Chapter 10

Days and days went by now, and no Satan. It was dull without him. But

the astrologer, who had returned from his excursion to the moon, went

about the village, braving public opinion, and getting a stone in the

middle of his back now and then when some witch-hater got a safe chance

to throw it and dodge out of sight. Meantime two influences had been

working well for Marget. That Satan, who was quite indifferent to her,

had stopped going to her house after a visit or two had hurt her pride,

and she had set herself the task of banishing him from her heart.

Reports of Wilhelm Meidling's dissipation brought to her from time to

time by old Ursula had touched her with remorse, jealousy of Satan

being the cause of it; and so now, these two matters working upon her

together, she was getting a good profit out of the combination--her

interest in Satan was steadily cooling, her interest in Wilhelm as

steadily warming. All that was needed to complete her conversion

was that Wilhelm should brace up and do something that should cause

favorable talk and incline the public toward him again.

The opportunity came now. Marget sent and asked him to defend her

uncle in the approaching trial, and he was greatly pleased, and stopped

drinking and began his preparations with diligence. With more diligence

than hope, in fact, for it was not a promising case. He had many

interviews in his office with Seppi and me, and threshed out our

testimony pretty thoroughly, thinking to find some valuable grains among

the chaff, but the harvest was poor, of course.

If Satan would only come! That was my constant thought. He could

invent some way to win the case; for he had said it would be won, so

he necessarily knew how it could be done. But the days dragged on, and

still he did not come. Of course I did not doubt that it would be won,

and that Father Peter would be happy for the rest of his life, since

Satan had said so; yet I knew I should be much more comfortable if he

would come and tell us how to manage it. It was getting high time for

Father Peter to have a saving change toward happiness, for by general

report he was worn out with his imprisonment and the ignominy that was

burdening him, and was like to die of his miseries unless he got relief

soon.

At last the trial came on, and the people gathered from all around to

witness it; among them many strangers from considerable distances. Yes,

everybody was there except the accused. He was too feeble in body for

the strain. But Marget was present, and keeping up her hope and her

spirit the best she could. The money was present, too. It was emptied

on the table, and was handled and caressed and examined by such as were

privileged.

The astrologer was put in the witness-box. He had on his best hat and

robe for the occasion.

QUESTION. You claim that this money is yours?

ANSWER. I do.

Q. How did you come by it?

A. I found the bag in the road when I was returning from a journey.

Q. When?

A. More than two years ago.

Q. What did you do with it?

A. I brought it home and hid it in a secret place in my observatory,

intending to find the owner if I could.

Q. You endeavored to find him?

A. I made diligent inquiry during several months, but nothing came of

it.

Q. And then?

A. I thought it not worth while to look further, and was minded to use

the money in finishing the wing of the foundling-asylum connected with

the priory and nunnery. So I took it out of its hiding-place and counted

it to see if any of it was missing. And then--

Q. Why do you stop? Proceed.

A. I am sorry to have to say this, but just as I had finished and was

restoring the bag to its place, I looked up and there stood Father Peter

behind me.

Several murmured, “That looks bad,” but others answered, “Ah, but he is

such a liar!”

Q. That made you uneasy?

A. No; I thought nothing of it at the time, for Father Peter often came

to me unannounced to ask for a little help in his need.

Marget blushed crimson at hearing her uncle falsely and impudently

charged with begging, especially from one he had always denounced as a

fraud, and was going to speak, but remembered herself in time and held

her peace.

Q. Proceed.

A. In the end I was afraid to contribute the money to the

foundling-asylum, but elected to wait yet another year and continue

my inquiries. When I heard of Father Peter's find I was glad, and no

suspicion entered my mind; when I came home a day or two later and

discovered that my own money was gone I still did not suspect until

three circumstances connected with Father Peter's good fortune struck me

as being singular coincidences.

