A mysterious stranger
| A mysterious stranger |
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| The Mysterious Stranger | |
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Cover of the first edition of 1916 |
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Harper & Brothers |
"A mysterious stranger"(English) "The Mysterious Stranger" listen)) - a late unfinished story by Mark Twain, first published in 1916, after the author's death, by his secretary and curator literary heritage Albert Biglo Payne.
Story
The text that Paine published was initially considered canonical. However, after his death, the new curator Bernard De Voto, who took this post in 1938, published three more versions of the story. Each of these manuscripts was unfinished, like Paine's published work. Each manuscript had its own author's title, and their chronology is as follows: "The Chronicle of Satan Jr.", "School Hill" ("Schoolhouse Hill"), "44, Mysterious Stranger".
School Hill was originally conceived by Twain as a continuation of the adventures of Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn. Here the action takes place in hometown by Hannibal, Missouri in the USA. This manuscript is considered a test of the pen, an approach to more thoughtful and meaningful stories. The other two books are set in the city of Eseldorf in medieval Austria. These manuscripts are called “Eseldorf” manuscripts.
Bernard DeVoto approved of Payne's editorial choice, which, as time later showed, was erroneous and unlawful. In 1969, the University of California released a complete scientific publication all three editions of the story and accompanying materials. It is this scientific publication that allows us to judge Payne’s actions. The first literary custodian of Twain's legacy chose for publication the first Eseldorf manuscript, which has an independent artistic value. And this action, according to literary scholars, is correct, but then miracles began to happen to the story. The last chapter of the published book was taken from a separate six-page manuscript, which had the author's mark “Conclusion of the book,” but was written by him for the second Eseldorf version. Also, the story was not published under its own title: it was taken from a later version - “The Mysterious Stranger”.
Payne personally removed from the unfinished manuscript several episodes that were not continued in the main outline of the story and weakened the anti-clerical motifs that ran like a red thread through late creativity writer. Payne replaced actor books - Father Adolf, a scoundrel priest, on a certain astrologer, also taken from the second Eseldorf manuscript. Thus, all the bad actions of the priest and the church were presented as the actions of a dark and superstitious charlatan. Several completed episodes were also removed to soften the anti-religious nature of the book. Mark Twain in his work always relied on the tastes of his wife, a pious and God-fearing woman who acted as the main critic of his books. For this reason, in his early and even mature books, such topics were avoided and were invisible. However, after the death of her and three of her four children, Twain stopped paying attention to the opinions of society and the crowd. Most of his books became acutely social and anti-church.
Until now, many researchers of Twain’s legacy cannot agree on which publication of “The Mysterious Stranger” is considered canonical, but everyone unanimously agrees that this work is the pearl of the writer’s work.
Plot
English speaking: Tom Sawyer Knight of Camelot Yankees at King Arthur's Court Tom and Huck The Prince and the Pauper (1915) Huckleberry Finn (1931) The Prince and the Pauper (1937) The Prince and the Pauper (1977) The Adventures of Huck Finn (1993) The Prince and the Pauper (2002) The Prince and the Pauper (cartoon)Categories:
- Books in alphabetical order
- Mark Twain
- Fantasy novels
- Novels by Mark Twain
- Unfinished works of fiction
- Posthumous works of fiction
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See what “Mysterious stranger” is in other dictionaries:
This term has other meanings, see Mysterious Island. Mysterious island L Île mystérieuse ... Wikipedia
A mysterious stranger
It was the winter of 1590. Austria was cut off from the whole world and immersed in sleep. The Middle Ages reigned in Austria - it seemed there would be no end to it. Others even believed, neglecting to count the current time, that, judging by the state of mental and religious life in our country, it has not yet emerged from the Age of Faith. This was said in praise, not in reproach, it was accepted by everyone and even served as an object of vanity. I remember these words very well, even though I was little, and I remember that they gave me pleasure.
Yes, Austria was cut off from the whole world and immersed in sleep, and our village slept the deepest of all, because it was in the very center of Austria. She rested peacefully in deep solitude, among the hills and forests. News from the outside world did not reach her, did not disturb her dreams, and she was happy. A river flowed directly in front of the village, its sluggish waters adorned with reflected clouds and the shadows of barges laden with stone. Beyond the village, wooded cliffs led to the foot of a high cliff. From the cliff, frowning, looked down a huge castle, the walls and tower of which were entwined with wild grapes. Beyond the river, about five miles to the left of the village, stretched densely forested hills, dissected by winding ravines, where no ray of sunshine could reach. To the right, where the cliff rose high above the river, between it and the hills of which I am speaking, lay a vast plain, dotted with peasant houses, hiding in the shade of spreading trees and orchards.
This entire region for many miles around has from time immemorial belonged to the sovereign prince. The prince's servants maintained exemplary order in the castle, but neither the prince nor his family came to us more often than once every five years. When they arrived, it seemed as if God himself had arrived in the blaze of his glory. When they left us, there was a silence similar to deep sleep after a riotous celebration.
For us boys, our Ezeldorf was paradise. We were not burdened with studying. We were taught, first of all, to be good Christians, to honor the Virgin Mary, the church and the holy martyrs. This is the main thing. Knowing the rest was considered unnecessary and not even very desirable. Science is completely useless ordinary people: it gives rise to dissatisfaction with their fate; Their fate is prepared by the Lord God, and God does not love the one who grumbles.
There were two priests in our village. The first, Father Adolf, was a zealous and diligent clergyman, and everyone respected him.
Perhaps there are better priests than our father Adolf, but the community did not remember anyone who would inspire such respect and fear in his parishioners. The point was that he was not afraid of the devil. I know of no other Christian of whom I could say this with such firm confidence. For this reason, everyone was afraid of Father Adolf. Each of us understood that a mere mortal would not dare to behave so courageously and self-confidently. No one praises the devil, everyone condemns him, but they do it without insolence, with a degree of respect. As for Father Adolf, he honored the devil with all the words that came across his tongue, so that the involuntary listener was seized with trepidation. It happened that he spoke mockingly and with contempt about the devil, and then people crossed themselves and hurried away, fearing that something bad would happen to them.
If we say everything, Father Adolf more than once met the devil in person and entered into a duel with him. Father Adolf himself talked about this and did not make a secret of it. And he was telling the truth: at least one of his encounters with the devil was supported by physical evidence. In the heat of a heated quarrel, he once fearlessly threw a bottle at his opponent, and in the very place where it broke, a crimson stain remained on the wall of his office.
Our other priest was Father Peter, and we all loved and pitied him very much. There was a rumor about Peter's father that he told someone that God was kind and merciful and would someday take pity on his children. Such speeches are, of course, terrible, but there was no solid evidence that he said such a thing. And it was unlike Peter’s father, such a kind, meek and undeceitful person. True, no one claimed that he said this from the pulpit to the parishioners; then each of them would hear these words and could testify to them. They said that the criminal thought was expressed by him in a private conversation, but such an accusation is easy to level at anyone.
Father Peter had an enemy, a strong enemy. This was an astrologer who lived in an old, dilapidated tower that stood on the very edge of our plain, and watched the stars at night. Everyone knew that he knew how to predict war and famine, although this was not a difficult task, because war was always going on somewhere, and famine was also a frequent visitor. But he knew, in addition, by consulting his thick book, to read a person’s fate by the stars and find theft - and everyone in the village, except Father Peter, was afraid of him. Even Father Adolf, who was not afraid of the devil, greeted the astrologer with due respect as the astrologer passed through the village in a long robe embroidered with stars, in a high pointed cap, with a thick book under his arm and with a staff in which, as we all knew, was lurking Magic power. They said that the bishop himself listened to the words of the astrologer. Although the astrologer studied the stars and made predictions from them, he also liked to show his commitment to the church, and this, of course, flattered the bishop.
As for Peter's father, he did not seek the astrologer's favor. Father Peter declared publicly that the astrologer is a charlatan and a deceiver, that the astrologer not only does not possess miraculous knowledge, but, on the contrary, is more ignorant than many others; and he made an enemy for himself, who began to seek his death. We were all sure that the rumor about the terrible words of Father Peter came, of course, from the astrologer and that he reported it to the bishop. Father Peter allegedly said this to his niece Marget. In vain Marget denied the accusation and begged the bishop to believe her and not bring poverty and dishonor upon her old uncle. The bishop did not want to listen to her. Since there was only one testimony against Father Peter, the bishop did not excommunicate him from the church at all, but deprived him of his rank for an indefinite period. For two years now, Father Peter has not performed church duties, and his parishioners have all gone to Father Adolf.
