by Mark Twain
I had five days' holiday, now, on my uncle's farm in the country, and when I got back another question was puzzling the people: "What has become of Father Adolf?" No one knew. He had not been seen since his performance on the tight rope.
Meantime Satan had been going about quite freely, getting acquainted with everybody, chatting with everybody, and charming the whole village and winning its gratitude by beguiling its mind from its troubles by diverting its interest to cheerfuler matters. Among his new acquaintances were the families of us boys, and their admiring talk of him was a great satisfaction to us, but we were not able to reveal our relations with him and boast about it, which we should have been so glad to do. My mother said to my father, with a shade of suspicion in her tone-
"There is something strange about him-I can't quite make him out. I is a gentleman-his clothes and his breeding show it; and yet he seems to associate with any kind of characters that come along, Rupert."
"Yes, that comes out in his talk, Marie," said my father.
"It is plain that he makes no sort of distinction between Fuchs the rich brewer and I the loafing tinker-just as soon put in his time with the one as with the other."
"Yes, and not only that, but he speaks of them as if the value of the two was the same-their value to the world and the village."
"Well," said my mother with a slight sniff, "maybe that is the right word, though I couldn't see that he attached anything that a body might really describe as value to either of them."
1ly father had to grant that that was the correcter way of putting it.
"But he is young," he added; "in years he is but a youth, and that is the prig-time of life. He will get over it when he is older and has found out something about life and the world. Experience will teach him a lot of things which he doesn't know now."
My mother reflected a little, then said-
"But is he such a boy, Rupert? He looks it, and all that, but there's times when he doesn't talk like a boy. You said, yourself, that he was curiously well up in the law for such a lad, and that he talked about legal procedure like a person who had played the game.
Mother had cornered him again. But she was not vain of it, being more or less accustomed to it, and always expecting him to be pretty random and to need watching when he wasn't on the Bench.
"He may be a good deal of a boy, and no doubt he is," continued my mother, "but I can see that he is a superior one and smart beyond his years. In my opinion he is going to make his way in this world. Particularly if he goes into a profession."
"He is studying for the ministry," said my father.
My mother glanced up with interest.
"Orthodox, I suppose?" said she.
"As I understand-it-yes."
"Then he can't marry, and I hope he will not come here too much."
"Why?"
"Because if I know the signs, our Lilly was interested in him the minute she saw him."
"Is that so, Marie?"
"Love at first sight if I know the indications."
"Marie, if your eyes and your instincts have not put you in error, this may be a serious matter."
"Well, we shall see. Theodor, bring your sister."
I fetched her, and on the way I told her what the occasion was, for we were loyal comrades and always posted each other when we could and when it might be useful. Mother stated her charge, and Lilly met it frankly and without embarrassment. She said she was interested in Philip Traum.
"Is he interested in you?"
"Ali, as to that, I do not know."
"What do you think?"
"I think-well, I think he is not."
"I am very, very glad to hear it, my child, and you will be glad, too, when you learn that he can never marry."
I thought poor Lilly's cheek lost a little of its color.
"Can . . . . . never marry?" she said with a sort of gasp. "Why, mother?" and her eyes lost somewhat of their sparkle.
"Because he is studying for the ministry. He is going to be a priest."
"That is a mistake, Mutterchen!" and the color came back and the eyes brightened; "he told me so himself."
"Ile did, did he? Upon my word the confidences have begun to flow early! So he is not to be a priest. I do not know whether to be glad or sorry." She looked bothered, and went on talking, with the look in her eyes of one who is thinking aloud without being conscious of it: "So beautiful,-such a gentleman-doubtless rich. . . ." Then she broke out with "I do wish we could know something about him before this thing goes any further. Did he tell you anything about himself? . . . . . but that would be worth nothing; it might be all lies, of course."
"Ah, no-no, mother, you wrong him, indeed you do. He is not capable of telling a lie."
It took me so unprepared that the laugh was half out before I could stop it; but I turned it into a strangle, and no one knew it was anything but that.
"Oh, of course you would think he couldn't tell a lie, but that is no proof. What did he say about himself? Anything? Where does he live when he is at home?"
"His country seat-"
"He has a country seat . . . . . um . . . . . well, that is something, anyway. And I must say that his clothes and his style are a sort of-of-"
"Corroborative evidence," suggested my father, helping her out.
"Yes. Where is his country seat?"
"In Austria or Germany, I think, but he didn't say."
"What is the name of it?"
"Himmelreich."
"The Kingdom of Heaven! What a modest name."
"Blasphemous, you would better say," said my father, with censure in his voice.
Mother went on questioning, and getting answers, and growing gradually reconciled to the perplexing situation and fortifying herself to entertain the idea of taking Satan into the family in the quality of son-in-law if the worst should come to the worst, so to speak; and finally she said-
"Well, there's one comfort: he is but a child, yet, and so are you; and we shall know all about him long before either of you is old enough to marry. I hope his character is good, and his morals; he seems to have a fair enough nature."
"Oh, a beautiful nature, mother."
"Of course you think so, but that is nothing to the point."
