VI ◊ Avarice
A Complete Short Story.
A CERTAIN Cardinal came to stay at the Convent, and was entertained in a royal manner, as befitted his rank; three weeks he lingered, putting the Convent to great expense, and when he left he gave them no more than his blessing, though they had expected at least a relic for the Chapel and a pound of gold for themselves.
And this led Father Aloysius, who was sorely angered, to speak of the sixth deadly sin, which is Avarice, or, in the classical tongue, Auaricia, with which is included another sin, that of Coveitise, of which Saint Paul saith: “The root of all harm is Coveitise.”
Which sin is different from Avarice in this, that Coveitise is the unlawful longing for what one has not, and Avarice is the longing to keep what one has without lawful need and excuse.
And there is an Avarice of glory and science, as well as an Avarice of cattle and treasure; an Avarice of things of the soul, as well as of things of the body.
And he who is avaricious breaks the first commandment, which is against false gods—as he who follows this sin makes many false gods and worships them all, and never chances to lift his eyes to where the only and one God sits enthroned; nay, he is absorbed in his worldly good, and thinks of naught else until the day the devil catches him by the neck, saying: “Ho, come you with me!”
Neither shall it save him (said Father Aloysius) if he wear a Cardinal’s hat!
And further to impress over and above all these gathering complaints (for all from the Abbot to the scullions were murmuring against their visitor) the hideousness and evil consequence of this sin, he brought out the book of the German Magister, and read them this story:
Further back in this book of mine I spoke of a certain notorious witch named Ottilia,[1] who was carried off bodily by the devil, and afterwards returned, wearing a new fur tippet, to the great dismay of the townsfolk.
But who dare say anything?
She had a very plausible story to tell; she said she had been visiting an ancient aunt of hers, in a distant part of the country, who had died recently, and who had left her (honest woman that she was!) two cats, a bag of gold, and the fur tippet.
As for that scene in the market square, when one ventured to speak of it, she treated it all as a jest—that was a fine tale indeed; it was quite clear that there were a good many people with an evil conscience, when they imagined they saw things like that!
So she went back to her beer-brewing and her sausage-making; she had a new roof put on her house, and she bought some new furniture and a blue velvet gown, and no one dared say aught, though they all groaned and sighed at having her amongst them again.
As for the cats, they were not like ordinary beasts, but had large round heads and small bodies, and wore sad, dun-coloured coats. One was called Guzzling Grizel, and the other Wait-on-yourself; for the first was never happy save when eating, and the second when asked a favour, however trifling, would always reply ‘Wait on yourself.’
Now it was perfectly well known that these cats were nothing better than imps who had taken the place of my Pipkin, who was never seen again. Nor was Trina, the other witch, ever seen again—and none dared ask after her.
So Ottilia lived quietly for a while, making her beer and her sausages, and going to the market and selling them, sometimes buying a broom and sometimes a bit of finery for herself or her imps.
And one day she was sitting by the fire after dinner when there came a knock on the door.
So up she hobbled, ready with a sour word if it should be one of my hags come to visit her; she sees instead a handsome young man, very mournful and sad, so she begins smiling and saying all the servants were abroad, and the porter asleep, as she also would have been had she not stayed up to say her prayers. But will he step inside and state his business?
My young man listens to all these lies very courteously, and asks if she be the Lady Ottilia?
“Yes,” says she, highly flattered; “come in, fair sir, and taste my beer, which is better than any brewed around.”
So he entered and sat by the fire and sighed and groaned.
She: What was the matter with him that he seemed so downcast? Let him taste her beer!
He: He had not come for her beer, but for her advice; for he was quite in despair, and he had heard she was very wise.
She: She believed she had as much sense as her neighbours!
He: Well, he was in trouble; let her help him, and she should not lack for her reward.
She: She was willing to do her best as long as it was not some silly love affair, for with such things she had no patience!
He: No, he had never been in love in his life, nor ever seen a woman so pleasing to him as she was now, when she promised to do her best for him!
At which Ottilia was mightily pleased, and told him he must not think of trying to get round her with compliments, for she was not a foolish girl, but a woman turned thirty, though she had heard said she looked younger.
“Not a day more than twenty-five,” said he; at which Guzzling Grizel and Wait-on-yourself burst into laughter, and Ottilia kicked them out of the room.
