 and Adventure in the Upper Sea by Jack London. This is the LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. I am a retired captain of the Upper Sea. That is to say, when I was a younger man, which is not so long ago, I was an aeronaut and navigated that aerial ocean which is all around aboutus and aboveus. Naturally, it is a hazardous profession, and naturally I have had many thrilling experiences, the most thrilling, or at least the most nerve-wracking, being the one I am about to relate. It happened before I went in for hydrogen gas balloons, all of varnished silk, gold and lined and all that, and fit for voyages of days instead of mere hours. The little NASA, named after the great NASA of many years back, was the balloon I was making the sense in at the time. It was a fair-sized hot-air affair of single thickness, good for an hour's flight or so, and capable of attaining an altitude of a mile or more. It answered my purpose, for my act at the time was making half-mile parachute jumps at recreation parks and county fairs. I was in Oakland, a California town, filling the summer's engagement with a street railway company. The company owned a large park outside the city, and of course it was to its interest to provide attractions, which would send the townspeople over its line when they went out to get a whiff of country air. My contract called for two ascensions weekly, and my act was an extremely taking feature, for it was on my days that the largest crowds were drawn. Before you can understand what happened, I must first explain a bit about the nature of the hot-air balloon, which is used for parachute jumping. If you have ever witnessed such a jump, you will remember that directly the parachute was cut loose, the balloon turned upside down, emptied itself of its smoke and heated air, flattened out and fell straight down, beating the parachute to the ground. Thus there is no chasing a big deserted bag for miles and miles across the country, and much time, as well as trouble, is thereby saved. This maneuver is accomplished by attaching a weight, at the end of a long rope, to the top of the balloon. The aeronaut with its parachute and trapeze hangs to the bottom of the balloon and weighing more, keeps it right side down. But when he lets go, the weight attached to the top immediately drags the top down, and the bottom, which is the open mouth, goes up, the heated air pouring out. The weight used for this purpose on the Little Nasa was a bag of sand. On the particular day I have in mind there was an unusually large crowd in attendance, and the police had their hands full keeping the people back. There was much pushing and shoving, and the ropes were bulging with the pressure of men, women and children. As I came down from the dressing room I noticed two girls outside the ropes of about fourteen and sixteen, and inside the rope a youngster of eight or nine. They were holding him by the hands, and he was struggling, excitedly and half in laughter, to get away from them. I thought nothing of it at the time, just a bit of childish play, no more, and it was only in the light of after-events that the scene was impressed vividly upon me. Keep them cleared out, George, I called to my assistant. We don't want any accidents. I, he answered, that I will, Charlie. George Guppy had helped me in no end of a sense, and because of his coolness, judgment, and absolute reliability I had come to trust my life in his hands with the utmost confidence. His business it was to overlook the inflating of the balloon, and to see everything about the parachute was in perfect working order. The Little Nasa was already filled in straining at the guys. The parachute lay flat along the ground and beyond it the trapeze. I tossed aside my overcoat, took my position, and gave the signal to let go. As you know, the first rush upward from the earth is very sudden, and this time the balloon, when it first got the wind, healed violently over and was longer than usual in writing. I looked down at the old familiar sight of the world rushing away from me, and there were the thousands of people, every face silently upturned. And the silence startled me for, as crowds went, this was the time for them to catch their first breath and send up a roar of applause. But there was no hand clapping, whistling, cheering, only silence. And instead, clear as a bell and distinct, without the slightest shake or quaver, came George's voice through the megaphone. Write her down, Charlie. Write the balloon down. What had happened? I waved my hand to show that I had heard and began to think. Had something gone wrong with the parachute? Why should I write the balloon down instead of making the jump which thousands were waiting to see? What was the matter? And as I puzzled, I received another start. The earth was a thousand feet beneath, and yet I heard a child crying softly and seemingly very close to hand. And though the little NASA was shooting skyward like a rocket, the crying did not grow fainter and fainter and die away. I confess I was almost on the edge of a funk when, unconsciously following up the noise with my eyes, I looked above me and saw a boy astride the sandbag which was to bring the little NASA to earth. And it was the same little boy I had seen struggling with the two girls, his sisters, as I afterward learned. There he was astride the sandbag and holding on to the rope for dear life. A puff of wind healed the balloon slightly and he swung out into space for ten or a dozen feet and back again, fetching up against the tight canvas with the thud which even shook me, thirty feet or more beneath. I thought to see him dashed loose but he clung on and whimpered. They told me afterward how at the moment they were casting off the balloon, the little fellow had torn away from his sisters, docked under the rope, and deliberately jumped astride the sandbag. It has always been a wonder to me that he was not jerked off in the first rush. Well, I felt sick all over as I looked at him there and I understood why the balloon had taken longer to ride itself and why George had called after me to ride her down. Should I cut loose with the parachute, the bag would at once turn upside down, empty itself and begin its swift descent. The only hope lay in my riding her down and in the boy holding on. There was no possible way for me to reach him. No man could climb the slim, closed parachute and even if a man could and made the mouth of the balloon what could he do? Straight out and fifteen feet away trailed the boy on his ticklish perch and those fifteen feet were empty space. I thought far more quickly than it takes to tell all this and realized on the instant that the boy's attention must be called away from his terrible danger. Exercising all the self-control I possessed and striving to make myself very calm, I said cheerfully, Hello up there, who are you? He looked down at me, choking back his tears and brightening up but just then the balloon ran into a cross current, turned half around and lay over. This set him swinging back and forth and he fetched the canvas and other bump. Then he began to cry again. Isn't it great? I asked heartily as though it was the most enjoyable thing in the world and without waiting for him to answer, What's your name? Tommy Dermott, he answered. Glad to make your acquaintance Tommy Dermott, I went on, but I'd like to know who said you could ride up with me. He laughed and said he just thought he'd ride up for the fun of it and so we went on. I sick with fear for him and cuddling my brain to keep up the conversation. I knew that it was all I could do and that his life depended upon my ability to keep his mind off his danger. I pointed out to him the great panorama spreading away to the horizon and 4,000 feet beneath us. There lay San Francisco Bay like a great placid lake, the haze of smoke over the city, the Golden Gate, the ocean fog rim beyond and Mount Tammel Pius over all clear-cut and sharp against the sky. Directly below us I could see a buggy, apparently crawling, but I knew from experience that the men in it were lashing the horses on our trail. But he grew tired of looking around and I could see he was beginning to get frightened. How would you like to go in for the business? I asked. He cheered up at once and asked, Do you get good pay? But the little NASA beginning to cool had started its long descent and ran into counter currents which bobbed it roughly about. This swung the boy around pretty lively, smashing him into the bag once quite severely. His lip began to tremble at this and he was crying again. I tried to joke and laugh but it was no use. His pluck was oozing out and at any moment I was prepared to see him go shooting past me. I was in despair. Then suddenly I remembered how one fright could destroy another fright and I frowned up at him and shouted sternly, You just hold on to that rope. If you don't, I'll thrash you within an inch of your life when I get you down on the ground. Understand? Yes, sir, he whimpered, and I saw that the thing had worked. I was nearer to him than the earth and he was more afraid of me than of falling. Why, you've got a snap up there on that soft bag, I rattled on. Yes, I assured him. This bar down here is hard and narrow and it hurts to sit on it. Then a thought struck him and he forgot all about his aching fingers. When are you going to jump? He asked. That's what I came up to see. I was sorry to disappoint him but I wasn't going to make any jump. But he objected to that. It said so in the papers. He said. I don't care, I answered. I'm feeling sort of lazy today and I'm going to ride down the balloon. It's my balloon and I guess I can do as I please about it. And anyway, we're