Austria -- Fiction; Devil -- Fiction; Middle Ages -- Fiction
Any one would have been obliged to like it. It was lovely to look
at, it was so shapely and fine, and so cunningly perfect in all
its particulars, even to the little flags waving from the turrets.
Satan said we must put the artillery in place now, and station the
halberdiers and display the cavalry. Our men and horses were a
spectacle to see, they were so little like what they were intended
for; for, of course, we had no art in making such things. Satan said
they were the worst he had seen; and when he touched them and made
them alive, it was just ridiculous the way they acted, on account of
their legs not being of uniform lengths. They reeled and sprawled
around as if they were drunk, and endangered everybody’s lives around
them, and finally fell over and lay helpless and kicking. It made us
all laugh, though it was a shameful thing to see. The guns were charged
with dirt, to fire a salute, but they were so crooked and so badly
made that they all burst when they went off, and killed some of the
gunners and crippled the others. Satan said we would have a storm now,
and an earthquake, if we liked, but we must stand off a piece, out of
danger. We wanted to call the people away, too, but he said never mind
them; they were of no consequence, and we could make more, some time or
other, if we needed them.
A small storm-cloud began to settle down black over the castle, and
the miniature lightning and thunder began to play, and the ground to
quiver, and the wind to pipe and wheeze, and the rain to fall, and all
the people flocked into the castle for shelter. The cloud settled down
blacker and blacker, and one could see the castle only dimly through
it; the lightning blazed out flash upon flash and pierced the castle
and set it on fire, and the flames shone out red and fierce through the
cloud, and the people came flying out, shrieking, but Satan brushed
them back, paying no attention to our begging and crying and imploring;
and in the midst of the howling of the wind and volleying of the
thunder the magazine blew up, the earthquake rent the ground wide, and
the castle’s wreck and ruin tumbled into the chasm, which swallowed it
from sight and closed upon it, with all that innocent life, not one of
the five hundred poor creatures escaping. Our hearts were broken; we
could not keep from crying.
“Don’t cry,” Satan said; “they were of no value.”
“But they are gone to hell!”
“Oh, it is no matter; we can make plenty more.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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