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

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.”