days of noah were to be repeated: wicked ones waxing worse and worse; scarcely any living in the fear of god. to expect to see a gradual regeneration of society, politics, commerce, and the church--until evil will be overruled, chained as it were--seems to be a gigantic travesty on language and the teaching of the bible. we prefer to stand by the book rather than human interpretation--fixed up to justify the methods and results of modern religious propaganda. an angel appears--evidently an archangel: one belonging to the rank of which the fallen prince formerly belonged. this sheriff of the skies is equipped for his undertaking; officers carry handcuffs with which to bind prisoners--the angel has a great chain in his hand; he lays hold--arrests the old skulking, hateful, murderous devil. this angel-officer has also a key, and it is the key which locks the door of the bottomless pit. this door has been wide open; satan and his emissaries could go and come at pleasure. just as an officer arrests a desperado and leads him off to prison--so will the archangel arrest the devil and lock him up in the pit of darkness and despair. what will be done with his millions of cohorts? we can judge only by inference. we want to stay close to the inspired record; of one thing, however, we are confident: the footstool of god will be absolutely cleared of devil and demons; "that they shall deceive the nations no more." the prophetic picture of the divine court proceedings is very specific: we have the exact length of the prison sentence--_one thousand years_. when we remember the crimes, unnumbered crimes, the sentence seems to be an example of court leniency. but this is only a "binding over," as it were, to the real trial and judgment yet to come. this will be temporary imprisonment; but oh, it will be such a glad, happy day. the vision of isaiah, thirty-fifth chapter, will be literally fulfilled. the sceptre so long in the hand of a traitor--usurper--will pass into the hand of the prince of peace. yes, we will strengthen our weak hands and confirm our feeble knees--satan at last locked up. we shall witness with joy unspeakable and full of glory--"the restoration of all things." "and the earth shall be filled with the knowledge of the glory of the lord, as the waters cover the sea." thank god forever. xxxiv the final consummation "and the devil that deceived them was cast into the lake of fire and brimstone, where the beast and the false prophet are, and shall be tormented day and night forever and ever."--_revelation xx. ._ after the long term of imprisonment shall have ended, we are told that satan shall be loosed out of his prison for a season. this is difficult to explain; but we do not presume to question the administration of god's government: "will not the judge of all the earth do right?" satan, like many other confirmed, apostate criminals, immediately on being released, plunges more deeply into crime than before. the long term of imprisonment and punishment hardens and, if possible, more nearly consumes him with wrath. at once he launches another world-wide campaign of deception, gathering, rallying, mustering, and drilling his forces: those who by an exercise of free choice, notwithstanding the glorious millennium reign, actually fall away and enlist under the black pirate flag once more. he encompasses the whole face of the earth; like a deposed crown prince, he leads an aggressive warfare to regain the honours and influence which he so long enjoyed on the earth. now if the binding of satan is only a figure of the leavening power of righteousness overpowering the evil--what is the _thing_ which shall be unchained and loosened? such a contention is as unanswerable as it is untenable. we will repeat once more, with each word underscored: _good or evil cannot exist except in a personality_. the same school of theologians who deny the personality of satan, many of them, see nothing in the person of christ except a _christ spirit_, inherent good, etc.; all of which is unadulterated infidelity. just another method of "blasting at the rock of ages." satan shall be locked in a prison for one thousand years--then he shall be loosed, and every moment of his freedom will be occupied in preparation for the last armageddon. he does not foresee future events, and it is possible he does not understand this to be his final struggle; otherwise he would be unable to inspire such a following. as we read this brief but vivid picture of the gog and magog engagement, the marshalling and shifting for position of napoleon and wellington, preparatory to their decisive battle, in comparison to this gathering, will be like a cadet sham engagement. it seems that the lines of fortification will reach out over the entire earth, mobilizing around the holy city. the saints, also, are gathered into encampment; whether for preparation to meet the forces of satan, or for protection, the prophecy does not state; but all the powers of light and darkness are brought face to face. the battle never reaches a real encounter; the impudence and rebellion of the deposed prince and ex-convict arouses the wrath of god as never before. the cup of his indignation is full to the overflowing, and he brings the fearful conflict to a spectacular ending. the destruction of sodom and gomorrah was a microscopic event compared with the rain of fire that shall fall in consuming vengeance upon the devil and his followers, both men and demons. the saints shall be delivered in that awful hour, and this is the last shifting of the scene; the bell will ring, as it were, and the curtain will fall, closing out the long tragic history of the old world. we are not dogmatic as to the chronological order of these mighty events, but as closely as we can gather them from the word, the next move of these wonders in heaven and in earth will be the ushering in of the last judgment. the _deis ira_ breaks in upon the universe; the great white throne will swing into view. during the vision of millennial vision, its reign--john saw "thrones"; christ and his church ruling jointly the kingdoms of earth; he then is the chief shepherd, the king of kings and lord of lords--holding the sceptre of universal empire. but now when the _deis ira_ dawns, there will be just one throne, and god himself will sit upon it. if the reader wishes a detailed description of this last day, it can be found in the sixth chapter of revelation, where the whole programme is thrown into a composite picture: "the opening of the seven seals." each seal is a separate prophecy or act of events from alpha to omega of things. language breaks all bounds of rhetoric, poetry, and definition: "and i beheld when he had opened the sixth seal, and lo, there was a great earthquake, and the sun became as black as the sackcloth of hair, and the moon became as blood, and the stars of the heaven fell unto the earth, even as a fig tree casteth her untimely figs, when she is shaken of a mighty wind. and the heaven departed as a scroll when it is rolled together; and every mountain and island were moved out of their places." note the effect this marvellous demonstration will have upon the followers of the traitor-prince: "and the kings of the earth, and the great men, and the rich men, and the chief captains, and the mighty men, and every bondman, and every free man, hid themselves in the dens and in the rocks of the mountains; and said to the rocks and the mountains, fall on us, and hide us from the face of him that sitteth on the throne, and from the wrath of the lamb: for the great day of his wrath has come; and who shall be able to stand." all the souls that have lived on the earth, good and bad, saints and sinners, devil and demons, will stand before the throne and be judged. the words, thoughts, and deeds of men and devils shall be made known. the final doom of the devil and his angels will be shown up in detail before an assembled universe: the godhead, angels, archangels, cherubim and seraphim, and all that have lived upon this planet. hence, the last and final scene of the epilogue: "and the devil that deceived them was cast into the lake of fire and brimstone ... and shall be tormented day and night forever and ever." amen and amen. xxxv satanic symbol in nature "for the invisible things of him from the creation of the world are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made."--_romans i. ._ the evolution of christian scholarship, during the recent decades, has wrought wonders in bringing about absolute harmony of science and religion. under the microscope, and through the telescope, men whose hearts are trained as well as their brains, the great book of nature is found to be a commentator and expositor of the book of revelation. they have not only studied and theorized about the science of religion; but by laws of induction and deduction have discovered a "religion of science," and when properly understood and applied is not out of harmony with the most orthodox faith. just as chemistry, geology, zoölogy, botany, astronomy, etc., whether seen in the protozoa or the highest type of man; the animalculi (creatures which propagate their specie by millions in a day) or the elephant; the electrons or polarius (our north star which is one hundred times brighter, larger, and hotter than the sun)--all demonstrate laws, systems, design, purpose, and beneficence from the hand of a wise father-creator: so also are there other things in the physical world discovered by the student of nature which suggest an opposite being. we remember that even the ground was cursed when sin entered with its defiling touch; where flowers and fruits did once abound has come forth a crop of vile weeds, thorns, and poisonous vines. these occupy and will conquer in any soil on the earth--the poe or mississippi valleys, without the diligent, unceasing, systematic toil of man. there must be a continuous fight against these omnipresent enemies--in garden, in vineyard, on farm. clean out every weed, allow none to produce seed of its kind; then leave the land for one year untouched, and it will be a ragged wilderness. fruits, grains, and vegetables left to fight with these enemies of the soil, and, without a single exception anywhere, they are soon choked out and will die. unaided by the skill of the gardener, the end is inevitable. but, observe again, fighting the soil demons and conquering them is only half the battle. there is not a tree, plant, shrub, vegetable, fruit, nor flower, in any latitude or zone, but that must contend with pests, parasites, and insects of all kinds. the herbivorous enemies are not limited to insects and creeping things, but actual diseases. several of the choicest fruits have cancer; various blights have destroyed whole crops of cereals. trees and vegetables have diseases that must be diagnosed and doctored as carefully as the family physician treats pneumonia or typhoid fevers. but this is not all: whole orchards are killed by the caterpillar; the boll-weevil has been known to devastate great sections in the wheat belt. the grub kills the corn as soon as it sprouts; the potato bug, the tobacco worm, the army worm, the gypsy moth, celery worm, california scale, etc., on and on, until we find that every fruit, grain or vegetable is beset by some vermin destroyer which, if not removed or poisoned, will sting to death, or gnaw at the vitals until they wither and die. the horticultural kingdom must contend with imps of death until garnered safely in the harvest. when we examine the animal kingdom we find the same conditions obtain; every animal from the bug to the buzzard, from the ant to the elephant, from mice to monkeys, have a bitter struggle for existence. a distinguished german professor has this to say, addressing the fishery association of berlin: "war is the watchword of the whole of organic nature; there is a constant war of all organisms against outward unfavourable circumstances, and there is a constant war among the different individuals. the seed grain which falls into the ground, the worm crawling on the earth, the butterfly hovering over the flower, the eagle soaring high among the clouds--all have their enemies; outward enemies threatening their existence, and enemies eating their life and strength." following these remarks he gave a long list of fish parasites sufficient to destroy the whole finny kingdom. another eminent naturalist, speaking of the perils of insect life, said: "with such savage murderers prowling among the shadows, life among our singing meadows is anything but a round of pleasure. the warfare is broadcast. not even the fluttering butterfly is safe, but is pounced upon in mid-air, its wings torn off in mockery, and is then lugged off to some dark hole in the ground. and the bee returning to its hive is waylaid on the wing, and its body is torn open for the sake of the morsel of a honey-bag within." still another scientist tells us: "the microscope shows that these murderous imps appear to have been made to inflict the most excruciating torture upon their victims." he makes special mention of the sand hornet: "he is the greatest villain that flies, and is built for a professional murderer. he carries two keen scimitars, besides a deadly poisoned poniard, and is armed throughout with a coat of mail. he lives a life of tyranny and feeds on blood." every drop of water is swarming with hideous creatures which, if sufficiently magnified, would be frightful beyond description; the air we breathe is surcharged with death: infecting organisms which, if the system in the slightest degree becomes unable to eliminate them, bring on dreadful diseases. we must fight for our physical life daily. but for the immunity provisions of providence, our bodies may be a charnal house, at any moment, of billions of bacilli hastening our end. these are stern facts which face every student of biology or natural history. as a professor has well said, "he, therefore, who objects to the teaching of the sacred scriptures concerning satan and demons, and appeals to the cæsar of the natural world, can get no help, for that cæsar echoes back with thunder tones that there are myriads of living, malignant and destructive organisms in every realm of nature, so far as is known, or so far as one can reason from analogy, that, like satan and demons, trouble and torment the innocent as well as the guilty; that in some instances these malignant organisms appear to inflict suffering for the sheer delight of doing it." what is the conclusion of the whole matter: the existence of diabolus and demonia is a fact of revelation verified by both science and philosophy. _printed in the united states of america_ _satan's diary_ _satan's diary_ by leonid andreyev _authorized translation_ with a preface by herman bernstein boni and liveright publishers new york copyright, , by boni & liveright, inc. _printed in the united states of america_ preface "satan's diary," leonid andreyev's last work, was completed by the great russian a few days before he died in finland, in september, . but a few years ago the most popular and successful of russian writers, andreyev died almost penniless, a sad, tragic figure, disillusioned, broken-hearted over the tragedy of russia. a year ago leonid andreyev wrote me that he was eager to come to america, to study this country and familiarize americans with the fate of his unfortunate countrymen. i arranged for his visit to this country and informed him of this by cable. but on the very day i sent my cable the sad news came from finland announcing that leonid andreyev died of heart failure. in "satan's diary" andreyev summed up his boundless disillusionment in an absorbing satire on human life. fearlessly and mercilessly he hurled the falsehoods and hypocrisies into the face of life. he portrayed satan coming to this earth to amuse himself and play. having assumed the form of an american multi-millionaire, satan set out on a tour through europe in quest of amusement and adventure. before him passed various forms of spurious virtues, hypocrisies, the ruthless cruelty of man and the often deceptive innocence of woman. within a short time satan finds himself outwitted, deceived, relieved of his millions, mocked, humiliated, beaten by man in his own devilish devices. the story of andreyev's beginning as a writer is best told in his autobiography which he gave me in . * * * * * "i was born," he said, "in oryol, in , and studied there at the gymnasium. i studied poorly; while in the seventh class i was for a whole year known as the worst student, and my mark for conduct was never higher than , sometimes . the most pleasant time i spent at school, which i recall to this day with pleasure, was recess time between lessons, and also the rare occasions when i was sent out from the classroom.... the sunbeams, the free sunbeams, which penetrated some cleft and which played with the dust in the hallway--all this was so mysterious, so interesting, so full of a peculiar, hidden meaning. "when i studied at the gymnasium my father, an engineer, died. as a university student i was in dire need. during my first course in st. petersburg i even starved--not so much out of real necessity as because of my youth, inexperience, and my inability to utilize the unnecessary parts of my costume. i am to this day ashamed to think that i went two days without food at a time when i had two or three pairs of trousers and two overcoats which i could have sold. "it was then that i wrote my first story--about a starving student. i cried when i wrote it, and the editor, who returned my manuscript, laughed. that story of mine remained unpublished.... in , in january, i made an unsuccessful attempt to kill myself by shooting. as a result of this unsuccessful attempt i was forced by the authorities into religious penitence, and i contracted heart trouble, though not of a serious nature, yet very annoying. during this time i made one or two unsuccessful attempts at writing; i devoted myself with greater pleasure and success to painting, which i loved from childhood on. i made portraits to order at and rubles a piece. "in i received my diploma and became an assistant attorney, but i was at the very outset sidetracked. i was offered a position on _the courier_, for which i was to report court proceedings. i did not succeed in getting any practice as a lawyer. i had only one case and lost it at every point. "in i wrote my first story--for the easter number--and since that time i have devoted myself exclusively to literature. maxim gorky helped me considerably in my literary work by his always practical advice and suggestions." * * * * * andreyev's first steps in literature, his first short stories, attracted but little attention at the time of their appearance. it was only when countess tolstoy, the wife of leo tolstoy, in a letter to the _novoye vremya_, came out in "defense of artistic purity and moral power in contemporary literature," declaring that russian society, instead of buying, reading and making famous the works of the andreyevs, should "rise against such filth with indignation," that almost everybody who knew how to read in russia turned to the little volume of the young writer. in her attack upon andreyev, countess tolstoy said as follows: * * * * * "the poor new writers, like andreyev, succeeded only in concentrating their attention on the filthy point of human degradation and uttered a cry to the undeveloped, half-intelligent reading public, inviting them to see and to examine the decomposed corpse of human degradation and to close their eyes to god's wonderful, vast world, with the beauties of nature, with the majesty of art, with the lofty yearnings of the human soul, with the religious and moral struggles and the great ideals of goodness--even with the downfall, misfortunes and weaknesses of such people as dostoyevsky depicted.... in describing all these every true artist should illumine clearly before humanity not the side of filth and vice, but should struggle against them by illumining the highest ideals of good, truth, and the triumph over evil, weakness, and the vices of mankind.... i should like to cry out loudly to the whole world in order to help those unfortunate people whose wings, given to each of them for high flights toward the understanding of the spiritual light, beauty, kindness, and god, are clipped by these andreyevs." this letter of countess tolstoy called forth a storm of protest in the russian press, and, strange to say, the representatives of the fair sex were among the warmest defenders of the young author. answering the attack, many women, in their letters to the press, pointed out that the author of "anna karenina" had been abused in almost the same manner for his "kreutzer sonata," and that tolstoy himself had been accused of exerting just such an influence as the countess attributed to andreyev over the youth of russia. since the publication of countess tolstoy's condemnation, andreyev has produced a series of masterpieces, such as "the life of father vassily," a powerful psychological study; "red laughter," a war story, "written with the blood of russia;" "the life of man," a striking morality presentation in five acts; "anathema," his greatest drama; and "the seven who were hanged," in which the horrors of russian life under the tsar were delineated with such beautiful simplicity and power that turgenev, or tolstoy himself, would have signed his name to this masterpiece. thus the first accusations against andreyev were disarmed by his artistic productions, permeated with sincere, profound love for all that is pure in life. dostoyevsky and maupassant depicted more subjects, such as that treated in "the abyss," than andreyev. but with them these stories are lost in the great mass of their other works, while in andreyev, who at that time had as yet produced but a few short stories, works like "the abyss" stood out in bold relief. i recall my first meeting with leonid andreyev in , two weeks after my visit to count leo tolstoy at yasnaya polyana. at that time he had already become the most popular russian writer, his popularity having overshadowed even that of maxim gorky. as i drove from terioki to andreyev's house, along the dust-covered road, the stern and taciturn little finnish driver suddenly broke the silence by saying to me in broken russian: "andreyev is a good writer.... although he is a russian, he is a very good man. he is building a beautiful house here in finland, and he gives employment to many of our people." we were soon at the gate of andreyev's beautiful villa--a fantastic structure, weird-looking, original in design, something like the conception of the architect in the "life of man." "my son is out rowing with his wife in the gulf of finland," andreyev's mother told me. "they will be back in half an hour." as i waited i watched the seething activity everywhere on andreyev's estate. in yasnaya polyana, the home of count tolstoy, everything seemed long established, fixed, well-regulated, serenely beautiful. andreyev's estate was astir with vigorous life. young, strong men were building the house of man. more than thirty of them were working on the roof and in the yard, and a little distance away, in the meadows, young women and girls, bright-eyed and red faced, were haying. youth, strength, vigor everywhere, and above all the ringing laughter of little children at play. i could see from the window the "black little river," which sparkled in the sun hundreds of feet below. the constant noise of the workmen's axes and hammers was so loud that i did not notice when leonid andreyev entered the room where i was waiting for him. "pardon my manner of dressing," he said, as we shook hands. "in the summer i lead a lazy life, and do not write a line. i am afraid i am forgetting even to sign my name." i had seen numerous photographs of leonid andreyev, but he did not look like any of them. instead of a pale-faced, sickly-looking young man, there stood before me a strong, handsome, well-built man, with wonderful eyes. he wore a grayish blouse, black, wide pantaloons up to his knees, and no shoes or stockings. we soon spoke of russian literature at the time, particularly of the drama. "we have no real drama in russia," said andreyev. "russia has not yet produced anything that could justly be called a great drama. perhaps 'the storm,' by ostrovsky, is the only russian play that may be classed as a drama. tolstoy's plays cannot be placed in this category. of the later writers, anton chekhov came nearest to giving real dramas to russia, but, unfortunately, he was taken from us in the prime of his life." "what do you consider your own 'life of man' and 'to the stars'?" i asked. "they are not dramas; they are merely presentations in so many acts," answered andreyev, and, after some hesitation, added: "i have not written any dramas, but it is possible that i will write one." at this point andreyev's wife came in, dressed in a russian blouse. the conversation turned to america, and to the treatment accorded to maxim gorky in new york. "when i was a child i loved america," remarked andreyev. "perhaps cooper and mayne reid, my favorite authors in my childhood days, were responsible for this. i was always planning to run away to america. i am anxious even now to visit america, but i am afraid--i may get as bad a reception as my friend gorky got." he laughed as he glanced at his wife. after a brief pause, he said: "the most remarkable thing about the gorky incident is that while in his stories and articles about america gorky wrote nothing but the very worst that could be said about that country he never told me anything but the very best about america. some day he will probably describe his impressions of america as he related them to me." it was a very warm day. the sun was burning mercilessly in the large room. mme. andreyev suggested that it would be more pleasant to go down to a shady place near the black little river. on the way down the hill andreyev inquired about tolstoy's health and was eager to know his views on contemporary matters. "if tolstoy were young now he would have been with us," he said. we stepped into a boat, mme. andreyev took up the oars and began to row. we resumed our conversation. "the decadent movement in russian literature," said andreyev, "started to make itself felt about ten or fifteen years ago. at first it was looked upon as mere child's play, as a curiosity. now it is regarded more seriously. although i do not belong to that school, i do not consider it worthless. the fault with it is that it has but few talented people in its ranks, and these few direct the criticism of the decadent school. they are the writers and also the critics. and they praise whatever they write. of the younger men, alexander blok is perhaps the most gifted. but in russia our clothes change quickly nowadays, and it is hard to tell what the future will tell us--in our literature and our life. "how do i picture to myself this future?" continued andreyev, in answer to a question of mine. "i cannot know even the fate and future of my own child; how can i foretell the future of such a great country as russia? but i believe that the russian people have a great future before them--in life and in literature--for they are a great people, rich in talents, kind and freedom-loving. savage as yet, it is true, very ignorant, but on the whole they do not differ so much from other european nations." suddenly the author of "red laughter" looked upon me intently, and asked: "how is it that the european and the american press has ceased to interest itself in our struggle for emancipation? is it possible that the reaction in russia appeals to them more than our people's yearnings for freedom, simply because the reaction happens to be stronger at the present time? in that event, they are probably sympathizing with the shah of persia! russia to-day is a lunatic asylum. the people who are hanged are not the people who should be hanged. everywhere else honest people are at large and only criminals are in prison. in russia the honest people are in prison and the criminals are at large. the russian government is composed of a band of criminals, and nicholas ii is not the greatest of them. there are still greater ones. i do not hold that the russian government alone is guilty of these horrors. the european nations and the americans are just as much to blame, for they look on in silence while the most despicable crimes are committed. the murderer usually has at least courage, while he who looks on silently when murder is committed is a contemptible weakling. england and france, who have become so friendly to our government, are surely watching with compassion the poor shah, who hangs the constitutional leaders. perhaps i do not know international law. perhaps i am not speaking as a practical man. one nation must not interfere with the internal affairs of another nation. but why do they interfere with our movement for freedom? france helped the russian government in its war against the people by giving money to russia. germany also helped--secretly. in well-regulated countries each individual must behave decently. when a man murders, robs, dishonors women he is thrown into prison. but when the russian government is murdering helpless men and women and children the other governments look on indifferently. and yet they speak of god. if this had happened in the middle ages a crusade would have been started by civilized peoples who would have marched to russia to free the women and the children from the claws of the government." andreyev became silent. his wife kept rowing for some time slowly, without saying a word. we soon reached the shore and returned silently to the house. that was twelve years ago. i met him several times after that. the last time i visited him in petrograd during the july riots in . * * * * * a literary friend thus describes the funeral of leonid andreyev, which gives a picture of the tragedy of russia: "in the morning a decision had to be reached as to the day of the funeral. it was necessary to see to the purchase and the delivery of the coffin from viborg, and to undertake all those unavoidable, hard duties which are so painful to the family. "it appeared that the russian exiles living in our village had no permits from the finnish government to go to viborg, nor the money for that expense. it further appeared that the family of leonid andreyev had left at their disposal only one hundred marks (about dollars), which the doctor who had come from the station after andreyev's death declined to take from the widow for his visit. "this was all the family possessed. it was necessary to charge a russian exile living in a neighboring village, who had a pass for viborg, with the sad commission of finding among some wealthy people in viborg who had known andreyev the means required for the funeral. "on the following day mass was read. floral tributes and wreaths from viborg, with black inscriptions made hastily in ink on white ribbons, began to arrive. they were all from private individuals. the local refugees brought garlands of autumn foliage, bouquets of late flowers. their children laid their carefully woven, simple and touching little childish wreaths at the foot of the coffin. leonid andreyev's widow did not wish to inter the body in foreign soil and it was decided, temporarily, until burial in native ground, to leave his body in the little mortuary in the park on the estate of a local woman landowner. "the day of the funeral was not widely known. the need for special permits to travel deprived many of the opportunity to attend. in this way it happened that only a very small group of people followed the body from the house to the mortuary. none of his close friends was there. they, like his brothers, sister, one of his sons, were in russia. neighbors, refugees, acquaintances of the last two years with whom his exile had accidentally thrown him into contact, people who had no connection with russian literature,--almost all alien in spirit--such was the little group of russians that followed the coffin of leonid andreyev to its temporary resting place. "it was a tragic funeral, this funeral in exile, of a writer who is so dearly loved by the whole intellectual class of russia; whom the younger generation of russia acclaimed with such enthusiasm. "meanwhile he rests in a foreign land, waiting--waiting for free russia to demand back his ashes, and pay tribute to his genius." among his last notes, breathing deep anguish and despair, found on his desk, were the following lines: "revolution is just as unsatisfactory a means of settling disputes as is war. if it be impossible to vanquish a hostile idea except by smashing the skull in which it is contained; if it be impossible to appease a hostile heart except by piercing it with a bayonet, then, of course, fight...." leonid andreyev died of a broken heart. but the spirit of his genius is deathless. herman bernstein. _new york, september._ _satan's diary_ satan's diary january . on board the _atlantic_. this is exactly the tenth day since i have become human and am leading this earthly life. my loneliness is very great. i am not in need of friends, but i must speak of myself and i have no one to speak to. thoughts alone are not sufficient, and they will not become quite clear, precise and exact until i express them in words. it is necessary to arrange them in a row, like soldiers or telephone poles, to lay them out like a railway track, to throw across bridges and viaducts, to construct barrows and enclosures, to indicate stations in certain places--and only then will everything become clear. this laborious engineering work, i think, they call logic and consistency, and is essential to those who desire to be wise. it is not essential to all others. they may wander about as they please. the work is slow, difficult and repulsive for one who is accustomed to--i do not know what to call it--to embracing all in one breath and expressing all in a single breath. it is not in vain that men respect their thinkers so much, and it is not in vain that these unfortunate thinkers, if they are honest and conscientious in this process of construction, as ordinary engineers, end in insane asylums. i am but a few days on this earth and more than once have the yellow walls of the insane asylum and its luring open door flashed before my eyes. yes, it is extremely difficult and irritates one's "nerves." i have just now wasted so much of the ship's fine stationery to express a little ordinary thought on the inadequacy of man's words and logic. what will it be necessary to waste to give expression to the great and the unusual? i want to warn you, my earthly reader, at the very outset, not to gape in astonishment. the _extraordinary cannot be expressed_ in the language of your grumbling. if you do not believe me, go to the nearest insane asylum and listen to the inmates: they have all realized _something_ and wanted to give expression to it. and now you can hear the roar and rumble of these wrecked engines, their wheels revolving and hissing in the air, and you can see with what difficulty they manage to hold intact the rapidly dissolving features of their astonished faces! i see you are all ready to ply me with questions, now that you learned that i am satan in human form: it is so fascinating! whence did i come? what are the ways of hell? is there immortality there, and, also, what is the price of coal at the stock exchange of hell? unfortunately, my dear reader, despite my desire to the contrary, if i had such a desire, i am powerless to satisfy your very proper curiosity. i could have composed for your benefit one of those funny little stories about horny and hairy devils, which appeal so much to your meagre imagination, but you have had enough of them already and i do not want to lie so rudely and ungracefully. i will lie to you elsewhere, when you least expect it, and that will be far more interesting for both of us. and the truth--how am i to tell it when even my name cannot be expressed in your tongue? you have called me satan and i accept the name, just as i would have accepted any other: be it so--i am satan. but my real name sounds quite different, quite different! it has an extraordinary sound and try as i may i cannot force it into your narrow ear without tearing it open together with your brain: be it so--i am satan. and nothing more. and you yourself are to blame for this, my friend: why is there so little understanding in your reason? your reason is like a beggar's sack, containing only crusts of stale bread, while it is necessary to have something more than bread. you have but two conceptions of existence: life and death. how, then, can i reveal to you the _third_? all your existence is an absurdity only because you do not have this _third conception_. and where can i get it for you? to-day i am human, even as you. in my skull is your brain. in my mouth are your cubic words, jostling one another about with their sharp corners, and i cannot tell you of the extraordinary. if i were to tell you that there are no devils i would lie. but if i say that such creatures do exist i also deceive you. you see how difficult it is, how absurd, my friend! i can also tell you but little that you would understand of how i assumed the human form, with which i began my earthly life ten days ago. first of all, forget about your favorite, hairy, horny, winged devils, who breathe fire, transform fragments of earthenware into gold and change old men into fascinating youths, and having done all this and prattled much nonsense, they disappear suddenly through a wall. remember: when _we_, want to visit your earth _we_ must always become human. why this is so you will learn after your death. meanwhile remember: i am a human being now like yourself. there is not the foul smell of a goat about me but the fragrance of perfume, and you need not fear to shake my hand lest i may scratch you with my nails: i manicure them just as you do. but how did it all happen? very simply. when i first conceived the desire to visit this earth i selected as the most satisfactory lodging a -year-old american billionaire, mr. henry wondergood. i killed him at night,--of course, not in the presence of witnesses. but you cannot bring me to court despite this confession, because the american is alive, and we both greet you with one respectful bow: i and wondergood. he simply rented his empty place to me. you understand? and not all of it either, the devil take him! and, to my great regret i can _return_ only through the same door which leads you too to liberty: through death. this is the most important thing. you may understand something of what i may have to say later on, although to speak to you of such matters in your language is like trying to conceal a mountain in a vest pocket or to empty niagara with a thimble. imagine, for example, that you, my dear king of nature, should want to come closer to the ants, and that by some miracle you became a real little ant,--then you may have some conception of that gulf which separates me now from what i was. no, still more! imagine that you were a sound and have become a mere symbol--a musical mark on paper.... no, still worse!--no comparisons can make clear to you that terrible gulf whose bottom even i do not see as yet. or, perhaps, there is no bottom there at all. think of it: for two days, after leaving new york, i suffered from seasickness! this sounds queer to you, who are accustomed to wallow in your own dirt? well, i--i have also wallowed in it but it was not queer at all. i only smiled once in thinking that _it_ was not i, but wondergood, and said: "roll on, wondergood, roll on!" there is another question to which you probably want an answer: why did i come to this earth and accept such an unprofitable exchange: to be transformed from satan, "the mighty, immortal chieftain and ruler" into you? i am tired of seeking words that cannot be found. i will answer you in english, french, italian or german--languages we both understand well. i have grown lonesome in hell and i have come upon the earth to lie and play. you know what ennui is. and as for falsehood, you know it well too. and as for _play_--you can judge it to a certain extent by your own theaters and celebrated actors. perhaps you yourself are playing a little rôle in parliament, at home, or in your church. if you are, you may understand something of the _satisfaction_ of play. and, if in addition, you are familiar with the multiplication table, then multiply the delight and joy of play into any considerable figure and you will get an idea of my enjoyment, of my play. no, imagine that you are an ocean wave, which plays eternally and lives only in play--take this wave, for example, which i see outside the porthole now and which wants to lift our "atlantic"...but, here i am again seeking words and comparisons! i simply want to play. at present i am still an unknown actor, a modest débutante, but i hope to become no less a celebrity than your own garrick or aldrich, after i have played what i please. i am proud, selfish and even, if you please, vain and boastful. you know what vanity is, when you crave the praise and plaudits even of a fool? then i entertain the brazen idea that i am a genius. satan is known for his brazenness. and so, imagine, that i have grown weary of hell where all these hairy and horny rogues play and lie no worse than i do, and that i am no longer satisfied with the laurels of hell, in which i but perceive no small measure of base flattery and downright stupidity. but i have heard of you, my earthly friend; i have heard that you are wise, tolerably honest, properly incredulous, responsive to the problems of eternal art and that you yourself play and lie so badly that you might appreciate the playing of others: not in vain have you so many _great actors_. and so i have come. you understand? my stage is the earth and the nearest scene for which i am now bound is rome, the eternal city, as it is called here, in your profound conception of eternity and other simple matters. i have not yet selected my company (would you not like to join it?). but i believe that _fate_ and _chance_, to whom i am now subservient, like all your earthly things, will realize my unselfish motives and will send me worthy partners. old europe is so rich in talents! i believe that i shall find a keen and appreciative audience in europe, too. i confess that i first thought of going to the east, which some of my compatriots made their scene of activity some time ago with no small measure of success, but the east is too credulous and is inclined too much to poison and the ballet. its gods are ludicrous. the east still reeks too much of hairy animals. its lights and shadows are barbarously crude and too bright to make it worth while for a refined artist as i am to go into that crowded, foul circus tent. ah, my friend, i am so vain that i even begin this diary not without the secret intention of impressing you with my modesty in the rôle of _seeker_ of words and comparisons. i hope you will not take advantage of my frankness and cease believing me. are there any other questions? of the play itself i have no clear idea yet. it will be composed by the same impresario who will assemble the actors--_fate_. my modest rôle, as a beginning, will be that of a man who so loves his fellow beings that he is willing to give them everything, his soul and his money. of course, you have not forgotten that i am a billionaire? i have three billion dollars. sufficient--is it not?--for one spectacular performance. one more detail before i conclude this page. i have with me, sharing my fate, a certain irwin toppi, my secretary,--a most worthy person in his black frock coat and silk top hat, his long nose resembling an unripened pear and his smoothly shaven, pastor-like face. i would not be surprised to find a prayer book in his pocket. my toppi came upon this earth from _there_, i.e. from hell and by the same means as mine: he, too, assumed the human form and, it seems, quite successfully--the rogue is entirely immune from seasickness. however to be seasick one must have some brains and my toppi is unusually stupid--even for this earth. besides, he is impolite and ventures to offer advice. i am rather sorry that out of our entire wealth of material i did not select some one better, but i was impressed by his honesty and partial familiarity with the earth: it seemed more pleasant to enter upon this little jaunt with an experienced comrade. quite a long time ago he once before assumed the human form and was so taken by religious sentiments that--think of it!--he entered a franciscan monastery, lived there to a ripe old age and died peacefully under the name of brother vincent. his ashes became the object of veneration for believers--not a bad career for a fool of a devil. no sooner did he enter upon this trip with me than he began to sniff about for incense--an incurable habit! you will probably like him. and now enough. get thee hence, my friend. i wish to be alone. your shallow reflection upon this wall wears upon me. i wish to be alone or only with this wondergood who has leased his abode to me and seems to have gotten the best of me somehow or other. the sea is calm. i am no longer nauseated but i am afraid of something. i am afraid! i fear this darkness which they call night and descends upon the ocean: here, in the cabin there is still some light, but there, on deck, there is terrible darkness, and my eyes are quite helpless. these silly reflectors--they are worthless. they are able to reflect things by day but in the darkness they lose even this miserable power. of course i shall get used to the darkness. i have already grown used to many things. but just now i am ill at ease and it is horrible to think that the mere turn of a key obsesses me with this blind ever present darkness. whence does it come? and how brave men are with their dim reflectors: they see nothing and simply say: it is dark here, we must make a light! then they themselves put it out and go to sleep. i regard these braves with a kind of cold wonder and i am seized with admiration. or must one possess a great mind to appreciate horror, like mine? you are not such a coward, wondergood. you always bore the reputation of being a hardened man and a man of experience! there is one moment in the process of my assumption of the human form that i cannot recollect without horror. that was when for the first time i heard the beating of my heart. this regular, loud, metronome-like sound, which speaks as much of death as of life, filled me with the hitherto inexperienced sensation of horror. men are always quarrelling about accounts, but how can they carry in their breasts _this_ counting machine, registering with the speed of a magician the fleeting seconds of life? at first i wanted to shout and to run back _below_, before i could grow accustomed to life, but here i looked at toppi: this new-born fool was calmly brushing his top hat with the sleeve of his frock coat. i broke out into laughter and cried: "toppi, the brush!" we both brushed ourselves while the counting machine in my breast was computing the seconds and, it seemed to me, adding on a few for good measure. finally, hearing its brazen beating, i thought i might not have time enough to finish my toillette. i have been in a great hurry for some time. just what it was i would not be able to complete i did not know, but for two days i was in a mad rush to eat and drink and even sleep: the counting machine was beating away while i lay in slumber! but i never rush now. i know that i will manage to get through and my moments seem inexhaustible. but the little machine keeps on beating just the same, like a drunken soldier at a drum. and how about the very moments it is using up now. are they to be counted as equal to the great ones? then i say it is all a fraud and i protest as a honest citizen of the united states and as a merchant. i do not feel well. yet i would not repulse even a friend at this moment. ah! in all the universe i am alone! february , . rome, hotel "internationale." i am driven mad whenever i am compelled to seize the club of a policeman to bring order in my brain: facts, to the right! thoughts, to the left! moods, to the rear--clear the road for his highness, conscience, which barely moves about upon its stilts. i am compelled to do this: otherwise there would be a riot, an abrecadebra, chaos. and so i call you to order, gentleman--facts and lady-thoughts. i begin. night. darkness. the air is balmy. there is a pleasant fragrance. toppi is enchanted. we are in italy. our speeding train is approaching rome. we are enjoying our soft couches when, suddenly, crash! everything flies to the devil: the train has gone out of its mind. it is wrecked. i confess without shame that i am not very brave, that i was seized with terror and seemed to have lost consciousness. the lights were extinguished and with much labor i crawled out of the corner into which i had been hurled. i seemed to have forgotten the exit. there were only walls and corners. i felt something stinging and beating at me, and all about nothing but darkness. suddenly i felt a body beneath my feet. i stepped right upon the face. only afterwards did i discover that the body was that of george, my lackey, killed outright. i shouted and my obliging toppi came to my aid: he seized me by the arm and led me to an open window, as both exits had been barricaded by fragments of the car and baggage. i leaped out, but toppi lingered behind. my knees were trembling. i was groaning but still he failed to appear. i shouted. suddenly he reappeared at the window and shouted back: "what are you crying about? i am looking for our hats and your portfolio." a few moments later he returned and handed me my hat. he himself had his silk top hat on and carried the portfolio. i shook with laughter and said: "young man, you have forgotten the umbrella!" but the old buffoon has no sense of humor. he replied seriously: "i do not carry an umbrella. and do you know, our george is dead and so is the chef." so, this fallen carcass which has no feelings and upon whose face one steps with impunity is our george! i was again seized with terror and suddenly my ears were pierced with groans, wild shrieks, whistlings and cries! all the sounds wherewith these braves wail when they are crushed. at first i was deafened. i heard nothing. the cars caught fire. the flames and smoke shot up into the air. the wounded began to groan and, without waiting for the flesh to roast, i darted like a flash into the field. what a leap! fortunately the low hills of the roman campagna are very convenient for this kind of sport and i was no means behind in the line of runners. when, out of breath, i hurled myself upon the ground, it was no longer possible to hear or see anything. only toppi was approaching. but what a terrible thing this heart is! my face touched the earth. the earth was cool, firm, calm and here i liked it. it seemed as if it had restored my breath and put my heart back into its place. i felt easier. the stars above were calm. there was nothing for them to get excited about. they were not concerned with things below. they merely shine in triumph. that is their eternal ball. and at this brilliant ball the earth, clothed in darkness, appeared as an enchanting stranger in a black mask. (not at all badly expressed? i trust that you, my reader, will be pleased: my style and my manners are improving!) i kissed toppi in the darkness. i always kiss those i like in the darkness. and i said: "you are carrying your human form, toppi, very well. i respect you. but what are we to do now? those lights yonder in the sky--they are the lights of rome. but they are too far away!" "yes, it is rome," affirmed toppi, and raised his hand: "do you hear whistling?" from somewhere in the distance came the long-drawn, piercing, shrieking of locomotives. they were sounding the alarm. "yes, they are whistling," i said and laughed. "they are whistling!" repeated toppi smiling. he never laughs. but here again i began to feel uncomfortable. i was cold, lonely, quivering. in my feet there was still the sensation of treading upon corpses. i wanted to shake myself like a dog after a bath. you must understand me: it was the first time that i had seen and felt your corpse, my dear reader, and if you pardon me, it did not appeal to me at all. why did it not protest when i walked over its face? george had such a beautiful young face and he carried himself with much dignity. remember your face, too, may be trod upon. and will you, too, remain submissive? we did not proceed to rome but went instead in search of the nearest night lodging. we walked long. we grew tired. we longed to drink, oh, how we longed to drink! and now, permit me to present to you my new friend, signor thomas magnus and his beautiful daughter, maria. at first we observed the faint flicker of a light. as we approached nearer we found a little house, its white walls gleaming through a thicket of dark cypress trees and shrubbery. there was a light in one of the windows, the rest were barricaded with shutters. the house had a stone fence, an iron gate, strong doors. and--silence. at first glance it all looked suspicious. toppi knocked. again silence. i knocked. still silence. finally there came a gruff voice, asking from behind the iron door: "who are you? what do you want?" hardly mumbling with his parched tongue, my brave toppi narrated the story of the catastrophe and our escape. he spoke at length and then came the click of a lock and the door was opened. following behind our austere and silent stranger we entered the house, passed through several dark and silent rooms, walked up a flight of creaking stairs into a brightly lighted room, apparently the stranger's workroom. there was much light, many books, with one open beneath a low lamp shaded by a simple, green globe. we had not noticed this light in the field. but what astonished me was the silence of the house. despite the rather early hour not a move, not a sound, not a voice was to be heard. "have a seat." we sat down and toppi, now almost in pain, began again to narrate his story. but the strange host interrupted him: "yes, a catastrophe. they often occur on our roads. were there many victims?" toppi continued his prattle and the host, while listening to him, took a revolver out of his pocket and hid it in a table drawer, adding carelessly: "this is not--a particularly quiet neighborhood. well, please, remain here." for the first time he raised his dark eyebrows and his large dim eyes and studied us intently as if he were gazing upon something savage in a museum. it was an impolite and brazen stare. i arose and said: "i fear that we are not welcome here, signor, and----" he stopped me with an impatient and slightly sarcastic gesture. "nonsense, you remain here. i will get you some wine and food. my servant is here in the daytime only, so allow me to wait on you. you will find the bathroom behind this door. go wash and freshen up while i get the wine. make yourself at home." while we ate and drank--with savage relish, i confess--this unsympathetic gentleman kept on reading a book as if there were no one else in the room, undisturbed by toppi's munching and the dog's struggle with a bone. i studied my host carefully. almost my height, his pale face bore an expression of weariness. he had a black, oily, bandit-like beard. but his brow was high and his nose betrayed good sense. how would you describe it? well, here again i seek comparisons. imagine the nose betraying the story of a great, passionate, extraordinary, secret life. it is beautiful and seems to have been made not out of muscle and cartilage, but out of--what do you call it?