Q. Pray name them.

A. Father Peter had found his money in a path--I had found mine in a

road. Father Peter's find consisted exclusively of gold ducats--mine

also. Father Peter found eleven hundred and seven ducats--I exactly the

same.

This closed his evidence, and certainly it made a strong impression on

the house; one could see that.

Wilhelm Meidling asked him some questions, then called us boys, and we

told our tale. It made the people laugh, and we were ashamed. We were

feeling pretty badly, anyhow, because Wilhelm was hopeless, and showed

it. He was doing as well as he could, poor young fellow, but nothing was

in his favor, and such sympathy as there was was now plainly not with

his client. It might be difficult for court and people to believe

the astrologer's story, considering his character, but it was almost

impossible to believe Father Peter's. We were already feeling badly

enough, but when the astrologer's lawyer said he believed he would not

ask us any questions--for our story was a little delicate and it would

be cruel for him to put any strain upon it--everybody tittered, and

it was almost more than we could bear. Then he made a sarcastic little

speech, and got so much fun out of our tale, and it seemed so ridiculous

and childish and every way impossible and foolish, that it made

everybody laugh till the tears came; and at last Marget could not keep

up her courage any longer, but broke down and cried, and I was so sorry

for her.

Now I noticed something that braced me up. It was Satan standing

alongside of Wilhelm! And there was such a contrast!--Satan looked so

confident, had such a spirit in his eyes and face, and Wilhelm looked so

depressed and despondent. We two were comfortable now, and judged that

he would testify and persuade the bench and the people that black was

white and white black, or any other color he wanted it. We glanced

around to see what the strangers in the house thought of him, for he was

beautiful, you know--stunning, in fact--but no one was noticing him; so

we knew by that that he was invisible.

The lawyer was saying his last words; and while he was saying them Satan

began to melt into Wilhelm. He melted into him and disappeared; and then

there was a change, when his spirit began to look out of Wilhelm's eyes.

That lawyer finished quite seriously, and with dignity. He pointed to

the money, and said:

“The love of it is the root of all evil. There it lies, the ancient

tempter, newly red with the shame of its latest victory--the dishonor of

a priest of God and his two poor juvenile helpers in crime. If it could

but speak, let us hope that it would be constrained to confess that of

all its conquests this was the basest and the most pathetic.”

He sat down. Wilhelm rose and said:

“From the testimony of the accuser I gather that he found this money

in a road more than two years ago. Correct me, sir, if I misunderstood

you.”

The astrologer said his understanding of it was correct.

“And the money so found was never out of his hands thenceforth up to a

certain definite date--the last day of last year. Correct me, sir, if I

am wrong.”

The astrologer nodded his head. Wilhelm turned to the bench and said:

“If I prove that this money here was not that money, then it is not

his?”

“Certainly not; but this is irregular. If you had such a witness it was

your duty to give proper notice of it and have him here to--” He broke

off and began to consult with the other judges. Meantime that other

lawyer got up excited and began to protest against allowing new

witnesses to be brought into the case at this late stage.

The judges decided that his contention was just and must be allowed.

“But this is not a new witness,” said Wilhelm. “It has already been

partly examined. I speak of the coin.”

“The coin? What can the coin say?”

“It can say it is not the coin that the astrologer once possessed. It

can say it was not in existence last December. By its date it can say

this.”

And it was so! There was the greatest excitement in the court while that

lawyer and the judges were reaching for coins and examining them and

exclaiming. And everybody was full of admiration of Wilhelm's brightness

in happening to think of that neat idea. At last order was called and

the court said:

“All of the coins but four are of the date of the present year. The

court tenders its sincere sympathy to the accused, and its deep regret

that he, an innocent man, through an unfortunate mistake, has suffered

the undeserved humiliation of imprisonment and trial. The case is

dismissed.”

