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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>
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HE MUSSON W)(~}k CO., LIMITED
J.ONto^. CHATTO 3( WINDUS
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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
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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<ily weapons.
"I wa«," says Mark Twain, " armed to the teeth with a ftitifvd little Smith &
Wesson's seven-shooter, which carried a ball like ahomoeopatnio pUl, and it took the
whole seven to make a dose for an adult. But I thought it was grand. It appeared
to me to be a dangerous weapon. It only had one fault — you could not hit anvthing
with it. One of our * conductors ' practised a while on a cow with it, and as long as
she stood still and behaved herself she was safe ; but as soon as she went to moving
about and he got to shooting at other things, she came to grief. The Secretary
had a small-sized Colt's revolver, strapped around him for protection against the
Indians, and to guard against accidents he carried it uncapped. Mr. Ge oive
Bemis was dismally formidable. George Bemis was our fellow-traveller. "Vve
had never seen him before. He wore in his belt on old original 'Allen' revolver,
such as irreverent people called a ' pepper-box.' Simply drawing the trigger
back, cocked and fired the pistoL As the trigger came back, the hammer would
begin to rise and the barrel to turn over, and presently down would drop the
hammer, and away would speed the ball. To aim ^ong the turning barrel and
hit the thing aimed at was a feat which was probably never done with an ' Allen*
in the world. But George's was a reliable weapon, nevertheless, because, as one
of the stage-drivers afterwards said, ' If she didn't get what she went after, she
would fetch something else.' And so she did. She went after a deuce of spades
nailed against a tree, once, and fetched a mule standing about thirty yards to
the left of it. Bemis did not want the mule ; but the owner came out with a
double-barrelled shot-gun and persuaded him to buy it, anyhow. It was a
cheerful weapon — the ' AUen.' "
The brothers enjoyed all these preparations immensely. The mom'
ing they started out was brilliant with sunshine: —
" There was," writes Mark Twain, " a freshness and breeziness, an exhilarating
sense of emancipation from all sorts of cares and responsibilities, that almost made
US feel that the years we had spent in the close, hot city, toiling and slaving, had
been wasted and thrown away. We were spinning along through Kansas, and in the
■•ourse of an hour and a half we were fairly abroad on the great Plains. Just here
the land was rolling— a grand sweep of regular elevations and depressions as far
as the eye could reach — Uke the stately heave and swell of the ocean's bosom
after a storm. And everywhere were cornfields, accenting with scjuares of deeper
green this limitless expanse of grassy land. JBut presently this sea upon dry
ground was to lose its * rolling ' character, and stetch away for seven nundrea
miles as level as a floor.
"By the side of the driver sat the ' conductor,' the legitimate captain of the
craft ; for it was his business to take charge and care of the mails, baggage,
express matter, and passengers. We three were the only passengers, this trip.
We sat on the back seat, inside. About all the rest of the coach was full of
mail bags— for we had three days' delayed mails with us. Almost touching our
knees, a perpendicular wall of mail matter rose up to the roof. There was a
great pile of it strapped on top of the stage, and both the fore a&d hind boots
were roll. We had twen^-seven hundred voonds of it aboMrd."
SKETCH OF HIS LIFE.
«(^
ly. The mom-
'ITe changed horseB everjr ten miles, all day long, and fairly flew orerilM
liard, level rood. We lumped out and stretched our legs every time the coaeh
■topped, and so the night found us still vivacious and unfatigued."
The adventures of the two travelleis on the road are amongst the most
diverting of ail Mark Twain's funny stories. How they tooJk up an old
lady who amused herself by marking down mosquitoes, and then, after
foxing a little, and timing her spank, killed them with unerring aim ;
how they started the Kansas lady into a conversation, and then wished
to heaven they had done nothing of the kind — (she only had her say
for four hours without stopping) ; how they assisted when accidents oc-
curred to the stage ; how they listened to the chaff and stories of their
splendid driver ; their first sight of the jackass rabbit and of sage brush ;
their first night in the stage — now in
" a pUe at the forward end of the stage, nearly in a sitting posture, and in a
secoud we would shoot to the other end, and stand on our heMs. And we would
sprawl and kick too, and ward off ends and comers of maU-bags that came lum-
bering over us and about us ; and as the dust rose from the tumult, we would
all sneeze in chorus, and the majority of us would grumble, and probably say
some hastv thing, like : ' Take your elbow oat of my ribs ! Can't you quit
crowding? Every time we avalanohed from one end of the stage to the other,
the Unabridged Dictionary would come too ; and, every time it came, it damaged
somebody. One trip it * barked ' the Secretary's elbow ; the next trip it hurt me
in the stomach, and the third, it tilted Bemis's nose up till he oould look down
his nostrils— he said.'*
And then there was their fijrst toilette at the station-keeper's den, the
pail of water, with a blue woollen shirt hung above — the "private"
towel of the driver — the others using their pantaloons, sleeves, and
handkerchiefs. Then there was their first meal in the station den,
which they could not eat — and the " slumgullion " tea, which they did
[not drink, because it contained too much dish rag, and sand, and old
bacon rind ; a dollar a head was all they paid for this. And then they
[reach Fort Kearney, fifty-six hours out from St Jo — three hundred
[miles ! And then they see the first prairie-dog villages, the first wolf,
)r coyote — the animal who is " always hungry, always poor, out of luck,
[and friendless," — the animal so despised that even tne fleas would desert
[him for a velocipede. Then Overland City is reached, the strangest,
I funniest town that the eyes of the travellers had ever stared at 'men
[a buffalo hunt — their first; and a sight of the pony-rider — the fleet
messenger who sped across the continent, from ^ Jo to Sacramento,
carrying letters 1900 miles in eight days ! Then the Indiana, with
i exciting stories and hair-breadth escapes — the driver assuring them
that on the Southern Overland he came as near as he could to starving,
as the Apaches kept him so leaky with buUet-holes that he " could not
bold his vittlea,"
Next among the desperadoes and Rocky Mountain highwayman ;
Mark finding, as he sat at breakfast one morning, that the ffentlemanly
officer at the head of the table, the most quiet and affable ae had met
with along the whole line, was the dreaded Slade, the head, the chief of
all these desperadoes — the man who had brought down bis six-and-
twenty menl Then they pass a Mormon emigrant train, dragging
xH
Mark twain:
»i
If
wearily along ; and now the Rocky Mountains and South Pass Citv,
with its four log cabins, "and hotel-keeper, postmaster, blacksmitn,
mayor, constable, city marshal, and principal citizen, all condensed into
one person, and crammed into one sKin." And on to the summit of the
mountain range, only reached after days and nights of climbing ; and
then thev begin the descent towards the Pacific coast At Green River
station they get biscuits, fresh antelope steaks, and coffee for breakfast-
in fact, it was such an excellent meal that, after the recollection of the
thirty villainously bad breakfasts that preceded it, this solitary one, for
years after, loomed up in Mark's memory like a shot tower ! The next
day they take supper with a Mormon " destroying angel," and at night
sleep at Salt Lake House, in Salt Lake City.
Two days were passed pleasantly in the Mormon capital, and then
they set on once more in the stage to do the remaining six hundred
miles. About ninety miles out mey enter an alkali desert, — a " vast
waveless ocean, stricken dead and turned to ashes." For ten hours, and
over sixty-eight miles, the stage was dragged across this parched wastej
the sun " blistering with relentless malignity," and the alkali dust
cutting the eyes, lips, and nostrils, and drawing blood continually. But
the last mile of alkali desert is at length passed, and two hundred and
fifty miles from Salt Lake, they see the most wretched of all the Indian
trioes, the Qoshoots, who, Mark Twain thinks, may have descended
from a gorilla, or kangaroo, or Norway rat, but certainly from nothing
higher in the animal scale.
Another desert — "forty memorable miles of bottomless sand, into
which the coach wheels sank from six inches to a foot " — and at noon, on
the twentieth day out, the stage reached Carson City, the capital of
Nevada territory, to which " Mr Secretary Clemens " was accredited. As
they neared their destination, they felt sorry at having to settle down to
a hum-drum existence in a village once more. Thev had " fed fat on
wonders every day," had got accustomed to stage life, and fond of it
From a distance Carson City — named after Kit Carson, the famous
pioneer and scout — was pointed out to them : —
"It nestled in the edge of a great plain, and was a sufficient number of milei
away to look like an assemblage of mere white spots in the shadow of a grim
range of mountains overlooking it, whose summits seemed lifted clear out oi
companionship and consciousness of earthly things.
" We arrived, disembarked, and the stage went on. It was a * wooden ' town ;
its population two thousand souls. The main street consisted of four or five
blocks of little white frame stores which were too high to sit down on, but not
too high for various other purposes ; in fact, hardly high enough. They were
packed close together, side by side, as if room were scarce in that mighty plain,
^e sidewalk was of boards that were more or less loose and inclined to rattle
when walked upon. In the middle of the town, opposite the stores, was the
* plaza ' which is native to all town beyond the Rocky Mountains — a large, un-
fenced level vacancy, with a "liberty pole in it, and very useful as a place for
pubUo auctions, horse trades, and mass meetings, and likewise for teamsters t«
eamp in. Two other sides of the plaza were faced by stores, offices, and stablefk
The rest of Carson City was pretty scattering."
Mr Secretary and his brother were quickly introduced to some
prominent citizens, and as they wended their way up to the Govemor'e
SKETCH OF HIS LIFE.
xiU
»uth Pa«8 City,
sr, blacksmith,
condensed into
! summit of the
climbing ; and
^t Green River
for breakfast —
)1 lection of the
lolitary one, for
eer ! The next
," and at night
pital, and then
ng six hundred
esert, — a "vast
> 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 <eU the claims, and let others work them.
They soon ^ot tired of Humboldt, and we next find Mark at Esmeralda,
a mining region on the other side of Carson. Before they reached this
place the party met with some wonderful adventures. Once they were
for eight days kept prisoners by a deluge which had suddenly come
upon them ; and then, at another time, in a terrific snow storm, they
crawled into a shanty to die, bidding each other a last farewell, and clos-
ing their eyes — as they believed — for the last time ; but only to open
them some hours later on, and discover that they had all the time been
in an outhouse of the very stage station they had been making towards^
Fresh companions and fresh hopes seem to have re-animated the party.
They again took up several claims, began shafts and never finished
them, and at last, when Mark's money failed him, and flour sprung up
to %\ per pound, our author gave up prospecting on his own account,
and worked as a labourer in a quartz miU at $10 a week and board.
He commenced work at six in the morning and kept on till dark. A
week of this was enough, and he *' resigned" the situation, to go
"prospecting" once more, and making excursions, and fishing, and
living that roving life which is so hard to give up when once it h&s beos
SKETCH OF HIS LIFE.
ley had none—
pon thousanda
Id cost theiu
waggons kept
iss than human
Qt of the latest
Enterprise, the
is the ricIieBt
is^gorged with
Iconda." Thia
) decided there
ng lawyers, an
< two miserable
1 mining toola
it. An hour's
}f them riding,
ever to reach
jarched for fuel
1 no tent, and
L dropped off to
n consisting of
le canyon they
leaving a comer
lused to tumble
upt our sleep."
sinking a short
that Siey had
age gave way,
ble thing after
: at Esmeralda,
y reached this
•nee they were
iuddenly come
|w storm, they
iwell, and clos-
|t only to open
the time been
towards^
ited the ijarty.
ever finished
)nr sprung up
own account,
and board.
Itill dark. A
|uation, to go
fishing, and
it h&s been
adopted. '^Slothful, valueless, heedless career," are the ezpressioni
used by our author when speaking of this period of his life.
At length fortune smiled upon him. In conjunction with a new
partner, named Higbi& they established a claim to a share of the Blind
Lead which the rich Wide West Company had been working. The two
partners became so wild with excitement, so full of excursions to
Europe, and fine stone-front houses they were going to build, that the
ten days in which they should begin to work passed away, and the
blind lead was claimed by others — was " relocated,'' as the miners term
it ! This was the clunax. Only oue more day's prospecting was
attempted, and, sick at heart and disgusted with life, Mark plodded his
way back to his cabin, dropping in at the post-oifice on the road. There
he found a letter. It was from the proprietor of the Virginia Daily
Territorial Enterprise^ and offered him $25 a week if he would come
and take the position of city editor. In days gone by Mark had written
ietters for the paper, and now, in his delight at the offer, he says that he
felt like falling down and worshipping the publisher who had written to
him. In due course he reached Virginia City, in a slouched hat, rough
blue shirt, and wiUi a revolver slung to his belt. He thought this
scarcely the fit costume for city editor, and shortly after got himself a
more appropriate costume. The chief and proprietor soon gave the
new hand his instructions. He was '' to go all over town and ask all
sorts of people all sorts of questions, laake notes of the information
gained, and write them out for publication. And the editor added : —
" Never say, * "We learn ' so-and-po, or * It is reported,' or * It is rumoured,' oi
* We understand ' so-and-so, but go to head-quarters and get the absolute facts,
and then speak out and b^, 'It t« ' so-and-so. Otherwise people will not put
confidence in your news. Unassailable certainty is the thing that gives a news-
paper the firmest and most valuable reputation."
" It was the whole thing in a nut-shell," says Mark Twain, " and to this day
when I find a reporter commencing his article with * We understand,' I gather a
suspicion that he has not taken as much pains to inform himself as he ought to
have done."
The first day was not a very easy affair. Although the city editor
kept putting all sorts of questions to everybody he met, still his note-
iook continued empty. Nobody seemed to know anything. At length
a hint from the editor showed where matter might be found, and then —
"When things began to look dismal again, a desperado killed a man in a saloon,
and joy," says our author, *' returned once more. I never was so glad over any
mere tnfle before in my life. I said to the murderer—
" ' Sir, you are a stranger to me, but you have done me a kindness this day
which I can never forget. If whole years of gratitude can be to you any slight
compensation, they shall be yours. I was in trouble, and you have relieved me
nobly, and at a time when all seemed dark and drear. Oount me your friend
from this time forth, for I am not the man to forget a favour.'
" If I did not really say that to him, I at least felt a sort of itching denie to
doit."
At length the two columns were filled to the entire satisfaction of the
chief editor, who complimented the new arrival by saying that he *' was
as good ft reporter as Dan." This was Mark's associate, Dan de Quille,
i 1
|i
xvi
AfARIC TWAIN:
of whose duties and his own we find this record in an old number of the
EnterpriMf published some time in 1863 : —
"Our duty is to keep the universe thoroughly posted conceminff
"murders and street-fights, and balls and theatres, and pack-trains and
" churches, and lectures and school-houses, and city nnlitary affairs and
"highway robberies, and Bible societies and hay waggons, and the
" thousand other things which it is within the province of local reporters
" to keep track of and magnify into undue importance, for the instruction
"of the readers of a great daily newspaper. Beyond this revelation
" everything connected with these two experiments of Providence must
" for ever remain an impenetrable mystery."
It was whilst Mark held this position that Artemus Ward and his
friend Kingston passed through Virginia City. Long before the arrival
of the "genial showman," his fame as a humorist had spread to
Nevada; and, on the other hand, many of the quaint paragraphs of Mark
Twain had been extensively copied in Californian and Eastern papers;
so that these two humorists knew each other by repute long before they
met face to face. When Artemus Ward was exhibiting his " onparralled
show " in California, and it was known in Virginia City that he intended
calling there on his route homeward, Marjc Twain gave his friendly
'.lorrespondent a cordial and characteristic greeting in his paper.
Dr Kingston draws the following portrait of Mark Twain as he ap»
peared at that time : —
" A young roan, strongly built, ruddy in complexion, his hair of a sunny hue,
his eyes light and twinkling, in manner hearty, and nothing of the student about
him, but very much of the miner — one who looked as if he could take his own
Eart iu a quarrel, strike a smart blow as readily as he could say a telling thing,
lixffly jolly, brusquely cordial, ofl-handedly good-natured — such was the kind of
man I found Mark Twain to be.
" Let it be borne in mind that from the windows of the newspaper oflRce the
Anierican desert was visible; that within a radius of ten miles Indians were
encamping amongst the sage-brush ; that the whole city was populated with
miners, adventurers, Jew traders, gamblers, and all the rough-and-tumble class
which a mining town in a new territory collects together, and it will be readily
understood that a reporter for a daily paper in such a place must neither go
about his duties wearing light kid gloves, nor be fastidious about having gilt
edges to his note-books. In Mark Twain 1' found the very man I had expected
to see — a flower of the wilderness, tinged with the colour of the soil, the man of
thought and the man of action rolled into one, humorist and hard-worker,
Momus in a felt hat and jack-boots. In the reporter of the Territorial Enter-
prise I became introduced to a Californian celebrity, rich in eccentricities of
thought, lively in fancy, quaint in remark, whose residence upon the fringe of
civilisation had allowed his humour to develop without restraint, and his speech
to be racily idiomatic."
Six months after Mark Twain joined the staff of the ErUerpriM^
SKETCH OF HIS LIFE,
xvil
I number of th«
ited concerning
pack-trains and
tary affairs and
ggons, and the
f local reporters
r the instructioix
this revelation
rovidence miist
B Ward and his
fore the arrival
had spread to
igraphs of Mark
Eastern papers;
ong before they
is " on^arralled
that he intended
,ve his friendly
3 paper.
wain as he ap"
of a Btinny hue,
the student about
lid take his own
a telling thing,
was the kind of
^paper office the
fes Indians were
populated with
knd-tumble class
wiU be readily
uust neither go
3out having gilt
1 1 had expected
I soil, the man of
[d hard-worker,
Imfma? Enter-
Eccentricities of
|n the fringe of
and his speech
le Eni&c^ii^
w^hat arc known as the " flunh times " of Silverland began, and they
continued with unabated splendour for three years. The city increased
in size daily. Hundreds of projects for money-making were afloat,
and new companies were being started and carried out with an in-
dustry that would have shamed Eastern speculators. Carriages, we
are told, had often to wait in tlie main street for half an hour, so great
was the throng. Of course, all this provided matter enough for the city
editor. There was no difliculty in getting news whilst the " flush times "
lasted. The reporter was wanted on every hand, and — as Mark Twain
tells us — he was often presented with a few " feet" in return for a short
notice in his City colimin ; in fact, nearly every day brought in mining
stock of some kind, until he had a trunk half full of it Everybody
held stock, and there was so much of it afloat that it was thought
nothing to receive or give twenty or thirty feet, each foot bringing in the
market $20 or $30.
Mark Twain's salary was soon increased to $40 a week, but he
found no immediate use for the extra pay ; if he suddenly required any
cash, he had only to go to the trunk and convert a little stock into coin.
The times were so remarkably " flush " that the possessor of the trunk
avows that he thought they were going to last always ; but, he adds, he
never was much of a prophet ! Before Mark Twain left Virginia City,
an attempt was made to get up a literar}- journal, imder the title of" ThA
Weekly Occidental." It was to contain sensation novels and fine imaginative
writings ; but our author assures us a drunken author killed it by par-
tiiking of too much whisky, and then mixing aU the characters of the
other novelists up into one harum-scarum romance of his own. Not
6ven some poetry from Mark's own pen could save it after this, and
when subsequently it was proposed to revive it under another name,
" some low-priced smarty " on one of the dailies suggested that it should
be called Laaarus / After this no attempt was made to restore it to
life.
For some time past Mark Twain had come to the conclusion that he
i required a change, that he had been in Virginia City quite long enough,
I and that he should at least go or to California and see some of the
' wonders of the Pacific Coast. An opportunity soon presented itself.
An offer had been made to his friend Dan de Quille that the latter
should accompany two luiners to New York to sell a rich mine thev had
just discoverett and secured. Upon comparing notes it was founa that
Mark wanted to go East rather more badly than his friend, and it was
aettled that he should make the journey whilst Dan stopped at home to
see after the mine. Next day Mark started for San Francisco by coach,
intending to take steamer to the Isthmus, and thence on to New York.
In due course Frisco — as it is familiarly termed — was reached, and then
for a few months our author enjoyed an entirely new phase of existence—
** a butterfly idleness," as he terms it, with " nothing to do, nobody to be
responsible to, and untroubled with financial uneasiness." No news yet
from Dan about the rich silver mine to be disposed of in New York ; but
that of course is all right. New clothes, the principal amusemeuts in
the citjf and xoonui at the best hotel, were aimply indiBpenaable. Ooi
JLViii
MARK TWAIN:
ii
[!
ii I
|i
author lived an a man of fortune might live ; and why not, when there
was the trunk full of stock, and that silver mine to Hell in New Vork \
Suddenly matters changed considerably in Neviida, and although
stocks rose to a higher point than ever, still it was but the evening's glare
before the storm. Mark held on to his stock when he should have sold
out, and then, to use his own expressive words, " all of a sudden out
went the bottom, and everything and everybody went to ruin and
destruction ! The wreck was complete." The trunk now contained so
much waste paper, and after paying^ his debts Mark had some |40 or
|60 left, and with this he moved into humbler lodgings. He soon
obtained a situation as a reporter, and followed his old occupation, still
hoping that something might come of that silver mine to be sold in
New York. On one occaaion he remained at home for a day to recruit a
little. On going back to the office the following day, he found a note
from a former acquaintance at Virginia City, begging Him to call at the
hotel immediate^, as the former acquaintance had to take the first
steamer for New Y ork to sell a silver mine out in Nevada. The truth
flashed across Mark's mind in a moment ! Certainly it was too late, but
no matter. Down he rushed to the wharf, and there was the steamer
away out in the Bay, steaming off grandly to its destination. Some
time after a copy of the Enterprise reached him. It contained a para<
graph to the effect that the Nevada Silver Mine had been successfully
sold for $3,000,000, and that machinery, with a capital of $1,000,000, was
on the road to work it ! The figures were somewhat exaggerated, but
still a grand chance had been lost and as our author remarks, " it was the
blind lead over again." Mark was getting $35 a week at this time, but
his ill luck so preyed upon him, and he so lost heart, that one day the
editor as an act of kindness called him on one side and suggested that
he should resign.
After this he wrote odds and ends for the Golden Era, and then we
find him with Bret Harte on the Californian, the latter acting as Editor
at $20 a week, and Mark receiving $12 for an article. Shortly after the
paper died, and our author was left without a situation. The once
prosperous city editor now fell so low in pocket that he assures us he
was reduced to a solitary ten cent piece, which small coin he persisted in
retaining rather than be penniless, and thus tempted to commit suicide 1
After he had pawned everything, endured hardships and misery he
had never known before, and made the acquaintance of another broken-
down reporter, who went from one lodging to another until he finally slept
in a barrel ; after enduring all sorts of distress, slinking away from
everybody in the shape of a former acquaintance, carefully choosing the
back streets and unfrequented thoroughfares, — a used-up miner came
along whom he had formerly known in better circumstances, and it was
arranged that the pair should go back to Tuolumne, a decayed and
abandoned mining city, inhabited by half a dozen broken-spirited exiles,
who had lived tliere in the glorious, palmy days, but who had failed in
their speculations and were now chained to the spot, without heart to
move elsewhere. They lived, or rather existed, by what is termed
"pocket mining," Uie searclunp^ for bimchet or ''pockets" of earth
i.ii
SKETCH OF HTS UFR.
six
containing particles of gold. Two months' work failed to discover a
<' pocket," and Mark and his friend got their tools together and went
elsewhere. They went to Angels' Camp, Calaveras County, a locality
that will be familiar to readers of Bret Ilarte's Califomian storieH.
Here they spent nearly a month, but found nothing. Then
they wanderea in the mountains, sleeping under the trees at night,
takin'^ pot-luck at meal time in the miners' cabins, for that is the
frienJiy custom with these men.
After an absence of three months, Mark managed to get back to San
Francisco again, but he was penniless. He was scarcely so dejected as
he was a few months back, because he had now got used to poverty, and,
as he himself tells us, " had become lazy." The splendid talents ne had
formerly shown were nowhere. He seems to have lost his wit, and
his humour into the bargain, and, without a particle of energy to
recover himself, he lived on credit just as long as he could. At length
a turn came in his affairs. His old Mend, the proprietor of the
Enterpriae, appointed him San Francisco correspondent ; and when he
had got out of debt, he accepted the offer made nim by the Saeramento
Union to go to the Sandwich Islands, and supply that paper with a full
description of all he might see, but especially to wnte up the sugar
interest there. Mark's taste for vagabondising was not yet conquered,
and he hailed the appointment with delight. The islands were 2000
miles away in mid-ocean, and would be an entire change to him. He
went in a small screw steamer, and on reaching Honolulu, was delighted
with the town. " Every step," he savs, " revealed a new contrast, disclosed
something I was unaccustomed to.'' One of the first peculiarities that
struck hmi was the enormous number of cats — cats of every shade,
size, variety, and feature — both Tom and Mary Ann — and in milliona,
and all fast asleep. After the ceaseless bustle of San Francisco, the
islands possessed a summer calm which the author compares to the
tranquillity of dawn in the garden of Eden. When the sun went down,
it was a tranced luxury to sit in the perfumed air and forget that there
was any world but these enchanted islands. One of our author's first
excursions was a trip on horseback out to an ancient battle ground.
Horses are plentiful there — ^that is, you can get a good horse for all practical
purposes for two dollars and a half, and you can buy a hay bundle for
twenty-five cents — but the true difficulty rests with the saddle and
bridle, which cost from thirty to forty dollars. Mark Twain does not
often indulge in a pun, but he could not help asking, when he saw how
the Sandwich Islanders always aqusA on their hams, whether these were
not " the old original ham sandwiches ? "
The fish market he found well attended and singularly lively. It was
lively, because the natives are not only very partial to fish, but they eat
them alive I On Saturday afternoons all turn out to enjoy themselves,
the girls on horseback, and covered with gaudy finery. At night you
eat and drink, and the girls dance the hula hula — a dance not altogethei
unlike some parts of the famous bee dance of the rirls of Cairo, and
just about as indecent, although of course attended with much of what
a modern Anacreon terms '"the poetiy of motion." Matters have,
n
MARK TWAIN:
'I .'
however. Improved of late yearn, and now the dance \% forbidden, an^
tlie iiiisninnariftfl have the pcojtlo'B niornls in their charge. Everybody
can reiul nnd write ; there are plenty of >)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 Overl<md Monthly was started, under the leadership
of his friend, Bret Harte, and in the very first number we find a contri-
bution from Mark Twain's pen. It is that delightful paper, ** By Bail
through France," which now forms the twelfth chapter in " The Innocents
Abroad." During the next few months other portions of the same work
appeared in the Overland.
" The Innocents Abroad ; or, The New Pilgrim's Progress," established
Mark Twain's reputation. It was issued as a "subscription book"
by the Hartford, Conn., American Publishing Company, and it is stated,
• from MrHingston's introduction to the original JSnglish edition of "The InnocttnU
Abroad.' Mr Hingston concludes hia remarks by saying:— <' I believe that Mark Twain
has never visited England. Some time since he wrote to me asking my opinion relative to
his giving an entertainment in London. He has appeared in New York and elsewhere as a
lecturer, and from his originality would, I have no doubt, be able to repeat his lectures
with success were he to visit this country. But I never met him in the character of a
public entertainer, and can only speak from experience of his remarkable talent as a
bumorouB writer, and of his cordial (hoikness and jovial good-fellowship as a friend and
•ompanion."
t The steamer QMofcw CUm subseqaently came te grief. She had been fitted np for
fllibostering purposes, when tae United States fttt m ment seiaed her, and confiscated both
steamer and cargo.
S ^iif
xxvili
MAUK TWAIN:
I
r
n
i^
on unimpeachable authority, that Mark received twenty-four thousand
dollars as his share of the proceeds, whilst the company made seventy
thousand.* 112,000 copies of the book were sold.
Everywhere the book was reviewed M-ith the highest approbation ; even
the intellectual and prudish Bostoniani considered that the work was—
"m amusing in its execution aa it waa in its conception. AimI it ia always
good-hamoored humour, too, that he lavishes on his reader, and even in its
Impndenoe it is charming ; we do not remember where it is indulged at the cost
of the weak or helpless side, or where it is insolent, with all its sauciness and
irreverence There is an amount of pure human nature in the book which
rarely gets Into literature, "f
And his friend Bret Harte thus speaks of the work : —
" The book is about the size of ' The Family Physician, ' for which it will doubt-
less be often mistaken — with great advantage to the patient. There is hardly a
line of Mr Olemena* aocount that is not readable ; and none the less, certainly,
from the fact that he pokes fun at other tourists. When Mark Twain ia not
simulating indignation, he is really sentimental. He shows it in fine writing-
in really admirable rhetoric, vigorous and picturesque. We can no more fairly
hold Mr Clemens responsible for ' Mark Twain's ' irreverence than we could have
held the late Mr Charles F. Browne to account for * Artemus Ward's ' meanness
and humbuggery. He has caught, with great appreciation and skill, that
nngathered humour and extravagance which belong to pioneer communities.
Mr Clemena deserves to rank foremoat among Western hamoriats." X
In England the work waa immediately republished by the writer
of this memoir, and, with one or two exceptions, the English
edition met with a cordial reception from British reviewers. Tlie
exceptions were, of course, those journalists who could not quite enter
into the authors fun, and who received in all seriousness what Mark
simply intended as wild drollery. The Saturday Review stumbled in
this way, and to the circumstance we owe that delightful mock criticism
by Mark Twain (given further on), which deceived the entire American
press, and occasioned much merriment in literary circles across the
Atlantic. Editions of "The Innocents," <fec. have been issued in
Australia and in Canada, and some time since a Parisian author consulted
the present writer with a view to its translation into French. As no
French version has yet appeared, it is more than probable that the
Parisian has understood Mark's comments in the way the Saturday
Reviewer understood them, and that he has come to the conclusion that
an author who indulges in. the most unpardonable exaggeration — not to
call it by a worse word — or who is so stupid that he wiU not listen to
what the guide tells him ; or, if he does listen, then makes faces at him,
Itad altogether conducts himself in a manner so very different from
most gentlemanly tourists — such an author, he has doubtless concluded,
ought not to be too warmly encouraged, and he has therefore published
a long article in the Revue da Deva, mondes, from which we erli a^l, the
following passages. There is one reader at least that they will amuse—*
* trm Fork Tribune, March 7, 1871. f AOmiUe JfonfiUy, Dec. 1M0.
I The Overland MontKv, January 1«T0.
SKETCH OF HIS LIFE,
xxu
or we fte much mistaken in our judgmentr— and that is, the authoi
i of ^' Tho Innocents Abroad.^
" MarL Twain'a ' Jumping Frog ' ihould be mentioned in the first place m one
Id his meet popular little itories — ahnost a type of the rest. It is, nevertheless,
Irather difficult for us to understand, while reading this stoir, the 'roars of
lughter ' that it excited in Australia and in India, in New Tork and in London ;
(he numerous editions which appeared of it ; the epithet of * inimitable ' that
^he critics of the English press nave unanimously awarded to it."
" We may remark that a Persian of Montesquieu, a Huron of Yoltaire, even a
iple Peruvian woman of Madame de Oraffigny, reasons much more wisely about
ropean civilisation than an American of San Francisco. The fact is, that it
not sufficient to have wit, or even natural taste, in order to appreciate works
art."
"It is the right of humorists to be extravagant; but still common sense,
Ithongh carefully hidden, ought tomdimtM to make itself apparent In
lark Twun the Protestant is enraged against the pagan worship of broken
karble s^tues — the democrat denies that there was any poetic feeling in "^iie
^ddle anes. The sublime ruins of the Coliseum only impressed him with the
iperiority of America, which punishes its criminals by forcing them to work
the bunefit of the State, over ancient Rome, which could only draw from the
mishments which it inflicted the passing pleasure of a 'spectacle.'"
"'In the course of this voyage in company with Mark Twain, we at length dis-
rer, under his good-fellowship and apparent ingenuousness, faults which we
^ould never have expected. He has in the highest degree that of appearing
tonished at nothing — common, we may say, to all savages. He confesses him-
f, that one of his great pleasures is to horrify the guides by his indifference
^d stupidity. He is, too, decidedly envious. . . . We could willingly pardon
his patriotic self-love, often wounded by the ignorance of Europeans, above
in what concerns the New World, if only that national pride were without
iture of personal vanity ; but how comes it that Mark Twain, so severe upon
Dse poor Turks, finds scarcely anything to criticise in Russia, where absolutism
nevertheless not ceased to flourish? We need not seek far for the cause of
indulgence : the Czar received our ferocious republicans ; the Empress, and
Grand Duchess Mary, spoke to them in English."
\ Taking the * Pleasure Trip on the Continent ' altogether, does it merit*the
cess which it enjoys? In spite of the indulgence that we cannot but show to
I judgments of a foreigner ; while recollecting that those amongst us who have
ted America have fallen, doubtless, under the infiueuce of prejudices almost
'ingerous as ignorance, into errors quite as bad— in spite of the wit with
Bh certain pages sparkle — we must say that this voyage is very far below
I less celebrated excursions of the same author in his own country."
id then the reviewer bestows a reward of merit, a certificate of good
racter, which will doubtless be a great comfort to the author, after
many nps and downs he has passed through. With such a certificate
^-- possession, who shall say — but here is me document itself : —
[Mark Twain's fun is never licentious. It is the distinctive and honourable
^ure of all American humorists, that they have a profound respect for
[>cence. 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
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./ A
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THE PILGUIM S VISION,
1
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ill
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• III
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,: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<ikt«Mi and
; Plaa, Ms Ob^wcbral^and " LsMiiag Tower," and L«««a aud ito Wki»s,
tke HMst remote, b«iBg disiaai by
nram
JMkaii
*f>
('
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. <ind other points of interest in the Holy Land can be visited ;
md here those who may have preferred to make the journey from Beirout
fhrough the country, passing through Damascus, Galilee, Caperiiaum, Samaria,
id by the River Jordan and Sea of Tiberias, can rejoin the steamer.
Leaving Joppa, the next point of interest to visit will be Alexandria, which
nil bo reached in twenty-four hours. The ruins of Caesar's Palace, Pompey's
*illar, Cleopatra's Needle, the Catacombs, and ruins of ancient Alexandria,
rill be found worth the visit. The journey to Cairo, one hundred and thirty
lilcs by rail, can be made in a few hours, and from v^ch can be visited the site
' ancient Memphis, Joseph's Granaries, and the Py ^mids.
From Alexandria the route will be taken homeward, calling at Malta, Cagliari
Sardinia), and Parma (in Majorca), all magnificent harboon, with diarming
mery, and abounding in fmita.
K day or two will be spent at eaoh place, arvd lea'dag Parm* in the evening,
falenoU in Spein will be readhed tke next morning. A few days will be spent
thu, the finest city of 9pftin.
From YaleBcia, the homemrd eewrse will be continued, skirting along tbn
it of Spain. Alieant, Carthagena, Palos, and Malaga will be paseed but a
i er two diflt-ant, and Gibraltar reaohed in about tw^nty-fonr hours.
LA s4ay of UA« dav will be made here, and the voyai^e c«mti«i«ed to Madeira,
' "^ «iU be TSikoiMd in abevt itmm dayw. Caf>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\/y</?A' rtVAf/i'S IVOM'^^
CHAPTER II.
OCCASIONALLY during the following month I droppixl lu at 11
Wall Street to iuquire how tlie repairing and refnrmflhing of the
vessel was coming on ; how additions to the passenger bat were
averaging ; how many people the committee were decreeing not " select "
every day, and banishing m sorrow and tribulation. I was glad to know
that we were to have a little printing-press on board, and issue a daily
newspaper of our own. I was glad to leam that our piano, our parlour
organ, and our melodeon were to he the best instruments of the kind
that could be had in the market. I was proud to observe that among
our excursionists were three ministers of the gospel, eight doctors, sixteen
or eighteen ladies, several military and naval chieftains with sounding
titles, an am])le crop of " Professors " of various kinds, and a gentleman
who had Commibsionbr of the United States of America to Europi
Asia, and Africa " thundering after his name in one awful blast ! 1
had carefully prepared myself to take rather a back seat in tliat ship,
because of the uncommonly select material that would alone be per-
mitted to pass through the camel's eye of that committee on credentials ;
I had schooled myself to expect an imposing arrav of militarv and naval
heroes, and to have to set that back seat still further back: in conse-
quence of it maybe ; but I state frankly that I was all unprepared for
this crusher.
I fell under that titular avalanche a torn and blighted thing. I saicl
that if that potentate must go ov«r in our ship, why, I supposed he
must — but that to my thinking, when the United States considered it
necessary to send a dignitary of that tonnage across the ocean, it woulo
be in better taste, and safer, to take him apart and cart him over in seC'
tions Id several ships.
Ah ! if I had only known then that he was only a common mortal,
and that his mission had nothing more overpowering alb )rt it than
the collecting of seeds, and uncommon yams and extraordiuary cab-
bages and peculiar bullfrogs for that poor, useless, innocent, mildewed
old fossil, tine Smithsonian Institute, I would have felt ao much re-
lieved.
During that memorable month I basked in the happiness of bdng
for once m my life drifting with the tide of a great jpopular movement
Everybody was going to Europe — I too was going to Europe. Everybody
was going to the famous Paris Exposition — I too was going to the Pari*
Exposition. The steamship lines were carrying Americans out of the
vanoufl ports of the country at the rate of four or five thousand a week
in the aggregate. If I met a dozen individuals, during that month, who
were not going to Europe shortly, I have n« diJatinct renembrance of it
now. I walked about the city a good deal with a yoimg Mr BlHcher,
who was booked for the excursion. He was confiding, good-natured,
unsophisticated, companionable ; but he was not a man to set the rivei
OIL fire. He had the moet extraordina;^^ notions ab«>ut 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 ol<l people ; b«t aomehow they all
■eem to have the * Oh my' rather bml."
I kiiew what waa the matter with theia. They were sea-sick ; and I
was elf^ of it We all like to see people sea-sick when we are noi
ourselyes. Playing whiat by the cabin lamps when it is stormiuK out-
side is pleasant ; walking the c^uarter-dcck m the moonlight is pleasant ■,
smoking in the breezy foretop is pleasant, when one is not afraid to go
up there ; but these are all feeble and commonplace compared with the
joy of seeing people suffering the miseries of sea-sickness.
I picked up a f^ood deal ot information during the afternoon. At one
time I was clmibing up the quarter-deck when the vessel's stem was in
the sky. I was smoking
Somebody ejaculated —
a cigar, and feeling passably comfortable.
" Come, now, that won't answer. Read the sign up there — No
BMOKINQ ABAFT THE WHEEL ! "
It was Captain Dmican, chief of the expedition. 1 went forward, of
course. I saw a long spy-glass lying on a desk in one of the upper-deck
state-rooms ^ack of the pilot-house, and reached after it — there was a
ship in the distance.
" Ah, ah !— hands off ! Come out of that ! **
I came out of that. I said to a deck-sweep, but in a low voice —
" Who is that overgrown pirate with the whiskers and the discordant
voice 1 "
" It *8 Captain Bursley — executive officer — sailing-master."
I loitered about awhue, and then, for want of something better to do,
fell to carving a railing with my knife. Somebody said, in an insinuating,
admonitory voice —
" Now ««y, my friend, don't you know any better than to be whittliuj;
the ship all to pieces that way f YoMk ought to know better than that."
I went back and found the deck-sweep.
« Who is that smooth-faced animated outrage yonder in the fino
clothes ] "
'' That 's Captain L , the owner of the ship ; he 's one of the main
bosses."
In the course of time I brought up on the starboard side of the pilot-
house, and found a sextant lying on a bench. "Now," I said, " they 'take
the sun ' through this thing ; I should think I might see that vessel
through it." I had hardly got it to my eye when some one touched me
on the shoulder, and said, deprecatingly —
" I '11 have to get you to give that to me, sir. If there 's anything'
vou 'd like to know about taking the sun, I 'd as soon tell you as not ,
but I don't like to trust anybody with that instrument. If you want
figuring done Ay, ay, sir ! "
He waa gone, to answer a call from the other side. I sought Um
deck-sweep.
"Who is that spider-legged gorilla yonder with the sanctimonioua
•onntenance ? "
" It 's Captain Jones, «ir, the chief mate."
**Well, ibis goes clear away ahead of anything I eyer betid al
THE INNOCENTS ABROAU
(MMnehow they idi
txilore. \>o 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<l said, " No ; shame, shame, shame ! The poor old
woman hasn't done anything."
