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 hand 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 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.”