So the money could speak, after all, though that lawyer thought it

couldn't. The court rose, and almost everybody came forward to shake

hands with Marget and congratulate her, and then to shake with Wilhelm

and praise him; and Satan had stepped out of Wilhelm and was standing

around looking on full of interest, and people walking through him every

which way, not knowing he was there. And Wilhelm could not explain why

he only thought of the date on the coins at the last moment, instead

of earlier; he said it just occurred to him, all of a sudden, like an

inspiration, and he brought it right out without any hesitation, for,

although he didn't examine the coins, he seemed, somehow, to know it was

true. That was honest of him, and like him; another would have pretended

he had thought of it earlier, and was keeping it back for a surprise.

He had dulled down a little now; not much, but still you could notice

that he hadn't that luminous look in his eyes that he had while Satan

was in him. He nearly got it back, though, for a moment when Marget came

and praised him and thanked him and couldn't keep him from seeing how

proud she was of him. The astrologer went off dissatisfied and cursing,

and Solomon Isaacs gathered up the money and carried it away. It was

Father Peter's for good and all, now.

Satan was gone. I judged that he had spirited himself away to the jail

to tell the prisoner the news; and in this I was right. Marget and

the rest of us hurried thither at our best speed, in a great state of

rejoicing.

Well, what Satan had done was this: he had appeared before that

poor prisoner, exclaiming, “The trial is over, and you stand forever

disgraced as a thief--by verdict of the court!”

The shock unseated the old man's reason. When we arrived, ten minutes

later, he was parading pompously up and down and delivering commands to

this and that and the other constable or jailer, and calling them Grand

chamberlain, and Prince This and Prince That, and Admiral of the Fleet,

Field Marshal in Command, and all such fustian, and was as happy as a

bird. He thought he was Emperor!

Marget flung herself on his breast and cried, and indeed everybody

was moved almost to heartbreak. He recognized Marget, but could not

understand why she should cry. He patted her on the shoulder and said:

“Don't do it, dear; remember, there are witnesses, and it is not

becoming in the Crown Princess. Tell me your trouble--it shall be

mended; there is nothing the Emperor cannot do.” Then he looked around

and saw old Ursula with her apron to her eyes. He was puzzled at that,

and said, “And what is the matter with you?”

Through her sobs she got out words explaining that she was distressed to

see him--“so.” He reflected over that a moment, then muttered, as if to

himself: “A singular old thing, the Dowager Duchess--means well, but is

always snuffling and never able to tell what it is about. It is because

she doesn't know.” His eyes fell on Wilhelm. “Prince of India,” he said,

“I divine that it is you that the Crown Princess is concerned about.

Her tears shall be dried; I will no longer stand between you; she shall

share your throne; and between you you shall inherit mine. There, little

lady, have I done well? You can smile now--isn't it so?”

He petted Marget and kissed her, and was so contented with himself and

with everybody that he could not do enough for us all, but began to give

away kingdoms and such things right and left, and the least that any of

us got was a principality. And so at last, being persuaded to go home,

he marched in imposing state; and when the crowds along the way saw how

it gratified him to be hurrahed at, they humored him to the top of his

desire, and he responded with condescending bows and gracious smiles,

and often stretched out a hand and said, “Bless you, my people!”

As pitiful a sight as ever I saw. And Marget, and old Ursula crying all

the way.

On my road home I came upon Satan, and reproached him with deceiving

me with that lie. He was not embarrassed, but said, quite simply and

composedly:

“Ah, you mistake; it was the truth. I said he would be happy the rest of

his days, and he will, for he will always think he is the Emperor, and

his pride in it and his joy in it will endure to the end. He is now, and

will remain, the one utterly happy person in this empire.”

“But the method of it, Satan, the method! Couldn't you have done it

without depriving him of his reason?”

It was difficult to irritate Satan, but that accomplished it.

“What an ass you are!” he said. “Are you so unobservant as not to have

found out that sanity and happiness are an impossible combination?

No sane man can be happy, for to him life is real, and he sees what a

fearful thing it is. Only the mad can be happy, and not many of those.