And they gave the old hag some Portuguese pennies like shuffle-
board blocks, and hustled her away, averring she was begging and not
j making love ; and thus, by the well-meaning stupidity of my comrades,
[ I was prevented from implanting a sweet memory in the soul of one
who may now go down to the grave with no sacred thing upon the altar
Uf her heart but the ashes of a hopeless passion — and yet a stanza or two
[would have made her so happy.
Speaking of these prodigious Portuguese pennies reminds me that it
[takes 1000 reifl (pronounce<i rays) to make a dollar, and that all finan-
jcial estimates are made out in reis. We did not know this until after
[we had found it out, and we found it through Blucher. Blucher said
jhe was so happy and so grateful to be on solid land once more, that
the wanted to give a feast — said he had heard it was a cheap land, and
[was bound to have a banquet He invited nine of us, and we ate an
lexcellent dinner at the principal hotel. In the midst of the jollity pro-
Hoced by eood cigars, good wine, and passable anecdotes, the landlord
>
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<l all of tlieiii taMteful anC
handsome, and eternally HuhBtantial ; aTul everywhere are thuite mar-
vellons pavenientH, ho neat, so Ruiooth, and so indestructible. And if
•ver roiul« and streets and the outsidea of houseo were perfectly free
from any sign or semblance of dirt, or dust, or mud, or uncleanliness of
any kind, it is Horta, it is Fayal. The lower classes of the people, in
their persons and their domiciles, are not clean — but there it stops— the
town and the island are miracles of cleanliness.
We arrived home again finally, after a ten mile excursion, and the
irrenreasible muleteers scampered at our heels through the main street,
goaaing the donkeys, shouting the eveihusting " Sekki-t/ah" and singing
"John Brown's Body" in ruinous English.
When we were dismounted and it came to settling, the shouting and
jawing, and swearing and quarrelling, among the muleteers and with us,
was nearly deafening. One fellow woidd demand a dollar an hour foi
the use of his donkey ; another claimed lialf a dollar for pricking him
up, another a quarter for helping in that serviiie, and about fourteen
guides presented bills for showing us the way tli rough the town and its
environs ; and every vagrant of IheTn was more vociferous and more
vehement and more frantic in gesture than his neighlH)ur. We paid
one guide, and paid for one muleteer to each donkey.
The mountains on some of the islands are veiy high. We sailed
along the shore of the Island of Pico, under a stately green pyramid
that rose up with one unbroken sweep from our very feet to an
altitude of 7613 feet, and thrust its summit above the white clouds likr
%Q island adrift in a fog !
We got plenty of fresh oranges, lemons, figs, apricots, &c., in the.se
Azores, of course. But I will desist I am not here to write Patent-
Office reports.
We are on our way to Gibraltar, and shall reach there five or six day*
Dut firom the Azores.
CHAPTER VII.
A WEEK of buffeting a tempestuous and relentless sea ; a week of
sea-sickness and deserted cabins ; of lonely quarter-decks drenched
with spray — spray so ambitious that it even coated the smoke-stacks
thick with a white crust of salt to their very tops ; a week of shivering
in the shelter of the life-boats and deck-houses by day, and blowing
suffocating " clouds " and boisterously performing at dominoes in the
smoking-room at night
And the last night of the seven was the stormiest of all. There was
no thunder, no noise but the pounding bows of the ship, the keen
whistling of the gale through the cordage, and the rush of the seething
waters. But the vessel climbed aloft as if she would climb to heaven-
then paused an instant that seemed a century, and plunged headlong
down again, as from a precipice. The sheeted spravn drenched the
THE INNOCENTS AliKOAD,
It
IMli
five or fix days
Isea : a week oi
leeks like rain. The hliickiK'HH of durkncHs mut evfrywheru. /\i 1
lutervalH u tliuth of lightning cluve it witli a ({uivering liim of tire, that
revealed a heaving world of water where wua notliing before, kindled
the dusky cordage to glittering silver, and lit up the faces of the men
with a ghastly lustre I
Fear drove many on deck that were used to avoitling the night-windf
and the spray. Some thought the vessel could not live throiigli the
nij^'lit, and it Bcemcd le«8 drendliil to stand out in the midst of the wild
tem))cst, and 8ee the peril that threatened, than to be shut up in the
sepulchral cabins, under the dim lamps, and imagine the horrors that
were abroad on tlie ocean. And once out— once where they could see
the ship stmggling in the strong grasp of the storm — once where thev
could hear the shriek of the win&, and face the driving spray, and look
out upon the majestic picture the lightnings disclosed, they wer*
prisoners to a fierce fuHchiation they could not resist, aud so remained.
It wa8 a wild night — and a very, very long one.
Everybody was sent scampering to the deck at seven o'clock thi*
lovely morning of the 3()th of June, with the glad news that land was in
eight ! It was a rare thing and a joyful, to see all the ship's fjunily
abroad once more, albeit the happiness that sat upon every countenauc«
could only partly conceal the ravages whicli tliat long siege of storms had
wrought there. But dull eyes soon sparkled with pleasure, pallid
fheeks flushed again, and frames weakened bv sickness gathered new
Hfe from the quickening influences of the biight, fresh morning. Yea,
and from a still more potent influence : the worn castaways were to see
the blessed land again ! and to see it was to bring back that mother-
land that was in all their thoughts.
Within the hour we were fairly within the Straits of Gibraltar, the
tall yellow-splotched hills of Africa on our right, with their bases veiled
m a blue haze and their summits swathed in clouds — the same being
according to Scripture, which says that " clouds and darkness are over
the land." The words were spoken of this particular portion of Africa,
I believe. On our left were the granite-ribbed domes of old Spain.
The Strait is only thirteen miles wide in its narrowest part
At short intervals, along the Spanish shore, were quaint-loolcing old
stone towers — Moorish, we thought — but learned better afterwards. In
former times, the Morocco rascals used to coast along the Spanish Main
in their boats till a safe opportunity seemed to present itself, and then
dart in and capture a Spanish village, and Qssry off all the pretty 'A^omen
they could find. It was a pleasant business, and was very popular.
The Spaniards built these watch-towers on the hills to enable them to
keep a sharper look-out on the Moroccan speculators.
The picture, on the other hand, was very beautiful to eyes weary ol
the changeless sea, and by and by the ship's company grew wonderfully
cheerfuL But while we stood admiring tne cloud-capped peaks and the
lowlands robed in misty gloom, a finer picture burst upon us, and
chained every eye l^e a magnet — a stately ship, with canvas piled on
canvas till she was one towering mass of bell3ring sail! She oame
speeding oTer the Be» like a great bird. AMca and SiMon were for
4*
MARK TWAIN'S WORKS.
!¥
H
gotten. All homage was for the beautiful stranger. While everybody
gazed, she swept superbly by, and flung the Stars and Stripes to the
reeze ! Quicker than tnougbt, hats and handkerchiefs flasned in the
air, and a cheer went up ! She was beautiful before — she was radiant
now. Many a one on our decks knew then lor the first time how tame
a sight his country's flag is at home compared to what it is in a foreign
land. To see it is to see a vision of home itself and all its idols, and feel
a thrill that would stir a very liver of sluggish blood !
We were approaching the famed Pillars of Hercules, and already the
African one, " Ape's Hill," a grand old mountain, with summit streaked
with granite ledges, was in sight. The other, the great Rock of Gib-
raltar, was yet to come. The ancients considered the Pillars of Hercule?
the head of navigation and the end of the world. The information thi
ancients didn't have was very voluminous. Even the prophets wrote
book after book, and epistle after epistle, yet never once hinted at the
existence of a great continent on our side of the water ; yet they must
have known it was there, I should think.
In a few moments a lonely and enormous mass of rock, standing seem
Ingly in the centre of the wide strait, and apparently washed on all sides
by the sea, swung magnificently into view, and we needed no tedious
traveUed parrot to tell us it was Gibraltar, There could not be two
rocks like that in one kingdom.
The Rock of Gibraltar is about a mile and a half long, I would say, by
1400 to 1500 feet high, and a quarter of a mile wide at its base. Oni
Bide and one end of it come about as straight up out of the sea as the
side of a house ; the other end is irregular, and the other side is a stee^
slant, which an armv would find very difilcult to climb. At the foot o(
this slant is the walled town of Gibraltar — or rather the town occupies
part of the slant. Everywhere — on hillside, in the precipice, by the
sea, on the heights — everywhere you choose to look, Gibraltar is clad
with masonry and bristUng with guns. It makes a striking and Uvely
picture, from whatsoever point you contemplate it It is pushed out into
the sea on the end of a flat, narrow strip oi land, and is suggestive of a
" gob " of mud on the end of a shingle. A few hundred yards of this
flat ground at its base belong to the English, and tLen, extending across
the strip from the Atlantic to the Mediterranean, a distance of a quarter
of a mile, comes the '' Neutral Ground," a space two or three hundred
yards wide, which is free to both parties.
" Are you going through S pain to Paris '?" That question was bandied
about the ship day and night from Fayal to Gibraltar, and I thought I
never could get so tired of hearing any one combination of words again,
or more tired of answering, " I don't know." At the last moment, six
or seven had suflicient decision of character to make up theii minds te
go, and did go, and I felt a sense of relief at once — it was for ever too
late now, and I could make up my mind at my leisure, not to go. I
must have a prodigious quantity of mind ; it takes me as much as a
week, sometimes, to make it up. , v«.;
But behold how annoyances repeat themselves. We had no sooner
gotten rid of the Spain distress than the Qibraltar guides started
THE INNOCENTS ABROAD,
43
nB other ^-« tiresome repetition of a legend that had nothing rery
aatoiiishing about it, even in the first place : " That high hill youdei
is called the Queen's Chair ; it is because one of the queens of Spain
placed her chair there when the French and Spanish troops were
i)i!siegiiig Gibraltar, and said she would never move from the spot till
the English flag was lowered from the fortresses. If the English nadn't
been gallant enough to lower the flag for a few hours one day, she 'd
have had to break her oath or die up there."
We rode on asses and mules up the steep, narrow streets, and entered
Ihe subterranean galleries the English have blasted out in the rock.
These galleries are like spacious railway tunnels, and at short intervals
ia them great guns frown out upon sea and town, through port-holes
five or six hundred feet above the ocean. There is a mile or so of this
eubterranean work, and it must have cost a vast deal of money and
lal)our. The gallery guns command the peninsula and the harbours of
both oco::ns ; but they might as well not be there, I should think, for an
army could hardly climb the perpendicular wall of the rock anvhow.
Those lofty port-holes afi'ord superb views of the sea, though. At one
place, where a jutting crag was hollowed out into a great chamber whose
furniture was huge cannon, and whose windows were port-holes, a
(jUmpse was caught of a hill not far away, and a soldier said —
'' That high liHl yonder is called the Queen's Chair ; it is because a
|ueen of Spain placed her chaii there once, when the French ana
Spanish troops were besieging Gibraltar, and said she would nevei
move from the spot till the English flag was lowered from the for.
tresses. If the English hadn't been gallant enough to lower the flag foi
a few hours one day, she 'd have had to break her oath or die up there.'*
On the topmost pinnacle of Gibraltar we halted a good while, and no
Joubt the mules were tired. They had a right to be. The military road
was good, but rather steep, and there was a good deal of it The view
from the narrow ledge was magnificent ; from it vessels seeming like the
tiniest little toy-boats, were turned into noble ships by the telescopes ;
and other vessels that were fifty miles away, and even sixty, they said,
and invisible to the naked eye, could be clearly distinguished through
those same telescopes. Below, on one side, we looked down upon an
endleffs mass of butteries, and on the other straight down to the sea.
While I was resting ever so comfortably on a rampart, and cooling
my baking head in the delicious breeze, an officious guide belonging to
another party came up and said —
" Seiior, that high hill yonder is called the Queen's Chair"-—
*' Sir, I am a helpless orphan in a foreign land. Have pity on me.
Don't — now don't inflict that most Iu-fernal old legend cu lue any
more to-day '"
There— I had used strong language, after promising I would never
do so again, but the provocation was more than human nature could
bear. If you had been bored so, when you had the noble panorama of
Spain and Africa and the blue Mediterranean spread abroad at youi
feet, and wanted to gaze, and enjoy, and surfeit yourself with its beautT
in sLtence, you might hav^ evta baxit into stronger language thui I didi
iri
[I
V.
^ :
\\-
'.'■'
(■'
i ■
ifi ■
•^ll'
m
44
MAIIK 7 iVAfN*S WORKS.
Gibraltar hiw? stood Beveral protracted sieges, one of tbrnn of neariy
four years' duration (it failed), and the English only capitutjd it by
stratagem. The wonder is, that anybody should ever dream of tiring
(BO impossible a project as the taking it by assa lit — and yet it has been
tried more than once.
The Moors held the place twelve hundred years ago, and a staunch old
castle of theirs of that date still frowns from the middle of the town,
with moss-grown battlements and sides well scarred by shots fired in
battles and sieges that are forgotten now. A secret chamber, in the rock
behind it, was discovered some time ago, which contained a sword oi
exquisite workmanship, and some quaint old armour of a fashion that
antiquaries are not acquainted with, though it is supposed to be Roman.
Roman armour and Roman relics, of various kinds, have been found in
a cave in the sea extremity of Gibraltar ; history says Rome held this
part of tlie country about the Christian era, and these things seem to
confirm the statement.
In that cave, also, are found human bones, crusted with a very thick,
Btony coating, and wise men have ventured to say that those men not
only lived before the flood, but as much as ten thousand years before it
It may be true — it looks reasonable enough — but as long as those parties
can't vote any more, the matter can be of no great public interest. In
this cave, likewise, are found skeletons and fossils of animals that exist
in every part of Africa, yet witliin memory and tradition have never
existed in any portion of Spain save this lone peak of Gibraltar. So the
theory is that the channel between Gibraltar and Africa was once dry
land, and that the low, neutral neck between Gibraltar and the Spanish
hills behind it was once ocean, and of course that these African animals,
being over at Gibraltar (after rock, perhaps — there is plenty there), got
closed out when the great change occurred. The hills in Africa, across
the channel, ar(i full of apes, and there are now, and always have been,
apes on the rock of Gibraltar — but not elsewhere in Spain ! The subject
is an interesting one.
There is an English garrison at Gibraltar of 6000 or 7000 men, and so
uniforms of flaming red are plenty ; and red and blue, an 1 undress coia-
tumes of snowy white, and also the queer uniform of the bare-kneed
Highlander ; and one sees soft-eyed Spanish girls from San Roque, and
veiled Moorish beauties (I suppose they are beauties) from Tama, and
turbaned, sashed, and trousered Moorish merchants from Fez, and long-
robed, bare-legged, ragged, Mohammedan vagabonds from Tetouan and
Tangier, some brown, somo yellow, and some as black as virgin ink
■—and Jews from all around, in gaberdine, skull-cap, and slippers, just
as they are in pictures and theatres, and just as they were three thousand
years ago, no doubt. You can easily understand that a tribe (somehow
our pilgrims suggest that expression, because they march in a straggling
procession through these foreign places with such an Indian-like air of
complacency and independence about them) like ours, made up from
fifteen or sixteen States of the Union, found enough to stare at in thi«
shifting panorama of fashion to-day.
Speakuw; of our pilgrimB reminoa me th«t we have one or two people
THE INNOCRNTS ABROAD.
4S
b«m of nearly
aptmtid it ^3*
ream of tiying
ret it has DceD
1 a staunch old
e of the town,
shots tired in
ber, in the rock
led a sword oi
a fashion that
i to be Koman.
been fonnd in
iome held this
things seem to
;h a very thick,
those men not
years before it
as those parties
ic interest. In
imals that exist
Lon have never
braltar. So the
5a was once dry
,nd the Sfjanish
ifrican animals,
enty there), got
Africa, across
ays have been,
! The subject
I or two peoplf
unong us who are sometimes an annoyance. However, I do not count
the Oracle in that list. I will explain that the Oracle is an innocent old
ass, who eats for four and looks wiser than the whole Academy of France
would have any right to look, and never uses a one-syllable word when
he can think of a longer one, and never by any possible chance knows
the meaning of any long word he uses, or ever gets it in the right place :
yet he will serenely venture an opinion on the most abstruse subject, and
back it up complacently with quotations I'ro no. authors who never existed,
and finally, when cornered, will slide to tl.e other side of the question,
«ay he has been there all the time, and come back at you with your own
spoken arguments, only with the big words all tangled, and play them
in your very teeth as original with himself. He reads a chapter in the
guide-book, mixes the facts all up, with his bad memory, and then goes
off to inflict the whole mess on somebody as wisdom which has been
festering in his brain for years, and which he gathered in college from
erudite authors who are dead now, and out of print This morning, at
breakfast, he pointed out of the window and said —
" Do you see that there hill out there on that African coast ? — It's one
of them Pillows of Herkewls, I should say — and there's the ultimate one
.ilongside of it."
" The ultimate one — that is a good word — but the Pillars are not both
on the same side of the strait" (I saw he had been deceived by a care-
lessly written sentence in the Guide- Book.)
" Well, it ain't for you to say, nor for me. Some authors states it that
way, and some states it different. Old Gibbons don't say nothing about
it— just shirks it complete — Gibbons always done that when he gol
stuck — but there is Rolampton, what does ^ say 1 Why, he says that
they was both on the same side, and TrincuUan, and Sobaster, and
Syraccus, and Langomarganbl"
" Oh ! that will do — that 's enough. If you have got your hand in foi
inventing authors and testimony, 1 have nothing more to say — let them
he on the same side."
We don*t mind the Oracle. We rather like him. We can tolerate
the Oracle very easily ; but we have a poet and a good-natured enter-
prising idiot on board, and they do distress the company. The one gives
copies of his verses to Consuls, commanders, hotel-keepers, Arabs, Dutch
— to anybody, in fact, who will submit to a grievous infliction most
kindly meant His poetry is all very well on shipboard, notwith-
standing when he wrote an " Ode to the Ocean in a Storm " in one half-
hour, and an " Apostrophe to the Rooster in the Waist of the Ship " in
the next, the transition was considered to be ratlier abrupt ; but when
he sends an invoice of rhymes to tlie Governor of Fayal and another to
the commander-in-chief and other dignitaries in Gibraltar, with the
compliments of the Laureate of the Ship, it is not popular with the
paf^sengers.
The other personage I have mentioned is young and green, and not
bright not learned, and not wise. He will be, though, some day, il he
recoUecta the answers to all his questions. He is known about the ship
«8 th« '^ IntenrogfttMa PoioV' '^ this by constant use has beoooM
'■ii
181
40
AfA^ir TWAIM'S WORKS.
shortened to ** Interrugation." He haa dbtiiigiiiahecl himself twice
already. In Fayal they pointed out a hill and told him it was eight
hundred feet high and eleven hundred feet long. And they told him
there was a tunnel two thousand feet long and one thousand feet high
running through the hill, from end to end. He believed it. He
repeated it to everybody, discussed it, and read it from his notes.
Finally, he took a useful hint from this remark which a thoughtful old
pilgrim made —
" Well, yes ; it u a little remarkable — singular tunnel altogether —
stands up out of the top> 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<l alwnyp
T« th«t oae. ui^hU ajxcJlt ^^» dA*«.ii»-* had «?«««<>• 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<l alwriyr-
" This ancient fortres.-* has a mehmcholy
history. It has been used as a prison for
political offenders for two or three hundred
years. ... In one cell, where a little light
penetrated, a man lived twenty-seven years
without seeing the face of a human being-
lived in filth and wretchedness, with no
companionship but his own thoughts. What he needed was conveyed to his
cell by night through a wicket. . . . Infants grew to boyhood— to vigorous
youth— idled through school and coUego — acquired a profession— claimed
roan's mature estate— married, and looked back to infancy as to a thing o£
some vague, ancient time, almost. But who shall tell how many ages it
seemed to this prisoner?"- Page 62.
! I f
k.
THROUGH FAIR FRANCE.
'*'^ai*^,
•-^5
" We have come five hundred miles by rail through the heart of France,
What a bewitching land it is ! What a garden ! We had such glimpses of
the Rhone gliding along between its grassy banks ; of cosy cottages buried
in flowers and shrubbery ; of quaint old red-tiled villages ; of wooded hills
with ivy-grown towers. We knew, then, what the poet meant when he
sang of —
' thy cornfields green, and sunny vines,
Oh, pleasant land of France ! ' "—Page C3.
Jill
5lT
¥
; »(
•I'
'■M
if'l
ll
■f a
1 •; ' a
f 1
1 1 ■ ■■'%
)^ I
THE INNOCENTS ABROAD.
^
of boon : to the ()ther, those self-«uae nights had been like all othei
nights of dungeon life, and seamed made of alow, dragging weeks, instead
of noun and uiiuuttis. '
One prisoner of fifteen years had scratched verses upon bis walls, and
brief prose sentences — brief but full of pathos. These spoke not of him-
self and his hard estate ; but only of the shriue where his snirit tied the
prison to worship — of }ioiue and the idols that were templea there. Ha
never lived to see them.
The walls of these dungeons are as thick as some bed-chambers at
home are wide — hl'teen feet. We saw the damp, dismal cells in which
Iwo of Duuias' heroes passed their confinement — heroes of " Monte
Christo." It was here Lhut the brave Abbe wrote a book with his own
blood ; with a pen made of a piece of iron hoop, and by the light of a
lamp made out of shreds of cloth soaked in grease obtained n'om his
food ; and then dug through the thick wall with some trifling instru-
ment which he wrought himself out of ft stray piece of iron or table
cutlery, and freed Dant^s from his chains. It was h pity that so many
weeks of dreary labour should have come to naught at last.
They showed us the noisome cell where the celebrated " Iron Mask "
— that ill-starred brother of a hard-hearted king of France — was con-
fined for a season, before he was sent to hide the strange mystery of his
life from the curious in the dungeons of St Marguerite. The place has
a far greater interest for us than it could have had if we had known
beyond all question who the Iron Mask was, and what his history had
been, and wny this nujst unusual punishment had been meted out to
him. Mystery ! That was the charm. That speechless tongue, those
prisoned features, that heart so freighted with unspoken troubles, and
that breast so oppressed with its piteous secret, had been here. These
dank walls had known the man whose dolorous story is a sealed book for
ever I There was fascination in the spot
CHAPTER XIL
WE haye come five iiimdred miles by rail through the neart of
France. What a bewitching land it is ! — What a garden !
Surely the leagues of bright green lawns are swept and brushed
and watered every day and their grasses trimmed by the barber. Surely
the hedges are shap«d and measured and their symmetry preserved by
the most architectural of gardeners. Surely the long straight rows of
■tately poplars that divide the beautiful landscape like the squares of a
eheeker-board are set with line and plummet, and their uniform height
determined with a spirit leveL Surely the straight, smooth, pure wmte
turnpikes are jack-planed and sand-papered every day. How else are
these marvels of symmetry, cleanliness, and order attained! It ia
wondexfuL There are no unsightly atone walls, and nevnr a fence o^
any kind. Thnre ia no dirt» ao decaj^ ma r»i>>>iah anywAttra — aoUunf
IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-3)
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:^
^
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 <ind inquired into the matter. We were in-
formed that inasmucn as most people are not able to tell false gold
from the genuine article, the Government compels jewellers to have
their gold work assayed and stamped officially according to its fineness,
and their imitation work dulv labelled with the sign of its falsity.
They told us the jewellers would not dare to violate this law, and that
whatever a stranger bought in one of their stores migtic be depended
upon as being strictly what it was represented to be. verily, a wonder-
ful land is France !
Then we hunted for a barber's shop. From earliest infancy it had
been a cherished ambition of mine to oe shaved some day in a palatial
barber's shop of Paris. I wished to recline at full length in a cushioned
invalid chair, with pictures about me, and sumptuous furniture ; with
frescoed walls and gilded arches above me, and vistas of Corinthiar
columns stretching far before me ; with perfumes of Araby to intozicati
my senses, and the slumberous drone of distant noises to soothe me U
sleep. At the end of an hour I would wake up regretfully and find m}
face as smooth and as soft as an infant's. Departing I would lift mv
hands above that barber's head and say, " Heaven bless you, my son ! '
So we searched high and low, for a matter of two hours, but never a
barber's shop could we see. We saw only wig-making establishments,
vrith shocks of dead and repulsive hair bound upon the heads of painted
waxen brigands, who stared out from glass boxes upon the passer-by
with their stony eyes, and scared him with the ghostly white of theij
countenances. We shunned these things for a time, but finally we con-
eluded that the wig-makers must of necessity be the barbers as well,
since we could find no single legitimate representative of the fratimity.
We entered and asked, and found that it was even so.
I said I wanted to be shaved. The barber inquired where my loouu
I said, never mind where my room was, I wanted to be shaved —
was.
there, on the spot The doctor said he would be shaved also. Then
there was an excitement among those two barbers ! There was a wild
consultation, and afterwards a hurrying to and fro, and a feverish gather-
ing up of razors from obscure places, and a ransacking for soap. Next
they took us into a little mean, shabby back room ; they got two ordin-
anr sitting-room chairs and placed us in them, wiUi our coats on. Hy
old, old dream of bliss vanisned into thin air !
I sat bolt upright, silent, sad, and aolenm. One of the wi^-making
villains lathered my face for ten terrible minutes, and finii^ed bv
plastering a mass of suds into my uiuuth. I expelled the nasty stuff wita
■\ stjoDff Kuj^lish f.xpletivH, «nd sh^L " ForeigUor, beware ! * Then thic
I ;f
THE INNOCENTS ABROAD.
Ntoret tnd
>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
• <i
■ i
would go ard 0«t kifl brnalcfaflt s^ soon m we had flnkhed oun. He
knew we could not get along without him, and that we would not
want to loiter about and wait for him. We aaked him to nit down and
eat OS with na. He begged, with many a bow, to be excused It waa
not proper, he said ; he would sit at another table. We ordered him
peremptorily to sit down with us.
Here ended the first lesRon. It was a mistake.
Aa long as we had that fellow after that, he was always hungry ; he
was always thirsty. He came early ; he stayed late ; he could not pass
a restaurant ; he looked with a lecherous eye upon eyery wine-shop.
Suggestions to stop, excuses to eat and to drink, were for ever upon hu
UpB. We tried all we cotdd to fill him so full that he would haye no
room to spare for a fortnight ; but it was a failure. He did not hold
enough to smother the crayings of his superhuman appetite.
He had another " discrepancy *' about nim. He was always wanting
us to buy things. On the shallowest pretences he would myeigle U£
into shirt stores, boot stores, tailors' shops, gloye shops — anywhere
under the broad sweep of the heavens that there seemed a chance of
our buying anything. Any one could have guessed that the shop-
keepers paid him a per centage on the sales ; but in our blessed inno
cence we didn't, until this feature of his conduct grew unbearably
prominent. One day Dan happened to mention that he thought of
Dujring three or four silk dress patterns for presents. Ferguson's hungry
eye was upon him in an instant. In the course of twenty minutes th#
«arriage stopped.
"What's this?"
" Zis is ze finest silk magazin in Paris — ze most celebrate."
" What did you come here for ? We told you to take us to the palaoe
of the Louvre."
" I suppose ze gentleman say he wish to buy some silk."
" You are not required to ' suppose ' things for the party, Ferguson.
We do not wish to tax your energies too much. We will bear some of
the burden and heat of the day ourselves. We will endeavour to do such
supposing' as is really necessary to be done. Drive on." So spake the
doctor.
Within fifteen minutes the carriage halted again, and before another
jilk store. The doctor said —
" Ah ! the palace of the Louvre : beautiful, beautiful edifice ! Doetj
the Emperor Napoleon live here now, Ferguson 7 "
" Ah, doctor ! yon do jest ; zis is not ze palace ; we come there
directly. But since we pass right by zis store, where is such beautiful
•ilk"
'* Ah ! I see, I see. I meant to have told you that we did not wish
to purchase any silks to-day ; but in my absent-mindedness I forgot it
I also meant to tell you we wished to go directly to the Louvre ; l>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<l tlut ix he only had a cleaver in his hand, and •
whitti apron on, one would not be at all 8uri)riaed to hear him say : '' A
muiton-roaHt to-day, or will you have a nice porter-house steak f "
Napoleon III., tne representative of the hi^'lieHt modem civilisation,
rngrt'HS, and refinement ; Abdul- Aziz, the representative of a people
i^ nature and trainin^^' lilthy, brutish, igtiorant, unpro^ressive, super-
stitious — an<i a govemniuut whose ^'hree Graces are TVranny, Rapacity,
Blood. Here in brilliant Paris, under thia majestic Arch of Tnumph,
the I'irHt Century jreeta the Nineteenth !
Napolkon III., Emperor of France! Surrounded by shoutinc
thousands, by military pomp, by the splendours of his capital city, ana
compauionid by kings and princes — this is the man who was sneered at.
and reviled, and called Bastard — yet who was dreaming of a crown and
an empire all the while ; who was driven into exile — but carried his
dreams with him ; who associated with the common herd in America,
and ran foot-races for a wager — but still sat upon a throne, in fancy ;
who braved every danger to go to his djoug mother — and grieved that
she could not be spared to see him cast aside his plebeian vestments for
the purple of royalty ; who kept his faithful watch and walked his
weary beat a common policemen of London — but dreamed the while of
a coming night when ne should tread the long-drawn corridors of the
Tuileries ; who made the miserable ji(uco of Strasbourg ; saw his poor
shabby eagle, forgetful of its lesson, refuse to perch upon his shoulder ;
delivered his carefully-prepared, sententious burst of eloquence unto
unsympathetic ears ; found himself a prisoner, the butt of small wits, v
mark tor the pitiless ridicule of all the world — yet went on dreaming
of coronations and splendid pageants, as before ; who lay a forgottevi
^ptive in the dungeons of Ham — and still schemed and planned and
pondered over future glory and future power ; President of France at
last ! A cQv/p d'etat, and surroimded by applauding armies, welcomed by
the thunders of cannon, he mounts a throne and waves before an
astounded world the sceptre of a mighty empire ! Who talks of the
marvels of fiction ? Who speaks of the wonders of romance ? Who
prates of the tame achievements of Aladdin and the Magii of Arabia ?
Abdul- A21Z, Sultan of Turkey, Lord of the Ottoman Empire ! Bom
to a throne ; weak, stupid, ignorant almost as his meanest slave ; chief
of a vast royalty, yet the puppet of his Premier and the obedient child
of a tyrannical mother; a man who sits upon a throne— the beck of
whoee finger moves navies and armiea-— who holds in his hands the
power of lue and death over millions — yet who sleeps, sleeps, eats, eats,
idles with his eight hundred concubines, and when ne is surfeited with
eating and sleeping and idling, and would rouse up and take the reins
of government and threaten to 6« a Sultan, is charmed from his purpose
try wary Fuad Pacha with a pretty plan for a new palace or a new ship— •
cAarmed away with a new toy, like any other reetfeflt child ; a man who
wee Us people robbed and oppraeaed by soaUees tax-gatheren, but
qpeaka no word to mt« tliein ; who iMlierei in gnoohea, and g«nii, and
m
ml h
rl-' ii
im
f6
AfAB/c rtv^rys works.
the wild fiableB of the Arabian Nights, hut has small regard fbr th«
mighty magicians of to-day, and is nervous in the presence of theii
mysterious railroads and steamboats and telegraphs ; who would sea
undone in Egypt all that great Mehemet Ali achieyed, and would prefer
rather to forget than emulate him ; a man who found his great Empiro
% blot upon the earth — a degraded, poverty-stricken, miserable, infamous
agglomeration of ignorance, crime, and brutality, and will idle away the
ajiotted days of his trivial life, and then ^^ass to the dust and the worms
and leave it so !
Napoleon has augmented the commercial prosperity of France, in ten
years, to such a degree that figures can hardly compute it. He has
rebuilt Paris, and has partly rebuilt every city in the State. He con-
demns a whole street at a time, assesses the damages, pays them, and
rebuilds superbly. Then speculators buy up the ground and sell, but
the original owner \& given the first choice by the government at a
stated price before the speculator is permitted to purchase. But, above
all things, he has taken the sole control of the Empire of France into
his hands, and made it a tolerably free land— for people who will not
attempt to go too far in meddling with government affairs. No countiy
offers greater security to life and property than France, and one has all
the freedom he wants, but no licence — no licence to interfere with anji
body, or make any one uncomfortable.
As for the Sultan, one could set a trap anywhere and catch a dozen
Abler men in a night
The bands strick up, and the brilliant adventurer, Napoleon III., the
genius of Energy, Persistence, Enterprise ; and the feeble Abdul- Aziz,
Die genius of Ignorance, Bigotry, and Indolence, prepared for the For-
ward — March !
We saw the splendid review, we saw the white-mustached old
Crimean soldier Canrobert, Marshal of France, we saw — well, we sftw
everything, and then we went home satisfied.
CHAPTER XIV.
WE went to see the Cathedral of Notre Dame. We had heard ol
it before. It surprises me sometimes to think how much we do
Irnnwj and how intelligent we are. We recognised the brown
old Gothic pile in a moment ; it was like the pictures. We stood at a
little distance and changed from one point of observation to another, and
gazed long at its lofty square towers and its rich front, clustered thick
with stony, mutilated saints who had been looking calmly down from
their perches for ages. The Patriarch of Jerusalem stood under them
in the old days of ^valry and romance, and preached the third Crosade,
more than six hundred yean ago ; and since that day they have stood
there and looked quietly down upon the most thnllinr scenes^ the
gnmdest pageantieu uie most cxtraordioazj spectadea that have gnerctc
THE INNUCEirrS /tBPOAD. ff
or delighted Paris. These battered and broken-noeed old fellows ba^
many and many a cavalcade of mail-clad knights come marching home
from Holy Land ; they heard the bells aboTe them toll the signal for
the St liiutholomew's Massacre, and they saw the slaughter mat fol-
lowed ; later, they saw the Heign of Terror, the carnage of the Revolu-
tion, the overthrow of a king, the coronation of two Napoleons, the
chnstening of the young prince that lords it over a regiment of servants
in the Tuileries to-day — and they may possibly continue to stand there
until they see the Napoleon dynasty swept away and the banners of a
great Republic floating above its ruins. I wish these old parties could
speak. They could tell a tale worth the listening to.
They say that a pagan temple stood where N6tre Dame now stands, in
the old Ro jian days, eighteen or twenty centuries ago — remains of it
are still preserved in Paris ; and that a Christian Church took its place
about A.D. 300 ; another took the place of that in a.d. 500 ; and that
the foundations of the present Cathedral were laid about A.D. 1100.
The ground ought to be measurably sacred by this time, one would
think. One portion of this noble old edifice is suggestive of the quaint
fashions of ancient times. It was built by Jean Sans-Peur, Duke of
Burgundy, to set his conscience at rest — he had assassinated the Duke
of Orleans. Alas ! those good old times are gone, when a murderer
could wipe the stain from his name and soothe his troubles to sleep
simply by getting out his bricks and mortar and building an addition
to a church.
The portals of the great western front are bisected by square pillars,
They took the central one away in 1852, on the occasion of thanksgivings
for the re-institution ot the Presidential power — but precious soon they
tiad occasion to reconsider that motion and put it back again ! And
they did.
We loitered through the grand aisles for an hour or two, staring up
at the rich stained-glass windows, embellished with blue and yellow and
crimson saints and martyrs, and trying to admire the numberless great
pictures in the chapels, and then we were admitted to the sacristy and
shown the magnificent robes which the Pope wore when he crowned
Napoleon I. ; a waggon-load of solid gold and silver utensils used in
the great public processions and ceremonies of the church ; some nails
of the true cross, a fragment of the cross itself, a part of the crown of
thorns. We had already seen a large piece of the true cross in a
ehnrch in the Azores, but no nails. They showed us Likewise the
bloody robe which that Archbishop of Paris wore who exposed his sacred
person and braved the wrath of the insurgents of 1848, to mount the
oarricadee and hold aloft the olive branch of peace in the hope of stop-
Sing Uie slaughter. His noble effort cost him his Hfe. H» was sh«t
eao. They showed us a cast of his face, taken id^«r death, the bullet
that killed him, and the two vertebrsa in which it lodged. I^ese people
have a somewhat singular taste in the matter of relics. Fergtumn told
ui that the silver cross wliich the good Archbishop wore at his girdle
was seized and thrown into the Seine, where it lay imbedded in tbe mud
Cor &fteen yean» and then an angel appeued to a prif'.vt and toi«l h¥^
>'■ .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 <lainfmg had not
begun yet Ferguson said there was to be an exhibition. The famous
Blondin was going to perform on a tight-rope in another part of the
garden. We went ^tlier. Here the Ught was dim, and the masses of
people were pretty closely packed together. And now I made a mistake
which any donkey might make, but a sensible man never. I committed
an error which I find myself repeating every day of my life. — Standing
nght before a voung lady, I said —
" Dan, just look at this girl, how beautiful she is I "
'* I thank you more for the evident sincerity of the compliment, sir,
■han for the extraordinary publicity you have given to it ! " This in good,
pure English.
We took a walk, but my spirits were very, very sadly dampened. 1
did not feel right comfortable for some time afterwaid. Why wiH
people be so stupid as to suppose themselves the only foreigners among
a crowd of ten thousand persons ?
But Blondin came out shortly. He appeared on a stretched cable, fai
away above the sea of tossing hats and nandkerchiefs, and in the glare
of the hundreds of rockets that whizzed heavenwards by him he looked
like a wee insect He balanced his pole and walked tne length of his
rope — two or three hundred feet ; he came back and got a man and
carried him across ; he returned to the centre and danced a jig ; next
he performed some gymnastic and balancing feats too perilous to afford
a pleasant spectacle ; and he finished by fastening to his person a thou-
sand Roman candles, Catherine wheels, serpents, and rockets of all
manner of brilliant colours, setting them on fixe all at once and walking
and waltzing across his rope again in a blinding blaze of glory that lit
up the garden and the people's faces like a great conflagration at mid-
night
The dance had begun, and we adjourned to the temple. Within it
was a drinking saloon ; and all around it was a broad circular platform
for the dancers. I backed up against the wall of the temple, and waited.
Twenty sets formed, the music struck up, and then — I placed my hands
before my face for very shame. But I looked through my fingers. Thej'
were dancing the renowned ** Can-ecm." A handsome girl in the set
before me tripped forward lightly to meet the opposite gentleman —
tripped back again, grasped her dresses vigorously on both sides witfc
her hands, raised them pretty high, danced an extraordinary jig that
had more activity and exposure about it than any jig I ever saw before,
and then, drawing her clothes still higher, she advanced gaily to the
tentfa and launched a vicious kick fall at her VM-d^vif that muat LniaJ'
4^
MARK TWAIN*S WORKS,
\h '
a
i'*
libly hare removed his nose if he had been Beven feet Ugh. It vm a
mercy he was only six.
That is the can-can. The idea of it is to dance as wildly, as noisily,
as furiously as you can ; expose yourself as much as possible if you are
a woman ; and kick ns high aa you can, no matter which sex you belong
to. There is no word of exaggeration in this. Any of the staid, re-
spectable, aged people who were there that night can testify to the trutii
of that statement. There was a good many such people present I
suppose French morality is not of that straitlaced descnption which ii
shocked at trifles.
I moved aside and took a general view of the caji-can. Shouts,
laughter, furious music, a bewildering chaos of darting and inter-
mingling forms, stormy jerking and snatching of gay dresses, bobbinfl
heads, flying arms, lightning-Hashes of white stoclunged calves and
dainty slippers in the air, and then a grand final rush, riot, a terrific
hubbub ana a wild stampede ! Heavens ! Nothing like it has been
seen on earth since trembling Tarn O'Shanter saw the devil and the
witches at their orgies that stormy night in " Alloway-a cruld haunted
kirk."
We visited the Louvre, at a time when we had no silk purchases in
view, and looked at its miles of paintings by the old masters. Some of
them were beautiful, but at the same time they carried such evidencei
about them of the cringing spirit of those great men that we found smd]
pleasure in examining them. Their nauseous adulation of princely
patrons was more prominent to me and chained my attention more
surely than the charms of colour and expression whicn are claimed to
be in the pictures. Gratitude for kindnesses is well, but it seems to me
Ichat some of those artists carried it so far that it ceased to be gratitude,
and became worship. If there is a plausible excuse for the worship
of men, then by all means let us forgive Rubens and his brethren.
But I will drop the subject, lest I say something about the old maaters
that might as well be left unsaid.
