On the fourth day comes the astrologer from his crumbling old tower up
the valley, where he had heard the news, I reckon. He had a private
talk with us, and we told him what we could, for we were mightily in
dread of him. He sat there studying and studying awhile to himself;
then he asked:
“How many ducats did you say?”
“Eleven hundred and seven, sir.”
Then he said, as if he were talking to himself: “It is ver-y singular.
Yes ... very strange. A curious coincidence.” Then he began to ask
questions, and went over the whole ground from the beginning, we
answering. By and by he said: “Eleven hundred and six ducats. It is a
large sum.”
“Seven,” said Seppi, correcting him.
“Oh, seven, was it? Of course a ducat more or less isn’t of
consequence, but you said eleven hundred and six before.”
It would not have been safe for us to say he was mistaken, but we knew
he was. Nikolaus said, “We ask pardon for the mistake, but we meant to
say seven.”
“Oh, it is no matter, lad; it was merely that I noticed the
discrepancy. It is several days, and you cannot be expected to remember
precisely. One is apt to be inexact when there is no particular
circumstance to impress the count upon the memory.”
“But there was one, sir,” said Seppi, eagerly.
“What was it, my son?” asked the astrologer, indifferently.
“First, we all counted the piles of coin, each in turn, and all made
it the same--eleven hundred and six. But I had slipped one out, for
fun, when the count began, and now I slipped it back and said, ‘I think
there is a mistake--there are eleven hundred and seven; let us count
again.’ We did, and of course I was right. They were astonished; then I
told how it came about.”
The astrologer asked us if this was so, and we said it was.
“That settles it,” he said. “I know the thief now. Lads, the money was
stolen.”
[Illustration: ON THE FOURTH DAY COMES THE ASTROLOGER FROM HIS
CRUMBLING OLD TOWER]
Then he went away, leaving us very much troubled, and wondering what
he could mean. In about an hour we found out; for by that time it was
all over the village that Father Peter had been arrested for stealing
a great sum of money from the astrologer. Everybody’s tongue was loose
and going. Many said it was not in Father Peter’s character and must be
a mistake; but the others shook their heads and said misery and want
could drive a suffering man to almost anything. About one detail
there were no differences; all agreed that Father Peter’s account of
how the money came into his hands was just about unbelievable--it
had such an impossible look. They said it might have come into the
astrologer’s hands in some such way, but into Father Peter’s, never!
Our characters began to suffer now. We were Father Peter’s only
witnesses; how much did he probably pay us to back up his fantastic
tale? People talked that kind of talk to us pretty freely and frankly,
and were full of scoffings when we begged them to believe really we had
told only the truth. Our parents were harder on us than any one else.
Our fathers said we were disgracing our families, and they commanded us
to purge ourselves of our lie, and there was no limit to their anger
when we continued to say we had spoken true. Our mothers cried over us
and begged us to give back our bribe and get back our honest names and
save our families from shame, and come out and honorably confess. And
at last we were so worried and harassed that we tried to tell the whole
thing, Satan and all--but no, it wouldn’t come out. We were hoping
and longing all the time that Satan would come and help us out of our
trouble, but there was no sign of him.
Within an hour after the astrologer’s talk with us, Father Peter was
in prison and the money sealed up and in the hands of the officers of
the law. The money was in a bag, and Solomon Isaacs said he had not
touched it since he had counted it; his oath was taken that it was the
same money, and that the amount was eleven hundred and seven ducats.
Father Peter claimed trial by the ecclesiastical court, but our other
priest, Father Adolf, said an ecclesiastical court hadn’t jurisdiction
over a suspended priest. The bishop upheld him. That settled it; the
case would go to trial in the civil court. The court would not sit for
some time to come. Wilhelm Meidling would be Father Peter’s lawyer and
do the best he could, of course, but he told us privately that a weak
case on his side and all the power and prejudice on the other made the
outlook bad.