"He is ever so kind-hearted, mother, and admires rattlesnakes."
Mother came near fainting.
"Admires rattlesnakes! Is he insane?"
"No. But he has read all about them, and admires their noble character."
"Their noble character-the most infamous beast that crawls! What rubbish is this you are talking?"
"But mother, it is not so unreasonable when he explains it. He says this, to the credit of the rattlesnake: that he never takes advantage of any one, and has none of the instincts of an assassin; that he never strikes without first giving warning, and then does not strike if the enemy will keep his distance and not attack him. Isn't that true of the rattlesnake, papa?"
"Well-yes, it is. I had not thought of it before. The truth is, it is better morals than some men have."
"I am so glad you think so, papa; it is what he says."
"Oh, if he says it, that settles it," said my mother, not well pleased to be caught in the minority. Then I could see she wanted a change of subject, and had her eye out for a pretext. She seemed to find it, and said, "There, you'd better run along and get at your embroidery; if you haven't finished it in thirty days-"
"It happens that it's already finished!" cried Lilly, without trying to conceal how vain she was about it.
"Finished? When?"
"Day before yesterday."
"The idea! Very well, you can pull it all out and do it over again. And next time, do it right."
"It is done right-I'll bring it and you can see for yourself," and she ran and brought it.
It was a little picture, wrought in threads of silk and gold and silver. My mother was astonished, and said-
"Dear me, it is finer than the original-much finer. It is easily forty days' work. How is i
t that it took you ten days to merely start it, and only one day to complete it? And certainly the workmanship is beyond praise for grace and beauty and perfection. Dear, dear, the exquisite delicacy of it! It's just a dream!"
"It didn't take a day, it took only twenty minutes. He did it."
My mother was astonished again, and asked dozens of questions, and got all the particulars, and grew more and more astonished all the time. Then she examined the work in this and that and the other light, hanging it on the wall, on a chair, spreading it on the table, her eyes speaking her wondering and worshiping delight in it, and her lips muttering all the time, "Marvelous creature, amazing creature," and Lilly stood drinking it all in, happy and proud as a person could be.
"Well," said mother at last, "it strikes a body dumb, I must say. He is a most singular creature, take him how you will. Embroiders like an angel, and admires rattlesnakes; a most unaccountable mixture in the matter of tastes. With his gifts he will get along. He doesn't need any better profession than this, and I hope he will stick to it, and make a name for himself. That is his intention, isn't it?"
"No," said my sister, "he looks higher."
"Higher? What is he going to be?"
"An author."
"Author of what?"
"When he has finished his education at Heidelberg, he is going to write the history of the Roman jurisprudence and codify the Roman laws."
"That kitten?"
"He is not a kitten, mamma, and it isn't right for you to call him such names."
"Child, then-I'm not particular. But the bare idea of it-eight weeks old, so to speak, and already planning a flight like that; it does seem to me to smack of self-conceit. But no matter, it's no affair of mine, but I know one thing: if he were my child I would see to it that he stuck to his embroidery, that I would. There's the makings of a man in him if he had the right kind of a mother. Poor thing, it is a shame that he has been allowed to grow up in this helter-skelter fashion. His mother was a Pole, probably; I never did think much of those Poles."
She had probably never had an opinion about the Poles before, but she was in the humor to hit somebody a thump and the Poles happened to turn up in her head just in time to be useful.
There was one very noticeable thing: in all this conversation the name of young Joseph Fuchs the brewer's son and heir was not mentioned once. It was another instance of the fact that wherever Satan came people dropped other interests out of their minds for the time and they could not seem to think of anything but him. It was the same now. Apparently no one had thought of Joseph Fuchs, not even my father; yet my father was a steady-going practical man, and a judge. This was strange, for Joseph was the best catch in the region, and was courting my sister, apparently with her approval, and certainly with the approval of papa and mamma. And yet all of a sudden comes this revolution, and my mother is dazzled, and turned topsy-turvy, and sets herself to contemplating Satan as a possible son-in-law, just as if there was no impropriety about it and nothing in the way; and if papa was surprised at it or dissatisfied, he gave no sign of it. It was Satan's influence; it had put the family under an enchantment. Not purposely, of course; for these people belonged to the human race and it would not have occurred to him to interest himself in their small affairs-unasked-one way or the other; either to help them or to hurt them. The villagers, high and low, were all bugs to him, and by his nature he seemed unable to take a bug seriously.
Joseph Fuchs was twenty-one and a good enough young fellow. Ile wouldn't ever be likely to set the river on fire, but that was nothing-there was plenty of company of this calibre, he was with the majority. He took an innocent pleasure in his clothes and in his father's riches, but that was natural enough in one whose people had been poor no long time back; and he was likely to take a seat which commanded a mirror if it came handy, but nobody minded it, since it did him good and harmed no one. These were the outside tinselings of his character, but there was gold back of them; he was honest and clean and true, and had warm affections and deep feelings.
