THE DEVIL'S ATTORNEY.
The dial had sweat twelve hours of day ere we resume the broken
thread of our story. At the sign of the Four Cross Roads (whether
accident or design) matters stood in some such case as when we opened
our first part. The cabalist having paid the debt which he had owed
so lightly and so long, the ring now graced the little finger of the
sailor. The inscrutable door strained under his muscular fist, that
this time summoned passage. It opened, and again, with startling
abruptness, Ataurresagasti crossed the fateful lintel. The door
(which apparently worked of itself) flew back with a horrid, ominous
jar. Aquelarre stood with his arms crossed in an attitude of
expectation. Sailor and sorcerer took stock of one another from head
to foot. But when the latter caught sight of the ring, he burst (as
if inspired) into speech.
"So you have returned upon your tracks; I foresaw you would, and have
awaited you. You remembered, when in safety yonder side of the
frontier, that you had left a jewel in danger behind, outweighing
that you wear. Desire came uppermost in the throw with fear."
"You man of second sight, is she still here,--since you know it is a
she I seek?"
"You set me a painful task (my friend and admirer), if you are so
ignorant of all that has happened during your somewhat protracted
constitutional as to require the rigmarole of it from me. However,
since you already doubtless know (and at any rate I care not to
conceal from you) that I am the official representative in Labourt of
a certain proud and damned Prince, you doubtless look to me as to the
fountain head. So be it then, and to the task. But you did a black
day's work as ever you did under the Black Flag, when you saved your
hide this morning at the expense of your mistress's skin. Nay, hear
me out. I know that you were shaken out of all self. But you had
scarcely kicked my dust from off your feet, when the officers of
justice, whom you so churlishly evaded had plucked me by the beard.
The swan song of him from whom you filched that ring had pierced the
universal ear. That murder had deflowered the bed you wot of, the
constables had no room to doubt. Indeed, your Carib fashion of
piece-mealing a victim put them to the unsavoury task of making out
an inventory of the deceased. My own good fame being above
suspicion, it fell from the first upon Lisalda, unearthed and laid
willy nilly by the heels. Her sex (another item of distrust about
her) was of necessity discovered in the Torture Chamber."
"The Torture Chamber!"
"Aye, the Torture Chamber. You saved your four limbs. She will
never use again one of her arms, that was crippled in their grips of
hellish engines. The surgeon (save the mark) pronounced that she
could bear no more to-day. To-morrow they practice upon the other
arm. And after that there will be enough of her sweet body to feed
their tools a week."
"But she is innocent--my God, how innocent--and I, who begin almost
to believe that I am guilty, will surrender at once in her place."
"Small good (my untutored friend), save the melancholy satisfaction
of pressing the same rack with her. The Parliament of Bordeaux never
let slip a single victim, nor is it any longer merely the indictment
for the murder of the Cabalist that piles the faggots for her. You
are a babe and suckling in these horrors. I am prematurely grey with
them. Had you but seen (as I have) the mother burnt with the child
at her breast--the loving pair chilled at the same stake--the
friendship of years dissolved in smoke, but enough--to get out of the
Torture Chamber (as you should readily guess) the corpus vile reduced
to a crushed craze will sign any depositions that may be held out as
a bait. The consequence is that your girl has already avowed her
identity with a desperate, long-sought-for witch and sacristan to one
of the most noted of our Black Priests. So much for the wringing of
one set of nerves. To what may they not confess her before they have
writhed her into a bag of quivering pulp?"
"Enough, enough, enough, can nothing be done to save her? O, you
whom all this persecution has left upright (and a refuge as men
whisper to the threatened) from whatever source your commission
comes, I wrap about me the hem of your mantle. Be your aid of God,
or Devil, I invoke it!"
"Do you know what you ask? The Indians of Darian are charity,
compared to me and mine. Be my aid of God, or Devil do you say? You
shall rest in no doubt upon that head. The bare mention of the name
of God is a source of danger among us of the opposition, save when we
take it (for our own purposes) in vain. And of the opposition I have
been, am, and shall be. That with which surmise is rife be here with
certainty known to you! You treat with one having authority deputed
from the Most High, the Prince of this World and of Hell."
"I have never shrunk from any, save one woman, and I do not shrink
from you. In all this storm you are my sheet anchor."
"Then in my character of the Devil's proxy I offer you your heart's
ease in tender for your soul!"
"In the event of my agreeing to your proposition how do you set to
work to save her?"
"By the substitution for her of a golem, a device that I learnt from
a Rabbi of Provence that was my teacher in the art of cabala. It is
a doll of wax (or indeed of any substance), no matter how uncouth,
and upon the forehead of which in angelical letters one writes a
chosen name--in your case the name Lisalda--I shall then conjure for
you in a strong circle. You will clinch the bargain with my master
in person by striking hands with him. And his claw will leave you
for your lifetime branded with his private brand. This done he will
breathe upon the golem. Obedient to the breath of life it starts (to
all outward appearance) into a perfect double of the person in whose
name it may have been inscribed. In your case the name Lisalda. Nor
will you yourself be able to tell whether Lisalda or the devil's coin
stands before you. You will forgive my suggesting that in some
respects you might be better off with the ideal than the real, since
it starts in life (like a child) with a clear slate and you may teach
it in what sort you will."
"How now! Do you libel my love?"
"I speak but as a man of the world and to some extent of the next
world also. However, to resume our ways and means. My Prince having
bestowed upon the golem such life as it is only his and God's to
give, I then smuggle the innocent know-nothing into the prison of
your Lisalda and carry off Lisalda in exchange. Then to horse and
hey for love and leisure--on the further side of the Bidassoa; but
the cheat will never be discovered, and in fine and in finish the
golem will run to ash like so many of her betters."
"Is there no other way?"
"There is no other way. Bethink yourself. The offer is there to
take it or leave it. Shake hands with my Master or shake your fist
at him. Be one of us or one of her executioners."
"I cannot boggle long at that. Death of my soul! Have with you then
Aquelarre and let fruition crowd the heels of haste."
"There is yet one thing that you may boggle at. You have ratified
the bargain with my Master but not the fee of my procuracy. You
cannot do anything without me and I cannot do anything without that
Ring which you wear upon your finger as my handsel."
"Your fee is a fleabite to your Master's. The ring I wear is yours
but not as earnest money. I pass it over to you only after service
rendered. And now lead on to this golem you speak of."
"Be it as you say. The preliminaries being all settled between the
high contracting parties, I usher you to the actual presence of my
principal."
As he thus concluded the negotiation a covetous light (like to
nothing in heaven or earth) shot through the lashes of the devil's
attorney. He stood at last upon the brink of attainment of that Ring
so thirstily craved. With an imperious gesture he summoned the
sailor to follow him and turned off behind the staircase. Directly
the sorcerer's back was turned Ataurresagasti could not forbear a
broad grin. He had outwitted (at any rate he thought so) both the
infernal furious spirit and his attorney. And first as to the
latter. The fact was that the only ring worn by the sailor himself,
and pledged to Aquelarre by the letter of the bond, was a tawdry hoop
of silver. The Ring that contained the familiar had never left the
dead man's hand. How then had the inn-keeper imagined otherwise?
Simply because the sailor, with a view to better protection, had
drawn up his right arm within his sleeve and held the Hand of Glory
by the wrist in such a position as to appear his own. The Ring which
thus appeared to adorn the sailor's little finger was in reality
still upon that of its architect. And, therefore, it was still
unpawned to Aquelarre. But this was not the only or even the first
fruits of the trick which Ataurresagasti (or his good angel) had set
in motion. As he gathered from the sorcerer that the devil would
imprint his private mark upon him by means of a grip of hands,
Ataurresagasti (or, again, his good angel) jumped at once to the
obvious deduction that by going through with the same sleight of
hand, Beelzebub would come claw to claw with only the dead Cabalist
and earn no soul but his.
