“But the priest will burn the tree. I
know it; he will not allow it to remain.”
“Yes, and anywhere in Europe he would burn the
man, too. But in India the people are civilized,
and these things will not happen. The man will
drive the priest away and take care of the tree.”
I reflected a little, then said, “Satan, you
have given him a hard life, I think.”
“Comparatively. It must not be mistaken
for a holiday.”
We flitted from place to place around the world as
we had done before, Satan showing me a hundred wonders,
most of them reflecting in some way the weakness and
triviality of our race. He did this now every
few days —not out of malice—I
am sure of that—it only seemed to amuse
and interest him, just as a naturalist might be amused
and interested by a collection of ants.
For as much as a year Satan continued these visits,
but at last he came less often, and then for a long
time he did not come at all. This always made
me lonely and melancholy. I felt that he was
losing interest in our tiny world and might at any
time abandon his visits entirely. When one day
he finally came to me I was overjoyed, but only for
a little while. He had come to say good-by, he
told me, and for the last time. He had investigations
and undertakings in other corners of the universe,
he said, that would keep him busy for a longer period
than I could wait for his return.
“And you are going away, and will not come back
any more?”
“Yes,” he said. “We have comraded
long together, and it has been pleasant—pleasant
for both; but I must go now, and we shall not see each
other any more.”
“In this life, Satan, but in another?
We shall meet in another, surely?”
Then, all tranquilly and soberly, he made the strange
answer, “There is no other.”
A subtle influence blew upon my spirit from his, bringing
with it a vague, dim, but blessed and hopeful feeling
that the incredible words might be true—even
must be true.
“Have you never suspected this, Theodor?”
“No. How could I? But if it can
only be true—”
“It is true.”
A gust of thankfulness rose in my breast, but a doubt
checked it before it could issue in words, and I said,
“But—but—we have seen that
future life—seen it in its actuality, and
so—”
“It was a vision—it had no existence.”
I could hardly breathe for the great hope that was
struggling in me. “A vision?—a
vi—”
“Life itself is only a vision, a dream.”
It was electrical. By God! I had had that
very thought a thousand times in my musings!
“Nothing exists; all is a dream. God—man—the
world—the sun, the moon, the wilderness
of stars—a dream, all a dream; they have
no existence. Nothing exists save empty space—and
you!”
“I!”