almost down now. And we were, too, and sinking fast. And right there and then that youngster began to argue with me as to whether it was right for me to disappoint the people and to urge their claims upon me. And it was with a happy heart that I held up my end of it justifying myself in a thousand different ways till we shot over a grove of eucalyptus trees and dipped to meet the earth. Hold on tight, I shouted, swinging down from the trapeze by my hands in order to make a landing on my feet. We skimmed past a barn and missed a mesh of clothesline, frightened barnyard chickens into a panic and rose up again clear over a haystack all this almost quicker than it takes to tell. Then we came down in an orchard and when my feet had touched the ground I fetched up the balloon by a couple of turns of the trapeze round an apple tree. I have had my balloon catch fire in mid-air. I have hung on the cornice in the house. I have dropped like a bullet for six hundred feet when a parachute was slow in opening. But never have I felt so weak and faint and sick as when I staggered towards the unscratched boy and gripped him by the arm. Tommy Dermott, I said when I had got my nerve back somewhat. Tommy Dermott, I'm going to lay you across my knee and give you the greatest thrashing a boy ever got when he answered, squirming around. You said you wouldn't if I held on tight. That's all right, I said, but I'm going to just the same. The follows who go up in balloons are bad, unprincipled men and I'm going to give you a lesson right now to make you stay away from them and from balloons too. And then I gave it to him and if it wasn't the greatest thrashing in the world it was the greatest he ever got. He read out of me, left me nerve-broken, that experience. I cancelled the engagement with the Street Railway Company and later on went in for gas. Gas is much the safer anyway. End of an adventure in the Upper Sea. Read by Tom Crawford February 2010. Among the Corn Rows from Main Traveled Roads by Hamlin Garland. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Part 1. But the road sometimes passes a rich meadow where the songs of larks and bobble-links and blackbirds are tangled. Rob held up his hands from which the dough is made. She said, with an elaborate working of his jaws, intended to convey the idea that they were going to be specially delicious. See, Graves laughed, but did not enter the shanty door. How do you like batching it? Oh, don't mention it in treated rob, mauling the dough again. Come in and sit down. Why in thunder you stand in the weather? Yeah, mints. How goes the breaking? Tip-top, a little dry now, but the bulls pull the plow through two acres a day. How's things in Boontown? Oh, same old grind. Judge still lying? Still at it? Major Mullins still swearing to it? You hit it like a mallet. Railroad steams are thicker than prairie chickens. See, Rob, I don't have anything but crackers and sardines over to my shanty, and here you are making soda-biscuit. I have to do it. Couldn't break if I didn't. You editors can take things easy. Lay around on the prairie and watch the plovers and metter-larks, but we settlers have got to work. Leaving Rob to sweater over his cooking, See, Graves took his slow way off down toward the oxen, grazing on a little hollow. The plain was characteristically wonderfully beautiful. It was about five o'clock in a day in late June, and the level plain was green and yellow and infinite in reach as a sea. The lowering sun was casting over its distant swells a faint, impalpable mist through which the breaking teams on the neighboring claims plowed noiselessly as figures in a dream. The whistle of gophers, the faint, wailing, fluttering cry of the falling plover, the whir of the swift-winged prairie pigeon, where the quack of a lonely duck came through the shimmering air. The lark's infrequent whistle, piercingly sweet, broke from the longer grass in the swales nearby. No other climate, sky, plain could produce the same unnameable weird charm. No tree to wave, no whistle, scarcely a sound of domestic life, only the faint melancholy suing of the wind in the short grass and the voices of the wild things of the prairie. Sea-graves, an impressionable young man, junior editor of the Boomtown Spike, threw himself down on the sod, pulled his hat rimmed down over his eyes and looked away over the plain. It was the second year of the Boomtown's existence, and sea-graves had not yet grown restless under its monotony. Around him the gophers played saucily. Teams were moving here and there across the sod with a peculiar noiseless, effortless motion that made them seem as calm, lazy, and unsubstantial as the mist for which they made their way. Even the sound of passing wagons was a sort of low, dead, self-satisfied chuckle. Sea-graves, holding down a claim near Rob, had come to see his neighboring batch because of feeling the need of company. But now that he was near enough to hear him prancing about getting supper, he was content to lie alone on a slope of the green sod. The silence of the prairie at night was well night terrible. Many a night, the sea-graves lay in his bunk against the side of his cabin. He would strain his ear to hear the slightest sound and be listening thus sometimes for minutes before the squeak of a mouse or the step of a passing fox came as a relief to the aching sense. In the daytime, however, and especially on a morning, the prairie was another thing. The pigeons, the larks, the cranes, the multitudinous voices of the ground birds and snipes and insects made the air pulsate with sound, a chorus that died away into an infinite murmur of music. Hello, sea-graves, yelled Rob from the door. The biscuits are most done. Sea-graves did not speak, only nodded his head and slowly rose. The faint clouds in the west were getting a superb flame color above and a misty purple and the sun had shot them with lances of yellow light. As the air grew denser with moisture, the sounds of neighboring life began to reach the ear. Children screamed and laughed and, afar off, a woman was singing a lullaby. The rattle of wagons and voices of men speaking to their teams multiplied. Ducks in a neighboring lowland were quacking. The whole scene took hold of the sea-graves with irresistible power. It is American, he exclaimed. No other land or time can match this mellow air, this wealth of color, much less the strange social conditions of life on this sunlit Dakota prairie. Rob, though visibly affected by the scene also, couldn't let his biscuits spoil or go without proper attention. Say, ain't you coming to grub? He asked impatiently. And his friend, taking a last wistful look at the scene, I want one more look at the landscape. Landscape be blessed if you'd been breakin' all day. Come and take that stool and draw up. No, I'll take the candle-box. Not much. I know what manners are, if I am a bull-driver. Sea-graves took the three-legged and rather precarious-looking stool and drew up to the table, a grub-box nailed up against the side of the wall with two strips of board nailed at the outer corners for legs. How's that for a layout, Rob inquired proudly? Well, you have spread yourself biscuit and canned peaches and sardines and cheese. Why, this is prodigal. It ain't nothin' else. Rob was from one of the finest counties of Wisconsin over toward Milwaukee. He was of German parentage, male-sized, jerry, white-awake, good-looking young fellow, a typical claim-holder. He was always confident, jovial and full of plans for the future. He had dug his own well, built his own shanty, washed and mended his own clothing. He could do anything and do it well. He had a fine field of wheat and was finishing the plowing of his entire quarter-section. This is what I call settin' under a fellow's own vine and fig tree, after a sea-grave's compliments. And I like it. I'm my own boss. No man can say come here and go there to me. I get up when I'm on mine too and I go to bed when I'm on mine too. Some drawbacks, I suppose. Yes, mice, for instance, give me a devilish lot of trouble. They get into my flower barrel, eat up my cheese and fall into my well. But it ain't no use to swear. The rats and mice they made such a strife he had to go to London to buy him a wife, quoted sea-graves. Don't blush, I probed your secret thought. Well, to tell the honest truth, said Rob a little sheepishly leaning across the table. I ain't satisfied with my style of cookin'. It's good, but a little too plain, you know. I'd like a change. It's fun to break all day and then go to work and cook your own supper. No, I should say not. This fall I'm going back to Wisconsin. Girls are thick as huckleberries back there and I'm going to bring one back now you hear me. Good, at the plan life sea-graves amused at a certain timid and apprehensive look in his companion's eye. Just think what a woman would do to put this shanty in shape and think how nice it would be to look at the farm and saunter out after supper and look at the farm and plan and lay out gardens and paths and tend the chickens. Rob's manly and self-reliant nature had the settler's typical buoyancy and hopefulness as well as a certain power of analysis which enabled him now to say, the fact is we fellers holdin' down claims out here ain't fools clear to the rhyme. We know a couple of things. I didn't leave Wapak County for fun. Did you ever see Wapak? Well, it's one of the handsomest counties the sun never shone on full of lakes and rivers and groves of timber. I miss them all out here and I miss the boys and girls but they want no chance there for a feller. Land that was good was so blamed high you couldn't touch it with a ten-foot pole from a balloon. Rent was high if you wanted to