In Letters of Fire, Page 2

  ‘No; it is impossible. I have to call on the farmer. We have some business to transact together early in the morning. However, I do not mind having a bit of supper.’

  ‘Go to Mother Appenzel, my good fellow; she will take good care of you,’ adding, as the steward strode towards the kitchen, ‘Take away all those rubbishy papers.’

  The man picked up the documents, while the gentleman, taking a pocket-book out from his pocket, placed the envelope containing the twelve notes into it and returned the book to his pocket.

  Then, resuming his narrative, in reply to a request from Makoko, he continued:

  ‘You wish to know what the wardrobe contained? Well, I am going to tell you. There was something which I saw—something which scorched my eyes. There shone within the recess of the wardrobe, written in letters of fire, three words : ‘Thou shalt win!’

  ‘Yes,’ he continued, in a gloomy tone, The devil had, in three words, expressed, in characters of fire, in the depths of the wardrobe, the fate that awaited me. He had left behind his sign-manual, the irrefutable proof of the hideous pact into which I had entered with him on that tragic night. “Thou shalt win!” A ruined gamester, I sought to become rich, and he told me: “Thou shalt win!” In three short words he granted me the world’s wealth. “Thou shalt win!”

  ‘Next morning old Appenzel found me king unconscious at the foot of the wardrobe. Alas! when I had recovered my senses I had forgotten nothing. I was fated never to forget what I had seen. Wherever I go, wherever I wend my steps, be it night, be it day, I read the fiery phrase, “Thou shalt win!”—on the walls of darkness, on the resplendent orb of the sun, on the earth and in the skies, within myself when I close my eyes, on your faces when I look at you!”

  The old man, exhausted, ceased speaking, and fell back, moaning, into the armchair.

  ‘I must tell you,’ he resumed, after a few moments, ‘That my experience had had so terrifying an effect on me that I had been compelled to stay in bed, where Father Appenzel brought me a soothing potion of herbs. Addressing me, he said: “Something incredible has happened, sir. Your dog has become dumb. She barks in silence!”

  ‘ “Oh, I know, I understand!” I exclaimed. “She will not recover her voice until he shall have returned!”

  ‘Father Appenzel looked at me in amazement and fright, for my hair was standing on end. In spite of myself, my gaze was straying towards the wardrobe. Father Appenzel, as alarmed and agitated as myself, went on to say:

  ‘ “When I found you, sir, on the floor this morning the wardrobe was inclined as it is now, while its door was open. I closed it, but I was unable to get it to stand upright. It seems always on the point of falling forward.”

  ‘I begged old Appenzel to leave me to myself. I got out of bed, went to the wardrobe and opened its door. Conceive, I pray you, my feelings when I had done so. The sentence, that sentence written in characters of fire, was still there! It was graven in the boards at the back; it had burnt the boards with its imprint; and by day I read what I had read by night—the words: “Thou shalt win!”

  ‘I flew out of the room. I called for help. Father Appenzel returned. I said to him: “Look into the depths of that wardrobe, and tell me what you see there!”

  ‘My servant did as I bid him, and said to me: “Thou shalt win!”

  ‘I dressed myself. I fled like a madman from the accursed house, and wandered in the mountains. The mountain air did me good. When I came home in the evening I was perfectly calm; I had thought matters over; my dog might have become dumb through some perfectly natural physiological phenomenon. With regard to the sentence in the wardrobe, it had not come there of itself, and, as I had not had any previous acquaintance with that piece of furniture, it was probable that the three fatal words had been there for countless years, inscribed by someone addicted to the black art, following upon some gambling affair which was no concern of mine.

  ‘I ate my supper, and went to bed in the same room. The night passed without incident.

  ‘Next day I went to La Chaux-de-Fonds, to call on a notary. All that this adventure with the wardrobe had succeeded in doing was to imbue me with the idea of tempting fate in the shape of cards, one last time, ere putting into execution my idea about suicide. I borrowed a few one-thousand-franc notes on the security of the estate, and I took train for Paris. As I ascended the staircase of the club I recalled my nightmare, and remarked to myself ironically, for I placed no faith in the success of this supreme attempt: “We shall now see whether, if the devil helps me—” I did not finish the sentence.