Earn no Soul but his, which was undoubtedly already long-earned and
already in heats of hell. Thus, by a single piece of hugger-mugger,
the buccaneer hoped to go free with his sweetheart and do no harm to
anyone. Or, at any rate, to anyone that stood within the reach of
harm, the only sufferers being the devil and his lost. How the
whirligig of time brought round its revenges the sequel of this story
will show. Now that the reader is conversant with what was passing
through the mind of the sailor we must return to where we left him at
the back of the staircase. Aquelarre, stooping down, by some device
which the sailor did not fathom, raised one of the stone slabs of the
flooring from its place. This impromptu trap-door disclosed a flight
of steps that fell down into absolute darkness. A motion from the
landlord and Ataurresagasti fearlessly stalked down them to some
distance, where he stopped until he had seen his confederate also
enter. Aquelarre drew down the trap-door after him. This last
action was fatal, of course, to such light as had previously washed
the upper part of the stairs. All was now equal night. Yet the
buccaneer continued his descent. The steps seemed endless. At last
he stopped. He listened. To his surprise and horror no footfall
sounded above. What had become of Aquelarre? The sailor suspected
some deception put upon him. He retraced his steps as quickly as was
possible under the difficult circumstances of the ascent. That he
reached the top was made apparent to him by the crash of his head
against the stone. He reeled and all but fell. What had become of
Aquelarre? Recovering himself he tried with all his might to obtain
egress but not unnaturally without avail. He mopped his brow and
tried to think. Escape being impossible in this direction he decided
to recommence the descent; come what might he could be no worse off
than where he was even if he went down, down, down to the earth's
centre. He tried to persuade himself that worse things happen at
sea, but his heart of hearts nailed the lie. Down, down, down! He
counted (as he thought) a thousand steps but not without dizzy
doubts. And then he lost all count--all doubt--all but damned
certainty. He had never been sick at sea but now--and then suddenly
he staggered against some obstacle. It yielded. It was a door.
Firelight danced in his eyes. He rolled into a corner and stood up
against a wall. He was in an underground chamber and before him was
Aquelarre. How the devil's advocate had got there before him who can
tell? Doubtless in some devil's way. Aquelarre made no remark upon
the sailor's entrance nor ceased from his work of drawing (on the
ground) circle within circle, distant from one another about a
hand's-breadth. The sailor rubbed his eyes and looked about him.
The space (at one end of the vault) reserved for the circles was
scrupulously clean, as well it might be, since one speck of pollution
would have nullified their every virtue. The rest of the subterrane
was a hotchpotch of horrors--the disjecta membra of a magical
laboratory scattered broadcast over every inch of the floor. Here
were receptacles of unsightly shapes, crucible and cucurbit, alembic
and aludel. Here were the spoils of charnel-house and churchyard,
ear and eye, excrement and entrail. Here squat phials bore charges
of price, poison and philtre, lac virginis, and elixir vitae. In one
corner gibbered a gigantic skeleton. In another lay a Jacob's Staff
and a Pentacle of Solomon. In a third heaped up musty vellums,
presumably occult; and of these last Ataurresagasti picked up one,
and was about to open it at random, when Aquelarre turned suddenly
white, and fetched a roar so sudden that the startled sailor dropped
it as if it burnt him. The magician (who had just finished
inscribing his series of circles) came forward with a brow of night.
His fist was clenched as if to strike. But after glaring some
moments at the buccaneer, he twisted his nails out of his palm again
where they left four bleeding scars. He calmed down still farther
before he could speak.
"Madman let this teach you never more to tamper with such wild-fire
as a magic book. There are spells on every page of that volume which
(had you exposed even one of them to the air) would have dissolved us
both into death and hell. It is easy to see that this is your maiden
bout as sidesman to an exorcist. Were you an ordinary neophyte, even
your failure to play Paul Pry, would have quenched you the light of
day. But take heart of grace and fear nothing mortal, for on your
life great issues hang. But lest you should make another slip (and
perchance to perdition) mark well what I am now about to teach you.
And firstly to instal our golem--yonder it hangs in the fourth corner
of the vault, suspended and swinging above our heads. You ask me why
it so suspends and swings. I will tell you. Look at its forehead
and you will see a name, which if you could read our angelical
letters you would find to be the name of De Lancre, of the Parliament
of Bordeaux. De Lancre, that is the torturer of our wizardry and of
your bride, and the touchwood of a thousand fires that depopulate
Labourt. But his turn shall yet be served. By the sympathy which I
have established between this mannikin and him (by only the sealing
of it with his name) I have got into my hands more power over his
body than your untortured fancy would conceive. I could even bring
his life to a close at this very second, by piercing his heart with a
pin. But at the moment I am content by this swinging between earth
and sky (as they say swings Mahomet's coffin) to afflict him with
horrors, to which death were meat and drink,--to afflict him with
dizziness, vertigo, and whirlpool, with falling sickness and
ceaseless belching, yea, to the innermost membrane of his soul. But
that your need of this lay figure is greater than his, he should
sleep never a wink to-night. Nay, not all the drowsy drinks of the
Herbal should gum his eyelids up. But behold I release him and lean
him against this wall, and erase his name with my finger. 'Tis done,
and De Lancre at the very instant far away is restored to perfect
health. Some charlatan will doubtless get the credit for a cure."
He broke into a peal of horrible laughter. But the sailor scarcely
heeded. He was gazing at the figure which he understood was to be
transformed with a blasphemous breath into an exact simulacrum of his
betrothed. A greater difference than at present existed between the
two could scarcely be imagined. Lisalda was--well we will not
attempt the impossible task of reproducing a lover's raptures. The
golem was a rude lump of modelling wax with five projections,
occupying respectively such parts of the main body as suggested that
they were meant for its legs, arms, and head. The last distinguished
itself from the four limbs by several additional clues to its
identity. It had eyes indicated by a couple of stones. It had ears,
or, at any rate, handles, on either side, and a third in front for
nose. It had a mouth which left even more to the imagination, since
its hieroglyphic was a herring bone. Lastly, it was thatched
(somewhat scantily, it must be confessed), with what appeared to be
the bristles of a hog. With a view no doubt to decency, the devil's
attorney tied a rag about its middle. Another about its right arm he
explained as representing the prison bandages which swathed the
tortured limb of the real Lisalda. Finally, he inscribed upon its
brow a name, and declared it to be complete. And now for a lesson in
ceremonial magic. Seven circles Aquelarre had compassed, waxing
smaller and smaller within each other. In the innermost (which is
where the two daring exorcists should stand) the devil's advocate
placed a pan of coals, the same that had hitherto only given light to
the room, but of which the real use and purpose was suffumigation.
This suffumigation was that part of the work which was to fall to the
lot of Ataurresagasti. For this the landlord placed beside the pan
various packets of perfumes each numbered in the order with which
they were to feed the flames. And woe unto the exorcists, if in the
flurry of even one second Ataurresagasti changed the order of
succession. They had better have never been born! And now Aquelarre
girt him with his magic sword and hung a pentacle about his neck.
The time had come to pass the series of circles.
"Put off thy shoes from off thy feet, for the place whereon thou
standest is holy ground."
Ataurresagasti assimilated himself to the guise of his companion. He
entered the inmost circle. Aquelarre took once more his crayon and
inserted within each circle (one and all being yet in blank) a symbol
illegible to the sailor, but which the devil's advocate translated as
he proceeded somewhat as follows:
"The name of the hour wherein you do the work, the name of the angel
of the hour, the seal of the angel of the hour, the name of the angel
that rules the day in which you work and the names of his ministers,
the name of the present time, the names of the spirits ruling in that
part of time and their presidents, the name of the head of the sign
ruling in that time."
