assassinate your successor, the lady Mathilde's brother; and, in
consequence, will be hanged. In the love of the lady he will be
succeeded by a gardener, who will be replaced by a monk, who will
give way to an ostler, who will be deposed by a Jew pedlar, who shall,
finally, yield to a noble earl, the future husband of the fair
Mathilde. So that, you see, instead of having one poor soul a-frying,
we may now look forward to a goodly harvest for our lord the Devil."
The soul of the Baron began to think that his companion knew too much
for one who would make fair bets; but there was no help for it; he
would not, and he could not cry off: and he prayed inwardly that the
brother might be found more pious than the sister.
But there seemed little chance of this. As they crossed the court,
lackeys, with smoking dishes and full jugs, passed and repassed
continually, although it was long past midnight. On entering the hall,
they found Sir Randal at the head of a vast table, surrounded by a
fiercer and more motley collection of individuals than had congregated
there even in the time of Sir Rollo. The lord of the castle had
signified that "it was his royal pleasure to be drunk," and the
gentlemen of his train had obsequiously followed their master.
Mercurius was delighted with the scene, and relaxed his usually rigid
countenance into a bland and benevolent smile, which became him
wonderfully.
The entrance of Sir Roger, who had been dead about a year, and a
person with hoofs, horns, and a tail, rather disturbed the hilarity of
the company. Sir Randal dropped his cup of wine; and Father Peter, the
confessor, incontinently paused in the midst of a profane song, with
which he was amusing the society.
"Holy Mother!" cried he, "it is Sir Roger."
"Alive!" screamed Sir Randal.
"No, my lord," Mercurius said; "Sir Roger is dead, but cometh on a
matter of business; and I have the honour to act as his counsellor and
attendant."
"Nephew," said Sir Roger, "the demon saith justly; I am come on a
trifling affair, in which thy service is essential."
"I will do anything, uncle, in my power."
"Thou canst give me life, if thou wilt?" But Sir Randal looked very
blank at this proposition. "I mean life spiritual, Randal," said Sir
Roger; and thereupon he explained to him the nature of the wager.
Whilst he was telling his story, his companion Mercurius was playing
all sorts of antics in the hall; and, by his wit and fun, became so
popular with this godless crew, that they lost all the fear which his
first appearance had given them. The friar was wonderfully taken with
him, and used his utmost eloquence and endeavours to convert the
devil; the knights stopped drinking to listen to the argument; the
men-at-arms forbore brawling; and the wicked little pages crowded
round the two strange disputants, to hear their edifying discourse.
The ghostly man, however, had little chance in the controversy, and
certainly little learning to carry it on. Sir Randal interrupted him.
"Father Peter," said he, "our kinsman is condemned for ever, for want
of a single ave: wilt thou say it for him?" "Willingly, my lord," said
the monk, "with my book;" and accordingly he produced his missal to
read, without which aid it appeared that the holy father could not
manage the desired prayer. But the crafty Mercurius had, by his
devilish art, inserted a song in the place of the ave, so that Father
Peter, instead of chanting an hymn, sang the following irreverent
ditty:--
"Some love the matin-chimes, which tell
The hour of prayer to sinner:
But better far's the mid-day bell,
Which speaks the hour of dinner;
For when I see a smoking fish,
Or capon drowned in gravy,
Or noble haunch on silver dish,
Full glad I sing mine ave.
"My pulpit is an ale-house bench,
Whereon I sit so jolly;
A smiling rosy country wench
My saint and patron holy.
I kiss her cheek so red and sleek,
I press her ringlets wavy.
And in her willing ear I speak
A most religious ave.
"And if I'm blind, yet heaven is kind,
And holy saints forgiving;
For sure he leads a right good life
Who thus admires good living.
Above, they say, our flesh is air,
Our blood celestial ichor:
Oh, grant! mid all the changes there,
They may not change our liquor!"
And with this pious wish the holy confessor tumbled under the table in
an agony of devout drunkenness; whilst the knights, the men-at-arms,
and the wicked little pages, rang out the last verse with a most
melodious and emphatic glee. "I am sorry, fair uncle," hiccupped Sir
Randal, "that, in the matter of the ave, we could not oblige thee in a
more orthodox manner; but the holy father has failed, and there is not
another man in the hall who hath an idea of a prayer."
"It is my own fault," said Sir Rollo; "for I hanged the last
confessor." And he wished his nephew a surly goodnight, as he prepared
to quit the room.
