Джером К. Джером
The Soul of Nicholas Snyders; Or, The Miser of Zandam
“Girls for boys, and old women for old men.” The phrase kept ringing in his ears. Hitherto his new-found happiness had filled his life, leaving no room for thought. But the old Dame’s words had sown the seed of reflection.
Was Christina fooling him? The thought was impossible. Never once had she pleaded for herself, never once for Jan. The evil thought was the creature of Dame Toelast’s evil mind. Christina loved him. Her face brightened at his coming. The fear of him had gone out of her; a pretty tyranny had replaced it. But was it the love that he sought? Jan’s soul in old Nick’s body was young and ardent. It desired Christina not as a daughter, but as a wife. Could it win her in spite of old Nick’s body? The soul of Jan was an impatient soul. Better to know than to doubt.
“Do not light the candles; let us talk a little by the light of the fire only,” said Nicholas. And Christina, smiling, drew her chair towards the blaze. But Nicholas sat in the shadow.
“You grow more beautiful every day, Christina,” said Nicholas-“sweeter and more womanly. He will be a happy man who calls you wife.”
The smile passed from Christina’s face. “I shall never marry,” she answered. “Never is a long word, little one.”
“A true woman does not marry the man she does not love.”
“But may she not marry the man she does?” smiled Nicholas.
“Sometimes she may not,” Christina explained.
“And when is that?”
Christina’s face was turned away. “When he has ceased to love her.”
The soul in old Nick’s body leapt with joy. “He is not worthy of you, Christina. His new fortune has changed him. Is it not so? He thinks only of money. It is as though the soul of a miser had entered into him. He would marry even Dame Toelast for the sake of her gold-bags and her broad lands and her many mills, if only she would have him. Cannot you forget him?”
“I shall never forget him. I shall never love another man. I try to hide it; and often I am content to find there is so much in the world that I can do. But my heart is breaking.” She rose and, kneeling beside him, clasped her hands around him. “I am glad you have let me tell you,” she said. “But for you I could not have borne it. You are so good to me.”
For answer he stroked with his withered hand the golden hair that fell disordered about his withered knees. She raised her eyes to him; they were filled with tears, but smiling.
“I cannot understand,” she said. “I think sometimes that you and he must have changed souls. He is hard and mean and cruel, as you used to be.” She laughed, and the arms around him tightened for a moment. “And now you are kind and tender and great, as once he was. It is as if the good God had taken away my lover from me to give to me a father.”
“Listen to me, Christina,” he said. “It is the soul that is the man, not the body. Could you not love me for my new soul?”
“But I do love you,” answered Christina, smiling through her tears.
“Could you as a husband?” The firelight fell upon her face. Nicholas, holding it between his withered hands, looked into it long and hard; and reading what he read there, laid it back against his breast and soothed it with his withered hand.
“I was jesting, little one,” he said. “Girls for boys, and old women for old men. And so, in spite of all, you still love Jan?”
“I love him,” answered Christina. “I cannot help it.”
“And if he would, you would marry him, let his soul be what it may?”
“I love him,” answered Christina. “I cannot help it.”
Old Nicholas sat alone before the dying fire. Is it the soul or the body that is the real man? The answer was not so simple as he had thought it.
“Christina loved Jan” – so Nicholas mumbled to the dying fire – “when he had the soul of Jan. She loves him still, though he has the soul of Nicholas Snyders. When I asked her if she could love me, it was terror I read in her eyes, though Jan’s soul is now in me; she divined it. It must be the body that is the real Jan, the real Nicholas. If the soul of Christina entered into the body of Dame Toelast, should I turn from Christina, from her golden hair, her fathomless eyes, her asking lips, to desire the shrivelled carcass of Dame Toelast? No; I should still shudder at the thought of her. Yet when I had the soul of Nicholas Snyders, I did not loathe her, while Christina was naught to me. It must be with the soul that we love, else Jan would still love Christina and I should be Miser Nick. Yet here am I loving Christina, using Nicholas Snyders’ brain and gold to thwart Nicholas Snyders’ every scheme, doing everything that I know will make him mad when he comes back into his own body; while Jan cares no longer for Christina, would marry Dame Toelast for her broad lands, her many mills. Clearly it is the soul that is the real man. Then ought I not to be glad, thinking I am going back into my own body, knowing that I shall wed Christina? But I am not glad; I am very miserable. I shall not go with Jan’s soul, I feel it; my own soul will come back to me. I shall be again the hard, cruel, mean old man I was before, only now I shall be poor and helpless. The folks will laugh at me, and I shall curse them, powerless to do them evil. Even Dame Toelast will not want me when she learns all. And yet I must do this thing. So long as Jan’s soul is in me, I love Christina better than myself. I must do this for her sake. I love her – I cannot help it.”
Old Nicholas rose, took from the place, where a month before he had hidden it, the silver flask of cunning workmanship.
“Just two more glassfuls left,” mused Nicholas, as he gently shook the flask against his ear. He laid it on the desk before him, then opened once again the old green ledger, for there still remained work to be done.
He woke Christina early. “Take these letters, Christina,” he commanded. “When you have delivered them all, but not before, go to Jan; tell him I am waiting here to see him on a matter of business.” He kissed her and seemed loth to let her go.
