Richard Garnett. Published by John Lane Co., New York.
Lucifer sat playing chess with Man for his soul.
The game was evidently going ill for Man. He had but pawns left, few
and struggling. Lucifer had rooks, knights, and, of course, bishops.
It was but natural under such circumstances that Man should be in no
great hurry to move. Lucifer grew impatient.
"It is a pity," said he at last, "that we did not fix some period
within which the player must move, or resign."
"Oh, Lucifer," returned the young man, in heart-rending accents, "it
is not the impending loss of my soul that thus unmans me, but the loss
of my betrothed. When I think of the grief of the Lady Adeliza, the
paragon of terrestrial loveliness!" Tears choked his utterance;
Lucifer was touched.
"Is the Lady Adeliza's loveliness in sooth so transcendent?" he
inquired.
"She is a rose, a lily, a diamond, a morning star!"
"If that is the case," rejoined Lucifer, "thou mayest reassure
thyself. The Lady Adeliza shall not want for consolation. I will
assume thy shape and woo her in thy stead."
The young man hardly seemed to receive all the comfort from this
promise which Lucifer no doubt designed. He made a desperate move. In
an instant the Devil checkmated him, and he disappeared.
* * * * *
"Upon my word, if I had known what a business this was going to be, I
don't think I should have gone in for it," soliloquized the Devil as,
wearing his captive's semblance and installed in his apartments, he
surveyed the effects to which he now had to administer. They included
coats, shirts, collars, neckties, foils, cigars, and the like _ad
libitum_; and very little else except three challenges, ten writs, and
seventy-four unpaid bills, elegantly disposed around the
looking-glass. To the poor youth's praise be it said, there were no
_billets-doux_, except from the Lady Adeliza herself.
Noting the address of these carefully, the Devil sallied forth, and
nothing but his ignorance of the topography of the hotel, which made
him take the back stairs, saved him from the clutches of two bailiffs
lurking on the principal staircase. Leaping into a cab, he thus
escaped a perfumer and a bootmaker, and shortly found himself at the
Lady Adeliza's feet.
The truth had not been half told him. Such beauty, such wit, such
correctness of principle! Lucifer went forth from her presence a
love-sick fiend. Not Merlin's mother had produced half the impression
upon him; and Adeliza on her part had never found her lover
one-hundredth part so interesting as he seemed that morning.
Lucifer proceeded at once to the City, where, assuming his proper
shape for the occasion, he negotiated a loan without the smallest
difficulty. All debts were promptly discharged, and Adeliza was
astonished at the splendour and variety of the presents she was
constantly receiving.
Lucifer had all but brought her to name the day, when he was informed
that a gentleman of clerical appearance desired to wait upon him.
"Wants money for a new church or mission, I suppose," said he. "Show
him up."
But when the visitor was ushered in, Lucifer found with discomposure
that he was no earthly clergyman, but a celestial saint; a saint, too,
with whom Lucifer had never been able to get on. He had served in the
army while on earth, and his address was curt, precise, and
peremptory.
"I have called," he said, "to notify to you my appointment as
Inspector of Devils."
"What!" exclaimed Lucifer, in consternation. "To the post of my old
friend Michael!"
"Too old," said the Saint laconically. "Millions of years older than
the world. About your age, I think."
Lucifer winced, remembering the particular business he was then about.
The Saint continued:
"I am a new broom, and am expected to sweep clean. I warn you that I
mean to be strict, and there is one little matter which I must set
right immediately. You are going to marry that poor young fellow's
betrothed, are you? Now you know you can not take his wife, unless you
give him yours."
"Oh, my dear friend," exclaimed Lucifer, "what an inexpressibly
blissful prospect you do open unto me!"
"I don't know that," said the Saint. "I must remind you that the
dominion of the infernal regions is unalterably attached to the person
of the present Queen thereof. If you part with her you immediately
lose all your authority and possessions. I don't care a brass button
which you do, but you must understand that you cannot eat your cake
and have it too. Good morning!"
Who shall describe the conflict in Lucifer's bosom? If any stronger
passion existed therein at that moment than attachment to Adeliza, it
was aversion to his consort, and the two combined were wellnigh
irresistible. But to disenthrone himself, to descend to the condition
of a poor devil!
Feeling himself incapable of coming to a decision, he sent for Belial,
unfolded the matter, and requested his advice.
