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Les cartes, planches, tableaux, etc., peuvent 6tre fiimAs d des taux de reduction diff6rents. Lorsque le document est trop grand pour Atre reprodult en un seul clichA, II est filmA A partir de I'angie supArieur gauche, de gauche A droite, et de haut en bes, en prenant le nombre d'images nAcessaire. Les diagrammes sulvants lllustrent le mAthode. y errata Id to nt fie pelure, . % % .> rHE CHOICE HI MOROUS WORKS OF MARK TWAIN ^vi5^r^^ - r.^aiuv. jvd by the author f; on HOIIDE ■♦(», Wir?« L'T- ^^ 1 »«t*.*n I » \» THOR AN1> ^^ HE MUSSON W)(~}k CO., LIMITED J.ONto^. CHATTO 3( WINDUS i.^ r.- / ocYllNARIUM MAJUS f • ♦.. ,' •' i .'^. •' #' • •"■. /I r-i *■■' "7 t ,,, ■■ 'ffi'tvt:' r-5; ^t"^-!-*.^ THE CHOICE Collerfipn HOUDE HUMOROUS WORKS OF MARK TWAIN REVISED AND CORRECTED BY THE AUTHOR WITH LIFE AND PORTRAIT OF THE AUTHOR AND NUMEROUS ILLUSTRATIONS TORONTO : THE MUSSON BOOK CO., LIMITED LONDON: CHATTO & WINDUS { SEMINARIUM MAJUS m CONTENTS. Ltn OV SAMUlt L. CLEMENS (maHK TWAW), PART I. THE INNOCENTS ABROAD, FEB NEW pilgrim's PBOQEBSS, PART IL PART III. HUMOBOUS STOKIES AND SKETOHEa TEE JUMPING PROG OP CALAVERAS COUNTY. BRITISH PESTIVinES. THE INOOMB TAX MAW, . ANSWER TO AN INQUIRY PROM THE COMING 1 DANGER OP LYING IN BED, A TRAVELLING SHOW ' • • • ADVICE TO GOOD LITTLE GIRLS, . MARK TWAIN's MAP OP PARIS, . ^OUT BARBKR8. AUBELIA'S DNIORTUNATE YODNO MAN, . ARTEMU8 WARD, PIRST INTERVIEW WITH. CURING A COLD, ■ni* SIAMESE TWINS, , PAOI vii J7 186 • 361 * . 865 • g 869 ^f 873 • . 373 • f 375 • . m • - • • 378 « A 380 4 f * 3S3 3S5 888 • » 891 IV CONTENTS, A nsIT TO VIAOABA, . BKITDIlfa HIM THROUaH, AMBW1B8 TO 00BRK8PQMDSNTB, TO BAIBB POULTRY, OAUl'OBNIAN BXPIBIBMOB, "THB UNION— RIGHT OR WRONG ?" DIBORAOBrUL rXBBEOUTIOM 01 A EOT, INTORMATION WANTBD, . MENTAL FHOTOOBAPHB, . MT riRST LITBRAIIY TKNTURB, . BOW THB AUTHOR WAS SOLD IN NEWARK, THB ornOB BOBB, AMONG THE PBNIANB, . THE CA8B OT GBORQE FISHBB, . LITERATURE IN THB DRY DIOOINGS, THB FAOTB IN THE OABE OF THB GREAT BEEF CONTRAOT, rns PETRIFIED MAN, MT FAMOUS " BLOODY MASSACRB," THE judge's " SPIRITED WOMAN," H0GWA8H, JOHNNY GREBR, . A DARING ATTEMPT AT A SOLUTION OF IT AN INQUIRY ABOUT INSUBANOBS, UONISING MURDERERS, . A MEMORY, . . . POLITICAL ECONOMY, JOHN CHINAMAN IN NEW YORK, . A NABOB'S VISIT TO NEW YOHX, . HIGGINS, PAOt 398 406 407 408 410 413 414 416 418 419 420 421 424 427 431 438 436 437 438 439 440 442 446 448 452 453 466 ! ■ CONTENTS. 8»4 497 898 406 407 408 410 413 414 416 418 419 420 421 426 427 43] 438 436 437 438 439 440 442 445 448 452 458 466 *MOHa THR BPIRfm, WMICN I WAS A 8ECRKTART, . A riNK OLD MAN, TIIR TONK-IMrAUTING CDMMITTJK, ▲ BEMAUKABLK HTRANQEB, .... AN ITEM WHruH THE EDITOU HIMSELF OOULD NOT UNDKR8TAND, THE AUTDOU's AUTOBIOOllAI'lIY, . JOURNALISM IN TKNNE88EK, AN EPIDEMIC, FAVOORS FHOM CO II RESPONDENTS, CURIOUS RELIC FUR HALE, SCIENCE V. LUCK, THE KILUNO OK JULIUS CJ5SAR ** LOCALISED, THE FACTS CONCERNING THE RECENT EB8I0NAT10N, "after" JENKINS, . . , BILET — Nl.WSPAPEH COBBESPONDXNT, . A FASHION ITEM, . • • • i A MEDIiSVAL ROMANCE, ..,••« LUORETIA smith's 80LDIBB, . • • < baker's oat, ...••; STORY OF THE BAD LITTLE BOT, .... 8T0RT OF THE QOOD LITTLE BOY WHO DID NOT PB08PUU, THB SUNDAY-SCHOOL, ..... POOR HUMAN NATURE, ..... A TOUCHING 8T0RT OF GEORGE WASHINGTON'S BOTUOOD, aNIGmAi •••••• 4 WIT-INSPIRATIONS OF THE ^ TWO YEAR OLDti,' . DAN MUBPBY, ...... HOW I BDITBO AN AGRICULTURAL PAPER, . , fAOl 460 460 468 464 466 469 471 476 480 481 482 486 488 491 496 497 600 600 606 609 611 614 617 518 618 621 621 624 624 ▼I CONTENTS. 4V CraURtBflQDABLB THIMCI THI ONDBHTAKIB'8 ITOBT, . ^ OBMIRAL RIPLT, . AH umBTAiiriNO artioli, ** raSTORT R1PIAT8 ITBBLI," rai LATI BIMJAMIN FBANKLIB, . bummimq fob qoykrnorf thb poor bditor, ht watoh— am imbtruotivb little talb, a bandwioh island bditor, thb portrait, . short and singular rations, . honodrbd as a ouriositt in honolulu, "dogobrbl," mban pboplb, RBMARKABLB IN8TAN0BS OF PBBSBNOB OP MIND, THBSTBBD "OAHU," . • A BTRANOB DBBAM, OOKOBRNINa OHAMBRRMATDS. i 638 029 031 685 688 689 641 646 646 643 649 661 662 668 664 666 667 668 688 MARK TWAIN: A SKETCH OF HIS LIFE. A T a London dinner-table recently, the conyeiaatlon happened to turn upon Mr Henry M. Stanley's nationality. The author of " The Innocents Abroad" being present, said that, so far as A« was concemedj he could give the clearest, most satisfactory account possible of Aw birtn-place and nationality, for he " was born in Aberdeen, County of Cork, England." After such an explicit address, it may seem an impertinence, on the part of his biographer, to say that there otv some American historians who differ with our humourist upon this point ; in fact, they go so far as to say that he was bom in Florida, Monroe County, State of Mis- souri ; and they further assert that he first saw the light on the 30th of November, 1035. That there is disagreement in the two statements, we ^hink no impartial reader will deny ; so, after laying the whole matter )efore the authorities of the Heralds' College, and after various arduous researches at the British Museum, worrying the learned directors there until the entire establishment bent itseu manfully to the task, the im- probability of the author's own statement was at length proved. ** If [you will onl^ take," said one of the most learned of the antiquaries ; "if Mr Twam will only take the trouble to look at Keith Johnstone's [larger Atias— or, for the matter of that, the Atlas issued by the SocieW I for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge will do just as well — if Mr Twain will take this, and turn to plate 6, he will immediately see that Aberdeen is situated at far too great a distance from County Cork to come properly within the geog[raphicaI boundary line of England." It was farther stated that even if money were spent over an examination of the Begisters at Cork and Aberdeen, but little additional knowledge would in all probability be the result These opinions settled the matter, and to Missouri we may now safely conclude oelongs the honour of « Mark Twain's " birth-pUoe. , ^ I'N ill ii Till AfARir TWAIN: Eut to ptoceed with hia biography. In due course he was christened Samuel Langkome Clemens ; and it is understood that hia earliest years were passed with the usual tumbles and bumps attending childhood. At the age of twelve he lost his lather, a misfortune that sadly inter- ieied with his early education ; in fact, beyond occasional instruction at the district school, Mr Clemens may be regarded as a self-educated man. Soon after his father's death he apprenticed himself to a printer — a step, it may be remarked, which iLrtemus "Ward also took when he was a lad of twelve or thirteen.* Young Clemens remained with his master — or " boss," as no such being as a master is to be found in the United States — for three years, the ordinary American term of apprenticeship. It was during this period that the youth applied himself to study in his spare hours, and at the expiration of his three years he resolved to travel and support himself by his trade. Already, if wo may believe one of his own droll papers, he had tried his hand at literary composition ; and although the humourist makes fun of what he terms his ** First Literary Effort," etill it is not unlikely to have had some foundation in fact. He says : — ** I was a very smart child at the age of thirteen -an nnoBaally smart child, I thought at the time. It was then that I did my first newspaper scribbling, and most unexpectedly to me it stirred np a fine sensation in the community. It did, indeed, and I was very proud of it, too. I was a printer's ' devil,' and a progreHsive and aspiring one. My uncle had me on his paper (the Weekly Hannibal Journal, two dollars a year in advance — five hundred subscribers, and they paid in cordwood, cabbages, and unmarketable tumi2)&), and on a luckj; summer's day he left town to be gone a week, and asked me if I thought I oould •dit one issue of the paper judiciously. Ah 1 didn't I want to try !*' The rest of the storj' will be found further on, and wUl be equally well enjoyed by the reader, whether it is fact or fiction. At the conclusion of his apj)renticeship, the youn^ journeyman did what most of his class do in America : he started on liis travels, going from town to town as a " type sticker," and working his way from one printing- office to another. In this way he fell in with many of those odd ex- periences which form the staple of such droll sketches as " Journalism in Tennessee," and *' How I edited an Agricultural Paper." But a tp,ste for open-air life soon showed itself, and at seventeen he resolved to be- come a pilot on the Mississippi river. Young Clemens's head-quarters at this time was St Louis, and he took his first lessons in what is tech- nically called "learning the river," on board the old steamer John J. Roey which pUed between St Louis and New Orleans, a distance of 1375 miles. Literature was not neglected by the new pilot ; on the contrary, Clemens became a sort of general reporter for the river, and used to write up steamboat memoranda and occasional squibs for the St Louis Republican, the leading journal in Missouri. The first victim of the new pilot's humour was one Captain Sellers, a skilled pilot, but * Bayard Taylor, too, was a printer's apprentice. So impressed was Artemus Ward with the value of tlie composing-room as a practical scliool for lads, that when he gave instrus tions for the drawing up of his will, he directed ^hat his page, George, shoold be sent to n printing-office first, and afterwards to ceUego. I i SKETCH OF HIS LIFE. Ix devoid of any literary culture whatever, although he had a very lofty opinion as to his mental abilities. Clemens sketched the captain in good style, touching otf his peculiarities, and giving the ai dele such an amount of " go," that it was pronounced by the other officers ou board a decided hit. After he had written the article, the author, we are told, inquired of John Monis, subsequently captain of the Belle Memphis, what name he should sia:n to it. One of the deck hands at the time happening to be heaving the lead, hallooed out " mark twain" — meaning the deptli of the water they were then passing over — when Clemens ex- claimed, " That's it ; Mark Twain's my name." The sketch, with his new name at the bottom of it, was subsequently placed in the hands of Mr C. E. Garrett, who was at that time river editor of the Republican, and it immediately found a place in what is called the " River Depart- ment" of that paper. The article proved a great success, and was extensively copied by the Western journals. Clemens followed the river life for seven years, and only quitted it when his elder brother, Mr Orion Clemens, was appointed " Secretary of Nevada Territory." This was an " office of such majesty," we are assured by Mark Twain, in his own account of the circumstance, that — "It concentrated in itself the duties and dignities of Treasurer, Comptroller, Secretary of State, and Acting Governor in the Governor's absence. A salary of eighteen hundred dollars a year, and the title of ' Mr Secretary,' gave to the I great position an air of wild and imposing grandeur. I was young and ignorant, and I envied my brother. I coveted his distinction and his financial splendour, I but particularly and especially the long, strange journey he was going to make, land the curious new world he was going to explore. He was going to travel ! [I never had been away from home, and that word "travel" had a seductive Bharm for me. Pretty soon he would be hundreds and hundreds of miles away Ion the great plains and deserts, and among the mountains of the Far West, and l^would see buflfaloes and Indians, and prairie dogs and antelopes, and have all ' "^hids of adventures, and maybe get hanged or scalped, and have ever such a fine Hime, and write home and tell us all about it, and be a hero. And he would see the gold mines and the silver mines, and maybe go about of an afternoon when bis work was done, and pick up two or three pailfuls of shining slugs, and nuggets »f gold and silver on the hillside. And by and by he would become very rich, ind return home by sea, and be able to talk as calmly about San Francisco, and the ocean, and "the isthmus,'' as if it was nothing of any consequence to have jen those marvels face to face. What I suffered in contemplating his happiness, m cannot describe. And so, when he offered me, in cold blood, the subhme josition of private secretary under him, it appeared to me that the heavens and the earth passed away, and the firmament was rolled together as a scroll I I had lothing more to desire. My contentment was complete. At the end of an hour »r two I was ready for the journey. Not much packing up was necessary, be- mse we were going in the overland stage from the Blisso i frontier to Nevada, |»nd passengers were only allowed a small quantity of baggage apiece. There I was no_ Pacific railroad in those fine times often or twelve years ago— not a single Irail of it. I only proposed to stay in Nevada three months— I had no thought lof staying longer than that. I meant to see all I could that was new and strange, land then hurry home to business. I little thought that I would not see the end of that three-month pleasure excursion for six or leven uncommonly long years !" Maik dreamt all night of Indians, deserts, and silver bars, and on the following day started on his journey. The first point reached was St [Joseph, on the Missouri river, the border town, and last remain of I :■ !A 'f \) '!; ill s AfARir TWAIN: Eastern oivilisation — all beyond being wild and lawless. Here the difftculties and fatigue of the overland journey commence. A heavy c »acb, or stage — an " imposing cradle on wheels " — takes you to Carson City, Nevada, at a fare of $150 each person. Only 25 lbs. of luggage are allowed, so that our travellers had to send back their " swallow-tail coats and white kid gloves," their " stove-pipe hats and patent leather boots," so " necessary to mi^e life calm and peaceful" Mr Secretary managed to take along " about 4 lbs. of U.S. Statutes, and 6 lbs. of Un- abridged Dictionary," as the official library ; and, of course, both brothers were provided with dea ten hours, ana parched waste^ Uie alkali dust atinually. But ro hundred and f all the Indian liave descended f from nothing iless sand, into and at noon, on the capital of accredited. As settle down to ad " fed fat on d fond of it the famous mmber of miles ladow of a grim [ted clear out oi I* wooden ' town ; of four or five [own on, but not Igh. They were jit mighty plain. iclined to rattle stores, was the ^ns — a large, un- as a place for I for teamsters t« ces, and stabler iced to some the Govemor'fi residence, w pay their respects, they fell in with a Mr Harris, who waa on horseback. " He began to say something, but interrupted himself with the remark : — '" I '11 have to get you to excuse me a minute ; ponder is the witness that iwore I helped to rob the California coach — a piece of impertinent intermeddling, sir, for I am not even acquainted with the man.* " Then he rode over and began to rebuke the stranger with a six-shooter, and the stranger began to explain with another. When the pistols were emptied, the stranger resumed his work (mending a whip-lash), and Mr. Harris rode by with a polite nod, homeward bound, with a bullet through one of his lungs, and several in his hips ; and from them issued rivulets of blood that coursed down the horse's side, and made the animal look quite picturesque. I never saw Harris shoot a man after that, but it recalled to mind that first day in Carson." Mark Twain says " this was all we saw for that day." It waa then two o'clock, and at about that hour the " Washoe* Zephyr," usually set in with a roUing billow of dust, which carried everything before it — that is, if by everything such things as chickens, tin signs, door mats, coal SB scuttles, glass doors, cats, and little children may be understood. The Governor, they found, occupied a small white-frame one-story house, divided into two rooms, with a shed in front to give it an air of grandeur, and inspire the Indians with awe ! Of course the Secretaiy could not aspire to such a grand residence as this, and he had to board out, and have his oflBce in his bedroom. The two brothers took lodgings at the house of " a worthy French lady by the name of Bridget O'Flannigan." After a time our author got quite used to this sort of life, and took to slouched hat, coarse woollen ^irt, and heavy boots, as naturally as if he had been brought up to it. The wild, wonderful life fascinated him, as it has done many another young fellow. The office of "private secretary " he found a "unique sinecure ;" he had nothing to do and no salary, so he and a companion started out with a couple of blankets and , an axe a piece, to see the country. They tramped to Lake Taboe, ' camped out, and when night came on rolled themselves in their blankets, ,v| and were " lulled to sleep by the beating of the surf upon the shore." '^ They built themselves a log hut, saw no human being for some three ; weeks, and became so fascinated with their wanderings and adventures, rr that our author exclaims, *' If there is any happier life than the life we "^ lead it must be a sort of life* which I have not read of in books or experienced in person." Although they had built a house they never slept in it — it did not occur to them, so inviting and glorious was the great bedroom out of doors. They only returned home to Carson City because some sparks from their camp fire caught the dry shrubs around, burning up their cooking utensils, and finally setting the whole district in a '* blinding tempest of flame." But the excursion in a great measure decided our author's future couKie. Everywhere around him fortunes were being made by the miners. " Prospecting parties " were leaving daily, to discover fresh silver lodes and ledges of quartz. Men with hardly a shirt to their , * Washoe is the Biok'iUMis for Nevada Territory. 3f fi .1 xiT MAIiX TWAIN: backs, and who could not get a drink for love — money they had none— suddenly found themselves in possession of thousands upon thousandi of dollars, and revelling in champagne, which would cost theiu somewhere about j£3 a bottle. Day after day esoorted waggons kept coming in laden with solid bricks of silver. " I would," writes Mark Twain, " have been more or less than human if I had not gene mad like the rest." A glowing account of the latest discovery had just appeared in the i)a% Territorial Enterprise, the writer assuring his readers that "Humboldt County is the richest mineral region upon God's footstool," that every mountain is"gorged with the precious metal," and that there existed the " true Golconda." Thia settled the matter ; Mark Twain and three companions decided there and then to start for Humboldt. There were two young lawyers, an old blacksmith, and Mark. They bought a waggon and " two miserable old horses," and with a large supply of provisions and mining tools they started for Humboldt, two hundred miles distant. An hour's experience convinced the party that so far from any of them riding, they would have to shove the waggon if they were ever to reach Humboldt. One looked after the horses, two of them searched for fuel and water, and the^ old blacksmith cooked. They had no tent, and when night came on they laid down in their blankets and dropped off to sleep. £i fifteen days they reached Unionville— a town consisting of *' eleven cabins and a liberty pole." On the side of the canyon mey put up a rough cabin, covering the top with canvas, but " leaving a comer open to serve as a chimney, through which the cattle used to tumble occasionally at night, and smash our furniture and interrupt our sleep." They immediately set to work " prospecting," and after sinking a short shaft and running a very limited timnel upon a claim that uiey had christened the " Monarch of the Mountains," their courage gave way, and it dawned upon them that perhaps the most profitable thing after all was to )ook« in the Kunaka, or native tongue, and the people seem to ho tar more foud of going to cliiirch and listening to long sennons than the good folks in the far-off East, who subscribe mone}' to Hcnd out the missionaries. Missionaries and seamen belonging to whaling vessels, these constitute the bulk of the white population — in fact, our author says you are pretty safe in addressing any healthy-looking white man as " Captain," and if a something in his face tells you that you have made a mistake, you have only to go on the other tack, and ask him where he preaches. Mark assured the readers of the Sacramento Union that he already knew seventy-two captains and ninety-six miswionaries ! One thing struck our author, and that was the extraordinary number of functionaries, gramlecs, and official hangers-on, which go to make up the government of this " ten-acre kingdom." There are now a Royal Cnamberlain, and a Grand E(juerry in Waiting, and a First Gentleman of the Bed-chamber, in a kingdom where, sixty years ago, the royal family ran about as naked as they were bom. The recent President oi the Assembly, a higldy-educated and fine old gentleman, in blue cloth coat and white waistcoat — as spotless as the garments of any of the peera who sit in our own House of Lords — was, when young, a naked warrior, and fought at the head of his savages with a ferocity and success that brought him into repute with the tnen reigning king. So great is the change that has come over the country within the last two generations. Of course our author went to Hawaii to see the great volcano. The island is about one hundred and fifty miles distant from Honolulu, and on the present occasion was reached by a small coaating schooner, having a quarter-deck that four people would crowd to inconvenience, and a state cabin that you might certainly swing a cat in, but then, as Mark says, it should not be a long cat The view of Hawaii from the sea is very fine. The two great moun- tains, Mauna Loa and Hualaiai, rear themselves aloft, the latter to a height of only 10,000 feet, but the former going up to 16,000 feet above the sea level. It is this mountain whicjh our author has so fully described in his recent paper on the Sandwich, Islands. On its side you may find all the climates of the world : — "The rays of glittering snow and ice, that clasped its summit like a olaw, looked refreshing when viewed from the blistering climate we were in. One could stand on that mountain (wrapped up in blankets and furs to keep warm), and while he nibbled a snowball or an icicle to quench his thirst, he could look down the long sweep of its sides, and see spots where plants are growing, that grow only where the bitter cold of winter prevails ; lower down he could see sections devoted to productions that thrive in the temperate zone alone ; and at the bottom of the mountain he could see the home of the tufted cocoa-palms and other species of vegetation that g^row only in the sultry atmosphere of eter- nal summer. He could see all the climes of the world at a single glance of the eye, and that glance would only pass over a distance of four or five miles aa th« bird flies!" They then took a boat and went ashore, and rode through the delight- SKETCH OF HIS LIFE. Brt fnl orange croves. — '' through dim, shady tunneln, haunted with inriaible ■inging-biraB, and fragrant with the odour of flowers." One groye they went through con^int'*''! of ten thousand orange trees, all the branches drooping with fruit. Then they poHsed sugar plantations, so remarkably fruitiul that as much as two tons of sugar could be got from one acre of ground. In the afternoon the pait.y reached the famous bay whent Captain Cook was killed by the natives in 1778. On the following day they visited the ruine(i> temple of tlie last god, Louo ; and when they reached a part of the coast where a large compan^r of naked natives, of both sexes, were amusing thfeinselves with the nutional pastime of surf- bathing, nothing would do but they must join in the sport. This is how you do It You paddle out — say, about three hundred yards — and face the shore, and then, when you see an extra large wave coming, you fling a short board upon the crest of the billow, and immediatelv throw your- self upon the board. Skilfully done, you are carried to tne shore with extraordinary rapidity, and shot upon the beach, when, of course, you can go out and bogin the sport all over again. Mark tells us that he did not manage the matter gracefully : the hoari kept on the crest, and went on nght enough, but h« went to the bottom, and came up with about two barrels of water in him. He thinks that none but natives can ever become proficient in the art of surf-bathing. They now made preparations for visiting the great volcano, Kilauea. They oought horses, and, on the second day, came in sight of the great crater, ten miles in circumference, and compared with which Yesuviui is but "as a toy — a child's volcano." They started for the hotel, " Volcano House," and in the evening went to see more of the crater. The illumination above the volcano was at least two miles wide and a mile high. Upon looking into the crater, it was one mass of seething fire, and away down, as far as the eye comd reach, there seemed other fires, and fires again beyond these — ** countless leagues removed " — as if this were the beginning of that eternity of fire, that "lake which shall bum for ever and ever," that we have all been told about at one time or another. On turning to his friends^ their countenances glowed like so many ruddy demons ; they seemed, Mark says, " like half-cooled devils just come up on a furlough." One part of the abyss — about a mile square — was streaked and scored with fire, as if it were " a railroad map done in chain lightning on a midnight sky ! " In other places there were pits or shafts of liquid fire, and holes m the black crust through which the boiling seething lava could be distinctly seen. Every moment the lava would Doil over, and would flow off in all manner of directions, and then would unite and flow on in one vast river, and then split into smaller streams, and shoot over precipices, and change in colour, and perform a thousand variations. They stopped in the look-out house on the edge of the crater until they were half baked, and then returned to their hotel The next night they prepared themselves for an adventure. They wished to go down into thatpart of the crater which is tolerably safe, and walk about a little. With lanterns and guides, they began the iescent, and. after going down a break-neck pathway, they reacned the V' i iSi ■ ) n ■1 11 I! I' ? xxtt AfAR^ TWAIN: bottom. Althongli the {miption of the ^receding evening had spent itself, still the floor was hot, and the guiaes declmed to go on. Here and there a crevice would show the raging fire beneath ; out a visitor assnred Mark that he had been down several times in the daylight, and believed he could pilot the way on the present occasion. This gave our author courage, and he resolved to accompany the visitor. The first thing was to get over some three or four hun(&ed yards of what waa thought to be the hottest part On they went, and after a good deal of skipping and dodging the red crevices, they reached the cold lava with their shoes on, but with tolerably warm feet Presently the visitor lost his way ; they had got off the path, and were upon rotten lava, through which^ at any moment, they might sink a million feet, or, at all events, to a distance that would be exceedingly inconvenient if thev wished to return again. Immediately after the visitor disappeared, but he had inly sui^ up to his arm-pits. However, matters now looked serious, so £hey determmed to proceed with great caution. The path was at length found, not by the aid of the lantern, for all the ground seemed alij:e, but by feeling for it with the feet On they now went, and at last reached the NorUi Lake — a vast tumultuous sea of molten lava, stretch- ing away as far as the eye could reacL At first they could only survey the scene, with shaded and partly closed eyes, And it took some minutes before they could gaze upon it steadily. They were seated upon an overhannng shelf of lava, and every moment some fresh display in the lake of fire would arrest tiieir Jbd^ntion. *' All of a sadden a red dome of lava of the bnlk of an ordinary dwelling would heave itaelf aloft like an escaping balloon, then burst asnnder, and out of it* heart would flit a pale-green mm of vapour, and float upward and vaniih in th» darkneM— a released soul soaring homeward from captivity with the damned, no doubt. The crashing plunge of the mined dome into the lake again wculd send ft world of seething billows lashing against the shores, and shaking the foundations of our perch. By and by, a loosened mass of the hax^ging shelf we sat on tumbled into the lake, jarring the surroundings like an eurthquake, and delivering a suggestion that may have been intended for a hint, and may not. We did not wait to see." On their wav back they again lost the path, and only reached the hotel at two o'clock in the morning, thorougnly used up. Before they left this island they were shown some ponies that had been Inredon the mountain- tops, where no running water exists, and where the ftTn'mn.lH slake their thirst by eating the dewy grass or leaves wetted by rain, "^^en these animals were first brought to a pail of water, Mark says they would look at it suspiciously, and then " put in their noses, and try and take a }Ait out of it Finding it liquid, they would snatch away their heads, and fall to trembling, snortmg, and showing other evidences of fright^ This horse anecdote is made still prettier by its author, when he adds that after the animal has become somewhat used to water, and convinced that it is friendly and harmless, he thrusts in his nose up to his eyes, takes a good square mouthful of the water, and then quietly and deliberately proceeds to d^ it ! There is one little drcumstuice tiiat should be induded in this part SKETCH OF mS LIFE. JOUll ry dwelling would 9r, and out of its aly reached the led in this part of OTiT biography. The reader will remember the ill Inclc that pursued our author in his mining transactions, how that he was continuaJlj on the verge of a fine fortune, but some way just managed to let it slip through his fingers. It is, therefore, a relief to record here Mark's first successfol commercial speculation. On starting to traverse this island he bought a horse ; gave ten dollars for him ; paid about four more to have him shod ; and then, after riding him for several days, over some two or three hundred miles, sold him for fifteen dollars ! The circum- stance was so satisfactory — indeed, lo remarkable — that Mark at once chalked it up as a matter for future congratulation. They returned to Honolulu, and went off to another island — the island of Maui — ^where they had a delightful time of it for nearly two months. Nature runs wild in her grandeur and luxuriance in this tharmed spot ; but the pride of the island is Haleaka, the great burnt- out volcano—" the dwelling of the sun,** as the natives term it. Our author's account of this vast dead sea of fire is one of the finest pieces of descriptive writing that we are acquainted with. It took two days to climb to the top of the crater, which is ten thousand feet from the sea level. The crater of Yesuvius is about two-thirds of a mile in cir- cumference ; t^e living sea of fire, which they had recently seen at Eilauea, is hemmed in by a crater nearly, if not quite, ten miles in cir- cumference. But here was a vast cauldron, a crater which, in its days of fiery activity, might have done the furnace- work of the world, actually twenty-9enen miles in oircwnferenee I Twenty-seven miles of living fire and molten lava, with tens of thousands of naked, scorched savages crowding around the edge, and praying to the great God for hwp. What a subject for Gustave Dor6 ! At length the time came for Mark's return to San Francisco. He had spent several months in the islands in " luxurious vagrancy," to use his own expression ; and his task as a correspondent of ^e Sacramento Union had been accomplished. The voyage back occupied nearly five weeks, and when he at length reached 'Frisco, the future before him seemed just about as blank and as uncertain as it was in those old mining days. He tells us himself that he landed " without means and without employment ; " but it was not long before an idea occurred to him : he would try a lecture. He would describe what he had seen in various places, and he would scatter a few jokes through his discourse to make it go ofl' well. Having written out the lecture, he next sub- mitted it to friends ; but, of course, like true advisers, who wish to be on the safe side, they unanimously shook their heads. As he was un- known, they were quite sure nobody would go to hear him ; and then he had never spoken in public, and for that reason was bound to come to grief. This Job's comfort made Mark very disconsolate, and nearly knocked the whole scheme on the head. However, a friendly editor was at hand, one of those joyous souls with a big spirit He slapped the would-be lecturer on the back, and told him to "go ahead." To give the author's own account : — "'Takethel»rgeBthouaeinthetown,'iaidtheeditor,*andohargeadoll»ratiok«t.' Tbe audadtf of the proportion wm oharming ; it seemed fnogbt with praetioal XXIV MARK TWAIN: !•' worldly wisdom, liowever. Ths proprietor of the Mveral theatreo endorsed tlM advice, and saia I might have his hajidBome new opera-houne at half price — fifty dollars. In sheer desperation I took it — on credit, for rofScient reasons. In three days I did a hundred and fifty dollars' worth of printing and advertising, and was the most distressed and frightened creature on the Pacific coast. I could not sleep — who could, under such circumstances ? For other people there was facetiousness in the last line of my posters, but to me it was plaintive, with a pang when I wrote i1 *DOOBS OPEN AT 7^. ThB TROUBLB WILL BEQIN AT 8. "That line has done good service since. Showmen have borrowed it frequently. I have even seen it appended to a newspaper advertisement remind- ing school pupils in vacation what time next term would begin. As those three days of suspense dragged by, I grew more and more unhappy. I had sold two hundred tickets among my personal friends, but I feared they might not come. My lecture, which had seemed ' humorous * to me at first, grew steadily more and more dreary, till not a vestige of fun seemed left ; and I grieved that I could not bring a coffin on the stage and turn the thing into a funeral. I was so panio« stricken at last, that I went to three old friends, giants in stature, cordial by nature, aud stormy-voiced, and said — *' ' This thing is going to be a failure ; the jokes in it are so dim that nobody will ever see them ; I would like to have you ait in the parquette, and help mo throT^h.' " They said they would. Then I went to the wife of a popular citizen, and ■aid that if she was willing to do me a very great kindness, I would be glad if she and her husband would sit prominently in the left-hand stage-box, where the whole house could see them. I explained that I should need help, and would turn toward her and smile, as a signal, when I had been delivered of an obscure joke — * and then,' I added, ' don't wait to investigate, but respond/* ** She promised. Down the street I met a man I never had seen before. He had been drinking, and was beaming with smiles and good nature. He said — ** * My name's Sawyer. Ton don't know me, but that don't matter. I haven't got a cent, but if you knew how bad I wanted to laugh, you'd give me a ticket. Oome now, what do you say? ' " ' Is your laugh hung on a hair-trigger — that is, is it critical, or can you get it oSeasyf "My drawling infirmity of speech so affected him that he laughed a specimen or two that struck me as being about the article I wanted, and I gave him a ticket, and appointed him to sit in the second circle, in the centre, and be responsible for that division of the house. I gave him minute instructions about how to detect indistinct jokes, and then went away, and left him chuckling placidly over the novelty of the idea. "I ate nothing on the last of the three eventful days — I only suffered. I had advertised that on this third day the box-office would be opened for the sale of reserved seats. I crept down to the theatre at four in the afternoon to see if any sales had been omade. The ticket-seller was gone, the box-office was locked up. I had to swallow suddenly, or my heart would have got out. * No sales,' I said to myself ; ' I might have known it. ' I thought of suicide, pretended illness, flight. I thought of these things in earnest, for I was very miserable aud scared. But of course I had to drive them away, and prepare to meet my fate. I could not wait for half-past seven — I wanted to face the horror, and end it — the feeling of many a man doomed to hang, no doubt. I went down back streets at six o'clock, and entered the theatre by the back door. I stumbled my way in the dark among the ranks of canvas scenery, and stood on the stage. The house waa gloomy and silent, and its emptiness depressing. I went into the dark among the scenes again, and for an hour and a half gave myself up to the horrors, wholly uncon- ■cioui of everything else. Then I heard a murmur ; it rose h^her and higher, «nd ended in » orMU, mingled with oheera. It made my hair riae, it was lo eloee .«^?i SKETCH OF HIS UFE, ■M endorsed thft half price— fifty Dt reasona. In md adTertifling, coast. I could )eople there was ilaintive, with a AT 8. ive horrowed it tisement remind- As those three I had sold two [night not come. )w steadily more eved that I cotdd I was so panio- Atnre, cordial by dim that nobody itte, and help mo itilar citizen, and mid be glad if she i-box, where the help, and would -ed of an obscure seen before. Ho •e. He said — jatter. I haren't ^ivo me a ticket. , or can you get it Ighed a specimen T,nd I gave him a 9 centre, and be Astructions about [t him chuckling [suffered. I had for the sale of loon to see if any %s locked up. I sales,' I said to |ed illness, flight. Lid scared. But Ite. I could not t — the feeling of \\a at six o'clock, I the dark among [waa gloomy and jioDg the scenes t, wholly uncon- her and higher, le,itwaBiooloM to me, and m> load. There was a pause, and then another ; presontly camo a third, and before I well knew what I was about, I was in the middle of the stage, staling at a sea of faces, bewildered by the fierce glare of the lights, imd quakinjr in every limb with a terror that seemed like to take my life away. The hou^ie iras fuU, aisles and all ! " The tumult in my heart and brain and legs continued a full minute before I could gain any command over myself. Then I recognised the charity and the friendliness in the faces before me, and little by little my fright melted away and I began to talk. Within three or four minutes I was comfortable, and eves content. My three chief allies, with three auxiliaries, were on hand, in the parquette, aU sitting together, all armed with bludgeons, and all ready to make an onslaught upon the feeblest joke that might show its head. And whenever a joke did fall, their bludgeons came down, and their faces seemed s^lit from eai to ear ; Sawyer, whose hearty countenance was seen looming redly in the centra of the second circle, took it up, and the house was carried handsomely. Inferioi jokes never fared so royally before. Presently I delivered a bit of serious matter with impressive unction (it was my pet), and the audience listened with an absorbed hush that gratified me more than any applause ; and as I dropped the last word of the clause, I happened to turn and catch Mrs 's intent and waiting eye ; my conversation with her flashed upon me, and in spite of all I could do, I smiled. She took it for the signal, and promptly delivered a mellow laugh that touched off the whole audience ; and the explosion that followed was the triumph of the whole evening. I thought that that honest m-^n, Sawyer, would choke himself ; and as for the bludgeons, they performed like pile-drivers. But my poor little morsel of pathos was ruined. It was taken in good faith as an intentional joke, and the prize one of the entertainment, and I wisely let it go at that. "All the papers were kind in the morning; my appetite returned; I had abundance of money. All's well that ends well." This was in 1866. Three years before Artemus Ward had lectured with great success in San Francisco, and then gone east to Nevada- Mark Twain now drew up a similar programme. He appointed a re- liable old friend as his " advance agent," and then went on a lecturing tour through California, and afterward^ on to Nevada. In due course he reached Virginia City, the scene of his labours upon the Ttrr%t(ynaA Enterprise, and, as a reminder of jovial days gone by, some friends con- oocted a huge practical joke. Pwo coaches had recently been robbed by masked highwaymen, and the friends thought it would be excellent fur if they coiQd waylay Mark Twain and his agent one evening after lec- turing, and relieve them of their money and watches. On the second or third night an opportunity offered itself. Mark had been lecturing at Gold Hm, and was returning with his friend at a late hour. They were proceeding across a dreary spot, the scene of many murders and robberies, when all at once a dark figure started out from behind a sage bush, clapped a pistol to Mark's head, and demanded all the spare cash he had about him, together with his watch. Instantly other masked figures started from other sage bushes. Mike, the agent, was seized and threatened with instant death unless he stumped up his money. " You can have mine with pl^sure," Mark Twain is reported to^have said, *^ but do take the pistol away from my face, if you please. It makes me shiver so ! " Appeals were in vain. ** If you hare a mother, any of yon, or if any of you ever had a mother— or a grandmother," said Mark in an implor* ncvi MARK TWAIN: \ I m : ^ I 1 ing tone. But it was of no nse. Their money was taken, and they hM to keep their hands ur> above their heads (highwa^en's rule where eyeiybody carries pistolB), and stand in one fixed position, whilst the gang got off with their booty. Of course the highwaymen-friends declared tnemselves when Mark and his agent got home. But the joke did not prove a harmless one. Our author, according to his own state- ment, was not so much frightened, but he caught a fearful cold, and was laid up for three or four months. On getting back to San Francisco, Mark planned an excursion to Japan, China, India, and on to Egypt, and then through Europe, and finally across the Atlantic to New York — in trul^ an excursion round the world. But it was not carried out A desire to see his relatives, after an absence of seven years, caused him to change his mind, and he took the steamer to New York instead. He arrived in the Empire City in the spring of 1867, and almost immediately after we find him superintending the publication of a volume of stories and papers ; his firot work in a book form. This was ** The Jumping Frog, and other Sketches ; '' some of which had been extensively copied in Eastern as well as in Western journals. It may be mentioned in passing, that stories of wonderful m>gs are almost as common in America as stories of extraordinary snakes. These animals have, doubtless, been selected on account of their adaptability to that exaggerated form of anecdote, or ** tail story," in which the Western mind revels. It is no uncommon thing to see in American joumali paragraphs headed "Another Frog Stoijr,** or, "A rival to Twain's Jumping Frog ; '^ but Mark's original still stands at the head of them aU. The book was at once reprinted in England, and the Australians published an edition, which was extensively circulated in that far-off region. In India the work is well known, and it is told of a Parsee merchant that he placed a copy in the hands of a sick Englishman, with the assurance that it was the funniest thing he could read. An opportunity now occurred for our author to see something of the Old World. " In the spring of 1867 an extraorc&iuay i>Ieasnre*trip wm projected at New York. A steamer was to leave that port in the summer, cross the Atlantic, make the cireoit of the Mediterranean, stop at the principal places along the eoast of Spain, Italy, Tnrkey, Greece, Egypt, and Syria ; the passengers were to visit Bome, Oairo, Jerusalem, and everywhere else besides, see ul places of interest, visit all historical sites, be back to New York in time to attend to their winter duties, and all for the sum of 1260 dollars in American currency, or less than £200 Eiaglish. Hie celebrated Bev. Ward Beecher was to have formed one of the pwty, bat did not carry oat his intention. Mark Twain went instead. To the voang humorist, fresh from the rough life of the Far West, the Eastern world was full of the most attractive charms. It would be some- thing to see how far Rome was like Sacramento, and whether there was any resemblanoe between Cairo and San Francisco. Besides, the habits of the people at Naples and at Jerusalem were likely to be dissimilar to those of a camp of miners among the mountains of Nevada. " The incidents of this famoos excursion, and the results arrived at, are detailed by Mark Twain in * The Innocents Abroad,' giving the details of the trii> from New York as far as KapUs : and i^^ the * Kew Pilgrim's Progress,* farnishlng SKETCH OF HIS LIFE, xxvH ken, and tbey fra^en's rule oBition, whilst aymen-friendi But the joke his own Btate- . cold, and was jsion to Japan, ipe, and finally on round the relatiyes, after 1, and he took S7, and almost iblication of a nm. This was hich had been imalfl. It may ;b are almost as These animals )tabilityto that h the Western erican joumali ^al to Twain's e head of them le Australians in that far-off )ld of a Parsee igliahmaB, with nething of the rojeeted at New MB the Atlantic, places along the isaengers were to see 1^ places of K> attend to their currency, or less to have formed irk Twain went the Far West, . would be some- )r there was any jits of the people ^010 of a camp of L at, are detailed I of the trip from resB,* fornishmg fen account of all that the excursionists experienced in the Holy Land, and among the classic localities of the Grecian and Syrian shores. " A most aptly chosen title is that of * The Innocents Abroad,' so far as Mark Twain is concerned. He visited Europe and Asia without any of the prepara- tions for travel which most travellers undertake. His object was to see things as they are, and record the impressions they produced on a man of huraorcus perception, who i)aid his first visit to Europe without a travelling tutor, a university education, or a stock of conventional sentimentality packed in his carpet-bag. Throughout the trip he looked at all objects as an untravelled American might be expected to look, and measured men and manners bv the gauge he had set up for himself among the gold-hills of California and the silver mines of half -civilised Nevada."