--out of thoughts and brazen desires. he seems quite brave too. but i was particularly attracted by his hands: very big, very white and giving the impression of self-control. i do not know why his hands attracted me so much. but suddenly i thought: how beautifully exact the number of fingers, exactly ten of them, ten thin, evil, wise, crooked fingers! i said politely: "thank you, signor----" he replied: "my name is magnus. thomas magnus. have some wine? americans?" i waited for toppi to introduce me, according to the english custom, and i looked toward magnus. one had to be an ignorant, illiterate animal not to know me. toppi broke in: "mr. henry wondergood of illinois. his secretary, irwin toppi, your obedient servant. yes, citizens of the united states." the old buffoon blurted out his tirade, evincing a thorough lack of pride, and magnus--yes, he was a little startled. billions, my friend, billions. he gazed at me long and intently: "mr. wondergood? henry wondergood? are you not, sir, that american billionaire who seeks to bestow upon humanity the benefits of his billions?" i modestly shook my head in the affirmative. "yes, i am the gentleman." toppi shook his head in affirmation--the ass: "yes, we are the gentlemen." magnus bowed and said with a tinge of irony in his voice: "humanity is awaiting you, mr. wondergood. judging by the roman newspapers it is extremely impatient. but i must crave your pardon for this very modest meal: i did not know...." i seized his large, strangely warm hand and shaking it violently, in american fashion, i said: "nonsense, signor magnus. i was a swine-herd before i became a billionaire, while you are a straightforward, honest and noble gentleman, whose hand i press with the utmost respect. the devil take it, not a single human face has yet aroused in me as much sympathy as yours!" magnus said.... magnus said nothing! i cannot continue this: "i said," "he said,"--this cursed consistency is deadly to my inspiration. it transforms me into a silly romanticist of a boulevard sheet and makes me lie like a mediocrity. i have five senses. i am a complete human being and yet i speak only of the hearing. and how about the sight? i assure you it did not remain idle. and this sensation of the earth, of italy, of my existence which i now perceive with a new and sweet strength! you imagine that all i did was to listen to wise thomas magnus. he speaks and i gaze, understand, answer, while i think: what a beautiful earth, what a beautiful campagna di roma! i persisted in penetrating the recesses of the house, into its locked silent rooms. with every moment my joy mounted at the thought that i am alive, that i can speak and play and, suddenly, i rather liked the idea of being human. i remember that i held out my card to magnus. "henry wondergood." he was surprised, but laid the card politely on the table. i felt like implanting a kiss on his brow for this politeness, for the fact that he too was human. i, too, am human. i was particularly proud of my foot encased in a fine, tan leather shoe and i persisted in swinging it: swing on beautiful, human, american foot! i was extremely emotional that evening! i even wanted to weep: to look my host straight in the eyes and to squeeze out of my own eyes, so full of love and goodness, two little tears. i actually did it, for at that moment i felt a little pleasant sting in my nose, as if it had been hit by a spurt of lemonade. i observed that my two little tears made an impression upon magnus. but toppi!--while i experienced this wondrous poem of feeling human and even of weeping,--he slept like a dead one at the very same table. i was rather angered. this was really going too far. i wanted to shout at him, but magnus restrained me: "he has had a good deal of excitement and is weary, mr. wondergood." the hour had really grown late. we had been talking and arguing with magnus for two hours when toppi fell asleep. i sent him off to bed while we continued to talk and drink for quite a while. i drank more wine, but magnus restrained himself. there was a dimness about his face. i was beginning to develop an admiration for his grim and, at times, evil, secretive countenance. he said: "i believe in your altruistic passion, mr. wondergood. but i do not believe that you, a man of wisdom and of action, and, it seems to me, somewhat cold, could place any serious hopes upon your money----" "three billion dollars--that is a mighty power, magnus!" "yes, three billion dollars, a mighty power, indeed," he agreed, rather unwillingly--"but what will you do with it?" i laughed. "you probably want to say what can this ignoramus of an american, this erstwhile swine-herd, who knows swine better than he knows men, do with the money?" "the first business helps the other," said magnus. "i dare say you have but a slight opinion of this foolish philanthropist whose head has been turned by his gold," said i. "yes, to be sure, what can i do? i can open another university in chicago, or another maternity hospital in san francisco, or another humanitarian reformatory in new york." "the latter would be a distinct work of mercy," quoth magnus. "do not gaze at me with such reproach, mr. wondergood: i am not jesting. you will find in me the same pure love for humanity which burns so fiercely in you." he was laughing at me and i felt pity for him: not to love people! miserable, unfortunate magnus. i could kiss his brow with great pleasure! not to love people! "yes, i do not love them," affirmed magnus, "but i am glad that you do not intend to travel the conventional road of all american philanthropists. your billions----" "three billions, magnus! one could build a nation on this money----" "yes?----" "or destroy a nation," said i. "with this gold, magnus, one can start a war or a revolution----" "yes?----" i actually succeeded in arousing his interest: his large white hands trembled slightly and in his eyes there gleamed for a moment a look of respect: "you, wondergood, are not as foolish as i thought!" he arose, paced up and down the room, and halting before me asked sneeringly: "and you know exactly what your humanity needs most: the creation of a new or the destruction of the old state? war or peace? rest or revolution? who are you, mr. wondergood of illinois, that you essay to solve _these_ problems? you had better keep on building your maternity hospitals and universities. that is far less dangerous work." i liked the man's hauteur. i bowed my head modestly and said: "you are right, signor magnus. who am i, henry wondergood, to undertake the solution of these problems? but i do not intend to solve them. i merely indicate them. i indicate them and i seek the solution. i seek the solution and the man who can give it to me. i have never read a serious book carefully. i see you have quite a supply of books here. you are a misanthrope, magnus. you are too much of a european not to be easily disillusioned in things, while we, young america, believe in humanity. a man must be created. you in europe are bad craftsmen and have created a bad man. we shall create a better one. i beg your pardon for my frankness. as long as i was merely henry wondergood i devoted myself only to the creation of pigs--and my pigs, let me say to you, have been awarded no fewer medals and decorations than field marshal moltke. but now i desire to create people." magnus smiled: "you are an alchemist, wondergood: you would transform lead into gold!" "yes, i want to create gold and i seek the philosopher's stone. but has it not already been found? it has been found, only you do not know how to use it: it is love. ah, magnus, i do not know yet what i will do, but my plans are heroic and magnificent. if not for that misanthropic smile of yours i might go further. believe in man, magnus, and give me your aid. you know what man needs most." he said coldly and with sadness: "he needs prisons and gallows." i exclaimed in anger (i am particularly adept in feigning anger): "you are slandering me, magnus! i see that you must have experienced some very great misfortune, perhaps treachery and----" "hold on, wondergood! i never speak of myself and do not like to hear others speak of me. let it be sufficient for you to know that you are the first man in four years to break in upon my solitude and this only due to chance. i do not like people." "oh, pardon. but i do not believe it." magnus went over to the bookcase and with an expression of supreme contempt he seized the first volume he laid his hands upon. "and you who have read no books," he said, "do you know what these books are about? only about evil, about the mistakes and sufferings of humanity. they are filled with tears and blood, wondergood. look: in this thin little book which i clasp between two fingers is contained a whole ocean of human blood, and if you should take all of them together----. and who has spilled this blood? the devil?" i felt flattered and wanted to bow in acknowledgment, but he threw the book aside and shouted: "no, sir: man! man has spilled this blood! yes, i do read books but only for one purpose; to learn how to hate man and to hold him in contempt. you, wondergood, have transformed your pigs into gold, yes? and i can see how your gold is being transformed back again into pigs. they will devour you, wondergood. but i do not wish either to prattle or to lie: throw your money into the sea or--build some new prisons and gallows. you are vain like all men. then go on building gallows. you will be respected by serious people, while the flock in general will call you great. or, don't you, american from illinois, want to get into the pantheon?" "no, magnus!----" "blood!" cried magnus. "can't you see that it is everywhere? here it is on your boot now----" i confess that at the moment magnus appeared to be insane. i jerked my foot in sudden fear and only then did i perceive a dark, reddish spot on my shoe--how dastardly! magnus smiled and immediately regaining his composure continued calmly and without emotion: "i have unwittingly startled you, mr. wondergood? nonsense! you probably stepped on something inadvertently. a mere trifle. but this conversation, a conversation i have not conducted for a number of years, makes me uneasy and--good night, mr. wondergood. to-morrow i shall have the honor of presenting you to my daughter, and now you will permit me----" and so on. in short, this gentleman conducted me to my room in a most impolite manner and well nigh put me to bed. i offered no resistance: why should i? i must say that i did not like him at this moment. i was even pleased when he turned to go but, suddenly, he turned at the very threshold and stepping forward, stretched out his large white hands. and murmured: "do you see these hands? there is blood on them! let it be the blood of a scoundrel, a torturer, a tyrant, but it is the same, red human blood. good night!" --he spoiled my night for me. i swear by eternal salvation that on that night i felt great pleasure in being a man, and i made myself thoroughly at home in his narrow human skin. it made me feel uncomfortable in the armpits. you see, i bought it ready made and thought that it would be as comfortable as if it had been made to measure! i was highly emotional. i was extremely good and affable. i was very eager to play, but i was not inclined to tragedy! blood! how can any person of good breeding thrust his white hands under the nose of a stranger--hangmen have very white hands! do not think i am jesting. i did not feel well. in the daytime i still manage to subdue wondergood but at night he lays his hands upon me. it is he who fills me with his silly dreams and shakes within me his entire dusty archive--and how godlessly silly and meaningless are his dreams! he fusses about within me all night long like a returned master, seems to be looking about for something, grumbles about losses and wear and tear and sneezes and cavorts about like a dog lying uncomfortable on its bed. it is he who draws me in at night like a mass of wet lime into the depths of miserable humanity, where i nearly choke to death. when i awake in the morning i feel that wondergood has infused ten more degrees of human into me--think of it: he may soon eject me all together and leave me standing outside--he, the miserable owner of an empty barn into which i brought breath and soul! like a hurried thief i crawled into a stranger's clothes, the pockets of which are bulging with forged promissory notes--no, still worse! it is not only uncomfortable attire. it is a low, dark and stifling jail, wherein i occupy less space than a ring might in the stomach of wondergood. you, my dear reader, have been hidden in your prison from childhood and you even seem to like it, but i--i come from the kingdom of liberty. and i refuse to be wondergood's tape worm: one swallow of poison and i am free again. what will you say then, scoundrel wondergood? without me you will be devoured by the worms. you will crack open at the seams--miserable carcass! touch me not! on this night however i was in the absolute power of wondergood. what is human blood to me? what do i care about the troubles of _their_ life! but wondergood was quite aroused by the crazy magnus. suddenly i felt--just think of it--! that i am filled with blood, like the bladder of an ox, and the bladder is very thin and weak, so that it would be dangerous to prick it. prick it and out spurts the blood! i was terrified at the idea that i might be killed in this house: that some one might cut my throat and turning me upside down, hanging by the legs, would let the blood run out upon the floor. i lay in the darkness and strained my ears to hear whether or not magnus was approaching with his white hands. and the greater the silence in this cursed house the more terrified i grew. even toppi failed to snore as usual. this made me angry. then my body began to ache. perhaps i was injured in the wreck, or was it weariness brought on by the flight? then my body began to itch in the most ordinary way and i even began to move the feet: it was the appearance of the jovial clown in the tragedy! suddenly a dream seized me by the feet and dragged me rapidly below. i hardly had time enough to shout. and what nonsense arose before me! do you ever have such dreams? i felt that i was a bottle of champagne, with a thin neck and sealed, but filled not with wine but with blood! and it seemed that not only i but all people had become bottles with sealed tops and all of us were arranged in a row on a seashore. and, someone horrible was approaching from somewhere and wanted to smash us all. and i saw how foolish it would be to do so and wanted to shout: "don't smash them. get a corkscrew!" but i had no voice. i was a bottle. suddenly the dead lackey george approached. in his hands was a huge sharp corkscrew. he said something and seized me by the throat--ah, ah, by the throat!---- i awoke in pain. apparently he did try to open me up. my wrath was so great that i neither sighed nor smiled nor moved. i simply killed wondergood again. i gnashed my teeth, straightened out my eyes, closed them calmly, stretched out at full length and lay peacefully in the full consciousness of the greatness of my ego. had the ocean itself moved up on me i would not have batted an eye! get thee hence, my friend, i wish to be alone. and the body grew silent, colorless, airy and empty again. with light step i left it and before my eyes there arose a vision of the _extraordinary_, that which cannot be expressed in your language, my poor friend! satisfy your curiosity with the dream i have just confided to you and ask no more! or does not the "huge, sharp corkscrew" suit you? but it is so--artistic! * * * * * in the morning i was well again, refreshed and beautiful. i yearned for the play, like an actor who has just left his dressing room. of course i did not forget to shave. this canaille wondergood gets overgrown with hair as quickly as his golden skinned pigs. i complained about this to toppi with whom, while waiting for magnus, i was walking in the garden. and toppi, thinking a while, replied philosophically: "yes, man sleeps and his beard grows. this is as it should be--for the barbers!" magnus appeared. he was no more hospitable than yesterday and his pale face carried unmistakable indications of weariness. but he was calm and polite. how black his beard is in the daytime! he pressed my hand in cold politeness and said: (we were perched on a wall.) "you are enjoying the roman campagna, mr. wondergood? a magnificent sight! it is said that the campagna is noted for its fevers, but there is but one fever it produces in me--the fever of thought!" apparently wondergood did not have much of a liking for nature, and i have not yet managed to develop a taste for earthly landscape: an empty field for me. i cast my eyes politely over the countryside before us and said: "people interest me more, signor magnus." he gazed at me intently with his dark eyes and lowering his voice said dryly and with apparent reluctance: "just two words about people, mr. wondergood. you will soon see my daughter, maria. she is my three billions. you understand?" i nodded my head in approval. "but your california does not produce such gold. neither does any other country on this dirty earth. it is the gold of the heavens. i am not a believer, mr. wondergood, but even i experience some doubts when i meet the gaze of my maria. hers are the only hands into which you might without the slightest misgiving place your billions----" i am an old bachelor and i was overcome with fear, but magnus continued sternly with a ring of triumph in his voice: "but she will not accept them, sir! her gentle hands must never touch this golden dirt. her clean eyes will never behold any sight but that of this endless, godless campagna. here is her monastery, mr. wondergood, and there is but one exit for her from here: into the kingdom of heaven, if it does exist!" "i beg your pardon but i cannot understand this, my dear magnus!" i protested in great joy. "life and people----" the face of thomas magnus grew angry, as it did yesterday, and in stern ridicule, he interrupted me: "and i beg you to grasp, _dear_ wondergood, that life and people are not for maria. it is enough that i know them. my duty was to _warn_ you. and now"--he again assumed the attitude of cold politeness--"i ask you to come to my table. you too, mr. toppi!" we had begun to eat, and were chattering of small matters, when _maria_ entered. the door through which she entered was behind my back. i mistook her soft step for those of the maid carrying the dishes, but i was astonished by the long-nosed toppi, sitting opposite me. his eyes grew round like circles, his face red, as if he were choking. his adam's apple seemed to be lifted above his neck as if driven by a wave, and to disappear again somewhere behind his narrow, ministerial collar. of course, i thought he was choking to death with a fishbone and shouted: "toppi! what is the matter with you? take some water." but magnus was already on his feet, announcing coldly: "my daughter, maria. mr. henry wondergood!" i turned about quickly and--how can i express the extraordinary when it is inexpressible? it was something more than beautiful. it was terrible in its beauty. i do not want to seek comparisons. i shall leave that to you. take all that you have ever seen or ever known of the beautiful on earth: the lily, the stars, the sun, but add, add still more. but not this was the awful aspect of it: there was something else: the elusive yet astonishing similarity--to whom? whom have i met upon this earth who was so beautiful--so beautiful and awe-inspiring--awe-inspiring and unapproachable. i have learned by this time your entire archive, wondergood, and i do not believe that it comes from your modest gallery! "madonna!" mumbled toppi in a hoarse voice, scared out of his wits. so that is it! yes, madonna. the fool was right, and i, satan, could understand his terror. madonna, whom people see only in churches, in paintings, in the imagination of artists. maria, the name which rings only in hymns and prayer books, heavenly beauty, mercy, forgiveness and love! star of the seas! do you like that name: star of the seas? it was really devilishly funny. i made a deep bow and almost blurted out: "madam, i beg pardon for my unbidden intrusion, but i really did not expect to meet you _here_. i most humbly beg your pardon, but i could not imagine that this black bearded fellow has the honor of having you for his daughter. a thousand times i crave your pardon for----" but enough. i said something else. "how do you do, signorina. it is indeed a pleasure." and she really did not indicate in any way that she was _already_ acquainted with me. one must respect an incognito if one would remain a gentleman and only a scoundrel would dare to tear a mask from a lady's face! this would have been all the more impossible, because her father, thomas magnus, continued to urge us with a chuckle: "do eat, please, mr. toppi. why do you not drink, mr. wondergood? the wine is splendid." in the course of what followed: . she breathed-- . she blinked-- . she ate-- and she was a beautiful girl, about eighteen years of age, and her dress was white and her throat bare. it was really laughable. i gazed at her bare neck and--believe me, my earthly friend: i am not easily seduced, i am not a romantic youth, but i am not old by any means, i am not at all bad looking, i enjoy an independent position in the world and--don't you like the combination: satan and _maria_? _maria_ and satan! in evidence of the seriousness of my intentions i can submit at that moment i thought more of _our_ descendants and sought a name for _our_ first-born than indulged in frivolity. suddenly toppi's adam's apple gave a jerk and he inquired hoarsely: "has any one ever painted your portrait, signorina?" "maria never poses for painters!" broke in magnus sternly. i felt like laughing at the fool toppi. i had already opened wide my mouth, filled with a set of first-class american teeth, when maria's pure gaze pierced my eyes and everything flew to the devil,--as in that moment of the railway catastrophe! you understand: she turned me inside out, like a stocking--or how shall i put it? my fine parisian costume was driven inside of me and my still finer thoughts which, however, i would not have wanted to convey to the lady, suddenly appeared upon the surface. with all my secrecy i was left no more sealed than a room in a fifteen cent lodging house. but she _forgave_ me, said nothing and threw her gaze like a projector in the direction of toppi, illumining his entire body. you, too, would have laughed had you seen how this poor old devil was set aglow and aflame by this gaze--clear from the prayer book to the fishbone with which he nearly choked to death. fortunately for both of us magnus arose and invited us to follow him into the garden. "come, let us go into the garden," said he. "maria will show you her favorite flowers." yes, maria! but seek no songs of praise from me, oh poet! i was mad! i was as provoked as a man whose closet has just been ransacked by a burglar. i wanted to gaze at maria but was compelled to look upon the foolish flowers--because i dared not lift my eyes. i am a gentleman and cannot appear before a lady without a necktie. i was seized by a curious humility. do you like to feel humble? i do not. i do not know what maria said. but i swear by eternal salvation--her gaze, and her entire uncanny countenance was the embodiment of an all-embracing meaning so that any wise word i might have uttered would have sounded meaningless. the wisdom of words is necessary only for those poor in spirit. the right are silent. take note of that, little poet, sage and eternal chatterbox, wherever you may be. let it be sufficient for you that i have humbled myself to speak. ah, but i have forgotten my humility! she walked and i and toppi crawled after her. i detested myself and this broad-backed toppi because of his hanging nose and large, pale ears. what was needed here was an apollo and not a pair of ordinary americans. we felt quite relieved when she had gone and we were left alone with magnus. it was all so sweet and simple! toppi abandoned his religious airs and i crossed my legs comfortably, lit a cigar, and fixed my steel-sharp gaze upon the whites of magnus's eyes. "you must be off to rome, mr. wondergood. they are probably worrying about you," said our host in a tone of loving concern. "i can send toppi," i replied. he smiled and added ironically: "i hardly think that would be sufficient, mr. wondergood!" i sought to clasp his great white hand but it did not seem to move closer. but i caught it just the same, pressed it warmly and he was compelled to return the pressure! "very well, signor magnus! i am off at once!" i said. "i have already sent for the carriage," he replied. "is not the campagna beautiful in the morning?" i again took a polite look at the country-side and said with emotion: "yes, it is beautiful! irwin, my friend, leave us for a moment. i have a few words to say to signor magnus----" toppi left and signor magnus opened wide his big sad eyes. i again tried my steel on him, and bending forward closer to his dark face, i asked: "have you ever observed _dear_ magnus, the very striking resemblance between your daughter, the signorina maria, and a certain--celebrated personage? don't you think she resembles the madonna?" "madonna?" drawled out magnus. "no, _dear_ wondergood, i haven't noticed that. i never go to church. but i fear you will be late. the roman fever----" i again seized his white hand and shook it vigorously. no, i did not tear it off. and from my eyes there burst forth again _those_ two tears: "let us speak plainly, signor magnus," said i. "i am a straightforward man and have grown to love you. do you want to come along with me and be the lord of my billions?" magnus was silent. his hand lay motionless in mine. his eyes were lowered and something dark seemed to pass over his face, then immediately to disappear. finally he said, seriously and simply: "i understand you, mr. wondergood--but i must refuse. no, i will not go with you. i have failed to tell you one thing, but your frankness and confidence in me compels me to say that i must, to a certain extent, steer clear of the police." "the roman police," i asked, betraying a slight excitement. "nonsense, we shall buy it." "no, the international," he replied. "i hope you do not think that i have committed some base crime. the trouble is not with police which can be bought. you are right, mr. wondergood, when you say that one can buy almost any one. the truth is that i can be of no use to you. what do you want me for? you love humanity and i detest it. at best i am indifferent to it. let it live and not interfere with me. leave me my maria, leave me the right and strength to detest people as i read the history of their life. leave me my campagna and that is all i want and all of which i am capable. all the oil within me has burned out, wondergood. you see before you an extinguished lamp hanging on a wall, a lamp which once--goodbye." "i do not ask your confidence, magnus," i interjected. "pardon me, you will never receive it, mr. wondergood. my name is an invention but it is the only one i can offer to my friends." to tell the truth: i liked "thomas magnus" at that moment. he spoke bravely and simply. in his face one could read stubbornness and will. this man knew the value of human life and had the mien of one condemned to death. but it was the mien of a proud, uncompromising criminal, who will never accept the ministrations of a priest! for a moment i thought: my father had many bastard children, deprived of legacy and wandering about the world. perhaps thomas magnus is one of these wanderers? and is it possible that i have met a _brother_ on this earth? very interesting. but from a purely human, business point of view, one cannot help but respect a man whose hands are steeped in blood! i saluted, changed my position, and in the humblest possible manner, asked magnus's permission to visit him occasionally and seek his advice. he hesitated but finally looked me straight in the face and agreed. "very well, mr. wondergood. you may come. i hope to hear from you things that may supplement the knowledge i glean from my books. and, by the way, mr. toppi has made an excellent impression upon my maria"---- "toppi?" "yes. she has found a striking resemblance between him and one of her favorite saints. she goes to church frequently." toppi a saint! or has his prayer book overbalanced his huge back and the fishbone in his throat. magnus gazed at me almost gently and only his thin nose seemed to tremble slightly with restrained laughter.--it is very pleasant to know that behind this austere exterior there is so much quiet and restrained merriment! it was twilight when we left. magnus followed us to the threshold, but maria remained in seclusion. the little white house surrounded by the cypress trees was as quiet and silent as we found it yesterday, but the silence was of a different character: the silence was the soul of maria. i confess that i felt rather sad at this departure but very soon came a new series of impressions, which dispelled this feeling. we were approaching rome. we entered the brightly illuminated, densely populated streets through some opening in the city wall and the first thing we saw in the eternal city was a creaking trolley car, trying to make its way through the same hole in the wall. toppi, who was acquainted with rome, revelled in the familiar atmosphere of the churches we were passing and indicated with his long finger the _remnants_ of ancient rome which seemed to be clinging to the huge wall of the new structures: just as if the latter had been bombarded with the shells of old and fragments of the missiles had clung to the bricks. here and there we came upon additional heaps of this old rubbish. above a low parapet of stone, we observed a dark shallow ditch and a large triumphal gate, half sunk in the earth. "the forum!" exclaimed toppi, majestically. our coachman nodded his head in affirmation. with every new pile of old stone and brick the fellow swelled with pride, while i longed for my new york and its skyscrapers, and tried to calculate the number of trucks that would be necessary to clear these heaps of rubbish called ancient rome away before morning. when i mentioned this to toppi he was insulted and replied: "you don't understand anything: better close your eyes and just reflect that you are in rome." i did so and was again convinced that sight is as much of an impediment to the mind as sound: not without reason are all wise folk on the earth blind and all good musicians deaf. like toppi i began to sniff the air and through my sense of smell i gathered more of rome and its horribly long and highly entertaining history than hitherto: thus a decaying leaf in the woods smells stronger than the young and green foliage. will you believe me when i say that i sensed the odor of blood and nero? but when i opened my eyes expectantly i observed a plain, everyday kiosk and a lemonade stand. "well, how do you like it?" growled toppi, still dissatisfied. "it smells----" "well, certainly it smells! it will smell stronger with every hour: these are old, strong aromas, mr. wondergood." and so it really was: the odor grew in strength. i cannot find comparisons to make it clear to you. all the sections of my brain began to move and buzz like bees aroused by smoke. it is strange, but it seems that rome is included in the archive of the silly wondergood. perhaps this is his native town? when we approached a certain populous square i sensed the clear odor of some blood relatives, which was soon followed by the conviction that i, too, have walked these streets before. have i, like toppi, previously donned the human form? ever louder buzzed the bees. my entire beehive buzzed and suddenly thousands of faces, dim and white, beautiful and horrible, began to dance before me; thousands upon thousands of voices, noises, cries, laughters and sighs nearly set me deaf. no, this was no longer a beehive: it was a huge, fiery smithy, where firearms were being forged with the red sparks flying all about. iron! of course, if i had lived in rome before, i must have been one of its emperors: i _remember_ the expression of my face. i remember the movement of my bare neck as i turn my head. i remember the touch of golden laurels upon my bald head--iron! ah, i hear the steps of the iron legions of rome. i hear the iron voices: "vivat cæsar!" i am hot. i am burning. or was i not an emperor but simply one of the "victims" when rome burned down in accordance with the magnificent plan of nero? no, this is not a fire. this is a funeral pyre on which i am forcibly esconsced. i hear the snake-like hissing of the tongues of flame beneath my feet. i strain my neck, all lined with blue veins, and in my throat there rises the final curse--or blessing? think of it: i even remember that roman face in the front row of spectators, which even then gave me no rest because of its idiotic expression and sleepy eyes: i am being burned and it sleeps! "hotel 'internationale'"--cried toppi, and i opened my eyes. we were going up a hill along a quiet street, at the end of which there glowed a large structure, worthy even of new york: it was the hotel where we had previously wired for reservations. they probably thought we had perished in the wreck. my funeral pyre was extinguished. i grew as merry as a darkey who has just escaped from hard labor and i whispered to toppi: "well, toppi, and how about the madonna?" "y-yes, interesting. i was frightened at first and nearly choked to death----" "with a bone? you are silly, toppi: she is polite and did not recognize you. she simply took you for one of her saints. it is a pity, old boy, that we have chosen for ourselves these solemn, american faces: had we looked around more carefully we might have found some more beautiful." "i am quite satisfied with mine," said toppi sadly, and turned away. a glow of secret self-satisfaction appeared upon his long, shiny nose. ah, toppi, ah, the saint! but we were already being accorded a triumphal reception. february . rome, hotel "internationale." i do not want to go to magnus. i am thinking too much of his madonna of flesh and bone. i have come here to lie and to play merrily and i am not at all taken by the prospect of being a mediocre actor, who weeps behind the scenes and appears on the stage with his eyes perfectly dry. moreover, i have no time to gad about the fields catching butterflies with a net like a boy. the whole of rome is buzzing about me. i am an extraordinary man, who loves his fellow beings and i am celebrated. the mobs who flock to worship me are no less numerous than those who worship the vicar of christ himself, two popes all at once.--yes, happy rome cannot consider itself an orphan! i am now living at the hotel, where all is aquiver with ecstacy when i put my shoes outside my door for the night, but they are renovating a palace for me: the historic villa orsini. painters, sculptors and poets are kept busy. one brush-pusher is already painting my portrait, assuring me that i remind him of one of the medicis. the other brush-pushers are sharpening their knives for him. i ask him: "and can you paint a madonna?" certainly he can. it was he, if the signor recollects, who painted the famous turk on the cigarette boxes, the turk whose fame is known even in america. and now three brush-pushers are painting madonnas for me. the rest are running about rome seeking models. i said to one, in my barbarous, american ignorance of the higher arts: "but if you find such a model, signor, just bring her to me. why waste paint and canvas?" he was evidently pained and mumbled: "ah, signor--a model?" i think he took me for a merchant in "live stock." but, fool, why do i need your aid for which i must pay a commission, when my ante-chamber is filled with a flock of beauties? they all worship me. i remind them of savanarola, and they seek to transform every dark corner in my drawing room, and every soft couch into a confessional. i am so glad that these society ladies, like the painters, know so well the history of their country and realize who i am. the joy of the roman papers on finding that i did not perish in the wreck and lost neither my legs nor my billions, was equal to the joy of the papers of jerusalem on the day of the resurrection of christ--in reality there was little cause for satisfaction on the part of the latter, as far as i am able to read history. i feared that i might remind the journalists of j. cæsar, but fortunately they think little of the past and confined themselves to pointing out my resemblance to president wilson. scoundrels! they were simply flattering my american patriotism. to the majority, however, i recall a prophet, but they do not know which one. on this point they are modestly silent. at any rate it is not mahomet: my opposition to marriage is well known at all telegraph stations. it is difficult to imagine the filth on which i fed my hungry interviewers. like an experienced swine-herd, i gaze with horror on the mess they feed upon. they eat and yet they live. although, i must admit, i do not see them growing fat! yesterday morning i flew in an aeroplane over rome and the campagna. you will probably ask whether i saw maria's home? no. i did not find it: how can one find a grain of sand among a myriad of other grains--but i really did not look for it: i felt horror-stricken at the great altitude. but my good interviewers, restless and impatient, were astounded by my coolness and courage. one fellow, strong, surly and bearded, who reminded me of hannibal, was the first to reach me after the flight, and asked: "did not the sensation of flying in the air, mr. wondergood, the feeling of having conquered the elements, thrill you with a sense of pride in man, who has subdued----" he repeated the question: they don't seem to trust me, somehow, and are always suggesting the proper answers. but i shrugged my shoulders and exclaimed sadly: "can you imagine signor--no! only once did i have a sense of pride in men and that was--in the lavatory on board the 'atlantic.'" "oh! in the lavatory! but what happened? a storm, and you were astounded by the genius of man, who has subdued----" "nothing extraordinary happened. but i was astounded by the genius of man who managed to create a palace out of such a disgusting necessity as a lavatory." "oh!" "a real temple, in which one is the arch priest!" "permit me to make a note of that. it is such an original--illumination of the problem----" and to-day the whole eternal city was feeding on this sally. not only did they not request me to leave the place, but on the contrary, this was the day of the first official visits to my apartments: something on the order of a minister of state, an ambassador or some other palace chef came and poured sugar and cinnamon all over me as if i were a pudding. later in the day i returned the visits: it is not very pleasant to keep such things. need i say that i have a nephew? every american millionaire has a nephew in europe. my nephew's name is also wondergood. he is connected with some legation, is very correct in manners and his bald spot is so oiled that my kiss could serve me as a breakfast were i fond of scented oil. but one must be willing to sacrifice something, especially the gratification of a sense of smell. the kiss cost me not a cent, while it meant a great deal to the young man. it opened for him a wide credit on soap and perfumery. but enough! when i look at these ladies and gentlemen and reflect that they are just as they were at the court of aschurbanipal and that for the past years the pieces of silver received by judas continue to bear interest, like his kiss--i grow bored with this old and threadbare play. ah, i want a great play. i seek originality and talent. i want beautiful lines and bold strokes. this company here casts me in the rôle of an old brass band conductor. at times i come to the conclusion that it wasn't really worth my while to have undertaken such a long journey for the sake of this old drivel--to exchange ancient, magnificent and multi-colored hell for its miserable replica. in truth, i am sorry that magnus and his madonna refused to join me--we would have played a little--just a little! i have had but one interesting morning. in fact i was quite excited. the congregation of a so-called "free" church, composed of very serious men and women, who insist upon worshipping in accordance with the dictates of their conscience, invited me to deliver a sunday sermon. i donned a black frock coat, which gave me a close resemblance to--toppi, went through a number of particularly expressive gestures before my mirror and was driven in an automobile, like a prophet--moderne, to the service. i took as my subject or "text" jesus' advice to the rich youth to distribute his wealth among the poor--and in not more than half an hour, i demonstrated as conclusively as and make , that love of one's neighbor is the all important thing. like a practical and careful american, however, i pointed out that it was not necessary to try and go after the whole of the kingdom of heaven at one shot and to distribute one's wealth carelessly; that one can buy it up in lots on the instalment plan and by easy payments. the faces of the faithful bore a look of extreme concentration. they were apparently figuring out something and came to the conclusion that on the basis i suggested, the kingdom of heaven was attainable for the pockets of all of them. unfortunately, a number of my quick-witted compatriots were present in the congregation. one of them was about to rise to his feet to propose the formation of a stock company, when i realized the danger and frustrated this plan by letting loose a fountain of emotion, and thus extinguished his religiously practical zeal! what did i not talk about? i wept for my sad childhood, spent in labor and privation; i whined about my poor father who perished in a match factory. i prayed solemnly for all my brothers and sisters in christ. the swamp i created was so huge that the journalists caught enough wild ducks to last them for six months. how we wept! i shivered with the dampness and began to beat energetically the drum of my billions: dum-dum! everything for others, not a cent for me: dum-dum! with a brazenness worthy of the whip i concluded "with the words of the great teacher:" "come ye unto me all who are heavy-laden and weary and i will comfort ye!" ah, what a pity i cannot perform miracles! a little practical miracle, something on the order of transforming a bottle of water into one of sour chianti or some of the worshippers into pastry, would have gone a long way at that moment.--you laugh and are angry, my earthy reader? there is no reason for you to act thus. remember only that the _extraordinary_ cannot be expressed in your ventriloquist language and that my words are merely a cursed mask for my thoughts. maria! you will read of my success in the newspapers. there was one fool, however, who almost spoiled my day for me: he was a member of the salvation army. he came to see me and suggested that i immediately take up a trumpet and lead the army into battle--they were too cheap laurels he offered and i drove him out. but toppi--he was triumphantly silent all the way home and finally he said very respectfully: "you were in fine mettle to-day, mr. wondergood. i even wept. it is a pity that neither magnus nor his daughter heard you preach, she--she would have changed her opinion of us." you understand, of course, that i felt like kicking this admirer out of the carriage! i again felt in the pupils of my eyes the piercing sting of hers. the speed with which i was again turned inside out and spread out on a plate for the public's view is equal only to that with which an experienced waiter opens a can of conserves. i drew my top hat over my eyes, raised the collar of my coat and looking very much like a tragedian just hissed off the stage, i rode silently, and without acknowledging the greetings showered upon me, i proceeded to my apartments. ah, that gaze of maria! and how could i have acknowledged the greetings when i had no cane with me? i have declined all of to-day's invitations and am at home: i am engaged in "religious meditation"--this was how toppi announced it to the journalists. he has really begun to respect me. before me are whiskey and champagne. i am slowly filling up on the liquor while from the dining hall below come the distant strains of music. my wondergood was apparently considerable of a drunkard and every night he drags me to the wineshop, to which i interpose no objection. what's the difference? fortunately his intoxication is of a merry kind and we make quite a pleasant time of it. at first we cast our dull eyes over the furniture and involuntarily begin to calculate the value of all this bronze, these carpets, venetian mirrors, etc. "a trifle!" we agree, and with peculiar self-satisfaction we lose ourselves in the contemplation of our own billions, of our power and our remarkable wisdom and character. our bliss increases with each additional glass. with peculiar pleasure we wallow in the cheap luxury of the hotel, and--think of it!--i am actually beginning to have a liking for bronze, carpets, glass and stones. my puritan toppi condemns luxury. it reminds him of sodom and gommorah. but it is difficult for me to part with these little emotional pleasures. how silly of me! we continue to listen dully and half-heartedly to the music and venture to whistle some accompaniments. we add a little contemplation on the decollete of the ladies and then, with our step still firm, we proceed to our resting room. but we were just ready for bed when suddenly i felt as if some one had struck me a blow and i was immediately seized with a tempest of tears, of love and sadness. the extraordinary suddenly found expression. i grew as broad as space, as deep as eternity and i embraced all in a single breath! but, oh, what sadness! oh, what love, maria! but i am nothing more than a subterranean lake in the belly of wondergood and my storms in no way disturb his firm tread. i am only a solitaire in his stomach, of which he seeks to rid himself! we ring for the servants. "soda!" i am simply drunk. arrivederci, signor, buona notte! february , . rome, hotel "internationale." yesterday i visited magnus. i was compelled to wait long for him, in the garden, and when he did appear he was so cold and indifferent that i felt like leaving. i observed a few gray hairs in his black beard. i had not noticed them before. was maria unwell? i appeared concerned. everything here is so uncertain that on leaving a person for one hour one may have to seek him in eternity." "maria is well, thank you," replied magnus, frigidly. he seemed surprised as if my question were presumptuous and improper. "and how are your affairs, mr. wondergood? the roman papers are filled with news of you. you are scoring a big success." with pain aggravated by the absence of maria, i revealed to magnus my disappointment and my ennui. i spoke well, not without wit and sarcasm. i grew more and more provoked by his lack of attention and interest, plainly written on his pale and weary face. not once did he smile or venture to put any questions, but when i reached the story of my "nephew" he frowned in displeasure and said: "fie! this is a cheap variety farce! how can you occupy yourself with such trifles, mr. wondergood?" i replied angrily: "but it is not i who am occupying myself with them, signor magnus!" "and how about the interviews? what about that flight of yours? you should drive them away. this humbles your...three billions. and is it true that you delivered some sort of a sermon?" the joy of play forsook me. unwilling as magnus was to listen to me, i told him all about my sermon and those credulous fools who swallowed sacrilege as they do marmalade. "and did you expect anything different, mr. wondergood?" "i expected that they would fall upon me with clubs for my audacity: when i sacrilegiously bandied about the words of the testament...." "yes, they are beautiful words," agreed magnus. "but didn't you know that all their worship of god and all their faith are nothing but sacrilege? when they term a wafer the body of christ, while some sixtus or pius reigns undisturbed, and with the approval of all catholics as the vicar of christ, why should not you, an american from illinois, call yourself at least...his governor? this is not meant as sacrilege, mr. wondergood. these are simply allegories, highly convenient for blockheads, and you are only wasting your wrath. but when will you get down to _business_?" i threw up my hands in skillfully simulated sorrow: "i _want_ to do something, but i _know_ not what to do. i shall probably never get down to business until you, magnus, agree to come to my aid." he frowned, at his own large, motionless, white hands and then at me: "you are too credulous, mr. wondergood. this is a great fault when one has three billions. no, i am of no use to you. our roads are far apart." "but, dear magnus!..." i expected him to strike me for this gentle _dear_, which i uttered in my best possible falsetto. but i ventured to continue. with all the sweetness i managed to accumulate in rome, i looked upon the dim physiognomy of my friend and in a still gentler falsetto, i asked: "and of what nationality are you, my _dear_...signor magnus? i suspect for some reason that you are not italian?" he replied calmly: "no, i am not italian." "but where is your country?----" "my country?... omne solum liberam libero patria. i suppose you do not know latin? it means: where freedom is there is the fatherland of every free man. will you take breakfast with me?" the invitation was couched in such icy tones and maria's absence was so strongly implied therein that i was compelled to decline it politely. the devil take this man! i was not at all in a merry mood that morning. i fervently wished to weep upon his breast while he mercilessly threw cold showers upon my noblest transports. i sighed and changed my pose. i assumed a pose prepared especially for maria. speaking in a low voice, i said: "i want to be frank with you, signor magnus. my past...contains many dark pages, which i should like to redeem. i...." he quickly interrupted me: "there are dark pages in everybody's past, mr. wondergood. i myself am not so clear of reproach as to accept the confession of such a worthy gentleman." "i am a poor spiritual father," he added with a most unpleasant laugh: "_i never pardon sinners_ and, in view of that, what pleasure could there be for you in your confession. better tell me something more about your nephew. is he young?" we spoke about my nephew--and magnus smiled. a pause ensued. then magnus asked whether i had visited the vatican gallery and i bade him good-by, requesting him to transmit my compliments to maria. i confess i was a sorry sight and felt deeply indebted to magnus when he said in bidding me farewell: "do not be angry with me, mr. wondergood. i am not altogether well to-day and...am rather worried about my affairs. that's all. i hope to be more pleasant when we meet again, but be so kind as to excuse me this morning. i shall see that maria gets your compliments." if this blackbearded fellow were only _playing_, i confess i would have found a worthy partner. a dozen pickaninnies could not have licked off the honeyed expression my face assumed at magnus' promise to transmit my greetings to maria. all the way back to my hotel i smiled idiotically at the coachman's back and afterwards bestowed a kiss on toppi's brow--the canaile still maintains an odor of fur, like a young devil. "i see there was profit in your visit," said toppi significantly. "how is magnus'...daughter? you understand?" "splendid, toppi, splendid! she said that my beauty and wisdom reminded her of solomon's!" toppi smiled condescendingly at my unsuccessful jest. the honeyed expression left my face and rust and vinegar took the place of the sugar. i locked myself in my room and for a long time continued to curse satan for falling in love with a woman. you consider yourself original, my earthly friend, when you fall in love with a woman and begin to quiver all over with the fever of love. and i do not. i can see the legions of couples, from adam and eve on; i can see their kisses and caresses; i can hear the words so cursedly monotonous, and i begin to detest my own lips daring to mumble the mumbling of others, my eyes, simulating the gaze of others, my heart, surrendering obediently to the click of the lock of a house of shame. i can see all these excited animals in their groaning and their caresses and i cry with revulsion at my own mass of bones and flesh and nerves! take care, satan in human form, deceit is coming over you! won't you take maria for yourself, my earthly friend? take her. she is yours, not mine. ah, if maria were my slave, i would put a rope around her neck and would take her, naked, to the market place: who will buy? who will pay the most for this unearthly beauty? ah, do not hurt the poor blind merchant: open wide your purses, jingle louder your gold, generous gentlemen!... what, she will not go? fear not, signor, she will come and she will love you.... this is simply her maidenly modesty, sir! shall i tie the other end of the rope about her and lead her to your bed, kind sir? take the rope along with you. i charge nothing for that. only rid me of this heavenly beauty! she has the face of the radiant madonna. she is the daughter of the honorable thomas magnus and both of them are thieves: he stole his white hands and she--her pristine face! ah.... but i am beginning to play with you, dear reader? that is a mistake: i have simply taken the wrong note book. no, it is not a mistake. it is worse. i play because my loneliness is very great, very deep--i fear it has no bottom at all! i stand on the edge of an abyss and hurl words, many heavy words, into it, but they fall without a sound. i hurl into it laughter, threats and moans. i spit into it. i fling into it heaps of stones and rocks. i throw mountains into it--and still it remains silent and empty. no, really, there is no bottom to this abyss and we toil in vain, you and i, my friend! ...but i see your smile and your cunning laugh: you _understand_ why i spoke so sourly of loneliness.... ah, 'tis love! and you want to ask whether i have a mistress? yes: there are two. one is a russian countess. the other, an italian countess. they differ only in the kind of perfume they use. but this is such an immaterial matter that i love them both equally. you probably wish to ask also whether i shall ever visit magnus again? yes, i shall go to magnus. i love him very much. it matters little that his name is false and that his daughter has the audacity to resemble the madonna. i haven't enough of wondergood in me to be particular about a name--and i am too _human_ not to forgive the efforts of others to appear _divine_. i swear by eternal salvation that the one is worthy of the other! february , . rome, villa orsini. cardinal x., the closest friend and confidante of the pope, has paid me a visit. he was accompanied by two abbés. in general, he is a personage whose attentions to me have brought me no small measure of prestige. i met his eminence in the reception hall of my new palace. toppi was dancing all about the priests, snatching their blessings quicker than a lover does the kisses of his mistress. six devout hands hardly managed to handle one devil, grown pious, and before we had reached the threshold of my study, he actually contrived to touch the belly of the cardinal. what ecstasy! cardinal x. speaks all the european languages and, out of respect for the stars and stripes and my billions, he spoke english. he began the conversation by congratulating me upon the acquisition of the villa orsini and told me its history in detail for the past years. this was quite unexpected, very long, at times confusing and unintelligible, so that i was compelled, like a real american ass, to blink constantly...but this gave me an opportunity to study my distinguished and eminent visitor. he is not at all old. he is broad shouldered, well built and in good health. he has a large, almost square face, an olive skin, with a bluish tinge upon his shaven cheeks, and his thin, but beautiful hands reveal his spanish blood. before he dedicated himself to god, cardinal x. was a spanish grandee and duke. but his dark eyes are too small and too deeply set beneath his thick eyebrows and the distance between the short nose and the thin lips is too long.... all this reminds me of some one. but of whom? and what is this curious habit i have of being reminded of some one? probably a saint? for a moment the cardinal was lost in thought and suddenly i recalled: yes, this is simply a shaven _monkey_! this must be its sad, boundless pensiveness, _its_ evil gleam within the narrow pupil! but in a moment the cardinal laughed, jested and gesticulated like a neapolitan lazzarone--he was no longer telling me the history of the palace. he was playing, he was interpreting it in facial expression and dramatic monologue! he has short fingers, not at all like those of a monkey, and when he gesticulates he rather resembles a penguin while his voice reminds me of a talking parrot--who are you, anyhow? no, a monkey! he is laughing again and i observe that he really does not know how to laugh. it is as if he had learned the human art of laughter but yesterday. he likes it but experiences considerable difficulty in extracting it from his throat. the sounds seem to choke him. it is impossible not to echo this strange contagious laughter. but it seems to break one's jaws and teeth and to petrify the muscles. it was really remarkable. i was fascinated when cardinal x. suddenly cut short his lecture on the villa orsini by a fit of groaning laughter which left him calm and silent. his thin fingers played with his rosary, he remained quiet and gazed at me with a mien of deepest reverence and gentle love: something akin to tears glistened in his dark eyes. i had made an impression upon him. he loved me! what was i to do? i gazed into his square, ape-like face. kindliness turned to love, love into passion, and still we maintained the silence...another moment and i would have stifled him in my embrace! "well, here you are in rome, mr. wondergood," sweetly sang the old monkey, without altering his loving gaze. "here i am in rome," i agreed obediently, continuing to gaze upon him with the same sinful passion. "and do you know, mr. wondergood, why i came here, i.e., in addition, of course, to the pleasure i anticipated in making your acquaintance?" i thought and with my gaze unchanged, replied: "for money, your eminence?" the cardinal shook, as though flapping his wings, laughed, and slapped his knee--and again lost himself in loving contemplation of my nose. this dumb reverence, to which i replied with redoubled zest, began to wield a peculiar influence upon me. i purposely tell you all this in detail in order that you may understand my wish at that moment: to begin cavorting about, to sing like a cock, to tell my best arkansas anecdote, or simply to invite his eminence to remove his regalia and play a game of poker! "your eminence...." "i love americans, mr. wondergood." "your eminence! in arkansas they tell a story...." "ah, i see, you want to get down to business? i understand your impatience. money matters should never be postponed. is that not so?" "it depends entirely upon one's concern in these matters, your eminence." the square face of the cardinal grew serious, and in his eyes there gleamed for a moment a ray of loving reproach: "i hope you are not vexed at my long dissertation, mr. wondergood. i love so much the history of our great city that i could not forego the pleasure...the things you see before you are not rome. there is no rome, mr. wondergood. once upon a time it was the eternal city, but to-day it is simply a large city and the greater it grows the further it is from eternity. where is that great spirit which once illumined it?" i shall not narrate to you all the prattle of this purple parrot, his gently-cannibal look, his grimaces and his laughter. all that the old shaven monkey told me when it finally grew weary was: "your misfortune is that you love your fellow beings too much...." "love your neighbor...." "well, let neighbors love each other. go on teaching that but why do _you_ want to do it? when one loves too well one is blind to the shortcomings of the beloved and still worse: one elevates these faults to virtues. how can you reform people and make them happy without realizing their shortcomings or by ignoring their vices? when one loves, one pities and pity is the death of power. you see, i am quite frank with you, mr. wondergood, and i repeat: love is weakness. love will get the money out of your pocket and will squander it...on rouge! leave love to the lower classes. let them love each other. demand it of them, but you, you have risen to greater heights, gifted with such power!..." "but what can i do, your eminence? i am at a loss to understand it all. from my childhood on, especially in church, i have had it drummed into me that one must love his neighbor, and i believed it. and so...." the cardinal grew pensive. like laughter, pensiveness was becoming to him and rendered his square face immovable, filling it with dignity and lonely grief. leaning forward with his lips compressed and supporting his chin upon his hand, he fixed his sharp, sleepy eyes upon me. there was much sorrow in them. he seemed to be waiting for the conclusion of my remark, and not having patience to do so, sighed and blinked. "childhood, yes"...he mumbled, still blinking sorrowfully. "children, yes. but you are no longer a child. forget this lesson. you must acquire the heavenly gift of forgetfulness, you know." he gnashed his white teeth and significantly scratched his nose with his thin finger, continuing seriously: "but it's all the same, mr. wondergood. you, yourself cannot accomplish much.... yes, yes! one must _know_ people to make them happy. isn't that your noble aim? but the church alone _knows_ people. she has been a mother and teacher for thousands of years. her _experience_ is the only one worth while, and, i may say, the only reliable one. as far as i know your career, mr. wondergood, you are an experienced cattle man. and you know, of course, what _experience_ means even in the matter of handling such simple creatures as...." "as swine...." he was startled--and suddenly began to bark, to cough, to whine: he was laughing again. "swine? that's fine, that's splendid, mr. wondergood, but do not forget that one finds the devil, too, in swine!" ceasing his laughter he proceeded: "in teaching others, we learn ourselves. i do not contend that all the methods of education and training employed by the church were equally successful. no, we often made mistakes, but every one of our mistakes served to improve our methods...we are approaching perfection, mr. wondergood, we are approaching perfection!" i hinted at the rapid growth of rationalism which, it seemed to me, threatened to destroy the "perfection" of the church, but cardinal x. again flapped his wings and almost screeched with laughter. "rationalism! you are a most talented humorist, mr. wondergood! tell me, was not the celebrated mark twain a countryman of yours? yes, yes! rationalism! just think a moment. from what root is this word derived and what does it mean--_ratio_? _an nescis, mi filis quantilla sapientia rigitur orbis?