"Au revoir, gentlemen," said the devil Mercurius; and once more fixed
his tail round the neck of his disappointed companion.
The spirit of poor Rollo was sadly cast down; the devil, on the
contrary, was in high good humour. He wagged his tail with the most
satisfied air in the world, and cut a hundred jokes at the expense of
his poor associate. On they sped, cleaving swiftly through the cold
night winds, frightening the birds that were roosting in the woods,
and the owls that were watching in the towers.
In the twinkling of an eye, as it is known, devils can fly hundreds of
miles: so that almost the same beat of the clock which left these two
in Champagne found them hovering over Paris. They dropped into the
court of the Lazarist Convent, and winded their way, through passage
and cloister, until they reached the door of the prior's cell.
Now the prior, Rollo's brother, was a wicked and malignant sorcerer;
his time was spent in conjuring devils and doing wicked deeds, instead
of fasting, scourging, and singing holy psalms: this Mercurius knew;
and he, therefore, was fully at ease as to the final result of his
wager with poor Sir Roger.
"You seem to be well acquainted with the road," said the knight.
"I have reason," answered Mercurius, "having, for a long period, had
the acquaintance of his reverence, your brother; but you have little
chance with him."
"And why?" said Sir Rollo.
"He is under a bond to my master, never to say a prayer, or else his
soul and his body are forfeited at once."
"Why, thou false and traitorous devil!" said the enraged knight; "and
thou knewest this when we made our wager?"
"Undoubtedly: do you suppose I would have done so had there been any
chance of losing?"
And with this they arrived at Father Ignatius's door.
"Thy cursed presence threw a spell on my niece, and stopped the tongue
of my nephew's chaplain; I do believe that had I seen either of them
alone, my wager had been won."
"Certainly; therefore, I took good care to go with thee; however, thou
mayest see the prior alone, if thou wilt; and lo! his door is open. I
will stand without for five minutes when it will be time to commence
our journey."
It was the poor Baron's last chance: and he entered his brother's room
more for the five minutes' respite than from any hope of success.
Father Ignatius, the prior, was absorbed in magic calculations: he
stood in the middle of a circle of skulls, with no garment except his
long white beard, which reached to his knees; he was waving a silver
rod, and muttering imprecations in some horrible tongue.
But Sir Rollo came forward and interrupted his incantation. "I am,"
said he, "the shade of thy brother Roger de Rollo; and have come, from
pure brotherly love, to warn thee of thy fate."
"Whence camest thou?"
"From the abode of the blessed in Paradise," replied Sir Roger, who
was inspired with a sudden thought; "it was but five minutes ago that
the Patron Saint of thy church told me of thy danger, and of thy
wicked compact with the fiend. 'Go,' said he, 'to thy miserable
brother, and tell him there is but one way by which he may escape from
paying the awful forfeit of his bond.'"
"And how may that be?" said the prior; "the false fiend hath deceived
me; I have given him my soul, but have received no worldly benefit in
return. Brother! dear brother! how may I escape?"
"I will tell thee. As soon as I heard the voice of blessed St. Mary
Lazarus" (the worthy Earl had, at a pinch, coined the name of a
saint), "I left the clouds, where, with other angels, I was seated,
and sped hither to save thee. 'Thy brother,' said the Saint, 'hath but
one day more to live, when he will become for all eternity the subject
of Satan; if he would escape, he must boldly break his bond, by saying
an ave.'"
"It is the express condition of the agreement," said the unhappy monk,
"I must say no prayer, or that instant I become Satan's, body and
soul."
"It is the express condition of the Saint," answered Roger, fiercely;
"pray, brother, pray, or thou art lost for ever."
So the foolish monk knelt down, and devoutly sung out an ave. "Amen!"
said Sir Roger, devoutly.
"Amen!" said Mercurius, as, suddenly, coming behind, he seized
Ignatius by his long beard, and flew up with him to the top of the
church-steeple.
The monk roared, and screamed, and swore against his brother; but it
was of no avail: Sir Roger smiled kindly on him, and said, "Do not
fret, brother; it must have come to this in a year or two."
And he flew alongside of Mercurius to the steeple-top: _but this time
the devil had not his tail round his neck_. "I will let thee off thy
bet," said he to the demon; for he could afford, now, to be generous.
