THE FLESH AND THE DEVIL
"To tell men they cannot help themselves is to fling them into
recklessness and despair."--Froude.
Although David did not know the exact route the quack had laid out for
his journey, he was certain that it would be easy enough to trace him in
that sparsely-settled region, and so he turned his face in the direction
in which the equipage vanished when he watched it from the barn. His
movements did not seem to come from his own volition but to originate in
something external. He had a sense of yielding to necessity. There are
heroic moments in our lives, when that subtle force we call our "will"
demonstrates, or at all events persuades us, that we are "_free_." There
are others, like those through which the young adventurer was now
passing, when we experience a feeling of utter helplessness amidst
cosmic forces and believe ourselves to be straws in a mighty wind or
ill-fated stars borne along a predestined orbit.
Surrendering himself to the current of events, the recalcitrant Quaker
escaped for a time the painful consciousness of personal responsibility.
The tranquil stars above him seemed to look down upon the wanderer in
silent approval. The night birds chanted their congratulations from the
tree tops, and reading his own thoughts into their songs he imagined he
heard them saying, "Let each one find his mate; let each one find his
mate."
The cool night breeze caressed and kissed him as it hurried by on silent
wings, and for an hour or two he tramped along with a peace in his heart
which seemed to be a reflection from the outside world.
But gradually a change came over the face of nature, and this, too,
reflected itself in the mirror of his soul.
In the heavens above him the clouds commenced to gather like hostile
armies. They skirmished, sent out their flying battalions and then fell
upon each other in irresistible fury. Great, jagged flashes of
lightning, like sword thrusts from gigantic and hidden hands rent the
sky; wild crashes of thunder pealed through the reverberating dome of
heaven; the rain fell in torrents; the elements of nature seemed to have
evaded their master, vaulted their barriers and precipitated themselves
in a furious struggle.
The lonely pilgrim perceived the resemblance which his conflicting
emotions bore to this wild scene, and smiled grimly. He found in all
this tumult a justification for the tempest in his soul.
It was not until the light of morning struggled through this universal
gloom, that the weary and bedraggled traveler entered the outskirts of
the then straggling but growing and busy village of Hamilton. Tired in
body and benumbed in mind, he made his way to the hotel, conscious only
of his desire and determination to look once more upon the face of the
woman whose image was so indelibly impressed upon his mind.
Approaching the desk he nervously asked if the doctor was among the
guests, flushed at the answer, demanded a room, ascended the steep
staircase, and was soon in bed and asleep. Fatigued by his long tramp,
he did not awaken until after noon, and then, having bathed, dressed and
broken his long fast, he knocked at the door of the room occupied by the
doctor and his wife.
There was a quick but gentle step in answer to his summons, and at the
music of that footfall his heart beat tumultuously. The door opened, and
before him stood the woman who had brought about this mysterious train
of events in his life.
She started back as she saw him, with an involuntary and timid motion,
but so great was her surprise and joy that she could not control her
speech or action sufficiently to greet him.
"Who is there?" cried the doctor, in his loud, imperative voice.
"Mr. Corson," she answered in tones that were scarcely audible.
"Corson? Who the d-d-deuce is Corson, and what the deuce does he want?"
he asked, rising and approaching the door.
The instant his eyes fell on the countenance of the Quaker, he threw up
both hands and uttered a prolonged whistle of astonishment.
"The preacher!" he exclaimed. "The lost is found. The p-p-prodigal has
returned. Come in, and let us k-k-kill the fatted calf!"
Coarse as the welcome was, it was full of sincerity, and its heartiness
was like balm to the wounded spirit of the youth. He grasped the
extended hand and permitted himself to be drawn into the room.
Pepeeta, who had recovered from the first shock of surprise and delight,
came forward and greeted him with a shy reserve. She gave him her hand,
and its gentle touch reanimated his soul. She smiled at him,--a gracious
smile, and its light illumined the darkness of his heart. His sadness
vanished. He once more felt an emotion of joy.
The excitement of their meeting having subsided they seated themselves,
David in an easy chair, the doctor on the broad couch, and Pepeeta on a
little ottoman at his feet. Vivid green curtains partially obscured the
bright sunshine which beat upon the windows. The wall-paper was cheap,
vulgar, faded. On the floor was an old ingrain carpet full of patches
and spattered with ink stains. A blue-bottle fly buzzed and butted his
head against the walls, and through the open casement hummed the traffic
of the busy little town.