rent to get out and now I'm out here I'm going to make the most of it. Another thing he went on after a pause we fellers workin' out back there got more and more like hands and less like human beings. You know Wapak is a kind of a summer resort and the people that used to come in summers looks down on us cusses in the fields and shops. I couldn't stand it. My God he said with a sudden impulse of rage quite unlike him. I'd rather live on an iceberg and claw crabs for a livin' than have some fellow passin' me on the road and callin' me fella. Seagraves knew what he meant and listened an astonishment at this outburst. I consider myself a sight better than any man who lives on somebody else's hard work. I've never had a scent I didn't earn with them hands. He held them up and broke into a grin. Beauties ain't they but they never wore gloves that some other poor cuss earned. Seagraves thought them grand hands worthy to grasp the hand of any man or woman living. Well, so I come west just like a thousand other fellas to get a start where the cussed European aristocracy hadn't got a hold on the people. I like it here. Of course I'd like the lakes and betters of Wapak better as I say and I'm going to stay my own boss if I have to live on crackers and wheat-coffee to do it. That's a kind of a hairpin I am. In the pause which followed Seagraves plunged deep into thought by Robb's words, leaned his head on his hand. This working farmer had voiced the modern idea. It was an absolute overturn of all the ideas of nobility and special privilege born of the feudal past. Robb had spoken upon impulse but that impulse appeared to Seagraves to be right. I'd like to use your ideas for an editorial, Robb, he said. My ideas exclaimed the astounded host pausing in the act of filling his pipe. My ideas why I didn't know I had any. Well, you've given me some anyhow. Seagraves felt that it was a wild grand upstirring of the modern Democrat against the aristocratic against the idea of caste and the privilege of living on the labor of others. This atom of humanity how infinitesimal this drop in the ocean of humanity was feeling the nameless longing of expanding personality and had already pierced the conventions of society and declared as nil the laws of the land, laws that were survivals of hate and prejudice. He had exposed also the native spring of the immigrant by uttering the feeling that it is better to be an equal among peasants than a servant before nobles. So I have good reasons for liking the country, Robb resumed in a quiet way. The soil is rich, the climate good so far, and if I have a couple of decent crops you'll see a neat upright bay window. And you'll still be living here alone frying leathery flapjacks and chopping taters and bacon. I think I see myself drawn, Robb, going around all summer, wearing the same shirt without washing and wiping on the same towel four street weeks and wearing the holes in my socks and eating musty ginger snaps moldy bacon and canned Boston beans for the rest of my endurance days. Oh, yes. I guess not. Well, see you later. Must go water my bulls. As he went off down the slope Seagrave smiled to hear him sing. I wish that some kind-hearted girl would pity on me take and extricate me from the mess I'm in. The angel how I'd bless her if this her home she'd make in my little old salt shanty on the plain. The boys nearly fell off their chairs in the western house dining room a few days later that seeing Robb come into supper with a collar and necktie as the finishing touch of a remarkable outfit. Hit him, somebody. It's a clean collar. He started for Congress. He's going to get married put in Seagraves in a tone that brought conviction. What screamed Jack Adams, O'Neill, and Wilson in a breath? That man? That man, replied Seagraves, amazed at Robb who coolly took his seat, squared his elbows, pressed his collar down at the back and called for the bacon and eggs. The crowd stared at him in a dead silence. Where's he going to do it, asked Jack Adams. Where's he going to find a girl? Ask him, said Seagraves. I ain't tellin' put in Robb with his mouth full of potato. You're afraid of our competition. That's right. Our competition, Jack, not your competition. Come now, Robb, tell us where you found her. I ain't found her. What, and yet you're going to wait to get married? I'm going to bring back a wife with me ten days from date. I see his scheme put in Jim Revers. He's gone back east somewhere and he's going to propose to every girl he meets. Hold on, interrupted Robb, holding up his fork. Ain't quite right. Every good-looking girl I meet. Well, I'll be black, exclaimed Jack, impatiently. That simply lets me out. Any man with such a cheek ought to succeed, interrupted Seagraves. That's what I say, bald-hank whiting the proprietor of the house. You fella didn't got any enterprise to you. Why don't you go to work and help settle the country like men? She ain't got no sand. Girls are thick and huckle-marish back east. I say it's a nerm shame. Easy Henry, said the elegant bank clerk Wilson, looking gravely about through his spectacles, I commend the courage and the resolution of Mr. Rodemaker. I pray the lady may not mislike him for his complexion, the shadowed livery of the burning sun. Shakespeare, said Adams, and a venture. Brother, in adversity, when do you embark another Jason on an untried sea? Hey, said Rob, winking at Seagraves. Oh, I go to-night, night train. And return. Ten days from date. I'll bager a wedding supper he brings a blonde, said Wilson in his clean-cut language speech. Oh, come now, Wilson, that's too thin. I know that rule about dark, merry, and light. I'll wager she'll be tall, continued Wilson. I'll wager you friend, Rodemaker, she'll be blonde and tall. The rest roared at Rob's astonishment and confusion. The absurdity of it grew when they went into spasms of laughter. But Wilson remained impassive, not the twitching of a muscle betraying that he saw anything to laugh at in the proposition. Mrs. Whiting and the kitchen girls came in, wondering at the merry-met. Rob began to get uneasy. What is it, what is it, said Mrs. Whiting, a jolly little matron? Rivers put the case. Rob's on his way back to Wisconsin to get married, and Wilson has offered to bet him that his wife will be blonde and tall. And Rob doesn't bet, and they roared again. Why the idea, the man's crazy, said Mrs. Whiting. The crowd looked at each other. This was hint enough. They sobered, nodding at each other. Ah-ha, I see, I understand. If the heat. And the Boston beans. Led up on him Wilson, don't badger a poor irresponsible fellow. I thought something was wrong when I saw the collar. Oh, keep it up, said Rob, a little meddled by their evident intention to have fun with him. Soothe him, soothe him, said Wilson. Don't be harsh. Rob rose from the table. Go to thunder, you might be tired. The fit is on him again. He rose disgustedly and went out. They followed him in single file. The rest of the town caught on. Frank Graham heaved an apple at him and joined the procession. Rob went into the store to buy some tobacco. They followed and perched like crows on the counters till he went out. Then they followed him as before. They watched him check his trunk. They witnessed the purchase of the ticket. The town had turned out by this time. Walpac announced the one nearest the victim. Walpac said the next man and the word was passed along the street uptown. Make a note of it, said Wilson, Walpac, a county where a man's proposal for marriage is honored upon presentation. Sight drafts. Rivers struck up a song while Rob stood around patiently bearing the jokes of the crowd. We're looking rather seedy now while holding down our claims. Intervitals are not always of the best and the mice play slyly round us as we lay down to sleep in our little old Todd Shanty's own declaim. Yet we rather like the novelty of a living in this way though the bill of fare is often rather tame. And we're happy as a clam on the land of Uncle Sam in our little old Todd Shanty's own declaim. The train drew up at length to the immense relief of Rob whose stoical resignation was beginning to weaken. Don't you wish you had sand? He yelled to the crowd as he plunged into the car, thinking he was rid of them. But no, their last stroke was to follow him into the car, nodding, pointing to their heads and whispering, managing in the half-minute the train stood at the platform to set every person in the car staring at the crazy man. Rob groaned and pulled his hat down over his eyes. An action which confirmed his tormentors' words and made several ladies click their tongues in sepathy. Pull it, fellow. Oh, the boy, said the conductor, grinning his appreciation at the crowd and the train was off. Oh, won't we make him groan when he gets back, said Barney, the young lawyer who sang the shouting tenor. We'll meet him with the timbrel and the harp. Anybody want to wager? I've got two to one on the short brunette, said Wilson. Part two. Follow it far enough, and it may pass the bend in the river where the water laughs eternally over its shallows. A cornfield in July is a hot place. The soil is hot and dry. The wind comes across the lazily murmuring leaves, laden with the warm, sickening smell drawn from the rapidly growing, broad-flung banners of the corn. The sun, nearly vertical, drops a flood of dazzling light and heat upon the field over which the cool shadows run, only to make the heat seem the more intense. Julia Peterson, faint with fatigue, was toiling back and forth between the corn-rolls, holding the handles of the double-shovel corn-plow, while her little brother Otto rode the steaming horse. Her heart was full of bitterness, and her face fleshed with