“So you won’t sell me your soul?” said the devil.
“Thank you,” replied the student, “I had rather keep it myself, if it’s
all the same to you.”
“But it’s not all the same to me. I want it very particularly. Come,
I’ll be liberal. I said twenty years. You can have thirty.”
The student shook his head.
“Forty!”
Another shake.
“Fifty!”
As before.
“Now,” said the devil, “I know I’m going to do a foolish thing, but I
cannot bear to see a clever, spirited young man throw himself away.
I’ll make you another kind of offer. We won’t have any bargain at
present, but I will push you on in the world for the next forty years.
This day forty years I come back and ask you for a boon; not your soul,
mind, or anything not perfectly in your power to grant. If you give it,
we are quits; if not, I fly away with you. What say you to this?”
The student reflected for some minutes. “Agreed,” he said at last.
Scarcely had the devil disappeared, which he did instantaneously, ere a
messenger reined in his smoking steed at the gate of the University of
Cordova (the judicious reader will already have remarked that Lucifer
could never have been allowed inside a Christian seat of learning),
and, inquiring for the student Gerbert, presented him with the Emperor
Otho’s nomination to the Abbacy of Bobbio, in consideration, said the
document, of his virtue and learning, well-nigh miraculous in one so
young. Such messengers were frequent visitors during Gerbert’s
prosperous career. Abbot, bishop, archbishop, cardinal, he was
ultimately enthroned Pope on April 2, 999, and assumed the appellation
of Silvester the Second. It was then a general belief that the world
would come to an end in the following year, a catastrophe which to many
seemed the more imminent from the election of a chief pastor whose
celebrity as a theologian, though not inconsiderable, by no means
equalled his reputation as a necromancer.
The world, notwithstanding, revolved scatheless through the dreaded
twelvemonth, and early in the first year of the eleventh century
Gerbert was sitting peacefully in his study, perusing a book of magic.
Volumes of algebra, astrology, alchemy, Aristotelian philosophy, and
other such light reading filled his bookcase; and on a table stood an
improved clock of his invention, next to his introduction of the Arabic
numerals his chief legacy to posterity. Suddenly a sound of wings was
heard, and Lucifer stood by his side.
“It is a long time,” said the fiend, “since I have had the pleasure of
seeing you. I have now called to remind you of our little contract,
concluded this day forty years.”
“You remember,” said Silvester, “that you are not to ask anything
exceeding my power to perform.”
“I have no such intention,” said Lucifer. “On the contrary, I am about
to solicit a favour which can be bestowed by you alone. You are Pope, I
desire that you would make me a Cardinal.
“In the expectation, I presume,” returned Gerbert, “of becoming Pope on
the next vacancy.”
“An expectation,” replied Lucifer, “which I may most reasonably
entertain, considering my enormous wealth, my proficiency in intrigue,
and the present condition of the Sacred College.”
“You would doubtless,” said Gerbert, “endeavour to subvert the
foundations of the Faith, and, by a course of profligacy and
licentiousness, render the Holy See odious and contemptible.”
“On the contrary,” said the fiend, “I would extirpate heresy, and all
learning and knowledge as inevitably tending thereunto. I would suffer
no man to read but the priest, and confine his reading to his breviary.
I would burn your books together with your bones on the first
convenient opportunity. I would observe an austere propriety of
conduct, and be especially careful not to loosen one rivet in the
tremendous yoke I was forging for the minds and consciences of
mankind.”
“If it be so,” said Gerbert, “let’s be off!”
“What!” exclaimed Lucifer, “you are willing to accompany me to the
infernal regions!”
“Assuredly, rather than be accessory to the burning of Plato and
Aristotle, and give place to the darkness against which I have been
contending all my life.”
“Gerbert,” replied the demon, “this is arrant trifling. Know you not
that no good man can enter my dominions? that, were such a thing
possible, my empire would become intolerable to me, and I should be
compelled to abdicate?”
“I do know it,” said Gerbert, “and hence I have been able to receive
your visit with composure.”
