"The Mysterious Stranger" by Mark Twain is an unfinished novel that explores themes of morality, human nature, free will, and the nature of existence through a supernatural lens. Set in the Austrian village of Eseldorf in 1590, the story follows three boys—Theodor, Seppi, and Nikolaus—who encounter a mysterious, charismatic youth named Satan. This Satan is not the biblical figure, but rather his nephew, an angelic being who appears to be both benevolent and detached from human concerns.

Satan demonstrates supernatural powers, performing miracles and playing with human lives, often in cruel and callous ways. He creates miniature humans, brings them to life, and then casually destroys them. He engages the boys in discussions about the nature of good, evil, and sin, claiming that angels do not understand these concepts because they cannot experience them. Throughout the story, Satan reveals his nihilistic view of the universe, explaining that life is ultimately meaningless, a dreamlike illusion created by human minds.

The narrative grows increasingly dark as Satan manipulates the events around the villagers, resulting in suffering, madness, and death. His interventions, though often presented as merciful or necessary, raise profound questions about fate, morality, and the powerlessness of humanity.

In the final chapters, Satan reveals to Theodor that everything—the world, people, and even Satan himself—is an illusion, a mere dream. There is no God, no heaven, no hell, and no true existence beyond thought. This revelation leaves Theodor—and the reader—grappling with existential despair, as the story concludes on a note of philosophical ambiguity and unsettling uncertainty.

Ultimately, Twain’s The Mysterious Stranger serves as a deep meditation on the nature of existence, free will, and the human condition, questioning the very fabric of reality.

The following extracts each chapter; here’s the full novel.

Chapter 2

One day, the boys encountered a handsome youth named Satan in a quiet corner of the town's park. He introduced himself as an angel, the nephew of the fallen angel Satan, bearing the same name. As they talked and played, Satan cleared a patch of grass, and shaped tiny men and women from clay, no larger than fingers, and breathed life into them. They went diligently to work, cleared and leveled off a space a couple of yards square in the grass, and began to build a cunning little castle in it.

Not long after, two of the little workmen were quarreling, and in buzzing little bumblebee voices they were cursing and swearing at each other; now came blows and blood; then they locked themselves together in a life-and-death struggle. Satan reached out his hand and crushed the life out of them with his fingers, threw them away, wiped the red from his fingers on his handkerchief, and went on talking where he had left off: "We cannot do wrong; neither have we any disposition to do it, for we do not know what it is."

We were so shocked and grieved at the wanton murder he had committed—for murder it was, that was its true name, and it was without palliation or excuse—a killing so unnecessary and unjustified, for those tiny creatures had done him no harm. It left us grief-stricken, for we had admired him, believing him to be noble, beautiful, and kind, trusting in his angelic nature. Yet, he had committed such a heartless act. 

Soon after, the townspeople began to mourn the deaths of the workers, some weeping and praying. At first, Satan seemed unbothered, but as the sound of their soft cries began to annoy him, he removed the wooden plank from a swing and mercilessly crushed all the people on the ground as if they were mere insects. Then, without pause, he continued speaking. A sinless angel had coldly killed a pastor and obliterated hundreds of innocent men and women who had never wronged him.

Chapter 3

To Satan, these tiny beings were nothing more than his entertainment. The scene of babies, women, boys, girls, and men screaming and begging in agony, a vision of hell, weighed heavily on us, but he was indifferent, as if he were watching toy mice burn in a fire. When he spoke of the men and women of the world and their deeds—even the most noble and great—he saw humanity and its actions as trivial. The way he talked, if you didn’t know better, you’d think he was describing a swarm of flies.

I asked, "What’s the difference between angels and humans?"

Satan replied, "Humans possess a moral sense. Do you understand? They have a moral sense. That alone is the difference between us."

I knew we were proud of our moral sense, but the way Satan talked about it stung, like a girl who overhears strangers mocking her favorite dress, believing it to be praiseworthy. In a world where so many have time, how strange it is that none would use it to help those in need.

Chapter 5

While discussing morality, Satan said, "No, that’s a human act. Don’t insult animals with such unfair comparisons. They don’t deserve such blame."

"It is like your paltry race—always lying, always claiming virtues which it hasn't got, always denying them to the higher animals, which alone possess them. No brute ever does a cruel thing—that is the monopoly of those with the Moral Sense. When a brute inflicts pain he does it innocently; it is not wrong; for him there is no such thing as wrong. And he does not inflict pain for the pleasure of inflicting it—only man does that."

“There shouldn't be any wrong; and without the Moral Sense there couldn't be any.” There is no such thing as wrong. Without moral sense, wrongness would not exist. But humans are so irrational they can’t see that their moral sense lowers them to the basest level of creatures, turning them into something disgraceful.

