The Mysterious Stranger, and Other StoriesTwain, Mark
General
The Mysterious Stranger, and Other Stories
Twain, Mark
Humorous stories, American; Short stories; United States -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER
by Mark Twain
Note: “The Mysterious Stranger” was written in 1898 and
never finished. The editors of Twain's “Collected Works”
completed the story prior to publication. At what point in
this work Twain left off and where the editor's began
is not made clear in the print copy used as the basis of
this eBook.
Contents:
The Mysterious Stranger
A Fable
Hunting The Deceitful Turkey
The McWilliamses And The Burglar Alarm
THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER
Chapter 1
It was in 1590--winter. Austria was far away from the world, and asleep;
it was still the Middle Ages in Austria, and promised to remain so
forever. Some even set it away back centuries upon centuries and said
that by the mental and spiritual clock it was still the Age of Belief
in Austria. But they meant it as a compliment, not a slur, and it was so
taken, and we were all proud of it. I remember it well, although I was
only a boy; and I remember, too, the pleasure it gave me.
Yes, Austria was far from the world, and asleep, and our village was in
the middle of that sleep, being in the middle of Austria. It drowsed in
peace in the deep privacy of a hilly and woodsy solitude where news from
the world hardly ever came to disturb its dreams, and was infinitely
content. At its front flowed the tranquil river, its surface painted
with cloud-forms and the reflections of drifting arks and stone-boats;
behind it rose the woody steeps to the base of the lofty precipice;
from the top of the precipice frowned a vast castle, its long stretch of
towers and bastions mailed in vines; beyond the river, a league to the
left, was a tumbled expanse of forest-clothed hills cloven by winding
gorges where the sun never penetrated; and to the right a precipice
overlooked the river, and between it and the hills just spoken of lay a
far-reaching plain dotted with little homesteads nested among orchards
and shade trees.
The whole region for leagues around was the hereditary property of a
prince, whose servants kept the castle always in perfect condition for
occupancy, but neither he nor his family came there oftener than once
in five years. When they came it was as if the lord of the world had
arrived, and had brought all the glories of its kingdoms along; and when
they went they left a calm behind which was like the deep sleep which
follows an orgy.
Eseldorf was a paradise for us boys. We were not overmuch pestered with
schooling. Mainly we were trained to be good Christians; to revere
the Virgin, the Church, and the saints above everything. Beyond these
matters we were not required to know much; and, in fact, not allowed
to. Knowledge was not good for the common people, and could make them
discontented with the lot which God had appointed for them, and God
would not endure discontentment with His plans. We had two priests. One
of them, Father Adolf, was a very zealous and strenuous priest, much
considered.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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