"What a shame that our new inspector will not let you marry Adeliza!"
lamented his counsellor. "If you did, my private opinion is that
forty-eight hours afterwards you would care just as much for her as
you do now for Madam Lucifer, neither more nor less. Are your
intentions really honourable?"
"Yes," replied Lucifer, "it is to be a Lucifer match."
"The more fool you," rejoined Belial. "If you tempted her to commit a
sin, she would be yours without any conditions at all."
"Oh, Belial," said Lucifer, "I cannot bring myself to be a tempter of
so much innocence and loveliness."
And he meant what he said.
"Well then, let me try," proposed Belial.
"You?" replied Lucifer contemptuously; "do you imagine that Adeliza
would look at you?"
"Why not?" asked Belial, surveying himself complacently in the glass.
He was humpbacked, squinting, and lame, and his horns stood up under
his wig.
The discussion ended in a wager: after which there was no retreat for
Lucifer.
The infernal Iachimo was introduced to Adeliza as a distinguished
foreigner, and was soon prosecuting his suit with all the success
which Lucifer had predicted. One thing protected while it baffled
him--the entire inability of Adeliza to understand what he meant. At
length he was constrained to make the matter clear by producing an
enormous treasure, which he offered Adeliza in exchange for the
abandonment of her lover.
The tempest of indignation which ensued would have swept away any
ordinary demon, but Belial listened unmoved. When Adeliza had
exhausted herself he smilingly rallied her upon her affection for an
unworthy lover, of whose infidelity he undertook to give her proof.
Frantic with jealousy, Adeliza consented, and in a trice found herself
in the infernal regions.
* * * * *
Adeliza's arrival in Pandemonium, as Belial had planned, occurred
immediately after the receipt of a message from Lucifer, in whose
bosom love had finally gained the victory, and who had telegraphed his
abdication and resignation of Madam Lucifer to Adeliza's betrothed.
The poor young man had just been hauled up from the lower depths, and
was beset by legions of demons obsequiously pressing all manner of
treasures upon his acceptance. He stared, helpless and bewildered,
unable to realize his position in the smallest degree. In the
background grave and serious demons, the princes of the infernal
realm, discussed the new departure, and consulted especially how to
break it to Madam Lucifer--a commission of which no one seemed
ambitious.
"Stay where you are," whispered Belial to Adeliza; "stir not: you
shall put his constancy to the proof within five minutes."
Not all the hustling, mowing, and gibbering of the fiends would under
ordinary circumstances have kept Adeliza from her lover's side: but
what is all hell to jealousy?
In even less time than he had promised, Belial returned, accompanied
by Madam Lucifer. This lady's black robe, dripping with blood,
contrasted agreeably with her complexion of sulphurous yellow; the
absence of hair was compensated by the exceptional length of her
nails; she was a thousand million years old, and, but for her
remarkable muscular vigour, looked every one of them. The rage into
which Belial's communication had thrown her was something
indescribable; but, as her eye fell on the handsome youth, a different
order of thoughts seemed to take possession of her mind.
"Let the monster go!" she exclaimed; "who cares? Come, my love, ascend
the throne with me, and share the empire and the treasures of thy fond
Luciferetta."
"If you don't, back you go," interjected Belial.
What might have been the young man's decision if Madam Lucifer had
borne more resemblance to Madam Vulcan, it would be wholly impertinent
to inquire, for the question never arose.
"Take me away!" he screamed, "take me away, anywhere! anywhere out of
her reach! Oh, Adeliza!"
With a bound Adeliza stood by his side. She was darting a triumphant
glance at the discomfited Queen of Hell, when suddenly her expression
changed, and she screamed loudly. Two adorers stood before her, alike
in every lineament and every detail of costume, utterly
indistinguishable, even by the eye of Love.
Lucifer, in fact, hastening to throw himself at Adeliza's feet and
pray her to defer his bliss no longer, had been thunderstruck by the
tidings of her elopement with Belial. Fearing to lose his wife and his
dominions along with his sweetheart, he had sped to the nether regions
with such expedition that he had had no time to change his costume.
Hence the equivocation which confounded Adeliza, but at the same time
preserved her from being torn to pieces by the no less mystified Madam
Lucifer.