So Marget’s new happiness died a quick death. No friends came to
condole with her, and none were expected; an unsigned note withdrew her
invitation to the party. There would be no scholars to take lessons.
How could she support herself? She could remain in the house, for the
mortgage was paid off, though the government and not poor Solomon
Isaacs had the mortgage-money in its grip for the present. Old Ursula,
who was cook, chambermaid, housekeeper, laundress, and everything else
for Father Peter, and had been Marget’s nurse in earlier years, said
God would provide. But she said that from habit, for she was a good
Christian. She meant to help in the providing, to make sure, if she
could find a way.
We boys wanted to go and see Marget and show friendliness for her, but
our parents were afraid of offending the community and wouldn’t let
us. The astrologer was going around inflaming everybody against Father
Peter, and saying he was an abandoned thief and had stolen eleven
hundred and seven gold ducats from him. He said he knew he was a thief
from that fact, for it was exactly the sum he had lost and which Father
Peter pretended he had “found.”
In the afternoon of the fourth day after the catastrophe old Ursula
appeared at our house and asked for some washing to do, and begged my
mother to keep this secret, to save Marget’s pride, who would stop this
project if she found it out, yet Marget had not enough to eat and was
growing weak. Ursula was growing weak herself, and showed it; and she
ate of the food that was offered her like a starving person, but could
not be persuaded to carry any home, for Marget would not eat charity
food. She took some clothes down to the stream to wash them, but we saw
from the window that handling the bat was too much for her strength; so
she was called back and a trifle of money offered her, which she was
afraid to take lest Marget should suspect; then she took it, saying she
would explain that she found it in the road. To keep it from being a
lie and damning her soul, she got me to drop it while she watched; then
she went along by there and found it, and exclaimed with surprise and
joy, and picked it up and went her way. Like the rest of the village,
she could tell every-day lies fast enough and without taking any
precautions against fire and brimstone on their account; but this was a
new kind of lie, and it had a dangerous look because she hadn’t had any
practice in it. After a week’s practice it wouldn’t have given her any
trouble. It is the way we are made.
I was in trouble, for how would Marget live? Ursula could not find a
coin in the road every day--perhaps not even a second one. And I was
ashamed, too, for not having been near Marget, and she so in need of
friends; but that was my parents’ fault, not mine, and I couldn’t help
it.
I was walking along the path, feeling very downhearted, when a most
cheery and tingling freshening-up sensation went rippling through me,
and I was too glad for any words, for I knew by that sign that Satan
was by. I had noticed it before. Next moment he was alongside of me
and I was telling him all my trouble and what had been happening to
Marget and her uncle. While we were talking we turned a curve and saw
old Ursula resting in the shade of a tree, and she had a lean stray
kitten in her lap and was petting it. I asked her where she got it, and
she said it came out of the woods and followed her; and she said it
probably hadn’t any mother or any friends and she was going to take it
home and take care of it. Satan said:
“I understand you are very poor. Why do you want to add another mouth
to feed? Why don’t you give it to some rich person?”
Ursula bridled at this and said: “Perhaps you would like to have it.
You must be rich, with your fine clothes and quality airs.” Then she
sniffed and said: “Give it to the rich--the idea! The rich don’t care
for anybody but themselves; it’s only the poor that have feeling for
the poor, and help them. The poor and God. God will provide for this
kitten.”
“What makes you think so?”
Ursula’s eyes snapped with anger. “Because I know it!” she said. “Not a
sparrow falls to the ground without His seeing it.”
“But it falls, just the same. What good is seeing it fall?”
Old Ursula’s jaws worked, but she could not get any word out for the
moment, she was so horrified. When she got her tongue she stormed out,
“Go about your business, you puppy, or I will take a stick to you!”
I could not speak, I was so scared. I knew that with his notions about
the human race Satan would consider it a matter of no consequence to
strike her dead, there being “plenty more”; but my tongue stood still,
I could give her no warning. But nothing happened; Satan remained
tranquil--tranquil and indifferent. I suppose he could not be insulted
by Ursula any more than the king could be insulted by a tumble-bug.