* Before Mark Twain started for Europe, he had arranged to contribute letters to the New York Tribv/Mf the Ifew York HeraM, and the Daily Alta California, of San Francisco. Some of the most amusing incidents of his Old World travel were, therefore, well known to American readers long before the Qiuiker City t returned to New York. This ii a common practice in literature on the other side of the Atlantic Almost every literanr man there writes for the newspapers, and but few works appear in booK form without first having done duty in a magazine or newspaper. In December the excursionists returned to New York, and the editor of the Tribvaie at once requested our author to write some political letters for that journal. Early in the new year 1868, we find him making arrangements for com* Dieting the record of his Old World travel, and bringing it out in book form. Whether the bustle of New York was distasteful to him, or from whatever cause, certain it is that our author went all the way to S&n Francisco — a distance of nearly 6000 miles — and there completed '* The Innocents Abroad ; " and it was not until the midsummer of 1869 that the work was finished and published. It was during this second visit to Califomia that the Overlcence. A young girl can read without any danger of offence these droU le sketches." tn the summer of 1869, our author bought a one-third share of the %lo Bxmrest, and became one of its editors. He now settled down le regular duties and hard work of the newspaper office. His name well known throughout America, and the citizens of Buffalo wen I ,1 i.; •il if i i 1? 1 ji MfARK TWAINs not a little proud that the hnmoriit should hare ehosen their dtj for hiB future home. Transatlantic joainaLi soon be^n to look to the Expreu for comicalities with which to enliven their own sheets. They had not to wait long. Some of the richest of our author's stories, and many of his quaintest paragraphs, first appeared in this paper ; and immediately on publication tney went tne round of the American press, and then crossed over to England, and assisted the " Variety " or " Notabilia " column of almost every journal in our country ; and then on to India, Australia, and to every spot on the globe where an English newspaper is published.* Mr Clemens had not resided in Buffalo very long before he gave further evidence of his desire to quit vagabondising and settle down. He got married. The object of his choice, it is understood, was a very charming lady, and one in every way suitable for him. She was wealthy, and had wealthy connections, and as he himself was now very well off, his prospects in life were all that a man could wish. During the winter of 1869-70, Mr Clemens continued to lecture, and his popularity increased daily. The system of lecturing in the United States nas been so fully described by Mr Hingston in his '* Genial Show- man," that it need not be dwelt upon here. Suffice it to say that almost every celebrity may be found sooner or later before an audience, to instruct or amuse, as a public lecturer. The humorous lecture is understood to pay the best, and of all the "humorists" who seelt audiences in America none can draw such crowds as Mark Twain. On a recent occasion, at Steinway Hall, in New York, nearly two thousand dollars were taken for tickets before the doors opened, and then several hundred people were turned away without hearing him. The stiangeBt titles are given to some of these lectures. There is one delivered by another humorist, entitled " Milk." The lecturer comes on the platform with a jug of milk and a tumbler, into which he pours the milk until full. This done, he places it upon the table, and proceeds to speak, without even once alluding to mUk. Artemus Ward's lecture of " The Babes in the Wood " is another instance. " Why did you choose that title 1 " asked Hingston one day, seeing that there was nothing in the lecture about the child-book legend. *' Because the title seemed to sound well. I once thought of calling it * My Seven Grandmothers,' " answered Artemus.t Startling incon- * The writer recently came across a eomie paper — a kind of Punch — sprinted in the island of Trinidad. It is embellished with illustrations that seem to hare been engraved, or done on the wood, with a brad-awl and screw-driver; and the lively serial is pablished at a drug store I Tet, even this crude sheet is illuminated by two of Mark Twain's Jokes. t "The Babes in the Wood " were never mentioned but twice in the whole lecture. First, when the lecturer told his audience that the " Babes" were to constitute the subject of hii disoourte, and then at the conclusion of the hour and twenty minutes of drollery, when Artemus would finish up in this way: "I now come to my subject, 'The Babes in the Wood.'" Here ke would take out his watch, look at it with affected surprise, put on an appearance of being greatly perplexed, and, amidst roars of laughter fK>m the people, verj gravely continue, " But I find that I have exceeded my time ; and will, therefore, merelj remark that, bo far as I know, they were very good babes— they were as good as ordinary babes. I really have not time to go into their histoiy. Toa will find it all in the story- bocks. Tbey died in the woods, listening to the wood-peccer tapping the hollow beecb*tree It waa a Md late for thMB, and 1 pity them. 8o, I hope, do you. Good night I ' SKETCH OF HIS UFB. xxzl 1 thefe dty lot bo look to the I Bheetfl. THey ox's stories, and ihis paper; and \ the American le •' Variety " ot ^ntry ; and then here an English before he gave and aettle down, tood, was a very him. She was elf was now very wish. d to lecture, and ag in the United Ls *< Genial Show- a say l^at almost 5 an audience, to lOTOUs lecture is orists" who seen ^ark Twain* On irly two thousand and then several a. res. There is one lecturer comes on hich he pours the ,e, and proceeds to Ward's lecture ol le day, seeing that legend. thought of calling Startling incon- i»_prlntedliithetaliu»«i been engraved, or done [is published at a drug lain'9 jokes. %e whole lecture. First, titute the subject of hii Utes of drollery, when Ect, 'The Babes In the Bted surprise, put on an Tfwm the people, rery I will therefore, merely lere as good as ordinary Iflnd it aU in the story ■ the hollow beeob-tree i night I ' groity, as an element of fan, is an idea always nppennott in the mind of a Western humorist. One of Mark's most popular lectures was on the '* Sandwich Islands," in which he offered to show how the cannibals eat their food — if any lady would only hand him a live baby. The lecture, of course, was not illustrated. It was in this lecture that he remarked that the Sandwich Islands dish [of plain dog was "only our cherished American sausage with the mystery removed." On one occasion — if we may believe his friends on I the Tribune — he wrote a lecture on " The Rights of Children," but threw lit aside for one entitled " Reminiscences of some Pleasant Characters I [have met," covering the whole of his acquaintance — kings, humorists, limatics, and idiots. We have not heard that this lecture was ever lelivered. A favourite subject with him has been " Artemus Ward," mid it was in his lecture upon the deceased humorist that Mark told lat funny story of the man who bored Artemus with questions about iving notabilities, all of whom the humorist " never heard of before," mtil, losing all patience, the borer shouted out, " Then, you confounded Ignoramus ! did you ever hear of Adam ] " " What was his other lanie ?" asked Artemus, looking up as innocently as possible. Early in 1870 the proprietors of the New Fork GkUonxy prevailed upon [ark Twain to contribute some humorous stories and sketches to their lonthly magazine. A " department " was set aside for him, and under le title of " Memoranda," our humorist published some of his wildest and most mirth-provoking humour. In the address to his readers |t the outset, he assured them that : — " These Memoranda are not a * homoroua* department. I would not oondaot a exclasively and professedly hnmoroaB department for a^y one. I would |waya prefer to have the privuege of printing a seriooi uid sensible remark, in «e one occurred to me, without the reader's feeling obliged to consider himself itraged. We cannot keep the same mood day after day. I am liable, some fcy, to want to print my opinion on jurisprudence, or Homeric poetry, or inter- tional law, and I shall do it. It wUl be of small conaeqaenoe to me whether » reader sarvive or not. ^*' I have chosen the general title of Memoranda for thii department because it [plain and simple, and makes no fraudulent promises. I can print under it bitistics, hotel arrivaLi, or anything that comes handy, without violating faith Sth the reader." In November of 1870, a son was bom to the humorist, and in swer to a "frantic demandf' from the New York Tribunefoi some official ^tums of the election in those parts, Mark telegraphed back that he j^as suddenly called upon to play nurse, and liked it much better than sporting. To the Boston Lyceum Bureau — which manages all arrange- lents for lecturing — he telegraphed— ... V X . , , . , , Buffalo, ITov. 8, 1870. A son was bom to me yesterday, and, with the true family instinct, he has one to lecturing already. His subject is the same as Josh Billings's— ' Milk ' ^ou are hereby constituted his agents, and instructed to make arrangements ^th Lyceums. " g. j^ OuiMBNS." It is of this same baby that his friends tell a story :— " Mark, one day, was found at home, in his library, dandling upon his XXXll MARK TWAIN: I' I 'I! -I. knee, with every appearance of fond * parientness/ the young Twain — so young as not yet to oe able to * walk upright and make bargains.' Mn Twain, on showing the visitor into the sanctmm, and finding spouse thus engaged, said — " * Now, Mark, you know you love that baby — don't vou t " " * Well,' replied Mark, in his slow, drawling kind of way, * I— can't — exactly — say — I — love — it,— 6m< — / — respect — 1< /' " During the season, the lecturers often fall in with each other. On one occasion Mark came across the " Fat Contributor," a stout gentleman, who edits a New York comic paper, and gives what he calls " humorous lectures." The "Fat Contributor" attended Twain's lecture that evening, and in the morning, after an exchange of civilities, each went his way. In the course of an evening or two, Mark fancied that his lectures were scarcely received with as much applause as usual, and after a few more repetitions, his suspicions were confirmed — in fact, he thought he detected soiuething like surprise upon the faces of his audience, instead of til b kughter with which he had hitherto been greeted. He was sorely puzzled at the change. What could be the matter ] Had his humour failed him, and were these fancied jokes oi xiis only so many words strung together, with no wit in them, — meaningless to everybody but himself? Had he lost his faculties — his inteHect ? He quickly got hold of the head of the Lyceum, and then put the matter plainly to him : Why did not his witticisms, his humour, tell upon the goodpeople there the same as they did anywhere else ? " Why, you see," said the man, " we had the * Fat Contributor * here last night, and you could scarcely expect our folks to laugh two evenings in sucoession at the same joke ! " The stout lecturer had carefully noted down Mark's most telling things, and then, by looking at the advertised route, had gone ahead, keeping just one day in advance. This same "Fat Contributor" used to delight in telling a "little story" of himself and Mark Twain, which we give, whether true or not. The two lecturers, he said, once met at the Sherman House, Chicago, where Gough, the well-known temperance lecturer, was also sta3ring at the time, and they determined to amuse themselves by sending a cock- tail to Gough's room. On its arrival there it was of course rerased, but the waiter drank it on the way down-stairs, and reported "all right" to the delighted humorists. A second and a third cocktail were taken up and disposed of in like manner, when Gk>ugh appeared on the scene, and spoiled the joke by exposing the craft of the waiter, whom he had fol- lowed and detecteid in the act of absorbing the last tumblerfulL In March 1871, Mark Twain's " Autobiography and First Romance " was published — a tiny volume, illustrated with pictures which had no- thing whatever to do with the text, but which satirised the notorious Erie ring, and contributed to rescue the railway from the grasp of Gould, Fisk, & Ca To show the popularity of the humorist, we may mention that one single order for this little work amounted to 10,000 AOpieik i, t SKETCH OP Mrs LIFE. young Twain — bo 3 bargains.' Mn iding spouBe thuB vout" ►f way, * I— can't 1 each other. On i stout gentleman, ) calls ** humorous lin's lecture that duties, each went : fancied that his iifle as usual, and irmed — in fact, he the faces of his ad hitherto been Id be the matter? skes oi jm only so I, — meaningless to lis inteUect ? He 3n put the matte:! LOur, tell upon the Contributor' here lugh two evenings irk's most telling , had gone ahead, telling a "little lether true or not 1 House, Chicago, as also staying at y sending a cock- ourse remsed, but ted "all right" to tail were taken up L on the scene, and ^hom he had fol- mblerfuU. First Romance" res which had no- jsed the notorious rom the grasp of umoriflt, we may lounted to 10.000 I Tlie death of Mn Clemens' father, and other family affliction led our author to discontinue his humorous department in the Qala/s^ in I April 1871. He said good-bye in these words : — Valkpiotoby.— I have now written tot the Oalaxy a year. For the Ijwt Bight months, wdth hardly an interval, I have had for my fellows and comrade*, light and day, doctors and watchers of the sick I During these eight month« leath has taken two members of my home circle, and malignantly threatened JO others. All this I have experienced, yet all the time been under con- ict to furnish 'humorous' matter once a month for this magazine. I am hpeaking the exact truth in the above details. Please to put yourself in my |llace, and contemplate the grisly grotesqueness of the situation. I think that [>me of the ' humour ' I have written during this period oould have been injected ito a funeral sermon without disturbing the solemnity of the occasion. '* The memoranda will cease permanently with this issue of the magazine. To a pirate, on a low salary, ana with no share of the profits of the business, used be my idea of an uncomfortable occupation, but I have other views now. be a monthly humorist in a cheerless time is drearier." On the death of her father, Mrs Clemens came into the possession of roperty amounting to a quarter of a million of dollars.^ With this ndflome fortune there was no longer any occasion for Mark Twain continue his editorial duties, and he soon after removed to the beau- city of Hartford, Connecticut, where he still resides. As each iter comes round, he resumes his lectures, one of the most recent paring the title of " Roughing It"t a venr humorous description of life the silver mines. It is in this lecture that the Washoe Duel occurs, amusing story, recently printed in Tom Hood's Comic Annual, One 10 was present during tne delivery at Steinway Hall, New York, says : 1^" A singular force and e£fectivenes8 is added to the discourse by the dtable drawl and portentous gravity of the speaker. He is the iiest living delineator of the true Pike accent, and his hesitating ler on the eve of cri|;ical passages is always a prophecy, and hence, ^haps, a cause of a burst of laughter and applause." n September, last year, Mark Twain paia a visit to this country. had previously written to his friend Hingston here respecting his ertainment, and now he came to recreate and judge for himself. lerever he went he met with a cordial reception ; and although his (owledge of London life was somewhat eonmied to districts East of iiple Bar, still he will have seen many things that may fittingly find blace in that new work " Upon the Oddities and Eccentricities of the zHsh," which several journalists boldly assert he has in preparation. low he dined with the Sheriffs of London and Middlesex ; how he fent glorious evenings with the wits and literati who gather around the itive boards of the Whitefriars and the Savage Clubs ; how he moved [the gay throng at the Guildhall conversazione j how he feasted with Lord Mayor of London ; and was the guest of that ancient and New York Tribune. Since enlarged, and published in book form. It was first announced under the title of lush Times in the Silver MineH, and Other Matters," but subsequeDUy the lecture title 1 adopted. Curiously enough, the editor of Men of the Time, in his notice ot Mr Clemens, les to the conclusion that the author has written two distinct books. Several of tht i*a is this work mar be found in " The tTuBaping frog, and Other Sketches." «, aady MAMT TWAIN: m ir '!< ■ii'l: moBt hononiftble body, the City of London Artillerjr — all th«M matten we should like to dwell upon ; but our apace will not allow us. Suddenly^ however, ana in the midit of these festivities, he was called home. Family matters— or, as Sir John Bennett iocosely said, "an order from petticoat government —required his immediate return, but before leaving he sent the following nute to the London morning journals : — Nov. 1872. " I deaire to aajr to those sooleties in London and other oities of Great Britain nnder whoae auBpicea I have partly promised to leotnre, that I am called horns by a cable telegram. I shall spend, with my family, the greatest part of next year here, and may be able to lecture a month daring the autumn upon anch scien* tiflo topics as I know least about, and may oonsequsntly feel least trammaUed ia dilating upon." y I Mark Twain sailed for Boston in the Cunard steamer Batavia. Th« passf^e across waa imusuallv stormy and severe, and on the i9th Nov. they lell in with tiie British barque CKarUt Wcvrdf of Newcastle, water- logged, dismasted, and utterly helpless. Nine men, all that were left of a crew of twentv, were dingmff to the main rigging, To save them wa» the impulse of humanity and ue dictate of dut^, but in a driving ^ale, with a tremendous sea running, this was seemingly almost impossible [t looked like deliberate suicide to go out in such a stoim^ but a life- boat was lowered, and the third and fourth officers, and eight of the Batcwia^t men heroically volunteered, amidst the cheers of both paa- Bengers and crew, to go to their assistance. Despite the desperate na- ture of the enterprise, it was altogether successful, though the nine men on ^e barque had to be haulad into the life-boat through the sea by a rope, and in like manner the whole nineteen, on their perilous transit to the Batavia. had to be hauled aboard, leaving the life-boat, Soor thing, adrift in uie wide Atlantic, after helping in such a gallant eed. A meeting of the passengers was held to express their sense of the heroism of the biave fellows who had gone out, and the task of draw- ing up an account of the rescue was given to Mark Twain. In a letter addressed to the Boyal Humane Society he says — ** To speak by the log, and to be accurate, Oaptaia Moteland gave the order to change our ship's course, and bear down towards the wreck at 4. 14 p. m. At 6| our ship was nnder weigh again with those nine poor devils on board ; that is to aay, thia admirable thing waa done in a tremendous sea and in the face of a hurricane, in sixty minutes by the watch ; and if your honourable society should be moved to give to Captain Moreland and his boat's crew that reward which a sailor prizes and covets above all other diatinctions, the Royal Humane Society's medaL the parties whose names are signed to this paper will feel as grateful as if they them- selves were the reoipients of thia great honour. . . . The wreck waa out of the ordinary track of vesaels, and was 1,600 miles from land. She was in the centre of the Atlantic. Our life-boat crew of volunteers consisted of the follow- ing :— D. Gillies, third officer ; H. Kyle, fourth officer ; Nicholas Foley, quarter- master ; Henry Foley, quartermaster ; Nathaniel Clark, quartermaster ; ThomM Henry, seaman ; John Park, seaman ; Biohard Breiman, sea m a n .** Our author goes on, with a touch of his native humour, to aay— - **As might have bean anticipated, if I have been of any servioe toward iMCuing these nine shipwreeked huBaan beings by standing araud the deck ini (ill these matteTt ,ll0W U8. ;ieB, he was called ly said, "an order Dtum, but before ling joumalB : — Nov. 1872. Lea of Great Britain ; I am oalled horn* Mtpartof next yeaf in upon such acien* least trammelled in ,er Batavia. The on the I9th Nov. Newcastle, water- 1 that were left of To save them was , in a driving ^ale, almost impossible % stonn^ but a life- and eight of the leers of both paa- the desperate n»» though the nine »at through the sea on their perilous ^g the life-boat, in such a gallant press their sense of id the task of draw- rain. In a letter SKETCH OF HTS LTFR. fnrionM storm, without anr nmbrella, keeping an eye on things and leeing thai they were done right, and yelling wheneTer a oheer aeemed to be the important tiling, 1 am glad, ana I am latiafied. I aak no reward. I would do it again untlur the lame otroamitanoei. But what I do plead for, earnestly and sinoeroly, JH that the Kuyal Humane Booiety will remember our oaptuin and our life-boal ercw, and in ao remembering them inoreaae the high honour and esteem in whiok the Buoiety ii held all over the civiliaed world." Such is a raugh outline of Mark Twain's career, oketched by one who has been mainij instrumental in making his writings known to readers iti the Old W»>rid. The author of " The Innocents Abroad" is a true Iminorist, endowed with that indefinable power to make men laugh whicli is worth, in current funds, more than the highest genius, or m« I greatest learoiug. John Oamdem Hottbr^ / fiTetheoidflrto p.m. At 64 our Mard i thai is to say, U face of a hurricane, ty should be moved tc Vhich a sailor prizes I Society's medaL the teful sa if they them- lie wreok was out of ad. She wm in the u^gted of the follow- tiolae Foley, quarter- BrmasterjIhomM lour, to say— tay serrioe toward iMTVuiad the desk tni .ifv-»' ;*.' - . / - . .".It,, frc^ '■liW Ti^i lBiPli n ii l W L i! li^^ t ,V) 1' ii/ .' I -' 1 f 'i 4 !l '1 \i ! 'i'l- f i ■ ¥ ' & '(\ ' 1 1 r ^^ I -.i: * ^Ssv-..-. ./ A 5¥ THE PILGUIM S VISION, 1 -^ H' ■ en. 1 ■ N i: ill 1 P'^ 1 \ 'm •1. r PI llli 1,iJi^ • III ; ! ,:t^ H.. MARK TWAIN'S WORKS. THE INNOCENTS ABROAD. ** The gentle reader will neyer, never know what a consummate aas he oan become, until he goea abroad." — Thb Authob. CHAPTER L FOR montha the great pleasure excursion to Europe and the Holy Land was chatted about in the newspapers everywhere in America, and discussed at countless firesides. It was a novelty in the way of excursions — its like had not been thought of before, and it compelled that interest which attractive novelties always command. It was to be % picnic on a gigantic scal'> The participants in it, instead of freight- ing an ungainly steam ferry-boat with youth and beauty and pies and doughnuts, and paddling up some obscure creek to disembark upon a inrassy lawn, and wear themselves out with a long summer day's laborioua frolicking, under the impression that it was fun, were to sail away in a^eat steamship with flags flymg and cannon pealing, and take a royal holiday beyond the broad ocean, in many a strange clime and in many a land renowned in history ! They were to sail for months over the breezy Atlantic and the sunny Mediterranean ; they were to scamper about the ^ecks by day, filling the ship with shouts and laughter ; or read novels »nd poetry in the shade of the smoke-stacks, or watch for the jelly-fish and Ihe nautilus over the side, and the shark, the whale, and other strange monsters of the deep ; and at night they were to dance in the open air, on the upper deck, in the midst of a ball-room that stretched from horizon to norizon, and was domed by the bending heavens and lighted by no meaner lamps than the stars and the magnificent moon — dance, and promenade, and smoke, and sing, and make love, and search the skies for constellations that never associate with the " Big Dipper" they were so tired of : and they were to see the ships of twenty navies — ^the eustoms and costumes of twenty curious peoples — the great cities of half * world — ^thej were to hob-nob with nobUitj, «nd hold friendly con- li i; 1 . ! ! I 18 AfA/?/C riVAm'S WORKS rerM with kiiig« and princeii, Grand Moguls, and the anointea iordjs oi mighty empires ! ft was a orave conception ; it was the olfspring of a most ingenioiw brain, [t was well advertisetl, but it hardly needed it : the bold origi- nality, the extraordinary character, tlie seductive nature, and the vast- ness of the enterprise provoked comment everywhere, and advertised It in every household in the land. Who could read the programme ot the excursion without longing to make one of the party ? I will insert it here. It is almost as good as & u«&p. As a text for tiiis book, nothing, could be better. V EXCURSION TO THE HOLY LAND, EGYPT, THE CRIMEA, GREECE, AND INTERMEDIATE POINTS OF INTEREST. Bbookltn, February 1st, 18t7. The underBigned will make an excursion as above during the coming season, and beg« to submit to you the following programme : — A first-class steamer, to be under his own command, and capable of accommo- dating at least one hundred and fifty cabin passengers, will be selected, in which will be taken a select company, numbering not more than three-fourths of the ship's capacity. There is good reason to believe that this company can be easily made up in this immediate vicinity, of mutual friends and acquaintances. The steamer will be provided with every necessary comfort, inoludiug library and musical instruments. An experienced physician will be on board. Leaving New York about June 1st, a middle and pleasant route wiU be taken aerosB the Atlantic, and passing through the group of Azores, St Michael will be reached in about ten days. A day or two will be spent here, enjoying the fruit and wild scenery of these islands, and the voyage continued, and Gibraltai reashed in three or four days. A day or two will be spent here in looking over the wonderful subterraneous fortifications, permission to visit these galleries being readily obtained. From Gibraltar, running along the coasts of Spain and France, Marseilles will be reached in three days. Here ample time will be given not only to look over the city, which was founded six hundred years before the Christian era, and its artificial port, the finest of the kind in the Mediterrs^nean, but to visit Paris daring the Great Exhibition ; and the beautiful city of Lyons, lying inter- mediate, from the heifhts of which, on a clear day, Mont Blanc and the Alps can be distinctly seen. Passengers who may wish to extend the time at Paris can do so, and, passing down through Switzerland, rejoin the steamer at Genoa. From Marseilles to Genoa is a run of one night. The excursionists will have an opportunity to look over this, the "magnificent city of palaces," and visit the birthplace of Columbus, twelve miles off, over a beautiful road built by Napoleon I. From this point, exoarsions may be made to Milan, Lakes Como and Maggioie, or to Milan, Yerona (famous for its extraordinaij fortifications); Padua, ami Teaioe. O, if passMifers desire to visit Parma (famous for Cor refppos irmoom), and BelogBS^ tbe^ ean by rail go- on to Florence, aud rej«i£i tlic s t ea s isr at L«gk«SB, tlMU sp«»dng abomt three weeks amid the oities mot^ isMSSis fw art m ttslT' VsMS Ca ao a tiU nm te Lagkom wiU be ssade along the e«a»t in »»• Hijifai, ttMl tine Myropria l i d to tius point in whieh to visit FlorsMe, its p (' At eMIiM, V«w|Ma to WmI H^ ItMtV THE INNOCENTS ABROAn nointoa lorda od I most Ingculoiw : the bold orij,'i- je, and the vast- e, and advertised he programme ot y \ I will insert this book, notking RIMRA, GREECE, llEST. hrvaxy l»t» 18*7. g the oomhig •eason, capable of accommo- be selected, in which three-fourths of the ampany can be easily icquaintancea. )rt, including library It route will be taken )res, St Michael will .t here, enjoying the ;inued, and Gibraltal derfal subterrantoua \y obtained, ranee, Manieillea will lot only to look oyer i)hri«tian era, and iit [n, but to visit Paris Lyons, lying inter- Blanc and the Alps id the time at Paris xe steamer at Genoa- :cur8ionist8 will have >f palaces," and visit kutiful road built by . Milan, Lakes Como linary fortifications), aa (famous for Cor Florence, and rej«ii» [Mnid the cities MOti* in »»• •i«}hi, .—wS, its p*l»<** **»<* IL«i««* »«*d i*8 Wklsi. DIBS dij»4ati4 by m». wIm amv prefer to go to Rome from that point) the distance v/ill be ma^e in abovt thirty- lix hours ; the rowte will lay along the coast of Italy, close by Oaprera, Elba, and Oorsica. Arrangements hare been made to take on board at Leghurn a pilot for Caprera, and, if practioahle, a call will be made there to visit the home of (kribaldi. Ki>me [by rail], llarculaneum, Pompeii, Vesuvius, Virgil's tomb, and ))«>as)bly tlie ruins of Pjestum, can be visited, as woU as the beautiful siirroutidint^ tA NajJ^cs and its cbtarming Bay. The next point of interest will be I'alermo, the most beautiful city of Sicily, which will be reached in one night from Naples. A day will be spent here, and leaving in the evening, the course will be taken towards Athens. Skirting along the north coast of Sicily, passing through the group of iEolian Iiles, in sight of Stromboli and Vulcania, both active volcanoes, through the Straits of Messina, with "Soylla'' on the one hand and *'Charybdis" on the other, along the east coast of Sicily, and in sight of Mount iBtna, along the •oath coast of Italy, the west and south coast of Greece, in sight of ancient Cr4te, up Athens Gulf, and into the Piraeus, Athens viU be reached in two and a half or three days. After taiTying here awhile, tl e Bay of Salamis will be crossed, and a day given to Corinth, whence the vr>yage will be continued to OoDstantinople, passing on the way through the Grecian Archipelago, the Darda- nelles, the Sea of Marmora, and the mouth of the Golden Horn, and arriving in about forty-eight hours from Athens. After leaving Constantinople, the way will be taken out through the beautiful Boaphorus, across the Black Sea to Sebastopol and Balaklava, a run of about twenty-four hours. Here it is proposed to remain two days, visiting the har- bours, fortifications, and battle-fields of the Crimea ; thence back through the Bosphorus, toixliing at Constantinople to take in any who may liave preferred to remain there ; down through the Sea of Marmora and the Dardanelles, along the coasts of ancient Troy and Lydia in Asia, to Smyrna, which will be reached In two or two and a half days from Constantinople. A sufficient stay vrill be made here to give opportunity of visiting Ephesus, fifty miles distant by rail. From Smyrna towards the Holy Land the course will lay through the Grecian Archipelago, close by the Isle of Patmos, along the coast of Asia, ancient Pam- phylia, and the Isle of Cyprus. Beirout will be reached in three days. At I Beirout time will be given to visit Damascus ; after which the steamer wdl pro- I eeed to Joppa. From Joppa, Jerusalem, the River Jordan, the Sea of Tiberias, Nazareth, |Bethany, Bethlehem. tain U'*xrj'tM wtites: " I dM ' i| 'i=n ■s** / fi .1 Ih , FA' ' ii! . ni ^i' il'iili I! I' i i 20 MARX^ TWATN'S WORKS, Bot know a spot on the globe which go much Mtonlihei and delights upoa flrsi arriTal as Madeira." A stay of one or two days will be made here, whiohf if time permits, may be extended, and passing on through the islands, und pro- bably in sight of the Peak uf Teueriffe, a southern track will be taken, and the Atlantic crossed within the latitudes of the north-east trade winds, where mild and pleasant weather, and a smooth sea, can always be expected. A call will be made at Bermuda, which lies dii'ectly in this route homeward, and will be reached in about ton days from Madeira, and after spending a short time with our friends the Bermudiann, the final departure will be made for home, which will be reached in about three days. Already applications have been received from parties in Europe wishing to join the excursion there. The ship will at all times be a home, where the excursionists, if sick, will be Borrounded by kind friends, and have all possible comfort and sympathy. Should contagious sickness exist in any of the ports named in tne programme, Ittch ports will be passed, and others of interest substituted. The price of passage is fixed at 91250, currenoy, for each adult passenger. Choice of rooms and of seats at the tables apportioned in the order in whieb passages are engaged, and no passage considered engaged until ten per cent, of the passage money is deposited with the treasurer. Passengers can remain on board of the steamer, at all ports, if they desire, without additional expense, and all boating at the expense of the ship. All passages must be paid for when taken, in order that the most perfect arrangements be made for starting at the appointed time. Applications for passage must be api)roved by the committee before tickets are issued, and can be made to the undersigned. Articles of interest or curiosity, procured by the passengers dtuing the voyage, may be brought home in the steamer free of charge. Five dollars per day, in gold, it is believed, will be a fair calculation to make for all travelling expenses on shore, and at the various points where passengert' may wish to leave the steamer for days at a time. The trip can be extended, and the route changed, by unanvnwM vote of tb< passengers. CHAS. C. DUNCAN, 117 Wall Stbset, Nsw Tobk. B. B.O- -, Treasurer. Committee ost Applioationb. J. T. H ,Esq. K. R. G , Esq. 0. O. DUNCAN. Committee on Sblectino Stbambr. Capt. W. W. S , Surveyor for Board of Underwritert, O.W. C , Consulting Engineer for U.S. and Canmla, J. T .H , Esq. C. 0. DUNCAN. P./9.— The very beautiful and substantial side-wheel steamship, Quaker CUif, hM been chartered for the occasion, and will leave New York June 8th. Letters have been issued by the Government commending the party to courtesieit ftbroML What was there lacking about that programme to make it perlecti; irresistible? Nothing that any finite mind could discover. Paris, England, Scotland, Switzerland, Italy — Garibaldi ! The Grecian Archi- pelago ! Vesuvius I Constantinople ! Smyrna ! the Holy Land ! Egypt ! aiid " our fneuda the Bermudians ! " People in Europe desiring to joiu 1^0 «xewEii4>n — contagious nitimaM to be avoidtd — ^booting at the expeuw THE INNOCENTS ABROAD. SI irope wiihing to join nantmoM* vote of tb« TRBBT, New Yobk. O. DUNOAN. of the ship— pbysician on board — the ciicuit of the globe to be made If the passengers unanimously desired it — the company to be rigidly select ea by a pitiless "Committee on Applications — the vessel to be as rigidly selected by as ]»itileii8 a "Committee on Selecting Steamer." Iluiuaii nature could not withstand these bewildering tem])tation8. I hurried to the tjea8urer*B office and deposited my ten per cent. I re- joiced to know that a few vacant state-rooms were still left. I rf«i avoid a critical personal examination into my character by that bowel- less committee, but I referred to all the people of high standing I couLl think of in the community who would be least likely to know anything about me. Shortly a supplementary programme was issued, which set forth that the Plymouth Collection of Hymns would be used on board the ship, I tlien paid the balance of my passage money. I was provided with a receipt, and duly and officially accepted as an excursionist. There was happiness in that, but it was tame compared to the novelty of being " select." Tliis supplementary programme also instructed the excursionists to provide themselves with light musical instruments for amusement in the rfiip ; with saddles for Syrian travel ; green spectacles and umbrellas ; vtils for Egypt ; and substantial clothing to use in rough pilgrimising m the Holy Land. Furthermore, it was suggested that although the ship's library would afford a fair amount of reading matter, it would Btill be well if each passenger would provide himself with a few guide- books, a Bible, and some standard works of travel. A list was appended, which consisted chiefly of books relating to the Holy Land since the Holy Land was part of the excursion, and seemed to be its Tiain feature. Rev. Henry Ward Beecher was to have accompanied the expedition, but urgent duties obliged him to give up the idea. There were othei passengers who could have been spared better, and would have been spared more willingly. Lieut. -Gen. Sherman was to have been of the deserved, and lo 1 we had never a celebrity left ! i However, we were to have a " battery of guns " from the Nary De- jpartment (as per advertisement), to be used in answering royal salutee ; and the document furnished by the Secretary of the Navy, which was Uo make "Gen. Sherman and party" welcome guests in the courts and [camps of the Old World, was still left to us, though both document and [battery, I thi ak, were shorn of somewhat of their original august propor- ions. However, had not we the seductive programme still, with its *aris, its Constantinople, Smyrna, Jerusalem, Jencho, and " our intsa^ lUtfi BeriMUiliAnA t" what did Wtt caie ? t pi 4i i iw ;, 11.1 ; *->S SH; U ill I: i\/yut this Eaxopeao THE INNOCENTS ABROAD. rt him over in sec' vaodiM, and oame at least to consider the whole nation as packiDg up lOi emigration to France. We stepped into a store in Broadway one day, wiiere he bought a handkerchiei, and when the man could not make change, Mr B. saia— " Never mind, I'll hand it to you in Paris." " But I am not goin^ to Paris." " How is what did I understand, you to say ? " Well, then, where in the nation ^ 1 said I am not going to Paris." " Not going to Paxu I Not g %n you ^oing to 1 " " Nownere at alL" " Not anywhere whatsoever ? — not any place on earth but this 1 '* ** Not any place at all but iust this — stay here all summer." My comrade took his purchase and walked out of the store without a word — walked out with an injured look upon his countenance. Up the street a piece- he broke silence, and said, impressively, " It was a lie — that is my opinion of it ! " In the fulness of time the ship was readv to receive her passengers. I was introduced to the young gentleman who was to be my room-mate, and found him to be intelligent, cheerful of spirit, unselfish, full of generous impulses, patient, considerate, and wonderfully good-natured. Not any passenger that sailed in the Quaker City will withhold his endorsement of what I have just said. We selected a state-room forward of the wheel, on the starboard side, " below decks." It had two berths in it, a dismal dead-light, a sink with a washbowl in it, and a long, sumptuously-cushioned locker, which was to do service as a sofa —partly, and partly as a hiding-place for our things. Notwithstanding lU this furniture, there was still room to turn round in, but not to swing a cat in, at least with entire security to the cat However, the room was large for a ship's state-room, and was in every way satuEh factory. The vessel was appointed to sail on a certain Saturday early in June. A little after noon on that distinguished Saturday, I reached thq iihip and went on board. All was bustle and confusion. [1 have seen that remark before, somewhere.] The pier was crowded with carriages and men ; passengers were arriving and hurrying on board ; the vessel's decks were encumbered with trunks and valises ; groups of excursionists, iirrayed in unattractive travelling costumes, were moping about in a drizzling rain, and looking as droopy and wobegone as so many moulting chickens. The gallant flag was up, but it was under the spell too, and hung limp and disheartened by the mast. Altogether, it was the bluest, bluest spectacle I It was a pleasure excursion — there was no gainsaying that, because the programme said so — it was -o nominated in the bond —but it surely hadn't the general aspect of one. Finally, above the banging, and rumbling, and shouting, and hissing of steam, rang the order to ** cast off ! " — a sudden rush to the gangways— a scampering ashore of visitors — a revolution of the wheels, and we were off — the picnic was begun ! Two very mild cheers weaxt up from th4 I I •4 AfA/f/C TWA FN* S WORKS. driuping crowd on the pier ; we answered them gently from the slipperj decKs ; the flag made au effort to wave, and failed ; the " battery of guns " spake not — the ammunition was out We Bteauied down to the foot of the harbour, and came to anchor. It wafl still raining ; and not only raining, but storming. " Outsiile " we could see ourselves that there was a tremendous sea on. We must lie »till, in the calm harbour, till the storm should abate. Our passeU" gers hailed from fifteen States ; only a few of them had ever been to sea before ; manifestly it would not do to pit them against a full- blown tempest until they had got their sea-legs on. Towards evening the two steam-tugs that had accompanied us with a rollicking cham- pagne-party of young New Yorkers on board, who wished to bid fare- well to one of our number in due and ancient form, departed, and we were alone on the deep. On deep five fathoms, and anchored fast to the bottom. And out in the solemn rain, at that. This was pleasuring with a vengeance. It was an appropriate relief when the gong sounded for prayer-meeting. The first Saturday night of any other pleasure excursion might have been devoted to whist and dancing ; but I submit it to the unprejudiced mind if it would have been in good taste for us to engage in such frivolities, considering what we had gone tlirough, and the frame of mind we were in ? We would have shone at a wake, but not at anything more festive. However, there is always a cheering influence about the sea ; and in my berth that night, rocked by the measured swell of the waves, and lulled by the murmur of the distant surf, I soon passed tranquilly out of all consciousness of the dreary experiences of the day and damaging premonitions of the future. ml CHAPTER III. ALL day Sunday at anchor. The storm had gone down a great deal^ „ but the sea had not It was still piling its frothy hills high in air " outside," as we could phiinly see with the glasses. We could not properly begin a pleasure excursion on Sunday ; we could not offer untried stomachs to so pitiless a sea as that. We must lie still till Monday. And we did. But we had repetitions of church and prayer- meetings ; and so, of course, we were just as eligibly situated as we could have been anywhere. I was up early that Sabbath morning, and was early to breakfast I felt a perfectly natural desire to have a good, long, unprejudiced look at the passengers, at a time when they should be free from self-con- sciousness— which is at breakfast, when such a moment occurs In the lives of human beings at all. I was greatly surprised to see so many elderly people — I might almoflt wfj so many venerable people. A glance at the long Uneo THE INNOCENTS ABROAD, 95 of heads wm apt to make one think it waA all grej. But ft was noi. Tluiie was a tolerably fair sprinkling of young folks, and another fail sprinkling of gentlemen and ladies who were non-committal aa to age, being neither actually old nor absolutely young. Tlie next morning we weighed anchor and went to sea* It was a threat hajipinesa to get away after this dragging, dispiriting delay. I thought there never was such gladness in the air before, such bright- ness in the sun, such beauty in the sea. I was satisfied with the picnic then, and with all its belongings. All my malicious instincts were dead within me ; and as America faded out of sight, I think a spirit of charity rose up in their place, that was as boundless, for the time being, as the broad ocean that was neaving its billows about us. I wished to express my feelings — I wished to lift up my voice and sing ; but I did not know anything to sing, and so I was obliged to give up the idea. It was no loss to the ship though, perhaps. It was breezy and pleasant, but the sea was still very rough. One could not promenade without risking his neck ; at one moment the bowsprit was taking a deadly aim at the sun in mid-heaven, and at the uext it was trying to harpoon a shark in the bottom of the ocean. What a weird sensation it is to feel the stern of a ship sinking swiftly from under you, and see the bow climbing high away among the clouds ! One's safest course that day was to clasp a railing and hang on ; walking Wfis too precarious a pastime. By some happy fortune I was not sea-sick. That was a thing to be proud of. I had not always escaped before. If there is one thing in the world that will make a man peculiarly and insufferably self-con- ceiled, it is to have his stomach behave itself the first day at sea, when Dearly all his comrades are sea-sick. Soon a venerable fossil, shawled to the chin, and bandaged like a mummy, appeared at the door of the aller deck-house, and the next lurch of the ship shot him into my arms. I