Devlin the Barber

by B. L. Farjeon

"So that, after all, you are to a certain extent in my power."

"As you to a certain extent are in mine."

"A fair retort. Before I point out to you how illogical and inconsistent you are, let me thank you for having converted what promised to be a dull evening into a veritable entertainment. It is a real cause for gratitude in such a house as Lemon's, of whom I have already spoken disparagingly, but of whom I cannot speak disparagingly enough. My dear sir, that person is devoid of colour, his moral and physical qualities are feeble, his intellect may be said to be washed out. It is the bold, the daring, that recommends itself to me, although I admit that there are curious studies to be found among the meanest of mortals. Now, my dear sir, for your inconsistency and your lack of the logical quality. My worthy landlady has conveyed to you an impression of me which, to describe it truthfully, may be designated unearthly. How much farther it goes I will not inquire. Her small capacity has instilled into what, as a compliment, I will call her mind, a belief that I am not exactly human--in point of fact, that if I am not the Evil One himself, I am at least one of his satellites. Common people are inclined to such extravagances. They believe in apparitions, vampires, and supernatural signs, or, to speak more correctly, in signs which they believe to be supernatural. The most ordinary coincidences--and think, my dear sir, that there are myriads of circumstances, of more or less importance, occurring every twenty-four hours in this motley world, and that it is a mathematical certainty that a certain proportion of these myriads should be coeval and should bear some relation to each other--the most ordinary coincidences, I repeat, are outrageously magnified by their imaginations when, say, sickness or death is concerned. A woman wakes up in the night, and in the darkness hears a ticking--tick, tick, tick! She rises in the morning, and hears that her mother-in-law has died during the night. 'Bless my soul!' she exclaims. 'I knew it, I knew it! Last night I woke up all of a tremble'--(which, she did not, but that is a detail)--'and heard the death-tick!' The story, being told to the neighbours, invests this woman, who is proud of having received a supernatural warning, with supreme importance. She becomes for a time a social star. She relates the story again and again, and each time adds something which her imagination supplies, until, in the end, it is settled that her mother-in-law died at the precise moment she woke up; that she saw the ghost of that person at her bedside, very ghastly and sulphury, in the moonlight--(it is always moonlight on these occasions)--that the ghost whispered in sepulchral tones, 'I am dying, good-bye;' that there was a long wail; and that then she jumped out of bed and screamed, 'My mother-in-law is dead!' This is the story after it has grown. What are the facts? The woman has eaten a heavy supper, and she sleeps not so well as usual; she wakes up in the middle of the night. In the kitchen a mouse creeps on to the dresser, after some crumbs of bread and cheese which are in a plate. The ever-watchful cat--I love cats, especially good mousers--jumps upon the dresser, with the intention of making a meal of the mouse. On the dresser, then, at this precise moment, are the plate containing the crumbs of bread and cheese, the mouse, and the cat. There are other things there, of course, but there is only one other thing connected with the story, and that is a jug half-full of water. The cat, jumping after the mouse, overturns this jug, and the water flows till it reaches the edge of the dresser, whence it drips, drips, drips, upon the floor. This is the tick, tick, tick which the woman up-stairs hears--the death-tick of her mother-in-law! Her mother-in-law is eighty-seven years of age, and has been ill for months; her death is daily expected. She dies on this night, and the story is complete. A dying old woman, eighty-seven years of age, her daughter-in-law who has eaten too much supper, a plate of crumbs, a jug with water in it, a cat, and a mouse. Of these simple materials is a message from the unseen world created, which enthrals the entire neighbourhood. Analyse the miracles handed down from ancient times, some of which are woven into the religious beliefs of the people, and you will find that they are composed of parts as common and vulgar."

I made no attempt to interrupt Devlin in his narration of this commonplace story. He had, when he chose to exercise it, a singularly fascinating manner, and his voice was melodious, and when he paused I felt as if I had been listening to an attractive romance. While he spoke, his fingers were playing with a penholder and a pencil which were on the table; the penholder was long, the pencil was short, and I observed that he had placed one upon the other in the form of a cross.

"I am dull, perhaps," I said, "but I do not see how your story proves me to be illogical and inconsistent."

"I related it," replied Devlin, looking at the cross, "simply to show how willing people are to believe in the supernatural. My worthy landlady believes that I am a supernatural being; her husband believes it; you are inclined to lend a ready ear to it. And yet you tell me that you will be satisfied with a sacred and holy pledge from me, knowing, if you are at all correct in your estimate of me, that such a pledge is of as much weight and value as a soap bubble. How easy for me to give you this pledge! And all the while I may be a direct accessory in the tragedy you have resolved to unriddle."

"I thank you for reminding me," I said. "You shall swear to me that you have had no hand in this most horrible and dastardly murder."

"More inconsistency, more lack of logical perception," he said, and the magnetism in his eyes compelled me to fix my gaze upon the cross on the table. "You ask me to swear, and you will be content with my oath. I render you my obligations for your faith in my veracity. How shall I swear? How shall I deliver myself of the sacred and holy pledge? There are so many forms, so many symbols, of pledging one's mortal heart and immortal soul. The civilised Jew, when he is married to his beloved under the canopy, grinds a wine glass to dust with the heel of his boot, and the guests and relatives, especially the relatives of the bride, lift up their voices in joyful praise, with the conscious self-delusion that this sacred rite insures the faithfulness of the bridegroom to the woman he has wedded. Some burn wax candles--very bad wax often--for the release of souls from purgatory. The Chinaman, called upon for his oath, blows out a candle, twists the neck of a terrified cock, or smashes a saucer. The Christian kisses the New Testament; the Jew kisses the Old. The Christian swears with his hat off; the Jew with his hat on. I could multiply anomalies, all opposed to each other. Which kind of obligation would you prefer from me? A cock or a hen? Produce the sacred symbol, and I am ready. Shall my head be covered or uncovered? As you please. Ah, how strange! With this pencil and penholder my fingers have insensibly formed a cross. Shall I swear upon that, and will it content you? Take your choice, my dear sir, take your choice. Call me Jew, Christian, Pagan, Chinaman--which you please. I am willing to oblige you. Or shall we be sensible. Will you take my simple word for it?"

"I will," I said; "but I must have a hostage."

"Anything, anything, my dear sir. Give it a name."