The old woman jumped to her feet when she made her remark, and did it
as briskly as a young girl. It had been many years since she had done
the like of that. That was Satan’s influence; he was a fresh breeze to
the weak and the sick, wherever he came. His presence affected even
the lean kitten, and it skipped to the ground and began to chase a
leaf. This surprised Ursula, and she stood looking at the creature and
nodding her head wonderingly, her anger quite forgotten.
“What’s come over it?” she said. “Awhile ago it could hardly walk.”
“You have not seen a kitten of that breed before,” said Satan.
Ursula was not proposing to be friendly with the mocking stranger, and
she gave him an ungentle look and retorted: “Who asked you to come here
and pester me, I’d like to know? And what do you know about what I’ve
seen and what I haven’t seen?”
“You haven’t seen a kitten with the hair-spines on its tongue pointing
to the front, have you?”
“No--nor you, either.”
“Well, examine this one and see.”
Ursula was become pretty spry, but the kitten was spryer, and she could
not catch it, and had to give it up. Then Satan said:
“Give it a name, and maybe it will come.”
Ursula tried several names, but the kitten was not interested.
“Call it Agnes. Try that.”
The creature answered to the name and came. Ursula examined its tongue.
“Upon my word, it’s true!” she said. “I have not seen this kind of a
cat before. Is it yours?”
“No.”
“Then how did you know its name so pat?”
“Because all cats of that breed are named Agnes; they will not answer
to any other.”
Ursula was impressed. “It is the most wonderful thing!” Then a shadow
of trouble came into her face, for her superstitions were aroused, and
she reluctantly put the creature down, saying: “I suppose I must let
it go; I am not afraid--no, not exactly that, though the priest--well,
I’ve heard people--indeed, many people.... And, besides, it is quite
well now and can take care of itself.” She sighed, and turned to
go, murmuring: “It is such a pretty one, too, and would be such
company--and the house is so sad and lonesome these troubled days ...
Miss Marget so mournful and just a shadow, and the old master shut up
in jail.”
“It seems a pity not to keep it,” said Satan.
Ursula turned quickly--just as if she were hoping some one would
encourage her.
“Why?” she asked, wistfully.
“Because this breed brings luck.”
“Does it? Is it true? Young man, do you know it to be true? How does it
bring luck?”
“Well, it brings money, anyway.”
Ursula looked disappointed. “Money? A cat bring money? The idea! You
could never sell it here; people do not buy cats here; one can’t even
give them away.” She turned to go.
“I don’t mean sell it. I mean have an income from it. This kind is
called the Lucky Cat. Its owner finds four silver groschen in his
pocket every morning.”
I saw the indignation rising in the old woman’s face. She was insulted.
This boy was making fun of her. That was her thought. She thrust her
hands into her pockets and straightened up to give him a piece of her
mind. Her temper was all up, and hot. Her mouth came open and let out
three words of a bitter sentence, ... then it fell silent, and the
anger in her face turned to surprise or wonder or fear, or something,
and she slowly brought out her hands from her pockets and opened them
and held them so. In one was my piece of money, in the other lay four
silver groschen. She gazed a little while, perhaps to see if the
groschen would vanish away; then she said, fervently:
“It’s true--it’s true--and I’m ashamed and beg forgiveness, O dear
master and benefactor!” And she ran to Satan and kissed his hand, over
and over again, according to the Austrian custom.
In her heart she probably believed it was a witch-cat and an agent of
the Devil; but no matter, it was all the more certain to be able to
keep its contract and furnish a daily good living for the family, for
in matters of finance even the piousest of our peasants would have more
confidence in an arrangement with the Devil than with an archangel.
Ursula started homeward, with Agnes in her arms, and I said I wished I
had her privilege of seeing Marget.