  ‘The bank was being put up to auction when I entered the salon. I secured it for two hundred louis. I had not reached the middle of my deal when I had already won two hundred and fifty thousand francs! But no longer would any of the players stake against me. I was winning every game!

  ‘I was jubilant; I had never dreamt that such luck would be mine. I threw up the bank—i.e., what remained of it for me to hold. I next amused myself at throwing away chances, just to see what would happen. In spite of this I continued winning. Exclamations were heard on all sides. The players vowed I had the devil’s own luck. I collected my winnings and left.

  ‘No sooner had I reached the street when I began to think and to become alarmed. The coincidence between the scene of the wardrobe and of my extraordinary success as a banker troubled me. Of a sudden, and to my surprise, I found myself wending my Way back to the club. I was resolved to probe the matter to the bottom. My short-lived joy was disturbed by the fact that I had not lost once. So it was that I was anxious to lose just once.

  ‘When I left the club for the second time, at six o’clock in the morning, I had won, in money and on parole, no less than a couple of millions. But I had not once lost—not a single, solitary time. I felt myself becoming a raving madman. When I say that I had not lost once, I speak with regard to money, for when I played for nothing, without stakes, to see, just for the fun of the matter, I lost inexorably. But no sooner had a punter staked even as low as half a franc against me, I won his money. It mattered little, a sou or a million francs. I could no longer lose. “Thou shalt win!” Oh, that terrible curse! That curse! For a whole week did I try. I went into the worst gambling-hells. I sat down to card-tables presided over by card-sharpers; I won even from them; I won from one and all against whom I played. I did nothing but win!

  ‘So, you no longer laugh, gentlemen! You scoff no more! You see now, good sirs, that one should never be in a hurry to laugh! I told you I had seen the devil! Do you believe me now? I possessed then the certainty, the palpable proof, visible to one and all, the natural and terrestrial proof of my revolting compact with the devil. The law of probabilities no longer existed as far as I was concerned. There were not even any probabilities. There remained only the supernatural certainty of winning eternally—until the day of death. Death! I could no longer dream of it as a desire. For the first time in my life I dreaded it. The terrors of death haunted me, because of what awaited me at the end!

  ‘My uppermost thought was to redeem my soul—my wretched soul, my lost soul. I frequented the churches. I saw priests. I prostrated myself at the foot of the church steps. I beat my delirious head on the sacred flagstones! I prayed to Cod that I might lose, just as I had prayed to the devil that I might win. On leaving the holy place I was wont to hurry to some low gambling-den and stake a few louis on a card. But I continued winning for ever and ever! “Thou shalt win!”

  ‘Not for a single second did I entertain the idea of owing my happiness to those accursed millions. I offered up my heart to God as a burnt offering, I distributed the millions I had won to the poor, and I came here, gentlemen, to await the death which spurns me—the death I dread!’

  ‘You have never played since those days?’ I asked.

  ‘I have never played from that time until now.’

  Allan had read my thoughts. He too was dreaming that it might be possible to rescue from his monomania the man whom we both persisted in considering i
nsane.

  ‘I feel sure,’ he said, ‘that so great a sacrifice has won you pardon. Your despair has been undoubtedly sincere, and your punishment a terrible one. What more could Heaven require of you? In your place I should try—’

  ‘You would try—what?’ exclaimed the man, springing from his seat.

  ‘I should try whether I were still doomed to win!’ The man struck the table a violent blow with his clenched fist.

  ‘And so this is all the remedy you can suggest! So that is all the narrative of a curse transcending all things earthly has inspired you with? You seek to induce an old lunatic to play, with the object of demonstrating to him that he is not insane! For I read full well in your eves what you think of me: “He is mad, mad, mad!” You do not believe a single word of all I have told you. You think I am insane, young man! And you, too,’ he added, addressing Allan, ‘You think I am insane—mad, mad, mad! I tell you that I have seen the devil! Yes, your old madman has seen the devil! And he is going to prove it to you. The cards! Where are the cards?’

  Espying them on the edge of the table, he sprang on them.

  ‘It is you who have so willed it. I had harboured a supreme hope that I should die without having again made the infernal attempt, so that when my hour had come I might imagine that Heaven had forgiven me. Here are your cards! I will not touch them. They are yours. Shuffle them—deal me which you please—“stack” them as you will. I tell on that I shall win. Do you believe me now?’