These years were not easy for the old priest and Marget. Previously, everyone loved them and sought their company, but with the bishop’s disfavor everything immediately changed. Some of their former friends stopped seeing them completely, others were cold and taciturn. Marget had just turned eighteen when the accident happened. She was a lovely girl and a smart girl, the likes of which you won’t find in the whole village. She taught playing the harp, and the money she earned was enough for her to buy dresses and personal expenses. But now the students, one after another, left her; when parties and dances were held in the village, they forgot to extend the invitation to her; young people stopped going to their house - all except Wilhelm Meidling, and his visits were not of great importance. Disgraced and abandoned by everyone, the priest and his niece became sad and lost heart - the sun no longer shone through their windows. And life became more difficult. The clothes were worn out, every morning I had to think about what to buy bread with. And then the decisive day came: Solomon Isaacs, who had lent them money on the security of their house, informed Peter's father that tomorrow morning he must either repay him the debt or leave home.
The three of us have always been together, almost from the cradle. We immediately fell in love with each other, our friendship grew stronger year after year. Nikolaus Bauman was the son of the chief judge. Sepia Wohlmeyer's father was the owner of a large inn under the sign of the "Golden Deer"; the garden at the inn with old spreading trees went down to the very bank of the river, and there was a pier with pleasure boats. I, the third, Theodore Fischer, was the son of a church organist, who also conducted the village orchestra, taught the violin, composed music, served as a tax collector, served as a clerk - in a word, was an active member of the community and enjoyed universal respect.
The surrounding hills and forests were no less familiar to us than to the birds living in them. We spent every free hour in the forest, or swimming, fishing, running on the ice of a frozen river, or sledding down a hillside.
Rarely anyone was allowed to walk in the princely park, but we got there because we were friends with the oldest of the castle servants, Felix Brandt, and often in the evening we went to visit him to listen to his stories about old times and extraordinary events, and to smoke pipe - he taught us to smoke - and drink a cup of coffee. Felix Brandt fought a lot and was at the siege of Vienna. When the Turks were defeated and driven away, among the captured trophies were bags of coffee, and the captured Turks explained to him what these coffee beans were good for and taught him how to make a pleasant drink from them. Since then, Brandt always brewed coffee, drank it himself and surprised ignorant people with it. If the weather was inclement, the old man would leave us at his place for the night. Under the rumble of thunder and flashing lightning, he told his story about ghosts and all sorts of horrors, about battles, murders and cruel wounds, and in his small house it was so warm and cozy.
Twain Mark
A mysterious stranger
Translation by A. Startsev
(1) - This is how links to the notes of the corresponding page are indicated.
CHAPTER I
The month was May 1702. Austria was cut off from the whole world and immersed in sleep. The Middle Ages still reigned in Austria - it seemed there would be no end to it. Others even believed, neglecting the calculation of the current time, that, judging by the state of mental and religious life in our country, it had not yet emerged from the Age of Faith. This was said in praise, not in reproach, it was accepted by everyone and even served as an object of vanity. I remember these words very well, even though I was little, and I remember that they gave me pleasure.
Yes, Austria was cut off from the whole world and immersed in sleep, and our village slept the deepest of all, because it was in the very center of Austria. She rested peacefully in deep solitude, among the hills and forests. News from the outside world did not reach her, did not disturb her dreams, and she was happy. A river flowed directly in front of the village, its sluggish waters adorned with reflected clouds and the shadows of barges laden with stone. Beyond the village, wooded cliffs led to the foot of a high cliff. From the cliff, frowning, looked down a huge castle, the walls and towers of which were entwined with wild grapes. Beyond the river, about five miles to the left of the village, stretched densely forested hills, dissected by winding ravines, where no ray of sunshine could reach. To the right, where the cliff rose high above the river, between it and the hills of which I am speaking, lay a vast plain, dotted with peasant houses, hiding in the shade of spreading trees and orchards.
This entire region for many miles around has from time immemorial belonged to a sovereign prince with a very difficult to remember name. The prince's servants maintained exemplary order in the castle, but neither the prince nor his family came to us more often than once every five years. When they arrived, it seemed as if God himself had arrived in the blaze of his glory. When they left us, silence reigned, like deep sleep after a riotous celebration.
For us boys, our Ezeldorf was paradise. We were not burdened with studying. We were taught that first of all we must be a good Catholic, honor the Virgin Mary, the church and the holy martyrs; to adore the reigning monarch, to speak of him in a respectful whisper, to bare his head when he sees his portrait, to firmly know that he is more merciful, giving us food and peace on earth, and that we were born into this world with the sole purpose of shedding sweat and blood for him and, if necessary, give his life for him. This is the main thing. Knowing the rest was considered unnecessary and not even very desirable. The priests told us that science is of no use to ordinary people: it gives rise to dissatisfaction with their fate; Their fate is prepared by the Lord God, and God does not love the one who grumbles.
All this was true, the bishop himself told them this.
[...] Father Adolf was a zealous, zealous and loud clergyman and, moreover, tried to be in good standing with his superiors, because he aimed to become a bishop. He was always a spy, knew everything about both his own and other parishioners, was dissolute, unkind and a great foul-mouthed man; but in general, as we in Eseldorf believed, it was not so bad. He was not without talents, for example, he was an excellent speaker, he knew how to cleverly spin a word so that everyone laughed, sometimes he was rude, as his opponents considered, but few of us villagers were not guilty of this. He commanded in the village government; carried out his plans with the help of all sorts of tricks; and those whom he pressed there reviled him behind his back, honoring him with “village bull”, “fiend of hell” and other offensive nicknames. There's nothing you can do about it. If you get involved in politics, you are standing naked in a hornet's nest.
[...] Father Adolf was very nice when they buried the dead man. Unless, of course, he intercepted too much, but just enough, a little, to feel at the height of his sacred dignity. There was something to be seen as he walked through the village at the head of funeral procession between two kneeling rows of their parishioners, with one eye making sure that the choristers were holding straight the candles that flickered with a yellow flame in the sunlight, and with the other, at the same time, looking to see if any dunce in a hat was sticking out in the way of the procession. Then he would rip his stupid hat off the idiot, slap him hard on his stupid head with this hat, and growl at him:
- How do you, brute, behave in front of God!
He was also very active when someone ended his life of his own free will. He strictly ensured that the secular authorities acted in accordance with the law, so that the family of a person who killed himself would be kicked out of the house onto the street, all their belongings would be confiscated and the due share would be given to the church. And he was on duty again when, at midnight, a suicide was interred at a crossroads, not, of course, to perform a funeral service for him, they don’t perform a funeral service for a suicide, you know, but in order to personally check whether he was nailed with a stake properly, as it's supposed to.
He was also very good, leading the procession when the plague befell us, when the relics of the patron saint of our village were carried out in a golden ark, they called upon to the Blessed Virgin and they lit candles for her so that the pestilence would end quickly.
Every year he also participated in the ceremony on the bridge, December 9, the Day of Propitiation of the Devil. We have a wonderful stone bridge with five arches, and it is seven hundred years old. The devil built it in one night. The abbot of the monastery contracted him for this work, and it was not at all easy, because the Devil said that he built bridges for monks in all countries of Europe, and he was always cheated; if he is duped here too, then he will no longer have anything to do with Christians.
He built bridges under one indispensable condition: the first one to cross the bridge would become his prey (everyone knew, of course, that the devil meant the Christian soul). But since the contract did not say this, they allowed a donkey or a chicken, in a word, someone without a soul, onto the bridge, and the devil was always left with nothing. This time he personally wrote “Christian” into the contract, so there was no loophole. What I say is not some legend, but a historical fact; I read the agreement myself, more than once; it is carried out in procession on the bridge on the Day of Propitiation of the Devil; having paid ten pennies, you can look at it and thirty-three of your sins will be forgiven; remission of sins was affordable for everyone in those days, except for the completely poor; It was a worthy time, but it has passed and, they say, forever.
So, the agreement was signed, but the abbot said that he would not need the bridge today or tomorrow. However, it will be needed by the end of the week. And in the monastery an old monk was lying dying, and the abbot ordered to report to him as soon as the monk became very ill. By midnight on December 9, he was informed that the monk was dying, and the abbot called the devil to him and ordered the construction of a bridge. All night, while the work was going on, the abbot and the brethren prayed that the dying man would have enough strength to cross the bridge - but nothing more. The prayer was heard and caused great excitement in celestial spheres; the entire heavenly army flocked at dawn to the place where the bridge was being built, hosts and hosts of angels. The dying monk staggered across the bridge and, as soon as he stepped off it, collapsed to the ground dead. The angels caught him immortal soul and flew with her to heaven, laughing and rejoicing. And the fooled devil was again left with nothing.