said — *' (jood morning, sir. It is a fine day." He put his hand on his stomach and said, " Oh my !" and then stag- gered away, and fell over the coop of a skylight. Presently another old gentleman was projected from the same dooi with great violence. I said — " Calm yourself, sir ; there is no hurry. It is a fine day, sir." He also put his hand on his stomach and said, " Oh my !" and reeled .Aray. In a little while another veteran was discharged abruptly from the l^ame door, clawing at the air for a saving support. I said — " Good morning, sir. It is a fine day for pleasuring. You were < bout to say " " Oh my !" I thought so. I anticipated hvm^ anyhow. I stayed there, and wai Ibombarded with old gentlemen for an hour perhaps ; ai«d all I got out [of any of them was, " Oh my I" I went away then, in a thoughtful mood. I said, " This is a good leasore azcuisioa. I like it The passengexa are not garrulous, but % ,' ., f •^' I tt Mark TWAm*S WORKS, ■till they are sociable. I like tlio«e olo 70a — DOW I aHk you an a man and a brother — do joa think I could renture to throw a rock here in any given direction without hitting a captuin of this ship 1" " Well, sir, I don't know ; I think likely yon 'd fetch the captain of ^c watch maybe, becaune he 'b a-standing right yonder in the way." I went below — meditating, and a little down-hearted. \ thought, if five cooks can spoil a broth, what may not fire captaiiiB do with • pleaiiue excursion. gn up there— No er it — there was a I vnx hMid of CHAPTER IV. WE ploughed along bravely for a week or more, and without any con- flict of jurisdiction among the captaina worth mentioning. Th« paAsengers soon learned to accommodate themselves to their new circum^ances, and life in the ship became nearly as systematically monotonous as the routine of a barrack. I do not mean that it was dull, for it was not entirely so by any means — but there was a good deal of samenesH about it. As is always the fashion at sea, the passcngen shortly began to pick up sailor terms— a sign that they were oeginning to feel at home. Half-pivst six was no longer half-past six to these pil- grims from New England, the South, and tne Mississippi Valley, it was " seven belk ;" eight, twelve, and four o'clock were " eight bells ;" the rsaptain did not tiuce the longitude at nine o'clock, but at " two bella." rhey spoke gliblv of the "after cabin," the "for*rard cabin," "port and starboard," and the " fo'castle." At seven bells the first gong rang ; at eight there was breakfast, fof iiuch as were not too sea-sick to eat it. After that all the well people walked arm-in-arm up and down the long promenade deck, enjoying the fine summer mornings, and the sea-sick ones crawled out and propped themselves up in the lee of the paddle-boxes, and ata theii dismal tea and toast, and looked wretched. From eleven o'clock until luncheon, and from luncheon until dinner at six in the evening, the employments and amusements were various. Some reading was done , and much smoking and sewing, though not by the same parties ; there «^ere the monsters of the deep to be looked after and wondered at ; strange ships had to be scrutinised through opera-glasses, and sage decisions arrived at concerning them ; and more than that, everybody took a personal interest in seeing that the flag was run up and politely dipped three times in response to the salutes of those strangers. In the smoking-room there were alwa^ parties of gentlemen playing euchre, draughts, and dominoes, especiadly dominoes, that delightfully liarmless game ; and down on the main deck, " for'rard " — for'rawl ot the chicken- coops and the cattle — we had what was called "horse-billiards." Horse- billiards is a fine game. It affords good, active exercise, hilaritv, and consuming excitement. It is a mixture of ** hop-scotch " and shuffle- board played with a crutch. A large hop-scotch aiagram is marked out en the deck with chalk, and each compartment ntunDered. Tou itMid ::! ti ■I a MARK TWAIN'S WORKS. olf three or four 8t(q)8, with Home broad wooden discs before jroti on kkt deck, and these you send forward with a vigorous thrust of a Ions crutch. If a disc stops on a chalk line, it does not count anything. U it stops in division No. 7, it counts seven ; in 5, it counts five ; and w on. The gam is 100, and fou can play at a time. That game would be very simple, played on a stationary floor ; but, with us, to piay it well required science. We had to allow for ♦ihe reeling of the ship to the right or the left. Very often one made calculations for a heel to the right, and the ship did not go that way. The consequence was that that disc missed the whole hop-scotch plan a yard or two, and then there was humiliation on one side and laughter on the other. When it rained, the passengers had to stay in the house, of course — w at least the cabins — and amuse themselves with games, reading, looking out of the windows at the very familiar billows, and talking gossip. By seven o'clock in the evening dinner was about over ; an Hour's Eromenade on the upper deck followed ; then the gong sounded, and a irge majority of the party repaired to the after cabin (upper), a hand- some saloon fifty or sixty feet long, for prayers. The unregenerated called this saloon the *' Synagogue." The devotions consisted only ot two hymns from the " Plymouth Collection," and a short prayer, and seldom occupied more than fifteen minutes. The hymns were accom- panied by parlour-organ music, when the sea was smooth enough to aUow a performer to ait at the instrument without being lashed to his chair. After prayers the Synagogue shortly took the semblance of a writing- school. The like of that picture was never seen in a ship before. Behind the long dining-tables on either side of the saloon, and scat- tered from one end to the othei* of the latter, some twenty or thirty gentlemen and ladies sat them down under the swaying lamps, and for two or three hours wrote diligently in their journals. Alas ! that journals so voluminously begun should come to so lame and impotent a conclusion as most of them did ! I doubt if there is a single pilgrim of all that host but can show a hundred fair pages of journal concerning the first twenty days' voyaging in the Qmkeir City ; and I am morally certain that not ten of tne party can show twenty pages of journal for the succeeding twenty thousand miles of voyaging I At certain periods it becomes the dearest ambition of a man to keep a faithful record of his performances in a book ; and he dashes at this work with an enthusiasm that imposes on him the notion that keeping a journal is the veriest pastime in the world, and the pleasantest But if he only lives twenty- one days, he will find out that only those rare natures that are made up of pluck, endurance, devotion to duty for duty's sake, and invincibU determination, may hope to venture upon so tremendous an enterprise as the keeping of a journal, and not sustain a shameful defeat. One of our favourite youths, Jack, a splendid young fellow, with a head full of good sense, and a pair of legs that were a wonder to look upon in the way of length, and straightness, and slimness, used to report progress every moming in the most glowing and spirited way, and THE INNOCENTS ABROAD. n " Oh ! I 'm coming along, bnllj I " (he was a little given to slang in hiii happier moods). '' I wrote ten pages in my joumaJ last night — and you know I wrote nine the night De:mre, and twelve the night before, that. Why, it 'a only fun ! " « What do you find to put in it, Jack ? " ;; - r " Oh ! everything. Latitude and longitude, noon every day ; and how many miles we made last twenty-four hours ; and all the domino games I beat, and horse- billiards ; and whales and sharks and porpoises ; and the text of the sermon, Sundays (because that '11 tell at home, yon know) ; and the ships we saluted, and what nation they were ; and which way the wind was, and whether there was a heavy sea, and what flail we carried, though we don't ever carry ani/j principally going against a head wind always — wonder what is the reason of that ? — and how many lies Moult has told — oh, everything ! I Ve got everything dowio. My father told me to keep that journal Father wouldn't take a thousand dollars for it when I get it done." " No, Jack ; it will be worth more than a thousand dollars — when you get it done." " Do you ? — no, but do you think it will, though 1 " " Yes, it will be worth at least as much as a thousand dollars — wher you get it done. Maybe more." "Well, I about half think so myself. It ain't no slouch of a journal." But it shortly became a most lamentable " slouch of a joumaL" One night in Paris, after a hard day's toil in sight-seeing, I said — " Now I '11 go and stroll round the ca/es awhile, Jack, and give you s chance to write up your journal, old fellow." His countenance lost 'ts fire. He said — " WeU, no, you needn't mind. I think I won't run that journal any jiore. It is awful tedious. Do you know, I reckon I 'm as much as foui thousand pages behindhand. I haven't got any France in it at all First I thought I 'd leave France out and start fresh. But that wouldn't do, would it ? The governor would say, ' Hello, here — didn't see any- thing in France ? ' That cat wouldn't fight, you know. First I thought I 'd copy France out of the guide-book, like old Badger in the for'rard cabin who 's writing a book, but there 's more than three hundred pages of it. Oh ! I don't think a journal 's any use — do you ? They 're only a bother, ain't they ? " " Yes, a journal that is incomplete isn't of much use, bis, a journal properly kept is worth a thousand dollars — when you 've got it done." " A thousand ! — well I should think so. I wouldn't finish it for a million." His experience was only" the experience of the majority of that industrious night-school in the cabin. If you wish to inflict a heartless and malignant punishment upon a youn^ person, pledge him to keep a journal a year. A good many expedients were resorted to to keep the excursionists amused and satisfied. A club was formed of all the passengers, wliich TiMii ktt th« wriftin|^-«cho<>l aftar TtTAy^rs. and read aloud alwut tl)(« fs IM/r^ TWAIN\^ WORKS, aonntries w« were approaching, and diMOMed the information so •btained. Several timea the photographer of the expedition brought oat hii transparent pictures and gave us a handsome magic-lantern exhibition. Hii views were nearly all of foreign scenes, but there were one or two home pictures among them. He advertised that he would " open his performance in the after-cabin at ' two bells ' (9 P.M.), and show the passengers where they shall eventually arrive " — which was all very well ; but by a funny accident the first picture that flamed out upon the canvas was a view of Greenwood Cemetery ! On several starlight nights we danced on the upper deck, under the iwniugs, and made something of a ball-room display of brilliancy by banging a nimiber of ship's lanterns to the stanchions. Our music con- listed of the well-mixed strains of a melodeon, which was a little asthmatic and apt to catch its breath where it ought to coma out strong; % clarinet, which was a little unreliable on the high keys, and rather melancholy on the low ones ; and a disreputable accordion, that had a leak somewhere and breathed louder than it squawked — a more elegant term does not occur to me just now. However, the dancing was in- finitely worse than the music. When Idie ship rolled to starboard the whole platoon of dancers came chai-ging down to starboard with it, and brought up in mass at the rail ; and when it rolled to port, they went floundering down to port with the same unanimity of sentiment. Waltzers spun around precariously for a matter of fifteen seconds, and then went skurrying down to the rail as if they meant to go overboard. The Virginia reel, as performed on board the Quaker C%ty^ had more ^nuine reel about it than any reel I ever saw before, and was as full of mterest to the spectator as it was full of desperate chances and hair- breadth escapes to the participant. We gave up dancing, finally. We celebrated a ladVs birthday anniversary with toasts, speeches, a poem, and so forth. We also had a mock triaL No ship ever went to sea that hadn't a mock trial on board. The purser was accused of steal- ing an overcoat from state-room No. 10. A judge was appointed ; also clerks, a crier of the court, constables, sheriffs ; counsel for the State and for the defendant ; witnesses were subpoenaed, and a jury empanelled after much challen^g. The witnesses were stupid, and unreliable and contradictory, as witnesses always are. The counsel were eloquent, argu- mentative, and vindictively abusive of each other, as was characteristic and proper. The case was at last submitted, and duly finished by the judge with an absurd decision and a ridiculous sentence. Tlie acting of charades was tried on several evening! by the young gentlemen and ladies in the cabins, and proved the moat diatinguiahed ■access of all the amusement experiments. An atteapt was made to oi^auise a debating dnb, but it was afailoia lliere was ne enilMrical talent in the ship. We all enjojed oviselves — I think I can safely say tliat — but it wae ki a rather quiet way. We very, very seldom played the piano ; we {ilayed the flute and the olanBret tc^ietW, and made good music, too^ WMt tbere wws of i*; but we alway* jpliitf«d the senne old 1»ib« ; ^ wee a informatioa so THE INNOCENTS ABROAlJk V rery pretty tone — kow well I remember it — I wonder when I shall erer get rid of it We never played either the melodeon or the organ, except at devotions. But I am too fast : voung Albert did know part of a tune — something about " O Sometning-or-Other How Sweet it is to Know that he's his What 's-his-Name " (I do not remember the exact title of it, but it was very plaintive, and full of sentiment). Albert played that pretty much all the time, until we contracted with him to restrain himself. But nobody ever sang by moonlight on the upper deck, and the congregational singing at church and prayers was not of a superior order of architecture. I put up with it as long as I could, and then joined in and tried to improve it, but this encouraged young George to join in too, and that made a failure of it ; because Qeorge's Toice was just " turning," and when he was singing a dismal sort of bass, it was apt to fly off the handle and startle everybody with a most dis- cordant cackle on the upper notes. George didn't know the tunes, either, which was also a drawback to his performances. I said — " Come, now, George, don't improvise. It looks too egotiaticaL It will provoke remark. Just stick to ' Coronation,' like the others. It is a good tune — ^ou can't improve it any, just off-hand, in this way." " Why I 'm not trying to improve it — and I am singing like the others —just as it is in the notes." And he honestly thought he was, too ; and so he had no one to blame but himsrl^T^hen his voice caught on the centre occasionally, and gave him the ic^ h ^. There ■< . lOse among the unregenerated who attributed the un- ceasing hfc^^winds to our distressing choir-music. There were those who said openly that it was taking chances enough to have such ghastly music going on, even when it was at its best ; and that to exaggerate the crime by letting George help, was simply flying in the face of Provi- dence. These said that the choir would keep up their lacerating attempts ^at melody until they would bring down a storm some day Uiat would [link the ship. I There were even grumblers at the prayers. The executive officer said [the Pilgrims had no charity. ** There they are, down there eveir night at eight bells, praying for dr winds — when thev know as well as I do that this is the only ship ;oing east this time oi the year, but there 's a thousand coming west — rhaX 's a fair wind for us is a head wind to them. The Almighty's blow- a fair wind for a thousand vessels, and this tribe wants Him to turn It clear aroimd so as to accommodate (m«, — and she a steamship at that ! Tt ain't good semse, it ain't good reason, it ain't good Christianity, it in't ooaamtm human charity. Avast with such aonaente ! " it was afailum ; MAUK TWAnr& WORKS. CHAPTER V. TAKING it ''by and \9xm^ m the Bailors aay, fre had a pleaiant t«B da;y8' run from New York to the Azores Islands — not a fast ran, for the distance is only twenty-four hundred miles — but a right pleasant one in the main. True, we had head winds idl the time, and several stormy experienoes which sent fifty per cent, of the passengers to bed sick, and made the ship look dismal and deserted — stormy experiences that all will remember who weathered them on the tumbling deck, and caught the vast sheets of spray that every now and then sprang high in air from the weatherbow, and swept the ship like a thunder shower ; but for the most part we had balmy summer weather, and nights that were even finer than the days. We had the phenomenon of a full moon located just in the same spot in the heavens at the same hour every night. The reason of this singular conduct on the part of the moon did not occur to us at first, but it did afterwards, when we re- flected that we were gaining about twenty minutes every day, because we were going east so fast — we gained just about enough every day to keep along with the moon. It was becoming an old moon to the friende we had left behind us, but to us Joshuas it stood still in the same place, and remained always the same. Young Mr Blucner, who is from the Far West, and is on his first voyage, was a good deal worried by the constantly changing " ship- time." He was ^roud of his new watch at first, and used to drag it out promptly when eight bells struck at noon, but he came to look after i while as if he were losing confidence in it Seven days out from New York he came on deck, and said with great decision — ** This thing 's a swindle ! " "What's a swindle «" •* Why, this watch. I bought her out in Illinois — gave $160 for hei —and I thought she was good. And, bv George, she x» good on shore, but somehow she don't keep up her Uck here on the water — gets sea-sick, maybe. She skips ; she runs along regular enough till half-past eleven, and then, all of a sudden, she lets down. I Ve set that old regulator u]t faster and faster, till I 've shoved it clear round, but it don't do any good ; she just distances every watch in the ship, and clatters along in a way that'siastonishing till it is noon, but them eight bells always gets in about ten minutes ahead of her any way. I don't know what to do with her now. She 'a doing aU she can — she's going her best gait, but it won't save her. Now, don't you know, there ain't a watch in the ship that's making better time than she is : but what does it signify i When you hear them eight bells you '11 find her just about ten minuter short of her score — sure." The snip was gaining a full hour every three days, and this fellow was tiring to make his watch go fast enough to keej) up to her. But, as he had said, he had pushed the regulator up as far as it would go, Mkd the watch was '* on its best gait." and so nothing was left him \iA THE INNOCENTS ABROAD. 13 etd a pleaMut ten r— not a fast nm, ilea— but a right oil the time, and of the pasaengeta deserted — stormy L on the tumbling If and then sprang p like a thunder eather, and nights lomenon of a full it the same hour a the part of the ards, when we re- Bvery day, because ough every day to lOon to the friends in the same place, nd is on his first • changing "ship- used to drag it out ae to look aft»r i lys out from Neii? -gave ^150 for h« B M good on shore, fater— gets sea-sick, til half-past eleven, lat old regulator u| it it don't do any i clatters along in it bells always gets know what to do her best gait, bul ,'t a watch in th'^ it does it signify i about ten minut«e ^8, and this fellow up to her. But, far as it would go, was left him hot to fold his hands dnd see the ship beat the race. We sent him to the captain, and he explained to him the mystery of "ship time," and set his troubled mind at rest. This young man asked a great many questions about sea-sickiiess before we left, and wanted to know what its charac- teristics were, and how he was to tell when he had it. He found out We saw the usual sharks, blackfish, porpoises, &c., of course, and by and by large schools of Portuguese luen-of-war were added to the regular list of sea wonders. Some of them were white and some a brilliant carmine colour. The nautilus is nothing but a transparent web of jelly, that spreads itself to catch the wind, and has fleshy-looking strings a foot or two long dangling from it to keep it steady in the water. It is an accomplished sailor, and has good sailor judgment. It reefs its sail when a storm threatens or the wind blows pretty hard, and furls it entirely and goes down when a gale blows. Ordinarily it keeps its sail wet, and in good sailing order, by turning over and dipping it in the water for a moment Seamen say the nautilus is only found in these waters between the 35th and 45 th parallels of latitude. At three o'clock on the morning of the 2l8t of June, we were awakened and notified that the Azores islands were in sight I said I did not take any interest in islands at tliree o'clocL in the morning. But another persecutor came, and then another and another, and finally, believing that the general enthusiasm would permit no one to slumber in peace, I got up and went sleepily on deck. It was five and a half o'clock now, and a raw, blustering morning. The passengers were huddled about the smoke-stacks, and fortified behind ventilators, and all were wrapt in wintiy costumes, and looking sleepy and unhappy in the pitiless gale and tne drenching spray. The island in sight was Flores. It seemed only a mountain of mud standing up out of the dull mists of the sea. But as we bore down upon it, the Sim camt out and made it a beautiful picture— a mass of green farms and meadows that swelled up to a height of fifteen hundred feet, and mingled its upper outlines with the clouds. It was ribbed with sharp, steep ridges, and cloven with narrow canons, and here and there on the heights, rocky upheavals shaped themselves into mimic battle- I ments and castles ; and out of rifted clouds came broad shafts of sun- light, that painted summit and slope and glen with bands of fire, and left belts of sombre shade between. It was the aurora borealis of tha [frozen pole exiled to a summer land ! We skirted around two-thirds of the island, four miles from shore, land all the opera-glasses in the shif were called into requisition to settle [disputes as to whether mossy spots on the uplands were groves of trees, [er groves of weeds, or whether the white villages down by the sea were Ireally villages or only the clustering tombstones of cemeteries. Finally. Iwe stood to sea and bore away for San Miguel, and Flores shortly bis- Jcame a dome of mud again, and sank down among the mists and disap- #peared. But to many a sea-sick passenger it was good to see the green ^^hills again, and all were more cheerful after this episode than anybody |could have expected them to be, considering how siDfully early ther pad gotten up. i . ti" li ! il ij. U MARK TWAIN'S WORKS. But we had to change our purpose about San Miguel, for a stonn oame up about noon that so tossed and pitched the vessel that common sense dictated a run for shelter. Therefore we steered for the nearest island of the group — Fayal (the people there pronounce it Fy-all, and put th« accent on the first syllable). We anchored in the open roadstead o0 Horta, half a mile from the shore. The town has 8000 to 10,000 inhabit- ants. Its snow-white houses nestle cosily in a sea of fresh green vegeta- tion, and no village could look prettier or more attractive. It sips in the lap of an amphitheatre of hills which are 300 to 700 feet high, and carefully cultivated clear to their summits — not a foot of soil left idle. Every farm and every acre is cut up into little square enclosures by stone walls, whose dutv it is to protect the growing products from the destructive gales that blow there. These hundreds of green squares, marked by their black lava walls, make the hills look like vast checker- boards. The island belongs to Portugal, and everything in Fayal has Portu- guese characteristics about it. But more of that anon. A swarm of swarthy, noisy, lying, shoulder-shrugging, gesticulating Portuguese boat- men, with brass rings in their ears, and fraud in their heaiis, climbed the ship's sides, and various parties of us contractei with them to take AS ashore at so much a-head, silver coin of any country. We landed under the walls of a little fort, armed with batteries of twelve and thirty-two pounders, which Horta considered a most formidable institu- tion ; but if we were ever to get after it with one of our turreted moni* tors, they would have to move it out in the country if they wanted it where they could go and find it again when they needed it. The group on the pier was w rusty one— men and women, and boys and girls, all ragged and barefoot, uncombed and unclean, and by instinct, education, and profession, beggars. They trooped after us, and never more, while we tarried in Fayal, did we get rid of them. We walked up the rjiiddle of the principal street, and these vermin surrounded us on all sides, and glared upon us ; and every moment excited couples shot ahead of the procession to get a good look back, just as village boys do when they accompany the elephant on his advertising trip from street to street. It was very flattering to me to be part of the material for such a sensation. Here and there in the doorways we saw women with fashionable Por- tuguese hoods on. This hood is of thick blue cloth, attached to a cloak of the same stuff, and is a marvel of ugliness. It stands up high, and spreads far abroad, and is unfathoniably deep. It fits like a circus ten^^ and a woman's head is hidden away in it like the man's who prompt^ the singers from his tin shed in the stage of an opera. There is no pa^ tide of trimming about this monstrous capote, as they call it — it is iust a plain, ugly, dead-blue mass of sail, and a woman can't go within eight points of the wind with one of them on ; she has to go before the wind, or not at all. The general style of the capote is the same in all the islands, and will remain so for the next ten thousand years ; but each island shapes its capotes just enough differently frdm the others to Doable an obaenrer to teU at a glance what parljcular inland the lady THE mr^OClCIfTS ABROAIk as ael, for a stoim el that common ;he nearest island all, and put the sn roadstead o0 10,000 inhabit- jsh green vegeta- itive. It sips in 00 feet high, and of soil left idle, re enclosures by roducts from the 3f green squares, like vast checker- Fayal has Portu- an. A swarm of r Portuguese boaV- iir hearts, climbed ^th them to take Qtry. We landed es of twelve and brmidable institu- Dur turreted moni* if they wanted it ed it. The group boys and girls, all tistinct, education, [never more, while sed up the rjiiddle iS on all sides, and shot ahead of the oys do when they ;reet to street It such a sensation. . fashionable Por- [ttached to a cloak inds up high, and like a circus tent Lan's who prompts There is no pa^ ' call it-it is Just 't go within eight J before the wind, |e same in all tho [ years ; but each nn the others to island the lady Well, as we came along, we overhauled & bent, wrinkled, and unspeak- ably homely old hag, with her capote standing high aloft She was becalmed, or ratlier, she was laying-to around a comer, waiting for the wind to change. When she saw me, she drifted out and held out hf^i hand. Such friendliness in a strange land touched me, and I seized it 1 shook it cordially, and aaicl — " Madam, I do not know your name, but this act has graven your— your peculiar features upon my heart, and there shall remain whue that heart continues to throb." She drew her hand away, and said something which I could not onderstand, and then kissed her palm to me and curtsied. I blushed and said — " Madam, these attentions cannot but be flattering to me ; but it must not be— alas ! it cannot be — I am another's ! " (I had to lie a little, because I was getting into a close place.) She kissed her hand again, and murmured sweet words of a£fection ; but I was firm. I said — " Away, woman ! tempt me not. Your seductive blandishments are wasted upon one whose heart is far hence in the bright land of America The jewel is gone. You behold here naught save the empty casket ; and empty it shall remain till grim necessity drives me to fill the aching void with vile llesh, and drink, and cabbage. Avaunt, temptress !" But she would not avaunt. She kissed her hand repeatedly, and curt- sied over and over again. I reasoned within myself, this unhappy woman loves me ; I cannot reciprocate, I cannot love a foreigner ; 1 cannot love a foreigner as homely as she is ; if I could, I would dig her out of that capote, and take her to my sheltering ai-ms. I cannot love her ; but this wildly beautiful affection she has conceived for me must not go unrewarded — it shall not go unrewarded. And so I said, " I will read to her my poetical paraphrase of the Declaration of Inde- pendence." But all the crow p MAltX Th'AJJfS WORKS. i!i::i "11 pxesented his bllL Blucher clanced at it, and his countenance fell tfe took another look to assure niniself that his senses had not deceived him, and then read the items aloud in a faltering voice, while the rosea in his cheek turned to ashes — " * Ten dinners, at 600 reis, 6000 reis !' Ruin and desolation ! " * Twenty-five cigars, at 100 reis, 2600 reis ! ' Oh, my sainted mother ! ** * Eleven bottles of wine, at 1200 reis, 13,200 reis !' Be with us all ! "'Total, twenty-one thousand seven hundred reis!" The suffering Moses ! — there ain't money enough in the ship to pay that bill ! Go — leave me to my misery, boys, I am a ruined community." I think it was the blankest-looking party I ever saw. Nobody could say a word. It was as if every soul liad been stricken dumb. Wine- glasses descended slowly to the table, their contents untasted. Cigars dropped unnoticed from nerveless fingers. Each man sought his neigh- bour's eye, but found in it no ray of nope, no encouragement. At last the fearful silence was broken. The shadow of a desperate resolve settled upon Blucher's countenance like a cloud, and he rose up and said — " Landlord, tliis is a low, mean swindle, and I '11 never, never stand it. Here 's a hundred and fifty dollais, sir, and it 's all you '11 get— 1 11 swim in blood, before I'll pay a cent more." Our spirits rose and the fandlord's fell — at least, we thought so ; he was confused at any rate, notwithstanding he had not understood a word that had been said. lie glanced from the little pile of gold pieces to Blucher several times. And then went out He must have visited an American, for, when he returned, he brought back his bill translated Into a language that a Christian could understand — thus : 10 dinners, 6000 reis, or . 25 cigars, 2500 reis, or 11 bottles of wine, 13,200 reis, or $6.00 2.50 13.20 Total, 21,700 reis, or Happiness reigned once more in refreshments were ordered. $21.70 Blutcher's dinner party. More CHAPTER VI. I THINK the Azores must be very little known in AmericiL Out of our whole ship's company there was not a solitary individual who knew anytmng whatever about them. Some of the party, well read concerning most other lands, had no other information about the Azores than that they were a group of nine or ten s:nal] Islands far out in the Atlantic, something more than half-way between New York and Gibraltar. That was all. These considerations move me to put in a paragraph of dry facts just here. The commimity is eminently Portuguese — that is to ssj, it is slow, THE INNOCENTS ABROAD, J7 tenance fell. tf« lad not deceived e, while the rosea csolation ! Oh, my sainted Be with U8 all ! ED REis!" The ship to pay that ned community.*' V. Nobody could en dumb. Wine- untasted. Cigars I sought his neigh- ragement. At last desperate resolve I rose up and said — never, never stand ,11 you'll get— 111 we thought so ; he understood a word of gold ][)iece8 to ist have visited an his bill translated Lus: .00 2.50 L3.20 Mori' I In America. Out solitary individual )me of the party, lother information le or ten small half-way between aiderations move I to sajt it ia slo^ poor, flhiftTesB, sleepy, and lazy. There is a civil governor, appointed by the King of Portugal : and also a military governor, who can assume supreme control and suspend the civil government at his pleasure. The IsUnds contain a population of about 2()(),00(), almost entirely Portuguese. everything is staid and settled, for the country was one hundred years gld when Columbus discovered America. The principal crop is com. and they raise it and grind it just as their great-great-great-grandfathers did. They plough with a board slightly sliod with iron ; their trifling little harrows are drawn by men and women ; small windmills grind the com, ten bushels a day, and there is one assistant-superintendent to feed the mill, and a general superintendent to stand by and keep him from going to sleep. When the wind changes they hitch on some donkeys, and actually turn the whole upper half of the mill around until the sails are in proper position, instead of fixing the concern so that the sails could be moved instead of the mill. Oxen tread the wheat from the ear, after the fashion prevalent in the time of Methuselah. There is not a wheelbarrow in the land — they carry everything on their heads, or on donkeys, or in a wicker-bodied cart, whose wheels are solid blocks of wood and whose axles turn with the wheel. There is not a modem plough in the islands, or a thrashing-machine. All attempts to intro- duce them have failed. The good Catholic Portuguese crossed himself, and prayed to God to shield him from all blasphemous desire to know more than his father did before him. The climate is mild ; they never have snow or ice, and I saw no chimneys in the town. The donkeys and the men, women, and children ail eat and sleep in the same room, Snd are unclean, are ravaged by vermin, and are truly happy. Tha jeople lie, and cheat the stranger, and are desperately ignorant, and have hardly any reverence for their dead. The latter trait shows how Jittle better they are than the donkeys they eat and sleep with. The only well-di'essed Portuguese in the camp are the half a dozen well-to- do families, the Jesuit priests, and the soldiers of the little garrison. The wages of a labourer are twenty to twenty-four cents a day, and those of a good mechanic about twice as much. They count it in reis at a thousand to the dollar, and this makes them rich and contented. Fine grapes used to grow in the islands, and an excellent wine was made and exported. But a disease killed all the vines fifteen years ago, and since that time no wine has been made. The islands being wholly of volcanic origin, the soil is necessarily very rich. Nearly every foot of ground is under cultivation, and two or three crops a year of each article are produced, but nothing is exported save a few oranges — chiefly to England. Nobody comes here, and nobody goes away. News is a thing unknown in Fayal. A thirst for it is a passion equally unknown. A Portuguese of average intelligence inquired if our civil war was over] — lL)ecause, he said, somebody had told him it was, or at least it ran In his mind that somebody had told him something like that ! And when a passenger gave an officer of the garrison copies of the Tribune, th« nerald, and Timet, he was surprised to find later news in them from Lisbon than he had just received by the little monthly steamer. He WM told tbat H cum by cable. H« said he knew they had tned to U| a H MARK TWAIN'S WORKS. eable ten years ago, but it had been in his mind, somehow, that tliej hadn't succeeded 1 It is in communities like this that Jesuit humbuggery flourishes. We visited a Jesuit Cathedral nearly two hundred years old, and found in it a piece of the veritable cross upon which our Saviour was crucified. It was polished and hard, and in as excellent a state of preservation as if the dread traj^cdy on Calvary had occurred yesterday instead of eighteen centuries ago. But these conQdiug people believe in that piece of wood unhesitatingly. In a chapel of the cathedral is an altar with facings of solid silver — at least they call it so, and I think myself it would go a couple of hundred to the ton (to speak after the fashion of the silver miners), and before it is kept for ever burning a small lamp. A devout lady who died, left money and contracted for unlimited masses for the repose of her soul, and also stipulated that this lamp should be kept lighted always day and night. She did all this before she died, you undersLund. It is a very small lamp, and a very dim one, and it could not work her much damage, I think, if it went out altogether. The great altar of the cathedral, and also three or four minor ones, are a perfect mass of gilt gimcracks and gingerbread. And they have a Bwarm of rusty, dusty, battered apostles standing round the filagree work, some on one leg, and some with an eye out, out a gamey look in the other, and some with two or three fingers gone, and some with not enough nose left to blow — all of them crippled and discouraged, and fitter subjects for the hospital than the cathedral. The walls of the chancel are of porcelain, all pictured over with figures of almost life-size, very elegantly wrought, and dressed in the fanciful costumes of two centuries ago. The design was a history of something or somebody, but none of us were learned enough to read the story, llie old father, reposing under a stone closs by, dated 1686, might have told us if he could have risen. But he didn't. As we came down through the town, we encountered a squad of little donkeys ready saddled for use. The saddles were peculiar, to say the least. They consisted of a sort of saw-buck, with a small mattress on it, and this furniture covered about half the donkey. There were no stirrups, but really such supports were not needed — to use such a saddle was the next thing to riding a dinner- table — there was ample support clear out to one's knee-joints. A pack of ragged Portuguese muleteers crowded around us, ofi^ering their beasts at half a dollar an hour — more rascality to the stranger, for the market price is sixteen cents. Half a dozen of us mounted the ungainly affairs, and submitted to the indignity of making a ridiculous spectacle of ourselves through the principal streets of a town of 10,000 inhabitants. "We started. It was not a trot, a gallop, or a canter, but a stampede, and made up of all possible or conceivable gaits. No spurs were neces- sary. There was a muleteer to every donkey, and a dozen volunteers beside, and they banged the donkeys with their goad-sticks, and pricked them with their spikes, and shouted something that sounded like ** Stkki-^ah I " and kept up a din and a racket that was worse thui IHt. INNOChl^I^ AbJtiUAL, 39 Bedlam it«oiT'. These rascals were all on foot ; but no matter, they we»i alwa)'8 up to time — they can outrun and outlast a donkey. Altogether uurs was a lively and a picture8({ae procesaion, and drew crowded audiences to the balconies wherever we went. Blucher could do nothing at a'»* with his donkey. The beaat icaniijeitid zigzag across the road, and the others ran into him ; he scraped Blucuer against carts and the corners of houses ; the road was fenced io with high stone walls, and the donkey gave him a polishing first on on side and then on the other, but never once took the middle ; he finally caiue to the house he was bom in and darted into the parlour, scraj^ing Blucher off at the doorway. After remounting, Blucher said to the muleteer, " Now, that's enouf^'h, you know; you go slow hereafter." But the fellow knew no English, and did not understand, so he simply said, " Sekki-yah / " and tlie donkey was off again like $k chot. He turned a corner suddenly, and Blucher went over his head. And, to speak truly, every mule stumbled over the two, and the whole cavalcade was piled up in a heap. No harm done. A fall from one of those donkeys 18 of little more consequence than rolling off a sofa. The donkeys all stood still after the catastrophe, and waited for their dismembered saddles to be patched up and put on by the noisy muleteers. Blucher was pretty ftugry and wanted to swear, but every time he opened his mouth hit animal did so also, and let off a series of brays that djrowned all othei jounds. It was fun, skurrying around the breezy hills? and through the beauti< tul canons. There was that rare thing, novelty, about it ; it was a freshi new, exhilarating sensation, this donkey riding, and worth a hundred worn and threadbare home pleasures. The roads were a wonder, and well they might be. Here was an island with only a handful of people in it — 25,000 — and yet such fine roads do not exist in the United States outside of Central Park. Every- where you go, in any direction, you find either a hard, smooth, level thoroughfare, just sprinkled with black lava sand, and bordered with Uttle gutters neatly paved with small smooth pebbles, or compactly paved ones like Broadway. They talk much of tne Russ pavement in New York, and call it a new invention — yet here they have been using it in this remote little isle of the sea for two hundred years ! Every street in Ilorta is handsomely paved with the heavy Russ blocks, and the surface is neat and true as a floor — not marred by holes like Broad way. And every road is fenced in by tall, solid lava walls, which will last a thousand years in this land where frost is unknown. They are very thick, and are often plastered and whitewashed, and capped with projecting slabs of cut stone. Trees from gardens above hang their swaying tendrils down, and contrast their bright green with the white- wash or the black lava of the walls, and make them beautifuL Th« trees and vines stretch across these narrow roadways sometimes, and so <»hut out the sun that you seem lo be riding through a tunnd. The pavements, the roads, and the bridges are all Government work. The bridges are of a single span — a single arch — of cut stone, without a Buppurt» and paved on top with fl4g» of lava aa'i ornamental pebbi« 40 MARK TWAIN'S WORKS, *iov\. Everywhere are walls, walln, walla, an of the hill about two hundred feet, and one end of it sticks out of the hill about nine hundred !" Here, in Gibraltar, he corners these educated British officers, and bad- gers them with braggadocio about America and the wonders she can perform. He told one of them a couple of our gunboats could come here and knock Gibraltar into the Mediterranean Sea ! At this present moment, half a dozen of us are taking a private plea- sure excursion of our own devising. We form rather more than hall the list of white passengers on board a small steamer bound for the venerable Moorish town of Tangier, Africa. Nothing could be more absolutely certain than that we are enjoying ourselves. One cannot do otherwise who speeds over these opurkling waters, and breathes the 8o£f atmosphere of this sunny land. Care cannot assail us here. We are out of its jurisdiction. We even steamed recklessly by the frowning fortress of Malabat (a lAronghold of the Emperor of Morocco) without a twinge of fear. The whole garrison turned out under arms, and assumed a threatening atti- tude — yet still we did not fear. The entire garrison marched and counter-marched within the rampart, in full view — ^yet, notwithstand- ing even this, we never Ilinched. I suppose we really do not know what fear is. I inquired the name of the garrison of the fortress of Malabat, and they said it was Mehemet Ali Ben Sancom. I said it would be a good idea to get some more gar- risons to help him ; but they said no ; he had nothing to do but hold the place, and he was competent to do that ; had done it two years already. That was evidence which one could not well refute. There is nothing like reputation. Every now and then my glove purchase in Gibraltar last night intrudes itself upon me. Dan and the snip's surgeon and I had been up to the great square, listening to the music of the fine military bands, and con- templating English and Spanish female loveliness and fashion ; and at nine o'clock were on our way to the theatre, when we met the General, ;he J:^dge, the Commodore, the Colonel, and the Commissioner of the United States of America to Europe, Asia, and Africa, who had been tc the Club-House to register their several titles and impoverish the bill of Eare ; and they told us to go over to the little variety store, ne«r the Hall of Justice, and buy some kid gloves. They said thej' were elegant, and very moderate in price. It seemed a stylish thing to go to the theatre i» kid gloves, and we acted upon the hint. A very handseme young lady hi the stove efiered am « pair of blue i^lovea. I 4ad not wai^t blue b«t .