  Allan had quietly picked up the cards.

  The man, placing his hand on his shoulder, asked, ‘You do not believe me?’

  ‘We shall see,’ replied Allan.

  ‘What shall the stakes be?’ I inquired.

  ‘I do not know, gentlemen, whether you are well off or not, but I feel bound to inform you— you who have come to destroy my last hope—that you are ruined men.’

  Thereupon he took out his pocket-book and laid it on the table, saying:

  ‘I will play you five straight points at écarté for the contents of this pocket-book. This just by way of a begining. After that, I am willing to play you as many games as you see fit, until I cast you out of doors picked clean, your friends and yourself, ruined for the rest of your lives—yes, picked bare.’

  ‘Picked bare?’ repeated Allan, who was far less moved than myself. ‘Do you want even our shirts?’

  ‘Even your souls,’ cried the man, ‘Which I intend to present to the devil in exchange for my own.’

  Allan winked at me, and asked:

  ‘Shall we say “Done,” and go halves in this?’

  I agreed, shuffled the pack, and handed it to my opponent.

  He cut, I dealt. I turned up the knave of hearts. Our host looked at his hand and led. Clearly he ought not to have played the hand he held—three small clubs, the queen of diamonds, and the seven of spades. He took a trick with his queen, I took the four others, and, as he had led, I marked two points. I entertained not the slightest doubt that he was doing his utmost to lose.

  It was his turn to deal. He turned up the king of spades. He could not restrain a shudder when he beheld that black-faced card, which, in spite of himself, gave him a trick.

  He scanned his hand anxiously. It was my turn to call for cards. He refused them, evidently believing that he held a very poor hand; but my own was as bad as his, and he had a ten of hearts, which took my nine—I held the nine, eight, and seven of hearts.

  He then played diamonds, to which I could not respond and two clubs higher than mine. Neither of us held a single trump. He scored a point, which, with the one secured to him by his king, gave him two. We were ‘evens,’ either of us being in a position to end matters at once if we made three points.

  The deal was mine. I turned up the eight of diamonds. This time both of us called for cards. He asked for one, and showed me the one he had discarded—the seven of diamonds. He was anxious not to hold any trumps. His wish was gratified, and he succeeded in making mc score another two points, which gave me four.

  In spite of ourselves, Allan and I glanced towards the pocketbook. Our thoughts ran: “There lies a small fortune which is shortly to be ours, one which, in all conscience, we shall not have had much trouble in winning.”

  Our host dealt in his turn, and when I saw the cards he had given me I considered the matter as good as settled. This time he had not turned up a king, but the seven of clubs. I held two hearts and three trumps—the ace and king of hearts, the ace, ten and nine of clubs. I led the king, my opponent followed with the queen; I flung the ace on the table, my opponent being compelled to take it with the knave of hearts, and he then played a diamond, which I trumped. I played the ace of trumps; he took it with the queen, but I was ready for him with my last card, the ten of clubs. He had the knave of trumps! As I had led he scored two, making ‘Four all.’ Our host smothered a curse which was hovering on his lips.

  ‘No need for you to worry,’ I remarked; ‘no one has won yet.’

  ‘We are about to prove to you,’ said Allan, in the midst of a deathly silence, ‘that you can lose just like any ordinary mortal.’

  Our host groaned, ‘I cannot lose.’

  The interest in the game was now at its height. A point on either side, and either of us would be the winner. If I turned up the king the game was ended, and I won twelve thousand francs from a man who claimed that he could not lose. I had dealt. I turned up the king—the king of hearts. I had won!

  My opponent uttered a cry of joy. He bent over the card, picked it up, considered it attentively, fingered it, raised it to his eyes, and we thought that he was about to press it to his lips. He murmured:

  ‘Great heavens, can it be? Then—then I have lost!’

  ‘So it would seem,’ I remarked.

  Allan added, ‘You now see full well that one should not place any faith in what the devil says.’

  The gentleman took his pocket-book and opened it.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ he sighed, ‘bless you for having won all that is in this book. Would that it contained a million! I should gladly have handed it over to you.’

  With trembling hands he searched the pocket-book, emptying it of all its contents, with a look of surprise at not finding at once the twelve thousand francs he had deposited in its folds. They were not there!

