tongue point inward, not outward." But the words did not come,
because they couldn't. Satan smiled upon me, and I understood. It
was as if he had said, "I know your thought, but you will keep it to
yourself."
When it was dark Marget took food and wine and fruit, in a
basket, and hurried away to the jail, and Satan and I walked toward
my home. I was thinking to myself that I should like to see what
the inside of a jail was like; Satan overheard the thought, and the
next moment we were in the jail. We were in the torture-chamber,
Satan said. The rack was there, and the other instruments, and
there was a smoky lantern or two hanging on the walls and helping
to make the place look dim and dreadful. There were people there,
-a priest and executioners, but as they took no notice of us, it
meant that we were invisible. A young man lay bound, and Satan
said he was suspected of being an unsound Catholic, and the priest
and the executioners were about to inquire into it. They asked the
man to confess to the charge, and he said he could not, for it was
not true. Then they drove splinter after splinter under his nails,
and he shrieked with the pain. Satan was not disturbed, for it was
only a human being, but I could not endure it, and had to be
whisked out of there. I was faint and sick, but the fresh air revived
me, and we walked toward my home. I said it was a brutal thing.
"No, it was a human thing. You should not insult the brutes by
such a misuse of that word-they have not deserved it;" and he
went on talking like that. "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 the snob 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.
Inspired by that mongrel Moral Sense of his! A Sense whose
function is to distinguish between right and wrong, with liberty to
choose which of them he will do. Now what advantage can he get
out of that? He is always choosing, and in nine cases out of ten he prefers the wrong. There shouldn't be any wrong; and without the
Moral Sense there couldn't be any. And yet he is such an unreasoning creature that he is not able to perceive that the Moral Sense
degrades him to the bottom layer of animated beings and is a
shameful possession. Are you feeling better? Let me show you
something."
In a moment we were in a French village. We walked through a
great factory of some sort, where men and women and little children were toiling in heat and dirt and a fog of dust; and they were
clothed in rags, and drooped at their work, for they were worn, and
half-starved, and weak and drowsy. Satan said-
"It is some more Moral Sense. The proprietors are rich, and very
holy; but the wage they pay to these poor brothers and sisters of
theirs is only enough to keep them from dropping dead with
hunger. The work-hours are fifteen per day, winter and summerfrom 5 in the morning till 8 at night-little children and all. And
they walk to and from the pig-sties which they inhabit-four miles
each way, through mud and slush, rain, snow, sleet and storm,
daily, year in and year out. They get four hours of sleep. They
kennel together, three families in a room, in unimaginable filth and
stench; and disease comes, and they die off like flies. Have they
committed a crime, these poor mangy things? No. Have they offended the priest? No; they are his pets-they fatten him with
their farthings, or he would have to work for his living. What have
they done, that they are punished so? Nothing at all, except getting
themselves born into your foolish race. You have seen how they
treat a misdoer there in the jail, now you see how they treat the
innocent and the worthy. Is your race
because they couldn't. Satan smiled upon me, and I understood. It
was as if he had said, "I know your thought, but you will keep it to
yourself."
When it was dark Marget took food and wine and fruit, in a
basket, and hurried away to the jail, and Satan and I walked toward
my home. I was thinking to myself that I should like to see what
the inside of a jail was like; Satan overheard the thought, and the
next moment we were in the jail. We were in the torture-chamber,
Satan said. The rack was there, and the other instruments, and
there was a smoky lantern or two hanging on the walls and helping
to make the place look dim and dreadful. There were people there,
-a priest and executioners, but as they took no notice of us, it
meant that we were invisible. A young man lay bound, and Satan
said he was suspected of being an unsound Catholic, and the priest
and the executioners were about to inquire into it. They asked the
man to confess to the charge, and he said he could not, for it was
not true. Then they drove splinter after splinter under his nails,
and he shrieked with the pain. Satan was not disturbed, for it was
only a human being, but I could not endure it, and had to be
whisked out of there. I was faint and sick, but the fresh air revived
me, and we walked toward my home. I said it was a brutal thing.
"No, it was a human thing. You should not insult the brutes by
such a misuse of that word-they have not deserved it;" and he
went on talking like that. "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 the snob 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.
Inspired by that mongrel Moral Sense of his! A Sense whose
function is to distinguish between right and wrong, with liberty to
choose which of them he will do. Now what advantage can he get
out of that? He is always choosing, and in nine cases out of ten he prefers the wrong. There shouldn't be any wrong; and without the
Moral Sense there couldn't be any. And yet he is such an unreasoning creature that he is not able to perceive that the Moral Sense
degrades him to the bottom layer of animated beings and is a
shameful possession. Are you feeling better? Let me show you
something."
In a moment we were in a French village. We walked through a
great factory of some sort, where men and women and little children were toiling in heat and dirt and a fog of dust; and they were
clothed in rags, and drooped at their work, for they were worn, and
half-starved, and weak and drowsy. Satan said-
"It is some more Moral Sense. The proprietors are rich, and very
holy; but the wage they pay to these poor brothers and sisters of
theirs is only enough to keep them from dropping dead with
hunger. The work-hours are fifteen per day, winter and summerfrom 5 in the morning till 8 at night-little children and all. And
they walk to and from the pig-sties which they inhabit-four miles
each way, through mud and slush, rain, snow, sleet and storm,
daily, year in and year out. They get four hours of sleep. They
kennel together, three families in a room, in unimaginable filth and
stench; and disease comes, and they die off like flies. Have they
committed a crime, these poor mangy things? No. Have they offended the priest? No; they are his pets-they fatten him with
their farthings, or he would have to work for his living. What have
they done, that they are punished so? Nothing at all, except getting
themselves born into your foolish race. You have seen how they
treat a misdoer there in the jail, now you see how they treat the
innocent and the worthy. Is your race
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