Chapter 6

In an instant, we stood before a massive factory in a French village. "Look here," said Satan, "this place is full of moral sense. The factory owners are wealthy and respected, but they pay their poor workers just enough to keep them from starving. They work fourteen hours a day, no matter the season or weather, from six in the morning until eight at night, regardless of age. When the workday ends, they return to filthy pigsties. They crawl in and out of these pits each day—four miles each way, through muddy roads, whether it’s raining, snowing, or hailing, day after day, year after year. They sleep for only four hours a night, crammed into hovels where three families share a room, their homes filled with filth and unbearable stench. When they fall ill, they die like flies, with no help. What crime have they committed to deserve such punishment? None."

"Do you see now? Moral sense taught the factory owners to discern right from wrong, and this is the result. They think themselves superior to dogs."

Chapter 7

This chapter taps into the uncomfortable inquiry of moral dilemma and delves into the complex notion of what constitutes the “best outcome.” Through Satan’s manipulation of events, it challenges the traditional understanding of mercy, suffering, and heroism. Satan suggests that not all lives are worth living if they are filled with prolonged suffering and that a brief moment of heroism may be more meaningful than a lifetime of misery. 

Satan reveals that he has altered the lives of several villagers, including Nick and Lisa. He explains that as a result of his intervention, Nick will attempt to save Lisa from drowning in twelve days. However, due to the changes Satan made, Nick will arrive a few seconds too late, and both he and Lisa will drown. The narrator, deeply distressed, pleads with Satan to prevent the tragedy, unable to bear the thought of losing his friend. Satan, unmoved, explains that had he not intervened, Nick would have saved Lisa but would have caught a cold, leading to a long, miserable life of illness and paralysis. Satan asks if the narrator would prefer that outcome, to which the narrator pleads for mercy. Satan concludes that while Nick’s life had many possible paths, none were worth living. By dying in the attempt to save Lisa, Nick will perform a heroic act that, in Satan’s view, is far better than a lifetime of suffering. This act will condense the value of Nick’s life into six minutes of bravery, redeeming him from years of agony.

Chapter 8

A few days later, we found it unbearable to witness the grief of Lisa’s mother, that poor woman in mourning. We pleaded with Satan to review the possible paths of her life. “I already did,” he said. “She just turned the corner on the street, and I made her turn back. Her life has already changed.”

In the moments before we accepted it all, we had thought of vowing never to ask Satan to help our friends again, for no matter what, he seemed incapable of doing anything for them but kill them. However, when everything changed, we were glad we had made that choice, and filled with a sense of happiness.

Lisa’s mother was denounced, and after a brief trial, convicted of blasphemy for speaking those terrible words and refusing to recant. She was sentenced to be burned at the stake. When warned this would cost her life, she told them to take it, for she no longer wished to live. She would rather perish with the devil than remain with the hypocrites of the village. They accused her of using witchcraft to break the ribs of those chasing her. When asked if she was a witch, she scornfully replied: “No. If I had that power would any of you holy hypocrites be alive five minutes? No; I would strike you all dead. Pronounce your sentence and let me go; I am tired of your society.”

So, they condemned her. She was excommunicated, cut off from the joy of heaven, and consigned to the flames of hell. She was dressed in coarse robes, handed over to the church’s enforcers, and led to the marketplace for execution.

The solemn and slow tolling of the bells echoed for a while. We saw her tied to the stake, as a thin plume of blue smoke rose into the still air. Her once-stern expression softened as she looked out at the crowded audience, speaking gently: “We once played together, and through many long days, we were all pure and small creatures, and for that, I forgive you.”

We walked away, not seeing the flames consume her, but we heard the piercing screams, even as we covered our ears. When the screaming stopped, despite her excommunication, we knew she had reached heaven. We felt relief in her death and bore no guilt for what had transpired.

Chapter 9

Out of fear, the townspeople began searching for scapegoats of witchcraft, pursuing a woman who was naturally skilled in healing. It was said that she treated people using “evil” practices, such as bathing and nourishing them, rather than bleeding them, as was the custom of the barber-surgeons. She fled, a mob cursing and jeering at her as they chased her. Desperately, she tried to find refuge in one of the houses, but all the doors were shut against her. For over half an hour they pursued her, and I followed to watch. Finally, she collapsed from exhaustion, and they caught her. They dragged her to a tree, threw a rope over a large branch, and fashioned a noose. Several men held her down as she cried and pleaded bitterly. Her young daughter watched nearby, weeping but too afraid to speak or move.

They hanged the woman. I threw a stone at her too, even though I pitied her. Everyone threw stones, each person carefully observing their neighbors’ actions, for if I had not done as the others, I would have drawn attention and become a subject of gossip. Satan laughed heartily. Three men noticed that Satan had not followed along and threatened him. Satan quickly dealt with them, leaving them dead in an instant.

Later, I left with Satan. My heart was troubled, and I kept telling myself: “Satan told them he was mocking them, but that was a lie—he was mocking me.”

My thoughts made him laugh again. He said, “Yes, I’ve been laughing at you all along because you threw a stone at the woman out of fear of being reported by others, even though you hated yourself for doing it. But I’ve also been laughing at the others.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re in the same situation as you.”

“How so?”

“Well, out of the sixty-eight people there, sixty-two didn’t want to throw stones any more than you did.”

“Satan!”

