“And, forasmuch as on this same night the wealthy burgess Pranzo, who, having prepared a banquet, was standing in his doorway awaiting the arrival of his guests, did see, by the light of the said Cethru’s lanthorn, a beggar woman and her children grovelling in the gutter for garbage, whereby his appetite was lost completely; and, forasmuch as he, Pranzo, has lodged a complaint against the Constitution for permitting women and children to go starved, the Watch do hereby indict, accuse, and otherwise make charge on Cethru of rebellion and of anarchy, in that wilfully he doth disturb good citizens by showing to them without provocation disagreeable sights, and doth moreover endanger the laws by causing persons to desire to change them.

“These be the charges, reverend Judges, so please you!”

And having thus spoken, the little advocate resumed his seat.

Then said the oldest of the Judges: 

“Cethru, you have heard; what answer do you make?”

But no word, only the chattering of teeth, came from Cethru.

“Have you no defence?” said the Judge:  “these are grave accusations!”

Then Cethru spoke: 

“So please your Highnesses,” he said, “can I help what my lanthorn sees?”

And having spoken these words, to all further questions he remained more silent than a headless man.

The Judges took counsel of each other, and the oldest of them thus addressed himself to Cethru: 

“If you have no defence, old man, and there is no one will say a word for you, we can but proceed to judgment.”

Then in the main aisle of the Court there rose a youthful advocate.

“Most reverend Judges,” he said in a mellifluous voice, clearer than the fluting of a bell-bird, “it is useless to look for words from this old man, for it is manifest that he himself is nothing, and that his lanthorn is alone concerned in this affair.  But, reverend Judges, bethink you well:  Would you have a lanthorn ply a trade or be concerned with a profession, or do aught indeed but pervade the streets at night, shedding its light, which, if you will, is vagabondage?  And, Sirs, upon the second count of this indictment:  Would you have a lanthorn dive into cesspools to rescue maidens?  Would you have a lanthorn to beat footpads?  Or, indeed, to be any sort of partisan either of the Law or of them that break the Law?  Sure, Sirs, I think not.  And as to this third charge of fostering anarchy let me but describe the trick of this lanthorn’s flame.  It is distilled, most reverend Judges, of oil and wick, together with that sweet secret heat of whose birth no words of mine can tell.  And when, Sirs, this pale flame has sprung into the air swaying to every wind, it brings vision to the human eye.  And, if it be charged on this old man Cethru that he and his lanthorn by reason of their showing not only the good but the evil bring no pleasure into the world, I ask, Sirs, what in the world is so dear