heat, and her muscles aching with fatigue. The heat grew terrible. The corn came to her shoulders, and not a breath seemed to reach her, while the sun, nearing the noon mark, lay pitilessly upon her shoulders, protected only by a calico dress. The dust rose under her feet, and as she was wet with perspiration, it soiled her till with a woman's instinctive cleanliness she shuddered. Her head throbbed dangerously. What mattered to her that the kingbird pitched jovially from the maples to catch a wandering blue-bottle fly, that the robin was feeding its young, that the bobble-ink was singing? All these things, if she saw them, only through her bondage to labor, enter greater relief. Across the field, in another patch of corn, she could see her father, a big, gruff-voiced, wide-bearded Norwegian, at work also with a plow. The corn must be plowed, and so she toiled on, the tears dropping from the shadow of the ugly sun-bonnet she wore. Her shoes, course, and square-toed chafed her feet. Her hands, large and strong, were browned, or more properly burned, on the backs by the sun. The horses' harness creak-cracked as he swung steadily and patiently forward, the moisture pouring from his sides, his nostrils distended. The field ran down to a road, and on the other side of the road ran a river, a broad, clear, shallow expanse at that point, and the eyes of the boy gazed longingly at the pond and the cool shadow each time that he turned at the fence. Say, Jewel, I'm going in. Come, can I come say," he pleaded as they stopped at the fence to let the horse read, I've let you go away twice, but I don't do any good. My legs is all smarty, cause''ll Jack sweats so. The boy turned around on the horses' back and slid back to his rump. I can't stand it, he burst out, sliding off and darting under the fence. Father can't see. The girl put her elbows on the fence and watched her little brother, as he sped away to the pool throwing off his clothes as he ran, whooping with uncontrollable delight. Soon she could hear him splashing about in the water a short distance up the stream and caught glimpses of his little shiny body and happy face. How cool that water looked, and the shadows there by the big bass wood. How that water would cool her blistered feet. An impulse seized her and she squeezed between the rails of the fence and stood in the road looking up and down to see that the way was clear. It was not a main-traveled road. No one was likely to come. Why not? She hurriedly took off her shoes and stockings. How delicious the cool soft velvet of the grass and sitting down on the bank under the great bass wood, whose writs formed an abrupt bank, she slid her poor blistered, chafed feet into the water. Her bare head leaned against the huge tree trunk. And now as she rested the beauty of the scene came to her. Over her the wind moved the leaves. A jay screamed far off as if answering the cries of the boy. A kingfisher crossed and recrossed the stream with dipping sweep of his wings. The river sang with a slips to the pebbles. The vast clouds went by majestically far above the treetops. And the snap and buzzing and ringing horror of July and sex made a ceaseless, slumberous undertone of song, solvent of all else. The tired girl forgot her work. She began to dream. This would not last always. Someone would come to release her from such drudgery. This was her constant, tenderest, and most secret dream. He would be a Yankee, not an Norwegian. The Yankees didn't ask their wives to work in the field. He would have a home. Perhaps he'd live in town. Perhaps a merchant. And then she thought of the drunk clerk in Rock River who had looked at her. A voice broken on her dream, a fresh manly voice. Well, by a jinx, even ain't Julia, just the one I wanted to see. The girl turned and saw a pleasant-faced young fellow in a derby hat and a fifteen-dollar suit of diagonals. Rob rode a maker. How come? She remembered her situation and flushed, looked down at the water, and remained perfectly still. Ain't she going to shake hands? You don't seem very glad to see me. She began to grow angry. If you had any eyes, you'd see. Rob looked over the edge of the back, whistled, turned away. Oh, I see. Excuse me. Don't blame me a bit, though. Good weather for Corn, he went on, looking up at the trees. Corn seems to be pretty well forward. He continued, and a louder voice as he walked away, still gazing into the air. Perhaps he's looking first class in Boomtown. Hello, this Otto. Yeah, you little scamp. Get under that horse again. Quick, or I'll take your skin off and hang it on the fence. What you been doing? Been in swimming. Gemini, ain't it fun? When'd you get back? said the boy, grinning. Never you mind, replied Rob, leaping the fence by laying his left hand on the top rail. Get under that horse. He tossed the boy up on the horse, hung his coat on the fence. I suppose the old man makes her plow, same as usual. Yep, said Otto. Don't ding a man that'll do that. I don't mind if it's necessary, but it ain't necessary in this case. He continued to mutter in this way as he went across to the other side of the field. As they turned to come back, he went up and looked at the horse's mouth. Getting pretty near of age. Say, who's sparking Julia now? Anybody? Nobody except some old Norwegians. She won't have them. Poor once or two, but she won't. Good for her. Nobody comes to see her Sunday nights, eh? Nope only Tyess Anderson and old Hoover, but she goes off and leaves them. Said Rob starting old Jack across the field. It was almost noon and Jack moved reluctantly. He knew the time of day as well as the boy. He made this round after distinct protest. In the meantime Julia putting on her shoes and stockings went to the fence and watched the man shining white shirt as he moved across the cornfield. There had never been any special tenderness between them, but she had always liked him. They had been at school together. She wondered why he had come back at this time of the year, and wondered how long he would stay. How long had he stood looking at her? She flushed again at the thought of it. But he wasn't to blame. It was a public road. She might have known better. She stood under a little poppel tree whose leaves shook musically at every sepher and her eyes, through half-shut lids, and over the sea of deep green glossy leaves, dappled here and there by cloud shadows, stirred here and there like water by the wind. And out of it all, a longing to be free from such toil, rose like a breath filling her throat and quickening the motion of her heart. Must this go on forever, this life of heat and dust and labour? What did it all mean? The girl laid her chin on her strong red wrists, and looked up into the blue spaces between the vast clouds, aerial mountains dissolving in a shoreless, azure sea. How cool and sweet and restful they looked. If she might only lie out on the billowy snow-white sunlit edge. The voices of the driver and the plowman recalled her, and she fixed her eyes again upon the slowly nodding head of the patient horse. On the boy turned half-about on the horse, talking to the white-sleeved man, whose derby hat bobbed up and down quite curiously like the horse's head. Would she ask him to dinner? What would her people say? Who! It's hot! was the greeting the young fellow gave as he came up. He smiled in a frank boyish way as he hung his hat on the top of a steak and looked up at her. Do you know I kind of enjoy getting at it again? Fact! It ain't no work for a girl, though, he added. When do you get back, she asked, the flesh not yet out of her face. Rob was looking at her thick fine hair and full Scandinavian face, rich as a rose in color, and did not reply for a few seconds. She stood with her hideous sunbonnet pushed back on her shoulders. A kingbird was chattering overhead. Oh, few days ago! How long you going to stay? Oh, I don't know, weak baby. A far-off halu came pulsing across the shimmering air. The boy screamed, dinner! and waved his hat with an answering hoop, then flopped off the horse like a turtle off a stone into water. He had the horse unhooked in an instant and had flung his toes up over the horse's back in act to climb on when Rob said, Yeah, young fellow, wait a minute! Tired, he asked the girl with a tone that was more than kindly. He was almost tender. Yes, she replied in a low voice. My shoes hurt me. Well, here you go, he replied, taking his stand by the horse and holding out his hand like a step. She colored and smiled a little as she lifted her foot into his huge, hard, sunburned hand. Oops, it aves thee, he called. She gave a spring and sat the horse like one at home there. Rob had a deliciously unconscious, abstracted business-like air. He really left her nothing to do but enjoy his company while he went ahead and did precisely as he pleased. We don't raise much corn out there so I kind of like to see it once more. I wish I didn't have to see another hill of corn as long as I'd live, replied the girl bitterly. No knows I blame it a bit. But all the same I'm glad you was working in it today, he thought to himself as he walked beside her horse toward the house. Will you stop to dinner? She inquired bluntly, almost certainly. It was evident that there were reasons why she didn't mean to press him to do so. You bet I will, he replied, that is, if you want I should. You know how we live, she replied evasively. If you can stand it, why she broke off abruptly. Yes, he remembered how they lived in a square dirty white-frame house. It had been three or four years since he had been in it, but the smell of the cabbage and onions, the penetrating, peculiar mixture of odors, assailed his memory as something unforgettable. I guess I'll