Chapter 5

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.”

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 down-hearted, 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 sorrow 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 to

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.”