little man, young, fair, red-haired, well-mannered, and had
well-furnished pockets. He had not a single fault, and Mother
Holofernes was not able to find any in all her arsenal of negatives.
As for Panfila, it wanted little to send her out of her senses with
delight. So the preparations for the wedding were made, with the usual
grumbling accompaniment on the part of the bridegroom's future
mother-in-law. Everything went on smoothly straightforward, and
without a break--like a railroad--when, without knowing why, the
popular voice--a voice which is as the personification of
conscience,--began to rise in a murmur against the stranger, despite
the fact that he was affable, humane, and liberal; that he spoke well
and sang better; and freely took the black and horny hands of the
labourers between his own white and beringed fingers. They began to
feel neither honoured nor overpowered by so much courtesy; his
reasoning was always so coarse, although forcible and logical.
"By my faith!" said Uncle Blas; "why does this ill-faced gentleman
call me Mr. Blas, as if that would make me any better? What does it
look like to you?"
"Well, as for me," said Uncle Gil, "did he not come to shake hands
with me as if we had some plot between us? Did he not call me citizen?
I, who have never been out of the village, and never want to go."
As for Mother Holofernes, the more she saw of her future son-in-law,
the less regard she had for him. It seemed to her that between that
innocent red hair and the cranium were located certain protuberances
of a very curious kind; and she remembered with emotion that
malediction she had uttered against her daughter on that ever
memorable day on which her foot was injured and her washing spoilt.
At last, the wedding day arrived. Mother Holofernes had made pastry
and reflections--the former sweet, the latter bitter; a great _olla
podrida_ for the food, and a dangerous project for supper; she had
prepared a barrel of wine that was generous, and a line of conduct
that was not. When the bridal pair were about to retire to the nuptial
chamber, Mother Holofernes called her daughter aside, and said: "When
you are in your room, be careful to close the door and windows; shut
all the shutters, and do not leave a single crevice open but the
keyhole of the door. Take with you this branch of consecrated olive,
and beat your husband with it as I advise you; this ceremony is
customary at all marriages, and signifies that the woman is going to
be master, and is followed in order to sanction and establish the
rule."
Panfila, for the first time obedient to her mother, did everything
that she had prescribed.
No sooner did the bridegroom espy the branch of consecrated olive in
the hands of his wife, than he attempted to make a precipitous
retreat. But when he found the doors and windows closed, and every
crevice stopped up, seeing no other means of escape than by passing
through the keyhole, he crept into that; this spruce, red-and-white,
and well-spoken bachelor being, as Mother Holofernes had suspected,
neither more nor less than the Evil One himself, who, availing himself
of the right given him by the anathema launched against Panfila by her
mother, thought to amuse himself with the pleasures of a marriage, and
encumber himself with a wife of his own, whilst so many husbands were
supplicating him to take theirs off their hands.
But this gentleman, despite his reputation for wisdom, had met with a
mother-in-law who knew more than he did; and Mother Holofernes was not
the only specimen of that genus. Therefore, scarcely had his lordship
entered into the keyhole, congratulating himself upon having, as
usual, discovered a method of escape, than he found himself in a
phial, which his foreseeing mother-in-law had ready on the other side
of the door; and no sooner had he got into it than the provident old
dame sealed the vessel hermetically. In a most tender voice, and with
most humble supplications, and most pathetic gestures, her son-in-law
addressed her, and desired that she would grant him his liberty. But
Mother Holofernes was not to be deceived by the demon, nor
disconcerted by orations, nor imposed upon by honeyed words; she took
charge of the bottle and its contents, and went off to a mountain. The
old lady vigorously climbed to the summit of this mountain, and there,
on its most elevated crest, in a rocky and secluded spot, deposited
the phial, taking leave of her son-in-law with a shake of her closed
fist as a farewell greeting.
And there his lordship remained for ten years. What years those ten
were! The world was as quiet as a pool of oil. Everybody attended to
his own affairs, without meddling in those of other people. Nobody
coveted the position, nor the wife, nor the property of other persons;
theft became a word without signification; arms rusted; powder was
only consumed in fireworks; prisons stood empty; finally, in this
decade of the golden age, only one single deplorable event occurred
... the lawyers died from hunger and quietude.
