The Mysterious Stranger Manuscripts (Literature)

by Mark Twain

  Her body trembled with each kiss received and repaid, and by the power and volume of the emotions that surged through me I realized that the sensations I knew in my fleshly estate were cold and weak by contrast with those which a spirit feels.

  I was invisible, impalpable, substanceless, I was as transparent as the air, and yet I seemed to support the girl's weight and bear it up. No, it was more than seeming, it was an actuality. This was new; I had not been aware that my spirit possessed this force. I must exploit this valuable power, I must examine it, test it, make experiments. I said-

  "When I press your hand, dear, do you feel it?"

  "Why, of course."

  "And when I kiss you?"

  "Indeed yes!" and she laughed.

  "And do you feel my arms about you when I clasp you in them?"

  "Why, certainly. What strange questions!"

  "Oh, well, it's only to make talk, so that I can hear your voice. It is such music to me, Marget, that I-"

  "Marget? Marget? Why do you call me that?"

  "Oh, you little stickler for the conventions and proprieties! Have I got to call you Miss Regen? Dear me, I thought we were further along than that!"

  She seemed puzzled, and said-

  "But why should you call me that?"

  It was my turn to be puzzled.

  "Why should I? I don't know any really good reason, except that it's your name, dear."

  "My name, indeed!" and she gave her comely head a toss. "I've never heard it before!"

  I took her face between my hands and looked into her eyes to sec if she were jesting, but there was nothing there but sweet sincerity. I did not quite know what to say, so at a venture I said-

  "Any name that will be satisfactory to you will be lovely to me, you unspeakably adorable creature! Mention it! What shall I call you?"

  "Oh, what a time you do have, to make talk, as you call it! What shall you call me? Why, call me by my own name-my first name -and don't put any Miss to it!"

  I was still in the fog, but that was no matter-the longer it might take to work out of it the pleasanter and the better. So I made a start:

  "Your first name . . . . your first name . . . . . how annoying, I've forgotten it! What is it, dear?"

  The music of her laugh broke out rich and clear, like a bird-song, and she gave me a light box on the ear, and said-

  "Forgotten it?-oh, no, that won't do! You are playing some kind of a game-I don't know what it is, but you are not going to catch me. You want me to say it, and then-then-why then you are going to spring a trap or a joke or something and make me feel foolish. Is that it? What is it you are going to do if I say it, dearheart?"

  "I'll tell you," I said, sternly, "I am going to bend your head back and cradle your neck in the hollow of my left arm,-so-and squeeze you close-so-and the moment you say it I am going to kiss you on the mouth."

  She gazed up from the cradling arm with the proper play-acting humility and resignation, and whispered-

  "Lisabet!" and took her punishment without a protest.

  "You have been a very'good girl," I said, and patted her cheek approvingly. "There wasn't any trap, Lisabet-at least none but this: I pretended that forgetfulness because when the sweetest of all names comes from the sweetest of all lips it is sweeter then than ever, and I wanted to hear you say it."

  "Oh, you dear thing! I'll say the rest of it at the same price!"

  "Done!"

  "Elisabeth von Arnim!"

  "One-two-three: a kiss for each component!"

  I was out of the fog, I had the name. It was a triumph of diplomacy, and I was proud of it. I repeated the name several times, partly for the pleasure of hearing it and partly to nail it in my memory, then I said I wished we had some more things to trade between us on the same delicious basis. She caught at that, and said-

  "We can do your name, Martin."

  Martin! It made me jump. Whence had she gathered this batch of thitherto unheard-of names? What was the secret of this mystery, the how of it, the why of it, the explanation of it? It was too deep for me, much too deep. However, this was no time to be puzzling over it, I ought to be resuming trade and finding out the rest of my name; so I said-

  "Martin is a poor name, except when you say it. Say it again, sweetheart."

  "Martin. Pay me!"

  Which I did.

  "Go on, Betty dear; more music-say the rest of it."