Perceiving the state of the case, Lucifer with true gentlemanly
feeling resumed his proper semblance, and Madam Lucifer's talons were
immediately inserted into his whiskers.
"My dear! my love!" he gasped, as audibly as she would let him, "is
this the way it welcomes its own Lucy-pucy?"
"Who is that person?" demanded Madam Lucifer.
"I don't know her," screamed the wretched Lucifer. "I never saw her
before. Take her away; shut her up in the deepest dungeon!"
"Not if I know it," sharply replied Madam Lucifer. "You can't bear to
part with her, can't you? You would intrigue with her under my nose,
would you? Take that! and that! Turn them both out, I say! turn them
both out!"
"Certainly, my dearest love, most certainly," responded Lucifer.
"Oh, Sire," cried Moloch and Beelzebub together, "for Heaven's sake
let your Majesty consider what he is doing. The Inspector--"
"Bother the Inspector!" screeched Lucifer. "D'ye think I'm not a
thousand times more afraid of your mistress than of all the saints in
the calendar? There," addressing Adeliza and her betrothed, "be off!
You'll find all debts paid, and a nice balance at the bank. Out! Run!"
They did not wait to be told twice. Earth yawned. The gates of
Tartarus stood wide. They found themselves on the side of a steep
mountain, down which they scoured madly, hand linked in hand. But fast
as they ran, it was long ere they ceased to hear the tongue of Madam
Lucifer.
LUCIFER[28]
BY ANATOLE FRANCE
[28] Taken by permission from _The Well of St. Claire_, by
Anatole France, translated by Alfred Allinson. Published,
1909, by John Lane Co., New York.
_E si compiacque tanto Spinello di farlo orribile e
contrafatto, che si dice (tanto può alcuna fiata
l'immaginazione) che la detta figura da lui dipinta gli
apparve in sogno, domandandolo dove egli l' avesse veduta si
brutta._[29]
(_Vite de' più eccellenti pittori, da Messer
Giorgio Vasari.--"Vita di Spinello."_)
[29] "And so successful was Spinello with his horrible and
portentous Production that it was commonly reported--so great
is always the force of fancy--that the said figure (of
Lucifer trodden underfoot by St. Michael in the Altar-Piece
of the Church of St. Agnolo at Arezzo) painted by him had
appeared to the artist in a dream, and asked him in what
place he had beheld him under so brutish a form."
_Lives of the most Excellent Painters_, by Giorgio
Vasari.--"Life of Spinello."
Andrea Tafi, painter and worker-in-mosaic of Florence, had a wholesome
terror of the Devils of Hell, particularly in the watches of the
night, when it is given to the powers of Darkness to prevail. And the
worthy man's fears were not unreasonable, for in those days the Demons
had good cause to hate the Painters, who robbed them of more souls
with a single picture than a good little Preaching Friar could do in
thirty sermons. No doubt the Monk, to instil a soul-saving horror in
the hearts of the faithful, would describe to the utmost of his
powers "that day of wrath, that day of mourning," which is to reduce
the universe to ashes, _teste David et Sibylla_, borrowing his deepest
voice and bellowing through his hands to imitate the Archangel's last
trump. But there! it was "all sound and fury, signifying nothing,"
whereas a painting displayed on a Chapel wall or in the Cloister,
showing Jesus Christ sitting on the Great White Throne to judge the
living and the dead, spoke unceasingly to the eyes of sinners, and
through the eyes chastened such as had sinned by the eyes or
otherwise.
It was in the days when cunning masters were depicting at Santa-Croce
in Florence and the Campo Santo of Pisa the mysteries of Divine
Justice. These works were drawn according to the account in verse
which Dante Alighieri, a man very learned in Theology and in Canon
Law, wrote in days gone by of his journey to Hell, and Purgatory and
Paradise, whither by the singular great merits of his lady, he was
able to make his way alive. So everything in these paintings was
instructive and true, and we may say surely less profit is to be had
of reading the most full and ample Chronicle than from contemplating
such representative works of art. Moreover, the Florentine masters
took heed to paint, under the shade of orange groves, on the
flower-starred turf, fair ladies and gallant knights, with Death lying
in wait for them with his scythe, while they were discoursing of love
to the sound of lutes and viols. Nothing was better fitted to convert
carnal-minded sinners who quaff forgetfulness of God on the lips of
women. To rebuke the covetous, the painter would show to the life the
Devils pouring molten gold down the throat of Bishop or Abbess, who
had commissioned some work from him and then scamped his pay.