  The pocket-book, searched with feverish hands, lay empty on the table. There was nothing in the pocket-book! Nothing!

  We sat dumbfounded at this inexplicable phenomenon—the empty pocket-book! We picked it up and fingered it. We searched it carefully, only to find it empty. Our host, livid and as one possessed, was searching himself, arid begging us to search him. We searched him—we searched him, because it was beyond our power to resist his delirious will; but we found nothing— nothing!

  ‘Hark!’ exclaimed our host. ‘Hark, hark! Does it not seem to you tonight that the wind sounds like the voice of a dog?’

  We listened, and Makoko answered, ‘It is true! The wind really seems to be barking—there, behind the door!’

  The door was shaking strangely, and we heard a voice calling, ‘Open!’

  I drew the bolts and opened the door. A human form rushed into the room.

  ‘It is the steward,’ I said.

  ‘Sir, sir!’ he ejaculated.

  ‘What is it? we all exclaimed, breathlessly, and wondering what was about to follow.

  ‘Sir, I thought I had handed you your twelve thousand francs. Indeed, I am positive I did so. Those gentlemen doubtless saw me.

  ‘Yes, indeed,’ from all of us.

  ‘Well, I have just discovered them in my bag. I cannot understand how it has happened. I have returned to bring them back to you—once more. Here they are.’

  The steward again pulled out the identical envelope, and a second time counted the twelve one-thousand-franc notes, adding:

  ‘I know not what ails the mountain-side tonight, but it terrifies me. I shall sleep here.’

  The twelve thousand francs were now lying on the
table. Our host cried: ‘This time we see them there, there before us! Where are the cards? Deal them. The twelve thousand in five straight points, to see, to know for certain. I tell you that I wish to know—to know..’

  I dealt. My opponent called for cards; I refused them. He had five trumps. He scored two points. He dealt the cards. He turned up the king. I led. He again had five trumps. Three and two are five! He had won!

  Then he howled; yes, howled like the wind which had the voice of a dog. He snatched the cards from the table and cast them into the flames. ‘Into the fire with the cards. Let the fire consume them!’ he shrieked. Suddenly he strode towards the door. Outside a dog barked—a dog raising a death-howl.

  The man reached the door, and speaking through it asked:

  ‘Is that you, Mystère?’

  To what phenomenon was it due that both wind and dog were silent simultaneously?

  The man softly drew the bolts and half opened the door. No sooner was the door ajar than the infernal yelping broke out so prolonged and so lugubrious that it made us shiver to our very marrow. Our host had now flung himself upon the door with such force that we could almost think he had smashed it. Not content with having pushed back the bolts, he pressed with his knees and arms against the door, without uttering a sound. All we heard was his panting respiration.

  Then, when the death-like yelping had ceased, and both within and without silence reigned supreme, the man, turning towards us and tottering forward, said:

  ‘He has returned! Beware!’ Midnight. We have gone our respective ways. Makoko and Mathis have remained below beside the dying embers. Allan has sought his bedroom, while, driven by some unkown inner force controlling me absolutely, I find myself in the haunted room. I am repeating the doings of the man whose story we had heard that night; I select the same book, open it at the same page; I go to the same window; I pull the curtain aside; I gaze upon the same moonlit landscape, for the wind has long since driven off the tempest-clouds and the fog. I only see bare rocks, shining like steel under the rays of the bright moon, and—on the desolate plateau—a weirdly dancing shadow—the shadow of Mystère, with her formidable jaws wide apart—jaws that I can see barking. Do I hear the barking? Yes; it seems to me that I hear it. I let the curtain drop. I take my candlestick from the chest of drawers. I step towards the wardrobe. I look at myself in its mirrored panel. I dream of him who wrote the words which lie concealed within. Whose face is it that I see in the mirror? It is my own! But is it possible that the face of our host on the fatal night could have been more pallid than mine is now? In all truth, my face is that of a dead man. On one side-there—there-that little cloud—that misty cloudlet in the mirror—cheek by jowl with my face—those fearful eyes—those lips! Oh, if I could but scream! I cannot. I am powerless to cry out, when suddenly I hear three knocks. And—and my hand strays of its own accord towards the door of the wardrobe—my inquisitive hand—my accursed hand.