He was beside himself with frustration and accused the abbot of violating the agreement concluded with him. - Where is my Christian? - he asked. “Here he is your Christian, but he is dead,” answered the abbot, after which all the monks, led by the abbot, staged a celebration, pretending that they wanted to console and appease the injured devil; in fact, mocking him and only aggravating his annoyance. It ended with him cursing them all, raising a storm with thunder and lightning, and rushing away with the storm. But when he flew, the tip at the end of his tail touched the keystone and tore it from its place. So the stone remained there all these centuries as a memory of what happened. I've seen it a thousand times; such a testimony is stronger than a written document, because a document, if it is not drawn up by a priest, may be false. And every year on December 9th we repeat this comic Propitiation of the Devil in memory of the righteous plan of the abbot, who saved the Christian soul from the enemy.
Perhaps there are better priests than our father Adolf was, but the community did not remember anyone who would inspire such respect and fear in his parishioners. The point is that he was not afraid of the devil. I know of no other Christian of whom I could say this with such firm confidence. For this reason, everyone was afraid of Father Adolf. Each of us understood that a mere mortal would not behave so courageously and self-confidently. No one condones the devil, everyone condemns him, but they do it without insolence, with a degree of respect. Father Adolf honored the devil with all the words that came across his tongue, so that the involuntary listener was seized with trepidation. It also happened that he spoke mockingly and with contempt about the devil, and people were then baptized and hurried away, fearing that something bad would happen to them. Whatever you interpret, the devil is also a saint, since the Bible speaks about him, and since this is so, his name should not be taken in vain either.
If we say everything, Father Adolf more than once met the devil in person and entered into a fight with him. Father Adolf himself talked about this, without making a secret of it. And he spoke the truth; at least one of his encounters with the devil was supported by physical evidence. In the heat of a heated quarrel, he once fearlessly threw an inkwell at an enemy, and to this day, in the place where it hit the wall, an ink blot remains in his office.
Luther told the same story about himself, but who would believe him, a heretic and a liar. The pope himself said that Luther lied about this.
Our other priest was Father Peter, and we all loved and pitied him very much. The bishop removed him from his sacred duties when a rumor spread that he had told someone that God was kind and merciful and would someday have mercy on his children. Such speeches are, of course, terrible, but there was no solid evidence that he said such a thing. And it was not at all like Father Peter, a kind, meek and undeceitful man, who always taught us from the pulpit everything that the church requires. True, no one insisted that he said this from the pulpit; then everyone would hear these words and could confirm them. They said that the criminal thought was expressed by him in a private conversation, but such an accusation is easy to level at anyone.
Father Peter denied his guilt, but what's the point? Father Adolf wanted to take his place in the church and testified under oath that he personally heard Father Peter say these words to his niece. I heard it while standing outside their door. And he eavesdropped because the interests of the Holy Church required it.
In vain Marget denied the accusation and begged the bishop to believe her and not bring poverty and dishonor upon her old uncle. The bishop did not want to listen to her. Father Adolf had long done everything to denigrate Father Peter. The bishop admired the courage of Father Adolf, respected him for personally grappling with the devil, and trusted his every word. Since there was only one testimony against Father Peter, the bishop did not excommunicate him from the church at all, but deprived him of his rank for an indefinite period. For two years now, Father Peter has not performed his sacred duties, and his flock is now entirely with Father Adolf.
These years were not easy for the old priest and Marget. Previously, everyone loved them and sought their company, but with the bishop’s disfavor everything immediately changed. Some of their former friends stopped seeing them completely, others became cold and taciturn. When this misfortune happened, Marget had just turned eighteen. She was a lovely girl and a smart girl, the likes of which you won’t find in the whole village. She taught playing the harp, and the money she earned was enough for her to buy dresses and other expenses. But now the students, one after another, left her; when parties and dances were held in the village, they forgot to extend the invitation to her; young people stopped coming to their house - all except Wilhelm Meidling, and his visits were of little importance. Disgraced and abandoned by everyone, the priest and his niece became sad and lost heart - the sun no longer shone through their windows. And life became more difficult. The clothes were worn out, every morning I had to think about what to buy bread with. And then the decisive day came: Solomon Isaac, who had lent them money on the security of their old house, informed Peter’s father that tomorrow the next morning he must either repay him the debt or leave home.
CHAPTER II
The three of us have always been together, almost from the cradle. We immediately fell in love with each other, our friendship grew stronger year after year. Nikolaus Bauman was the son of the chief judge. Seppi Wohlmeyer's father was the owner of a large inn under the sign of the "Golden Deer"; the garden at the inn with old spreading trees went down to the very bank of the river, and there was a pier with pleasure boats. I, the third, Theodore Fischer, was the son of a church organist, who also conducted the village orchestra, taught the violin, composed music, served as a tax collector, acted as a clerk - in short, was an active member of the community and enjoyed universal respect.
The surrounding hills and forests were no less familiar to us than to the birds living in them. We spent every free hour in the forest, or swimming, fishing, running on the ice of a frozen river, or sledding down a hillside.
Rarely anyone was allowed to walk in the princely park, but we got there because we were on friendly terms with the oldest of the castle servants, Felix Brandt, and often in the evening we went to him to listen to his stories about old times and extraordinary events, to smoke a pipe - he taught us to smoke - and drink a cup of coffee. Felix Brandt fought a lot and was at the siege of Vienna (355). When the Turks were defeated and driven away, among the captured trophies were bags of coffee, and the captured Turks explained to him what these coffee beans were good for and taught him how to make a pleasant drink from them. Since then, Brandt always brewed coffee, drank it himself and surprised ignorant people with it. If the weather was inclement, the old man would leave us at his place for the night. Under the rumble of thunder and flashing lightning, he told his story about ghosts and all sorts of horrors, about battles, murders and cruel wounds, and in his small house it was so warm and cozy.
Brandt drew his stories mainly from own experience. He had met many ghosts, witches and wizards in his time, and once, having gotten lost in the mountains during a terrible storm, he watched at midnight, with a flash of lightning, as the Wild Hunter, furiously blowing his horn, rushed across the sky, and behind him rushed through the torn clouds his ghostly pack. He had to see both an incubus (355) and a vampire who sucks blood from the sleeping, quietly fanning them with his wings so that they do not awaken from fatal oblivion.
The old man taught us that we should not be afraid of anything supernatural. Ghosts, he said, do no harm and wander simply because they are lonely, unhappy and looking for sympathy and consolation. Gradually, we got used to this idea and even went down with him at night into the castle’s dungeon, haunted by ghosts. The ghost appeared only once, passed by us barely visible, flew silently through the air and disappeared. We didn’t even flinch - that’s how old Brandt raised us. He later said that this ghost sometimes comes to him at night, wakes him up from sleep, touching his face with a sticky cold hand, but does not cause him any harm - he is simply looking for sympathy. The most amazing thing is that Brandt saw angels, real angels from heaven, and talked with them. They were without wings, dressed in ordinary clothes, looked exactly like ordinary people and they walked and talked the same way. No one would have mistaken them for angels at all if they had not performed miracles, which a mere mortal, of course, cannot do, and had not suddenly disappeared to an unknown location while you were talking with them, which also exceeds the powers of a mortal man. The angels were not sad or gloomy, like ghosts, but on the contrary, they were cheerful and cheerful.
One morning in May, after old Brandt's long-lasting stories, we rose from bed, had a hearty breakfast with him, and then, crossing the bridge to the left of the castle, climbed to the forested hilltop, our favorite place. There we stretched out in the shade on the grass, intending to rest, smoke and once again discuss the old man’s outlandish stories that had affected us. strong impression. But we could not light the pipe, because, due to forgetfulness, we did not take flint and steel with us.
A little later a young man appeared from the forest, he came up to us, sat down next to us and spoke to us in a friendly tone. We did not answer - strangers rarely came to us, and we were afraid of them. The newcomer was handsome and smartly dressed, in everything new. His face inspired confidence, his voice was pleasant. He behaved at ease, with amazing simplicity and grace, and was completely unlike the shy and awkward young people from our village. We wanted to get to know him, but we didn't know where to start. I remembered the pipe and thought it would be nice to let a stranger smoke. But then I remembered that we had no fire, and I felt offended that my plan could not be carried out. And he gave me a lively, satisfied look and said:
- No fire? This is empty. I'll get it now.