This is why the Demons in those days were bitter enemies of the
painters, and above all of the Florentine painters, who surpassed all
the rest in subtlety of wit. Chiefly they reproached them with
representing them under a hideous guise, with the heads of bird and
fish, serpents' bodies and bats' wings. This sore resentment which
they felt will come out plainly in the history of Spinello of Arezzo.
Spinello Spinelli was sprung of a noble family of Florentine exiles,
and his graciousness of mind matched his gentle birth; for he was the
most skilful painter of his time. He wrought many and great works at
Florence; and the Pisans begged him to complete Giotto's
wall-paintings in their Campo Santo, where the dead rest beneath roses
in holy earth shipped from Jerusalem. At last, after working long
years in divers cities and getting much gold, he longed to see once
more the good city of Arezzo, his mother. The men of Arezzo had not
forgotten how Spinello, in his younger days, being enrolled in the
Confraternity of Santa Maria della Misericordia, had visited the sick
and buried the dead in the plague of 1383. They were grateful to him
besides for having by his works spread the fame of their city over all
Tuscany. For all these reasons they welcomed him with high honours on
his return.
Still full of vigour in his old age, he undertook important tasks in
his native town. His wife would tell him:
"You are rich, Spinello. Do you rest, and leave younger men to paint
instead of you. It is meet a man should end his days in a gentle,
religious quiet. It is tempting God to be for ever raising new and
worldly monuments, mere heathen towers of Babel. Quit your colours and
your varnishes, Spinello, or they will destroy your peace of mind."
So the good dame would preach, but he refused to listen, for his one
thought was to increase his fortune and renown. Far from resting on
his laurels, he arranged a price with the Wardens of Sant' Agnolo for
a history of St. Michael, that was to cover all the Choir of the
Church and contain an infinity of figures. Into this enterprise he
threw himself with extraordinary ardour. Re-reading the parts of
Scripture that were to be his inspiration, he set himself to study
deeply every line and every word of these passages. Not content with
drawing all day long in his workshop, he persisted in working both at
bed and board; while at dusk, walking below the hill on whose brow
Arezzo proudly lifts her walls and towers, he was still lost in
thought. And we may say the story of the Archangel was already limned
in his brain when he started to sketch out the incidents in red chalk
on the plaster of the wall. He was soon done tracing these outlines;
then he fell to painting above the high altar the scene that was to
outshine all the others in brilliancy. For it was his intent therein
to glorify the leader of the hosts of Heaven for the victory he won
before the beginning of time. Accordingly Spinello represented St.
Michael fighting in the air against the serpent with seven heads and
ten horns, and he figured with delight, in the bottom part of the
picture, the Prince of the Devils, Lucifer, under the semblance of an
appalling monster. The figures seemed to grow to life of themselves
under his hand. His success was beyond his fondest hopes; so hideous
was the countenance of Lucifer, none could escape the nightmare of its
foulness. The face haunted the painter in the streets and even went
home with him to his lodging.
Presently when night was come, Spinello lay down in his bed beside his
wife and fell asleep. In his slumbers he saw an Angel as comely as St.
Michael, but black; and the Angel said to him:
"Spinello, I am Lucifer. Tell me, where had you seen me, that you
should paint me as you have, under so ignominious a likeness?"
The old painter answered, trembling, that he had never seen him with
his eyes, never having gone down alive into Hell, like Messer Dante
Alighieri; but that, in depicting him as he had done, he was for
expressing in visible lines and colours the hideousness of sin.
Lucifer shrugged his shoulders, and the hill of San Gemignano seemed
of a sudden to heave and stagger.
"Spinello," he went on, "will you do me the pleasure to reason awhile
with me? I am no mean Logician; He you pray to knows that."
Receiving no reply, Lucifer proceeded in these terms:
"Spinello, you have read the books that tell of me. You know of my
enterprise, and how I forsook Heaven to become the Prince of this
World. A tremendous adventure,--and a unique one, had not the Giants
in like fashion assailed the god Jupiter, as yourself have seen,
Spinello, recorded on an ancient tomb where this Titanic war is carved
in marble."
"It is true," said Spinello, "I have seen the tomb, shaped like a
great tun, in the Church of Santa Reparata at Florence. 'Tis a fine
work of the Romans."