stop, he said, as she hesitated. She said no more, but tried to act as if she were not in any way responsible for what came afterward. I guess I can stand for one meal what you stand all the while, but I can't stand him. As she left him at the well and went to the house, he saw her lip painfully, and the memory of her face so close to his lips, as he helped her down from the horse, gave him pleasure at the same time that he was touched by its tired and gloomy look. Mrs. Peterson came to the door of the kitchen, looking just the same as ever, broad-faced, unwieldy, flabby, apparently wearing the same dress as a dirty, drab-colored thing. She looked as shapeless as a sack of wool. Her English was limited to how do you do, Rob? He washed at the pump while the girl in the attempt to be hospitable held a clean towel for him. You're pretty well used up, eh? he said to her. Yes, it's so awful hot out there. Can't you lay off this afternoon? It ain't right. No, he won't listen to that. Well, let me take your place. No, there ain't any use of that. Peterson, a brawny, wide-bearded Norwegian, came up at this moment and spoke to Rob in a sullen, gruff way. Hello, why don't you get back? Today. He ain't very glad to see me, said Rob, winking at Julia. He ain't piling over with enthusiasm. But I can stand it for your sake. He added with amazing assurance but the girl had turned away and it was wasted. At the table he ate heartily of the beanswagon which filled a large wooden bowl in the center of the table and which was ladled into smaller wooden bowls at each plate. Julia had tried hard to convert her mother to Yankee ways and had at last given it up and despair. Rob kept on safe subjects mainly asking questions about the crops, Peterson, and when addressing the girl inquired of the schoolmates. By skillful questioning he kept the subject of marriage uppermost and seemingly was getting an inventory of the girls not yet married or engaged. It was embarrassing for the girl. She was all too well aware of the difference between her home and the home of her schoolmates and friends. She knew that it was not pleasant for the girls to come to visit her when they could not feel sure of a welcome from the tireless, silent, and grim visaged old Norse if indeed they could escape insult. Julia ate her food mechanically and it could hardly be said that she enjoyed the brisk talk of the young man. His eyes were bound her so constantly and his smile so obviously addressed to her. She rose as soon as possible and, going outside, continued on a chair under the trees in the yard. She was not a course or doll girl. In fact, she had developed so rapidly by contact with the young people of the neighborhood that she no longer found pleasure in her own home. She didn't believe in keeping up the old-fashioned Norwegian customs and her life with her mother was not one to breed love or confidence. She was more like a hired hand. Her yule was sincere, though rough and inarticulate and it was her jealousy of the young Yankees that widened the chasm between the girl and herself an inevitable result. Rob followed the girl out into the yard and threw himself on the grass at her feet perfectly unconscious of the fact that this attitude was exceedingly graceful and becoming to them both. He did it because he wanted to talk to her and the grass was cool and easy. There wasn't any other chair anyway. Do they keep up the lyceum and the sociable same as ever? Yes, the others go a good deal, but I don't. We're getting such a stock roundess and father thinks he needs me so much. I don't get out often. I'm getting sick of it. I should thank you, would he reply at his eyes on her face. I understand the churnin' and housework, but when it comes to working outdoors in the dirt and hot sun getting all sunburned and chapped up, it's another thing. And then it seems as if he gets stingier and stingier every year. I ain't had a new dress and I don't know how long. He says it's all nonsense and mother's just about as bad. She don't want a new dress and so she thinks I don't. The girl was feeling the influence of a sympathetic lister and was making up for her long silence. I've tried to go out to work, but they won't let me. They'd have to pay a hand twenty dollars a month for the work I do and they like cheap help. But I'm not going to stand it much longer, I can tell you that. Rob thought she was very handsome as she sat there with her eyes fixed on the horizon, while these rebellious thoughts found utterance in her quivering passionate voice. Yuli, come here! Roared the old man from the well. A frown of anger and pain came into her face. She looked at Rob. That means more work. Say, let me go out in your place. Come now, what's the use? No, it wouldn't do no good. It ain't today so much, it's every day in. Yuli! called Peterson again with a string of impatience Norwegian. Well, all right, only I'd like to. Well, good-bye, she said with a little touch of feeling. When do you go back? I don't know, I'll see again before I go. Good-bye. He stood watching her slow painful pace till she reached the well where Otto was standing with the horse. He stood watching them as they moved out into the road and turned down toward the field. He felt that she had sent him away, but still there was a look in her eyes which was not altogether... He gave it up in despair at last. He was not good at analyses of this nature. He was used to plain blunt expressions. There was a woman's subtlety here quite beyond his reach. He sauntered slowly off up the road after his talk with Yulia. His head was low on his breast. He was thinking as one who is about to take a decided and important step. He was thinking as one who is about to take a decided and important step. He stopped at length and turning, watched the girl moving along in the deeps of the corn. Hardly a leaf was stirring. The untippered sunlight fell in a burning flood upon the field. The grasshoppers rose, snapped, buzzed, and fell. The locust uttered its dry, heat-intensifying cry. The man lifted his head. That damn shame, he said, beginning rapidly to retrace his steps. He stood leaning on the fence, awaiting the girl's coming, very much as she had waited his on the round he had made before dinner. He grew impatient at the slow gait of the horse and drummed on the rail while he whistled. Then he took off his hat and dusted it nervously. As the horse got a little nearer, he wiped his face carefully, pushed his hat back on his head and climbed over the fence where he stood with elbows on the middle rail as the girl and boy and horse came to the end of the furrow. Hot ain't it, he said, as she looked up. Gemini Peters, it's awful, puffed the boy. The girl did not reply as she swung the plow about after the horse and set it upright into the next row. Her powerful body had a superb swaying motion at the waist as she did this, which affected Rob vaguely but massively. I thought you'd gone, she said gravely, pushing back her bonnet so he could see her face dood with sweat and pink as a rose. She had the high cheekbones of her race, but she had also their exquisite fairness of color. Say, Otto, ask Rob alluringly, want to go swimming? You bet, replied Otto. Well, I'll go around if the boy dropped off the horse, not waiting to hear any more. Rob grinned, but the girl dropped her eyes then looked away. Got rid of him mighty quick. Say, Julie, I hate like thunder to see you out here. It ain't right, I wish you'd... I wish... She could not look at him now and her bosom rose and fell with emotion that was not due to fatigue. Her moist hair matted around her forehead for a boyish look. Rob nervously tried again, tearing splinters from the fence. Say now, I'll tell you what I came back here for. To get married. And if you're willing, I'll do it tonight. Come now, what do you say? What I got to do about it, she finally asked, the color flooding her face and a faint smile coming to her lips. Go ahead, I ain't got anything. The splinter in his mouth and fester. Oh, looky here now, Julie, you know what I mean. I've got a good claim out near Boontown. A rat-lin' good claim. A shanty on it, 14 by 16. No tarred paper about it and a solar to keep butter in and a hundred-acre sweet just about ready to turn now. I need a wife. Here he straightened up, threw away the splinter and took off his hat. He was a very pleasant figure as the girl stole a look at him. His black, laughing eyes were especially earnest just now. His voice had a touch of pleading. The pappal-tree over their heads murmured applause at his eloquence, then hushed to listen. A cloud dropped a silent shadow down upon them and it sent a little thrill of fear through Robb as if it were an omen of failure. As the girl remained silent looking away he began, man-fashioned, to desire her more and more as he feared to lose her. He put his hat on the post again and took out his jackknife. Her calico dress draped her supple and powerful figure simply but naturally. The stoop in her shoulders, given by labor, disappeared as she partly leaned upon the fence. The curves of her muscular arms showed through her sleeve. It's so fired lonesome for me out there on that claim and it ain't no picnic for you here. Now if you'll come out there with me you needn't do anything but cook for me and after harvest we can get a good lay out of furniture and I'll laugh and plaster the house and put a little L in the rear. He smiled and so did she. He felt encouraged to say and there we be as snug as you please. We're close to Boomtown and we can go down there to church sociables and things and there a jolly lot there. The girl was still silent but the man's simple enthusiasm came to her charged with passion and a sort