This done all appeared to be in order and the exorcism forthwith
commenced. Aquelarre commanded the sailor to cast the first packet
upon the flames ("and unwrap it not lest it skin thy hand"); the
which being done the former brightness of the light burns directly a
hideous red of leaping blood and every object in the room tinges to
match. The magician draws his sword and makes passes with it in his
right hand. He places his left upon the pentacle on his breast and
commences in the following strain:--
"In the name of the holy, blessed, and glorious Trinity proceed we to
work in these mysteries to accomplish that which we desire. We,
therefore, in the name aforesaid, consecrate this piece of ground for
our defence, so that no spirit whatsoever shall be able to break
these boundaries, neither be able to cause injury, nor detriment to
either of us here assembled. But that he may be compelled to stand
before this circle and answer truly on demand, so far as it pleaseth
Him who liveth for ever and ever, and who says I am Alpha and Omega,
the beginning and the end, which is and which was, and which is to
come--the Almighty. I am the first and the last who am living and
was dead, and, behold! I live for ever and ever, and I have the keys
of death and hell. Bless, O Lord, this creature of earth wherein we
stand. Confirm, O God, thy strength in us so that neither the
adversary nor any evil thing may cause us to fail."
The chant of the magus grows shriller and shriller, till it thins
into a final continuous shriek. And there mingles with it thunder,
and the re-echoed echo of shriek and thunder, to the splitting of ear
and brain. And the earth rocks until there remains no longer floor
nor roof, but sometimes one was uppermost and sometimes the other,
and only the rapidity of the motion makes it possible to keep place
in the circle. Thus, alternately, the venturous pair stood erect or
head downwards. In this part of the ordeal, however, the sailor's
professional habit stands his friend in need; but his teeth were
twisted out of rank by clenching, to avoid a cry. The fire (now
yellow) burns foul in the nose and hangs upon the hair in folds of
smoke. Ceaseless lightnings lash the streaming eye. Clothed as it
were, in those folds of smoke, there gradually appears to incorporate
itself a large, full, and gross body--sanguine and gross--in a gold
colour, with the tincture of blood; its motion is like the lightnings
of heaven; the sign of its becoming visible is that it moves the
person to sweat that calls it; the sorcerer becomes mute before the
majesty of that presence and the thunder is hushed in its breath.
There creeps a claw from out the draping clouds and steals towards
the right hand of the sailor--say the right hand of the Cabalist
rather, for it is that which the sailor clasps fearlessly to the arch
fiend's itching grip. A second's compress--a grit of bone against
bone--a hiss, as of a branding iron, and the talon is withdrawn. The
sailor gazes appalled for a moment at the blackening, indelible sign
manual, now seared upon the palm of the Cabalist. His heart of
hearts sings a pean of victory over a lie palmed off upon even the
Father of lies. The blowing of the Fiend now falls upon the golem
and a gradual inflation swells out that pitiful suggestion into full
and female form. Eyes like orbs of night light the vault and outburn
the yellow jealousy of the brazier. Ears like seashells, and teeth
like pearls of the sea, hair that paragons Godiva. O God, and is
this but a counterfeit that can so kindle our sailor's senses? But
he is recalled to gruff reality by the sight of her prison dress and
bleeding bandaged arm. He is about to step out of the circle when a
buffet from his companion fells him like an ox to the ground,
scattering splashes of yellow flame in his fall. The magician
indicates by signs rather than words, that the devil called up has
yet to be laid before either of the callers can venture forth with
safety. And then Aquelarre proceeds with full strength of lung (lest
haply further risk betide) to recite the accepted form of dismissal.
"Go in peace unto your place. Peace be between us and you. Be you
ready to come when you are called."
Ataurresagasti awakened to his sense of duty, sacrifices yet another
packet of incense. Blue of heaven burns the flame, and sweet the
savour that (after a struggle) overpowers its predecessor. The
Prince of fallen pride dissolves into fulgurant reek. Earth recovers
its footing. The fire at last resumes its work-a-day tone. Nothing
but a grateful suspicion of the incense still about the convalescent
air remains to betray what manner of work has been done. And now
with assurance the exorcists may leave their circle. Aquelarre
cannot forbear to bring home to his sidesman the gravity of that
false step he nearly made.
"Should your stars ever fate you again to dally with infernal fire,
be never tempted to leave your circle until the spirit is dismissed;
nay, even when the spirit refuses to appear at your call you must
still formally dismiss him according to the rules of art, lest haply
he be actually present (though to you invisible) with intent to pluck
your soul."
"'Tis a lesson I shall never need to learn again."
"But now to the next step in our progress. From the opposite end of
this vault to that by which you entered there is a subway to the
condemned cell. Many a time and oft has this been useful to me
before, for you need not plume yourself the first that has
self-sacrificed upon the altar of his love. Parent or child--lover
or spouse--have employed me as middleman over and over again. My
memory teems triumphant with case after case where the burners,
unknowingly have burnt but the shadow of a witch. And so shall it be
again. I take the golem with me and rejoin you with your prize."
He touched a spring in the opposite wall which threw open the
indicated door. The bottom of a flight of steps appeared, the
pendant of that which the sailor had descended. Aquelarre took the
apparently bewildered golem by the hand and with her disappeared.
The door closed with a vicious snap. The sailor was left alone in a
chamber hermetically sealed and Heaven knows how far beneath the
foundation of the tavern of the Four Cross Roads. There were none of
mortal kind around save bones of unshriven suicides who dreamed of
judgment and woke up shrieking that they made the blood of youth run
cold to hear them. These were his brothers in exile. He was fain to
shout aloud, that corner to re-echoing corner of the vault might make
him colloquy. But was this jangled terror his that they groaned into
his ears? Was this the note to which the lung of storm gave
precedence in happier days upon the sea? How long this weird
conversation lasted the sailor never knew. At length his straining
ear caught the footfall which he had dared so much to hear again. To
snatch Lisalda into his arms as she entered, to feel that she yielded
to his embrace was breath and blood to our hero. But the devil's
attorney touched him on the shoulder. He pointed sternly to the
other door that led again to the inn. In Indian file (there was room
for but one on a step) all three commenced the ascent. How quickly
it sped compared with that well remembered descent. But the sailor
found time to hide in his waistband the Cabalist's branded hand.
When they reached their wonted level Aquelarre closed the trap, and
throwing open the door of the street disclosed (he did not do things
by halves) a fully caparisoned horse waiting outside. His whole face
brightened into a smile of supreme content with himself and (for the
nonce) all the world. His work was done. He held out his hand for
the payment. The sailor did not smile. He took the silver ring
ostentatiously from his little finger and placed it upon that of the
devil's attorney. The face of Aquelarre underwent a very sudden
change.
"Gates and gulfs of Hell! Do you realise with whom it is you jest?"
"Jest do you say? It is sober, serious, earnest."
"What the devil's name! You pledged me the ring you wear on your
finger."
"I pledged it to you and I have passed it you--the only ring I ever
wore--but if you refer to the Ring of the demon, that has never left
the dead man's hand since for its sake you left him dead."
Before Aquelarre could recover from his stupefaction at this
thunderbolt, Ataurresagasti swept Lisalda into the crupper and sprang
to the saddle in front of her. And then loose rein and bloody heel,
they dashed down one of the cross roads from which the tavern derived
its name. Ride, ride, ride. Dark though the way and cold the wind,
Ataurresagasti rolls a name upon his tongue that lights the path and
warms the ambient air. Lisalda! Lisalda! Lisalda! Shock snowy
polls of Pyrenean hills start up behind the haze. The lights of
Behobia star the drift. Its cobbles fly to sparks beneath the
horse's hoofs. The river cuts athwart the highway; the bridge is
reached. Another stride and the _fleur de lys_ is left behind for
good. A customs officer leaps out of his box and seizes the horse's
head; he is dragged several yards along the track. A torrent of
imprecations in Basque, French and Spanish. Ataurresagasti pulls his
mount back on to its haunches. The officer is ultimately convinced
that he is no smuggler, and relinquishes somewhat charily his prey;
Ataurresagasti winds gently along the bank. When beyond the range of
pry or spy he dismounted and swung Lisalda to the ground. Once in
his arms he did not readily let her go but showered kiss after kiss.
The horse unheeded proceeded to explore on his own account and soon
was lost to sight. Ataurresagasti showered kiss after kiss upon her
wounded arm, her neck, her mouth, her eyes, her brow; but what is
this--his lips are blistered in contact with the hair that shades
that brow; he pushes the hair aside. A name in fiery angelical
characters is flaring there. Horror of horrors, 'tis the golem! In
his far off tavern Aquelarre is laughing in his sleeve.