"I believe, my lord," said the demon, politely, "that our ways
separate here." Sir Roger sailed gaily upwards: while Mercurius having
bound the miserable monk faster than ever, he sunk downwards to earth,
and perhaps lower. Ignatius was heard roaring and screaming as the
devil dashed him against the iron spikes and buttresses of the
church.
THE PAINTER'S BARGAIN
BY WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY
Simon Gambouge was the son of Solomon Gambouge; and as all the world
knows, both father and son were astonishingly clever fellows at their
profession. Solomon painted landscapes, which nobody bought; and Simon
took a higher line, and painted portraits to admiration, only nobody
came to sit to him.
As he was not gaining five pounds a year by his profession, and had
arrived at the age of twenty, at least, Simon determined to better
himself by taking a wife,--a plan which a number of other wise men
adopt, in similar years and circumstances. So Simon prevailed upon a
butcher's daughter (to whom he owed considerable for cutlets) to quit
the meat-shop and follow him. Griskinissa--such was the fair
creature's name--"was as lovely a bit of mutton," her father said, "as
ever a man would wish to stick a knife into." She had sat to the
painter for all sorts of characters; and the curious who possess any
of Gambouge's pictures will see her as Venus, Minerva, Madonna, and in
numberless other characters: Portrait of a lady--Griskinissa; Sleeping
Nymph--Griskinissa, without a rag of clothes, lying in a forest;
Maternal Solicitude--Griskinissa again, with young Master Gambouge,
who was by this time the offspring of their affections.
The lady brought the painter a handsome little fortune of a couple of
hundred pounds; and as long as this sum lasted no woman could be more
lovely or loving. But want began speedily to attack their little
household; baker's bills were unpaid; rent was due, and the reckless
landlord gave no quarter; and, to crown the whole, her father,
unnatural butcher! suddenly stopped the supplies of mutton-chops; and
swore that his daughter, and the dauber, her husband, should have no
more of his wares. At first they embraced tenderly, and, kissing and
crying over their little infant, vowed to heaven that they would do
without: but in the course of the evening Griskinissa grew peckish,
and poor Simon pawned his best coat.
When this habit of pawning is discovered, it appears to the poor a
kind of Eldorado. Gambouge and his wife were so delighted, that they,
in course of a month, made away with her gold chain, her great
warming-pan, his best crimson plush inexpressibles, two wigs, a
washhand basin and ewer, fire-irons, window-curtains, crockery, and
arm-chairs. Griskinissa said, smiling, that she had found a second
father in _her uncle_,--a base pun, which showed that her mind was
corrupted, and that she was no longer the tender, simple Griskinissa
of other days.
I am sorry to say that she had taken to drinking; she swallowed the
warming-pan in the course of three days, and fuddled herself one whole
evening with the crimson plush breeches.
Drinking is the devil--the father, that is to say, of all vices.
Griskinissa's face and her mind grew ugly together; her good humour
changed to bilious, bitter discontent; her pretty, fond epithets, to
foul abuse and swearing; her tender blue eyes grew watery and blear,
and the peach-colour on her cheeks fled from its old habitation, and
crowded up into her nose, where, with a number of pimples, it stuck
fast. Add to this a dirty, draggle-tailed chintz; long, matted hair,
wandering into her eyes, and over her lean shoulders, which were once
so snowy, and you have the picture of drunkenness and Mrs. Simon
Gambouge.
Poor Simon, who had been a gay, lively fellow enough in the days of
his better fortune, was completely cast down by his present ill luck,
and cowed by the ferocity of his wife. From morning till night the
neighbours could hear this woman's tongue, and understand her doings;
bellows went skimming across the room, chairs were flumped down on the
floor, and poor Gambouge's oil and varnish pots went clattering
through the windows, or down the stairs. The baby roared all day; and
Simon sat pale and idle in a corner, taking a small sup at the
brandy-bottle, when Mrs. Gambouge was out of the way.
One day, as he sat disconsolately at his easel, furbishing up a
picture of his wife, in the character of Peace, which he had commenced
a year before, he was more than ordinarily desperate, and cursed and
swore in the most pathetic manner. "O miserable fate of genius!" cried
he, "was I, a man of such commanding talents, born for this? to be
bullied by a fiend of a wife; to have my masterpieces neglected by the
world, or sold only for a few pieces? Cursed be the love which has
misled me; cursed be the art which is unworthy of me! Let me dig or
steal, let me sell myself as a soldier, or sell myself to the Devil,
I should not be more wretched than I am now!"
"Quite the contrary," cried a small, cheery voice.
