The Facts Concerning The Recent Carnival of Crime in Connecticut | Page 8

Mark Twain
result. My lord said:
"Come, come! Remember the flag of truce!"
"Ah, I forgot that. I will try to be civil; and you try it, too, for a novelty.
The idea of a civil conscience! It is a good joke; an excellent joke. All
the consciences I have ever heard of were nagging, badgering,
fault-finding, execrable savages! Yes; and always in a sweat about
some poor little insignificant trifle or other--destruction catch the lot of
them, I say! I would trade mine for the smallpox and seven kinds of

consumption, and be glad of the chance. Now tell me, why is it that a
conscience can't haul a man over the coals once, for an offense, and
then let him alone? Why is it that it wants to keep on pegging at him,
day and night and night and day, week in and week out, forever and
ever, about the same old thing? There is no sense in that, and no reason
in it. I think a conscience that will act like that is meaner than the very
dirt itself."
"Well, WE like it; that suffices."
"Do you do it with the honest intent to improve a man?"
That question produced a sarcastic smile, and this reply:
"No, sir. Excuse me. We do it simply because it is 'business.' It is our
trade. The purpose of it is to improve the man, but we are merely
disinterested agents. We are appointed by authority, and haven't
anything to say in the matter. We obey orders and leave the
consequences where they belong. But I am willing to admit this much:
we do crowd the orders a trifle when we get a chance, which is most of
the time. We enjoy it. We are instructed to remind a man a few times of
an error; and I don't mind acknowledging that we try to give pretty
good measure. And when we get hold of a man of a peculiarly sensitive
nature, oh, but we do haze him! I have consciences to come all the way
from China and Russia to see a person of that kind put through his
paces, on a special occasion. Why, I knew a man of that sort who had
accidentally crippled a mulatto baby; the news went abroad, and I wish
you may never commit another sin if the consciences didn't flock from
all over the earth to enjoy the fun and help his master exorcise him.
That man walked the floor in torture for forty-eight hours, without
eating or sleeping, and then blew his brains out. The child was perfectly
well again in three weeks."
"Well, you are a precious crew, not to put it too strong. I think I begin
to see now why you have always been a trifle inconsistent with me. In
your anxiety to get all the juice you can out of a sin, you make a man
repent of it in three or four different ways. For instance, you found fault
with me for lying to that tramp, and I suffered over that. But it was only
yesterday that I told a tramp the square truth, to wit, that, it being
regarded as bad citizenship to encourage vagrancy, I would give him
nothing. What did you do then: Why, you made me say to myself, 'Ah,
it would have been so much kinder and more blameless to ease him off

with a little white lie, and send him away feeling that if he could not
have bread, the gentle treatment was at least something to be grateful
for!' Well, I suffered all day about that. Three days before I had fed a
tramp, and fed him freely, supposing it a virtuous act. Straight off you
said, 'Oh, false citizen, to have fed a tramp!' and I suffered as usual. I
gave a tramp work; you objected to it--after the contract was made, of
course; you never speak up beforehand. Next, I refused a tramp work;
you objected to that. Next, I proposed to kill a tramp; you kept me
awake all night, oozing remorse at every pore. Sure I was going to be
right this time, I sent the next tramp away with my benediction; and I
wish you may live as long as I do, if you didn't make me smart all night
again because I didn't kill him. Is there any way of satisfying that
malignant invention which is called a conscience?"
"Ha, ha! this is luxury! Go on!"
"But come, now, answer me that question. Is there any way?"
"Well, none that I propose to tell you, my son. Ass! I don't care what
act you may turn your hand to, I can straightway whisper a word in
your ear and make you think you have committed a dreadful meanness.
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