The Soul of Nicholas Snyders

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etext of The Soul of Nicholas Snyders

By Jerome K. Jerome Scanned and proofed by Ronald Burkey ([email protected]) and Amy Thomte.
Notes on the editing: Punctuation and hyphenation have been retained as in the original, except words broken across lines have been joined. Italicized text is delimited by underlines ("_"). A long break between paragraphs is represented by "***".
THE SOUL OF NICHOLAS SNYDERS, OR THE MISER OF ZANDAM
By JEROME K. JEROME
Author of "Paul Kelver," "Three Men in a Boat," etc., etc.
NEW YORK DODD, MEAD & COMPANY 1909
COPYRIGHT, 1904, BY JEROME K. JEROME COPYRIGHT, 1908, BY DODD, MEAD & COMPANY Published, September, 1908
THE SOUL OF NICHOLAS SNYDERS, OR THE MISER OF ZANDAM
Once upon a time in Zandam, which is by the Zuider Zee, there lived a wicked man named Nicholas Snyders. He was mean and hard and cruel, and loved but one thing in the world, and that was gold. And even that not for its own sake. He loved the power gold gave him--the power to tyrannize and to oppress, the power to cause suffering at his will. They said he had no soul, but there they were wrong. All men own--or, to speak more correctly, are owned by--a soul; and the soul of Nicholas Snyders was an evil soul. He lived in the old windmill which still is standing on the quay, with only little Christina to wait upon him and keep house for him. Christina was an orphan whose parents had died in debt. Nicholas, to Christina's everlasting gratitude, had cleared their memory--it cost but a few hundred florins--in consideration that Christina should work for him without wages. Christina formed his entire household, and only one willing visitor ever darkened his door, the widow Toelast. Dame Toelast was rich and almost as great a miser as Nicholas himself. "Why should not we two marry?" Nicholas had once croaked to the widow Toelast. "Together we should be masters of all Zandam." Dame Toelast had answered with a cackling laugh; but Nicholas was never in haste.
One afternoon Nicholas Snyders sat alone at his desk in the centre of the great semi-circular room that took up half the ground floor of the windmill, and that served him for an office, and there came a knocking at the outer door.
"Come in!" cried Nicholas Snyders. He spoke in a tone quite kind for Nicholas Snyders. He felt so sure it was Jan knocking at the door--Jan Van der Voort, the young sailor, now master of his own ship, come to demand of him the hand of little Christina. In anticipation, Nicholas Snyders tasted the joy of dashing Jan's hopes to the ground; of hearing him plead, then rave; of watching the growing pallor that would overspread Jan's handsome face as Nicholas would, point by point, explain to him the consequences of defiance--how, firstly, Jan's old mother should be turned out of her home, his old father put into prison for debt; how, secondly, Jan himself should be pursued without remorse, his ship be bought over his head before he could complete the purchase. The interview would afford to Nicholas Snyders sport after his own soul. Since Jan's return the day before, he had been looking forward to it. Therefore, feeling sure it was Jan, he cried "Come in!" quite cheerily.
But it was not Jan. It was somebody Nicholas Snyders had never set eyes on before. And neither, after that one visit, did Nicholas Snyders ever set eyes upon him again. The light was fading, and Nicholas Snyders was not the man to light candles before they were needed, so that he was never able to describe with any precision the stranger's appearance. Nicholas thought he seemed an old man, but alert in all his movements; while his eyes--the one thing about him Nicholas saw with any clearness--were curiously bright and piercing.
"Who are you?" asked Nicholas Snyders, taking no pains to disguise his disappointment.
"I am a pedlar," answered the stranger. His voice was clear and not unmusical, with just the suspicion of roguishness behind.
"Not wanting anything," answered Nicholas Snyders drily. "Shut the door and be careful of the step."
But instead the stranger took a chair and drew it nearer, and, himself in shadow, looked straight into Nicholas Snyders' face and laughed.
"Are you quite sure, Nicholas Snyders? Are you quite sure there is nothing you require?"
"Nothing," growled Nicholas Snyders--"except the sight of your back." The stranger bent forward, and with his long, lean hand touched Nicholas Snyders playfully upon the knee. "Wouldn't you like a soul, Nicholas Snyders?" he asked.
"Think of it," continued the strange pedlar, before Nicholas could recover power of speech. "For forty years you have drunk the joy of being mean and cruel. Are you not tired of the taste, Nicholas Snyders? Wouldn't you like a change? Think of it, Nicholas Snyders--the joy of