of romance such as her hard life had known little of. There was something enticing about this trip to the west. A lot of my folks say, she said at last. A virtual surrender but Rob was not acute enough to see it. He pressed on eagerly. I don't care, do you? They'll just keep a plowin' corn and milk and cows till the day of judgment. I ain't got no time to fool away. I've got to get back to that grain. It's a whoopin' old crop, sure as you're born. And that being something pretty scrumptious in furniture this fall. Come now." He approached her and laid his hand on her shoulder very much as he would have touched Albert Seagraves or any other comrade. What do you say? She neither started nor shrunk nor looked at him. She simply moved a step away. They'd never let me go, she replied bitterly. I'm too cheap a hand. I do a man's work and get no pay at all. You'll have half for all I can make, he put in. How long can you wait, she asked, looking down at her dress. Just two minutes, he said, pulling out his watch. It ain't no use to wait. The old man'll be just as mad a week from now as he is today. Why not go now? After tomorrow she mused, wavering, calculating. You can be of age tonight if you just call on Old Square Hatfield with me. All right, Rob, the girl said, turning and holding out her hand. That's the talk, he exclaimed, seizing it. And now a kiss to bind the bargain, as the fella says. I guess we can get along without that. No, we can't. It won't seem like an engagement without it. It ain't going to seem much like one anyway, answered with a sudden realization of how far from her dreams of courtship this reality was. Say now, Julie, that ain't fair. It ain't treating me right. You don't seem to understand that I like you, but I do. Rob was carried quiet out of himself by the time, the place, and the girl. He had said a very moving thing. The tears sprang involuntarily to the girl's eyes. Do you mean it? If you do, you may. She was trembling with emotion for the first time. The sincerity of the man's voice had gone deep. He put his arm around her almost timidly and kissed her on the cheek, a great love for her springing up in his heart. That settles it, he said. Don't cry, Julie. You'll never be sorry for it. Don't cry. It kind of hurts me to see it. He didn't understand her feelings. He was only aware that she was crying and tried in a bungling way to soothe her. But now that she had given way, she sat down in the grass and wept bitterly. Julie! Yelled the old Norwegian like a distant foghorn. The girl sprang up. The habit of obedience was strong. No, you sit right there and I'll go around, he said. Otto! The boy came scrambling out of the wood half-dressed. Rob tossed him upon the horse, snatched Julia's sun-bonnet, put his own hat on her head, and moved off down the corn-rose, leaving the girl smiling through her tears as he whistled and tripped to the horse. Barmer Peterson, seeing the familiar sun-bonnet above the corn-rose, went back to his work with a sense of Norwegian trailing after him like the tail of a kite, something about lazy girls who didn't earn the crust of their bread, etc. Rob was wild with delight. Get up there, Jack! Hey, whoa, corn-grib! Say, Otto, can you keep your mouth shut if it puts money in your pocket? Just try me and see, said the skin-eyed little scamp. Well, you keep quiet about my being here this afternoon and I'll put a dollar on your tongue. Hey, what? Understand? Show me your dollars, said the boy, turning about, enjoying his tongue. All right, begin to practice now by not talking to me. Rob went over the whole situation on his way back, and when he got inside of the girl his plan was made. She stood waiting for him with a new look on her face. Her sullenness had given way to a peculiar eagerness and anxiety to believe in him. She was already living that free life in a far-off, wonderful country. No more would her stern father and sullen mother force her to test, which she hated. She'd be a member of a new firm. She'd work, of course, but it would be because she wanted to and not because she was forced to. The independence and the love promised were more and more attractive. She laughed back with a softer light in her eyes when she saw the smiling face of Rob looking at her from the sun-bonnet. Now, you mustn't do any more of this, he said. You go back to the house and tell your mother you're too lame to plow any more today, and it's too late anyhow. Tonight, he whispered quickly, eleven. Here. The girl's heart leaped with fear. I'm afraid. Well, not of me, are you? No, I'm not afraid of you, Rob. I'm glad at that. I want you to like me, Julie, won't you? I'll try, she answered with a smile. Tonight, then, he said, as she moved away. Tonight. Goodbye. Goodbye. He stood and watched her till her tall figure was lost among the drooping corn leaves. There was a singular choking feeling in his throat. The girl's voice and face had brought up so many memories of parties and picnics and excursions on far-off holidays, and at the same time of the future. He already felt that it was going to be an unconscionably long time before eleven o'clock. He saw her go to the house, and then he turned and walked slowly up the dusty road. Out of the Mayweed, the grasshopper sprang, buzzing and snapping their dull red wings. Butterflies yellow and white fluttered around moist places in the ditch, and slender striped water-snakes glided across the stagnant pools with sound footsteps. But the mind of the man was far away on his claim, building a new house with a woman's advice and presence. It was a windless night, the Katie Dids and an occasional cricket where the only sounds Rob could hear as he stood beside his team and strained his ear to listen. At long intervals a little breeze ran through the corn like a swift serpent bringing the nostrils, the sappy smell of the growing corn. The horses stamped uneasily as the mosquitoes settled on their shining limbs. The sky was full of stars, but there was no moon. What if she don't come, he thought, or can't come? I can't stand that! I'll go to the old man and say, looky here! Shhh! He listened again. There was a rustling in the corn. It was full movement of the wind. It was steady, slower and approaching. It ceased. He whistled the wailing sweet cry of the prairie chicken. Then a figure came out into the road, a woman, Julia. He took her in his arms as she came panting up to him. Rob! Julia! A few words, the dull trend of swift horses, the train of dust, and then the wind wandered in the growing corn. The dust fell, a dog barked down the road, and the cady dids sang to the liquid contralto of the river in its shallows. End of Among the Corn Rows by Hamelin Garland read by Leonard Wilson of Springfield, Ohio. Belfagore, or The Marriage of the Devil, by Niccolò Machiavelli. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Reading by Greg Marguerite. Belfagore, or The Marriage of the Devil, by Niccolò Machiavelli. We read in the Ancient Archives of Florence the following account as it was received from the lips of a very holy man, greatly respected by everyone for the sanctity of his manners at the period in which he lived. Happening once to be deeply absorbed in his prayers, such was their efficacy, that he saw an infinite number of condemned souls belonging to those miserable mortals who had died in their sins, undergoing the punishment of death. He remarked that the greater part of them lamented nothing so bitterly as their folly in having taken wives, attributing to them the whole of their misfortunes. Much surprised at this, Minos and Radamanthes, with the rest of the infernal judges unwilling to credit all the abuse heaped upon the female sex and, wearied from day to day with its repetition, agreed to bring the matter resolved that the conclave of infernal princes should form a committee of inquiry and should adopt such measures as might be deemed most advisable by the court in order to discover the truth or falsehood of the calamities which they heard. All being assembled in council, Pluto addressed them as follows. Dearly beloved demons, though by celestial dispensation and the irreversible decree of fate this kingdom fell to my share and I might strictly dispense with any kind of celestial or earthly responsibility. Yet, as it is more prudent and respectful to consult the laws and to hear the opinion of others, I have resolved to be guided by your advice, particularly in a case that may chance to cast some imputation upon our government. For the souls of all men daily arriving in our kingdom still continue to lay the whole blame upon their wives. And as this appears to us impossible, we must be careful how we decide in such a business lest we also should come in for a share of their abuse on account of our too great severity and yet judgment must be pronounced lest we be taxed with negligence and with indifference to the interests of justice. Now, as the latter is the fault of a careless and the former of an unjust judge, we wishing to avoid the trouble and the blame that might attach to both, yet hardly seeing how to get clear of it, naturally enough, apply to you for assistance in order that you may look to it and contrive in some way that as we have hitherto reigned without the slightest imputation upon our character, we may continue to do so for the future. The affair appearing to be of the utmost importance to all the princes present, they first resolved that it was necessary to ascertain the truth, though they differed as to the best means of accomplishing this object. Some were of the opinion that they ought to choose one or more from among themselves who should be commissioned to pay a visit to the world and in a human shape