>> THE INNOCENTS ABROAD M •he said thej would look very pretty on a hand like mine. The remark touched me tenderly. I glanced furtively at my hand, and somehow it did seem rather a comely member. I tried a glove on my left, and blushed a little. Manifestly the size was too small for me. But I felt gratified when she said — " Oh, it is just ri^ht ! " — yet I knew it was no such thing. I tugged at it diligently, but it was discouraging work. She said — " Ah ! I see ym, are accustomed to wearing kid gloves — but some gentlemen are «o awkward about putting them on." It was the last compliment I had expected. I only imderstand putting on the buckskin article perfectly. I made another effort, and tore the glove from the base of the thumb into the palm of the hand, and tried to hide the rent She kept up her compliments, and I kept up my determination to deserve them or die. " Ah, you have had experience ! " [A rip down the back of the hand.] " They are just right for you — your hand is very small — if they tear you need not pay for them." [A rent across the middle.] " I can always tell when a gentleman understands putting on kid gloves. There is a grace about it that only comes with long practice." [The whole after- guard of the glove " fetched away," as tne sailors say, the fabric parted across the knuckles, and nothing was left but a melancholy ruin.] I was too much flattered to make an exposure, and throw the mer- handise on the angel's hands. I was hot, vexed, confused, but still appy ; but I hated the other boys for taking such an absorbing interest n the proceedings. I wished they were in Jericho. I felt exquisitely mean when 1 said, cheerfully — " This one does very well : it fits elegantly. I like a glove that fits. No, never mind, ma'am, never mind ; I '11 put the other on in the Btreet. It is wann here." It vsca warm. It was the warmest place I ever was in. I paid the hill, and as I passed out with a fascinating bow, I thought I detected a light in the woman's eye that was gently ironical ; and when I looked back from the street, and she was laughing aU to herself about something or other, I said to myself, with withering sarcasm, " Oh, certainly ; y«i4 £now how to put on kid gloves, don't you ? — a self-complacent ass, ready to be flattered out of your senses by every petticoat that chooses to take the trouble to do it ! " The silence of the boys annoyed me. Finally, Dan said, musingly — " Some gentlemen don't know how to put on kid gloves at all ; but some do." And the doctor said (to the moon I thought) — " But it is always eai^ to tell when a gentleman is used to putting on kid gloves." Dan soliloquised, titter a pause — " Ah, yes ; there is a grace about it that only comes with long, very long prauiice." "Yes, indeed, I've noticed that when a man hauls on a kid glovo, like he was dragging a cat out of an ash-hole by the tail, Im. unde** itands iLMntting on kid gloves ; Ki^t had ex.*— — 11 f f '■I 4> /tfARK- TVfrA/N*S IVORJCX ** Bo j8, enougn of a thing 's enough ! You think you are yeir smart, I suppose, but I don't. And if you go and tell any of those old gossips in the ship about this thing, I 'U never forgive you for It ; that 'a all. They let me alone then for the time being. We always let each other aloue in time to prevent ill feeling from spoUing a joke. But they had bought gloves, too, as I did. We threw all the purchasea away together this morning. They were coarse, unsubstantial, freckled all over with broad, yellow splotches, and could neither stand wear nor public exhibition. We had entertained an angel unawares, but we did not take her in. She did that for us. Tangier ! A tribe of stalwart moors are wading into the sea to c«Ry us ashore on their backs from the small boats. CHAPTER VIII. THIS is royal ! Let those who went up through Spain make the best of it — these dominions of the Emperor of Morocco suit oui little party well enough. We have had enough of Spain at Gibraltai for the present. Tangier is the spot we have been longing for all the time. Elsewhere we have found foreign-looking things and foreign- looking people, but always with things and people intermixed that wf were familiar with before, and so the novelty of the situation lost a deai of its force. We wanted something thoroughly and uncompromisingly foreign — foreign from top to bottom — foreign from centre to circum- ference — foreign inside and outside and all around— nothing anywhere about it to dilute its foreignness — notliing to remind us of any other people or any other land under the sun. And lo ! in Tangier we have found it. Here is not the slightest thing that ever we have seen save in pictures — and we always mistrusted the pictures before. We cannot any more. The pictures used to seem exaggerations — they seemed too weird and fanciful for reality. But, behold, they were not wild enough — they were not fanciful enough — they have not told half the story Tangier is a foreign land if ever there was one ; and the true spirit of it can never be found in any book save the Arabian Nights. Here are no white men visible, yet swarms of humanity are all about us. Here is a packed and jammed city enclosed in a massive stone wall, which is more than a thousand years old. All the houses nearly are one and two- story ; made of thick walls of stone ; plastered outside ; square as a dry goods box ; flat as a floor on top ; no cornices ; whitewashed all over — a crowded city of snowy tombs ! And the doors are arched with the peculiar arch we see in Moorish pictures ; the floors are laid in vari- coloured diamond-flags ; in tesselated many-coloured porcelain squares wrought in the furnaces of Fez ; in red tiles and broad bricks that time cannot wear ; there is no furniture in the rooms (of Jewish dwellings) save divans — what there is in Moorish ones no man may know ; witmn their sacred walls no Christian dog can enter. And tho streets are I 11 tie sea to carxjf THE INNOCENTS ABttOAD, 49 ihiental — some of them three feet wide, some six^ but only two that art ever a dozen ; a man can blockade the most of them bj ezta&dio|; bit body across them. Isn't it an Oriental picture 7 Tnere are stalwart Bedouins of the aesert here, and stataly Moon, proud of a history that goes back to the night of time ; and Jews, whoM utthers fled hither centuries upon centuries ago ; and swarthy Riffians from the mountains — bom cut-throats — and original, genuine negroes, as black as Moses; and howling deryishes, and a hun«lred breeds of Arabs — aU sorts and descriptions of people that are foreign and curious to look upon. And their dresses are strange beyond all description. Here is a bronzed Moor in a prodigious white turban, curiously embroidered jacket, gold and crimson sash of many folds, wrapped round and round his waist, trousers that only come a little below nis knee, and yet haye twen^ yards of stuff in them, ornamented scimitar, bare shins, stocking- less feet, yellow slippers, and gun of preposterous length — a mere soldier ! — I thought he was the Emperor at least. And here are aged Moors with flowing white beards, and loEg white robes with yast cowls ; and Bedouins with long, cowled, striped cloaks, audi negroes and Rifiians with heads clean-shayen, except a kinky scalp-lock back of the ear, or rather up on the after comer of the skull, and all sorts of bar- barians in all sorts of weird costumes, and aU more or less ragged. And here are Moorish women who are enveloped from head to foot in coarse white robes, and whose sex can only be determined by the fact that they only leaye one eye visible, and never look at men of their own race, or are looked at by them in public. Here are five thousand Jews In blue gaberdines, sashes about their waste, slippers upon their feet, little skml-caps upon the backs of their heads, hair combed down on the forehead, and cut straight across the middle of it from side to side — the self-same fashion their Tangier ancestors have worn for I don't know how many bewildering centuries. Their feet and ankles are bare. Their noses are all hooked, and hooked alike. They all resemble each other so much that one could almost beUeve they were of one family. Their women are plump and pretty, and do smile upon a Christian in a waywhich is in the last degree comforting. What a funny old town it is ! It seems like profanation to laugh, and jest, and bandy the frivolous chat of our day amid its holy relict. Only the stately phraseology and the measured speech of the sons of the Prophet are suited to a venerable antiquity like this. Here is a crumb- ling wall that was old when Columbus discovered America ; was old wrhen Peter the Hermit roused the knightly men of the Middle Agei to arm for the first Crusade ; was old when Charlemagne and his paladins beleaguered enchanted castles and battled with giants and genii m the fabled days of the olden time ; was old when C^irist and EUc disciples walked the earth ; stood where it stands to-day when the lips of Memnon were vocal, and men bought and sold in the streets of meient Thebes ! The PhcBnicians, the Cafthagenians, the Knglinh, Moors, Roniana, aU tm^'Wi battlad for Tanj^ier— «11 Hare won it axui loat ii Here is a r9^9^ so MARK TWAIN'S ¥irORKS. Ill m. 'SIS ■a, .' h • i:-i'i^ ;iil' ij: ) '■ Oriental-looking negro from some desert place in interior Africa, ftUing his ffoat-skln with water from a Btnined and battered fountain built by tne Romans twelve hundred years ago. Yonder ia a ruined arch of a bridge built by Julius Cassar nineteen hundred years ago. Men who had seen the infant Saviour in the Virgin's arms have stood upon it, maybe. I4ear it are the ruins of a dockvard where Caesar repaired his ships and loaded them with grain when he invaded Britain, fifty years before the Christian era. Here, under the quiet stars, these old streets seem thronged with the phantoms of forgotten ages. My eyes are resting upon a spot where stood a monument which was seen and described oy Roman historians less than two thousand years ago, whereon was inscribed : — *'Wb abs the Canaanitbs. We are thst that have been DRIVEN OUT OF THE LAND OF CaNAAN BT THE JeWISH ROBBER, Joshua." Joshua drove them out, and they came here. Not many leagues from here is a tribe of Jews whose ancestors fled thither after an unsuc- cessful revolt against King David, and these their descendants are stUl under a ban and keep to themselves. Tangier has been mentioned in history for three thousand years. And It was a town, though a queer one, when Hercules, clad in his lion'i ikin, landed here, ^ur thousand years ago. In the streets he met Anitus, the king of the country, and brained him with his club, whicl was the fashion among gentlemen in those days. The people of Tangiei (called Tingis then) lived in the rudest possible huts, and dressed in ■kins and carried clubs, and were as savage as the wild beasts they were constantly obliged to war with. But they were a gentlemanly race, and did no work. Tney lived on the natural products of the land. Their king's country residence was at the famous Garden of Hesperides, seventy miles down tiie coast from here. The garden, with its golden apples (oranges), 18 gone now — no vestige of it remains. Antiquarians concede that such a personage as Hercules did exist in ancient times, and anee that he was an enterprising and energetic man, but decline to beUeve him a good, 6onay!a0 god, because that would be unconstitutionaL Down here at Cape Spartel is the celebrated cave of Hercules, whex« that hero took refuge when he was vanquished and driven out of the Tangier country. It is full of inscriptions in the dead languages, which fact makei me think Hercules could not have travelled much, else he would not have kept a journal. Five days' journey from here — say two hundred miles — are the ruim ol «R andent city, of whose history there is neither record nor traditvoxL Ajkcl ytt its arehtts, its columna, md it« statuea procbim it to have i teoi Wnih Vy Ml enlishtoBed rM«. Tke g«iMffal mm of a store in Tangier is about that of an ordinary «kower-bi^ iit a eivLliaed land. Tbe Mohammedan merchant, tinman, and TMidor af triflea ats eroat-la§9ged on tht floor, and after aay oliele yen nay wamt t« b^y Vou tran rent a wkoU THE INNOCENTS ABROAD. II Africa, ftlling atain built by aed arch of • po. Men who ttood upon it, lired hia ships l^y years before mged with the a spot where man nistorianM T HAYS BESS WISH ROBBER, many leagues after an unsuc- adants are still ind years. And id in his lion's streets he met his club, whid ople of Tangiei and dressed in leasts they were nanly race, and id. Their king's I, seventy mil«i iples (oranges), cede that such agree that he [beueve him a lercules, where 'ven out of the [iguages, which ' much, else he -are the ruini ^ nor tradit^AOB. |t to hare •>eox ^f an ordinary it, Unman, [the floor, and rent a whol« block of theee pigeon-holes for flftv dollars a month. The market people crowd the market-place with their baskets of figa, dates, melons, apncotH, &c., and among them file trains of laden asses, not much larger, if any, than a Newfoundland dog. The aceiie is lively, is picturesque, and smells like a police court. The Jewish money- changers have their dens close at Hand ; and aU day long are counting bron7« coins and transferring them from one bushel basket to another. They don't coin much money now-a-days, I think. I saw none but what was dated four or five nundred years back, and was badly worn and battered. These coins are not very valuable. Jack went out to get a Napoleon changed, so as to have mone} suited to the general cheap- ness of things, and came back and said he had " swam])ed the bank ; had bought eleven quarts of coin, and the head of the firm had gone on the street to negotiate for the balance of the chanj»e." I bought nearly half a pint of their money for a shilling myself. 1 am not proud on account of having so much money, though. I care nothing for wealth. The Moors have some small silver coins, and also some silver slugs worth a dollar each. The latter are exceedingly scarce — so much BO, that when poor ragged Arabs see one they beg to be allowed to kiss it. They have also a small gold coin worth two dollars. And that reminds me of something. When Morocco is in a state of war, Arab couriers carry letters through the country, and charge a liberal postage. Every now and then they fall into the hands of marauding bands and get robbed. Therefore, warned by experience, as soon as they have collected two dollars' worth of money they exchange it for one ot those little gold pieces, and when robbers come upon them, swallow it. The stratagem was good while it was unBUspected, but after that the marauders simply gave the sagacioiis United States mail an emetic and sat down to wait. The Emperor of Morocco is a soulless despot, and the great ofticeR under him are despots on a smaller scale. There is no regular system of taxation, but when the Emperor or the Bashaw want money, they levy on some rich man, and he has to furnish the cash or go to prisoiL Therefore, few men in Morocco dare to be rich. It is too dangerous a luxury. Vanity occasionally leads a man to display wealth, but sooner or later the Emperor trumps up a charge against him- -any sort of one will do — and confiscates his property. Of course, there are many rich men in the empire, but their money is buried, and they dress in raga and counterfeit poverty. Every now and then the Emperor imprisons a man who is suspected of the crime of being rich, and makes things ao uncomfortable for him that he is forced to discover where he haa hidden hia money. Moors and Jews sometimea place themselves under the proUw.ioa of the foreign consuls, and then they can flout their richea in tht Emperoi'a he* with impunity. I I MARK 7'IVA/N'S WORKS, CHAPTER IX. ABOUT tne ftret adventure we had yesterday afternoon, oftci landinc here, came near finishing that heedless Blucher. We had juBt mountea some mules and asses, and started out under the guardianship of the stately, the princely, the magnificent Hadji Mohammed Lamarty (may his tribe increase !), when we came upon a fine Moorish mosque, with tall tower, rich with chequer-work of many-coloured porcelain, ana every part and portion of the edifice adorned wiui the quaint architectuM of the Alhambra, and Blucher started to ride into the open doorway. A startling " Hi-hi ! " from our camp-followers, and a loud " Halt ! " from an English gentleman in the party, checked the adventurer, and then we were informed that so dire a profanation is it for a Christian dog to set foot upon the sacred threshold of a Moorish mosaue, that no amount of purification can ever make it fit for the faithful to pray in again. Had Blucher succeeded in entering the place, he would no doubt have been chased through the town and stoned ; and a time has been, and not many years ago either, when a Christian would have been most ruthlessly slaughtered, if captured in a mosque. "We caught a glimpse of the handsome tesseUated pavements within, and of the devotees per- forming their ablutions at the fountains ; but even that we took that glimpse was a thing not relished by the Moorish bystanders. Some years ago the clock in the tower ot the mosque got out of order. The Moors of Tangier have so degenerated that it has been long since there was an artificer: among them capable of curing so delicate a patient fi a debilitated clock. The great men of the city met in solemn con> 2lave to consider how the difiiculty was to be met. They discussed the matter thoroughly, but arrived at no solution. Finally, a patriarch arose and said — " Oh, children of the Prophet, it is known unto you that a Portuguese dog of a Christian clock-mender pollutes the city of Tangier with his presence. Ye know also that when mosques are Duilded, asses bear the stones and the cement, and cross the sacred threshold. Now, therefore, send the Christian dog on all fours, and barefoot, into the holy place to mend the clock, and let him go as an ass I " And in that way it was done. Therefore, if Blucher ever sees the inside of a mosque, he will have to cast aside his humanity and go in kis natural character. We visited the gaol, and found Moorish prisoners making mats and baskets. (This thing of utilising crime savours of civilisation.) Murder is punished with death. A short time ago three murderers were taken beyond the city walls and shot. Moorish guns •le not good, and neither are Moorish marksmen. In this instance, they set up the poor criminals at lon^ range, like so many targets, and prac- tised on them — kept them hopping about and dodging bullets for hali ftn hour before thay managed to drive the centre. When a man steals cattle, they out off his right hand and left leg, and nail them up in the market-place as a warning to everybody. Their i THE INNOCENTS ABROAD, IS i,aiu.i Undine il just mounted I guardianship mied Lamarty [)oriBh mosque, porcelain, and nt architecture n doorway. A "Halt! "from orer, and then hrifltian dog to hat no amount pray in again, no doubt have has been, and live been most ,ught a glimpse A devotees per- it we took thai ders. [ot out of order. )een long since icate a patient in solemn con- y discussed the a patriarch it a Portuguese ngier with his asses bear the ow, therefore, e holy place to ever sees the lity and go in orish prisoners me savours of time ago three Moorish guns instance, they ;etB, and prac- fullets for half ^d left leg, and rbody. Their •nrgery Is not artistic Tliey nlice round the bone a little, then break o£f the limb. Sometimes the patient gets well ; but as a general thing he dou't. However, the Mourish heart is stout The Moors were always brave. These criminals undergo the fearful operation without a irince, without a tremor of any kind, without a groan ! No amount ei suffering can bring down the pride of a Moor, or make him shame his dignity with a cry. Here marriage is contracted with the parents of the parties to it There are no valentines, no stolen interviews, no riding out, no courting in dim parlours, no lovers' quarrels and reconciliations — no nothing that is proper to ai>proaching matrimony. The young man takes the girl hii Catner selects for him, marries her, and after that she is unveiled, and he sees her for the first time. If after due acquaintance she suits him, he retains her ; but if he suspects her purity, he bundles her back to hex father ; if he finds her diseased, the same ; or if, after just and reasonable time is allowed her, she neglects to bear children, back she goes to the home of her childhood. Mohammedans here, who can afiord it, keep a good many wives on hand. They are called wives, though I believe the Koran only allows four genuine wives — the rest are concubines. The Emperor of Morocco dou't know how man^ wives he has, but thinks he has five hun< dred. However, that is near enough — a dozen or so, one way or the other, don't matter. Even the Jews in the interior have a plurality of wives. I have caught a glLni])se of the faces of several Moorish women (foi they are only human, and will expose their faces for the admiration ol a Christian dog when no male Moor is by), and I am full of veneration for the wisdom that leads them to cover up such atrocious ugliness. They carry their children at their backs, in a sack, like otner savages the world over. Many of the negroes are held in slavery by the Moors. But the moment a female slave becomes her masters concubine her bonds are broken, and as soon as a male slave can read the first chapter of the Koran (which contains the creed), he can no longer be held in bondage. They have three Sundays a week in Tangier. The Mohammedans' comes on Friday, the Jews' on Saturday, and that of the Christian Consuls on Sunday. The Jews are the most radical The Moor goes to his mosque about noon on the Sabbath, as on any other day, removes his shoes at the door, performs his ablutions, makes his salaams, pressing his forehead to the pavement time and again, says his prayers, and goes back to his work. But the Jew shuts up shop ; will not touch copper or bronze money \\ all ; soils his fingers with nothing meaner than silver and gold ; attends the synagogue devoutly ; will not cook or have anything to do with fire ; and religiously refrains from embarking in any enterprise. The Moor who has made a pilgrimage to Mecca is entitled to high distinction. Men call him Ha^ji, and he is thenceforward a great per- •onage. Hundreds of Moors come to Tangier every year, and embark ecca. They go part of the way in English steamers ; and the tm for Me u UAitK TWAIN'S WORKS, •r twelve dolUn thej \m,j for pMMge (b abont all the trip ootti. Thitij taka with them a quantity of food, and when thu commiasary depari> meat Calk, they "skinniBh.'' aa Jack terma it, in hia dnful, ilaiigy way. From the time thej leave till they get home again, tlicy never wash either on land or sea. They are uauaUy gone from five tu Reven montha and aa they do not change their clothes during all that time, they are totally unfit for the drawing-room when they get back. Many of them have to rake and scrape a long time to gather togethei the ten doUars their steamer passage costs ; and when one of them geti back he is a bankrupt for ever after. Few Moon can ever build up their fortunes again in one short lifetime, after so reckless an outlay. In order to conmie the dignity of Hadji to gentlemen of patrician blood and possessions, the Emperor decreed that no man should make the pil- grimage save bloated aristocrats who were worth a hundred dollars in specie. But behold how iniquity can circumvent the law ! For a con- sideration the Jewish money-changer lends the pilgrim one hundred dollars long enough for him to swear himself through, and then receives it back before the ship sails out of the harbour ! Spain is the only nation the Moors fear. The reason is, that Spain lends her heaviest ships of war and her loudest guns to astonish these Moslems ; while America and other nations send only a little con- temptible tub of a gunboat occasionally. The Moors, like other savages, learn by what they see ; not what they hear or read. We have great fleets in the Mediterranean, but they seldom touch at African ports. The Moors have a small opinion of England, France, and America, and put their representatives to a deal of red tape circumlocu< tion before they grant them their common rights, let alone a favour. But the moment the Spanish Minister makes a demand, it is acceded te at once, whether it be just or not. Spain chastised the Moors five or six years ago, about a disputed piece of property opposite Gibraltar, and captured the city of Tetouan. She compromised on an augmentation of her territory, twenty million dollars Indemnity in money, and peace. And then she gave up the city. But she never gave it up until the Spanish soldiers had eaten up all the cats. They would not compromise as long as the cats held out. Spaniards are very fond of cats. On the contrary, the Moors reverence cats as some- thing sacred. So the Spaniards touched them on a tender point that time. Their unfeline conduct in eating up all the Tetouan cats aroused a hatred toward them in the breasts of the Moors, to which even the driving them out of Spain was tame and passionless. Moors and Spaniards are foes for ever now. France had a Mimster here once wno embittered the nation against him in the most innocent way. He killed a couple of battalions of cats (Tangier is full of them), and made a parlour carpet out of their hides. He made his carpet in circles — first a circle of old grey tom-cats, with their tails all pointing towards the centre ; then a circle of yellow cats ; next a circle of black cats, and a eiiele of white ones ; then a circle of all sorts of cats ; and finally, i eentre-piece of assorted kittens. It waa very beautiful ; but the Moon SUM hia memoxy to thia day* THE INNOCENT aBROAIX 11 IHun w« 'Wit to call on oar AzncricAn Conral-0«nflrd to-day, I moticed th*t ^ poHiblc gAxjit« for parlour ainus«ineiit leeiued to ba representad on his cantrv-tablea I thought that hintad at lonMonMueia The idea was correct. His is the onlj American family in Tangier. Tben are many foreign ConsulB in this place, but mudi yiaitiug ii not induced ijDu Tangier ia clear out of the world ; and what is the uie of yiaiting when people have nothing on earth to talk about ? There ia none. So each GonBurs family stayii at home chiefly, and amusei itself as beet it can. Tangier is full uf interest for one day, but after that it is a weary prison. Tne Consul-Oeneral has beei^eie five years, and has got enough of it to do him for a century, and is going home shortly. His fanmy seize upon their lettcra and papers when the mail arrives, read them over snd over again for two days or three, talk them over and over again for two or three more, till they wear them out, and after that, for days together, they eat and drink and sleep, and ride out oyer the same old road, and see the same old tiresome thingn that even decades of centuries have scarcely changed, and say never a uingle word ! They have lite- rally nothing whatever to talk about The arrival of an American man- of-war is a godsend to them. " O Solitude ! where are the charmi which sages have seen in thy face ? " It is the completest exile that I san conceive of. I would seriously recommend to the Government of the United States, that when a man commits a crime so heinous that the law provides no adequate punishment for it, they make him Consul- G^eral to Tangier. I am glad to have seen Tangier — the second oldest town in the world. But I am ready to bid it good-bye, I believe. We shall go hence to Gibraltar this eveniTig or in the morning ; and iloubtless the QuaiUr CiLy will sail from that port within the next forty- dght hoiura CHAPTER X. WE passed tHe Fourth of July on board the Quaker Oky^ in mid* ocean. It was iu all respects a characteristic Mediterranean day — faultlessly beautiful. A cloudless sky ; a refreshing summer wind ; a radiant sunshine that glinted cheerily from dancing wavelets histead of crested mountains of water ; a sea beneath us that was so wonderfully blue, so richly, brilliantly blue, that it overcame the dullest sensibilities with the spell of its fascination. They even have fine sunsets on the Mediterranean — a thing that is certainly rare in most quarters of the globe. The evening we sailed away from Gibraltar, tnat bard-featured rock was swimming in a creamy mist so rich, so soft, so enchantingly vague and dreamy, that even the Oracle, that serene, that inspired, tliat overpowering humbug, loomed the dinner-gong and tarried to worahip! He said, "Well, that's gorgis, ain't it! They don't haT* nona ol ii i« MARK TWAIN'S WORKi>, |gl ,;,,ii. them things in our parts, do they f I consider that them effeotn ij un ftoeonnt of the Baperior refragability, as you may say, of the sun's diramic combLnation with the lymphatic forces of the perihelion ol Jubiter. What should you think ? " " Oh, go to bed I " Dan said that, and went away. " Oh yes, It 's all very well to say go to bed when a man nakes an argument which another man can't answer. Dan don't never stand any chance in an argument with me. And he knows it too. What should you say, Jack t " *' Now, doctor, don't you come bothering around me with that dictionary bosh. I don't do you any harm, do I ) Then you let dm alone." ** He 's gone too. Well them feUows have all tackled the old Oracle, as they say, but the old man 's most too many for 'em. Maybe the Poet Lariat ain't satisfied with them deductions 1" The poet replied with a barbarous rhyme, and went below. " 'Pears that V can't qualify, neither. Well, I didn't expect nothing out of him. I never see one of them poets yet that knowed anything. He '11 go down now, and grind out about four reams of the awfullest Blush about that old rock, and give it to a consul, or a pilot, or a nigger, or anybody he comes across fijst which he can impose on. Pity but somebody 'd take that poor old lunatic and dig all tnat poetry rubbage out of him. Why can't a man put his intellect onto things that 's some value 1 Gibbons, and Hippocratus, and Sarcophagus, and all them old ancient philosophers, was down on poets " " Doctor," I said, " you are going to invent authorities now, and I '11 leave you too. I sJways enjoy your conversation, notwithstanding the luxuriance of your syllables, when the philosophy you offer rests on your own responsibility ; but when you begin to soar — when you begin to support it with the evidence of authorities who are the creations of youi owT^ fancy, I \o^ confidence." That was the way to flatter the doctor. He considered it a sort of acknowledgment on my part of a fear to argue with him. He was always persecuting the passengers with abstruse propositions framed in language that no man could understand, and they endured the exquisite torture a minute or two and then abandoned the field. A triumph like this, over half a dozen antagonists, was sufficient for one day ; from that time forward he would patrol the decks beaming blandly upon all comers, aim so tranquilly, blissfully happy ! Lut I digress. The thunder of our two brave cannon announced the Fourth of July, at daylight, to all who were awake. But many of us got our informatioD at a later hour from the almanac. All the flags were sent aloft, except half a dozen that were needed to decorate por- tions of the ship below, and in a short time the vessel assumed a holiday appearance. During the morning meetings were held, and all manner of committees set to work on the celebration ceremonies. In the after- noon the ship's company assembled aft, on deck, under the awnings ; the flute, the asthmatic melodeon, and the consumptive clarionet crippled the " Star-Fipangled Banner," the choir chased it to cav^^r. end THE IMNOCENTS ABROAD. 17 effeotn ij u& >f the aun'B erihelion ot kn oakes an 3T stand any IThat should ) with that you let nu I old Oracle, ^be the Poet pect nothing id anytliing. ;he awfullest , or a nigger, 1. Pity but etry rubbage that 's some EiU them old ow, and I '11 tanding the ests on your ou begin to ions of youi it a sort of He was framed in the exquisite iumpn like from that Ly upon all lounced tlie I many of us ill the flags icorate por- !d a holiday all manner In the after- |e awnings; |-e clarionet cav«;r. esnA George came in with a peculiarly lacerating PMsreeak uu the final note and waughtered it Nobody mourned. We carried out the corpse on three cheers (that joke waa not inten* tional, and I do not endorse it), and then the President, throned behind 9 cable-locker with a national flag spread over it, announced the '* Reader " who rose up and read that same old Declaration of Indepen- dence which we have all listened to so often without paving any attention to what it said ; and after that the President piped the Orator of the Day to quarters, and he made that same old speech about our national greatness which we so religiously believe and so fervently applaud. Now came the choir into court again, with the complaining instruments, and assaulted " Hail Columbia ; " and when victory hung wavering in the scale, George returned with his dreadful wild-goose stop turned on, and the choir won of course. A minister pr'^nounced the benediction, and the patriotic little gathering disbanded. The Fourth of July was safe, as far as the Mediterranean waa concemod. At dinner in the evening, a well-written original poem was recited with spirit by one of the ship's captains, and thirteen regular toasts were washed down with several baskets of champagne. 'The speeches were bad — execrable, almost without exception. In fact, without any exception but one. Captain Duncan made a good speech ; he made the only good speech of the evening. He said — " Ladies and Gentlemen, — May we all live to a green old age. ard be prosperous and happy. Steward, bring up another basket of cb-i ua- pagne." It was regarded as a /ery able effort The festivities, so to speak, closed with another of those miraculoui baUs on the promenade deck. We were not used to dancing on an even keel, though, and it was only a questionable success. But take it alto' gether, it was a bright, cheerful, pleasant Fourth. Towards nightfall the next evening, we steamed into the great arti- ficial harbour of this noble city of Marseilles, and saw the dying sunlight gild its clustering spires and ramparts, and flood its leagues of environing verdure with a mellow radiance that touched with an added charm the white villas that flecked the landscape far and near. [Copy- right secured according to law.] There were no stages out, and we could not get on the pier from the ship. It was annoying. We were full of enmusiasm — we wanted to see France ! Just at nightfall our party of three contracted with a waterman for the privilege of using his boat as a bridge — its ctem was at our companion ladder and its bow touched the pier. We got in and the fellow backed out into the harbour. I told Imn in French that all we wanted was to walk over his thwarts and step ashore, and asked him what he went away out there for 1 He said he could not understand me. I repeated. Still he could not understand. He appeared to be very ignorant of French. The doctor tried him, but he could not under- fStand the doctor. I asked this boatman to explain his conduct, which he did ; and then I couldn't understand /urn. Dan said— ** Oh, fno to the pier, you old fool — that '■ wher^ we want to go I * ':!! i I !• IWfl '•' !| i..l. .1 (I MAXX TWAIU'H WORK^ We reasoned ciilmlj with Dan that it was naeleas to 8pe&:i^ w cliiz foreigner in English — ^that he had better let us condnct this biudnen in the French language, and not let the stranger see how uncultivated he was. " Well, go on, ^o on," he said ; '• don't mind me. I don't wish to interfere. Only, if you go on telling him in your kind of French he will never find out where we want to go to. That is what I think about it" We rebuked him severely for this reznark, and said we never knew an ignorant person yet but was prejudiced. The Frenchman spoke again, and the doctor said — " There now, Dan, he says he is going to alUai to the doxuxiit. Meant he is going to the hotel Oh, certainly — «« don't know the French language ! This was a crusher, as Jack would say. It silenced further criticism from the disaffected member. We coasted past the sharp bows of a navy of great steamships, and stopped at last at a government building on a stone pier. It was easy to remember then, that the douane was thf custom-house, and not the hoteL We did not mention it, however. With winning French politeness, the officers merely opened and closed our satchels, declined to examine our passports, and sent us on out way. We stopped at the first cafe we came to, and entered. An old woman seated us at a table and waited for orders. The doctor said — " Avez-vous du vin ? " The dame looked perplexed. The doctor said again, with elaborate distinctness of articulation — " Avez-vous du — vin ! " The dame looked more perplexed than before. " Doctor, there is a flaw in your pronunciation try her. Madame, avez-vous du vin 1 It isn't the witness." " Madame, avez-vous du vin — ou fromage — pain — pickled pigs* feet — buerre — des oefs — du beuf — horse-radish, sour-crout, hog and hominy — anything, anything in the world that will stay a Christiar stomach ! " She said — " Bless you I why didn't you speak English before ? — I don't koot anything about your plagued French ! " The humiliating taimts of the disaffected member spoiled the supper, and we despatched it in anii^'ry silence and got away as soon as we could Here we were in beautiful France — in a vast stone house of quaint architecture — surrounded by all manner of curiously- worked Frencfe signs— stared at by strangely-habited, bearded French people -every- thing gradually and surely forcing upon us the coveted consciousnese that at last, and beyond all question, we were in beautiful France, and absorbing its nature to the forgetfulness of everything else, and coming to feel the happy romance of the thing in aU it« enchanting delightfukifceK —And to think of thia skinny Tetaran intradmg with hit vile ED^liah, I said — somewhere. Let m« any use, doctor — take -^ i' tiis biudnew mcultivated on't wish to French he think about ver knew ap Bpoke again, aiie. Meant the French her criticism »wa of a navy uilding on a lane was thi> it, however, id and closed t us on out :ed. An old The doctoT itb eiaborat* jre. Let m« doctor — take Led pigs' feet [t, nog and a Christiar don't kooTf the supper. las we could le of quaint Iked French pple -every- jnsciousneiw [France, and land coming klightfointM ' EDj^iiah, ^^i<. INNOCENTS ABROAD y^ il Buch ft « -nt to blow the fair yisioa to the winds \ j^ y,f^ ^j^^^ perating. We set out to find the centre of the city, inuuiiing the direction every now and then. We never did succeed in making anybody understand {'ust exactly what we wanted, and neither did we succeed in compre- lending just exactly what they said in reply ; but then they always pointed — they always did that — and we bowed politely and said " Merci, Monsieur," and so it was a blighted triumph over the disaffected member, any way. He was restive under these yictories, and often asked — " What did that pirate say ? " " Why, he told us which way to go to find the Grand Casino." « Yes, but what did he «ay ? '' " Oh, it don't matter what he said — vot understood him. These are educated people — not like that absurd boatman." " Well, I wish they were educated enough to tell a man a direction that goes ivme where — for we Ve being going around in a circle for an hour. I 've passed the same old drug store seven times." We said it was a low, disreputable falsehood (but we knew it was not). It was plain that it would not do to pass that drag store again, though we might go on asking directions, out we must cease from followinfl tiiiger-pomtings if we hoped to check the suspicions of the disaffected member. A long walk through smooth, asphaltum-paved streets, bordered by blocks of vast new mercantile houses of cream-coloured stone — every house and every block precisely like the other houses and all the other blocks for a mile, and all brilliantly lighted — brought us at last to the principal thoroughfare. On every hand were bright colours, flashing constella- tions of gas-burners, gaily dressed men and women thronging the side- walks — hurry, life, activity, cheerfulness, conversation, and laughter everywhere I We found the Grand Hdtel du Louvre et du la Paix, and wrote down who we were, where we were bom, what our occupations were, the place we caiue from last, whether we were married or single, how we liked it, how old we were, where we were bound for and when we expected to get there, and a great deal of information of similar importance — aU for the benefit of the landlord and the secret police. We hired a guide and began the business of sight-seeing immediately. That first night on French soil was a stirring one. I cannot think ol half the places we went to, or what we particularly saw ; we had no dispositior; to examine carefully into anything at all — we only wanted to glance and go — to move, keep moving ! The spirit of the country was upon us. We sat down finally, at a late hour, in the great Casino, *nd called for unstinted champagne. It ia so easy to be bloated ariBto- ■ r.its where it costs nothing of consequence ! There were about five hundred people in that duzzling pJac*', I suppose, though the walli being papered entirely with mirrors, so to speak, one could not really t€ll but tnat there were a hundred thousand. Young, daintily -dreased exquisites, and young, stylishly-dreesed women, and ako old gentlemen •Md old Udieft, sat in couplee ard groups about innuuerftble marbUi ''i - 09 MAff^ TWAm'ii WORKS. topped tables, and ate fancy suppers, drank wine, and kept up a chatter- Log din of conversation thiat waa dazing to the senses. Tnere was • atage at the far end, and a large orchestra ; and every now and then actors and actresses in preposterous comic dresses came out and sang the most extraragantly funny songs, to judge by their absurd actions ; but that audience merely suspended its chatter, stared cynically, and never once smiled, never once applauded ! I had always thougnt that Frenchmen were ready to laugh at anything. CHAPTER XI. WE are getting foreignised rapidly, and with facility. "We arc getting reconciled to halls and bed-chambers with imhomelikt stone floors and no carpets — floors that ring to the tread of one's heels with a sharpness that is death to sentimental musing. We art- getting used to tidy, noiseless waiters, who glide hither and thither, und hover about your back and your elbows like butterflies, quick to com- prehend orders, quick to fiU them ; thankful for a gratuity Mth y\A regard to the amount ; and always polite — never otherwise than poLte, That is the strangest curiosity yet — a really polite hotel waiter who isn't an idiot We are getting used to driving right into the central court cf the hotel, in the midst of a fragrant circle of vines and flowers, and in the midst also of p arties of gentlemen sitting quietly reading the paper and smoking. We are gettmg used to ice frozen by artificial process in ordinary bottles — the only kind of ice they have here. We are getting used to all these things ; but we are tioi getting userl to carrying oni own soap. We a: e sufficiently civilised to cariy our own combs aTi<' tooth-brushes ; but tni. thing of having to ring for soap every time wt wash is new to us, and not pleasant at all. We think of it ;]ust afte? we get our heads and faces thoroughly wet, or just when we think w€ have been in the bath tub long enough, and then of coursf an ant>oyinfl delay follows. These Marseillaise make Marseillaise hymns, and Marseilles vests, and Marseilles soap for all the world ; but they never sing their hymns, or wear their vests, or wash with their soap them- selves. We have learned to go through the lingering routine of the table d'hote, with patience, with serenity, with satisfaction. We take soup ; then wait a few minutes for the fish ; a few minutes more and the plates are changed, and the roast beef comes; another change and we take neas ; change again and we take lentils ; change and take snail pattiee I prefer grasshoppers) ; change and take roast chicken and salad ; thes itrawberry pie and ice cream ; then green figs, pears, oranges, green almonds, &c. ; finally coflfee. Wine with every course, of course, baine in France. With such a cargo on board, digestion is a slow process, and wo ma0t lit long in tlie cool ckambeis aad «moke — aad read F'^vodi THE INNOCENTS ABROAD. 