Of course we drove in the Bois de Boulogne, that limitless park, with
its forests, its lakes, its cascades, and its broad avenues. There were
thousands upon thousands of vehicles abroad, and the scene was fiill
of life and gaiety. There were very common hacks, with father and
mother and all the children in them : conspicuouB little open carriagei
with celebrated ladies of questionable reputation in them ; there weve
dukee and duchesses abroad, with gorgeoua footmen perched behind,
and equally gorgeous outriders perched on each of the six horses ;
there were blue and silver, and greea uid gold, and pink and black, and
all sorts and desciaptions of stunning aid startling Uveriee omt, and
I almost yearned to be a flunkey myself for the sake of the fine
detWea.
But presently the Emperor came along, and he outehone them all
He vyaa preceded by a body-guard of genuemen on horseback in showy
oniforms, his carnage-hones (there appeared to be somewhere in the
remote neighbourhood of a thousaaa of them) were bestzidden by
apidlant-loolung fellows, also in ^IkA iiifarma, a»d after the caxriat|%
I
THE INNOCENTS ABROAD,
81
followed anotlieT detachment of body-guards. Everybody rot out of
the way ; everybody bowed to the Emperor and his mend the Sultani
and they went by on a swin^g trot and disappeared.
I wUl not describe the Bins de Boulogne. I cannot do it. It is simply
a beautiful, cultivated, endless, wonderful wilderness. It is an enchant-
ing place. It is in Paris now, one mav say, but a crumbling old croaa
in one portion of it reminds one that it was not always so. The cross
marks the spot where a celebrated troubadour was waylaid and
murdered in tne fourteenth century. It was in this park that a fellow
with an unpronounceable name made the attempt upon the Russian
Czar's life last spring with a pistol. The bullet struck a tree. Ferguson
showed us the place. Now m America that interesting tree womd be
chopped down or forgotten within the next five years, but it will be
treasured here. The guides will point it out to visitors for the next
800 years, and when it decays and falls down they will put up anothei
there, and go on with the same old story just the same.
,«
tvx
a
CHAPTER XV.
ONE of our pleasantest visits was to Pere la Chaise, the national
burying-ground of France, the honoured resting-place of some of
her greatest and best children, the last home of scores of illustrioui
men and women who were bom to no titles, but achieved fame by their
own energy and their own genius. It is a solemn city of winding
streets, and of miniature marble temples and mansions of the dead
gleaming white from out a wilderness of foliage and fresh flowers. Not
every citv* is so well peopled as this, or has so ample an area within its
walls. Few palaces exist in any city that are so exquisite in design, so
rich in art, so costly in material, so graceful, so beautifuL
We had stood in the ancient church of St Benis, where the marble
effigies of thirty generations of kings and queens lay stretched at length
upon the tombs, and the sensations mvoked were startling and novel ; the
curious armour, the obsolete costumes, the placid faces, tne hands placed
palm to palm in eloquent supplication — it was a vision of grey antiquity,
It seemed curious enough to be standing face to face, as it were, with
old Dagobert I., and Clovis, and Charlemagne, those vague colossal
heroes, those shadows, those myths of a thousand years ago ! I touched
their dust-covered faces with my finger, but Dagobert was deader than
the sixteen centuries that have passed over him, Clovis slept well aftei
his labour for Christ, and old Charlemagne went on dreaming of hii
paladins, of bloody Roncesvalles, and gave no heed to me.
The great names of P^re la Chaise impress one too, but differently.
There the suggestion brought constantly to his mind is, that this place
is sacred to a nobler royalty — the royalty of heart and brain. Every
Cacolty of mind, every noble trait of human nature, every high occupa-
tion which BMn eivfagA in, wvcom represmted by a famous name. Thf
F
■?i !
MARK TWAIN'S WORKS,
lit!- 1
\\.
I
effect is a enrlout medley. Davoiut and Massena, who wrought in many
a battle-tragedy, are here, and so alttu is llachel, of equal renown in
mimic tragedy on the stage. The Abb6 Sicard sleepa here — the tintt
great teacher of the deaf and dumb — a man whose neart went out to
every^ unfortunate, and whose life was given to kindly oflices in their
service ; and not far off, in repose and peace at last, hes Marshal Nuy,
whose stormy spirit knew no music like the bugle call to arms. The
man who originated public gas-lighting, and that other benefactor who
introduced the cultivation of the potato, and thus blessed millions of
his starving countrymen, lie with the Prince of Masserano, and with
exiled queens and princes of Further India. Gay-Lussac the chemist,
Laplace the astronomer, Larrey the surgeon, de S6ze the Advocate, are
here, and with them are Talma, Bellini, Rubini ; de Bakac, Beaumar-
chais, B^ranger : Moli^re and Lafontaine, and scores of other men whose
names and whose worthy labours are as familiar in the remote by-places
tA civilisation as are the historic deeds of the kings and princes that
sleep in the marble vaults of St Denis.
But among the thousands and thousands of tombs in P^re la Chaise,
there is one that no man, no woman, no youth of either sex, ever passes
bv without stopping to examine. Every visitor has a sort of indistinct
idea of the history of its dead, and comprehends that homage is due there,
but not one in twenty thousand clearly remembers the story of that tomb
and its romantic occupants. This is the grave of Abelard and Heloise
— a grave which has been more revered, more widely known, mora
written and sung about and wept over, for seven hundred years, than
any other in Christendom, save only that of the Saviour. All visitors
linger pensively about it ; all young people capture and carry away
keepsakes and mementoes of it ; all Parisian youths and maidens who
are disappointed in love come there to bail out when thev are full
of tears ; yea, many stricken lovers make pilgrimages to this shrine
from distant provinces to weep and wail and "grit their teeth over
their heavy sorrows, and to purchase the sympathies of the chastened
spirits of that tomb with offenngs of immortelles and budding flowers.
Go when you will, you find somebody snuffling over that tomb. Gk)
when you will, you find it furnished with those bouquets and immortelleo.
Go when you wlQ, you find a gravel train from Marseilles arriving to
supply the deficiencies caused by memento-cabbaging Vandals whose
affections have miscarried.
Yet who really knows the stoir of Abelard and Heloise ? Precious
few people. The names are per^ctly familiar to everybody, and that
is all with infinite pains I have acquired a knowledge of tnat history,
and I propose to narrate it here, partly for the honest information of the
public, and partly to show that public that they have been wasting a
good deal of marketable sentiment veiy unnecessarily.
BVOBT OF ABBLABO AM> 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 live<l with her unde the
howitzer, and was happy. — She spent the most of her childhood in the
convent of Argeuteuil — never heard of Argenteuil before, but sup]iose
there was really such a place. She then returned to her uncle, the old
gun, or son of a gun, as the case may be, and he taught her to write and
speak Latin, which was the language of literature and polite society at
tnat period.
Just at this time Pierre Abelard, who had already made hiinseli
widely famous as a rhetorician, came to found a school of rhetoric in
Paris. The originality of his principles, his eloquence, and his great
physical strength and beauty, created a profound sensation. He San
Heloise, and was captivated by her blooming youth, her beauty, and
her charming disposition. He wrote to her ; she answered. He wrote
again ; she answered again. He was now in love. He longed to know
der — to speak to her face to face.
His school was near Fulbert's house. He asked Fulbert to allow him
to call. The good old swivel saw here a rare opportunity : his niece,
whom he so much loved, would absorb knowledge from this man, and
it would not cost him a cent. Such was Fulbert — penurious.
Fulberf 8 first name is not mentioned by any author, which is unfor-
tunate. However, George W. Fulbert will answer for him as well as
any other. We will let him go at that. He asked Abelard to teach
her.
Abelard was glad enough of the opportunity. He came often and
stayed long. A letter of his shows in its very first sentence that he came
under that friendly roof like a cold-hearted villain as he was, with the
deliberate intention of debauching a confiding, innocent girh This is
the letter :
" I cannot cease to be antonished at the simplicity of Fulbert ; I was as much
•urprised as if he had placed a lamb in the power of a hungry wolf. Heloiac and
I, under pretext of study, gave ourselves up wholly to love, and the solitude
that love seeks our studies procured for ob. Books were open before us, but we
spoke oftener of love than )xhiIosophy, and kisses came more readily from oni
hps than words.*'
And so, exulting over an honourable confidence which to his de-
graded instinct was a ludicrous ''simplicity," this unmanly Abelard
seduced the niece of the man whose guest he was. Paris found it out
Fulbert was told of it — told often— but refused to believe it He could
not comprehend how a man could be so depraved as to use the sacred
protection and security of hospitality as a means for the commission of
luch a crime as that But wnen he heard the rowdies in the streets
flinging the love-songs of Abelard to Heloise, the case was too plain —
love-songs come not properly within the teacliiugs of rhetoric and
philosophy.
He drove Abelard from his house. Abelutl returned secretly, and
carried Heloise away to Palais, in Brittany, his native country. Hera,
84 UARX^ TWAIN*S WORKS.
shortly afterw^ard, she bore a eon, who^ from his rare beanty, wm siir*
named Astrolabe—- William Q. The girl's flight enraged Fulbert, and
he longed for vengeance, but feared to strike lest retaliation viait
Heloise — for he still loved her tenderly. At length Abelard offered to
marry Heloiae, but on a shameful condition : that the marriage should
be kej)t secret from the world, to the end that (while her good name
remained a wreck, as before) his priestly reputation might be kept un-
tarnished. It was like that miscreant. Fulbert saw his opportunity
and consented. He would see the parties married, and then violate the
confidence of the man who had taught him that trick ; he would
divulge the secret, and so remove somewhat of the obloquy that attached
to his niece's fame. But the niece suspected his scheme. She refused
the marriage, at first ; she said Fulbert would betray the secret to sove
her, and besides, she did not wish to drag down a lover who was so
gifted, so honoured by the world, and who had such a splendid career
before him. It was noble, self-sacrificing love, and characteriatic of the
pure-souled Heloise, but it was not good sense.
But she was overruled, and the private marriage took place. Now
for Fulbert ! The heart so wounded should be healed at last ; the
proud spirit so tortured should find rest again ; the humbled head
should be lifted up once more. He proclaimed the marriage in the
high places of the city, and rejoiced that dishonour had departed from
his house. But lo ! Abelard denied the marriage ! Heloise denied it !
The people, knowing the former circumstances, might have believed
Fulbert, had only Abelard denied it, but when the person chieflv in-
terested — the girl herself — denied it, they laughed despairing Fulbert
to sconL
The poor canon of the cathedral of Paris was spiked again. The last
hope of repairing the wrong that had been done his house was gone.
What next? Human nature suggested revenge. He compassed it
The historian says —
"Ruffians, hired by Fulbert, fell upon AbeUurd by night, and inflicted upon
him a terrible and nameless mutilation."
I am seeking the last resting-place of those " ruffians." When I find
it I shall shed some tears on it, and stack up some bouquets and immor<
telles, and cart away from it some gravel whereby to remember that,
howsoever blotted by crime their lives may have been, these ruifiana
did one just deed, at any rate, albeit it was not warranted by the strict
letter of the law.
Heloise entered a convent and bade good-bye to the world and its
pleasures for all time. For twelve years she never heard of Abelard —
never even heard his name mentioned. She had become prioress of
Argenteuil, and led a life of complete seclusion. She happened one
day to see a letter written by him, in which he narrated his own history.
She cried over it, and wrote Imn. He answered, addressing hor as ms
" sister in Christ." They continued to correspond, she in the unweighed
language of unwayering affection, he in the chilly phraseology of the
poluhed rhetorician. She poured out hex heart m passioiLate, dis-
1^
THE INNOCENTS ABROAD,
bert, and
tion visit
offered to
ge should
ood name
kept un-
>portiinity
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<k about hiti) wafl growing thicker and thicker
every moment, li^ '^>^>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 ; an<i
how all these things are kept exactly in the same condition, and in thA
same exquisite shapeliness and symmetry month after month and yeaf
&fter year — for I nave tried to reason out the problem, and have
Eailed.
We walked through the great hall of sculpture and the one hundred
and fifty galleries of paintings in the palace of Versailles, and felt that
to be in such a place was useless unless one had a whole year at his
disposal. These pictures are all battle-scenes, and only one solitary little
canvas among them all treats of anything but great French victoriea
We wandered, also, through the Grand Trianon and the Petit Trianon,
those monuments of royal prodigality, and with histories so mournful —
filled, as it is, with souvenirs of Napoleon the First and three dead
kings and as many queens. In one sumptuous bed they had all slept
In succession, but no one occupies it now. In a large dinmg-room stood
the table at which Loiiis XlV. and his mistress, Madame Maintenon^
and after them Louis XY., and Pompadour, had sat at their meals naked
and unattended — for the table stood upon a trap-door, which descended
with it to regions below when it was necessary to replenish its dishes,
In a room of the Petit Trianon stood the furniture, just as poor Marie
Ajitoinette left it when the mob came and dragged her and the King to
Paris, never to return. Near at hand, in the stables, were prodigious
carriages that showed no colour but gold — carriages used oy former
Kings of France on state occasions, and never used now save when a
kingly head is to be crowned, or an imperial infant christened. And
with them were some curious sleighs, whose bodies were shaped like lions,
swans, tigers, &c — vehicles that nad once been handsome with pictured
designs and fine workmanship, but were dusty and decaying now. They
had their history. When Louis XIV. had finished the Grand Trianon,
he told Maintenon he had created a Paradise for her, and asked if she
eould think of anything now to wish for. He said he wished the
Trianon to be perfection — nothing less. She said she could think but of
one thing — it was summer, and it was balmy France — yet she would like
well to sleigh-ride in the leafy avenues of Versailles ! The next morn-
ing found miles and miles of grassy avenues spread thick with snowy
salt and sugar, and a procession of those quaint sleighs waiting to
receive the cnief concubine of the gayest ana most unprincipled court
that France has ever seen.
From sumptuous Versailles, ¥rith its palaces, its statues, its gardens,
and its fountains, we journeyed back to Paris and sought its antipodes
— the Faubourg St Antoine. Little narrow streets ; dirty children
blockading them ; greasy, slovenly women capturing and spanking them ;
filthy dens on first floors, with rag stores in them (the heaviest business
in the Faubourg is the chiffonier's) ; other filthy dens where whole suits
q£ aeoond and third-hand dothiug are lold at pricea that would raui
*
1 thicknefif
I spring to
ow 80 close
the tarn*
arch ; and
and in thA
h. and yeaf
and hav«
le hundred
d felt that
year at his
litary little
1 victories,
it Trianon,
noumful —
three dead
id all slept
room stood
Maintenon^
Leals naked
I descended
its dishes,
poor Marie
he King to
prodigious
by fomiei
ve when a
ned. And
1 like lions,
,h pictured
LOW. They
d Trianon,
tked if she
dshed the
link but of
ivould like
lext mom-
ith snowy
nraiting to
led court
B gardens,
antipodes
children
ing them ;
t DUsineM
hole Buiti
ould ruia
riPE INNOCSl^S ABROAD fi
my pvopiletor who did not steal his stock ; still other ftHhy deni where
ihey sold groceries — sold them by the halfpenny worth — five dollars
rould buy the man out, goodwill and idL Up these little crooked
itreets they will murder a man for seven dollars, and dump the body in
the Seine. And up some other of these streets — meet of them, I should
say — live lorettea.
All through this Faubourg St Antoine^ misery, poverty, vice and
crime go hand in hand, and the evidences of it stare one in the face from
every side. Here the people live who begin the revolutions. When-
ever there is anything of tnat kind to be done, they are always ready.
They take as much genuine pleasure in building a oarricade as they do
in cutting a throat or shoving a friend into the Seine. It is tnese
savage-looking ruflians who storm the splendid halls of the Tuileriei
occasionally and swarm into Versailles when a King is to be called to
account.
But they will build no more barricades, they will break no more
soldiers' heads with paving-stones. Louis Napoleon has taken care of aU
that He is annihilating the crooked streets, and buUding in their
stead noble boulevards as straight as an arrow — avenues which a cannon
ball could traverse from end to end without meeting an obstruction more
irresistible than the flesh and bones of men — boulevards whose stately
edifices will never afford refuges and plotting places for starving, dis-
contented revolution breeders. Five of these great thoroughfares radiate
from one ample centre — a centre which is exceedingly well adapted to
the accommodation of heavy artillery. The moba used to riot there, but
they must seek another vallying-place in future. And this ingenious
Napoleon paves the streets of nis great cities with a smooth, compact
composition of asphaltum and sand. No more barricades of flag-stone:)
— no more assaulting his Majesty's troops with cobbles. I cannot feel
friendly toward my quondam fellow-American, Napoleon III., especially
at this time,* when in fanc^ I see his credulous victim, Maximilian,
lying stark and stiff in Mexico, and his maniac widow watching eagerly
from her French asylum for the form that will never come — -but I do
admire his nerve, his calm self-reliance, his shrewd good lenaa.
CHAPTER XVIl.
\ 1 /"E had a pleasant journey of it seaward again. We found that for
VV the three past nights our ship had been in a state of war. The
first night, the sailors of a British ship, being happy with jgrog,
eame down on the pier and challenged our sailors to a free fight. They
accepted with alacrity, repaired to the pier and gained— their share of a
drawn battle. Several bruised and bloody members of both parties
were carried off by the police, and imprisoned until the following mom-
lug. The next nif ht Uie British boys came again to renew the fight
• July \m.
93
MARK TWAIN'S WORKS,
but our men had strict orders to remain on board and out of sight
They did so, and the besieging party grew noisy, and more and more
abusive as the fact became apparent (to them) that our men were afraid
to come out They went away, finally, with a closing burst of ridicule
and offensive epithets. The third night they came again, and were
more obstreperous than ever. They swaggered up and down the almost
deserted pier, and hurled curses, obscemty, and stinging sarcasms at
our crew. It was more than human nature could bear. The executive
officer ordered our men ashore — with instructions not to fight. They
charged the British and gained a brilliant victory. I probably would
not have mentioned this war had it ended differently. But I travel to
learn, and I still remember that they picture no French defeats in the
battle-galleries of Versailles.
It was like home to us to step on board the comfortable ship again,
and smoke and lounge about her breezy decks. And yet it was not
altogether like home, either, because so many members of the family
were away. We missed some pleasant faces which we would rather
have found at dinner, and at night there were gaps in the euchre-parties
which could not be satisfactorily filled. " Moult." was in England,
Jack in Switzerland, Charley in Spain. Blucher was gone, none could
tell where. But we were at sea again, and we had the stars and the
ocean to look at, and plenty of room to meditate in.
In due time the shores of Italv were sighted, and as we stood gazing
from the decks early in the bright summer morning, the stately city d
Genoa rose up out of the sea, and flung back the sunlight from hex
hundred palaces.
Here we rest for the present — or rather, here we have been trying to
test, for some little time, but we run about too much to accomplish a
jp'eat deal in that line.
I would like to remain here. I had rather not go any further.
There may be prettier women in Europe, but I doubt it. The popula*
tion of Genoa is 120,000 ; two-thirds of these are women, I tSiink, and
at least two-thirds of the women are beautifuL They are as dressy, and
as tasteful, and as graceful as they could possibly be without being
angels. However, angels are not very dressy, I believe. At least the
angels in pictures are not — they wear nothing but wings. But the
Genoese women do look so charming. Most of the young demoiselles
are robed in a cloud of white from head to foot, though many trick
themselves out more elaborately. Nine-tenths of them wear nothing
on their heads but a filmy sort of veil, which falls down their backs
like a white mist. They are very fair, and many of them have blue
eyes, but black and dreamy dark brown ones are met with oftenest.
The ladies and gentlemen of Genoa have a pleasant fashion of pro-
menading in a large park on the top of a hill in the centre of the city,
from six till nine m the evening, and then eating ices in a neighbouring
garden an hour or two longer. We went to the park on Sunday even-
ing. Two thousand persons were present chiefly young ladies and
gentlemen. 1'he gentlemen were dressed in the very latest Paris fashions^
and the robes of uie ladies glinted among the trees like so many now-
I
THE INNOCENTS ABROAD,
93
flakes. The multitude moved round and round the park in a great pro-
cesBioQ. The bands played, and bo did the foimtams ; the moon and
tiie gas-lampa lit up the scene, and altogether it was a brilliant and an
animated picture. I scanned every female face that passed, and it
seemed to me that all were handsome. I never saw such a freshet of
loveliness before. I do not see how a man of only ordinary decision of
character could marry here, because, before he could get his mind made
up he woald fall in love with somebody else.
Never smoke any Italian tobacco. Never do it on any account. It
makes me shudder to think what it must be made of. You cannot
throw an old cigar "stub" down anywhere, but some vagabond will
pounce upon it on the instant. I like to smoke a good deal, but it
wounds my sensibilities to see one of these stub-hunters watching me
out of the comers of his hungry eyes, and calculating how long my
cigar will be likely to last. It reminded me too painfully of that San
Francisco undertaker who used to go to sick-beds with his watch in his
hand and time the corpse. One of these stub-hunters followed us all
over the park last night, and we never had a smoke that was worth any-
thing. We were always moved to appease him with the stub before the
cigar was half gone, because he looks so viciously anxious. He regarded
us as his own legitimate prey, by right of discovery, I think, because ha
drove off several other professionals who wanted to take stock in us.
Now, they surely must chew up those old stubs, and dry and seU
them for smoking tobacco. Therefore, give your custom to other than
Italian brands of the article.
" The Superb " and the " City of Palaces " are names which Oenoa
has held for centuries. She is fuU of palaces, certainly, and the palacea
are sumptuous inside, but they are very rusty without, and make no
pretensions to architectural magnificence. " Genoa, the Superb," would
he a felicitous title if it referred to the women.
We have visited several of the palaces — immense thick-walled piles,
with great stone staircases, tessellated marble pavements on the floors
(sometimes they make a mosaic work, of intricate designs, wrought in
pebbles, or little fragments of marble laid in cement), and grand saUms
nung with pictures by Rubens, Guido, Titian, Paul Veronese, and so on,
and portraits of heads of the family, in plumed helmets and gallant coats
of mail, and patrician ladies, in stunning costumes of centuries ago. But,
of course, the folks were all out in the country for the summer, and
might not have known enough to ask us to dinner if they had been at
home, and so all the grand empty salons, with their resounding pave-
ments, their grim pictures of dead ancestors, and tattered banners with
the dust of bygone centuries upon them, seemed to brood solenmly of
death and the grave, and our spirits ebbed away, and our cheerfulness
passed from us. We never went up to the eleventh story. We always
began to suspect ghosts. There was always an undertaker-looking
servant along too, who handed us a programme, pointed to the picture
that began the list of the salon he was in, and then stood stiff and stark
and unsmiling in his petrified livery till we were ready to move on to
the next ehamber, whereupon he marched sadly ahead and took up
If
:;J1
n
94
MARK TWAIN'S WORKS.
li ii '
V '' .
i\:
ih
J
\ h J
■•*t
another malignantly respectful position as before. I wasted so muoh
time praying that the roof woiud fall in on these dispiriting flunkeys
that I had but little left to bestow upon palaces and pictures.
And besides, as in Paris, we had a guide. Perdition catch all the
guides ! This one said he was the most gifted linguist in Gtenoa as far
as English was concerned, and that only two persons in the city besides
himseU could talk the language at all. He snowed us the birthplace of
Christopher Columbus, and after we had reflected in silent awe before
it for filteen minutes, he said it was not the birthplace of Columbus,
but of Columbus's grandmother ! When we demanaed an explanation
of his conduct, he only shrugged his shoulders and answered in bar-
barous Italian. I shall speak further of this guide in a future chapter.
All the information we got out of him we shall be able to carry along
with us, I think.
I have not been to church so often in a long time as I have in the last
few weeks. The people in these old lands seem to make churches their
speciality. Especially does this seem to be the case with the citizens of
Genoa. I think there is a church every three or four hundred yards
all over town. The streets are sprinkled from end to end with
shovel-hatted, long-robed, well-fed priests, and the church bells by
dozens are pealing all the day long, nearly. Every now and then one
comes across a friar of orders grey, with shaven head, long, coarse robe,
rope girdle, and beads, and with feet cased in sandals or entirely bara
These worthies suffer in the flesh, and do penance all their lives, I sup-
pose ; but they look like consummate famine-breeders. They are all fat
and serene.
The old Cathedral of San Lorenzo is about as notable a building ae
we have found in Genoa. It is vast, and has colonnades of noble pillars,
and a great organ, and the customary pomp of gilded mouldings, pic-
tures, frescoed ceilings, and so fortL I cannot describe it, of course — it
would require a good many pages to do that But it is a curious place.
They said that half of it — from the front door half way down to the altar
— was a Jewish synagogue before the Saviour was bom, and that no
alteration had been made in it since that time. We doubted the state-
ment, but did it reluctantly. We would much rather have believed it
The place looked in too perfect repair to be so ancient.
The main point of interest about the Cathedral is the little Chapel of
St John the Baptist They only allow women to enter it on one day in
the year, on account of the animosity they still cherish against the sex
because of the murder of the Saint to gratify a caprice of Herodias. In
this chapel is a marble chest, in which, they told us, were the ashes of
St John ; and around it was wound a chain, which, they said, had con-
fined him when he was in prison. We did not desire to disbelieve these
statements, and yet we could not feel certain that they were -o^T^ct—
partly because we could have broken that chain, and so could Sc John,
uid partly because we had seen St John's ashes before, in another
church. We could not bring ourselves to think St John had two sets
of ashes.
Thsj also showed ns a portrait of the Madonna which was painted by
THE INNOCENTS ABROAD,
95
flt Luke, «nd it did not look half as old and smoky as some of the pic-
tures by Rubens. W j could not help admiring the apostle's modesty in
never once mentioning in his writings that he could paint
But isn't this relic matter a little overdone 1 We find a piece of the
true cross in every old church we go into, and some of the naus that held
it together. I would not like to be positive, but 1 think we have seen
as much as a keg of these nails. Then there is the crown of thorns ;
they have part of one in Saint Chapelle, in Paris, and part of one, also,
in N6tre Dame. And as for bones of St Denis, I feel certain we have
seen enough of them to duplicate him, if necessary.
I only meant to write about the churches, but I keep wandering from
the subject I could say that the Church of the Annunciation is a
wilderness of beautiful columns, of statues, gUded mouldings, and pic-
tures almost countless ; but that would give no one an entirely perfect
idea of the thing, and so where is the use ? One family buUt the whole
edifice, and have got money left. There is where the mystery lies. We
had an idea at first that only a mint could have survivea the expense.
These people here Uve in the heaviest, highest, broadest, darkest,
lolidest houses one can imagine. Each one might " laugh a siege to
Bcom." A hundred feet front and a hundred high is about the style,
and you go up three flights of stairs before you begm to come upon signs
of occupancy. Everytning is stone, and stone of the heaviest — floors,
stairways, mantels, benches — everything. The walls are four to five feet
thick. The streets generally are four or five to eight feet wide, and as
crooked as a cork-screw. You go along one of these gloomy cracks, and
look up and behold the sky like a mere ribbon of light, far above your
head, where the tops of the tall houses on either side of the street bend
almost together. You feel as if you were at the bottom of some tremeu'
dous abyss, with all the world far above you. You wind in and out, and
here and there, in the most mysterious way, and have no more idea ol
the points of the compass than if you were a blind man. You can never
persuade yourself that these are actually streets, and the frowning, dingy,
monstrous houses dwellings, till you see one of these beautiful, prettily-
dressed women emerge from them — see her emerge from a dark, dreary-
looking den that looks dungeon all over, from the ground away half-way
up to heaven. And then you wonder that such a charming moth could
come from such a forbidding shell as that. The streets are wisely made
narrow and the houses heavy and thick and stony, in order that the
people may be cool in this roasting climate. And they are cool, and
stay so. And while I think of it — the men wear hats and have venr
dark complexions ; but the women wear no head-gear but a flimsy veil
like a gossamer's web, and yet are exceedingly fair as a general thing.
Singular, isn't it !
The huge palaces of Genoa are each supposed to be occupied byone
family, but they could accommodate a hundred, I should thmk. They
are relics of the grandeur of Genoa's palmy days — the days when she
was a great commercial and maritime power several centuries ago.
These houses, solid marble palaces though they be, are in many cases of a
dull pinkish colour outside, and from navement eaves are pictured with
MARK TWAIN'S WORKS,
Geoo«M tMttle-Bcenes, with mon«trous Jupiten and Cupids, and with fami-
liar illutitrations of Qrecian mythology. Where the paint has yielded to
age and exposure, and is peeling off in flakes and patcnes, the effect i.-t not
happy. A noseless Cupid, or a Jupiter with an eye out, or a Venus with
a ny-olister on her hreast, are not attractive features in a picture. Some
of these painted walls reminded me somewhat of the tall van, plastered
with fanciful bills and posters, that follows the band-waggon of a circus
about a coontiy village. I have not read or heard that me outsidei of
the houses of any other European city are frescoed in this way.
I cannot conceive of such a thing as Gknoa in ruins. Such massive
arches, such ponderous substructions as support these towering broad-
winged edifices, we have seldom seen before ; and surely the great blocks
of stone of which these edifices are built can never decay ; walls that are
as thick as an ordinary American doorway is high, cannot crumble.
The Republics of Genoa and Pisa were very powerful in the Middle
Ages. Their ships filled the Mediterranean, and they carried on an
extensive commerce with Constantinople and Syria. Their warehouses
were the great distributing depots from whence the costly merchandise
of the East was sent abroad over Europe. I'hev were warlike little
nations, and defied, in those days, governments that overshadow them
DOW as mountains overshadow mole-hills. The Saracens captured and
pUlaged Qenoa nine hundred years ago, but during the following cen-
tury Genoa and Pisa entered into an offensive and defensive aUiance,
ana besieged the Saracen colonies in Sardinia and the Balearic Isles with
an obstinacy that maintained its pristine vigour, and held to its purpose
for forty long years. They were victorious at last, and divided tneij
conquests equably among their great patrician families. Descendants
f>f 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. Sav<m
'sdeeetMtd
LUOHIB."
it was so
or tail of
French of
e than the
day Foi
instance, obserre the printed card of the hotel w« shall probably stop at
on the shores of Lake Como : —
" NOTISH.
" This hotel which the best it is in Italy and moat laperb,
Ib handsome locate on the best situation of the lake, with
the most splendid view near the "Villas Melzy, to the King
of Belgian, and Serhelloni. This hotel have recently enlarge,
do offer all commodities on moderate price, at the strangen
gentlemen who whish spend the seasons on the Lake Oom«. "
How is that for a specimen? In the hotel is a handsome little chapel,
where an English clergyman is employed to preach to such of the guests
of the house as hail from England and America, and this fact is also set
forth in barbarous English in the same advertisement. Wouldn't you have
supposed that the adventurous linguist who framed the card would have
known enough to submit it to that, clergyman before he sent it to the printer.
Here in Milan, in an anci'jnt tumbledown ruin of a church, is the
mournful wreck of the most celebrated painting in the world — " The
Last Supper," by Leonardo da Vinci. We are not infallible judges of
pictures, but of course we went there to see this wonderful painting, once
80 beautiful, always so worshipped by masters in art, and for ever to be
famous in song and story. And the first thing that occurred was th«
infliction on us of a placard fairly reeking with wretched English.
Take a morsel of it : —
" Bartholomew (that is the first figure on the left-hand side of the ipectator),
ttnoertain and doubtful about what he thinks to have heard, and upon which h«
wants to be assured by himself at Christ and by no others."
Good, isn't it ? And then Peter is described as " argumenting in a
threatening and angrily condition at Judas Iscariot."
This paragraph recalls the picture. " The Last Supper " is painted
on the dilapidated wall of what was a little chapel . ttached to the main
church in ancient times, I suppose. It is battered and scarred in every
direction, and stained and discoloured by time, and Napoleon's horses
kicked the legs off most the disciples when they (the fiorses, not the
disciples) were stabled there more tnan half a century ago.
I recognised the old picture in a moment — the Saviour with bowed
head seated at the centre of a long, rou^h table, with scattering fruits
and dishes upon it, and six disciples on either side in their long robes,
talking to each other — the picture from which all engravings and all
copies have been made for three centuries. Perhaps no living man has
ever known an attempt to paint the Lord's Supper diiferentl]^. The
world seems to have become settled in the belief, long ago, that it is not
possible for human genius to outdo this creation of Da Vinci's. I
suppose psdnters will go on copying it as long as an^ of the original in
lett visible to the eye. There were a dozen easels m the room, and an
uany artiiiti transferring the great pietnxe to their old vaiMM. Fifty
I
■ i
r'
»
■ 1
m
loS
^>4^^ 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/:#<y?Ar twain*s works.
rose about onr feet — a smoke that smelt of all the dead thioga of earth,
of all the putrefaction and corruption imaginable.
We were there live minutes, and when we got out it was hard to tell
which of Ufl carried the vilest fragrance.
These miserable outcasts called that " fumigating " us, and the term
was a tame one indeed. They fumigated us to guard themselves against
the oholera, though we hailed from no infected port. We had left the
cholera far behind us all the time. However, they must keep epidemics
away somehow or other, and fumigation is cheaper than soap. They
must either wash themselves or fumigate other people. Some of tht
lower classes had rather die than wash, but the fumigation of strangers
causes them uo pangs. They need no fumigation tnemselves. Their
habits make it unnecessary. They carry their preventive with them ;
they sweat and fumigate all the day long. I trust I am a humble and
a consistent Christian. I try to do what is right. I know it is my dutjy
to " pray for them that despitefully use me ; " and therefore, hard as it
is, I shall still try to pray for these fumigating, macaroni-stuifing organ*
grinders.
Our hotel sits at the water's edge — at least its front garden does — and
we walk among the shrubbery, and smoke at twilight ; we look afar o£f
at Switzerland and the Alps, and feel an indolent willingness to look na
closer ; we go down the steps and swim in the lake ; we take a shapely
little boat and sail abroad among the reflections of the stars ; lie on the
thwarts and listen to the distant laughter, the singing, the soft melody
of flutes and guitars that comes floating across the water from pleasuring
gondolas ; we close the evening with exasperating billiards on one of
[lose same old execrable tables. A midnight luncheon in our ample bed-
chamber ; a final smoke in its contracted verandah facing the water, thb
gardens, and the mountains ; a summing up of the day's events. Then
to bed, with drowsy brains harassed with a mad panorama that mixes up
pictures of France, of Italy, of the ship, of the ocean, of home, in gro-
tesque and bewildering disorder. Then a melting away of familiar faces, of
cities, and of tossing waves, into a great calm of forgetfulness and peace.
After which, the nightmare.
Breakfast in the morning, and ttien the Lake.
I did not like it yesterday. I thought Lake Tahoe was mwih finer.
I have to confess now, however, that my judgment erred somewhat,
though not extravagantly. I always had an idea that Como was a vast
basin of water, like Tahoe, shut in by great mountains. Well, the bor-
der of huge mountains is here, but the lake itself ig not a basin. It is
as crooked as any brook, and only from one quarter to two-thirds as
wide as the Mississippi. There is not a yard of low ground on either side
of it — nothing but endless chains of mountains that spring abruptly
from the water's edge, and tower to altitudes varying from a thousand
to two thousand feet. Their craggy sides are clothed with vegetation,
and white specks of houses peep out from the luxuriant foliage every-
where ; they are even perched upon jutting and picturesque pinnacles
a thousand feet above your head.
Again, for miles along the ihorea handsome country seatSy sunounded
THE INNOCSNTS AbROAIX
"3
opi of eartlv
bard to tell
d the term
Ives against
lad left the
p epidemics
cap. They
}me of thf
>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 <tf Sigha, through it and into tl&e dimge(Hi and
THE INNOCENTS ABROAD,
i«5
UBto \Aa deatiL At no time in his transit wai h« riuble to any lave
his conductor. If a man had an enemy in those old days, the cleverest
thing he could do was to slip a note for the Coimcil oi Three into the
Lion's Mouth, saying, " This man ia plotting against the Qovernment."
If the awful Three found no proof, ten to one they would drown him
anyhow, because he was a deep rascal, since his plots were unsolvable.
Masked judges and masked executioners, with unlimited power, and no
appeal from their judgments, in that hard, cruel age, were not likely to
be lenient with men they suspected yet could not convict
We walked through the hall of the Council of Ten, and presently
entered the infernal den of the Council of Three.
The table around which they had sat was there still, and likewise the
ftations where the masked inquisitors and executioners formerly stood,
frozen, upright, and silent, till they received a bloody order, and then
without a word moved oflf, like the inexorable machines they were, to
carry it out The frescoes on the walls were startlingly suited to the
place. In all the other saloons, the halls, Uie great state chambers of
the palace, the walls and ceilings were bright with gilding, rich with
elaborate carving, and resplendent with gallant pictures of Venetian
victories in war, and Venetian display in foreign courts, and hallowed
with portraits of the Virgin, the Saviour of men, and the Holy Sainta
that preached the Gospel of Peace upon earth — but here, in dismal con-
trast, were none but pictures of death and dreadful suffering ! — not a
living figure but was writhiug in torlui'e, not a dead but was smeared
with olood, gashed with wounds, and distorted with the agonies that had
taken away his life !
From the palace to the gloomy prison is but a step — one might
almost jump across the narrow canal that intervenes. The ponderous
stone Bridge of Sighs crosses it at the second story — a bridge that is a
covered timnel — you cannot be seen when you wall: in it It is parti-
tioned lengthwise, and through one compartment walked such as bore
light sentences in ancient times, and through the other marched sadly
&e wretchee whom the Three had doomed to Lingering misery and utter
oblivion in the dungeons, or to sudden and mysterious death. Down
below the level of the water, by the light of smoking torches, we were
shown the damp, thick- walled cells where many a proud patrician's life
was eaten away by the long-drawn miseries of solitary imprisonment —
without light, air, books ; naked, unshaven, uncombed, covered with
vermin ; his useless tongue forgetting its office, with none to speak to ;
the days and nights of his life no longer marked, but merged into one
eternal eventless night; far away from all cheerful sounds, buried in the
silence of a tomb ; forgotten by his helpless friends, and his fate a dark
mystery to them for ever ; losing his own memory at last, and knowing
no more who he was or how he came there ; devouring the loaf of bread
and drinking the water that were thrust into the cell by unseen hands,
and troubling his worn spirit no more with hopes and fears and doubts
and longings to be free ; ceasing to scratch vain prayers and complaints
on walls where none, not even himself, could see them, and resigning
kimself to hopeless apathy, drivelling childishness, lunacy ! Many and
.
p
\^'
nf
MARX TWAIN'S IV0RX6.
many a Borrowful story like this these atone walla could tell if thary
could but speak.
In a little narrow corridor near by, they showed us where many a
prisoner, after lying in the dungeons until he was forgotten by all saye
his persecutors, was brought by masked executioners and garrotted, or
sewed up in a sack, passed through a little window to a boat, at dead of
night, and taken to some remote spot and drowned.
They used to show to yisitors the implements of torture wherewith
the Three were wont to worm secrets out of the accused — yillanoui
machines for crushing thumbs ; the stocks where a prisoner sat immoy-
able while water fell drop by drop upon his head till the torture was
more than humanity comd bear ; and a devilish contrivance of steel,
which enclosed a prisoner's head Like a shell, and crushed it slowly by
means of a screw. It bore the stains of blood that had trickled througn
its joints long ago, and on one side it had a projection whereon the tor-
turer rested ms elbow comfortably and bent dovm his ear to catch the
meanings of the sufferer perishing within.
Of course we went to see the venerable relic of the ancient glory of
Venice, with its pavements worn and broken by the passing feet of a
thousand years oi plebeians and patricians — the Cathedral of St Mark.
It is built entirely of precious marbles brought from the Orient— ^
nothing in its composition is domestic. Its hoary traditions make it an
object of absorbing interest to even the most careless stranger, and thus fax
it had interest for me ; but no farther. I could not go into ecstacies ovei
its coarse mosaics, its unlovely Byzantine architecture, or its five hun-
dred curious interior columns from as man^ distant quarries. Everything
was worn out — every block of stone was smooth and almost shapeless
with the polishing hands and shoulders of loungers who devotedly idled
here in by-gone centuries and have died and gone to the dev — no, no—
simply died, I mean.