_ ah, my dear wondergood! to speak of ratio on this earth is more out of place than it would be to speak of a rope in the home of a man who has just been hanged!" i watched the old monkey enjoying himself and i enjoyed myself too. i studied this mixture of a monkey, parrot, penguin, fox, wolf--and what not? and it was really funny: i love merry suicides. for a long time we continued our fun at the expense of _ratio_ until his eminence calmed himself and assumed the tone of a teacher: "as anti-semitism is the socialism of fools...." "and are you familiar...?" "i told you we are approaching perfection!... so is rationalism the wisdom of fools. the wise man goes further. the ratio constitutes the holiday dress of a fool. it is the coat he dons in the presence of others, but he really lives, sleeps, works, loves and dies without any ratio at all. do you fear death, mr. wondergood?" i did not feel like replying and remained silent. "you need not feel ashamed, mr. wondergood: one should fear death. as long as there is _death_...." the features of the monkey's face suddenly contracted and in his eyes there appeared horror and wrath: as if some one had seized him by the back of his neck and thrust him into the darkness and terror of a primeval forest. he _feared_ death and his terror was dark, evil and boundless. i needed no words of explanation and no other evidence: one look upon this distorted, befogged and confused _human_ face was sufficient to compel reverence for the great irrational! and how weak is _their_ steadiness: my wondergood also grew pale and cringed...ah, the rogue! he was _now_ seeking protection and help from me! "will you have some wine, your eminence?" but his eminence was himself again. he curved his thin lips into a smile and shook his head in the negative. and suddenly he broke out again with surprising fury: "and as long as there is death, the church is unshakable! let all of you who seek to undermine her, tear her, and blow her up--you cannot conquer her. and even if you should succeed in destroying her, the first to perish beneath her ruins would be yourselves. who will then defend you against death? who will give you sweet faith in immortality, in eternal life, in everlasting bliss?... believe me, mr. wondergood, the world is not seeking your ratio. it is all a misunderstanding!" "but what does it seek, your eminence?" "what does it want? _mundus vult decipi_...you know our latin? the world wants to be fooled!" and the old monkey again grew merry, begun to wink, to beam with satisfaction, slapped his knee and burst into laughter. i also laughed. the rascal was so funny! "and is it you," said i, "who wants to fool it?" the cardinal again grew serious and replied sadly: "the holy see needs funds, mr. wondergood. the world, while it has not grown rational, has become weaker in its faith and it is somewhat difficult to manage it." he signed and continued: "you are not a socialist, mr. wondergood? ah, do not be ashamed. we are all socialists now. we are all on the side of the hungry: the more satisfied they will be, the more they will fear _death_. you understand?" he flung out his arms and drew them in again, like a net filled with fish and said: "we are fishermen, mr. wondergood, humble fishermen!... and tell me: do you regard the desire for _liberty_ as a virtue or a vice?" "the entire civilized world regards the desire for liberty as a virtue," i replied angrily. "i expected no other reply from a citizen of the united states. but don't you personally believe that he who will give man limitless _freedom_ will also bring him _death_? _death_ alone releases all earthly ties. and don't you regard the words 'freedom' and 'death' as synonymous?" "i speak of political liberty." "of political liberty? oh, we have no objection to that. you can have as much as you please of that! of course, provided men themselves ask for it. are you sure they really want it? if they do, please help yourself! it is all nonsense and calumny to say that the holy see is in favor of reaction.... i had the honor to be present on the balcony of the vatican when his holiness blessed the first french aëroplane that appeared over rome, and the next pope, i am sure, will gladly bless the barricades. the time of galileo has passed, mr. wondergood, and we all know now that the earth does move!" he drew a circle in the air with his finger, indicating the revolution of the earth. i said: "you must permit me to think over your proposal, your eminence." cardinal x. jumped up from his chair and gently touched my shoulder with two of his aristocratic fingers: "oh, i am not hurrying you, my good mr. wondergood. it was you who were hurrying me. i am even convinced that you will at first refuse me, but when, after some little experience, you will have realized the real _needs_ of man.... i, too, love man, mr. wondergood, to be sure, not so passionately and...." he departed with the same grimaces, bearing himself with dignity and dispensing blessings all about him. i saw him again through the window at the entrance of the palace, while the coachman was bringing up the carriage: he was speaking into the ear of one of his abbés, whose face resembled a black plate. the cardinal's countenance no longer reminded me of a monkey: it was rather the face of a shaven, hungry, tired lion. this able actor needed no dressing room for his make-up! behind him stood a tall lackey, all dressed in black, reminding one of an english baronet. whenever his eminence turned about in his direction, he would respectfully lift his faded silk hat. * * * * * following the departure of his eminence i was surrounded by a merry group of friends, with whom i had filled the spare rooms of my palace for the purpose of alleviating my loneliness and ennui. toppi looked proud and happy: he was so satiated with blessings that he fairly bulged. the artists, decorators and others--whatever you call them--were greatly impressed by the cardinal's visit, and spoke with much glee of the remarkable expression of his face and the grandeur of his manner! the pope himself.... but when i remarked with the naïveté of a redskin that he reminded me of a monkey, the shrewd canailes burst into loud laughter and one of them immediately sketched a portrait of cardinal x.--in a cage. i am not a moralist to judge other people for their petty sins: they will get what is due them on their judgment day--and i was much pleased by the cleverness of the laughing beasts. they do not appear to have much faith in _love_ for one's _fellow beings_ and if i should rummage about among their drawings, i would probably find a pretty good sketch of the ass wondergood. i like that. i find relief in communion with my little, pleasant sinners, from the babbling of the great and disagreeable saints...whose hands are covered with blood. then toppi asked me: "and how much does he want?" "he wants all!" toppi said with determination: "don't you give him all. he promised to make me a prelate, but, all the same, don't you give him all. one should save his money." every day i have unpleasant experiences with toppi: people are constantly foisting counterfeit coin on him. when they first gave him some, he was greatly perturbed and was impressed with what i said to him. "you really astonish me, toppi," i said, "it is ridiculous for an old devil like you to accept counterfeit money from human beings, and allow yourself to be fooled. you ought to be ashamed of yourself, toppi. i fear you will make a beggar of me." now, however, toppi, entangled in the mesh of the counterfeit and the genuine, seeks to preserve both the one and the other: he is quite clever in money matters and the cardinal tried in vain to bribe him. toppi--a prelate!... but the shaven monkey does really want my three billions. apparently the belly of the holy see is rumbling with hunger. i gazed long at the well executed caricature of the cardinal and the longer i gazed, the less i liked it: no, there was something missing. the artist had sensed the ridiculous pretty well, but i do not see that fire of spite and malice which is in constant play beneath the gray ashes of terror. the bestial and the human is here, but it is not molded into that _extraordinary_ mask which, now that a long distance separates me from the cardinal and i no longer hear his heavy laughter, is beginning to exercise a most disagreeable influence over me. or is it because the extraordinary is inexpressible through pencil? in reality he is a cheap rascal, no better than a plain pickpocket, and told me nothing new: he is human enough and wise enough to cultivate that contemptuous laughter of his at the expense of the rational. but he revealed _himself_ to me and do not take offense at my american rudeness, dear reader: somewhere behind his broad shoulders, cringing with terror, there gleamed also your dear countenance. it was like a dream, you understand: it was as if some one were strangling you, and you, in stifled voice, cried to heaven: murder! police! ah, you do not know that _third_, which is neither life nor death, and i know _who_ it was that was strangling you with his bony fingers! but do i know? oh, laugh at him who is laughing at you, comrade. i fear your turn is coming to have some fun at my expense. do i know? i came to you from the innermost depths, merry and serene, blessed in the consciousness of my immortality.... and i am already hesitating. i am already trembling before this shaven monkey's face which dares to express its own low horror in such audaciously grand style: ah, i have not even sold my immortality: i have simply crushed it in my sleep, as does a foolish mother her newborn babe. it has simply faded beneath your sun and rains. it has become a transparent cloth without design, unfit to cover the nakedness of a respectable gentleman! this reeking wondergood swamp in which i am submerged to my eyes, envelops me with mire, befogs my consciousness and stifles me with the unbearable odors of decay. when do you usually begin to decay, my friend: on the second, the third day or does it depend upon the climate? i am already in the process of decay, and i am nauseated by the odor of my entrails. or are you so used to the work of the _worms_ that you take it for the elevation of thought and inspiration? my god, i forgot that i may have some fair readers, too! i most humbly beg your pardon, worthy folk, for this uncalled for discussion of odors. i am a most unpleasant conversationalist, milady, and as a perfumer i am worse...no, still worse: i am a disgusting mixture of satan and an american bear, and i know not how to appreciate your good taste.... no, i am still satan! i still know that i am immortal and when my will shall command me i will strangle myself with my own bony fingers. but if i _should forget_? then i shall distribute my wealth among the poor and with you, my friend, shall crawl up to the old shaven monkey. i shall cling with my american face to his soft slipper, emitting blessings. i shall weep. i shall rave with horror: "save me from death!" and the old monkey, brushing the hair from his face, reclining comfortably, gleaming with a holy light, illuminating all about it--and itself trembling with fear and horror--will hastily continue to fool the world, the world which so loves to be fooled! but i am jesting. i wish to be serious now. i like cardinal x. and i shall permit him to begild himself with my gold. i am weary. i must sleep. my bed and wondergood await me. i shall extinguish the light and in the darkness i shall listen for a moment to the clicking of the counting machine within my breast. and then will come the great pianist, a drunken genius, and begin drumming upon the black keys of my brain. he knows everything and has forgotten everything, this ingenious drunkard, and confuses the most inspiring landscapes with a swamp. that is--a dream. ii february . rome, villa orsini. magnus was not at home. i was received by maria. a glorious peace has suddenly descended upon me. in wondrous calm i breathe at this moment. like a schooner, its sails lowered, i doze in the midday heat of the slumbering ocean. not a stir. not a ripple. i fear to move or to open wide my eyes, dazzled by the rays of the sun. i breathe silently, and i would not rouse the slightest wave upon the boundless smoothness of the sea. and quietly i lay down my pen. february . villa orsini. thomas magnus was not at home and, to my great surprise, i was received by maria. i do not suppose you would be interested in how i greeted her and what i mumbled in the first few moments of our meeting. i can only say that i mumbled and that i felt a strong impulse to laugh. i could not lift my eyes to gaze upon maria until my thoughts cast off their soiled garb and donned clean attire. as you see, i did not lose consciousness altogether! but in vain did i take these precautions: _that_ torture did not follow. maria's gaze was clear and simple and it contained neither searching, penetrating fire nor fatal forgiveness. it was calm and clear, like the sky of the campagna and--i do not know how it happened--it penetrated my entire being. she met me in the garden. we sat down by the gate, from which vantage point we had a good view of the campagna. when you gaze at the campagna you cannot prattle nonsense. no, it was she who gazed at the campagna and i gazed into her eyes--clear to the seventh sky, where you end the count of your heavens. we were silent or--if you regard the following as conversation--we spoke: "are those mountains?" "yes, those are the mountains of albania. and there--is tivoli." she picked out little white houses in the distance and pointed them out to me and i felt a peculiar calm and joy in maria's gaze. the suspicious resemblance of maria to the madonna no longer troubled me: how can i possibly be troubled by the fact that you resemble _yourself_? and came a moment when a great peace of mind descended upon _me_. i have no words of comparison whereby to reveal to you that great and bright calm.... i am forever conjuring up before me that accursed schooner with its lowered sails, on which i never really sailed, for i am afraid of seasickness! or is it because on this night of my loneliness, my road is being illuminated by the _star of the seas_? well, yes, i was a schooner, if you so desire it, and if this is not agreeable to you i was _all_. besides i was _nothing_. you see what nonsense emerges out of all this talk when wondergood begins to seek words and comparisons. i was so calm that i even soon began to gaze into maria's eyes: i simply _believed_ them. this is deeper than mere gazing. when necessary i shall find those eyes again. in the meantime i shall remain a schooner with sails lowered. i shall be _all_ and i shall be _nothing_. only once did a slight breeze stir my sails, but only for a moment: that was when maria pointed out the tiberian road to me, cutting the green hills like a white thread, and asked whether i had ever traversed it before. "yes, occasionally, signorina." "i often gaze upon this road and think that it must be extremely pleasant to traverse it by automobile." "have you a swift car, signor?" "oh, yes, signorina, very swift! but those," i continued in gentle reproach, "who are themselves limitless distances and endlessness are in no need of any movement." maria and an automobile! a winged angel entering a trolley car for the sake of speed! a swallow riding on a turtle! an arrow on the humpy back of a hod carrier! ah, all comparisons lie: why speak of swallows and arrows, why speak of any movement for maria, who embraces all distances! but it is only now that i thought of the trolley and the turtle. at that time i felt so calm and peaceful, i was deep in such bliss that i could think of nothing except that countenance of eternity and undying light! a great calm came upon me on that day and nothing could disturb my endless bliss. it was not long before thomas magnus returned, and a flying fish, gleaming for a moment above the ocean, could no more disturb its blue smoothness than did magnus disturb me. i _received_ him into my heart. i swallowed him calmly and felt no heavier burden in my stomach than a whale does after swallowing a herring. it was gratifying to find magnus hospitable and merry. he pressed my hand and his eyes were bright and kind. even his face seemed less pale and not as weary as usual. i was invited to breakfast...lest it worry you, let me say right now that i remained until late in the evening. when maria had retired i told magnus of the visit of cardinal x. his merry face darkened slightly and in his eyes appeared his former hostile flame. "cardinal x.? he _came_ to see you?" i narrated to him in detail my conversation with "the shaven monkey," and remarked that he had impressed me as a scoundrel of no small caliber. magnus frowned and said sternly: "you laugh in vain, mr. wondergood. i have long known cardinal x. and...i have been keeping a close eye on him. he is evil, cruel and dangerous. despite his ridiculous exterior, he is as cunning, merciless and revengeful as satan!" and you, too, magnus! like satan! this blue-faced, shaven orang-outang, this caressing gorilla, this monkey cavorting before a looking-glass! but i have exhausted my capacity for insult. magnus' remark fell like a stone to the bottom of my bliss. i listened further: "his flirting with the socialists, his jokes at the expense of galileo are all lies. just as the enemies of cromwell hanged him after his death, so would cardinal x. burn the bones of galileo with immense satisfaction: to this day he regards the movement of the earth as a personal affront. it is an old school, mr. wondergood; he will stop at nothing to overcome obstacles, be it poison or murder, which he will take care to attribute to the misfortune of accident. you smile but i cannot discuss the vatican smilingly, not so long as it contains such...and it will always produce some one like cardinal x. look out, mr. wondergood: you have landed within the sphere of his vision and interests, and, let me assure you, that scores of eyes are now watching you...perhaps me, too. be on your guard, my friend!" magnus was quite excited. fervently i shook his hand: "ah, magnus!... but when will you agree to help me?" "but you know that i do not like human beings. it is _you_ who loves them mr. wondergood, not i." a gleam of irony appeared in his eyes. "the cardinal says that it is not at all necessary to love people in order to be happy.... the contrary, he says!" "and who told you that i want to make people happy? again, it is _you_ who wants to do that, not i. hand over your billions to cardinal x. his recipe for happiness is not worse than other patent medicines. to be sure, his recipe has one disadvantage: while dispensing _happiness_ it destroys _people_...but is that important? you are too much of a business man, mr. wondergood, and i see that you are not sufficiently familiar with the world of our inventors of the best means for the happiness of mankind: these means are more numerous than the so-called best tonics for the growth of hair. i myself was a dreamer at one time and invented one or two in my youth...but i was short on chemistry and badly singed my hair in an explosion. i am very glad i did not come across your billions in _those_ days. i am joking, mr. wondergood, but if you wish to be serious, here is my answer: keep on growing and multiplying your hogs, make four of your three billions, continue selling your conserves, provided they are not too rotten, and cease worrying about the happiness of mankind. as long as the world likes good ham it will not deny you its love and admiration!" "and how about those who have no means to buy ham?" "what do you care about them? it is their belly--pardon me for the expression--that is rumbling with hunger, not yours. i congratulate you upon your new home: i know the villa orsini very well. it is a magnificent relic of old rome." i balked at the prospect of another lecture on my palace! yes, magnus had again shoved me aside. he did it brusquely and roughly. but his voice lacked sternness and he gazed at me softly and kindly. well, what of it? to the devil with humanity, its happiness and its ham! i shall try later to bore an entrance into magnus' brain. in the meantime leave me alone with my great peace and...maria. boundless peace and...satan!--isn't that a splendid touch in my play? and what kind of a liar is he who can fool only others? to lie to oneself and believe it--that is an art! after breakfast all _three_ of us walked over the downy hills and slopes of the campagna. it was still early spring and only little white flowers gently brightened the young, green earth. a soft breeze diffused the scents of the season, while little houses gleamed in distant albano. maria walked in front of us, stopping now and then and casting her heavenly eyes upon everything they could envisage. when i return to rome i shall order my brush-pusher to paint madonna thus: on a carpet of soft green and little white flowers. magnus was so frank and merry that i again drew his attention to maria's resemblance to the madonna and told him of the miserable brush-pushers in search of a model. he laughed, agreed with me in my opinion of the aforementioned resemblance, and grew wistful. "it is a _fatal_ resemblance, mr. wondergood. you remember that heavy moment when i spoke to you of _blood_? already there is blood at the feet of maria...the blood of one noble youth whose memory maria and i cherish. there are fatal faces, there are fatal _resemblances_ which confuse our souls and lead to the abyss of self destruction. i am the father of maria, and yet i myself hardly dare to touch her brow with my lips. what insurmountable barriers does love raise for itself when it dares to lift its eyes upon maria?" this was the only moment of that happy day when my ocean became overcast with heavy clouds, as tangled as the beard of "mad king lear," while a wild wind shook the sails of my schooner. but i lifted my eyes to maria, i met her gaze. it was bright and calm, like the sky above us--and the wild wind disappeared without trace, bearing away with it fragments of the darkness. i do not know whether you understand these sea comparisons, which i consider quite inadequate. let me explain: i again grew quite calm. what is that noble roman youth to me, who himself unable to find _comparisons_ was hurled over the head of his pegasus? i am a white-winged schooner and beneath me is an entire ocean, and was it not written of her: the _incomparable_? the day was long and quiet and i was charmed with the precision with which the sun rolled down from its height to the rim of the earth, with the measured pace with which the stars covered the heavens, the large stars first, then the little ones, until the whole sky sparkled and gleamed. slowly grew the darkness. then came the rosy moon, at first somewhat rusty, then brilliant, and swam majestically over the road made free and warm by the sun. but more than anything else did i and magnus feel charmed when we sat in the half-darkened room and heard maria: she played the harp and sang. and listening to the strains of the harp i realized why man likes music produced by taut strings: i was myself a taut string and even when the finger no longer touched me, the sound continued to vibrate and died so slowly that i can still hear it in the depths of my soul. and suddenly i saw that the entire air was filled with taut and trembling strings: they extend from star to star, scatter themselves over the earth and penetrate my heart...like a network of telephone wires through a central station,--if you want more simple comparisons. and there was _something else_ i understood when i heard _maria's_ voice.... no, you are simply an animal, wondergood! when i recall your loud complaints against love and its songs, cursed with the curse of monotony--is that not your own expression?--i feel like sending you off to a barn. you are a dull and dirty animal and i am ashamed that for a whole hour i listened to your silly bellowing. you may hold words in contempt, you may curse your embraces, but do not touch love, my friend: only through love has it been given to you to obtain a glimpse into eternity! away, my friend! leave satan to himself, he who in the very blackest depths of man has suddenly come upon new and unexpected flames. away! you must not see the _joy_ and _astonishment_ of satan! the hour was late. the moon indicated midnight when i left magnus and ordered the chauffeur to drive by way of the numentinian road: i feared lest this great calm might slip away from me, and i wanted to overtake it in the depths of the campagna. but the speed of the car broke the silence and i left my machine. it went to sleep at once beneath the light of the moon over its own shadow and looked like a huge, gray stone barring the road. for the last time its lights gleamed upon me and it became transformed into something invisible. i was left alone with my shadow. we walked along the white road, i and my shadow, stopping occasionally and then again resuming our march. i sat down on a stone along the road and the black shadow hid behind my back. and here a great quiet descended upon the earth, upon the world. upon my chilled brow i felt the cool touch of the moon's kiss. march . rome, villa orsini. i pass my days in deep solitude. my earthly existence is beginning to trouble me. with every hour i seem to _forget_ what i have left behind the wall of _human_ things. my _eyesight_ is weakening. i can hardly see behind that wall. the shadows behind it scarcely move and i can no longer distinguish their outline. with every second my sense of _hearing_ grows duller. i hear the quiet squeak of a mouse, fussing beneath the floor but i am deaf to the thunders rolling above my head. the silence of delusion envelops me and i desperately strain my ears to catch the voices of frankness. i left them behind that impenetrable wall. with each moment _truth_ flees from me. in vain my words try to overtake it: they merely shoot by. in vain i seek to surround it in the tight embraces of my thoughts and rivet it with chains: the prison disappears like air and my embraces envelop nothing but emptiness. only yesterday it seemed to me that i had caught my prey. i imprisoned it and fastened it to the wall with a heavy chain, but when i came to view it in the morning--i found nothing but a shackled skeleton. the rusty chains dangled loosely from its neck while the skull was nodding to me in brazen laughter. you see, i am again seeking comparisons, only to have the _truth_ escape me! but what can i do when i have left all my weapons at _home_ and must resort to your poor arsenal? let god himself don this human form and he will immediately begin to speak to you in exquisite french or yiddish and he will be unable to say _more_ than it is possible to say in exquisite french or yiddish. god! and i am only satan, a modest, careless, human devil! of course, it was careless of me. but when i looked upon _your human_ life from _beyond_...no, wait: you and i have just been caught in a lie, old man! when i said from _beyond_ you understood at once it must have been very far away. yes? you may have already determined, perhaps, the approximate number of miles. have you not at your disposal a limitless number of zeros? ah, it is not true. my "_beyond_" is as close as your "_here_," and is no further away than _this_ very spot. you see what nonsense, what a lie you and i are pirouetting about! cast away your meter and your scales and only listen as if behind your back there were no ticking of a clock and in your breast there were no counting machine. and so: when i looked upon your life from _beyond_ it appeared to me a great and merry game of immortal fragments. do you know what a puppets' show is? when one doll breaks, its place is taken by another, but the play goes on. the music is not silenced, the auditors continue to applaud and it is all very interesting. does the spectator concern himself about the fate of the fragments, thrust upon the scrap heap? he simply looks on in enjoyment. so it was with me, too. i heard the beat of the drums, and watched the antics of the clowns. and i so love immortal play that i felt like becoming an actor myself. ah, i did not know then that it is not a _play_ at all. and that the scrap heap was terrible when one becomes a puppet himself and that the broken fragments reeked with blood. you deceived me, my friend! but you are astonished. you knit your brow in contempt and ask: who is this satan who does not _know_ such _simple_ things? you are accustomed to respect the devil. you listen to the commonest dog as if he were speaking ex cathedra. you have surrendered to me your last dollar as if i were a professor of white and black magic and suddenly i reveal myself an ignoramus in the most elementary matters! i understand your disappointment. i myself have grown to respect mediums and cards. i am ashamed to confess that i cannot perform a single trick or kill a bedbug by simply casting my eye upon it, but even with my finger. but what matters most to me is truth: yes, i did not know your _simplest_ things! apparently the blame for this is for that _divide_ which separates us. just as you do not know _my_ real name and cannot pronounce a simple thing like that, so i did not know _yours_, my earthly shadow, and only now, in great ecstasy do i begin to grasp the wealth that is in you. think of it: such a simple matter as counting i had to learn from wondergood. i would not even be able to button my attire if it were not for the experienced and dexterous fingers of that fine chap wondergood! now i am human, like you. the limited sensation of my being i regard as my _knowledge_ and with respect i now touch my own nose, when necessity arises: it is not merely a nose--it is an axiom! i am now myself a struggling doll in a theater of marionettes. my porcelain head moves to the right and to the left. my hands move up and down. i am merry, i am gay. i am at play. i know everything...except: whose hand it is that pulls the string behind me. and in the distance i can see the scrap heap from which protrude two little feet clad in ball slippers.... no, this is not the _play_ of the _immortal_ that i sought. it no more resembles merriment than do the convulsions of an epileptic a good negro dance! here any one is what he is and here every one seeks not to be what he is. and it is this endless process of fraud that i mistook for a merry theater: what a mistake, how silly it was of "almighty, immortal"...satan! here every one is dragging every one else to court: the living are dragging the dead, the dead--the living. the history of the former is the history of the latter. and god, too, is history! and this endless nonsense, this dirty stream of false witnesses, of perjurers, of false judges and false scoundrels i mistook for the _play_ of immortals! or have i landed in the _wrong_ place? tell me, stranger: whither does _this_ road lead? you are pale. your trembling finger points in the direction of...ah, the scrap heap! yesterday, i questioned toppi about his former life, the first time he donned the human form: i wanted to know how a doll feels when its head is cracking and the thread which moves it is severed. we lit our pipes and with steins of beer before us, like two good germans, we ventured into the realm of philosophy. it developed, however, that this numbskull has _forgotten_ everything and my questions only confused him. "is it possible that you have really forgotten everything, toppi!" "wait till you die and you will learn all about it yourself. i do not like to think of it. what good is it?" "then it is not good?" "and have you ever heard of any one praising it?" "quite true. no one has yet showered praises upon it." "and no one will, i know!" we sat silent. "and do you remember, toppi, whence you have come?" "from illinois,--the same place you come from." "no, i am speaking of _something else_. do you remember whence you came? do you recollect your real name?" toppi looked at me strangely, paled slightly and proceeded to clean his pipe. then he arose and without lifting his eyes, said: "i beg you not to speak to me _thus_, mr. wondergood. i am an honest citizen of the united states and i do not understand your insinuations." but he remembers. not in vain did he grow pale. he is seeking to forget and will forget soon enough! this double play of earth and heaven is too much for him and he has surrendered entirely to the earth! there will come a time when he will take me off to an insane asylum or betray me to cardinal x. if i dare to speak to him of satan. "i respect you, toppi. you are quite a man," i said and kissed his brow: i always kiss the brow of people i love. again i departed for the green campagna desert: i follow the best models: when i am ill at ease i go into the desert. there i called for satan and cursed his name but he would not answer me. i lay there long in the dust, pleading, when from somewhere in the depths of the desert i heard the muffled tread of feet, and a bright light helped me to arise. and again i saw the eden i had left behind, its green tents and unfading sunrise, its quiet lights upon the placid waters. and again i _heard_ the silent murmurs of lips born of immaculate conception while toward my eyes i saw approaching truth. and i stretched out my hands to her and pleaded: give me back my liberty!-- "_maria!_" who called: maria? satan again departed, the lights upon the placid waters were extinguished and truth, frightened, disappeared--and again i sit upon the earth wearing my human form and gazing dully upon the painted world. and on my knees rested my shackled hands. "maria!" ...it is painful for me to admit that all this is really an invention: the coming of satan with his "light and ringing step," the gardens of eden and my shackled hands. but i needed your attention and i could not get it without these gardens of eden and these chains, the two extremes of your life. the gardens of eden--how beautiful! chains--how terrible! moreover, all this talk is much more entertaining than merely squatting on a hill, cigar in one's _free_ hand, thinking lazily and yawning while awaiting the arrival of the chauffeur. and as far as _maria_ is concerned, i brought her into the situation because from afar i could see the black cypress trees above the magnus home. an involuntary association of ideas...you understand. can a man with such sight really see satan? can a person of such dull _ear_ hear the so-called "murmurs" born of immaculate conception? nonsense! and, please, i beg of you, call me just wondergood. call me just wondergood until the day when i crack my skull open with that plaything which opens the _most narrow_ door into _limitless_ space. call me just henry wondergood, of illinois: you will find that i will respond promptly and obligingly. but if, some day, you should find my head crushed, examine carefully its _fragments_: there, in red ink will be engraved the proud name of satan! bend thy head, in reverence and bow to him--but do not do me the honor of accompanying my fragments to the scrap heap: one should never bow so respectfully to chains cast off! march , . rome, villa orsini. last night i had an important conversation with thomas magnus. when maria had retired i began as usual to prepare to return home but magnus detained me. "why go, mr. wondergood? stay here for the night. stay here and listen to the barking of mars!" for several days dense clouds had been gathering over rome and a heavy rain had been beating down upon its walls and ruins. this morning i read in a newspaper a very portentous weather bulletin: _cielo nuvolo il vento forte e mare molto agitato._ toward evening the threat turned into a storm and the enraged sea hurled across a range of ninety miles its moist odors upon the walls of rome. and the real roman sea, the billowy campagna, sang forth with all the voices of the tempest, like the ocean, and at moments it seemed that its immovable hills, its ancient waves, long evaporated by the sun, had once more come to life and moved forward upon the city walls. mad mars, this creator of terror and tempest, flew like an arrow across its wide spaces, crushed the head of every blade of grass to the ground, sighed and panted and hurled heavy gusts of wind into the whining cypress trees. occasionally he would seize and hurl the nearest objects he could lay his hands upon: the brick roofs of the houses shook beneath his blows and their stone walls roared as if inside the very stones the imprisoned wind was gasping and seeking an escape. we listened to the storm all evening. maria was calm but magnus was visibly nervous, constantly rubbed his white hands and listened intently to the antics of the wind: to its murderous whistle, its roar and its signs, its laughter and its groans...the wild-haired artist was cunning enough to be slayer and victim, to strangle and to plead for mercy at one and the same time! if magnus had the moving ears of an animal, they would have remained immovable. his thin nose trembled, his dim eyes grew dark, as if they reflected the shadows of the clouds, his thin lips were twisted into a quick and strange smile. i, too, was quite excited: it was the first time since i became human i had heard such a storm and it raised in me a white terror: almost with the horror of a child i avoided the windows, beyond which lay the night. why does it not come here, i thought: can the window pane possibly keep it out if it should wish to break through?... some one knocked at the iron gates several times, the gates at which i and toppi once knocked for admission. "that is my chauffeur, who has come to fetch me," said i: "we must admit him." magnus glanced at me from the corner of his eye and remarked sadly: "there is no road on that side of the house. there is nothing but field there. that is mad mars who is begging for admittance." and as if he had actually heard his words, mars broke out into laughter and disappeared whistling. but the knocking was soon resumed. it seemed as if some one were tearing off the iron gates and several voices, shouting and interrupting each other, were anxiously speaking; an infant was heard weeping. "those must be people who have lost their way...you hear--an infant! we must open the gates." "well, we'll see," said magnus angrily. "i will go with you, magnus." "sit still, wondergood. this friend of mine, here, is quite enough...." he quickly drew _that_ revolver from the table drawer and with a peculiar expression of love and even gentleness he grasped it in his broad hand and carefully hid it in his pocket. he walked out and we could hear the cry that met him at the gate. on that evening i somehow avoided maria's eyes and i felt quite ill at ease when we were left alone. and suddenly i felt like sinking to the floor, and kneeling before her so that her dress might touch my face: i felt as if i had hair on my back, that sparks would at any moment begin to fly if some one were to touch it and that this would relieve me. thus, in my mind, i moved closer and closer to her, when magnus returned and silently put the revolver back into the drawer. the voices at the door had ceased and the knocking, too. "who was that?"...asked maria. magnus angrily shook off the drops of rain upon his coat. "crazy mars. who else did you expect?" "but i thought i heard you speak to him?" i jested, trying to conceal the shiver produced by the cold brought in by magnus. "yes, i told him it was not polite--to drag about with him such suspicious company. he excused himself and said he would come no more," magnus laughed and added: "i am convinced that all the murderers of rome and the campagna are to-night threatening to ambush people and hugging their stilettos as if they were their sweethearts...." again came a muffled and timid knock. "again!" cried magnus, angrily, as if mad mars had really promised to knock no more. but the knock was followed by the ring of a bell: it was my chauffeur. maria retired, while i, as i have already said, had been invited by magnus to remain overnight, to which i agreed, after some hesitation: i was not at all taken by magnus and his revolver, and still less was i attracted by the silly darkness. the kind host himself went out to dismiss the chauffeur. through the window i could see the bright lights of the lanterns of the machine and for a moment i yearned to return home to my pleasant sinners, who were probably imbibing their wine at that moment in expectation of my return.... ah, i have long since abandoned philanthropy and am now leading the life of a drunkard and a gambler. and again, as on that first night, the quiet little white house, this _soul_ of maria, looked terrible and suspicious: this revolver, these stains of _blood_ upon the white hands...and, maybe there are more stains like these here. but it was too late to change my mind. the machine had gone and magnus, by the light, had not a _blue_, but a very black and beautiful beard and his eyes were smiling pleasantly. in his broad hand he carried not a weapon, but two bottles of wine, and from afar he shouted merrily: "on a night like this there is but one thing to do, to drink wine. even mars, when i spoke to him, looked drunk to me...the rogue! your glass, mr. wondergood!" but when the glasses had been filled, this merry drunkard hardly touched the wine and sitting deep in his chair asked me to drink and to talk. without particular enthusiasm, listening to the noise of the wind and thinking about the length of the night before us, i told magnus of the new and insistent visits of cardinal x. it seemed to me that the cardinal had actually put spies on my trail and what is more strange: he has managed to gain quite an influence over the unbribable toppi. toppi is still the same devoted friend of mine but he seems to have grown sad, goes to confessional every day and is trying to persuade me to accept catholicism. magnus listened calmly to my story and with still greater reluctance i told him of the many unsuccessful efforts to open my purse: of the endless petitions, badly written, in which the truth appears to be falsehood because of the boresome monotony of tears, bows and naïve flattery; of crazy inventors, of all sorts of people with hasty projects, gentlemen who seek to utilize as quickly as possible their temporary absence from jail--of all this hungry mass of humanity aroused by the smell of _weakly_ protected billions. my secretaries--there are six of them now--hardly manage to handle all this mess of tears on paper, and the madly babbling fools who fill the doors of my palace. "i fear that i will have to build me an underground exit: they are watching me even at nights. they are aiming at me with picks and shovels, as if they were in the klondike. the nonsense published by these accursed newspapers about the billions i am ready to give away to every fool displaying a wound in his leg, or an empty pocket, has driven them out of their senses. i believe that some night they will divide me into portions and eat me. they are organizing regular pilgrimages to my palace and come with huge bags. my ladies, who regard me as their property, have found for me a little dante inferno, where we take daily walks in company with the society that storms my place. yesterday we examined an old witch whose entire worth consists in the fact that she has outlived her husband, her children and her grandchildren, and is now in need of snuff. and some angry old man refused to be consoled and even would not take any money until all of us had smelled the old putrid wound in his foot. it was indeed a horrible odor. this cross old fellow is the pride of my ladies, and like all favorites, he is capricious, and temperamental. and...are you tired of listening to me, magnus. i could tell you of a whole flock of ragged fathers, hungry children, green and rotten like certain kinds of cheese, of noble geniuses who despise me like a negro, of clever drunkards with merry, red noses.... my ladies are not very keen on drunkards, but i love them better than any other kind of goods. and how do you feel about it, signor magnus?" magnus was silent. i too was tired of talking. mad mars alone continued his antics: he was now ensconced upon the roof, trying to bite a hole in the center, and crushing the tiles as he would a lump of sugar. magnus broke the silence: "the newspapers seem to have little to say about you recently. what is the matter?" "i pay the interviewers not to write anything. at first i drove them away but they began interviewing my horses and now i pay them for their silence by the line. have you a customer for my villa, magnus? i shall sell it together with the artists and the rest of its paraphernalia." we again grew silent and paced up and down the room: magnus rose first and then sat down. i followed and sat down too. in addition, i drank two more glasses of wine while magnus drank none.... his nose is never red. suddenly he said with determination: "do not drink any more wine, wondergood." "oh, very well. i want no more wine. is that all?" magnus continued to question me at long intervals. his voice was sharp and stern, while mine was...melodious, i would say. "there has been a great change in you, wondergood." "quite possible, thank you, magnus." "there used to be more life in you. now you rarely jest. you have become very morose, wondergood." "oh!" "you have even grown thin and your brow is sallow. is it true that you get drunk every night in the company of your...friends?" "it seems so." "...that you play cards, squander your gold, and that recently some one had been nearly murdered at your table?" "i fear that is true. i recollect that one gentleman actually tried to pierce another gentleman with his fork. and how do you know all about that?" he replied sternly and significantly: "toppi was here yesterday. he wanted to see...maria but i myself received him. with all due respect to you, wondergood, i must say that your secretary is unusually stupid." i acquiesced coldly. "you are quite right. you should have driven him out." i must say for my part, that my last two glasses of wine evaporated from me at the mention of _maria's_ name, and our attempted conversation was marked by continued evaporation of the wine i drank, like perfume out of a bottle. i have always regarded wine as unreliable matter. we found ourselves again listening to the storm and i remarked: "the wind seems to be growing more violent, signor magnus." "yes, the wind seems to be growing more violent, mr. wondergood. but you must admit that i warned you beforehand, mr. wondergood." "of what did you warn me beforehand, signor magnus?" he seized his knees with his white hands and directed upon me the gaze of a snake charmer.... ah, he did not know that i myself had extracted my poisoned teeth and was quite harmless, like a mummy in a museum! finally, he realized that there was no use beating about the bush, and came straight to the point: "i warned you in regard to _maria_," he said slowly, with peculiar insinuation. "you remember that i did not desire your acquaintance and expressed it plainly enough? you have not forgotten _what_ i told you about maria, of her fatal influence upon the soul? but you were bold and insistent and i yielded. and now you ask us--me and my daughter--to view the highly exhilarating spectacle of a gentleman in the process of disintegration, one who asks nothing, who reproaches no one, but can find no solace until every one has smelled his wound.... i do not want to repeat your expression, mr. wondergood. it has a bad odor. yes, sir, you have spoken quite frankly of your...neighbors and i am sincerely glad you have finally abandoned this cheap play at love and humanity.... you have so many other pastimes! i confess, however, that i am not at all overjoyed at your intention of presenting to _us_ the _sediment_ of a gentleman. it seems to me, sir, that you made a mistake in leaving america and your...canning business: dealing with people requires quite a different sort of ability." he laughed! he was almost driving me out, this little man, and i, who write my "i" in a super-capital, i listened to him humbly and meekly. it was divinely ridiculous! here is another detail for those who love the ridiculous: before his tirade began my eyes and the cigar between my teeth were quite bravely and nonchalantly directed toward the ceiling, but they changed their attitude before he had finished.... to this very moment i feel the taste of that miserable dangling, extinguished cigar. i was choking with laughter...that is i did not yet know whether to choke with laughter or with wrath. or, without choking at all, to ask him for an umbrella and leave. ah, he was at _home_, he was on his _own_ ground, this angry, black bearded man. he knew how to manage himself in this situation and he sang a _solo_, not a _duet_, like the inseparable satan of eternity and wondergood of illinois! "sir!" i said with dignity: "there seems to be a sad misunderstanding here. you see before you satan in _human form_...you understand? he went out for an evening stroll and was lost in the forest...in the forest, sir, in the forest! won't you be good enough, sir, to direct him to the nearest road to eternity? ah, ah! thank you. _so_ i thought myself. farewell!" of course, i really did not say that. i was _silent_ and gave the floor to wondergood. and this is what that respectable gentleman said, dropping his wet, dead cigar: "the devil take it! you are quite right, magnus. thank you, old man. yes, you warned me quite honestly, but i preferred to play a lone hand. now i am a bankrupt and at your mercy. i shall have no objection if you should order the removal of the _sediment_ of the gentleman." i thought that without waiting for a stretcher, magnus would simply throw the sediment out of the window, but his generosity proved quite surprising: he looked at me with pity and even stretched out his hand. "you are suffering very much, mr. wondergood?"