  "Martin von Giesbach. I wish there was more of it. Pay!"

  I did, and added interest.

  Boone-m-m-m! from the solemn great bell in the main tower.

  "Half-past eleven-oh, what will mother say! I did not dream it was so late, did you Martin?"

  "No, it seemed only fifteen minutes."

  "Come, let us hurry," she said, and we hurried-at least after a sort of fashion-with my left arm around her waist and the hollow of her right hand cupped upon my left shoulder by way of having a support. Several times she murmured dreamily, "How happy I am, how happy, happy, happy!" and seemed to lose herself in that thought and be conscious of nothing else. By and by I had a rare start-my Duplicate stepped suddenly out from a bunch of shadows, just as we were passing by! He said, reproachfully-

  "Ah, Marget, I waited so long by your door, and you broke your promise! Is this kind of you? is it affectionate?"

  Oh, jealousy-I felt the pang of it for the first time.

  To my surprise-and joy-the girl took no more notice of him than if he had not been there. She walked right on, she did not seem to see him nor hear him. Ile was astonished, and stopped still and turned, following her with his eyes. He muttered something, then in a more definite voice he said-

  "What a queer attitude-to be holding her hand up in the air like that! . . . . . Why, she's walking in her sleep!"

  1-le began to follow, a few steps behind us. Arrived at Marget's door, I took her-no, Lisbet's!-peachy face between my hands and kissed the eyes and the lips, her delicate hands resting upon my shoulders the while; then she said "Good-night-good-night and blessed dreams," and passed within. I turned toward my Duplicate. Ile was standing near by, staring at the vacancy where the girl had been. For a time he did only that. Then he spoke up and said joyfully-

  "I've been a jealous fool! That was a kiss-and it was for me! She was dreaming of me. I understand it all, now. And that loving good-night-it was for me, too. Ah, it makes all the difference!" Ile went to the door and knelt down and kissed the place where she had stood.

  I could not endure it. I flew at him and with all my spiritstrength I fetched him an open-handed slat on the jaw that sent him lumbering and spinning and floundering over and over along the stone floor till the wall stopped him. Ile was greatly surprised. l IC got up rubbing his bruises and looking admiringly about him for a minute or two, then went limping away, saying-

  "I wonder what in hell that was!"

  Chapter 24

  I FLOATED off to my room through the unresisting air, and stirred up my fire and sat down to enjoy my happiness and study over the enigma of those names. By ferreting out of my memory certain scraps and shreds of information garnered from 44's talks I presently untangled the matter, and arrived at an explanationwhich was this: the presence of my flesh-and-blood personality was not a circumstance of any interest to Marget Regen, but my presence as a spirit acted upon her hypnotically-as 44 termed it-and plunged her into the somnambulic sleep. This removed her DaySelf from command and from consciousness, and gave the command to her DreamSelf for the time being. Her DreamSelf was a quite definite and independent personality, and for reasons of its own it had chosen to name itself Elisabeth von Arnim. It was entirely unacquainted with Marget Regen, did not even know she existed, and had no knowledge of her affairs, her feelings, her opinions, her religion, her history, nor of any other matter concerning her. On the other hand, Marget was entirely unacquainted with Elisabeth and wholly ignorant of her existence and of all other matters concerning her, including her name.

  Marget knew me as August Feld
ner, her DreamSelf knew me as Martin von Giesbach-why, was a matter beyond guessing. Awake, the girl cared nothing for me; steeped in the hypnotic sleep, I was the idol of her heart.

  There was another thing which I had learned from 44, and that was this: each human being contains not merely two independent entities, but three-the Waking-Self, the DreamSelf, and the Soul. This last is immortal, the others are functioned by the brain and the nerves, and are physical and mortal; they are not functiona-ble when the brain and nerves are paralysed by a temporary hurt or stupefied by narcotics; and when the man dies they die, since their life, their energy and their existence depend solely upon physical sustenance, and they cannot get that from dead nerves and a dead brain. When I was invisible the whole of my physical make-up was gone, nothing connected with it or depending upon it was left. My soul-my immortal spirit-alone remained. Freed from the encumbering flesh, it was able to exhibit forces, passions and emotions of a quite tremendously effective character.