Nothing could have been more expressive of triumph and delight than the
face of the quack. Whenever his feelings were particularly bland and
expansive, he had a way of taking the ends of his enormous moustache and
twirling them between his spatulate thumbs and fingers. He did this
now, and twisted them until the coarse hairs could be heard grating
against each other.
"Well, well!" he said, "so you could not resist the temptation? Ha! ha!
ha! No wonder! It's not every young fellow behind the p-p-plow-tail that
has a fortune thrust under his nose. Shows your g-g-good sense. I was
right. I always am. I knew you were too bright a man to hide your light
under a half b-b-bushel of a village like that. In those seven-by-nine
towns, all the sap dries out of men, and before they are forty they
begin to rattle around like peas in a p-p-pod. In such places young men
are never anything but milk sops, and old men anything but
b-b-bald-headed infants! You needed to see the world, young man. You
required a teacher. You have put yourself into good hands, and if you
stay with me you shall wear d-d-diamonds."
"Whatever the results may be, I have determined to make the experiment,"
said David, shrugging his shoulders.
"Right you are. But what b-b-brought you round? You were as stiff as a
ramrod when I left you."
"Circumstances over which I had no control, and which I want to forget
as soon as possible. My old life has ended and I have come to seek a new
one."
"A new life? That's good. Well--we will show it to you, P-P-Pepeeta and
I! We will show you."
"The sooner the better. What am I to do?"
"Not too fast! There are times when it is better to g-g-go slow, as the
snail said to the lightning. We must make a b-b-bargain."
"Make it to suit yourself."
"You d-d-don't expect me to stick to my old offer, I reckon. When I made
it, Mahomet went to the m-m-mountain, and now the mountain comes to
Mahomet; see?"
"Do as you please, I am in no mood to split hairs, nor pennies. All I
ask is a chance to put my foot upon the first round of the ladder and if
I do not get to the top, I shall not hold you responsible," David
replied, dropping the "thees" of his Quaker life, in his determination
to divest himself of all its customs as rapidly as he could.
"Hi! hi! There's fire in the flint! Good thing! you don't want to split
pennies! Well, if you d-d-don't, I don't. You take me on the right side,
D-D-Davy. I'll do the square thing by you--see if I d-d-don't. Let's
have a drink. Bring the bottle, Pepeeta!"
She went to the mantel and returned with a flask and two glasses. The
quack filled them both and passed one to David. It was the first time in
his life that he had ever even smelt an intoxicant. He recoiled a
little; but having committed himself to his new life, he determined to
accept all that it involved. He lifted the fiery potion to his lips, and
drank.
"Hot, is it, my son?" cried the doctor, laughing uproariously at his
wry face. "You Quakers drink too much water! Freezes inside of you and
t-t-turns you into what you might call two-p-p-pronged icicles. Give me
men with red blood in their veins! And there's nothing makes b-b-blood
red like strong liquors!"
The whisky revived the courage and loosened the tongue of the youth. The
repugnance which he had instinctively felt for the vulgar quack began to
mellow into admiration. He asked and answered many questions.
"What part am I to take in this business?" he asked.
"What part are you to take in the business? That's good, 'Never put off
till to-morrow what you can d-d-do to-day.' 'Business first and then
pleasure.' 'The soul of business is dispatch.' These are good mottoes,
my lad. I learned them from the wise men; but if I had not learned them,
I should have invented them. What's your p-p-part of the business, says
you; listen! You are to be its m-m-mouth-piece. That tongue of yours
must wag like the tail of a d-d-dog; turn like a weather-vane; hiss like
a serpent, drip with honey and poison, be tipped with p-p-persuasion;
tell ten thousand t-t-tales, and every tale must sell a bottle of
p-p-panacea!"
He paused, and looked rapturously upon the face of his pupil.
"This panacea--has it merits? Will it really cure?" asked David.
The doctor laughed long and loud.
"Has it merits? Will it really cure? Ho! ho! 'Is thy bite good for the
b-b-backache?' said the sick mouse to the cat. What difference does it
make whether it will cure or not? Success in b-b-business is not based
upon the quality of the m-m-merchandise, my son."
"Upon what, then?" said David.