--a question quite difficult to answer for the celebrated _duet_! i blinked and shrugged my shoulders. this appeared to satisfy magnus and for a few moments we were both silent. i do not know of what magnus was thinking. i thought of nothing: i simply examined with great interest, the walls, the ceiling, books, pictures--all the furnishings of this human habitation. i was particularly absorbed in the electric light upon which i fixed my attention: why does _it_ burn and give light? "i am waiting for your answer, mr. wondergood." so he was really expecting me to reply? very well. "it's very simple, magnus...you warned me, i admit. to-morrow toppi will pack my trunks and i shall go back to america to resume my...business." "and the cardinal?" "what cardinal? ah, yes!... cardinal x. and my billions. i remember. but--don't gaze at me in such astonishment, magnus. i am sick of it." "what are you sick of, mr. wondergood?" "_it._ six secretaries. brainless old women, snuff, and my dante inferno, where they take me for my walks. don't look at me so sternly, magnus. probably one could have made better wine out of my billions, but i managed to produce only sour beer. why did you refuse to help me? of course, you hate human beings, i forgot." "but you _love_ them?" "what shall i say, magnus? no, i am rather indifferent to them. don't look at me so...pityingly. by god, it isn't worth it! yes, i am indifferent to them. there are, there were and there will be so many of them that it isn't really worth while...." "so i am to conclude that you _lied_?" "look not at me but at my packed trunks. no, i did not lie, not entirely. you know, i wanted to do something interesting for the sake of amusement and so i let loose this...this emotion...." "so it was only _play_?..." i blinked again and shrugged my shoulders. i like this method of reply to complex questions. and _this_ face of signor thomas magnus appealed to me, too; his long, oval face recompensed me slightly for my theatrical failures and...maria. i must add that by this time there was a fresh cigar in my mouth. "you said that in your past there are some dark pages.... what's the trouble, mr. wondergood?" "oh! it was a slight exaggeration. nothing in particular, magnus. i beg your pardon for disturbing you needlessly, but at that time i thought i should have spoken thus for the sake of style...." "style?" "yes, and the laws of contrast. the present is always brighter with a dark past as a background...you understand? but i have already told you, magnus, that my prank had little result. in the place i come from they have quite a mistaken conception of the pleasures of the game here. i shall have to disabuse them when i get back. for a moment i was taken in by the old monkey, but its method of fleecing people is rather ancient and too certain...like a counting house. i prefer an element of risk." "fleecing people?" "don't we despise them, magnus? and if the game has failed, let us not at least deny ourselves the pleasure of speaking frankly. i am very glad. but i am tired of this prattle and, with your permission, i will take another glass of wine." there was not even the resemblance of a smile on thomas magnus' face. i mention the smile for the sake of...style. we passed the next half hour in silence, broken only by the shrieks and yells of mad mars and the even pacing of magnus. with his hands behind him and disregarding me entirely he paced the room with even step: eight steps forward, eight steps backward. apparently he must have been in jail at one time and for quite a while: for he had the knack of the experienced prisoner of creating distances out of a few meters. i permitted myself to yawn slightly and thus drew the attention of my host back to myself. but magnus kept quiet for another moment, until the _following words_ rang out through the air and well nigh hurled me out of my seat: "but _maria_ loves you. of course, you do not know that?" i arose. "yes, that is the truth: maria loves you. i did not expect this misfortune. i failed to kill you, mr. wondergood. i should have done that at the very beginning and now i do not know what to do with you. what do you think about it?" i stretched and... * * * * * ...maria loves _me_! i once witnessed in philadelphia an unsuccessful electrocution of a prisoner. i saw at "la scala" in milan my colleague mephisto _cringing_ and hopping all over the stage when the supers moved upon him with their crosses--and my silent reply to magnus was an artistic improvisation of both the first and the second trick: ah, at that moment i could think of nothing better to imitate! i swear by eternal salvation that never before had i been permeated by so many deadly currents, never did i drink such bitter wine, never was my soul seized with such uncontrollable _laughter_! now i no longer laugh or cringe, like a cheap actor. i am alone and only my own seriousness can hear and see me. but in that moment of triumph i needed all my strength to control my laughter so that i might not deal ringing blows to the face of this stern and honest man hurling the madonna into the embraces of...the devil. do you really think so? no? or are you merely thinking of wondergood, the american, with his goatee and wet cigar between his gold teeth! hatred and contempt, love and anguish, wrath and laughter,--these filled to the brim the cup presented to me...no, still worse, still more bitter, still more deadly! what do i care about the deceived magnus or the stupidity of his eyes and brain? but how could the pure eyes of _maria_ have been deceived? or am i really such a clever don juan that i can turn the head of an innocent and trusting girl by a few simple, silent meetings? madonna, where art thou? or, has she discovered a resemblance between myself and one of her saints, like toppi's. but i do not carry with me a traveling prayer book! madonna, where art thou? are thy lips stretching out to mine? madonna, where art thou? or?... and yet i cringed like an actor. i sought to stifle in respectful mumbling my hatred and my contempt when this new "_or_" suddenly filled me with new confusion and such love...ah, such love! "_or_," thought i, "has _thy_ immortality, madonna, echoed the immortality of satan and is it now stretching forth this gentle hand to it from the realms of eternity? thou, who art _divine_, hast thou recognized a friend in him who has become _human_? thou, who art _above_, dost thou pity him who is _below_? oh, madonna, lay thy hand upon my dark head that i may recognize thee by thy touch!..." but hear what further transpired that night. * * * * * "i know not why maria has fallen in love with you. that is a secret of her soul, too much for my understanding. no, i do not know, but i bow to her will as to her frankness. what are my human eyes before her all-penetrating gaze, mr. wondergood!..." (the latter, too, was saying the same thing.) "a moment ago, in a fit of excitement," continued magnus, "i said something about murder and death.... no, mr. wondergood, you may rest secure forever: the chosen one of maria enjoys complete immunity as far as i am concerned. he is protected by more than the law--her pure love is his armor. of course, i shall have to ask you to leave us at once. and i believe in your honest intention, wondergood, to place the ocean between us...." "but...." magnus moved forward towards me and shouted angrily: "not another word!... i cannot kill you but if you dare to mention the word 'marriage,' i!..." he slowly dropped his uplifted hand, and continued calmly: "i see that i will have to beg your pardon again for my fit of passion, but it is better than _falsehood_, examples of which we have had from you. do not defend yourself, wondergood. it is quite unnecessary. and of marriage let _me_ speak: it will ring less insulting to maria than it would from your lips. it is quite unthinkable. remember that. i am a sober realist: i see nothing but mere coincidence in _that fatal_ resemblance of maria and i am not at all taken aback by the thought that my daughter, with all her unusual qualities, may some day become a wife and mother.... my categorical opposition to this marriage was simply another means of warning you. yes, i am accustomed to look soberly upon things, mr. wondergood. it is not you who is destined to be maria's life partner! you do not know me at all and now i am compelled to raise slightly the curtain behind which i am hiding these many years: my idleness is merely rest. i am not at all a peaceful villager or a book philosopher. i am a man of struggle. i am a warrior on the battlefield of life! and my maria will be the gift only of a hero, if--if i should ever find a hero." i said: "you may rest assured, signor magnus, that i will not permit myself to utter a single word in regard to signorina maria. you know that i am not a hero. but i should think it permissible to ask of you: how am i to reconcile your present remarks with your former _contempt_ for man? i recollect that you spoke seriously of gallows and prisons." magnus laughed loudly: "and do you remember what you said about your _love_ for man? ah, my dear wondergood: i would be a bad warrior and politician if my education did not embrace the art of lying a little. we were both playing, that's all!" "you played better," i admitted quite gloomily. "and you played very badly, my friend,--do not be offended. but what am i to do when there suddenly appears before me a gentleman all loaded with gold like...." "like an ass. continue." "and begins to reveal to me his love for humanity, while his confidence in his success is equal only to the quantity of the dollars in his pocket? the main fault of your play, mr. wondergood, is that you are too eager for success and seek immediate results. this makes the spectator cold and less credulous. to be sure, i really did not think you were merely acting--the worst play is better than sincere assininity--and i must again crave your pardon: you seemed to me just one of those foolish yankees who really take their own bombastic and contemptible tirades seriously and...you understand?" "quite fully. i beg you to continue." "only one phrase of yours,--something about war and revolution purchasable with your billions--seemed to me to possess a modicum of interest, but the rest of the drivel proved that that, too, was a mere slip of the tongue, an accidental excerpt of some one else's text. your newspaper triumphs, your flippancy in serious matters--remember cardinal x!--your cheap philanthropy are of a quite different tone.... no, mr. wondergood, you are not fit for serious drama! and your prattling to-day, despite its cynicism, made a better impression than your flamboyant circus pathos. i say frankly: were it not for _maria_ i would gladly have had a good laugh at your expense, and, without the slightest compunction would have raised the farewell cup!" "just one correction, magnus: i earnestly desired that you should take part...." "in what? in your play? yes, your play lacked the _creative factor_ and you earnestly desired to saddle me with your poverty of spirit. just as you hire your artists to paint and decorate your palaces so you wanted to hire my will and my imagination, my power and my love!" "but your hatred for man...." up to this point magnus had maintained his tone of irony and subtle ridicule: my remark, however, seemed to change him entirely. he grew pale, his white hands moved convulsively over his body as if they were searching for a weapon, and his face became threatening and even horrible. as if fearing the power of his own voice, he lowered it almost to a whisper; as if fearing that his words would break their leash and run off at a wild pace, he tried desperately to hold them in check and in order. "hatred? be silent, sir. or have you no conscience at all or any common sense? my contempt! my hatred! they were my reply, not to your theatrical _love_, but to your sincere and dead indifference. you were insulting _me_ as a human being by your indifference: you were insulting life by your indifference. it was in your voice, it gleamed savagely out of your eyes, and more than once was i seized by terror...terror, sir!--when i pierced deeper the mysterious emptiness of your pupils. if your past has no dark pages, which, as you say, you merely added for the sake of style, then there is something worse than that in it: there are _white_ pages in it. and i cannot read them!..." "oh, oh!" "when i look at your eternal cigar, and see your self-satisfied but handsome and energetic face; when i view your unassuming manner, in which the simplicity of the grog shop is elevated to the heights of puritanism, i fully understand your naïve game. but i need only meet the pupil of your eye...or its _white_ rim and i am immediately hurled into a void, i am seized with alarm and i no longer see either your cigar or your gold teeth and i am ready to exclaim: who are you that you dare to bear yourself with such indifference?" the situation was becoming interesting. _madonna_ loves me and this creature is about ready to utter my name at any moment! is he the son of my father? how could he unravel the great mystery of my boundless indifference: i tried so carefully to conceal it, even from you! "here! here!" shouted magnus, in great excitement, "again there are two little tears in your eyes, as i have noticed before. they are a _lie_, wondergood! there is no source of tears behind them. they have fallen from somewhere above, from the clouds, like dew. rather laugh: behind your laughter i see merely a bad man, but behind your tears there are _white_ pages, white pages!... or has maria read them?" without taking his eyes off me, as if fearing that i might run away, magnus paced the room, finally seating himself opposite me. his face grew dim and his voice seemed tired, when he said: "but it seems to me that i am exciting myself in vain...." "do not forget, magnus, that to-day i myself spoke to you of indifference." he waved his hand wearily and carelessly. "yes, you did speak. but there is something else involved here, wondergood. there is nothing insulting in the indifference, but in the other...i sensed it immediately upon your appearance with your billions. i do not know whether you will understand what i mean, but i immediately felt like shouting of hatred and to demand gallows and blood. the gallows is a gloomy thing but the curious jostling about the gallows, mr. wondergood, are quite unbearable! i do not know what they think of our game here in the 'place' you come from, but we pay for it with our lives, and when there suddenly appears before us some curious gentleman in a top hat, cigar in mouth, one feels, you understand, like seizing him by the back of his neck and...he never stays to the end of the performance, anyway. have you, too, mr. wondergood, dropped in on us for a brief visit?" with what a long sigh i uttered the name of _maria_!... and i no longer played, i no longer lied, when i replied to this gloomy man: "yes, i have dropped in on you for a brief visit, signor magnus. you have guessed right. for certain very valid reasons i can reveal nothing to you of the _white_ pages of my life, the existence of which behind my leather binding you have likewise guessed. but on one of them was written: _death-departure_. that was not a top hat in the hands of the curious visitor, but a revolver...you understand: i look on as long as it is interesting and after that i make my bow and depart. let me put it clearer and simpler, out of deference to your realism: in a few days, perhaps to-morrow, i depart for the other world.... no, that is not clear enough: in a few days or to-morrow i shall shoot myself, kill myself with a revolver. i at first planned to aim at my heart but have decided that the brain would be more reliable. i have planned all this long ago, at the very beginning...of my appearance before you, and was it not in this _readiness_ of mine to depart that you have detected 'inhuman' indifference? isn't it true that when one eye is directed upon the _other_ world, it is hardly possible to maintain any particularly bright flame in the eye directed upon _this_ world?... i refer to the kind of flame i see in your eyes. o! you have wonderful eyes, signor magnus." magnus remained silent for a few moments and then said: "and maria?" "permit me to reply. i prize signorina maria too highly not to regard her _love_ for me as a fatal mistake." "but you wanted that love?" "it is very difficult for me to answer that question. at first, perhaps--when i indulged in dreams for a while--but the more i perceived this fatal resemblance...." "that is mere resemblance," magnus hastened to assure me: "but you mustn't be a child, wondergood! maria's soul is lofty and beautiful, but she is human, made of flesh and bone. she probably has her own little sins, too...." "and how about my top hat, magnus? how about my _free_ departure? i need only buy a seat to gaze upon maria and her fatal resemblance--admitting that it is only resemblance!--but how must i pay for _love_?" magnus said sternly: "only with your life." "you see: only with my life! how, then, did you expect me to desire such love?" "but you have miscalculated: she already loves you." "oh, if the signorina maria really loves me then my _death_ can be no obstacle: however, i do not make myself clear. i wanted to say that my departure...no, i had better say nothing. in short, signor magnus: would you agree to have me place my billions at your disposal _now_?" he looked at me quickly: "now?" "yes, now, when we are no longer playing: i at love and you at hatred. now, when i am about to disappear entirely, taking with me the 'sediment' of a gentlemen? let me make it quite clear: would you like to be my heir?" magnus frowned and looked at me in anger: apparently he took my words for ridicule. but i was calm and serious. it seemed to me that his large, white hands were trembling slightly. he turned away for a moment and then, whirling about quickly, he shouted loudly: "no! again you want.... no!" he stamped his foot and cried once more: "no!" his hands were trembling. his breathing was heavy and irregular. there followed a long silence, the wailing of the tempest, the whistling and murmur of the wind. and again, great calm, great, dead, all embracing peace descended upon me. everything was turned _within_ me. i still could hear the earthly demons of the storm, but _their_ voices sounded far away and dull. i saw before me a _man_ and he was strange and cold to me, like a stone statue. one after another there floated by me all the days of my human existence. there was the gleam of faces, the weak sound of voices and curious laughter. and then, again all was silent. i turned my gaze to the other side--and there i was met by dumbness. it was as if i were immured between two dumb, stone walls: behind one was _their_ human life, which i had abandoned, and behind the other, in silence and in darkness, stretched forth the world of eternal and real being. its silence was resounding, its darkness was gleaming, eternal, joyous life beat constantly like breakers, upon the hard rocks of the impenetrable wall. but deaf was my consciousness and silent my thought. from beneath the weak legs of thought there came _memory_--and it hung suspended in the void, immovable, paralyzed for the moment. _what_ did i leave behind the wall of my unconsciousness? thought made no reply. it was motionless, empty and silent. two silences surrounded me, two darknesses enveloped me. two walls were burying me, and behind one, in the pale movement of shadows, passed their human life, while behind the other,--in silence and in darkness stretched forth the world of my real, eternal being. whence shall i hear the call? whither can i take a step? and at that moment i suddenly heard the voice of a man, strange and distant. it grew closer and closer, there was a gentle ring in it. it was magnus speaking. with great effort and concentration, i tried to catch the words and this was what i heard: "and wouldn't you rather continue living, wondergood?" march . rome, palazzo orsini. it is three days now that magnus and maria are living in my palazzo in rome. it is empty and silent and really seems huge. last night, worn by insomnia, i wandered about its halls and stairways, over rooms i had never seen before and their number astonished me. maria's _soul_ has expelled from it all that was frivolous and impure and only the saintly toppi moves through its emptiness, like the pendulum of a church clock. ah, how saintly he looks. if not for his broad back, the broad folds of his coat, and the odor of fur in his head, i myself would take him for one of the saints who have honored me with their acquaintance. i rarely see my guests. i am turning my entire estate into cash and magnus and toppi and all the secretaries are busy with this work from morning to night; our telegraph is constantly buzzing. magnus has little to say to me. he only talks business. maria...it seems as if i were avoiding her. i can see her through my window walking in the garden, and this is quite enough for me, for her _soul_ is here and every atom of the air is filled with her breath. and, as i have already remarked, i suffer with insomnia. as you see, my friend, i have remained among the _living_, a dead hand could not possibly write even the dead words i am not setting down. let us forget the past, as sweethearts would who have just settled their differences. let us be friends, you and i. give me your hand, my friend! i vow by eternal salvation that never again will i chase you hence or laugh at you: if i have lost the wisdom of the snake i have acquired the gentleness of the dove. i am rather sorry that i have driven away my painters and my interviewers: i have no one to inquire whom i _resemble_ with my radiant countenance? i personally feel that i remind one of a powdered darkey, who is afraid to rub the powder off with his sleeve and thus reveal his black skin...ah, i still have a black skin! yes, i have remained _alive_ but i know not yet how far i shall succeed in keeping up this state: have you any idea how hard are the transitions from a nomad to a settled life? i was a redskin, a carefree nomad, who folds up and casts off all that is human, as he would a tent. now i am laying a granite foundation for an earthly home and i, having little faith, am cold and trembling. will it be warm when the white snow covers my new home? what do you think, my friend, is the best heating system? i promised thomas magnus that night that i would not kill myself. we sealed this agreement with a warm handshake. we did not open our veins nor seal the pact with our blood. we simply said "yes" and that was quite sufficient: as you know only human beings break agreements. devils always keep them.... you need only recall your horny, hairy heroes and their spartan honesty. fortunately (let us call it 'fortunate') we had set no...date. i swear by eternal salvation, i would be a poor king and ruler if, when building a palace, i did not leave for myself a secret exit, a little door, a modest loophole through which wise kings disappear when their foolish subjects rise and break into versailles. i will not kill myself to-morrow. perhaps i shall wait quite a while. i will not kill myself: of the two walls i have chosen the lower one and i am quite human now, even as you my friend. my earthly experiment is not very thrilling as yet, but who knows?--this human life may unexpectedly grow quite attractive! has not toppi lived to grow gray and to a peaceful end? why should not i, traversing all the ages of man, like the seasons of the year, grow to be a gray old sage, a wise guide and teacher, the bearer of the covenant and arterio sclerosis? ah, this ridiculous sclerosis, these ills of old age--it is only now that they begin to seem terrible to me, but, can i not get used to them and even grow to love them? every one says it is easy to get used to life. well, i, too, will try to get used to it. everything here is so well ordered that after rain comes sunshine and dries him who is wet, if he has not been in too great a hurry to die. everything here is so well ordered that there is not a single disease for which there is no cure. this is so good! one may be ill all the time, provided there is a drug store nearby! at any rate, i have my little door, my secret exit, my narrow, wet, dark corridor, beyond which are the stars and all the breadth of my illimitable space! my friend, i want to be frank with you: there is a certain characteristic of insubordination in me, and it is that i fear. what is a cough or a catarrh of the stomach? but it is possible that i may suddenly refuse to cough, for no reason at all, or for some trivial cause, and run off! i like you at this moment. i am quite ready to conclude a long and fast alliance with you, but _something_ may suddenly gleam across your dear face which...no, it is quite impossible to do without a little secret door for him who is so capricious and insubordinate! unfortunately, i am proud, too,--an old and well known vice of satan! like a fish struck in the head, i am dazed by my human existence. a fatal unconsciousness is driving me into your life, but of one thing i am quite certain: i am of the race of the _free_. i am of the tribe of the _rulers_. i come from those who transform their will into laws. conquered kings are taken into captivity but conquered kings never become slaves. and when i shall perceive, above my head, the whip of a dirty guard and my fettered hands are helpless to avert the blow...well: shall i remain living with welts upon my back? shall i bargain with my judges about another blow of the whip? shall i kiss the hand of the executioner? or shall i send to the druggist for an eye lotion? no, let not magnus misjudge me for a little slip in our agreement: i will live only as long as i want to live. all the blessings of the human existence, which he offered me on that night, when satan was tempted by man, will not strike the weapon from my hand: in it alone is the assurance of my liberty! oh, man, what are all your kingdoms and dukedoms, your knowledge and your nobility, your gold and your freedom beside this little, free movement of the finger which, in a moment carries you up to the throne of thrones!... _maria!_ yes, i am afraid of her. the look in her eye is so clear and commanding, the light of her love is so mighty, enchanting and beautiful that i am all atremble and everything in me is quivering and urging me to immediate flight. with hitherto unknown happiness, with veiled promises, with singing dreams she tempts me! shall i cry: away!--or shall i bend mine to her will and follow her? where? i do not know. or are there other worlds beside those i know or have forgotten? whence comes this motionless light behind my back? it is growing ever broader and brighter. its warm touch heats my soul, so that its polar ice crumbles and melts. but i am afraid to look back. i may see sodom on fire and if i look i may turn into stone. or is it a new sun, which i have not yet seen upon this earth that is rising behind my back, and i, like a fool, am fleeing from it and baring my back instead of my breast to it, the low, dumb neck of a frightened animal, instead of my lofty brow? maria! will you give me my revolver? i paid ten dollars for it, together with the holster. to you i will not give it for a kingdom! only do not look at me, oh, queen...otherwise, otherwise i will give you everything: the revolver and the holster and satan himself! march . rome, palazzo orsini. it is the fifth night that i do not sleep. when the last light is turned out in my silent palazzo, i quietly descend the stairs, quietly order a machine--somehow or other even the noise of my own steps and voice disturb me, and i go for the night into the campagna. there, leaving the automobile on the road, i wander about until day-break or sit immovable upon some dark ruins. i cannot be seen at all and the rare passersby, perhaps some peasants from albano, converse quite loudly and without restraint. i like to remain unseen. it reminds me of something i have forgotten. once, as i sat down on a stone, i disturbed a lizzard. it may have been that it lightly moved the grass beneath my feet and disappeared. perhaps it was a snake? i do not know. but i wanted desperately to become a lizzard or a snake, concealed beneath a stone: i am troubled by my large stature, by the size of my feet and arms: they make it very difficult to become invisible. i likewise refrain from looking at my face in the mirror: it is painful to think i have a face, which all can see. why did i fear darkness so much at the beginning? it is so easy to conceal oneself in it. apparently all animals experience such subtle shame, fear and worriment and seek seclusion when they are changing their skin or hide. so, i am changing my skin? ah, it is the same, worthless prattle! the whole trouble is that i have failed to escape _maria's_ gaze and am, apparently preparing to close the last door, the door i guarded so well. but i am ashamed! i swear by eternal salvation, i feel ashamed, like a girl before the altar. i am almost blushing. blushing satan...no, quiet, quiet: _he_ is not here! quiet!... magnus told her everything. she did not reiterate that she loves me but looked at me and said: "promise _me_, you will not kill yourself." the _rest_ was in her gaze. you remember how bright it is? but do not think that i hastily agreed. like a salamander in the fire, i quickly changed colors. i shall not repeat to you all the flaming phrases i uttered: i have forgotten them. but you remember how bright and serene maria's gaze is? i kissed her hand and said humbly: "madam! i do not ask you for forty days and a desert for contemplation: the desert i will find myself and a week is quite enough for me to think the matter over. but do give me a week and...please, don't look at me any more...otherwise...." no, that wasn't what i said. i said it in other words, but it's all the same. i am now changing my skin. it hurts me. i am frightened and ashamed because any crow might see me and come to pick my flesh. what use is there in the fact that there is a revolver in my pocket? it is only when you learn to hit yourself that you can hit a crow: crows know that and consequently do not fear tragically bulging pockets. having become human and descended from above i have become but half a man. i entered upon this human existence as if into a strange element, but i have not lost myself in it entirely: i still cling with one hand to my heaven and my eyes are still above the surface. but she commands me to accept man in his entirety: only he is a _man_ who has said: never shall i kill myself, never shall i leave life of my own free will. and what about the whip? these cursed cuts upon my back? pride? oh, maria, maria, how terribly you tempt me! i look into the past of this earth and serious myriads of tragic shadows floating slowly over climes and ages! their hands stretch hopelessly into space, their bony ribs tear through the lean, thin skin, their eyes are filled with tears, and their sighs have dried up their throats. i see blood and madness, violence and falsehood, i hear their oaths, which they constantly betray, their prayers to god, in which, with every word of mercy and forgiveness, they curse their own earth. wherever i look, i see the earth smoking in convulsion; no matter in which direction i strain my ear, i hear everywhere unceasing moans: or is the womb of the earth itself filled with moaning? i see a myriad cups about me, but no matter which of them my lips may touch, i find it filled with rust and vinegar: or has man no other drink? and this is _man_? i knew _them_ before. i have seen _them_ before. but i looked upon them as augustus did from his box upon the galaxy of his victims: ave, cæsar! these who are about to die salute you. and i looked upon them with the eyes of an eagle and my wise, belaureled head did not disdain to take notice of their groaning cries even with so much as a nod: they came and disappeared, they marched on in endless procession--and endless was the indifference of my cæsar-like gaze. and now...is it really i who walks on so hastily, playing with the sand of the arena? and am i this dirty, emaciated, hungry slave who lifts his convict face into the air, yelling hoarsely into the indifferent eyes of fate: "ave, cæsar! ave, cæsar!" i feel a sharp whip upon my back and with a cry of pain i fall to the ground. is it some _master_ who is beating me? no, it is another _slave_, who has been ordered to whip a _slave_: very soon his knout will be in my hand and his back will be covered with blood and he will be chewing the sand, the sand which now grates between my teeth. oh, maria, maria, how terribly you tempt me! iii march rome. buy the blackest paint available, take the largest brush you can find and, with a broad line, divide my life into yesterday and to-day. take the staff of moses and divide the stream of time and dry it up clear down to its bed--then only will you sense my _to-day_. _ave, cæsar, moriturus te salutat!_ april , rome. pallazzo orsini. i do not want to lie. there is not yet in me, oh man, any love for you, and if you have hastened to open your arms to me, please close them: the time has not yet come for passionate embraces. later, at some other date, we shall embrace, but meanwhile, let us be cold and restrained, like two gentlemen in misfortune. i cannot say that my respect for you has grown to any extent, although your life and your fate have become my life and my fate: let the facts suffice that i have voluntarily placed my neck beneath the yoke and that one and the same whip are furrowing our backs. yes, that is quite sufficient for the present. you have observed that i no longer use a super-capital in writing the word "i"?--i have thrown it out together with the revolver. this is a sign of submission and equality. you understand? like a king, i have taken the oath of allegiance to your constitution. but i shall not, like a king, betray this vow: i have preserved from my former life a respect for contracts. i swear i will be true to your comrades-at-hard-labor and will not make any attempt to escape alone! for the last few nights, before i took this decision, i thought much upon _our_ life. it is wretched. don't you think so? it is difficult and humiliating to be this little thing called man, the cunning and avaricious little worm that crawls, hastily multiplies itself and lies, turning away its head from the final blow--the worm that no matter how much it lies, will perish just the same at the appointed hour. but i will be a worm. let me, too, beget children, let the unthinking foot also crush my unthinking head at the appointed hour--i meekly accept all consequences. we are both of us humiliated, comrade, and in this alone there is some consolation: you will listen to my complaints and i--to yours. and if the matter should ultimately reach the state of litigation, why the witnesses will all be ready! that is well: when one kills in the public square there are always eyewitnesses. i will lie, if necessary. i will not lie in that free play of lying with which even prophets lie, but in that enforced manner of lying employed by the rabbit, which compels him to hide his ears, to be gray in summer and white in winter. what can one do when behind every tree a hunter with a rifle is concealed! this lying may appear to be ignoble from one point of view and may well call forth condemnation upon us, but you and i must live, my friend. let _bystanders_ accuse us to their heart's content, but, when necessary, we will lie like wolves, too! we will spring forward, suddenly, and seize the enemy by the throat: one must live, brother, one must live, and are we to be held responsible for the fact that there is such great lure and such fine taste in blood! in reality neither you nor i are proud of our lying, of our cowardice or of our cruelty, and our bloodthirstiness is certainly not a matter of conviction. but however hideous our life may be, it is still more miserable. do you agree with that? i do not love you yet, oh man, but on these nights i have been more than once on the verge of tears when i thought of your suffering, of your tortured body, and of your soul, relinquished to eternal crucifixion. it is well for a wolf to be a wolf. it is well for a rabbit to be a rabbit. but you, man, contain both god and satan--and, oh, how terrible is the imprisonment of both in that narrow and dark cell of yours! can god be a wolf, tearing throats and drinking blood! can satan be a rabbit, hiding his ears behind his humped back! no, that is intolerable. i agree with you. that fills life with eternal confusion and pain and the sorrow of the soul becomes boundless. think of it: of three children that you beget, one becomes a murderer, the other the victim and the third, the judge and executioner. and each day the murderers are murdered and still they continue to be born; and each day the murderers kill conscience and conscience kills the murderers. and all are alive: the murderers and conscience. oh, what a fog we live in! give heed to all the _words_ spoken by man from the day of his birth and you will think: this is god! look at all the _deeds_ of man from his very first day and you will exclaim in disgust: this is a beast! thus does man struggle with himself for thousands of years and the sorrow of his soul is boundless and the suffering of his mind is terrible and horrible, while the _final_ judge is slow about his coming.... but he will never come. i say this to you: we are forever alone with our life. but i accept this, too. not yet has the earth endowed me with my name and i know not who i am: cain or abel? but i accept the sacrifice as i do murder. i am everywhere with you and everywhere i follow you, man. let us weep together in the desert, knowing that no one will give heed to us...or perhaps some one will? you see: you and i are beginning to have faith in some one's ear and soon i will begin to believe in a triangular eye...it is really impossible that such a concert should have no hearer, that such a spectacle should be wasted on the desert air! i think of the fact that no one has yet beaten me, and i am afraid. what will become of my soul when some one's grubby hand strikes me on the face.... what will become of me! for i know that no earthly revenge could return my face to me. and what will then become of my soul? i swear i will become reconciled even to this. everywhere with you and after you, man. what is my face when you struck the face of your own christ and spat into his eyes? everywhere with you! and if necessary, i myself will strike at christ with the hand with which i now write: i go with you to all ends, man. they beat us and they will continue to beat us. we beat christ and will still beat him.... ah, bitter is our life, almost unbearable! only a while ago, i rejected your embraces. i said they were premature. but now i say: let us embrace more firmly, brother, let us cling closely to each other--it is so painful, so terrible to be alone in this life when all exits from it are closed. and i know not yet wherein there is more pride and liberty: in going away voluntarily, whenever one wishes, or in accepting, without resistance, the hand of the executioner? in calmly placing one's hands upon his breast, putting one foot forward and, with head proudly bent backward, to wait calmly: "do thy duty, executioner!" or: "soldiers, here's my breast: fire!" there is something plastic in this pose and it pleases me. but still more am i pleased with the fact that once again my greater ego is rising within me at the striking of this pose. of course, the executioner will not fail to do his duty and the soldiers will not lower their rifles, but the important thing is the line, the _moment_, when before my very death itself i shall suddenly find myself immortal and broader than life itself. it is strange, but with one turn of the head, with one phrase, expressed or conceived at the proper moment, i could, so to speak, halt the function of my very spirit and the entire operation would be performed outside of me. and when death shall have finally performed its rôle of redeemer, its darkness would not eclipse the light, for the latter will have first separated itself from me and scattered into space, in order to reassemble somewhere and blaze forth again...but where? strange, strange.... i sought to escape from men--and found myself at that wall of unconsciousness known only to satan! how important, indeed, is the pose! i must make note of that. but will the pose be as convincing and will it not lose in plasticity if instead of death, the executioner and the firing squad i should be compelled to say something else...well, something like: "here's my face: strike!" i do not know why i am so concerned about my face, but it does concern me greatly. i confess, man, that it worries me very much indeed. no, a mere trifle. i will simply subdue my spirit. let them beat me! when the spirit is crushed the operation is no more painful or humiliating than it would be if i were to beat my overcoat on its hanger.... ...but i have forgotten that i am not alone and being in your company have fallen into impolite meditation. for a half hour i have been silent over this sheet of paper and it seemed all the time as if i had been talking and quite excitedly! i forgot that it is not enough to think, that one must also speak! what a shame it is, man, that for the exchange of thoughts we must resort to the service of such a poor and stealthy broker as the word--he steals all that is precious and defiles the best thoughts with the chatter of the market place. in truth, this pains me much more than death or the beating. i am terrified by the necessity of _silence_ when i come upon the _extraordinary_, which is inexpressible. like a rivulet i run and advance only as far as the ocean: in the depths of the latter is the end of my murmuring. within me, however, motionless and omnipresent, rocking to and fro, is the ocean. it only hurls noise and surf upon the earth, but its depths are dumb and motionless and quite without any purpose are the ships sailing on its surface. how shall i describe it? before i resolved to enroll myself as an earthly slave i did not speak to maria or to magnus.... why should i speak to maria when her beckoning is _clear_, like her gaze? but having become a slave i went to magnus to complain and to seek advice--apparently the human begins thus. magnus heard me in silence and, as it seemed to me, with some inner excitement. he works day and night, virtually knowing no rest, and the complicated business of the liquidation of my property is moving forward as rapidly in his hands as if he had been engaged in such work all his life. i like his heroic gestures and his contempt for details: when he cannot unravel a situation he hurls millions out of the window with the grace of a grandee. but he is weary and his eyes seem larger and darker on the background of his dim face. only now have i learned from maria that he is tortured by frequent headaches. my complaints against life, i fear, have failed to arouse any particular sympathy on his part: no matter what the accusations i brought against man and the life he leads, magnus would reply impatiently: "yes, yes, wondergood. that is what being a man means. your misfortune is that you discovered this rather late and are now quite unnecessarily aroused. when you shall have _experienced_ at least a part of that which now terrifies you, you will speak in quite a different tone. however, i am glad that you have dropped your _indifference_: you have become, much more nervous and energetic. but whence comes this immeasurable terror in your eyes? collect yourself, wondergood!" i laughed. "thank you. i am quite collected. apparently it is the _slave_, in expectation of the whip, who peers at you from within my eye. have patience, magnus. i am not quite acclimated to the situation. tell me, shall i or shall i not be compelled to commit...murder?" "quite possibly." "and can you tell me _how_ this happens?" both of us looked simultaneously at his white hands and magnus replied somewhat ironically: "no, i will not tell you that. but if you wish i will tell you something else: i will tell you what it means to accept man to the _very end_--it is this that is really worrying you, is it not?" and with much coolness and a sort of secret impatience, as if another thought were devouring his attention, he told me briefly of a certain unwilling and terrible murderer. i do not know whether he was telling me a fact or a dark tale created for my personal benefit, but this was the story: it happened long ago. a certain russian, a political exile, a man of wide education yet deeply religious, as often happens in russia, escaped from _katorga_, and after long and painful wandering over the siberian forests, he found refuge with some non-conformist sectarians. huge, wooden, fresh huts in a thick forest, surrounded by tall fences; great bearded people, large ugly dogs--something on that order. and in his very presence, soon after his arrival, there was to be performed a monstrous crime: these insane mystics, under the influence of some wild religious fanaticism, were to sacrifice an innocent _lamb_, i.e., upon a home-made altar, to the accompaniment of hymns, they were to kill a child. magnus did not relate all the painful details, limiting himself solely to the fact that it was a seven year old boy, in a new shirt, and that his young mother witnessed the ceremony. all the reasonable arguments, all the objections of the exile that they were about to perform a great sacrilege, that not the mercy of the lord awaited them but the terrible tortures of hell, proved powerless to overcome the fierce and dull stubbornness of the fanatics. he fell upon his knees, begged, wept and tried to seize the knife--at that moment the victim, stripped, was already on the table while the _mother_ was trying desperately to control her tears and cries--but he only succeeded in rousing the mad anger of the fanatics: they threatened to kill him, too.... magnus looked at me and said slowly with a peculiar calm: "and how would you have acted in that case, mr. wondergood?" "well, i would have fought until i was killed?" "yes! he did better. he offered his services and with his _own_ hand, with appropriate song, he cut the boy's throat. you are astonished? but he said: 'better for me to take this terrible sin and punishment upon myself than to surrender into the arms of hell these innocent fools.' of course, such things happen only with russians and, it seems to me, he himself was somewhat deranged. he died eventually in an insane asylum." following a period of silence, i asked: "and how would you have acted, magnus?" and with still greater coolness, he replied: "really, i do not know. it would have depended on the moment. it is quite possible i would have left those beasts, but it is also possible that i too...human madness is extremely contagious, mr. wondergood!" "do you call it only madness?" "i said: human madness. but it is you who are concerned in this, wondergood: _how_ do you like it? i am off to work. in the meantime, devote yourself to discerning the _boundary_ of the human, which you are now willing to accept in its entirety, and then tell me about it. you have not changed your intention, i hope, of remaining with _us_?" he laughed and went away, patronizingly polite. and i remained to think. and so i think: where is the boundary? i confess that i have begun to fear magnus somewhat...or is this fear one of the gifts of my complete human existence? but when he speaks to me in this fashion i become animated with a strange confusion, my eyes move timidly, my will is bent, as if too great and strange a load had been put upon it. think, man: i shake his big hand with _reverence_ and find _joy_ in his caress! this is not true of me before, but now, in every conversation, i perceive that this man can go _further_ than i in everything. i fear i _hate_ him. if i have not yet experienced love, i know not hatred either, and it will be strange indeed if i should be compelled to begin by hating the _father_ of maria!... in what a fog we do live, man! i have just merely mentioned the name of maria, her clear gaze has only touched my soul and already my hatred of magnus is extinguished (or did i only conjure it up?) and extinguished also is my fear of man and life (or did i merely invent it?) and great joy, great peace has descended upon me. it is as if i were again a white schooner on the glassy ocean; as if i held all answers in my hand and were merely too lazy to open it and read therein, as if _immortality_ had returned to me...ah, i can speak no more, oh, man! let me press your hand? april , . the good toppi approves _all_ my actions. he amuses me greatly, this good toppi. as i expected, he has _completely_ forgotten his true origin: he regards all my reminders of our past as jests. sometimes he laughs but more often he frowns as if he were hurt, for he is religious and considers it an insult to be compared with a "horny" devil, even in jest: he himself is now convinced that devils have horns. his americanism, at first pale and weak, like a pencil sketch, has now become filled with color, and i, myself, am ready to believe all the nonsense given out by toppi as his life--it is so sincere and convincing. according to _him_, he has been in my service about fifteen years and particularly amusing it is to hear his stories of his youth. apparently he, too, has been touched by the charms of _maria_: my decision to surrender all my money to her father astonished him much less than i expected. he merely chewed his cigar for a moment and asked: "and what will he do with your money?" "i do not know, toppi." he raised his brow and frowned: "you are joking, mr. wondergood?" "you see, toppi: just now we, i.e., magnus is occupied in converting my estate into gold and jamming it into banks, in his name, of course. you understand?" "how can i fail to understand, mr. wondergood?" "these are all preliminary, essential steps. what may happen further...i do not know yet." "oh, you are jesting again?" "you must remember, old man, that i myself did not know what to do with my money. it is not money that i need but new activity. you understand? but magnus _knows_. i do not know yet what his plans are but it is what magnus said that is important to me: 'i will compel you to work, wondergood!' oh, magnus is a great man. you will see that for yourself, toppi!" toppi frowned again and replied: "you are master of your money, mr. wondergood." "ah, you have forgotten everything, toppi! don't you remember about that _play_? that i wanted to play?" "yes, you did say something about it. but i thought you were joking." "no, i was not joking. i was only mistaken. they do play here but this is not a theater. it is a gambling house and so i gave all my money to magnus: let him break the bank. you understand? he is the banker, he will manage the game and i shall simply do the betting.... quite a life, eh?" apparently the old fool understood nothing. he kept raising and lowering his eyebrows and again inquired: "and how soon may we expect your betrothal to signorina maria?" "i do not know yet, toppi. but that is not the thing. i see you are dissatisfied. you do not trust magnus?" "oh, signor magnus is a worthy man. but one thing i do fear, mr. wondergood, if you will permit me to be frank: he is a man who does not believe. this seems strange to me: how can the father of signorina maria be a non-believer? is that not so? permit me to ask: do you intend to give anything to his eminence?" "that depends now on magnus." "oh! on signor magnus? so, so. and do you know that his eminence has already been to see signor magnus? he was here a few days ago and spent several hours in this study. you were not at home at that time." "no, i do not know. we have not spoken about that, but have no fear: we will find _something_ for the cardinal. confess, old man: you are quite enchanted with that old monkey?" toppi glanced at me sharply and sighed. then he lapsed into thought...and strange as it may seem--something akin to a monkey appeared in his countenance, as in the cardinal's. later, from somewhere deep within him, there appeared a smile. it illumined his hanging nose, rose to his eyes and blazed forth within them in two bright, little flames, not devoid of wanton malice. i looked at him in astonishment and even with joy: yes that was my old toppi, risen from his human grave.... i am convinced that his hair again has the smell of fur instead of oil! gently i kissed his brow--old habits cannot be rooted out--and exclaimed: "you are enchanting, toppi! but _what_ was it that gave you such joy?" "i waited to see whether he would show maria to the cardinal?" "well?" "he did not!" "well?" but toppi remained silent. and as it had come so did the smile disappear, slowly: at first the hanging nose grew pale and became quite indistinct, then all at once the flames within his eyes went out--and again the old dejection, sourness and odor of church hypocrisy buried him who had been resurrected for a moment. it would have been useless to trouble the ashes with further questions. this happened yesterday. a warm rain fell during the day but it cleared up towards evening and magnus, weary and apparently suffering with headache, suggested that we take a ride into the campagna. we left our chauffeur behind, a practice peculiar to all our intimate trips. his duties were performed by magnus, with extraordinary skill and daring. on this occasion, his usual daring reached the point of audacity: despite the ever-thickening twilight and the muddy road, magnus drove the automobile at such mad speed that more than once did i look up at his broad, motionless back. but that was only at first: the presence of maria, whom i supported with my arm (i do not dare say embraced!) soon brought me to the loss of all my senses. i cannot describe it all to you--so that you would really feel it--the aromatic air of the campagna, which caressed my face, the magnificence and charm of our arrow-like speed, my virtual loss of all sensation of material weight, of the complete disappearance of _body_, when i felt myself a speeding thought, a flying gaze.... but still less can i tell you of _maria_. her madonna gaze whitened in the twilight, like marble; like the mysterious silence and perfect beauty of marble was her gentle, sweet and wise silence. i barely touched her slender, supple figure, but if i had been embracing within the hollow of my hand the entire firmness of earth and sky i could not have felt a more complete mastery of the _whole world_! do you know what a line is in measurement? not much,--is that not so? and it was only by the measure of a line that maria bent her divine form to me--no, no more than that! but what would you say, man, if the _sun_, coming down from its course just one line were to come closer to you by that distance? would you not consider it a _miracle_? my existence seemed unbounded, like the universe, which knows neither your time nor distance. for a moment there gleamed before me the wall of my unconsciousness, that unconquerable barrier against which the spirit of him who has donned the human form beats in vain,--and as quickly did it disappear: it was swallowed, without sound or conflict, by the waves of my new sea. even higher they rose, enshrouding the world. there was no longer anything to remember for me or to know: my new human soul remembered all and commanded all. i am a man! what gave me the idea that i hate magnus? i looked at this motionless, erect and firm human back and thought that behind it a heart was beating. i thought of how painful and terrible it was for it to remain firm and erect and of how much pain and suffering had already fallen to the lot of this human creature, no matter how proud it might appear or dejected. and suddenly i realized to the extent of pain and tears, how much i loved magnus, this very same magnus! he speeds so wildly and has no fear! and the very moment i sensed this, maria's eyes turned upon me.... ah, they are as bright at night as they are by day! but at that moment there was a troubled look within them. they were asking: why these tears? what could i say in reply with the aid of weak words! i silently took maria's hand and pressed it to my lips. and without taking her gaze off me, shining in cold, marble luster, she quietly withdrew her hand--and i became confused--and again gave it to me, taking off her glove. will you permit me to discontinue, man? i do not know who you are, you who are reading these lines, and i rather fear you...your swift and daring imagination. moreover, a gentleman feels ill at ease in speaking of his success with the ladies. besides, it was time to return: on the hills the lights of tivoli were already gleaming and magnus reduced his speed. we were moving quite slowly on the return trip and magnus, grown merry, wiping his brow with his handkerchief, now and then addressed brief remarks to us. there is one thing i will not conceal: her unquestionable womanliness emphasizes the completeness of my transformation. as we walked up the broad stairs of my palazzo, amid its princely wealth and beauty, i suddenly thought: "why not send all this adventure to the devil? why not simply wed and live like a prince in this palace? there will be freedom, children, laughter, just earthly happiness and love." and again i looked at magnus. he seemed strange to me: "i will take your money!" then i saw the stern gaze of my maria--and the contradiction between her love and this plan of simple, modest happiness was so great and emphatic that my thought did not even require an answer. i now recollect this thought accidentally as a curiosity of "toppism." let me call it "toppism" in honor of my perfect toppi. the evening was charming. at magnus' request, maria sang. you cannot imagine the reverence