The Mysterious Stranger, and Other Stories
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.”
Chapter 6
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 fourteen per day, winter and summer--from six in the morning till
eight at night--little children and all. And they walk to and from the
pigsties 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 mangy things? No. 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 smashed 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