The Mysterious Stranger Manuscripts (Literature) Page 8

  "It's true-it's true-and I am ashamed and beg forgiveness, oh 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 Margot 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."

  "Then he may come here-I hope he will. I should be so glad to see him. What is his business?"

  "Souls."

  "Shoe-souls?"

  "Yes. He trades in them. Buys them."

  She asked where he lived; but Philip generalised on that, and merely said it was a foreign country.

  "Is he a foreigner himself? Was he born there?"

  "Well, no. No, he was an emigrant."

  "Is it a trying climate?"

  "For some-yes; but he doesn't mind it."

  "Acclimated, I suppose."

  "Yes."

  "Is it a colony?"

  "Yes."

  "What nationality?"

  "Mixed. But mainly French."

  "And so that is the language in use?"

  "It is the official language."

  And so they went on chatting, and poor Ilarget 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; anybody 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. I said he would give the guards a little present, and she must always go in the evening after dark, and say nothing, "hut 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 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-bye 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 food 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-

  "The impudent thing! inviting himself when nobody's asked him. It's just like him-I've never seen the beat of him for making himself easy on a short acquaintance. Send him packing, 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 for her, and for her mistress, too. He asked-

  "Didn't I see you down the road a while ago?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Ah, that pleases me; I see you remember me."

  "Why, of course, sir. Nobody that sees you once can forget you, I reckon. And besides, you are so good, and so-so-so aggravating."

  "Can you keep a secret?"

  "I can try, sir. For your goodness, though; not for your aggravatingness.

  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 did what she could to look unsurprised, which was human and natural. 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 accomplished one thing which I was glad of-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 he what Satan considered us, a silly race and trivial. Satan said it was time his uncle was married, for he entertained a great deal, and always had company staying with him, and t
o 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."

  Marget thought he must be a most lovable gentleman and much sought after. Satan said he was; and a great help to the clergy-but for him they would have to go out of business.

  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. It was as if he had said, "I know your thought, but you will keep it to yourself."

  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 a 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, -a priest 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 an unsound Catholic, and the priest 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, for it was only a human being, 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 the snob 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."

  In a moment we were in a French village. We walked through a great factory of some sort, where men and women and little children were toiling in heat and dirt and a fog of dust; and they were clothed in rags, and drooped at their work, for they were worn, and half-starved, and weak and drowsy. Satan said-

  "It is some more Moral Sense. The proprietors are rich, and very holy; but the wage they pay to these poor brothers and sisters of theirs is only enough to keep them from dropping dead with hunger. The work-hours are fifteen per day, winter and summerfrom 5 in the morning till 8 at night-little children and all. And they walk to and from the pig-sties which they inhabit-four miles each way, through mud and slush, rain, snow, sleet and storm, daily, year in and year out. They get four hours of sleep. They kennel together, three families in a room, in unimaginable filth and stench; and disease comes, and they die off like flies. Have they committed a crime, these poor mangy things? No. Have they offended the priest? No; they are his pets-they fatten him with their farthings, or he would have to work for his living. What have they done, that they are punished so? Nothing at all, except getting themselves born into your foolish race. You have seen how they treat a misdoer there in the jail, now you see how they treat the innocent and the worthy. Is your race logical? Are these ill-smelling innocents better off than that heretic? Indeed, no, his punishment is trivial compared with theirs. They broke him on the wheel and mashed him to rags and pulp after we left, and he is dead, now, and free of your precious race; but these poor slaves here-why, they have been dying for years, and some of them will not escape from life for years to come. It is the Moral Sense which teaches the factory-proprietors the difference between right and wrong-you perceive the result. They think themselves better than dogs. Ah, you are such an illogical, unreasoning race! And paltry-oh, unspeakably!"

  Then he dropped all seriousness and just overstrained himself making fun of us, and deriding our pride in our warlike deeds, our great heroes, our imperishable fames, our mighty Kings, our ancient aristocracies, our venerable history-and laughed and laughed till it was enough to make a person sick to hear him; and finally he sobered a little and said "but after all, it is not all ridiculous, there is a sort of pathos about it when one remembers how few are your days, how childish your pomps, and what shadows you are!"

  Presently all things vanished suddenly from my sight, and I knew what it meant. The next moment we were walking along in our village; and down toward the river I saw the twinkling lights of the Golden Stag. Then in the dark I heard a joyful cry-

  "He's come again!"