with which toppi listened to her singing! he dared not utter a word to maria, but on leaving he shook my hand long and with particular warmth. then, similarly, he shook the hand of magnus. i also rose to retire. "do you intend to do some work yet, magnus?" "no. don't you want to go to sleep, wondergood? come to my room. we'll chat a bit. incidentally, there is a paper for you to sign. do you want any wine?" "oh, with pleasure, magnus. i love conversation at night." we drank the wine. magnus, whistling something out of tune, silently walked the carpet, while i, as usual, reclined in a chair. the palazzo was all silence, like a sarcophagus, and this reminded me of that stirring night when mad mars raved behind the wall. suddenly, magnus exclaimed loudly, without hesitation: "the affair is progressing splendidly." "so?" "in two weeks everything will be completed. your swollen, scattered wealth, in which one can be lost as in a wood, will be transformed into a clear, concise and exact sack of gold...to be more correct--into a mountain. do you know the exact estimate of your money, wondergood?" "oh, don't, magnus. i don't want to know it. moreover, it's your money." magnus looked at me quickly and said sharply: "no, it's yours." i shrugged my shoulders. i did not want to argue. it was so quiet and i so enjoyed watching this strong man silently pacing to and fro. i still remembered his motionless, stern back, behind which i could clearly see his heart. he continued, after a pause: "do you know, wondergood, that the cardinal has been here?" "the old monkey? yes, i know. what did he want?" "the same thing. he wanted to see you but i did not feel like taking you away from your thoughts." "thanks. did you drive him out?" magnus replied angrily: "i am sorry to say,--no. don't put on airs, wondergood: i have already told you that we must be careful of him as long as we remain here. but you are quite right. he is an old, shaven, useless, evil, gluttonous, cowardly monkey!" "ah, ah! then why not show him the door?" "impossible." "i believe you, magnus. and what does this king i hear about want, he who is to visit us some of these days?" "ex-king. probably the same thing. you should receive him yourself, of course." "but only in your presence. otherwise i refuse. you must understand, my friend, that from that memorable night on i have been merely your disciple. you find it impossible to drive out the old monkey? very well, let him remain. you say we must receive some ex-king? very well, receive him. but i would rather be hanged on the first lamppost than to do so without knowing your reason." "you are jesting again, wondergood." "no, i am _quite_ serious, magnus. but i swear by eternal salvation that i know not what we are doing or intend to do. i am not reproaching you. i am not even questioning you: as i have already told you, i trust you and am ready to follow your directions. that you may not again reproach me with levity and impracticability, i may add a little business detail: maria and her love are my hostages. moreover, i do not yet know to what you intend to devote your energy, of whose boundlessness i am becoming more convinced each day; what plans and ends your experience and mind have set before you. but of one thing i have no doubt: they will be huge plans, great objects. and i, too, shall always find something to do beside you...at any rate this will be much better than my brainless old women and six secretaries. why do you refuse to believe in my modesty, as i believe in your...genius. imagine that i am come from some other planet, from mars, for instance, and wish in the most serious manner possible, to pass through the experience of a _man_.... it is all very simple, magnus!" magnus frowned at me for a few moments and suddenly broke into laughter: "you certainly are a pilgrim from some other planet, wondergood!... and what if i should devote your gold to doing evil?" "why? is that so very interesting?" "hm!... you think _that is_ not interesting?" "yes, and so do you. you are too big a man to do little evil, just as billions constitute too much money, while honestly as far as great evil is concerned, i know not yet what _great evil_ is? perhaps it is really _great good_? in my recent contemplations, there...came to me a strange thought: who is of greater _use_ to man--he who hates or he who loves him? you see, magnus, how ignorant i still am of human affairs and...how ready i am for almost anything." without laughter and, with what seemed to me, extreme curiosity, magnus measured me with his eyes, as if he were deciding the question: is this a fool i see before me, or the foremost sage of america? judging by his subsequent question he was nearer the second opinion: "so, if i have correctly understood your words, you are afraid of _nothing_, mr. wondergood?" "i think _not_." "and murder...many murders?" "you remember the point you made in your story about the boy of the _boundary_ of the human? in order that there may be no mistake, i have moved it forward several kilometers. will that be enough?" something like respect arose in magnus' eyes...the devil take him, though, he really considers me a clod! continuing to pace the room, he looked at me curiously several times, as if he were trying to recall and verify my remark. then, with a quick movement, he touched my shoulders: "you have an active mind, wondergood. it is a pity i did not come to know you before." "why?" "just so. i am interested to know how you will speak to the king: he will probably suggest something very evil to you. and great evil is great good. is that not so?" he again broke into laughter and shook his head in a friendly fashion. "i don't think so. the chances are he will propose something very silly." "hm!... and is that not great wisdom?" he laughed again but frowned suddenly and added seriously: "do not feel hurt, wondergood. i liked what you said very much and it is well you do not put any questions to me at this time: i could not answer them just now. but there is something i can say even now...in general terms, of course. are you listening?" "i am all attention." magnus seated himself opposite me and, taking a sip of wine, asked with strange seriousness: "how do you regard explosives?" "with great respect." "yes? that is cold praise, but, i dare say, they don't deserve much more. yet, there was a time when i worshiped dynamite as i do frankness...this scar on my brow is the result of my youthful enthusiasm. since then i have made great strides in chemistry--and other things--and this has cooled my zeal. the drawback of every explosive, beginning with powder, is that the explosion is confined to a limited space and strikes only the things near at hand: it might do for war, of course, but it is quite inadequate where bigger things are concerned. besides, being a thing of material limitations, dynamite or powder demands a constantly guiding hand: in itself, it is dumb, blind and deaf, like a mole. to be sure, in whitehead's mine we find an attempt to create consciousness, giving the shell the power to correct, so to speak, certain mistakes and to maintain a certain aim, but that is only a pitiful parody on eyesight...." "and you want your 'dynamite' to have consciousness, will and eyes?" "you are right. that is what i want. and my new _dynamite_ does have these attributes: will, consciousness, eyes." "and what is your aim? but this sounds...terrible." magnus smiled faintly. "terrible? i fear your terror will turn to laughter when i give you the name of my dynamite. it is _man_. have you never looked at man from this point of view, wondergood?" "i confess,--no. does dynamite, too, belong to the domain of psychology? this is all very ridiculous." "chemistry, psychology!" cried magnus, angrily: "that is all because knowledge has been subdivided into so many different subjects, just as a hand with ten fingers is now a rarity. you and your toppi--all of us are explosive shells, some loaded and ready, others still to be loaded. and the crux of the matter lies, you understand, in how to load the shell and, what is still more important: how to explode it. you know, of course, that the method of exploding various preparations depends upon their respective compositions?" i am not going to repeat here the lecture on explosives given me by magnus with great zeal and enthusiasm: it was the first time i had seen him in such a state of excitement. despite the absorbing interest of the subject, as my friends the journalists would say, i heard only half the things he was saying and concentrated most of my attention on his skull, the skull which contained such wide and dangerous knowledge. whether it was due to the conviction carried in magnus' words, or to pure weariness--i know not which--this round skull, blazing with the flames of his eyes, gradually assumed the character of a real, explosive shell, of a bomb, with the fuse lit for action.... i trembled when magnus carelessly threw upon the table a heavy object resembling a cake of grayish-yellow soap, and exclaimed involuntarily: "what's that?" "it looks like soap or wax. but it has the force of a devil. one half of this would be enough to blow st. peter's into bits. it is a capricious devil. you may kick it about or chop it into pieces, you may burn it in your stove, it will remain ever silent: a dynamite shell may tear it apart yet it will not rouse its wrath. i may throw it into the street, beneath the hoofs of horses; the dogs may bite at it and children may play with it--and still it remains indifferent. but i need only apply a current of high pressure to it--and the force of the explosion will be monstrous, limitless. a strong but silly devil!" with equal carelessness, bordering almost upon contempt, magnus threw his devil back into the table drawer and looked at me sternly. my eyebrows twitched slightly: "i see you know your subject to perfection, and i rather like this capricious devil of yours. but i would like to hear you discuss _man_." magnus laughed: "and was it not of him i have just spoken? is not the history of this piece of soap the history of your _man_, who can be beaten, burned, hacked to bits, hurled beneath the hoofs of horses, thrown to the dogs, torn into shreds--without rousing his consuming wrath or even his anger? but prick him with _something_--and the explosion will be terrible...as you will learn, mr. wondergood." he laughed again and rubbed his white hands with pleasure: he scarcely remembered at that moment that human blood was already upon them. and is it really necessary for _man_ to remember that? after a pause commensurate with the respect due to the subject, i asked: "and do you know how to make a _man_ explode?" "certainly." "and would you consider it permissible to give me this information?" "unfortunately it is not so easy or convenient because the current of high pressure would require too much elucidation, dear wondergood." "can't you put it briefly?" "oh, briefly. well, it is necessary to promise man some _miracle_." "is that all?" "that is all." "lies once more? the old monkey?" "yes, lies again. but not the old monkey. it is not that i have in mind. neither crusades nor immortality in heaven. this is the period of other miracles and other wonders. he promised resurrection to the dead. i promise resurrection to the living. his followers were the dead. mine...ours--are the living." "but the dead _did not arise_. how about the living?" "who _knows_? _we must make an experiment._ i cannot yet confide in you the business end of the enterprise but i warn you: the experiment must be conducted on a very large scale. you are not afraid, mr. wondergood?" i shrugged my shoulders indicating nothing definite. what could i answer? this gentleman carrying upon his shoulders a bomb instead of a head again split me into two halves, of which _man_, alas, was the lesser one. as wondergood, i confess without shame, i felt cruel fear and even pain: just as if the monstrous explosion had already touched my bones and were now breaking them...ah, but where is my endless happiness with maria, where the boundless peace of mind, where the devil is that white schooner? no, as great immortal curiosity, as the genius of _play_ and eternal movement, as the rapacious gaze of unclosing eyes i felt--i confess this, too, without shame--great joy, bordering upon ecstasy! and with a shiver of delight i mumbled: "what a pity i did not know that before." "why a pity?" "oh, just so. do not forget that i am come from another planet and am only now getting acquainted with man. so what shall we do with this--planet--magnus?" he laughed again: "you are a strange fellow, wondergood! with this planet? we will give it a little holiday. but enough jesting. i do not like it!" he frowned angrily and looked at me sternly, like an old professor...the manner of this gentleman was not distinguished by flippancy. when it seemed to him that i had grown sufficiently serious he shook his head in approval and asked: "do you know, wondergood, that the whole of europe is now in a very uneasy state?" "war?" "possibly war. everybody is secretly expecting it. _but_ war precedes the belief in the kingdom of _miracles_. you understand: we have lived too long in simple faith in the multiplication table, _we_ are tired of the multiplication table, _we_ are filled with ennui and anxiety on this straight road whose mire is lost in infinity. just now all of us are demanding some miracle and soon the day will come when we will demand the miracle immediately! it is not i alone who wants _an experiment on a large scale_--the whole world is preparing it...ah, wondergood, in truth, life would not be worth the candle if it were not for these highly interesting moments! highly interesting!" he greedily rubbed his hands. "you are pleased?" "as a chemist, i am in ecstasy. my shells are already loaded, without being themselves conscious of the fact, but they will know it well enough when i apply the torch. can you imagine the sight when _my_ dynamite will begin to explode, its consciousness, its will, its eyes directed straight upon its goal?" "and blood? perhaps my reminder is out of place but i remember an occasion when you spoke of _blood_ with much excitement." magnus fixed his long gaze upon me: something akin to suffering appeared in his eyes: but this was not the prick of conscience or pity--it was the emotion of a mature and wise man whose thoughts had been interrupted by the foolish question of a child: "blood," he said, "what blood?" i recalled to him his words on that occasion and told him of my strange and extremely unpleasant dream about the bottles, filled with blood instead of wine, and so easily broken. weary, with his eyes closed, he listened to my tale and sighed heavily. "blood!"--he murmured: "blood! that's nonsense. i told you many trite things on that occasion, wondergood, and it is not worth while to recall them. however, if _this_ gives you fear, it is not too late." i replied resolutely: "i fear _nothing_. as i have already said, i shall follow you everywhere. it is _my_ blood that is protesting--you understand?--not my consciousness or will. apparently i shall be the first to be fooled by you: i, too, seek a miracle. is not your _maria_ a miracle? i have been repeating the multiplication table night and day and i have grown to hate it like the bars of a prison. from the point of view of your chemistry, i am quite loaded and i ask but one thing: blow me up as quickly as possible!" magnus agreed sternly: "very well. in about two weeks. are you satisfied?" "thank you. i hope that signorina maria will then become my wife?" magnus laughed. "madonna?" "oh, i don't understand your smile...and, i must say, my hope is altogether in conformity with the regard i bear for your daughter, signor magnus." "don't excite yourself, wondergood. my smile was not about maria but about your faith in miracles. you are a splendid fellow, wondergood. i am beginning to love you like a son. in two weeks you will receive everything and then we shall conclude a new and strong pact. your hand, comrade!" for the first time he shook my hand in a strong, comradely fashion. i would have kissed him if there had been a simple human head instead of a bomb upon his shoulders. but to touch a bomb! not even in the face of my utmost respect for him! that was the first night that i slept like one slain and the stone walls of the palace did not press upon me. the walls were brushed by the explosive power of magnus' speech, while the roof melted away beneath the starry coverlet of maria: my soul departed into the realms of her calm love and refuge. the mountain tivoli and its fires--that was what i saw as i fell into slumber. april , rome. before knocking at my door, his majesty, the ex-king e. had knocked at no small number of entrances in europe. true to the example of his apostolic ancestors, who believed in the gold of israel, he particularly liked to approach jewish bankers; i believe that the honor done me by his visit was based upon his firm conviction that i was a jew. although his majesty was visiting rome incognito, i, warned of his visit, met him at the foot of the stairs and bowed low to him--i think that is the requirement of etiquette. then, also in accordance with etiquette, we introduced ourselves, he--his adjutant, i--thomas magnus. i confess i had not a very flattering opinion of the former king and that is why he astonished me all the more with his high opinion of himself. he gave me his hand politely but with such haughty indifference, he looked at me with such complete self-confidence, as if he were gazing at a being of a lower order, he walked ahead of me so naturally, sat down without invitation, gazed upon the walls and furniture in such frankly royal manner, that my entire uneasiness due to my unfamiliarity with etiquette disappeared immediately. it was only necessary to follow this fellow, who appeared to know everything so well. in appearance he was quite a young man, with fresh complexion and magnificent coiffure, somewhat worn out but sufficiently well-preserved, with colorless eyes and a calm, brazenly protruding lower lip. his hands were beautiful. he did not try to conceal that he was bored by my american face, which appeared jewish to him, and by the necessity of asking me for money: he yawned slightly after seating himself and said: "sit down, gentlemen." and with a slight command of the hand he ordered the adjutant to state the nature of his proposal. he paid no attention to magnus at all, and while the fat, red and obliging adjutant was stealthily narrating the story of the "misunderstanding" which caused the departure of his majesty from his country--his majesty was nonchalantly examining his feet. finally, he interrupted his representative's speech with the impatient remark: "briefer, marquis. mr.... wondergood is as well familiar with this history as we are. in a word, these fools kicked me out. how do you regard it, dear wondergood?" "how do i regard it?" i bowed low: "i am glad to be of service to your majesty." "well, yes, that's what they all say. but will you give me any money? continue, marquis." the marquis, smiling gently at me and magnus (despite his obesity he looked quite hungry) continued to weave his thin flimsy web about the misunderstanding, until the bored king again interrupted him: "you understand: these fools thought that i was responsible for all their misfortunes. wasn't that silly, mr. wondergood? and now they are worse off than ever and they write: 'come back, for god's sake. we are perishing!' read the letters, marquis." at first the king spoke with a trace of excitement but apparently any effort soon wearied him. the marquis obediently took a packet of papers from the portfolio and tortured us with the complaints of the orphaned subjects, begging their lord to return. i looked at the king: he was no less bored than we were. it was so clear to him that the people could not exist without him that all confirmations of this seemed superfluous.... and i felt so strange: whence does this miserable man get so much happy confidence? there was no doubt that this bird, unable to find a crumb for himself, sincerely believed in the peculiar qualities of his personage, capable of bestowing upon a whole people marvelous benefactions. stupidity? training? habit? at that moment the marquis was reading the plea of some correspondent, in which, through the web of official mediocrity and the lies of swollen phrases, gleamed the very same confidence and sincere call. was that, too, stupidity and habit? "and so forth, and so forth," interrupted the king listlessly: "that will do, marquis, you may close your portfolio. well, what you think of it, dear mr. wondergood?" "i will be bold enough to say to your majesty that i am a representative of an old, democratic republic and...." "stop, wondergood! republic, democracy! that's nonsense. you know well enough yourself that a king is a necessity. you, in america, will have a king, too, some day. how can you get along without a king: who will be responsible for them before god? no, that's foolish." this creature was actually getting ready to answer for the people before god! and he continued with the same calm audacity: "the king can do everything. and what can a president do? nothing. do you understand, wondergood--_nothing!_ why, then, do you want a president who can do nothing?"--he deigned to twist his lower lip into a sarcastic smile.--"it is all nonsense, invented by the newspapers. would you, for example, take your president seriously, mr. wondergood?" "but representative government...." "fi! excuse me, mr. wondergood (he recalled my name with great difficulty) but what fool will pay any attention to the representatives of the people? citizen a will pay heed to citizen b and citizen b will pay heed to citizen a--is that not so? but who will compel their obedience if both of them are wise? no, i, too, have studied logic, mr. wondergood and you will permit me to indulge in a laugh!" he laughed slightly and said with his usual gesture: "continue, marquis.... no, let me do it. the king can do _everything_, wondergood, you understand?" "but the law...." "ah, this fellow, too, speaks of law. do you hear, marquis? no, i really can't understand what you want this law for! that all may suffer equitably! however, if you are so keen on having law, law you shall have. but who will give it to you, if not i?" "but the representatives of the people...." the king directed his colorless eyes upon me, almost in despair: "ah, again citizen a and b! but can't you understand, dear wondergood? what kind of a law is it if they themselves make it? what wise man will agree to obey it? no, that's nonsense. is it possible that you yourself obey this law, wondergood?" "not only i, your majesty, but the whole of america...." his eyes measured me with sympathy. "pardon me, but i don't believe it. the whole of america! well, in that case they simply don't understand what law is--do you hear, marquis, the whole of america! but that's not the thing. i must return, wondergood. you've heard what the poor devils write?" "i am happy to see that the road is open for you, my lord." "open? you think so? hm! no, i need money. some write and others don't, you understand?" "perhaps they don't know how to write, my lord?" "they? oh! you should have seen what they wrote against me. i was quite flustered. what they need is the firing squad." "all of them?" "why all of them? some of them will be enough. the rest of them will simply be scared to death. you understand, wondergood, they have simply stolen my power from me and now, of course, will simply refuse to return it. you can't expect me to see to it that no one robs me. and these gentlemen,"--he indicated the blushing marquis--"to my sorrow did not manage to guard my interests." the marquis mumbled confusedly: "sire!" "now, now, i know your devotion, but you were asleep at the switch just the same? and now there is so much trouble, so much trouble!"--he sighed lightly. "did not cardinal x. tell you i needed money, mr. wondergood? he promised to. of course i will return it all and...however, you should take this matter up with the marquis. i have heard that you love people very much, mr. wondergood?" a faint smile flitted over the dim face of magnus. i bowed slightly. "the cardinal told me so. that is very praiseworthy, mr. wondergood. but if you do love people you will certainly give me money. i don't doubt that in the least. they must have a king. the newspapers are merely prattling nonsense. why do they have a king in germany, a king in england, a king in italy, and a hundred other kings? and don't we need a king too?" the adjutant mumbled: "a misunderstanding...." "of course a misunderstanding. the marquis is quite right. the newspapers call it a revolution, but believe me, i know my people; it is simply a misunderstanding. they are now weeping themselves. how can they get along without a king? there would be no kings at all then. you understand? what nonsense! they now talk of no god, too. no, we must do a little shooting, a little shooting!" he rose quickly and this time shook my hand with a patronizing smile and bowed to magnus. "good-by, good-by, my dear wondergood. you have a magnificent figure.... oh, what a splendid fellow! the marquis will drop in to see you one of these days. there was something more i wanted to say. oh, yes: i hope that you in america will have a king, too, in the near future...that is very essential, my friend. moreover, that's bound to be the end! au revoir!" we escorted his majesty with the same ceremony. the marquis followed and his bowed head, divided into two halves by the part in his reddish hair, and his red face bore the expression of hunger and constant failure.... ah, he has so frequently and so fruitlessly orated about that 'misunderstanding'! the king, apparently, also recalled at that moment his vain knocking about at other thresholds: his bloodless face again filled with grayish ennui and in reply to my parting bow, he opened wide his eyes, as if in astonishment, with the expression: what more does this fool want? ah, yes, he has money. and lazily he asked: "and so, you'll not forget, mr....friend!" and his automobile was magnificent and just as magnificent was the huge chauffeur, resembling a gendarme, attired for the new rôle. when we had reascended the stairs (our respectful lackeys meanwhile gazing upon me as on a royal personage) and entered our apartments, magnus fell into a long, ironic silence. i asked: "how old is this creature?" "didn't you know, wondergood? that's bad. he is years old. perhaps less." "did the cardinal really speak of him and ask you to give him money?" "yes,--from what you may have left after the cardinal's wants are attended to." "that is probably due to the fact that the monarchist form of government is also in vogue in heaven. can you conceive of a republic of saints and the administration of the world on the basis of popular representation? think of it: even devils will then receive the vote. a king is most necessary, wondergood. believe me." "nonsense! this is not worthy even of a jest." "i am not jesting. you are mistaken. and pardon me for being so direct, my friend: in his discussion about kings _he_ was above you, this time. you saw only a creature, a countenance of purely material limitations and ridiculous. _he_ conceived himself to be a symbol. that is why he is so calm and there is no doubt that he will return to his beloved people." "and will do a little shooting." "and will do a little shooting. and will throw a little scare into them. ah, wondergood, how stubborn you are in your refusal to part with the multiplication table! your republic is a simple table, while a king--do you realize it?--is a _miracle_! what can there be simpler, sillier and more hopeless than a million bearded men, governing themselves,--and how wonderful, how miraculous when this million of bearded fellows are governed by a creature! that is a miracle! and what possibilities it gives rise to! it seemed very funny to me when you spoke with so much warmth about the law, this dream of the devil. a king is necessary for the precise purpose of _breaking_ the law, in order that the _will_ may be _above_ the law!" "but laws change, magnus." "to change is only to submit to necessity and to new law, which was unknown to you before. only by breaking the law do you elevate the _will_. prove to me that god himself is subject to his own laws, i.e., to put it simply, that he cannot perform miracles, and to-morrow your shaven monkey will share the fate of loneliness and all the churches will be turned into horse stables. the miracle, wondergood, the miracle--that is what holds human beings on this cursed earth!" magnus emphasized these words by banging the table with his fist. his face was gloomy. in his dark eyes there flickered unusual excitement. speaking as if he were threatening some one, he continued: "_he_ believes in miracles and i envy him. he is insignificant, he is really what you might call a creature, but he believes in miracles. and he has already been a king and will be a king again! and we!..." he waved his hand contemptuously and began to pace the carpet like an angry captain on the deck of _his_ vessel. with much respect i gazed upon his heavy, explosive head and blazing eyes: for the first time i realized what _satanic_ ambitions there were concealed in this strange gentlemen. "and we!" magnus noticed my gaze and shouted angrily: "why do you look at me like that, wondergood? it's silly! you are thinking of my ambition? that's foolish, wondergood! would not _you_, a gentleman of illinois, also like to be...well, at least, emperor of _russia_, where the _will_ is still above the law?" "and on what particular throne have you your eye, magnus?" i replied, no longer concealing my irony. "if you are pleased to think of me so flatteringly, wondergood, i will tell you that i _aim_ much higher. nonsense, my friend! only bloodless moralists have never dreamt of a crown, just as only eunuchs have never tempted themselves with the thought of woman. nonsense! but i do not seek a throne--not even the russian throne: it is too cramping." "but there is another throne, signor magnus: the throne of god." "but why only the throne of god? and have you forgotten satan's, mr. wondergood?" and this he said to me...or did the whole street know that my throne was vacant? i bowed my head respectfully and said: "permit me to be the first to greet you...your majesty." magnus turned on me in wild wrath, gnashing his teeth, like a dog over a contested bone. and this angry atom wants to be satan! this handful of earth, hardly enough for one whiff for the devil, is dreaming to be crowned with my crown! i bowed my head still lower and dropped my eyes: i felt the gleaming flame of contempt and divine laughter blazing forth within them. i realized that it must not be given to my honored ward to know this _laughter_. i do not know how long we remained silent, but when our eyes met again they were clear, pure and innocent, like two bright rays in the shade. magnus was the first to speak: "and so?" he said. "and so?" i replied. "will you order money for the king?" "the money is at your disposal, my dear friend." magnus looked at me thoughtfully. "it's not worth while," he decided. "this miracle is old stuff. it requires too many police to compel belief. we shall perform a better miracle." "oh, undoubtedly. we shall contrive a better device. in two weeks?" "yes, about that!" replied magnus cordially. we shook hands warmly in parting and in about two hours the gracious king sent each of us a decoration: some sort of a star for me and something else for magnus. i rather pitied the poor idiot who continued to play his lone hand. april , rome. maria is somewhat indisposed and i hardly see her. magnus informed me of her illness--and lied about it: for some reason he does not want me to see her. does he fear anything? again cardinal x. called on him in my absence. nothing is being said to me about the "miracle." but i am patient,--and i wait. at first this was rather boresome but recently i have found a new pastime and now i am quite content. it is the roman museums, where i spend my mornings, like a conscientious american who has just learned to distinguish between a painting and a piece of sculpture. but i have no baedecker with me and i am strangely happy that i don't understand a thing about it all: marble and painting. i merely like it. i like the odor of the sea in the museums. why the sea?--i do not know: the sea is far away and i rather expected the odor of decay. and it is so spacious here--much more spacious than the campagna. in the campagna i see only space, over which run trains and automobiles. here i swim in time. there is so much time here! then, too, i rather like the fact that here they preserve with great care a chip of a marble foot or a stony sole with a bit of the heel. like an ass from illinois, i simply cannot understand what value there is in this, but i already believe that it is valuable and i am touched by your careful thrift, little man! preserve it! go on breaking the feet of live men. that is nothing. but these you must preserve. it is good, indeed, when living, dying, ever changing men, for the space of years, take such good care of a chip of marble foot. when i enter the narrow museum from the roman street, where every stone is drowned in the light of the april sun, its transparent and even shadow seems to me a peculiar light, more durable than the expensive rays of the sun. as far as i _recollect_ it is thus that eternity doth shine. and these marbles! they have swallowed as much sunlight as an englishman whiskey before they were driven into this place that they do not fear night at all.... and i, too, do not fear the night when i am near them. take care of them, man! if _this_ is what you call art, what an ass you are, wondergood. of course, you are cultured, you look upon art with reverence as upon religion and you have understood as much of it as that ass did on which the messiah entered jerusalem. and what if there should be a fire? yesterday this thought troubled me all day and i went with it to magnus. but he seems extremely occupied with something and could not, at first, understand what i was driving at. "what's the trouble, wondergood? you want to insure the vatican--or something else? make it clearer?" "oh! to insure!" i exclaimed in anger: "you are a barbarian, thomas magnus!" at last he understood. smiling cordially, he stretched, yawned and laid some paper before me. "you really are a gentleman from mars, dear wondergood. don't contradict, and sign this paper. it is the last one." "i will sign, but under one condition. your explosion must not touch the vatican." he laughed again: "would you be sorry? then you had better not sign. in general, if you are sorry about anything--about anything at all--it would be better for us to part before it is too late. there is no room for pity in my game and my play is not for sentimental american girls." "if you please...." i signed the paper and threw it aside. "but it seems as if you have earnestly entered upon the duties of satan, dear magnus!" "and does satan have duties? poor satan! then i don't want to be satan!" "neither duties nor obligations?" "neither duties nor obligations." "and what then?" he glanced at me quickly with his gleaming eyes and replied with one short word, which cut the air before my face: "_will._" "and...the current of high pressure?" magnus smiled patronizingly: "i am very glad that you remember my words so well, wondergood. they may be of use to you some day." cursed dog. i felt so much like striking him that i--bowed particularly low and politely. but he restrained me with a gracious gesture, pointing to a chair: "where are you going, wondergood? sit down. we have seen so little of each other of late. how is your health?" "fine, thank you. and how is the health of signorina maria?" "not particularly good. but it's a trifle. a few more days of waiting and you.... so you like the museums, wondergood? there was a time when i, too, gave them much time and feeling. yes, i remember, i remember.... don't you find, wondergood, that man, in mass, is a repulsive being?" i raised my eyes in astonishment: "i do not quite understand this change of subject, magnus. on the contrary, the museums have revealed to me a new and more attractive side of man...." he laughed. "love for mankind?... well, well, do not take offense at the jest, wondergood. you see: everything that man does in crayon is wonderful--but repulsive in painting. take the sketch of christianity, with its sermon on the mount, its lilies and its ears of corn, how marvelous it is! and how ugly is its picture with its sextons, its funeral pyres and its cardinal x.! a genius begins the work and an idiot, an animal, completes it. the pure and fresh wave of the ocean tide strikes the dirty shore--and returns dirty, bearing back with it corks and shells. the beginning of love, the beginning of the roman empire and the great revolution--how good are all beginnings! and their end? and even if a man here and there has managed to die as beautifully as he was born, the masses, the masses, wondergood, invariably end the liturgy in shamelessness!" "oh, but what about the causes, magnus?" "the causes? apparently we find concealed here the very _substance_ of man, of animal, evil and limited in the mass, inclined to madness, easily inoculated with all sorts of disease and crowning the widest possible road with a standstill. and that is why art is so much above man!" "i do not understand." "_what_ is there incomprehensible about it? in art it is the genius who begins and the genius completes. you understand: the genius! the fool, the imitator or the critic is quite powerless to change or mar the paintings of velasquez, the sculpture of angelo or the verse of homer. he can destroy, smash, break, burn or deface, but he is quite powerless to bring them down to his own level--and that is why he so detests real art. you understand, wondergood? his paw is helpless!" magnus waved his white hand and laughed. "but why does he guard and protect it so assiduously?" "it is not _he_ who guards and protects. this is done by a special species of _faithful watchmen_"--magnus laughed again: "and did you observe how uncomfortable they feel in the museum?" "who--they?" "well, those who came to view the things! but the most ridiculous phase of the whole business is not that the fool is a fool but that the genius unswervedly worships the fool as a neighbor and fellow being and anxiously seeks his devastating love. as if he were a savage himself, the genius does not understand that _his_ true neighbor is a genius similar to himself and he is eternally opening his embraces to the near--human...who eagerly crawls into them in order to abstract the watch from his vest pocket! yes, my dear wondergood, it is a most laughable point and i fear...." he lapsed into thought, fixing his eyes upon the floor: thus apparently do human beings gaze into the depths of their own graves. and i understood just what this genius feared, and once again i bowed before the satanic mind which in all the world recognized only itself and its own will. here was a god who would not share his power with olympus! and what a contempt for mankind! and what open contempt for me! here was a grain of earth that could make the devil himself sneeze! and do you know how i concluded that evening? i took my pious toppi by the neck and threatened to shoot him if he did not get drunk with me. and drunk we did get! we began in some dirty little café and continued in some night taverns where i generously filled some black-eyed bandits with liquor, mandolin players and singers, who sang to me of maria: i drank like a farm hand who had just arrived in the city after a year of sober labor. away with the museums! i remember that i shouted much and waved my hands--but never did i love my _maria_ so tenderly, so sweetly and so painfully as in that smoke of drink, permeated with the odor of wine, oranges and some burning fat, in this wide circle of black bearded stealthy faces and rapaciously gleaming eyes, amid the melodious strains of mandolins which opened for me the very vestibules of heaven and hell! i vaguely remember some very accommodating but pompous murderers, whom i kissed and forgave in the name of maria. i remember that i proposed that all of us go to drink in the coliseum, in the very place where martyrs used to die but i do not know why we did not do it--i believe there were technical difficulties. and how splendid toppi was! at first he drank long and silently, like an archbishop. then he suddenly began to perform interesting feats. he put a bottle of chianti on his nose, the wine running all over him. he tried to perform some tricks with cards but was immediately caught by the affable bandits who brilliantly repeated the same trick. he walked on all fours and sang some religious verses through his nose. he cried and suddenly announced frankly that he was a devil. we walked home staggering along the street, bumping into walls and lampposts and hilariously enjoying ourselves like two students. toppi tried to pick a quarrel with some policemen, but, touched by their politeness, he ended by conferring his stern blessing upon them, saying gloomily: "go and sin no more." then he confessed with tears that he was in love with a certain signorina, that his love was requited and that he must therefore resign his spiritual calling. saying this, he lay down upon a stony threshold and fell into a stubborn sleep. and thus i left him. maria, maria, how you tempt me! not once have i touched your lips. yesterday i kissed only red wine...but whence come these burning traces on my lips? but yesterday i stood upon my knees, madonna, and covered you with flowers: but yesterday i timidly laid hands upon the hem of your garment, and to-day you are only a woman and i want you. my hands are trembling. the obstacles, the halls, the paces and the thresholds separating us drive me mad. i want you! i did not recognize my own eyes in the mirror: there is a thick shadow upon them. i breathe heavily and irregularly, and all day long my thoughts are wandering lustfully about your naked breast. i have forgotten everything. in whose power am i? it bends me like soft, heated iron. i am deafened, i am blinded by my own heat and sparks. what do you do, man, when _that_ happens to you? do you simply go and take the woman? do you violate her? think: it is night now and maria is so close by. i can approach her room without a sound...and i want to hear her cries! but suppose magnus bars the road for me? i will kill magnus. nonsense. no, tell me, in whose power am i? you ought to know that man? to-day, just before evening, as i was seeking to escape from myself and maria, i wandered about the streets, but it was worse there: everywhere i saw men and women, men and women. as if i had never seen them before! they all appeared naked to me. i stood long at monte-picio and tried to grasp what a sunset was but could not: before me there passed by in endless procession those men and women, gazing into each other's eyes. tell me--what is woman? i saw one--very beautiful--in an automobile. the sunset threw a rosy glow upon her pale face and in her ears there glistened two diamond sparks. she gazed upon the sunset and the sunset gazed on her, but i could not endure it: sorrow and love gripped my heart, as if i were dying. there behind her were trees, green, almost black. maria! maria! april , isle of capri. perfect calm reigned upon the sea. from a high precipice i gazed long upon a little schooner, motionless in the blue expanse. its white sails were rigidly still and it seemed as happy as on that memorable day. and, again, great calm descended upon me, while the holy name of _maria_ resounded purely and peacefully, like the sabbath bells on the distant shore. there i lay upon the grass, my face toward the sky. the good earth warmed my back, while my eyes were pierced with warm light, as if i had thrust my face into the sun. not more than three paces away there lay an abyss, a steep precipice, a dizzying wall, and it was delightful to imbibe the odor of grass and the spring flowers of capri. there was also the odor of toppi, who was lying beside me: when he is heated by the sun he emits the smell of fur. he was all sunburned, just as if he had been smeared with coal. in general, he is a very amiable old devil. the place where we lay is called anacapri and constitutes the elevated part of the island. the sun had already set when we began our trip downward and a half moon had risen in the sky. but there was the same quiet and warmth and from somewhere came the strains of mandolins in love, calling to maria. maria everywhere! but my love breathed with great calm, bathed in the pure moonlight rays, like the little white houses below. in such a house, at one time, did maria live, and into just such a house i will take her in about four days. a high wall along which the road ran, concealed the moon from us and here we beheld the statue of an old madonna, standing in a niche, high above the road and the surrounding bushes. before her burned with a weak flame the light of an image-lamp, and she seemed so alive in her watchful silence that my heart grew cold with sweet terror. toppi bowed his head and mumbled a prayer, while i removed my hat and thought: how high above this earthly vessel, filled with moonlit twilight and mysterious charms, you stand. thus does _maria_ stand above my soul.... enough! here again the extraordinary begins and i must pause. we shall soon drink some champagne and then we shall go to the café. i understand they expect some mandolin players from naples there to-day. toppi would rather be shot than follow me: his conscience troubles him to this day. but it is good that i will be alone. april --rome, palazzo orsini. ...night. my palace is dead and silent, as if it were one of the ruins of ancient rome. beyond the large window lies the garden: it is transparent and white with the rays of the moon and the vaporous pole of the fountain resembles a headless vision in a silver veil. its splash is scarcely heard through the thick window-pane--as if it were the sleepy mumbling of the night guard. yes, this is all beautiful and...how do you put it?--it breathes with love. of course, it would be good to walk beside maria over the blue sand of the garden path and to trample upon her shadow. but i am disturbed and my disquiet is wider than love. in my attempts to walk lightly i wander about the room, lean against the wall, recline in silence in the corners, and all the time i seem to hear something. something far away, a thousand kilometers from here. or is this all lodged in my memory--that which i strain my ear to catch? and the thousand kilometers--are they the thousand years of my life? you would be astonished if you saw how i was dressed. my fine american costume had suddenly become unbearably heavy, so i put on my bathing suit. this made me appear thin, tall and wiry. i tried to test my nimbleness by crawling about the floor, suddenly changing the direction, like a noiseless bat. but it is not i who am restless. it is my muscles that are filled with this unrest, and i know not what they want. then i began to feel cold. i dressed and sat down to write. i drank some wine and drew down the curtains to shut the white garden from my eyes. then i examined and fixed my browning. i intend to take it with me to-morrow for a friendly chat with magnus. you see, thomas magnus has some _collaborators_. that is what he calls those gentlemen unknown to me who respectfully get out of my way when we meet, but never greet me, as if we were meeting in the street and not in my house. there were two of them when i went to capri. now they are six, according to what toppi tells me, and they live here. toppi does not like them. neither do i. they seem to have no _faces_. i could not see them. i happened to think of that just now when i tried to recall them. "these are my assistants," magnus told me to-day without trying in the least to conceal his ridicule. "well, i must say, magnus, they have had bad training. they never greet me when we meet." "on the contrary, dear wondergood! they are very well-mannered. they simply cannot bring themselves to greet you without a proper introduction. they are...extremely correct people. however, you will learn all to-morrow. don't frown. be patient, wondergood! just one more night!" "how is signorina maria's health?" "_to-morrow_ she will be well." he placed his hand upon my shoulder and brought his dark, evil, brazen eyes closer to my face: "the passion of love, eh?" i shook off his hand and shouted: "signor magnus! i...." "you?"--he frowned at me and calmly turned his back upon me: "till to-morrow, mr. wondergood!" that is why i loaded my revolver. in the evening i was handed a letter from magnus: he begged my pardon, said his conduct was due to unusual excitement and he sincerely sought my friendship and confidence. he also agreed that his _collaborators_ are really ill-mannered folk. i gazed long upon these hasty illegible lines and felt like taking with me, not my revolver, but a cannon. one more night, but how long it is! _there is danger facing me._ i feel it and my muscles _know_ it, too. do you think that i am merely afraid? i swear by eternal salvation--no! i know not where my fear has disappeared, but only a short while ago i was afraid of everything: of darkness, death and the most inconsequential pain. and now i fear nothing. i only feel strange...is that how you put it: strange? here i am on your earth, man, and i am thinking of another person who is dangerous to me and i myself am--man. and there is the moon and the fountain. and there is maria, whom i love. and here is a glass and wine. and this is--my and your life. or did i simply imagine that i was satan once? i see _it_ is all an invention, the fountain and maria and my very thoughts on the man--magnus, but the _real_ my mind can neither unravel nor understand. i assiduously examine my memory and it is silent, like a closed book, and i have no power to open this enchanted volume, concealing the whole past of my being. straining my eyesight, i gaze into the bright and distant depth from which i came upon this pasteboard earth--but i see nothing in the painful ebb and flow of the boundless fog. there, behind the fog, is my country, but it seems--it seems i have quite forgotten the road. i have again returned to wondergood's bad habit of getting drunk alone and i am slightly drunk now. no matter. it is the last time. i have just seen something after which i wish to see nothing else. i felt like taking a look at the white garden and to imagine how it would feel to walk beside maria over the path of blue sand. i turned off the light in the room and opened wide the draperies. and the white garden arose before me, like a dream, and--think of it!--over the path of blue sand there walked a man and a woman--and the woman was maria! they walked quietly, trampling upon their own shadows, and the man embraced her. the little counting machine in my breast beat madly, fell to the floor and broke, when, finally, i recognized the man--it was magnus, only magnus, dear magnus, the father. may he be cursed with his fatherly embraces! ah, how my love for _maria_ surged up again within me! i fell on my knees before the window and stretched out my hands to her.... to be sure, i had already seen something of that kind in the theater, but it's all the same to me: i stretched out my hands--was i not alone and drunk! why should i not do what i want to do? madonna! then i suddenly drew down the curtain! quietly, like a web, like a handful of moonlight, i will take this vision and weave it into night dreams. quietly!... quietly!... iv may , .--italy. had i at my disposal, not the pitiful word but a strong orchestra, i would compel all the brass trumpets to roar. i would raise their blazing mouths to the sky and would compel them to rave incessantly in a blazen, screeching voice which would make one's hair stand on end and scatter the clouds in terror. i do not want the lying violins. hateful to me is the gentle murmur of false strings beneath the fingers of liars and scoundrels. breath! breath! my gullet is like a brass horn. my breath--a hurricane, driving forward into every narrow cleft. and all of me rings, kicks and grates like a heap of iron in the face of the wind. oh, it is not always the mighty, wrathful roar of brass trumpets. frequently, very frequently it is the pitiful wail of burned, rusty iron, crawling along lonely, like the winter, the whistle of bent twigs, which drives thought cold and fills the heart with the rust of gloom and homelessness. everything that fire can touch has burned up within me. was it i who wanted to play? was it i who yearned for the game? then--look upon this monstrous ruin of the theater wrecked by the flames: all the actors, too, have lost their lives therein.. ah, all the actors, too, have perished, and brazen truth peers now through the beggarly holes of its empty windows. by my throne,--what was that love i prattled of when i donned this human form? to whom was it that i opened my embraces? was it you...comrade? by my throne!--if i was love but _for a single moment_, henceforth i am hate and _eternally_ thus i remain. let us halt at this point to-day, dear comrade. it has been quite some time since i moved my pen upon this paper and i must now grow accustomed anew to your dull and shallow face, smeared o'er with the red of your cheeks. i seem to have forgotten how to speak the language of respectable people who have just received a trouncing. get thee hence, my friend. to-day i am a brass trumpet. tickle not my throat, little worm. leave me. may , italy. it was a month ago that thomas magnus _blew_ me up. yes, it is true. he really blew me up and it was a month ago, in the holy city of rome, in the palazzo orsini, when i still belonged to the billionaire henry wondergood--do you remember that genial american, with his cigar and patent gold teeth? alas! he is no longer with us. he died suddenly and you will do well if you order a requiem mass for him: his illinois soul is in need of your prayers. let us return, however, to his last hours. i shall try to be exact in my recollections and give you not only the emotions but also the words of that evening--it was evening, when the moon was shining brightly. perhaps i shall not give you quite the words spoken but, at any rate, they will be the words i heard and stored away in my memory.... if you were ever whipped, worthy comrade, then you know how difficult it was for you to count all the blows of the whip. a change of gravity! you understand? oh, you understand everything. and so let us receive the last breath of henry wondergood, blown up by the culprit thomas magnus and buried by..._maria_. i remember: i awoke on the morning after that _stormy_ evening, calm and even gay. apparently it was the effect of the sun, shining into that same, broad window through which, at night, there streamed that unwelcome and too highly significant moonlight. you understand: now the moon and now the sun? oh, you understand everything. it is probably for the very same reason i acquired my touching faith in the integrity of magnus and awaited toward evening that cloudless bliss. this expectation was all the greater because his collaborators...you remember his collaborators?--had begun to _greet_ and _bow_ to me. what is a greeting?--ah, how much it means to the faith of man! you know my good manners and, therefore, will believe me when i say that i was cold and restrained like a gentleman who has just received a legacy. but if you had put your ear to my belly you would have heard violins playing within. something about love, you understand. oh, you understand everything. and thus, with these violins did i come to magnus in the evening when the moon was shining brightly. magnus was alone. we were long silent and this indicated that an interesting conversation awaited me. finally i said: "how is the signorina's health?"