“Gerbert,” said the devil, with tears in his eyes, “I put it to you—is
this fair, is this honest? I undertake to promote your interests in the
world; I fulfil my promise abundantly. You obtain through my
instrumentality a position to which you could never otherwise have
aspired. Often have I had a hand in the election of a Pope, but never
before have I contributed to confer the tiara on one eminent for virtue
and learning. You profit by my assistance to the full, and now take
advantage of an adventitious circumstance to deprive me of my
reasonable guerdon. It is my constant experience that the good people
are much more slippery than the sinners, and drive much harder
bargains.”
“Lucifer,” answered Gerbert, “I have always sought to treat you as a
gentleman, hoping that you would approve yourself such in return. I
will not inquire whether it was entirely in harmony with this character
to seek to intimidate me into compliance with your demand by
threatening me with a penalty which you well knew could not be
enforced. I will overlook this little irregularity, and concede even
more than you have requested. You have asked to be a Cardinal. I will
make you Pope—”
“Ha!” exclaimed Lucifer, and an internal glow suffused his sooty hide,
as the light of a fading ember is revived by breathing upon it.
“For twelve hours,” continued Gerbert. “At the expiration of that time
we will consider the matter further; and if, as I anticipate, you are
more anxious to divest yourself of the Papal dignity than you were to
assume it, I promise to bestow upon you any boon you may ask within my
power to grant, and not plainly inconsistent with religion or morals.”
“Done!” cried the demon. Gerbert uttered some cabalistic words, and in
a moment the apartment held two Pope Silvesters, entirely
indistinguishable save by their attire, and the fact that one limped
slightly with the left foot.
“You will find the Pontifical apparel in this cupboard,” said Gerbert,
and, taking his book of magic with him, he retreated through a masked
door to a secret chamber. As the door closed behind him he chuckled,
and muttered to himself, “Poor old Lucifer! Sold again!”
If Lucifer was sold he did not seem to know it. He approached a large
slab of silver which did duty as a mirror, and contemplated his
personal appearance with some dissatisfaction.
“I certainly don’t look half so well without my horns,” he
soliloquised, “and I am sure I shall miss my tail most grievously.”
A tiara and a train, however, made fair amends for the deficient
appendages, and Lucifer now looked every inch a Pope. He was about to
call the master of the ceremonies, and summon a consistory, when the
door was burst open, and seven cardinals, brandishing poniards, rushed
into the room.
“Down with the sorcerer!” they cried, as they seized and gagged him.
“Death to the Saracen!”
“Practises algebra, and other devilish arts!”
“Knows Greek!”
“Talks Arabic!”
“Reads Hebrew!”
“Burn him!”
“Smother him!”
“Let him be deposed by a general council,” said a young and
inexperienced Cardinal.
“Heaven forbid!” said an old and wary one, _sotto voce_.
Lucifer struggled frantically, but the feeble frame he was doomed to
inhabit for the next eleven hours was speedily exhausted. Bound and
helpless, he swooned away.
“Brethren,” said one of the senior cardinals, “it hath been delivered
by the exorcists that a sorcerer or other individual in league with the
demon doth usually bear upon his person some visible token of his
infernal compact. I propose that we forthwith institute a search for
this stigma, the discovery of which may contribute to justify our
proceedings in the eyes of the world.”
“I heartily approve of our brother Anno’s proposition,” said another,
“the rather as we cannot possibly fail to discover such a mark, if,
indeed, we desire to find it.”
The search was accordingly instituted, and had not proceeded far ere a
simultaneous yell from all the seven cardinals indicated that their
investigation had brought more to light than they had ventured to
expect.
The Holy Father had a cloven foot!
For the next five minutes the Cardinals remained utterly stunned,
silent, and stupefied with amazement. As they gradually recovered their
faculties it would have become manifest to a nice observer that the
Pope had risen very considerably in their good opinion.
“This is an affair requiring very mature deliberation,” said one.
“I always feared that we might be proceeding too precipitately,” said
another.
“It is written, ‘the devils believe,’” said a third: “the Holy Father,
therefore, is not a heretic at any rate.”
“Brethren,” said Anno, “this affair, as our brother Benno well remarks,
doth indeed call for mature deliberation. I therefore propose that,
instead of smothering his Holiness with cushions, as originally
contemplated, we immure him for the present in the dungeon adjoining
hereunto, and, after spending the night in meditation and prayer,
resume the consideration of the business tomorrow morning.”
“Informing the officials of the palace,” said Benno, “that his Holiness
has retired for his devotions, and desires on no account to be
disturbed.”