I was so surprised that I could not answer anything: after all, I did not say a word out loud. He picked up the phone and blew on it. The tobacco began to smolder, and the blue smoke rose in a spiral. We jumped up and started running: after all, what happened was supernatural. We ran away not far, and he began to ask us in a convincing tone to return, gave honestly, which would not cause us any harm, said that he wanted to make friends with us and be in our company. We froze in place. We were beside ourselves with surprise and curiosity. We wanted to go back, but we didn't dare. He continued to persuade us, as before, calmly and judiciously. When we saw that our pipe was intact and nothing bad had happened, we calmed down, and then, when curiosity prevailed over fear, we moved carefully back, step by step, ready at any moment to again seek salvation in flight.
He tried to dispel our anxiety and did it skillfully. When they speak to you so simply, so thoughtfully and kindly, fears and timidity go away by themselves. We gained confidence in him again, a conversation began, and we were happy to have found such a friend. When our embarrassment had completely passed, we asked where he learned his amazing art, and he said that he had not studied anywhere, that he was endowed with this power and other abilities from birth.
- What else can you do?
- Yes, a lot, you can’t list everything.
-Will you show us? Please show me! - we shouted together.
- Aren’t you going to run away?
- No, honestly, no! Please show me. Well, show me!
- With pleasure, but make sure you don’t forget your word.
We confirmed that we would not forget, and he went to the puddle, took water into a cup he made from a leaf, blew on it and, turning the cup upside down, shook out the frozen piece of ice. We looked amazed and enchanted, we were no longer afraid, we were very pleased and asked him to show us something else. He agreed, said that he would treat us to fruit now and that we should name whatever we wanted, without being embarrassed by whether the time had come for these fruits or not. We shouted in unison:
- Orange!
- Apple!
- Grape!
“Look in your pockets,” he said; and indeed, everyone found in their pocket what they wanted. The fruit was of the best quality; we ate them and wanted more, but we didn’t dare say it out loud.
“Look in your pockets,” he said again, “and whatever you want will be there.” No need to ask. While you are with me, your only business is to wish.
That's how it was. Never before has anything so surprising and tempting happened to us. Bread, pies, sweets, nuts - whatever you want, it's all in your pocket. He himself did not eat anything, but only talked with us and entertained us with new miracles. He molded a small toy squirrel out of clay, and it ran up the tree and, sitting on a branch, began to click like a squirrel. Then he blinded a dog the size of a little more mouse, and she drove the squirrel to the very top of the tree and began to run around barking loudly, like the most real dog. Then she drove the squirrel further into the forest and ran after it until both disappeared into the thicket. He molded birds from clay, set them free, and as they flew away, the birds began to sing.
Finally plucking up the courage, I asked him who he was.
“Angel,” he calmly answered, releasing another bird, clapped his hands, and the bird flew away again.
Awe came over us at these words; we were confused again. But he told us not to worry: there is no need to be afraid of angels, and he confirmed that he has the best feelings for us. good feelings. He continued to talk to us in the same natural and relaxed manner, while he himself was making finger-sized figures of men and women. The puppet people immediately set to work. They cleared and leveled a piece of land in a clearing two or three yards square and began to build a nice little castle. Women mixed lime mortar and carried it along the scaffolding in buckets, holding them on their heads, as workers do in our village, and men erected high walls. At least five hundred of these dolls scurried back and forth, working as hard as they could, wiping sweat from their foreheads, like real people. It was so attractive to watch how five hundred tiny people built a castle, stone by stone, tower by tower, how the building grew and took on architectural forms. Our fear passed again, and we enjoyed it wholeheartedly. We asked him if we could make something, he said: “Of course,” and ordered Seppi to make several cannons for the castle walls. Nikolaus - several halberdiers in helmets and armor, and for me cavalrymen on horseback. When giving his orders, he called us by name, but did not say how he knew our names. Then Seppi asked his name, and he calmly answered:
- Satan.
Substituting a piece of wood, he caught a small woman who had fallen from the scaffolding with it, and, putting her in place, said:
- What a fool, she steps back and doesn’t look at what’s behind her.
The name he said startled us; cannons, halberdiers, and horses fell out of our hands and crumbled into pieces. Satan laughed and asked what happened.
I said:
- Nothing happened, but this strange name for an angel.
He asked why I thought that.
- How why? You know, right?.. That's his name.
- What's wrong with that? He is my uncle.
He said this in a very calm tone, but it took our breath away and our hearts pounded in our chests. As if not noticing our excitement, he picked up the halberdier and other toys, repaired them and returned them back to us with the words:
- Don’t you know? After all, he, too, used to be an angel.
- Is it true! - said Seppi. - I didn't think about it.
- Before the fall, all evil was alien to him.
“Yes,” said Nikolaus, “he was sinless.”
“We are from a noble family,” said Satan, “you couldn’t find a nobler family.” He is the only one who sinned.
It’s hard to convey now how interesting all this was for us. When you encounter something so extraordinary, exciting, amazing, a certain awe and at the same time exultation covers us from head to toe. You are possessed by the thought: are you really alive and really seeing all this? You are unable to tear away your amazed gaze, your lips are dry, your breathing is interrupted, but you will not exchange this feeling for anything else in the world. I really wanted to ask him something, the question was already on the tip of my tongue and it was difficult for me to resist, but I was afraid that I would seem too impudent to him. Satan put aside the almost completed figurine of a bull, smiled, looking at me, and said:
“I don’t see anything particularly impudent in that, and if I did, I would forgive you.” Do you want to know if I met him? Millions of times. In infancy - I was not even a thousand years old at that time - I was one of two little angels of our kind and our blood (I think that’s how you usually put it) whom he especially distinguished. And this continued for all eight thousand years (according to your account of time), until his fall.
- Eight thousand years?
- Yes.
He now turned to Seppi and continued his speech, as if in answer to the question that was on Seppi's mind.
- That's right, I look like a young man. That's the way it should be. Our time is longer than yours, and it takes many years for an angel to become an adult.
I wanted to ask him new question, and he turned to me and said:
- If you count, I am sixteen thousand years old.
Then he looked at Nikolaus and said:
- No. His fall did not affect me or the rest of our family. Only he, after whom I was named, ate the forbidden fruit and seduced a man and a woman with it. We others do not know sin and are not capable of sin. We are blameless and will remain so forever. We...
Two tiny workers had an argument. With voices barely audible, like the squeak of a mosquito, they bickered and hurled abuse. Fists flashed, blood flowed, and now they both fought for life and death. Satan reached out his hand, squeezed both of them with two fingers, crushed them, threw them aside, wiped the blood from his fingers with a handkerchief and continued his speech:
- We do not do evil and are alien to everything evil, because we do not know evil.
Words of Satan amazingly disagreed with his action, but we did not notice it at that moment, we were so shocked and saddened by the senseless murder that he committed. This was the most authentic murder, and it had neither explanation nor justification - after all, the little people had not done anything bad to him. We were very sad, we fell in love with him, he seemed to us so noble, so beautiful and merciful. We had no doubt that he was truly an angel. And so he committed this cruelty and fell in our eyes, and we were so proud of him.
Meanwhile, he continued to talk with us as if nothing had happened, talking about his travels, about what he observed in huge worlds our solar system scattered in the vast spaces of the universe, about the life of those who inhabit them immortal beings, and his stories captivated, captivated, bewitched us, leading us away from the sad scene playing out before us. Meanwhile, two tiny women found the mutilated bodies of their murdered husbands and began to mourn them, wailing and screaming. A priest stood kneeling nearby, crossing his arms over his chest and reciting a prayer. Hundreds of condolent friends crowded around, with tears in their eyes, taking off their hats and bowing their naked heads. At first, Satan did not pay any attention to all this, but then the buzzing sound of prayers and sobs began to irritate him. He reached out his hand, lifted the heavy board that served as a seat for us on the swing, threw it on the ground where the little people were crowded, and crushed them like flies. Having done this, he continued his story.
Angel killing the priest! An angel who does not know what evil is and coldly destroys hundreds of defenseless, pathetic people who have done nothing wrong to him! We almost fainted when we saw this terrible thing. After all, not one of these unfortunates, except the priest, was prepared for death; none of them had ever been to mass or even seen a church. And the three of us witnessed it; the murder happened before our eyes! Our duty is to report that we were imprisoned and give the matter a legal course.
But he continued to tell his story, and the fatal music of his voice again enchanted us. Forgetting about everything, we listened to his speeches, and were again filled with love for him, and were again his slaves, and he could again do whatever he wanted with us. We were beside ourselves from the fact that we were together with him, that we were contemplating the heavenly beauty of his eyes, and from the slightest touch of his hand, happiness and bliss poured through our veins.