They: She had some vigour in her still, though she was seventy-seven yesterday!
At this Ottilia hoped he would excuse the poor beasts, who were little better than heathen still, for all the trouble she took with them.
He: What did it matter? He was not such a good Christian himself. If she would hear his trouble, it was this:
He was a master mariner, and had made many sailings in many parts of the world, and seen many strange lands.
And ever since he was a little child one thought had tormented him—why did the ships turn back? Why not sail on and see if there was not another land?
For his part, he believed there was, and that if they sailed on through uncharted seas they would find this land: he had had visions of it, he had dreamt of it, he believed it was very rich and beautiful, with gold and silver mines; and the man who discovered it could make himself king.
But for ten years he had wandered from one place to another, to kings, to princes, to towns, to the Pope, to bishops and great knights, and no one would believe in him sufficiently to give him enough money to buy a boat and go in search of this New Country, nay, not even if he offered half of what he found.
And worse than that, he had now lost his profession, for none would trust him on their ship, for (said they) he was too crazed; and he was now at his last penny, for he had spent all his patrimony in his wanderings.
Therefore, finding himself in this town, and hearing of her and her wisdom, he had come to ask her, first if there was such a land as he dreamt of; second, if he should ever find it; third, if she could help him to someone who would supply him with money for the voyage.
On hearing this Ottilia took a long drink of beer, and then sat staring into the fire.
At last she said she could do none of these things herself, but if he would come with her to a friend of hers, she thought that he might know everything, yea, and even get the help he needed.
So he said, Yes, eagerly enough would he go with her, and swear to give her a good share of whatever he got from this venture.
So my hag takes a stout broomstick from the corner, and jumps on it, and bids the young man mount behind, which he does; then behind him climb the two imps (grumbling that they had scarcely any room), and off they go, up the chimney and over the town, which lay dark below them, dotted with little twinkling lights.
They flew over the houses and out into the open country, and alighted on the top of a hill where a large company was already gathered. A table was set in the middle, and on this stood a great lantern, which gave forth an extraordinary light.
And all about were gathered men and women, or rather, as my stranger soon perceived, witches and warlocks.
On a high chair in the centre sat a man in a black coat with a blue band, and when he rose to welcome Ottilia, my stranger noticed that he wore hoggers (i.e. high boots without feet), and that he had goat's hoofs, so that now he had no doubt at all about the character of the company.
The Devil (for it was no other) received him very civilly, and took off the broad-lipped hat he wore (they were that year the fashion), and saluted him and asked him his name.
Now my master mariner was in some doubts whether he should speak to a person obviously excommunicated, but nevertheless answers that his name was Felipe Lopez.
“Very well,” says the fiend, “as it is the etiquette here to call everyone by a different name from that they have been baptised with, I will call you Goodman Tib”; and under this name he was introduced to the company.
So they all took their seats; the feast was well enough, but everything was eaten without salt, for that mineral, being an emblem of eternity, is forbidden to lost souls.
Now, seated on the right hand of the Devil was a very well favoured witch, and on his left one hardly less comely, and my stranger, Don Lopez, perceived that Ottilia was not at all pleased with this arrangement, but kept up an envious grumbling that the best place should have been hers.
In the middle of the feast the Devil calls for all the screaming and gossiping to cease, and asks Don Lopez what he wants with him.
Whereupon the other musters his courage and tells his story.
So the Devil reflects a little and presently he speaks.
Devil: If he helped Goodman Tib to find this New Country, would he promise him to deliver it over to his (Satan’s) worship, excluding all priests, monks, nuns and everything in the shape of a cross, even to a pair of scissors?
Don Lopez: That was an unreasonable condition to make, for everyone knew that if he did any such thing he would be seized and burnt outright!
Devil: If he was tender in his conscience, why had he come here for help?
Don Lopez: It wasn’t a question of conscience at all, but of common sense; he was quite willing to serve the Devil secretly.
Devil: No, he was tired of secret worship; he wanted churches and priests and everything like God had.
Don Lopez: That was quite impossible, as he ought to know by now.
And Ottilia leant across to him, and whispered to never mind Old Nick. “Black Tom is in a bad humour,” says she; “take no notice of him!”
