6
There was another tavern, however, where the host was a different sort of man, and not only said he would take nothing when Jesus Christ and His disciples dined there, but really would never take anything; nor was it that by any miracle he had received advantages of another sort, but out of the respect and affection he bore the Master he deemed himself sufficiently paid by the honour of being allowed to minister to Him.
One day when Jesus Christ and His disciples were going away on a journey, St. Peter went to this host and said, ‘You have been very liberal to us all this time: if you were to ask for some gift, now, you would be sure to get it.’
‘I don’t know that there is anything that I want,’ said the host. ‘I have a thriving trade, which you see not only supplies all my wants, but leaves me the means of being liberal also; I have no wife to provide for, and no children to leave an inheritance to: so what should I ask for? There is one thing, to be sure, I should like. My only amusement is playing at cards: if He would give me the faculty of always winning, I should like that; it isn’t that I care for what one wins, it is that it is nice to win. Do you think I might ask that?’
‘I don’t know,’ said St. Peter, gravely. ‘Still you might ask; He is very kind.’
The host did ask, and Jesus Christ granted his desire. When St. Peter saw how easily He granted it, he said, ‘If I were you, I should ask something more.’
‘I really don’t know what else I have to ask,’ replied the host, ‘unless it be that I have a fig-tree which bears excellent figs, but I never can get one of them for myself; they are always stolen before I get them. I wish He would order that whoever goes up to steal them might get stuck to the tree till I tell him he may come down.’
‘Well,’ said St. Peter, ‘it is an odd sort of thing to ask, but you might try; He is very kind.’
The host did ask, and Jesus Christ granted his request. When St. Peter saw that He granted it so easily, he said, ‘If I were you I should ask something more.’
‘Do you really think I might?’ answered the host. ‘There is one thing I have wanted to ask all along, only I didn’t dare. But you encourage me, and He seems to take a pleasure in giving. I have always had a great wish to live four hundred years.’
‘That is certainly a great deal to ask,’ said St. Peter, ‘but you might try; He is very kind.’
The host did ask, and Jesus Christ granted his petition, and then went His way with His disciples. St. Peter remained last, and said to the host, ‘Now run after him, and ask for the salvation of your soul.’ (‘St. Peter always told them all to ask that,’ added the narrator in a confidential tone.)
‘Oh, I can’t ask anything more, I have asked so much,’ said the host.
‘But that is just the best thing of all, and what He grants the most willingly,’ insisted St. Peter. ‘Really?’ said the host; and he ran after Jesus Christ, and said, ‘Lord! who hast so largely shown me Thy bounty, grant me further the salvation of my soul.’
‘Let it be granted!’ said Jesus Christ; and continued His journey.
All the things the host had asked he received, and life passed away very pleasantly, but still even four hundred years come to an end at last, and with the end of it came Death.
‘What! is that you, Mrs. Death,[10] come already?’ said the host.
‘Why, it’s time I should come, I think; it’s not often I leave people in peace for four hundred years.’
‘All right, but don’t be in a hurry. I have such a fancy for the figs of that fig-tree of mine there. I wish you would just have the kindness to go up and pluck a good provision of them to take with me, and by that time I’ll be ready to go with you.’
‘I’ve no objection to oblige you so far,’ said Mrs. Death; ‘only you must mind and be quite ready by the time I do come back.’
‘Never fear,’ said the host; and Mrs. Death climbed up the fig-tree.
‘Now stick there!’ said the host, and for all her struggling Mrs. Death could by no means extricate herself any more.
‘I can’t stay here, so take off your spell; I have my business to attend to,’ said she.
‘So have I,’ answered the host; ‘and if you want to go about your business, you must promise me, on your honour, you will leave me to attend to mine.’
‘I can’t do it, my man! What are you asking? It’s more than my place is worth. Every man alive has to pass through my hands. I can’t let any of them off.’
‘Well, at all events, leave me alone another four hundred years, and then I’ll come with you. If you’ll promise that, I’ll let you out of the fig-tree.’
‘I don’t mind another four hundred years, if you so particularly wish for them; but mind you give me your word of honour you come then, without giving me all this trouble again.’
‘Yes! and here’s my hand upon it,’ said the host, as he handed Mrs. Death down from the fig-tree.
And so he went on to live another four hundred years. (‘For you know in those times men lived to a very great age,’ was the running gloss of the narrator.)
The end of the second four hundred years came too, and then Mrs. Death appeared again. ‘Remember your promise,’ she said, ‘and don’t try any trick on me this time.’
‘Oh, yes! I always keep my word,’ said the host, and without more ado he went along with her.
As she was carrying him up to Paradise, they passed the way which led down to Hell, and at the opening sat the Devil, receiving souls which his ministers brought to him from all parts. He was marshalling them into ranks, and ticketing them ready to send off in batches to the distinct place for each.
‘You seem to have got plenty of souls there, Mr. Devil,’ said the host. ‘Suppose we sit down and play for them?’
‘I’ve no objection,’ said the Devil. ‘Your soul against one of these. If I win, you go with them; if you win, one of them goes with you.’
‘That’s it,’ said the host, and picking out a nice-looking soul, he set him for the Devil’s stake.
Of course the host won, and the nice-looking soul was passed round to his side of the table.
‘Shall we have another game?’ said the host, quite cock-a-hoop.
The Devil hesitated for a moment, but finally he yielded. The host picked out a soul that took his fancy, for the Devil’s stake, and they sat down to play again, with the same result.
So they went on and on till the host had won fifteen thousand souls of the Devil. ‘Come,’ said Death when they had got as far as this, ‘I really can’t wait any longer. I never had to do with anyone who took up so much time as you. Come along!’
So the host bowed excuses to the Devil for having had all the luck, and went cheerfully the way Mrs. Death led, with all his fifteen thousand souls behind him. Thus they arrived at the gate of Paradise. There wasn’t so much business going on there as at the other place, and they had to ring before anyone appeared to open the door.
‘Who’s there?’ said St. Peter.
‘He of the four hundred years!’
‘And what is all that rabble behind?’ asked St. Peter.
‘Souls that I have won of the Devil for Paradise,’ answered the host.
‘Oh, that won’t do at all, here!’ said St. Peter.
‘Be kind enough to carry the message up to your Master,’ responded the host.
St. Peter went up to Jesus Christ. ‘Here is he to whom you gave four hundred years of life,’ he said; ‘and he has brought fifteen thousand other souls, who have no title at all to Paradise, with him.’
‘Tell him he may come in himself,’ said Jesus Christ, ‘but he has nothing to do to meddle with the others.’
‘Tell Him to be pleased to remember that when He came to my eating-shop I never made any difficulty how many soever He brought with Him, and if He had brought an army I should have said nothing,’ answered the host; and St. Peter took up that message too.
‘That is true! that is right!’ answered Jesus Christ. ‘Let them all in! let them all in!’