Ataurresagasti stands aghast. The creature regards him with puzzled
eyes. She does not understand this sudden change; her mouth smiles
and the first word she has ever uttered crosses her lips. It is her
own name picked up, parrot-like from the iteration of the sailor. It
had a different effect from what the poor thing expected.
"Lisalda!"
His cry of agony jarred her dulcet note. Every cord of his body was
strung in an instant to one thought. To destroy this soulless
creature--to annihilate--to erase her--to have her from God's earth.
He pounced upon her. But the poor pretty monster seemed to feel by
instinct that this was another guess embrace from the first ardent
one. And instinctively she wrestled with him. It was an awful
unheard-of bout. Not a syllable was spoken, nor a cry. The blood
now streamed like rain from her wounded arm. They slipped in the
puddling soil. And Ataurresagasti could not get rid of the horrible
idea that it was, after all, the real Lisalda that he was wiping out
of life. Bit by bit, and one by one he obliterated the cursed
characters. And bit by bit as the execution proceeded a horrible
change came over her. Her limbs grew lean and spidery that she
twisted about him. Her eyes grew dull and fishy. Her hair fell out
by handfuls. She was dying letter meal. At length he forced her to
his feet still clinging to his knees. The last figure of the
angelical name disappeared beneath his thumb. Before him there lay
no longer She but It. No longer a Lisalda, but a battered waxen doll
with two pebbles and a herring-bone clapped on to one side of its
head to distinguish front from back. Laughable--yes, perhaps--but
Ataurresagasti did not laugh. He fell upon his face and wept.
Something like an hour passed before he rose. Then drawing his
hanger, and selecting the greenest spot, he proceeded to dig a grave.
This he lined with masses of such wild flowers as he could find, and
then reverently disposed the golem upon them. He shovelled back the
earth upon the body, as he could not help but call it. He stamped it
down obliterating all traces of his handiwork. He had said no
prayer, but prayers crowded into his mind. He seemed in his tangled
consciousness to have buried the real Lisalda, and with her all his
love. He drew towards the river and stared into its inscrutable
depths, turning over in his mind the pro and con as touching suicide.
But after mature deliberation he decided, in preference, to return to
that officer at Behobia, and give himself up for wife murder. He
took a gloomy pleasure in this idea, and might even have carried it
through. But suddenly a mocking peal of laughter--fiendish
laughter--struck, as he thought, familiarly on his ears. He rubbed
his eyes and looked across the river. On the French side of the
boundary stream, there stood facing him the devil's attorney, hand in
hand with what the now crazed sailor took for a golem. The existence
in the world of a real Lisalda never occurred to his wandering wits.
Aquelarre knew full well what had transpired. The sight of the
discomfiture of his rival seemed balsam to his wounded self-esteem.
Nor did he evidently as yet despair of making all things square. He
addressed Ataurresagasti at first with real or assumed jocularity.
"Hola? master gaff topsail, and have you found the truth of what I
once told you, that two can play in a game of brag? Come, we are
surely quits by this time. Let bygones be bygones, and let us adjust
our contra accounts. You hold on your side what is of value to me,
and I on my side what is of value to you. Exchange is no robbery.
Cast me the Ring across the stream, and Lisalda shall join you at
Behobia."
"Lisalda, do you say? And do you really think to befool me with a
golem, in the making of which I myself had a hand? Lisalda, I know,
is dead. By this hand she died, and I would cut it from me were it
not that the bloody crust on it is the only relic of her that remains
to me."
"Madman, you rave! Oh this I never dreamed of, that his reason
should wander so untimely. Pull yourself together, man. 'Tis no
golem that stands beside me. 'Tis your own Lisalda,--your cutest
medicine--could I but get you to take it. Oh, be but for an hour
sane, and then put eternity out of joint if you will! Again I say,
the Ring across the stream, and take Lisalda in exchange; that turns
the scale against your immortal soul!"
"Never waste your lies on me, man! 'Tis nothing but a golem that you
seek to palm off upon me. Lisalda, I know too well, is dead,--by the
token that these same impious hands that snatched her into darkness
have just smothered her into a heathen grave. I had thought to have
bedded her in other guise, but it seems my fondest star had never
appraised me as so worthy. Take away your golem, and I shall keep
the devil's autograph."
"Perdition be your speed! This passes patience. All is indeed at an
end between us. All save my vengeance. For I will tell you now a
secret that shall open your eyes to the imminent deadly breach
between us. This Lisalda (whose name you would add to the long list
already tattooed upon your hairy bosom) has not, does not, nor will
ever love any other but myself. Sacristan at my Sabbaths from her
earliest years--my living altar at the Black Mass--she is more to me
than all your Ring. Nay the very plot and plan for conveying that
Ring from its rightful owner was conceived and carried out by her.
For that she undertook a special trip to the New World; for that she
donned the disguise in which she wormed herself into the confidence
of the Cabalist, and ultimately persuaded him to visit me at the Four
Cross Roads. Unfortunately (you gentleman swab) you took it into
your cursed costard to see further into a millstone than other
people. We tried to make account of your sea-dogged persistency by
drugging your nightcap with a view to palm you off upon justice (save
the mark) as the murderer of the Cabalist. But again, through your
ferreting foresight (darkened be your eyes), you tripped upon the
tragedy in the worst possible moment (trust you for that), and even
blundered into possession of the Ring. And now keep your ill-gotten
gear, and Aquelarre for the first time in life is content to be
bought and sold."
He broke off abruptly as if unable to contain himself, and throwing
himself upon the girl with ferocious ardour he covered all her face
with kisses. Kisses that absolutely foamed at the mouth. Kisses
which she with even greater abandonment returned. Ataurresagasti
caught fire at the sight (as mayhap it was intended with devilish
cunning that he should) and cried out across the stream, every muscle
of his face quivering with jealousy.
"This is the stroke that beggars fate! All is indeed at an end
between us! Bought and sold! Ataurresagasti is bought and sold!
But I can touch you in what (in spite of all you say) I know is still
a raw. The devil bless you, and thus to the devil with demon and
ring!"
"Stop, stop, stop! 'Tis no hand of the Cabalist upon which the ring
sparkles but the hand of his murderess whom you love! Through you in
your ignorance it was branded with the brand of Beelzebub, and if you
relinquish it her soul will be struck from her!"
He crowded the words together incredibly in his eagerness, but yet he
was too late. The Hand of Glory now acknowledged to be hand of
Lisalda, had already left the sailor's touch. It flew through the
air and as it flew, shot a double lightning of great joy. For the
Demon (so long imprisoned within the crystal) knew at length that his
appointed hour was come. Too late, the sailor grasped the stupendous
revelation of Aquelarre. Too late, he recognised Lisalda in the
supposed golem, and in Lisalda the murderess, whose shorn hand he had
so long carried about him. The moment that he hurled it violently
from him a startling change took place in the girl. Her garments
became shaggy hair. Her glorious eyes narrow and slanting. Her
teeth protruded at great length and yellow. Name of Mercy! This was
then that large and loathly wolf (a werewolf as he now astounded saw)
that had scattered the life of the Cabalist. The huge incredible
beast (with a mournful howl that curdled the sailor to the marrow)
sprang desperately after the brand which bound her soul. But being
short of one paw she failed to arrest it. The Hand of Glory crashed
down upon the water with an impact that shivered its crystal setting.
It burst with a flame and smoke, and a hellish explosion with which
mingled the dying shriek of the werewolf. With a roar that made rock
the whole Pyrenean chain, the demon thus set free had darted upon
her! He shot up as it seemed through her very body in a column like
a waterspout that seemed to pierce the skies. She was instantly
riven into a million shreds and sprinkled in a red rain as far as eye
could reach over the length and breadth of the stream.
THE RABBI LION.
The clock of the Jewish quarter of Prague moves in the opposite
direction to its brethren of the Christian town, yet each in its own
way arrives second by second at the same inexorable facts of time.