... but he interrupted me: "we are facing a very difficult talk, wondergood? does that disturb you?" "oh, no, not at all." "do you want wine? well, never mind. i shall drink a little but you need not. yes, wondergood?" he laughed as he poured out the wine and here i noticed with astonishment that he himself was _very_ excited: his large, white, hangman's hands were quite noticeably trembling. i do not know exactly just when my violins ceased--i think it was at that very moment. magnus gulped down two glasses of wine--he had intended to take only a little--and, sitting down, continued: "no, you ought not to drink, wondergood. i need all your _senses_, undimmed by anything...you didn't drink anything to-day? no? that's good. your _senses_ must be clear and sober. one must not take anesthetics in such cases as...as...." "as vivisection?" he shook his head seriously in affirmation. "yes, vivisection. you have caught my idea marvelously. yes, in cases of vivisection of the soul. for instance, when a loving mother is informed of the death of her son or...a rich man that he has become penniless. but the senses, what can we do with the senses, we cannot hold them in leash all our life! you understand, wondergood? in the long run, i am not in the least so cruel a man as i occasionally seem even to myself and the _pain_ of others frequently arouses in me an unpleasant, responsive trembling. that is not good. a surgeon's hand must be firm." he looked at his fingers: they no longer trembled. he continued with a smile: "however, wine helps some. dear wondergood, i swear by eternal salvation, by which you love so to swear, that it is extremely unpleasant for me to cause you this little...pain. keep your senses, wondergood! your senses, your senses! your hand, my friend?" i gave him my hand and magnus enveloped my palm and fingers and held them long in his own paw, strained, permeated with some kind of electric currents. then he let them go, sighing with relief. "that's it. just so. courage, wondergood!" i shrugged my shoulders, lit a cigar and asked: "your illustration of the _very_ wealthy man who has suddenly become a beggar,--does that concern me? am i penniless?" magnus answered slowly as he gazed straight into my eyes: "if you wish to put it that way--yes. you have nothing left. absolutely nothing. and this palace, too, is already sold. to-morrow the new owners take possession." "oh, that is interesting. and where are my billions?" "i have them. they are mine. i am a very wealthy man, wondergood." i moved my cigar to the other corner of my mouth and asked: "and you are ready, of course, to give me a helping hand? you are a contemptible scoundrel, thomas magnus." "if that's what you call me--yes. something on that order." "and a liar!" "perhaps. in general, dear wondergood, it is very necessary for you to change your outlook on life and man. you are too much of an idealist." "and you"--i rose from my chair--"for you it is necessary to change your fellow conversationalist. permit me to bid you good-by and to send a police commissary in my place." magnus laughed. "nonsense, wondergood! everything has been done within the law. you, yourself, have handed over everything to me. this will surprise no one...with your love for humanity. of course, you can proclaim yourself insane. you understand?--and then, perhaps, i may get to the penitentiary. but you--you will land in an insane asylum. you would hardly like that, dear friend. police! well, go on talking. it will relieve the first effects of the blow." i think it was really difficult for me to conceal my excitement. i hurled my cigar angrily into the fireplace, while my eye carefully measured both the window and magnus...no, this carcass was too big to play ball with. at that moment the loss of my wealth had not yet fully impressed itself upon my mind and it was that which maddened me as much as the brazen tone of magnus and the patronizing manner of the old scoundrel. in addition, i dimly sensed something portentous of evil and sorrow, like a threat: as if some real danger were lurking not in front of me but behind my back. "what is this all about?" i shouted, stamping my foot. "what is this all about?" replied magnus, like an echo. "yes, i really cannot understand why you are so excited, wondergood. you have so frequently offered me this money and even forced it upon me and now, when the money is in my hands, you want to call the police! of course," magnus smiled--"there is a slight distinction here: in placing your money so magnanimously at my _disposal_, you still remained its master and the master of the situation, while now...you understand, old friend: now i can simply drive you out of this house!" i looked at magnus significantly. he replied with no less a significant shrug of the shoulders and cried angrily: "stop your nonsense. i am stronger than you are. do not try to be more of a fool than is absolutely necessitated by the situation." "you are an unusually brazen scoundrel, signor magnus!" "again! how these sentimental souls do seek consolation in words! take a cigar and listen to me. i have long needed money, a great deal of money. in my past, which i need not disclose to you, i have suffered certain...failures. they irritated me considerably. fools and sentimental souls, you understand? my energy was imprisoned under lock and key, like a bird in a cage. for three years i sat in this cursed cage, awaiting my chance...." "and all that--in the beautiful campagna?" "yes, in the beautiful campagna...and i had already begun to lose hope, when you appeared. i find it difficult to express myself at this point...." "be as direct as you can. have no compunctions." "you seemed very strange with all this love of yours for men and your _play_, as you finally termed it, and, my friend, for a long time i had grave doubts as to what you really were: an extraordinary fool or just a scoundrel, like myself. you see, such extraordinary asses appear so seldom that even i had my doubts. you are not angry?" "oh, not at all." "you forced money upon me and i thought: a trap! however you made your moves quickly and certain precautions on my part...." "pardon me for interrupting. so, those books of yours, your solitary contemplation of life, that little white house and everything was all a lie? and murder--do you remember all that drivel about hands steeped in blood?" "yes, i did kill. that is true. and i have pondered much upon life, while awaiting you, but the rest, of course, was falsehood. very base falsehood, but you were so credulous...." "and.. maria?" i confess that i had hardly uttered this name when i felt something clutching at my throat. magnus looked at me sharply and said gloomily: "we will discuss maria, too. but how excited you are! even your nails have turned blue. perhaps you'll have some wine? well, never mind. have patience. i shall continue. when you began your affair with maria...of course with my slight assistance...i finally concluded that you were...." "an extraordinary ass?" magnus raised his hand in a consoling gesture: "oh, no! you seemed to me to be that at the beginning. i will tell you quite truthfully, as i do everything i am telling you now: you are not a fool at all, wondergood. i have grown to know you more intimately. it doesn't matter that you have so naïvely surrendered your billions to me...many wise men have been fooled before by clever...scoundrels! your misfortune is quite another thing." i had the strength to smile: "my love for human beings?" "no, my friend: your contempt for human beings! your _contempt_ and at the same time your naïve faith in them arising from it. you regard human beings so far below you, you are so convinced of their fatal powerlessness that you do not fear them at all and are quite ready to pat the rattlesnake's head: such a nice little rattlesnake! one should fear people, comrade! i know your _game_, but at times you were quite sincere in your prattle about man, you even pitied him, but from an elevation or from a sidetrack--i know not which. oh, if you could only hate people i would take you along with me with pleasure. but you are an egotist, a terrible egotist, wondergood, and i am even beginning to shed my regrets for having robbed you, when i think of that! whence comes this base contempt of yours?" "i am still only learning to be a man." "well, go on learning. but why do you call your professor a scoundrel: for i am your professor, wondergood!" "to the devil with this prattle. so...you do not intend to take me along with you?" "no, my friend, i do not." "so. only my billions. very well, but what about your plan: to blow up the earth or something of that kind? or did you lie on this point, too? i cannot believe that you simply intend to open...a money changer's bureau or become some ragged king!" magnus looked at me gloomily. there was even a gleam of sympathy in his eyes as he replied slowly: "no, on that point i did not lie. but you won't do for me. you would always be hanging on to my coat tails. just now you shouted: liar, scoundrel, thief.... it's strange, but you are yet only learning to be a man and you have already imbibed so much pettiness. when i shall raise my hand to strike some one, your contempt will begin to whine: don't strike, leave him alone, have pity. oh, if you could only hate! no, you are a terrible egotist, old man." i shouted: "the devil take you with your harping on this egotism! i am not in the least more stupid than you, you beast, and i cannot understand what you find so saintly in hatred!" magnus frowned: "first of all: don't shout or i'll throw you out. do you hear? yes, perhaps you are no more stupid than i am, but man's business is not your business. do you realize that, you beast? in blowing up things, i only intend to do business and you want to be the ruler of another's plant. let them steal and break down the machinery and you--you will be concerned only about your salary and the respect due you? and i--i won't stand that! all this,"--he swept the room with a broad gesture--"is my plant, _mine_, do you hear, and it is i who will be robbed. i will be robbed and injured. and i hate those who rob me. what would you have done, in the long run, with your billions, if i had not taken them from you? built conservatories and raised heirs--for the perpetuation of your kind? private yachts and diamonds for your wife? and i...give me all the gold on earth and i will throw it all into the flames of my hatred. and all because i have been insulted! when you see a hunchback you throw him a lire. so that he may continue to bear his hump, yes? and i want to destroy him, to kill him, to burn him like a crooked log. to whom do you appeal when you are fooled or when a dog bites your finger? to your wife, the police, public opinion? but suppose the wife, with the aid of your butler, plants horns on your head or public opinion fails to understand you and instead of pitying you prefers to give you a thrashing--then do you make your appeal to god? but i, i go to no one. i plead before no one, but neither do i forgive. you understand? i do not forgive! only egotists forgive! i consider myself personally insulted!" i heard him in silence. perhaps it was because i was so close to the fireplace, gazing into the fire and listening to magnus's words, each new word intermingled with a fresh blaze of a burning log; no sooner would the glowing red mass fall apart than the words, too, would break up into particles, like hot coals. my head was not at all clear and, under the influence of these burning, flaming, flying words i fell into a strange, dark drowsiness. but this was what my memory retained: "oh, if you could only hate! if you were not so cowardly and weak of soul! i would take you with me and would let you behold a fire which would forever dry your miserable tears and burn your sentimental dreams to ashes! do you hear the song of the fools of the world? they are merely loading the cannons. the wise man need only apply the fire to the fuse, you understand? could you behold calmly the sight of a blissful sheep and hungry snake lying together, separated only by a thin partition? i could not! i would drill just a little opening, a little opening...the rest they would do themselves. do you know that from the union of truth and falsehood comes an explosion? i want to unite. i shall do nothing myself: i shall only _complete_ what they have begun. do you hear how merrily they sing? i will make them dance, too! come with me, comrade! you sought some sort of a play--let me give you an extraordinary spectacle! we shall bring the whole earth into action and millions of marionettes will begin to caper obediently at our command: you know not yet how talented and obliging they are. it will be a splendid play and will give you much pleasure and amusement...." a large log fell apart and split into many sparks and hot cinders. the flame subsided, growing morose and red. a silent heat emanated from the dimmed, smoke-smeared hearth. it burned my face and suddenly there arose before me my puppets' show. the heat and fire had conjured up a mirage. i seemed to hear the crash of drums and the gay ring of cymbals, while the merry clown turned on his head at the sight of the broken skulls of the dolls. the broken heads continued to pile up. then i saw the scrap heap, with two motionless little legs protruding from the heap of rubbish. they wore rose slippers. and the drums continued beating: tump-tump-tump. and i said pensively: "i think it will hurt them." and behind my back rang out the contemptuous and indifferent reply: "quite possibly." "tump-tump-tump...." "it is all the same to you, wondergood, but i cannot! can't you see: i cannot permit every miserable biped to call himself a man. there are too many of them, already. they multiply like rabbits, under the stimulus of physicians and laws. death, deceived, cannot handle them all. it is confused and seems to have lost its dignity and moral authority. it is wasting its time in dancing halls. i hate them. it has become repulsive to me to walk upon this earth, fallen into the power of a strange, strange species. we must suspend the law, at least temporarily, and let death have its fling. however, they themselves will see to this. no, not i, but they, will do it. think not that i am particularly cruel, no--i am only logical. i am only the conclusion, the symbol of equality, the sum total, the line beneath the column of figures. you may call it ergo, magnus, ergo! they say: 'two and two' and i reply: 'four.' exactly four. imagine that the world has suddenly grown cold and immovable for a moment and you behold some such picture: here is a free and careless head and above it--a suspended axe. here is a mass of powder and here a spark about to fall upon it. but it has stopped and does not fall. here is a heavy structure, set upon a single, undermined foundation. but everything has grown rigid and the foundation holds. here is a breast and here a hand aiming a bullet at it. have i prepared all this? i merely touch the lever and press it down. the axe falls upon the laughing head and crushes it. the spark falls into the powder--all is off! the building crashes to the ground. the bullet pierces the ready breast. and i--i have merely touched the lever, i, magnus ergo! think: would i be able to kill had i at my disposal only violins or other musical instruments?" i laughed: "only violins!" magnus replied with laughter: his voice was hoarse and heavy: "but they have other instruments, too! and i will use these instruments. see how simple and interesting all this is?" "and what further, magnus ergo?" "how do i know what's to follow? i see only _this_ page and solve only _this_ problem. i know not what the next page contains." "perhaps it contains the same thing?" "perhaps it does. and perhaps this is the final page...well, what of that: the sum total remains as is necessary." "you spoke on one occasion about _miracles_?" "yes, that is my lever. you remember what i told you _about my_ explosive? i promise rabbits to make lions of them.... you see, a rabbit cannot stand brains. give a rabbit brains and he will hang himself. melancholy will drive him to suicide. brains implies logic and what can _logic_ promise to a rabbit? nothing but a sorry fate on a restaurant menu. what one must promise a rabbit is either immortality for a cheap price, as does cardinal x. or--heaven on earth. you will see what energy, what daring, etc., my rabbit will develop when i paint before him on the wall heavenly powers and gardens of eden!" "on the wall?" "yes,--on a stone wall. he will storm it with all the power of his species! and who knows...who knows...perhaps this mass may really break through this stone wall?" magnus lapsed into thought. i drew away from the now extinguished fire and looked upon the explosive head of my repulsive friend.... something naïve, like two little wrinkles, almost like those of a child, lay upon his stony brow. i burst into laughter and shouted: "thomas magnus! thomas ergo! do you believe?" without raising his head, as if he had not heard my laughter, he lifted his eyes and replied pensively: "we must try." _but_ i continued to laugh: deep, wild--apparently human--laughing malice began to rise within me: "thomas magnus! magnus rabbit! do you believe?" he thumped the table with his fist and roared in a wild transport: "be quiet! i tell you: we must try. how do i know? i have never yet been on mars nor seen this earth inside-out. be silent, accursed egotist! you know nothing of our affairs. ah, if only you could hate!..." "i hate already." magnus suddenly laughed and grew strangely calm. he sat down and scrutinizing me from all possible angles, as if he did not believe me, he burst out: "you? hate? whom?" "you." he looked me over as carefully again and shook his head in doubt: "is that true, wondergood?" "if they are rabbits, you are the most repulsive of them all, because you are a mixture of rabbit and...satan. you are a coward! the fact that you are a crook, a thief, a liar, a murderer is not important. but you are a coward! that is important. i expected something more of you. i hoped your mind would lift you above the greatest crime, but you lift crime itself into some base philanthropy. you are as much of a lackey as the others. the only difference between you and them is that you have a perverted idea of service!" magnus sighed. "no, that's not it. you understand nothing, wondergood." "and what you lack is daring, my friend. if you are magnus ergo...what audacity: magnus ergo!--then why don't you go the limit? then, i, too, would follow you...perhaps!" "will you really come?" "and why should i not come? let me be contempt, and you--hatred. we can go together. do not fear lest i hang on to your coat tails. you have revealed much to me, my dear putridity, and i shall not seize your hand even though you raise it against yourself." "will you betray me?" "and you will kill me. is that not enough?" but magnus shook his head doubtfully and said: "you will betray me. i am a living human being, while you smell like a corpse. i do not want to have contempt for _myself_. if i do, i perish. don't you dare to look at me! look upon the others!" i laughed. "very well. i shall not look at _you_. i will look at the rest. i will make it easier for you with my contempt." magnus fell into prolonged thought. then he looked again at me piercingly and quietly asked: "and maria?..." oh, cursed wretch! again he hurled my heart upon the floor! i looked at him wildly, like one aroused at night by fire. and three big waves swept my breast. with the first wave rose the silent violins...ah, how they wailed, just as if the musician played not upon strings but upon my veins! then in a huge wave with foamy surf there rolled by all the images, thoughts and emotions of my recent, beloved human state: think of it: everything was there! even the lizzard that hissed at my feet that evening beneath the moonlight. i recalled even the little lizzard! and with the third wave there was rolled out quietly upon the shore the holy name: _maria_. and just as quietly it receded, leaving behind a delicate lace of foam, and from beyond the sea burst forth the rays of the sun, and for a moment, for one, little moment, i again became a white schooner, with sails lowered. where were the stars while awaiting the word of the lord of the universe to break forth in all their brilliance? madonna! magnus recalled me quietly. "where are you going? she is not there. what do you want?" "pardon me, dear magnus, but i would like to see the signorina maria. only for a moment. i don't feel quite well. there is something revolving in my eyes and head. are you smiling, dear magnus, or does it only seem so to me? i have been gazing into the fire too long and i can hardly discern the objects before me. did you say: maria? yes, i would like to see her. then we shall continue our interesting conversation. you will remind me just where we stopped, but meanwhile i would be extremely obliged to you, if we were...to take a little drive into the campagna. it is so sweet there. and signorina maria...." "sit down. you will see her presently." but i continued to weave my nonsense--what in the devil had happened to my head! i prattled on for a considerable period and now the whole thing seems so ridiculous: once or twice i pressed the heavy, motionless hand of thomas magnus: apparently he must have looked like my father at that moment. finally, i subsided, partially regained my senses but, in obedience to magnus' command, remained in my chair and prepared to listen. "can you listen now? you are quite excited, old man. remember: the senses, the senses!" "yes, now i can go on. i...remember everything. continue, old friend. i am all attention." yes, i recollected everything but it was quite immaterial to me just what magnus said or what he might say: i was awaiting maria. that is how strong my love was! turning aside for some reason and beating time with his fingers on the table, magnus said slowly and rather reluctantly: "listen, wondergood. in reality, it would be much more convenient for me to throw you out into the street, you and your idiotic toppi. you wanted to experience _all_ human life and i would have viewed with pleasure any efforts on your part to earn your own bread. you are apparently no longer used to this? it would also have been very interesting to know what would become of your grandiose contempt when.... but i am not angry. strange to say, i even nurse a feeling of thankfulness for your...billions. and i am rather hopeful. yes, i still have a little hope that some day you may really grow to be a man. and while this may prove an impediment to me, i am ready to take you with me, but only--after a certain test. are you still anxious to have...maria?" "yes." "very well." magnus rose with effort and moved toward the door. but he halted for a moment and turned toward me and--surprising as it was on the part of this scoundrel--he kissed my brow. "sit down, old man. i will call her immediately. the servants are all out to-day." he uttered the last sentence as he knocked feebly at the door. the head of one of his _aides_ appeared for a moment and immediately withdrew. with apparently the same effort magnus returned to his place and said with a sigh: "she will be here at once." we were silent. i fixed my eyes upon the tall door and it opened wide. _maria_ entered. with a quick step i moved to greet her and bowed low. magnus shouted: "don't kiss that hand!" may . i could not continue these notes yesterday. do not laugh! this mere combination of words: do not kiss that hand!--seemed to me the most terrible utterance the human tongue was capable of. it acted upon me like a magic curse. when i recall those words now they _interrupt_ everything i do and befog my whole being, transporting me into a new state. if i happen to be speaking i grow silent, as if suddenly stricken dumb. if i happen to be walking, i halt. if standing, i run. if i happen to be asleep, no matter how deep my slumber, i awake and cannot fall asleep again. very simple, extremely simple words: do not kiss that hand! and now listen to what happened further: and so: i bowed over _maria's_ hand. but so strange and sudden was magnus' cry, so great was the command in his hoarse voice, that it was impossible to disobey. it was as if he had stopped a blind man on the edge of a precipice! _but_ i failed to grasp his meaning and raised my head in perplexity, still holding maria's hand in mine, and looked at magnus. he was breathing heavily, as if he had actually witnessed my fall into the abyss--and in reply to my questioning look, he said in a stifled tone: "let her hand alone. maria get away from him." maria released her hand and stepped aside, at a distance from me. still perplexed i watched her, standing alone! i tried to grasp the situation. for a brief moment it seemed even extremely ludicrous and reminded me of a scene in a comedy, in which the angry father comes unexpectedly upon the sweethearts, but my silly laughter died away immediately and in obedient expectation i raised my eyes to magnus. magnus hesitated. rising with an effort, he twice paced the length of the room and halting before me, with his hands clasped behind him, said: "with all your eccentricities, you're a decent man, wondergood. i have _robbed_ you (that was how he put it) but i can no longer permit you to kiss the hand of this woman. listen! listen! i have already told you you must change your outlook upon men. i know it is very difficult and i sympathize with you, but it is essential that you do it, old friend. listen! listen! i misled you: maria is not my daughter...i have no children. neither is she a...madonna. she is my mistress and she was that as recently as last night...." now i understand that magnus was merciful in his own way and was intentionally submerging me slowly into darkness. but at that time i did not realize this and _slowly_ stifling, my breath gradually dying, i lost consciousness. and when with magnus' last words the light fled from me and impenetrable night enveloped my being, i whipped out my revolver and fired at magnus several times in succession. i do not know how many shots i fired. i remember only a series of laughing, flickering flames and the movements of my hand, pushing the weapon forward. i cannot remember at all how and when his _aides_ rushed in and disarmed me. when i regained my senses this was the picture i saw: the _aides_ were gone. i was sitting deep in my chair before the dark fireplace, my hair was wet, while above my left eyebrow there was a bandage soaked in blood. my collar was gone and my shirt was torn, my left sleeve was almost entirely torn off, so that i had to keep jerking it up constantly. maria stood on the same spot, in the same pose, as if she had not moved at all during the struggle. i was surprised to see toppi, who sat in a corner and gazed at me strangely. at the table, with his back to me, stood magnus. he was pouring out some wine for himself. when i heaved a particularly deep sigh, magnus turned quickly and said in a strangely familiar tone: "do you want some wine, wondergood? you may have a glass now. here, drink.... you see you failed to hit me. i do not know whether to be glad or not, but i am alive. to your health, old man!" i touched my brow with my finger and mumbled: "blood...." "a mere trifle, just a little scratch. it won't matter. don't touch it." "it smells." "with powder? yes, that'll soon pass, too. toppi is here. do you see him? he asked permission to stay here. you won't object if your secretary remains while we continue our conversation? he is extremely devoted to you." i looked at toppi and smiled. toppi made a grimace and sighed gently: "mr. wondergood! it is i, your toppi." and he burst into tears. this old devil, still emitting the odor of fur, this old clown in black, this sexton with hanging nose, this seducer of little girls--burst into tears! but still worse was it when, blinking my eyes, i, too, began to weep, i, "the wise, immortal, almighty!" thus we both wept, two deceived devils who happened to drop in upon this earth, and human beings--i am happy to give them their due!--looked on with deep sympathy for our tears. weeping and laughing at the same time, i asked: "it's difficult to be a man, toppi?" and toppi, sobbing, replied obediently: "very difficult, mr. wondergood." but here i happened to look at maria and my sentimental tears immediately dried. in general, that evening is memorable for the sudden and ludicrous transformations of my moods. you probably know them, old man? now i wept and beat the lyre, like a weeping post, now i became permeated with a stony calm and a sense of unconquerable power, or i began to chatter nonsense, like a parrot scared to death by a dog, and kept up my chatter, louder, sillier and more and more unbearable, until a new mood bore me off into a deep and inexpressible sadness. magnus caught my look at maria and smiled involuntarily. i adjusted the collar of my torn shirt and said _dryly_: "i do not know whether to be glad or sorry that i failed to kill you, old friend. i am quite calm now, however, and would like you to tell me everything about...that woman. but as you are a liar, let me question her first. signorina maria, you were my bride? and in a few days i hoped to call you my wife. but tell me the truth: are you really...this man's mistress?" "yes, signor." "and...how long?" "five years, signor." "and how old are you now." "nineteen, signor." "that means you were fourteen.... now you may continue, magnus." "oh, my god!" (it was toppi who exclaimed.) "sit down, maria.--as you see, wondergood,"--began magnus in a dry and calm tone, as if he were demonstrating not himself but some sort of a chemical compound--"this mistress of mine is quite an extraordinary phenomenon. with all her unusual resemblance to the madonna, capable of deceiving men better versed than you or i in religion, with all her really unearthly beauty, chastity and charm--she is a licentious and quite shameless creature, ready to sell herself from head to foot...." "magnus!" "calm yourself. you see how she listens to me? even your old toppi is cringing and blushing while she--her gaze is clear and all her features are filled with placid harmony...did you notice how clear maria's gaze is? do you hear me?" "yes, certainly." "would you like wine or an orange? take it. there it is on the table. incidentally, observe her graceful walk: she seems to be always stepping lightly as if on flowers or clouds. what extraordinary beauty and litheness! as an old lover of hers, i may also add the following detail which you have not learned yet: she herself, her body, has the fragrance of some flowers. now as to her spiritual qualities, as the psychologists put it. if i were to speak of them in ordinary language, i would say she was as stupid as a goose,--quite a hopeless fool. but she is cunning. and a liar. very avaricious as regards money but she likes it only in gold. everything she told you she learned from me, memorizing the more difficult lines...and i had quite a task in teaching her. but i feared all the time that, despite your love, you would be struck by her apparent lack of brains and that is why i kept her from you the last few days." toppi sobbed: "oh, god! madonna!" "does this astonish you, mr. toppi?"--magnus asked, turning his head. "i dare say you are not alone. do you remember, wondergood, what i told you about maria's _fatal_ resemblance, which drove one young man to suicide. i did not lie to you altogether: the youth actually did kill himself when he realized who maria really was. he was pure of soul. he loved as you do and as you he could not bear--how do you put it?--the wreck of his ideal." magnus laughed: "do you remember giovanni, maria?" "slightly." "do you hear, wondergood?" asked magnus, laughing. "that is exactly the tone in which she would have spoken of me a week hence if you had killed me to-day. have another orange, maria.... but if i were to speak of maria in extraordinary language--she is not at all stupid. she simply doesn't happen to have what is called a soul. i have frequently tried to look deep into her heart and thoughts and i have always ended in vertigo, as if i had been hurled to the edge of an abyss: there was _nothing_ there. emptiness. you have probably observed, wondergood, or you, mr. toppi, that ice is not as cold as the brow of a _dead_ man? and no matter what emptiness familiar to you you may imagine, my friends, it cannot be compared with that absolute vacuum which forms the kernel of my beautiful, light-giving star. star of the seas?--that was what you once called her, wondergood, was it not?" magnus laughed again and gulped down a glass of wine. he drank a great deal that evening. "will you have some wine, mr. toppi? no? well, suit yourself. i'll take some. so that is why, mr. wondergood, i did not want you to kiss the hand of that creature. don't turn your eyes away, old friend. imagine you are in a museum and look straight at her, bravely. did you wish to say something, toppi?" "yes, signor magnus. pardon me, mr. wondergood, but i would like to ask your permission to leave. as a gentleman, although not much of that, i...cannot remain...at...." magnus narrowed his eyes derisively: "at such a scene?" "yes, at such a scene, when one gentleman, with the silent approval of another gentleman, insults a woman like _that_," exclaimed toppi, extremely irritated, and rose. magnus, just as ironically, turned to me: "and what do you say, wondergood? shall we release this little, extremely little, gentleman?" "stay, toppi." toppi sat down obediently. from the moment magnus resumed, i, for the first time, regained my breath and looked at maria. what shall i say to you? it was _maria_. and here i understood a little _what_ happens in one's brain when one begins to go mad. "may i continue?" asked magnus. "however, i have little to add. yes, i took her when she was fourteen or fifteen years old. she herself does not know how old she really is, but i was not her first lover...nor the tenth. i could never learn her past exactly. she either lies cunningly or is actually devoid of memory. but even the most subtle questioning, which even a most expert criminal could not dodge, neither bribes nor gifts, nor threats--and she is extremely cowardly!--could compel her to reveal herself. she does not 'remember.' that's all. but her deep licentiousness, enough to shame the sultan himself, her extraordinary experience and daring in ars amandi confirms my suspicion that she received her training in a lupanaria or...or at the court of some nero. i do not know how old she is and she seems to change constantly. why should i not say that she is or years old? maria...you can do everything and you know everything?" i did not look at that woman. but in her answer there was a slight displeasure: "don't talk nonsense. what will mr. wondergood think of me?" magnus broke into loud laughter and struck the table with his glass: "do you hear, wondergood? she covets your good opinion. and if i should command her to undress at once in your presence...." "oh, my god! my god!"--sobbed toppi and covered his face with his hands. i glanced quickly into magnus' eyes--and remained rigid in the terrible enchantment of his gaze. his face was laughing. this pale mask of his was still lined with traces of faint laughter but the eyes were dim and inscrutable. directed upon me, they stared off somewhere into the distance and were horrible in their expression of dark and _empty_ madness: only the empty orbits of a skull could gaze so threateningly and in such wrath. and again darkness filled my head and when i regained my senses magnus had already turned and calmly sipped his wine. without changing his position, he raised his glass to the light, smelled the wine, sipped some more of it and said as calmly as before: "and so, wondergood, my friend. now you know about all there is to know of maria or the madonna, as you called her, and i ask you: will you take her or not? i give her away. take her. if you say yes, she will be in your bedroom to-day and...i swear by eternal salvation, you will pass a very pleasant night. well, what do you say?" "yesterday, you, and to-day, i?" "yesterday i,--to-day, you." he smiled: "what kind of man are you, wondergood, to speak of such trifles. or aren't you used to having some one else warm your bed? take her. she is a fine girl." "whom are you torturing, magnus:--me or yourself?" magnus looked at me ironically: "what a wise boy! of course, myself! you are a very clever american, mr. wondergood, and i wonder why your career has been so mediocre. go to bed, dear children. good night. what are you looking at, wondergood: do you find the hour too early? if so, take her out for a walk in the garden. when you see maria beneath the moonlight, magnuses will be unable to prove that this heavenly maiden is the same creature who...." i flared up: "you are a disgusting scoundrel and liar, thomas magnus! if she has received her training in a lupanaria, then you, my worthy signor, must have received your higher education in the penitentiary. whence comes that aroma which permeates so thoroughly your gentlemanly jokes and witticisms. the sight of your pale face is beginning to nauseate me. after enticing a woman in the fashion of a petty, common hero...." magnus struck the table with his fist. his bloodshot eyes were aflame. "silence! you are an inconceivable ass, wondergood! don't you understand that i myself, like you, was deceived by her? who, meeting _madonna_, can escape deception? oh devil! what are the sufferings of your little, shallow american soul in comparison with the pangs of mine? oh devil! witticism, jests, gentlemen and ladies, asses and tigers, gods and devils! can't you see: this is not a woman, this is--an eagle who daily plucks my liver! my suffering begins in the morning. each morning, oblivious to what passed the day before, i see madonna before me and believe. i think: what happened to me yesterday? apparently, i must be mistaken or did i miss anything? it is impossible that this clear gaze, this divine walk, this pure countenance of madonna should belong to a prostitute. it is your soul that is vile, thomas magnus: she is as pure as a host. and there were occasions when, on my knees, i actually begged forgiveness of this creature! can you imagine it: on my knees! then it was that i was really a scoundrel, wondergood. i idealized her, endowed her with my thoughts and feelings and was overjoyed, like an idiot. i almost wept with felicity when she mumblingly repeated what i would say. like a high priest i painted my idol and then knelt before it in intoxication! but the truth proved stronger at last. with each moment, with each hour, falsehood slipped off her body, so that, toward night, i even beat her. i beat her and wept. i beat her cruelly as does a procurer his mistress. and then came night with its babylonian licentiousness, the sleep of the dead and--oblivion. and then morning again. and again madonna. and again...oh, devil! over night my faith again grew, as did the liver of prometheus, and like a bird of prey she tortured me all day. i, too, am human, wondergood!" shivering as if with cold, magnus began to pace the room rapidly, gazed into the dark fireplace and approached maria. maria lifted her clear gaze to him, as if in question, while magnus stroked her head carefully and gently, as he would that of a parrot or a cat: "what a little head! what a sweet, little head.... wondergood! come, caress it!" i drew up my torn sleeve and asked ironically: "and it is this bird of prey that you now wish to give to me? have you exhausted your feed? you want my liver, too, in addition to my billions?" but magnus had already calmed himself. subduing his excitement and the drunkenness which had imperceptibly come upon him, he returned to his place without haste and ordered politely: "i will answer you in a moment, mr. wondergood. please withdraw to your room maria. i have something to say to mr. wondergood. and i would ask you, too, my honorable mr. toppi, to depart. you may join my friends in the salon." "if mr. wondergood will so command...." replied toppi, dryly, without rising. i nodded and, without looking at magnus, my secretary obediently made his exit. maria, too, left the room. to tell the truth, i again felt like clinging to his vest and weeping in the first few moments of my tête-à-tête with magnus: after all, this thief was my friend! but i satisfied myself with merely swallowing my tears. then followed a moment of brief desperation at the _departure_ of maria. and slowly, as if from the realm of remote recollection, blind and wild anger and the need of beating and destroying began to fill my heart. let me add, too, that i was extremely provoked by my torn sleeve that kept slipping constantly: it was necessary for me to be stern and austere and this made me seem ridiculous...ah, on what trifles does the result of the greatest events depend on this earth! i lighted a cigar and with studied gruffness hurled into the calm and hateful face of magnus: "now, you! enough of comedy and charlatanism. tell me what you want. so you want me to surrender to that bird of prey of yours?" magnus replied calmly, although his eyes were burning with anger: "yes. that is the trial i wanted to subject you to, wondergood. i fear that i have succumbed slightly to the emotion of useless and vain revenge and spoke more heatedly than was necessary in maria's presence. the thing is, wondergood, that all that i have so picturesquely described to you, all this passion and despair and all these sufferings of...prometheus really belong to the past. i now look upon maria without pain and even with a certain amount of pleasure, as upon a beautiful and useful little beast...useful for domestic considerations. you understand? what after all, is the liver of prometheus? it is all nonsense! in reality, i should be thankful to maria. she gnawed out with her little teeth my silly _faith_ and gave me that clear, firm and realistic outlook upon life which permits of no deceptions and...sentimentalisms. you, too, ought to experience and grasp it, wondergood, if you would follow magnus ergo." i remained silent, lazily chewing my cigar. magnus lowered his eyes and continued still more calmly and dryly: "desert pilgrims, to accustom themselves to death, used to sleep in coffins: let maria be your coffin and when you feel like going to church, kissing a woman and stretching your hand to a friend, just look at maria and her _father_, thomas magnus. take her, wondergood, and you will soon convince yourself of the value of my gift. i don't need her any longer. and when your humiliated soul shall become inflamed with truly inextinguishable, human hatred and not with weak contempt, come to me and i shall welcome you into the ranks of my yeomanry, which will very soon.... are you hesitating? well, then go, catch other lies, but be careful to avoid scoundrels and madonnas, my gentleman from illinois!" he broke into loud laughter and swallowed a glass of wine at one gulp. his swollen calm evaporated. little flames of intoxication, now merry, now ludicrous, like the lights of a carnival, now triumphant, now dim, like funeral torches at a grave, again sprang forth in his bloodshot eyes. the scoundrel was drunk but held himself firmly, merely swaying his branches, like an oak before a south wind. rising and facing me, he straightened his body cynically, as if trying to reveal himself in his entirety, and well nigh spat these words at me: "well? how long do you intend to think about it, you ass? come, quick, or i'll kick you out! quick! i'm tired of you! what's the use of my wasting words? what are you thinking of?" my head buzzed. madly pulling up that accursed sleeve of mine, i replied: "i am thinking that you are an evil, contemptible, stupid and repulsive beast! i am thinking in what springs of life or hell itself i could find for you the punishment you deserve! yes, i came upon this earth to play and to laugh. yes, i myself was ready to embrace any evil. i myself lied and pretended, but you, hairy worm, you crawled into my very heart and bit me. you took advantage of the fact that my heart was human and bit me, you hairy worm. how dared you deceive me? i will punish you." "you? me?" i am glad to say that magnus was astonished and taken aback. his eyes widened and grew round and his open mouth naïvely displayed a set of white teeth. breathing with difficulty, he repeated: "you? me?" "yes. i--you." "police?" "you are not afraid of it? very well. let all your courts be powerless, remain unpunished on this earth, you evil conscienceless creature! the day will come when the sea of falsehood, which constitutes your life, will part and all your falsehood, too, will give way and disappear. let there be no foot upon this earth to crush you, hairy worm. let! i, too, am powerless here. but the day will come when you will depart from this earth. and when you come to _me_ and fall under the shadow of my kingdom...." "your kingdom? hold on, wondergood. who are you, then?" and right at this point there occurred the most shameful event of my entire earthly life. tell me: is it not ridiculously funny when satan, even in human form, bends his knee in prayer to a prostitute and is stripped naked by the very first man he meets? yes, this is extremely ridiculous and shameful of satan, who bears with him the breath of eternity. but what would you say of satan when he turned into a powerless and pitiful liar and pasted upon his head with a great flourish the paper crown of a theatrical czar? i am ashamed, old man. give me one of your blows, the kind on which you feed your friends and hired clowns. or has this torn sleeve brought me to this senseless, pitiful wrath? or was this the last act of my human masquerade, when man's spirit descends to the mire and sweeps the dust and dirt with its breath? or has the _ruin_ of madonna, which i witnessed, dragged satan, too, into the same abyss? but this was--think of it!--this was what i answered magnus. thrusting out my chest, barely covered with my torn shirt, stealthily pulling up my sleeve, so that it might not slip off entirely, and looking sternly and angrily directly into the stupid, and as they seemed to me, frightened eyes of the scoundrel magnus, i replied _triumphantly_: "i am--satan!" magnus was silent for a moment--and then broke out into all the laughter that a drunken, repulsive, human belly can contain. of course you, old man, expected that, but i did not. i swear by eternal salvation, i did not! i shouted something but the brazen laughter of this beast drowned my voice. finally, taking advantage of a moment's interval between his thundering peals of laughter, i exclaimed quickly and modestly...like a footnote at the bottom of a page, like a commentary of a publisher: "don't you understand: i am satan. i have donned the human form! i have donned the human form!" he heard me with his eyes bulging, and with fresh thunderous roars of laughter, the outbursts shaking his entire frame, he moved toward the door, flung it open and shouted: "here! come here! here is satan! in human...human garb!" and he disappeared behind the door. oh, if i could only have fallen through the floor, disappeared or flown away, like a real devil, on wings, in that endless moment, during which he was gathering the _public_ for an extraordinary spectacle. and now they came--all of them, damn them: maria and all the six _aides_ and my miserable toppi, and magnus himself, and completing the procession--his eminence, cardinal x.! the cursed, shaven monkey walked with great dignity and even bowed to me, after which he sat down, just as dignified, in an armchair and carefully covered his knees with his robes. all were wondering, not knowing yet what it was all about, and glanced now at me and now at magnus, who tried hard to look serious. "what's the trouble, signor magnus?" asked the cardinal in a benevolent tone. "permit me to report the following, your eminence: mr. henry wondergood has just informed me that he is--satan. yes, satan, and that he has merely donned the human form. and thus our assumption that he is an american from illinois falls. mr. wondergood is satan and apparently has but recently deigned to arrive from hell. what shall we do about it, your eminence?" silence might have saved me. but how could i restrain this maddened wondergood, whose heart was aflame with insult! like a lackey who has appropriated his celebrated master's name and who faintly senses something of his grandeur, power and connections--wondergood stepped forward and said with an ironic bow: "yes, i am satan. but i must add to the speech of signor magnus that not only do i wear the human form but also that i have been robbed. are those _two_ scoundrels who have robbed me known to you, your eminence? and are you, perhaps, one of them, your eminence?" magnus alone continued to smile. the rest, it seemed to me, grew serious and awaited the cardinal's reply. it followed. the shaven monkey, it developed, was not a bad actor. pretending to be startled, the cardinal raised his right hand and said with an expression of extreme goodness, contrasting sharply with his words and gesture: "vade petro satanas!" i am not going to describe to you how they laughed. you can imagine it. even maria's teeth parted slightly. almost losing consciousness from anger and impotence, i turned to toppi for sympathy and aid. but toppi, covering his face with his hands, was cringing in the corner, silent. amid general laughter, and ringing far above it, came the heavy voice of magnus, laden with infinite ridicule: "look at the plucked rooster. that is satan!" and again there came an outburst of laughter. his eminence continuously shook, as though flapping his wings, and choked and whined. the monkey's gullet could hardly pass the cascades of laughter. i tore off that accursed sleeve madly and waving it like a flag, i ventured into a sea of falsehood, with full sails set. i knew that somewhere ahead there were rocks against which i might be shattered but the tempest of impotence and anger bore me on like a chip of wood. i am ashamed to repeat my speech here. every word of it was trembling and wailing with impotency. like a village vicar, frightening his ignorant parishioners, i threatened them with _hell_ and with all the dantean tortures of literary fame. oh, i did know something that i might really have frightened them with but how could i express the _extraordinary_ which is inexpressible in their language? and so i prattled on of eternal fire. of eternal torture. of unquenchable thirst. of the gnashing of teeth. of the fruitlessness of tears and pleading. and what else? ah, even of red hot forks i prattled, maddened more and more by the indifference and shamelessness of these shallow faces, these small eyes, these mediocre souls, regarding themselves above punishment. but they remained unmoved and smug, as if in a fortress, beyond the walls of their mediocrity and fatal blindness. and all my words were shattered against their impenetrable skulls! and think of it, the only one who was really frightened was my toppi! and yet he alone could _know_ that all my words were lies! it was so unbearably ridiculous when i met his pleading frightened eyes, that i abruptly ended my speech, suddenly, at its very climax. silently, i waved my torn sleeve, which served me as a standard, once or twice, and hurled it into the corner. for a moment it seemed to me that the shaven monkey, too, was frightened: the blue of his cheeks seemed to stand out sharply upon the pale, square face and the little coals of his eyes were glowing suspiciously beneath his black, bushy eyebrows. but he slowly raised his hand and the same sacrilegiously-jesting voice broke the general silence: "vade petro satanas!" or did the cardinal try to hide behind this jest his actual fright? i do not know. i know nothing. if i could not destroy them, like sodom and gomorrah, is it worth while speaking of cold shivers and goose flesh? a mere glass of wine can conquer them. and magnus, like the skilled healer of souls that he was, said calmly: "will you have a glass of wine, your eminence?" "with pleasure," replied the cardinal. "but none for satan," added magnus jestingly, pouring out the wine. but he could speak and do anything he pleased now: wondergood was squeezed dry and hung like a rag upon the arm of the chair. after the wine had been drunk, magnus lit a cigarette (he smokes cigarettes), cast his eye over the audience, like a lecturer before a lecture, motioned pleasantly to toppi, now grown quite pale, and said the following...although he was obviously drunk and his eyes were bloodshot, his voice was firm and his speech flowed with measured calm: "i must say, wondergood, that i listened to you very attentively and your passionate tirade created upon me, i may say, a great, artistic impression...at certain points you reminded me of the best passages of brother geronimo savanarola. don't you also find the same striking resemblance, your eminence? but alas! you are slightly behind the times. those threats of hell and eternal torture with which you might have driven the beautiful and merry florence to panic ring extremely unconvincing in the atmosphere of contemporary rome. the sinners have long since departed from the earth, mr. wondergood. have not you noticed that? and as for criminals, and, as you have expressed it, scoundrels,--a plain commissary of police is much more alarming to them than beelzebub himself with his whole staff of devils. i must also confess that your reference to the court of history and posterity was rather strange when contrasted with the picture you painted of the tortures of hell and your reference to eternity. but here, too, you failed to rise to the height of contemporary thought: every fool nowadays knows that history records with equal impartiality both the names of saints and of rogues. the whole point, mr. wondergood, which you, as an american, should be particularly familiar with, is in the scope with which history treats its respective subjects and heroes. the lashings history administers to its great criminals differ but little from her laurels--when viewed at a distance and this little distinction eventually becomes quite invisible--i assure you, wondergood. in fact, it disappears entirely! and in so far as the biped strives to find a place in history--and we are all animated by this desire, mr. wondergood--it need not be particular through which door it enters: i beg the indulgence of his eminence, but no prostitute received a new guest with greater welcome than does history a new...hero. i fear, wondergood, that your references to hell as well as those to history have fallen flat. ah, i fear your hope in the police will prove equally ill-founded: i have failed to tell you that his eminence has received a certain share of those billions which you have transferred to me in such a perfectly legal manner, while his connections...you understand?" poor toppi: all he could do was to keep on blinking! the _aides_ broke into loud laughter, but the cardinal mumbled angrily, casting upon me the burning little coals of his eyes: "he is indeed a brazen fellow. he said he is satan. throw him out, signor magnus. this is sacrilege!" "is that so?" smiled magnus politely: "i did not know that satan, too, belonged to the heavenly chair...." "satan is a fallen angel," said the cardinal in an instructive tone. "and as such he is in your service? i understand," magnus bowed his head politely in acceptance of this truth and turned smilingly to me: "do you hear, wondergood? his eminence is irritated by your audacity." i was silent. magnus winked at me slyly and continued with an air of artificial importance: "i believe, your eminence, that there must be some sort of misunderstanding here. i know the modesty and well-informed mind of mr. wondergood and i suppose that he utilized the name of satan merely as an artistic gesture. does satan ever threaten people with the police? but my unfortunate friend did. and, in general, has anybody ever seen _such_ a satan?" he stretched his hand out to me in an effective gesture--and the reply to this was another outburst of laughter. the cardinal, too, laughed, and toppi alone shook his wise head, as if to say: "idiots!"