NEVER BET THE DEVIL YOUR HEAD
A Tale With a Moral.
_CON tal que las costumbres de un autor_, says Don Thomas de lasTorres, in the preface to his Amatory Poems _sean puras y castas,importo muy poco que no sean igualmente severas sus obras_--meaning,in plain English, that, provided the morals of an author are purepersonally, it signifies nothing what are the morals of his books. Wepresume that Don Thomas is now in Purgatory for the assertion. It wouldbe a clever thing, too, in the way of poetical justice, to keep himthere until his Amatory Poems get out of print, or are laid definitelyupon the shelf through lack of readers. Every fiction should have amoral; and, what is more to the purpose, the critics have discoveredthat every fiction has. Philip Melanchthon, some time ago, wrote acommentary upon the Batrachomyomachia, and proved that the poet'sobject was to excite a distaste for sedition. Pierre la Seine, goinga step farther, shows that the intention was to recommend to youngmen temperance in eating and drinking. Just so, too, Jacobus Hugo hassatisfied himself that, by Euenis, Homer meant to insinuate John Calvin;by Antinous, Martin Luther; by the Lotophagi, Protestants in general;and, by the Harpies, the Dutch. Our more modern Scholiasts areequally acute. These fellows demonstrate a hidden meaning in TheAntediluvians, a parable in Powhatan, new views in Cock Robin, andtranscendentalism in Hop O' My Thumb. In short, it has been shown thatno man can sit down to write without a very profound design. Thus toauthors in general much trouble is spared. A novelist, for example,need have no care of his moral. It is there--that is to say, it issomewhere--and the moral and the critics can take care of themselves.When the proper time arrives, all that the gentleman intended, and allthat he did not intend, will be brought to light, in the Dial, or theDown-Easter, together with all that he ought to have intended, andthe rest that he clearly meant to intend:--so that it will all come verystraight in the end.
There is no just ground, therefore, for the charge brought against me bycertain ignoramuses--that I have never written a moral tale, or, in moreprecise words, a tale with a moral. They are not the critics predestinedto bring me out, and develop my morals:--that is the secret. By and bythe North American Quarterly Humdrum will make them ashamed of theirstupidity. In the meantime, by way of staying execution--by wayof mitigating the accusations against me--I offer the sad historyappended,--a history about whose obvious moral there can be no questionwhatever, since he who runs may read it in the large capitals which formthe title of the tale. I should have credit for this arrangement--afar wiser one than that of La Fontaine and others, who reserve theimpression to be conveyed until the last moment, and thus sneak it in atthe fag end of their fables.
Defuncti injuria ne afficiantur was a law of the twelve tables, and Demortuis nil nisi bonum is an excellent injunction--even if the dead inquestion be nothing but dead small beer. It is not my design, therefore,to vituperate my deceased friend, Toby Dammit. He was a sad dog, it istrue, and a dog's death it was that he died; but he himself was not toblame for his vices. They grew out of a personal defect in his mother.She did her best in the way of flogging him while an infant--for dutiesto her well--regulated mind were always pleasures, and babies, liketough steaks, or the modern Greek olive trees, are invariably the betterfor beating--but, poor woman! she had the misfortune to be left-handed,and a child flogged left-handedly had better be left unflogged. Theworld revolves from right to left. It will not do to whip a baby fromleft to right. If each blow in the proper direction drives an evilpropensity out, it follows that every thump in an opposite one knocksits quota of wickedness in. I was often present at Toby's chastisements,and, even by the way in which he kicked, I could perceive that he wasgetting worse and worse every day. At last I saw, through the tears inmy eyes, that there was no hope of the villain at all, and one day whenhe had been cuffed until he grew so black in the face that one mighthave mistaken him for a little African, and no effect had been producedbeyond that of making him wriggle himself into a fit, I could standit no longer, but went down upon my knees forthwith, and, uplifting myvoice, made prophecy of his ruin.
The fact is that his precocity in vice was awful. At five months of agehe used to get into such passions that he was unable to articulate. Atsix months, I caught him gnawing a pack of cards. At seven months hewas in the constant habit of catching and kissing the female babies.At eight months he peremptorily refused to put his signature to theTemperance pledge. Thus he went on increasing in iniquity, month aftermonth, until, at the close of the first year, he not only insisted uponwearing moustaches, but had contracted a propensity for cursing andswearing, and for backing his assertions by bets.