"Upon the follies, the weaknesses and the p-p-passions of mankind! Since
time began, a universal panacea' has been a sure source of wealth. It
makes no difference what the panacea is, if you only have the b-b-brains
to fool the people. There are only two kinds of people in the world, my
son--the fools and f-f-foolers!"
Even whisky could not make David listen to this cold-blooded avowal
without a shudder.
The keen eye of the quack detected it; but instead of adulterating his
philosophy, he doubled his dose.
"Shocks you, does it? You will g-g-get over that. We are not angels! we
are only men. Remember what old Jack Falstaff said? 'If Adam fell in a
state, of innocency, what shall I d-d-do in a state of villainy?'"
The boldness of the man and the radicalness of his philosophy dazzled
and fascinated the inexperienced youth.
This was what the astute and unscrupulous instructor expected, and he
determined to pursue his advantage and effect, if possible, the complete
corruption of his pupil in a single lesson; and so he continued:
"Got to live, my son! Self-p-p-preservation is the first law, and so we
must imitate the rest of the b-b-brute creation, and live off of each
other! The big ones must feed upon the little and the strong upon the
weak. 'Every man for himself and the d-d-devil take the hindmost!'
That's my religion."
"You may be right," said David, "but I cannot say that I take to it
kindly. I do not see how a man can practice this cruelty and injustice
without suffering."
"Suffering! Idea of suffering is greatly exaggerated. Ever watch a
t-t-toad that was being swallowed by a snake? Looks as if he positively
enjoyed it. It's his mission. Born to be eaten! If there was as much
pain in the world as p-p-people say, do you think anybody could endure
it! Isn't the d-d-door always open? Can't a man quit when he wants to?
Suffering! Pshaw! Do I look as if I suffered? Does Pepeeta look as if
she suffered? And yet she b-b-bamboozles them worse than I do."
The head of the gypsy bent lower and lower over her crocheting.
"She plays upon them like a fife! They d-d-dance when she whistles! Next
to wanting a universal panacea for pain, the idiots want a knowledge of
the future! Everybody but me wants to know what kind of a to-morrow God
Almighty has made for him. I make my own to-morrows! I don't ask to
have my destiny made up for me like a t-t-tailor coat. I make my own
destiny. If things d-d-don't come my way, I just pull them! People talk
about 'following Providence!' I follow Providence as an Irishman follows
his wheel-barrow. I shove it! See? But that is not the way of the rest
of them, thank Fortune! And so Pepeeta gathers them in! Strange fish
g-g-get into her net, Davy. Back there in your own little t-t-town she
caught some of your long-faced old Quakers, b-b-big fellows with
broad-brimmed hats, drab coats and ox eyes, regular meetin'-goers! And
there was that little d-d-dove-eyed girl. What was it she wanted to
know, P-P-Pepeeta? Tell him. Ha! ha! Tell him and we will see him
b-b-blush."
"She asked me if her father was going to send her to Philadelphia this
winter," she answered, without lifting her eyes.
"I don't mean that!"
"She asked me whether I could tell them where to find the spotted
heifer."
"The d-d-deuce, child! Why don't you tell me what she asked you 'bout
D-D-Davy?"
"It is time for us to go to supper or we shall be late," she replied,
laying aside her work and rising.
"Sure enough!" cried the doctor, springing to his feet. "The Q-Q-Quaker
has knocked everything out of my head. Come on!"
He rose and began bustling about the room.
When Pepeeta glanced up from her work she saw in David's eye a grateful
appreciation of her courtesy and tact, and his look filled her with a
new happiness.
The disgust awakened in the Quaker's mind by the coarseness of the quack
was more than offset by the beauty and grace of the gypsy. When he
looked at her, when he was even conscious of her presence, he felt a
happiness which compensated for all that he had suffered or lost. He did
not stop to ask what its nature was. He had cast discretion to the
winds. He had in these few hours since his departure broken so utterly
with the past that he was like a man who had been suddenly awakened from
a long lapse of memory. His old life was as if it had never been. He
felt himself to be in a vacuum, where all his ideas must be newly
created. This epoch of his experience was superimposed upon the other
like a different geological formation. Like the old monks in their
cells, he was deliberately trying to erase from the parchment of his
soul all that had been previously written, in order that he might begin
a new life history.