  It was SeppiWohlmeyer. He had felt his blood leap and his spirits rise in a way that could mean only one thing, and he knew Satan was near although it was too dark to see him. He came to us and we walked along together, and Seppi poured out his gladness like water. It was as if he was a lover and had found his sweetheart which had been lost. Seppi was a smart and animated boy, and had enthusiasm and expression, and was a contrast to Nikolaus and me. Ile was full of the last new mystery, now-the disappearance of Hans Oppert, the village loafer. People were beginning to be curious about it, he said. He did not say anxious-curious was the right word, and strong enough. No one had seen Hans for a couple of days.

  "Not since he did that brutal thing, you know," he said.

  "What brutal thing?" It was Satan that asked.

  "Well, he is always clubbing his dog, which is a good dog, and is his only friend, and is faithful, and loves him, and does no one any harm; and two days ago he was at it again, just for nothing-just for pleasure-and the dog was howling and begging, and Theodor and I begged, too, but he threatened us, and struck the dog again with all his might and knocked one of its eyes out, so that it hung down; and he said to us, 'There, I hope you are satisfied, nowthat's what you have got for him by your damned meddling'-and he laughed, the heartless brute." Seppi's voice trembled with pity and anger. I guessed what Satan would say, and he said it.

  "There is that misused word again-that shabby slander. Brutes do not act like that, but only men."

  "Well, it was inhuman, anyway."

  "No it wasn't, Seppi, it was human-quite distinctly human. It is not pleasant to hear you libel the Higher Animals by attributing to them dispositions which they are free from, and which are found nowhere but in the human heart. None of the Higher Animals is tainted with the disease called the Moral Sense. Purify your language, Seppi; drop those lying phrases out of it."

  He spoke pretty sternly-for him-and I was sorry I hadn't warned Seppi to be more particular about the words he used. I knew how he was feeling. He would not want to offend Satan; he would rather offend all his kin. There was an uncomfortable silence, but relief soon came, for that poor dog came along, now, with that eye hanging down, and went straight to Satan, and began to moan or mutter brokenly, and Satan began to answer in the same way, and it was plain that they were talking together in the dog language. We all sat down in the grass, in the moonlight, for the clouds were breaking away, now, and Satan took t
he dog's head in his lap and put the eye back in its place, and the dog was comfortable, and wagged his tail and licked Satan's hand, and looked thankful and said the same-I knew he was saying it, though I did not understand the words. Then the two talked together a bit, and Satan said-

  "Ile says his master was drunk."

  "Yes, he was," said we.

  "And an hour later he fell over the precipice there beyond the Cliff Pasture."

  "We know the place, it is three miles from here."

  "And the dog has been often to the village, begging people to go there, but he was only driven away and not listened to."

  We remembered it, but hadn't understood what he wanted.

  "He only wanted help for the man who had misused him, and he thought only of that, and has had no food nor sought any. He has watched by his master two nights. What do you think of your race? Is heaven reserved for it, and this dog ruled out, as your teachers tell you? Can your race add anything to this dog's stock of morals and magnanimities?" He spoke to the creature, who jumped up, eager and happy, and apparently ready for orders, and impatient to execute them. "Get some men; go with the dog-he will show you that carrion; and take a priest along to arrange about insurance, for death is near."

  With the last word he vanished, to our sorrow and disappointment. We got the men and the priest, and we saw the man die. Nobody cared but the d"o, but he mourned and grieved, and licked the dead face, and could not be comforted. The man had died without the last sacraments, for he was unconscious and the priest refused them. We buried him where he was, and without a coffin, for he had no money, and no friend but the dog, and he could not be buried in holy ground, for he had died in sin. We buried him without any funeral services, for in the circumstances the priest would not perform them, of course, nor countenance the unholy burial with his presence. If we had been an hour earlier the priest would have been in time to send that poor creature to heaven, but now he was gone down into the awful fires, to burn forever. It seemed such a pity that in a world where so many people have difficulty to put in their time, one little hour could not have been spared for this poor creature who needed it so much, and to whom it would have made the difference between eternal joy and eternal pain. It gave me an appalling idea of the value of an hour, and I thought I could never waste one again without remorse and terror. Seppi was depressed and grieved, and said it must be so much better to be a dog and not run such awful risks. We took this one home with us and kept him for our own. Seppi had a very good thought as we were walking along, and it cheered us up and made us feel much better. He said the dog had forgiven the man that had wronged him so, and maybe God would accept that absolution in place of the priest's, though it was furnished gratis and therefore was not really official and regular.