"What!" exclaimed Gambouge, trembling and surprised. "Who's
there?--where are you?--who are you?"
"You were just speaking of me," said the voice.
Gambouge held, in his left hand, his palette; in his right, a bladder
of crimson lake, which he was about to squeeze out upon the mahogany.
"Where are you?" cried he again.
"S-q-u-e-e-z-e!" exclaimed the little voice.
Gambouge picked out the nail from the bladder, and gave a squeeze;
when, as sure as I'm living, a little imp spurted out from the hole
upon the palette, and began laughing in the most singular and oily
manner.
When first born he was little bigger than a tadpole; then he grew to
be as big as a mouse; then he arrived at the size of a cat; and then
he jumped off the palette, and, turning head over heels, asked the
poor painter what he wanted with him.
* * * * *
The strange little animal twisted head over heels, and fixed himself
at last upon the top of Gambouge's easel,--smearing out, with his
heels, all the white and vermilion which had just been laid on the
allegoric portrait of Mrs. Gambouge.
"What!" exclaimed Simon, "is it the--"
"Exactly so; talk of me, you know, and I am always at hand: besides, I
am not half so black as I am painted, as you will see when you know me
a little better."
"Upon my word," said the painter, "it is a very singular surprise
which you have given me. To tell truth, I did not even believe in your
existence."
The little imp put on a theatrical air, and with one of Mr. Macready's
best looks, said,--
"There are more things in heaven and earth, Gambogio,
Than are dreamed of in your philosophy."
Gambouge, being a Frenchman, did not understand the quotation, but
felt somehow strangely and singularly interested in the conversation
of his new friend.
Diabolus continued: "You are a man of merit, and want money; you will
starve on your merit; you can only get money from me. Come, my friend,
how much is it? I ask the easiest interest in the world: old Mordecai,
the usurer, has made you pay twice as heavily before now: nothing but
the signature of a bond, which is a mere ceremony, and the transfer of
an article which, in itself, is a supposition--a valueless, windy,
uncertain property of yours, called by some poet of your own, I think,
an _animula_, _vagula_, _blandula_--bah! there is no use beating about
the bush--I mean _a soul_. Come, let me have it; you know you will
sell it some other way, and not get such good pay for your
bargain!"--and, having made this speech, the Devil pulled out from his
fob a sheet as big as a double _Times_, only there was a different
_stamp_ in the corner.
It is useless and tedious to describe law documents: lawyers only love
to read them; and they have as good in Chitty as any that are to be
found in the Devil's own; so nobly have the apprentices emulated the
skill of the master. Suffice it to say, that poor Gambouge read over
the paper, and signed it. He was to have all he wished for seven
years, and at the end of that time was to become the property of
the--; =provided= that during the course of the seven years, every
single wish which he might form should be gratified by the other of
the contracting parties; otherwise the deed became null and nonavenue,
and Gambouge should be left "to go to the--his own way."
"You will never see me again," said Diabolus, in shaking hands with
poor Simon, on whose fingers he left such a mark as is to be seen at
this day--"never, at least, unless you want me; for everything you ask
will be performed in the most quiet and every-day manner: believe me,
it is the best and most gentlemanlike, and avoids anything like
scandal. But if you set me about anything which is extraordinary, and
out of the course of nature, as it were, come I must, you know; and of
this you are the best judge." So saying, Diabolus disappeared; but
whether up the chimney, through the keyhole, or by any other aperture
or contrivance, nobody knows. Simon Gambouge was left in a fever of
delight, as, heaven forgive me! I believe many a worthy man would be,
if he were allowed an opportunity to make a similar bargain.
"Heigho!" said Simon. "I wonder whether this be a reality or a
dream.--I am sober, I know; for who will give me credit for the means
to be drunk? and as for sleeping, I'm too hungry for that. I wish I
could see a capon and a bottle of white wine."
"MONSIEUR SIMON!" cried a voice on the landing-place.
"C'est ici," quoth Gambouge, hastening to open the door. He did so;
and lo! there was a _restaurateur's_ boy at the door, supporting a
tray, a tin-covered dish, and plates on the same; and, by its side, a
tall amber-coloured flask of Sauterne.
"I am the new boy, sir," exclaimed this youth, on entering; "but I
believe this is the right door, and you asked for these things."
Simon grinned, and said, "Certainly, I did _ask for_ these things."