CHAPTER III
The stranger visited everywhere and saw everything, he learned everything and forgot nothing. What was given to another through years of study, he comprehended instantly; There were simply no difficulties for him. And when he spoke, the pictures came to life before his eyes. He was present at the creation of the world; he saw how God created the first man; he saw how Samson shook the columns of the temple and brought it down to the ground (362); he saw the death of Caesar (362); he talked about life in heaven; he saw how sinners endure torment in the fiery depths of hell. All this appeared before you, as if you yourself were present and looked with your own eyes, and you were involuntarily overcome with awe. He, apparently, was just having fun. A vision of hell - a crowd of children, women, girls, boys, adult men, moaning in agony, begging for mercy - who can look at this without tears? He remained calm, as if looking at toy mice burning in a sparkler.
Every time he spoke about the life of people on earth and about their actions, even the greatest and most amazing, we felt as if awkward, because from his entire tone it was noticeable that he considered everything that concerns the human race not worthy of any attention. One would think that we're talking about just about flies. Once he said that although people are stupid, vulgar, ignorant, arrogant, sick, frail and generally insignificant, wretched and useless creatures, he still has some interest in them. He spoke without anger, as if it were something taken for granted, as if he were talking about manure, bricks, something inanimate and completely insignificant. It was obvious that he did not want to offend us, but still I mentally reproached him for his lack of delicacy.
- Delicacy! - he said. “I’m telling you the truth, and the truth is always delicate.” What you call delicacy is nonsense. And here our castle is ready. Well, how do you like him?
How could we not like him! It was a pleasure to look at him. It was so beautiful, so elegant and so amazingly thought out in every detail, right down to the flags flying on the towers. Satan said that now it is necessary to install cannons at all loopholes, place halberdiers and build cavalry. Our soldiers and horses were no good; we were still inexperienced in modeling and were unable to mold them properly. Satan admitted that he had never seen anything worse. When he brought them to life with the touch of his finger, it was impossible to look at them without laughing. The soldiers' legs turned out to be of different lengths, they staggered, fell as if drunk, and finally stretched out on their faces, unable to rise. We laughed, but it was a bitter sight. We loaded the cannons with earth to salute, but the cannons were also unusable and exploded when fired, and some of the gunners were killed and some were maimed. Satan said that if we wish, he will now create a storm and an earthquake, but then it is better for us to step aside so as not to get hurt. We wanted to take the little people with us, but he objected that this should not be done: no one needs them, and if necessary, we will blind others.
Small thundercloud descended over the castle, a tiny lightning flashed, thunder struck, the earth trembled, the wind whistled piercingly, a storm began to roar, rain poured down, and the little people rushed to seek refuge in the castle. The cloud became blacker and blacker and almost hid the castle. Lightning, flashing one after another, struck the roof of the castle, and it burst into flames. Fierce red flames broke through the dark cloud, and the people ran away from the castle screaming. But Satan drove them back with a wave of his hand, not paying attention to our requests, pleas and tears. And so, covering the howl of the wind and the rumble of thunder, there was an explosion, a powder magazine flew into the air, the earth dissipated, the abyss swallowed the ruins of the castle and closed again, burying all these innocent lives. Of the five hundred little people, not a single one remained. We were shocked to the core and could not stop crying.
“Don’t cry,” said Satan, “nobody needs them.”
- But they will now go to hell!
- So what? We blind others.
It was impossible to touch him. Apparently, he did not know at all what pity was and could not sympathize with us. He was in a great mood and as cheerful as if he had staged a wedding, not a massacre. He wanted us to be in the same mood, and with the help of his charms he succeeded. And it didn’t cost him much work; he did whatever he wanted with us. Five minutes passed, and we danced on this grave, and he played for us on a strange melodious pipe that he took out of his pocket. It was a melody such as we had never heard, such music only exists in heaven; from there, from heaven, he brought it to us. The pleasure drove us crazy, we were unable to take our eyes off him and were drawn to him with all our hearts, and our silent gazes were filled with adoration. He also brought this dance to us from the heavenly spheres, and we tasted the bliss of paradise.
Then he said that it was time for him to leave: he had important business. It was unbearable for us to part with him, and we hugged him and began to ask him to stay. Our request apparently pleased him; he agreed to stay with us some more and suggested that we all sit together and talk. He said that although Satan was his real name, he did not want it to become known to everyone; in front of strangers we should call him Philip Traum. This is a simple name, it will not surprise anyone.
The name was too mundane and insignificant for a creature like him. But since he wanted it that way, we didn’t object to him. His decision was law for us. We saw our fill of miracles that day, and I thought how nice it would be to tell about everything I saw at home. He noticed my thought and said:
- No, only the four of us will know about this. However, if you can't wait to tell, try. And I will make sure that your tongue does not give away the secret.
It's a shame, but what can you do about it! We just sighed once or twice to ourselves and continued our conversation. Satan still answered our thoughts without waiting for questions, and it seemed to me that this was the most amazing thing he does. He interrupted my thoughts here and said:
- This surprises you, but in fact there is nothing surprising here. I am not limited in my capabilities, like you. I am not subject to the human condition. I understand human weaknesses because I have studied them, but I myself am free from them. You feel my flesh when you touch me, but it is ghostly, just as my dress is ghostly. I am spirit. But Father Peter is coming to us.
We looked back. There was no one.
- He's getting closer. Coming soon.
- Do you know Father Peter, Satan?
- No.
- Please talk to him when he comes. He is a smart and educated person, not like the three of us. He will be pleased to talk with you. Please!
- Next time. It's time for me to leave. And here he is, now you can see everything. Sit quietly - don't say a word.
We looked back, Father Peter was walking towards us from the chestnut grove. The three of us sat on the grass, and Satan was opposite us on the path. Father Peter walked at a slow pace, head down. Before reaching us a few yards, he stopped, as if intending to speak to us, took off his hat, took a foulard handkerchief from his pocket and began to wipe his forehead. After standing there, he said quietly, as if addressing himself:
- I don’t know what brought me here. Just a minute ago I was sitting at home. And now I suddenly feel like I overslept a whole hour and came here in a dream, not noticing the road. I feel so anxious these days. It's like I'm not myself.
He moved on, continuing to whisper something, and passed through Satan as if through empty place. We were simply dumbfounded. We wanted to scream, as happens when something completely unexpected happens, but the scream inexplicably died in our throats, and we sat speechless, panting for breath. As soon as Father Peter disappeared into the forest, Satan said:
- Well, are you now convinced that I am a spirit?
“Yes, that’s probably how it is...” said Nikolaus. - But we are not spirits. It’s clear that he didn’t see you, but how come he didn’t see us either? He looked us straight in the face and seemed not to notice.
- Yes, I made you invisible too.
It was hard to believe that this was not a dream, that we were participants in all these amazing, extraordinary events. And he sat next to us with the most relaxed look, so natural, simple, charming, and had a conversation with us. It is difficult to convey in words the feelings that possessed us. It was probably delight, and delight cannot be put into words. Delight is like music. Try to convey your impressions of music to someone else so that he is imbued with them. Satan again began to remember ancient times, and they stood before us as if alive. He saw a lot, a lot. The three of us looked at him and tried to imagine what it would be like to be like him, and to carry this burden of memories. Human existence Now it seemed to us dull and everyday, and the man himself - a one-day thing, whose whole life fits into one single day, fleeting and pitiful. Satan did not try to spare our wounded pride. He spoke of people in the same dispassionate tone as one speaks of bricks or a dunghill; it was clear that people did not interest him at all, neither positively nor negative side. He did not want to offend us, he was probably far from it. When you say: brick is bad, you do not think about whether the brick is offended by your judgment. Does the brick feel? Have you ever thought about this?
Once, when he threw the greatest monarchs, conquerors, poets, prophets, swindlers and pirates - all into one heap, like throwing a brick, I could not stand the shame of humanity and asked why, in fact, it seemed to him that the difference between him and people was so great . He was puzzled at first; he did not immediately understand how I could ask such a strange question. Then he said:
- What is the difference between me and a person? What is the difference between mortality and immortality, between a passing cloud and an ever-living spirit?
He picked up a grass aphid and planted it on a piece of bark.
- What is the difference between this creature and the poet Homer, between this creature and Julius Caesar?
I said:
- You cannot compare something that is incomparable either in scale or in nature.
