Read Online The Mysterious Stranger Manuscripts (Literature) by Mark Twain - Free Book Online Page B

cursing and swearing at each other; now came blows and blood, then
they locked themselves together in a life-and-death struggle. Satan
reached out his hand and crushed the life out of them with his
fingers, threw them away, wiped the red from his fingers on his
handkerchief and went on talking where he had left off: "We
cannot do wrong; neither have we any disposition to do it, for we do
not know what it is."

    It seemed a strange speech, in the circumstances, but we barely
noticed that, we were so shocked and grieved at the wanton murder
he had committed-for murder it was, it was its true name, and it
was without palliation or excuse, for the men had not wronged him
in any way. It made us miserable; for we loved him, and had
thought him so noble and beautiful and gracious, and had honestly
believed he was an angel; and to have him do this cruel thing-ah,
it lowered him so, and we had had such pride in him. He went
right on talking, just as if nothing had happened: telling about his
travels, and the interesting things he had seen in the big worlds of
our solar system and of other solar systems far away in the remotenesses of space, and about the customs of the immortals that inhabit
them, somehow fascinating us, enchanting us, charming us in spite
of the pitiful scene that was now under our eyes: for the wives of
the little dead men had found the crushed and shapeless bodies and
were crying over them and sobbing and lamenting, and a priest was
kneeling there with his hands crossed upon his breast praying, and
crowds and crowds of pitying friends were massed about them,
reverently uncovered, with their bare heads bowed, and many with the tears running down-a scene which Satan paid no attention to
until the small noise of the weeping and praying began to annoy
him, then he reached out and took the heavy board seat out of our
swing and brought it down and mashed all those people into the
earth just as if they had been flies, and went on talking just the
same.

    An angel, and kill a priest! an angel who did not know how to do
wrong, and yet destroys in cold blood a hundred helpless poor men
and women who had never done him any harm! It made us sick to
see that awful deed, and to think that none of those poor creatures
was prepared except the priest, for none of them had ever heard a
mass or seen a church. And we were witnesses; we could not get
away from that thought; we had seen these murders done and it
was our duty to tell, and let the law take its course.
    But he went talking right along, and worked his enchantments
upon us again with that fatal music of his voice. He made us forget
everything; we could only listen to him, and love him and be his
slaves, to do with as he would. He made us drunk with the joy of
being with him, and of looking into the heaven of his eyes, and
of feeling the ecstasy that thrilled along our veins from the touch of
his hand.
    Ile had seen everything, he had been everywhere, he knew
everything, and he forgot nothing. What another must study, he
learned at a glance; there were no difficulties for him. And he made
things live before you when he told about them. He saw the world
made; he saw Adam created; he saw Samson surge against the
pillars and bring the temple down in ruins about him; he saw
Caesar's death; he told of the daily life in heaven, he had seen the
damned writhing in the red waves of hell; and he made us see all
these things, and it was as if we were on the spot and looking at
them with our own eyes. And we felt them, too, but there was no
sign that they were anything to him, beyond being mere entertainments. Those visions of hell, those poor babes and women and girls
and lads and men shrieking and supplicating in anguish-why, we
could hardly bear it, but he was as bland about it as if it had been so
many imitation rats in an artificial fire.
    And always when he was talking about men and women here in the earth and their doings-even