Upon which the Devil starts up in a fury, and seizing a leg of meat comes flourishing it over his head.
Devil: Had he not forbidden them to speak of him in that way? Were they not always to call him Lord, Master, and Majesty? And here was she referring to him as Old Nick and Old Black Tom! Ah, he well knew the reason: it was because she had not had the best place at table, which she never would have again!
At this, seeing him so enraged, all the witches and warlocks began to mumble and whimper in fright, save Ottilia, who answered him roundly, and when he would have dashed out her brains with the leg of meat, she gave him a blow with her broomstick that sent him reeling, and then mounted her broomstick, pulled up Don Lopez and the imps behind her, and sailed away haughtily, for (said she), “These feasts are not what they used to be; now one never knows who will be there, and Old Black Tom himself is losing his manners.”
On hearing her use this expression again, Don Lopez looked back fearfully.
But the Devil seemed already to have forgotten them, and was dancing on the table in the shape of fire-balls, a favourite diversion of his, which he performed very elegantly.
Now Don Lopez felt naturally dismal, but Ottilia took a cheerful view.
There was (she said) a certain king who was famed for his great wealth, and though he was very close with it, there were good hopes that he might part with a little of it in such an investment as this, which promised him his money back a hundred-fold; he ruled in an island in the West, about three days’ journey away.
Don Lopez: It was all very well to talk, but how was he to get the money for another three days’ journey? He was already at his last white piece.
Ottilia: Let him have patience and she would help him; she had taken a liking to him, and she believed in his ideas; only let him promise her half of what he found, and all would be well.
So he promised, and she set him down at his doorstep, and off she flew home, whisk, whisk, whisk, through the air as if she were trying to sweep up the stars.
And when she got home she made some hot supper, and when she had fed my cats she asked them how they should find money to send the young man on his way.
Wait-on-yourself was, as always, discouraging; said they had better keep any money they could find for themselves instead of wasting it on the first knave who asked for it; but Guzzling Grizel suggested that they should ask the Sheriff to lend them the amount, and Ottilia, who was quite ready to plague her old victim, said it was a fine suggestion.
So the next morning off she goes to the Town Hall, arrayed in her new blue gown and fur tippet, and pops in on the Sheriff, and asks him to lend her five hundred thalers.
Now the Sheriff was as much afraid of her as ever, but he did not know where to get five hundred thalers, as he had lately made a purchase of some wine trees, which he was having planted in his garden, and as these had cost a great deal he had no money to spare.
Besides, he thought, if she was going to begin to demand money, a stand might as well be made first as last.
So he refuses as politely as possible, and offers her sweet wine and comfits, and sees her to the door in the most courtly manner, and returns to the planting of his wine trees.
Now that night while he was in bed he heard a strange chanting rising from beneath his window, and these were the words of it:
Perish, perish, soil and seed,
Flower, leaf and fruit;
Grow, grow, briar, weed,
Nightshade and mandrake root.
So out he jumps from the bed, and there was an awful sight to be seen in the moonlight! All the fair field where he had planted his wine trees was being ploughed up, the little young trees lay prone and dying, and up and down went the plough, which was drawn by two hideous toads. The Devil himself was driving, while after came a crowd of hags, led by Ottilia, leaping and capering, and casting handfuls of seed into the deep ruts left by the plough (by which it may be observed that my witch had made up her quarrel with Satan).
My poor Sheriff groans and goes back to bed, and tries to believe it is a dream; but no, next morning there are all the wine trees withered, and the ground covered with great coarse, rude weeds.
So he calls up the gardeners and tries to clear the ground; but what was the use?
My weeds would by no means be moved, but put out their thorny hands and flung down the gardeners, and used curses horrid to hear; so my Sheriff, all in a tremble, runs off to Ottilia.
Sheriff: He had changed his mind about the money; she should have it as soon as he could find it. Meanwhile, she might suggest something for his garden, which was clearly bewitched!
Ottilia: Let her have the money at once, and she would see what she could do for his garden—though, let him mark, she knew nothing about it!
Sheriff: How was he to raise the money at once?
Ottilia: He was very simple! Let him sell three links of his great chain of office!
Sheriff: But the chain did not belong to him, but to the town!
Ottilia: All the better for him; and he could put three links of gilded lead in place of the others, and no one would be any the wiser!
