"So be it," said the devil. "But on condition that at the end of seven years I gain possession of your soul."
"You may take me," answered Twardowski, "but only in Rome may you have power over me. Thither, at the end of seven years, will I go."
The devil hesitated over this clause, but thinking of the fun he could have in the holy city, finally agreed. Leaning against the wall of stone he wrote the compact, which Twardowski, making a slight wound in his arm, signed with his own blood.
When Twardowski descended from the mountain and made his way, book under arm, through the valley, he heard the bells in all the towers of the city ringing out clearly and solemnly on the still night air. He listened, wondering at the unaccustomed noise, then hurried into the town, inquiring from every one he met what the occasion was. But no one seemed to have heard the sound.
Then a deep feeling of sadness came over him as he realized the meaning of the bells. They were the funeral knell of his own soul.
When morning came, however, doubts were forgotten, and Twardowski was glad to have the devil at his command. The first thing that he demanded was to have all the silver of Poland gathered together in one place and covered over with great mounds of sand.
Similar requests followed, and it was not long before the devil repented of his bargain. One day it would please Twardowski to fly without wings through the air; on another, to the delight of the crowd, to gallop backward on a cock; on another to float in a boat without a rudder or sail, accompanied by some maiden who for the moment had inflamed his heart. One day, by the use of his magic mirror, he set fire to the castle of an enemy a mile away. This last feat made him greatly feared by people far and wide.
At last the seven years were up. The devil appeared to Twardowski and said:
"Twardowski, the time of our pact is over, and I command you to fulfill your promise and go to Rome."
"What shall I do there?"