It was an hour short of midnight by both baptised and unbaptised
reckoning--a misty rain was falling and mingled with the mist that
rose from the river. Black obscure clouds veiled the face of the
moon. Thunder roared at intervals. A flash of lightning that lifted
momentarily the edge of the darkness revealed nothing kindlier than a
gibbet. Dead bones that once had lived were creaking in its chains.
The flesh had taken wing, the fowls of the air knew whither. Another
flash showed a living man who crouched smothered up in a cloak at the
foot of the unsightly tree. This unhappy outlaw if he dared seek no
choicer shelter was, perhaps, even more to be pitied than his brother
above. Whatever his reason, he made no motion in the direction of a
light that shone afar and presaged warmth and shelter.
It was an inn. Its occupants concern us. They consisted of a
company of half-a-dozen youths that had palpably imbibed both long
and deep. Their carouse, however, was drawing to an end. The
landlord hovered near cogitating over his bill, and yet with an ear
to the conversation of his guests, lest haply he might catch some
word. In this he was unsuccessful, and no wonder. The language they
spoke was not only foreign to the landlord, but was that one of all
others of which the angels themselves are traditionally supposed to
be ignorant. In a word, it was Chaldee. But how did these
youngsters come to speak in the secret language of Cabala? The
reason is not far to seek. They were students of the Cabala and of
magic under a Rabbi--one of the most esteemed of his time. The
occasion they were celebrating with the flowing bowl was, indeed, no
other than the conclusion of their seven years' apprenticeship. So
far so good. But there was more in it than that. There was a
death's head at their feast. Something that necessitated for its
discussion their gift of tongues, something that took the heat from
food and made the red wine show white through their skins. Upon
entering their course they had set their hands in blood to the
customary indentures of the magical schools of that period. After
seven years (so the bond provided) only five of the pupils were to
leave their Alma Mater their occult education complete; the sixth was
forfeit to the devil, his due for acquiescence and assistance in
their studies. A point on which the academies differed was the
method of selecting among the apprentices which was to suffer as
damned soul. Some held a kind of glorified race in which the runner
that last attained the winning-post was torn asunder by the fiend.
But the Rabbi who conducted the reading party in which we are
interested had laughed at a decision made on physical grounds. The
graduates should be chosen (he thought) not for fleetness of foot,
but for the foremost quality of their sorcery. The scapegoat should
similarly be thrown out not for unsoundness of wind or limb, but for
the inadequate result of Black Art cramming. Logical enough all
this. There remained but to discriminate between the competitors.
To do this the Rabbi had decided that on the morrow of the night when
our story opens he would hold a solemn incantation. It would be the
first serious function of which the neophytes could boast. Their
seven years' candidacy had been occupied with theory and had never
ventured on practice. They would now find out the difference between
knowing how to raise the devil and doing it. A difference which is
even greater in this particular case than between word and deed in
other arts and sciences. The idea of the Rabbi was that beginning
gradually the terror should be accumulated ever thicker and faster
until it reached a point where one of the men would break. This then
would be the victim to be forced instantly from his circle and
snatched soul from body by the enemy.
The reader is now cognizant of the mysterious business that fluttered
these young hearts. We may add that their use of a dead language had
another source besides the need for secrecy. No two of these
ill-fated ones were natives of the same country, no two of them spoke
a common speech. Such was the cosmopolitan fame of the Rabbi at
whose feet they sat that he could pick his lads from Arctica to
Cancer.
We have already remarked that the supper drew to an end. The six had
tried their manfullest to drown care, but they had found it
impossible to get rightly drunk in the shadow of Death and of Hell.
With despair for their toastmaster they drank every time the health
of five, and thought the more that they spoke no word of the eternal
ruin of the sixth. The roofless wretch outside was less to be pitied
than these. They had discussed without hope every loophole of escape
and hopeless rejected all. There was nothing for it now but to
return home. The Rabbi would never have allowed them out so late on
any less momentous eve, but he had no fear of losing them now they
had run out their course of lessons. He had done his part, they had
received their consideration, trust him to look after his own that
keeps the tally of the damned.
The reckoning had been adjusted to the satisfaction of the landlord,
by the chairman of the feast. That youth (who was apparently a
Bohemian by birth) now led his companions out of the house which some
one of them was never to re-enter. And each turned back to look at
it uncertain to what tune beggarly Fortune next might dance. They
proceeded in the direction of the gallows we have already alluded to.
Rain was still falling. The outlaw had disappeared, but will turn up
later in our path. As they approached the grisly standard even the
seasoned nerves of the sorcerers were troubled at the sight of its
charge. They would have turned aside but for the Bohemian, who
sturdily harangued them on their cowardice.
"The Devil walk arm in arm with you! Is this the way you stand to
your guns at the sight of a gutted envelope--of a cast peascod--you
that are due in but a few hours' space to outfront the root of all
evil! I tell you the pit is digging deep for him that shows such
favour then. But my liver is of another colour. What, fear a
sloughed garment, and more rags than ribbons at that! Why I have
only to set my hand to it"----
The incident ended in a manner entirely unforeseen. The Bohemian had
barely touched the corpse when it dropped upon his shoulders. At
this the other sorcerers shod with fear incontinently fled. The
Bohemian stood his ground for only a moment. It had been in his mind
that the thing would fall to pieces, but when he felt a burning
breath, and the bony arms closing round his throat his brave soul
shrunk like the kernel of a nut, and rattled against his sides. With
the horrible revenant ever tightening its grasp the Bohemian started
to flee. In doing this he followed in the footsteps of his
companions, who had made their way back to the tavern. The landlord
was in the act of putting up his shutters when his late guests
tumultuously helter-skeltered to his door, and shrieked for immediate
rations of strong waters. Nothing loath he planted them again at his
tables and exchanged their solids for his fluids. At this juncture
the Bohemian appeared, alone, but sweating to the very palms. He
steadied himself against the wall and drank off the landlord's
proffer at a gulp.
"Your health!" cried out a mocking voice from the very midst of the
Convives.
The Bohemian dropped his glass with a crash that sowed its fragments
wide. There was a stranger sitting in the midst of their company,
and drinking as if one of themselves; no one had seen him enter. The
host appeared as much at a loss as they were. But the unknown being
obviously man of mortal mould the Bohemian soon recovered his wits.
He challenged the unbidden guest.
"Who are you? And why do you drink to me?"
The stranger rose to his full height, which was more than common
tall. We repeat that none of those present knew him; but to continue
our practice of dealing fairly with the reader we identify him with
the outlaw with whom we commenced our story huddled up at the feet of
justice. This understood, we record the stranger's speech:--
"Walls have ears, and if you would know me you must breathe the outer
air. As to my drinking of your health, between man and man, do you
not look as if you needed it?"
The obvious truth of this remark was only fuel to the Bohemian's
fire. The more anxious on that account to know who the mysterious
one was, he signed to his companions to come outside. The rain had
now ceased. As they retraced--not without trepidation--the path they
had so hastily left, they noticed that the gibbet was again occupied,
but no one dared to ask the Bohemian how he had got rid of his
unwelcome visitant. It was the stranger who renewed the conversation
by abruptly mentioning his name.
"I am Iron Haquin!"
His hearers started. They had expected nothing like this. It was a
name proscribed, and upon which a heavy price was set. It was the
name of the comrade (still at large)--of him that shook a leg on the
gallows. But Iron Haquin knew that these men were nothing to be
feared. The affair of the dead bandit had given them their fill--of
thief-taking, at any rate--for that one night. The living might
safely laugh them out of countenance about that exploit. He
addressed himself accordingly to the Bohemian.
"What! frightened with the rattling of bones that ride the gale?
Would have me believe that the unrepentant thief descended from the
cross? A sorrow on your fears! Take such tales to your confessor,
for I'll have none of them, be sure! You had looked too long upon
the jewelled wine, and that's the long and the short of it. I'll
even touch hands with my dead mate myself, just to show you how
unfounded your stampede. You will see no windfall vouchsafed to me,
shake I never so shrewdly the tree."
He suited the action to the word and the event proved him right. The
sorcerers would have turned tail at half a suspicion. But never a
miracle occurred this time. The corpse continued to hug its chains.