“You answered your own question,” he said. - Now I will explain everything. Man is made of dirt, I saw how he was created. I am not made of dirt. Man is a collection of diseases, a receptacle of impurities. He was born today to disappear tomorrow. It begins as dirt and ends as stink. I belong to the aristocracy of eternal beings. In addition, man is endowed with a moral sense! Do you understand what this means? He is endowed with a moral sense! This alone is enough to appreciate the difference between me and him.
He fell silent, as if he had exhausted the topic. I was upset. Although at that time I had a very vague idea of \u200b\u200bwhat the Moral Sense was, I nevertheless knew that having it was something to be proud of, and I was hurt by Satan's irony. This is how a smartly dressed young lady must be upset when she hears people laughing at her favorite outfit, but she thought everyone was crazy about it! There was silence, I was sad. After a pause, Satan started talking about something else, and soon his lively, witty conversation, splashing with fun, captured me again. He drew some hilariously funny scenes. He told how Samson tied burning torches to the tails of wild foxes and sent them into the fields of the Philistines (367); how Samson sat on the fence, slapping his thighs, and laughed until he cried, and in the end fell to the ground laughing. Remembering all this, Satan himself laughed, and after him the three of us began to laugh together.
A little later he said:
“Now it’s time for me to leave, I have urgent business.”
- Don't go! - we shouted in unison. - You will leave and not come back.
- I will return, I give you my word.
- When? This evening? Tell me when?
- Soon. I'm not deceiving you.
- We love you.
- And I love you. And as a farewell, I’ll show you a funny thing. Usually, when I leave, I simply disappear from view. And now I will slowly melt into the air, and you will see it.
He rose to his feet and immediately began to quickly change before our eyes. His body seemed to melt until he became completely transparent, like a soap bubble, while maintaining his previous appearance and outline. Through it the surrounding bushes were now visible, and the whole of it shimmered and sparkled with an iridescent sheen and reflected on its surface that pattern like a window frame that we see on the surface soap bubble. You've probably seen more than once how a bubble rolls along the floor and, before bursting, easily jumps up once or twice. It was the same with him. It jumped up, touched the grass, rolled, flew up, touched the grass again, again, then burst - poof! - and there was nothing left.
It was an amazingly beautiful sight. We were silent and continued, as before, to sit, squinting, thinking, lost in dreams. Then Seppi stood up and said to us with a sad sigh:
- Probably none of this happened.
And Nikolaus sighed and said something like that.
I was sad, the same thought bothered me. Then we saw Father Peter walking back along the path. He walked bent over and looked for something in the grass. Having caught up with us, he raised his head, saw us and asked:
- How long have you been here, boys?
- Recently, Father Peter.
- So you followed me and, perhaps, will help me. Did you walk along the path?
- Yes, Father Peter.
- That is great. I also walked this path. I lost my wallet. Almost empty, but that’s not the point, it contains everything I have. Have you seen the wallet?
- No, Father Peter, but we will help you look for him.
- This is what I wanted to ask you about. Yes, there he lies!
Indeed! The wallet lay in the very place where Satan stood when he began to melt before our eyes, unless, of course, all this was not a dream. Father Peter picked up the wallet, and there was a look of bewilderment on his face.
“The wallet is mine,” he said, “but the contents are not.” My wallet was skinny, but this one is full. My wallet was light, but this one is heavy.
Father Peter opened the wallet and showed it to us: it was tightly stuffed with gold coins. We looked with all our eyes because we had never seen so much money at once. We opened our mouths to say: this is the work of Satan, but we said nothing. So that's it! When Satan didn't want to, we simply couldn't utter a single word. He warned us.
- Boys, is this your doing?
We laughed, and so did Father Peter, realizing the absurdity of what he said.
- Was anyone here?
We opened our mouths again to answer, but said nothing. We couldn’t say that there was no one, that would be a lie, and there was no other answer. Suddenly the right thought came to my mind, and I said:
- There was no one person.
“Yes, that’s true,” confirmed my comrades, who both stood with their mouths open.
“It’s not like that at all,” Father Peter objected and looked at us sternly. True, it was empty here when I passed, but that doesn’t mean anything. Someone has been here since then. This man could, of course, overtake you, and I do not at all claim that you saw him. But there is no doubt that someone passed here. Give me your word of honor that you didn't see anyone.
- Not a single person.
- Well, okay, I believe you.
He sat down and began to count the money. We knelt down next to him and began to place the gold coins into small equal piles.
End of free trial.
| A mysterious stranger | |
|---|---|
| The Mysterious Stranger | |
| Cover of the first edition of 1916 |
|
| Author | Mark Twain |
| Genre | Fantasy, Satire |
| Original language | English |
| Original published | posthumously |
| Translator | Abel Startsev |
| Decor | Harper & Brothers |
| Publisher | Harper[d] |
| Release | |
| Previous | Personal memories of Joan of Arc And My platonic lover [d] |
"A mysterious stranger"(eng. “The Mysterious Stranger”) - a late unfinished story by Mark Twain, first published in 1916, after the author’s death, by his secretary and custodian of the literary heritage, Albert Biglo Payne.
Story [ | ]
The text that Paine published was initially considered canonical. However, after his death, the new curator, who took over this post in 1938, published two more versions of the story. Each of these manuscripts was unfinished, like Paine's published work. Each manuscript had its own author's title, and their chronology is as follows: "The Chronicle of Satan Jr."(eng. The Chronicle of Young Satan), "School slide"(eng. Schoolhouse Hill) and “No. 44, Mysterious Stranger: Ancient Manuscript Found in a Jar. Free translation from a jug"(English) No. 44, the Mysterious Stranger: Being an Ancient Tale Found in a Jug and Freely Translated from the Jug).
Option " School slide"was originally conceived by Twain as a continuation of the adventures of Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn. Here the action takes place in the author's hometown of Hannibal, Missouri in the USA. This manuscript is considered a test of the pen, an approach to more thoughtful and meaningful stories. The other two options take place in the city of Eseldorf in medieval Austria and are called " Eseldorf».
Bernard DeVoto approved of Payne's editorial choice, which, as time later showed, was erroneous and unlawful. In 1969, the University of California published a complete scholarly edition of all three editions of the story and accompanying materials. It is this scientific publication that allows us to judge the actions of Payne, who chose the first version for publication " Chronicle of Satan Jr.", which has independent artistic significance. And this action, according to literary scholars, is correct, but then miracles began to happen to the story. The last chapter of the published book was taken from a separate six-page manuscript, which was labeled "Conclusion of the Book" but was written by Twain for " No. 44, Mysterious Stranger" (Paine's chosen title for the story " A mysterious stranger" was taken from this variant).
Payne personally removed several episodes from the unfinished manuscript that were not continued in the main outline of the story and weakened the anti-clerical motifs that ran like a red thread through the writer’s late work. Payne replaced the character of the book - Father Adolf, a scoundrel priest, with a certain astrologer, also taken from the second Eseldorf manuscript. Thus, all the bad actions of the priest and the church were presented as the actions of a dark and superstitious charlatan. Several completed episodes were also removed to soften the anti-religious nature of the book. Mark Twain in his work always relied on the tastes of his wife, a pious and God-fearing woman who acted as the main critic of his books. For this reason, in his early and even mature books, such topics were avoided and were invisible. However, after the death of her and three of her four children, Twain stopped paying attention to the opinions of society and the crowd. Most of his books became acutely social and anti-church.
Until now, many researchers of Twain’s legacy cannot agree on which publication of “The Mysterious Stranger” is considered canonical, but everyone unanimously agrees that this work is the pearl of the writer’s work.
Plot [ | ]
August Feldner works in a printing house, which is located in one of the rooms of the spacious castle. One day a ragamuffin appears in the castle, introducing himself as E 44, New episode 864962 and ready to take on any work, just for food and shelter. Despite the objections of almost all the characters, the owner of the printing house decides to accept the boy. And soon he shows himself to be an excellent worker, who also humbly endures all bullying. As a reward for his work, the owner of the printing house accepts 44 into the ranks of printers, which only fuels the hatred of his older comrades. Unlike his colleagues, Augustus treats 44 kindly, but does not have the courage to stand up for him. Therefore, he begins a secret friendship with the boy, finding out that 44 is an almost omnipotent being. The witchcraft power of 44 quickly becomes known to all the other inhabitants of the castle, but they attribute it to the fact that 44 is a student of the astrologer Baltasar Hofmann who has settled in the castle. And it is the astrologer who they blame for all the witchcraft pranks of 44. Although, in fact, 44 only pretends to obey the astrologer, trying, for some reason of his own, to create Baltasar’s reputation as a powerful sorcerer.