Under the altar repose the ashes of St Mark — and Matthew, Luke,
and John too, for all I know. Venice reveres these relics above aU
things earthly. For fourteen hundred years St Mark has been her
patron saint Everything about the city seems to be named after him,
or so named as to refer to him in some way — so named, or some pur-
chase rigged in some way to scrape a sort of hurrahing acquaintance with
him. That seems to be tiie idea. To be on good terms vdth St Mark
seems to be the very summit of Venetian ambition. They say St Mark
had a tame lion, and used to travel with him, and everywhere that St
Mark went, the lion was sure to go. It was his protector, his friend,
his librarian. And so the Winged Lion of St Mark, with the open Bible
under his paw, is a favourite emblem in the grand old city. It "^asts ite
shadow from the most ancient pillar in Venice, in the Grand Square of
St Mark, upon the throngs of free citizens below, and has so done for
many a long century. The winged Uon is found everywhere ; and
doubtless here where the winged Uon is, no harm can come.
St Mark died at Alexandna, in Egypt. He was martyred, I think.
However, that has nothing to do wiUi my legend. About the found-
ing of tlM citgr of Yemo b mj fova hundiBd and fifty years after Chxiil
THE INNOCENTS ABROAD,
!■>
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 <rrer the world. We see the diffident young man, mild of moufitHche,
affluent of hair, indigent of brain, elegant of costume, drive up to hm
fatlier's mansion, tell his hackman to bail out and wait, start tearfully
np the steps, and meet '* the old gentleman " right on the thrcHhold !
—hear him ask what street the new British Bank is in — as if ihai
were what he came for — and then bounce into his boat and scurry
away with his coward heart in his boots ! — see him come sneaking
around the comer again directly, with a crack of the curtain open to-
ward the old gentleman's disappearing gondola, and out scampers hin
Susan, with a tiork uf little Italian endearments fluttering from he?
lips, and goes to drive with him in the watery avenues down toward ths
Rialto.
We see the ladies go out shopping, in the most natural way, and flit
from street to street, and from store to store, just in the good old fashion,
except that they leave the gondola, instead of a private carriage, waiting
kt the curb-stone a couple of hours for them — waiting while they make
the nice young clerks pull down tons and tons of silks, and velvets, and
moire antiaues, and tnose things ; and then the^ buy a paper of pine
and go paddling away to confer the rest of their disastrous patronage on
some other firm. And they always have their purchases sent home just
in the goo<l old way. Human nature is vwy much the same all over the
world ; and it is to like my dear native home to see a Venetian lady go
into a store and buy ten cents' worth of blue ribbon and have it sent
home in a scow. Ah, it is these little touches of nature that move one to
tears in these far-off foreign lands.
We see the little girls and boys go out in gondolas with their nursei
for an airing. We see staid families, with prayer-book and beads, entei
the gondola dressed in their Sunday best, and float away to church.
And at midnight we see the theatre break up and discharge its swarm
of hilarious youth and beauty ; we hear the cries of the hackmim-
gondoliers, and behold the struggling crowd jump aboard, and the black
multitude of boats go skimmmg down the moonlijt avenues ; we ^^
them separate here and there, and disappear up divergent streets ; we
hear the faint sounds of laughter and of shouted farewells floating up
out of the distance ; and then, the strange pageant being gone, we have
lonely stretches of glittering water— of stately buildinga— of blotting
ahadows — of weird stone faces creeping into the moonlight — of deserted
bridges— of motionlesjs boats at anchor. And over all broods that
mysterious stillness, t^at stealthy quiet, that befits so well thi« had
dreamiag Venice
TTc hare been pretty much everywhere in our go»dola. We kare
bought beads and photographs in the stores, and wax matches in the
Great Square of St Mark. The last remark surest* a digreaaion.
Everybody goes to this vast square in the evening. The military bonds
play in the centre of it, and countless couples of ladies and gentlesaen
promenade up and down on either side, and platoons of them are eon-
itaatly drifting awaj' toward the old Cathedral, and by the venerahls
eolumn with the Winged Lion of St Mark on its top, and out to when
the boata lie moorcd ; aasL oUioi pklooiu are as oaastac^y amyinf
' i
130
MARK TWAIN *S WORKS,
\\ ', I
' 1 si
from tht gondolas and joinmg the great throng. Between the pro-
menaders and the side- walks are seatea hundreds and hundreds of people
at small tables, smoking and taking granita (a first cousin to ice-cream) ;
on the cide walks are more enjoying themselves in the same wa^. The
chops in the first floor of the tall rows of buildings that wall m three
aides of the square are brilliantly lighted, the air is filled with music
and merry voices, and altogether the scene is as bright and spirited and
fuU of cheerfulness as any man could desire. We enjoy it thoroughly.
Very many of the young women are exceedingly pretty, and dress with
rare good taste. We are gradually and laboriously learning the ill-
manners of staring them unflinchingly in the face — ^not because such
conduct is agreeable to us, but because it is the custom of the country,
and they say the girls like it. We wish to learn all the curious, outlandish
ways of all the diflerent countries, so that we can " show oflf " and
astonish people when we get home. We wish to excite the envy of oui
untravelled friends with our strange foreign fashions which we can't
shake oflf. AU our passengers are paying strict attention to this thing,
with the end in view which I have mentioned. The gentle reader wiU
never, never know what a consummate ass he can become until he goes
abroad. I speak now, of course, in the supposition that the gentle
reader has not been abroad, and therefore is not already a consummate
ass. If the case be otherwise, I beg his pardon, and extend to him
the cordial hand of fellowship and call him brother. I shall always
delight to meet an ass after my own heart when I shaU have finished
my travels.
On this subject let me remark that there are Americans abroad in
Italy who have actually forgotten their mother tongue in three months —
forgot it in France. They cannot even write their address in English
in a hotel register. I append these evidences^ which I copied vcroaiMn
from the register of a hotel in a certain Italian city —
"John P. Whitoomb, Etata Unit.
*' Wm. L. Ainaworth, travailltur (he meant traveller, I luppoie), Etati Ohta
" George P. Morton etjilij U^AnUrique.
" Lloyd B. WilliamB, et trots amis, ville de Boston, Amirique.
"J. Ellsworth Baker, tout de suite de France; place de naissance Anuinquei
destination la Or and Bretagne,"
I love this sort of peo ,)le. A lady passion ger of ours tells of a fellow-
citizen of hers who spenit eights weeks in Paris, and then returned home
and addressed his dearest old bosom friend Herbert as Mr " Er-bare ! "
He apologised though, and said, " Ton my soul, it is aggravating, but I
cahn't help it I have got so used to speaking nothing but French, mj
dear Erbare — damme, there it goes again ! — got so used to French pro-
nunciation that I cahn't get rid of it ; it is positively annoying, I
assure you." This entertaining idiot, whose name was Gordon, allowed
himself to be hailed three times in the street before he paid any atten-
tion, and then begged a thousand pardons, and said he had grown so
accustomed to hearing himself addressed as " M'sieu Qot-i-dong" with a
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<s
always so new to us, so startling, so terrible, so benumbing to the
senses, and behold how threadbare and old it is ! No shrewdly-worded
history could have brought the myths and shadows of that old dreamy
age before us, clothed with human flesh and warmed yrith human
sympathies, so yiyidly as did this poor little unsentient yessel di
pottery.
Pisa waa a republic in the Middle Ages, with a goyemment of her own,
armies and nayies of her own,, and a great commerce. She was a warlike
power, and inscribed upon her banners many a brilliant fight with Genoese
and Turks. It is said that the city once numbered a population of four
hundred thousand ; but her sceptre has passed from her grasp now, her
ships and her armies are gone, her commerce is dead. Her battle-flags
bear the mould and the dust of centuries, her marte are deserted, she has
shrunken far within her crumbling walls, and her great population has
diminished to twenty thousand souls. She has but one thing left to
boast of, and that is not much — viz., she is the second city of Tuscany.
We reached Leghorn in time to see all we wished to see of it long
before the city gates were closed for the evening, and then came on
board the ship.
We felt as though we had been away from home an age. We never
entirely appreciated before what a very pleaaant den our state-room is j
nor how jolly it is to sit at dinner in one's own seat in one's own cabin^
and hold familiar conversation with friends in one's own language. Oh,
the rare happiness of comprehending every single word that is said, and
knowing that every word one says in return will be understood as well '
We would talk ourselves to death now, only there are only about ten
passengers out of the sixty-five to talk to. The others are wandering,
we hardly know where. We shall not go ashore in Leghorn. We are
surfeited ^'ith Italian cities for the present, and much prefer to \«alk the
familiar quarter-deck and view this one from a distance.
The stupid magnates of this Leghorn Government cannot understand
that so large a steamer as ours could cross the broad Atlantic with no
otlier purpose than to indulge a party of ladies and gentlemen in a
pleasure excursion. It looks too improbable. It is suspicious, they
think. Something more important must be hidden behind it alL They
cannot understand it, and they scorn the evidence of the ship's papers.
They have decided at last that we are a battalion of incendiary, blood<
tJtursty Garibaldians in disguise ! And in all seriousness they have sent
a gun-boat to watch the vessel night and day, with orders to close down
on any revolutionary movement in a twinkling I Police boats are on
patrol duty about us all the time, and it is as much as a sailor's liberty is
worth to show himself in a red shirt These policemen follow the execu'
tive officer's boat from shore to ship and irom ship to shore, and watch his
m
y
THE INNOCENTS ABROAD.
141
BOguage ol
kght bring,
efl with its
ireshold, •
e which is
ing to th«
Iv-worded
d dreamj
th human
vessel of
f hep own,
) a warlike
Ji Genoese
on of four
) now, her
>attle-flagi
d, she has
iation has
ng left to
uscanv.
of it long
I came on
We never
i-room is j
wn cabin^
age. Oh,
said, and
I as well <
ibout ten
andering.
We are
i\,alkthe
iderstand
3 with no
nen in a
3U8, they
IL They
'a papers,
y, blood-
lave sent
ose down
» are on
liberty is
le execu'
vatchhifi
\
'•■1'
■A
i
dark mancrayres with a vigilant eye. They will arrest bim yet xinlesi
he assumes an expression of countenance that shall have less of carnage,
insurrection, and sedition in it A visit paid in a friendly way to General
Qoribaldi yesterday (by cordial invitation) by some of our piissengers,
has gone far to confirm the dread suspicions the Government harbours
f:owards us. It is thought the friendly visit was only the cloak of a bloody
conspiracy. These people draw near and watch us when we bathe in thr
•ea from the ship's side. Do they think we are communing with a reservft
force of rascals at the bottom ?
It is said that we shall probably be quarantined at Naples. Two or
three of us prefer not to run this risk. Therefore, when we are rested,
we propose to go in a French steamer to Civita Vecchia, and from thence
to Rome, and by rail to Naples. They do not quarantine the cars, no
matter where they got their passengers from.
CHAPTER XXV.
TIIEHE are a good many things about this Italy which I do not
understand — and more especially 1 cannot understand how a
bankrupt Government can nave such palatial railroad dep6t8 and
«uch marvels of turnpikes. Why, these latter are as hard as adamant,
as straight as a line, as smooth as a floor, and as white as snow. When
it is too dark to see any other object, one can still see the white turn-
pikes of France and Italy ; and they are clean enough to eat from with-
out a table-cloth. And yet no tolls are charged.
As for the railways — we have none like them. The cars slide as
smoothly along as if they were on runners. The dep6ts are vast palaces
of cut marble, with stately colonnades of the same royal stone traversing
them from end to end, and with ample walls and ceilings richly deco-
rated with frescoes. The lofty gateways are graced with statues, and the
broad floors are aU laid in polished flags of marble.
These things win me more than Italy's hundred galleries of priceless
art treasures, because I can understand the one and am not competent
to appreciate the other. In the turnpikes, the railways, the depots, and
the new boulevards of uniform houses in Florence and other cities here,
I see the genius of Louis Napoleon, or rather, I see the works of that
statesman imitated. But Louis has taken care that in France there
shall be a foundation for these improvements — money. He has always
the wherewithal to back up his projects ; they streii^hen France and
never weaken her. Her material prosperity is genuine. But here the
case is different This country is bankrupt. There is no real founda-
tion for these great works. The prosperity they would seem to indicate
is a pretence. There is no money in the treasury, and so they enfeeble
her instead of strengthening. Itsdy has achieved the dearest wish of her
heart and become an independent State — and in so doing she has drawn
jta elq^hant in the political loUeij. Sh* has nothing to feed it oa
(1
^i)i
143
MARK TWAIN^S WORKS,
Inexperienc«d in government, she plunged into all manner of naelea*
expenditure, and nwamped her treasury almoet in a day. She 8quan<
dered milliuns of francs on a navy which she did not need, and tiie iirst
tiiuu she tuok her new toy into action she got it knocked higher than
Gilderoy's kite — to use the language of the Filgrinis.
But it is an ill wind that blows nobody good. A year ago, when Itah
saw utter ruin staring her in the face and her greenbacks hardly worth
the paper they were printed on, her Parliiunent ventured upon a CiAh'p de
main tiiat would have appalled the stoutest of her statesmen under leos
desperate circumstances. 'iHiev in a manner confiucatud the domains ui
the Church. This in priest-ndden Italy ! This in a land which has
groped in the midnight of priestly superstition for sixteen liundred
years ! It was a rare good fortune for Italy, the stress of weather that
drove her to break from this prison-house.
They do not call it conJUcating the Church property. That would
sound too harshly yet But it amounts to that. There are thousands
of churches in Italy, each with untold millions of treasures stored away
in its closets, and each with its battalio* of priests to be supported. And
then there are the estates of the Church — league on league of the richest
lands and the noblest forests in all Italy — all yielding immense revenues
to the Church, and none paying a cent in taxes to the State. In some
great districts the Church owns all the property — lauds, water-courses,
woods, mills, and factories. They buy, tney sell, they manufacture, and
•ince they pay no taxes, who can nope to compete with them ?
Well, uie Government has seized all this in effect, and will yet seiM
it in rigid and unpoetical reality, no doubt Something must be done
to feed a starving treasury, and there is no other resource in all Italy —
none but the riches of the Church. So the Government intends to take
to itseK a great portion of the revenues arising from priestly farms, fac-
tories, &c., and also intends to take possession of the churches and carry
them on after its own fashion and upon its own responsibility. In a few
instances it will leave the establishments of great pet churches undis-
turbed, but in all others only a handful of priests will be retained to
preach and pray, a few will be pensioned, and the balance turned adrift.
Fray glance at some of these churches and their embellishments, and
see whether the Government is doing a righteous thing or not In
Venice, to-day a city of a hundred thousand inhabitants, there are
twelve hundred priests. Heaven only knows how many there were
before the Parliament reduced their numbers. There was the great
Jesuit Church. Under the old regime it required sixty priests tc
engineer it ; the Government does it with five now, and the others arft
discharged from service. All about that church wretchedness and
poverty abound. At its door a dozen hats and bomiets were doffed tC'
us, as many heads were humbly bowed, and as many hands extended,
appealing for pennies — appealing with foreign words we could not
understand, but appealing mutely, with sad eyes and sunken cheeks,
and ragged raiment, that no words were needed to translate. Then we
passed within the ffK&t doors, and it seemed that the riches of the world
were before ui ! Hu^e columns, carved ottt of single masses of marble,
■ m
PRIESTCRAFT AND CHURCH SPLENDOUR.
of nMlMH
}he squan-
id tlie tint
ighur than
when Itah
rdly worth
Q a coup de
under less
iomoinH ui
which hua
Q hundred
Bather that
hat would
thousands
iored away
cted. And
the richest
56 revenues
In some
ber-courses.
acture, ana
?
U yet seiM
st be done
all lUly—
ids to take
farms, fac-
and carry
In a few
hes undis-
'etained to
ned adrift.
nents, and
' not. In
there are
lere were
the great
mests tc
)thers arft
ness and
dotfed tc
extended.
could not
n cheeks,
Then we
the world
f marble,
\\
'• We were In the heart and home of priestcraft— of a happy, cheerful,
contented ignorance."- Page UC.
"All about that church wretchedness and poverty abound. . . . We
passed within the great doors, and it seemed that the riches of the world
were before us."— Page 142.
i
II
THE INNOCENTS ABROAD.
143
*nd Inlaid from top to bottom with a hundred intricate figures wrought
in costly verde antique ; pulpits of the same rich maieriala, whose
draperies hung down in many a pictured fold, the stony fabric counter-
feiting the delicate work of the loom ; the graad altar, brilliant with
polished facings and balustrades of oriental agate, jasper, verde antique,
and othor precious stones, whose names even we seldom hear ; and slabs
of priceless lapis lazuli lavished everywhere as recklessly as if the church
had owned a quarry of it. In the midst of all this magnificence, the
solid gold and silver furniture of the altar seemed cheap and trivial
Even the floors and ceilings cost a princely fortime.
Now, where is the use of allowing all those riches to lie idle, while
half of that community hardly know from day to day how they are
going to keep body and soul together ? And where is the wisdom in
permitting hundreds upon hundreds of millions of francs to be locked
up in the useless trumpery of churches all over Italy, and the people
ground to death with taxation to uphold a perishing Government i
As far as I can see, Italy, for fifteen hundred years, has turned all hei
energies, all her finances, and all her industry to the building up of a
vast array of wouderl'til church edifices, and starving half her citizens to
accomplish it She is to-day one vast museum of magnificence and
misery. All the churches in an ordinary American city put together,
could hardly buy the jewelled frippery in one of her himdred cathedrals.
And for every beggar ui America, Italy can show a hundred, xs. d ragt
ind vermin to match. It is the wretchedest, princeliest land on earth.
Look at the g^and Duomo of Florence — a vast pile that has been
tapping the purses of her citizens for five hundred years, and is not
nearly finished yet. Like all other men I fell down and worshipped it ;
but when the filthy beggars swarmed around me, the contrast was too
striking, too suggestive, and I said, " Oh, sons of classic Italy, w the
spirit of enterprise, of self-reliance, of noble endeavour utterly dead
within ye ? Curje your indolent worthlessness, why don't you roD your
Church?"
Three hundred happy, comfortable priests are employed in that
CathedraL
And now that my temper is up, I may as well go on and abuse every-
body I can think of. They have a grand mausolemu in Florence,
which they built to bury our Lord and Saviour and the Medici family
in. It sounds blasphemous, but it is true, and here they act blasphemy.
The dead and damned Medicis, who cruelly tyrannised over Florence,
and were her curse for over two hundred years, are salted away in a
circle of costly vaults, and in their midst the Holy Sepulchre was to
have been set up. The expedition sent to Jerusalem to seize it got into
trouble, and could not accomplish the burglary, and so the centre of the
mausoleum is vacant now. They say the entire mausoleum was intended
for the Holy Sepulchre, and was only turned into a family burying-
place after the Jerusalem expedition failed — ^but you will excuse me,
Borne of those Medicis would navo smuggled themselves in sure. What
thtu had not the effrontery to do waa not worth doing. Why, they had
their trivial, forgotten exploit! oa land and iea pict ired out in grand
K.M
i'i 3
i:-
144
il//IJ?^ TIVA/N'S WORKS
frescoes ^as did also the ancient Doges of Venice) with the Sariotir and
the Virgin throwing bouquets to them out of the clouds, and the Deity
himself applauding from His throne in heaven ! And who painted
these things ? Why Titian, Tintoretto, Paul Veronese, Raphaef— none
other than the world's idols, the " old masters."
Andrea del Sarto glorified his princes in pictures that must save them
for ever from the oblivion they merited, and they let him starve. Served
him right. Raphael pictured such infernal villains as Catherine and
Marie de Medicis seated in Heaven, and conversing familiarly with the
Virgin Mary and the angels (to say nothing of higher personages), and
yet my friends abuse me because I am a little prejudiced t^ainst the old
masters, because I faU sometimes to see the beauty that is in their
productions. I cannot help but see it now and then, but I keep on pro-
testing against the grovelling spirit that could persuade those masters
to prostitute their noble talents to the adulation of such monsters as the
French, Venetian, and Florentine princes of two and three hundred
years ago all the same.
I am told that the old masters had to do these shameful things for
bread, the princes and potentat<is being the only patrons of Art. If a
grandly gifted man may drag his pride and his manhood in the dirt for
bread, rather than starve with the nobility that 18 in him untainted, the
excuse is a valid one. It would excuse theft in Washingtons an<J
Wellingtons, and unchastity in >r'>'npn as well.
But somehow I (^annot keep that Medici mausoleum out of ray
memory. It is as large as a church ; its pavement is rich enough foi
the pavement of a king's palace ; its great dome is gorgeous with
frescoes ; its walls are made of — what ] Marble ? — plaster ? — wcod 1 —
paper ? No. Red porphyry — verde antique — jaaper — oriental agate —
alabaster — mother-of-pearl — chalcedony — red coral — lapis lazuli ! All
the vast walls are made wholly of these precious stones, worked in and
in and in together in elaborate patterns and figures, and polished till
they glow like great mirrors with the pictured splendours reflected
from the dome overhead. And before a statue of one of those dead
Modicis reposes a crown that blazes with diamonds and emeraldfl enough
to buy a ship-of-the-line abnost. These are the things the Government
lias its evil eye upon, and a happy thing it will be for Italy when they
melt away in the public treasury.
And now — However, another beggar approaches. I will go out and
iestroy him, and then come back and write another chapter of vitupyn^
tion.
Having eaten the friendless orphan — having driven away nis comrades
— having grown calm and reflective at length — I now feel in a kindlier
mood. I feel that, after talking so freely about the priests and the
churches, justice demands that if I know anything good about either I
ought to say it. I have heard of many things that redound to the credit
of the priesthood; but the most notable matter that occurs to me now is
the devotion one of the mendicant orders showed during the prevalence
of the cholera last year. I speak of the Don\inican f:|iars — men who
i^^Kt a coarse heavy brown robe and » oowl in this hot elixnate, and vfi
THE INNOCENTS ABROAD.
U5
ayiour and
I the Deity
bo painted
hael— -none
: save them
re. Served
herine and
y with the
nageB)^ and
inst the old
is in their
;eep on pro-
)se mastera
steT3 as the
se hundred
I things foi
Art. If a
the dirt for
tainted, the
Dgtons and
out of my
enough foi
geous with
—weed ]—
tal agate —
zuU ! AU
ked in and
)oli8hed till
re reflected
those dead
ildfl enough
rovemment
when they
go out and
>f vitupera*
is comrades
a kindlier
ts and the
ut either I
the credit
me now ii
prevalence
-men who
ate, and 9fi
barefoot They live on alms altogether, I beUeve. They must anque»
tionably loye their religion to suJffer so much for it Wnen the cholera
was raging in Naples ; when the people were dying by hundreds and
hundreds every day ; when every concern for the public welfare was
swallowed up in selfish private interest, and every citizen made the
taking care of himself his sole object, these men banded themselves
together, and went about nursing the sick and burying the dead. Their
noble efforts cost many of them their lives. They laid them down
cheerfully, and well they might Creeds mathematically precise, and
hair-splitting niceties of doctrine, are absolutely necessary for the sal-
vation of some kinds of souls ; but surely the charity, the purity, the
unselfishness that are in the hearts of men like these would save theii
souls, though they were bankrupt in the true religion — which is ours.
One of these fat, bare-footed rascals came here to Civita Vecchia with
us in the little French steamer. There were only half a dozen of us in
the cabin. He belonged in the steerage. He was the life of the ship,
the bloody-minded son of the Inquisition ! He and the leader of the
marine band of a French man-of-war played on the piano and sang opera
turn about ; they sang dueta together ; they rigged impromptu theatrical
costumes and gave us extravagant farces and pantomimes. We got along
first-rate with the friar, and were excessively conversational, albeit he
could not understand what we said, and certainly he had never uttered
a word that we could guess the meaning of.
This Civita Vecchia is the finest nest of dirt, vermin, and ignorance
we have found yet, except that African perdition they call Tangier,
which is just Uke it. The people here live in alleys two yards wide^
which have a smell about them which is peculiar but not entertaining.
It is WbU the alleys are not wider, because they hold as much smell now
as a person can stand, and of course, if they were wider they would hold
more, and then the people would die. These alleys are paved with stone,
and carpeted with deceased cats, and decayed rags, and decomposed vege-
table-tops, and remnants of old boots, all soaked with dish-water, and
the people sit around on stools and enjoy it. They are indolent, as a
general thing, and yet have few pastimes. They work two or three hours
%t a time, but not hard, and then they knock off and catch flies. This
does not require any talent, because they only have to grab — if they do
not get the one the^ are after, they get another. It is all the same to them.
Thev have no partialities. Whichever one they get is the one they want
They have other kinds of insects, but it does not make them arrogant.
They are very quiet, unpretending people. They have more of these
kind of things than other communities, but they do not boast.
They are very uncleanly — these people — in face, in person, and dress.
When they see anybody Avith a clean shirt on, it arouses their scorn.
The women wash clothes half the day at the public tanks in th<» streets,
but they are probably somebody else's. Or may be they keep one set to
wear and another to wash ; because they never put on any that hav€
ever been washed. When tiiey get done washing, they sit in the alleyi
and nurse their cube. They nurse one ash-cat at a time, and the o'Cram
icratch their backi against the door-pout and ar« happy.
i
146
MARK TWAIN'S WORKS.
nf T
(!!!
^M^
[|iiW
4 IH
All this ooontiT belongs to the Papal States. They do not appear to
have any schools here, and only one oilliard-table. Their education is
at a very low stage. One portion of the men go into the military,
another into the priesthood, and the rest into the shoemaking business.
They keep up the passport system here, but so they do in Turkey.
This shows that the Papal States are as far advanced as Turkey. This
fiftct will be alone sufficient to silence the tongues of malignant calum-
niators. 1 had to get my passport vised for Rome in Florence, and then
they would not let me come ashore here until a policeman had examined
it on the wharf and sent me a permit They did not even dare to let me
take my passport in my hands for twelve hours, I looked so formidable.
They judged it best to let me cool down, '^'"hey thought I wanted to
take the town, likely. Little did they know me. I wouldn't have it.
They examined my oaggage at the depot. They took one of my ablest
jokes and read it over carefully twice and then read it backwards. But
it was too deep for them. They passed it around, and e^^erybody specu-
lated on it awhile, but it mastered them all.
It was no common joke. At length a veteran officer spelled it over
deliberately, and shook his head three or four times, and said that in hi£
opinion it was seditious. That was the first time I felt alarmed. I
immediately l dd x would explain the document, and they crowded
around, iind 30 I explained, and explained, and explained, and they
took notes of all I said, but the more I explained the more they could
not understand it, and when they desisted at last, I could not even
understand it myself. They said they believed it was an incendiary
document levelled at the Government. I declared solemnly that it was
not, but they only shook their heads and would not be satisfied. Then
they consulted a good while ; and finally they confiscated it. I was very
sorry for this, because I had worked a long time on that joke, and took
a good deal of ^^ride in it, and now I suppose I shall aever see it any
more. I suppose it will be sent up and filed away amcng the criminal
archives of Kome, and will always be regarded as a m^ <^t6rious infernal
machine which would have blown up like a mine, and scattered the good
Pope all around, but for a miraculous providential interference. iui.d I
suppose that all the time I am in Rome the police will dog me about
from place to place because they think I am a dangerous character.
It IS fearfully hot in Civita Vecchia. The streets are made very
narrow and the houses built veiy solid and heavy and high, as a protec-
tion against the heat. This is the first Italian town I have seen which
does not appear to have a patron saint. I suppose no saint but the ont
that went up in the chariot of fire could stand the climate.
There is nothing here to see. They have not even a cathedral, with
eleven tons of solid silver archbishops in the back-room ; and they do
not show you any mouldy buildings that are spven thousand years old ;
nor any smoke-dried old fire-screens which are chef-d'oeuvres of Rubeni
or Simpson, or Titian or Ferguson, or any of those parties ; and they
haven't any bottled fragments of saints, and not eveu a n'Oil from the
krue croMk W« are going to Borne* There ia nothini; to Mie here.
THE INNOCENTS J BROAD.
147
(lot appe&r to
education U
;he military,
ag business.
3 in Turkey,
irkey. Thifl
^nant calum-
Lce, and then
ad examined
are to let me
) formidable.
I wanted to
dn't have it.
of my ablest
iwards. But
[rbody specu-
}elled it over
d that in his
alarmed. I
aey crowded
ed, and they
e they could
ad not even
1 incendiary
f that it was
^fied. Then
I was very
ke, and took
er see it any
the criminal
ious infernal
red the good
nee. ^dl
)g me about
aracter.
made very
as a proteo"
I seen which
but the one
ledral, with
and they do
years old ;
1^ of Rubens
and they
dl from th«
i here.
CHAPTER XXVL
WHAT Is !t that confers the noblest delight 1 What Is that whlek
swells a man's breast with pride above that which any other
experience can bring to him 1 Discovery ! To know that you
are walking where none others have walked ; tnat you are beholding
what human eye has not seen before ; that you are breathing a virgin
atmosphere. To give birth to an idea — to discover a great thought — an
intellectual nugget, right under the dust of a field that many a brain*
plough had gone over before. To find a new planet, to invent a new
hinge, to find the way to make the lightnings carry your messages. To
be ^ejkst — that is the idea. To do something, say something, see some-
thing, before anybody else — these are the things that confer a pleasure
compared with which other pleasures are tame and commonplace, other
esctacies cheap and trivial. Morse, with his first message, brought by
his servant, the lightning ; Fulton, in that long-drawn century of sus-
pense, when he placed his hand upon the throttle-valve and lo, the
steamboat moved ; Jenner, when his patient with the cow's virus in his
blood walked through the small-pox hospital unscathed ; Howe, when
the idea shot through his brain that for a hundred and twenty genera-
tions the eye had been bored through the wrong end of the needle ; the
nameless lord of art who laid down his chisel in some old age that is
forgotten now and gloated upon the finished Laocoon ; Daguerre, when
he commanded the sun, riding in the zenith, to print the landscape upon
his insignificant silvered plate, and he obeyed ; Columbus, in the Pinta's
shrouds, when he swung his hat above a fabled sea and gazed abroad
upon an unknown world ! These are the men who have really lived —
who have actually comprehended what pleasure ia — who have crowded
long Lifetimes of ecstacy into a single moment.
What is there in Rome for me to see that others have not seen before
me 1 What is there for me to touch that others have nut touched 1
What is there for me to feel, to learn, to hear, to know, that shall thrill
me before it pass to others ? What can I discover ] — Nothing. Nothing
whatsoever. One charm of travel dies here. But if I were only a
Roman I — If, added to my own, I could be gifted with modem Roman
sloth, modem Roman superstition, and modem Roman boundlessness of
ignorance, what bewildering worlds of unsuspecting wonders I would
discover. Ah ! if I were only a habitant of the Campagna five and
twenty miles from Rome ! Then I would traveL
I would go to America, and see, and leam, and return to the Cam-
pagna &nd stand before my countrymen an illustrious discoverer. I
vould say —
** I saw there a country which has no overshadowing Mother Church,
and yet the people survive. I aaw a government which never was pro-
tected by foreign soldiers at a cost greater than that required to carry
Ml the govemmeiit itselt. 1 saw common men and common won;e«
irko could read ; I even kaw imall cliiMxen of ooBuauyn couBbry p(M.yi^
:! f
in
I > i
I
I'!
]:1
148
MAXir TWAIN'S WORKS,
nading from books ; if I dared think you would believe it, I would ny
they could write also. In the cities I saw people drinking a deUcioui
beverage made of chalk and water, but never once saw goats driven
through their Broadway, or their Pennsylvania Avenue, or their Mont-
gomery Street, and milked at the doors of the houses. I saw real glaas
windows in the houses of even the commonest people. Some or the
houses are not of stone, nor yet of bricks ; I solemnly swear they are
made of wood. Houses there will take fire and bum, sometimes —
actually bum entirely down, and not leave a single vestige behind. I
could state that for a truth upon my death-bed. And as a proof that
the circumstance is not rare, 1 aver that they have a thing which they
call a fire-engine, which vomits forth great streams of water, and is kept
always in readiness, by night and by day, to rush to houses that are
burning. You would think one engine would be sufficient, but some
great cities have a hundred ; ihey keep men hired, and pay them by
the month to do nothing but put out fires. For a certain sum of money
other men will insure that your house shall not bum down ; and if it
burns they will pay you for it. There are hundreds and thousands of
schools, and anybody may go and lei m to be wise, like a priest. In
that singular country if a rich man dies a sinner, he is damned ; he
cannot buy salvation with money for masses. There is really not much
use in being rich there. Not much use as far as the other world is con*
cemed, but much, very much use, as concerns this j because there, if a
man be rich, he is very greatly honoured, and can become a legislator,
a governor, a general, a senator, no matter how ignorant an ass he is —
just as in our beloved Italy the nobles hold all the great places, evev
though sometimes tliey are bom noble idiots. There, if a man be rich,
they give him costly presents, they ask him to feasts, they invite him
to dnnk complicated beverages ; out if he be poor and in debt, they
require him to do that which thej' term to * settle.' The women put on
a different dress almost every day ; the dress is usually fine, but absurd
in shape ; the very shape and fashion of it changes twice in a hundred
years ; and did I but covet to be called an extravagant falsifier, I would
say it changed even oftener. Hair does not grow upon the American
women's heads ; it is made for them by cunning workmen in the shops,
and is curled and frizzled into scandalous and ungodly forms. Some
persons wear eyes of glass which they see through with facility perhaps,
else they would not use them ; and in the mouths of some are teeth
made by the sacrilegious hand of man. The dress of the men is laugh-
ably grotesque. They carry no musket in ordinary life nor no long-
pointed pole ; they wear no wide green-lined cloak ; they wear no
peaked black felt hat, no leathern gaiters reaching to the knee, no goat-
skin breeches with the hair side out, no hob-nailed shoes, no prodigious
spurs. They wear a conical hat termed a '* nail-kag ; " a coat of saddest
black ; a shirt which shows dirt so easily that it has to be ch:uiged
every month, and is very troublesome ; things called pantaloons, which
are held up by shouluer-straps, and on their feet they wear boots which
are ridiculous in pattern and can stand no wear. Yet dressed in thui
(onttuitic ^arb, these people laughed at my covtum*?. In thai country
*
■*^
I would Mj
; a deliciom
{oats driven
their Mont'
w real glam
>ome of the
ear they are
lometimes —
behind. I
a proof that
which they
and is kept
ses that are
it, but some
ay them by
im of money
a ; and if it
ihousands of
priest. In
Lamned ; he
[y not much
rorld is con*
e there, if a
a legislator,
I ass he is —
places, evev
lan be rich,
invite him
L debt, they
men put on
but absurd
L a hundred
ler, I would
e American
1 the shops,
ms. Some
ity perhaps,
e are teeth
m is laugh-
)r no long-
ly wear no
ee, no goat-
prodigious
t of saddest
)e changed
)ons, which
toots which
sed in thi«
\bX country
I
rifE INNOCENTS ABROAD,
'49
books ut 10 common that it is really no ctiriority to see onv. ^ News-
papers also. They have a great noachine which prints mch thing! l^
thousands every hour.
" I saw common men there — men who were neither priestB not
princes — \7ho vet absolutely owned the land they tilled, it was not
rented from the Church, nor from the nobles. I am ready to take i y
oath of this. In that country you might fall from a third-story window
three several times, and not mash either a soldier or a priest — The
scarcity of such people is astonishing. In the cities you will see a
dozen civilians for every soldier, and as many for every priest or
preacher. Jews there are treated just like human beings, instead of
dogs. They can work at any business they please ; they can sell brand
new goods if they want to ; they can keep drug-stores ; they can practise
medicine among Christians ; they can even shake hands with Christians
if they choose ; they can associate with them, just the same as one
human being does with another human being ; they don't have to stay
shut up in one comer of the towns ; they can live in any part of a town
they lite best ; it is said they even have the privilege of buying land
and houses, and owning them themselves, though I doubt that myself ;
they never have had to run races naked through the public streets,
against jackasses, to please the people in carnival time ; there they never
have been driven by the soldiers into a church every Sunday for hun-
dreds of years to hear themselves and their reli^on especially and par-
ticularly cursed ; at this very day, in that curious country, a Jew i«
allowed to vote, hold office, yea, get up on a rostrum in the public street
and express his opinion of the government if the government don't suit
him ! Ah i it is wonderful. The common people there know a great
deal ; they even have the effrontery to complain if they are not properly
governed, and to take hold and help conduct the government them-
selves ; if they had laws like ours, which give one dollar of every three
a crop produces to the government for taxes, they would have that law
altered : instead of paying thirty-three dollars in taxes, out of every one
hundred they receive, they complain if they have to pay seven. They
are curious people. They do not know when they are well off. Men-
dicant priests do not prowl among thorn with baskets begging for the
Church and eating up their substance. One hardly ever sees a minister
of the gospel going ar ai\d there in his bare feet, with a basket, begging
for subsistence. In that country the preachers are not like our mendi-
cant ordera of friars — they have two or three suits of clothing, and they
wash sometimes. In that land are mountains far higher than the Albsm
mountains ; the vast Roman Campagna, a hundred miles long and full
forty broad, is really small compared to the United States of America ;
the Tiber, that celebrated nver of ours, which stretches its mighty
course ahiiost two hundred miles, and which a lad can scarcely throw a
stone across at Rome, is not so long, nor yet so wide, as the American
Mississippi — nor yet the Ohio, nor even the Hudson. In America the
people are absolutely wiser and know much more than their grand-
lathers did. They do not plough with a sharpened stick, nor yet with •
three-cornered block.of wood tlutt merely scratches the top of the ground.
ft i
! i
li
'
'!: A ii
,M
ISC
JUAUX TWAIN'S WORKS,
We do that because onr fathers did, three thousand )^ean ago, I onppoM
Bat those people have no holy reverence for their ancestors. They
plough with a plough that is a sharp, curved blade of iron, and it cute
mto the earth full five inches. And this is not alL They cut their
grain with a horrid machine that mows down whole fields in a day. If
I dared, I would say that sometimes they use a blasphemous plough
that works bv fire and vapour, and tears up an acre of ground in a sin^e
hour — but — out — I see by your looks that you do not believe the things
I am telling you. Alas ! my character is ruined, and I am a branded
speaker of untruths ! "
Of course we have been to the monster Church of St Peter frequently.
I knew its dimensions. I knew it was a prodigious structure. I knew
it was just about the length of the capitol at Washington — say seven
himdred and thirty feet I knew it was thi-ee hundred and sixty-four
feet wide, and consequently wider than the capitol. I knew that the
cross on the top of the dome of the church was four hundred and thirty-
eight feet above the ground, and therefore about a hundred or may be
a hundred and twenty-five feet higher than the dome of the capitoL
Thus I had one gauge. I wished to come as near forming a correct
idea of how it was going to look as possible ; I had a curiosity to see
bow much I would err. I erred considerably. St Peter's did not look
nearly so large as the capitol, and certainly not a twentieth part ai
beautiful, from the outside.
When we reached the door, and stood fairly within the church, it was
impossible to comprehend that it was a Mtry large building. I had tc
cipW a comprehension of it. I had to ransack my memoir for some
more similes. St Peter's is bulky. Its height and size would represent
two of the Washington capitol set one on top of the other — if the capitol
were wider ; or two blocks or two blocks and a half of ordinary build-
ings set one on top of the other. St Peter's vsoa that large, but it could
and would not look so. The trouble was that everything in it and abou»
it was on such a scale of uniform vastness that there were no contrasts
to judge by — none but the people, and I had not noticed them. They
were insects. The statues of children holding vases of holy water were
immense, according to the tables of figures, but so was everything else
around them. The mosaic pictures, in the dome were huge, and were
made of thcasands and thousands of cubes of glass as large as the end of
my little finger, but those pictures looked smooth and gaudy of colo'ir,
and in good proportion to the dome. Evidently they would not answer
to measure by. Away down toward the far end of the church (I thought
it was really clear at the far end, but discovered afterward that it was
in the centre, under the dome) stood the thing they call the haldaccMno —
a great bronze pyramidal framework like that, -v^^ch upholds a mosquito
bar. It only looked like a considerably kiugnined bedstead— nothing
more. Yet I knew it was a good deal more than half as high as Niagara
Falls. It was overshadowed by a dome so mighty that its own height
was snubbed. The four great square piers or pillars that stand equi-
distant from each other in the church, and support the roof, I could not
work up to theic leal dimeniions by any method of eonj^arison. I knew
>, I snppoM
toTS. They
and it cuts
ey cut their
1 a day. If
LOUS ploueh
I in a single
e the things
n a brand»i
r frequently,
re. I knew
. — say seven
d sixty-four
ew that the
L and thirty-
d or may be
the capitoL
ag a correct
iosity to see
iid not look
leth part ai
Lurch, it waa
I had tc
>iT for some
Id represent
f the capitol
inary build-
but it could
it and abou^
ao contrasts
lem. They
water were
rything else
ye, and were
a the eud of
y of coloiir,
not answer
1 (I thought
that it waa
ildacchino —
a mosquito
id — notning
L as Niagara
own height
stand equi-
I c^uld no4
Ion. I knen
I
THE INNOCENTS ABROAD.
