The talk flowed pleasantly along, and things were soon in a satisfactory condition again. By and by Marget said –

»Surely, with your knowledge of music, you must be able to play. You do play, don't you?«

»Oh, certainly,« said Satan, »I am a good player.«

It was strange, the way he could say such things as that, and not exasperate people. It didn't seem conceited, in him, any more than it would seem conceited in a fish to say »Yes, I am a good swimmer.«

»Then do play something. The spinet is old and jingly-jangly and a little out of tune, but you won't mind that, will you.«

»Oh, no, I can make it musical. Let me see – what shall I play? I will play the poem – we will chase the bandits and rescue the captive girl.«

»Oh, that will be lovely! But can you make it up as you go along?«

»Yes, that is easy.«

I was in raptures to see him show off so. It was a great long poem, and just the thing. He sat down, and his fingers began to glide up and down the keys. It was a wonder to look at those two people sitting there, their lips parted and their breath hardly coming, the picture of astonishment. For this was no music such as they had ever heard before. It was not one instrument talking, it was a whole vague, dreamy, far-off orchestra – flutes, and violins, and silver horns, and drums, and cymbals, and all manner of other instruments, blending their soft tones in one rich stream of harmony. And it was mournful and touching; for this was the lover realising his loss. Then Satan began to chant the words of that poor fellow's lament – gentle and low; and the water rose in those two people's eyes, for they had heard no voice like that before, nor had any one heard the like of it except in heaven, where it came from. Little by little the music and the singing rose louder out of the distance – the lover was coming, he was on his way. And ever the singing and the music grew; and the storm began to gather and move toward us, with the wind sighing, the thunder muttering and the lightning playing; and on it came, just as if you could see it, and see the lover's horse racing and straining down in the pursuing front of it; and so, with a boom and a roar and a crash it burst upon us in one final grand explosion of noble sounds, and then the battle began, the victory was won, the storm passed, the morning came, and the lover lay dying in the maiden's arms, with her tears falling upon his face and the precious music of her endearments fading upon his ear.

It was finished, and we sat drowned in that ecstasy, and numb and dumb and only half conscious. When we came out of it Satan was gone. All sat thinking – going over the details of that marvelous picture painted in music, and trying to fix them in the memory for a perpetual possession. Finally Marget rose up, half dazed, and went to the spinet and stood looking at it. She struck a chord. Of course she got only the old effeminate tinkle-tankle the thing was born with. She turned away with a sigh.

»Ah, how did he do it?« she said.

»And how did he remember that long poem and never miss a word?« said Wilhelm. »I think he is the Devil.«

»Or an angel,« said Marget. »Tell me about him, Theodor; tell me all you know.«

But I got away; saying I should be punished if I was not home to supper.

 

 

Chapter 5

Next day everybody was talking – but under their breath. They were talking sharply critical talk about the witch-commission. »Why haven't the commission summoned Father Adolf for examination? if it were some friendless old woman who had done those Satanic miracles with the bowl, the bottle and the brazen balls, would they be so lax?« That is what the public said – in a whisper. Always confidentially; adding, »Please don't quote me – don't say I said anything.« You see they were prompt to blame the committee for being afraid of Father Adolf, yet at the same time they forgot to despise their own cowardice in not holding up the committee's hands and encouraging them to their duty. And they forgot that in despising the committee for being so brave when friendless old women were concerned, they were only despising themselves, for that was their own daring attitude toward friendless old women. Satan would have had a laugh at all this if he had been about. He would have said »It is like the human race; they have a fine large opinion of themselves, with nothing to found it on.«

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.