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Mark Twain > The Mysterious Stranger > Chapter 9

The Mysterious Stranger

Chapter 9

It was wonderful, the mastery Satan had over time and distance. For him
they did not exist. He called them human inventions, and said they were
artificialities. We often went to the most distant parts of the globe
with him, and stayed weeks and months, and yet were gone only a fraction
of a second, as a rule. You could prove it by the clock. One day when
our people were in such awful distress because the witch commission were
afraid to proceed against the astrologer and Father Peter's household, or
against any, indeed, but the poor and the friendless, they lost patience
and took to witch-hunting on their own score, and began to chase a born
lady who was known to have the habit of curing people by devilish arts,
such as bathing them, washing them, and nourishing them instead of
bleeding them and purging them through the ministrations of a barber-
surgeon in the proper way. She came flying down, with the howling and
cursing mob after her, and tried to take refuge in houses, but the doors
were shut in her face. They chased her more than half an hour, we
following to see it, and at last she was exhausted and fell, and they
caught her. They dragged her to a tree and threw a rope over the limb,
and began to make a noose in it, some holding her, meantime, and she
crying and begging, and her young daughter looking on and weeping, but
afraid to say or do anything.

They hanged the lady, and I threw a stone at her, although in my heart I
was sorry for her; but all were throwing stones and each was watching his
neighbor, and if I had not done as the others did it would have been
noticed and spoken of. Satan burst out laughing.

All that were near by turned upon him, astonished and not pleased. It
was an ill time to laugh, for his free and scoffing ways and his
supernatural music had brought him under suspicion all over the town and
turned many privately against him. The big blacksmith called attention
to him now, raising his voice so that all should hear, and said:

"What are you laughing at? Answer! Moreover, please explain to the
company why you threw no stone."

"Are you sure I did not throw a stone?"

"Yes. You needn't try to get out of it; I had my eye on you."

"And I--I noticed you!" shouted two others.

"Three witnesses," said Satan: "Mueller, the blacksmith; Klein, the
butcher's man; Pfeiffer, the weaver's journeyman. Three very ordinary
liars. Are there any more?"

"Never mind whether there are others or not, and never mind about what
you consider us--three's enough to settle your matter for you. You'll
prove that you threw a stone, or it shall go hard with you."

"That's so!" shouted the crowd, and surged up as closely as they could to
the center of interest.

"And first you will answer that other question," cried the blacksmith,
pleased with himself for being mouthpiece to the public and hero of the
occasion. "What are you laughing at?"

Satan smiled and answered, pleasantly: "To see three cowards stoning a
dying lady when they were so near death themselves."

You could see the superstitious crowd shrink and catch their breath,
under the sudden shock. The blacksmith, with a show of bravado, said:

"Pooh! What do you know about it?"

"I? Everything. By profession I am a fortune-teller, and I read the
hands of you three--and some others--when you lifted them to stone the
woman. One of you will die to-morrow week; another of you will die to-
night; the third has but five minutes to live--and yonder is the clock!"

It made a sensation. The faces of the crowd blanched, and turned
mechanically toward the clock. The butcher and the weaver seemed smitten
with an illness, but the blacksmith braced up and said, with spirit:

"It is not long to wait for prediction number one. If it fails, young
master, you will not live a whole minute after, I promise you that."

No one said anything; all watched the clock in a deep stillness which was
impressive. When four and a half minutes were gone the blacksmith gave a
sudden gasp and clapped his hands upon his heart, saying, "Give me
breath! Give me room!" and began to sink down. The crowd surged back,
no one offering to support him, and he fell lumbering to the ground and
was dead. The people stared at him, then at Satan, then at one another;
and their lips moved, but no words came. Then Satan said:

"Three saw that I threw no stone. Perhaps there are others; let them

It struck a kind of panic into them, and, although no one answered him,
many began to violently accuse one another, saying, "You said he didn't
throw," and getting for reply, "It is a lie, and I will make you eat it!"
And so in a moment they were in a raging and noisy turmoil, and beating
and banging one another; and in the midst was the only indifferent one--
the dead lady hanging from her rope, her troubles forgotten, her spirit
at peace.

So we walked away, and I was not at ease, but was saying to myself, "He
told them he was laughing at them, but it was a lie--he was laughing at

That made him laugh again, and he said, "Yes, I was laughing at you,
because, in fear of what others might report about you, you stoned the
woman when your heart revolted at the act--but I was laughing at the
others, too."


"Because their case was yours."

"How is that?"

"Well, there were sixty-eight people there, and sixty-two of them had no
more desire to throw a stone than you had."


"Oh, it's true. I know your race. It is made up of sheep. It is
governed by minorities, seldom or never by majorities. It suppresses its
feelings and its beliefs and follows the handful that makes the most
noise. Sometimes the noisy handful is right, sometimes wrong; but no
matter, the crowd follows it. The vast majority of the race, whether
savage or civilized, are secretly kind-hearted and shrink from inflicting
pain, but in the presence of the aggressive and pitiless minority they
don't dare to assert themselves. Think of it! One kind-hearted creature
spies upon another, and sees to it that he loyally helps in iniquities
which revolt both of them. Speaking as an expert, I know that ninety-
nine out of a hundred of your race were strongly against the killing of
witches when that foolishness was first agitated by a handful of pious
lunatics in the long ago. And I know that even to-day, after ages of
transmitted prejudice and silly teaching, only one person in twenty puts
any real heart into the harrying of a witch. And yet apparently
everybody hates witches and wants them killed. Some day a handful will
rise up on the other side and make the most noise--perhaps even a single
daring man with a big voice and a determined front will do it--and in a
week all the sheep will wheel and follow him, and witch-hunting will come
to a sudden end.

"Monarchies, aristocracies, and religions are all based upon that large
defect in your race--the individual's distrust of his neighbor, and his
desire, for safety's or comfort's sake, to stand well in his neighbor's
eye. These institutions will always remain, and always flourish, and
always oppress you, affront you, and degrade you, because you will always
be and remain slaves of minorities. There was never a country where the
majority of the people were in their secret hearts loyal to any of these

I did not like to hear our race called sheep, and said I did not think
they were.

"Still, it is true, lamb," said Satan. "Look at you in war--what mutton
you are, and how ridiculous!"

"In war? How?"

"There has never been a just one, never an honorable one--on the part of
the instigator of the war. I can see a million years ahead, and this
rule will never change in so many as half a dozen instances. The loud
little handful--as usual--will shout for the war. The pulpit will--
warily and cautiously--object--at first; the great, big, dull bulk of the
nation will rub its sleepy eyes and try to make out why there should be a
war, and will say, earnestly and indignantly, "It is unjust and
dishonorable, and there is no necessity for it." Then the handful will
shout louder. A few fair men on the other side will argue and reason
against the war with speech and pen, and at first will have a hearing and
be applauded; but it will not last long; those others will outshout them,
and presently the anti-war audiences will thin out and lose popularity.
Before long you will see this curious thing: the speakers stoned from the
platform, and free speech strangled by hordes of furious men who in their
secret hearts are still at one with those stoned speakers--as earlier--
but do not dare to say so. And now the whole nation--pulpit and all--
will take up the war-cry, and shout itself hoarse, and mob any honest man
who ventures to open his mouth; and presently such mouths will cease to
open. Next the statesmen will invent cheap lies, putting the blame upon
the nation that is attacked, and every man will be glad of those
conscience-soothing falsities, and will diligently study them, and refuse
to examine any refutations of them; and thus he will by and by convince
himself that the war is just, and will thank God for the better sleep he
enjoys after this process of grotesque self-deception."

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