Ift
that the taoes of each were about the width of a very large dwelling*
house front (fifty or sixty feet), and that they were twice as high as aj
ordinary three-stoiy dwelling, but still they looked smalL I tried all
the different ways I could think of to compel mjiself to under8'i,and how
large St Peter's was, but with small success. The mosaic portrait of an
Apostle who was writing with a pen six feet long seemed only an ordin-
ary Apostle.
But the people attracted my attention aner a while. To stand in the
door of St Peter's and look at men down toward its further extremity, two
blocks away, has a diminishing effect on them ; surrounded by the pro-
digious pictures and statues, and lost in the vast spaces, they look very
much smaller than they would if they stood two blocks away in the
open air. I " averaged " a man as he passed me, and watched him as he
drifted far down by the baldacchino and beyond — watched him dwindle
to an insignificant schoolboy, and then, in tlie midst of the silent throng
of human pigmies gliding about him. I lost him. The church had lately
been decorated on the occasion oi a great ceremony in honour of St
Peter, and men were engaged now in removing the Howers and gilt
paper from the walls and pillars. As no ladders could reach the great
heights, the men swung themselves down from balustrades and the
capitals of pilasters by ropes, to do this work. The upper gallery which
encircles the inner sweep of the dome is 240 feet above the floor of the
church — very few steeples in America could reach up to it Visitori
always go up there to look down into the church, because one gets the
best idea of some of the heights and distances &om that point While
Ire stood on the floor one of the workmen swung loose from that gallery
at the end of a long rope. I had not supposed before that a man could
look so much like a spider. He was insignificant in size, and his rope
seemed only a thread. Seeing that he took up so little space, I could
believe the story then that ten thousand troops went to St Peter's once to
hear mass, and their commanding ofl&cer came afterward, and not finding
them, supposed they had not yet arrived. But they were in the church,
nevertheless— thev were in one of the transepts. Nearly fifty thousand
persons assembled in St Peter's to hear the publishing of the dogma of
the Immaculate Conception. It is estimated that the floor of the church
affords standing-room for — for a large number of people ; I have forgotten
the exact figures. But it is no matter — it is near enough.
They have twelve small pillars in St Peter's which came from Solomon's
Temple. They have also— which was far more interesting to me — a
piece of the true cross, and some nails, and a part of the crown of
thorns.
Of course we ascended to the summit of the dome, and of course we
also went up into the gilt copper ball which is above it. There was
room there for a dozen persons, with a little crowding, and it wits as
close and hot as an oven. Some of those people who are so fond of writ-
ing their names in prominent places had been there before us — a million
or two, I should think. From the dome of St Peter's one can see every
notable object in Rome, from the Castle of St Angelo to the Coliseum.
He can discern the seven hills upon which Bome is built He can see
fn
^■1
i'. I
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w:;t 1
' M
152
il/^yPA' TWAIN'S WORKS.
the Tiber, and the locality of the briilge which Horatius kept " in the
brave days of old," when Lara Poreena attempted to cross it with his in-
vading host. He can see the spot where the Horatii and the Curatii
fought their famous battle. He can «ee the broad green Canipagna,
stretching away toward the mountains, with its saittered arches and
broken aqueducts of th 3 olden time, so picturesque in their grey ruin,
and so daintily festooned with vines. He can see the Alban Mountains,
the Appenines, the Sabine Hills, and the blue Mediterranean. He can
see a panorama that is varied, extensive, beautiful to the eye, and more
illustrious in history than any other in Europe. About his feet is spread
the remnant of a city that once had a population of four million souls ;
and among its massed edifices stand the ruins of temples, columns, and
triumphal arclies that knew the Csesars and the noonday of Roman
splendour ; and close by them, in unimpaired strength, is a drain of
arclied and heavy masonry that belonged to that older city which stood
here before Romulus and Remus were bom or Rome thought of. The
Appian Way is here yet, and looking much as it did perhaps when the
trinniphal processions of the Emperors moved over it in other days,
bringing fettered princes from the confmes of the earth. "We cannot see
the long array of chariots and mail-clad men laden with the spoils of con-
quest, but we can imagine the pageant, after a fashion. We look out
upon many objects of interest from the dome of St Peter's ; and last of
all, almost at our feet, our eyes rest upon the building which was once
the Inquisition. How times changed between the older ages and the
new ! Some seyenteen or eighteen centuries ago, the ignorant men of
Rome were wont to put Christians in the {»'ena of the Coliseum yonder,
and turn the wild beasts in upon them for a show. It was for a lesson
as welL It was to teach the people to abhor and fear the new doctrine
the followers of Christ were teaching. The beasts tore ->ie victims limb
from limb, and made poor mangled corpses of them in the twinkling of
an eye. But when the Christians came into power, when the holy
Mother Church became mistress of the barbarians, she taught them the
error of their ways by no such means. No, she put thv»-m ?n this pleas-
ant Inquisition, and pointed to the Blessed Redeemer, who was so gentle
and so merciful toward all men, and they urged the barbarians to love
Him ; and they did aU they could to persuade them to love and honour
Him — first by twisting their thumbs out of joint with a screw ; then by
nipping their flesh with pincers, red-hot ones, because they are the most
comfortable in cold weather ; tnen by skinning them alive a little, and
finally by roasting them in public. They always convinced those bar-
barians. The true religion, properly administered, as the good Mother
Church used to administer it, is very, very soothing. It is wonderfully
persuasive also. There is a great difference between feeding parties to
wild beasts and stirring up their finer feelings in an Inauisition. One
is the system of degraded barbarians, the other of enlightened, civil-
ised people. It is a great pity the playful Inquisition is no more.
I prefer not to describe St Peter's. It has been done before. The
ashes of Peter, the disciple of the Saviour, repose in a crypt under the
haldacchino. We stood reverently in that place ; so did we al«o in the
} r
THE INNOCENTS ABROAD,
153
at "in tht
v^ith hia in*
the Curatii
Caiupiigna,
archen and
grey ruin,
Kluuntains,
L. He can
, and more
dt is spread
lion souls ;
lumns, and
of Roman
a drain of
hich stood
t of. The
9 when the
)ther days,
cannot see
oils of con-
e look out
and last of
n was once
es and the
nt men of
im yonder,
>r a lesson
w doctrine
ctims limb
inkling of
the holy
them the
this pleas-
s so gentle
ns to love
nd honoiu
then by
B the most
little, and
hose bar-
)d Mother
anderfullv
parties to
on. One
ned, civil-
are.
ore. The
under the
40 in the
%
Mamertlne prison, where he was confined, where he oonverted the
•oldierH, and where tradition says he caused a spring of water to flow in
order that he might baptize them. But when they showed us the print
of Peter's face in the hard stone of the prison wall, and said he had made
that by falling up against it, we doubted. And when also the monk at
the Church of ISan Sebastian showed us a paving-stone with two great
footprints in it, and said that Peter's feet made those, we lacked confid-
ence again. Such things do not impress one. The monk said that
angels came and liberated Peter from prison by night, and he started
away from Rome by the Appian Way. The Saviour met him and told
him to go back, which he did. Peter left those footprints in the stone
upon wnich he stood at the time. It was not stated how it was ever
liiscovered whose footjrints they were, seeing the interview occurred
secretly and at night. The print of the face in the prison was that of
a man of common size ; the footprints were those of a man ten or twelve
feet high. The discrepancy confirmed our unbeliefl
We necessarily visited the Forum, where Caesar was assassinated, and
also the Taqieian Rock. We saw the Dying Gladiator at the capitol,
and I think that even we appreciated that wonder of art — as much
perhaps as we did that fearful story wrought in marble in the Vatican,
the Laocoon. And then the Coliseum.
Everybody knows the picture of the Coliseum ; everybody recogniaes
at once that " looped and windowed " bandbox with a side bitten out.
Being rather isolated, it shows to better advantage than any other of the
monuments of ancient Rome. Even the beautiful Pantheon, whose pagan
altars uphold the cross now, and whose Venu^ tricked out in consecrated
gimcracks, does reluctant duty as a Virgin Mary to-day, is built about
with shabby houses and its stateliness sadly marred. But the monarch
of all European ruins, the Coliseum, maintains that reserve and that royal
seclusion which is proper to majesty. Weeds and flowers spring from its
massy arches and its circling seats, and vines hang their fringes from its
lofty walls. An impressive silence broke over the monstrous structure
where such multitudes of men and women were wont to assemble in other
days. The butterflies have taken the places of the queens of fashion and
beauty of eighteen centuries ago, and the lizards sun themselves in the
sacred seat of the Emperor. More vividly than all the written histories,
the Coliseum tells the story of Rome's grandeur and Rome's decay. It is
the worthiest type of both that exists. Moving about the Rome of to-
lay, we might find it hard to believe in her old magnificence and hei
luillionG of population ; but with this stubborn evidence before us that
she was obliged to have a theatre with silting room for eighty thousand
persons and standing room for twenty thousand more, to accommodate
such of her citizens as required amusement, we find belief less difficult
The Coliseum is over one thousand six hundred feet long, seven
hundred and fifty wide, and one hundred and sixty-five high. Its
shape is ovaL
In America we make convicts useful at the same time that we puniBh
them for their crimes. We farm them out and compel them to earn
money for the State by '"^^V^^g barrels and boilding roade, Thus we
'\
^
IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-S)
1.0 ^^ I
2.5
1^ 1^
m
I.I
1.25
12.2
•" I.
m
Photographic
Sciences
Corporation
<v
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\
33 WEST MAIN STREET
WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580
(716) 872-4503
o^
■^^
tu
MARK TWAIN'S WORKS.
%■ 'i
combine bmnneM with retribution, and all things are lovely. But in
ancient Rome they combined religiouB duty with pleasure. Since it
was necessary that the new sect caUed Christians should be exterminated,
the people judged it wise to make this work profitable to the State at
the same time, and entertaining to the public. In addition to the
gladiatorial combats and other shows, they sometimes threw members
of the hated sect into the arena of the Coliseum and turned wild beasts
in upon theuL It is estimated that seventy tliousand Christians suffered
martyrdom in this place. This has made the Coliseum holy ground in
the eyes of the followers of the Saviour. And well it might ; for if the
chain that bound a saint, and the footprints a saint has lelt upon a stone
he chanced to stand upon, be holy, surely the spot where a man gave up
his life for his faith is holy.
Sevente«>ii or eighteen centuries ago this Coliseum was the theatre of
Rome, and Rome was mistress of the world. Splendid pageants were
exhibited here, in presence of the Emperor, the great Ministers of State,
the nobles, and vast audiences of citizens of smaller consequence.
Gladiators fought with gladiators, and at times with warrior prisoners
from many a distant land. It was the theatre of Rome — of tne world
— and the man of fashion who could not let fall in a casual and imin-
tentional manner something about " my private box at the CoLiseimi **
could not move in the first circles. When the clothing-store merchant
wished to consume the comer grocery man with envy, he bought secured
seats in the front row and let the thing be known. When the irresistible
dry goods clerk wished to blight and destroy, according to his native
instinct, he got himself up regardless of expense, and took some othei
fellow's young lady to the Coliseum, and then accented the af&ont by
cramming her with ice cream between the acts, or by approaching the
cage and stirring up the martyrs with his whalebone oane for her edifica-
tion. The Roman swell was m his true element only when he stood up
against a pillar and fingered his moustache unconscious of the ladies ;
wnen he viewed the bloody combats through an opera-glass two inches
long ; when he excited the envy of provmcials by criticisms which
showed that he had been to the Coliseum many and many a time, and
was long ago over the novelty of it ; when he turned away with a yawn
at last, and satd, —
" Ht a star ! handles his sword like an apprentice brigand ! he 11 do
for the country maybe, but he don't answer for the metropolis ! "
Qlad was tne contraband that had a seat in the pit at the Saturday
matinSe, and happy the Roman street-boy who ate his peanuts and guyed
tibegladiators from the dizzy gallery.
f^r me was reserved the high honom of discovering among the
rubbish of the ruined Coliseum the only play-bill of that establishment
now extant There was a suggestive smell of mint-drops about it stiU,
a comer of it had evidently been chewed, and on the margin, in choioe
Latin, these words were written in a delicate female hand : — ^ '
t(
^ Meet m4imtkeTarpei<m Rock to-marr9weveMngfd«ar,mttha^ MUkm
THE INNOCENTS ABROAD.
155
Hk, where \r that luckj youth to-day, and where the little hand thai
#rrote those dainty lineal Dust and aahee theae seventeen bundled
years !
Thus reada the bill :—
ROMAN COL ISEUM.
UNPARALLELED ATTRACTION.
NEW PEOPERTIESI NEW LIONS 1 NEW QLADIATOBSI
Engagement of the renowned
MABOUS MABOELLUS VALEBIAK!
TOR BIX NIGHTS ONLT I
The management beg leave to offer to the public an entertainment inrpaeiing
In magnificence anything that has heretofore been attempted on any stage.
No expense has been spared to make the opemng season one which shall be
worthy the generous patronage which the management feel sure will crown
their efforts. The management beg leave to state that they have saceeeded in
securing the services of a
GALAXY OP TALENT I
tach as has not been beheld in Rome before.
The performance will commence this evening with a
GRAND BROADSWORD COMBAT I
«tween two young and promising amateurs and a celebrated Parthian gladiatoi
who has just arrived a prisoner from the Camp of Verus.
This will be followed by a grand moral -,
BATTLE-AXE ENGAGEMENT! ^
between the renowned Valerian (with one hand tied behind him) and two
gigantl', savages from Britain.
After which the renowned Valerian (if he survive) will fight with the broad*
sword,
Lbft-hamdxd I
against six Sophomores and a Freshman from the Gladiatorial College 1
A long series of brilliant engagements will follow, in which the finest talent
of the Empire will take part.
After which the celebrated Infant Prodigy, known as
" THE YOUNG ACHILLES,"
will engage four tiger- whelps in combat, armed with no other weapon than his
little spear 1
The whole to conclude with a chaste and elegant
GENERAL SLAUGHTER I
In which thirteen African Lions and twenty-twe Barbarian Prisoners will war
with each other until all are exterminated.
BOX OFFICE NOW OPEN.
Dress Circle, One Dollar ; Children and Servants half-priee.
An efficient police force will be on hand to preserve order and keep thA wild
beasts from leaping the railings and discommoding the ancUence.
Doors open at 7 ; performance begins at &
POSITEVILT NO FBII-LI8T.
'•iW ^■TyUf.- ."-''Vf'"
Jek
i
^ ilJ
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C
11^
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: 1
■ . i 1
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MARK TWAIN'S WORKS,
[t waa aa aingular aa it was gratifTiiig that I was alao bo foitnnate at
to find among the nihbish of the arena, a stained and mutilated copy of
the Roman Daily Battle- Axe, containing a critique upon this very per-
formance. It comes to hand too late by many centuries to rank aa news,
and therefore I translate and publish it simply to show how very little
th^, general style and phraseology of dramatic criticism has altered in
the ages that have dragged their slow length along since the carriers laid
this one damp and fresh before their ^oman patrons: —
*' Thb Opknino Skason. — OoLiSBiif.— Notwithitanding the inclemency of the
weather, quite a respectable number of the rank and fashion of the city assembled
last night to witnesa the dihut upon metropolitan boards of the young tragedian
who has of late been winning such golden opinions in the amphitheatres of the
provinces. Some sixty thousand persons were present, and but for the fact that
the streets were almost impassible, it is fair to presume that the house would
hare been full. His august Majesty the Emperor Aurelius occupied the imperiid
box, and was the cynosure of all eres. Many illustrious nobles and generals of
the Empire graced the occasion with their presence, and not the least among them
was the young patrician Ueutenant whose laurels, won in the ranks of th«
* Thundering Legion,' are still so green upon his brow. The cheer which greeted
Uia entrance was heard bevond the Tiber 1
**The late repairs and decorations add both to the comeliness and the comfort
of the Coliseum. The new cushions are a great improvement upon the hard
marble seats we have been so long accustomed to. The present management
deserve well of the public. They have restored to the Coliseum the gilding, the
rich upholstery, ana the uniform magnificence which old Coliseum frequenterE
tell us Rome was so proad of fifty years ago.
** The opening scene last night — the broadsword combat between two young
amateurs and a famous Parthian gladiator who was sent here a prisoner — was
very fine. The elder of the two young gentlemen handled his weapon with a
grace that marked the possession of extraordinary talent. His feint of thrusting,
followed instantly by a happily-delivered blow which unhelmeted the Parthian,
was received with hearty applause. He was not thoroughly up in the back>
handed stroke, but it was very gratifying to his numerous friends to know that,
in time, practice would have overcome this defect. However, he was killed.
His sisters, who were present, expressed considerable regret. His mother left
the OoUseum. The other youth maintained the contest with such spirit as to
•all forth enthusiastio bursts of applause. When at last he fell a corpse, his
aged mother ran screaming, with hair dishevelled and tears streaming from her
eyes, and swooned away just as her hands were clutching at the railings of the
arena. She was promptly removed by the poUce. Under the circumstances the
woman's conduct was pardonable, perhaps, out we suggest that such exhibitions
interfere with the decorum which should be preserved during the performances,
and are highly improper in the presence of the Emperor. The Parthian prisoner
fought bravely and well ; and well he might, for he was fighting for both life
and liberty. His wife and children were there to nerve his arm with their love,
and to remind him of the old home he should see again if he conquered. When
his second assailant fell, the woman clasped her children to her breast and wept
for joy. But it was only a transient happiness. The captive staggered toward
her, and she saw that the liberty he had earned waa earned too late. He was
wounded unto death. Thus the first act closed in a manner which was entirely
satisfactory. The manager was called before the civtain, and returned his
thanks for the honour done him, in a speech which was replete with wit and
humour, and closed by hoping thai his humble efforts to afford cheerful and
faistruetiTe entertainmemt would oontiaue to meet with the H^probaiion of the
Roman public.
*' The star now appearaA, and waa reedved with vooifecotM applaww aid tkt
THE INNOCENTS ABROAD.
«57
Bimtiltaneoni waving of dxty thoasand handkerohiefi. Bfaroni Mareellui
Valerian (itage nani« — his real name is Smith) ii a splendid specimen of physical
deTclopment, and an artist of rare merit. His management of the battle-axe is
wonderful. His gaiety and his playfulness are irresistible in his comic parts,
and yet they are inferior to his sublime conceptions in the grave realm of tragedy.
When his axe was describing fiery circles about the heads of the bewildered bar*
barians, in exact time with his spriugiog body and his prancing legs, the audience
gave way to uncontrollable bursts of laughter ; but when the back of his weapon
broke the skull of one, and almost at the saino instant its edge clove the other's
body iii twain, the howl of enthusiastic applause tliat shook the building was the
acknowledgment of a critical assemblage that he was a master of the noblest
department of his profession. If he has u fault (and we are sorry to even intimate
that he has), it is that of glancing at the audience, in the midst of the most
exciting moments of the performance, as if seeking admiration. The pausing in a
fight to bow when bouquets are thrown to him is also in bad taste. In the great
left-handed oombat he appeared to be looking at the audience half the time,
instead of carving his adversaries ; and when he had slain all the sophomores and
was dallying with the freshman, he stooped and snatched a bouquet as it fell,
and offered it to his adversary at a time when a blow was descending which pro-
mised favourably to be his death-warrant. Such levity is proper enough in the
provinces, we make no doubt, but it ill suits the dignity of the metropolis. We
trust our voung friend will take these remarks in good part, for we mean them
lolely for his benefit. All who know us are aware that although we are at times
justly severe upon tigers and martyrs, we never intentionally ofiFend gladiators.
" The Infant Prodigy performed wonders. He overcame his four tiger- whelps
with ease, and with no other hurt than the loss of a portion of his scalp. The
General Slaughter was rendered with a faithfulness to details which reflects the
highest credit upon the late participants in it.
Upon the whole, last night's performances shed honour, not only upon the
management, but upon the city that encourages and sustains such wholesome and
instructive entertainments. We would simply suggest that the practice of
vulgar young boys in the gallery of shying peanuts and paper pellets at the tigers,
and saying ' Hi-yi 1 ' and manifesting approbation or dissatisfaction by such
observations as * Bully for the lion ! ' 'Go it, Gladdy ! ' ' Boots ! ' ' Speech ! '
'Take a walk round the block! ' and so on, are extremely reprehensible, when
the Emperor is present, and ought to be stopped by the police. Several times
last night, when the supernumeraries entered the arena to drag out the bodies, the
young ruffians in the gallery shouted, ' Supe ! supe ! ' and also, ' Oh I what a
coat I ' and ' Why don't you pad them shanks ? ' and made use of various other
remarks expressive of derision. These things are very annoying to the audience.
" A matinie tor the little folks is promised for this afternoon, on which occa-
sion several martyrs will be eaten by the tigers. The regular performance will
continue every night till further notice. Material change of programme every
evening. Benefit of Valerian, Tuesday 29th, if he lives."
I have been a dramatic critic myself, in my time, and I was often sur-
Srised to notice how much more I ^ew about Hamlet than Forrest
id ; and it gratifies me to observe, now, how much better my brethren
of ancient times knew how a broadAWord battle ou^ht to be fought thar
the gladiatoBk
'■ v,» •
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MARK TWAIN*S iVORKS,
I
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li 'i
iff' 1
CHAPTER XXVII.
SO fur, good. If anj man has a right to feel proud of himself and
BatiBtied, surely it is I. For I have written ahou'. the Coliseum,
and the gladiators, the martyrs and the lions, and yet have never
once used the phrase '' butchered to make a Roman holiday." I am the
only free white man of mature age who has accomplished tlds siuca
Byron originated the expression.
Butchered to make a Roman holiday sounds well for the first seven-
teen or eighteen hundred thousand times one sees it in print, but after
that it begins to grow tiresome. I find it in all the books concerning
Rome ; and here latterly it reminds me of Judge Oliver. Oliver was a
young lawyer, fresh from the schools, who had gone out to the deserts
of Nevada to begin life. He found tnat country, and our ways of life
there, in those early days, different from life in New England or Paris.
But he put on a woollen shirt and strapped a navy revolver to his per-
son, took to the bacon and beans of t^e country, and determined to do
in Nevada as Nevada did. Oliver accepted the situation so completely
that although he must have sorrowed ovor many of his trials, he never
complained — that is, he never complained but once. He, two others,
«nd myself, started to the new silver mines in the Humboldt mountains
— he to be Probate Judge of Humboldt county, and we to mine. The
distance was two hundred miles. It was dead of winter. We bought a
two-horse waggon, and put eighteen hundred pounds of bacon, noui^
beans, blasting-powder, picks, and shovels in it ; we bought two sorry-
looking Mexican "plugs," \nih. the hair turned the wrong way, and
more comers on their bodies than there are on the mosque of Omar ;
we hitched up and started. It was a dreadful trip ; but Oliver did not
complain. The horses dragged the waggon two miles from town, and
then gave out. Then we three pushed the waggon seven miles, and
Oliver moved ahead and pulled the horses after him by the bits. We
complained, but Oliver did not The ground was frozen, and it froze
our backs while we slept ; the wind swept across our faces and froze our
noses. Oliver did not complain. Five davs of pushing the waggon by
day and freezing by night brought us to tne bad part of the journey —
the Forty Mile Desert, or the Great American Desert, if you please.
Still this mildest-mannered man that ever was had not complained.
We started across at eight in the morning, pushing through sand that
had no bottom; toiling all day lon^; by the wrecks of a thousand
waggons, the skeletons of ten thousand oxen ; by waggon-tires enough
to hoop the Washington Monument to the top, and ox-chains enough to
girdle Long Island ; oy human graves ; with our throats parched always
with thirst ; Ups bleeoing from the alkali dust ; himgry, perspiring, and
very, very weary that when we dropped in the sand every fifty yards
to rest the horses, we could hardly keep from going to sleep— no com*
plaints firom Oliver : none the next morning at three o'cIock, when we
fot acvoMy tired to dsoth Awakmed two or threo nijithts afterwards 9ii
\h
mself and
CoLiseuiu,
lave never
I am the
tids since
Hist seven-
;, but after
concerning
Liver was a
the deserta
ays of life
.d or Paria.
to his per-
lined to do
completely
fi, he never
two others,
mountains
nine. The
J& bought a
icon, floiu»
two Borry-
way, and
of Omar ;
ver did not
town, and
miles, and
> bits. We
jid it froze
id froze oui
waggon by
I journey —
l^ou please,
lomplained.
sand that
thousand
es enough
enough to
ed always
airing, and
'fifty yards
-no com*
when we
|r«nrards »t
THE INNOCENTS ABROAD,
'$f
midnight. In a narrow canon, by the snow falling on our faces, and
appalled at the imminent danger of being " snowed in,* we hamensed
ap and pushed on till eight in the morning, passed the " Divide," and
view we were saved. No complaints. Fifteen d&ys of hardaliip and
fatigue brought us to the end of the two hundred miles, and the Judge
had not complained. We wondered if anything could exasperate him.
We built a Ilumboldt house. It is done in this way : You dig a square
in the steep base of the mountain, and set up two uprights and top them
with two joists. Then you stretch a great sheet of " cotton domestic "
from the point where the joists join the hillside down over the ioists to
the ground ; this makes the roof and the front of the mansion ; tne sides
and Dack are the dirt walls your digging has left A chimney is easily
made by turning up one comer of the roof. Oliver was sitting alone in
this dismal den one night by a sage-brush fire, writing poetry ; he wai
very fond of digging poetry out of himself — or blasting it out when it
eHBie hard. He heajrd an animal's footsteps close to the roof ; a stone oi
two and some dirt came through and fell by him. He grew uneasy and
said, " Hi ! — clear out from there, can't you !" from time to time. Bu"
by and by he fell asleep where he sat, and pretty soon a mule fell dowi
the chimney ! The fire flew in every direction, and Oliver went ovei
backwards. About ten nights after that he recovered confidence enougt
to go to writing poetry again. Again he dozed off to sleep, and again a
miue fell down the chimney. This time about half of that side of the
house came in with the mule. Struggling to get up, the mule kicked
the candle out and smashed most of the kitchen furniture, and raised
considerable dust. These violent awakenings must have been annoying
to Oliver, but he never complained. He moved to a mansion on tlie
opposite side of the canon, because he had noticed the mules did not go
there. One night, about eight o'clock, he was endeavouring to finish
his poem when a stone rolled in — then a hoof appeared below the can.
vas — then part of a cow — the after part He leaned back in dread,
and shouted, " Hooy ! hooy ! get out of this !" and the cow struggled
manfully — lost ground steadily — dirt and dust streamed down, and
before OUver could get well away, the entire cow crashed through on
to the table and made a shapeless wreck of everything !
Then, for the first time in his life, I think, Oliver complained. He
udd —
" This thing is growing monotonous I"
Then he resigned his judgeship and left Humboldt county. " Butcherei
to make a Roman holiaay has grown monotonous to me.
In this connection I wish to say one word about Michael Angelo
BuonarottL I used to worship the mighty genius of Michael Angelo —
that man who was great in poetry, painting, sculpture, architecture-
great in everything he undertook. But I do not want Michael Angelo
for breakfast — for luncheon — for dinner— for tea — for supper — for bo-
tween meals. I like a change occasionally. In Genoa he designed
eveiTthing ; in Milan he or hispupils designed everything ; he designed
the Lake of Como ; in Padua., Verona, Venice, Bologna, wno did we ever
hear of, from guides, but Michiwl Angolo t In Floieuco ho paintod
il
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MARK TWAIN*S IVORKS,
eTerything, designed everything nearly, and what he did not dctlgn hfl
used to sit on a favourite stone and look at, and they showed ns th«
stone. In Pisa he designed everything but the old shot-tower, and thej
would have attributed that to him if it had not been so awfully out d
the perpendicular. He designed the piers of Leghorn and the custom>
house regulations of Civita Vecchio. But here— here it is frightfuL He
designed St Peter's ; he designed the Pope ; he designed the Pantheoni
tlie uniform of the Pope's soldiers, the Tiber, the Vatican, the Coliseum,
the Capitol, the Tarpeian Rock, the Barberini Palace, St John Lateran,
the Campagna, the Appian Way, the Seven Hills, the Baths of CaracalLet
the Claudian Aqueduct, the Cloaca Maxima — the eternal bore designed
the Eternal City, and unless all men aud books do lie, he painted everv-
thing in it ! Dan said the other day to the ^de, " Enough, enough,
enough ! Say no more i Lump the whole thing ! say that the Creator
made Italy from designs by Michael Angelo ! "
I never felt so fervently thankful, so soothed, so tranquil, so filled with
a blessed peace, as I did yesterday, when I learned that Michael Angelo
was dead.
But we have taken it out of this guide. He has marched us through
miles of pictures aud sculpture in the vast corridors of the Vatican ; and
through miles of pictures and sculpture in twenty other places ; he has
Bhown us the great picture in the Sistine Chapel, and frescoes enough to
fresco the heavens — pretty much all done by Michael Angelo. So with
him we have played that game which has vanquished so many guidea
for us — imbecility and idiotic questions. These creatures never suspect;
they have no idea of a sarcasm.
He shows us a fi^re, and says : " Statoo brunzo." (Bronze statue.)
We look at it indifferently, and the doctor asks : " By Michael Angelo ? *
" No — not know who."
Then he shows us the ancient Roman Forum. The doctor asks;
•* Michael Angelo ? "
A stare from the guide. " No— thousan' year before he is bom."
Then an E^rptian obelisk. Again : " Michael Angelo 1 "
*^ Ohf mon Dvaif genteelmen! Zis is two thousan' year before heic
bom!"
He grows so tired of that unceasing question sometimes, that he dreads
to show us anything at all. The wretcn has tried all the ways he can
think of to make us comprehend that Michael Angelo is only responsible
for the creation of a part of the world, but somehow he has not succeeded
yet. Relief for overtasked eyes and brain from study and sight-seeing
is necessary, or we shall become idiotic sure enough. Therefore thin
guide must continue to suffer. If he does not enjoy it, so much the
worse for him. We do.
In this place I may as well ^ot down a chapter concerning thoee
necessary nuisances, European guidea. Many a man has wished in his
heart he could do without his guide ; but, knowing he could not, has
wished he could get some amusement out of him as a remuneration for
the affliction of hu society. We accomplished this latter matter, and if
our eipeiience can be made oaefol to otnen thev are weleome to it.
J
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THE INNOCENTS ABROAD,
i6i
dcrignhfl
ed ufl th«
, and they
illy out d
le cufltom-
itfuL He
Pantheoni
Coliseum,
1 Lateran,
Caracalla^
) designea
.ted every-
hi, enougn,
tie CieatoT
filled with
stel Angelo
IB through
tican ; and
es; he has
enough to
). So with
any guidei
er suspect;
I statue.)
Angelo?"
ictor aska.'
sfoie heii
ihe dreads
[ys he can
sponsible
J succeeded
jght-seeiiig
l-efore this
(much the
ling thoM
|hed in his
not, has
bation for
L, and if
Itoit.
Guides Icnow about enough English to tangle everything up so
iiat a man can make neither head nor tail of it Thijy know theii
itory by heart — the histo^ of every statue, painting, cathedral, or other
wonder the^ show you. They know it and tell it as a parrot would —
und if you mterrupt, and throw them off the track, they iiave to go back
and begin over again. All their lives lon^ they are employed iu show-
ing strange things to foreigners and listenmg to their bursts of adniiia-
tion. It is human nature to take delight in exciting admiration. It ia
what prompts children to say '* smart " things, and do absurd ones, and
in other ways " show off" when company is present. It is what makes
gossips turn out in rain and storm to go and be the first to tell a startling
bit ot news. Think, then, what a passion it becomes with a guide, whose
privilege is every day to show to strangers wonders that throw them into
perfect ecstacies of admiration ! He gets so that he could not by any
possibility live in a soberer atmosphere. After we discovered this, we
fuver went into ecstacies any more — we never admired anything — -we
never showed any but impassible faces and stupid indifference iu the
presence of the sublimest wonders a guide had to display. We haj
found their weak point. We have made good use of it ever since. Wc
tiave made some of those people savage at times, but we have never lost
our own serenity.
The doctor asks the questions generally, because he can keep hia
eountenance, and look more like an inspired idiot, and throw more
imbecility into the tone of his voice than any man that lives. It comes
natural to him.
The guides in Genoa are delighted to secure an American party, because
Americans so much wonder, and deal so much in sentiment and emotion
before any relic of Columbus. Our guide there fidgeted about as if he
had swallowed a spring mattress. He was full of animation — full of
impatience. He said —
" Come wis me, genteelmen ! — come ! I show you ze letter writing
by Christopher Colombo ! — write it himself! — write it wis his own hand !
—come!"
He took us to the municipal palace. After much i- ipressive fumbling
of keys and opening of locks, the stained and aged document was spread
before us. Tne guide's eyes sparkled. He danced about us and tapped
the parchment with his finger.
''What I teU you, genteelmen! Is it not so? See! handwriting
Christopher Colombo ! — write it himself! "
We looked indifferent — unconcerned. The doctor examined the docu-
ment very deliberately, during a painful pause. — Then he said, without
uiy show of interest —
" Ah — Fei^uson — ^what — what did you say was the name of the party
who wrote this ? "
" Christopher Colombo ! ze great Christopher Colombo 1 *
Another deliberate examination.
** Ah— did he write it himself, or — or how I *
** He write it himself I — Chri«U)pher Colombo, he's own handwritiiig,
mte by himself 1 "
i
1
h'.|
Vk
ifll
i6i
MARK TWAIN\S WORKS.
Til en the doctor laid the document down and said —
^ Why, I have seen boys in America only fourteen yean old that eonld
write better than that"
'• Hut zifl iB se f^reat Christo"
" I don't care who it ist It's the worst writing I over saw. Now yon
muHtn't tliink you can impose on us because wo are strangers. We are
not fools, by a good deal. If you have got any specimens of penmanship
of real merit, trot them out ! — and if you haven't, drive on !
We drove on. The guide was considerablv shaken up, but he made
one more venture. He had something which he thought would overcome
us. He said —
"Ah, genteelmen, you come wis me! I show you beautiful, oh, mag-
nificent bust Christx)pher Colombo ! — splendid, grand, magnificent ! "
He brought us before the beautiful bust — for it Moot oeautiful — and
■prang back and struck an attitude.
"Ah, look, genteelmen! — beautiful, grand, — bust Christopher Col-
ombo ' — beautiful bust, beautiful pedestal ! "
The doctor put up his eye-fjlass — procured for such occasions.
" Ah — what did you say this gentleman's name was \ "
" Christopher Colombo ! — ze great Christopher Colombo ! "
" Christopher Colombo — the great Christopher Colombo. Well, what
didA«do?'^
" Discover America I — discover America. Oh, ze devil ! "
" Discover America. No — that statement will hardly wash. We are
just from America ourselves. We heard nothing about it. Christophei
Colombo — pleasant name — is — is he dead ? "
" Oh, corpo di Baccho ! — three hundred year I "
"What did he die of?"
" I do not know ! — I cannot telL"
"Small-poi, think 1"
" 1 do not know, genteelmen ! — I do not know what he die of I "
" Measles, likely ? "
" Mayl)e — maybe — I do not know — I think he die of somethings."
** Parents living '\ "
" Im-posseeble ! "
" Ah — which Ib the bust, and which is the pedestal ?"
" Santa Maria ! — cm ze bust ! — %n ze pedestal ! "
" Ah, I see, I see — happy combination — very happy eombiiuh
don, indeed. Is — is this the first time this gentleman was ever on a
bust?"
That joke was lost on the foreigner — guides cannot master the subtletiei
rf the American joke.
We have made it interesting to this Roman guide. Yesterday we
spent three or four hours in the Vatican, again, that wonderful world ol
curiosities. We came very near expressing interest, sometimes — even
a<lniiration — it was very hard to keep from it We succeeded though.
Nobody ftlse ever did in the Vatican museums. The guide was bewil-
dered — non-plussed. He walked his legs oflf nearly, hunting up extxa-
'vrdinary things, and exhaunted all his ii\j{enuity on us but it was s
tateooUi
t^ow yon
We are
imanship
he made
overcome
oh, mag-
Bnt!"
iful—and
;)her Col-
9.
\reU, what
. We an
hristophel
iV
iinga."
combixiar
sver on a
Isubtletiei
erday we
world cl
lea — even
though.
tas bewil-
ip extra-
It waa a
TMJg INNOCENTS ABROAD.
i«3
Ikiltira ; we never showed any interest in anything. He had reserved
what he conaidered to be his greatest wonder till the last— a royal Egyp-
tian mummy, the best oreserved iu the world perhaps. He took oi
there. He felt so sure tulB time, that some of his old enthufiaun came
back to him —
" See, genteebnen I — Mummy ! Mummv ! "
The eye-glass came up as calmly, as deliberately as ever.
"Ah — Ferguson — what did I underAtoud you to say the gentleman's
name waa ? "
" Name ? — he got no name ! — Mummy ! — 'Qyptian mummy I "
" Yes, yes. Bom here ? "
" No ! 'Oyptian mummy ! "
** Ah, just BO. Frenchman, I presume 1**
** No ! — not Frenchman, not Roman ! — bom in Egypta ! "
** Born in Egypta. Never heard of Egypta before. Foreign localiW,
likely. Mummy — mummy. How calm he is — bow self-posMssed. Ii^
•h — is he dead 1 "
" Oh, sacrS hleUy been dead three thousan' year ! "
The doctor turned on him savagelv —
" Here, now, what do you mean by such conduct as this ! Playing
OB for Chinamen because we are strangers and trying to learn ! Trying
lo impose your vile second-hand ciircases on tM / — thunder and lightning,
1 've a notion to — to — if you 've got a nice fruh corpse, fetch him out ! —
or by George we '11 brain you ! "
We make it exceedingly interesting for this Frenchman. However,
he has paid us back, partly, without knowing it He came to the hotel
this morning to ask if we were up, and he endeavoured as well as he
could to describe us, so that the landlord would know which persons he
meant. He finished with the casual remark that we were lunatics.
The observation was so innocent and so honest that it amounted to a
very good thing for a guide to say.
There is one remark (already mentioned), which never yet has failed
to disgust these guides. We use it always, when we can think of
nothing else to say. After they have exhausted their enthusiasm point-
ing out to UJ3 and praising the beauties of some ancient bronze image or
broken-legged statue, we look at it stupidly and in silence for five, ten.
fifteen minutes — as long as we can hold out, in fact — and then ask —
"Is— is he dead?"
That conquers the serenest of them. It is not what they are looking
for— especially a new guide. Our Roman Ferguson is the most patient,
unsuspecting, long-suffering subject we have had yet. We shall be sorry
to part with him. We have enjoyed his society very much. We trust
lie nas enjoyed ours, but we are harassed with doubts.
We have been in the Catacombs. It was like going down into a very
deep cellar, only it was a cellar which had no end to it The narrow
passages are roughly hewn in the rock, and on each hand, as you pass
along, the hollowed shelves are carved out, from three to foarteen deep :
each held a corpse once. There are names, and Christian symbols, ana
pmyeia, or lentences expreaaive of Christian hopes, carved upon nearly
M
\ '
% L
i«4
MARK TWAIN'S WORKS,
wvrj Mreophagna. The dates bdong away back in the dawn of the
Chnstian era, of coiine. Here, in these holea in the ground, the fljnrt
ChristianB somel Imes burrowed to escape persecution. Ttiey crawled out
at night to get food, but remained under cover in the daytime. The
priest told us that St Sebastian lived underground for some time while
ne was being hunted ; he went out one day, and the soldiery discovered
and shot him to death with arrows. Five or six of the earlier Popes —
those who reigned about sixteen hundred vears ago— held their papul
courts and advised with thcjir clergy in the bowols of the earth. Dunnj^
seventeen years — from a.d. 235 to a.d. 252— the Popes did not appeal
above ground. Four were raised to the ^eat office during that period.