endeavor personally to ascertain how far such reports were grounded in truth. To many others it appeared that this might be done without so much trouble merely by compelling some of the wretched souls to confess the truth to the application of a variety of tortures. But the majority, being in favor of a journey to the world, they abided by the former proposal. No one, however, being ambitious of undertaking such a task, it was resolved to leave the affair to chance. The lot fell upon the arch-devil, Belfagor, who, previous to the fall, had enjoyed the rank of archangel in a higher world. Though he received his commission with a very ill grace, he nevertheless felt himself constrained by Pluto's imperial mandate and prepared to execute whatever had been determined upon in counsel. At the same time he took an oath to observe the tenor of his instructions as they had been drawn up with all due solemnity and ceremony for the purpose of his mission. These were the following effects. Imprimus. That, the better to promote the object in view, was furnished with a hundred thousand dookats. Secondly, that he should make use of the utmost expedition in getting into the world. Thirdly, that after assuming the human form, he should enter into the marriage state. And, lastly, that he should live with his wife for a space of ten years. At the expiration of this period he was to feign death and return home. In order to acquaint his employers by the fruits of his experience, what really were the respective conveniences and inconveniences of matrimony. The conditions further ran that during the said ten years he should be subject to all kinds of miseries and disasters, like the rest of mankind, such as poverty, prisons, and diseases into which men are apt to fall, unless, indeed, he could contrive by his own skill and ingenuity to avoid them. Poor Belfagor, having signed these conditions and received the money, came into the world. And, having set up his equipage with a numerous train of servants, he made a very splendid entrance into Florence. He selected this city in preference to all others as being most favorable for obtaining a userous interest of his money. And, having assumed the name of Roderigo, a native of Castile, he took a house in the suburbs of Agnesanti. And because he was unable to explain that he was a merchant, who, having had poor prospects in Spain, had gone to Syria and succeeded in acquiring his fortune at Alipo, whence he had lastly set out for Italy, with the intention of marrying and settling there as one of the most polished and agreeable countries he knew. Roderigo was certainly a very handsome man, apparently about thirty years of age, and he lived in a style of life that showed he was in pretty easy circumstances if not possessed of immense wealth. Being moreover extremely affable and liberal, he soon attracted the notice of many noble citizens blessed with large families of daughters and small incomes. The former of these were soon offered to him, from among whom Roderigo chose a very beautiful girl of the name of Anesta, a daughter of Amerigo Donati, who had also three sons, all grown up and three more daughters also nearly marriageable. Though of a noble family and enjoying a good reputation in Florence, his father-in-law was extremely poor and maintained as poor in establishment. Roderigo therefore made very splendid nuptials and omitting nothing that might tend to confer honor upon such a festival, being liable under the law which he received on leaving his infernal abode to feel all kinds of vain and earthly passions. He therefore soon began to enter into all the pumps and vanities of the world and to aim at reputation and consideration among mankind, which put him to no little expense. But more than this, he had not long enjoyed the society of his beloved Anesta before he became tenderly attached to her and was unable to behold her suffer the slightest iniquitude or vexation. Now, along with her other gifts of beauty and nobility, the lady had brought into the house of Roderigo such an insufferable portion of pride that, in this respect, Lucifer himself could not equal her. For her husband, who had experienced the effects of both, was at no loss to decide which was the most intolerable of the two. Yet it became infinitely worse when she discovered the extent of Roderigo's attachment to her, of which she availed herself to obtain an ascendancy over him and rule with a rod of iron. Not content with this, when she found he would bear it, she continued to annoy him with all kinds of insults and taunts, in such a way as to give him the most indescribable pain and uneasiness. For what with the influence of her father, her brothers, her friends, and relatives, the duty of the matrimonial yoke and the love he bore her, he suffered all for some time with the patience of a saint. It would be useless to recount the follies and extravagances into which he ran in order to gratify her taste for dress and every article of the newest fashion in which our city ever so variable in its nature according to its usual habits so much abounds. Yet to live upon easy terms with her, he was obliged to do more than this. He had to assist his father-in-law in portioning off his other daughters, and she next asked him to furnish one of her brothers with goods to sail for the Levant, another with silks for the west, while a third was to be set up in the Goldbeater's establishment at Florence. In such objects the greatest part of his fortune was soon consumed. At length the carnival season was at hand. The festival of St. John was to be celebrated and the whole city as usual was in a ferment. Numbers and socialist families were about to vie with each other in the splendor of their parties, and the Lady Anesta being resolved not to be outshone by her acquaintance, insisted that Rodrigo should exceed them all in the richness of their feasts. For the reasons above stated he submitted to her will, nor indeed would he have scrupled at doing much more. However difficult it might have been, could he have flattered himself with the hope of preserving the peace household and of awaiting quietly the consummation of his ruin. But this was not the case in as much as the arrogant temper of his wife had grown to such a height of asperity by long indulgence that he was at a loss in what way to act. His domestics, male and female would no longer remain in the house, being unable to support for any length of time the intolerable life they led. The inconvenience which he suffered in consequence of having no one to whom he could entrust his affairs it is impossible to express. Even his own familiar devils whom he had brought along with him had already deserted him, choosing to return below rather than longer submit to the tyranny of his wife. Left then to himself amidst this turbulent and unhappy life and having dissipated all the ready money he possessed, he was compelled to live upon the hopes of the returns of his ventures in the east and the west. Being still in good credit in order to support his rank he resorted to bills of exchange. Nor was it long before accounts running against him he found himself in the same situation as many other unhappy speculators in that market. Just as his case became extremely delicate there arrived sudden tidings both from east and west that one of his wife's brothers had dissipated the whole of Rodrigo's profits in play, and that while the other was returning with a rich cargo uninsured his ship had the misfortune to be wrecked and he himself was lost. No sooner did this affair transpire than his creditors assembled and supposing it must be all over with him, though their bills had not yet become due, they resolved to keep a strict watch over him in fear that he might abscond. Rodrigo on his part thinking that there was no other remedy and feeling how deeply he was bound by the Stigian law determined at all hazards to make his escape. So taking horse one morning early as he luckily lived near the Preto Gate in that direction he went off. His departure was soon known. The creditors were all in a bustle the magistrates were applied to and the officers of justice along with a great part of the populace were dispatched to pursue. Rodrigo had hardly proceeded a mile before he heard this hue and cry and the pursuers were soon so close at his heels that the only resource he had left was to abandon the high road and take to the open country with the hope of concealing himself in the fields. But finding himself unable to make way over the hedges and ditches he left his horse and took to his heels traversing fields of vines and canes until he reached Baratola where he entered the house of Matteo Del Brica a laborer of Giovanna del Bani. Finding him at home for he was busily providing fodder for his cattle our hero earnestly entreated him to save him from the hands of his adversaries close behind who would infallibly starve him to death in a dungeon engaging that if Matteo would give him refuge he would make him one of the richest men alive and afford him such proofs of it before he took his leave as would convince him of the truth of what he said. And if he failed to do this he was quite content that Matteo himself should deliver him into the hands of his enemies. Now Matteo, although a rustic, was a man of courage and concluding that he could not lose anything by the speculation he gave him his hand and agreed to save him. He then thrust our hero under a heap of rubbish completely enveloping him in weeds so that when his pursuers arrived they found themselves quite at a loss nor could they extract from Matteo the least information as to his appearance. In this dilemma there was nothing left for them but