  It seemed to me that I had now ciphered the matter out correctly, and unpuzzled the puzzle. I was right, as I found out afterward.

  And now a sorrowful thought came to me: all three of my Selves were in love with the one girl, and how could we all be happy? It made me miserable to think of it, the situation was so involved in difficulties, perplexities and unavoidable heart-burnings and resentments.

  Always before, I had been tranquilly unconcerned about my Duplicate. To me he was merely a stranger, no more no less; to him I was a stranger; in all our lives we had never chanced to meet until 44 had put flesh upon him; we could not have met if we had wanted to, because whenever one of us was awake and in command of our common brain and nerves the other was of necessity asleep and unconscious. All our lives we had been what 44 called Box and Cox lodgers in the one chamber: aware of each other's existence but not interested in each other's affairs, and never encountering each other save for a dim and hazy and sleepy half-moment on the threshold, when one was coming in and the other going out, and never in any case halting to make a bow or pass a greeting.

  And so it was not until my DreamSelf's fleshing that he and I met and spoke. There was no heartiness; we began as mere acquaintances, and so remained. Although we had been born together, at the same moment and of the same womb, there was no spiritual kinship between us; spiritually we were a couple of distinctly independent and unrelated individuals, with equal rights in a common fleshly property, and we cared no more for each other than we cared for any other stranger. My fleshed Duplicate did not even bear my name, but called himself Emil Schwarz.

  I was always courteous to my Duplicate, but I avoided him. This was natural, perhaps, for he was my superior. My imagination, compared with his splendid dream-equipment, was as a lightning bug to the lightning; in matters of our trade he could do more with his hands in five minutes than I could do in a day; he did all my work in the shop, and found it but a trifle; in the arts and graces of beguilement and persuasion I was a pauper and he a Croesus; in passion, feeling, emotion, sensation-whether of pain or pleasure-I was phosphorus, he was fire. In a word he had all the intensities one suffers or enjoys in a dream!

  This was the creature that had chosen to make love to Marget! In my coarse dull human form, what chance was there for me? Oh, none in the world, none! I knew it, I realized it, and the heartbreak of it was unbearable.

  But my Soul, stripped of its vulgar flesh-what was my Duplicate in competition with that? Nothing, and less than nothing. The conditions were reversed, as regarded passions, emotions, sensations, and the arts and graces of persuasion. Lisbet was mine, and I could hold her against the world-but only when she was Lisbet, only when her DreamSelf was in command of her person! when she was Marget she was her Waking-Self, and the slave of that reptile! Ah, there could be no help for this, no way out of this fiendish complication. I could have only half of her; the other half, no less dear to me, must remain the possession of another. She was mine, she was his, turn-about.

  These desolating thoughts kept racing and chasing and scorching and blistering through my brain without rest or halt, and I could find no peace, no comfort, no healing for the tortures they brought. Lisbet's love, so limitlessly dear and precious to me, was almost lost sight of because I couldn't have Marget's too. By this sign I perceived that I was still a human being; that is to say, a person who wants the earth, and cannot be satisfied unless he can have the whole of it. Well, we are made so; even the humblest of us has the voracity of an emperor.

  At early mass the next morning my happiness came back to me, for Marget was there, and the sight of her cured all my sorrows. For a time! She took no notice of me, and I was not expecting she would, therefore I was not troubled about that, and w..s content to look at her, and breathe the same air with her, and note and admire everything she did and everything she didn't do, and bless myself in these privileges; but when I found she had over-many occasions to glance casually and fleetingly around to her left I was moved to glance around, myself, and see if there was anything particular there. Sure enough there was. It was Emil Schwarz. He was already become a revolting object to me, and I now so detested him that I could hardly look at anything else during the rest of the service; except, of course, Marget.