Just as mamma had finished her slat at the Poles, Joseph came in. The effect was curious; the family looked a trifle startled; much as if he was a half-remembered disappearance come back out of the long ago. It took them half a moment or two to wake up and pull themselves together; then they set him a chair where he could face the mirror, and gave him welcome and asked after his people, and so worked off the restraint that was in the atmosphere and got things going in a more or less natural and comfortable fashion. Joseph had not noticed anything; it was not to be expected that he would. He did not even seem to notice that Lilly's welcome did not come from her eyes, according to custom, but only from her mouth; but I noticed it. I was sorry, too; for this was a man, and could meet her on her own human level, and make her brief breath of life happy, and share with her the peace and oblivion of the grave afterward; whereas in her innocence and ignorance she was fixing her heart of flesh upon a spirit, a wanderer of the skies, an object as unattainable as a comet and not more competent to meet the requirements of a this-world fellowship.
Being asked for the news, Joseph said-
"Oh, there isn't any, of course, except the new stranger. It's all Philip Traum here, Philip Traum there, Philip Traum yondernothing but Philip Traum; but I suppose that that is no news to you-of course it isn't. Father is infatuated with him; so is everybody-in fact I don't mind saying I include myself. Well, you know, he is a wonderful creature; now there's no getting around that." His voice took on a grave tone, and he added, "That youth is doing things which can get him into trouble-can, I say, though I hope they won't."
Lilly paled a little, and asked-
"What kind of things?"
"Well, things which the people can't understand; strange things which set them to shaking their heads and talking under their breath. This morning he jumped off the bridge and saved old Haas from drowning; did it without an effort, they say, fat and monstrous as old Haas is."
"It was a brave fine act," said Lilly; "surely there was nothing about that for people to criticise and shake their heads over."
"Well, you see, that wasn't the worst of it-I mean, that wasn't all of it. They might have overlooked the miracle of strength displayed, but they say the water didn't wet his clothes. They couldn't account for that."
"Do you believe the water didn't wet his clothes, Joseph?"
'Well, you know, they say it didn't. They believed it, I am quite sure of it; and the police must have believed it, too, for when they heard of it they arrested him."
"What a shame! and he had been doing such a brave thing. Papa, you will order them to set him free-you can't refuse."
"Don't you worry," said Joseph, "he's already free."
"How is that?"
"He wouldn't go with them."
"Did they try to make him?" my father asked.
"Yes, but he only made fun of them. They tried to carry him off by force, but they hadn't the strength; they couldn't budge him from where he stood. Then they were afraid; for he said that if they tried it again he would throw them in the river. Now you know that for some reason or other they were afraid, for if they hadn't been they would have summoned more help, that being the usual course; but this they did not do. They only crossed themselves and looked foolish. Then they asked him to come to headquarters and fill up the usual form which requires a stranger to give his address, name, age, religion, occupation, whence he is from, how long he proposes to stay, and all that; and he wouldn't do it, and laughed at them again, and walked off about his business, no one interfering. He doesn't seem to be afraid of anybody or any thing. Oh, yes, everybody is talking! Among other things, about his chess and his music-have you heard of that?"
"No."
"Well, then, it's because it only came out yesterday evening, I suppose; but it is started, now, and you'll hear plenty about it soon. It happened four or five days ago, and yesterday evening Wilhelm Meidling lost his temper and told about it. The way of it was this."
&n
bsp; Then Joseph told all about the four chess games and that wonderful music.
"Do you see?" he continued, "it's all as astounding as Father Adolf's bowl and bottle, and his jugglery and gymnastics in the market square. Very well. Put this and that together, and what do you arrive at? This: we all know Father Adolf is possessed of a devil; that being the case, what is the matter with Philip Traum?"
It was a hard hit and sudden. It made them all jump. But Joseph didn't see it; he went tinkling right along:
"Well, now, that's my news; what's yours? You know Philip the Magician, as I call him; have you been favored yet? has he been exhibiting here?"
It was another hit. It made them look unwell. Mother glanced at Lilly, and she slid the embroidery out of sight. Joseph was having a very successful time with his random gun, but he didn't know it.
Mother replied, a little stiffly, that Mr. Traum had not been exhibiting here. The others said nothing, and Joseph laughed pleasantly and remarked-
"A pity, too, for I suppose they'll burn him, soon, and then you'll naturally be sorry you haven't a sample to remember him by."
"Don't talk so!" said Lilly. "Such things are not matter for jesting."
"Well, then, I won't. But seriously, you know, people are talking, and he ought to be careful. That is what I tell him, and it's what father tells him; but he is so young and volatile and carefree that it hasn't any effect; he only laughs at it. Another thing: he has gone and made an enemy of the very man who could be most useful to him some day if he should get into trouble, and that man is Wilhelm Meidling, a good lawyer and a rising one."
"How has that happened?"
"I don't know; but anyway it's so. Meidling let it out yesterday evening. Meidling is drinking again-I suppose you know that?"
Mother said she had heard something of the sort.
"Well, it's true. He drops in at the Golden Stag pretty often just here lately."
"Ah, poor Marget!" said Lilly; "she has troubles enough, she might have been spared this one. She takes it hard-of course?"
"I suppose so, but one can't know-no one goes there."
That hit Lilly, right in the heart-I could see it. She got up, saying-