Then I caught my breath, for we were there. There in the parlor, and
Marget standing looking at us, astonished. She was feeble and pale,
but I knew that those conditions would not last in Satan’s atmosphere,
and it turned out so. I introduced Satan--that is, Philip Traum--and
we sat down and talked. There was no constraint. We were simple folk,
in our village, and when a stranger was a pleasant person we were
soon friends. Marget wondered how we got in without her hearing us.
Traum said the door was open, and we walked in and waited until she
should turn around and greet us. This was not true; no door was open;
we entered through the walls or the roof or down the chimney, or
somehow; but no matter, what Satan wished a person to believe, the
person was sure to believe, and so Marget was quite satisfied with that
explanation. And then the main part of her mind was on Traum, anyway;
she couldn’t keep her eyes off him, he was so beautiful. That gratified
me, and made me proud. I hoped he would show off some, but he didn’t.
He seemed only interested in being friendly and telling lies. He said
he was an orphan. That made Marget pity him. The water came into her
eyes. He said he had never known his mamma; she passed away while he
was a young thing; and said his papa was in shattered health, and had
no property to speak of--in fact, none of any earthly value--but he had
an uncle in business down in the tropics, and he was very well off and
had a monopoly, and it was from this uncle that he drew his support.
The very mention of a kind uncle was enough to remind Marget of her
own, and her eyes filled again. She said she hoped their two uncles
would meet, some day. It made me shudder. Philip said he hoped so, too;
and that made me shudder again.
“Maybe they will,” said Marget. “Does your uncle travel much?”
“Oh yes, he goes all about; he has business everywhere.”
And so they went on chatting, and poor Marget forgot her sorrows for
one little while, anyway. It was probably the only really bright and
cheery hour she had known lately. I saw she liked Philip, and I knew
she would. And when he told her he was studying for the ministry I
could see that she liked him better than ever. And then, when he
promised to get her admitted to the jail so that she could see her
uncle, that was the capstone. He said he would give the guards a little
present, and she must always go in the evening after dark, and say
nothing, “but just show this paper and pass in, and show it again when
you come out”--and he scribbled some queer marks on the paper and gave
it to her, and she was ever so thankful, and right away was in a fever
for the sun to go down; for in that old, cruel time prisoners were not
allowed to see their friends, and sometimes they spent years in the
jails without ever seeing a friendly face. I judged that the marks on
the paper were an enchantment, and that the guards would not know what
they were doing, nor have any memory of it afterward; and that was
indeed the way of it. Ursula put her head in at the door now and said:
“Supper’s ready, miss.” Then she saw us and looked frightened, and
motioned me to come to her, which I did, and she asked if we had told
about the cat. I said no, and she was relieved, and said please don’t;
for if Miss Marget knew, she would think it was an unholy cat and would
send for a priest and have its gifts all purified out of it, and then
there wouldn’t be any more dividends. So I said we wouldn’t tell, and
she was satisfied. Then I was beginning to say good-by to Marget, but
Satan interrupted and said, ever so politely--well, I don’t remember
just the words, but anyway he as good as invited himself to supper, and
me, too. Of course Marget was miserably embarrassed, for she had no
reason to suppose there would be half enough for a sick bird. Ursula
heard him, and she came straight into the room, not a bit pleased. At
first she was astonished to see Marget looking so fresh and rosy, and
said so; then she spoke up in her native tongue, which was Bohemian,
and said--as I learned afterward--“Send him away, Miss Marget; there’s
not victuals enough.”
Before Marget could speak, Satan had the word, and was talking back at
Ursula in her own language--which was a surprise to her, and for her
mistress, too. He said, “Didn’t I see you down the road awhile ago?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Ah, that pleases me; I see you remember me.” He stepped to her and
whispered: “I told you it is a Lucky Cat. Don’t be troubled; it will
provide.”
That sponged the slate of Ursula’s feelings clean of its anxieties,
and a deep, financial joy shone in her eyes. The cat’s value was
augmenting. It was getting full time for Marget to take some sort of
notice of Satan’s invitation, and she did it in the best way, the
honest way that was natural to her. She said she had little to offer,
but that we were welcome if we would share it with her.