The few that imagine themselves kings or gods are happy, the rest are no

happier than the sane. Of course, no man is entirely in his right mind

at any time, but I have been referring to the extreme cases. I have

taken from this man that trumpery thing which the race regards as a

Mind; I have replaced his tin life with a silver-gilt fiction; you

see the result--and you criticize! I said I would make him permanently

happy, and I have done it. I have made him happy by the only means

possible to his race--and you are not satisfied!” He heaved a

discouraged sigh, and said, “It seems to me that this race is hard to

please.”

There it was, you see. He didn't seem to know any way to do a person

a favor except by killing him or making a lunatic out of him. I

apologized, as well as I could; but privately I did not think much of

his processes--at that time.

Satan was accustomed to say that our race lived a life of continuous and

uninterrupted self-deception. It duped itself from cradle to grave with

shams and delusions which it mistook for realities, and this made its

entire life a sham. Of the score of fine qualities which it imagined it

had and was vain of, it really possessed hardly one. It regarded

itself as gold, and was only brass. One day when he was in this vein

he mentioned a detail--the sense of humor. I cheered up then, and took

issue. I said we possessed it.

“There spoke the race!” he said; “always ready to claim what it hasn't

got, and mistake its ounce of brass filings for a ton of gold-dust. You

have a mongrel perception of humor, nothing more; a multitude of you

possess that. This multitude see the comic side of a thousand low-grade

and trivial things--broad incongruities, mainly; grotesqueries,

absurdities, evokers of the horse-laugh. The ten thousand high-grade

comicalities which exist in the world are sealed from their dull

vision. Will a day come when the race will detect the funniness of these

juvenilities and laugh at them--and by laughing at them destroy them?

For your race, in its poverty, has unquestionably one really

effective weapon--laughter. Power, money, persuasion, supplication,

persecution--these can lift at a colossal humbug--push it a

little--weaken it a little, century by century; but only laughter can

blow it to rags and atoms at a blast. Against the assault of laughter

nothing can stand. You are always fussing and fighting with your other

weapons. Do you ever use that one? No; you leave it lying rusting. As a

race, do you ever use it at all? No; you lack sense and the courage.”

We were traveling at the time and stopped at a little city in India and

looked on while a juggler did his tricks before a group of natives. They

were wonderful, but I knew Satan could beat that game, and I begged him

to show off a little, and he said he would. He changed himself into a

native in turban and breech-cloth, and very considerately conferred on

me a temporary knowledge of the language.

The juggler exhibited a seed, covered it with earth in a small

flower-pot, then put a rag over the pot; after a minute the rag began to

rise; in ten minutes it had risen a foot; then the rag was removed and a

little tree was exposed, with leaves upon it and ripe fruit. We ate the

fruit, and it was good. But Satan said:

“Why do you cover the pot? Can't you grow the tree in the sunlight?”

“No,” said the juggler; “no one can do that.”

“You are only an apprentice; you don't know your trade. Give me the

seed. I will show you.” He took the seed and said, “What shall I raise

from it?”

“It is a cherry seed; of course you will raise a cherry.”

“Oh no; that is a trifle; any novice can do that. Shall I raise an

orange-tree from it?”

“Oh yes!” and the juggler laughed.

“And shall I make it bear other fruits as well as oranges?”

“If God wills!” and they all laughed.

Satan put the seed in the ground, put a handful of dust on it, and said,

“Rise!”

A tiny stem shot up and began to grow, and grew so fast that in five

minutes it was a great tree, and we were sitting in the shade of it.

There was a murmur of wonder, then all looked up and saw a strange and

pretty sight, for the branches were heavy with fruits of many kinds and

colors--oranges, grapes, bananas, peaches, cherries, apricots, and so

on. Baskets were brought, and the unlading of the tree began; and

the people crowded around Satan and kissed his hand, and praised him,

calling him the prince of jugglers. The news went about the town, and

everybody came running to see the wonder--and they remembered to bring

baskets, too. But the tree was equal to the occasion; it put out new

fruits as fast as any were removed; baskets were filled by the score and

by the hundred, but always the supply remained undiminished. At last a

foreigner in white linen and sun-helmet arrived, and exclaimed, angrily:

“Away from here! Clear out, you dogs; the tree is on my lands and is my

property.”