... i think magnus must have noticed that. or else he fell into intoxication. or was it because that spirit of murder with which his soul was aflame could not remain passive and was tearing at the leash. he threateningly shook his heavy, explosive head and shouted: "enough of this laughter! it is silly. why are you so sure of yourselves? it is stupid, i tell you. i believe in nothing and that is why i admit _everything_. press my hand, wondergood: they are all fools and i am quite ready to admit that you are satan. only you have fallen into a bad mess, friend satan. because it will not save you. i will soon throw you out anyhow! do you hear...devil?" he shook his finger at me threateningly and then lapsed into thought, dropping his head low and heavily, with his red eyes ablaze, like those of a bull, ready to hurl himself upon his enemy. the _aides_ and the insulted cardinal were silent with confusion. magnus again shook his finger at me significantly and said: "if you are satan, then you've come here too late. do you understand? what did you come here for, anyway? to play, you say? to tempt? to laugh at us human beings? to invent some sort of a new, evil game? to make us dance to your tune? well,--you're too late. you should have come earlier, for the earth is grown now and no longer needs your talents. i speak not of myself, who deceived you so easily and took away your money: i, thomas ergo. i speak not of maria. but look at these modest little friends of mine: where in your hell will you find such charming, fearless devils, ready for any task? and yet they are so small,--they will not even find a place in history." it was after this that thomas magnus blew me up, in the holy city of rome, in the palazzo orsini, when i still belonged to the american billionaire, henry wondergood. do you remember that genial american with his cigar and patent gold teeth? alas! he is no longer with us. he died suddenly and you will do well if you order a requiem mass for him: his illinois soul is in need of your prayers. let us receive the last breath of henry wondergood, blown up by the culprit thomas magnus, and buried by maria in the evening, when the moon was shining brightly. the end * * * * * transcriber's notes punctuation has been standardised. characters in small caps have been replaced by all caps. italic text has been denoted by _underscores_. this book was written in a period when many words had not become standarized in their spelling. numerous words have multiple spelling and hypenating variations in the text. these have been left unchanged while obvious spelling mistakes have been repaired unless noted below: pg - the following jumbled sentence has been edited to remove the repeated phrases: "again silence. finally there came a gruff voice, still silence. i knocked. again silence. finally there came a gruff voice, asking from behind the iron door:" pg - part of the sentence asking about maria appears to be missing from the original. (seek him in eternity.") (images generously made available by the internet archive.) the devil by ferenc molnar adapted by oliver herford by exclusive arrangement with the author new york mitchell kennerley (copyright by henry w. savage) [illustration: olga and dr. miller (the devil)] as originally produced by henry w. savage at hartford, july th, staged by robert milton, with the assistance of julius herzka, director-general of the volks-theatre, vienna cast of characters in order of appearance karl mahler, an artist paul mcallister heinrich, his valet w. chrystie miller mimi, his model marion lorne olga hofmann, the banker's wife dorothy dorr herman hofmann, a banker frank monroe the devil (calling himself dr. miller) edwin stevens elsa berg, an heiress marguerite snow madame zanden nan lewald madame reineke jane murray madame schleswig guests at the theodosia de cappet madame lassen hofmanns' ball tina marshall herr grosser john mckee herr besser arthur hoyt man servant franklin bixby synopsis of scenes act i.--karl mahler's studio, vienna. (afternoon.) act ii.--conservatory reception room at the hofmanns'. (evening.) act iii.--at karl's studio. (the next morning.) stage directions _up._ away from audience _down._ toward audience _up c._ centre of stage, away from audience _r._ right of stage _l._ left of stage _c._ centre of stage _r. c._ to right of centre _l. c._ to left of centre the devil act i scene.--_room next to_ karl's _studio. at the back of the stage to the l. is a glass door with portière towards the stage. when this door is opened one can see the studio. bach of the stage to the r. a fireplace with burning fire. round the fireplace an elevation about half a yard high reaching into the middle of the room. this elevation is bordered by a wooden railing with an opening on each side--in the middle of the railing an ancient gothic chair, with back towards the public; the back of the chair must be so high that a person sitting in it cannot be seen by the public. on the r. a door leading into the entrance hall of the apartment. there is a little invisible door covered as the rest of the room, with wall paper, on the l. near the footlights. about a yard from this door, a settee with the head end towards the glass door of the studio. next to this settee a small, ancient table, about one yard high. on the l. a curio cabinet (small); next to it a hall stand with some shawls of different colors. on l. next the settee a large, gilded, stand-up candelabra, as used in churches._ _there are many sketches, framed and unframed, about the room--some statues, some heads, and a very elegant electric candelabra hanging in the middle of the room. the whole thing unharmonious but artistic. down stage on the r. a medium-sized table littered with books, magazines and bric-à-brac; a large palette lies on the top of some books and scattered among the other things some tubes of paint and paint brushes._ (_when the curtain rises the stage is empty for a few minutes._) karl, _comes in with hat and overcoat which he takes off_ heinrich! heinrich! [heinrich, _coming from studio_. karl where were you? heinrich nowhere, sir. karl the door is wide open; anybody could have walked in. [heinrich _goes into the studio and comes out with a velvet house-jacket. calling after him:_ where's today's paper? [_he finds the newspaper._ well, hurry up. [heinrich _comes back and helps_ karl _put on his jacket._ karl, _lights a cigarette_ did you take my dress suit to be pressed? heinrich yes, sir: he will bring it back in an hour. [_starts r._ karl good! here's a crown. get me a white tie, same as the last one. [heinrich _starts r._ hold on! put out a dress shirt on the bed, then look for my pearl buttons--they are probably in the top drawer--in a match-box. stop! give me that crown. take this. [_gives him a bill._ get me a pair of white gloves, seven and a half. oh! and heinrich, before you go, put the venetian chair next to the window. at three o'clock mrs. zanden will be here to have her portrait painted, and i shall be at home to nobody. [_reclines on the settee._ give me an ash tray. [heinrich _gives it to him._ all right; go along. heinrich beg your pardon, sir-- karl, _seated on couch l._ what is it? heinrich mimi is here. karl where? heinrich waiting in the studio. karl, _indifferent, reading newspaper_ send her away. heinrich, _goes to the glass door_ fräulein, herr marler does not need you today. [_exit l._ mimi, _coming in_ hallo. [karl _is silent, continues reading his paper._ [mimi _comes down l._ don't you want to work today? karl no. [_continues reading paper._ [heinrich _goes into the studio._ mimi, _in bad humor, crosses to c._ good-bye. [_turns around._ and tomorrow? karl no. mimi, _sad_ good-bye. (_wipes her eyes._) you don't love me any more ... you don't love me any more. karl oh! it's going to start again! mimi ever since last fall you've been different. i knew it right away when you started to paint landscapes. when you are in love you paint venuses. i know what it means when you start to paint trees. karl you're silly, mimi. mimi i know it. with her hat and coat on every model is silly. karl go home, mimi. mimi, _goes to head of couch_ yes, yes. go home! be a good girl. for a week now you've sent me home without my even taking my gloves off. i'm no use any more. [_begins to cry but stops it at once._ look here: i know everything. karl really? mimi [_from behind him, raises his head._ look at me! look at me! you want to get married? tell me no--you don't dare. karl no. mimi, _comes to l. of him_ oh, you tell me anything you want to my face; but i know you're going to marry a girl named elsa--the wife of your friend mr. zanden has arranged everything--look at me and deny it, if you dare. after all, what's the use! you wouldn't tell me the truth anyway. karl you little mind-reader. mimi she's a nice one, mrs. zanden! instead of taking you on herself, she marries you to a friend of hers. but i don't care; you don't love me any more--doing landscapes all the time. karl well, what do you want? mimi, _crosses to r. of him and kneels_ tell me you do love me. (_pouting_.) karl, _bored_ yes, yes--of course. mimi, _imitating him_ yes, yes, of course. is that the best you can do? karl well, what shall i say? mimi oh! you painters! it's always the same. first you say: "what an angel! what a madonna! what a venus! what color! what hair! what lines!" then all of a sudden, it's: "oh, my dear! why, you've gone yellow." the next day you're green, and then it's: "i have no time today." and, first thing you know, you're--pooh! landscapes. (_scornfully_.) [_she goes to him above table at head of couch, takes his head in her hands._ don't you _like_ me? karl, smiling why, yes. mimi if you were really nice, you would at least promise to marry me. all the other artists promised. they weren't so mean as you are! oh yes, i know i am annoying you. i'm absolutely boring you. karl if you were not such a dear little nuisance-- [_reaches up and draws her down to him._ --i would have done with you a long time ago. [_kisses her._ and now, run away, little girl: go home. mimi don't you want me tomorrow? or the day after tomorrow? karl no. mimi, _crossing to him at couch_ you will never have me pose any more for you at all? karl, _rises; crosses with her to door r._ i'll look in on you this evening on my way to the zandens'. mimi but you can't work in my house. i've only a lamp! karl ha! ha! ha! well, we'll put that out! [_has taken her to the door._ mimi oh, will we! [_laughing._ maybe _you'll_ get put out. karl bye, bye! [_mimi exits._ [_lights another cigarette--the bell rings sharply. calls, somewhat excited._ heinrich! heinrich! heinrich, _comes in from studio_ yes, sir. [_runs through the door on the r., which he leaves open, and goes off to open the hall door._ karl [_fixes his tie nervously, puts away newspaper, puts out his cigarette in ash tray, and arranges his hair. he goes towards the door through which_ herman _and_ olga _enter_, heinrich _closes the door from the outside_, karl _bows_. madame! [_bows silently to_ herman. herman, _in a hurry_ i only came to bring olga, my boy: i must go back at once. [olga _has been looking around._ olga, _going to c. and over to l._ so this is the famous studio. karl, _looking around_ funny, isn't it? more like a junk shop. herman we might have chosen another day to begin olga's portrait--we have waited six years, so we could just as well have waited until tomorrow; but the preparations for tonight's ball made olga so nervous that i thought it best to bring her here. you know this ball is a kind of house-warming. [_crosses over to c._ olga we were obliged to invite such a _lot_ of people, to clear off our social obligations. herman i wish it was over. i hate these functions. old freebody, in whose business i started, was worth ninety millions, and he never gave a party in his life--or anything else, for that matter. when do you want me to call for olga? karl, _r. c._ well, it gets dark very early now: in three quarters of an hour we won't be able to see any more. herman well, then-- karl, _looking at his watch_ let's say four o'clock. olga, _after looking at a picture l. very closely_ who is that? karl oh, some model. olga wasn't that the girl we just met on the stairs? herman _crosses quickly to l._ i must have a look at her. [_looks at picture._ [olga _stands so as to hide picture._ oh, better not. [_makes a gesture as if he had seen something indecent._ well, every minute counts--i must be off. [_shakes his finger at_ karl. you'll have to stop that sort of thing, now, karl. you know you are one of the reasons of tonight's ball. isn't he, olga? olga yes--tonight karl is to fall in love with his future wife. karl, _goes l. c._ i shall do my best. [_to_ herman. sentenced to marry! well, i'm prepared to meet my doom. olga, _seated on couch, with a little sigh_ at last! i shall be glad. herman so shall i. so will the girl. so will karl. karl i hope so. she's a charming girl. olga wait till you-- karl i know--i know. i shall adore her. but i have till this evening, you know. herman, _crossing to_ olga well, i'm off. my agent may telephone any minute. [_he kisses_ olga's _hand_. i shall call for you at four o'clock, my dear. and don't worry about tonight: the caterer has his instructions. [_crossing to r., shaking hands with_ karl, _who holds him back._ karl, _shaking_ herman's _hand_ aren't you afraid to leave your wife? herman shall i tell you the truth? i'm hurrying because i'm afraid of changing my mind and taking olga away with me. olga you're not jealous? herman, _at door_ if i wasn't afraid of appearing ridiculous, i would say: be good! and now, good-bye. [_he goes off_, karl _bringing him to the door of entrance hall._ karl [_coming back, closes the door, stands still for a minute--when he comes back_, olga _shivers slightly and touches her forehead with her hand._ [_crosses to l. c. by_ olga. what is it? olga, _with a nervous, soft laugh_ nothing--nothing at all. karl, _tenderly_ are you frightened? [olga _does not answer._ tell me. olga, _nervous, confused, as if she was afraid of him_ i don't know, but--i feel as if--as if-- karl what do you mean? olga, _trying to laugh, but very nervously_ i had the same feeling once in dresden, when my mother took me to a boarding-school and left me there. i felt as if i were quite alone in this wide, strange world--and now--you know yourself. i have fought against coming here for six years. [_looks around._ what a queer place. i don't think i like it. [karl _crosses c. and up laughing._ strange monsters, cut off heads, and you in the middle of all this like a wizard. while my husband was here i did not feel it, but now these heads seem to stare at me. [_she shivers._ karl don't be nervous--every woman i paint comes here. olga, _seated on couch, quietly_ and do you paint every woman that comes here? karl no. [_silence._ olga did you understand my husband just now? karl i think i did. olga he has often pretended to be jealous, but this time there was a ring in his voice that made me feel that there was something behind it. karl you don't really think he's jealous? olga, _crosses to chair_ no. but this is the first time i've been alone with you. karl now we can talk things over. i've wanted to for a long time. olga, _leans against r. back of chair_ we've done well to avoid it all these years. a good conscience is like a warm bath--one feels so comfortable in it. karl last thursday, when we spoke about my painting your portrait, you seemed embarrassed. olga, _looks at him; their eyes meet_ don't let us talk about it. i don't want to. karl don't be afraid of me. if i were not i, your fear might be justified; but as it is, surely we can trust ourselves to talk things over quietly. to think that seven years ago i was a teacher in herman's family--and i was there the day your engagement was announced--it was the evening of the day we-- olga, _puts her hand on his, softly reproaching him_ karl. karl --we kissed each other for the first time. oh, i know. i was only a drawing teacher--but you--what were you? just a poor little friend of herman's sisters. sometimes you were asked to tea in their grand house. and there we met--a beggar boy and a beggar girl at the rich man's table. do you wonder? and then, just as we realized what we were to each other, one fine day herman up and proposed to you. such a dazzling offer--who could blame you? olga, _hurt_ please--please, karl. karl we were two poor little souls who found one another in the wilderness of wealth--only to lose each other. even the memory of that one little kiss.... olga dear karl, don't. we have grown up to be sensible people--we have put it out of our thoughts. karl oh, i know it's all over. to-day i'm--(_humorously_) the famous painter, your husband is my friend, and though we see one another every day, we have never spoken of it again. i wouldn't even have the courage to ask you to sit for your portrait. i was afraid, and i think you were afraid. and so was your husband. and that is why until this day-- olga, _steps down one pace from chair, gives him her hand_ you _are_ a real friend. karl, _goes to her, gently_ there's nothing to be afraid of. olga oh, it was only my husband's voice--something in his manner that frightened me. he must know what we were to one another, though he has never made the slightest allusion to it, not one single word in all these years. but when he left us here alone, he seemed to feel-- [_breaks off._ but there is no reason for it, is there? we are not in love with one another, are we? and it's just lovely to think that we have not entirely forgotten old times. don't you think so, karl? karl, _goes to chair_ of course i do. olga because if we still loved one another, you would not marry, would you? [_taking off gloves._ karl of course not. olga so you will be married and you will be very, very happy--and i shall be happy, too, because it is my own idea, and i have picked out a nice girl for you--pretty and clever-- [karl _bows silent acquiescence._ and now-- [_goes up and knocks on back of chair--business of entering imaginary door, etc. she speaks in an everyday voice, in marked contrast to former tone._ how do you do, professor? i have come to have my portrait painted. karl, _quite enthusiastic, r. c._ last night i made a sketch of you from memory.... oh, i've made lots of sketches of you; but now, now i see you in another light. olga, _r._ how do you mean? karl yesterday i looked upon you as a model. to-day you are a motif--you are a revelation...? there is something in your eyes.... olga please, please, karl, we agreed that--that-- karl pardon me, i'll try to remember. [_goes up on platform._ olga let's go to work now--it's getting late. karl whenever you are ready-- olga what am i to do? karl, _steps behind her to take hat pins out of her hat_ take off your hat and your coat, please. olga thanks, i can do that myself. [_she takes her hat and coat off. karl takes her coat up on platform._ karl, _passing her chair as he goes up_ do you use perfume in your hair? olga i? never! [_at chair up in alcove._ karl oh, then it is the natural perfume of your hair. [_she looks at him reproachfully._ pardon me: i stood too near. [_looks at her in silence. she crosses back of large chair to couch l., and sits facing audience._ olga, _nervously, turns her head to him_ what is it? karl, _leaning against big chair, looking at her dress_ i was just thinking--didn't your husband say an evening frock? olga yes. herman wants me painted décolletée--in an evening gown; just a head and shoulders, you know. i would have preferred a street dress. karl i'm afraid i agree with herman on that point. but have you?... didn't you?... where is the dress? olga oh, i thought you would only be painting my face the first sitting. karl, _comes c., laughs_ so you thought i began at the top of a portrait and painted down? olga, _hesitating_ yes. karl why, the drawing of the shoulders is almost more important than the head in the first sketch. olga oh, dear. how stupid of me. karl, crossing l. i'll tell you what-- [_he selects some draperies from those hanging in the corner._ i have some draperies here-- olga well-- karl you can arrange one of these around your shoulders like--like an evening gown. olga, _mechanically_ yes. karl, _hanging drapery on cabinet l._ you will have to be quick because it will soon be dark. here are the draperies--you'll find some pins over here, and i'll go into the studio while you--until you-- [_goes to door of studio._ olga, _seated_ until when? why? karl why, if i'm to paint your shoulders--well-- [_turns away towards studio._ --your blouse? olga, _terribly embarrassed_ of course-- karl do just as if you were at home. i'll close this door. [_goes to door r. to entrance hall and locks it._ and now i'll go into the studio ... and you can lock this door yourself. [_he has opened the door of the studio and has made one step into studio, and now says in a low tone:_ oh! it's snowing. [_he looks at olga._ olga snowing? karl snowing hard. [_silence_. olga hadn't we better?--perhaps--perhaps--tomorrow--or--or-- [_she has been saying this very slowly, as if afraid, but now suddenly regains confidence, as if she had had a saving idea._ tomorrow i could bring my maid. karl oh, no, no. your husband would certainly want to know the reason, and really--if this door is closed-- [_he goes back to his studio._ it's too bad! this snow takes all the light away. but never mind--never mind; the snow shovellers will be glad of it. [_he has spoken the last few sentences in a very low voice, as if the situation was painful to him. he goes backwards into the studio and now closes the door._ [olga _is standing with her back towards the studio, staring in front of her. she now shrinks together, shivers, turns around. sudden resolution, she turns the key, locking the door to the studio. slowly unbuttons her blouse, looks at the shawls, of which she chooses one, afterwards takes her blouse off quietly, putting the shawl around her shoulders. she has put the blouse on the settee before she arranges the shawl. she now picks up the blouse and wants to put it on the chair in front of the fireplace; her arm is already stretched out when she suddenly drops the blouse, utters a suppressed shriek, dropping blouse by chair, and crosses quickly to foot of couch._ [_the_ devil, _in fashionable frock coat, a crimson carnation in buttonhole, a man of from thirty-five to thirty-eight years old, resembling in face classical mephisto, very elegant, picks up the blouse and offers to_ olga _in a most polite manner._ devil pardon, madame. [_comes c. a little._ i think you dropped something. [olga takes the blouse mechanically and looks at him frightened. i must beg your pardon, madame. i came from lunch. karl was not at home. i waited and i fell asleep in this very comfortable chair. [_he rubs his eyes._ forgive me, madame, for opening my eyes at a moment when, for propriety's sake, i should have at least kept one eye shut. olga,_ puts blouse on couch and goes l., horrified and disgusted_ oh! devil, _right of couch l._ i am aware this is a base insinuation--of course you only come here-- [_ironical_. olga to have my portrait painted. devil i once had a similar encounter at a dentist's; and the lady, to prove that my insinuations were false, did not hesitate to sacrifice a perfectly good tooth. olga i tell you, i-- devil, _very polite_ oh, i know--you speak the truth. i am even at liberty to believe it, though _your_ truth is only partly in style. _truth_ should have nothing on at all, you know. olga the insolence! what right have you to speak to me? who are you? what are you doing here? karl! [karl _tries door outside_. karl! [_she opens the door of the studio_, karl _appears on the threshold and looks surprised at the_ devil. devil, _crosses up r. c. very quickly_ how do you do? karl, _taken aback_ how do you do?--er--how are you? devil, _quickly_ you don't seem to remember me--we met at monte carlo-- karl, _up l. c._ oh, yes. devil quite an eventful day it was. karl, _comes down a little_ yes, yes, i remember. it was last fall, and i had just lost all my money at roulette. as i turned from the table, i caught sight of a stranger frowning at me. [_pointing to_ devil. it was you. i was startled, because only a moment before i had seen you next to the croupier, and i thought i heard you laugh when i lost. but now i remember--you stood behind me, and when i had lost everything, you offered me, a total stranger, a handful of louis d'or. devil you refused--beggingly. karl yes, but-- devil, _continuing_ you took them--protestingly. karl in five minutes i had won everything back, and , francs besides. your gold seemed to have magic power, i remember. when you gave it to me it seemed to burn. devil but you paid me back and invited me to supper. i had to refuse, because i was obliged to leave for spain the same evening, but i promised to look you up the next time you needed me-- [_crosses to r._ and here i am. karl well, i'll be-- devil, _interrupting quickly_ don't mention it. i took a little nap in your chair. [_goes up to back of big chair._ olga, _goes c., pointing to big chair. frightened_ it's very strange--this chair was empty; there was nobody there. devil, _stepping towards her, bowing; in a tone allowing no contradiction_ then i was mistaken, madame. [olga _goes over behind couch l. silence._ [olga _and_ karl _look at the_ devil _suspiciously_. karl, _l. c., embarrassed_ won't you please sit down? allow me to introduce you. i quite forget your name.... devil, r. c. call me anything you like: we only call names when the party is absent; but i am here now--call me miller, or brown, or black. [_start from_ karl. devil _stops him._ if you think doctor sounds better, why not call me doctor miller? karl, _very much embarrassed_ doctor miller-- [_crosses to r. c. the_ devil _kisses_ olga's _hand devoutly at foot of couch_. under ordinary circumstances, i should now take my hat and leave; [_goes up c.; turns._ but my infinite tact compels me to force my presence upon you in this disagreeable situation. [_sits down in chair c._ olga, _crossing to_ karl; _to the_ devil how dare you! karl! this man has the insolence to-- devil, _seated c. very quickly_ your husband has been dead some time? olga, _r._ i'm not a widow. devil, _very quick_ oh, divorced? olga no. devil well, if you think that i have insulted you, i should say the proper person to refer me to would be your husband. [_rises_; _to_ karl: of course, if you wish, i am at your disposal also. [_to_ olga: but, madame, this would be admitting-- karl what's it all about? i don't understand you. you come in here, i don't know how or where from, and you--you act as if you had trapped us-- olga, _goes to_ karl _r. c._ the idea! devil say what you like: i cannot go. olga why not? devil if i were to go now, it would be as much as to say: "pardon me, i fear i intrude." but if i remain, i show that i suspect nothing. karl we don't need your assurance. [olga _crosses to l. below couch._ devil, _bows politely; embarrassing silence_ suppose we talk about something else. i think we are in for a snowstorm. [_standing r. of studio door. silence._ [olga _stands near the door leading to the studio, quite astonished._ are you sending anything to this year's exhibition? karl, _uncomfortable_ perhaps--i may send something. [_silence. the_ devil _lights a cigarette at table l. c._ devil,_ puffs cigarette. on second puff_ permit me, madame. [olga,_ picking up blouse, as if suddenly awakened and realizing her position, goes into the studio, closing the door behind her._ full of temperament--full of temperament. and pretty, too. [karl _starts to light cigarette at table l. c._ karl, _dropping cigarette, crosses to chair up c., sits and looks at the_ devil _without speaking_ devil too bad she doesn't love her husband. [karl _turns quickly towards the devil. quick_: how do i know? the way she turned to you just now when she fancied herself insulted--it didn't escape me. [karl _takes up the ash tray and throws it angrily on table._ no; she doesn't love her husband. he must be either a genius or a very common man. marriage with them is always unlucky. believe me, common men live so low that women are afraid somebody will steal in at night through the window which they forgot to lock. and genius, well! that lives on the top floor--so many stairs, no elevator. her ideal is-- [_a motion of the hand, wanting to express an even, middle position._ --the second floor. [karl _looks impatiently at his watch and goes towards the door of the studio. the_ devil _leans back blowing the smoke of his cigarette, indifferently._ this is the second time i have seen her shoulders. karl, _coming down left of couch_ what do you mean? devil the first time i saw them was in paris-- [_start from_ karl. at the louvre--only they were on the _aphrodite_. am i right? karl, _crossing to large chair r. c. in bad humor_ how should i know? devil, _lifting himself upright, cynically_ which shoulders have you not seen? karl, _angry_ i've seen the aphrodite. devil, _seated on couch_ well, you may take my word. i have seen them both. and, believe me, since alcamenes, i have only known one sculptor who could model such shoulders. karl who's that? devil good living. such tender, soft lines are only possible for a woman who lives exquisitely well. i take it she is the wife of a millionaire? [karl _goes again towards door of studio impatiently._ is she dressing? karl, _nervously_ i suppose so. devil is there a looking-glass in your studio? karl, _comes down l. of couch_ yes. devil she must be very respectable. [karl _looks at him astonished._ if a lady takes as long as that to dress before a looking-glass, she's not a--model--anyway. karl, _crosses around foot of couch to table l. c._ look here! i think your remarks are, to say the least, in very bad taste. devil, _standing erect_ do you mean that? karl, _aggressively_ i do. devil, _patting_ karl's _cheek_ then _you_ must be respectable, too. [_crosses to big chair, karl stares at him astonished._ in a situation like this, only a very respectable man can be so infernally stupid. [karl _crosses to r._ olga _opens door of studio, goes towards_ karl _without looking at the_ devil, _who is hidden in chair._ olga, _dropping shawl on couch_ what's the time? [_crosses to_ karl, _r._ devil, _looking up over back of chair_ he'll be here in ten minutes. olga, _angry_ who? devil your husband. olga oh! so you weren't asleep after all. devil oh, yes, i was. [_rises._ but "what's the time?" always means the husband. a woman's intuition invariably anticipates her husband's coming by ten minutes. if it wasn't for that ten minutes, there would be more divorced women-- [_he goes and unlocks the door of the hall._ --and less locked doors. [karl _crosses to l. c._ olga, _taking her hat_ will this never stop! devil i tried to change the subject. i started to speak about the weather--the exhibition--but karl wouldn't have it. olga karl! karl i? i haven't said a single word. devil, _crosses to big chair_ but your actions fairly shouted. the way you jumped up, looked at your watch, went to the door-- [_to_ olga: he was afraid, the poor fellow. karl afraid of what? [_l. c._ devil, _to_ olga that your husband would come before you had finished dressing. i don't blame him. olga, _r._ what, again! [_goes up to hat._ karl, _l. c._ can't you-- devil come now! let us be logical--let us look the situation in the face. enter your husband-- [olga _comes down r._ "well, here i am: where is the picture?" "the picture?" [_shrugs his shoulders._ "there is no picture. karl hasn't even touched a brush." your husband is astonished--he tries to speak--the words stick in his throat--he gasps: "well, if you didn't paint, why is she dressing?" imagine the situation! you look at one another horribly embarrassed; karl stammers something, but that only makes it worse. nothing has happened--and yet the mischief is done. what mischief? appearances--appearances. they're like fly-paper. there's no getting away from them. [_speaking to olga:_ you go home with your husband, and he doesn't speak--and if you ask him: "why don't you say something?" his blood seems to boil. if you ask him to take a cab, he suspects that you want to avoid meeting somebody--every word that you utter tortures him. and if-- karl, _c._ and if it _were_ so, we are not alone, you are here. devil, _icy and cynical_ just so, i am here--one word from me would save the situation--but--i know myself--i'm a strange, whimsical, almost cruel man--and i'm afraid i won't say the word. tableau! embarrassing silence! then i say: "i regret that i should have come at such an inopportune moment." i take my hat and walk out discreetly. if necessary, i can even stammer my excuses. olga if this is a jest, it's a cruel one. devil, _bowing low_ possible, madame--but i can do better still. of course, if you prefer it, i can make conversation--when your husband comes in, i can tell him that the portrait has not been touched and ask his pardon-- olga pardon? pardon for what? devil, _bowing_ for having--quite accidentally--seen your shoulders. olga, _horrified_ who are you? devil i am one who always comes at the right moment--i come from nowhere. [_very bitingly._ i am here-- [_touching_ olga's _forehead_. olga what do you want with me? you turn everything to evil. i have scarcely known you five minutes, and i seem to feel your fingers at my throat. devil that's because i like you. with most pretty women i take longer. karl, _furiously, starts towards him_ look here: this has gone far enough! [_makes a few steps towards the_ devil, _who stands erect without moving. at the same time_, heinrich _comes to the door, which he opens, and starts speaking at once._ heinrich the tailor has sent an evening suit, but it is not yours, sir. devil put it on the chair in the bedroom. karl but it's not mine. devil, _gives a sign to_ heinrich _to go out and do as he was told. speaking to_ karl it's mine. karl yours? devil, _makes motion to_ heinrich, _who goes out_ [_during speech_ olga _goes up and gets her hat._ karl _walks back and forth l. c._ i had to have it pressed. i told the tailor to send it here. i must dress for tonight. i'm going to a ball the prettiest woman in vienna is giving at the house of the duke of maranse. olga, _coming down r., frightened_ but the duke does not live there now--he's ambassador in madrid; he has sold his house--to us. devil i know. i met him in paris. he told me-- olga we are living there now--we are giving the ball. devil am i mistaken? am i not invited? olga, _in a very low voice, dropping her head_ yes--yes, you are. devil, _very polite_ madame, you asked me a little while ago what i wanted. that's what i wanted. thank you. [_bows and turns towards c. silence._ olga but my husband-- devil, _turning to her_ will be delighted. i've just come from odessa. i have good news. wheat is rising--this year's crop turned out worse than they thought it would. olga, _greatly pleased_ yes? the crop is bad? [_the_ devil _goes to big chair and kneels on it l._ devil so you do love your husband? you're glad the crop is a failure? olga of course i am. [_as if she was somewhat ashamed about her husband's speculations._ we want the wheat to be bad because that will drive the price up. karl what of that? olga my husband will make lots of money. devil, _to_ olga and you will get that new gown. olga how do you know i want a new dress? devil you have a new hat--a very pretty one--and you will certainly want a new dress to wear with it. olga you must be married. devil married? not the least--but i have an eye for feminine vanities. oh, no! a wife is like a single eyeglass--it looks very nice, but one is better off without it. olga, _r._ you seem to have strong views against marriage. may i ask why? devil, _shaking his finger_ because you are plotting matrimony against karl, and i want to save him. karl, _starts toward him; stops c._ i beg your pardon-- devil an artist ought never to marry--his wife will swear on the wedding day to stand by his side all through life. the day after the wedding she will stand in his way. olga not the real wife. devil the real wife is always the other man's wife. olga you're a cynic. devil oh, no, not cynical, only careful. a tigress who has married--i mean eaten--a man, is no longer dangerous--you can ride on her back through the jungle. but, you must wait till she has married--i mean eaten--somebody; then she is quite safe. karl better to keep away from the tigress--and stay at home. devil then why didn't _you_ stay at home p why did you refuse a legitimate position--good, everyday morals--a decent occupation at so much a week? you wanted to go into the jungle--and there you are. now fight your battle--hunt tigers--but don't get married! [_he now changes his tone, goes into the church chair, on whose back he leans his two arms, speaking as if from a pulpit. it is almost dark, and during this scene it becomes darker yet._ and yet--what a splendid couple you two would make. [olga, _standing quite near the_ devil _but not looking at him, buries her face in her hands._ wake up! [to karl: you, with your talent, your splendid youth! [to olga: you, with your temperament, and beauty and longing! karl _crosses to r._ stop! stop! i beg you-- [olga _backs to r. of back of chair, as though to protect_ devil. --for years we have been just good friends. devil [_he now begins to speak in almost a whisper, but getting warmer and warmer, the more embarrassed_ karl _and_ olga _become._ you may say what you like, but i can read your eyes; they say to me: "don't believe him, he lies." [_goes to fire and warms his hands_, karl _stands below_ olga. karl don't interrupt me. for six years we have been --good friends, nothing else. olga cares nothing for me--and i--and i-- devil, _quickly_ what will you give me to interrupt you now? olga i don't know what you, who profess to know everything, know about us, but anyone who thinks karl capable of one base thought must be very low and contemptible himself. devil [_goes behind_ olga _and whispers into her ear. at the end of the speech he is a little to the l. of them by the big chair_. it's not a base thought: it's a great thought--a thought that brings joy and warmth and light into your wretched little lives. but joy has its price--and you must pay it, you misers! the drunkard dies of drink, but while he is drunk angels in heaven sing to him. the poet dies in the ecstasy of his sweetest song. it is a coward's bravery that turns away from the wine, the song--and the lips of woman. the smallest candle-end shows you it is worth while to burn up for the sake of a little warmth--a little light. the only end of life is to burn--to burn yourself up. you must flame and blaze like a torch and toss the fire about you. i know: your moralists tell you to love one another--don't believe them--your grubby little earth with its paltry million years is not ripe for such a love as that. it can only breed monks, madmen, methodists. don't be a fool, be a rogue--but be a jolly rogue--and the world is yours! look at me! i own the earth. here is the key of life--love yourself--only yourself. dress yourself in the softest garments--kiss the sweetest lips--drink of the wine of life--drink! drink! drink! [_bell rings sharply--nobody moves._ olga, _after a pause, in a low voice_ my husband-- devil [_steps down from the chair, crossing c., snaps his fingers angrily, and says afterwards, in a cold, cynical tone_: mr. wheat. [heinrich _opens the door, and_ herman _comes in._ heinrich _follows him, but stops short at the door._ herman i'm afraid i'm late. my agent hasn't telephoned me yet, but i didn't want to make you wait too long. rather dark in here! [heinrich _touches a button, lighting the lights, and exits._ herman, _sees the_ devil, _presenting himself_ i'm herman zanden, of zanden brothers & wilde. [devil _mutters something and shakes hands with him c._ olga, _coming down r._ karl _goes behind big chair_ strange man. herman pleased to meet you. [_converses with_ karl _a few moments; then to_ olga: well, my dear, where's the picture? mayn't i see it? karl, _in the big chair, leaning over back_ there's nothing to see--there is no picture. herman, _looking at his watch_ what have you been doing? karl nothing. (_silence_.) it's been dark for the last hour. herman yes, but i've been gone two hours. devil, _steps to the front l. c. very politely_ it was all my fault. we have been chatting. we've had a very interesting discussion. and madame was kind enough to invite me for this evening. herman oh! i'm very pleased. devil, _crosses to couch l. and sits_ thank you. i have just come from odessa. i had a talk with the russian wheat king. he tells me-- herman yes, i've heard; wheat's going up. olga, _frightened_ isn't that good for us? herman no, dear. i did not tell you this is the first year i am short on wheat. karl what does it mean to be short on wheat? devil,_ seated on couch l._ it means digging a ditch for others and falling into it yourself. [_to_ herman: i don't think you've any cause for uneasiness. i have inside information that the american crop will be excellent. herman, c. if that is the case, i shall be safe. devil you will be quite safe. herman do you also deal in wheat? devil yes and no. i dabble in everything. and always at improper moments. (_rises_.) karl, _has been talking to_ olga, _but now goes over to_ herman i'm afraid i can't come before eleven o'clock this evening. [_continues talking to_ herman, _and both go to fire._ olga, _crosses and meets_ devil, _c._ i must speak to you at once--alone. [_looks around as if she wanted to say that her husband and_ karl _were in the way_. devil alone? delighted! [_crosses by her and goes up c._ olga _goes behind couch and_ devil _addresses_ herman. by the way, if you want to see something delightfully bad, you ought to take a look at the sketch karl made yesterday of your wife. herman, _coming down_ where is the sketch? devil in the studio. [herman _takes_ karl's arm _and walks to door of the studio; in going into the studio speaks to_ karl. herman i'm sorry you didn't start olga's portrait today. what were you talking about all the time? [_goes into studio._ devil, _to_ olga i'll wait for you here. [_he steps back into the room just in time to see_ mimi _enter from the hall._ mimi, _comes right in, crossing to c._ excuse me-- devil you want to see the painter? mimi, _excited_ yes, please. devil, _very gently, pushing_ mimi _out of the door into the hall and speaking through the door_ one minute, my dear. there are some visitors here. sit down there. i'll call you. olga, _comes quickly from the studio_ i wanted to tell you--to tell you-- devil, _r. c._ it is not true. olga what is not true? devil whatever you are going to tell me. olga but believe me. devil surely no woman can expect that. olga but i am telling you the truth. devil ah! i might believe you if you said you were not speaking the truth. olga must i think and speak only as you wish me to? devil not yet. now what can i do for you? olga, _very earnestly l. c._ don't come tonight. now my husband has come, i am myself again, and your manner grates upon me. i had begun to feel as if some strange force--some invisible hand--was clutching me --holding me in spite of myself. there is a mystery about you. it frightens me. i thanked god when i heard that bell ring. he came just in time. devil to point a moral and break up a charming party. we were just beginning to understand each other. olga oh please stop! devil are you afraid? olga no, but i _ask_ you not to come to our house this evening. devil, _with a very polite bow, then drawing himself up_ i shall come. olga and if my husband asks you not to come? devil your husband has already asked me to come. olga and if, in the presence of my husband, i ask you not to come? devil well, i'll make a compromise with you. if you repeat your invitation in your husband's presence, i shall accept; if you do not, i will not come. olga, _breathing freely_ that's nice of you--the first really nice thing you've said. i like you much better. [karl and herman come back from the studio, and herman starts to talk at once to the devil, karl goes toward olga, who meets karl up c. olga, _to_ herman shall we go? herman yes, dear; put your coat on. [_comes down_ l. devil _crosses to_ herman. karl, _meets_ olga, _they go up to recess. he helps_ olga _to put her coat on._ i see now how bad the sketch is. [_holds mirror for_ olga _while she puts her hat on._ olga please don't look at me like that. karl even if i don't look at you, i see you just the same, olga. olga, _covering her face with her hand_ we must give up the portrait, karl ... i'm going away ... away somewhere. devil, _l., with_ herman. you don't say? you represent holman & co. in london? when i am in odessa i am always old mr. holman's guest. a charming old gentleman. no doubt you have heard the rumors. it seems they've been mixed up with some unfortunate ventures which have seriously affected their standing. herman, _seated on couch_ strange! another friend of mine spoke to me about it only yesterday. devil yes, but that isn't all. he's the president of some trust company, and in order to boom the stocks he--but it's a long story, i won't bore you with it now. [_makes as if he wanted to go._ herman my dear sir, this concerns me more than i can tell you. the fact is--i--i am heavily interested. [olga _has her hat on and turns, listening to_ herman _and the_ devil. devil you don't say. but it's a long story. herman well, then--tonight. devil oh, i am so sorry. i have excused myself already to madame, but i had forgotten all about a call i must pay at the russian embassy this evening. herman well, lunch with me tomorrow? devil, _with a gesture of regret_ i'm afraid it will be impossible. i leave tomorrow at nine o'clock for--spain. herman, _to himself_ h'm! i must have this information. [herman _crosses to c., speaking to his wife_ my dear, won't you please ask the doctor to try and arrange to come to our house this evening? olga, _somewhat embarrassed_ well, but if pressing business.... devil, _l. c._ it is not so very pressing. of course, it would mean a little sacrifice. herman, _c., looking at_ olga well-- olga, _r. c._ much as i would like to see you, doctor, i cannot ask you to sacrifice anything for our sake. devil, _as if suddenly remembering something_ come to think of it, the russian ambassador left town yesterday, so if madame-- herman, _goes up c._ devil _crosses to her r. c._ well, my dear? olga, _in a tone of resignation_ i hope we shall have the pleasure this evening-- devil, _crosses to_ olga pardon me. you said-- olga, _very slowly_ i hope we shall have the pleasure of your company this evening? [_goes to door r._ devil, _ironically_ madame, i thank you for your invitation; i shall be most charmed. herman, _coming down to_ karl and you don't come before eleven? karl, _by big chair_ no; i expect an art dealer. herman, _suggestively_ i know your art dealers. fie! and you going to be married. olga, _curiously, and a bit jealous_ what is it? karl oh, nothing. devil, _up c. as if listening_ i think somebody knocked at the door. herman i didn't hear anything. devil yes, there it goes again. [_cynically_. probably the art dealer. [_goes to hall door, which he opens, steps out, speaking into the hall._ oh, it's you, my dear. come in. /# [_swings_ mimi _into room past olga, landing her c._ mimi, _as she comes in embarrassed_ good evening. [heinrich _enters from studio._ karl, _up c. embarrassed_ good evening. [mimi _goes up l._ devil, _r. c., in a low tone to_ herman we'd better go. [mimi _and_ olga _stare at one another._ [_cynically to_ herman: the art dealer! herman, _laughing, going to door_ well, au revoir. [_exit_. devil, _to_ olga quite a little comedy. olga, _at door r._ you think so? karl, _to_ mimi, _pointing to the studio_ please step in there, fräulein; i'll be with you in a minute. [karl _turns to_ olga _with hand out-stretched, as if to say good-bye._ olga _pretends not to see it and bows coldly._ devil, _whispers to_ olga you were good enough to invite me for this evening: i am now going to repay your kindness. in five minutes i shall be back here to interrupt this tête-à-tête. watch me forget my overcoat. [_he takes the overcoat which_ karl _had put on a chair at the beginning of the act when he came in._ heinrich _helps the_ devil _to put on the overcoat, but notices that it is his master's._ heinrich pardon, sir; but this is not your overcoat. this-- devil, _aside to_ heinrich shut up! [devil _goes off_; heinrich _follows him out._ karl, _comes c. to_ mimi didn't i promise you i'd come? what do you want? mimi, _coming to him_ were you ashamed to have those people see me? karl i told you, i'd come. what more do you want? mimi i was downstairs in the lunch room and thought it all over. dear karl, don't be mean--don't get married. karl but--mimi! mimi i never used to care, but now that i've seen those people i--i can't bear it. don't get married! [_cries_. karl you mustn't cry--it spoils your beauty. mimi oh, i'm a fool. karl now, you're talking sense. mimi i've been a silly girl--but it's all over now. i'm sensible again. you are going to settle down and marry elsa and be the most famous portrait painter in all europe. karl mimi, child--don't speak of portraits. i feel at this moment as if i never wanted to hear the word portrait again. i'd like to run away from everything, mimi. what do you say? [illustration: mimi and karl] [_goes to couch l. and sits._ suppose you and i get married and go away--far away into the country--or to the united states, where we'd never be heard of again. mimi, _kneels beside him_ do you mean that? karl, _recklessly_ yes--yes! mimi, gives him her hand that's mighty nice of you, karl. [_rises, goes l. c._ but no! even if you really mean it--which you don't-- [_makes an effort to control herself._ karl, _interrupting_ mimi! mimi no, karl; i'd only keep you back--you must marry in your own set. [_changes tone._ but don't run away--with--with anybody. good-bye.----- karl no, don't go! now you have come, you might as well stay a while--take your hat off. [_helps her off with her hat and jacket._ i'm glad you came back. now, let's be sensible--and talk it over. you know i really am fond of you--after all, i am your best friend and you are my--my-- [_the_ devil _has silently opened the door and comes in._ devil my--my overcoat must be somewhere. your stupid servant gave me yours. [_takes coat off._ it's funny, but every time i come here, you are helping some lady to take off her things. [mimi _goes to couch._ mimi, horrified well, i never. [_exit_. devil you have every qualification for a ladies' tailor. karl you are very kind. devil don't mention it. karl, _impolitely_ i'll fetch your overcoat; i don't want to detain you. [_puts out lights and goes towards studio._ devil the hanger was torn off. i asked your man to mend it and bring it here when it was done. [_sits up c. silence._ i just saw something very touching. karl what? [_goes to c. and sits on arm of chair by_ devil. devil the way that woman clung to her husband's arm as if for protection. karl for protection? (_sneeringly_.) from you? devil look here, my boy; do you think you are wise to be such a fool? [karl _rises, starts away_, devil _catches him by hand._ karl i don't want to talk about it. you don't seem to understand my position. i have seen this woman for years every day, and i never even thought--and if i had thought--i should have laughed at myself. devil, _rises, takes both_ karl's _hands_ look at her! she's yours. think what it means --joy, unspeakable joy--the most supreme joy one can have. and to think that you are too lazy to stretch out your hand! why, another one would toil day and night, would risk life and limb for such a prize--and it just drops at your feet--a windfall. karl i suppose that's why-- [_in a tone as if he didn't think much of it._ --just a windfall. [_sits on couch._ devil, _sits on table l. c._ last fall, on the sixth of september--i shall never forget the date--something strange happened to me. i put on an old suit i hadn't worn for a long time, and as i picked up the waistcoat, a sovereign fell out. god knows how long it had been there. as i turned this sovereign over to look at it, it suddenly slipped through my fingers and rolled away. i looked and looked, but my sovereign was gone. i become nervous: i can't find the sovereign. i search around for half an hour, three quarters of an hour, still i can't find it. i get angry, i get furious. i shift the furniture--no sovereign. i call my man--we both look everywhere until it's dark. i'm perspiring and trembling--i have but one idea: i must get that sovereign back. suddenly a suspicion comes into my mind--i get up from my knees. i scream at the top of my voice to my servant: "you thief, you have found the sovereign and put it into your pocket." the man gets angry and answers me disrespectfully. i am about to strike him when i see the blade of a knife shining in his hands. i draw my revolver-- [_takes a shining revolver out of his pocket and rises._ --and with this revolver i nearly killed a man for a sovereign-- [_look from karl._ --i didn't need and had never missed--just a found sovereign. [_puts revolver on table._ karl, _embarrassed_ i give found money away. [_turns on couch from him._ devil i would have given it away, but--it slipped through my fingers, and whatever slips through our fingers, that is just the one thing we want. [_goes to_ karl. we break our necks for it: that's human nature. and if it once slips through your fingers, you will run after your found sovereign. and then, when it is too late, you will discover it was worth having. karl to draw a revolver for a found sovereign? devil, _sitting by him_ and that little woman will become dearer and more precious to you every day--you will realize that she could have given you wings--that her temperament, her beauty, her passion, would have been the inspiration of your work-- all this you'll realize when she has slipped away. you could have become a master--a giant! not by loving your art, but by loving her--but you won't know it till it is too late--too late. [_he now takes the shawl with which_ olga _had draped her shoulders._ this shawl has touched her bosom-- [_throws one end over_ karl's _shoulder, forcing him to see it._ karl _clasps the shawl and touches his lips to it_. think what you might have been to one another! what divine happiness, not because she is beautiful--no, but because you-- karl, _throws shawl l. of couch_ be quiet! be quiet! do you want to drive me mad? devil, _rises and goes to head of couch_ a life that has not been squandered--has not been lived-- karl why do you tell me all this? why? what do you want? [_throws himself face down on couch._ what do you want? [_horrified, turns to him._ who sent you? devil, _darkly_ nobody! no one! i am here. [_touches_ karl's _forehead_. karl no! and a thousand times no. [_throws himself face down again on couch. screams very loud._ no! do you hear me? no! i have known her all these years, and we've been good friends only--and we'll remain good friends, nothing else. i don't want the found sovereign! [_moving to end of couch._ devil, _coming down l. of couch; very emphatically_ and if it slips away? [_silence. then quickly:_ if another man runs away with it--? karl, _suddenly jumping at a conclusion_ who? [_looks at the_ devil. devil, _triumphant_ i. (_silence_.) karl you? [_laughs and turns from him._ devil tonight! this very night she'll be mine! [_laughs_. oh, what joy! what exquisite joy. for ten thousand years i have had no prettier mistress! karl, _turning to him_ what do you say? devil, _sitting l. head of couch_ mistress, i said. come tonight--to her house--when the lights are burning--when the air seems to be filled with music and perfume. you'll see--before day dawns. karl enough! enough! devil how you will run after your lost sovereign! every hour when you wonder where she is, she spends with me. a carriage passes: your heart stands still. who's in that carriage? shall i tell you? we! you see a couple vanish around a corner, clinging lovingly to one another. who were they? we! always we. a light goes out in some window. who put that light out? we! we sit in every carriage, we vanish around every corner--clinging lovingly together; we stand behind every window curtain in close embrace, looking into your tortured face, your maddened eyes--and we cling closer--closer--and we laugh---we laugh! [_laughs long._ karl [_throws himself face down, back to audience, on couch, in terrible state of excitement, screaming at top of his voice:_ you fiend! [_reaches for revolver with r. hand._ devil _grabs his hand and holds revolver._ karl _draws away and sits staring straight ahead_, devil _rises, leaves revolver on table, lights cigarette, then comes below table._ [heinrich _enters the room noiselessly, carrying a lighted candle, goes behind the devil and helps him to put his fur coat on_. [devil _puts his silk hat on, gives a tip to_ heinrich, _takes up the revolver, puts it into his pocket, and says to_ karl _with a sad smile, in a warm tone like a father speaking to his son_: devil you see, my boy, one may draw a revolver for a lost sovereign. [_goes to the door. as he opens the door, a look of devilish satisfaction comes into his eyes._ act ii scene.