Alas! that so happy a time should have an end! But everything has an
end in this world, even the discourses of the most eloquent fathers of
the country. At last the much-to-be-envied decade came to a
termination in the following way.
A soldier named Briónes had obtained permission for a few days' leave
to enable him to visit his native place, which was Villagañanes. He
took the road which led to the lofty mountain upon whose summit the
son-in-law of Mother Holofernes was cursing all mothers-in-law, past,
present, and future, promising as soon as ever he regained his power
to put an end to that class of vipers, and by a very simple
method--the abolition of matrimony. Much of his time was spent in
composing and reciting satires against the invention of washing linen,
the primal cause of his present trouble.
Arrived at the foot of the mountain, Briónes did not care to go round
the mountain like the road, but wished to go straight ahead, assuring
the carriers who were with him, that if the mountain would not go to
the right-about for him he would pass over its summit, although it
were so high that he should knock his head against the sky.
When he reached the summit, Briónes was struck with amazement on
seeing the phial borne like a pimple on the nose of the mountain. He
took it up, looked through it, and on perceiving the demon, who with
years of confinement and fasting, the sun's rays, and sadness, had
dwindled and become as dried as a prune, exclaimed in surprise:--
"Whatever vermin is this? What a phenomenon!"
"I am an honourable and meritorious demon," said the captive, humbly
and courteously. "The perversity of a treacherous mother-in-law, into
whose clutches I fell, has held me confined here during the last ten
years; liberate me, valiant warrior, and I will grant any favour you
choose to solicit."
"I should like my demission from the army," said Briónes.
"You shall have it; but uncork, uncork quickly, for it is a most
monstrous anomaly to have thrust into a corner, in these revolutionary
times, the first revolutionist in the world."
Briónes drew the cork out slightly, and a noxious vapour issued from
the bottle and ascended to his brain. He sneezed, and immediately
replaced the stopper with such a violent blow from his hand that the
cork was suddenly depressed, and the prisoner, squeezed down, gave a
shout of rage and pain.
"What are you doing, vile earthworm, more malicious and perfidious
than my mother-in-law?" he exclaimed.
"There is another condition," responded Briónes, "that I must add to
our treaty; it appears to me that the service I am going to do you is
worth it."
"And what is this condition, tardy liberator?" inquired the demon.
"I should like for thy ransom four dollars daily during the rest of my
life. Think of it, for upon that depends whether you stay in or come
out."
"Miserable avaricious one!" exclaimed the demon, "I have no money."
"Oh!" replied Briónes, "what an answer from a great lord like you!
Why, friend, that is the Minister of War's answer! If you can't pay me
I cannot help you."
"Then you do not believe me," said the demon, "only let me out, and I
will aid you to obtain what you want as I have done for many others.
Let me out, I say, let me out."
"Gently," responded the soldier, "there is nothing to hurry about.
Understand me that I shall have to hold you by the tail until you have
performed your promise to me; and if not, I have nothing more to say
to you."
"Insolent, do you not trust me then!" shouted the demon.
"No," responded Briónes.
"What you desire is contrary to my dignity," said the captive, with
all the arrogance that a being of his size could express.
"Now I must go," said Briónes.
"Good-bye," said the demon, in order not to say _adieu_.
But seeing that Briónes went off, the captive made desperate jumps in
the phial, shouting loudly to the soldier.
"Return, return, dear friend," he said; and muttered to himself, "I
should like a four-year-old bull to overtake you, you soulless fool!"
and then he shouted, "Come, come, beneficent fellow, liberate me, and
hold me by the tail, or by the nose, valiant warrior;" and then
muttered to himself, "Some one will avenge me, obstinate soldier; and
if the son-in-law of Mother Holofernes is not able to do it, there are
those who will burn you both, face to face, in the same bonfire, or I
have little influence."
On hearing the demon's supplications Briónes returned and uncorked the
bottle. Mother Holofernes's son-in-law came forth like a chick from
its shell, drawing out his head first and then his body, and lastly
his tail, which Briónes seized; and the more the demon tried to
contract it the firmer he held it.
After the ex-captive, who was somewhat cramped, had occasionally
stopped to stretch his arms and legs, they took the road to court, the
demon grumbling and following the soldier, who carried the tail well
secured in his hands.