Four years apiece or thereabouts. It is very suggestive of tno un-
healthiness ol underground grave-yards as places of residence. On(
Pope afterward spent his entire pontificate in tne Catacombs — eight
years. Another was discovered in them and murdered in the episcopal
chair. There was no satisfaction in being a Pope in those days. There
were too many annoyances. There are one hundred and sixty catacombs
under Rome, each with its maze of narrow passages crossmg and re-
crossing each other, and each passage walled to the top with scooped
graves its entire length. A careful estimate makes the length of the
passages of all the Catacombs combined foot up nine hundred miles, and
their graves number seven millions. We did not go through all the
passages of all the Catacombs. We were very anxious to do it, and made
the necessary arrangements, but our too limited time obliged us to give
up the idea. So we only groped through the miserable labyrinth of St
Callixtus, under the Church of St Sebastian. In the various Catacombs
are small chapels rudely hewn in the stones, and here the early Chrii*-
tians often held their religious services by dim, ghostly lights. Think
of mass and a sermon away down in those tangled caverns under
ground!
In the Catacombs were buried St Cecilia; St Agnes, and several other
of the most celebrated of the saints. In the catacomb of St Callixtus,
St Bridget used to remain long hours in holy contemplation, and St
(vharles Borrom^o was wont to spend whole nights in prayer there. It
was also the scene of a very marvellous thing.
" Here the heart of St Philip Neri was so inflamed with divin* love a« io bnnrl
his ribs."
I find that grave statement in a book published in New York in 1858,
and written by "Rev. William H. Neligan, LL.D., M.A., Trinity
College, Dublin ; Member of the ArchsBological Society of Great Britain."
Therefore I believe it. Otherwise I could not Under other circum*
stances I should have felt a curiosity to know what Philip had f(X
dinner.
This author puts my credulity on its mettle every now and then.
He tells of one St Joseph Calasanctius, whose house in Rome he visited :
he visited only the nouse — the priest has been dead two hundred
years. He says the Virgin Mary appeared to this saint Then he
ooptinnes —
;.! !|
1 of th«
the flwt
rfvled out
ke. The
ne vrhile
^covered
Popes—
jir papftl
, During
ot apy>eat
it poriocL
' the un-
ce. On<
bs— eight
episcopal
B. There
catacombs
«» and re-
b scooped
gth of the
miles, and
gh all the
, and made
L ns to Kive
rinth of St
Catacombs
axly Chris-
ts. Think
ims under
Iveral other
Callixtus,
pon, and St
there. It
Irk in 1868,
L., Trinity
[at Britain."
jer circum-
ip had foi
and then.
1 he visited :
TO hundred
Then he
THE INNOCENTS ABROAD,
««S
** Hit inagam Mid hi« heart, whic'.i were found after nearly a oentiiry to be
vholu. wheL the hodr wan dUinton-iMl before hii canoniaation, are ttill iiruaervotl
in a glaMi-o««6, and after two cnntanon tlie heart ia atill whole. When the Krcnob
troopa came to Rome, and wh^u Piua VII. waa carried away priaoner, blood
dropped from it."
To read that in a book written by a monk far back in the Middle
Aces, would suq)riBe no one ; it would sound natural and proper ; but
when it is seriously stated in the middle of the nineteenth century, by
a man of finished education, an LL.D., M.A., and an Arcboeological
magnate, it sounds atraugely enough. Still 1 would gladly change my
unbelief for Neligan's faitn, and let him make the conditions as hard as
he pleased.
The old gentleman's undoubting, unquestioning simplicity has a rare
freshness about it in these matter-of-fact railroading and telegraphing
days. Hear him, concerning the Church of Ara Cceli : —
" In the roof of the church, directly above the high altar, is engraTed, *Regina
(kdi laetare Alleluia.' In the sixth century Rome was viaited by a fearful pes*
tilence. Gregory the Great urged the people to do pcnanco, Hntl a general pro-
oeasion waa formed. It was to proceed from Ara Caeli to St Peter's. Am it
Easaed before the mole of Adrian, now the castle of St Angelo, the sound of
eavonly yoioes was heard singing (it was Easter mom), * lieyina Cceliy laetare/
xUeluial quia quern mcruiati portare, alleluia/ resurrexit sicut dixit; alleluia/*
The Pontiff, carrying in his hands tlie portrait of the Virgin (which is over the
high altar, and is said to have been painted by St Luke), answered, with the
astonished people, * Ora pro nobis Deum, alleluia / ' At the name time an angel
was seen to put up a sword in a scubbard, and the pestilence ceased on the same
day. There are four circumstances which confirm* this miracle : the annual
procession which takes nlace in the western church on the Feast of St Mark ; the
jtatue of St Michael, inaced on the mole of Adrian, which has since that time
been called the Oastle of St Angelo ; the antiphon Regina Cosli, which the
Oatholie Ohorch sings during paschal time ; and th« inscription in the ehwoh."
CHAPTER XXVIII.
FROM the sanguinary sports of the Holy Inquisition ; the slaughter
of the Coliseum ; and the dismal tombs of the Catacombs, I natur-
ally pass to the picturesque horrors of the Capuchin Convent.
We stopped a moment in a small chapel in the church to admire a
picture of St Michael vanc^uishing Satan — a picture which is so beauti-
ful, that I cannot but think it belongs to the reviled " Rmaisaance^
notwithstanding I believe they told us one of the ancient old masters
painted it — and then we descended into the vast vault underneath.
Here was a spectacle for sensitive nerves ! Evidently the old masters
had been at work in this place. There were six divisions in the apart-
ment, and each division was ornamented with a style of decoration
pecnljar to itself — and these decorations were in every instance f(Hnned
of human bones I There were shapely arches, built wholly of thigh
• Th« itaUoa an miae.— IL T
ft\^\A
i66
MARK TWAIN'S WORKS,
bones ; there were startling pyramids, bmlt wholly of grinnlxig Hknlls ;
tiiere were quaint architectural structures of various kinas, built of shin
bones and the bones of the arm ; on the wall were elaborate frescoes,
whose curving vines were made of knotted human vertebrae ; whose
delicate tendrils were made of sinews and tendons ; whose flowers were
formed of knee-caps and toe-nails. Every lasting portion of the human
frame was represented in these intricate designs (they were by Michael
Angelo, I thmk), and there was a careful finish about the work, and an
attention to details, that betrayed the artist's love of his labours as well
as his schooled ability. I asked the good-natured monk who accom-
panied us who did this ? And b/? said, " Wt did it," — meaning himself
and his brethren up-stairs. I could see that the old friar took a high
Eride in his curious show. We made him talkative by exhibiting ao
iterest we never betrayed to gvides.
" Who were these people ? "
" We — up-stairs — ^monks of tne Capuchin Order — my brethren."
''How many departed monks were required to upholster these six
parlours 1 ''
'' These are the bones of four thousand.''
" It took a long time to get enough ? "
** Many, many centuries."
'' Their different parts are well separated — skulls in one room, legs in
another, ribs in another. There would be stirring times here for a while
if the last trump should blow. Some of the brethren might get hold of
the wrong leg in the confusion, and the wrong skull, and find themselves
limping, and looking through eyes that were wider apart or closer
together than they were used to. Ton cannot tell any of these partief
apart, I suppose f *
" Oh yes ; I know many of them."
Re put his finger on a skuH '' This was Brother Ansebuo— dead
three hundred years — a good man."
He touched another. "This was Brother Alexander — dead two
hundred and eighty years. This was Brother Carlo — dead about af
long."
Then he took a skull and held it in his hand, and looked reflectively
upon it, after the manner of the gravedigger when he discourses of
Yorick.
" This," he said, "was Brother Thomas. He was a young prince, the
scion of a proud house that traced its lineage back to the grand oH days
of Rome, well nigh two thousand years ago. He loved beneath his
estate. His family persecuted him ; persecuted the girl as well. They
drove her from Rome. He followed ; he sought her far and wide ; he
found no trace of her. He came back, and offered his broken heart at
our altar and his weary life to the service of God. But look you.
Shortly his father died, and likewise his mother. The girl returned,
rejoicing. She sought everywhere for him whose eyes had used to look
tenderly into hers out of this poor skull, but she could not find him.
At last, in this coarse garb we wear, she recognised him in the street
Ha knav Imc ; it wa* too late. He fell where he stood. Thay took
:? •:
'S\ A
THE INNOCENTS ABROAIX
i«7
him up «nd brought him here. He never spoke aftenrarda. Within
the week he diecL You can see the colour of his hair — faded, somewhat
—by this thin shred that clings still to the temple. This " [taking up a
thigh bone] " was his. The veins of this leaf in the decorations over
your head were his finger-joints a hundred and fifty years ago,"
This business-like way of illustrating a touching story of the heart,
by laying the several fragments of the lover before us and naming them,
was as grotesque a performance, and as ghastly, as any I ever witnessed.
I hardly knew whether to smile or shudder. There are nerves and
muscles in our frames whose functions and whose methods of working
it seems a sort of sacrilege to describe by cold physiological names and
surgical technicalities, and the monk's talk suggested to me something of
this kind. Fancy a surgeon, with his nippers lifting tendons, muscles,
and such things into view, out of the complex machinery of a corpse,
and observing, " Now this little nerve quivers — the vibration is imparted
to this muscle — from here it is passed to this fibrous substance ; here its
ingredients are separated by the chemical action of the blood — one part
goes to the heart and thrills it with what is popularly termed emotion —
another part foUows this nerve to the brain, and communicates intelli-
gence of a startling character — the third part glides along this passage
and touches the spring connected with the fluid receptacles that lie m
the rear of the eye. Thus, by this simple and beautiful process, the
varty is informed that his motner is dead, and he weeps." Horrible !
I asked the monk if all the brethren up-stairs expected to be put in
this place when they died. He answered quietly —
"We must aU lie here at last.*'
See what one can accustom himself to ! The reflection that he mnit
some day be taken apart like an engine or a clock, or like a house
whose owner is gone, and worked up into arches and pyramids and
hideous frescoes, did not distress this monk in the least J I thought he
even looked as if he were thinking, with complacent vanity, that his
own skull would look well on top of the heap, and his own ribs add a
charm to the frescoes which possibly they lacked at present !
Here and there, in ornamental alcoves, stretched upon beds of bones,
lay dead and dried-up monks, ffith. lank frames dressed in the black
robes one sees ordinarily upon priests. We examined one closely. The
skinny hands were clasped upon the breast ; two lustreless tufts of haii
stuck to the skull ; the skin was brown and sunken ; it stretched
tightly over the cheek-bones, and made them tand out sharply ; the
crisp dead eyes were deep in the sockets ; the nostrils were painfully
prominent, the end of the nose being gone ; the lips had snrivelled
away from the yellow teeth ; and brought down to us through the
circling years, and petrified there, was a weird laugh a full century old !
It was the joUiest laugh, but yet the most dreadful, that one can
imagine. Surely, I thought, it must have been a most extraordinary
joke this veteran produced with his latest breath that he has not got
done laughing at it yet 1 At this moment I saw that the old instinct was
strong upon the boys, and I said we had better hunr to St Pet«r's.
They wera trTin^r to keep from a&king, " I»— ia he dead f "
H
! I
i I
■
¥
I ' - '
iKl
R '
: : j '
H
in
i s
IIP
it's
;
m
!!
hi
i6e
MARIC TWAIN'S WORKS.
It makes me dizzy to think of the Vatican — of its wilderness of
fltutueB, paintings, and cariosities of every description and every age.
The "old masters" (especially in sculpture) fairly swarm there. I
cannot write about the Vatican. I think I shall never remember any-
thing I saw there distinctly but the mummies, and the " Transfigura-
tion " hj Raphael, and some other things it is not necessary to mention
now. I shfdl remember the ** Transfiguration," partly because it waa
placed in a room almost by itself, partly because it is acknowledged by
all to be the fiirst oil painting in the world, and partly because it was
wonderfully beautiful. The colours are fresh and rich; the " expression,"
I am told, is fine ; the " feeling " is lively ; the " tone " is good ; the
'' depth " is profound ; and the width is about four and a half feet, I
should Judge. It is a picture that really holds one's attention ; its
beauty is fascinating. It is fine enough to be a Renamance. A remark
I made a while ago suggests a thought — and a hoj)e. Is it not possible
that the reason I find such charms in this picture is because it is out of
the crazy chaos of the galleries 1 If some of the others were set apart,
might not they be beautilul ? If this were set in the midst of the tem-
pest of pictures one finds in the vast galleries of the Roman palaces,
would 1 think it so handsome ? If up to this time I had seen only one
" old master " in each palace, instead of acres and acres of walls and
ceilings fairly papered with them, might I not have a more civilised
opinion of the old masters than I have now ? I think so. When I waa
a schoolboy and was to have a new knife, I could not make up my
mind as to which was the prettiest in the show-case, and I did not think
any of them were particularly pretty ; and so I chose with a heavy
heart. But when I looked at my purchase at home, where no glittering
blades came into competition with it, I was astonished to see how
handsome it was. To this day my new hats look better out of the shop
than they did in it with other new hats. It begins to dawn upon ma
bow, that possibly what I have been taking for uniform ugliness in the
galleries, may be uniform beauty after all. I honestly hope it is to
others, but certainly it is not to me^ Perhaps the reason I used to enjoy
going to the Academy of Fine Arts in New York was because there
were but a few hundred paintings in it, and it did not surfeit me to go
through the list. I suppose the Academy was bacon and beans in the
Forty Mile Desert, and a European gallery is a state dinner of thirteen
courses. One leaves no sign after hun of the one dish, but the thirteen
frighten away his appetite and give him no satisfaction.
There is one thing I am certain of, though. With all the Michael
Angeloe, the Raphaels, the Guidos, and the other old masters, the
sublune history of Rome remains unpainted ! They painted Virgins
enough, and Popes enough, and saintly scarecrows enough, to people
Paradise almost, and these tilings are all they did paint '* Nero fiddlmg
o'er burning Rome," the assassination of Caesar, the stirring spectacle of
a hundred thousand people bending forward with rapt interest, in the
Coliseum, to see two skilful gladiators hacking away each other's lives,
a tiger springing upon a kneeling martyr — these and a thousand other
nutteia, which we read of with a liviaig interaBty mu«t be sought for only in
(
ii
iemees dl
every age.
there. I
mber any-
ransfigura-
,0 mention
use it was
ledged by
,use it was
tpTession,"
good ; the
lalf feet, I
intion ; its
A remark
ot possible
it is out of
set apart,
)f the tem-
Ein palaces,
n only one
walls and
•e civilised
i^hen I was
.ke up mv
not think
h a heavy
glittering
see how
of the shop
1 upon ma
ness in the
pe it is to
ed to enjoy
;ause there
t me to go
ians in the
of thirteen
he thirteen
le Michael
asters, the
ed Virgins
to people
iro fiddling
pectacle of
est, in the
her's lives,
d other
for only in
THE INNOCENTS ABROAD,
169
books — not among the rubbish left by the old mastexe — who are no
more, I have the satisfaction of informing the public.
They did paint, and they did carve in marble, one historical scene,
and one only (of any great historical consequence). And what was it,
and why did they choose it particularly ? It was the " Rape of the
Sabines," and they chose it for the lege and busts.
I like to look at statues, however, and I like to look at pictures also —
even of monks looking up in sacred ecstasy, and monks looking down in
meditation, and monks skirmishing for something to eat — and therefore
I drop ill nature to thank the Papal Government for so jealously guarding
and so industriously gathering up these things ; and for permitting me,
a stranger, and not an entirety friendly one, to roam at will and un-
molested among them, charging me nothing, and onlv requiring that I
shall behave myself simply as well as I ought to benave in any other
man's house. I thank the Holy Father right heartUy, and I wish him
long life and plenty of happiness.
The Popes have long been the patrons and preservers of Art, just as
our new practical Republic is the encourager and upholder of mechanics.
In their Vatican is stored up all that is curious ana beautiful in Art ; in
our Patent Office is hoarded all that is curious or useful in mechanics.
When a man invents a new style of horse-collar or discovers a new and
superior method of telegraphing, our Government issues a patent to him
that is worth a fortune ; when a man digs up an ancient statue in the
Campagna, the Pope gives him a fortune in gold coin. We can make
something of a guess at a man's character by the style of nose he carries
on his face. The Vatican and the Patent Office are governmental noses,
and they bear a deal of character about them.
The guide showed us a colossal statue of Jupiter, in the Vatican,
which he said looked so damaged and rusty — so like the God of the
Vagabonds — because it had but recently been dug up in the Campagna.
He asked how much we supposed this Jupiter was worth? I replied,
with intelligent promptness, that he was probably worth about four dollars
—maybe four and a hall '' A hundred thousand doUars ! " Ferguson
said. Ferguson said, further, that the Pope permits no ancient work of
this kind to leave his dominions. He appoints a commission to examine
discoveries like this and report upon the value ; then the Pope pays the
discoverer one-half of that assessed value, and takes the statue. He said
this Jupiter was dug from a field which had just been bought for thirty-
six thousand dollars, so the first crop was a good one for the new
farmer. I do not know whether Ferguson always teUs the truth or not,
but I suppose he does. I know tnat an exorbitant export duty is
exacted upon all pictures painted by the old masters, in order to dis-
courage the sale of those in the private collections. I am satisfied also
that genuine old masters hardly exist at all in America, because the
cheapest and most insignificant of them are valued at the price of a fine
fanu. I proposed to Duv a small trifle of a Raphael myself, but the
price of it was eighty thousand dollars, the export dixxtj would have
made it considerabW over a hundred, and wa I studied on it awhik and
ooncluded ba4 to take ^
\ ii.
Illi
;; .'i
.'>
I70
MARK TWAIN'S WORKS,
I wish here to mention an inscription I have seen, before I forget it—
" Glory to God in the highest, peace on earth to men of good will !*
It ifl not good Scripture, but it is sound Catholic and human nature.
This is in letters of gold around the apsis of a mosaic group at the
side of the tcala ianta. Church of St John Lateran, the Mother and
Mistress of all the Catholic churches of the world. The group repre-
sents the Saviour, St Peter, Pope Leo, St Silvester, Constantine, and
Charlemagne. Peter is giving the j)alUum to the Pope, and a standard
to Charlemagne. The Saviour is giving the keys to St Silvester, and a
standard to Constantine. No prayer is offered to the Saviour, who
seems to be of little importance anywhere in Rome ; but an inscription
below says, " Blessed Peter, give life to Pope Leo and victory to Kino
Charles." It does not say, " Intercede for us, through the Saviour, witn
the Father, for this boon," but " Blessed Peter, ffive it us."
In all seriousness — without meaning to be frivolous — without mean-
ing to be irreverent, and more than all, without meaning to be blas-
phemous — I state as my simple deduction from the things I have seei
and the things I have heaxa, that the Holy Personages rank thus in
Rome —
First — " The Mother of God " — otherwise the Virgin Mary.
Second— The Deity.
Third — Peter.
Fourth — Some twelve or fifteen canonixed Popes and martyrs.
Fi^h — Jesus Christ the Saviour — (but always as an Infant in arms).
I mav be wrong in this — my judgment errs often, just as is the case
with other men's — but it is my judgment, be it good or bad.
Just here I will mention somethijQg that seems curious to me. There
are no "Christ's Churches" in Rome, and no "Churches of the Holy
Ghost," that I can discover. There are some four hundred churches,
but about a fourth of them seemed to be named for the Madonna and
St Peter. There are so many named for Mary that they have to be
distinguished by all sorts of affixes, if I understand the matter rightly.
Then we have churches of St Louis, St Augustine, St Agnes, St
CaUxtus, St Lorenzo in Lucina, St Lorenzo in Damaso, St CecUia, St
Athanasius, St Philip Neri, St Catherine, St Dominico, and a multitude
of lesser sii'xits whose names are not faimliar in the world — and away
down, cleai Ait of the list of the churches, comes a couple of hospitals :
one of them is named for the Saviour and the other for the Holy
Ghost!
Dav after day and night after night we have wandered among the
crumbling wonders of Rome ; day after day and night after night we
have fed upon the dust and decay of five-and-twenty centuries — have
brooded over them by day and dreamt of them by night, till sometimes
we seemed mouldering away ourselves, and growing defaced and comer-
less, and liable at any moment to fall a prey to some antiquary, and be
patched in the 1^, and " restored " with an unseemly nose, and labelled
wrong, and dated wrong, and set up in the Vatican for poets to driv^
ftboat and YandaU to scribble their names on for ever and liar ewt-
li
THE INNOCENTS ABROAD,
vn
I wishe/i
I could
Bnt the rarest way to stop writing about Rome is to itoip. I
to write a real " guide-book chapter on this fascinating city, but
not do it, because I have felt all the time like a boy in a candy-shop —
there was everything to choose from, and yet no choice. I have drifted
alon^ hopelessly for a himdred pages of manuscript without knowing
where to commence. I will not commence at aUL Our passport! have
been examined. We will go to Naples.
CHAPTER XXIX.
THE ship is lying here in the harbour of Naples — quarantined. She
has been here several days, and wiU remain several more. We that
came by rail from Rome have escaped this misfortune. Of course
no one is allowed to go on board the ship or come ashore from her. She
is a prison now. The passengers probably spend the long blazing days
looking out from under the awnings at Vesuvius and the beautiful city
— and m swearing. Think of ten days of this sort of pastime ! We go
out eveiT day in a boat and request them to come ashore. It soothes
them. We Ue ten steps from me ship and tell them how splendid th«
city is ; and how much better the hotel fare is here than anywhere else
in Europe ; and how cool it is ; and what frozen continents of ice cream
there are ; and what a time we are having cavorting about the country
(md sailing to the islands in the Bay. This tranquilJjses them.
ASCENT OF VESUVIUS.
I shall remember our trip to Vesuvius for many a day — ^partly because
of its sight-seeing experiences, but chiefly on account of the fatigue of
the Journey. Two or three of us had been resting ourselves among the
tranquil and beautiful scenery of the island of Iscma, eighteen miles out
in tne harbour, for two days ; we called it " resting," but I do not
remember now what the resting consisted of, for when we got back to
Naples we had not slept for forty-eight hours. We were just about tc
go to bed early in the evening, and catch up on some of the sleep we had
lost, when we heard of this Vesuvius expedition. There was to be eight
of us in the party, and we were to leave Naples at midnight. We laid
in some provisions for the trip, engaged carnages to take us to Annun-
ciation, and then moved about the city, to keep awake, till twelve. We
got away punctually, and in the course of an hour and a half arrived at
the town of Annunciation. Annunciation is the very last place under
the sun. In other towns in Italy the people lie around quietly and wait
for you to ask them a question or do some oveit act that can be charged
for ; but in Annimciation they have lost even that fragment of delicacy ;
they seixe a lady's shawl from a chair and hand it to her and charge a
penny ; they open a carnage door, and charge for it — shut it when you
get out^ and chaxge fox it ; tbay help you to take off a duster— two centi \
t\
■If!
I \
(1
I ^
\ I
: I
i'
ir«
MARK TWAIN^S WORKS.
Ff ""i
!} i
brash jocor clothes and make them worse than they wert before — t?ro
cents ; smile upon you — ^two cents ; bow with a lickspittle smirk, hat in
hand — two cents ; they volunteer all information, such as that the mules
will arrive presently — two cents ; warm day, sir — two cents ; take you
four hours to make the ascent-— two cents. And so they go. Tney
crowd you— infest you — swarm about you, and sweat and smell offen-
Bively, and look sneaking and mean and obsequious. There is no office
too degrading for them to perform for money. I have had no oppor-
tunity to find out anything about the upper classes by my own observa-
tion, but from what I hear said about them, I judge that what they lack
in one or two of the bad traits the canaille have, they make up in one
or two others that are worse. How the people beg ! — many of them
very well dressed too.
I said I knew nothing against the upper classes by personal observa-
tion. I must recall it. I had forgotten. What I saw their bravest and
their fairest do last night, the lowest multitude that could be scraped up
out of the purlieus of Christendom would blush to do, I think. They
assembled by hundreds, and even thousands, in the great Theatre of San
Carlo to do — what ] Why simply to make fun of an old woman — ^to
deride, to hiss, to jeer at an actress they once worshipped, but whose
beauty is faded now, and whose voice has lost its Tormer richness.
Everybody spoke of the rare sport there was to be. They said the
theatre would be crammed because Frezzolini was going to sing. It was
said she could not sing well now ; but then the people liked to see her,
anyhow. And so we went And every time the woman sang they
hissed and laughed — the whole magnificent house — and as soon as she
left the stage tiiey called her on again with applause. Once or twice
she was encored five and six times in succession, and received with hisses
when she appeared, and discharged with hisses and laughter when she
had finished — then instantly encored and insulted again! And howtht
high-bom knaves enjoyed it ! White-kidded gentlemen and ladies
laughed till the tears came, and clapped their hands in very ecstacy
when that unhappy old woman would come meekly out for the sixth
time, with uncomplaining patience, to meet a storm of hisses ! It was
the cruelest exhibition — the most wanton, the most unfeeling. The
singer would have conquered an audience of American rowdies by her
brave, unflinching tranquillity (for she answered encore after encore,
and smiled and bowed pleasantly, and sang the best she possibly could,
and went bowing off, through all the ieers and hisses, without ever
losing countenance or temper) ; and surely in any other land than Italy
her sex and her helplessness must have been an ample protection to her
— she could have needed no other. Think what a multitude of small
i»'yul8 were crowded into that theatre last night If the manager could
have filled his theatre with NeapoUtau souls alone, without the bodies,
he could not have cleared less than ninety millions of dollars. What
traits of character must a man have to enable him to help three thou-
sand miscreants to hiss, and jeer, and laugh at one friendless old woman
and shamefully humiliate her ? He must have all the vile, mean traits
ther« are. Mjr observation persuades me (I do not like to veoturt
THE INNOCENTS ABROAD,
»73
beyond my own peiBonal observation) that the apper claMes of Naples
possess those tmts of character. Otherwise they may be very good
people; I cannot say.
ASCENT OF YBBDYIUB— CONTIMUVD.
In this city of Naples they believe in and support one of the wretch-
edest of all the religious impostures one can find in Italy — the miracul-
ous liquefaction of the blood of St Januarius. Twice a year the priests
assemble all the people at the Cathedral, and get out this vial of clotted
blood and let them see it slowly dissolve and become liquid — and every
day for eight days this dismal farce is repeated, while the priests go
among the crowd and collect money for the exhibition. The first day,
the blood liquefies in forty-seven minutes — the church is crammed then,
and time must be allowed the collectors to get around ; after that it
liquefies a little quicker and a little quicker eveij day, as the houses
grow smaller, till on the eighth day, with only a few dozens present to
see the miracle, it liquefies in four minutes.
And here also they used to have a grand procession of priests, citizens,
soldiers, sailors, and the high dignitaries of the City Govenmient, once
a year, to shave the head of a made-up Madonna — a stuffed and painted
image, like a nuUiner's dummy — whose hair miraculously grew and
restored itself every twelve months. They still kept up this shaving
procession as late as four or five years ago. It was a source of great
profit to the church that possessed the remarkable effigy, and the cere-
mony of the pubUc barbering of her was always carried out with the
greatest possible iclat and display, the more the better, because the more
excitement there was about it the larger the crowds it drew and the
heavier the revenues it produced ; but at last a day came when the Pope
and his servants were unpopular in Naples, and the City Government
stopped the Madonna's annual show.
There we have two specimens of these Neapolitans — two of the silliest
possible frauds, which half the population religiously and faithfully
believed, and the other half either believed also or else said nothing
about, and thus lent themselves to the support of the imposture. I am
very well satisfied to think the whole population believed in those poor,
cheap miracles — a people who want two cents every time they bow to
f ou, and who abuse a woman, are capable of it, I thuik.
AflCINT 0» TMUVIUB— OOWTDJUKIX
These Neapolitans always ask four times as much money as they
intend to take, but if you give them what thev first demand, they feel
ashamed of themselves for aiming so low, ana immediately ask more.
When money is to be paid and received, there is always some vehement
jawing and gesticulating about it. One cannot buy and pay for two cents'
worth of duns without trouble and a quarrel One " course" in a two-
horse carriage costs a fnmc — that is law ; but the hackman always
demands more, on some pretence or other, and if he gets it he makes a
new demand. It is said that a strange took a ooA-hiuse carriage for a
> i.l
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i I
P'ilt
f
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f74
MARK TWAIN'S WORKS,
ooiin6--4iriir, half a franc He gave the man five francs by vaj ol
experiment He demanded more, and received another franc. Again
he demanded more, and got a franc— -demanded more, and it was refused.
He grew vehement— was again refused, and became noisy. The stranger
said. " Well, give me the seven francs again, and I will see what I can
do ; ' and when he got them he handed the hackman half a franc, and
he immediatelv asked for two cents to buy a drink with. It may be
thought that I am prejudiced. Perhaps I am. I would be ashamed
of myself if I were not.
ASOBNT OF YESUYIUS— CONTINUED.
Well, as I was saying, we got our mules and horses, after an hour and
a half of bargaining with the population of Annunciation, and started
sleepily up the mountain, with a vagrant at each mule's tail, wno pretended
to be driving the brute along, but was reallv holding on and getting
himself dragged up instead. I made slow headway at first, but I began
to get dissatisfied at the idea of paying my minion five francs to hold
my mule back by the tail and keep him from going up the hill, and sc
I discharged him. I got along faster then.
We had one magnificent picture of Naples from a high point on the
mountain side. We saw nothing but the gas lamps, of course — two-
thirds of a circle skirting the great Bay — a necklace of diamonds glint-
ing up through the darkness from the remote distance— less brilliant
than tne stars overhead, but more softly, richly beautiful — and over all
khe great city the lights crossed and recrossed each other in many and
many a sparkling line and curve. And back of the town, far around
and abroad over the miles of level campagna, were scattered rows, and
circles, and clusters of lights, all glowing like so manv gems, and
marking where a score of ^Qlages were sleeping. About tnis time, the
fellow who was hanging on to the tail of tne horse in front of me and
practising aU sorts of unnecessary cruelty upon the animal, got kicked
some fourteen rods, and this incident, togetner with the fairy spectacle
of the lights far in the distance, made me serenely happy, and I was
glad I started to Vesuvius.
ASCENT OP MOUNT VBSUVIUB — CONTINUED.
This subject will be excellent matter for a chapter, and to-morrow
or next day I will write it.
CHAPTER XXX.
ASCENT OP VESUVIUS — CONTINUED.
M OEE Naples and die.'' Well, I do not know that one would neoefr-
O sarily die after merely seeing it, but to attempt to live there
might turn out a little difl'erently. To see Naples as we saw it in
the early dawn from far up on the side of Yesuvluajii to see a picture n/
ft'W
I
THE INNOCESTS ABROAD,
»75
tO-mOTTOW
tronderfol beautj. At that distance its dingj buildings looked white—
and so, rank on rank of balconies, windows and roofs, they piled them-
selves up from the blue ocean till the colossal castle of St Elmo topped
the grand white pyramid and gave the picture symmetry, emphasis, and
completeness. And when its lilies turned to roses — when it blushed
under the sun's first kiss — it was beautiful beyond all description. Ont
might well say then, '* See Naples and die." The frame of the picture
was charming itself. In front the smooth sea — a vast mosaic of many
colours ; the lofty islands swimming in a dreamy haze in the distance ;
at our end of the city the stately double peak of Vesuvius, and its strong
black ribs and seams of lava stretching down to the limitless level
campagna — a green carpet that enchants the eye and leads it on and on,
past clusters of trees, and isolated houses, and snowy villages, until it
shreds out in a fringe of mist and general vagueness far away. It is
from the Hermitajge. there on the side of Vesuvius, that one should
" see Naples and die.
But do not CO within the walls and look at it in detail. That takes
away some of tne romance of the thing. The people are filthy in their
habits, and this makes filthy streets and breeds disagreeable sights and
smells. There never was a community so prejudiced against the cholera
08 these Neapolitans are. But they have good reason to be. The
cholera generally vanquishes a Neapolitan when it seizes him, because,
you understand, before the doctor can dig through the dirt and get at
the disease, the man dies. The upper classes take a sea bath every day,
and are pretty decent.
The streets are generally about wide enough for one waggon, and how
they do swarm with people ! It is Broadway repeated in evt,^'^ street,
in every court, in every alley ! Such masses, such throngs, such
multitudes of hurrying, bustling, struggling humanity ! We never saw
the like of it, hardly even in New York, I think. There are seldom any
sidewalks, and when there are, they are not often wide enough to pass a
man on without caroming on him. So everybody walks in the street —
and where the street is wide enough, carriages are for ever dashing
along. Why a thousand people are not run over and crippled every
day IS a mystery that no man can solve,
But if there is an eighth wonder in the world, it must be the dwelling-
houses of Naples. I honestly believe a good majority of them are a
hundred feet nigh ! And the solid brick walls are seven feet through.
Vou go up nine flights of stairs before you get to the " first " floor. No,
not nine, out there or thereabouts. There is a little birdcage of an iron
railing in front of every window clear away, up, up, up, among the
eternal clouds, where the roof is, and there is always somebody looking
out of every window — people of ordinary size lookmg out from the first
floor, people a shade smaller from the second, people that look a little
smaller yet from the third — and from thence upward they grew smaller
and smaller by a regularly graduated diminution, till the folks in the
topmost windows seem more like birds in an uncommonly tall martin-
box than anything else. The i)er8pective of one of these narrow crackfl
of streets, with ita rows of taQ houMa stretching away tUl they come
t
w
t ;
i ,il
176
MARK TWAIN'S WORKS,
together in the distance like railway tracks ; its clothes-linef eroMing
over at all altitudes and waving their bannered raggedness over the
swarms of people below : and the white dressed women perched in
balcony railmgs all the way from the pavement up to the heavens — a
perspective like that is really worth going into Neapolitan details to see.
ilii'
ffi
m ■ 1 \i
m . i
▲SOENT OF VISUVIUS — CONTINUED.
Naples, with its immediate suburbs, contains six hundred and twenty-
five thousand inhabitants, but I am satisfied it covers no more ground
than an American city of one hundred and fifty thousand. It reachea
ap into the air infinitely higher than three American cities, though, and
there is where the secret of it lies. I will observe here, in passing, that
the contrast between opulence and poverty, and magnificence and
misery, are more frequent and more striking in Naples than in Parii
even. One must go to the Bois de Boulogne to see fashionable dressing,
splendid equipages, and stunning liveries, and to the Faubourg St
Antoine to see vice, misery, hunger, rags, dirt — but in the thoroughfares
of Naples these things are all mixed together. Naked boys of nine
years and the fancy-dressed children of luxury ; shreds and tatters, and
brilliant uniforms ; jackass-carts and state-carriages ; beggars, princes,
aiid bishops, jostle each other in every street. At six o'clock every
eirening all Naples turns out to drive on the Riviere di Ghiaja (whatevei
that may mean) ; and for two hours one may stand there and see the
motliest and the worst mixed procession go by that ever eyes beheld.
Princes (there are more princes than policemen in Naples — the city if
infested with them) — princes who live up seven flights of stairs and
don't own any principalities, Mrill keep a carriage and go hungry ;
and clerks, mechanics, milliners, and strumpets will go without theii
dinners and squander the money on a hack ride in the Uhiaja ; the rag-
tag and rubbish of the city stack themselves up, to the number of twenty
or thirty, on a rickety little go-cart hauled by a donkey not much biggei
than a cat, and they drive in the Chiaja ; dukes And bankers, in sump
tuous carriages and with georgeous drivers and footmen, turn out also,
and so the furious procession goes. For two hours rank and wealth and
obscurity and poverty clatter along side by side in the wild procession
and then go home serene, happy, covered with glory !
I was looking at a magnificent marble staircase in the King's palace
the other day, which, it was said, cost five million francs, and I suppose
it did cost half a million, maybe. I felt as though it must be a fine
thing to live in a country where there was such comfort and such luxury
as this. And then I stepped out musing, and almost walked over a
vagabond who was eating nis dinner on the kerbstone — a piece of bread
and a bunch of grapes. When I found that this mustang was clerking
in a fruit establishment (he had the establishment along with him in a
basket), at two cents a day, and that he had no palace at home where he
lived, I lost some of my enthusiasm concerning the happiness of living
In Italy.
This naturally nggests to me a thought about w%|M here. lieute
THE INNOCENTS ABROAD.
W
u over tht
perched in
heavens — a
Bt4ulBto see.
and twenty-
more ground
It reachea
though, and
paasing, that
ificence and
lan in Parii
ible dressing,
Faubourg St
;horoughfare8
boys of nine
\ tatters, and
;gar8, princes,
a'clock every
aja (whatevei
e and see the
I eyes beheld.
J— the city i£
of stairs and
go hungry ;
without theii
laja ; the rag-
ber of twenty
, much biggei
ers, in sump
;um out alsa
id wealth and
id procession,
[King's palaos
jidl suppose
^ust be a fine
|d such luxury
talked over a
)iece of bread
was clerking
(with him in a
lome where he
less of living
leie. Lieute
\
aanti in the army get about a dollar a day, and common ioIdi«n a
eouple of centa. I only know one clerk — he geU four dollars a mouth
Printers get six dcxllan and a half a month, but 1 have heard of a fore-
man who gets tliirteen. To be growing suddenly and violently rich, wt
this man is, . turally makes him a bloated aristocrat The airs he put4
on are insulferable.
And speaking of wages reminds me of prices of merchandise. Ii
Paris you pay twelve dollars a dozen for Jouvin's best kid glovea ;
gloves of about as good nuality sell here at three or four dollars a dozeiu
You pay five and six dollars a piece for tine linen shirts in Paris ; here
and in Leghorn you pay two and a half. In Marseilles you pay forty
dollars for a first-class dress coat, made by a good tailor, but in Leghorn
you can )^et a full dress suit for the same money. Here you get hand-
some busmess suits at from ten to twenty dollars, and in Leghorn you can
get an over-coat for fifteen dollurs that would cost you seventy in New
lork. Fine kid boots are worth eight dollars in Marseilles, and four
dollars here. Lyons velvets rank higher in Ameiica than those of
Genoa. Yet the bulk of Lyons velvets you buy in the States are made
in Genoa, and imported into Lyons, where they receive the Lyons
stamp, and are then exported to America. You can buy enough velvet
in Genoa for twenty-five dollars to make a five hundred dollar cloak in
New York — so the ladies tell me. Of course these things bring m«
back, by a natui'al and easy transition, to the
ASCENT OF VESUVIUS — CONTIHUKD-
And thus the wonderful Blue Grotto is suggested to me. It is situated
on the Island of Capri, twenty-two miles from Naples. We chartered a
little steamer, and went out there. Of course, the police boarded ue,
and put us through a health examination, and inquired into our poUtica,
before they would let us land. The airs these little insect Governments
put on are in the last degree ridiculous. They even put a policeman on
board of our boat to keep an eye on us as long as we were in the Capri
dominions. They thought we wanted to steal the grotto, I suppose. It
was worth stealing. The entrance to the cave is four feet high and four
feet wide, and is in the face of a lofty perpendicular cliff— the sea walL
You enter in small boats, and a ti^ht squeeze it ia too. You cannot go
in at all when the tide is up. Once within you find yourself in an
arched cavern about one hundred and sixty feet long, one hundred and
twenty wide, and about seventy high. How deep it is no man knows
It goes down to the bottom of the ocean. The waters of this placid aub-
terranean lake are the brightest, loveliest blue that can be imagined.
They are as transparent as plate glass, and their colouring would shame
the richest sky that ever bent over Italy. No tint co^ild be more ravish*
ing, no lustre more superb. Throw a stone into the water, and the
myriad of tiny bubbles that are created flash out a brilliant ^lare like
blue theatrical fires. Dip an oar, and its blade turns to a splendid frosted
lilver, tinted with blue. Let a man jump in, and instantly he ia cafiid
\ii an armour more gorgeous than ever kingly Cnuader wore.
': t]
178
MARK TWAIN*S WORKS.
mi;;:. =
Then we went to lachia, but 1 had alrendy been to that island, Mid
tiled uiyHelf to death "rusting" a couple of days and studying human
Tillaiiy, with the landlord of the Grande Sentiiiellu for a nimlel. So we
went to Procida, and from thence to Poz/uoli, wlu^re St Paul landed
after he sailed from Samoa. I landed at precisely the same spot where
St Paul landed, and so did Dan and the others. It was a remarkable
coincidence. St Paul preached to these people seven days before he
•tarted to Rome.