“A pious fraud,” said Anno, “which not one of the Fathers would for a
moment have scrupled to commit.”
The Cardinals accordingly lifted the still insensible Lucifer, and bore
him carefully, almost tenderly, to the apartment appointed for his
detention. Each would fain have lingered in hopes of his recovery, but
each felt that the eyes of his six brethren were upon him: and all,
therefore, retired simultaneously, each taking a key of the cell.
Lucifer regained consciousness almost immediately afterwards. He had
the most confused idea of the circumstances which had involved him in
his present scrape, and could only say to himself that if they were the
usual concomitants of the Papal dignity, these were by no means to his
taste, and he wished he had been made acquainted with them sooner. The
dungeon was not only perfectly dark, but horribly cold, and the poor
devil in his present form had no latent store of infernal heat to draw
upon. His teeth chattered, he shivered in every limb, and felt devoured
with hunger and thirst. There is much probability in the assertion of
some of his biographers that it was on this occasion that he invented
ardent spirits; but, even if he did, the mere conception of a glass of
brandy could only increase his sufferings. So the long January night
wore wearily on, and Lucifer seemed likely to expire from inanition,
when a key turned in the lock, and Cardinal Anno cautiously glided in,
bearing a lamp, a loaf, half a cold roast kid, and a bottle of wine.
“I trust,” he said, bowing courteously, “that I may be excused any
slight breach of etiquette of which I may render myself culpable from
the difficulty under which I labour of determining whether, under
present circumstances, ‘Your Holiness,’ or ‘Your Infernal Majesty’ be
the form of address most befitting me to employ.”
“Bub-ub-bub-boo,” went Lucifer, who still had the gag in his mouth.
“Heavens!” exclaimed the Cardinal, “I crave your Infernal Holiness’s
forgiveness. What a lamentable oversight!”
And, relieving Lucifer from his gag and bonds, he set out the
refection, upon which the demon fell voraciously.
“Why the devil, if I may so express myself,” pursued Anno, “did not
your Holiness inform us that you _were_ the devil? Not a hand would
then have been raised against you. I have myself been seeking all my
life for the audience now happily vouchsafed me. Whence this mistrust
of your faithful Anno, who has served you so loyally and zealously
these many years?”
Lucifer pointed significantly to the gag and fetters.
“I shall never forgive myself,” protested the Cardinal, “for the part I
have borne in this unfortunate transaction. Next to ministering to your
Majesty’s bodily necessities, there is nothing I have so much at heart
as to express my penitence. But I entreat your Majesty to remember that
I believed myself to be acting in your Majesty’s interest by
overthrowing a magician who was accustomed to send your Majesty upon
errands, and who might at any time enclose you in a box, and cast you
into the sea. It is deplorable that your Majesty’s most devoted
servants should have been thus misled.”
“Reasons of State,” suggested Lucifer.
“I trust that they no longer operate,” said the Cardinal. “However, the
Sacred College is now fully possessed of the whole matter: it is
therefore unnecessary to pursue this department of the subject further.
I would now humbly crave leave to confer with your Majesty, or rather,
perhaps, your Holiness, since I am about to speak of spiritual things,
on the important and delicate point of your Holiness’s successor. I am
ignorant how long your Holiness proposes to occupy the Apostolic chair;
but of course you are aware that public opinion will not suffer you to
hold it for a term exceeding that of the pontificate of Peter. A
vacancy, therefore, must one day occur; and I am humbly to represent
that the office could not be filled by one more congenial than myself
to the present incumbent, or on whom he could more fully rely to carry
out in every respect his views and intentions.”
And the Cardinal proceeded to detail various circumstances of his past
life, which certainly seemed to corroborate his assertion. He had not,
however, proceeded far ere he was disturbed by the grating of another
key in the lock, and had just time to whisper impressively, “Beware of
Benno,” ere he dived under a table.
Benno was also provided with a lamp, wine, and cold viands. Warned by
the other lamp and the remains of Lucifer’s repast that some colleague
had been beforehand with him, and not knowing how many more might be in
the field, he came briefly to the point as regarded the Papacy, and
preferred his claim in much the same manner as Anno. While he was
earnestly cautioning Lucifer against this Cardinal as one who could and
would cheat the very Devil himself, another key turned in the lock, and
Benno escaped under the table, where Anno immediately inserted his
finger into his right eye. The little squeal consequent upon this
occurrence Lucifer successfully smothered by a fit of coughing.