But such was the effect which his interview with the demon had had on
his innocent mind, that he took them, although he knew they were for
old Simon, the Jew dandy, who was mad after an opera girl, and lived
on the floor beneath.
"Go, my boy," he said; "it is good: call in a couple of hours, and
remove the plates and glasses."
The little waiter trotted down stairs, and Simon sat greedily down to
discuss the capon and the white wine. He bolted the legs, he devoured
the wings, he cut every morsel of flesh from the breast;--seasoning
his repast with pleasant draughts of wine, and caring nothing for the
inevitable bill which was to follow all.
"Ye gods!" said he, as he scraped away at the back-bone, "what a
dinner! what wine!--and how gaily served up too!" There were silver
forks and spoons, and the remnants of the fowl were upon a silver
dish. "Why the money for this dish and these spoons," cried Simon,
"would keep me and Mrs. G. for a month! I WISH"--and here Simon
whistled, and turned round to see that no one was peeping--"I wish
the plate were mine."
Oh, the horrid progress of the Devil! "Here they are," thought Simon
to himself; "why should not I _take them_?" and take them he did.
"Detection," said he, "is not so bad as starvation; and I would as
soon live at the galleys as live with Madame Gambouge."
So Gambouge shovelled dish and spoons into the flap of his surtout,
and ran down stairs as if the Devil were behind him--as, indeed, he
was.
He immediately made for the house of his old friend the
pawnbroker--that establishment which is called in France the Mont de
Piété. "I am obliged to come to you again, my old friend," said Simon,
"with some family plate, of which I beseech you to take care."
The pawnbroker smiled as he examined the goods. "I can give you
nothing upon them," said he.
"What!" cried Simon; "not even the worth of the silver?"
"No; I could buy them at that price at the 'Café Morisot,' Rue de la
Verrerie, where, I suppose, you got them a little cheaper." And, so
saying, he showed to the guilt-stricken Gambouge how the name of that
coffee-house was inscribed upon every one of the articles which he
wished to pawn.
The effects of conscience are dreadful indeed. Oh! how fearful is
retribution, how deep is despair, how bitter is remorse for
crime--_when crime is found out!_--otherwise, conscience takes matters
much more easily. Gambouge cursed his fate, and swore henceforth to be
virtuous.
"But, hark ye, my friend," continued the honest broker, "there is no
reason why, because I cannot lend upon these things, I should not buy
them: they will do to melt, if for no other purpose. Will you have
half the money?--speak, or I peach."
Simon's resolves about virtue were dissipated instantaneously. "Give
me half," he said, "and let me go.--What scoundrels are these
pawnbrokers!" ejaculated he, as he passed out of the accursed shop,
"seeking every wicked pretext to rob the poor man of his hard-won
gain."
When he had marched forwards for a street or two, Gambouge counted the
money which he had received, and found that he was in possession of no
less than a hundred francs. It was night, as he reckoned out his
equivocal gains, and he counted them at the light of a lamp. He looked
up at the lamp, in doubt as to the course he should next pursue: upon
it was inscribed the simple number, 152. "A gambling-house," thought
Gambouge. "I WISH I had half the money that is now on the table, up
stairs."
He mounted, as many a rogue has done before him, and found half a
hundred persons busy at a table of _rouge et noir_. Gambouge's five
napoleons looked insignificant by the side of the heaps which were
around him; but the effects of the wine, of the theft, and of the
detection by the pawnbroker, were upon him, and he threw down his
capital stoutly upon the 0 0.
It is a dangerous spot that 0 0, or double zero; but to Simon it was
more lucky than to the rest of the world. The ball went spinning
round--in "its predestined circle rolled," as Shelley has it, after
Goethe--and plumped down at last in the double zero. One hundred and
thirty-five gold napoleons (louis they were then) were counted out to
the delighted painter. "Oh, Diabolus!" cried he, "now it is that I
begin to believe in thee! Don't talk about merit," he cried; "talk
about fortune. Tell me not about heroes for the future--tell me of
_zeroes_." And down went twenty napoleons more upon the 0.
The Devil was certainly in the ball: round it twirled, and dropped
into zero as naturally as a duck pops its head into a pond. Our friend
received five hundred pounds for his stake; and the croupiers and
lookers-on began to stare at him.
There were twelve thousand pounds upon the table. Suffice it to say,
that Simon won half, and retired from the Palais Royal with a thick
bundle of bank-notes crammed into his dirty three-cornered hat. He had
been but half an hour in the place, and he had won the revenues of a
prince for half a year!