Nero's Baths, the Ruins of Baioi, the Temple of Scrapis Cuous, where
the Cumeaan Sybil interpreted the uracles, the Lake Agnano, with its
ancient submerged city still visible far down in its depths — these, and a
hundred other points of interest, we examined with critical imbecility,
but the Qrotto of the Dog claimed our chief attention, because we had
heard and read so much about it. Everybody has written about the
Qrotto del Cane and its poisonous vapours, from Pliny down to Smith,
and every tourist has held a dog over its floor by the legs to test the
capabilities of the place. The dog dies in a minute and a half; a
ehicken instantly. As a general thmg, strangers who crawl in there to
aleep do not get up until they are called ; and then they don't either.
The stranger that ventures to sleep there takes a permanent contract.
I longed to see this grotto. I resolved to take a dog and hold him my-
self ; suffocate him a little, and time him ; suffocate him some more, and
then flnish him. We reached the grotto at about three in the afternoon,
and proceeded at once to make the experiments. But now an important
difficulty presented itself ; we had no dog.
\
'jp'
ASCENT OF VBflUVIUB— CONTINUED.
At the Hermitage we were about fifteen or eighteen hundred feet
above the sea, and thus far a portion of the ascent had been pretty
abrupt. For tlie next two miles the road was a mixture — sometimes the
ascent was abrupt and sometimes it was not ; but one characteristic
it possessed all the time — without failure — without modification — it was
all uncompromisingly and unspeakably infamous. It was a rough,
narrow trail, and led over an old lava flow — a black ocean which was
tumbled into a thousand fantastic shapes — a wild chaos of ruin, desola-
tion, and barrenness — a wildemess of billowy upheavals, of furious
whirlpools, of miniature mountains rent asunder — of gnarled and
knotted, wrinkled and twisted masses of blackness, that mimicked
branching roots, great vines, trunks of trees, all interlaced and mingled
together ; and aU these weird shapes, all this turbulent panorama, all
thiB stormv, far-stretching waste of blackness, with its thrilling sugges-
tiveneaa or life, of action, of boiling, surging, furiouB motion was petri-
fied ! — all stricken dead and cold in the instant of its maddest rioting I
— fettered, paralyse^I, and left to glower at heaven in impotent rage for
•yemuHw!
Finally, we stood in a level, omiow valley (a valley that had been
ezeated dj the terrific in«ach of some old time irruption), and on either
hand towered Hm two tteep peaks of Yeauviua. The one we had to
\ I
THE INNOCENTS ABROAD,
■7f
ialand, Mid
rinp; human
ilel. So we
Paul landed
Hpot where
remarkable
a before he
imsB, where
no, with its
these, and a
imbecility,
luse we had
a about the
1 to Suiith,
I to test the
I a half; a
in there to
lon't either,
nt contract
Id him mj-
le more, and
e afternoon,
n important
undred feet
)een pretty
netimes the
laracteristic
ion — it was
a rough,
which was
uin, desola-
of furiom
aarled and
mimicked
id mingled
lorama, all
ng BUgges-
was petri-
st rioting!
It rageroi
had been
1 on either
we had lo
elimb— the one that contains the actite volcano— seemed about eight
hundred or one thou^aiul feet high, and lookeil almost too strai^ht-up-
and-down for any man to climb, aud certainly no mule cuuld i-limb it
with u man on his back. Four of these native pirates will curry you tc
the top in a sedan chair if you vfU\> it, but suppoHe they were lu ^lip
and let you fall, is it likelv that yuu would ever stop rolling/ Not
this side of eternity |> rhaps. W(i left the mulen, sharpened our finger
nailb, and began the ascent 1 have been vritiug about ho lung at twenty
minutes to six in the mun/ing. The path k"l stmight up a ntg^'ed
sweep of loose chunks of pumico-Htonc, and for about every two steps
forward we took, we slid back one. It was so excessively steep that we
had to stop every fifty or sixty steps, and rust a moment. To see oui
comrades we had to look very nearly straight up at those above us, and
very nearly straight down at those below. We stood on the summit at
last — it had taken an hour and fifteen minutes to make the trip.
What we saw there was simply a circular crater — a circular ditch, if
you please — about two hundred feet deep, and four or five hundred feet
wide, whose inner wall was about half a mile in circumference. In the
centre of the great circus ring thus formed was a torn and ragged up-
heaval a hundred feet high, all snowed over with a sulphur crust of
many and many a brilliant and beautiful colour, and the ditch enclosed
this like the moat of a castle, or surroimded it as a little river does a
little island, if the simile is better. The sulphur coating of that island
was gaudy in the extreme — all mingled togetner in the richest confusion
were red, blue, brown, black, yellow, white — I do not know that there
was a colour, or shade of a colour, or combination of colours, unrepre-
sented ; and when the sun burst through the morning mists and fired this
tinted magnificence, it topped imperiid Vesuvius like a jewelled crown !
The crater itself — the ditch— was not so variegated in colouring, but
yet, in its softness, richness, and unpretentious elegance, it was more
charming, more fascinating to the eye. There was nothing ''loud"
about its well-bred and well-dressed look. Beautiful ! One could stand
and look down upon it for a week without getting tired of it It had
the 8emblarr« of a pleasant meadow, whose slender grsisses and whose
velvety mosses were frosted with a shining dust, and tinted with palest
green that deepened gradually to the darkest hue of the orange leaf,
and deepened yet again into gravest brown, then faded into orange, then
into brightest gold, and culmmated in the delicate pink of a new-blown
rose. Where portions of the meadow had sunk, and where other portions
had been broken up like an ice-floe, the cavernous openings of the one,
and the ragged upturned edges exposed by the other, were hung with a
lace-work of soft-tinted crystals oi sulphur that changed their deformi-
ties into quaint shapes and figures that were full of grace and beauty.
The wtdls of the ditch were brilliant with yellow banks of sulphur
and with lava and pumice-stone of many colours. No fire was visible
anywhere, but gusts of sulphurous steam issued silently and invisibly
from a thousand little cracks and fissures in the crater, and were wafte(^
to our uoees with every breeze. But so long as we kept our nostrik
buried in our handkerchiefii theio wm small danger of sonocatioa.
\\\ \
1
i 1
I
I !
!; I
i8o
MARK TWAIN*S WORKS,
h
Some of the boys thrust long slips of paper down into holes and set
them on fire, and so achieved the glory of lighting their cigars by the
flames of Vesuvius, and others cooked eggs over fissures in the rocks
and were happy.
The view from the summit would have been superb but for the fact
that the sun could only pierce the mists at long intervals. Thus the
glimpses we had of the grand panorama below were only fitful and un-
satisfactory.
THE DESCENT.
The descent of the mountain was a labour of only four minutes. In-
stead of stalking down the rugged path we ascended, we chose one which
was bedded knee-deep in loose ashes, and ploughed our way with pro-
digious strides that would almost have shamed the performance of him
of the seven-league boots.
The Vesuvius of to-day is a very poor affair compared to the mighty
volcano of Eilauea, in the Sandwich Islands, but I am glad I visited it
It was well worth it.
It is said that during one of the grand eruptions of Vesuvius it dis-
charged massy rocks weighing many tons a thousand feet into the air,
its vast jets of smoke and steam ascended thirty miles toward the fir-
mament, and clouds of its ashrr were wafted abroad and fell upon the
decks of ships seven hundred and fifty miles at sea ! I will take the
ashes at a moderate discount, if any one will take the thirty miles o<
■moke, but I do not feel able to take a commanding interest in the
whole story by myselfl
CHAPTER XXXI.
THE BUBIBD CITT OF POMFBII.
THEY pronounce it Pom-;9ay-e. I always had an idea that you went
down into Pompeii with torches, by the way of damp, dark stair-
ways, just as you do in silver mines, and traversed gloom/ tunnels
with lava overhead and something on either hand like dilapidated
prisons gouged out of the solid e£^h, that faintly resembled houses.
But you do nothing of the kind. Fully one-half of the buried city,
perhaps, is completely exhumed and thrown open freely to the light of
day ; and there stand the long rows of solidly-built brick houses (roof-
less) just as they stood eighteen hundred years ago, hot with the flaming
sun ; and there lie their floors, clean swept, and not a bright fragment tar-
nished or wanting of the laboured mosaics that pictured them with the
beasts, and birds, and flowers, which we copy in perishable carpets to-
day : and there are the Venuses, and Bacchuses, and Adonises, making
love and getting drunk in many-hued frescoes on the walls of saloon
and bedchamber ; and there are the narrow streets and narrower side-
wmlka, paved with fla^ of good hard lava, the one deeply rutted with
s and set
urs by the
the Tocks
r the fact
Thus the
1 and un-
lUtes. In-
one which
with pro-
ice of him
he mighty
L visited it
dus it dis-
to the air,
ird the fir-
L upon the
Q take the
:y miles of
rest in the
you went
dark stair-
n / tunnels
iilapidated
ed houseSi.
uried city,
le light of
uses (roof-
le flaming
gment tar-
with the
carpets to-
es, making
of saloon
ower side-
utted with
THE PYRAMIDS.— POMPEJL
We were dragged up the pyramids, each step being as high as a dinner
table."— Page 348.
"We lounged through many and many a sumptuous private mansion In
this exhumed city. . . . The floors were all mosaic, and here and there were
statues and cascades of sparkling water."— Page 181.
i: !
tilt u
• ^1
♦ »-
^'li
a
• I
r.
THE INNOCENTS ABROAD.
Ill
Uie chariot-wheels, axid the other with the passing feet of the Pomp«iiaiui
of bygone centuries ; and there are the bakeshops, the temples, the haJlf
of justice, the baths, the theatres — all clean scraped and neat, and sug-
gesting nothing of the nature of a silver mine away down in the bowels
of the earth. The broken pillars lying about, the aoorless doorways and
the crumbled tops of the wilderness of walls, were wonderfully sugges-
tive of the " burnt district " in one of our cities, and if there had been any
charred timbers, shattered windows, heaps of dibriSf and general black-
ness and smokiness about the place, the resemblance would have beer
perfect. But no — the sun shines as brightly down on old Pompeii to-
day as it did when Christ was bom in Bethlehem, and its streets are
cleaner a hundred times than ever Pompeiian saw them in her prime. I
know whereof I speak — for in the great chief thoroughfares (Merchant
Street and the Street of Fortune) have I not seen with my own eyes how
for two hundred years at least the pavements were not repaired ! — how
ruts five and even ten inches deep were worn into the thick flag-stones
by the chariot-wheels of generations of swindled taxpayers ? And do I
not know by these signs that Street Commissioners of Pompeii never
attended to their business, and that if they never mended the pavements
they never cleaned them ! And, besides, is it not the inborn nature of
Street Commissioners to avoid their duty whenever they get a chance 1
I wish I knew the name of the last one that held office in Pompeii, so
that I could give him a blast. I speak v/ith feeling on this subject, be-
cause I caught my foot in one of those ruts, and the sadness that cam«
over me when I saw the first poor skeleton, with ashes and lava sticking to
i\ was tempered by the reflection that maybe that party was the St^t
Commissioner.
No — Pompeii is no longer a buried city. It is a city of hundreds and
hundreds of roofless houses, and a tangled maze of streets where one
could easily get lost, without a guide, and have to sleep in some ghostly
palace that had known no living tenant since that awful Novemb^ night
of eighteen centuries ago.
We passed through the gate which faces the Mediterranean (called the
" Marine Gate "), and by the rusty, broken image of Minerva, still keep-
ing tireless watch and ward over the possessions it was powerless to
save, and went up a long street and stood in the broad court of the Forum
of Justice. The floor was level and clean, and up and down either side
was a noble colonnade of broken pillars, with their beautiful Ionic and
Corinthian columns scattered about them. At the upper end were the
vacant seats of the Judges, and behind them we descended into a dungeon
where the ashes and cinders had found two prisoners chained on that
memorable November night, and tortured them to death. How they
must have tugged at the pitiless fetters as the fierce fires surged around
them!
Then we lounged through many and many a sumptuous private
mansion which we could not have entered without a formal invitation
in incomprehensible Latin, in the olden time, when the owners lived
there — and we probably wouldn't have got it These people built their
Iwuses a good deal alike. The floors were laid in fanciful figozet
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SfAXJC TWAIN'S WORKS,
wrought in mosaics of many-coloured marbles. At the threshold jov
tjes icdl upon a Latin sentence of welcome Hometimes, or a picture of a
dog, with the legend " Beware of the Doij;/' and sometimes a picture of
a bear or a faM^n with no inscription at alL Then you enter a sort of
vestibule, where they used to keep the hat-rack, I suppose ; next a room
with a large marble basin in the midst, and the pipes of a fountain ; on
either side are bedrooms ; beyond the fountaiu is a reception-room, then
a little garden, dining-room, and so forth, and so on. The floors were
all mosaic, the walls were stuccoed, or frescoed, or ornamented with
bas-reliefs, and here and there were statues, large and small, and little
fish-pools, and cascades of sparkling water that sprang from secret places
in the colonnade of handsome pillars that surrounded the court, and
kept the flower-beds fresh and the air cool. Those Pompeiians were
▼ery luxudous in theii tastes and habits. The most exquisite bronzes
we have seen in Europe came from the exhumed cities of Herculaneum
and Pompeii, and also the finest cameos and the most delicate engravings
on precious stones ; their pictures, eighteen or nineteen centuries old,
are often much more pleasing than the celebrated rubbish of the old
masters of three centuries ago. They were well up in art. From the
creation of these works of the first, clear up to the eleventh century, art
seems hardly to have existed at all — at least no remnants of it are left
'—and it was curious to see how far (in some things, at any rate) these
old time pagans excelled the remote generations of masters that came
after them. The pride of the world in sculptures seem to be the
" Laocoon " and the " Dying Gladiator " in Rome. They are as old as
Pompeii, were dug from the earth like Pompeii ; but their exact age, or
who made them, can only be conjectured. But worn and cracked, -vTith-
out a history, and with the blemishing stains of numberless centuries
upon them, they still mutely mock at all efforts to rival their perfeo*
tions.
It was a quaint and curious pastime, wandering through this old
silent city of the dead — lounging through utterly deserted streets where
thousands and thousands of human beings once bought and sold, and
walked and rode, and made the place resound with the noise and con-
fusion of traffic and pleasure. They were not lazy. They hurried in
those days. We had evidence of that. There was a temple on one
comer, and it was a shorter cut to go between the colunms of that
temple from one street to the other than to go around — and behold that
pathway had been worn deep into the heavy flagstone floor of the
building by generations of tune-saving feet ! They would not go
around when it was quicker to go through. We do that way in oui
cities.
Everywhere you see things that make you wonder how old these old
houses were before the night of destruction came — things too which
bring back those long dead inhabitants and place them living before
Jrour eyes. For instance, the steps (two feet thick — lava blocks) that
ead up out of the school, and the same kind of steps that lead up into
the dress circle of the principal theatre, are almost worn through ! For
•l^es the boyi huniea out of that school, and for ages their parcBti
THE INNOCENTS ABROAD.
t<3
hurried into that theatre, and the nervous feet that have been dust and
whes for eighteen centurieH have left their record for us to read to-day.
1 imagined I could see crowds of gentlemen and ladies thronging into
the theatre, with tickets for secured seats in their hand, and on the wall
I read the imaginary placard, in infamous grammar, " PosrriVBLY no
Free List, except Members of the Press ! " Hanging about the
doorway (I fancied) were slouchy Pompeiian street-boys uttering slang
and profanity, and keeping a wary eye out for checks. I entered the
theatre, and sat down in ona of the long rows of stone benches in the
dress circle, and looked at the place for the orchestra, and the ruined
stage, and around at the wide sweep of empty boxes, and thought to
myself, " This house won't pay." I tried to imagine the music in fuU
blast, the leader of the orchestra beating time, and the " versatile " So-
*nd-So (who had "just returned from a most successful tour in the
provinces to play his last and farewell engagement of positively six
nights only, in Pompeii, previous to his departure for Herculaneum")
charging around the stage and piling the agony mountains high — but I
could not do it with such a " house '' as that ; those empty benches tied
my fancy down to dull reality. I said, these people that ought to be
here have been dead, and still, and mouldering to dust for ages and
ages, and will never care for the trifles and follies of life any more for
ever — '* Owing to circumstances, &c. (fee, there will not be any performance
to-night." Close down the curtain. Put out the lights.
And so I turned away and went through shop after shop and store
after store, far down the long street of the merchants, and called for the
wares of Rome and the East, but the tradesmen were gone, the marts
were silent, and nothing was left but the broken jars all set in cement of
cinders and ashes : the wine and the oil that once had filled them were
gone with their owners.
In a bakeshop was a mill for grinding the grain, and the furnaces for
baking the bread : and they say that here, in the same furnaces, the
exhumers of Pompeii found nice well-baked loaves, which the baker
had not found time to remove from the ovens the last time he left his
shop, because circumstances compelled him to leave in such a hurry.
In one house (the only building in Pompeii wliich no woman is now
allowed to enter), were the small rooms and short beds of solid masonry,
i'ust as they were in the old times, and on the walls were pictures which
ooked almost as fresh as if they were painted yesterday, but which no
Een could have the hardihood to describe ; and here and there were
latin inscriptions — obscene scintillations of wit, scratched by hands that
possibly were uplifted to Heaven for succour in the midst of a driving
storm of Are before the night was done.
In one of the principal streets was a ponderous stone tank, and a
water-spout that supplied it, and where tne tired, heated toilers from
the Campagna used to rest their right hands when they bent over to put
their Ups to the spout ; the thick stone was worn down to a broad groove
an inch or two deep. Think of the countless thousands of hands that
had pressed that spot in the ages that are gone, to so reduce a stone that
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MAUK rWAIN*S WORKS,
They had a great public bulletin board in Pompeii — a place wberr.
announcements for gladiatorial combats, elections, and such thiugs, were
Eosted — not on perishable paper, but carved in enduring stone. One
idy, who I take it was rich and weU brought up, advertised a dwelliriu
or so to rent, with baths and all the modem improvements, and several
hundred shops, stipulating that the dwellings should not be put to
immoral purposes. You can find out who lived in many a house in
Pompeii by the carved stone door-plates affixed to them : and in the
same way you can tell who they were that occupy the tombs. Every-
where airound are things that reveal to you something of the customs
and history of this forgotten people. But what would a volcano leave
of an American city if it once rained its cinders on it 1 Hardly a sign
or a symbol to tell its story.
In one of these long Pompeiian halls the skeleton of a man was found,
with ten pieces of gold in one hand and a large key in the other. He
had seized his money and started towards the door, but the fiery tempest
caught him at the very threshold, and he sank down and died. One
more minute of precious time would have saved him. I saw the skeletons
of a man, a woman, and two young girls. The woman had her hands
spread wide apart, as if in mortal terror, and I imagined I could still
trace upon her shapeless face something of the expression of wild despaii
that distorted it when the heavens rained fire in these streets, so many
ages ago. The girls and the man lay with their faces upon their arms,
as if they had tried to shield them from the enveloping cinders. In one
apartment eighteen skeletons were found, all in sitting postures, and
blackened places on the walls still mark their shapes and show their
attitudes, like shadows. One of them, a woman, still wore upon her
skeleton throat a necklace, with her name engraved upon it — Julib d1
DiOMEDB.
But perhaps the most poetical thing Pompeii has yielded to modem
research, was that grand figure of a Roman soldier, clad in complete
armour, who, true to his duty, true to his proud name of a soldier o&
Rome, and full of the stem courage which had given to that name its
glory, stood to hia post by the city gate, erect and unflinching, till the
hell that raged around him hn/mtd, out the dauntless spirit it could not
conquer.
We never read of Pompeii but we think of that soldier ; we cannot
write of Pompeii without the natural impulse to grant to him the mention
he so well deserves. Let us remember tnat he waii a soldier not a police-
man, and so praise him. Being a soldier he stayed — because the warrioi
instinct forbade him to fly. Had he been a policeman, he would have
stayed also — because he would have been asleep.
There are not half a dozen flights of stairs in Pompeii, and r^o rther
evidences that the houses were more than one story high. Tne people
did not live in the clouds, as do the Venetians, the Genoese, and
Neapolitans of to-day.
We came out from under the solemn mysteries of this city of the
Venerable Past — ^this city which perished, with all its old ways and its
quaint old fAshions tboat it« remote centuries ago, when the Disciples
THE INNOCENTS ABROAD.
i8S
vi'ere preaching the new reli^'ion, which is as old as the hills to us now— •
and went dreaming among the trees that grow over acres and acres of its
Btill buried streets and squares, till a shrill whistle and the cry of —
" All aboard — last train for Naples /*' -woke me up and reminded me
that I belonged in the nineteenth century, and was not a dusty mummy,
caked with ashes and cinders, eighteen hundred years old. The transi-
tion was startling. The idea of a railroad train actually running to old
dead Pompeii, and whistling irreverently, and calling for passengers in
the most bustling and business-like way, was as strange a thing as one
could imagine, and as unpoetical and disagreeable as it was strange.
Compare the cheerful life and the sunshine of tliis day with the norrors
the younger Pliny saw here, the 9th of November, a.d. 79, when he was
80 braveljr striving to remove his mother out of reach of harm, while she
begged him, with aU a mother's unselfishness, to leave her to perish, and
mve himselt
"By this time the murky darkness had so increased, that one might have be-
lieved himself abroad in a black and moonless night, or in a chamber where all
the lights had beeu extinguished. On every hand was heard the complaints of
women, the wailing of children, and the cries of men. One called his father,
another his son, and another his wife, and only by thuir voices could they know
each other. Many in their despair begged that death would come and end their
distress.
" Some implored the gods to succour them, and some believed that this night
was the last, the eternal night which should engulf the universe I
'' Even so it seemed to me — and I consoled myself for the coming death with
the reflection : Bkhold, thx Wobld is PASsmo awat 1 "
■ * « a 4 • • '
After browsing among the stately ruins of Rome, of Baise, of Pompeii,
and after glancing down the long marble ranks of battered and name-
less imperial heads that stretch down the corridors of the Vatican, one
thing strikes me with a force it never had before — the unsubstantial,
.unlasting character of fame. Men lived long lives in the olden time,
and struggled feverishly through them, toiling like slaves in oratory, in
generalship, or in literature, and then laid them down and died, happy
in the possession of an enduring history and a deathless name. Well,
twenty little centuries flutter away, and what is left of these things 1 A
crazy inscription on a block of stone, which snuffy antiquaries bother
over and tangle up and make nothing out of but a bare name (which
they spell wrong) — ^no history, no tradition, no poetry — nothing that can
give it even a passing interest What may be left of General Grant's
great name forty centuries hence ? This — in the Encyclopaedia for a.d.
6868, possibly—
" Uriah S. (or Z.) Grattitt — popular poet of ancient times in the Azteo pro-
vinces of the United States of British America. Some authors say flourished
about A.D. 742; but the learned Ah-ah Foo-foo states that he was a cotemporary
of Bcharkspyre, the Engliah poet, and flourished about A.D. 1328, some three
oenturies after the Trojan war iiutead of before it. He wrote ' Book me to Siitm,
Mother.*'
These thoughtB sadden mA. I will to bed.
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PART II.
THE NEW PILGRIM'S PROGRESS.
CHAPTER L
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HOME again ! For the first time, in many weeks, the ship's entire
family met and shook hands on the quarter-deck. They had
gathered from many points of the compass and from many lands,
but not one was missing ; there was no tale of sickness or death among
the flock to dampen the pleasure of the reunion. Once more there was a
full audience on deck to listen to the sailor's chorus as they got the
anchor up, and to wave an adieu to the land as we sped away from
Naples. The seats were full at dinner again, the domino parties were
complete, and the life and bustle on the upper deck in the fine moon-
light at night was like old times — old times that had been gone weeks
only, but yet they were weeks so crowded with incident, adventure, and
excitement, that they seemed almost like years. There was no lack of
cheerfulness on board the Quaker City. For once, her title was a mis-
nomer.
At seven in the evening, with the western horizon all golden from the
sunken sun, and specked with distant ships, the full moon sailing high
overhead, tne dark blue of the sea under foot, and a strange sort of twi-
light affected by all these different lights and colours around us and about
us, we sighted superb StrombolL With what majesty the monarch held
his lonely state above the level sea ! Distance clothed him in a purple
gloom, and added a veil of shimmering mist that so softened his rugged
features that we seemed to see him through a web of silver gauze. His
torch was out ; his fires were smouldering ; a tall column of smoke that
rose up and lost itself in the growing moonlight was all the sign he gave
that he was a living Autocrat of the Sea and not ^e spectre of a dead
one.
At two in the morning we swept through the Straits of Messina, and
■0 bright was the moonl^ht that Italy on the one hand, and Sicilv on
the other, seemed almost as distinctly visible as though we looked at uiem
^ss.
hk>*8 entiit
They had
Qany lands,
sath among
[there was a
ey got the
away from
►arties were
fine moon-
gone weeks
enture, and
no lack of
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auze. Hifl
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Sicily on
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STROMBOLI,—POMPEY*S PILLAR.
" Superb Stromboli. With what majesty the monarch held hia lonely state
above the level sea ! "—Page 186.
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"One of our most inveterate relic-hunters had his hammer with him, and tried to
break a fragment off Pompey's Pillar, and this baffled him."— Page 336.
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THE NEW PILGRIM*S PROGRK.Ss,
fit
lirom the middle of a street we were travening. The city of MtwHiiia^
miijc-white, and starred and spangled all over with gaslights, was a fairy
spectacle. A great party of us were on deck smoking and making •
noise, and waiting to see famous Scylla and Cbarybdis. And presently
the Oracle stepp^ out with his eternal spyglass and squared himself on
the deck like another Colossus of Rhodes, it was a surprise to see him
abroad at such an hour. Nobody supposed he cared anything about an
old fable like that of Scylla and Cbarybdis. One of the boys said —
" Hello, doctor, what are you doing up here at this time of night 1 —
What do you want to see this place for ? "
" What do / want to see this place for ? Young man, little do you
know me, or you wouldn't ask such a question. I wish to see oii the
places that 's mentioned in the Bible."
" Strff— thifl place isn't mentioned in the Bible."
" It ain't mentioned in the Bible ? — ihu place ain't? — well now, what
place u liils, since you know so much about it ) "
" Whv it's Scylla and Cbarybdis."
"Scylla and Oha— confound it, I thought it was Sodom and Qo-
morrah ? "
And he closed up his glass and went below. The above is the ship
story. Its plausibility is marred a little by the fact that the Oracle
was not a biblical student, and did not spend much of his time inBtroct-
ing himself about Scriptural localities. — They say the Oracle complains,
in this hot weather lately, that the only beverage in the ship that is
passable is the butter. He did not mean butter, of course, but ina»>
much as that article remains in a melted state now since we are out oi
ice, it is fair to give him the credit of getting one long word in the
right place, anynow, for once in his life. He said, in Rome, that the
Pope was a noble-lookiog old man, but he never dM, think much of hia
mad.
We spent one pleasant day skirting along the Isles of Qreece. They
are very mountainous. Their prevailing tints are grey and broiim,
approaching to red. Little white villages, surrounded by trees, nestle in
the valleys, or roost upon the lofty perpendicular sea-walls.
We had one fine sunset — a rich carmine flush that suflfused the western
sky and cast a ruddy glow far over the sea. — Fine sunsets seem to be
rare in this part of the world — or at least, striking ones. They are soft,
sensuous, lovely — they are exquisite, refined, effeminate, but we have
seen no sunsets here yet like the gorgeous conflagrations that flame in
the track of the sinking sun in our high northern latitudes.
But what were sunsets to us, with the wild excitement upon us of
Approaching the most renowned of cities ? What cared we for outward
visions, when Agamemnon, Achilles, and a thousand other heroes of the
great Past were marching in ghostly procession through our fancies \
What were sunsets to us, who were about to live and breathe and walk
ic actual Athens ; yea, and go far down into the dead centuries and bid
in person for the slaves, Diogenes and Plato, in the public market-place,
or gossip with the ne^bouiB about the siege of Troy oi th« ■plendid
deedi of Marathon t We scorned to consider sunseta*
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We amred *iid entered the ancient harbour of the Pimiui at laat
We dropped anchor within half a mile of the village. Away off, (usroai
tlib undulating Plain of Attica, could be seen a little square-topped^ hill
with a something on it, which our glasses soon discovered to be the
ruined edifices of the citadel of the Athenians, and most prominent
amon^ them loomed the venerable Parthenon. So exquisitely clear and
pure IB this wonderful atmosphere that every column of the noble
structure was discernible through the telescope, and even the smaller
ruins about it assumed some semblance of shape. This at a distance of
five or six miles. In the valley, near the Acropolis (tlie square-topped
hill before spoken of)» Athens itself could be vaguely made out witn an
ordinary lorgnette. Everybody was anxious to get anhore and visit these
classic localities as quickly as possible. No land we had yet seen had
aroused such universal interest among the passengers.
But bad news came. The commandant of the Piraous came in his boat,
and said we must eithor depart or else ^et outside the harbour and re-
main imprisoned in our ship, under rigid quarantine, for eleven days !
So we took up the anchor and moved outside, to lie a dozen hours or so,
taking in supplies, and then sail for Constantinople. It wsis the bitterest
disappointment we had yet experienced. To lie a whole day in sight
of the Acropolis, and yet be obliged to go away without visiting Athens!
Disappointment was hardly a atxong enough word to describe the dr
eamstances.
All hands were on deck, all the afternoon, with books and maps and
glasses, trying to determine which " narrow rocky ridge " was the Areo-
pagus, wmch sloping hill the Pnyx, which elevation the Museum Hill,
and so on. Ana we got things confused. Discussion became heated,
and party spirit ran high. Church members were gazing with emotion
upon a mil which they said was the one St Paul preached from, and
another faction claimed that that hill was Hymettus, and another that it
was Pentelicon. After all the trouble, we could be certain of only one
thing — the square-topped hiU was the Acropolis, and the grand ruin that
crowned it was the Parthenon, whose picture we knew in infancy in the
school-books.
We inquired of everybody who came near the ship, whether there
were guards in the Pirseus, whether they were strict, what the chances
were of capture should any of us slip ashore, and in case any of us made
the venture and were caught, what would be probably done to us 1 The
answers were discouraging : There was a strong guard or police force ;
the Piraeus was a smafl town, and any stranger seen in it would surely
attract attention — capture would be certain. The commandant said the
punishment would be " heavy ; " when asked " how heavy ? " he said it
would be " very severe " — that was all we could get out of him.
At eleven o'clock at night, when most of the ship's company were
abed, four of us stole sofdv ashore in a small boat, a clouded moon
favouring the enterprise, ana started two and two, and far apart, over a
low hill, intending to go cleai around the Pirseus, out of the range of its
police. Picking our way so stealthily over that rocky, nettle-grown
eminence, made me feel a good deal as if I were on xaj way somewhere
Hi
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THE NEW PILGRIM* S PROGRESS,
189
bo itMd sonit^thing. My immediate comrade and 1 talked in an under-
tone about quarantine laws and their penaltiea, but we found nothing
^)eering in (he subject I waa T)ostcd. Only a few days Ix^fore, I waa
talking witK our captain, and he mentioned the case of a man who
swam ashore from a (luarantined ship Simiewhere, and got imprisoned
six months for it ; aiui when he wus in Cienou a tew years ago, a captain
of a quaraotiiied ship went in his bout to u departing ship, which was
already outb le of the harbour, and put a letter on boani to be taken
to his faniil} , and the authorities imj>rifl<)ned him three months for it,
and then conducted him and his ship fairly to sea, and warned him nevei
to show himself iii that port again while ho lived. This kind of conver-
sation did no good, further than to |.'ive a sort of dismal interest to our
quarantine-breaking expedition, and so we dropped it We made the
entire circuit of the town without seeing anybody but one man, who
stared at us curiously, but said nothing, and a dozen persons asleep on
the ground before their doors, whom we walked among and never woke
—but we woke up dogs enough, in all conscience — we always had one
or two barking at our heels, and several times we had as many as ten
and twelve at once. They made such a preposterous ilin that persons
aboard our ship said they could tell how we were progressing for a long
time, and where we were by the barking r)f the dogs. The clouded
Dioon still favoured us. When we had made the whole circuit, and were
passing among the houses on the further side of the town, the moon
came out splendidly, but we no longer leared the light As we
approached a well, near a house, to get a drink, the owner merely
glanced at us and went within. He left the quiet, slumbering town at
our merey. I record it here proudly, that we didn't do anything to
it
Seeing no road, we took a tall hill to the left of the distant Acropolia
for a mark, and steered straight for it over all obstructions, and over a
little rougher piece of country than exists anywhere else outside of the
State of Nevada, perhaps. Part of the way it was covered with small,
loose stones — we trod on six at a time, and they all rolled. Another
part of it was dry, loose, newly-ploughed ground. Still another part of
it was a long stretch of low-grape vines, which were tanglesome and
troublesome, and which we took to be brambles. The Attic Plain,
barring the grape-vines, was a barren, desolate, unpoetical waste — I
wonder what it was in Greece's Age of GI017, five hundred years before
Christ ?
In the neighbourhood of one o'clock in the morning, when we were
heated with fast walking and parched with thirst, Denny exclaimed,
" Why, these weeds are grape-vines ! " and in five minutes we had a
score of bunches of large, white, delicious grapes, and were reaching
down for more when a dark shape rose mysteriously up out of the
shadows beside us and said " Ho ! " And so we left
In ten minutes more we struck into a beautiful road, and unlike some
others we had stumbled upon at intervals, it led in the right direction.
Wt» followed it It was broad, and smooth, and white — handaome and
in perfect repair, and shaded on both ttdes foor a mik or 00 with nnglt;
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190
IfAIiK^ TWAIN*S WORKS.
ranks of trees, and also with luxuriant vineyards. Twice we entered
and stole grapes, and the second time somebody shouted at us from some
invisible place. Whereupon we left again. We speculated in grapes
no more on that side of Athens.
Shortly we came upon an ancient stone aqueduct, built upon arches,
and from that time forth we had ruins all about us — we were approach-
ing OUT journey's end. We could not see the Acropolis now or the
high hill tither, and I wanted to follow the road till we were abreast of
them, but the others overruled me, and we toiled laboriously up the
stony^ hill immediately in our front — and from its summit saw another
— climbed it and saw another ! It was an hour of exhausting work.
Soon we came upon a row of open graves, cut in the solid rock — (for a
while one of them served Socrates lor a prison) — we passed around the
shoulder of the hill, and the citadel, in all its ruined magnificence, burst
upon us ! We hurried across the ravine and up a winding road, and
stood on the old Acropolis, with the prodigious walls of the citadel
towering above our heads. We did not stop to inspect their massive
blocks of marble, or measure their height, or guess at their extraordi-
nary thickness, but passed at once through a great arched passage like a
railway tunnel, and went straight to the gate that leads to the ancient
temples. It was locked ! So, after all, it seemed that we were not to
see the great Parthenon face to face. We sat down and held a council
of war. Kesult : the gate was only a flimsy structure of wood — we
would break it down. It seemed like desecration, but then we had
travelled far, and our necessities were urgent. We could not hunt up
guides and keepers — we must be on the ship before daylight. So we
argued. This was all very fine, but when we came to break the gate,
we could not do it. We moved around an angle of the wall and found
a low bastion— eight feet high without — ten or twelve within. Denny
prepared to scale it, and we got ready to follow. By dint of hard
scrambling he finally straddled the top, but some loose stones crumbled
away and fell with a crash into the court within. There was instantly
ft banging of doors and a shout. Denny dropped from the wall in a
twinkling, and we retreated in disorder to the gate. Xerxes took that
mighty citadel four hundred and eighty years before Christ, when his
five millions of soldiers and camp-followers followed him to Greece, and
if we four Americans could have remained unmolested five minutee
longer, we would have taken it too.
The garrison had turned out — four <^ reeks. We clamoured at the
gate, and they admitted us. [Bribery and corruption.]
We crossed a large court, entered a great door, and stood upon a pave-
ment of purest white marble, deeply worn by footprints. Before us, in
the floodmg moonlight, rose the noblest ruins we had ever looked upon
—the Propylae ; a small Temple of Minerva ; the Temple of Hercules,
and the grand Parthenon. [We got these names from the Greek guide,
who didn't seem to know more than seven men ought to know.] These
edifices were all built of the whitest Pentelic marble, but have a pinkish
stain upon them now. Where any j;>art is broken, however, the fractui'e
looki uke fin« loaf sugar. Six caryatides or macbk women, clad i>
THE NEW PILGRIM'S PROGRESS.
191
iired at the
flowing rot)e8, support the portico of the Temple of Hercules, but the
porticoes and colonnades of the other structures are formed of massive
Doric and Ionic pillars, whose flutings and capitals are still measurably
perfect, notwithstanding the centuries that have gone over them and
the sieges they have suffered. The Parthenon, originally, was two hun-
dred and twenty-six feet long, one hundred wide, and seventy high, and
had two rows of great columns, eight in each, at either end, and single
rows of seventeen each down the sides, and was one of the most graceful
%nd beautiful edifices ever erected.
Most of the Parthenon's imposing columns are stiU standing, but the
roof is gone. It was a perfect building two hundred and fifty years ago,
when a shell dropped mto the Venetian magazine stored here, and me
explosion which followed wrecked and unroofed it. I remember but
little about the Parthenon, and I have put in one or two facts and
figures for the use of other people with short memories Got them from
the guide-book.
As we wandered thoughtfully down the marble-paved length of this
stately temple, the scene about us was strangely impressive. Here and
there, in lavish profusion, were gleaming white statues of men and
women, propped against blocks of marble, some of them armless, some
without legs, others headless — but all looking mournful in the moon-
light, and startlingly human ! They rose up and confronted the mid-
night intruder on every side — they stared at him with stony eyes from
umooked-for nooks and recesses ; they peered at him over n-agmentarji
heaps far down the desolate corridors ; they barred his way in the midst
of me broad forum, and solemnly pointed with handless arms the way
from the sacred fane ; and through the roofless temple the moon looked
down, and banded the floor and darkened the scattered fragments and
broken statues with the slanting shadows of the columns.
What a world of ruined sculpture was about us ! Set up in rows —
stacked up in piles — scattered broadcast over the wide area, of the Acw-
poUs — were nundreds of crippled statues of all sizes and of the most
exquisite workmanship ; and vast fragments of marble that once belonged
to the entablatures, covered with bas-reliefs representing battles and
sieges, ships of war with three and four tiers of oars, pageants and pro-
cessions — everything one could think of. History says that the temples
of the Acropolis were filled with the noblest works of Praxiteles and
Phidias, and of many a great master in sculpture besides — and surely
these elegant fragments attest it.
We walked out into the grass-grown, fragment-strewn court beyond
the Parthenon. It startled us, every now and then, to see a stony white
face stare suddenly up at us out of the grass with its dead eyes. The
place seemed alive with ghosts. I half expected to see the Athenian
heroes of twenty centuries ago glide out of the shadows and steal into
the old temple they knew so well and regarded with such boundlesa
pride.
The full moon was riding high in the cloudless heavens now. We
sauntered carelessly and unthinkingly to the edge of the lofty battle-
ments of the citadel and looked dowb— a vision 1 And such a vision!
4"
191
MARK TWAIN^S WORKS,
sr''
Athens by moonlight ! The prophet that thought the splendoan of the
New Jerusalem were revealed to nim surely saw this instead ! It lay in
the level plain right under our feet — aU spread abroad like a picture—
and we looked down upon it as we might have looked from a balloon.
We saw no semblance of a street, but every house, every window, every
clinging vine, every projection, was as distinct and sharply marked as if
the time were noonday ; and yet there was no glare, no glitter, nothing
harsh or repulsive — the noiseless city was flooded with the mellowest
light that ever streamed from the moon, and seemed like some living
creature wrapped in peaceful slumber. On its further side was a little
temple, whose delicate piUars and ornate front glowed with a rich
lustre that chained the eye like a spell ; and nearer by, the palace
of the king reared its creamy walls out of the midst of a great garden of
shrubbery that was flecked all over with a random shower of amber
lights — a spray of golden sparks that lost their brightness in the glory
ot the moon, and glinted softly upon the sea of dark foliage like the
pallid stars of the milky way. Overhead the stately columns, majestic
still in their ruin — under foot the dreaming city — in the distance the
silver sea — not on the broad earth is there another picture half so
beautiful !