“I know your race. It is made up of sheep. It is governed by minorities, seldom or never by majorities. It suppresses its feelings and its beliefs and follows the handful that makes the most noise. Sometimes the noisy handful is right, sometimes wrong; but no matter, the crowd follows it.”

"Monarchies, aristocracies, and religions are all based upon that large defect in your race—the individual's distrust of his neighbor, and his desire, for safety's or comfort's sake, to stand well in his neighbor's eye. These institutions will always remain, and always flourish, and always oppress you, affront you, and degrade you, because you will always be and remain slaves of minorities. There was never a country where the majority of the people were in their secret hearts loyal to any of these institutions."

Chapter 10

Father Peter had been wrongly imprisoned, but now that his name was cleared, he was released. However, thanks to Satan’s “help,” he spent the rest of his life in madness, convinced he was a king.

“You’ve misunderstood,” Satan said. “That’s exactly the case. I said he’d be happy for the rest of his days, and he will be, because he’ll always believe he’s a king. The pride and joy of that thought will stay with him until the end of his life. He is happy now, and he will remain so, reigning blissfully in his imagined kingdom.”

“But, Satan, look at how he’s doing it! Couldn’t you have made him happy without driving him mad?”

It’s hard to anger Satan, but this time I succeeded.

“How foolish can you be! Don’t you realize that sanity and happiness can’t coexist? No sane person can ever be happy. For the sane, life is real, and they see it for what it is—terrible. Only madmen are truly happy, and there aren’t many of them. The few who imagine themselves to be kings or gods are exceedingly happy, while others are no happier than sane people.”

Chapter 11

“So, you’re leaving and won’t come back?” Theodore asked Satan.

“Yes,” he replied. “We’ve spent a long time together, and these days have been filled with happiness—both for you and for me. But now, I must go, and we will never meet again.”

“We won’t see each other again in this life, but in the next, surely? We will meet again in the afterlife, right?”

Then, in a calm and serious tone, Satan gave his answer: “There is no afterlife.”

A subtle force seemed to pass from his heart to mine, bringing a vague, yet comforting sense of hope: that incredible answer might be true—perhaps even certainly true.

“Have you never doubted the existence of an afterlife, Theodore?”

“No, never! How could I? But even if it might be possible—”

“It is true.”

A wave of gratitude surged through me, but before I could express it in words, a question arose, so I asked: “But… but… we’ve seen the afterlife. We clearly saw future life—we saw its reality, didn’t we?”

“That was just an illusion, not reality.”

I could hardly breathe, my heart swelling with immense hope. “An illusion? A mere illusion—”

“Life itself is just an illusion. A dream.”

It felt like being struck by lightning. My God! How many times had I thought the very same thing!

“Nothing truly exists. Everything is just a dream. God, man, the world, the sun, the moon, and the stars—all are dreams. None of them exist. Nothing can save this void of a universe—not even you.”

“Me!”

You’re not even you—you have no body, no blood, no bones. You’re just a thought. I don’t even exist—I’m just a dream—your dream, a creation of your imagination. Soon, you’ll understand all of this, and then you’ll cast me out of your illusion. You created me from nothing, and I will return to that nothingness…

I’ve already begun to fade—I’m growing weaker—I’m disappearing. Soon, you will be left alone, drifting endlessly in boundless space, wandering in infinite solitude without any friends or companions—you will remain a thought, the only thought, indestructible and eternal. But I—your humble servant—have revealed the truth about yourself to you. Now, you are free. Go and dream other dreams, better ones!

How strange! You should never have doubted—centuries ago, ages ago, eons ago—because you’ve been existing in solitude for such a long time. It’s strange, yes, that you ever doubted everything in your universe was merely a dream, an illusion, a fabrication! Strange, because it’s all so plainly, absurdly mad—just like all dreams are: God could have created good children as easily as bad ones, but He chose to create bad ones; He could have made them all happy, but didn’t make a single one happy; He gave them life so they could suffer, yet He takes it back so casually; He gives His angels eternal happiness without effort but makes His other children struggle for it; He gives angels lives free of pain, but curses the others with sickness of body and soul; He preaches justice but creates Hell—He preaches mercy but creates Hell—He preaches the Golden Rule and seventy times seven forgiveness but creates Hell; He preaches morality but doesn’t apply it to Himself; He frowns upon sin but commits all the sins; He creates man without asking and then tries to shift the responsibility for man’s existence onto man himself, instead of nobly shouldering it Himself; and finally, with all divine solemnity, He invites these poor, abused slaves to worship Him!

Now you should know that such things can only happen in a dream. You understand that they are the products of pure, childlike madness, conjured by an imagination unaware of its own insanity—in short, they are all just a dream, and you are the creator. The signs of the dream are everywhere, and you should have recognized them sooner.

What I’ve revealed to you is true. There is no God, no universe, no human race, no earthly life, no heaven, and no hell. It’s all a dream—a ridiculous, absurd dream. Nothing exists except you. And you are just a thought—a wandering thought, a useless thought, a homeless thought, drifting despairingly through the eternal void!