Carnival of Crime in CT. by Mark Twain

and therefore it must be best to lay it before that tribunal in the

outset, since in the end it must stand or fall by that mighty court’s

decision anyway.”

“Yes, you said all that. So you did, you juggling, small-souled

shuffler! And yet when the happy hopefulness faded out of that poor

girl’s face, when you saw her furtively slip beneath her shawl the scroll

she had so patiently and honestly scribbled at–so ashamed of her darling

now, so proud of it before–when you saw the gladness go out of her eyes

and the tears come there, when she crept away so humbly who had come

so–”

“Oh, peace! peace! peace! Blister your merciless tongue, haven’t all

these thoughts tortured me enough without your coming here to fetch them

back again!”

Remorse! remorse! It seemed to me that it would eat the very heart out

of me! And yet that small fiend only sat there leering at me with joy

and contempt, and placidly chuckling. Presently he began to speak again.

Every sentence was an accusation, and every accusation a truth. Every

clause was freighted with sarcasm and derision, every slow-dropping word

burned like vitriol. The dwarf reminded me of times when I had flown at

my children in anger and punished them for faults which a little inquiry

would have taught me that others, and not they, had committed.

He reminded me of how I had disloyally allowed old friends to be traduced

in my hearing, and been too craven to utter a word in their defense.

He reminded me of many dishonest things which I had done; of many which I

had procured to be done by children and other irresponsible persons; of

some which I had planned, thought upon, and longed to do, and been kept

from the performance by fear of consequences only. With exquisite

cruelty he recalled to my mind, item by item, wrongs and unkindnesses I

had inflicted and humiliations I had put upon friends since dead, “who

died thinking of those injuries, maybe, and grieving over them,” he

added, by way of poison to the stab.

“For instance,” said he, “take the case of your younger brother, when you

two were boys together, many a long year ago. He always lovingly trusted

in you with a fidelity that your manifold treacheries were not able to

shake. He followed you about like a dog, content to suffer wrong and

abuse if he might only be with you; patient under these injuries so long

as it was your hand that inflicted them. The latest picture you have of

him in health and strength must be such a comfort to you! You pledged

your honor that if he would let you blindfold him no harm should come to

him; and then, giggling and choking over the rare fun of the joke, you

led him to a brook thinly glazed with ice, and pushed him in; and how you

did laugh! Man, you will never forget the gentle, reproachful look he

gave you as he struggled shivering out, if you live a thousand years!

Oh! you see it now, you see it now!”

“Beast, I have seen it a million times, and shall see it a million more!

and may you rot away piecemeal, and suffer till doomsday what I suffer

now, for bringing it back to me again!”

The dwarf chuckled contentedly, and went on with his accusing history of

my career. I dropped into a moody, vengeful state, and suffered in

silence under the merciless lash. At last this remark of his gave me a

sudden rouse:

“Two months ago, on a Tuesday, you woke up, away in the night, and fell

to thinking, with shame, about a peculiarly mean and pitiful act of yours

toward a poor ignorant Indian in the wilds of the Rocky Mountains in the

winter of eighteen hundred and–”

“Stop a moment, devil! Stop! Do you mean to tell me that even my very

thoughts are not hidden from you?”

“It seems to look like that. Didn’t you think the thoughts I have just

mentioned?”

“If I didn’t, I wish I may never breathe again! Look here, friend–look

me in the eye. Who are you?”

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