In summa, the Sheriff sold the three links privately for seven hundred thalers, five of which he sent to Ottilia, upon which my weeds, who had been quarrelling and cursing like a regiment of free lancers, disappeared in the night, and the Sheriff put back the poor shivering wine trees.
Ottilia sent three hundred of the thalers to Don Felipe and put the rest by for herself.
So Don Felipe hired a ship and sailed for that island in the West.
And when he reached it he paid off his mariners, and put on his silvered silk and went to the king.
He found him in a castle on a river, a quiet spot outside the town; it was, in fact, a quiet country, where all things were of a grey colour, and the people moved slowly.
There were no bright flowers and no rare fruits nor birds nor beasts, but there was plenty of good clothing and stout houses, and everyone seemed to have a penny in his pocket.
But the king wore a cotton velvet gown, shabby and mean, a little greasy hat, and shoes broken at the toes.
He sat under the apple trees, and by his side was the queen, pale and homely, and darning hose.
And about the orchard played the seven princes in homespun doublets and the seven princesses in linsey-woolsey kirtles; they all had long noses and small eyes like the king, and red hair and large mouths like the queen.
And though their father was the richest monarch in the world, there was not one of them who had not a patch or a darn on his garments or in his hose.
Now Don Felipe began to feel very dismal about the issue of his mission, but he tried to disguise the lowness of his spirits, and he gave the king an account of his project and his good hopes of success.
His Majesty was intelligent, and he listened keenly, stroking his long chin and closing his small eyes; and when Don Felipe had finished, he spoke thoughtfully, after this manner:
King: It was a fine story, and if there was truth in it, they might both be rich men; but he must think it over: it would cost a great deal of money to send a ship, and supposing after all it turned out a delusion? All the money would be lost, and that was dreadful to think of.
Don Lopez: His Majesty need not think of it, for it was perfectly certain that the money would not be lost, but returned a thousand-fold.
King: Yes, he might feel certain, but where were his proofs?
Don Lopez: He had no proofs; let His Majesty risk the money.
King: He had never risked anything yet. However, let him tell him what he would get if he gave the ship and the expedition succeeded.
Don Lopez: He would be king over the New Country, and a quarter of the treasure found there.
King: Those were miserable terms: he wanted all the treasure.
Don Lopez: That was impossible: half was promised already to a certain lady who had helped him and was a very dear friend of his.
King: Well, he would think over it.
So he dismissed Don Lopez, giving him neither drop nor crust, and began to talk over the matter with the queen.
The truth of the matter was that he was on the verge of war with another king who ruled a little island near his own, and a bitter grief it had been to him to think of the gold he must spend on this war, for though it was very certain he would conquer his neighbour, still it was a poor little land, and would not repay his expenditure: therefore how mighty convenient it would be, could he but get this new land and the treasure! As for Don Felipe demanding half of it, that was a mere jest; they could easily find some way of disposing of his claims.
In summa, they agreed that if they and the fourteen princes and princesses went without butter and sugar and new clothes for ten years, if they dismissed the Lord Chamberlain (and Heaven knew how useless he was!) and did his work themselves, they might make up for what they would have to expend on the ship.
So the next day Don Felipe was sent for, and after much bargaining he agreed to take five thousand pounds (as they call the gold pieces in this country), wherewith to equip his expedition, though he swore that it was not enough.
With many sighs and groans the king took up his keys and went to his treasury, and unlocked one of the cases where his brave gold was stored. But when he saw it there, fresh and bright and smiling, and thought of counting out five thousand of these darlings and handing them over to this stranger, his heart utterly failed him; he hastily locked the casket and treasury and hurried away, saying rudely that he had changed his mind.
Now Don Felipe was an angry man: he cursed the grey island and the grey king with the long lip, and out he set for the little country with whom my miser was going to war.
And when he reached the court of the neighbouring king he had not a penny in his pocket, and he had sold his silvered silk for his poke full of meal and a piece of flesh.
He found the king and all his courtiers roaring and shrieking round a great table, and they all had jolly red faces, their mouths full of meat and their hearts of kindness.
They made him welcome, they feasted him and toasted him, and when he came to expound his theme, they all with one accord said he should have the money.
So they went on drinking and singing until they could neither drink nor sing, and so to bed, very contentedly.