6i up a chatter* Tnere was • ow and then and sang the actions ; but niically, and thougnt that ty. We arc 1 unliomelikfc tread of one's ing. We ari- d thither, ttnd juick to com- tuity "ath lut e than poLte. liter who isn't ,1 court cf the , and in the he paper and 1 process in ''e are getting carrying oui n combs am' very time wt it ;]ust afte? we think we an annoying hymns, and it they never soap them- of the table e take soup ; nd the plates and we take snaU pattief salad ; thes anges, green M)ur8e, bainc process, and ivjad FroDcii iiewspapew, which have a btrange fashion of telling a perfectly straight ■bwy till you get to the " nub " of it, and then a word drops in that no man can translate, and that story is mined. An embankment fell on some Frenchmen yesterday, and the papers are full of it to-day ; but whether those sufferers were killed, or crippled, or bruised, or only scared, is more than 1 can possibly make ou^ and yet I would just give anything to know. We were troubled a little at dinner to-day by the conduct of au American, who talked very loudly and coarsely, and laughed boister- ously where all others were so (juiet and weU-behaved. He ordered wine with a royal flourish, and said : " I never dine without wine, sir " (which was a pitiful falsehood), and looked around upon the company to bask in the admiration he expected to find in their faces. All these eirs in a land where they would as soon expect to leave the soup out of the bill of fare as the wine ! -in a land where wine is nearly as common among all ranks as water ! This feUow said : " I am a free-born sovereign, sir, an American, sir, and I want everybody to know it ! " He did not mention that he was a lineal descendant oi Balaam's ass ; but everybody knew that without his telling it. We have driven in the Prado, that superb avenue, bordered with [>Atrician mansions and noble shade-trees, and have visited the rh&teau Boarely and its curious museum. They showed us a miniature cemetery there — a copy of the first graveyard that was ever in Marseilles uo doubt. The delicate little skeletons were lying in broken vaults, and had their household gods and kitchen utensils with them. The originaJ (jf this cemetery was dug up in the principal street of the city a fe-w years ago. It had remained there, omy twelve feet underground, for a matter of twenty-five hundred years, or thereabouts. Romulus was here before Jie built Rome, and thought something of founding a city on this spot, but gave up the idea. He may have been personally acquainted with some of these Phoenicians whose skeletons we have been examining. In the great Zoological Gardens, we foimd specimens of all the animals the world produces, I think, including a dromedary, a monkey, ornamented with tufts of brilliant blue and carmine hair — a very gorgeous monkey he was — a hippopotamus from the Nile, and a sort of tffll, long- legged bird with a beak like a powder-horn, and close-fitting wings like the tails of a dress coat. This fellow stood up with his eyes shut and his shoulders stooped forward a little, and looked as if he had his hands under his coat tails. Such tranquil stupidity, such supernatural gravity, such self-righteousness, and such ineffable complacency as were in the countenance and attitude of that grey-bodied, dark- winged, bald-headed, and preposterously imcomely bird ! He was so ungainly, so pimply about the head, jo scaly about the legs, yet so sei^ne, so unspeakabiT BatiaJBuid! He was the most comical looking eieature ikat can b« imagined. It was good to hear Dan and Uie doctor laugh — such natural and such enjoyable laughter had not been keard among our sxcursionistB since our fi.liip ^ulf^l away fiom America. This bird w»* ^ f^odwTjd to iw, aad I sJiould ^ «w im-^atf if I focgtjt t© msio b«a»*ou- l!1 \\ . -^ '^if fii 6k tdARK TWAIN'S WORKS, able mention ot him iii these pageti. Otm was a pleasnre ezenndcm, therefore we stayed with that bird an hour, and made the most of him. We stirred him up occasioujilly, but he only unclosed an eye and slowly closed it again, abating not a jot of his stately piety of demeanour or his tremendous seriousness. He only seemed to say, " Defile not Heaven's anointed with imsanctified hands." We did not know his name, and so we called him " The Pilgrim." Dan said — " All he wants now is a Plymouth Collection." The boon companion of the colossal elephant was a common cat ' This cat had a fashion of climbing up the elephant's hind legs, and roosting on his back. She would sit up there, with her paws curved under her breast, and sleep in the sun half the afternoon. It used to annoy the elephant at first, and "_e would reach up and take her down, but she would go aft and climb up again. She persisted imtil she finally conquered the elephant's prejudices, and now they are insepar- able friends. The cat plays about her comrade's forefeet or his trunk often, untn dogs approach, and then she goes aloft out of danger. The elephant has annihilated several dogs lately, that pressed his companion too closely. We hired a sail-boat and a guide, and made an excursion to one of the small islands in the harbour to visit the Castle d'I£ This ancient fortress has a melancholy history. It has been used as a prison for political offenders for two or tnree hundred years, and its dungeon walls are scared with the rudely-carved names of many atd many a eaptive who fretted his life away here, and left no record of hnnself but these sad epitaphs wrought with his own hands. How thick the names were ! And their long-departed owners seemed to throng the gloomy cells and corridors witn their phantom shapes. We loitered through dungeon after dungeon, away down into the living rock below the level of the sea, it seemed. Names eveiyv.'here ! — some plebeian, some noble, some even princely. Plebeian, prince, and noble had one solici- tude in common — they would not be forgotten ! They could suffer solitude, inactivity, and the horrors of a silence that no sound ever disturbed ; but they could not bear the thought of being utterly forgotten by the world. Hence the carved names. In one cell, where a little light penetrated, a man had lived twenty-seven years without seeing the face of a human being — lived in filth and wretchedness, with no companionship but his own thoughts, and they were sorrowful enough, and nopeless enough, no doubt. Whatever his jailors considered that he needed was conveyed to Ids cell by night, through a wicket. This man carved the walls of his prison-house from floor to roof wiih all manner of hgiires of men and animals, grouped in intricate designs. He had toUed there year al't(3r year, at his self-appointed task while infants grew to boyhood — to vigoroua youil — idled thjough school and college — acquired a profession — claimed man's mature estate — married an^ looked bacJt to infancy as to a thing of some vague, ancieni time almost. But who siukll tell how many aires it seemed to this prisoner ? With the one, timo flew sometimes ; with the other, never — itci-awle• i m^de a luinoi^^s itjiWj* n If CASTLE D'IF.— MARSEILLES, « exenmlcm, moat of him. e and slowly f demeauovur "Defile not ot know hia ommon cat * iiid legs, and paws curved It used to ke her down, ed until she are insepar- or his trunk ianger. The is companion ion to one of This ancient a prison for its dungeon ard manv a r huaself but i:k the names the gloomy red through ow the level beian, some d one soUci- could suffer soimd ever ■ly forgotten ere a little hout seeing bss, with no ful enough, lidered that Icket. This iof wii.h all Lte designs. Itaak while [school and ^larried an^ le almost lei ? With le>>iah anywAttra — aoUunf IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) .V :^ ^ 1.0 I.I us uo 12.0 11.25 III 1.4 H' 1.6 Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WIST MAIN STHIT WnSTIR.N.Y. MSSO (716)072-4503 ^\^ ^ t "^ % TWAIN'S WORKS, All ■; * that erwi hinti at imtidineiB— nothiOjg that ever 8iiggeBta negleet iB orderly and beautiful— everything is charming to the eye. We had such glimpees of the Rhone gliding along between its graasy ba^ J of cosy cottages buried in flowers and ahrubbery ; of quaint oH red-tiled villages witii mossy Mediaeval cathedrals looming out of their midst; of wooded hills with ivy-grown towers and turrets of feudal castles projecting above the foliage ; such glimpses of Paradise, it seemed to us, such visions of fabled fairyland ! We knew, then, what the poet meant when he sang of— ** thy cornfields green, and ninny vines. Oh, pleasant land of Franoe t " And it M a pleasant land. No word describes it so felicitously as that one. They say there is no word for " home " in the French language. Well, considering that they have the article itself in such an attractive aspect, they ought to manage to get along without the word. Let ui not waste too much pity on '' homeless " France. I have observed that Frenchmen abroad seldom wholly give up the idea of going back to France some time or other. I am not surprised at it now. We are not infatuated with these French railway cars, though. We took first-class passage, not because we wished to attract attention by doing a thing which is uncommon in Europe, but because we coulq make our journey quicker by so doing. It is hard to make railroading pleasant in any country. It is too tedious. Stage-coaching is infinitely more delightful. Once I crossed the plains and deserts and mountaini of the West, in a stage-coach, from the Missouri line to California, and since then all my pleasure trips must be measured to that rare holiday frolic. Two thousand miles of ceaseless rush and rattle and clatter, by night and by day, and never a weary moment, never a lapse of interest! The first seven hundred miles a level continent, its grassy carpet greenex and softer and smoother than any sea, and figured with aesigns fitted to its magnitude — the shadows of the clouds. Here were no scenes^bul summer scenes, and no disposition inspired by them but to lie at full length on the mail sacks, in the gratefiu breeze, and dreamily smoke the pipe of peace — what other, where all was repose and contentment ? Im cool mornings, before the sim was fJEurly up, it was worth a lifetime of city tolling and moiling, to perch in the foretop with the driver and see the six mustangs scamper under the sharp snapping of a whip that never touched them ; to scan the blue distances of a world that knew no lords but us ; to cleave the wind with uncovered head and feel the sluggish pulses rousing to the spirit of a speed that pretended to the reeistie)^ rush of a typhoon ! Then thirteen hundred miles of desert solitudes ; of limitless panoramas of bewildering perspective ; of mimic cities, of pinnacled cathedrals, of massive fortresses counterfeited in the eternal rocks and splendid with the crimson and gold of the setting sun ; ol dizzy altitudes among fog-wreathed peaks and never-melting snows, where thunders and lightnings and tempests waned magnificently at our feet, and the stonn-cdonds above swimg their shredded bann— ■ in oar very Cacee ^ sgleot All nitsgnuMj [ quaint old out of theii B of feudal Paradise, it ouBlyasthat ih. language, m attiactive id. Let ui bserved that Lng back to hougli. We attention by se we could e railroading r is infinitely; d mountaini lifornia, and rare holiday d clatter, by s of interest! irpetgreenei igu8 fitted to scenee^but D lie at fuU J smoke the Ltment 1 Is a lifetime of iyer and sea Ip that never Lew no lordi ;he slugs iab lihe reaiBue)^ rt solitudes ; nic cities, of the eternal ing sun ; ol Lting snows, nificently at in THE INNOCENTS ABROAD. tj But I forgot T Ma in elegant France now, and not skurrying through the great South Pass and the Wind River Mountains, among antelopes and buffaloes, and painted Indians on the war-path. It is not meet that I should make too disparaging comparisons between hum-drum travel on a railway and that royal summer flight across a continent in the Btage-coach. I meant in the beginning to say that vailway journeying *s tedious and tiresome, and so it is — though at the time I was thinkin g particularly of a dismal fifty-hour pilgrimage between New York and St Louis. Of course our trip through France was not really tedious^ because all its scenes and experiences were new and strange ; but as Dait says, it had its " discrepancies." The cars are built m compartments that hold eight persons each. Each compartment is partially subdivided, and so there are two toler- ably distinct parties of four in it. Four face the other four. The seats and backs are thickly padded and cushioned, and are very comfortable ; you can smoke, if you wish ; tiiere are no bothersome peddlers ; you are saved the infliction of a multitude of disagreeable fellow-passengers. So far, BO welL But then the conductor locks you in when the train starts ; there is no water to drink in the car ; there is no heating appa- ratus for night travel ; if a drunken rowdy should get in, you could not remove a matter of twenty seats from him, or enter another car ; but above all, if you are worn out and must sleep, you must sit up and do it in naps, with cramped legs and in a torturing misery that leaves yov withered and Ufeless the next day — for behold they have not that culmination of all charity and human kindness, a sleeping car, in all France. I prefer the American system. It has not so many grievous " discrepancies." In France, aU is clockwork, all is order. They make no nnstakes. Every third man wears a uniform, and whether he be a Marshal of th6 Empire or a brakeman, he is ready and perfectly willing to answer aU your questions with tireless politeness, ready to teU you which car to take, yea, and ready to go and put you into it to make sure that you shall not go astray. You cannot pass into the waiting-room of the depdt till you have secured your ticket, and you cannot pass from its only exit till the train is at its threshold to receive you. Once on board, the train will not start till your ticket has been examined — till jveiy passenger's ticket has been inspected. This is chiefly for your own good. If by any possibility you have managed to take the wrong train, you will be handed over to a polite official, who will take you whither you belong, and bestow you with many an affable bow. Your ticket will be inspected every now and then along the route, and when it is time to change cars you will know it You are in the hands of officials who sealously stud^ your welfare and your interest, instead of turning their talents to the mvention of new methods of discommoding and snubbing jrou, as is very often the main employment of that exceedingly self* Mtisfied monarch, the railroad conductor of America. But the happiest regulation in French railway soTemment i»— thiitf minutes to dinner ! No five-minute boltings of flabby rolls, muddy eofl«w, quMtionable etJKs, gutta-percha beef, and pies whose conceptiotr 16 HAJfX^ TWATirS WORKS, «nd ezMntion are a dark and bloody mystery to all saye tha cook that created them ! No ; we sat calmly down — ^it waa in old D^jon, which ii io easy to ipell and ia impoaaible to pronounce, except when ^on ciyiliae it and call it Demijohn — and poured out rich Burgundian wmes and munched calmly through a long table-d'h6te bill of fare, anail- Eatties, delicious fruits and all, then paid the trifle it cost and stepped appily aboard the train again, without once cursing the railroad com- ply. A rare experience, and one to be treasured for ever. ^t^vj say they do not have accidents on these French roads, and I think it must be true. If I remember rightly, we passed high aboy« waggon roads, or through tunnels under them, but neyer crossed them •n their own level. About every quarter of a mile, it seemed to me, a man came out and held up a dub till the train went by, to signify that everything was safe aheacL Switches were changed a mile in advance, by pulling a wire rope that passed along the ground by the rail, from station to station. Signals for the day and signals for the night gave constant and timely notice of the position of switches. No, they have no railroad accidents to speak of in France. But why 1 Because when one occurs, somebody has to hang for it!* Not hang, maybe, but be punished at least with such vigour of emphasis as to miake negligence a thing to be shuddered at by railroad officials for many a day thereafter. "No blame attached to the officers" — that lying and disaster-breeding verdict so common to our soft-hearted juries, is seldom rendered in France. If the trouble occurred in the conductor's department, that officer must suffer if his subordinate cannot be proven guilty ; if in the engineer's department, and the case be similar, the engineer must answer. The Old Travellers — those delightful parrots who have " been hen before,** and know more about the country than Louis Napoleon knows now or ever will know — tell us these things, and we believe them be- cause they are pleasant things to believe, and because they are plausible and savour of the rigid subjection to law and order which we behold about us everywhere. But we love the Old Travellers. We love to hear them prate, and drivel, and lie. We can tell them the moment we see them. They always throw out a few feelers ; they never cast themselves adrift tiU they have sounded every individual and know that he has not travelled. Then they open their throttle- valves, and how they do brag, and sneer, and swell, and soar, and blaspheme the sacred name of Truth ! Their central idea, their grand aim, is to subjugate vou, keep you down, make you feel insignificant and humble in t^e blaze of their cosmopolitan glory ! They will not let you know anything. They sneer at your most inoffensive suggestions ; they laugh unfeelingly at your treasured dreams of foreign lands ; they brand uie statements of jrour travelled aunts and uncles as the stupidest absurdities ; they deride your most trusted authors and demolish the fair images they have set up for your willing worship with the pitiless ferocity of the fanatic iconoclast! * They go on ihe prinoipU thai H i» bettor tlut nn« innoeant man ■kooItV mttm thMi St* huadrad. [l« COOK thflt D^on, which pt when ^OB Indian wines f fare, enail- and stepped railroad com- . roads, and 1 d high aboT< crossed them med to me, a [) signify that B in advance, the rail, from le night gave le. But why 1 • Not hang, mphasis as to d officials foi jfficers "—that hearted juries, he conductor's ot be proven similar, the « " been here poleon knows leve them be- are plausible ch we behold lem prate, and them. Thev /es adrift till not travelled. ;, and sneer, ith I Theii _ down, make cosmopolitan jneer at your [our treasured ^our travelled Lde your most It up for voui Ic iconoclast! It mMi ilionltV f! THE TNNOCEfrrs ABROAD, if 0at >till 1 love the Old Travellers. I love them for their witle« platitude. * for their supernatural ability to bore ; for their delightful asinine vanity ; fur 'heir luxuriant fertility of ima^ation ; for their startling, iheir brilliant, their overwhelming mendacity ! By Lyons and the Saoue (where we saw the lady of Lyons and thought little of her comeliness) ; by Villa Franca, Tonnere, venerable Sens, Melun, Fontainebleau, and scores of other beautiful cities we swept, always noting the absence of hog-wallows, broken fences, cowlota, unpainted houses and mud, and always noting as well the presence of cleanliness, groce, taste in adorning and beautifying, even to the di»- positiou of a tree or the turning of a hedge, the marvel of roads in per- fect repair, void of ruts, and guiltless of even an inequality of surface, we bowled along, hour after hour, that brilliant siuumer day, and as nightfall approached we entered a wilderness of odorous flowers and shrubberv, sped through it, and then excited, delighted and half per- suaded tnat we were only the sport of a beautiful dream, lo, we stood in magnificent Paris ! What excellent order they kept about that vast dep6t ! There was no frantic crowding and jogtling, no shouting and swearing, and no iwaggering intrusion of services by rowdy nackmen. These latter gentry stood outside, stood quietly by their long Une of vehicles and Baid never a word. A kind of hackman-gener^ seemed to have the whole matter of transportation in his hands. He politely received the passengers and ushered them to the kind of conveyance they wanttMl, and told the driver where to deliver them. There was no " talking back," no dissatisfaction about overcharging, no grumbling about any- thing. In a little while we were speeding tnrougn the street?, of Pans, and delightfully recognising certain names and places with wMch books had long ago made us familiar. It was like meeting an old friend when we read '^ Rut de Rivoli " on the street comer ; we knew the genuine vast palace of the Louvre as well as we knew its picture ; when we passed by the Column of July we needed no one to tell us what it was, or to remind us that on its site once stood the grim Bastile, that grave of human hopes and happiness, that dismal prison-house, within whose dungeons so many young faces put on the wrinklv^s of age, so m^iy proud spirits grew humble, so many brave hearts broke. We secured rooms at the hotel, or rather we had three beds put into one room, so that we might be together, and then we went out to a restaurant, just after lamplighting, and ate a comfortable, satisfactory, lingering dinner. It was a pleasure to eat where everrthing was so tidy, the food so well cooked, the waiters ho polite, and the coming and departing company so mustached, ho frisky, so affable, so fearfully and wonderfully Frenchy ! All the surroundings were gay and enlivening. Iwo hundred peo})le sat at little tables on the side walk, sipping wine and coffee ; the streets were thronged with light vehicles and with joy ouB pleasure-seekers ; there was miisic in the air, life and action all ftbout us, and a conflagration of gaslight everywhere ! After dinner we felt like seeing such Parisian specialities as we might «e without iliilmiiiiiifl eYtftiaa, aod •• wc aauntend throfogh tht i' \m MARK TWAIN'S WORKS, I .i:T i \ !:^.i brilliant streets, and looked at the dainty triflee in variety Ntores and jewdlery Aops. Occasionally, merely for the pleasure of being cruel, we put unofiending Frenchmen on uie rack with questionfi framed in the mcomprehensible jargon of their native language, and while thev writhed, we impaled them, we peppered them, we scarified them, with their own vile verbs and participles. We noticed that in the jewellery stores they had some of the articlei^ marked "■ gold," and some labelled " imitation." We wondered at thii extravagance of honestv eing cruel, 3 framed in while they them, witja the articleii ered at this ^^e were in- falM gold era to nave its fineneiB, its falsity, w, and that IB depended fy a wonder- UIC7 it had n a palatial a cushioued itnre ; with ' Corinthian bo intoxicati loothe me tc and find m} luld lift m^ , my son ! ' but never a Ahlishments, Is of painted le passer-by lite of theij ally we con- fers as well, ,e fraternity. re my loout )e shaved — ilso. Then was a wild rish gather- soap. Next t two ordiB- its on. My wig^making fimriied bv ty stuff with Then thi»i f ontlAw strapped his razor on his boot, horerfnl orvt mt oninoTuly foi iLx learfol seconds, and then swooped down upon me like the genius oi flestruction. The drst rake of his raior loosened the vezr hide irom my face, and lifted me out of the chair. I stormed and ravea, and the other boys enjoyed it. Their beards are not strong and thick. Let ui draw the curtain over this harrowing scene. Suffice it that I submitted, snd went through with the cruel infliction of a shave by a French barber ; tears of exquisite agony coursed down my cheeks now and then, but I survived. Then the incipient iusassin held a basin of water under my chin and slopped its contents over my face, and into my bosom, and down the back of my neck, with a mean pretence of washing away the soap and blood. He dried my features with a towel, and was going to comb my hair ; but I asked to be excused. I said, with withering irony, that it was sufficient to be skinned — I declined to be scalped. I went away from there with my handkerchief about my face, and never, never, never desired to dream of palatial Parisian barbers' shops piy more. The truth is, as I believed I nave since found out, that they have no barbers' shops worthy of the name in Paris — and no barbers githers, for that matter. The imposter who does duty as a barber, brings his pans and napkins and implements of torture to your residence, and deliberately skins you in your private apartments. Ah, 1 have suffered, luflfered, suflFered here in Paris, but never mind, the time is coming when I shall have a dark and bloody revenge. Some day a Parisian barber will come to my room to skin me, and from that day forth that barber will never be heard of more. At eleven o'clock we alighted upon a sign which manifestly referred ix> billiards. Joy ! We had played billiards in the Azores with balls that were not round, and on an ancient table that was very little smoother than a brick pavement — one of those wretched old things willi dead cushions, and with patches in the faded cloth and invisible obstructions that made the balls describe the most astonishing and unsuspected angles, and piirform feats La the way of unlooked-for and almost impossible "scratches," that were perfectly bewildering. We had played at Qibraltar with balls the si^e of a wunut, on a table like a public square ; and in both instances we achieved far more aggravation than (^nusement We expected to fare better here, but we were mis- taken. The cushions were a good deal higher than the balls, and as the balls had a fashion of always stopping under the cushions, we accom- plished very little in the way of caroms. The cushions were hard and anelastic, and the cues were so crooked that in making a shot you had to allow for the curve, or you would infallibly put the " English " on the wrong side of the ball Dan was to mark while the doctor and I played. At the end of an hour neither of us had made a count, and so ban was tired of keeping taUv with nothing to tally, and we were heated md angry and disgusted. We paid the heavy bill — about six cents — and said we would call around some time when we had a week to spend, and finish the game. We a^ioiuned to one of those pretty eaf^ and took sapper, and tested MARK TfVA/ir'S WORKS, ( ii i a *■■:'! it •:' ■ the winM of the country, as we had been Instructed to do, and fonnd them harnilesB and nnexcitinff. They might have been exciting, how- •Ter, if we had chosen to drink a sufficiency of them. To close our flrst day in Paris cheerfiilly and pleasantly, we now sought our grraud room in the Grand Hotel du Louv-re, and clLmbed inte our sumptr.oos bed, to read and smoke — but alas ! It WM pitiful, In a whole eity-foll, Gm we had none. No gas to read by — nothing but dismal candles. It was a shame. W« tried to map out excursions for the morrow ; we puzzled over French *' Guides to Paris ;" we talked disjointedly in a vam endeavour to make head or tail of the wild chaos of the day's sights and experiences ; we subsided to indolent smoking ; we gaped and yawned and stretched — then feebly wondered if we were really and truly in renowned Paris, and drifted drowedly away into that vast mysterious void which men call sleep. CHAPTER XIII. '' P*Bffi next morning we were up and dressed at ten o'clock. We went X to the eommissionnaire of the hotel — I don't know what a com- mimonnaire is, but that is the man we went to — and told him we wanted a guide. He said the great International Exposition had drawn inch multitudes of Englishmen and Americans to Paris that it would b« next to impossible to mid a good guide unemployed. He said he usually kept a dozen or two on hand, but he only had three now. He called them. One looked so like a very pirate that we let him ^o at once. The next one spoke with a simpering precision of pronunciation that was irritating, and said — " If ze zhentlemans will to me make ze grande honnenr to me rattain In hees serveece, I shall show to him every sing zat is magnifique to look apon in le beautifol Parree. I speaky ze Angleesh parfaitemaw." He would have done well to have stopped there, because he had that much by heart and said it right off without making a mistake. But his ■elf-complacency seduced hun into attempting a flight into re^ns of uiexplored English, and the reckleiB experiment was his ruin. Within ten seconds he was so tangled np in a maze of mutilated verbs and torn «nd bleeding forms of speech that no human ingenuity could ever haw gotten him out of it witn credit. It was plain enough that he could not ^ spedcy * the Kngliah quite m "parfaitemaw" as he had pretended ha •ould. The third man captured us. He was plainly dressed, but he had a noticeable air of neatness about him. He wore a high silk hat which was a little old, but had been carefully brushed. Ha wore second-hand Md fflovm. in t;oo4 refNtir. and eazricd • small rattan ean« with a laarred , and fonnd citing, how- ly, wft now shame. W« jver French OUT to make riences ; we stretched — wned Paris, which men :. We wcnl what a com- told him we 1 had drawn it would be d lie usually He called ^0 at once, ciation that ) me Fftttain Ique to look maw." he had that :e. But hifl D regions of n. Within 'be and torn d eyer hare 16 could not retendedhft it he had a c hat which econd-hiuxd ih a carred t THE INNOCENTS ABKOAtX 71 handle— « femAle leg, of iyorj. He Bt«pi>ed as gently and aa dainiily OB a cat crootiui^ a muddy street ; and on ! he was urbanity ; ha was *4uiet, unobtrusive self-posaeasion ; he was deference itself ! He spoke aoftly and guardedly ; and when he was about to make a statement on his sole responsibility, or offer a suggestion, he weighed it by drachma and scruples first, with the crook of his little stick placed meditatively to his teeth. His opening' speech was perfect It was perfect in con- itruction, in phraseology, in grammar, in emphasis, in pronunciation— everything. He spoke little and guardedly, after tnat. We were charmed. We were more than chiurmed — we were overjoyed. We hired hiui at once. We never even asked him his price. This man— our lackey, our servant, our unquestioning slave though he was, was still a gentleman — we could see that — while of the other two one was coarse and awkward, and the other was a bom pirate. We asked oui man Friday's name. He drew from his pocket-book a snowy little card, and passed it to us with a profound bow — A. BiLLFIMOKB, Guide to Paris, France, Oernuuiy, Spain, kit. &c. Qrai\d Hdtel de Lamrrt. ■| * BUlfinger ! Oh, carry me home to die !" That was an " aside " from Dan. The atrocious name grated harshly on my ear too. The most of us can learn to forgive, and even to like, a countenance that strikes us unpleasantly at first ; but few of us, I £ancy, become reconcUed to a jarring name so easily. I was almosi sorry we had hired this man, his name was so uzi bearable. However, no matter. We were impatient to start Billfinger stepped to the door to call a carriage, and then the doctor said — *' Well, the guide goes with the barber's shop, with the billiard-table, with the gasless room, und maybe with many ano>?r pretty romance of Paris. I expected to have a guide named Henri de Montmorency, or Armand de la Chartreuse, or sometliing that would sound grand in letters to the villagers at home ; but to think of a Frenchman by the name of Billfinger 1 Oh ! this is absurd, jrou know. This will never do ! We can't say Billfinger ; it is nauseating. Name him over again ; what had we better call him 1 Alexis du Caulaincourt ? '' *' Alphonse Henri Oustave de HauteviUe," I suggested. ** Call him Ferguson," said Dan. That was practical, unromantic good sense. Without debate, we tsxpunged Billfinger at Billfinger, and called him Ferguson. The carriage — an open barouche — was ready. Ferguson mounted beside the driver, and we whirled away to breakfast Ab was proper, Mr Ferguson stood by to transmit our orders and answer questiona. By and by, he mentioned casually — the artful adventurer — that h^ 72 MARK TIVAIN'S WORKS, if • ut I forgot that also. However, we will go there now. Pardon my — ™<«fl ifarelessneu, Ferguson. Drive on." Within Uie half hour we stopped a^^aiu — in front of another dlk i THE tl^NOLLNrS ABKOAU. 73 nurB. He rould no4 down and i It WM dered him angry ; he Id not pwM mne-snop. ir upon hia d nATe no d not hold 78 wanting inveigle lu -anywhere , chance of the Bhop- essed inno- unbearably thoi^ht of )n'i hungrj ninutes th# the palaoe Ferguson, lar some of to do such spake the »re another ce! DoeK ome there beautiful notwiih forgot it re; but I Ly ncmining [other lilk We irero «n(n7 5 ^"* ^ doctor wm alway* serene, alwayi Hnooth-voiRed. He 8f 1 — "At last ! IIow impofling the Louvre is, and yet how ■inall ! horn exquinitely fashioned ! how cnarmingly situated !— Venerable, venerable pile" " Pairdon, doctor, ris is not W5 Louvre— it is " "ITAa* is it?" '^ I have ze idea — it come to me in a moment — zat ze Bilk iu dfl magazin " FeTgu8on, how heedless I am. I fully intended to tell you that we did not wish to buy any silks to-day, and I also intended to tell you that we yearned to go immediately to the palace of the Louvre, but enjoying the happiness of seeing you devour four breakfasts this morning hits so filled me with pleasurable emotions, that I neglect the commonest interests of the time. However, we will proceed now to the Louvre, Ferguson." "But, doctor " (excitedly), " it will take not a minute— not but one small minute ! Ze gentleman need not to buy if he not wish to— but only look at ze silk — Uok at ze beautiful fabric." [Then pleadingly.] "/Soir— just only one UtiU moment ! " Dan said, " Confound the idiot ! I don't want to see any silks to-day, ind I voviCi look at them. Drive on." And the doctor, " We need no silks now, Ferguson. Our hearts yearn for the Louvre. Let us journey on — let us journey on." " But, doctor I it is only one moment — one leetle moment. And ze time will be save — entirely save ! Because zere is nothing to see now —it is too late. It want ten minute to four, and ze Louvre close at four — only one leetle moment, doctor ! " The treacherous miscreant ! After four breakfasts and a gallon of champagne, to serve us such a scurvy trick. We got no sight of the countless treasures of art in the Louvre galleries that day, and our only poor little satisfaction was in the reflection that Ferguson sold not a solitary silk dress pattern. I am writing this chapter partly for the satisfaction of abusing that accomplished knave Bilmnger, and partly to show whosoever shaJl read this how Americans fare at the hands of the Paris guides, and what sort of people Paris guides are. It need not be supposed that we were a stupider V an easier prey than our countrymen generally are, for we were not The guides deceive and defraud every Ajnerican who goes to Paris for the first time, and sees its sights alone or in company with others as Uttle experienced as himself. I shall visit Paris i^ain some day, and then let the guides beware ! l sh&U go in my war-paint — I shall carry my tomahawk along. I think we have lost but little time in Paris. We have gone to bed every night tired out Of course we visited the renowned International Ei^osition. All the world did that We went there on onr third day in Pui§--«nd we stayed there nearhf two ho%urs. That was our first and last visit To tell the truth, we saw at a (zlance that one would have to q^cKod WMka — ^yea, even month*-— ixk fchM Buuuitroua eitabliihm«nt> to 4 nr- 1 1 ir! F4 MARIC TIVAIN*S WORKS, i }' g«t an Intelllgihk id«a of it It wm a womlerful show, but the niorlng maaDes of people of all natiooB we saw there were a still mora wonderful snow. I diacovercd that if 1 were to Btuy there a month, I should Btill find myself looking at the people inHtead of the inanimate objecta on exhibition. I got a little interested in some curious old tapestries of the thirteenth century, but n party of Arabs come by, and their dusky faces and quaint costumes culled my attention away at once. I watched a silver swan, which had a living grace about his movements, and a living intelligence in his eyes — watched him swimming about a» comfortably and as unconcemudlv as if be had been bom in a moraai instead of a jeweller's shop — watched him seize a silver fish from imdei the water and hold np his head and go through all the customary and elaborate motions of swallowing it — but the moment it disappeared down his throat some tattooed South Sea Islanders approacliuu, and 1 yielded to their attractions. Presently I found a revolving pistol several hundred vears old, which looked strangely like a modem Colt, but just then I heard that the Empress of the French was in another part of the building, and hastened away to see what she might look like. We heard raartial music- we saw an unusual number of soldiers walk« ing hurriedly aViout — there was a general movement among the people We inquired what it was all about, and learned that the Emperor of the French and the Sultan of Turkey were about to review twenty-five thousand troops at the Arc de V EtoiU, We immediately departed. I had a greater anxiety to see these men than I could have had to see twenty Expositions. We drove away and took up a position in an open space opposite the American Minister's house. A speculator biid<,'ed a couple of barrels with a board, and wc hired standing-places on it. Presently there was a sound of distant music ; in another minute a pillar of dust came moving slowly towards us ; a moment more, and then, with colours fly- ing and a grand crash of military music, a gallant array of cavalrymen emerged from the dust and came down the street on a gentle trot Aftei them came a long line of artillery ; then more cavalry, in splendid uni- forms ; and then their Imperial Majesties Napoleon III. and Abdul- Azix. The vast concourse of people swung their hats and shouted — the windows and house-tops in the wide vicinity burst into a snow- storm of waving handkerchiefs, and the wavers of the same mingled their cheers with those of the masses below. It was a stimng spectacle. But the two central figures claimed all my attention. Was ever such a contrast set up before a multitude till then ? Napoleon, in militaiv uniform — a long-bodied, short-legged man, fiercely moustached, old, wrinkled, with eyes half closed, and tuch a deep, crafty, scheming, expression about them ! — Napoleon, bowing ever so gently to the loua plaudits, and watching everything and everybody with his cat-eyes nom under his depressed hat-brim, as if to diecover any sign that those eheers were not heart-felt and cordial. Abdul- Axiz, absolute lord of the Ottoman Empire— dad in dark gnen European clothes, almost witLaat omanaent or insignia of rank ,- THE iiiNo<:kNrs abhoau. 71 E A rtxi Turkiiih fez on hiii bejMl-« akort, stout, dark man, bUck-b«arded, bUck-eyed, stupid, unprepoawining- a man whiMe whole appearanM iouiehow BUg^eflte'■ .1 MfAJfJir TWArK*S woRtrs, ^i'*: 4 I' where to dire for it ; he Hd dive for it uid got it, end now it ie then oi •xhibition at Notre Dame, to be inspected by anybotly who feels an interest in inanimate objects of miraculous interreation. Next we went to yisit the Morgue, that horribl«« receptacle for the dead who die mysteriously and leave the manner of their tiking off a dismal secret. We stood before a grating and looked through into a room which was hung all about with the clothing of dead men ; coarse blouses, water-soaked ; the delicate garments of women and children ; patrician vestments, hacked and stabbed and stained with red ; a hat that was crushed and bloody. On a slanting stone lav a drowned man, naked, swollen, purple ; clasping the fragment of a Isroken bush with a grip which death had so petrifiied that human strength could not un* loose it — mute witness of the last despairing effort to save the life that was doomed beyond all help. A stream of water trickled ceaselessly over the hideous face. We knew that the body and the clothing were there for identifioation by friends, but still we wondered if anybody could love that repulsive object or grieve for its loss. We grew meditative and wondered if, some forty years ago, when the mother of that ghastly thing was dandling it upon her knee, and kissing it, and petting it, and disphiying it with satisfied pride to the passers-by, a prophetic vision of this dread ending ever flitted through her brain. I half feared that the mother, or the wife, or .» brother of the dead man might come while we stood tnere, but nothing of the kind occurred. Men and women came, and some looked eageily in, and pressed their faces against the bars ; others glanced carelessly at the body, and turned away with a disappointed look — people, I thought, who live upon strong excitements and who attend the exhibitions of the Morgue regularly, just as other people go to see theatrical spectacles every night. When one of these looked in and passed on, I could not help thinking— " Now, this don't afford you any satisfaction — a party with his heax? ■hot off is what you need." One night we went to the celebrated Ja/rdin Mahille, but only stayed a little while. We wanted to see some of this kind of Paris me, how- ever, and therefore, the next night we went to a similar place of enter- tainment in a great garden in the suburbs of Asnidres. We went to the railroad dep6t towards evening, and Ferguson got tickets for a second- class carriage. Such a perfect jam of people I have not often seen— but there was no noise, no msorder, no rowdyism. Some of the women and young girls that entered the train we knew to be of the demi-monde^ but others we were not at all sure about The girls and women in our carriage behaved themselvee modestly and becomingly, aU the way out, except that they smoked. When we arrived at the garden in Asnieres, we paid a franc or two admission, and entered a place which had flower-beds in it, and grass plats, and long, curving rows of ornamental shrubbery, with here and there a secluded bower convenient for eating ice-cream in. We moved along the sinuous gravel walks, with the great concourse of girls and young men, and •uddenly a domed and iilogreed white temple, starred ever wd over and over again with brilliant gas-jeta, bunt iipon an like a fallen mu, Neai thei« on feels «D i for the mg off a ;li into a I ; coarM shildren; d ; a hat aed man, tush with I not Tin- life that easelesaly ling were ody could aeditative it ghastly ng it, and ! vision of jared that )me while id women gainst the ly with a :citement8 t as other ) of these his he&H ly stayed llife, how- of enter- $nt to the la second- jeen— but >men and but [modeetl) len we 3ion, and id long, I secluded sinuoua len, and [oyer and Neai PARIS PAST LIPE.—BAL MASQUE. "One night we went to the celebrated Jardin Mabillc, but only stayed a little while. We wanted to see some of this kind of Paris life, however, and therefore the next night we went to a similar place of entertainment in a great garden in the suburbs of Asnieres. We went to the railroad depot towards evening, and Ferguson got tickets for a second-class carriage. Such a perfect jam of people I have not often seen— but there was no noise, no disorder, no rowdyism. Some of the women and young girls that entered the train we knew to be of the demi-monde, but others we were not at all sure about. " — Page 78. t 1 I THE INNOCENTS ABROAD, \ by WAS a Urge, luuidflome houM, with its ample front iUaminated in the same way, and above its roof floated the Star-Spangled Banner ol America. " Well ! » I said. « How is this 1" It nearly took my breath away. Ferguaon said an American — a New Yorker — kept the ^lace, and was carrying on quite a stirring opposition to the Jardm MabiUe. Crowds, composed of both sexes and nearly all ages, were frisking about the garden or sitting in the open air in front of the flag-staff ana the temple, drinking wine and coffee, or smoking. The MKI.mfi&. Heloiae was bom seven hundred, and coxtr-eiz yean i^ She may ka^a bad parents. There is no telling Sha lived with her unclt in many nown in -Uie tiTHt at out to in their shal Ncy, ms. The ictor who dllions of and with ) chemiBt, rocate, are Beaumar- aen whose i by-places dnces that la Chaise, jver pauses indistinct I due there, that tomb id Heloise own, more [y^eaTs, than yi visitors arry away udens who >y are full shrine [teeth over chastened flowers. iomb. Go Lortellea. iving to lals whose Precious and that lat history, Ition of the 1 wasting a iT She may I her unclt TNE INNOCENTS ABROAD, I? Falbeit, a canon of the cathedral of Paris. I do not know what a canon of a cathedral is, but that is what he was. He was nothing more than a sort of a mountain howitzer likelv, because they had no heavy artillery in those days. Suffice it, then, that Heloise liveportiinity nolate the he would ,t attached le refused et to save ho was so did career LBtic of the ace. Now last ; the ibled head age in the arted from denied it ! re believed 1 chiefly in- ag Fulbert The last was gone, apassed it Bictdd upon hen I find nd immor- mber that, ise ruffians the strict Id and its Abelard — j)riores8 o\ Tpened one Vn history. I her M his _iweighed Dgy of the ite, dis- % lointed sentences ; he replied with finished esHays, divided delibenttaly into heads and sub-heads, preniistis and argument She showered upon him the tenderest e])ithet8 that love could devise ; he addressed nei from the North pole of his frozen heart as the " Spouse of Christ ! " The abandoned villain ! On account of her too easy government of her nuns some disreputable irregularities were discovered among them, and the Abbot of St Dennis broke up her establishment Al>elard was the official head of the monastery of St Qildas de Ruys at that time, and when he heard of her homeless condition a sentiment of pity was aroused in his breast (it is a wonder the unfamiliar emotion did not blow his head of!'), and he E laced her and her troop in the little oratory of the Paraclete, a re- gions establishment which he had founded. She had many privations and sufferings to undergo at first, but her worth and her gentle dis- Sosition won influential friends for her, and she built up a wealthy and ourishing nunnery. She became a great favourite with the heads of the church, and also the people, though she seldom appeared in public. Bhe rapidly advanced in esteem, in good report, and in usefulness, and Abelard as rapidly lost ground. The Pope so honoured her that he made her the head of her order. Abelard, a man of splendid talents, iuid ranking as the first debater of his time, became timid, irresolute, and distrustful of his powers. He only needed a great misfortune to topple him from the high position he held in the world of intellectual excellence, and it came. Urged by kings and princes to meet the subtle St Bernard in debate and crush him, he stood up in the presence of a royal and illustrious assemblage, and when his antagonist had finished he looked about him, and stammered a coimnencement ; but his courage failed him ; the cunning of his tongue was gone : with his speech unspoken he trembled and sat down, a disgraced and vanquished champion. He died a nobody, and was buried at Cluny, a.d. 1144. They re- moved his body to the Paraclete afterward, and when Heloise died, twenty years later, they buried her with him, in accordance with hei last wish. He died at the ripe age of sixty-four, and she at sixty-three. After the bodies had remained entombed three hundred years, they were removed once more. They were removed again in 1800 ; and finally, seventeen years afterward, they were taken up and transferred to Pere la Chaise, where they will remain in peace and quiet until it comei time for them to get up and move again. History is silent concerning the last acts of the mountain howitzer. Let the world say what it will about him, J, at least, shall always respect the memoiy and sorrow for the abused trust, and the broken heart, and the troubled spirit of the old smooth-bore. Best and repose be his! Such is the story of Abelard and Heloise. Such is the history that Lamartine has shed such cataracts of tears over. But that man never could come within the influence of a subject in the least pathetic with- out ovei^owing his oanks. He ought to be dammed— or leveed, I should more properljr My. Such is the hiatoiy— not as it it UBuaUir ^1 i m i If i: ■ i 96 MARK TWAIN'S WORKS, told, but as it if when stripped of the nauseous sentlmentalitj thai would enshrine for our loving worship a dastardly seducer like Pierre Abelard. I have not a word to say against the misused, faithful girl, and would not withhold from her grave a single one or those simple tributes which blighted youths and maidens offer to her memory, but I am sorry enough that I have not time and opportunity to write four or five volumes of my opinion of her friend the founder of the Parachute, or the Paraclete, or whatever it was. The tons of sentiment I have wasted on that unprincipled humbug in my ignorance ! I shall tlirottle down my emotions hereafter about this sort of people, until I have read them up. and know whether they are entitlea to any tearful attcntiouH or not. I wish I had my immortellet back now, and that bunch of radishes. In Paris we often saw in shop "windows the sign, ** Engltih Spoken Here,^ Just as one sees in the windows at home the sign, " Id on parte francats." We always invaded these places at once, and invariably received the information, framed in faultless French, that the clerk who did the English for the establishment had just gone to dinner and would be back in an hour ; would Monsieur buy something. We wondered why those parties happened to take their dinners at such erratic and extraordinary hours, tor we never called at a time when an exemplair Christian would be in the least likely to be abroad on such an errand. The truth was, it was a base fraud — a snare to trap the unwary — chafl to catch fledglings with. They had no English-murdering clerk. They trusted to the si^ to inveigle foreigners into their lairs, and trusted to their own blandishments to keep them there till they bought something. We feretted out another French imposition— a frequent sign to this effect : — " All Manner of American Drinks Artistically rRBPAEEB Hbre.