"Still," returned Lucifer, smiling, "the Giants are not pictured on it
in the shape of frogs or chameleons or the like hideous and horrid
creatures."
"True," replied the painter, "but then they had not attacked the true
God, but only a false idol of the Pagans. 'Tis a mighty difference.
The fact is clear, Lucifer, you raised the standard of revolt against
the true and veritable King of Earth and Heaven."
"I will not deny it," said Lucifer. "And how many sorts of sins do you
charge me with for that?"
"Seven, it is like enough," the painter answered, "and deadly sins one
and all."
"Seven!" exclaimed the Angel of Darkness; "well! the number is
canonical. Everything goes by sevens in my history, which is close
bound up with God's. Spinello, you deem me proud, angry and envious. I
enter no protest, provided you allow that glory was my only aim. Do
you deem me covetous? Granted again; Covetousness is a virtue for
Princes. For Gluttony and Lust, if you hold me guilty, I will not
complain. Remains _Indolence_."
As he pronounced the word, Lucifer crossed his arms across his breast,
and shaking his gloomy head, tossed his flaming locks:
"Tell me, Spinello, do you really think I am indolent? Do you take me
for a coward? Do you hold that in my revolt I showed a lack of
courage? Nay! you cannot. Then it was but just to paint me in the
guise of a hero, with a proud countenance. You should wrong no one,
not even the Devil. Cannot you see that you insult Him you make prayer
to, when you give Him for adversary a vile, monstrous toad? Spinello,
you are very ignorant for a man of your age. I have a great mind to
pull your ears, as they do to an ill-conditioned schoolboy."
At this threat, and seeing the arm of Lucifer already stretched out
towards him, Spinello clapped his hand to his head and began to howl
with terror.
His good wife, waking up with a start, asked him what ailed him. He
told her with chattering teeth, how he had just seen Lucifer and had
been in terror for his ears.
"I told you so," retorted the worthy dame; "I knew all those figures
you will go on painting on the walls would end by driving you mad."
"I am not mad," protested the painter. "I saw him with my own eyes;
and he is beautiful to look on, albeit proud and sad. First thing
tomorrow I will blot out the horrid figure I have drawn and set in its
place the shape I beheld in my dream. For we must not wrong even the
Devil himself."
"You had best go to sleep again," scolded his wife. "You are talking
stark nonsense, and unchristian to boot."
Spinello tried to rise, but his strength failed him and he fell back
unconscious on his pillow. He lingered on a few days in a high fever,
and then died.
THE DEVIL[30]
BY MAXIM GORKY
[30] From the _National Magazine_, vol. XV. By permission of
the Editor and Translator.
Life is a burden in the Fall,--the sad season of decay and death!
The grey days, the weeping, sunless sky, the dark nights, the
growling, whining wind, the heavy, black autumn shadows--all that
drives clouds of gloomy thoughts over the human soul, and fills it
with a mysterious fear of life where nothing is permanent, all is in
an eternal flux; things are born, decay, die ... why? ... for what
purpose?...
Sometimes the strength fails us to battle against the tenebrous
thoughts that enfold the soul late in the autumn, therefore those who
want to assuage their bitterness ought to meet them half way. This is
the only way by which they will escape from the chaos of despair and
doubt, and will enter on the terra firma of self-confidence.
But it is a laborious path, it leads through thorny brambles that
lacerate the living heart, and on that path the devil always lies in
ambush. It is that best of all the devils, with whom the great Goethe
has made us acquainted....
My story is about that devil.
* * * * *
The devil suffered from ennui.
He is too wise to ridicule everything.
He knows that there are phenomena of life which the devil himself is
not able to rail at; for example, he has never applied the sharp
scalpel of his irony to the majestic fact of his existence. To tell
the truth, our favourite devil is more bold than clever, and if we
were to look more closely at him, we might discover that, like
ourselves, he wastes most of his time on trifles. But we had better
leave that alone; we are not children that break their best toys in
order to discover what is in them.
The devil once wandered over the cemetery in the darkness of an autumn
night: he felt lonely and whistled softly as he looked around himself
in search of a distraction. He whistled an old song--my father's
favourite song,--
"When, in autumnal days,
A leaf from its branch is torn
And on high by the wind is borne."