to proceed in the pursuit which they continued for two days and then returned jaded and disappointed to Florence. In the meanwhile Matteo drew our hero from his hiding place and begged him to fulfill his engagement. To this his friend Rodrigo replied I confess, brother, that I am under great obligations to you and I mean to return them. To leave no doubt upon your mind I will inform you who I am. And he proceeded to acquaint him with all the particulars of the affair, how he had come into the world and married and run away. He next described to his preserver the way in which he might become rich, which was briefly as follows. As soon as Matteo should hear of some lady in the neighborhood being said to be possessed he was to conclude that it was Rodrigo himself who had taken possession of her and he gave him his word at the same time that he would never leave her until Matteo should come and conjure him to depart. In this way he might obtain what some he pleased from the lady's friends for the price of exercising her and having mutually agreed upon this plan Rodrigo disappeared. Not many days elapsed before it was reported in Florence that the daughter of Messer Ambrosio Amide, a lady married to Buona Giuto Tibalducci was possessed by the devil. Her relations did not fail to apply every means usual on such occasions to expel him, such as making her wear upon her head Saint Zenobi's cap and the cloak of Saint John of Guarberto. But these had only the effect of making Rodrigo laugh and to convince them that he was really a spirit that possessed her and that it was no flight of the imagination he made the young lady talk Latin, hold a philosophical dispute and reveal the frailties of many of her acquaintance. He particularly accused a certain friar of having introduced a lady into his monastery in male attire, to the no small scandal of all who hurt it and the astonishment of the brotherhood. Messer Ambrosio founded impossible to silence him and began to despair of his daughter's cure. But the news reaching Matteo he lost no time in waiting upon Ambrosio assuring him of his daughter's recovery on condition of his paying him 500 florins with which to purchase a farm at Peritola. To this Messer Ambrosio consented and Matteo immediately ordered a number of masses to be said after which he proceeded with some meaning ceremonies calculated to give solemnity to his task. Then, approaching the young lady he whispered in her ear, Roderigo, it is Matteo that is come. So do as we agreed upon and get out. Roderigo replied, It is all well but you have not asked enough to make you a rich man. So when I depart I will take possession of the daughter of Charles king of Naples and not leave her till you come. You may then demand whatever you please for your reward and mind that you never trouble me again. And when he had said this he went out of the lady to the no small delight and amazement of the whole city of Florence. It was not long again before the accident that had happened to the daughter of the king of Naples began to be buzzed about the country and all the monkish remedies having been found to fail. Then the king, hearing of Matteo, sent for him from Florence. On arriving at Naples Matteo, after a few ceremonies performed the cure. Before leaving the princess, however, Roderigo said, You see Matteo, I have kept my promise and made a rich man of you and I owe you nothing now. So henceforward you will take care to keep out of my way lest as I have hitherto done you some good just the contrary should happen later. Upon this Matteo thought it best to return to Florence after receiving fifty thousand two-cats from his majesty in order to enjoy his riches in peace and never once imagined that Roderigo would come his way again. But in this he was deceived for soon he heard that a daughter of Louis, king of France was possessed by an evil spirit which disturbed our friend Matteo not a little. So he was able to return to the authority and of what Roderigo had said. Hearing of Matteo's great skill and finding no other remedy the king dispatched a messenger for him whom Matteo contrived to send back with a variety of excuses. But this did not long avail him. The king applied to the Florentine Council and our hero was compelled to attend. Arriving with no very pleasant sensations at Paris he was introduced into the royal presence when his majesty that though it was true he had acquired some fame in the course of his demoniac practice. He could by no means always boast of success. And that some devils were of such a desperate character as not to pay the least attention to threats, enchantments, or even the exorcisms of religion itself. He would nevertheless do his majesty's pleasure in treating at the same time to be held excused if it should happen to prove an abstinent case. To this the king made answer that be the case what it might he would certainly hang him if he did not succeed. It was impossible to describe poor Matteo's terror and perplexity on hearing these words. But at length, mustering carriage, he ordered the possessed princess to be brought into his presence. Approaching as usual close to her ear he conjured Rodrigo in the most humble terms by all he had ever done for him not to abandon him in such a dilemma but to show some sense of gratitude for past services and to leave the princess. Ah, thou traitorous villain, cried Rodrigo, hast thou indeed ventured to meddle in this business? Dost thou boast thyself a rich man at my expense? I will now convince the world and thee of the extent of my power both to give and to take away. I shall have the pleasure of seeing thee hanged before thou bleavest this place. Poor Matteo finding there was no remedy said nothing more but like a wise man said his head to work in order to discover some other means of expelling the spirit for which purpose he said to the king, sire, it is as I feared there are certain spirits of so malignant a character that there is no keeping any terms with them and this is one of them. However I will make a last attempt and I trust that it will succeed according to our wishes. If not I am in your majesty's power and I hope you will take compassion on my innocence. In the first place I have to entreat that your majesty will order a large stage to be erected in the center of the great square such as will admit the nobility and clergy of the whole city. The stage ought to be adorned with all kinds of silks and with cloth of gold and with an altar raised in the middle. Tomorrow morning I would have your majesty with your full train of lords and ecclesiastics in attendance seated in order and in magnificent array as spectators of the scene at the said place. There, after having celebrated solemn mass, the possessed princess must appear. But I have in particular to entreat that on one side of the square may be stationed a band of men drums, trumpets, horns, tambours, bagpipes, cymbals and cattle drums and all other kinds of instruments that make the most infernal noise. Now, when I take off my hat, let the whole band strike up and approach with the most horrid uproar toward the stage. This along with a few other secret remedies which I shall apply will surely compel the spirit to depart. These preparations were accordingly made by the royal command. And when the day, being Sunday morning arrived, the stage was seen crowded with people of rank and the square with the people. Mass was celebrated and the possessed princess conducted between two bishops with a train of nobles to the spot. Now, when Rodrigo beheld so vast a concourse of people together with all this awful preparation, he was almost struck dumb with astonishment and said to himself, I wonder what that cowardly wretch is thinking of doing now. Does he imagine I have never seen finer things than these in the regions above? I, and more horrid things below. However, I will soon make him repented at all events. Mateo then approaching him besought him to come out, but Rodrigo replied, oh, you think you have done a fine thing now. What do you mean to do with all this trumpetry? Can you escape my power, think you in this way, or allude the vengeance of the king? Thou paltrune villain, I will have thee hanged for this. And as Mateo continued, the more to entreat him, his adversary still vilified him in the same strain. So Mateo, believing there was no time to be lost, made the sign with his hat, when all the musicians who had been stationed there for the purpose of a hideous din, and ringing a thousand peels, approached the spot. Rodrigo pricked up his ears at the sound, quite at a loss what to think, and rather in a perturbed tone of voice he asked Mateo what it meant. To this the latter returned apparently much alarmed. Alas, dear Rodrigo, it is your wife. She is coming for you. It is impossible to give an idea of the anguish of Rodrigo's mind of the strange alteration which his feelings underwent at that name. The moment the name of wife was pronounced, he had no longer presence of mind to consider whether it were probable or even possible that it could be her. Without replying a single word, he leaped out and fled in the utmost terror, leaving the lady to herself, and preferring rather to return to his infernal abode and render an account of his adventures, then run the risk of any further sufferings and vexations under the matrimonial yoke. And thus Belfigor again made his appearance in the infernal domains, bearing ample testimony to the evils introduced into a household by a wife. While Mateo, on his part, who knew more of the matter than the devil, returned triumphantly home, not a little proud of the victory he had achieved. End of Belfigor, or The Marriage of the Devil by Niccolò Machiavelli