On their arrival they went to court, and the demon said to his
liberator:--
"I am going to put myself into the body of the princess, who is
extremely beloved by her father, and I shall give her pains that no
doctor will be able to cure; then you present yourself and offer to
cure her, demanding for your recompense four dollars daily, and your
discharge. I will then leave her to you, and our accounts will be
settled."
Everything happened as arranged and foreseen by the demon, but Briónes
did not wish to let go his hold of the tail, and he said:--
"Well devised, sir, but four dollars are a ransom unworthy of you, of
me, and of the service that we have undertaken. Find some method of
showing yourself more generous. To do this will give you honour in the
world, where, pardon my frankness, you do not enjoy the best of
characters."
"Would that I could get rid of you!" said the demon to himself, "but I
am so weak and so numbed that I am not able to go alone. I must have
patience! that which men call a virtue. Oh, now I understand why so
many fall into my power for not having practised it. Forward then for
Naples, for it is necessary to submit in order to liberate my tail. I
must go and submit to the arbitration of fate for the satisfaction of
this new demand."
Everything succeeded according to his wish. The princess of Naples
fell a victim to convulsive pains and took to her bed. The king was
greatly afflicted. Briónes presented himself with all the arrogance
his knowledge that he would receive the demon's aid could give him.
The king was willing to make use of his services, but stipulated that
if within three days he had not cured the princess, as he confidently
promised to, he should be hanged. Briónes, certain of a favourable
result, did not raise the slightest objection.
Unfortunately, the demon heard this arrangement made, and gave a leap
of delight at seeing within his hands the means of avenging himself.
The demon's leap caused the princess such pain that she begged them to
take the doctor away.
The following day this scene was repeated. Briónes then knew that the
demon was at the bottom of it, and intended to let him be hanged. But
Briónes was not a man to lose his head.
On the third day, when the pretended doctor arrived, they were
erecting the gallows in front of the very palace door. As he entered
the princess's apartment, the invalid's pains were redoubled and she
began to cry out that they should put an end to that impostor.
"I have not exhausted all my resources yet," said Briónes gravely,
"deign, your Royal Highness, to wait a little while." He then went out
of the room and gave orders in the princess's name that all the bells
of the city should be rung.
When he returned to the royal apartment, the demon, who has a mortal
hatred of the sound of bells, and is, moreover, inquisitive, asked
Briónes what the bells were ringing for.
"They are ringing," responded the soldier, "because of the arrival of
your mother-in-law, whom I have ordered to be summoned."
Scarcely had the demon heard that his mother-in-law had arrived, than
he flew away with such rapidity that not even a sun's ray could have
caught him. Proud as a peacock, Briónes was left in victorious
possession of the field.
THE GENEROUS GAMBLER[17]
BY CHARLES PIERRE BAUDELAIRE
[17] From _The English Review_, November 1918. By permission
of the Editor and Mr. Arthur Symons.
Yesterday, across the crowd of the boulevard, I found myself touched
by a mysterious Being I had always desired to know, and who I
recognized immediately, in spite of the fact that I had never seen
him. He had, I imagined, in himself, relatively as to me, a similar
desire, for he gave me, in passing, so significant a sign in his eyes
that I hastened to obey him. I followed him attentively, and soon I
descended behind him into a subterranean dwelling, astonishing to me
as a vision, where shone a luxury of which none of the actual houses
in Paris could give me an approximate example. It seemed to me
singular that I had passed so often that prodigious retreat without
having discovered the entrance. There reigned an exquisite, an almost
stifling atmosphere, which made one forget almost instantaneously all
the fastidious horrors of life; there I breathed a sombre sensuality,
like that of opium-smokers when, set on the shore of an enchanted
island, over which shone an eternal afternoon, they felt born in them,
to the soothing sounds of melodious cascades, the desire of never
again seeing their households, their women, their children, and of
never again being tossed on the decks of ships by storms.
There were there strange faces of men and women, gifted with so fatal
a beauty that I seemed to have seen them years ago and in countries
which I failed to remember, and which inspired in me that curious
sympathy and that equally curious sense of fear that I usually
discover in unknown aspects. If I wanted to define in some fashion or
other the singular expression of their eyes, I would say that never
had I seen such magic radiance more energetically expressing the
horror of _ennui_ and of desire--of the immortal desire of feeling
themselves alive.