Although new friend Augusta and extremely powerful, he is absolutely not interested in religion, and looks at people in much the same way as people themselves look at cats. Along the way, he also reveals not the most best qualities priest Adolf, respected by everyone for his complete lack of fear of Satan. The man who once saved Adolf's life is now bedridden, and Adolf sentenced his mother, distraught with grief, to be burned at the stake. Although Augustus wants to open Adolf’s eyes to who he is trying to send to the stake, 44 forbids this, citing the fact that everything is already predetermined. At the same time, 44 refuses to explain who he is, citing the fact that man is too primitive a creature and he simply has no idea how to explain his nature to people. At the end, he reveals a secret to Augustus - in fact, there is nothing and no one at all, there is only a dream of some thought wandering in the emptiness. 44 itself is nothing more than a figment of the imagination of this thought. What Augustus himself could have guessed - such a nonsensical world in which God preaches about love and forgiveness, while dooming people to eternal torment in hell, could only be seen in a nightmare.
It’s surprising that you haven’t thought about the fact that your universe and everything in it is a dream, a vision, a dream! Amazing, because she is reckless, blatantly reckless, like nightmare: God, who has the power to create both good children and bad ones, prefers to create bad ones; God, who has the power to make everyone happy, does not give happiness to anyone; God commands people to appreciate their bitter lives, but lets them go short term; God bestows eternal bliss on the angels, but demands from his other children that they deserve this bliss; God made the life of the angels serene, but doomed other children to suffering, physical and mental torment; God preaches justice and created hell; preaches mercy and created hell; preaches the golden commandments of love for one's neighbor and forgiveness - forgive your enemy seven times seven times! - and created hell; God preaches moral feeling, but he himself is deprived of it; condemns crimes and commits them himself; God created man according to his own will, and now shifts the responsibility for human misdeeds onto man, instead of honestly placing it on the one who should bear it - on himself; and finally, with truly divine obsession, he demands worship from his humiliated servant...
Russian translations[ | ]
History of Russian translations " Mysterious stranger"reflects the textual difficulties and problems of English editions. The first translation, by Abel Startsev, was published in the twelve-volume collected works of Mark Twain in 1961. It was based on the 1922 American edition of Harper and Brothers and corresponded to the version published by Paine in 1916.
Subsequently, this translation was corrected: the astrologer was removed and several new pages were added, removed by Payne due to the anti-religious, topical political and anti-clerical motives they contained. This version has been reprinted several times.
In 1976, the first version of “ School slide" translated by N. Kolpakov entitled “ On the school hill". In this edition, Twain's unfinished version was significantly shortened and designated as a short story. All references to the infernal nature of the stranger have been removed; in the finale he is called an alien “from another time zone”
Mark Twain gave the idea of “The Mysterious Stranger” a very special character; he believed that here he was able to fully speak out on a number of social, moral and philosophical issues that worried him. Based on the story in 1989 at the Lenfilm film studio, director Igor Maslennikov filmed Feature Film"Philip Traum."
The stranger visited everywhere and saw everything, he learned everything and forgot nothing. What was given to another through years of study, he comprehended instantly; There were simply no difficulties for him. And when he spoke, the pictures came to life before his eyes. He was present at the creation of the world; he saw how God created the first man; he saw Samson shake the columns of the temple and bring it down to the ground; he saw Caesar's death; he talked about life in heaven; he saw how sinners endure torment in the fiery depths of hell. All this appeared before you, as if you yourself were present and looked with your own eyes, and you were involuntarily overcome with awe. He, apparently, was just having fun. A vision of hell - a crowd of children, women, girls, boys, adult men, moaning in agony, begging for mercy - who can look at this without tears? He remained calm, as if looking at toy mice burning in a sparkler.
Every time he spoke about the life of people on earth and about their actions, even the greatest and most amazing, we felt as if awkward, because from his entire tone it was noticeable that he considered everything that concerns the human race not worthy of any attention . One might think that we are simply talking about flies. Once he said that, although people are stupid, vulgar, ignorant, arrogant, sick, frail and generally insignificant, wretched and useless creatures, he still has some interest in them. He spoke without anger, as if it were something taken for granted, as if he were talking about manure, bricks, something inanimate and completely insignificant. It was obvious that he did not want to offend us, but still I mentally reproached him for his lack of delicacy.
- Delicacy! - he said. “I’m telling you the truth, and the truth is always delicate.” What you call delicacy is nonsense. And here our castle is ready. Well, how do you like him?
How could we not like him! It was a pleasure to look at him. It was so beautiful, so elegant and so amazingly thought out in every detail, right down to the flags flying on the towers. Satan said that now it is necessary to install cannons at all loopholes, place halberdiers and build cavalry. Our soldiers and horses were no good: we were still inexperienced in modeling and were not able to sculpt them properly. Satan admitted that he had never seen anything worse. When he brought them to life with the touch of his finger, it was impossible to look at them without laughing. The soldiers' legs turned out to be of different lengths, they staggered, fell as if drunk, and finally stretched out on their faces, unable to rise. We laughed, but it was a bitter sight. We loaded the cannons with earth to salute, but the cannons were also unusable and exploded when fired, and some of the gunners were killed and some were maimed. Satan said that if we wish, he will now create a storm and an earthquake, but then it is better for us to step aside so as not to get hurt. We wanted to take the little people with us, but he objected that this should not be done; Nobody needs them, and if they are needed, we blind others.
A small thundercloud descended over the castle, a tiny lightning flashed, thunder struck, the earth trembled, the wind whistled piercingly, a storm began to roar, rain poured down, and the little people rushed to seek refuge in the castle. The cloud became blacker and blacker and almost hid the castle from us. Lightning, flashing one after another, struck the roof of the castle, and it burst into flames. Fierce, red flames broke through the dark cloud, and the people ran away from the castle screaming. But Satan drove them back with a wave of his hand, not paying attention to our requests, pleas and tears. And so, covering the howl of the wind and the rumble of thunder, there was an explosion, a powder magazine flew into the air, the earth dissipated, the abyss swallowed the ruins of the castle and closed again, burying all these innocent lives. Of the five hundred little people, not a single one remained. We were shocked to the core and could not stop crying.
“Don’t cry,” said Satan, “nobody needs them.”
- But they will now go to hell!
- So what? We blind others.
It was impossible to touch him. Apparently, he did not know at all what pity was and could not sympathize with us. He was in a great mood and as cheerful as if he had staged a wedding, not a massacre. He wanted us to be in the same mood, and with the help of his charms he succeeded in this too. And it didn’t cost him much work; he did whatever he wanted with us. Five minutes passed, and we danced on this grave, and he played for us on a strange melodious pipe that he took out of his pocket. It was a melody such as we had never heard - such music exists only in heaven; from there, from heaven, he brought it to us. The pleasure drove us crazy, we were unable to take our eyes off him and were drawn to him with all our hearts, and our silent gazes were filled with adoration. He also brought this dance to us from the heavenly spheres, and we tasted heavenly bliss.
Then he said that it was time for him to leave: he had important business. It was unbearable for us to part with him, and we hugged him and began to ask him to stay. Our request apparently pleased him; he agreed to stay with us some more and suggested that we all sit together and talk. He said that although Satan was his real name, he did not want it to become known to everyone; in front of strangers we should call him Philip Traum. This is a simple name, it will not surprise anyone.
The name was too mundane and insignificant for a creature like him. But since he wanted it that way, we didn’t object to him. His decision was law for us. We saw our fill of miracles that day, and I thought how nice it would be to tell about everything I saw at home. He noticed my thought and said:
- No, only the four of us will know about this. However, if you can't wait to tell, try. And I will make sure that your tongue does not give away the secret.
It's a shame, but what can you do about it! We just sighed once or twice to ourselves and continued our conversation. Satan still answered our thoughts without waiting for questions, and it seemed to me that this was the most amazing thing he does. He interrupted my thoughts here and said:
– This surprises you, but in fact there is nothing surprising here. I am not limited in my capabilities, like you. I am not subject to the human condition. I understand human weaknesses because I have studied them, but I myself am free from them. You feel my flesh when you touch me, but it is ghostly, just as my dress is ghostly. I am spirit. But Father Peter is coming to us.
We looked back. There was no one.
- He's approaching. Coming soon.
– Do you know Father Peter, Satan?
– Please talk to him when he comes. He is a smart and educated person, not like the three of us. He will be pleased to talk with you. Please!
- Next time. It's time for me to leave. And here he is, now you can see everything. Sit quietly - don't say a word.