Through this latter most ungentlemanly practice, the ruin which I hadpredicted to Toby Dammit overtook him at last. The fashion had grownwith his growth and strengthened with his strength, so that, whenhe came to be a man, he could scarcely utter a sentence withoutinterlarding it with a proposition to gamble. Not that he actually laidwagers--no. I will do my friend the justice to say that he would as soonhave laid eggs. With him the thing was a mere formula--nothing more. Hisexpressions on this head had no meaning attached to them whatever. Theywere simple if not altogether innocent expletives--imaginative phraseswherewith to round off a sentence. When he said I'll bet you so andso, nobody ever thought of taking him up; but still I could not helpthinking it my duty to put him down. The habit was an immoral one, andso I told him. It was a vulgar one--this I begged him to believe. It wasdiscountenanced by society--here I said nothing but the truth. It wasforbidden by act of Congress--here I had not the slightest intentionof telling a lie. I remonstrated--but to no purpose. I demonstrated--invain. I entreated--he smiled. I implored--he laughed. I preached--hesneered. I threatened--he swore. I kicked him--he called for the police.I pulled his nose--he blew it, and offered to bet the Devil his headthat I would not venture to try that experiment again.
Poverty was another vice which the peculiar physical deficiency ofDammit's mother had entailed upon her son. He was detestably poor, andthis was the reason, no doubt, that his expletive expressions aboutbetting, seldom took a pecuniary turn. I will not be bound to say thatI ever heard him make use of such a figure of speech as I'll bet you adollar. It was usually I'll bet you what you please, or I'll bet youwhat you dare, or I'll bet you a trifle, or else, more significantlystill, I'll bet the Devil my head.
This latter form seemed to please him best;--perhaps because it involvedthe least risk; for Dammit had become excessively parsimonious. Had anyone taken him up, his head was small, and thus his loss would have beensmall too. But these are my own reflections and I am by no means surethat I am right in attributing them to him. At all events the phrase inquestion grew daily in favor, notwithstanding the gross impropriety ofa man betting his brains like bank-notes:--but this was a point which myfriend's perversity of disposition would not permit him to comprehend.In the end, he abandoned all other forms of wager, and gave himself upto I'll bet the Devil my head, with a pertinacity and exclusivenessof devotion that displeased not less than it surprised me. I am alwaysdispleased by circumstances for which I cannot account. Mysteriesforce a man to think, and so injure his health. The truth is, there wassomething in the air with which Mr. Dammit was wont to give utterance tohis offensive expression--something in his manner of enunciation--whichat first interested, and afterwards made me very uneasy--somethingwhich, for want of a more definite term at present, I must be permittedto call queer; but which Mr. Coleridge would have called mystical,Mr. Kant pantheistical, Mr. Carlyle twistical, and Mr. Emersonhyperquizzitistical. I began not to like it at all. Mr. Dammits soul wasin a perilous state. I resolved to bring all my eloquence into play tosave it. I vowed to serve him as St. Patrick, in the Irish chronicle, issaid to have served the toad,--that is to say, awaken him to a senseof his situation. I addressed myself to the task forthwith. Once more Ibetook myself to remonstrance. Again I collected my energies for a finalattempt at expostulation.
When I had made an end of my lecture, Mr. Dammit indulged himself insome very equivocal behavior. For some moments he remained silent,merely looking me inquisitively in the face. But presently he threw hishead to one side, and elevated his eyebrows to a great extent. Then hespread out the palms of his hands and shrugged up his shoulders. Then hewinked with the right eye. Then he repeated the operation with the left.Then he shut them both up very tight. Then he opened them both sovery wide that I became seriously alarmed for the consequences.Then, applying his thumb to his nose, he thought proper to make anindescribable movement with the rest of his fingers. Finally, settinghis arms a-kimbo, he condescended to reply.
I can call to mind only the beads of his discourse. He would be obligedto me if I would hold my tongue. He wished none of my advice. Hedespised all my insinuations. He was old enough to take care of himself.Did I still think him baby Dammit? Did I mean to say any thing againsthis character? Did I intend to insult him? Was I a fool? Was my maternalparent aware, in a word, of my absence from the domiciliary residence?He would put this latter question to me as to a man of veracity, andhe would bind himself to abide by my reply. Once more he would demandexplicitly if my mother knew that I was out. My confusion, he said,betrayed me, and he would be willing to bet the Devil his head that shedid not.
Mr. Dammit did not pause for my rejoinder. Turning upon his heel, heleft my presence with undignified precipitation. It was well for himthat he did so. My feelings had been wounded. Even my anger had beenaroused. For once I would have taken him up upon his insulting wager. Iwould have won for the Arch-Enemy Mr. Dammit's little head--for the factis, my mamma was very well aware of my merely temporary absence fromhome.