  When the service was over,I lingered outside, and made myself invisible, purposing to follow Marget and resume the wooing. But she did not come. Everybody came out but two,-those two. After a little, Marget put her head out and looked around to see if any one was in sight, then she glanced back, with a slight nod, and moved swiftly away. That saddened me, for I interpreted it to mean that the other wooing was to have first place. Next came Schwarz, and him I followed-upward, always upward, by dim and narrow stairways seldom used; and so, to a lofty apartment in the south tower, the luxurious quarters of the departed magician. He entered, and closed the door, but I followed straight through the heavy panels, without waiting, and halted just on the inside. There was a great fire of logs at the other end of the room, and Marget was there! She came briskly to meet this odious Dream-stuff, and flung herself into his arms, and kissed him-and he her, and she him again, and he her again, and so on, and so on, and so on, till it was most unpleasant to look at. But I bore it, for I wanted to know all my misfortune, the full magnitude of it and the particulars. Next, they went arm-in-arm and sat down and cuddled up together on a sofa, and did that all over again-over and over and over and over-the most offensive spectacle I had ever seen, as it seemed to me. Then Schwarz tilted up that beautiful face, using his profane forefinger as a fulcrum under the chin that should have been sacred to me, and looked down into the luminous eyes which should have been wholly mine by rights, and said, archly-

  "Little traitor!"

  "Traitor? I? How, Emil?"

  "You didn't keep your tryst last night."

  "Why, Emil, I did!"

  "Oh, not you! Come-what did we do? where did we go? For a ducat you can't tell!"

  Marget looked surprised-then nonplussed-then a little frightened.

  "It is very strange," she said, "very strange . . . . . unaccountable. I seem to have forgotten everything. But I know I was out; I was out till near midnight; I know it because my mother chided me, and tried her best to make me confess what had kept me out so late; and she was very uneasy, and I was cruelly afraid she would suspect the truth. I remember nothing at all of what happened before. Isn't it strange!"

  Then the devil Schwarz laughed gaily and said that for a kiss he would unriddle the riddle. So he told her how he had encountered her, and how she was walking in her sleep, and how she was dreaming of him, and how happy it made him to see her kiss the air, imagining she was kissing him. And then they both laughed at the odd incident, and dropped the trifle out of their minds, and fell to trading caresses and endearments again, and thought no more about it.

  They talked of the "happy day!"-a phrase that scorched me like a coal. They would win over the mother and the uncle presentlyyes, they were quite sure of it. Then they built their future-bui
lt it out of sunshine and rainbows and rapture; and went on adding and adding to its golden ecstasies until they were so intoxicated with the prospect that words were no longer adequate to express what they were foreseeing and pre-enjoying, and so died upon their lips and gave place to love's true and richer language, wordless soul-communion: the heaving breast, the deep sigh, the unrelaxing embrace, the shoulder-pillowed head, the bliss-dimmed eyes, the lingering kiss ... .

  By God, my reason was leaving me! I swept forward and enveloped them as with a viewless cloud! In an instant Marget was Lisbet again; and as she sprang to her feet divinely aflame with passion for me I stepped back, and back, and back, she following, then I stopped and she fell panting in my arms, murmuring-

  "Oh, my own, my idol, how wearily the time has dragged-do not leave me again!"

  That Dream-mush rose astonished, and stared stupidly, his mouth working, but fetching out no words. Then he thought he understood, and started toward us, saying-

  "Walking in her sleep again-how suddenly it takes her! . . . . . I wonder how she can lean over like that without falling?"

  He arrived and put his arms through me and around her to support her, saying tenderly-

  "Wake, dearheart, shake it off, I cannot bear to see you so!"

  Lisbet freed herself from his arms and bent a stare of astonishment and wounded dignity upon him, accompanied by words to match-