The Bohemian waxed wilder and still more wild, but he did not cease
to listen to Iron Haquin.
"Fear has no share in life of mine--death has been all too long my
fellow--familiarity breeds contempt. I believe I could make the
Devil's pulse jump could I only obtain an interview. That, at any
rate, is the one thing left that might fathom the resources of my
heart. I saved the life of a Hebrew once, who, in return, gave me
lessons in magic. I never worked so hard in my life. I looked to
shortly kiss the mouth of hell, but, as ill luck would have it, I
quarrelled with my Rabbi, and never found a chance."
The Bohemian could scarcely help showing his incredulity, nor did he
care much for the stranger's feelings.
"What possible cause of quarrel could you have with a man whose life
you saved?"
"Cause enough for anything and everything since he introduced me to
his betrothed and I fell in love with her. He poisoned her mind
against me, and on a chance cast me into a well. The water, however,
was sufficient to break my fall, and I escaped after starving many
days. It was twenty years ago, but I have never been able to forget
it. He shall yet curse the mother that bore him. I tell you all
this frankly as I told you my name, because I know that you are not
what you seem!"
The Bohemian followed this relation, and chewed the cud of it. An
idea had occurred to him fraught with unholy joy. He saw (as he
thought) how he could achieve his own salvation at one stroke with
the death of the intruder. How it worked out we shall see in the
sequel. This is how the Bohemian set it going.
"What do you mean by saying that we are not what we seem?"
"Because, although your outer man is clad in this world's uniform,
your hearts are of the livery colours of hell; you are students of
sorcery, and no later than to-morrow you are to conjure in your
strength. Do I not read you rightly?"
The Bohemian stared in something very much like stupor. Where on
earth could the man have got his information? It sealed his death
warrant, in any event. He knew too much for sure! The Bohemian, by
this time, had matured his plans, which he now expressed in words.
"Whatever your source of knowledge you have hit us off correctly, I
admit; nor can we deny hospitality to such a man. We are within (as
you say) a few hours of a magical ceremony. If you are so anxious as
you pretend to face such odds I will go so far as to yield my place
to you."
For the life of him the Bohemian could not help something of a smile
as he made this handsome offer. He was ignorant still whether the
bandit was aware of the exceptional nature of this incantation. His
reply would decide that point. If he knew the rules of the
approaching contest he would certainly refuse. If he did not, he
could hardly maintain his fame without becoming a substitute for the
Bohemian. To do him justice, Iron Haquin did not hesitate for a
moment.
"Your hand upon the bargain, man, and never fear but I shall do you
credit. Since the beginning of recorded time there shall have been
no such conjuration. We will quench the light of adverse stars.
Hell's idiom has no word for what we shall do."
Still wearing the same sardonic grin, the Bohemian broke in upon this
enthusiasm. His department was the practical.
"Permit me to draw your attention to the fact that we have been
drifting slowly on and shall soon have reached the Rabbi's house. It
befits us, therefore, to arrange our order of business. It may not
have occurred to you that the Rabbi must know nothing about this. If
he did he might possibly veto the affair. But there will be no
difficulty in circumventing him. The house is built square around a
central court where the conjuration will take place in open air. You
will enter with us muffled in your cloak, and your presence will not
be detected among so many; you will conceal yourself under the
staircase while the Rabbi takes us to our bedrooms, which are the
topmost of the house. The old gentleman locks us in all night, for
we are strictly looked after, I can assure you. When we are released
(after a brief slumber) it will still be dark, and if I slip into
your hiding-place and you assume my authority I do not see why the
Rabbi should be the wiser. As to the risk you run that is, of
course, more your affair than mine. I shall pray for you from my
coign of vantage if I can remember any but backward prayers. But
now, confess, are you not moved at length with fear?"
"Nay, by horn and hoof! I shall weather the devil as I have got the
weather of death, and be hail-fellow-well-met with both! At the
worst a man can die but once--I had rather thus than a prod and a sod
like so many that I have sent to their account. And, to end all, is
this your destination? Why, it is the house of Rabbi Lion!"
"The Rabbi Lion is our teacher."
The Bohemian was only too glad that the matter was thus settled. His
fears for himself, and of the other, were disposed of in one
ingenious coup. The remaining five sorcerers had followed the
negotiations with mixed admiration and envy. From them no
remonstrance was to be expected, quite the contrary, since they
believed and hoped that the bandit as a novice in magical matters
would be the one to pay penalty to the fiend. They had yet to find
out that their dupe had more knowledge than they bargained for.
Meanwhile the Bohemian has knocked at the door. From within there
comes a clangour of bolt and bars. The door is opened, and the Rabbi
appears. His pupils enter in as much of a hustle as possible,
allowing Iron Haquin to conceal himself as arranged. The students
file upstairs to be disposed of by their tutor, who will presently
return alone.
During this absence of the Rabbi, Iron Haquin took by the forelock
the opportunity of looking around. The courtyard itself was bare,
the lofty walls of the house built it in on all four sides. Under
the roof half-a-dozen windows seemed to indicate the garrets of as
many students. On the level of the ground there was nothing but two
doors to break the monotonous courses of stone. One of these massive
portals was that of the street through which Iron Haquin had entered.
The other, which faced it on the opposite side, had been left ajar by
the Rabbi. It was of a certainty the passage way to his sanctum.
The bandit approached it and looked through. A mighty chamber lay
behind. The light which streamed from it into the courtyard was
engendered by a central lamp, one of that sort which are
traditionally reputed to burn with an everlasting flame; from the
ceiling hung stuffed reptiles and other grotesques that seemed to
shiver in the current of fresh air. Tables conveniently disposed for
work were loaded with books and manuscripts; every available niche
and nook was piled with tools of necromancy that the bandit had no
time to identify. Hearing the steps of the Rabbi descending, he
slipped to his covert just in time. The ancient Israelite re-entered
his studio and slammed the door behind him. The wondrous light was
thus extinguished, and the courtyard plunged in darkness. But not
for long. The outlaw had scarcely disposed himself for sleep--better
quarters this than the gibbet's foot--when the door was again thrown
wide. He looked in the expectation of seeing once more the Rabbi's
work-room; but to his utter surprise and consternation it was a
different room altogether, though indisputably the self-same door.
This time it was a lady's boudoir that was revealed, of immense size,
imperially furnished--a thousand mirrors flashing back its
chandeliers. There was no trace of the Rabbi who had just entered
that very door, instead, a beautiful girl of about twenty summers
glided out to the cooling breeze. Had it not been for her Iron
Haquin would have been dumbfounded at the inexplicable shift of
rooms. But the moment he set eyes on her so much greater a surprise
beset him that it drove all other out of mind.
It was the woman of whom he had spoken to the Bohemian--the woman who
had cut friendship, and all but wrought his death--the woman whom
still he loved. He strode forth without a second thought.
"It is her very self!" he cried.
The girl smiled at him as in recognition. Not the least surprise did
she show at this strange meeting. She called him by his name.
"Iron Haquin!"
"You know me after all these years?"
"Who better among men should I know after all that passed between us?
And did you not first know me?"
"That is not the same thing. I am twenty years older, but you--I can
hardly believe my eyes--are the girl of twenty years ago. Has time,
too, been fooled by those eyes of yours which I have often said would
split a lover's coffin?"
"Believe me, my friend, Time's ravages are here as surely as that you
will never see them. It is your love now, as ever, that blinds your
eyes and drapes a faded woman in your poetry. When I am dead, and my
body an ordinary for worms, you will see me still in fancy's eye just
the girl you see me now. And by the same token you, that speak of
being twenty years older, are in my eyes the brave and innocent boy
whose lips were once my food."
"Then you loved me all the time, after all?"
"At that age, what did I know of love--or loathing?"
"But the Rabbi?"
"He is old," she cried, "past passion. Ah, Haquin, you would not
know him now!"
"I cannot make it out that you are still sweet and twenty. Here is a
waist would warm the arm of death! You are, if anything, lovelier,
transfigured, haloed. You would hurry the pace of a star! Tell me
true now, is it not some elixir of the Rabbi's that has pinnacled you
beyond the teeth of Time?"