Cardinal No. 3, a Frenchman, bore a Bayonne ham, and exhibited the same
disgust as Benno on seeing himself forestalled. So far as his requests
transpired they were moderate, but no one knows where he would have
stopped if he had not been scared by the advent of Cardinal No. 4. Up
to this time he had only asked for an inexhaustible purse, power to
call up the Devil _ad libitum_, and a ring of invisibility to allow him
free access to his mistress, who was unfortunately a married woman.
Cardinal No. 4 chiefly wanted to be put into the way of poisoning
Cardinal No. 5; and Cardinal No. 5 preferred the same petition as
respected Cardinal No. 4.
Cardinal No. 6, an Englishman, demanded the reversion of the
Archbishoprics of Canterbury and York, with the faculty of holding them
together, and of unlimited non-residence. In the course of his harangue
he made use of the phrase _non obstantibus_, of which Lucifer
immediately took a note.
What the seventh Cardinal would have solicited is not known, for he had
hardly opened his mouth when the twelfth hour expired, and Lucifer,
regaining his vigour with his shape, sent the Prince of the Church
spinning to the other end of the room, and split the marble table with
a single stroke of his tail. The six crouched and huddling Cardinals
cowered revealed to one another, and at the same time enjoyed the
spectacle of his Holiness darting through the stone ceiling, which
yielded like a film to his passage, and closed up afterwards as if
nothing had happened. After the first shock of dismay they unanimously
rushed to the door, but found it bolted on the outside. There was no
other exit, and no means of giving an alarm. In this emergency the
demeanour of the Italian Cardinals set a bright example to their
ultramontane colleagues. “_Bisogna pazienzia_,” they said, as they
shrugged their shoulders. Nothing could exceed the mutual politeness of
Cardinals Anno and Benno, unless that of the two who had sought to
poison each other. The Frenchman was held to have gravely derogated
from good manners by alluding to this circumstance, which had reached
his ears while he was under the table: and the Englishman swore so
outrageously at the plight in which he found himself that the Italians
then and there silently registered a vow that none of his nation should
ever be Pope, a maxim which, with one exception, has been observed to
this day.
Lucifer, meanwhile, had repaired to Silvester, whom he found arrayed in
all the insignia of his dignity; of which, as he remarked, he thought
his visitor had probably had enough.
“I should think so indeed,” replied Lucifer. “But at the same time I
feel myself fully repaid for all I have undergone by the assurance of
the loyalty of my friends and admirers, and the conviction that it is
needless for me to devote any considerable amount of personal attention
to ecclesiastical affairs. I now claim the promised boon, which it will
be in no way inconsistent with thy functions to grant, seeing that it
is a work of mercy. I demand that the Cardinals be released, and that
their conspiracy against thee, by which I alone suffered, be buried in
oblivion.”
“I hoped you would carry them all off,” said Gerbert, with an
expression of disappointment.
“Thank you,” said the Devil. “It is more to my interest to leave them
where they are.”
So the dungeon-door was unbolted, and the Cardinals came forth,
sheepish and crestfallen. If, after all, they did less mischief than
Lucifer had expected from them, the cause was their entire bewilderment
by what had passed, and their utter inability to penetrate the policy
of Gerbert, who henceforth devoted himself even with ostentation to
good works. They could never quite satisfy themselves whether they were
speaking to the Pope or to the Devil, and when under the latter
impression habitually emitted propositions which Gerbert justly
stigmatised as rash, temerarious, and scandalous. They plagued him with
allusions to certain matters mentioned in their interviews with
Lucifer, with which they naturally but erroneously supposed him to be
conversant, and worried him by continual nods and titterings as they
glanced at his nether extremities. To abolish this nuisance, and at the
same time silence sundry unpleasant rumours which had somehow got
abroad, Gerbert devised the ceremony of kissing the Pope’s feet, which,
in a grievously mutilated form, endures to this day. The stupefaction
of the Cardinals on discovering that the Holy Father had lost his hoof
surpasses all description, and they went to their graves without having
obtained the least insight into the mystery.