But Khoda shefa midehed--Heaven gives relief--as the Mussulmans say whenyou tread upon their toes. It was in pursuance of my duty that I hadbeen insulted, and I bore the insult like a man. It now seemed to me,however, that I had done all that could be required of me, in the caseof this miserable individual, and I resolved to trouble him no longerwith my counsel, but to leave him to his conscience and himself. Butalthough I forebore to intrude with my advice, I could not bring myselfto give up his society altogether. I even went so far as to humor someof his less reprehensible propensities; and there were times when Ifound myself lauding his wicked jokes, as epicures do mustard, withtears in my eyes:--so profoundly did it grieve me to hear his evil talk.
One fine day, having strolled out together, arm in arm, our route ledus in the direction of a river. There was a bridge, and we resolved tocross it. It was roofed over, by way of protection from the weather, andthe archway, having but few windows, was thus very uncomfortably dark.As we entered the passage, the contrast between the external glare andthe interior gloom struck heavily upon my spirits. Not so upon thoseof the unhappy Dammit, who offered to bet the Devil his head that I washipped. He seemed to be in an unusual good humor. He was excessivelylively--so much so that I entertained I know not what of uneasysuspicion. It is not impossible that he was affected with thetranscendentals. I am not well enough versed, however, in the diagnosisof this disease to speak with decision upon the point; and unhappilythere were none of my friends of the Dial present. I suggest the idea,nevertheless, because of a certain species of austere Merry-Andrewismwhich seemed to beset my poor friend, and caused him to make quite aTom-Fool of himself. Nothing would serve him but wriggling and skippingabout under and over every thing that came in his way; now shoutingout, and now lisping out, all manner of odd little and big words, yetpreserving the gravest face in the world all the time. I really couldnot make up my mind whether to kick or to pity him. At length, havingpassed nearly across the bridge, we approached the termination of thefootway, when our progress was impeded by a turnstile of some height.Through this I made my way quietly, pushing it around as usual. But thisturn would not serve the turn of Mr. Dammit. He insisted upon leapingthe stile, and said he could cut a pigeon-wing over it in the air. Nowthis, conscientiously speaking, I did not think he could do. The bestpigeon-winger over all kinds of style was my friend Mr. Carlyle, and asI knew he could not do it, I would not believe that it could be doneby Toby Dammit. I therefore told him, in so many words, that he was abraggadocio, and could not do what he said. For this I had reason to besorry afterward;--for he straightway offered to bet the Devil his headthat he could.
I was about to reply, notwithstanding my previous resolutions, with someremonstrance against his impiety, when I heard, close at my elbow, aslight cough, which sounded very much like the ejaculation ahem! Istarted, and looked about me in surprise. My glance at length fell intoa nook of the frame--work of the bridge, and upon the figure of a littlelame old gentleman of venerable aspect. Nothing could be more reverendthan his whole appearance; for he not only had on a full suit of black,but his shirt was perfectly clean and the collar turned very neatly downover a white cravat, while his hair was parted in front like a girl's.His hands were clasped pensively together over his stomach, and his twoeyes were carefully rolled up into the top of his head.
Upon observing him more closely, I perceived that he wore a black silkapron over his small-clothes; and this was a thing which I thought veryodd. Before I had time to make any remark, however, upon so singular acircumstance, he interrupted me with a second ahem!
To this observation I was not immediately prepared to reply. The factis, remarks of this laconic nature are nearly unanswerable. I have knowna Quarterly Review non-plussed by the word Fudge! I am not ashamed tosay, therefore, that I turned to Mr. Dammit for assistance.
Dammit, said I, what are you about? don't you hear?--the gentlemansays 'ahem!' I looked sternly at my friend while I thus addressed him;for, to say the truth, I felt particularly puzzled, and when a man isparticularly puzzled he must knit his brows and look savage, or else heis pretty sure to look like a fool.
Dammit, observed I--although this sounded very much like an oath, thanwhich nothing was further from my thoughts--Dammit, I suggested--thegentleman says 'ahem!'
I do not attempt to defend my remark on the score of profundity; I didnot think it profound myself; but I have noticed that the effect of ourspeeches is not always proportionate with their importance in our owneyes; and if I had shot Mr. D. through and through with a Paixhan bomb,or knocked him in the head with the Poets and Poetry of America, hecould hardly have been more discomfited than when I addressed him withthose simple words: Dammit, what are you about?--don't you hear?--thegentleman says 'ahem!'
You don't say so? gasped he at length, after turning more colors thana pirate runs up, one after the other, when chased by a man-of-war. Areyou quite sure he said that? Well, at all events I am in for it now, andmay as well put a bold face upon the matter. Here goes, then--ahem!