--_a conservatory in zanden's house. the l. side of the stage as well as the whole back of the stage is taken up by large bay windows, through which one sees into the garden. in the distance the wall surrounding the house, and some trees in the garden. it is winter. bright weather, but it has been snowing. in the garden as well as in the street, electric lamps. on the r. side of the stage there are two doors, one quite near to the footlights, leading into the apartment--one in the rear, leading to the hall. there is a platform about two yards long and two yards wide, between these two doors. five steps lead from this platform towards the footlights, and five steps on the side of the platform to the middle of the stage. on the top of the platform a door leading to the ball-room. when this door is opened, one generally hears the ball music. at the foot of the stairs, about three yards from the footlights, two square columns having a brass ornament with eight electric lamps attached. there are heaps of plants and flowers about the room. two chairs and a table stand on the r. side of the stage, about three yards from the footlights, two chairs and a table on the l. side of the stage, about five yards from the footlights. there are two settees, l. and r. on the table l. writing material. it is about one o'clock at night._ [_guests in fancy costumes are moving about as the curtain goes up._ first lady guest, _sitting l. of table r._ who is the dark man you left so suddenly in the ball room? second lady guest, _enters and comes down stairs to back of table l._ i don't know his name. first lady guest a most disagreeable man. second lady guest, _crosses to group l. c._ oh, dreadful! he behaved shockingly to my husband. he told him that it will be so cold tonight that his teeth will shiver in their box. first lady guest olga tells me he is a friend of herr karl's, and she only invited him as a compliment to him. second lady guest (_stout_) he insisted on telling me of a remedy for obesity. i don't consider myself stout--do you? elsa, _c., laughingly_ no! i think i'm just right. he sounds interesting--i'd like to meet him. first lady guest you'll be sorry if you do. elsa oh, indeed. second lady guest he'll be very disagreeable, i assure you. elsa i'm not afraid of him. [_wants to go up steps._ first gentleman guest,_ l. c._ miss elsa, i really think you had better not. second lady guest if miss elsa wants to speak to him let her do so. i think she is the only one really capable of putting him in his place. third lady guest, _seated l. of table r._ oh, she'll make him sit up. elsa thanks, awfully. oh, i know what you call me--the blue-stocking--sassy elsa-- second lady guest elsa, i never said you were a blue-stocking. first lady guest i never called you sassy elsa. elsa but i am--you know i am-- [_pointing at herself._ that's why nobody dares to tell me how to get thin. second lady guest the impertinence! elsa well--you asked for it. second lady guest, to first lady guest it will serve her right if-- elsa, on the stairs i'd just like to see him-- [_the_ devil _is standing in front of her. everybody is silent._ devil, _in evening dress, red carnation in buttonhole; after some silence_ i never dreamed how quiet it could be when seven ladies are not talking. [_protesting movement on the part of the_ guests. oh, i know--you have been very merciful to me in my absence. elsa, _on stairs_ you needn't think i am afraid to say what i think to your face. i was just about to-- [_she makes a movement showing that she wanted to look for him._ devil you did well to stay. they would have said much worse things about you--they would have spoken about your approaching engagement to karl. elsa what! [_astonished_. you know? devil to my friend karl--they want to throw you into his arms. [_the_ others _laugh_. [_in a low voice to_ elsa: i'd like to speak to you--alone. elsa here? [_gesture that she thinks this impossible in a crowded room._ devil we'll be alone in no time. [elsa _goes to sofa and sits l. of table l._ fourth lady guest, _crosses to him; to_ devil i'm very glad you spoke that way to elsa. you have quite won me over, and i don't mind telling you i came very near having to pick a bone with you. devil, _r. c., to_ fourth lady guest, _who is very thin_--_looking at her from head to foot_ by the way, speaking of bones-- fourth lady guest what! again!--oh! [_walks off highly offended._ first gentleman guest, _very effeminate, smiling to the_ devil bravo! i couldn't do that--not that i lack courage. i am famous for my courage--i just love a fight--i once slapped the face of an athlete who dared to insult a lady. devil you coward! first gentleman guest what--coward? devil yes, coward. if you dared to slap the face of a cripple i might admire your courage. [first gentleman guest _starts to answer, but afterwards makes a gesture seeming to say nothing can be done with the_ devil--_going off slowly up the stairs._ second gentleman guest, _after a few seconds talking quietly to the_ devil oh-h-h! you are a free-thinker. so am i! devil, _as if astonished_ you think? second gentleman guest i do. devil what with? [_exit_ second gentleman guest, _angrily_. [_to_ second lady guest, _the stout one, seated r. of table l._ a pity you _don't_ dance--there's nothing like it for reducing the figure. [second lady guest _rushes of._ devil, l. _to the_ third lady guest, _pointing at_ fourth _her_ husband must be in the furniture business. third lady guest yes, who told you? devil her dress--it is the very latest pattern for arm-chairs and settees--but please don't say i said so. third lady guest, smiling certainly not. [_goes to chair of_ first lady guest. jane-- devil, _joins_ elsa. _to_ elsa look--she's telling her. third lady guest, _to_ first lady guest but promise me not to be angry. devil she promises. first lady guest i promise. third lady guest he said that-- devil look out for the explosion. first lady guest, _rises_ oh, i never-- devil now--watch her go. first lady guest i never! [_goes off over the staircase._ third lady guest, _going after her_ but, jane, you promised me-- [_exit_. devil voilà! i am now at your disposal. elsa, _on settee l._ aren't you surprised i haven't gone? you insulted me, too. i only stay because i want to speak to you. devil, _l. c., ironically_ charmed, i'm sure. elsa oh, don't try to be polite--just be yourself. i'm not afraid of you. devil i know it. elsa, _crosses up to c._ perhaps you know my nickname--saucy elsa? [devil _nods his head._ devil yes. elsa politeness would only embarrass me--and i have chosen you to deliver a message to that crowd --only because you can be so delightfully rude. devil i am at your entire disposal. elsa now, how can i be saucy when you talk like that? devil i am your devoted servant. elsa you're impossible. devil shall we end this conference? [devil _starts up c._ elsa, _goes to table r. c. and leans against it_ not yet, please. you informed me just now that i am the girl they want to throw into the arms of your friend karl. devil yes. elsa you forget to say i am the girl who _allows_ herself to be thrown in your friend's arms. is that right? devil yes. elsa, _stands and pushes forward chair_ please sit down. [devil _bows, but remains standing._ elsa, _in a very loud voice. crosses and sits_ please sit down. i don't ask you out of politeness, but because i want to set you right in this matter--and it is much easier for me to set you right when you sit down and i stand up. i don't want people to make fun of me--i know what they say--do you understand me? devil, _gets up_ i do. elsa sit down, please. (_he does so._) i don't want people to smile and congratulate me to my face, and laugh behind my back. i won't have it--and as you started this subject i shall entrust you with the mission of enlightening our friends out there. devil your confidence honors me. elsa don't think for a moment that i have taken these people seriously--i have no more interest in them than i have for yesterday's newspaper. but i don't choose to have them think that they have fooled me into marrying karl. and-- devil, _starts to rise. she stops him_ pardon me. elsa i see through their scheme. but i shall marry him just the same, if he will have me. do you understand me? i shall marry him-- devil pardon me. i don't think you will. elsa you will see. devil you have been kind enough to honor me with your confidence, and now i will be quite frank with you. this marriage cannot come off. [_stands up._ elsa, _points to chair_ please sit down. devil, _takes her hands and swings her into chair_ no! you will sit down now because i am going to set you right. i know the reason of this marriage--but you-- [a man servant _crosses stage_; devil _calls him._ you will find in my overcoat a small leather satchel--bring it here. [man servant _goes off._ [_continuing to_ elsa: but you don't know the reason--or you don't want to know it. and you are about to consent to-- elsa, _interrupting_ to what? to marry a man who is not madly in love with me--any more than i am with him. what of it? we are two perfectly sane people about to make a serious contract with our eyes wide open, instead of blinded by infatuation like crazy lovers in magazine stories. what other contract made by crazy people would be valid for one minute--and this is for a life-time-- [enter servant _and hands bag to_ devil and exits. devil, _smiling_ true--for a lifetime. elsa you are a man of the world? devil, _gravely_ of many worlds. elsa [_looks up quickly as if about to ask the_ devil _what he means, but checks herself and continues_: well, in this world--is it the man chooses the woman, or the woman who chooses the man? devil, _smiling_ _we_ are the weaker sex. elsa answer me! which chooses? devil the man _sometimes_ chooses the engagement ring-- elsa, _holding up her head proudly, and looking her very prettiest, straight into his eyes_ look at me, please. [_the_ devil _looks into her eyes._ elsa, _proudly_ now tell me, can i or can i not choose the man i will marry? devil, _leaning on table r., in a courtly manner_ it is written in your eyes--but--i never thought this subject would excite you so. _elsa_, _seated l. of him, with animation_ i won't be laughed at--i don't care what those people think (_becoming excited_). i know what i am doing, and in spite of everything i _choose_ to become his wife. devil, _takes out little red satchel and opens it_ why? elsa, _beginning to lose control of herself_ because--because-- [_breaks down._ --because i love him. [_begins to sob bitterly._ devil allow me-- [_takes a little handkerchief out of the satchel and gives it to her._ i always carry this with me--it's my weeping satchel--everything a woman needs for weeping. elsa, _weeps a little harder; sobbing, wiping her eyes with the handkerchief_ i love him. [_during the following dialogue the_ devil _takes out of the weeping satchel a little looking-glass, small comb, powder and puff, and gives her one after another._ devil and _this_ is saucy elsa! elsa no. until tonight i was a young girl afraid of nobody--now i feel like an old woman. [_takes mirror._ _what_ am i to do? [_looks, smiles quickly._ devil don't be discouraged. you will have to fight--you must attack the enemy. but first you must be pretty. elsa, _takes puff and powder from him_ i shall try to. [_reaches out for it._ devil you must show a bold front--you will perhaps feel that it is hard for a young girl to fight a woman--your weapons are not quite so numerous as those of the married woman--who knows love already--who understands--may i say something shocking? [_during this speech_ elsa _hands back or the_ devil _takes all the articles except the handkerchief._ elsa, _looks at him, opening her eyes widely_ do you ever say anything that isn't? [_gives him handkerchief, rises._ devil well, i won't. but remember, you have one weapon which will deal the death blow to the most attractive woman--to the woman who knows every card in the game of love--that one weapon is purity. elsa this sounds strange from _you_! devil all the same--it may do you some good. and now--go dance with karl--but don't try to be a woman, be a girl. don't try to be saucy. elsa, _l. c._ i'm not really saucy--i'm afraid it's only a pose-- devil _don't_ pose. be yourself--be bashful--look at the young man as if you were only waiting for a pirate to steal you away from girl-land--and show you the way into woman's land. head high, my little girl---that's it--and if anybody dares to call you saucy again, tell him that you once met a gentleman at a ball to whom you thought to give a piece of your mind, that would make him feel very, very small--and instead you left with a piece of his mind, that made you feel very, very small--and made him feel--as if he were the greatest scoundrel in the world-- [_taking a few steps to the footlights._ which _perhaps_ he is. [elsa _goes up the stairs, when_ karl _appears on the top of the stairs_, devil _is standing at this moment behind one of the columns unseen by_ karl--_but quite near_ elsa. elsa _turns towards the_ devil, _showing her back_ to karl. [illustration: elsa and karl] elsa so you don't want me to be saucy? devil, _whispering_ no. [elsa _goes up one step._ karl, on top step oh, elsa, there you are! elsa, _dropping her eyelids_ yes. karl why aren't you in the ball-room? elsa i wanted to be alone. if anybody wants me he can find me. [_to_ devil, _whispers_: is that better? karl you look sad. are you worried? devil, _whispering to_ elsa say no. elsa, _leaning against pillar r._ no. karl, _coming down_ what has happened? [_sees the_ devil, devil _comes from behind pillar between them, meets_ karl _on lower step._ oh, i understand-- devil, _finishing_ karl's _sentence_ --nothing. [_goes up stairs._ karl, _nearing_ elsa you look lovely, elsa. do you know, this pensive air is very becoming to you--you've always been so cold and--haughty--it's like finding a little white flower under the deep snow; you want to pick it up and kiss it-- [_takes both of_ elsa's _hands in his._ this is the elsa for me! elsa, _ashamed_ karl! devil you will excuse me. i must pay my respects to our hostess. [_he goes off quickly_. karl _and_ elsa _sit down on the l. side of the stage._ elsa i don't like that man. who is he? [_sits r. of table l._ karl, _sits on sofa l._ a casual acquaintance who insists upon posing as my friend. don't let us talk about him. i'm glad i found you here--something natural in this stifling artificial atmosphere. doesn't it seem close to you? elsa yes, as if some hot wind had passed through these rooms--it seems to take my breath away. karl i've never heard you speak like that before. why have you tried to hide--your real self from me? [devil _appears on the platform, with_ olga. _they come down the steps._ olga hadn't we better leave the young couple alone? devil you are much too considerate. elsa, to karl olga--i suppose you'd like to speak to her? karl i much prefer to talk to you. [_they continue talking._ [devil _and olga come down. she sits on sofa r._, devil _in chair r._ olga they seem to have found each other. devil possibly. are you sorry? olga oh, no. devil shall we leave? olga no, i like to see my plan bearing fruit. [_they continue speaking slowly._ elsa they are speaking about us. karl what do we care? let's be happy--elsa! i feel as if i had never known you before tonight. elsa, _moves chair so she can hide_ olga _from_ karl. devil _repeats business_ why do you keep looking over there? karl oh, that's only--i was quite unconscious-- [_they continue speaking slowly._ olga let's talk about something else. you are very naughty. you have come here in spite of my-- devil, smiling invitation. i would have respected your wish but for one very good reason--i made a bold wager this afternoon. olga what? devil i made a bet that you would fall in love with me this evening. olga made a bet that _i_ would fall in love with you? and with whom did you bet? devil karl. olga karl? (_quickly_.) and what did he say? devil his answer was curious. i had better not tell you--i am afraid it would hurt you. olga no, it won't. please tell me. [_turns and looks at_ karl. devil, _following her glance_ well, perhaps later. your little plan bids fair to succeed. olga, _looking away quickly_ i had forgotten their existence. [_changing quickly the conversation._ [devil _pats_ olga's _hands_. you have fascinating eyes [_during the following few words between_ elsa _and_ karl, _the_ devil _whispers into the ear of_ olga, _stroking her hand gently in order to arouse_ karl's _jealousy_. karl i never saw you look so charming. elsa i feel as if i had changed, perhaps you have something to do with it. devil you seem like a different woman this evening--there is something about you-- olga it is because i am with somebody i don't quite understand--but who seems to me a man in every sense of the word. [_this last a little louder, for_ karl's _benefit_. devil your confession is charming. but i should be more ready to believe it, if you hadn't made it. [devil _kisses_ olga's _hand_. karl our first love is generally our last, but our last love always our first--don't you think so? elsa i don't know. i've never been really in love before--but have twice been disillusionized. devil love at first sight-- [_the following eight sentences are spoken very rapidly, almost at the same time._ olga, _distraite_ you are right--for the first sight--that is to say-- karl [_now always looking at_ olga--olga _always looking at_ karl; _the_ devil _looking pleased_, elsa _looking furious._ disillusions--well--yes, disillusions are--disillusions. devil i should hate to have to give an account of myself. olga yes, indeed--but, of course--it's all a matter of taste. elsa the way girls are brought up nowadays-- karl exactly! our bringing up--that is--i mean to say--of course--of course. olga we mustn't forget-- karl i quite agree with you--if--if you know what i mean. elsa, _getting up quickly and slapping her hand on the table_ no, i don't know what you mean. [_crosses to stairs._ take me to the ball-room--i'm engaged for the next dance. karl, _also rising_ well,-- elsa, _almost crying, insisting_ let us go--i wish to go-- [_she goes towards the stairs_; karl _follows her, goes up side stairs, meeting her at the top as she passes_ olga. olga oh! you are not in the ball-room. elsa, _saucily_ can't you see? olga you'd better hurry, dear. elsa i hate dancing, but i shan't miss one single dance tonight, just to spite some people. i shall dance to the last step. [elsa _looks at_ olga _in a very impertinent way_. olga _steps forward as if to give a reply, when_ karl _comes between them; offers his arm to_ elsa. [_exit_ elsa _and_ karl _up the staircase_. olga, _angry_ did you hear that? devil i did. olga, _rises, goes c._ what language! how dare she--she must think he loves her! devil, _rises, goes to her c._ wait! i'll tell you now what karl said to me this afternoon. olga when you wanted to bet? devil when i bet you would fall in love with me. [_after a short silence._ he wanted to shoot me. olga, _trying to hide her joy_ karl! devil karl, with his own hands--with this pistol-- [_takes revolver out of his pocket._ i took it away from him. olga karl wanted to kill you--why, doctor miller-- devil, _patting revolver_ yes, with this simple prescription--six pills. [_puts revolver back in pocket._ olga this afternoon, when you only spoke about me--he wanted to kill you--and now when he saw us here--saw you whisper in my ear--saw you take my hand-- [_goes l. to where_ karl _and_ elsa _had sat._ he _must_ be in love with her. devil, _crossing to l. c._ don't you think a man's a fool to try to shoot his friend on account of a woman? olga oh! karl's not a fool--he thinks the world of me. and you must have said things--but there is no doubt--that he and elsa--like--perhaps love each other. devil, _very cold, leaning over chair at table l._ strange! your being so annoyed at the apparent success of your pet scheme. olga you think it will succeed? devil i don't know. but it's easy enough to find out. olga how? devil this afternoon, when i told him i'd make you fall in love with me, he wanted to shoot--that's love--don't talk to me about respect-- and thinking the world of you--they may fire cannons out of respect, but pistols--no--that's love every time. [olga _protesting silently as if the matter was not quite important enough._ of course, i know--this only interests you because it was you who planned the marriage, and after all you take a pride in the success of your scheme. am i right? olga, _c. near him_ yes, yes. devil, _behind pillar c._ karl shall tell us himself which was the real thing --the attempted murder of this afternoon, or this little--flirtation with elsa. olga you don't mean to ask him-- [devil _shakes his head slowly, smiling._ you don't mean to _listen_? devil certainly not. olga what then? devil very simple. but you must take my advice unconditionally--ask for no reasons--do exactly what i tell you. olga, _after careful reflection, slowly_ y-e-s. devil i think i remember having seen you once at the opera in a very beautiful cloak--fur--was it not?--and cloth-- olga yes. devil with a long train? you must put that cloak on--close it as high as you can--and wrap yourself in it as if you were feeling cold. only show the tips of your shoes--then come back here-- [_she starts towards him_. olga _looks at the_ devil, _as if she wanted to ask the reason_. no questions. olga, l. _of pillar c._ it's all very, very mysterious, but when you look at me that way, i--i--can't refuse ... your eyes seem to have all the world's wisdom behind them. devil,_ r. of pillar c._ you have a poor opinion of me. olga, _turns from him_ shall i go at once? devil at once. and if anyone remarks on it, say you felt cold in the conservatory. olga, _doubtfully_ but suppose he says.... devil, _interrupting_ quick! he's coming. [karl _is coming down the stairs towards the footlights._ [olga _has gone to the side stairs so that_ karl _cannot see her. she rushes off when he is down the stairs._ karl [_who has not seen her--hears the rustling of the silk and runs to the side stairs and looks off r._ who was that? devil who? karl, _coming down to c._ somebody just ran out--does she want to avoid me? devil, _goes r., lights cigarette_ nobody ran away from me. a very pretty girl, miss elsa! karl, _goes to window l._ yes. [_silence._ devil what's the matter? karl oh, nothing--i am not in particularly good humor--but why should i be? devil, _lights a cigarette; offers one to_ karl will you have one? karl, _roughly_ no, thank you. [_uncomfortable silence._ devil you seem annoyed-- karl, _comes back c., as if in a mood to quarrel_ do you want to know why? devil no. karl, _nervous_ well, i'll tell you-- devil [_as if he wanted to go away and evade the conversation._ better keep it to yourself. karl but i will tell you. i'm astonished at the change that has come over you since this afternoon. i admit it upsets me, but don't imagine it is on olga's account--if you don't mind, we'll leave her out of the discussion. devil by all means. karl i've made up my mind to propose to elsa. devil, _holds out his hand in an approving tone, takes_ karl's _hand and shakes it_ i am very, very glad. karl you are glad? devil i am indeed. [karl _stares at him._ what's the matter with you? karl, _approaching the_ devil _threateningly_ look here, that was olga who ran away just now. devil don't be absurd. [_looking at floor as if his secret was discovered._ why should she run away from me-- karl you behave like a school boy. devil what do you mean? karl i mean, my dear doctor--that you are not a gentleman. devil i don't quite follow you. karl when a gentleman would be discreet--he even conceals his discretion. devil very thoughtless of me--but since you have found me out--by the way, what you said about your marriage--is it settled? karl, c. it is. devil you will not change your mind? karl i shall not. [_crosses to settee l. and sits._ devil, _sits in chair l._ very good. now i can tell you in confidence about--look here, you are quite sure you won't change your mind? karl no fear. what is it you want to tell me--tell me everything. i'd like to learn some of the tricks of the trade. i may need them-- devil tricks of the trade? this from a man about to marry? i'm shocked. karl, _ironically_ you look it. what did you want to tell me about her? devil about her? karl about olga. devil, _looks to the ground as if he were ashamed_ oh, nothing. karl look here, i don't mind telling you her husband is? devil deaf, blind, dumb. [_indicating ears, eyes, mouth and forehead._ karl, _concealing his pain very badly_ and to think--and this afternoon--at my house--was the first time-- devil, _goes back of settee_ she's a wonder! believe me, karl, she's a wonder. it's just possible she's good--a dash of goodness won't hurt a pretty woman--but i hope not. i should then have to attribute my conquest to hypnotism--and that doesn't flatter my vanity. what do you think? we had agreed--just now when she ran away--ah-- [_checks himself_ so it _was_ olga! devil well, yes, it was--i hardly know how to tell you--it was a mad impulse. i proposed, just for fun, without the least idea she would take it up; it means risking her reputation and social position--everything--not to mention the risk of catching cold-- devil karl, _startled_ what do you mean? devil well, this evening--before all her guests--there are a hundred and thirty i believe-- karl, _impatient_ yes, go on. devil --before the élite of vienna i may say--she will walk through the ball-room on my arm--in (_suggestive pause_)--an opera cloak. karl, _not quite grasping it_ an opera cloak? devil, _suggestively_ that's all. karl you mean to tell me--she-- devil she will be here in a moment--and then--before all vienna--amid the bacchanalian ecstasy--of music, perfume, dancing--i will escort her through the ball-room like a classic goddess--like a modern _mona vanna_--in an opera cloak-- karl you liar! devil, _apparently frightened_ but, karl-- karl it's a lie. it's a damnable lie. devil you tried to catch me--and i have caught you. you love this woman. karl, _l. c., very loudly_ yes, i love her. i have listened to all your lies--i have seen you as i've seen a hundred like you--steal a good woman's reputation and call it success, social success--and boast about it as you drag her in the mud. you have trapped me, it's true--but you will suffer for it. it is my turn now--and i'll put you out of this house, you blackguard--get out before i kick you out. devil, _c. backs up onto second step; stands_ wait! she is coming now. [_points to door down r._ karl get out, i said. [_the_ devil _goes back slowly up the stairs._ karl _is about to follow him up as_ devil _is on third step_, olga _comes on in her opera cloak and comes down__ stairs to r. the_ devil _goes behind her._ karl _backs over l. long silence,_ karl _stares at_ olga _and the_ devil, _speechless_. olga karl, you have not spoken to me once tonight. devil, _stands very near to_ olga, _cynically_ the opera cloak-- olga everybody is gay, the girls dance as if it were their first ball--the young men as if it were their last. devil strange! that amidst all this gaiety karl should be so sad. olga sad? karl, _with forced gaiety_ oh, _no_--never felt happier in my life. olga i am glad to hear it. karl i feel like--like a boy--of twenty--like a fool. devil, _coming down to c._ no! no! karl i am going to take your advice from this on--i'm going to get drunk tonight. olga, _shocked_ you, karl? you drunk? karl, _l._ yes. i am doing things today that i never did before. i've never been engaged before. olga,_ r._ and tonight? karl tonight i shall become engaged. devil i have already offered him my congratulations--she's a charming girl. karl a splendid girl. much too good for me--but marrying is something new to me--i want to try it. it is a sensation i have never had. devil you don't seem very gay for a bridegroom. karl that's only the last drop of single bitterness--the dregs of bachelorhood--i'll soon get rid of that and then-- olga bravo, bravo! karl oh spare yourself. i'm only thinking of my own pleasure. olga karl, i am afraid you have been drinking already. karl you are at liberty to think what you please. devil he is in a bad humor to-day. i told you. karl, _cannot keep himself any longer_ you will catch cold. why don't you take off your cloak? [_goes c._ devil, _very quiet_ perhaps madame _is_ feeling cold. olga, _wrapping herself tighter in her cloak_ yes, i feel cold. devil any one not knowing you might think you wear this cloak just to show it off. olga don't let us speak about the cloak. [_to_ karl _in a different tone; crosses to_ karl _l. c._ you seemed to get on very well with elsa? karl did i? devil it was really charming to watch them. olga i feel very cold. devil i thought you would. karl cold. i find it hot in here. olga, _crosses back r._ i feel cold. devil perhaps your dress is thin. the way lovely woman flirts with pneumonia--she wears her lung upon her sleeve. olga everything sweet in life comes through carelessness. karl, _l. c., very excited_ and do you find boldness sweet? olga what's that to you? were you ever bold? karl, _crosses to c., losing his self-control completely_ aren't you afraid of me--you two? [olga _shivers_. devil, _r. c., coldly_ i? not even of the legitimate husband--much less a moralising bridegroom. [herman _enters quickly from above stairs, comes down l., stands next to_ karl. herman, _banteringly_ ah, olga! i see you are well taken care of. devil, _bowing_ it is a privilege. herman, _taking_ karl _aside_ well, how are you and elsa getting along? [_goes with_ karl _towards the back of the stage._ olga, _quickly to the_ devil what have you said to him about my cloak? devil about your cloak? why should i speak of your cloak? olga you must have said something about my cloak--i felt it he moment i came in. devil what do you mean? olga the way he seemed to look through me. it was almost as if he imagined--what did you say? what did you insinuate? devil just what you are thinking. olga, _her hands dropping, her head falling backwards with closed eyes, shivering_ oh! how _could_ you? devil, _cynically_ come now, don't pretend to be shocked. you admitted you felt it the moment you came in. the thought seemed to please you. olga how dare you speak to me like that! oh! if i had known. devil then why didn't you take off your cloak? when you saw--you didn't even open it. why don't you open it now? the idea seems to please you still. karl, _re-enters, angrily._ olga! olga [_a little scream._ your arm, doctor. [devil _gives her his arm. as they are about to go upstairs,_ karl _comes back from r._ olga, _looking coldly over shoulder at_ karl are you going to stay here? karl yes; and you, too! olga what do you mean? karl you stay here. devil what's that? [olga _tries to go away with the devil into the ball-room, but_ karl _steps into their way on the stairs._ karl olga, you shall not go into the ball-room! [devil, _as if about to leave them alone, is held off by_ karl, _who steps in front of him now_. you shall not leave--it concerns you, too. olga doctor, give me your arm. doctor! karl, _in tone of command_ stop! we'll settle this thing now--right here! olga are you mad? devil, _goes up stairs below_ karl if i didn't think he was mad-- karl take off that cloak. olga, _at l. foot of stairs firmly_; no karl take, off that cloak. olga, _to_ devil please, doctor, protect me. karl, _half maddened_ then i'll make you! [karl _rushes down stairs_, devil _catches him before he reaches the bottom and holds him back_. olga, _standing very erect, to_ devil why did you stop him--? [devil _lets_ karl _go_. devil, _at foot of stairs, in a very low voice as if ashamed_ really, madame, for all i know-- [_feigns embarrassment._ olga, _to_ devil will you please help me off with my cloak? devil, _starts to help, then crosses to l. of her, with gesture of refusal._ madame! ah! karl, _comes down to her, c._ i will. olga, _very loud_ no. [_wraps herself closer in the cloak._ [devil _and_ karl _stare at each other. the_ devil _shrugs his shoulders_, olga _goes up the stairs._ herman, _coming through the door_ oh! there you are. my dear! his excellency is looking for you. he is about to leave. olga, _as if very tired_ all right. please help me off with my cloak. herman all right, darling. [_takes off her cloak and puts it over his arm_. [olga _stands in the same gown as she had on at the beginning of the act, with her back to the audience._ olga, _looking at_ karl _and_ devil, _and speaking with ironical courtliness, taking_ herman's _arm_. gentlemen. [_exit_ herman _with_ olga. [karl _has been standing on one side of the stage as if dreaming, suddenly runs to the other side of the stage as if to choke the devil who stands there_. karl, _crossing to_ devil, _l. c._ what have you done? [devil _thrusts revolver into_ karl's _hand_. devil look out! it's loaded! [karl _stands absolutely still, holding revolver._ [_to_ karl, _insolently_: if i hadn't given you that pistol you might have slapped my face. believe me, there's nothing like turning the other cheek--if you turn it quickly enough--your enemy will miss both cheeks. [karl _turns away angrily, lays revolver on table r._ [devil _goes down and takes revolver from table r._ [karl _stands absent-minded, when_ elsa _enters with her cloak ready to leave._ elsa karl, i wanted to say good-bye to you. karl, _as if the tone of her voice was awakening him_ oh! my dear, dear elsa! [_about to go towards her to kiss her._ [_the_ devil _comes back and steps between them._ [man servant _enters from behind stairs and speaks to_ elsa. man servant your mother is waiting for you in the hall, fräulein, karl may i see you to your carriage? [_offers_ elsa _his arm and they go off_. devil, _to_ man servant will you accompany miss elsa to her carriage? it is slippery outside, she might fall. [_exit_ man servant, _following_ karl _and_ elsa. olga, _enters from r., agitated_; _sits at table l._ your scheme was a great success. devil what are you going to do? olga, _writes on an envelope_ i'm going to write to him. devil, _crosses to her, reads the envelope_ to karl--but what will you write? olga he wanted to settle my account. i will settle his. i will never see him again. oh! to have thought me capable--of.... how could he? i despise him! devil _pour quoi_, madame? olga because--because-- devil because you love him? olga, _frightened_ what! [_tries to get her thoughts together._ after what has happened, i hate him. and i shall tell him so. devil i am very sorry. [_takes pen from her._ olga don't be sorry. i have much to thank you for. you have rendered me a service. i shall feel better when i have sent this letter off. devil you'd better make it plain. olga i shall speak my mind--there shall be no mistake. devil that's it; express your real feelings. [_with ironical emphasis._ cold. harsh. olga cold? harsh? devil make an end of it--once for all. [_dipping pen._ olga, _taking pen_ once for all. devil now write. [olga _speaks the first sentence as she writes it. at the word "longer" the devil takes it up, finishing the sentence with a different meaning, and dictates rest of letter walking up and down._ [illustration: dr. miller (the devil)] olga, _in hard voice, speaks while writing_ sir, your behavior of this evening has shown me that you are no longer-- devil, _continuing_ --able to keep up the wretched farce of mere friendship. i read your inmost thought tonight and--karl--the knowledge that you love me has made me unspeakably happy. dearest-- [olga _looks up at the_ devil, _who is standing now at her l. he repeats "dearest" and points to letter. she resumes writing_. --why should we struggle any longer against the resistless tide that is drawing us together? my strength is gone. [olga _looks up again. the_ devil _repeats "my strength is gone" by motion of lips, making no sound. she writes:_ --without you i am lost in the black waters--save me, karl. with your strong arms about me--with your lips to mine--i care not where we drift. i am yours, all yours. you are the master of my soul. do not leave me, karl; i love you, i cannot live without you. god bless you! [olga's _head falls forward on her arm_ olga, _as if awakening_ what have i written? devil, _folding letter_ what was in your heart! olga, _laughs hysterically_ i have written everything i had meant never to say. devil, _taking up letter_ if women wrote time tables, they would tell all the hours that the trains didn't start and all the places you mustn't stop at to get to your destination. [devil _puts the letter into envelope._ olga, _horrified_ what are you doing? devil, _coldly_ i will deliver the letter. women sometimes do not write what they want, but they always want what they write. olga he must not. he _shall_ not see it. [herman _comes down stairs_ herman good! you're the kind of guest i like--when all the rest have deserted the ship you stay and keep the hostess company. devil, _crosses to c., putting letter into his pocket_ madame has been so entertaining, that i-- herman, _crossing to bell r._ well, let's have another cognac before you go--quite _en famille_. devil thank you very much, but i have an important call very early in the morning. madame,-- [_goes to_ olga, _kisses her hand._ [_to_ herman: i have spent a very pleasant evening at your house. herman, _coming to him c., they shake hands_ the pleasure is mine. [devil starts to go. olga utters a suppressed cry. devil madame? olga, _frightened to death, with a forced smile trying to appear undisturbed_ there was a piece of paper here. did you perhaps take it by mistake? [_she is almost crying from fright._ devil, _coming down stairs, taking the letter out of his pocket_ [_going towards_ herman _as if he was going to give him the letter._ do you mean this? olga, _deathly pale_ no, no it was not that. [_laughing bitterly._ devil, _bowing_ madame. [_bows to_ herman. _goes off upstairs. bows low to both and goes out._ herman _crosses to_ olga well, i'm glad it's over. you look tired, dearie. olga, _standing by table l._ i am tired. herman you look flushed. but it's very becoming, you never looked prettier. [olga _is leaning backwards over the table, he takes her hand._ my darling wife. [_goes to kiss her._ olga, _unkind_ please, please don't. herman, _crosses to c. looks at his watch_ it is after four o'clock, olga. [_tries to kiss her again._ olga please, please don't. i feel so nervous. herman your cheeks are burning. [_pats her cheeks._ olga, _nervous, impatient_ please-- herman all right, all right, i'm going. [_he goes towards the door on the r._ are you going to stay here? olga, _at table l._ let me rest a minute. herman as you please. [man servant _comes in above platform, and goes up side stairs._ olga, _to servant_ what do you want? man servant the lights, madame. olga turn off the lights. [_the_ man servant _puts all the lights out. the lamps in the street and the garden are lighted, but the room is dark_. herman it would be wiser to sleep, my dear. [_he waits a minute, shrugs his shoulders, then goes out r._ olga, _stands leaning on the table_ to go to sleep.... [_the_ devil _can be seen outside in his fur overcoat, crossing through the garden. as he passes a lamp in the garden his shadow reaching up to the ceiling is thrown on the white wall of the room_, olga _is crossing to r. he takes his hat off, at which moment she sees the shadow on the wall,_ olga _shrieks_. no! [_she drops into a chair_. curtain act iii scene.--_like act i. the afternoon of the next day, about three o'clock. when the curtain rises, the_ devil _is seated in a big chair. bell rings off stage r._ heinrich _enters r._ devil, _rising from chair_ what do you want? heinrich there is a lady, sir. devil what kind of a lady? heinrich a real lady, sir. devil what does she want? heinrich she wants to see my master. i told her he was not up yet, but she said she would wait. devil do you know who the lady is? have you seen her before? heinrich never. devil ask her to step in here. [heinrich _goes off, shows_ elsa _in_. [devil _bows_. ah! elsa you seem to be everywhere. what are you doing here? are you his secretary? devil no, merely a good friend. nothing else. i just happened in. by the way, how do you do? elsa how do you do? [_crosses to couch, sits._ i didn't know there was anybody in this room or i would not have come in. but as it is only you i don't mind. [elsa _sits down, intentionally turning her back to the_ devil. devil karl is expecting you, then? elsa oh, no. devil will you permit me to prepare him for this pleasant surprise? elsa no, thank you. don't disturb him. i can look around while i'm waiting. i have never been here before. devil i know it. elsa who told you? devil the man--a lady might come every day and escape notice--but coming for the first time she would be sure to attract his attention. elsa i feel embarrassed coming here alone. devil i know that, too. elsa from the same source? devil yes; he said you were a real lady. elsa he is the only one here who has spoken to me like a gentleman. devil he must have thought you were a model. elsa, _rises; angrily_ how dare you? devil a servant can only speak like a gentleman to--his equals. elsa, _sits down again; sarcastically_ then i was mistaken--it is not heinrich who is the servant. devil who knows--perhaps he is a clergyman. elsa i don't understand you. devil only two people in the world may open the door of a bachelor's apartment to a young lady--the man servant, or a clergyman with a marriage certificate --you can take your choice. elsa let me tell you i was once left alone with a gentleman who tried to kiss me, and i slapped his face. devil indeed? i was once left alone with a lady who tried to slap me and i _kissed_ her face. [_enter_ heinrich. elsa, _controlling herself with difficulty_ oh! devil heinrich! there's a little leather satchel in the pocket of my overcoat. [heinrich _goes out_. elsa don't be afraid. this is not my day for crying. devil it's when a girl laughs that i'm most afraid. [heinrich _brings the satchel, puts it on the table l. c. and goes into studio_. why did you come here? elsa i intend to sit for my portrait--to do that, i must come every day. devil you intend to come here every day, and to do that you must have your portrait painted. elsa you are clever at twisting words. devil perhaps you know there is another lady coming every day to have her portrait painted? elsa yes, i know. that's why i want mine painted--we'll see which will be the better likeness. devil come now--you must let me sit down--this time i want you to be right. [_raises her and swings her in front of him._ [devil _sits on couch, elsa leans on table._ are you aware-- elsa this is awful--you question me like a judge. devil it is you who answer like a prisoner. do you know that karl is in love with olga? elsa, _bitterly_ do i know it! devil and you still mean to fight? elsa yes, i mean to fight--you gave me good advice. devil that was yesterday. elsa well--this is to-day. devil, _impressively_ yesterday was your winning day. yesterday it was written that you, elsa, would succeed in whatever thing you made up your mind to do, with the whole strength of your will. elsa last night i made up my mind to-- devil, interrupting gravely --to dance every dance-- [_pause_ you danced every dance. elsa, _defiantly_ karl asked me to marry him last night. devil --and you refused. elsa yes--but to-day i shall-- devil to-day is not your winning day--yesterday you chose--to-day you will have no choice. elsa i won't give him up--i can't--i don't know how. devil you will have to learn--let me see--i think i know some one who has learned the lesson and can teach it to you-- [_goes to hall door which he opens._ why, mimi! why do you wait out there? come in here where it's warm! [mimi _comes in_--devil _seats_ mimi _c. he regards them both with a satanic smile--begins to hum a tune and exits l., singing as he gets out; he laughs--his laugh dies away outside._ mimi, _sitting on small chair c. after a silence_ are you waiting for the painter, too, madame? elsa, _seated on couch_ yes. mimi yes-- [_pause_. he must have been on a spree last night. [_smiling_. when he goes on a spree he always sleeps late. elsa, _somewhat embarrassed_ yes? mimi, _making conversation_ yes. if you haven't slept for a long time, then--you must sleep a long time. elsa yes? mimi yes. madame-- [_silence_. is madame going to have her portrait painted? elsa yes. mimi yes, madame--i know all the ladies that come here-- [_quick look from_ elsa. i'm quite at home here--i'm his model [_explaining_. i don't pay for my portraits. [_regarding_ elsa. you have a splendid profile, madame. elsa you always say "madame"--i am not married. my name is-- mimi, _interrupting_ i know your name. i've heard it often. you belong to a very rich family. i know what that means, i used to be well off, too. i wasn't always obliged to work for a living. elsa no? mimi i was a chorus girl, but i had bad luck. elsa i am so sorry for you. mimi [_silence_. i know all about you and herr karl. [_rises, goes c._ elsa from whom? mimi i know everything that goes on in this house. i told you i was his model--i sew on buttons and count the laundry. [_importantly_. elsa does the laundry-woman steal? mimi no. but she uses strong blueing--i know everything herr karl thinks of. [_pointing at_ elsa. elsa, _as if she was getting interested_ and does that interest you? mimi yes, indeed it does. but that's all over now elsa why so? mimi because he is going to get married elsa but he will paint just the same--he will want models. mimi yes, but-- [_ingeniously_. you know, when one has sewn on buttons--and counted the laundry--then to be--just a plain model--that hurts. [_goes up c._; elsa _crosses_. elsa and you like herr karl? mimi, _repressing her feelings_ yes--i--i like him--he's such a dear boy. elsa does he paint you now? mimi, _coming to head of couch; sadly_ no. he only paints landscapes and--bank presidents. elsa then you did not come to pose to-day? mimi a model always comes to pose. it's tiring work, too, i can tell you--and if the artist wants to make love --it isn't her fault--and-- [_sighs_. oh, it's such a rest. elsa oh, please. [_draws herself up stiffly, offended._ mimi now i've offended you--i ought to have known better--my people are all refined--i wasn't born a model. elsa i'm sorry i showed it--but--i--i'm nervous to-day. mimi, _brightening_ oh, i know what it is--i used to suffer dreadfully from nervousness when i was in the chorus. elsa come over here, mimi; i want to talk to you. mimi, goes over and sits on the couch you can talk to me about everything, i'm not a bad sort, really i'm not. i've known all along about herr karl and--and you--he's such a kind man. i was crying when i went away yesterday, and he felt sorry for me and he came to see me on his way to the ball--in his evening clothes--but i didn't receive him. if it's over, it may as well be over. elsa was he fond of you? mimi i loved him, but what's the use? it's like the railway --the station is there and the train comes and then the train goes away, and the station cannot run after it; if the station is small, the train only stops a minute, and-- [_sighs_. one must wait until another train comes elsa you loved him and can speak like that? mimi yes, i loved him, but it's all over now. i was foolish to come here again when i'd made up my mind i wouldn't, but now i'm sensible again; i'll go away and try to forget him, i hope he will be--hap-hap--happy! [_begins to cry, looks for handkerchief in muff, but can't find it_. elsa _takes handkerchief out of "weeping satchel," and gives it to her._ elsa poor mimi! poor mimi! mimi, _wiping her eyes with handkerchief, then returning it to_ elsa. i--hope--you will be--hap--happy--too! elsa i--happy? mimi you are going to marry karl-- elsa no--no--i'm not. mimi but it's you he's in love with-- elsa no, mimi; i'm not the one--it's some one else. mimi you don't mean mrs. zanden--it can't be--why, she's your friend. elsa she was. mimi i don't believe it--it's not love--it's a madness--a-- elsa, _jumping at the idea_ an infatuation? mimi yes, that's it--he's not in love with her--he's not himself. elsa you think so? mimi yesterday he acted as if he were under some strange-- [_rises_. [mimi _looks nervously behind her on both sides_, elsa _follows her example_. under some strange-- elsa influence? mimi yes. [_the two girls look at each other in silence---for what seems like a minute._ elsa mimi, who is that man? mimi, _looks behind her again nervously_ i don't know--i _hate_ him. elsa, _after looking behind her_ so do i. [_they grasp each other's hands across the table._ [_a pause._ mimi, _holding_ elsa's _hand_ i'm glad i came, i feel better already for having seen you. i'm going to be sensible now. i'm going away--and i'm never coming back! [_in altered voice._ what time is it? elsa it's almost three o'clock. mimi three o'clock! then i must hurry. i have an appointment at half past--he's an illustrator--such a talented boy; he's just had a picture accepted by the _fleigende blatter_. elsa and you are posing for him? mimi oh, yes; but tonight he goes to the artists' dinner, and i have to find his dress studs, and iron a tie for him, and trim his cuffs. [_makes gesture of cutting with scissors outside the edge of her cuff._ good-bye. [_goes out quickly._ elsa [_looks after_ mimi, _then around the room, suddenly begins to sob, and calls in frightened voice_: mimi! mimi! [_runs off._ [devil _enters just_ _as_ elsa _leaves_. [devil _rings bell on table_. heinrich, _entering_ did you ring, sir? devil where is my tea? have you any rum in the house? heinrich yes, sir. devil i'll have some with my tea. is your master getting up? heinrich yes, sir. devil has anyone called to see him this morning? heinrich mrs. zanden's maid has been here three times. devil what did she want? heinrich she inquired whether mrs. zanden could see my master. i told her i had strict orders not to call him before three. devil hurry with the tea. [_door bell rings._ i'll have it in here. [devil _goes into studio._ [heinrich _goes out to hall, door slams,_ olga _speaking outside_. olga is your master at home? heinrich yes, madame. olga, entering my maid told me i could not see him until three--it is three o'clock now. heinrich i am very sorry, madame, but you will have to wait a few minutes longer. i will tell him that you are here. olga thank you. [heinrich _crosses to studio door_. wait! has anyone called to see your master this morning? heinrich no, madame. olga didn't anyone leave a letter for him? heinrich no, madame. olga, _aside_ thank god! please tell him i'm here. heinrich i'm afraid, madame, you will have to wait a moment; but i will tell the doctor---- olga, _quickly_ what doctor? heinrich the gentleman who was here with you yesterday. olga, _aside_ dr. miller? _he_--is--in--there? heinrich yes, madame. olga, _aside_ then i'm too late. [_to_ heinrich, _reluctantly_ did you see dr. miller give a letter to your master? a piece of paper? heinrich possibly, madame, but i don't remember. olga tell dr. miller to come at once. say a lady wishes to speak to him, but don't give him my name. [heinrich _goes out_. [olga _walks up and down terribly agitated_. [devil _enters_. devil are you the lady who wishes to see me at once? olga oh, tell me--did you--have you...? devil, _nods_ yes--delivered. [olga _sinks into chair, clasping her hands tightly._ [_enter_ heinrich, _busy with tea things._ put it here. thank you. olga [_without looking at the_ devil. did he read it? devil yes. [_is busy with his tea._ [_silence_. olga my god! devil [_now standing behind olga, tea cup in his hand._ after he read it, he buried his face in the pillow and cried. olga he cried? devil i hate men who cry. olga i did not want him to have that letter. i wanted to speak to him first. i wanted to ask him to give me my letter back unopened i am too late. devil you were not too late. it's i that was too early. olga he cried? devil from joy. olga i haven't the courage to speak to him, and yet i feel that i must. i would like to go away, but something holds me; something i cannot--i cannot--oh, what will become of me? heinrich, _at door_ my master will be here in a moment, sir. [heinrich _goes out._ devil i must be going. olga don't go! please stay. i don't want to be alone with him. devil but if i am here you cannot speak to him about the letter. i shall only be in the way. olga, _very weak_ very well, then, i shall speak to him quite frankly. i shall ask him for the last time-- karl, _voice from the studio_ heinrich! devil, _quick_ there he is. olga, _very weak_ please stay. devil,_ pointing to the small door at l._ i shall be here. if you need me, call. [devil _goes out_. [karl _comes in from the studio._ karl, _kisses_ olga's _hand passionately_ olga! i ought to go on my knees and beg your pardon for what i did last night. olga speak low--dr. miller is in there. karl olga--can you ever---- olga no, no; it is i who should ask forgiveness i was to blame. i lost control of myself. after what happened, i wanted to know--i wanted to make sure--but, you understand now, my letter has told you everything. karl what letter? olga, _reproachfully_ karl, i understand. you want to spare me--you're being discreet; but you don't know me; i mean every word of that letter, i'm glad i wrote it---- karl but i didn't get any letter. olga didn't doctor miller give you a letter? karl no, no; really. [illustration: olga and karl] olga [_angry and almost crying, crossing to door._ doctor miller. [devil enters. my--my letter. devil ah, pardon me, madame, a thousand pardons, i quite forgot. the only excuse i can offer is that there are some letters which ought never to be delivered. [_takes letter out of his pocket_ olga [_takes a step towards_ karl, _looks at_ devil _over her shoulder, shivers slightly_. who is that man? [_silence_, karl _looks at_ devil, olga _is terrified_. [devil _crosses, gives the letter to_ karl _with a smile_. [olga, _quickly, to_ karl. tear that letter up. [karl _tears up letter_. put it in the fire. [karl _crumples up the pieces and throws them in the fire. as he does so,_ olga _makes an involuntary movement with her hand as if to stop him, but he does not see it as his back is turned. the_ devil _sees it, however, and smiles_ devil i sincerely regret if my forgetfulness has caused any inconvenience karl, _at alcove, pointing to door r_ [_offensively_. pray don't let me detain you-- devil my train doesn't leave for an hour. once more a thousand pardons. [_crossing to c., turning to both._ if i could have foreseen what terrible distress the non-delivery of this letter---- karl, _firmly_ you may be quite sure it contained nothing--er--nothing-- [_at a loss for a word._ devil, _looking at_ olga nothing. karl, _at large chair_ you will miss your train. devil, _to_ olga, _bowing_ madame-- [_to_ karl, _offering hand._ [karl _turns his back_. good-bye, a thousand pardons. [_exit_ devil _at door to hall._ olga i would have given anything in the world if you had not burned that letter. karl why--you told--me-- [olga _shrugs her shoulders as if to say, "what can one expect of a man?"_ what does it matter anyway, whatever it is? i would rather hear it from your lips. olga, _firmly_ no! the letter is burned; it is nothing but ashes--it is dead--no human power can bring it back to life. karl but, olga! olga a moment ago i would have given all i possessed to save it from the fire--and now-- karl what has happened? olga i can't tell you. i only know i am glad--i'm glad. [olga _here seems to have suddenly become composed, almost happy, as if something had been settled, though not as she had wished, still it is a relief_. karl, _takes her hand_ olga, do you mean you will never-- olga, smiling i mean _you_ will never know what was in that letter--it is as if it had never been written--it has ceased to exist, and we are past the day of miracles. karl, _impatiently_ miracles? olga no, no! only the devil himself would re-create that letter from its burnt ashes. good-bye, karl. i'm going now--i shan't see you again. [_shakes hands naturally._ [_at word "devil" the_ devil _enters silently from hall door. he has his fur coat on. he smiles wickedly, and at_ olga's _words "re-create that letter," pulls_ olga's _letter out of his pocket, and stands so that the chair hides him from_ karl _and_ olga, _who are close to studio door._ karl olga, you are afraid of something. what is it? olga i'm afraid of--myself--good-bye! karl good-bye, olga. [_they turn and see the devil._ [_to_ devil, _angrily_. i thought you'd gone! [_goes abruptly into the studio,_ olga _stands as if hypnotized._ devil, _to_ olga i _beg_ your pardon, i am so upset to-day-- [_holding out letter._ i made a mistake--i gave you my tailor's bill instead of your letter--here is your letter! [devil _gives the letter to_ olga, _who snatches it from him in a frightened manner and tears it open. she recognizes her letter._ olga karl! my letter! i have my letter-- [_she runs into the studio._ [the devil _goes to the door of the studio, smiles diabolically, listens a minute at the door and rubs his hands as if he was very pleased with himself._ devil voilà! curtain.