We looked back, Father Peter was walking towards us from the chestnut grove. The three of us sat on the grass, and Satan was opposite us on the path. Father Peter walked at a slow pace, head down. Before reaching us a few yards, he stopped, as if intending to speak to us, took off his hat, took a foulard handkerchief from his pocket and began to wipe his forehead. After standing there, he said quietly, as if addressing himself:
“I don’t know what brought me here.” Just a minute ago I was sitting at home. And now it suddenly seems to me as if I slept for an hour and came here in a dream, not noticing the road. I feel so anxious these days. It's like I'm not myself.
He moved on, continuing to whisper something, and passed through Satan as if through an empty space. We were simply dumbfounded. We wanted to scream, as happens when something completely unexpected happens, but the scream inexplicably died in our throats, and we sat speechless, panting for breath. As soon as Father Peter disappeared into the forest, Satan said:
- Well, are you now convinced that I am a spirit?
“Yes, that’s probably how it is...” said Nikolaus. - But we are not spirits. It’s clear that he didn’t see you, but how come he didn’t see us either? He looked us straight in the face and seemed not to notice.
- Yes, I made you invisible too.
It was hard to believe that this was not a dream, that we were participants in all these amazing extraordinary events. And he sat next to us with the most relaxed look, so natural, simple, charming, and had a conversation with us. It is difficult to convey in words the feelings that possessed us. It was probably delight, and delight cannot be put into words. Delight is like music. Try to convey your impressions of music to someone else so that he is imbued with them. Satan again began to remember ancient times, and they stood before us as if alive. He saw a lot, a lot. The three of us looked at him and tried to imagine what it would be like to be like him, and to carry this burden of memories. Human existence now seemed to us dull and everyday, and man himself - a one-day thing, whose entire life fits into one single day, fleeting and pitiful. Satan did not try to spare our wounded pride. He spoke of people in the same dispassionate tone as one speaks of bricks or a dunghill; it was clear that people did not interest him at all, either positively or negatively. He did not want to offend us, he was probably far from it. When you say: a brick is bad, you do not think about whether the brick is offended by your judgment. Does the brick feel? Have you ever thought about this?
Once, when he threw the greatest monarchs, conquerors, poets, prophets, swindlers and pirates - all into one heap, like throwing a brick, I could not stand the shame of humanity and asked why, in fact, it seemed to him that the difference between him and people was so great . He was puzzled at first; he did not immediately understand how I could ask such a strange question. Then he said:
– What is the difference between me and a person? What is the difference between mortality and immortality, between a passing cloud and an ever-living spirit?
He picked up a grass aphid and planted it on a piece of bark.
-What is the difference between this creature and Julius Caesar?
I said:
– You cannot compare something that is incomparable either in scale or in nature.
“You answered your own question,” he said. - Now I will explain everything. Man is made of dirt, I saw how he was created. I am not made of dirt. Man is a collection of diseases, a receptacle of impurities. He was born today to disappear tomorrow. It begins as dirt and ends as stink. I belong to the aristocracy of Eternal Beings. Moreover, is man endowed with a moral sense? Do you understand what this means? He is endowed with a moral sense! This alone is enough to appreciate the difference between me and him.
He fell silent, as if he had exhausted the topic. I was upset. Although at that time I had a very vague idea of \u200b\u200bwhat the Moral Sense was, I nevertheless knew that having it was something to be proud of, and I was hurt by Satan's irony. This is how a smartly dressed young lady must be upset when she hears people laughing at her favorite outfit, but she thought everyone was crazy about it! There was silence, I was sad. After a pause, Satan started talking about something else, and soon his lively, witty conversation, splashing with fun, captured me again. He drew some hilariously funny scenes. He told how Samson tied burning torches to the tails of wild foxes and let them go into the fields of the Philistines, how Samson sat on the fence, slapped his thighs and laughed until he cried, and in the end he fell to the ground laughing. Remembering this, Satan himself laughed, and after him the three of us began to laugh together.
A little later he said:
“Now it’s time for me to leave, I have urgent business.”
- Don't go! - we shouted in unison. - You will leave and not come back.
- I will return, I give you my word.
- When? This evening? Tell me when?
- Soon. I'm not deceiving you.
- We love you.
- And I love you. And as a farewell, I’ll show you a funny thing. Usually, when I leave, I simply disappear from view. And now I will slowly melt into the air, and you will see it.
He rose to his feet and immediately began to quickly change before our eyes. His body seemed to melt until he became completely transparent, like a soap bubble, while maintaining his previous appearance and outline. Through it the surrounding bushes were now visible, and the whole of it shimmered and sparkled with an iridescent sheen and reflected on its surface that pattern like a window frame that we see on the surface of a soap bubble. You've probably seen more than once how a bubble rolls along the floor and, before bursting, easily jumps up once or twice. It was the same with him. It jumped up, touched the grass, rolled, flew up, touched the grass again, again, then burst - poof! - and there was nothing left.
It was a beautiful, amazing sight. We were silent and continued to sit as before, squinting, thinking and dreaming. Then Seppi stood up and said to us with a sad sigh:
“Probably none of this happened.”
And Nikolaus sighed and said something like that.
I was sad, the same thought bothered me. Then we saw Father Peter walking back along the path. He walked bent over and looked for something in the grass. Having caught up with us, he raised his head, saw us and asked:
- How long have you been here, boys?
- Recently, Father Peter.
“So you followed me and maybe you can help me.” Did you walk along the path?
- Yes, Father Peter.
- That is great. I also walked this path. I lost my wallet. Almost empty, but that’s not the point: it contains everything I have. Have you seen the wallet?
- No, Father Peter, but we will help you look for him.
– This is what I wanted to ask you about. Yes, there he lies!
Indeed! The wallet lay in the very place where Satan stood when he began to melt before our eyes - unless, of course, it was all a dream. Father Peter picked up the wallet, and there was a look of bewilderment on his face.
“The wallet is mine,” he said, “but the contents are not.” My wallet was skinny, but this one is full. My wallet was light, but this one was heavy.
Father Peter opened the wallet and showed it to us: it was tightly stuffed with gold coins. We looked with all our eyes because we had never seen so much money at once. We opened our mouths to say: this is the work of Satan, but we said nothing. So that's it! When Satan didn't want to, we simply couldn't utter a single word. He warned us.
- Boys, is this your doing?
We laughed, and so did Father Peter, realizing the absurdity of what he said.
- Was anyone here?
We opened our mouths again to answer, but said nothing. We couldn’t say that there was no one, that would be a lie, and there was no other answer. Suddenly the right thought came to my mind, and I said:
“There wasn’t a single person here.”
“Yes, that’s true,” confirmed my comrades, who both stood with their mouths open.
“It’s not like that at all,” Father Peter objected and looked at us sternly. – True, it was empty here when I passed, but that doesn’t mean anything. Someone has been here since then. This man could, of course, overtake you, and I do not at all claim that you saw him. But the fact that someone passed here is certain. Give me your word of honor that you didn't see anyone.
- Not a single person.
- Well, okay, I believe you.
- One thousand and one hundred odd ducats! - said Father Peter. - Oh God, if only I had this money! I'm so needy!
“Sir, this is your money,” we shouted in unison. - Until the last heller.
“Alas, there are only four of mine here.” But other...
The poor old man began to think, stroking the coins in his hands, and soon lost himself in thoughts. He sat on his haunches, with his gray head uncovered, and it was painful to look at him.
- No! - he said, as if waking up. – The money is someone else’s, and I can’t use it. Perhaps this is a trap. Some enemy...
Nikolaus said:
“Father Peter, apart from the astrologer, you and Marget have no enemy in our entire village.” And even if there was such a person, would he really sacrifice one thousand one hundred ducats just to play with you? cruel joke? Think about it!
Father Peter could not help but admit that Nikolaus had made a sound argument, and he perked up a little.
– Even if you are right, the money is still not mine.
“They are yours, Father Peter, we are all witnesses.” Really, guys?
- Of course, we are all witnesses! That's what we'll say.
“God bless you boys, you almost convinced me.” A hundred ducats would have saved me. My house is mortgaged, and if we don’t pay the debt by tomorrow, we will have nowhere to lay our heads. But I only have four ducats...
– The money is yours to the last coin. Take them, Father Peter. We will guarantee that the money is yours. Isn't that right, Seppi? And you, Theodore?
We supported Nikolaus, and he filled a dilapidated purse with gold coins and handed it to the old man. Father Peter said that he would take two hundred ducats for himself - his house was worth it, and would serve as a reliable guarantee - and would give the rest at interest until the real owner was found. He will later ask us to sign a certificate stating how the money was found, so that no one would think that he was saved from his inevitable misfortune by dishonest means.