At this the little old gentleman seemed pleased--God only knows why.He left his station at the nook of the bridge, limped forward with agracious air, took Dammit by the hand and shook it cordially,looking all the while straight up in his face with an air of the mostunadulterated benignity which it is possible for the mind of man toimagine.
I am quite sure you will win it, Dammit, said he, with the frankest ofall smiles, but we are obliged to have a trial, you know, for the sakeof mere form.
Ahem! replied my friend, taking off his coat, with a deep sigh, tyinga pocket-handkerchief around his waist, and producing an unaccountablealteration in his countenance by twisting up his eyes and bringing downthe corners of his mouth--ahem! And ahem! said he again, after apause; and not another word more than ahem! did I ever know him to sayafter that. Aha! thought I, without expressing myself aloud--this isquite a remarkable silence on the part of Toby Dammit, and is no doubta consequence of his verbosity upon a previous occasion. One extremeinduces another. I wonder if he has forgotten the many unanswerablequestions which he propounded to me so fluently on the day when I gavehim my last lecture? At all events, he is cured of the transcendentals.
Ahem! here replied Toby, just as if he had been reading my thoughts,and looking like a very old sheep in a revery.
The old gentleman now took him by the arm, and led him more into theshade of the bridge--a few paces back from the turnstile. My goodfellow, said he, I make it a point of conscience to allow you thismuch run. Wait here, till I take my place by the stile, so that I maysee whether you go over it handsomely, and transcendentally, and don'tomit any flourishes of the pigeon-wing. A mere form, you know. I willsay 'one, two, three, and away.' Mind you, start at the word 'away'Here he took his position by the stile, paused a moment as if inprofound reflection, then looked up and, I thought, smiled veryslightly, then tightened the strings of his apron, then took a long lookat Dammit, and finally gave the word as agreed upon-
_One--two--three--and--away!_
Punctually at the word away, my poor friend set off in a stronggallop. The stile was not very high, like Mr. Lord's--nor yet very low,like that of Mr. Lord's reviewers, but upon the whole I made surethat he would clear it. And then what if he did not?--ah, that wasthe question--what if he did not? What right, said I, had theold gentleman to make any other gentleman jump? The little olddot-and-carry-one! who is he? If he asks me to jump, I won't do it,that's flat, and I don't care who the devil he is. The bridge, as Isay, was arched and covered in, in a very ridiculous manner, and therewas a most uncomfortable echo about it at all times--an echo which Inever before so particularly observed as when I uttered the four lastwords of my remark.
But what I said, or what I thought, or what I heard, occupied only aninstant. In less than five seconds from his starting, my poor Toby hadtaken the leap. I saw him run nimbly, and spring grandly from the floorof the bridge, cutting the most awful flourishes with his legs as hewent up. I saw him high in the air, pigeon-winging it to admirationjust over the top of the stile; and of course I thought it an unusuallysingular thing that he did not continue to go over. But the whole leapwas the affair of a moment, and, before I had a chance to make anyprofound reflections, down came Mr. Dammit on the flat of his back,on the same side of the stile from which he had started. At the sameinstant I saw the old gentleman limping off at the top of his speed,having caught and wrapt up in his apron something that fell heavily intoit from the darkness of the arch just over the turnstile. At all thisI was much astonished; but I had no leisure to think, for Dammit layparticularly still, and I concluded that his feelings had been hurt, andthat he stood in need of my assistance. I hurried up to him and foundthat he had received what might be termed a serious injury. The truthis, he had been deprived of his head, which after a close search I couldnot find anywhere; so I determined to take him home and send for thehomoeopathists. In the meantime a thought struck me, and I threw openan adjacent window of the bridge, when the sad truth flashed upon me atonce. About five feet just above the top of the turnstile, and crossingthe arch of the foot-path so as to constitute a brace, there extended aflat iron bar, lying with its breadth horizontally, and forming one ofa series that served to strengthen the structure throughout its extent.With the edge of this brace it appeared evident that the neck of myunfortunate friend had come precisely in contact.
He did not long survive his terrible loss. The homoeopathists did notgive him little enough physic, and what little they did give him hehesitated to take. So in the end he grew worse, and at length died, alesson to all riotous livers. I bedewed his grave with my tears, workeda bar sinister on his family escutcheon, and, for the general expensesof his funeral, sent in my very moderate bill to the transcendentalists.The scoundrels refused to pay it, so I had Mr. Dammit dug up at once,and sold him for dog's meat.