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 guests arrived at noon and filled the place. Father Adolf followed;
also, after a little, the astrologer, without invitation. The spies had
informed him that neither at the back nor the front had any parcels
been brought in. He entered, and found the eating and drinking going
on finely, and everything progressing in a lively and festive way. He
glanced around and perceived that many of the cooked delicacies and all
of the native and foreign fruits were of a perishable character, and he
also recognized that these were fresh and perfect. No apparitions, no
incantations, no thunder. That settled it. This was witchcraft. And not
only that, but of a new kind--a kind never dreamed of before. It was
a prodigious power, an illustrious power; he resolved to discover its
secret. The announcement of it would resound throughout the world,
penetrate to the remotest lands, paralyze all the nations with
amazement--and carry his name with it, and make him renowned forever. It
was a wonderful piece of luck, a splendid piece of luck; the glory of it
made him dizzy.
All the house made room for him; Marget politely seated him; Ursula
ordered Gottfried to bring a special table for him. Then she decked it
and furnished it, and asked for his orders.
“Bring me what you will,” he said.
The two servants brought supplies from the pantry, together with white
wine and red--a bottle of each. The astrologer, who very likely had
never seen such delicacies before, poured out a beaker of red wine,
drank it off, poured another, then began to eat with a grand appetite.
I was not expecting Satan, for it was more than a week since I had
seen or heard of him, but now he came in--I knew it by the feel, though
people were in the way and I could not see him. I heard him apologizing
for intruding; and he was going away, but Marget urged him to stay, and
he thanked her and stayed. She brought him along, introducing him to the
girls, and to Meidling, and to some of the elders; and there was quite
a rustle of whispers: “It's the young stranger we hear so much about
and can't get sight of, he is away so much.” “Dear, dear, but he is
beautiful--what is his name?” “Philip Traum.” “Ah, it fits him!” (You
see, “Traum” is German for “Dream.”) “What does he do?” “Studying for
the ministry, they say.” “His face is his fortune--he'll be a cardinal
some day.” “Where is his home?” “Away down somewhere in the tropics,
they say--has a rich uncle down there.” And so on. He made his way at
once; everybody was anxious to know him and talk with him. Everybody
noticed how cool and fresh it was, all of a sudden, and wondered at it,
for they could see that the sun was beating down the same as before,
outside, and the sky was clear of clouds, but no one guessed the reason,
of course.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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