She laughed.
"Elixir of his! Why he would swallow it himself! And to prove how
little I lean on him you may kill him if you will!
"An assassination!" gasped the bandit, "the man knows no sword play."
He was thinking, as he spoke, of the primitive device by which his
rival had once tried to get rid of him.
"A duel!" returned the Jewess, "for if he knows no sword play he can
measure swords with steel they forge below. You are a tall man of
your hands when knives are stripping, but at his trade you are the
Rabbi's fool. You will need all you know to join issue with him in
ceremonial of magic. No later than this morning must you pit your
strength against him, for to that you were decoyed hither."
"Decoyed! I came of my own free will, for an adventure to my mind.
The story is worth telling. I was dying for a sensation, so I
decided to cut down a comrade and give him more decent sepulchre than
a gizzard. I had just got his corpse in safety to the ground when I
heard a confusion of coming footsteps. Fearing it might be noticed
that the gibbet was naked I swung myself into the chains. I knew
from their conversation they were magical students that passed. I
had a yearning to foregather with such once more, as I did in the
days of my youth. A practical joke gave me the opportunity, and
Heaven be praised for the good hap!"
Iron Haquin was about to improve the occasion, but, at this
interesting juncture, a howl of rage discharged through the upper
air. It came from the head of the Bohemian thrust out of his window.
The Jewess snatched up the two hands of her lover and pressed them to
her fervid lips. Almost before he was aware of it she had retreated
to her bower, and closed the door behind her. At the same moment the
Bohemian, having wriggled through his window, leaped headlong into
the courtyard. He came down unskilfully. Iron Haquin thought he
heard his leg go. He lay there groaning, and then burst into
invective against the outlaw.
"The devil rough-ride you that have seen, so close, a dream I only
sighted from afar. Bestride me the succubus, if I would have brought
you hither had I known she would come out to-night. The skies are
dark as a wolf's throat, and I believed she only walked in the moon.
Full many a night I watched it shine on her silken hair--silken as
the touch of sin--long, so that when she unbound it she stumbled in
her locks. Her silver body was fragrant as the boundaries of hell.
Death and dissolvement! Let me get you in my grips, and you shall
never see her twice! Help me to my feet and unfold your blade, and
then bite on what prayers you know!"
The bandit surveyed this unexpected rival with something very much
like fellow-feeling. Then he voiced the question that was uppermost
in him.
"How old did you suppose her?"
"How old? What do I care how old? Old enough to be loved and to
love."
"How old did you suppose her?"
"If you insist on it, I suppose she wears some twenty years, and a
queenly garment they!"
"What! Twenty years in your sight also! Why I tell you this very
girl is the one of whom I spoke to you that I loved twenty years ago."
"You lie, by the Father of Lies!"
The bandit clapped his hand to hilt, and as instantly snatched it
away.
"I fight with no cripple," he hissed in his teeth, "but you shall
hear from herself God's truth!"
So saying he ran his great strength against that door. Twice and
thrice he rammed it. It did not flinch. He went back a few steps to
acquire a fresh impetus. But before he could return to the attack it
flew abruptly open, as if moved by some hidden spring. Iron Haquin
uttered an astonished cry. The boudoir was no longer there!
The mysterious chamber had undergone another Protean change. To
speak more by the book, there was no longer any chamber. The door
framed nothing but blackest darkness. Neither ceiling, nor walls,
nor floor could be distinguished. By this time the Bohemian had
struggled to his feet, and now hobbled in the direction of the door.
"Back, back," cried the bandit, "this is no place for you, nor for
any christened man. The foundations of this house are laid in hell.
Back, back, as you value your infinite soul!"
"To heel," shrieked the Bohemian, and he whipped our his sword, "lest
I strike you in the place where you live! This is my hour, and you
shall not be the only one to take her between your hands."
Before Haquin could forestall him, he had leaped the grinning door,
and disappeared in enigmatical gloom. He was scarcely lost to sight,
when a shriek rang out, beyond conception awful. It was his
death-note. The whole air curdled. Iron Haquin fell upon his knees.
What grimmest of riddles the victim solved no man shall ever know.
His body--even as his soul--was lost in that abysmal horror. For a
while Haquin gazed at it, and saw no sign, nor heard what could be
called a sound. It was a grave that gave up no dead.
At last, the outlaw rose and crossed himself, and closed the door
upon its secret. Withdrawn to his corner, he set himself to think
what monstrous enigma couched behind there. The worst of it was that
it threw still more suspicion on the woman. But was she a woman at
all? In his wanderings across Europe, from sea to sea, he had never
lost the Jewess out of mind. Whenever it was possible to acquire
later news of her, he spared no pains to do so. But the gossip,
through which alone at such a distance he could keep himself in touch
with her circumstances, was always vague, and often contradictory.
He had been circumstantially assured of her death, and as
circumstantially undeceived. But now he began to wonder if that
report might have had foundation. To assume that upon losing her the
Rabbi had supplied her place with a familiar culled from the females
of the pit, would explain nearly all that he had seen. Was it woman
or nightmare that couched behind there? He had arrived at no
decision when the door again flew open, and he stretched out his head
for the next development. But the panoramic capacity of the door
seemed, for the time being, to have played itself out. The view was
only the old one of the laboratory out of which the Rabbi stepped.
He was loaded with apparatus of ceremonial magic; he deposited it
upon the ground; he closed the wonder-working door. His next step
was to trace out two enormous circles, one within the other. The
outer one embraced the whole area of the courtyard, the other one ran
inside it at a distance of about a yard all round. Between the
circumferences of these two circles he inscribed seven smaller ones,
at equal distances apart. The outlaw, who, though disappointed at
the drying-up of the resources of the door, watched all these
proceedings with attention, perceived that the seven circles were
intended--one each--for the Rabbi and his six attendants. He
concluded that the ill-starred Bohemian, as having been undoubtedly
cock of the school, would be assigned one of the two circles next the
master, which was precisely the post Iron Haquin would have chosen.
He was in some doubt, however, as to whether there might, or might
not, be a miscarriage when the bedroom was found to be unaccountably
empty. Fortunately, the Rabbi (after placing a pan of living coal in
each circle) went upstairs to unlock each door, and came down again
at once, without opening any. This may have been intended to allow
time for his disciples to dress, but he bore as well the air of one
having forgotten something, and ran as fast as his years would permit
him to that door of doors. The outlaw noted as the Rabbi passed
through that it was the boudoir this time visible. Apparently the
thing worked round in a cycle. The Rabbi emerged again almost at
once with a look of considerable relief. All this was Greek to the
onlooker. The five candidates now appeared and took up the circles
pointed out to them. The outlaw pulled his hat well over his
features, and (as it was still dark) hoped to pass muster. He saw,
as he had expected, one of the places of honour was left for the
Bohemian. He boldly took his stand there; he had now burnt his
boats, and must go through. The Rabbi had not yet syllabled a word,
reserving his strength for the strain to come. He silently divided
among his assistants the remainder of what he had brought out of his
store room. This consisted of civet, amber and musk, of benzoin,
camphor and myrrh, of every fragrance that wizards burn.
The Rabbi then stepped into his own circle and commenced a
preliminary prayer. The supreme moment had come.
A sudden glow invaded the veins of the amateur exorcist (late Iron
Haquin) as he heard that well-known voice. Bit by bit, as he warmed
to the work, he remembered the ritual which this very man had once
been at pains to teach him. From time to time the other five chimed
in with the responses. Iron Haquin dared not risk the recognition of
his voice. As the ceremony proceeded the air seemed to grow more
dense until it became a matter of difficulty to breathe. It was
thickening with, as yet, invisible elementals. Anon the outlaw's
attention was drawn to the glances of his fellows, which timorously
sought the empty space enclosed by the inmost of the two circles. He
was somewhat dashed--even he--to see that this empty space had sunk
below the level of the courtyard. Worse, it continued to sink until
it disappeared altogether. The magicians now stood in their seven
circles, around the circumference of a well. Even this was not the
worst, as the bottom, though out of sight, must still be sinking, and
would sink to the very confines of the underworld. Connexion was to
be opened with the bottomless pit by means of this bottomless shaft.