^ We procured the services of a gentleman experienced in the nomenclature of the American bar, and moved upon the works of one of these impostor& A bowing, aproned Frenchman skipped forward and said : — " Que voulez les messieurs ?" I do not know what " Que vonlex lei messieurs " means, but such was his remark. Our General said, " We will take a whisky-straight** [A stare from the Frenchman.] ** Well, if you don't know what that is, give us a champagne cock-taiL" [A stare and a shrug.] " Well, then, give us a sherry cobbler." The Frenchman was checkmated. This was all Qreek to him. " Give us a brandy smash !" The Frenchman began to back away, suipicious of the ominous vigour of the last order — began to back away, shrugging his shoulders and spreading his hands apologetically. The General followed nim up, and gained a complete victory. The uneducated foreigner could not even lumish a Santa Cruz Punch, an Eye-Opener, a Stone-Fence, or an Earthquake. It was plain that he was a wicked impostor. An acquaintance of mine laid the other day, that he wai donbtlMs the ►.■* balitj thai ike Pierre ithful girl, use simple lory, but I te fonr or Parachute, iiumbug in about thii er they are mmortellet iih Spoken 'ci on parlt invariably ) clerk who and would B wondered erratic and exemplary I an erranoL vary — chafl erk. They 1 trusted to something- iign to thu Prspabkb ced in the trks of one d forward ▼oulei Im I cock-tuL" pusTigoiiur Ideis and tory. The I Punch, an that h« ibtlMBtha I n u THE INNOCENTS ABROAD. H unly American riHitor to the Expooition who had had the high honour ol beiii^ escorted by the Em^>eror's body-guard. I fud with unobtruAye frank nesA that I wa-s astouiBhed that sucli a long-U^ed, lantern-jawed, unprepoHsessuig looking spectre as he should be singled out for a din- tinction like tliut, and a»ked how it came about He said he hac attended a great milit^rv revit'W lu the Champ de Man, some time ago, iind while the miiltitu^>8erved ati open space inside the railing. He left his carriage and went, into it He waa the only person there, and so he had plenty of room, and IIm' situation being central, he could see all the preparations going on about the tield. By and by tliere was a sound of n)UHic,and soon tne Eniperorof the French and the Emperor of Austria, eficorted by the fjmious Cent Gardes, entered the enclosure. They seemed not to observe him, but directly, in response to a sign from the com- mander of the Quard, a young lieutenant came toward him with a file of his men following, halted, raised his hand, and gave the military salute, and then said in a low voice that he was sorry to have to digturo a stranger and a gentleman, but the place was sacred to royalty. Then this New Jersey phantom rose up and bowed and begged pardon, then with the ofiicer beside him, the file of men marching behind him, and with every mark of respect, he was escorted to his carriage by the imperial Cent Oardes I 1 he ofiicer saluted again and fell buck, the New Jersey sprite bowed in return, and had presence of mind enough to pre- tend that he had simply called on a matter of private business with those emperors, and so waved them an adieu, and drove from the field ! Imagine a poor Frenchman ignorantly intruding upon a public ia»* trum sacred to some sLxpenny dignitary m America. The police would scare him to death, first witn a storm of their elegant blasphemy, and then puil him to pieces getting him away from there. We are measur- ably superior to the French in some things, but they are immeasurably our betters in others. Enough of Paris for the present We have done our whole duty by it We have seen the Tuileries, the Napoleon Column, the Madeline, that wonder of wonders the tomb of Napoleon, all the great churches and museums, libraries, imperial palaces, and sculpture and picture galleries, the Pantheon, Jardin dea Plantea, the opera, the circus, the Legislative Body, the billiard-rooms, the barbers, the gritettes — Ah, the grisettes I I had almost forgotten. They are another romantio hand. They were (if you let the books of travel tell it) always so beauti- ful — so neat and trim, so graceful — so naive and trusting — so gentle, so winning — so faithful to their shop duties, so irresistible to buyers in theii prattling importunity — so devoted to their poverty-stricken students of the Ijatin Quarter— so Ught-hearted and happy on their Sunday picnics *n the suburbs — and oh, so charmingly, so dei^htfully immoral I . : 8t-a.tf ! For three or four days I was constantly saying — *< Quick, Ferguson ! is that a grisette P i And he always said "No." He comprehended at last that I wanted to see a grisette. Then he showed me dozens of them. They were like nearly all the Frenchwomen r I :»! I" ■ ll." ' :l m ■i % .! iv % H^:^ S8 MARK TWAIN'S WORKS, 1 ever saw — ^homely. They had large hands, large feet, large mouths *, they had pug noses as a general thing, and mustaches that not even good breeding could overlook ; they combed their hair straight back without parting ; they were ill-shaped, they were not winning, they were not graceful ; I knew by their looks that they ate garlic and onions ; and lastly and finally, to my thinking, it would be base flattery to caU them immoral Aroint thee, wench ! I sorrow for the vagabond student of the Latix Quarter now even more than formerly I envied him. Thus topples t( earth another idol of my infancy. We have seen everything, and to-morrow we go to Versailles. We •hall see Paris only for a little while as we come back to take up our line of march for the ship, and so I may as well bid the beautiful city a regretful farewell. We shall travel many thousands of miles after we leave here, and visit many great cities, but we shall find none so •nchanting as this. Some of our party have gone to EngUnd, intending to take a round- about course and rejoin the vessel at Leghorn or Naples, several weeki hence. We came near going to Geneva, but have concluded to return to Marseilles, and go up through Italy from Genoa. I will conclude this chapter with a remark that I am sincerely proud to be able to make, and glad as well that my comrades cordially indorse it — to wit, by far the handsomest ^vomen we have seen in France were bom and reared in America. I feel now like a man who has redeemed a failing reputation, and shed lustre upon a dimmed escutcheon by a single just deed done at the eleventh hour. Let the curtain fiall to slow music J • ;i i, fm % i; CHAPTER XVL VEESAILLES ! It is wonderfully beautiful ! You gaze, and stare, and try to understand that it is real, that it is on the earth, that it is not the Garden of Eden — but your brain grows giddy, stupe- fied by the world of beauty around you, and you half believe you are the dupe of an exquisite dream. The scene thrills one like military music ! A noble palace, stretching its ornamented front block upon block away, till it seemed that it would never end ; a grand promenade before it, whereon the armies of an empire might parade ; all about it rainbows of flowers, and colossal statues that were almost numberless, and yet seemed only scattered over the ample space ; broad flights of stone st«ps leading down from the promenade to lower grounds of the park — stairways tnat whole regiments might stand to arms upon and nave room to spare ; vast mountains whose great bronze effigies dis* •harmed rivers of sparkling water into the dr and mingled a hundred •umng jets together in forms of matchless beauty ; wide grass-carpeted ■m THE INNOCENTS A^ROAlX ^ mouths *, not even ight back ing, they d onions; iiy to call the Latix lopples t( lies. We ke up our iM city a s after we I none so 8 a round- jral weeki . to return rely proud ly indorse ranee were ation, and one at the avenues that branched hither and thither in every direction and wan- dered to seemingly interminable distances, walled aU the way on either side with compact ranks of leafy trees whose branches met above and foniied arches as faultless and as symmetrical &c ever were carved in stone, and here and there were glimpses of sylvan lakes with miniature ships glassed in their surfaces. And everywhere — on the palace steps, and the great promenade, around the fountains, among the trees, and far under the arches of the endless avenues — hundreds and hundreds of people in gajr costumes walked or ran or danced, and gave to the fairy picture the life and animation which was aU of perfection it could have lacked. It was worth a pilgrimage to see. Everything is on so gigantic a scale. Nothing is small, nothing is cheap. The statues are all large ; the palace is grand ; the park covers a fair-sized county ; the avenues are interminable. All the distances and aU the dimensions about Versailles are vast. I used to think the pictures exaggerated these distances and these dimensions beyond all reason, and that they made Versailles more beautiful than it was possible for any place in the world to be. I know now that the pictures never came up to the subject in any respect, and that no painter could represent Versailles on canvas as beautiful as it is in reality. I used to abuse Louis XIV. for Bpending two hundred millions of dollars in creating this marvellous park, when bread was so scarce with some of his subjects : but I have forgiyen him now. He took a track of land sixty miles in circumference, and set to work to make this park and build this palace and a road to it from Paris. He kept 36,000 men employed daily on it, and the labour was so unhealthy that they used to die and be hauled oflf by cart-loads every night The wife of a nobleman of the time speaks of this as an " inconvenience" but naively remarks that " it does not seem worthy of attention in the happy state of tranquillity we now enjoy." I always thought iU of people at home, who trimmed their shrubbery into pyramids, and squares, and spires, and aU manner of unnatural shapes, and when I saw the same thing being practised in this ereat park, I began to feel dissatisfied. But I soon saw the idea of the tning and the wisdom of it They seek the general effect. We distort a dozen sickly trees into unaccustomed shapes in a little yard no bigger than a dining-room, and then surely they look absurd enough. But here they take two hundred thousand tall forest trees and set them in a double row ; allow no sign of leaf or branch to grow on the trunk lower down than six feet above the ground ; from that point the boughs begin to project, and very gradually they extend outward further and further till they meet overhead, and a faultless tunnel of foliage is formed. The arch is mathematically precise. The eflfect is then very fine. They make trees take fifty different shapes, and so these quaint effects are infinitely varied and picturesque. The trees in no two avenues are shaped alike, and consequently the eye is not fatigued with any- thing in the nature of monotonoufi unifonmty. I will drojp thLi subject now, leaying it to others to determij»a how these people manage to 4 } ; I. I *. I •5 i 'li ;;i=' i6 ify«/?^ TWAIN *S WORKS. make endless ranks of lofty forest trees grow to just a certain thicknesf of trunk ^say a foot and two-thirds) ; how they make them spring to precisely tne same height for miles ; how they make them grow so close together ; how they compel one huge limb to spring from the sara^ identical spot on each tree and form the main sweep of the arch ; anf some of those proud families still inhabit the palaces of Genoa, and trace in their own features a resemblance to the gnm knights whose por- traits hang in their stately halls, and to pictured beauties with pouting lips and merry eyes whose originals have been dust and ashes for many a dead and forgotten century. The hotel we lived in belonged to one of those great orders of knights of the Cross in the times of the Crusades, and its mailed sentinels once kept watch and ward in its massive turrets and woke the echoes of these Ualls and corridors with their iron heels. But Genoa's greatness has degenerated into an unostentatious commerce in velvets and silver filagree work. They say that each European town has its speciality. These filagree things are Genoa's speciality. Her smiths take silver ingots and work them up into all manner of graced and beautiful forms. They make bunches of flowers, from flakes and wires of silver, that counterfeit the delicate creations the frost weaves upon a window pane ; and we were shown a miniature silver temple wnose fluted columns, whose Corinthian capitals and rich entablatures, whose spire, statues, bells, and ornate lavishness of sculpture were wrought in polished silver, and with such matchless art that every detail was a faacinating study, and the finished edifice a wonder (^ beauty. We an wtdy f>i more fkg&in, thoufrh we are not really tired yet of th* ^ i^ THE INNOCENTS ABROAD, 9f with rami- I yielded to iffect i.<« not Venus with ire. Some 1, plastered of a circus outsidee of .en massiTB ring broad- [reat blocki ,11s that are iimble. the Middle Tied on an warehouses lerchandise irlike little adow them kptured and owing cen- tre alliance, c Isles with [its purpose ded tneii )escendants Genoa, and whose por- th pouting for many of knights inels once )es of these commerce )pean town kUty. Her of grateftil flakes and ost weavee ver temple tAblatures. jture were that every wonder c^ yefcof th* (UUTOW passages of this old marble ca\re. Cave is a good word, when •peaking of Genoa under the stars. When we have been prowling at midnight through the gloomy crevices they call streets, where uo foot- falls but ours were echoing, where only ourselves were abroad, and lights appeared only at long intervals and at a distance, and mysteriously disappeared again, and the houses at our elbows seemed to stretch up- wara farther than ever toward the heavens, the memory of a cave I uaed to know at home was always in my mind, with its lofty passages, its silence and solitude, its shrouding gloom, it sepulchral echoes, its flit- ting lights, and more than all, its sudden revelations of branching crevices and corridors where we least expected them. We are not tired of the endless processions of cheerful, chattering goseipers that throng these courts and streets all day long, either ; noi of the coarse-robed monks ; nor of the " Asti " wines, which that old doctor (whom we call the Oracle), with customary felicity in the matter of getting everything wrong, misterms "nasty." But we must go, nevertheless. Our last sight was the cemetery (a burial-place intended to accommo- date 60,000 bodies), and we shall continue to remember it after we shall have forgotten the palaces. It is a vast marble colonaded corridor ex- tending around a great unoccupied square of ground ; its broad floor is marble, and on eveir slab is an inscription — for every slab covers a corpse. On either Siae, as one walks down the middle of the passage, are monuments, tombs, and sculptured figures that are exquisitely wrought and are full of grace and beauty. They are new and snowy ; every outline is perfect, every feature guiltless of mutilation, flaw, or blemish ; and therefore to us these far-reaching ranks of bewitching forms are a hundredfold more lovely than the damaged and dingy statu- ary they have saved from the wreck of ancient art, and set up in the galleries of Paris for the worship of the world. Well provided with cigars and other necessaries of life, we are now ready to take the cars for Milan. CHAPTER XVIII. ALL day long we sped through a mountainous country whose peaks l\ were bright with sunshine, whose hillsides were dotted with pretty villas sitting in the midst of gardens and shrubbery, and whose deep ravines were cool and shady, and looked ever so inviting from where we and the birds were winging our flight throu(?h the sultry upper air. We had plenty of chilly tunnels wherein to check our perspiration, though. We timed one of them. We were twenty minutes passing through it, going at the rate of thirty to thirty-five miles an hour. Beyond Alessandria we passed the battle-field of Marengo. Towards dusk we dxew near Milan^ and caught g^mpsee of the cil^ ] ''■ i M I MARK TWAIN*S WORKS, t ■ ' i' a ii- t m and (he blue mountain-peaks beyond. But we were not caring for thee« things — they did not interest us in the least. We were in a fever of Impatience ; we were dying to see the i enowned Cathedral I We watched — in this direction and that — all arouad — everywhere. We needed no one to point it out — we did not wish any one to point it out — we would recognise it, even in the desert of the great Sahara. At last, a forest of graceful needles, shiuiinering in the amber sunlight, rose slowly above the pigmy house-tops, as one sometimes sees in the tax horizon a gilded and pinnacled maas of cloud lift itself above the waste of waves at sea — the Cathedral ! We knew it in a moment Half of that night and all of the next day this architectural autocial was our sole object of interest. What a wonder it is ! So grand, so solemn, so vast ! And yet so delicate, so airy, so graceful ! A very world of solid weight, and yet it leems in the soft moonlight only a fairy delusion of frost-work that might vanish with a breath ! How sharply its pinnacled angles and its wilderness of spires were cut against tne sky, and how richly theii shadows fell upon its snowy roof ! It was a vision — a miracle ! — an anthem sung in stone, a poem wrought in marble i Howsoever you look at the great Cathedral, it is noble, it h beautiful ! Wherever you stand in Milan, or within seven miles of Wilan, it is risible — and when it is visible, no other object can chain your whole attention. Leave your eyes unfettered by jrour will but a single instant, and they will surely turn to seek it It is the first thin^ you look for when you rise in tne morning, and the last your lingenng gaze rests upon at night. Surely, it must be the princeliest creation that evez brain of man conceived At nine o'clock in the morning we went and stood before this marble colossus. The central one of its five great doors h bordered with a bas- relief of birds and fioiits and beasts and insects, which have been so in- geniously carved out of the marble that they seem like living creatures — and the figures are so numerous and the design so complex, that one might study it a week without exhausting its interest. On the great steeple — surmounting the myriad of spires — inside of the spires — over the doors, the windows — in nooks and corners — everywhere tliat a niche or a perch can be found about the enormous building, from summit to base, there is a marble statue, and every statue is a study in itself! Raphael, Angelo, Canova — giants like these gave birth to the designs, and their own pupils carved them. Every face is eloquent with expres- sion, and every attitude is full of grace. Away above, on the lofty roof, rank on rank of carved and fretted spires spring high in the air, and through their rich tracery one sees the sky Vjeyond. In their midst the central steeple towers proudly up like the mainmast of some great India- man among a fleet of coasters. We wished to go aloft The sacristan showed us a marble stairway (of course it was marble, and of the purest and whitest — there is no other stone, no brick, no wood, among its building msterials), and told us to |o up one hundred and eighty-tvko steps and stop till he came. It was lot Beoeseuy to aay stop ; we i%h«%iid have done that az^jfhow. We wen THE INNOCENTS ABh M*. 90 I for theM 31 fever of e watched needed no -we would ir Bunlight, ^ea in the above the aent J autocrat .nd yet so and yet it work that {les and its ichly their iracle ! — an \ beautiful ! Kiilau, it is ;Mjur whole gle instant, ou look for gaze rests that ever this marble with a bas- been so in- g creatures X, that one the great )iies — over lat a niche summit to in itself! le designs, ith expres- lofty roof, le air, and p midst the ;reat India- e stairway is no other told us to le. It was , We wew ipiinffiiig ^1m -«et. t J tired by th« time we got there. This was the t)of. H. <% from its broad marble flogHtoues, were the long lUei of ^\ '^, very tall close at hand, but diminishing in the distance like tne pii an organ. We could see now that the statue on the tup of eacii w size 01 a large man, though they all looked like dolls from the < We could see also that from the inside of each and every one of hollow spires, from sixteen to thirty-one beautiful marble statues looked out upon the world below. From the eaves to the comb of the roof stretched in endless succession great curved marble beams, like the fore-and-aft braces of a steamboat, and along each beam from end to end stood up a row of richly-carved flowers and fruits, each separate and distinct in kind, and over 15,000 species represented. At a little distance these rows seem to close together, like the ties of a railroad track, and then the mingling togeth-er of the buds and blossoms of this marble garden forms a picture that is very charming to the eye. We descended and entered. Within the church long rows of fluted columns, like huge monuments, divided the building into broad aisles, and on the figured pavement fell many a soft blush from the painted windows above. I knew the church was very large, but I could not fully appreciate its great size until I noticed that the men standing far down by the altar looked like boys, and seemed to glide rather than walk. We loitered about, gazing aloft at the monster windows aU aglow with brilliantly-coloured scenes in the lives of the Saviour and his followers. Some of these pictures are mosaics, and so artistically arr their thousand particles of tinted glass or stone put together, that the work has all the smoothness and flmsh of a painting. We counted sixty panes of glasi in one window, and each pane was adorned with one of these master achievements of genius and patience. The guide showed us a coffee-coloured piece of sculpture, which he said was considered to have come from the hand of Phidias, since it was not possible that any other artist, of any epoch, could have copied nature with such faultless accuracy. The figure was that of a man without a skin ; with every vein, artery, muscle, every fibre and tendon, and tissue ii the human frame represented in minute detail It looked natural, because somehow it looked as if it were in pain. A skinned man would be likely to look that way, unless his attention were occupied ¥rith some other matter. It was a hideous thing, and yet there was a fascination about it somewhere. I am very sorry I saw it, because I shall always see it now. I shall dream of it sometimes. I shall dream that it is resting its corded arms on the bed's head, and looking down on me with its deaid eyes ; I shall dream that it is stretched between the sheets with me, and touching me with its exposed muscles and its stringy cold legs. It is hard to forget repulsive things. I remember yet how I ran off from school once, when I was a boy, and then, pretty late at night, concluded to climb into the window of my father's office and sleep on a lounge, because I had a delicacy about going home and getting thrashed As I lay on the lounge, and my eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, i fancied I could MC a long, duakj:. shapeless thing, stretched upon the I I'-j j MAJRX^ TWAIN'S WORKS, floor. A cold ahiyer went throu^Ii me. I tarned mj face to the wall That did not answer. I was afraid that the thing would creep over and seize roe in the dark. I turned back, and stared at it for minutes and minutes — they seemed liours. It appeared to me tliat the lagging moon- light never, never would get to it. 1 turned to the wall and counted twenty, to pass the feverish time away. I looked — the pale square was nearer. I turned again and counted fifty — it was almost touching it With desperate will I turned again and counted one hundred, and faced about, all in a tremble. A white human hand lav in the moonlight ! Such an awful sinking at the heart — such a sudden gasp for breath. I felt — I cannot tell Mohat I felt. When I recovered strength enough, I faced the wall again. But no boy could have remained so with thai mysterious hand behind him. I counted again, and looked — the most of a naked arm was exposed! I put my hands over my eyes, and counted till I could stand it no longer, and then — the pallid face of ^ man was there, with the comers of the mouth drawn down, and the eyes fixed and glassy in death ! I raised to a sitting posture, and glowered on that corpse till the light crept down the bare oreast — line by line — inch by inch — past the nipple — and then it disclosed a ghastly stab ! I went away from there. I do not say that I went away in any sort of a hurry, but I simply went, that is sufficient I went out at the window, and I carried the sash alon^ with me. I did not need the sash, but it was handier to take it than it was to leave it, and so I took it I was not scared, but I was considerably agitated. When 1 reached home they whipped me ; but I enjoyed it ; it seemed perfectly delightfuL That man had been stabbed near the office that afternoon, and they carried him in there to doctor him, but he only lived an hour. I have slept in the same room with him often aince then — in my dreams. Now we will descend into the crypt, under the grand altar of Milan Cathedral, and receive an impressive sermon from lips that have been silent, and hands that have been gestureless, for three hundred years. The priest stopped in a small dungeon, and held up his candle. This was the last resting-place of a good man, a warm-hearted, unselfish man; a man whose whole life was given to succouring the poor, encouraging the faint-hearted, visiting the sick, in relieving distress whenever and wherever he found it. His heart, his hand, and his purse were always open. With his story in one's mind, he can almost see his benignant countenance moving calmly among the haggard faces of Milan in the days when the plague swept the city, brave where all others were cowards, full of compassion where pity had been crushed out of all other breasts by the instinct of self-preservation gone mad with terror, cheer- ing all, praying with all, helping all with hand and brain and purse, at a time when parents forsook their children, the friend deserted the friend, and the brother turned away from the sister while her pleadings were still wailing in his ears. This was good St Charles Borrom^o, Bishop of Milan. Tht people idolised him ; princes lavished imcounted treasures upon him. Wa atood in hia tAmb. Near bv '^'aa the <«uvcophaj»u8, li^Lteil by the \* THE INNOCENTS ABROAD. IM tb« wall p over and inutes and {ing moon- id counted square was ouching it. , and faced uooulight ! for breath. L enough, I > with thai —the moat ' eyes, and id face of « ttd the eyea d glowered e by line — ly stab ! in any aorl out at the ed the sash, so I took it I ; it seemed office that only lived ce then — in of Milan lave been d years, ndle. This elfish man; ncouraging gnever and ere always benignant Han in the thers were of all other rror, cheer- d purse, at serted the pleadings Ian. Tht upon him. twl by the drlpfi^^ oandlea. The walln were faced with bas-reliefs, rcpresentlnf; •cuutm in his life, done in niusHive silver. The priest put on a short white lace garment over his black robe, crossed himself, bowed ruve- reiitly, and began to turn a windlass slowly. The sarcophagus separated in twc) ports lengthwise, and the lower part sank down and disclosed a eoihu 01 rock crynUil as clear as the atmosphere. Within lay the body. r()l>ed in costly habilinicnta covered with gold embroidery, and starred with scintillating gems. The decaying head was black with age, the m dry »/in was drawn tight to the bones, the eyes were gone, there was a hole iii the temple and another in the cheek, and the skinny lips were Sarted as in a ghastly smile ! Over this dreadful face, its dust and ec4iy, and its mocking grin, hung a crown sown thick with flashing ^ brilliants ; and upon the breast lay crosses and croziers of solid gold, f that were splendia with emeralds and diamonds. How poor, and cheap, and trivial these gew-gawi seemed in presence of the solemnity, the grandeur, the awful majesty of Death ! Think of Milton, Shakespeare, Washington, standing bei'ore a reverent world tricked out in the glass beads, the brass ear-rings, and tin trumpery of the savages of the plains ! Dead Bartolom^o preached his pregnant sermon, and its burden was : — You that worship the vanities of earth — you that long for worldly honour, worldly wealth, worldly fame — behold their worth I To U8 it seemed that so good a man, so kind a heart, so simple a nature, deserved rest and peace in a grave sacred from the intrusion of prying eyes, and believed that he himself would have preferred to have It so, but peradventure our wisdom was at fault in this regard. As we came out upon the floor of the church again, another priest volunteered to show us the treasures of the church. What, more 7 The furniture of tlio narrow chamber of death we had just visited weighed six millions of francs in ounces and carats alone, without a penny thrown into the account for the costly workmanship bestowed upon them ! But we followed into a large room filled with tall wooden presses like ward- robes. He threw them open, and behold, the cargoes of "crude bullion" of the assay offices of Nevada faded out of my memory. There were virgins and bishops there above their natural size, made of solid silver, each worth by weight from eight himdred thousand to two millions of francs, and bearing gemmed books in their hands worth eighty thousand; there were bas-rehels that weighed six hundred pounds, carved in solid silver ; croziers and crosses, and candlesticks six and eight feet high, all of virgin gold, and brilliant with precious stones ; and beside these were all manner of cups and vases, and such things, rich in proportion. It was an Aladdin's palace. The treasures here, by simple weight, without counting workmanship, were valued at fifty millions of francs ! If I could get the custody of them for a while, I fear me the market price of silver bishops would advance shortly, on account of their exceeding scarcity in the Cathedral of Milan. The priests showed us two of St Paul's fingers, and one of St Peter's ; a bone of Judas Iscariot (it was black), and also bones of all the otiier disciples ; a handkerchief in which the Saviour had left the impressioB li :. ^1 108 MARK TWAIN'S WORKS. 'J. !'m. I of His face. Among the most precious of the relics wert a stone from the Holy Sepulchre, part of the crown of thorns (they have a Tfhole one at N6tre Dame), a fragment of the purple robe worn by the Saviour, a nail from the Cross, and a picture of the Virgin and Child painted by the veritable hand of St Luke. This is the second of St Luke's Virgin* we have seen. Once a year all these holy relics are carried in proces- sion through the streets of Milan . I liked to revel in the dryest details of the great Cathedral. Th« building is five hundred feet long, by one hundred and eighty wide, and the principal steeple is in the neighbourhood of four hundred feet high. It has seven thousand one hundred and forty-eight marble statues, and will have upwards of three thousand more when it is finished. In addition it has one thousand five hundred bas-reliefs. It has one hundred and thirty-six spires — twenty one more are to be added. Each spire is surmounted by a statue six and a half feet high. Everjrthing about the church is marble, and all from the same quarry ; it was bequeathed to the Archbishopric for this purpose centuries ago. So nothing but the mere workmanship costs ; still, that is expensive — the bill foots up six hundred and eighty-four millions of francs, thus far (considerably over a hundred millions of dollars), and it is estimated that it will take a hundred and twenty years yet to finish the Cathedral. It looks complete, but it is far from being so. We saw a new statue put up in its niche yesterday, alongside of one which had been standing these four hundred years they said. There are four staircases leading up to the main steeple, each of which cost a hundred thousand dollars, with the four hundred and eight statues which adorn them. Marca Compioni was the architect who designed the wonderful structure more than five hundred years ago, and it took him forty-six years to work out the plan and get it ready to hand over to the builders. He is dead now. The building was begun a little less than five hundred years ago, and the third generation hence will not see it completed. The building looks best by moonlight, because the older portions ov it, being stained with age, contrast unpleasantly with the newer and whiter portions. It seems somewhat too broad for its height, but maybe familiarity with it might dissipate this impression. rhey say that the Cathedral of MUan is second only to St Peter's at Kome. I cannot understand how it can be second to anything made by human hands. We bid it good-bye now — possibly for all time. How sureljr, in ■ome future day, when the memory of it shall have lost its vivid- ness, shall we half believe we have seen it in a wonderful dream, but MTor with waking eyas ! y ' ■;«% THE INNOCENTS ABROAD, ■09 Btone from I whole one Saviour, a painted hj te's Virgint I in procei- sdral Th« ighty wide, undred feet ^ht marble , is finished. It has one ded. Each Everjrthing ry ; it was $s ago. So Bnsive — the LC8, thus far 3 estimated s Cathedral, new statue en standing ises leading ind dollars, m. Marce Lcture more irs to work He is dead years ago, )ortion8 ov lewer and but maybe Peter's at ig made by surely, in its Tiyid- fal dieann, ^ CHAPTER XIX. u T^O yon wis zo haut can be ?" !_>/ That was what the guide asked when we were looking np at the bronze horses on the Arch of Peace. It meant do you wish to go up there " I give it as a specimen of guide-English. These are the people that make life a burden to the tourist Their tongues are never still. They talk for ever and for ever, and that is the kind of Billingsgate they use. Inspiration itself could hardly comprehend them. If they would only show you a masterpiece of art, or a venerable tomb, or a prison-house, or a battle-field, hallowed by touching memories or historical reminiscences, or grand traditions, and then step aside and hold still for ten minutes and let you think, it would not be so bad. But they interrupt every dream, every pleasant train of thought, with their tiresome cackling. Sometimes, when I have been standing before some cherished old idol of mine that I remembered years and years ago, in pictures in the geography at school, I have thought I would give a whole world if the human parrot at my side would suddenly perish where he stood and leave me to gaze, and ponder, and worship. No, we did not " wis zo haut can be." We wished to go to La Scala, the largest theatre in the world, I think, they call it. We did so. It was a large place. Seven separate and distinct masses of humanity — six great circles and a monster parquette. We wished to go to the Ambrosian Library, and we did that also. We saw a manuscript of Virgil, with annotations in the handwriting of Petrarch, the gentleman who loved another man's Laura, and lavished upon her all through life a love which was a clear waste of the raw material. It was sound sentiment, but bad judgment. It brought both parties fame, and created a fountain of commiseration for them in sentimental breasts that is running yet. But who says a word in behalf of poor Mr Laura ? (I do not know his other name.) Who glorified him ? Who bedews him with tears ? Who writes poetry about him 1 Nobody. How do you suppose he liked the state of things that has given the world so mucn pleaaure ? How did he enjoy having another man following his wife everywhere, and making her name a familiar word in every garlic-exterminating mouth in Italy with hia sonnets to her pre-empted eyebrows ? They got fame and sympathy — he got neither. This is a peculiarly felicitous instance of what is called poetical justice. It is all very fine ; but it does not chime with my notions of right. It is too one-sided — too ungenerous. Let the world go on fretting about Laura and Petrarch if it wul ; but as for lue, my tears and ^ ^ lamentations shall be lavished upon the unsung defendant. We saw also an autograph letter of Lucrezia Borgia, a lady for whom I have always entertained the highest respect on account of her rare histrionic capabilities, her opulence in solid gold goblets made of gilded wood, her high distinction as a operatic screamer, and the facility with which ahe rx>uld order a sextuple funeral and get the corpses ready for it ». 1 m ir I04 MARK TWAIN*S WORKS, w ) m fit ■! , u \ ■ ':\n:\ coarse low hair from Lucrezia's head likewise. It awoke emotions, but we still live. In this same libraiy we saw some drawings by Michael Angelo (these Italians caU him Mickel Angelo), ftnd Leonardo da Vinci. (They spell it Vinci and pronounce it Vinchy; foreigners always spell better than they pronounce). We reserve oni opinion of those sketches. In another building they showed us a fresco representing some lions and other beasts drawing chariots ; and they seemed to project so far from the wall that we took them to be sculptures. The artist had shrewdly heightened the delusion by painting dust on t-he creaturerf backs, as if it had fallen there naturally and properly. Smart fellow— if it be smart to deceive strangers. Elsewhere we saw a huge Roman amphitheatre, with its stone seats fltill in good preservation. Modernised, it is now the scene of more peaceful recreations than the exhibition of a party of wild beasts with Christians for dinner. Part of the time, the Milanese use it for a race track, and at other seasons they flood it with water and have spirited yachting regattas there. The guide told us these things, and he would nardly try so hazardous an experiment as the telling of a fialsehood, when it is all he can do to speak the truth in English without getting the lock-jaw. In another place we were shown a sort of summer arbour, with a fence before it. We said that was nothing. We looked again, and saw, through the arbour an endless stretch of garden, and shrubbery, and grassy lawn. We were perfectly willing to go in there and rest, but it could not be done. It was only another delusion — ^a painting by some ingenious artist with little charity in his heart for tired folk. The deception was perfect.' No one could have imagined the park was not real. We even thought we smelled the flowers at first. We got a carriage at twilight and diove in the shaded avenues with the other nobility, and after dinner we took wine and ices in a fine garden with the great public. The music was excellent, the flowers and shrubbery were pleasant to the eye, the scene was vivacious, everybody was genteel and well-behaved, and the ladies were slightly mustached, and handsomely dressed, but very homely. We adjourned to a caf6 and played billiards an hour, and I made six or seven points by the doctor pocketing his ball, and he made as many by my pocketing my ball. We came near making a carom sometimee. but not Vhe one we were trying to make. The table was of the usual European style— cushions dead and twice as high as the balls ; the cues in bad repair. The natives play only a sort of pool on them. We have aveer seen anybody playing the French three-ball game yet, and I doubt if there is any such game known in France, or that there lives any man mad enough to try to play it on one of these European tables. We had to stop playing, finally, because Dan got to sleeping fifteen minutes between the counts and paying no attention to his marking. Afterwards we walked!^ up and down one of the most popular streets for some time, enjoying other peoplo'e comfort, and wishing we could •xport some of it to our reatlesa, ^viiiji^ vitality-consuming marts al % •I I THE IP/NOCENTS ABROAD, io$ cewlse. It saw some il Angelo), It Vinchy; eserye our K>me liona iject so far artist had creaturerf rt fellow- stone seatB 3 of more easts with for a race ^e spirited he would lood, when B;etting the ur, with a I, and sftw, bbery, and best, but it g by some tolk. The k wag not inues with in a fine e flowers vivacious, slightly made six as many )metimee, I the usual the cues We have I doubt llives any Ibles. We minutes Btreete Iwe could marts at home. Just in this one matter lies the main charm of life in Europe — eomfoit. In America, we hurry — which is well ; but when the day's work is done, we go on thinking of losses and gains, we plan for the morrow, we even carry our business cares to bed with us, and toss and worry over them when we ought to be restoring our racked bodies and brains with sleep. We burn up our energies with these excitements, and either die early or drop into a lean and mean old age at a time of life which thev call a man's prime in Europe. When an acre of ground haa produced long and well, we let it lie fallow and rest for a season ; we take no man clear across the continent in the same coach he started in — the coach is stabled somewhere on the plains, and its heated machin- ery allowed to cool for a few days ; when a razor has seen long service and refuses to hold an edge^ the barber lays it away for a few weeks, and the edge comes back of its own accord. We bestow thoughtful care upon inanimate objects, but none upon ourselves. What a robust people, wnat a nation of thinkers we might be, if we would only lay ourselves on the shelf occasionally and renew our edges ! I do envy these Europeans the comfort they take. When the work of the day is done, they forget it Some of them go, with wife and children, to a beer haU, and sit quietly and genteelly drinking a mug or two of ale and listening to music ; others walk the streets, others drive in the avenues ; others assemble in the great ornamental squares in the early evening to enjoy the sight and the fragrance of flowers, to hear the mili- tary bands play — ^no European city being without its fine military musio at eventide ; and yet others of the populace uit in the open air m from of the refreshment houses and eat ices and drink mild beverages that could not harm a child. They go to bed moderately early, and sleep well. They are always quiet, always orderly, always cheerful, comfort- c.ble, and appreciative of life and ita manifold blessings. One never sees a drunken man amon^them. The change that has come over our little party is surprising. Day by day we lose some of our restlessness and absorb some of the spirit of quietude and ease that is in the tranquil atmosphere about us and in the demeanour of the people. We grow wise apace. We begin to comprehend what life is for. We nave had a bath in Milan, in a public bath-house. They were going to put all three of us in one bath-tub, but we objected. Each of us had an Italian farm on his back. We could have felt affluent if we had been officially surveyed and fenced in. We chose to have three bath-tubs, and large ones — tubs suited to the dignity of aristocrats who had real estate, and brought it with them. After we were stripped and had taken the first chilly dash, we discovered that hauntmg atrocity that has embittered our lives in so many cities and villages of Italy and France— there was no soap. I called. A woman answered, and I Darely had time to throw myself against the door — she would have been in, in another second. I said — " Beware, woman ! Go away from here — go away now, or it will be the worse for you. I am an unprotected male, but I will p^^serve my honour at the peril of my life 1" These words must have frightened her, for she skurried away very fast 106 MARX^ TWAIN'S WORKS, Dan's voice rose on the ear — «i %' ( •■ \ ^ '. IMlH l! why don't yon !' ' Oh, bring some so The reply was Italian. Dan resumed — " Soap, you know — soap. That is what I want — soap. S-o-a-p, soap ; B-o-p-e, soap ; s-o-u-p, soap. Hurry up ! I don't know how you Irish spell it, but I want it Spell it to suit yourself, but fetch it I'm freezing." I heard the doctor say, impressively — " Dan, how often have we told you that these foreigners cannot undo stand English. Why will you not depend upon us? Why will you not tell tiA what you want, and let us ask for it in the language of the country ? It would save us a great deal of the humiliation your repre- hensible ignorance causes ua. I will address this person in nis mother tongue : 'Here, cospetto ! corpo di Bacco ! Sacramento f Solferino !