We had supper in the kitchen, and Ursula waited at table. A small fish
was in the frying-pan, crisp and brown and tempting, and one could see
that Marget was not expecting such respectable food as this. Ursula
brought it, and Marget divided it between Satan and me, declining to
take any of it herself; and was beginning to say she did not care
for fish to-day, but she did not finish the remark. It was because
she noticed that another fish had appeared in the pan. She looked
surprised, but did not say anything. She probably meant to inquire of
Ursula about this later. There were other surprises: flesh and game and
wines and fruits--things which had been strangers in that house lately;
but Marget made no exclamations, and now even looked unsurprised,
which was Satan’s influence, of course. Satan talked right along, and
was entertaining, and made the time pass pleasantly and cheerfully;
and although he told a good many lies, it was no harm in him, for he
was only an angel and did not know any better. They do not know right
from wrong; I knew this, because I remembered what he had said about
it. He got on the good side of Ursula. He praised her to Marget,
confidentially, but speaking just loud enough for Ursula to hear. He
said she was a fine woman, and he hoped some day to bring her and his
uncle together. Very soon Ursula was mincing and simpering around in
a ridiculous, girly way, and smoothing out her gown and prinking at
herself like a foolish old hen, and all the time pretending she was
not hearing what Satan was saying. I was ashamed, for it showed us to
be what Satan considered us, a silly race and trivial. Satan said his
uncle entertained a great deal, and to have a clever woman presiding
over the festivities would double the attractions of the place.
“But your uncle is a gentleman, isn’t he?” asked Marget.
“Yes,” said Satan, indifferently; “some even call him a Prince, out of
compliment, but he is not bigoted; to him personal merit is everything,
rank nothing.”
My hand was hanging down by my chair; Agnes came along and licked it;
by this act a secret was revealed. I started to say, “It is all a
mistake; this is just a common, ordinary cat; the hair-needles on her
tongue point inward, not outward.” But the words did not come, because
they couldn’t. Satan smiled upon me, and I understood.
When it was dark Marget took food and wine and fruit, in a basket,
and hurried away to the jail, and Satan and I walked toward my home.
I was thinking to myself that I should like to see what the inside of
the jail was like; Satan overheard the thought, and the next moment we
were in the jail. We were in the torture-chamber, Satan said. The rack
was there, and the other instruments, and there was a smoky lantern
or two hanging on the walls and helping to make the place look dim
and dreadful. There were people there--and executioners--but as they
took no notice of us, it meant that we were invisible. A young man
lay bound, and Satan said he was suspected of being a heretic, and
the executioners were about to inquire into it. They asked the man
to confess to the charge, and he said he could not, for it was not
true. Then they drove splinter after splinter under his nails, and
he shrieked with the pain. Satan was not disturbed, but I could not
endure it, and had to be whisked out of there. I was faint and sick,
but the fresh air revived me, and we walked toward my home. I said it
was a brutal thing.
“No, it was a human thing. You should not insult the brutes by such a
misuse of that word; they have not deserved it,” and he went on talking
like that. “It is like your paltry race--always lying, always claiming
virtues which it hasn’t got, always denying them to the higher animals,
which alone possess them. No brute ever does a cruel thing--that is
the monopoly of those with the Moral Sense. When a brute inflicts pain
he does it innocently; it is not wrong; for him there is no such thing
as wrong. And he does not inflict pain for the pleasure of inflicting
it--only man does that. Inspired by that mongrel Moral Sense of his! A
sense whose function is to distinguish between right and wrong, with
liberty to choose which of them he will do. Now what advantage can he
get out of that? He is always choosing, and in nine cases out of ten he
prefers the wrong. There shouldn’t be any wrong; and without the Moral
Sense there couldn’t be any. And yet he is such an unreasoning creature
that he is not able to perceive that the Moral Sense degrades him to
the bottom layer of animated beings and is a shameful possession. Are
you feeling better? Let me show you something.”