"WHERE ONE CAN DINE, TWO CAN DINE [89]."
In the days when our Lord walked on earth, it happened that one nightHe and St. Peter found themselves far from any city or village, on ableak and desolate plain. Weary and footsore, it was with great delightSt. Peter descried at last a light from a woodman's cot. "Lord, let usrest here, let us pass the night under this shelter," said St. Peter.
They knocked at the woodman's door; he was a good-hearted old man, andhe welcomed the belated travellers with no grudging greeting. He heapedup the dry fagots and made the hut shine like a gilded palace with thatbrilliant blaze which no wood throws out like that of the olive-root;and such humble fare as he had he set before them without stint.
The bleak wind moaned without, through the lofty alcornoques[90], and rattled the ill-fitting door. But presently, above themoaning of the wind and the clatter of the planks, they heard a handknocking outside. The woodman opened, and was rather taken aback tofind two more wayfarers at the door. "Never mind," said St. Peter,"it's only some of our people, it's all right, 'Where one can dine,two can dine.'" A little embarrassed, the woodman scratched hishead, as he thought of the slenderness of his stores, but madeno opposition, and the strangers passed in. The wind moaned on,and another knocking came. The woodman opened, and found two moreguests standing without. St. Peter, who had fancied he heard thesoft voice of St. John murmuring a favourite canticle as he passed,rose to see who it was, and soon recognized the waving hair of goldof the youngest Apostle. "All right," said St. Peter, "let them in,they belong to our party too, 'Where one can dine, two can dine.'" Thewoodman, more and more puzzled, stood by and let them pass. He hadhardly sat down when another knock was heard above the storm. With hishabitual readiness, the woodman opened, and found two more strangersbegging admittance. St. Peter, who seemed to have a natural aptitudefor the office of doorkeeper, once more encouraged him to let them in,assuring him they all belonged to the same party; and after anotherknock, the number of the Apostolic college was complete.
The woodman looked wistfully at the empty table. He was the mosthospitable of woodmen, and gave his last crumb without a grudge;but he was aghast at the thought that for the thirteen guests whohad honoured his roof, there was not sufficient to help round; andhe slunk away quite ashamed at the apparent but unavoidable stint.
Then He who first came in with St. Peter, rose and gave thanks, thenbroke the bread and passed it round, and called on the woodman to comeand take his place among them. With fear and trembling the woodmansat down, and with fear and trembling he saw his few barley-loaves andhis few grapes and fruits pass round and round till all were filled,and there remained over and above to them that had eaten a largerprovision than he had ever seen under his roof before; but he durstnot ask who was his guest, knowing it must be the Lord.
Then they lay down and slept, each wrapped in his travelling mantle,and in the blaze of the olive-root fire. In the morning when theyrose to depart, the woodman, alarmed at what he had seen the nightbefore, durst not ask them whither they went, but let them departin silence. St. Peter, however, remained behind, and after thankinghim for his hospitality, told him to ask what boon he would, and hewould grant it. The woodman was a man of few wants, and after he hadthought a minute, he answered that he was content with his humble lot;he did not want it changed. His only amusement was now and then agame at cards, when the season of wood-felling or any other chancebrought an accession of companions to his hut for a few nights;and it would be a pleasure if he might always win whenever he played.
St. Peter looked grave; he did not much like giving an encouragement tocard-playing; but then he considered the poor fellow's irreproachablecharacter, his life of privations, and moreover his own unconditionedpromise to grant his request, and finally, that each success, whileit would do no harm to the well-regulated old man, would serve as adiscouragement to all the other players; so he ended by giving hisconsent, only reserving one condition, that he should never play forstakes sufficiently high to injure his companions; and then hastedon to join the rest of his party, who had made some way while hewas parleying.
"'Fortune is certainly for those to whom she comes,'" moralized thewoodman when he was left alone, "'and not for those who seek her[91].' How many are there who would have given their ears for sucha chance as I have had to-day; and it is given to me, who, beingalready gifted with content, want for nothing!"
Time passed on, and the woodman, being a just man, never abused thefavour he had received, which however served, by the satisfaction whichsuccess always confers, to cheer his solitary life. At last the timecame when the measure of his days was full; and resigning his spirit tothe care of his Lord, it was carried by his angel to the realms above.
Now, all through his life it had rankled in his mind that he mighthave made a better and less selfish use of the gift St. Peter hadbestowed on him, when now, for the first time, it occurred to him howto apply it. Then he turned to his angel, and begged him to stop onhis way, at the bedside of the first poor dying man they passed whosesoul was most in danger of being lost. The angel, who descried somecharitable design in the request, bore him to a room in a great citywhere an escribano [92] lay at the last gasp. The demon of avaricesat on his pillow, straining to clutch the passing soul, while hisyoung son and a clergyman knelt beside him, entreating him to bereconciled to God. "Caramba!" exclaimed the woodman, "surely, ourLord died for all, without even excluding escribanos!" As the goodangel hovered over the bed, a gentle sleep fell on the dying man,and the demon relaxed his watch.
"Come, now," said the woodman, "you can't do any thing while the man'sasleep, let's have a game at cards to wile away the time." "Agreed,"said the demon, for cards being invented by his crew, he thoughthimself safe to win; "but how shall we manage about the stakes? Yousee you've had to leave your pocket behind you, so how will youpay me?" "I'll stake you something better than money," replied thewoodman. "What say you to staking my soul, which is on its way toglory, against this escribano's soul, of which at best you are onlythree parts sure?" "All right," said the demon, who thought it oneof the best chances he had ever had.
The woodman let him cut and shuffle and play what tricks he likedwith the pack, secure of his success; and in less than half an hourhis triumph was secure. The demon could not believe his eyes, butcould not, either, deny his defeat; so, putting his tail between hislegs, he laid his ears back [93] and disappeared through the floor,quite ashamed of himself.
While this was going on, the escribano had awoke from his refreshingsleep; freed from the solicitations of the demon of avarice, he nolonger refused the ministrations of the minister of the Church, buthad expressed his contrition for the sins of the past, and was readyto depart in peace with God and all the world.
When the woodman arrived at the gate of Paradise, accompanied by thesoul of the escribano, St. Peter called out, "Who goes there?" "I,of the hut on the bleak moor," replied the woodman.
"Yes, you I know," replied St. Peter; "but you don't come alone--whois that black soul with you?"
"No, Senor, I don't come alone, because I thought God loved to seemen in good fellowship. This poor soul is only black because, beingan escribano, some of his ink has stuck to him."
"There's no admittance here for escribanos," replied St. Peter,"so creep in alone."
"Nay, Senor; but I said not so when you came to my hut on the bleakmoor and brought other twelve with you. Doesn't 'Where one can dine,two can dine,' hold good here also?"
St. Peter could not say nay, so he turned his back while the woodmantook up the soul of the escribano on his shoulders and crept in underthe shade of the eternal groves.
Patrañas; or, Spanish Stories, Legendary and Traditional Page 34