— Soap, you son of a gun ! * Dan, if you would let u« talk for you, you would never expose your ignorant vulgarity." Even this fluent discharge of Italian did not bring the soap at once, but there was a good reason for it. There was not such an article about the establishment. It is my belief that there never had been. They had to send far up town, and to several different places, before they finally got it, so they said. We had to wait twenty or thirty minutefi. The same thing had occurred the evening before, at the hoteL I think I have divined the reason for this state of things at last. The English know how to travel comfortably, and they carry soap with them ; othet foreigners do not use the article. At every hotel we stop at, we always have to send out for soap, at the last moment, when we are grooming ourselves for dinner, and they put it in the bill along with the candles and other nonsense. In Marseilles they make half the fancy toilet soap we consume in America, but the Marseillaise only have a vague theoretical idea of its use, which they have obtained from books of travel, just as they have acquii«d an uncer- tain notion of clean shirts, and the peculiarities of the gorilla, and othei curious matters. This reminds me of poor Blucher's note to the land- lord in Paris : — "PABi8,le7JiiiU6t. " M(mt%twr It Landlord^ — Sir : Pourquoi don't jon mettez some savon in your bed-chambers ? Est-ct que vout penaez I will steal it ? Lanvit pataie you charged me pour deux ehandtlles when I only had one ; hier voua avez charged me avee glou;e when I had none at all ; tout let jours yon are coming some fresh game er other on me, matt vout ne pouvez pas play this tavon dodge on me twice. Savon is a necessary de la vie to anybody but a Frenchman, et je i'aurai hors dt eet Mtid wc make trouble. Tou hear me. Alhnt. " Bluchib." I remonstrated against the sending of this note, because it was so mixed up that the landlord would never be able to make head or tail of it ; but Blucher said he gueised the old man would read the French of it and average the rest Blucher's French is bad enough, but it is not much worse than the English one finds in advertisements all over Italy every day Foi THE INNOCENTS ABROAD. m o-a-p, Boap ; w you Irish ch it I'm nnot under- liy will you uage of the your repre- nis mother lolferino !— 'or you, you 3ap at once, irticle about ien. They before they ty minutee. j1. I think [lie English lem; othet 9oap, at the id they put Marseilles ca, but the which they ' an uncer* and othei o the land- 7 JoiUet. %von in joxa you charged >ged me avtc "esh game «r rice. Sav4^^ TWAIN*S WORKS, \ ) i proofs of steel engravings and lithographs were scattered around too And, as usual, I could not help noticing how superior the copies were to the original, tliat is, to my inexperienced eye. Wherever you find a Raphael, a Rubens, a Michael Angelo, a Carracci, or a Da Vinci (and we see them every day), you find artists copying them, and the copies ar« always the handsomest. Maybe the originals were handsome when they were new, but they are not now. This picture is about thirty feet long, and ten or twelve feet high, I should think, and the figures are at least life size. It is one of the largest paintings in Europe. The colours are dimmed with age ; the countenances are scalled and marred, and nearly all expression is gone from them ; the hair is a dead blur upon the wall, and there is no Me in the eyes. Only the attitudes are certain. People come here from all parts of the world, and glorify this master- piece. They stand entranced Ibefore it with bated breath and parted lips, and when they speak, it is only in the catchy ejaculations of rapture— > " Oh, wonderful ! " " Such expression ! " " Such grace of attitude ! ** « Such dignity ! " " Such faultless drawing ! " " Such matchless colourmg ! * "Such feeling!" " What delicacy of touch ! " *' What sublimity of conception ! * " A vision ! a vision ! " I only enry these people ; I envy them their honest admiratioa, if it be honest — their delight, if they feel delight. I harbour no animosity toward any of them. But at the same time the thought wUl intrude itself upon me, How can they see what is not visible ? What would you think of a man who looked at some decayed, blind, toothless, pock- marked Cleopatra, and said — " What matchless beauty ! What soul \ What expression ! " What would you think of a man who ^azed upon a dingy, foggy sunset and said — " What sublimity ! What feeling ! What richness of colouring ! " What would you think of a man who stared in ecstasy upon a desert of stumps and said — " Oh, my soul, my beating heart, what a noble forest is here I " You would think that those men had an astonishing talent for seeing things that had already passed away. It was what I thought when I stood before the " Last Supper,^ and heard men apostrophising wondera and beauties and perfections which had faded out of the picture and gone a hundred years before they were bom. We can imagine the beauty that was once in an aged face ; we can imagine the forest if we see tne i tumps ; but we cannot absolutely m« these things when they are not there. I am willing to believe that the eye of the practised artist can rest upon the " Last Supper," and renew a lustre where only a hint of it is left, supply a tint that haa &ded away, restore an ex- prewdon that i« gone ; patch, and colour, and add to the dull canya^ - \ THE INNOCENTS ABROAD. 109 round too. lopieB were you find a ici (and wa I copies are when they 'eet high, I one of the scalled and ir is a dead e attitudes tils master- parted lips, rapture— atioa, if it animosity Ul intrude hat would Less, pock- liat soul ) ized upon ag ! What } stared in Ly beating for seeing it when I wonders cture and agine the >^st if we rhen they practised here only re an ez- IICULTM, 1 until at last its figures shall stand before him aglow with the life, the feeling, the freshness — yea, with aU the noble beauty that was theirs when first they came from the hand of the master. But I cannot work this miracle. Can those other uninspired visitors do it, or do they only happily imagine t^iey do ? Alter reading so much about it, I am satisfied that the " Last Supper" was a miracle of art once. But it was three hundred yean ago. It vexes me to hear people talk so glibly of " feeling," " expression," " tone," and those other easily-acc^uired and inexpressive technicalities of art that make such a fine snow m conversations concerning pictures. There is not one mwi in seventy-five hundred that can tell what a pictured face is intended to express. There is not one man in five nundred that can go into a court-room and be sure that he will not mistake some harmless innocent of a juryman for the black-hearted Msassin on trial Tet such people talk of " character," and presume to interpret " expression " in pictures. There is an old story that Mathews, the actor, was once lauding the ability of the human face to express the pasaions and emotions hidden in the breast. He said the countenance could disclose what was passing in the heart plainer than the tongue could. " Now," he said, " observe my face — what does it express ? " « Despair ! " ** Bah, it expresses peaceful resignation ! What does this express % " « Rage ! " « Stuff ! it means terror I ThU I " « Imbecility ! " " Fool ! It is smothered ferocity ! Now ihii/** ' «Joy!" ** Oh, perdition ! Any ass can see it means insaL'ty ! * Expression ! People coolly pretend to read it who would think them selves presumptuous if they pretended to interpret the hieroglyphics on the obelisks of Luxor — yet they are fully as competent to do the one thing as the other. I have heard two very intelligent critics speak oi Mumlo's Immaculate Conception (now in the museum at Seville) with- in the past few days. One said — " On, the Virgin's face is full of the ecstasy of a joy that is complete- that leaves nothing more to be desired on earth ! " The other said — " Ah, that wonderful face is so humble, so pleading — it says as plainly 08 words could say it — * I fear ; I tremble ; 1 am unworthy. But Thy will be done ; sustain Thou Thy servant ! ' " Thfc reader can see the picture in any drawing-room ; it can be easily recognised : the Virgin (the only young and really beautiful Virgin that was ever painted by one of the old masters, some of us think) stands in the crescent of the new moon, with a multitude of cherubs hovering about her, and more coining ; her hands are crossed upon her breast, and upon her uplifted countenance falls a glory out of the heavens. The reader may amuse himself, if he chooses, in trying to determine which of these gentlemen read the Virgin's " expression " aright, or H •ither af them did it i' ; :i no MARK TWAIN'S WORKS, Any one who ii acquainted with the old masters will comprehend how much the " Last Supper " is damaged when I say that the spectatoi cannot really tell now whether the disciples are Hebrews or Italians. These ancient painters never succeeded in denationalising themselves. The Italian artists painted Italian Virgins, the Dutch painted Dutch Virgins, the Virgins of the French painters were Frenchwomen — none of them ever put into the face of the Madonna that indescribable Home- thing which proclaims the Jewess, whether you find her in New York, in Constantinople, in Paris, Jerusalem, or in the Empire of Morocco. I saw in the Sandwich Islands once a picture, copied by a talented Qerman artist from an engraving in one of the American illustrated papers. It was an allegory, representing Mr Davis in the act of signing a secession act or some such docimient. Over him hovered the ghost of Washington in warning attitude, and in the background a troop of shadowy soldiers in Continental uniform were limping with shoeless, bandaged feet through a driving snow-storm. VaUey Forge was suggested, of course. The copy seemed accurate, and yet there was a discrepancy somewhere. After a long examination I discovered what it was — the shadowy soldiers were tdl Germans! JeflF. Davis was a Qerman ! even the hovering ghost was a German ghost ! The artist had unconsciously worked his nationality into the picture. To teU the truth, I am getting a little perplexed about John the Baptist and his portraits. In France I finally grew reconciled to him as a Frenchman ; here he is unquestionably an Italian. What next ? Can it be possible that the painters make John the Baptist a Spaniard in Madrid and an Irishman in Dublin ? We took an open barouche and drove two miles out of Milan to *' see ce echo," as the guide expressed it. The road was smooth ; it was bor- dered by trees, fields, and grassy meadows, and the soft air was filled with the odour of flowers. Troops of picturesque peasant girls, coming from work, hooted at us, shouted at us, made aU manner of game of us, and entirely delighted me. My long-cherished judgment was confirmed. I always did think those frowsy, romantic, unwashed peasant girls I had read so much about in poetiy were a glaring fraud. We enjoyed our jaunt It was an exhilarating relief from tiresome sight-seemg. We distressed ourselves very little about the astonishing echo the guide talked so much about We were growing accustomed to encomiums on wonders that too often proved no wonders at all. And so we were most happily disappointed to find in the sequel tdiat the guide had even failed to rise to the magnitude of his subject We arrived at a tumbledown old rookery called the Palazzo Simonetti — a massive, hewn-stone affair, occupied by a family of ragged Italians. A good-looking young girl conducted us to a window on the second floor wluch looked out on a court walled on three sides by tall buildings. She put her head out at the window and shouted. The echo answered more times than we could count She took a speaking trumpet, ant} through it she shouted, sharp and quick, a single , «< -; ,/ .Vk "Hal" The eoho aiutweved*- t is*it ? THE INNOCENTS ABROAD, III inpreh6iid s spectatoi r Italians, lemselvea. ^ Dutcb len — none ble some- few York, Drocco. I k talented illustrated of signing le ghost 01 , troop of L shoeless, l^orge was ere was a ered what v\a was a The artist tell the Lst and hia enchman ; )e possible dd and an to "see was bor- Iwas filled tiresome echo the icomiunis we were I had even Jimonetti Italians. )nd floor mildings. lanswered ipet, aiu} i) ■ ;r«<- «Ha! ha! ha! ha! — ha! -ha! ha! h-a-a-a-a-a!" and finally went o£f into a rollicking convulsion of the jolliest laughter that could be imagined. It was so joyful — so long continued — so per- fectly cordial and hearty, that everybody was forced to join in. There was no resisting it. Then the girl took a gun and fired it. We stood ready to count the astonishing clatter of reverberations. "We could not say one, two, three fast enough, but we could dot our note-books with our pencil poiiitfl almost rapidly enough to take down a sort of short-hand report of the result I could not keep up, but I did as well as I could. I Bet down fifW-two distinct repetitions, and then the echo got the ad- Tantage of me. The doctor set down sixty-four, and thenceforth the echo moved too fast for him also. After the separate concu.ssious could no longer be noted, the reverberations dvdndled to a wild, long-sustained clatter of sounds such as a watchman's rattle produces. It is likely that this is the most remarkable echo in the world. The doctor, in jest, offered to kiss the young girl, and was taken a little aback when she said he might for a franc I The commonest gallantry compelled him to st^.nd by his offer, and so he paid the franc and took the kiss. She was a philosopher. She said a franc was a good thing to have, and she did not care anything for one paltry kiss, because she had a million left Then our comrade, always a shrewd busineai num, offered to take the whole cargo at thirty days, but that little finan* oial acheme waa a failure. CHAPTER XX. WE left Milan by rail. The Cathedral six or seven miles behind xa -—vast, dreamy, bluish snow-clad mountains twenty miles in front of UB — these were the accented points in the scenery. The more immediate scenery consisted of fields and farm-houses outside the car, and a monster-headed dwarf and a moustached woman inside it These latter were not show-people. Alas ! deformity and female beards are too common in Italy to attnict attention. We passed through a range of wild, picturesque hills, steep, wooded, cone-shaped, with rugged crags projecting here and Uiere, and with dwellings and ruinous castles perched aw^ up toward the drifting clouds. We lunched at the curious old town of Como, at the foot of the lake, and then took the small steamer and had an afternoon's pleasure excur- sion to this place — Bellaggio. . , , When we walked ashore, a party of policemen (people whose cocked kats and showy uniforms would ahaine the finest uniform in the military •ervice of the United States) put us into a little stone cell and locked UB in. We had the whole passenger list for company, but their room would have been preferable, for there was no ^ht, thete were no win- dows, no ventilation. It was close and hot. We were much crowded. \% was Uie Black Hole of Calcutta on a small scale. Preaently a amoke li I f ■'M ! -iii i I' 113 I ; ■■. ,'i fit " I i/:#f strangen ves. Their vith them ; tumble and is my dutj- , hard as it ifing organ> I does — and 3ok afar off s to look na e a shapely ; lie on the loft melody 1 pleasuring on one of ample bed- 3 water, thb nts. Then Eit mixes up e, in gro- iar faces, of and peace. much finer, somewhat, was a vast sll, the bor- isin. It is o-thirds as either side abruptly thousand vegetation, age every- pinnadei unoundfld by gardens and groves, sit fairly in the water sometimes in nooki carved by Nature out of the vine-hung precipices, and with no ingress or egress save by boats. Some have great br«)ad stone staircases leading down to the water, with heavy stone balustrades omauu'uted with statuary, and fancifully adonieti with creeping vines and bright-coloured flowers — foe All the world like a drop-curtain in a theatre, and lacking nothing but long-waisted, high-heeled women and plumed gallants in silken tights coming down to go serenading in the splendid gondola in waiting. A great feature of Como's attractiveness is the multitude of pretty houses and gardens that cluster upon its shores and on its mountain udes. They look so snug and so homelike, and at eventide when every- thing seems to slumber, and the music of the vesper bells comes stealing over the water, one almost believes that nowliere else than on the Lake of Como can there be found such a paradise of tranquil repose. From my window here in Bellaggio I have a view of the other side of the lake now, which is as beautiful as a picture. A scarred and wrinkled Erecipice rises to a height of eighteen hundred feet ; on a tiny bench alf way up its vast wall, sits a little snow-flake of a church, no bigger than a martin-box apparently ; skirting the base of the cliff are a hundred orange groves and gardens, flecked with glimpses of the white dwellings that are buried in them ; in front three or four gondolas lie idle upon the water — and in the burnished mirror of the lake, mountain, chapel, houses, groves, and boats are counterfeited so brightly and sa clearly, that one scarce knows where the reality leaves off and the reflec' tion begins I The surroundings of this picture are fine. A mile away a grove- plumed promontory juts far into the lake, and glasses its palace in the blue depths ; in miustream a boat is cutting the shining surface, and leaving a long track behind, like a ray of light ; the mountains beyond are veiled in a dreamy purple haze ; far in the opposite direction a tumbled mass of domes and verdant slopes and valleys bars the lake, and here indeed does distance lend enchantment to the view — for on this broad canvas, sun and clouds and the richest of atmospheres have \,>lended a thousand tints together, and over its surface the filmy lights and shadows drift, hour after hour, and glorify it with a beauty that seems reflected out of heaven itself. Beyond all question, this is the most voluptuous scene we have yet looked upon. Itast night the scenery was striking and picturesque. On the othei side crags and trees and snowy houses were reflected in the lake with a wonderml distinctness, and streams of light from many a distant window shot far abroad over the still waters. On this side, near at hand, great mansions, white with moonlight, glared out from the midst of masses of foliage, that lay black and shapeless in the shadows that fell from the cliff above — and down in the margin of the lake every feature of the weird vision was faithfully repeated. To-day we have idled through a wonder of a garden attached m> a ducal estate — but enough of description is enough, I judge. I suspect Vhat thin was the same place the gardener's son deceived the Lady oi mn 11 »u MARK TWAIN*S WORKS, [jyon« with, but I do not know. You iu»y have heard of the pasaago fomev^hcre — ** A deMi» viJ«, Shut out bj Alpine hilli from the rude world, Near a clear lake rnarKined bj fruita of gold And whispering myrtlei : Glaasing lofteNt akiea, cloudleM, Bare with nire and roHeate ahadowi ; A palace, lifting to eternal heaven its marbled walla, From out a gloMj bower of oooleat foliage muaioal with birds. i^' That is all very well, except the ** clear " part of the lake. It oe^ tainly Ib clearer than a great many lakes, but how dull itu waters an compared with the wonderful transparence of Lake Tahoe ! I speak of the north shore of Tahoe, where one can count the scales on a trout at a depth of a hundred and eii^hty feet I have tried to get this statement off at par here, but with no success ; so I have been obliged t« negotiate it at dfty per cent, discount. At thin rate I find some takers ; perhaps the reader will receive it on the same terms — ninety feet instead of one hundred and eighty. But let it be remembered that those are forced terms — Sheriff's sale prices. As far as I am privately concerned, I abate not a jot of the origmal assertion that in those strangely magni- fying waters one may count the scales on a trout (a trout of the large kind) at a depth of a hundred and eighty feet — may see every pebble oi| the bottom — might even count a paper of dray-pins. People talk of the transparent waters of the Mexican Bay of Acapuloo, but in my own experience I know they cannot compare with those I am 8p»eakiug of I have fished for trout in Tahoe, and at a measured depth of eighty-fou. feet I haye seen them put their noses to the bait, and I could see their gills open and shut I could hardly have seen the trout themselves at that dutance in the open air. As I go back in spirit and recall that noble sea, reposing among the snow-peaks six thousand feet above the ocean, the conviction comes strong upon me again that Como would only seem a bedizened little courtier in that august presence. Sorrow and misfortune overtake the Legislature that still from year to year permits Tahoe to retain its unmusical cognomen! Tahoe! It suggests no crystal waters, no picturesque shores, no sublimity. Tahoe for a sea in the clouds — a sea that has cnaracter, and asserts it in solemn calms at times, at times in savage storms ; a sea whose royal seclusion is guarded by a cordon of sentinel peaks that lift their frosty fronts nine thousand feet above the level world ; a sea whose every aspect is impressive, whose belongings are all beautiful, whose lonely majesty types the Deity ! Tahoe means grasshoppers. It means grasshopper soup. It is Indian, and suggestive of Indians. They say it is Pi-ute — possibly it is Digger. I am satisfied it was named by the Diggers — those degraded savages who roast their dead relatives, then mix the human grease and ashes of bones with tar, and " gaum " it thick all over their heads, and fore- heads, and ears, and go caterwauUing about the hills, and call it fiuMinw mg. TKtm am ^.he genirj/^ that named the Uke. I 1 THR INNOCENTS ABROAD. ti! be pttMagA Irda. :o. It oe^ waters an I speak of a trout at a s statement obliged \a line takers ; feet iustead it those are concerned, ^ely magni- )f the large y pebble on i talk of the in my own ip|eakiug ol eighty-fou. Id see theix sxnselyee at among the tion comes ened little om year to It suggeste le for a sea in calms at is guarded e thousand live, whose Deity ! is Indian, is Digger, id savages id ashes oi and fore- itmiovrin.' k People say that Tahoe means "Silrer Lake*— "Limpid Water "— " Falling Ijeaf." Bosh. It ineaui grasshop})er soup, the Tuvount^ dish of the Digger tribe — and of the Pi-utes as well it isn t v^'Mtb while, Ln these practical times, for people to tulk alH>ut Indian poetry — then aever waa any in them — except in the Fenimore Cooper Indians, Hu4 ^i«y are an extinct tribe that never exinted. I know the Noble lied Man. I have camped with the Indiiuis ; I have been on the war- )ath with them, taken part in the chase with them — for grasshuppers ; helped them steal cattle ; I have roamed with tiieiii, scalpetl tneiu, hod them for breakfast. 1 would gladly eat the whule race if I had i^ chance. But I am growing unreliable, I will return to my comparison of the Lakes. Como is a Utile deeper than Tahoe, if people here tell the truth. They say it is eighteen hundred feet tleep at this point, but it does not look a dead (enough blue for that. Tahoe is one thousand five hundred and twenty-five feet deep in the centre, by the State Geologisfi measurement. They say the great peak opposite tliis town is five tliou- sand feet high ; but I felt sure that three thousand feet of that statement is a good honest lie. The lake is a mile wide here, and maintains about that width from this point to its northern extremity, which is distant sixteen miles ; from here to its southern extremity- say fifteen miles— it is not over half a mile wide in any place, I should think. Its snow* clad mountains one hears so much about are only seen occasionally, and then in the distance, the Alps. Tahoe is from ten to eighteen miles wide, and its mountains shuts it in like a wall. Their simuuits are never free from snow the year round. One thing about it is very strange — it never has even a skim of ice upon its surface, although lakes lu the same range of mountains, lying in a lower and warmer temperature, freeze over in winter. It is cheerful to meet a shipmate in these out-of-the-way places and compare notes with him. We have found one of ours here — an old soldier of the war, who is seeking bloodless adventures and rest from his campaigns, in these sunny lands.* CHAPTER XXL WE voyaged by steamer down the Lago di Lecco, throiigh wild mountain scenery, and by hamlets and villas, and disembarked at the town of Lecco. Thev said it was two hours by carriags U> the ancient city of Bergamo, ana that we would arrive there in good season for the railway train. We got an open barouche and a wild, boisterous driver, and set out It was delightful We had a fast team and a perfectly smooth road. There were towering cliffs on our left^ * Cktl. J. Heron Foster, editor of a Pittsburgh Journal, and a moat estimable l(«&ilemaii. As these aheete are being prepared for the preei, I aaa pained t* Wra of kie deeeaae ■h<»ri)jr afSer hi* ret>i>^'ixoMie. — M. T. tW f ) t 1 ri« MARK TWAIN'S WORKS, uid the pretty Lago di Lecco on our right, and every now and then ft rained on us. Just before starting the driver picked up in the street a stump of a cigar an inch long, and put it in his mouth. When he had carried it thus about an hour, I thought it would be only Christian charity to give him a light. I handed him my cigar which I had just lit, and he put it in his mouth, and returned his stump to his pocket ! I never saw fi more sociable man. At least, 1 never saw a man who wa£ more sociable on a short acquaintance. We saw interior Italy now. The houses were of solid stone, and not often in good repair. The peasants and their children were idle, as a general tmng, and the donkeys and chickens made themselves at home in drawing-room and bedchamber, and were not molested. The drivers of each and every one of the slow-moving market-carts we met were stretched in the sun upon their merchandise, sound asleep. Every three or four hundred yards it seemed to me we came upon the shrine of some saint or other — a rude picture of him built into a huge cross oi a stone pillar by the road side. Some of the pictures of the Saviour were curiosities in their way. They represented Him stretched upon the Cross, His countenance distorted with agony. Prom the wounds of the cjrown of thorns, from the pierced side, from the mutilated hands and i'eet, from the scourged body, from every handbreadth of His person Itreams of blood were flowing ! Such a gory, ghastly spectacle would Srighten the children out of their senses, I should think. There were some unique auxiliaries to the painting which added to its spirited eflfect. These were genuine wooden and iron implements, and were Erominently disposed round about the figure : a bundle of nails ; the ammer to drive them ; the 8p'>nge ; the reed that supported it ; the cup of vinegar ; the ladder for the ascent of the Cross ; the spear that pierced the Saviour's side. The crown of thorns was made of real thorns, and was nailed to the sacred head. In some Italian church-paintings, even by the older masters, the Saviour and the Virgin wear silver or gilded crowns that are fastened to the pictured head with naUs. The r*Fect is as grotesque as it is incongruous. Here and there, on the fronts of roadside inns, we found huge, coarse fn^GfMa of suffering martyrs like those in the shrines. It could not have diminished their sufferings any to be so uncouthly represented. We were in the heart and home of priestcraft — of a happy, cheerful, contented ignorance, superstition, degradation, poverty, indolence, and everlasting unaspiring worthlessness. And we said fervently, it suits theae people precisely ; let them enjoy it, along with the other animals, smd heaven forbid that they be molested. We feel no malice towards ^hese fomigatoFB. We paased through the strangest, funniest, undreamt-of old towns, wedded to the customs and steeped in the dreams of the elder ages, and perfectly unaware that the world turns round ! And perfectly indiffer- ent, too, •■ to whether it turns round or stands still. They have nothing U> do but eat and sleep, and sleep and eat, and toil a little when they Mm |g«t a friend to stand by and xeep them awake. They are not paid far thiakiog^ tiMy an not paid to fret about th« world's eonosma THE INNOCENTS ABROAD. 1*7 ' and then H n the street Then he had ly Christian b I had juBt his pocket! lan who was one, and not ire idle, as a v^ea at home The drivers e met were eep. Every L the shrine uge cross oi the Saviour ed upon the ►unds of the 1 hands and His person tacle would There were its spirited s, and were ' nails ; the "ted it; the spear that real thorns, paintings, ar silver or nails. The luge, coarse ; could not epresented. y, cheerful, slence, and tly, it suits er animals, ice towards old towns, !r ages, and ily indjffer- kve nothing when they not paid ■ eonoftna t^-i Thoy were not respectable people — they were not worthy people — they were not learned and wise, and brilliant people — but in their breasts, all their stupid lives long, resteth a peace that passeth understanding ! How can men, calling themselves men, coiusent to be so degraded and happy. We whisked hj many a grey old mediaeval castle, clad thick with ivy, that swimg its green banners down from towers and turrets, where once some old Crusadei-'s flag had floated. The driver pointed to one of these ancient fortresses, and said (I translate) : — " Do vou see that great iron hook that projects from the wall just under tne highest window in the ruined tower ? " We said we could not see it at such a distance, but had no doubt it was there. " Well," he said, " there is a legend connected with that iron hook. Nearly seven hundred years ago, that castle was the property of the noble Count Luigi Geimaro Quido Alphonso di Genova " '* What was his other name ? " said Dan. " He had no other name. The name 1 have spc^ken was all the name he had. He was the son of" "Poor but honest parents — that is all right — never mind the par- ticulare — go on with the Legend." THB LEGEND. Well, then, all the world at that time was in a wild excitement about the Holy Sepulchre. All the great feudal lords in Europe were pledging their laiids and pawning their plate to fit out men-at-arms, so tnat tiiey might join the grand armies of Christendom and win renown in the Holy Wars. The Count Luigi raised mone, , like the rest, and one mild September morning, armed with battle-axe, portcullis, and thundering culverin, he rode uirough the greaves and bucklers of his donjon-keep with as gallant a troop of Christian bandits as ever stepped in Italy. He had his sword, Excalibur, with him. His beautiful countess and her voung daughter waved him a tearful adieu from the battering-rams and Duttresses of the fortress, and he galloped away Mdth a happy heart He made a raid on a neighbouring baron, and completed his outfit with the booty secured. He then razed the castle to the ground, massacred the family, and moved on. They were hardy fellows in the grand old days of chivalry. Alas ! those days will never come again. Count Luigi grew high in fame in Holy Land. He plunged into the carnage of a hundred battles, but his good Excalibur always brought him out alive, albeit often sorely wounded. His face became browned by exposure to the Sjrrian sun in long marches ; he suffered hunger and thirst ; he pined in prisons ; he languished in loathsome plague- hospitals. And many and many a time he thought of his loved ones at home, and wondered if all was well with them. But his heart said : Peace, is not thy brother watching over thy household ? • ••••• Fortj-two yeuB iraxed and waned • the ^ood fight waa won ; (Sodfrey ( I tit MARK rWATIf'S WORKS. Hi lf\ ij nigiMd In JernmlAin ,* the Chxutian hott reared the banner of the Gttm ftboye the Holy Sepulchre i Twilight was approaching. Fifty harlequina, in flowing robee, ■p|>roached this castle wearily, for they were on foot, and the dust upon their garments betokened that they had travelled far. They overtook s peasant, and asked him if it were likely they could get food and a hoe- pitable bed there, for love of Christian charity, and if perchance a moral parlour entertainment might meet with generous countenance ; " for,'' said they, ** this exhibition hath no feature that could offend the most fastidious taste." " Marry," quoth the peasant, ** an' it please your worships, ye had better journey many a good rood hence with your juggling circus tiian trust your bones in yonder castle." " How now, sirrah ! " exclaimed the chief monk, " explain thy ribald speech, or by'r Lady it shall go hard with thee." " Peace, good mountebank, I did but utter the truth that was in my heart. San Paulo be my witness that did ye but find the stout Count Leonardo in his cups, sheer from the castle's topmost battlements would he hurl ye all ! Alack-a-day, the good Lord Luigi reigns not here in these sad times." "The good Lord Luigi?" ** Aye, none other, please your worship. In his day the poor rejoiced in plenty, and the rich he did oppress ; taxes were not known ; the Eatliers of the Church waxed fat upon his bounty ; travellers went and came, with none to interfere ; and whosoever would might tarry in his halls in cordial welcome, and eat his bread and drink his wine withal But woe is me ! Some two and forty years agone the good count rode hence to fight for Holy Cross, and many a year hath flown since word or token have we had of him. Men say his bones lie bleaching in the fields of Palestine." "And now?" " Nov I God 'a meocy, the cruel Leonardo lords it in the castle. He wrings taxes from the poor ; he robs all travellers that journey by his gates ; he spends his days in feuds and murders, and his nights in revel and debaucn ; he roasts the fathers of the Church upon his kitchen spits, and enjoy eth the same, calling it pastime. These thirty years Luigi's countess hath not been seen by any here in all this land, and many whisper that she pines in the dimgeons of the castle, for that she will not wed with Leonardo, saying her detvr lord still liveth, and that she will die ere she prove false to hmi. They whisper, likewise, that her daughter is a prisoner as well Nay, good jugglers, seek ye refreshment other whereH. 'Twere better that ye perished in a Christian way, than that ye plunged from off yon dizzy tower. Give ye good-day." " God keep ye, gentle knave — farewell" But, heedless of the peasant's warning, the players moved straightway toward the castle. Word was brought to Count Leonardo that a company of momite« btnks besought his hospitality. ^'Tia welL Dispoee of bhem in the exurtomary manner. Yet stay f THE INNOCENTS ABROAD, tip of the Ckxk wing robe*, le dust upon J overtook s 1 and a ho«- ince a moral nee ; " for," nd the most ips, ye had circus tlian I thy ribald t was in my Btout Count aents would not here in oor rejoiced mown ; the "s went and tarry in his nne withal count rodfl since word ihing in the castle. He mey by his [its in revel tchen spits, iars Luigi's , and many ihe will not at she will It daughter ment other ban that ye traightwa^ •f moimt»' Tet itayf % i have need of them. Let them come hither. Later, coot them from fee battlements — or — how many priests have ye on hand ? • '' The day's results are meagre, good my lord. An abbot and a doaen Deggarly friars is all we have." '' Hell and furies ! Is the estate going to seed 7 Send hither the mountebanks ! Afterwawi, broil them with the priests ! " The robed and close-cowled harlequins entered. The grim Leonardo sat in state at the head of his council board. Eaiiged up and down the hall on either hand stood near a hundred men-at-arms. " Ha, villains 1 " quoth the count, " what can ye do to earn the hospi- tality ye crave ? " " Dread lord and mightv, crowded audiences have greeted our humble efforts with rapturous applause. Among our body count we the versatile and talented Ugolino, tne justly celebrated Rodolpho, the gifted and iccomplished Roderigo. The management have spared neiwer pain« nor expense " " 'Sdeath ! what can ye do ? Curb thy i>rating tongue." " Good my lord in acrobatic feats, in practice with the dumb-bells, Id balancing and ground and lofty tumbling are we versed ; and sith youi highness asketh me, I venture here to publish that in the truly marvellous »nd entertaining Zampillaerostation ' Oag him ! tnrottle him ! Body of Bacchus ! am I a dog, that I am t" . isailed with polysyllabled blasphemy like to this ? But hold ! i.< t^ji, Isabel, stand forth ! Sirrah, behold this dame, this weeping wench ! The first I marry within the hour ; the other shall dry her tears or feed the vultures. Thou and thy vagabonds shaU crown the redding with thy merry-makings. Fetch hither the priest ! " The dame sprang toward the chief player. " Oh, save me ! " she cried ; " save me from a fate far worse than death! Behold these sad eyes, these sunken cheeks, this withered frame ! See thou the wreck this fiend hath made, and let thy heart be moved with pity 1 Look upon this damosel ; note her wasted form, her halting step, her bloomless cheeks, where youth should blush and happiness exult in smiles ! Hear us and have compassion. This mon< ster was my husband's brother. He who should have been our shield against all harm, hath kept us shut within the noisome caverns of his donjon-keep for, lo, these thirty years. And for what crime ? None other than that I would not belie my troth, root out my strong love for him who marches with the legions of the Cross in Holy Land (for oh, he is not dead!) and wed with him. Save ua, oh save thy persecuted suppliants ! " She flung herself at his feet, and clasped his knees. '* Ha ! ha ! ha ! " shouted the brutal Leonardo. " Priest, to thy work ! " and he dragged the weeping dame from her refuge. " Say, once for all, mil you be mine 1 — for by my haUdome, that breath that attereth thy refusal shall be thy last on earth ! " "Nm-ver!" ** Then die ! " And the sword leaped from its scabbard. Quicker than thoughti quicker than the lightning's flash, fifty monkish .r ! If ;! I s: ;l ■ is i lao MARK TWAIN'S WORKS. habits disappeared, and fifty knights in splendid armour stood rere&ledl fifty falchions gleamed in air above the men-at-arms; and brighter, fiercer than them all, flamed Excalibur aloft, and cleaving downward, i^truck the brutal Leonardo's weapon from his grasp 1 " A Luigi to the rescue ! Whoop ! • "A Leonardo ! tare an ouns ! " " O God, O God, my husband ! " « O God, O God, my wife ! " "My father!" " My precious ! " [ l^ableau.] Count Luigi bound his usurping brother hand and foot The practiced knights from Palestine made holiday sport of carving the awkward mezi- at-arms into chops and steaks. The victory was complete. Happiness reigued. The knights all married the daughter. Jov ! wassail ! nnis I " But what did they do with the wicked brother ] *' " Oh, nothing 1 Only hanged him on that iron hook I was speaking of -by the chin," ''As how?" " Passed it up through his gills into his mouth,* " Leave him there ? " " Couple of years." « Ah !— is— is he dead '/ " " Six hundred and fifty years ago, or such a matter.** •' Splendid legend — splendid He— drive on." We reached the quaint old fortified city of Bergamo, the renowned l.»i history, some three-quarters of an hour before the train was ready to start The place has thirty or fortv thousand inhabitants, and is re> markable for being the bir^place of harlequin. When we discovered that, that legend of our driver took to itself a new interest in our eyes. Rested and refreshed, we took the rail happy and contented. I shall not tarry to speak of the handsome Lago di Gardi ; its stately castle, that holds in its stony bosom the secrets of an age so remote, that even tradition goeth not back to it; the imposing mountain scenery that ennobles the landscape thereabouts ; nor yet of ancient Padua or haughty Verona ; nor of their Montagues and Capulets, their famous balconies and tombs of Juliet and Romeo et. al, but hurry straight to the ancient city of the sea, the widowed bride of the Adriatic. It was a long, long ride. But toward evening, as we sat silent and hardly conscious of where we were — subdued into that meditative calm that comes so surely after a conversational storm — some one shouted — "Venice!" And sure enough, afloat on the placid sea a league away, lav a great dty, with its towers and domes and steeples drowsing in a golden mist it sunaat ■'y THE INNOCENTS ASHUAD, Ui CHAPTER XXII. '"r^niS Venice, which was a haughty, invincible, magnificent Republic 1 for nearly fourteen hundred years; whose armies compelled the world's applause whenever and wherever they battled ; whose oavies well nigh held dominion of the seas, and whose merchant fleets whitened the remotest oceans with their sails and loaded these pien with the products of every clime, is fallen a prey to poverty, neglect, and melancholy decay. Six hundred years ago, Venice was the Autocrat of Commerce ; her mart was the great commercial centre, the distributing- house from whence the enormous trade of the Orient was spread abr oad over the Western world. To-day her piers are deserted, her warehouses are empty, her merchant fleets are vanished, her armies and her navies are but memories. Her glory is departed ; and with her crumbling grandeur of wharves and palaces about her she sits among her stagnant lagoons, forlorn and beggared, forgotten of the world. She that in her palmy days commanded the commerce of a hemisphere, and made the weal or woe of nations with a beck of her puissant finger, is become the humblest among the peoples of the earth — a pedlar of glass beads for women, and trifling toys and trinkets for school girls and children. The venerable Mother of the Republics is scarce a fit subject for flip- pant speech or the idle gossipping of tourists. It seems a sort of sacri- lege to disturb the glamour of old romance that pictures her to us softly from afar off as through a tinted mist, and curtains her ruin and her desolation from our view. One ought, indeed, to turn away from hei rags, her poverty, and her humiliation, and think of her only as she wai w^hen ^he sunk the fleets of Charlemagne, when she humbled Frederick Barbarossa, or waved her victorious banners above the battlements oi Constantinople. We reached Venice at eight in the evening, and entered a hearse belonging to the Grand H6tel d'Europe. At any rate, it was more like A hearse than anything else, though to speak by the card, it was a gon- ilola^ And this was the storied gondola of Venice ! — the faiir boat in which the princely cavaliers of the olden time were wont to cleave the w^aters of tne moonlit canals and look the eloquence of love into the soft eyes of patrician beautieSj while the gay gondolier in silken doublet touched nis guitar and ^ang as only gondoliers can sing ! This the famed gondola and this the gorgeous gondolier ! — the one an inky, rusty old canoe, with a sable hearse-body clapped on to the middle of it, and the other a mangy, barefooted gutter-snipe, with a portion of his raiment on exhibition which should have been sacred from public scrutiny. Presently, as he turned a comer and shot his hearse into ik dismal ditch between two lon^ rows of towering, untenanted buildings, the gay gon- dolier b^gan to sing, tme to the traditions of his race. I stood it a little while. Then I said — " Now, here, Roderigo Qonzales Michael Anoelo, I 'm a pilgrim, and I 'm a stranger, but I am not joing to hare mj feelings lacerated bj any 1 ■ I . i :Im 1 \ ■ i. lira MARIC rWAIN*S WORKS, sach eatenrftoling as that If that goes on, one of us has got to take water. It is enough that my cherished dreams of Venice have been blighted for ever as to the romantic gondola and the goi^eona gondo- lier ; this system of destruction shall go no farther ; I wul accept tlie hearse, under protest, and you may fly your flag of truce in peace, but here I register a dark and bloody oath that you shan't sing. Another yelp, and overboard you go." I began to feel that the old Venice of song and story had departed for ever. But I was too hasty. In a few minutes we swept gracefully out into the Qrand Canal, and under the mellow moonlight the Venice of poetiT and romance stood revealed. Right from the water's edge rose long unes of stately palaces of marble ; gondolas were gliding swiftly hither and thither, and disappearing suddenly through unsuspected gate^; and alleys ; ponderous stone bridges threw their shadows athwart the glittering waves. There was life and motion everywhere, and yet every- where there was a hush, a stealthy sort of stillness, that was suggestive of secret enterprises of bravoes and of lovers ; and clad half in moon- beams and half in mysterious shadows, the grim old mansions of the Republic seemed to have an expression about them of having an eye out for just such enterprises as these at that same moment. Music came floating over the waters — Venice was complete. It was a beautiful picture — very soft and dreamy and beautiful. But what was this Venice to compare with the Venice of midnight ? Nothing. There was a f&te — a grand fete in honour of some saint who had been instrumental in checlung the cholera three hundred years a^o, and all Venice was abroad on the water. It was no common affair, for the Venetians did not know how soon they might need the saint's services again, now that the cholera was spreading every^vhere. So in one vast space — say a third of a mile wide and two miles long — were collected two thousand gondolas, and eveiy one of them had from two to ten, twenty, and even thirty coloured lanterns suspended about it, and from four to a dozen occupants. Just as far as the eye could reach, these painted lights were massed together — like a vast garden of many- coloured flowers, except that these blossoms were never still ; they were ceaselessly gliding in and out, and mingling together, and seducing you into bewildering attempts to follow their mazy evolutions. Here and there a strong red, green, or blue glare from a rocket that was struggling to get away splendidly illuminated all the boats around it. Every gon- dola that swam by us, with its crescents and pyramids and circle* of coloured lamps hung aloft, and lighting up the faces of the young and the sweet-scented and lovely below, was a picture ; and the reflections of those lights, so long, so slender, so numberless, so many-coloured, and so distorted and wrinkled by the waves, was a picture likewise, and one that was enchantingly beautiful. Many and many a party of young ladies and gentlemen had their state gondolas handsomely decorated, and ate supper on board, bringing their swallow-taUed, white-cravatted varlets to wait upon them, and having their tables tricked out as if foi a briucu supper. They had brought sdong the costly globe lamps from their dnwm{;-iooms, aad the 1am and silken curtains from the same THE INNOCEirrS ABROAD, '^3 ^ to takf have hewn ona gondo- accept tlie peace, but Another eparted for cefuUj' out 3 Venice of 8 edge rose ing swiftly >ected gates thwart the yet every- BUggestive f in moon- Lons of the ing an eye l^usic came tifuL But ' Nothing. o had been 1^0, and aU ir, for the i's Bervicee in one vast 3 collected V7G to ten, , and from ach, these of many- they were ucing you Here and struggling very gon- circle* oi oung and reflections >UTed, and and one of young iecorated, ■cravatted t as if for mps from th« lunt places, I wnppoee. And they had also brought piano« and guitars, and they played and sang operas, while the plebeian paper-lanterned t,'on- dolas from the suburbs and the back alleys crowded aroand to st^rt and listen. There was music everywhere — choruses, strin" bands, brass bands, flutes, everything. 