Having arrived at this by no means engaging conclusion, Iron Haquin
had only to wait for the end. It came with a sudden smother and
smoke that belched from the mouth of the chimney. The Rabbi threw
instantly perfumes upon his fire, and his acolytes did likewise.
Essence and quintessence fought desperately with the evil odours of
this smoke that came straight from eternal fires. And there was
borne up with the smoke a weird hubbub of voices, that blasphemed in
every tongue. Cracked lips of the damned shrieked execrations in
languages long dead, whose accents unintelligible made heart stand
still. In vain the Rabbi raised his voice that had never ceased from
the first onset. His exorcisms were drowned in oaths both loud and
deep, and with the rush and roar of furnaces stoked with blood. And
now the thick air showed faces that peered in their eyes, and
gibberings that were not faces, creeping and crawling things. The
outlaw's skin had long ago wrung out its last drop of sweat. The
Rabbi's white hair stood all on end. The moment for the trial had
come.
Iron Haquin threw his hat out of the circle where it was instantly
torn into a million shreds; His face thrust abruptly into the Rabbi's
line of sight, he roared in tones of thunder:--
"Rabbi Lion, I am Iron Haquin!"
The effect upon the Rabbi was electric. His eyes started out of his
head. The chant died away upon his lips. He dropped like a stone
into the pit. One long low moan reverberated from side to side,
broken up by peals of hellish jubilee. A terrible voice that hushed
all else cried out three times--
"Lost! Lost! Lost!"
This was the climax, and Iron Haquin the man to bear the brunt of it.
No help was to be expected from the five sucking sorcerers. They
were ridden to rags. The last events had crowded so quickly together
that the outlaw practically took up the litany where the Rabbi
dropped it. He gave it such voice as would have been a surprise to
the others, were they in a state to make the observation. The fact
is, Iron Haquin was drunk with the cup of revenge. For two pins he
would have bearded the fiend. The infernals shrunk from the lash and
lather of such magnificent rage expressed in the highest terms of
art. They of the pit sucked in their smoke and hushed the outlet of
despair. The centre of the courtyard reappeared, air refined itself,
victorious sweet scents flung wide their banners.
"Go in peace unto your place. Peace be between us and you. Be you
ready to come when you are called."
This final, formal leave-taking of the spirits, without which no
magician worth his salt would ever abandon his circle, wound up what
had once looked a serious business. The six could now quit in safety
the circles which a moment before had been their only bulwark against
perdition. The students were too limp to pay any attention to the
giant that had taken their world upon his shoulders. Their little
remaining sanity was all bent to the desire to get away from an
accursed house. They stumbled out of the front gate, which the
outlaw had to open for them, and scattered to the four winds of
heaven.
The coast being now clear the bandit made for that other door which
had played so many parts. On what would the curtain now arise? He
opened and discovered the boudoir. A repetition of its last role.
The cycle theory was thus effectually disposed of. There was nothing
for it but that the door obeyed some arbitrary will. Scarcely its
own. The Rabbi was dead, and worse. There remained then only the
Jewess. But where was she? The chamber had no outlet. She could in
no wise have left it. Our hero ransacked every corner, he upset, and
set up, and upset again every priceless piece of furniture, tore down
silk and satin, and threw jewels under foot, ground beneath his heel
the command of armies, and the price of the honour of queens. At
last his eye was arrested by a common glass bottle, he was fascinated
by it, he held it to the light, he all but dropped it. It contained
the object of his search.
Yes, there was no doubt now of the death of his former love. No
doubt but that the Rabbi's diabolical art and craft had replaced her
by a familiar spirit. This was the receptacle in which he confined
the familiar at seasons when he was not in need of her. This was the
familiar herself within the bottle, reduced most delicately small.
She still wore the guise of his long lost wife with which her master
had endowed her. She still caused a pang to the iron heart of Haquin
to see her down to such poor prison. And she knew her power over
him. She knew that he would find a way. She smiled at him divinely,
she clasped her tiny hands in prayer to him. But he was aware that
he must needs release her. He neither thought nor would have cared
that, now her master was dead, once released there was no controlling
her. It just had to be done. But how to set about it? The stopper
was sealed down and with a talismanic character on the seal. It was
the uttermost secret of the Rabbi. Iron Haquin could not read it,
and without reading it could never open the bottle. There remained
but one avenue of escape--the bottle must be broken. With all the
strength of his iron arm he dashed it to the ground. There was a
tremendous explosion, a roar like thunder, a flash before his eyes.
Not a mirror in the chamber but was shattered and scattered. A
rapidly enlarging female form escaped from the shards of the broken
bottle. It lost as it enlarged all resemblance to the
well-remembered Jewess. It became indefinite, it thinned into little
more than a mist. It gradually disappeared, yet, as the last waft of
it brushed his face the passionate lover thought he felt once more
his sweetheart's lips. But he looked around and saw himself alone
with solitude, and wreckage, and desire of death.
THE EVIL EYE.
Our story opens upon a gloomy function; the burning of a gang of
wizards and witches.
The bells were ringing, but it was a muffled peal, and the hammers
were subdued that wrought the scaffolding in the market place. The
steps of the citizens were as those that seek pleasure or plunder by
night, and the very soldier trailed a pike most unsoldierly silent.
A stranger, who, from the singularity of his appearance, would have
attracted notice on any other occasion, to-day threaded unchallenged
this German town.
Tall he was, worn down to the bone, gaunt and prematurely grey,
hollow-cheeked and hollow-eyed. His dress might be described, with
no great stretch of language, as little but nakedness visible. But
it was sweet with the scent of the sea, and the roll of the sea was
in his long legs, as he wound his way to the central square. He
looked neither to the right nor to the left. Arrived at his
destination he took no heed of the ominous carpenters, nor of the
wood-work to which they were putting the finishing touch. He walked
straight--and as if by instinct rather than by eye--into a certain
tavern of those that debouched upon that place. He might have been
supposed to be dumb as well as blind, since he merely made a
pantomime expressive of hunger as he sank into one of the seats. The
landlord looked with doubt at his visible assets. A sad thing of the
nature of a smile flickered upon the burnt and blistered visage of
the sailor. He evolved a coin from some miraculous hiding-place in
the cobweb that was his apology for raiment. The landlord bit it,
rang it, and bit it again. Ultimately he appeared satisfied, and
placed food before his customer. The speed with which it vanished
would have justified an observer in antedating considerably the
stranger's previous meal. Leaving a clean plate he threw himself
back in his chair and steadily regarded the landlord.
Then he asked, not without emotion,
"Don't you know me, old comrade?"
The landlord started as if shot.
"By all the saints and saintesses! _Marquard!_"
"Aye, Marquard it is; but not the Marquard you knew of old. It was
an evil hour I ran away to sea."
"But why have you not returned these years?"
"Returned! He asks me why I did not return! I that--before I had
been long enough aboard to be on good terms with my inner man--was
captured by the Algerine! I that have been chained to an oar in the
galley of Barbarossa every day of these years of which you speak!
But pay no heed to what I say. There is news for which I burn. You
that have lived humdrum can tell me of _her_, for whose coquetries I
lost patience and exiled myself."
"She lives," murmured the landlord, in a half-hearted way, and he
looked upon the floor.
"She lives! And what of my rival that I thought she preferred to me?"
"He lives, if you mean the Hungarian, whose name we could never
pronounce, and whom we used to call Teremtette from his favourite
oath."
"Come, tell more about them both."
The landlord cast a troubled eye upon him, and again looked down. He
spoke with distinct embarrassment.
"Prepare yourself for the worst, my friend. Remember that he of whom
we speak was always a hobnobber with sorcerers, and a sorcerer
suspect. After your departure he became a sorcerer confessed."
"And _she_, man! What of her?"
"Alas! She followed wherever he led, though the devil's shadow was
all his light. She lived with him for a time after you abandoned the
field to him."
"I knew it! In my dreams they were husband and wife, the while I
hugged a bare board to my aching heart."