As for mine host and myself, we were already, as we sat down, as
perfect friends as if we had always known each other. We drank
immeasurably of all sorts of extraordinary wines, and--a thing not
less bizarre--it seemed to me, after several hours, that I was no more
intoxicated than he was.
However, gambling, this superhuman pleasure, had cut, at various
intervals, our copious libations, and I ought to say that I had gained
and lost my soul, as we were playing, with an heroical carelessness
and light-heartedness. The soul is so invisible a thing, often useless
and sometimes so troublesome, that I did not experience, as to this
loss, more than that kind of emotion I might have, had I lost my
visiting card in the street.
We spent hours in smoking cigars, whose incomparable savour and
perfume give to the soul the nostalgia of unknown delights and sights,
and, intoxicated by all these spiced sauces, I dared, in an access of
familiarity which did not seem to displease him, to cry, as I lifted
a glass filled to the brim with wine: "To your immortal health, Old
He-Goat!"
We talked of the universe, of its creation and of its future
destruction; of the leading ideas of the century--that is to say, of
Progress and Perfectibility--and, in general, of all kinds of human
infatuations. On this subject his Highness was inexhaustible in his
irrefutable jests, and he expressed himself with a splendour of
diction and with a magnificence in drollery such as I have never found
in any of the most famous conversationalists of our age. He explained
to me the absurdity of different philosophies that had so far taken
possession of men's brains, and deigned even to take me in confidence
in regard to certain fundamental principles, which I am not inclined
to share with any one.
He complained in no way of the evil reputation under which he lived,
indeed, all over the world, and he assured me that he himself was of
all living beings the most interested in the destruction of
_Superstition_, and he avowed to me that he had been afraid,
relatively as to his proper power, once only, and that was on the day
when he had heard a preacher, more subtle than the rest of the human
herd, cry in his pulpit: "My dear brethren, do not ever forget, when
you hear the progress of lights praised, that the loveliest trick of
the Devil is to persuade you that he does not exist!"
The memory of this famous orator brought us naturally on the subject
of Academies, and my strange host declared to me that he didn't
disdain, in many cases, to inspire the pens, the words, and the
consciences of pedagogues, and that he almost always assisted in
person, in spite of being invisible, at all the scientific meetings.
Encouraged by so much kindness I asked him if he had any news of
God--who has not his hours of impiety?--especially as the old friend
of the Devil. He said to me, with a shade of unconcern united with a
deeper shade of sadness: "We salute each other when we meet." But, for
the rest, he spoke in Hebrew.
It is uncertain if his Highness has ever given so long an audience to
a simple mortal, and I feared to abuse it.
Finally, as the dark approached shivering, this famous personage, sung
by so many poets, and served by so many philosophers who work for his
glory's sake without being aware of it, said to me: "I want you to
remember me always, and to prove to you that I--of whom one says so
much evil--am often enough _bon diable_, to make use of one of your
vulgar locutions. So as to make up for the irremediable loss that you
have made of your soul, I shall give you back the stake you ought to
have gained, if your fate had been fortunate--that is to say, the
possibility of solacing and of conquering, during your whole life,
this bizarre affection of _ennui_, which is the source of all your
maladies and of all your miseries. Never a desire shall be formed by
you that I will not aid you to realize; you will reign over your
vulgar equals; money and gold and diamonds, fairy palaces, shall come
to seek you and shall ask you to accept them without your having made
the least effort to obtain them; you can change your abode as often as
you like; you shall have in your power all sensualities without
lassitude, in lands where the climate is always hot, and where the
women are as scented as the flowers." With this he rose up and said
good-bye to me with a charming smile.
If it had not been for the shame of humiliating myself before so
immense an assembly, I might have voluntarily fallen at the feet of
this generous Gambler, to thank him for his unheard-of munificence.
But, little by little, after I had left him, an incurable defiance
entered into me; I dared no longer believe in so prodigious a
happiness; and as I went to bed, making over again my nightly prayer
by means of all that remained in me in the matter of faith, I repeated
in my slumber: "My God, my Lord, my God! Do let the Devil keep his
word with me!"