1 was so surrounded, walled m with music, magni- ficence, and loveliness, that I became inspired with the spirit of the Bcene, and sang one tune myself. However, when I observed that the other gondolas had sailed away, and my gondoHer was preparing to go overboard, 1 stopped. The f6te was magnificent. They kept it up the whole night long, and I never enjoyed myself better than I did while it lasted. "What a funny old city this Queen of the Adriatic is ! Narrow streets, vast, gloomy, marble palaces, black with the corroding damps of cen- turies, and all partly submerged ; no dry land visible anywhere, and no sidewalks worth mentioning ; if you want to go to church, to the theatre, or to the restaurant, you must call a gondola. It must be a paradise for cripples, for verily a man has no use for legs here. For a day or two the place looked so like an overflowed Askansas town, because of its currentless waters laving the very doorsteps of all ihe houses, and the cluster of boats made fast under the windows, oi ikimming in and out of the alleys and by-ways, that I could not get rid of the impression that there was nothing the matter here but a spring freshet, and that the river would fall in a few weeks, and leave a dirty high- water mark on the houses, and the streets full of mud and rubbish, In the glare of day, there is little poetry about Venice, but under t^e oharitable moon her stained palaces are white again, their battered sculptures are hidden in shadows, and the old city seems crowned once more with the grandeur that was hers five hundred years ago. It is easy, then, in fancy, to people these silent canals with plumed gallants and fair ladies — with Shylocks in gaberdine and sandals, venturing loans apon the rich argosies of Venetian commerce — ^with Othellos and Des- demonas, with lagos and Boderigos — with noble fleets and victorious legions returning from the wars. In the treacherous sunlight we see Venice decayed, forlorn, poverty-stricken, and commerceless — forgotten and utterly insignificant. But in the moonlight her fourteen centuries of greatness fling their glories about her, and once more she iB the prince- Uest among the nations of the earth. * There is a glorious city in the sea : The sea is )n the broad, the narrow streets, Ebbing and flowing ; and the salt-sea weed ^ngB to the marble of her palaces. No track of men, no footsteps to and fro, liead to her gates 1 The path lies o'er the sec, [nyisible : and from the land we went, As to a floating city — steering in, And gliding up h«r streets, as in a draam, > So smooth]^, silently— bj manT a dome. If osqne-like, and many a stat^y portiwii, Tha statues ranged almif an asoM skj ; , I n •iv •«4 MARK TWAIN'S WORKS. AT » pile, in nora Ui*n Kaatom pride, the reaidenoe of merchant kings ; By Of old The front! of lome, tho' time had ihatter'd tbefik. Still gflowiog with the rieheat hnea of art, A« tho' the we*Mk withim them had x«a e'er.** What would one naturallj wish to lee Ant in Teniee T Tlic Bridge of Sighs of course — and next the Church and the Great Square of St Mark, the Bronze Ilorses, and the famous Lion of St Mark. We intended to go to the Bridge of Sighs, but happened into the Ducal Palace first — a buuding which necessarily figures largely in Venetian poetry and tradition. In the Senate Chamber of the ancient Republic, we wearied our eyes with staring at acres of historical paintings by Tin- toretto and Paul Veronese, but nothing struck us forcibly except the one thing that strikes all strangers forcibly — a blank square in the midst of a galU'iy of portraite. In one long row, around the great hall, were paintiiil the portraits of the Doges of Venice (veneralne fellows, with flowing white beards, for of the three hundred Senators eligible to the office, the oldest was usually chosen Doge), and each had his compli- mentary inscription attached — tiU you came to the place that should have had Marino Faliero's picture in it, and that was blank and black — blank except that it bore a terse inscription, sajang that the conspira- tor had died K)r his crime. It seemed cruel to keep that pitiless inscrip- tion still staring from the walls after the unhappy wretch hod been u his grave five hundred years. At the head of the Giant's Staircase, where Marino Faliero wa£ oeheaded, and where the Doges were crowned in ancient times, two miall slits in the stone wall were pointed out — two harmless, insignifi- cant orifices that would never attract a stranger's attention — yet the»£ were the terrible Lion's Mouths ! The heads were gone (knocked oflf by the French during their occupation of Venice), but these were the throats down which went the anonymous accusation, thrust in secretly at dead of night by an enemy, that doomed many an innocent man to walk the Bridge of Sighs and descend into the dungeon which none entered and hoped to see the sun again. This was in the old days when the Patri- cians alone governed Venice — tlie common herd had no vote and no voice. There were one thousand five hundred Patricians ; from these three hundred Senators were chosen ; from the Senators a Doge and Council of Ten were selected, and by secret ballot the Ten chose from their own number a Council of Thiee. All these were Government spies, then, and every spy was under surveillance himself — men spoke in whispers in Venice, and no man trusted his neighbour — not always his own brother. No man knew who the Council of Three were — not even the Senate, not even the Doge ; the members of that dread tribu- nal met at night in a chamber to themselves, masked, and robed from head to foot in scarlet cloaks, and did not even know each other, unles« by Toice. It was their duty to judge heinouB political crimes, and from kheir lentence there was no appieaL A nod to the executioner was suffi- cient The doomed man was marched down a hall and out at a doorway Into the c9Tei«d Bridge dl if th^ re many a by all save kiTotted, or at dead of wherewith — villanoui at immoy- ortiire was ie of steel, slowly bv id through on the tor- ) catch the at glory oi \ feet of a \ St Mark. I Orient- make it an ad thus far tacies ovei five hun- lyerything ahai)elefi6 edly idled —no, no-^ ;ew, Luke, above all been her after him, some pur- once with 1 St Mark r St Mark re that St lis friend, pen Bible "^sts ite Square of done for ere; and I think, le found- terChrifll —(for Venice is much younger than any other Italian dty), a priest dreamed that an angel told him that until the remains of St Mark were brought to Venice, the city could never rise to high distinction among the nations ; that the body must be captured, brought to the city, and a magnificent church built over it ; and that if ever the Venetian* allowed the saint to be removed from his new resting-place, in that day Venice would perish from oif the face of the earth. The priest pro- claimed his dream, and forthwith Venice set about procuring the corpse of St Mark, One exDedition after another tried and failed, but the pro- ject was never abandoned during four hundred years. At last it was secured by stratagem, in the year eight hundred and something. The conmiander of a Venetian expedition disguised himself, stole the bones, separated them, and packed them in vessela filled with lard. The religion of Mahomet causes its devotees to abhor anything that is in the nature of pork, and so when the Christian was stopped by the ofl&cera at the gates of the city, they only glanced once into nis precious baskets, then turned up their noses at the unholy lard, and let them go. The bones were buried in the vaults of the grand Cathedral, which had been waiting long years to receive them, and thus the safety and the great- aess of Venice were secured. And to this day there be those in Venice who believe that if those holy ashes were stolen away, the ancient city would vanish dike a dream, and its foundations be buried for ever in the uiremembering sea. CHAPTER XXIII. THE Venetian gondola is as free and graceful in its gliding movement as a serpent. It is twenty or thiity feet long, and is narrow and deep like a canoe ; its sharp bow and stem sweep upward from the water like the horns of a crescent with the abruptness of the curve slightly modified. The bow is ornamented with a steel comb with a battle-axe attach- ment which threatens to cut passing boats in two occasionally, but never does. The gondola is painted black because in the zenith of Venetian magnificence the gondolas became too gorgeous altogether, and the Senate decreed that all such display must cease, and a solemn un- embellished black be substituted. If the truth were known it would doubtless appear that rich plebeians grew too prominent in their affecta- tion of patrician show on the Grand Canal, and required a wholesome snubbing. Reverence for the hallowed Past and its traditions keeps the dismal fashion in force now that the compulsion exists no longer. So let it remain. It is the colour of mourning, Venice mourns. The jtem 0^ the boat is decked over, and the gondolier stands there. He uses a single oar — a long blade, of course, for he stands nearly erect A wooden peg, a foot and a half high, with two slight crooks or curves in one aide of it, and one in the other, projects above the starboard gunwale A|(ainst that pei; the gondoli«T t«ke« a pcurhase with his oar, changing u isB MARX TWAIN'S WORKS, III <' \ 1 F H It ftt Interval! to the other lide of the peg, or dropping it into another ol the crooks, as the steering of the craft may demand ; and how in th« world he can back and fill, shoot straight ahead, or flirt suddenly around a comer, and make the oar stay in thuse insignificant notches, is a problem to me, and a never-diminishing matter of interest 1 am afraid I study the gondolier's marvellous skill more than I do the sculptured palaces we glide among. He cuts a corner so closely now and then, or missel another gondola by such an imperceptible hair-breadth, that I feel my- self " scroochin^," as the children say, just as one does when a buggy wheel grazes his elbow. But he makes all his calculations with the nicest precision, and goes darting in and out among a Broadway con- fusion of busy craft with the easy confidence of the educated hackman. He never makes a mistake. Sometimes we go flying down the great canals at such gait that we can get only the merest glimpses into front doors, and again, in obscure alleys in the suburbs, we put on a solemnity suited to the silence, the mildew, the stagnant waters, the clinging weeds, the deserted houses, and the general lifelessness of the place, and move to the spirit of grave meditation. The gondolier u a picturesque rascal for all he wears no satin harness, no plumed bonnet, no silken tights. His attitude is stately ; he is lithe and supple . all his movements are full of grace. When his long canoe, and his fine figure towering from its high perch on the stem, are cut against the evening sky, they make a picture that is very novel and striking to a foreign eye. We sit in the cushioned carriage-body of a cabin, with the curtainn drawn, and smoke, or read, or look out upon the passing boats, the houses, the bridges, the people, and enjoy ourselves much more than w« could in a buggy jolting over our cobljle-stone pavements at home. This is the gentlest, pleasantest locomotion we have ever known. But it seems queer, ever so queer, to see a boat doing duty as a private carriage. We see business men come to the front door, step into a gondola instead of a street car, and go off down town to the counting-room. We see visiting young ladies stand on the stoop, and laugh, and kiss good-bye, and flirt their fans, and say, " Come soon, now do — ^you 've been just as mean as ever you can be — mother's dying to see you — and we 've moved into the new house, oh, such a love of a place ! so conve- nient to the post-office, and the church, and the Young Men's Christian Association ; and we do have such fishing, and such canying on, and ^uch swimming matches in the back-yard — oh, you mmt come ; no dis- tance at all, and if you go down through by St Mark's and the Bridge of Sighs, and cut through the alley and come up by the church of Santa Maria dei Frari, and into the Grand Canal, there isn't a hit of current — now do come, Sally Maria — by-by ! " and then the little humbug trips down the steps, jumps into the gondola, says, under her breath, "Dis- agreeable old thing, I hope she wavii / " goes skimming away round the eomer ; and the other girl slams the street door, and says, " Well, thai infliction 's over, anv way ; but I suppose I 've got to go and see her, tireeome, atook-up thing ! " Human nAture appears to b« juat the sadm THE INNOCENTS ABROAD, 139 ;o another ti how in th« lenly around is a problem :rai(i I Btudy ured palaces iD, or missel ,t I feel my- len a bugiy )us with the oadway con- id hackman. gait that we 1, in obscure ) silence, the rted houses, irit of grave atin harness, ; he is lithe 9 long canoe, tern, are cut y novel and the curtains g boats, the tore than we ts at home. .own. duty as a step into a Lnting-room. ;h, and kiss (fo— you 've je you — and I ! so conve- l's Christian ing on, and ne ; no dis- le Bridge of ch of Santa »f current — imbug trips eath, " Dis- round the «Well,<^K ,nd see her, St tk« i«DM •n U to the r, that he had fori&otten the legitijq»ate sound of hu nam* I V i een fhe pro- reds of people » ice-cream) ; le way. The (vall in three 1 with musio I spirited and ; thoroughly, ud dress with nlng the ill- because such the country, IS, outlandish LOW off" and ) envy of oui ich we can't bo this thing, le reader will until he goes it the gentle consummate :tend to him shall always have finished IS abroad in ree months-— IS in English )ied verbatim ), EUU» Onta ice Aminque, of a fellow- ;umed home " Er-bare ! " rating, but I French, my French pro- annoying, I on, allowed any atten- ad grown so THE INNOCENTS ABROAD, IJI " with ms iiam«J He wore a rose in his button-hole ; he gave the French salntation— twe flips of the hand in front of the face ; he called Paris Pairree in ordinary English conversation ; he carried envelopes bearing foreign post-marli protruding from his breast pocket ; he cultivated a moustache and imperial, and did what else he could to suggest to the beholder his pet fancy that he resembled Louis Napoleon, and in a spirit of thankfulneai which is entirely unaccountable, considering the slim foundation there was for it, he praised his Maker that he was as he was, and went on enjoying his little life just the same as if he really had been deliberately designed and erected by the great Architect of the Universe. Think of our Whitcombs, and our Ainsworths, and our Williamsei writing themselves down in dilapidated French in forei^ hotel registers ! We laugh at Englishmen when we are at home for sticking 30 sturdily to their national ways and customs, but we look back upon it from abroad very forgivingly. It is not pleasant to see an American thrust- ing his nationality forward obtrusively in a foreign land, but oh ! it in pitiable to see him making of himself a thing that is neither male noi female, neither fish, flesh, nor fowl — a poor, miserable, hermaphrodite Frenchman. Among a long list of churches, art galleries, and such things, visited by us in Venice, I shall mention only one — the church of Santa Maria dei Frari It is about five hundred years old, I believe, and stands on twelve hundred thousand piles. In it lie the bodjr of Canova and the heart of Titian, under magnificent monuments. Titian died at the age of almost one hundred years. A plague which swept away fifty thousand lives was raging at the time, and there is notable evidence of the rever- ence in which the great pairtter was held, in the fact that to him alone the state permitted a public funeral in all that season of terror and death. In this church, also, is a monument to the doge Foscari, whose name, a once resident of Venice, Lord Byron has made permanently famous. The monument to the doge Giovanni Pesaro, in this church, is a curiosity in the way of mortuary adornment. It is eighty feet high and is fronted like some fantastic pagan temple. Against it stand four colossal Nubians, as black as night, dressed in white marble garments. The black legs are bare, and through rents in sleeves and breeches, the skin, of shiny black marble, shows. The artist was as ingenious as his funeral designs were absurd. There are two bronze skeletons bearing scrolls, and two great dragons uphold the sarcophagus. On high, amid all this grotesqueness, sits the departed doge. In the conventual buildings attached to this church are the state archives of Venice. "We did not see them, but they are said to number millions of documents. " They are the records of centuries of the most watchful, observant, and suspicious government that ever existed — in which everything was written down and nothing spoken out." They fill nearly three hundrefl rooms. Among them are manuseripts from the archives of nearly two thousand families, monusteries, and convents. rh« aecrvt huitory of Venice for c thousand yean is here — its plots, its i «J« MARK TWAIN'S WORKS, 1 1 i:' j| hidden triab, its afleassinatioiis, its commiBsions of htreliof spiei, and masked braroes — food, ready to hand, for a world of dark and mysterione romances. Yes, I think we haye seen all of Venice. We have seen, in these old ehnrches, a profusion of costly and elaborate sepulchre ornamentation BTieh as we never dreamt of before. We have stood in the dim religions light of these hoarv sanctuaries, in the midst of long ranks of dusty monuments and effigies of the great dead of Venice, until we seemed drifting back, back, back into the solemn past, and looking upon the scenes and mingling with the peoples of remote antiquity. We have been in a half-wakmg sort of (iream all the time. I do not know how else to describe the feeling. A part of our being has remained still in the nineteenth century, while another part of it has seemed in some unaccountable way walking among the phantoms of the tenth. We have seen famous pictures imtil our eyes are weary with looking at them and refuse to find interest in them any longer. And what wonder, when there are twelve hundred pictures by Palma the Younger in Venice and fifteen hundred by Tintoretto \ And behold there are Titians and the works of other artists in proportion. We have seen Titian's celebrated Cain and Abel, his David and Goliath, his Abraham's Sacrifice. We have seen Tintoretto's monster picture which is seventy-four feet long and I do not know how many feet high, and thought it a very com- modious picture. We have seen pictures of martyrs enough, and sainti enough, to regenerate the world. I ought not to confess it, but still, since one has no opportunity in America to acquire a critical judgment in Art, and since 1 could not hope to become educated in it in Europe in a few short weeks, I may therefore as well acknowledge with such apologies as may be due, that to me it seemed that when I had seen on4 of these martyrs I had seen them all. They all have a marked fandl^f resemblance to each other, they dress alike, in coarse monkish robes and sandals, they are all bald-headed, they all stand in about the same atti- tude, and without exception they are gazing heavenward with counten- ances which the Ainsworths, the Mortons, and the WiUiamses, et JUs, in- form me are full of " expression." To me there is notning tangible about these imaginary portraits, nothing that I can grasp and take a living in- terest in. If great Titian had only been gifted with prophecy and had skipped a martyr, and gone over to England and painted a portrait of Shakespeare even as a youth, which we could all have confidence in now, the world down to the latest generations would have forgiven him the lost martyr in the rescued seer. I think posterity could have spared one more martyr for the sake of a great historical picture of Titian's time and painted by his brush — such as Columbus returning in chum from the oiscoyery of a world, for instance. The old masters did paint some Venetian historical pictures, and these we did not tire of looking at, notwithstanding representations of the formal introduction of defunct doges to the Virgin Mary in regions beyond the clouds dashed rather harshly with the proprieties, it seemed to ua. Bat, humble as we are, and unpretending, in th« matter of Art, our NMorches amonir the painted monks and aurtyTB h«Te not been who^f > I THE INNOCENTS ABROAD, 13s r spiea, and fmysterioiie n these old lamentatioQ im religioui ks of dusty we seemeu g upon the We have t know how ned still in led in some h. dth looking And what bhe Younger Id there are seen Titian's Dci's Sacrifice, ity-four feet a very com- h, and sainti it, but still, lal judgment it in Europe e with such ad seen on« rked family h robes and e same atti- th counten- is, et jih^ in- gible about a living in- cy and had portrait of nfidence in rgiven him [have spared of Titian's in chain! did paint of looking of defunct ed rather of Art, our rholly tn Tain. We have striven hard to learn. We have had lome racceML We have mastered some things, possibly of trifling import in the eyes of the learned, but to us they give pleasure, and we take as much pride in our little acquirements as do others who have learned far more, and we love to display them fuU as weU. When we see a monk going about with a lion and looking tranquilly up to heaven, we know that that ii St Mark. When we see a monk with a book and a pen, looking tran- quilly up to heaven, trying to thinJi: «jf a word, we know that that is St Matthew. When we see a monk t«itt ng on a rock, looking tranquilly up to heaven, with a human skull ueside him, and without other bag- gage, we know that that is St Jerome. Because we know that he always went flying light in the matter of baggage. When we see a partv look- ing tranquilly up to heaven, unconscious that his body is shot through and through with arrows, we know that that is St Sebastian. When we see other monks looking tranquilly up to heaven, but having no trade- mark, we always ask who those parties are. We do this because we humbly wish to learn. We have seen thirteen thousand St Jeromes, and twenty-two thousand St Marks, and sixteen thousand St Matthews, and sixty thousand St Sebastians, and four millions of assorted monks undesignated, and we feel encouraged to believe that when we have seen some more of these various pictures, and had a larger experience, we shall begin to take an absorbing interest in them like our cultivated countrymen from Amerique. Now it does give me real pain to speak in this almost unappreciative way of the old luasters and their martyrs, because good friends of mine in the ship— friends who do thoroughly and conscientiously appreciate them, and are in every way competent to discriminate between good pic- tures and inferior ones — have urged me for my own sake not to make public the fact that I lack this appreciation and this critical discrimina- tion myself. I believe that what I have written and may still write about pictures wiU give them ^ain, and I am honestly sorry for it I even promised that I would hide my uncouth sentiments in my own breast. But alas ! I never could keep a promise. I do not blame my- self for this weakness, because the fault must lie in my physical organiia- tion. It is likely that such a very liberal amount of^ space was given to the organ which enables me to make promises, that the organ which should enable me to keep them was crowded out. But I grieve not. I like no half-way things. I had rather have one faculty nobly developed than two faculties of mere ordinary capacity. I certainly meant to keep that promise, but I find I cannot do it. It is impossible to travel through Italy without speaking of pictures, and can I see them through other's eyes f If I did not so delight in the grand pictures that are spread before me every day of my life by that monarch of all the old masters, Nature, I shomd come to believe sometimes, that I had in me no appreciation of the beautiful whatsoever. It seems to me that whenever I glory to think that for once I have discovered an ancient painting that is beautiful and worthy of all praise, the pleaauie itftlTea me is an infallible proof that it ia not a beantifo] 1|1S i I i?C , '1 ■v ■ •■ Si •^ if '« ; ■J \i(S ) « ^lan T 194 MARX TWAIN'S WORKS. picture and not in any wiae worthy of commendation. This T«ry thing naa occurred more times than I can mention in Venice. In every single instance the guide has crushed out my swelling enthusiasm with uie remark — '' It is nothing — ^it is of the RenaMsance.^ I did not know what in the mischief the Benaissance was, and so always I had to simply say — " Ah ! so it is — I had not observed it before." I could not bear to be ignorant bsfore a cultivated negro, the offspring of a South Carolina Slave. But it occurred too often for even my self- complacency, did that exasperating '^ It is nothing — ^it is of the nenait' $ance." I said at last — " WTio is this Renaissance ? Where did he come from ? Who gave him permission to cram the Republic with his execrable daubs 1" We learned then that Renaissance was not a man ; that Renais8ane$ was a term used to signify what was at best but an imperfect rejuvenation of Art The guide said that after Titian's time, and tne time of the other great names we had grown so familiar with, high Art declined ; then it partially rose again — an inferior sort of painters sprang up, and these shabby pictures were the work of their hands. Then I said, in my heart, that I " wished to goodness high Art had declined five hundred years sooner." The Renaissance pictures suit me very well, though sooth to say its school was too much given to painting real men and did not indulge enough in martyrs. The guide I have spoken of is the only one we have had yet who knew anythiug. He was bom in South Carohna, of slave parents. They cama to Venice while he was an infant. He has grown up here. He is well educated. He reads, writes, and speaks English, Italian, Spanish, and French, with perfect facility ; is a worshipper of art, and thoroughly conversant with it ; knows the history of Venice by heart, and «ever tires uf talking of her illustrious career. He dresses better than any of us, I think, and is daintily polite. Negroes are deemed as good as white people in Venice, and so this man feels no desire to go back to his native land His judgment is correct. I have had another shave. I was writing in our front room this afternoon, and trying hard to keep my attention on my work and refrain from looking out upon the canal. I was resisting the soft influences of the climate as well as I could, and endeavouring to overcome the desire to be indolent and happy. The boys sent for a barber. They asked me If I would be shaved. I reminded them of my tortures in Qenoa, Milan, Como ; of my declaration that I would suffer no more on Italian soil i said, ** Not any for me, if you please." I wrote on* The harper began on the doctor. I heard him say— ** Dan, this is the easiest shave I have had since we left the ship." He said again, presently — « Why, Dan, a man could go to sleep with this man shaving him.* Dan took the chair. Then he said — " Why, this is Titian. This is one of the old mastera." I wrole «». TC>ir^tly D-n said — - -■» . -<5.- « THE INNOCENTS ABROAD, m BTvy thing eyer^ singU im with the If as, and so ht ofifspring ^en my self- the Kmeni- Who gave abs?" Renaissanet rejuvenation of the other led ; then it p, and these in my heart, ndred years gh Booth to ind did not jt who kne^ They cama He is well Ipanish, and horonghly ■ever tirea any of us, I fhite people native land. room this and refrain nfluences of e the desire )y asked me noa, Milan, talian loil n say- ship." Lg him.* ''Doctor, it is perfect biizury. The ship's barber l&u*t anything to him." My rough beard was distressing me beyond measure. The barber was rolling up his apparatus. The temptation was too strong. I said — " Hold on, please. Shave me also." I sat down in the chair and closed my eyes. The barber soaped my face, and then took his razor and gave me a rake that well nigh threw me into convulsions. I jumped out of the chair ; Dan and the doctor were both wiping blood oflf their faces and laughing. I said it was a mean, disgraceful fraud. They said that the misery of this shave had gone so far beyond any thing they had ever experienced before, that they could not bear the idea of losing such a chance of hearing a cordial opinion from n>e on thq subject It was shameful ; but there was no help for it. The skinning was begun, and had to be finished. The tears flowed with every rake, and so did the fervent execrations. The barber grew confused, and brought blood every time. I think the boys enjoyed it better than anythmg they have seen or heard since they left home. We have seen the Campanile, and Byron's house, and Balbi's tJi« geographer, and the palaces of all the ancient dukes and doges of Venice, and we have seen tneir effeminate descendants airing their nobility in fasliionable French attire in the Qrand Square of St Mark, and eating ices and drinking cheap wines, instead of wearing gallant coats of mail and destroying fleets and armies, as their great ancestors did in the days of Venetian glory. We have seen no bravoes with poisoned stilettos, no masks, no wild carnival ; but we have seen the ancient pride of Venice, the grim Bronze Horses that figure in a thousand legends. Venice may well cherish them, for they are the only horses she ever had. It is said there are hundreds of people in this curious city who never have seen a living horse in their lives. It is entirely true, no doubt. And so, having satisfied ourselves, we depart to-morrow, and leave the venerable Queen of the Republics to summon her vanished ships, and marshal her shadowy armies, and know again in dreams the pnd« of her old renown. CHAPTER XXIV. SOME of the Quaker City's passengers had arrived in Venice from Switzerland and other lands before we left there, and others were expected every day. We heard of no casualties among them, and no sickness. We were a little fatigued with sight-seeing, and so we rattled through A good deal of country by rail without caring to stop. I took few notes. I find no mention of Bologna in my memorandum-book, except that we arrived there in good season, but saw none of the sausages for which ths place is so justly celebrated. u 136 MARX TiVAIN'S WORKS, Pistoia awoke but a passing interest Florence pleased ns for a while. I think we appreciated the great Sgare of David in the Grand Sqnare, and the sculptured group they call the Rape of the Sabines. We wandered through the endless collectionfl of paintings and statues of the Pitti and Ufizzi galleries^ of course. I make that statement in self-defence ; there let it stop. I could not rest under the imputation that I visited Florence and did not traverse itj weary miles of picture galleries. We tried indolently to recollect some- ^hing about the Quelphs and Qhibelines, and the other historical cut- throats whose quarrels and assassinations make up so la^e a share of Florentine history, but the subject was not attractive. We had been robbed of all the fine mountain scenery on our little journey by a system of railroadiug that had three miles of tunnel to a hundred yards oi Jaylight, and we were not inclined to be sociable with Florence. We had seen the spot, outside the city somewhere, where these people had allowed the bones of Galileo to rest in unconsecrated ground for an age, because his great discovery that the world turned round was regarded as a danming heresy by the Church ; and we know that long after the world had accepted his theory and raised his name high in the list of its great men, they had still let him rot there. That we had lived to see his dust in honoured sepulture in the Church of Santa Croce, we owed to a society of literati, and not to Florence or her rulers. We saw Dante's tomb in that church also, but we were glad to know that his body was not in it ; that the ungrateful city that had exiled him and persecuted him would give much to have it there, but need not hope to ever secure that high honour to herself. Medicis are good enough for Florence. Let her plant Medicis, and build grand monuments over them, to testify how gratefully she was wont to lick the hand that scourged her. Magnanimous Florence ! Her jewellery marts are filled with artists in mosaic. Florentine mosaics are the choicest in all the world. Florence loves to have that said. Florence is proud of it Florence would foster this specialty of hers. She is grateful to the artists that bring to her this high credit and fill her coffers with foreign money, and so she encourages them with pensions. With pensions ! Think of the lavish- ness of it ! She knows that people wno piece together the beautiful trifles die early, because the labour is so confining and so exhausting to hand and brain, and so she has decreed that all these people who reach the age of sixty shall have a pension after that ! I have not heard that any of them have called for their dividends yet. One man did fight along tiL he was sixty, and started after his pension ; but it appeared that there had been a mistake of a year in his family record, and so he gave it up and died ! These artists will take particles of stone or glass no larger than a mustard-seed, and piece them together on a sleeve button or a shirt stud so smoothly, and with such nice adjustment of the delicate shades of colour the pieces bear, as to form a pigmy rose with stem, thorn, leaves, petals complete, and all as softly and as truthfully tinted as though Nature had builded it herself. They will counterfeit a fly^ or a hlcm- \ I h\ THE INNOCENTS ABROAD. »37 sd the great up they call I collectionfl \ course. I »ald not reet trayerse itj ollect some- storical cut- e a share of e had heen by a system ea yards oi trance. We people had I for an age, regarded as ig after the a the list of ad lived to \ Croce, we PS. We saw ow that his id him and d not hope ;ood enougli iments over hand that ;h artists in Florence rould foster )ring to her Eind so she the lavish- beautiful hausting to who reach heard that a did fight it appeared and so he ;er th&n a shirt stud shades of >m, leaves, as though or a hiim- ' ! kmed bug, or the ruined Coliseum, within the cramped circle uf a breastpin, and do it so deftly and so neatly that any man might think ■ inaster painted it I saw a little table in the great mosaic school in Florence — a little trifle of a centre table — whose top was made of some sort of precious polished stone, and in the stone was inlaid the figure of a flute, with oeU-mouth and a mazy complication of keys. No painting in the world could have been softer or richer ; no shading out of one tint into another could have been more perfect ; no work of art of any kind could have been more faultless than this flute, and yet, to count the multitude of little fragments of stone of which they swore it was formed, would bankrupt any man's arithmetic ! I do not think one could have seen where two particles joined each other with eyes of ordinary shrewd- ness. Certainly vot could detect no such blemisL This table-top cost the labour of one man for ten long years, so they said, and it was for Bale for thirty-five thousand dollars. We went to the Church of Santa Croce from time to time, in Florence, to weep over the tombs of Michael Angelo, Raphael, and Machiavelli (I suppose they are buried there, but it may be that they reside elsewhere, and rent their tombs to other parties — such being the fashion in Italy), and between times we used to go and stand on the bridges and admire the Amo. It is popular to admire the Arno. It is a great historical ereek, with four feet in the channel and some scows floating around. It would be a very plausible river if they would pump some water into it. They all caU it a river, and they honestly think it i« a river, do these dark and bloody Florentines. They even help out the delusion by building bridges over it I do not see why they are too good to wade. How the fatigues and annoyances of travel fiU one with bitter pre- judices sometimes ! I might enter Florence under happier auspices a month hence, and find it all beautiful, all attractive. But I do not care to think of it now at all, nor of its roomy shops filled to the ceiling with snowy marble and alabaster copies of all the celebrated sculptures in Europe — copies so enchanting to the eye, that I wonder how they can really be shaped like the dingy petrified nightmares they are the por^ traits of. I got lost in Florence at nine o'clock one night, and stayed lost in that labyrinth of narrow streets and long rows of vast buildings that look all alike, until towards three o'clock in the morning. It was a pleasant night, and at first there were a good many people abroad, and there were cheerful lights about. Later I grew accustomed to prowling about mysterious drifts and tunnels, and astonishing and interesting myself with coming round comers expecting to find the hotel staring me in the face, and not finding it doing anything of the kind. Later gtUl I felt tired. I aoon felt remarkably tired. But there was no one abroad now — ^not even a policeman. I walked till I was out of all patience and very hot and thirsty. At last, somewhere after one o'clock, I came unexpectedly to one of the city gates. I knew then that I was very fM &om the hoteL The soldiers thought 1 wanted to leave the city, and they sprang up and barred the way with theii muaketa. I aaid— v "Hotad'Euwjpt*^'' *'^ Mi n i «3« MAUK TWAIN'S WORKS. It waa all the Italian I knew, and I was not certain whether that waa Italian or French. The soldiers looked stupidly at each other and at me, and shook their heads and took me into custody. I said I wanted te go home. They did not understand me. They took me to the suwl'house and searched me, but they found no sedition on me. They found a small piece of soap (we carry soap with us now), and I made them a present of it, seeing that they regarded it as a curiosity. I con- tinued to say Hotel d'Europe, and they continued to shake their heads, until at last a young soldier nodding in the comer roused up and said something. He said he knew where the hotel was, I suppose, for the officer of the guard sent him away with me. We walked a kundred, or a hundred and fifty miles, it appeared to me, and then he got lost. He turned this way and that, and finally gave it up, and signified that he was goin^ to spend the remainder of the morning trying to find the city gate again. At that moment it struck me that tnere was something familiar ahout the house over the way. It was tiie hotel ! It was a happy thing for me that there happened to be a soldier there that knew even as much as he did ; for they say that the policy of the Government is to change the soldiery from one place to another con- stantly, and from country to city, so that they cannot become acquainted with the people, and grow lax in their duties and enter into plots and conspiracies with friends. My experiences of Florence were chiefly unpleasant I will change the subject At Pisa we climbed up to the top of the strangest structure the world has any knowledge of — the Leaning Tower. As every one knows, it it in the neighbourhood of one hundred and eighty feet mgh — and I beg to observe that one hundred and eighty feet reach to about the height of four ordinaiT three-story buildings piled one on top of the other, and is a very consiaerable altitude for a tower of uniform thickness to aspire to, even when it stands upright — yet this one leans more than thirteen feet out of the perpendicular. It is seven hundred years old, but neither history nor tradition says whether it was built as it is purposely, or whether one of its sides nas settled. There is no record that it ever stood straight up. It is built of marble. It is an airy and a beautiful structure, and each of its eight stories is encircled by fluted columns, some of marble and some of granite, with Corinthian capitals that were handsome when they were new. It is a bell tower, and in its top hangs a chime of ancient beUs. The winding staircase within is dark, but one always knows which side of the tower he is on because of his naturally gravitating from one side to the other of the staircase with the rise or dip of the tower. Some of the stone steps are foot- worn only on one end ; others only on the other end ; others only in the middle. To look down into the tower from the top is like looking down into a tilted welL A rope that hangs from the centre of the top touches the wall before it reaches the bottom. Standing on the summit, one does not feel altogether comfortable when he looks down from the high side ; but to crawl on your breast to the verge on the lower side, and try to stretch your neck out far enough to see the base of the tower, nakfl^ vour fieah creep, and coaTineM you for a single m(»uent, in ipita *i ^m i THE INNOCENTS ABROAD, <39 tier that other and at id I wanted me to the me. They md I made ity. I con- their heads, ip and Baid >08e, for the hundred, or >t lost. He fled that he nd the city something oldier there olicy of the nother con- acquainted ;o plots and ^ere chiefly e the world knows, it ii nd I beg to e height ol bher, and is s to aspire m thirteen old, but purposely, [>rd that it dry and a I by fluted m capitalfi and in its within is because of ircase with foot-worn ily in the te looking of the top le summit) 1 from the ower side, the tower, it, in gpita :m I i ','M M i of all your phUosophv, that the building ia falling. Yom handle your- self very carefully all the time, urxler the silly impression that if it Li not falling', your trifling weight will start it imlees you are particular not to " ))ear down " on it. The Duomo, close at hand, \b one of the i«nest cathedrals in Europe. It Sb eight hundred years old. Its ^ndeur has outlired the high commercial prosperity and the political importance that made it a necessity, or rather a possibility. Surrounded by poverty, decay, and ruin, it conveys to us a more tangible impression of the former greatness of Pisa than books could give us. The Baptistery, which is a few years older than the Leaning Tower, is a stately rotunda, of huge dimensions, and was a costly structure. In it hangs the lamp whose measurec^ swing suggested to Galileo the pendulum. It looked an insignificant thing to have conferred upon the world of science and mechanics such a mighty extension of their dominions as it has. Pondering in its suggestive presence, I seemed to see a crazy universe of swinging discs, the toiling cnildren of this sedate parent. He appeared to have an intelligent expression about him of knowing that he was not a lamp at all ; that he was a Pendulum ; a pendulum disguised for prodigious and inscrutable purposes of his own deep devising, and not a common pendulum either, but the old original patriarchal Pendulum — the Abraham Pendulum of the world. This Baptistery is endowed with the most pleasing echo of all the echoes we have read of. The guide sounded two sonorous notes, about half an octave apart ; the echo answered with the most enchanting, the most melodious, the richest blending of sweet sounds that one can imagine. It was like a long-drawn chord of a church organ, infinitely softened by distance. I may be extravagant in this matter, but if this be the case, my ear is to blame — not my pen. I am describing a memory, and one that will remain long with me. The peculiar devotional spirit of the olden time, which placed a higher confidence in outward forms of worship than in the watchful guarding of the heart against sinful thoughts, and the hands against sin- nil deeds, and which believed in the protecting virtues of inanimate objects made holy by contact with holy things, is illustrated in a striking manner in one of the cemeteries of Pisa. The tombe are set in sou brought in ships from the Holy Land ages ago. To be buried in such groimd was regarded by the ancient Pisans as being more potent foi salvation than many masses purchased of the Church and the TOwing oi many candles to the Virgin. Pisa is believed to be about three thousand years old. It was one of the twelve great cities of ancient Etruria ; that commonwealth which has left so many monuments in testimony of its extraordinary advance- ment, and so little history of itself that is tangiUe and comprehensible. A Pisan antiquarian gave me an ancient tear-jug, which he averred was full four thousand years old. It was found among the rains of one oi the oldest oi the Etruscan cities. He said it came from a tomb, and WM used by some beraaved family in that remote age when even the PyxMuida of "Egjpk ir«n young, DiflMumu a viUage, Abfhani a pixa^ n I'Fi ;■ :m MO UARJC TWAIN*S WORiCS, 'i^\ pi. m ii:"' l^.i* ding infukt, and ancient Troy not yet dreamt of, to reoeiv* th« wept for Bome lo«t idol of a hooieboLl It spoke to ns ia a language ol its own ; and with a pathoe more tender than any words might bring, its mute eloquence swept down the long roll of the centurieA with its tale of a racant chair, a familiar footstep mimed fixMn the threshold, a pleasant voice gone from the chorus, a yanished form ! — a tale which i