The natives put down their baskets and made humble obeisance. Satan made

humble obeisance, too, with his fingers to his forehead, in the native

way, and said:

“Please let them have their pleasure for an hour, sir--only that, and

no longer. Afterward you may forbid them; and you will still have more

fruit than you and the state together can consume in a year.”

This made the foreigner very angry, and he cried out, “Who are you, you

vagabond, to tell your betters what they may do and what they mayn't!”

and he struck Satan with his cane and followed this error with a kick.

The fruits rotted on the branches, and the leaves withered and fell. The

foreigner gazed at the bare limbs with the look of one who is surprised,

and not gratified. Satan said:

“Take good care of the tree, for its health and yours are bound

together. It will never bear again, but if you tend it well it will live

long. Water its roots once in each hour every night--and do it yourself;

it must not be done by proxy, and to do it in daylight will not answer.

If you fail only once in any night, the tree will die, and you likewise.

Do not go home to your own country any more--you would not reach there;

make no business or pleasure engagements which require you to go outside

your gate at night--you cannot afford the risk; do not rent or sell this

place--it would be injudicious.”

The foreigner was proud and wouldn't beg, but I thought he looked as if

he would like to. While he stood gazing at Satan we vanished away and

landed in Ceylon.

I was sorry for that man; sorry Satan hadn't been his customary self

and killed him or made him a lunatic. It would have been a mercy. Satan

overheard the thought, and said:

“I would have done it but for his wife, who has not offended me. She is

coming to him presently from their native land, Portugal. She is well,

but has not long to live, and has been yearning to see him and persuade

him to go back with her next year. She will die without knowing he can't

leave that place.”

“He won't tell her?”

“He? He will not trust that secret with any one; he will reflect that

it could be revealed in sleep, in the hearing of some Portuguese guest's

servant some time or other.”

“Did none of those natives understand what you said to him?”

“None of them understood, but he will always be afraid that some of them

did. That fear will be torture to him, for he has been a harsh master

to them. In his dreams he will imagine them chopping his tree down.

That will make his days uncomfortable--I have already arranged for his

nights.”

It grieved me, though not sharply, to see him take such a malicious

satisfaction in his plans for this foreigner.

“Does he believe what you told him, Satan?”

“He thought he didn't, but our vanishing helped. The tree, where there

had been no tree before--that helped. The insane and uncanny variety of

fruits--the sudden withering--all these things are helps. Let him think

as he may, reason as he may, one thing is certain, he will water the

tree. But between this and night he will begin his changed career with a

very natural precaution--for him.”

“What is that?”

“He will fetch a priest to cast out the tree's devil. You are such a

humorous race--and don't suspect it.”

“Will he tell the priest?”

“No. He will say a juggler from Bombay created it, and that he wants the

juggler's devil driven out of it, so that it will thrive and be fruitful

again. The priest's incantations will fail; then the Portuguese will

give up that scheme and get his watering-pot ready.”

“But the priest will burn the tree. I know it; he will not allow it to

remain.”

“Yes, and anywhere in Europe he would burn the man, too. But in India

the people are civilized, and these things will not happen. The man will

drive the priest away and take care of the tree.”

I reflected a little, then said, “Satan, you have given him a hard life,

I think.”

“Comparatively. It must not be mistaken for a holiday.”

We flitted from place to place around the world as we had done before,

Satan showing me a hundred wonders, most of them reflecting in some

way the weakness and triviality of our race. He did this now every few

days--not out of malice--I am sure of that--it only seemed to amuse and

interest him, just as a naturalist might be amused and interested by a

collection of ants.