The stranger (who did not announce
his name) was the first to break it, by apologizing for having, while
seated in an adjacent apartment, involuntarily overheard an
extraordinary tale or narrative related to Don Francisco, in which he
confessed he took a profound interest, such as (he added, bowing with an
air of grim and reluctant civility) would, he trusted, palliate his
impropriety in listening to a communication not addressed to him. “To all this Don Francisco could only reply by bows equally rigid, (his
body scarce forming an acute angle with his limbs as he sat), and by
looks of uneasy and doubtful curiosity directed towards his strange
visitor, who, however, kept his seat immoveably, and seemed, after all
his apologies, resolved to sit out Don Francisco. “Another long pause was broken by the visitor. “You were listening, I
think,” he said, “to a wild and terrible story of a being who was
commissioned on an unutterable errand,--even to tempt spirits in woe, at
their last mortal extremity, to barter their hopes of future happiness
for a short remission of their temporary sufferings.”--“I heard nothing
of that,” said Don Francisco, whose recollection, none of the clearest
naturally, was not much improved by the length of the narrative he had
just listened to, and by the sleep into which he had fallen since he
heard it. “Nothing?” said the visitor, with something of abruptness and
asperity in his tone that made the hearer start--“nothing?--I thought
there was mention too of that unhappy being to whom Walberg confessed
his severest trials were owing,--in comparison with whose fearful
visitations those of even famine were as dust in the balance.”--“Yes,
yes,” answered Don Francisco, startled into sudden recollection, “I
remember there was a mention of the devil,--or his agent,--or
something”---- “Senhor,” said the stranger interrupting him, with an
expression of wild and fierce derision, which was lost on
Aliaga--“Senhor, I beg you will not confound personages who have the
honour to be so nearly allied, and yet so perfectly distinct as the
devil and his agent, or agents. You yourself, Senhor, who, of course, as
an orthodox and inveterate Catholic, must abhor the enemy of mankind,
have often acted as his agent, and yet would be somewhat offended at
being mistaken for him.” Don Francisco crossed himself repeatedly, and
devoutly disavowed his ever having been an agent of the enemy of man. “Will you dare to say so?” said his singular visitor, not raising his
voice as the insolence of the question seemed to require, but depressing
it to the lowest whisper as he drew his seat nearer his astonished
companion--“Will you dare to say so?--Have you never erred?--Have you
never felt one impure sensation?--Have you never indulged a transient
feeling of hatred, or malice, or revenge?--Have you never forgot to do
the good you ought to do,--or remembered to do the evil you ought not to
have done?--Have you never in trade overreached a dealer, or banquetted
on the spoils of your starving debtor?--Have you never, as you went to
your daily devotions, cursed from your heart the wanderings of your
heretical brethren,--and while you dipped your fingers in the holy
water, hoped that every drop that touched your pores, would be visited
on them in drops of brimstone and sulphur?--Have you never, as you
beheld the famished, illiterate, degraded populace of your country,
exulted in the wretched and temporary superiority your wealth has given
you,--and felt that the wheels of your carriage would not roll less
smoothly if the way was paved with the heads of your countrymen? Orthodox Catholic--old Christian--as you boast yourself to be,--is not
this true?--and dare you say you have not been an agent of Satan? I tell
you, whenever you indulged one brutal passion, one sordid desire, one
impure imagination--whenever you uttered one word that wrung the heart,
or embittered the spirit of your fellow-creature--whenever you made that
hour pass in pain to whose flight you might have lent wings of
down--whenever you have seen the tear, which your hand might have wiped
away, fall uncaught, or forced it from an eye which would have smiled on
you in light had you permitted it--whenever you have done this, you have
been ten times more an agent of the enemy of man than all the wretches
whom terror, enfeebled nerves, or visionary credulity, has forced into
the confession of an incredible compact with the author of evil, and
whose confession has consigned them to flames much more substantial than
those the imagination of their persecutors pictured them doomed to for
an eternity of suffering! Enemy of mankind!” the speaker
continued,--“Alas! how absurdly is that title bestowed on the great
angelic chief,--the morning star fallen from its sphere! What enemy has
man so deadly as himself? If he would ask on whom he should bestow that
title aright, let him smite his bosom, and his heart will
answer,--Bestow it here!”

“The emotion with which the stranger spoke, roused and affected even the
sluggish and incrusted spirit of the listener. His conscience, like a
state coach-horse, had hitherto only been brought on solemn and pompous
occasions, and then paced heavily along a smooth and well-prepared
course, under the gorgeous trappings of ceremony;--now it resembled the
same animal suddenly bestrid by a fierce and vigorous rider, and urged
by lash and spur along a new and rugged road. And slow and reluctant as
he was to own it, he felt the power of the weight that pressed, and the
bit that galled him. He answered by a hasty and trembling renunciation
of all engagements, direct or indirect, with the evil power; but he
added, that he must acknowledge he had been too often the victim of his
seductions, and trusted for the forgiveness of his wanderings to the
power of the holy church, and the intercession of the saints. “The stranger (though he smiled somewhat grimly at this declaration)
seemed to accept the concession, and apologized, in his turn, for the
warmth with which he had spoken; and which he begged Don Francisco would
interpret as a mark of interest in his spiritual concerns. This
explanation, though it seemed to commence favourably, was not followed,
however, by any attempt at renewed conversation. The parties appeared to
stand aloof from each other, till the stranger again alluded to his
having overheard the singular conversation and subsequent narrative in
Aliaga’s apartment. “Senhor,” he added, in a voice whose solemnity
deeply impressed the hearer, wearied as he was,--“I am acquainted with
circumstances relating to the extraordinary person who was the daily
watcher of Walberg’s miseries, and the nightly tempter of his
thoughts,--known but to him and me.