CHAPTER IX
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 speak."
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 me."
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."
"Why?"
"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."
"Satan!"
"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 institutions."
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 here 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 willsee 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."
-- Mark Twain, Chapter 9 of The Mysterious Stranger, originally published 1916.