But the next morning the monarch, being sober, sends for my mariner.
King: How were they to find the money? Himself he had none. The very clothes he wore were not paid for.
Don Lopez: He might borrow from the nobles.
King: He had already; he had not left a white piece to one of them.
Don Lopez: There were always the Jews.
King: He had squeezed them dry already.
So Don Lopez could think of nothing more to say, and they sat staring at each other dismally.
Then in came the courtiers and turned their pockets out and racked their brains, but could neither find any money nor think of how to obtain any.
For, as the king remarked, all ordinary devices had been exhausted long ago.
Then one of them remembered a certain fat priest who had an image of Our Lady which worked miracles, and, as he put a good price on them, he was very rich.
King: Why did he not mention this priest years ago?
Courtier: Well, he was a holy man, and he (the speaker) was afraid of the vengeance of Heaven.
King: He was no holy man, or he would not charge for his miracles, which were not his at all, but Our Lady’s, and if she was given a new gown probably she would say nothing.
So the soldiers were sent out to seize the priest and take away his treasure, which they found was a mighty one.
They brought it away in two carts, and also the image of Our Lady, who was wearing a very poor old smock, covered with tattered lace.
So the king, who was a just man, gives her the queen’s best gown; and content she must have been, for nothing happened because of their taking of the treasure.
In this way Don Felipe at last equipped his ship and set sail, leaving the harbour at noon, driving before a southern gale, and so into the distance and away.
Meanwhile the king spent the money that remained wisely (which made men marvel), and prepared his country for war.
And war began and raged for a year and a day, on the land and on the sea.
And at the end of this time the miser had nearly crushed his neighbour, for all the good fight that king made; for his country was small, and he had few ships, and few soldiers, and very little money.
But he maintained a high spirit and sang cheerfully over his bottle at night, and fought bravely in the day with his fine battle-axe, whack, whack, whack!
Still the time came when he could fight no more, for there was nothing left to fight with; and the miser was preparing to capture him and his subjects and make them all slaves for the rest of their lives, when one fine day who should sail into the harbour but Don Lopez, whom everyone had given up for lost long ago!
In summa, after many adventures which cannot here be related, he had actually reached the New Country, and it was as rich and wonderful as ever he had dreamed: there were gold and silver, new birds, new beasts, new flowers, new fruits, and Don Lopez drew after him four great boats he had built, filled with ingots of gold and silver and strings of rubies and emeralds. You may imagine the joy of my king, how he paid his soldiers and bought them new arms, and finally fell on and defeated his enemy, who was obliged to pay a heavy price for peace, and went mourning for the rest of his days.
So my miser had not only lost the New Country because of his avarice, but nearly his own as well; while the other king speedily became one of the richest and most powerful monarchs in the world.
And the first thing he did was to send for the priest and offer to return him his treasure; but they found him with a new image working miracles, and already as rich as he had been before, so they gave him no money, but a silver bird, which shone like a lit lamp, and had tail-feathers of crimson.
But Don Lopez was not so generous: he had become avaricious, too, and the last thing he intended to do was to give half his gains to Ottilia.
He hoped the hag was dead, and resolved never to go near that country in case she was yet living, so put her out of his mind and spent his days and nights counting his money.
But one evening while he was in his strong room, surrounded by pearls and coral, and silver and amber, emeralds, rubies, lamps of turkis, royal bone and gold—while, I say, he was grinning and gloating over these treasures, down came my witch through the chimney, and oh, but he was vexed to see her.
She said nothing at all; she just raised her broomstick and brought it skilfully down on his head.
In summa, the next morning they found Den Lopez lying, a yellow corpse, on the ground, and all about him, instead of gold and silver and jewels, were heaps of withered leaves.
So that was the end of my avaricious Don Lopez and his treasure.
As Father Aloysius closed the book a messenger came running in with a mouth like the letter O.
“The Lord Cardinal,” cried he, “is dead! He was crossing the ferry when it upset and he fell in and was frozen stiff like a winter radish!”
At the time Father Aloysius said nothing, but afterwards he remarked that it was yet a third instance of the judgment overtaking Avarice.
- The story of Sloth, which is the last of the Seven Deadly Sins, will be told in the June Number of the “Pall Mall Magazine.”