THE THREE LOW MASSES[18]
A CHRISTMAS STORY
BY ALPHONSE DAUDET
[18] From _The Fig and the Idler, an Algerian Legend, and
Other Stories_, by Alphonse Daudet. London, T. Fisher Unwin,
1892. (By permission of the Publisher.)
I
"Two truffled turkeys, Garrigou?"
"Yes, your reverence, two magnificent turkeys, stuffed with truffles.
I should know something about it, for I myself helped to fill them.
One would have said their skin would crack as they were roasting, it
is that stretched...."
"Jesu-Maria! I who like truffles so much!... Quick, give me my
surplice, Garrigou.... And have you seen anything else in the kitchen
besides the turkeys?"
"Yes, all kinds of good things.... Since noon, we have done nothing
but pluck pheasants, hoopoes, barn-fowls, and woodcocks. Feathers were
flying about all over.... Then they have brought eels, gold carp, and
trout out of the pond, besides...."
"What size were the trout, Garrigou?"
"As big as that, your reverence.... Enormous!"
"Oh heavens! I think I see them.... Have you put the wine in the
vessels?"
"Yes, your reverence, I have put the wine in the vessels.... But la!
it is not to be compared to what you will drink presently, when the
midnight mass is over. If you only saw that in the dining hall of the
château! The decanters are all full of wines glowing with every
colour!... And the silver plate, the chased _epergnes_, the flowers,
the lustres!... Never will such another midnight repast be seen. The
noble marquis has invited all the lords of the neighbourhood. At least
forty of you will sit down to table, without reckoning the farm
bailiff and the notary.... Oh, how lucky is your reverence to be one
of them!... After a mere sniff of those fine turkeys, the scent of
truffles follows me everywhere.... Yum!"
"Come now, come now, my child. Let us keep from the sin of gluttony,
on the night of the Nativity especially.... Be quick and light the
wax-tapers and ring the first bell for the mass; for it's nearly
midnight and we must not be behind time."
This conversation took place on a Christmas night in the year of grace
one thousand six hundred and something, between the Reverend Dom
Balaguère (formerly Prior of the Barnabites, now paid chaplain of the
Lords of Trinquelague), and his little clerk Garrigou, or at least him
whom he took for his little clerk Garrigou, for you must know that the
devil had on that night assumed the round face and soft features of
the young sacristan, in order the more effectually to lead the
reverend father into temptation, and make him commit the dreadful sin
of gluttony. Well then, while the supposed Garrigou (hum!) was with
all his might making the bells of the baronial chapel chime out, his
reverence was putting on his chasuble in the little sacristy of the
château; and with his mind already agitated by all these gastronomic
descriptions, he kept saying to himself as he was robing:
"Roasted turkeys, ... golden carp, ... trout as big as that!..."
Out of doors, the soughing night wind was carrying abroad the music of
the bells, and with this, lights began to make their appearance on the
dark sides of Mount Ventoux, on the summit of which rose the ancient
towers of Trinquelague. The lights were borne by the families of the
tenant farmers, who were coming to hear the midnight mass at the
château. They were scaling the hill in groups of five or six together,
and singing; the father in front carrying a lantern, and the women
wrapped up in large brown cloaks, beneath which their little children
snuggled and sheltered. In spite of the cold and the lateness of the
hour these good folks were marching blithely along, cheered by the
thought that after the mass was over there would be, as always in
former years, tables set for them down in the kitchens. Occasionally
the glass windows in some lord's carriage, preceded by torch-bearers,
would glisten in the moon-light on the rough ascent; or perhaps a mule
would jog by with tinkling bells, and by the light of the misty
lanterns the tenants would recognize their bailiff and would salute
him as he passed with:
"Good evening, Master Arnoton."
"Good evening. Good evening, my friend."
The night was clear, and the stars were twinkling with frost; the
north wind was nipping, and at times a fine small hail, that slipped
off one's garments without wetting them, faithfully maintained the
tradition of Christmas being white with snow. On the summit of the
hill, as the goal towards which all were wending, gleamed the château,
with its enormous mass of towers and gables, and its chapel steeple
rising into the blue-black sky. A multitude of little lights were
twinkling, coming, going, and moving about at all the windows; they
looked like the sparks one sees running about in the ashes of burnt
paper.