As we turned and moved again through the temple, I wished that the
illustrious men who had sat in it in the remote »iges could visit it again
and reveal themselves to our curious eyes — Plato, Aristotle, Demosthenes,
Socrates, Phocion, Pythagoras, Euclid, Pindar, Xenophon, Herodotus.
Praxiteles and Phidias, Zeuxis the painter. What a constellation oi
celebrated names 1 But more than all, I wished that old ^Diogenes,
groping so patiently with his lantern, searching so zealously for one
solitary honest man in all the world, might meander along and stumble
on our party. I ought not to say it, maybe, but still I suppose he
would have put out ms light.
We left the Parthenon to keep its watch over old Athens, as it had
kept it for twenty-three hundred years, and went and stood outside the
walls of the citadel. In the distance was the ancient, but still almost
perfect Temple of Theseus, and close by, looking to the west, was the
Bema, from whence Demosthenes thundered his philippics and flred the
wavering patriotism of his countrymen. To the right was Mars HiU,
where the Areopagus sat in ancient times, and where St Paul defined
his position, and below was the market-place where he "disputed daily"
with the possip-loving Athenians. We climbed the stone steps St Paul
ascended, and stood in the square-cut place he stood in, and tried to
recollect the Bible account of the matter — but for certain reasons, I
could not recall the words. I have found them since —
'* Now, while Paul waited for them at Athens, hia spirit wai stirred in him,
when he saw the city wholly given up to idolatry.
" Therefore disputed he in the synagogue with the Jews, and with the devonl
persons, and in the market daily with them that met with him.
** And they took him and brought him unto Areopagus, saying, * May w«
what this nsw doetrfaM wh«r»ot Um»u apeakect \m F '
THE NEW PILGRIAr*S PROGRESS.
193
** Then Paul stood in th? midst of Man Hill, and said, * Ye men of Athens, I
p«rceive that in all things ye are too superstitious ;
" ' For as I passed by and beheld your devotions, I found an altar with this
Insoription : To thb Unknown God. Whom, therefore, ye ignorantly worship,
him declare I unto you.' " — AcU ch. xrii.
It occurred to its, after a while, that if we wanted to get home before
daylight betrayed hb, we had better be moving. So vre hurried away.
When far on our road, we had a parting view of the Parthenon, ^vith
the moonlight streaming through its open colonnades and touching its
capitals wim silver. As it looked then, solemn, grand, and beautiful, it
will always remain in our memories.
As we marched along we began to get over our fears, and ceased to
care much about quarantine scouts or anybody else. We grew bold and
reckless ; and once, in a sudden burst of courage, I even threw a stone
at a dog. It was a pleasant reflection, though, that I did not hit him,
because his master might just possibly have been a policeman. Inspired
oy this happy failure, my valour became utterly uncontrollable, and at
intervals 1 absolutely whistled, though on a moderate key. But bold-
ness breeds boldness, and shortly I plunged into a vineyard, in the full
light of the moon, and captured a gallon of superb grapes, not even
minding the presence of a peasant who rode by on a mule. Denny and
Birch followed my example. Now I had grapes enough for a dozen, but
then Jackson was all swollen up with courage too, and he was obliged
to enter a vineyard presently. The first bunch he seiaed brought
trouble. A frowsy, bearded brigand sprang into the road with a shout,
and flourished a musket in the light of the moon ! We sidled toward
the Piraeus — not running, you understand, but only advancing with
celerity. The brigani^ shouted again, but still we advanced. It wa«
getting late, and we had no time to fool away on every ass that wanted
to drivel Greek platitudes to us. We would just as soon have talked
with him as not if we had not been in a huny. Presently Denny said,
" Those fellows are fallowing us ! "
We turned, and, sure enough, there they were — three fantastic pirates
armed with guns. We slackened our pace to let them come up, and in
the meantime I got out my cargo of grapes and dropped them firmly
but reluctantly into the shadows by the wayside. But I was not afraid.
I only felt that it was not right to steal grapes. And all the more so
when the owner was around — and not only around, but with his friends
around also. The villains came up and searched a Lundle Dr Birch had
in his hand, and scowled upon him when they found it had nothing in
it but some holy rocks from Mars Hill, and tneee were not contraband.
They evidently suspected him of playing some wretched fraud upon
them, and seemed half inclined to scalp the party. But finally they dis-
missed us with a warning, couched in excellent Qreek, I luppoee, and
dropped tranquilly in our wake. When they had gone three hundred
yards they stopped, and we went on rejoicing. But behold, another
irmed rascal came out of the shadows and took their place, and followed
M two hundred yards. Then he cMiTtnd u« over to another miscreant
f ■'
'94
MARK TWAIN'S WORKS,
E|;.«
4;
i*!
ill.
Pttf- !
i^hc emerged from some mysterious place, and he in turn to another I
For a mile and a half our rear was guarded all the while by armed men.
I never travelled in so much state before in all my life.
It was a good while after that before we ventured to steal any more
grapes, and when we did we stirred up another troublesome brigand,
and then we ceased all further speculation in that line. I suppose that
fellow that rode by on the mule posted all the sentinels, from Atheni
to the Piraeus, about us.
EveiY field on that long route was watched by an armed sentinel,
some of whom had fallen asleep, no doubt, but were on hand neverthe-
less. This shows what sort of a country modem Attica is — a community
of questionable characters. These men were not there to guard their
possessions against strangers, but against each other ; for strangers
leldom visit Athens and the Piraeus, and when they do, they go in day-
light, and can buy all the grapes they want for a trifle. The modem in-
habitants are confiscators and falsifiers of high repute, if gossip speaks
truly concerning them, and I fieely believe it does.
Just as the earliest tinges ut the dawn flushed the eastern sky and
turned the pillared Parthenon to a broken harp hung in the pearly
horizon, we closed our thirteenth mile of weary roundabout marching,
and emerged upon the seashore abreast the ships, with our usual escort
of fifteen hundred Pirsean dogs howling at our heels. We hailed a boat
that was two or three hundred yards from shore, and discovered in a
moment that it was a police-boat on the look-out for any quarantine
breakers that might chance to be abroad. So we dodged — we were
used to that by this tioie — and when the scouts reached the spot we had
so lately occupied, we were absent. They cruised along the shore, but
in the wrong direction, and shortly our own boat issued from the gloom
and took us aboard. They had heard our signal on the ship. We
rowed noiselessly away, and before the police-boat came in sight again,
we wore safe at nome once more.
Four more of our passengers were anxious to visit Athens, and started
half-an-hour after we returned ; but they had not been ashore five
minutes till the police discovered and chased them so hotly that they
barely escaped to their boat again, and that was all. They pursued the
enterprise no further.
We set sail for Constantinople to-day, but some of us little care for
that. We have seen all there was to see in the old city that had its
birth sixteen hundred years before Christ was bom, and was an old
town before the foundations of Troy were laid — and saw it in its most
attractive aspect Wherefore, why should iw worry ?
Two other passengers ran the blockade successfully last night. So
we learned this morning. They slipped away so quietly that they were
not missed from the ship for several nours. They had the hardihood to
march into the Piraeus m the early dusk and hire a carriage. They ran
some danger of adding two or three months' imprisonment to the other
novelties of their Holy Land Pleasure Excursion. I admire "cheek."*
Bat they went and came safely, and never walked a step.
* Onotatinn frM& th* PUgrins.
■>!i- !,
o sBotheirl
tnued men.
il any more
ae brigand,
uppose that
rom Atheni
ed sentinel,
d neverthe-
community
guard their
)r strangers
jT go in day-
5 modem in-
3ssip speaks
em sky and
L the pearly
it marching,
usual escort
lailed a boat
icovered in 8
1^ quarantine
d — we were
spot we had
le shore, but
□a the gloom
} ship. We
sight again,
and started
ashore five
ly that they
pursued the
Lttle care for
hat had its
was an old
in its most
night. So
Lt they were
Wdihood to
They ran
lo the other
"cheek,"*
THE NEW PILGRIM* S PROGRESS. kps
CHAPTER IL
F^UC/M Athens aU through the islands of the Grecian Archipelago, we
saw little but forbidding sea-walls and barren hills, sometimes sur-
mounted by three or four graceful columns of some ancient temple,
lonely and deserted — a fitting symbol of the desolation that has come
upon all Greece in these latter ages. We saw no ploughed fields, very
few villages, no trees or grass, or vegetation of any kind scarcely, and
hardly ever an isolated house. Greece is a bleak, unsmiling desert,
without agriculture, manufactures, or commerce apparently. What
supports its poverty-stricken people or its Government is a mystery.
I suppose that ancient Greece and modem Greece compared, furnish
the most extravagant contrast to be found in history. George I., an
infant of eighteen, and a scraggy nest of foreign officeholders, sit in the
palaces of Themistocles, Pericles, and the illustrious scholars and
generals of the Golden Age of Greece. The fleets that were the wonder
of the world when the Parthenon was new, are a beggarly handful of
fishing smacks now, and the manly people that performed such miracles
of valour at Marathon, are only a tribe of unconsidered slaves to-day.
The classic Ilyssus has gone dry, and so hare all the sources of Grecian
wealth and greatness. The nation numbers only eight hundred thou-
sand souls, and there is poverty and misery and mendacity enough
among them to furnish forty millions and be liberal about it Under
King Otho the revenues of the State were five millions of dollars — raised
from a tax of (yne-tenth of all the agricultural products of the land
(which tenth the farmer had to bring to the royal granaries on pack-
mules any distance not exceeding six leagues) and from extravagant
taxes on trade and commerce. Out of that five millions the small tyrant
tried to keep an army of ten thousand men, pay all the hundreds of
useless Grand Equemes in Waiting, First Grooms of the Bedchamber,
Lord High Chancellors of the Exploded Exchequer, and aU the other
absurdities which these puppy-kingdoms indulge in, in imitation of the
great monarchies ; and in addition, he set about bmlding a white uarble
palace, to cost about five millions itself ! The result was, simply : ten
mto five goes no times and none over. All these things could not be
done with five millions, and Otho fell into trouble.
The Greek throne, with its unpromising adjuncts of a ragged popula-
tion of ingenious rascals, who were out of employment eight months in
the year because there was little for them to borrow and less to confiscate,
and a waste of barren hills and weed-grown deserts, went begging for a
good while. It was offered to one of Vicvoria's sons, and afterwards to
various other younger sons of royalty who had no thrones and were out
of business, but they all had the charity to decline the dreary honour,
and veneration enough for Greece's ancient greatness to refuse to mock
her sorrowful rags and dirt with a tinsel throne in this day of her humi-
liation—till they came to this young Danish George, and he took it He
\uM finiahed the splendid palace I mw in the radiant moonlight the
!'■■' i
r:
I
i '!
t ^
I' *
("
1 1"
i '!^
It'S
i
i^
MARK TWAIN'S WORKS,
oUier nighty and 1« doing many other things for the salvation of Greece^
they say.
We sailed through the barren Archipelago, and into the narro'W
channel they sometunes call the Dardanelles, and sometimes the Helles-
pont This part of the country is rich in historic reminiscences, and
poor as Sfdbiara in everything else. For instance, as we approached the
Dardanelles, we coasted along the Plains of Troy and past the mouth of
the Scamander. We saw where Troy h«d stood (in the distance), and
where it does not stand now — ^a city that perished when the world was
young. The poor Trojans are all aead now. They were bom too late
to see Noah's ark, and died too soon to see our menagerie. We saw
where Agamemnon's fleet rendezvoused, and away inland a mountain
which the map said was Mount Ida. Within the Hellespont we saw
where the origmal first shoddy contract mentioned in history was carried
out, and the "parties of the second part" gently rebuked by Xerxes.
I speak of the famous bridge of boats which Xerxes ordered to be built
over the narrowest part of the Hellespont (where it is only two or three
miles wide). A moderate gale destroyed the flimsy structure, and the
King, thinking that to publicly rebuke the contractors might have a
good effect on the next set, called them out before the army and had
them beheaded 1 In the next ten minutes he let a new contract for the
bridge. It has been observed by ancient writers that the second bridge
was a very good bridge. Xerxes crossed his host of five millions of men
on it ; and if it had not been purposely destroyed, it would probably
have been there yet If our Government would rebnke some of our
ihoddy contractors occasionally, it might work much good. In the
Hellespont we saw where Leander and Lord Byron swam across, the one
to see her upon whom his soul's affections were fixed with a dbvotiou
that 01^ death could impair, and the other merely for a flyer, as Jack
■ays. We had two noted tombs near us, too. On one shore slept Ajaz,
and on the other Hecuba.
We had water batteries and forts on both sides of the Hellespont,
flying the crimson flag of Turkey, with its white crescent, and occasion*
ally a village, and sometimes a train of camels. We had all these to
look at till we entered the broad sea of Marmora, and then the land
soon fading from view, we resumed euchre and whist once more.
We dropped anchor in the mouth of the Qolden Horn at daylight in
the momine. Only three or four of us were up to see the great Ottoman
capitaL The passengers do not turn out at unseasonable hours, as they
used to, to get the earUeat possible glimpse of strange foreign cities.
They are well over that If we were lying in sight of the Pyramids of
E^pt, they would not come on deck until after breakfast now-a-days.
Tne Gk)Iden Horn is a narrow arm of the sea, which branches from
Zhe Boi^horuB (a sort of broad river which connects the Marmora and
Black Seas), and, curving around, divides the city In Uie middle.
Galata and Pera are on one side of the Bosphoros and the Qolden Horn;
Stamboul (ancient Byzantium) is upon the other. On the other bank of
the Boephorus is Scutari ana other suburbs of Constantinople. This
l^t ci^ contains a miUion inh«lntanta ; bat to nanow wo ita itrMta,
of Greeoe^
he narrow
the Hellea-
«nceB, and
x)ached the
e mouth of
bance^, and
I world waa
am too late
J. We Baw
I mountain
ont we saw
was carried
by Xerxes,
to be bmlt
wo or three
ire, and the
ght have a
ay and had
^ract for the
cond bridge
ions of men
Id probably
tome of our
kL In the
088) the one
a dbvotion
'er, as Jack
slept AjaZ|
Hellesx>ont,
d occasion-
dl these to
1 the land
ore.
daylight in
at Ottoman
irs, as they
eign cities,
pyramids of
w-a-days.
nches from
irmora and
e middle,
.den Horn;
erbank of
pie. This
its itxeeta,
THE NEW PILGRIM'S PROGRESS,
>97
and 80 crowded together are its houses, that it does not corer much
more than half as much ground as New York City. Seen from the
anchorage, or from a mile or so up the Bosphorus, it is by far the
handsomest city we have seen. Its dense array of houses swells upward
from the watei^s edge, and spreads over the aomes of many hiUs ; and
the gardens that peep out here and there, the great globes of the
mosques, and the countless minarets that meet, tlie eye everywhere,
invest tne metropolis with the quaint Oriental aspect one dreams of
when he reads books of eastern travel Constantinople makes a noble
picture.
But its attractiveness begins and ends with its picturesqueness. From
the time one starts ashore till he gets back again, he execrates it The
boat he goes in is admirably miscalculated for the service it is built for.
It is handsomely and neatly fitted up, but no man could handle it well
in the turbulent currents that sweep down the Bosphorus from the
Black Sea, and few men could row it satisfactorily even in still water.
It is a long, light canoe (caique), large at one end and tapering to a
knife blade at the other. They make that long sharp end the bow, and
you can imagine how these boiling currents spin it about It has two
oars, and sometimes four, and no rudder. You start to go to a given
point, and you run in fifty different directions before you get there.
First one oar is backing water, and then the other ; it Is seldom that
both are going ahead at once. This kind of boating is calculated to
drive an impatient man mad in a week. The boatmen are the awk-
wardest, the stupidest, and the most unscientific on earth, without
question.
Ashore, it was — well it was an eternal circus. People were thicker
than bees in those narrow streets, and the men were dra»ed in all the
outrageous, outlandish, idolatrous, extravagant, thunder-and-lightning
costumes ihaX, ever a taUor with the delirium tremens and seven devils
could conceive of. There was no freak in dress too crazy to be indulged
in ; no absurdity too absurd to be tolerated ; no frenzy in ragged diabol-
ism too fantastic to be attempted. No two men were dressea alike. It
was a wild masquerade of all imaginable costimies — every struggling
throng in every street was a dissolving view of stunning c^ontrasts. Some
patriarchs wore awful turbans, but ue grand mass of the infidel horde
wore the fiery-red skull-cap they call a ^z. All Uie remainder of the
raiment they indulged in was utterly indescribable.
The shops here are mere c^ops, mere boxes, bath-rooms, closets — any-
thing you please to call them — on the first floor. The Turks sit cross-
legged in them, and work and trade and smoke long pipes, and smell
like — like Turks. That covers the ground. Crowding the narrow
streets in front of them are beggars, who beg for ever, yet never collect
anything ; and wonderful cripples, distorted out of all semblance of
humani^ almost ; vagabonds driving laden asses ; porters carrying
dry-goods boxes as large as cottages on their backs ; pedlars of ^pes,
hot com, pumpkin-seeds, and a hundred other things, yelling like fiends;
and sleeping happily, comfortably, serenely, among the hurrying feet,
aofffiot Constantinople. Jmttinp lunMleaily about are
tie tht iiHaed
ii I
■If If
n H
Vi t
.' i
1 1
t^
MARiC TWAIN'S WORKS,
' ''i.r
squadf of Torkish women, draped from chin to feet in flowing robee,
and with snowy veils bound about their heads, that disclose only th«
eyes and a vague shadowy notion of their features. Seen moving aoout,
far away in the dim arched aisles of the Great Bazaar, they look as the
shrouded dead must have looked when they walked forth from theii
graves amid the storms and thunders and earthquakes that burst upon
Calvary that awful night of the Crucifixion. A street in Constantinople
ia a picture which one ought to nee once — not oftener.
And then tliere was the goose-rancher — a fellow who drove a hundred
geese before hini abuut the city, and tried to sell them. lie had a pole
ten feet long, with a crook in the end of it, and occasionally a goose
would branch out from the flock and make a lively break round the
comer, with wings half lifted and neck stretched to its utmost. Did the
goose>merchant get excited ] No ; lie took his pole and reached after
that goose with unspeakable sajig froid — took a hitch round his neck,
and " J anked " him back to his place in the flock without an effort
He steered his geese with that stick as easily as another man would steer
a yawl. A few hours afterward we saw him sitting on a stone at a
comer, in the midst of the turmoil, sound asleep in the sun, with his
geese squatting around 1 im, or dodging out of the way of asses and men.
We came by again within the hour, and he was taking account of stock,
to see whether any of his flock had strayed or been stolen. The way he
did it was unique. He put the end of his stick within six or eight inclieE
of a stone wall, and made the geese march in single file between it and
the waU. He counted them as they went by. There was no dodging
that arrangement.
If you want dwarfs — I mean just a few dwarfs for a curiosity — go to
Genoa. If you wish to buy them by the gross, for retail, go to Milan.
There are plenty of dwarfs all over Italy, but it did seem to me that in
Milan the crop was luxuriant. If you would see a fair average s^le of
assorted cripples, go to Naples, or travel through the Roman States.
But if you would see the verv heart and home of cripples and human
monsters both, go straight to Constantinople. A beggar in Naples who
can show a foot which has all nm into one horrible toe, with one shape-
less nail on it, has a fortune — but such an exhibition as that would not
provoke any notice in Constantinople. The man would starve. Who
would pay any attention to attractions like his among the rare monsters
that throng *he bridges of the Golden Horn and display their deformities
in the gutters of Stamboul 1 Oh, wretched impostor ! How could he
stand against the three-legged woman, and the man with his eye in his
cheek 1 How would he blush in the presence of the man with fingers on
his elbow ? Where would he hide himself when the dwarf with seven
fingers on each hand, no upper Up and his under jaw gone, came down
in his majesty ? Bismillah ! The cripples of Europe are a delusion and
a fraud. The truly gifted flourish only in the byways of Pen and
StambouL
That three-legged woman lay on the bridge, with her stock in trade so
disposed as to command the most striking effect — one natural leg, and
two long, slender, twisted ones with ieet on them like somebody eWs
THE NEW PILGRIM'S PROGRESS,
«99
foreann. Then there was a man further along who had no eyee, and
whose face was the colour of a flyblown beefsteak, and wrinkled and
twisted like a lava-flow — and verily so tumbled and distorted were hi*
features, that no man could tell the wart that served him for a nose from
his cheek bones. In Siamboul was a man with a prodigious head, an
uncommonly long body, legs eight inches long, and teet like snow-shoes.
He travelled on those feet and his hands, and was as sway-backed as ii
the Colossus of Rhodes had been riding him. Ah ! a beggar has to have
exceedingly good points to make a living at Constantinople. A blue-
laced man, who had nothing to offer except that he had been blown up
in a mine, would be regarded as a rank impostor, and a mere, damaged
soldier on crutches would never make a cent. It would pay him to get
a piece of his head taken off, and cultivate a wen like a carpet-sack.
The Mosque of St. Sophia is the chief lion of Constantmople. You
must get a firman and hurry there the first thing. We did that. We
did not get a firman, but we took along four or five francs apiece, which
is much the same thing.
I do not think much of the Mosque of St Sophia. I suppose I lack
appreciation. We will let it go at that It is the rustiest old barn in
heathendom. I believe all the interest that attaches to it comes from
the fact that it was built for a Christian church and then turned into a
mosque, without much alteration, by the Mohammedan conquerors of
t^e land. They made me take off my boots and walk into the place in
my stocking-feet. I caught cold, and got myself so stuck up with a
complication of gums, sume, and general corruption, that I wore out
more than two thousand pair of boot-jacks getting my boots off that
night, and even then some Christian hide peeled off with them. I abate
not a single boot-jack.
St Sophia is a colossal church, thirteen or fourteen hundred years old,
and unsightly enough to be very, very much older. Its immense dome
is said to be more wonderful than St Peter's, but its dirt is much more
wonderful than its dome, though they never mention it. The church
has a hundred and seventy pillars in it, each a single piece, and all of
costly marbles of various kinds, but they came from ancient temples at
Baalbec, Heliopolis, Athens, and Ephesus, and are battered, ugly, and
repulsive. They were a thousand years old when this church was new,
and then the contrast must have been ghastly — if Justinian's architects
did not trim them any. The inside of the dome is figuredr fill over with
a monstrous inscription in Turkish characters, wrought in gold mosaic,
that looks as glarmg as a circus bill ; the pavements and the marble
balustrades are aU battered and dirty ; the perspective is marred every-
where by a web of ropes that depehd from the dizzy height of the dome,
and suspend countless dingy, coarse oil lamjos, and ostrich eggs, six or
seven feet above the floor. Squatting and sittinjg in groups, here and
there and far and near, were ragged Turks reading b(K>ks, nearing ser-
mons, or receiying lessons like children, and in fifty places were more
of the same sort l>owing and straightening up, bowing again and getting
down to kifls liie earth, muttering prayers the while, and keeping up
their gymnaatica till they ought to hav^ been tired* if they were not
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Eveiywhere was <lirt, and doflt, and din^ineHS, and gloom ; eveijrwheic
were si^is of a hoary antiquity, but with nothing touching or beautiful
about it ; everywhere were those ^nroupa of fantastic pagans ; overhead
the gaudy moHaics and the web of lamp ropes — nowhere was there any-
thing to Mrin one's love or challenge his admiration.
The people who go into ecstaciefi over St Sophia must surely get them
ov of tne guide-books (where every church is spoken of as being " con-
sidered by good judges to be the most marvellous structure, in many
respects, that the world has ever seen "). Or else the^ are those old
connoisseurs from the wilds of New Jersey, who laboriously learn the
difference between a fresco and a fire-plug, and from that day forward
feel privileged to void their critical bathos, on painting, sculpture, and
architecture for evermore.
We visited the Dancing Dervishes. There were twenty-one of them.
They wore a long, light-coloured loose robe that hung to their heela
Each in his turn went up to the priest (they are all within a large
circular railing) and bowed profoundly, and then went spinning away
deliriouslv, and took his appointed place in the circle, andT continued to
spin. When all had spun themselves to their places, they were about
Ave or six feet apart — and so situated, the entire circle of spinning
pagans spun itself three separate times around the room. It took twenty-
five minutes to do it. They spun on the left foot, and kept themselves
going bv passing the right rapidly before it and digging it against the
waxed floor. Some of them made incredible " time." Most of them
spun around forty times in a minute, and one artist averaged about
Bixty-one times a minute, and kept it up during the whole twenty-five.
His robe filled with air, and stood out all around him like a balloon.
They made no noise of any kind, and most of them tilted their headfi
back and closed their eyes, entranced with a sort of devotional ecstacy.
There was a rude kind of music part of the time, but the musicians wen:
not visible. None but spinners were allowed within the circle. A man
had to either spin or stay outside. It was about as barbarous an
exhibition as we have witnessed yet Then sick persons came and lay
down, and beside them women laid their sick children (one a babe at
the breast), and the patriarch of the dervishes walked upon their bodies.
He was supposed to cure their diseases by trampling upon their breasts
or backs, or standing on the back of their necks. This is well enough
for a people who think all their affairs are made or marred by viewless
spirits ofthe air — by giants, gnomes, and ^enii — and who still believe, to
this day, all the wild tales in the " Arabian Nights." Even so an in-
telligent missionary tells me.
As for the Dancing Dervishes, they are a delusion and a folly. They
are a pack of miserable lunatics in long robes who spin round and round
and round, with ck)sed eyes and arms elevated ana extended, and look
as ridiculous as it is possible for any creature to look They keep time
to a caterwauling of oarbarous instruments and more barbarous human
voices, and travellers call the stupid performance and its infamous
accompaniments
tom-catSb
"^ impMiiiye."
So would be a carnival of idiots aibd
THE NEW PILGRIM'S PROGRESS.
20I
The derviBhes ar(« bo holy that you inuBt take your boots off when you
-mter their menagerie — their mosque, if you like it better. There are
three hundred viflitors — six hundred bare feet, and no two of them emit
i similar fragrance. Here you have six hundred different smells to start
inth. There are thirty dervishes ; they spin around a large, close room
nine times, and exhale a different odour every time and a meaner one.
So there you have eight hundred and seventy separate and distinct
smelLs, and any one of them worse than a burning rag factoiy. Truly
it is very impressive. The Dancing Dervishes are the dreariest, silliest
humbugs in all the Orient. They know it as well as anybody. Yet
every ass that comes here from a distant land rushes there to see them,
just as I did ; and then rushes to the photographer's and buys their pic-
tures — which I did not do. I wish I were Sultan for one day. I would
hang all the dervishes for forty minutes, and if they did not behave
themselves after that I would be severe with them.
The books of travel have shamefully deceived me all these years ; but
they can never do it more. The narghili, the dervishes, the aromatic
coffee, the Turkish bath — these are the things I have accepted and
believed in with simple, unquestioning faith from my boyhood ; and
behold they are the poorest, sickest, wretchedest humbugs the world
can furnish. Wonders forsooth ! What is Turkish coffee to the coffee
at home ? What is a narghili to a meerschaum ? What is a Turkish
bath in Constantinople to a Eussian one in New York ? What are the
Dancing Dervishes to the negro minstrels ? And, heaven help us, what
is Oriental splendour to the Slack Crook] New x ork has fifty wonders
where Constantinople has one.
We visited the Thousand and One Columns. I do not know what it
was originally intended for, but they said it was built for a reservoir.
It is situated in the centre of Constantinople. You go down a flight of
stone steps in the middle of a barren place, and there you are. You are
forty feet under ground, and in the midst of a perfect wilderness of tall,
slender, granite columns of Byzantine architecture. Stand where you
would, or change your position as often as you pleased, vou were always
A centre from which raoiated a dozen long archways and colonnades that
lost themselves in distance and the sombre twilight of the place. This
old dried-up reservoir is occupied by a few ghostly silk-spinners, and
one of them showed me a cross cut high up in one of the pillars. I sup-
pose he meant me to understand that the institution was there before
the Turkish occupation, and I thought he made a remark to that effect ;
but he must have had an impediment in his speech, for I did not under-
stand him.
We took off our shoes and went into the marble mausoleum of the
Sultan Mahmoud, the neatest piece of architecture, inside, that I have
seen lately. Mahmoud's tomb was covered with a black velvet pall,
which was elaborately embroidered with silver ; it stood vnthin a fancy
nlver railing ; at the sides and comers were silver candlesticks that
would weigh more than a hTmdred pounds, and they supported candles
IS large as a man's leg ; on the top of the sarcophagus was % fes, with a
handrome diamond onument upon it, whick an attendant aaid eoak a
LL
MARK TWAIN'S WORKS.
hundred thooiand poundB, and lied like a Turk when he wdd It
Mahmuud's whole family were comfortably planted around him.
We went to the great liazaar in Stamboul, of course, and I shall not
deacribe it further than to say it is a monatrouB hive of little shops-
thousands, I should say — all under one roof, and cut up into innumer^
able little blocks by narrow streets which are arched overhead. One
street is devoted to a particular kind of merchandise, another to another,
and so on. When you wish to buy a pair of shoes you have the sMdng
of the whole street — you do not have to walk yourself down hunting
stores in different localities. It is the some with silks, antiquities,
shawls, &c. The place is crowded with people all the time, and as the
gay-coloured Eastern fabrics are lavishly displayed before every shop,
the great Bazaar at Stamboul is one of the sights that are worth seeing.
It is full of life, and stir, and business, dirt, beggars, asses, yelling ped-
lars, porters, dervishes, high-bom Turkish female shoppers, Greeks, and
weird-looking and weirdly -dressed Mohammedans from the mountains
and the far provinces — and the only solitary thing one does not ameU
when he is in the Great Bazaar is something which smella good.
: Jl
CHAPTER III.
MOSQUES are plentry, churches are plenty, graveyards are plenty,
but morals and whisky are scarce. The Koran does not permit
Mohammedans to drink. Their natural instincts do not permit
them to be moral They say the Sultan has eight hundred wives. Thii
almost amomits to bigamy. It makes our cheeks bum with shame to
see such a thing permitted here in Turkey. We do not mind it so much
in Salt Lake, however.
Circassian and Georgian girls are still sold in Constantinople by their
parents, but not publicly. The great slave marts we have all read so
much about — where tender young girls were stripped for inspection,
and criticised and discussed just as if they were horses at an agricidtural
fair — no longer exist. The exhibition and the sales are pnvate now.
Stocks are up, just at present, partly because of a brisk demand created
by the recent return of the Sultan's suite from the Courts of Europe ;
partly on account of an unusual abundance of bread-stufifs, which leaves
holders untortured by hunger and enables them to hold back for high
prices ; and partly because buyers are too weak to bear the market,
while sellers are amply prepared to bull it. Under these circumHtancei,
if the American metropolitan newspapers were published here in Con-
stantinople, their next commercial report would read about as foUowi,
I suppose:— .,., .,,,,^ .^,,„.
"* BLATB Ontii MABXXT MXPOIV. *i\A •*
" Bert Imnds OireMMMit, erop of 1860, £200 ; 1852, £250 ; 1864, £300. ' BMt
kmnds CUotfi— , name in madft ; mw nA qmaUiy, 1861, £190. NinrtMB Imt tp
THE NEW t'/LGJf/M'S PROGRESS,
'!(
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ttiddlinK WalUchlan ((irli ofTertd »i £130 || 160, bat no Ukon; dzieMi
k 1 told in Hinall lota to eloM oai — iemii private.
'' »al(>a of one lot CiroaMiani, \mn\t to k<hm1, 1862 to 18M, %i £240 « 242^,
buyer 30 ; cue forty-niner daniaged - at £23, «<-ller tou, uo depoait SevortU
Qitor^iaiiH, fancy brandn, 1K.VJ, chan^'u<l handH to fill ordera. Tbo Goori^ann now
on ha/id are immtly la^t year's crop, which waa unuHiially poor. The new crop
la a littlv backward, but will be c<»n)ing in ahortly. An regard* its ({uantity and
quality, the account* are niOMt encouraging. In thia connection we can aafely any,
also, that the new crop of (JireaHainua ia looking extremely welL ilia Majesty
the Sultan haa already nent iu large ordeia for hia now harem, which will be
finished witliin a fortnight, and thia haa naturally atrongthoned the market and
given Carcaasian stock a atroiig upward tendency. Taking advantage of the in*
dated market, many of our ahrewdeat operators are selling short. There are hints
of a 'comer' on Wallaohinna.
" There is nothing now in Nubians. Slow sale.
" Eunuchs— None offering; however, large cargoes are expected from Egypt
U)-day."
I think the above would bo about the style of the commercial report.
Prices are pretty high now, and holders firm ; but, two or three years
ago, parents in a starving condition brought their young daughters aown
here and sold them for even twenty and thirty dollars, when they could
do no better, aimply to save themselves and the girls from dying of want
It is sad to think of so distressing a thing as this, and I for one am
uncerely glad the prices are up again.
Commercial morals, especially, are bad. There is no gainsaying that
Greek, Turkish, and Armenian morals consist only in attending church
regularly on the appointed Sabbaths, and in breaUng the ten command-
ments all ihe balance of the week. It comes natural to them to lie and
cheat in the first place, and then they go on and improve on nature
until they arrive at perfection. In recommending his son to a merchant
as a valuable salesman, a father does not say he ia a nice, moral upright
boy, and goes to Sunday-school and is honest, but he says, " This Doy is
;^rorth his weight in broad pieces of a hundred — for behold, he will
cheat whomsoever hath dealings with him, and from the Euzine to the
waters of Marmora there abideth not so gifted a liar ! " How is that fol
a recommendation ? The missionaries tell me that they hear encomiums
like that passed upon people every day. They say of a person they
admire, " Ah, he is a charming swindler, and a most exquisite liar ! "
Everybody lies and cheats — everybody who is in business at any rate.
Even foreigners soon have to come down to the custom of the country,
and they do not buy and sell long in Constantinople till they lie and
cheat like a Greek. I say like a Greek, because the Greeks are called
the worst transgressors in this line. Several Americans long resident in
Constantinople contend that most Turks are pretty trustworthy, but few
claim that the Greeks have any virtues that a m&n can discover — at least
without a fire assay.
I am half willing to believe that the celebrated dogs of Constantinople
kave been misrepresented — slandered. I have always been led to sup-
pose that they were so thick in the streets that they blocked the way ;
that tiiey moved about in organified companies, platoons, and regiments,
•Dd took what tiiey wanted by detennisad aihd ferocious aisAult ; and
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th|tt at night they drowned all other sounds with their terrible howlingb
The dogB I see here cannot be those I have read oi.
I find them everywhere, but not in strong force. The most I have
found together has been about ten or twenty. And night or day a faii
proportion of them were sound asleep. Those that were not asleep
always looked as if they wanted to be. I never saw such utterly
wretched, starving, sad-visaged, broken-heart kl looking curs in my life.
It seemed a grim satire to accuse such brutes as these of taking things
by force of arms. They hardly seemed to have strength enough or
ambition enough to walk across the street — I do not know that I have
seen one walk that far yet. They are mangv and bruised and mutilated,
and often you see one with the hair singed off him in such wide and
well-defined tracts that he looks like a map of the new territories.
Thev are the sorriest beasts that breathe — the most abject — ^the most
pitifuL In their faces is a settled expression of melancholy, an air of
nopeless despondency. The hairless patches on a scalded dog are pre-
ferred by the fleas of Constantinople to a wider range on a healthier
dog ; and the exposed places suit the fleas exactly. I saw a dog of this
kind start to nibble at a flea — a flv attracted his attention, and he made
A snatch at him ; the flea called tor him once more, and that for ever
unsettled him ; he looked sadly at his flea-pasture, then sadly looked
at his bald spot. Then he heaved a sigh and mx)pped his head resignedly
apon his paws. He was not equal to the situation.
The dogs sleep in the streets aU over the city. From one end of the
street to the other I suppose they will average about eight or ten to a
block. Sometimes, of course, tnere are fifteen or twenty to a block.
They do not belong to anybody, and they seem to have no close personal
friendships among each other. But they district the city themselves,
and the dogs of each district, whether it be half a block in extent, or ten
blocks, have to remain within its bounds. Woe to a do^ if he crosses
the line ! His neighbours would snatch the btilance of his hair off in a
second. So it is said. But they don't look it.
They sleep in the streets these dogs. They are my compass — my
^ide. When I see the dogs sleep placidly on, while men, sheep, geese,
and all moving things turn out and go round them, I know I am not in
the great street where the hotel is, and must go farther. In the Grand
Rue the dogs have a sort of air of being on the lookout — an air bom oi
being obliged to get out of the way of many carriages every day — and
that expression one recognises in a moment It doect not exist upon the
face of any dog without the confines of that street. AU others sleep
placidly and keep no watch They would not move, though the Sultan
idmseli passed by.
In one narrow street (but none of them are wide) 1 saw three d(^
lying coiled up about a foot or two apart End to end they lay, and so
they just bridged the street neatly, from gutter to gutter. A drove of
a hundred sheep came along. They stuped right over the dogs, the rear
crowding the firont, impatient to get on. T^e dogs looked lazily np,
flinched a Uttle when the impatient feet of th« aheep touched their mw
backs— sighed, and lay peaceniUydownipdiL No talk covld be plainer
e howlingb
LOSt I have
r day a fail
not asleep
ich utterly
in my life.
king things
enough or
iiat I have
. mutilated,
1 wide and
territories.
— the most
y, an air of
log are pre-
a healthier
dog of this
id he made
at for eyei
dly looked
resignedly
I end of the
)r ten to a
K) a block,
se personal
hemselves,
;ent, or ten
he crosses
air off in a
apass — ^my
eep, geese,
am not in
the Qrand
air bom of
day — and
t upon the
ihers sleep
the Sultan
ihree dog^
ay, and bo
i drove of
[8, the rear
lazily up,
their nw
bepluBtf
/WS NEW PrtGRIM^S PROGRESS,
M5
Hum that So itome of the sheep jumped oyer them and others scrambled
between, occasionally chipping a leg with their sharp hoofs, and when
the whole flock had made the trip, the dogs sneezed a little, in the cloud
tS. dust, but never budged their Dodies an inch. I thought 1 was lazy,
but I am a steam-engine compared to a Constantinople dog. But was
not that a singular scene for a city of a million inhabitants 1
These dogs are the scavengers of the city. That is their official posi-
tion, and a hard one it is. However, it is their protection. But for
their usefulness in partially cleansing these terrible streets, they would
not be tolerated long. They eat anything and everything that comes in
their wa;^, from melon rinds and spoiled grapes up througn all the grades
jmd species of dirt and refuse, to their own dead friends and relatives —
md yet they are always lean, always hungry, always de^wndeut The
people are loth to kill them— -do not kill them, in fact. The Turks have
an innate antipathy to taking the life of any dumb animal, it is said.
But they do worse. They hang, and kick, and stone, and scald these
wretchea creatures to the very verge of death, and then leave them tc
live and suffer.
Once a Sultan proposed to kill off all the dogs here, and did begin the
work — but the populace raised such a howl of horror about it that the
Aiassacre was stayed. After a while he proposed to remove them all to
ail island in the Sea of Marmora. No objection was offered, and a ship-
load or so was taken away. But when it came to be known that some-
how or other the do^ never got to the island, but alwavs fell overboard
in the night and perished, another howl was raised and the transporta-
tion scheme was dropped.
So the dogs remain in peaceable possession of the streets. I do not
say that they do not howl at night, nor that they do not attack people
who have not a rea fez on their heads. I only say that it would be
mean for me to accuse them of these unseemly things who have
not seen them do them with my own eyes or heard them with my
own ears.
I was a little surprised to see Turks and Greeks playing newsboy
right here in the mysterious land where the giants and genii of the
Arabian Nights once dwelt— where winged horses and hydra-headed
dragons guaraed enchanted castles — where princes and princesses flew
through the air on carpets that obeyed a mystic talisman — where
cities whose houses were made of precious stones sprang up in a night
under the hand of the magician, and where busy marts were suddenly
stricken with a spell and each citizen lay or sat, or stood with weapon
raised or foot advanced, just as he was, speechless and motionless, til]
time had told a hundred years !
It was curious to see newsboys selling papers in so dreamy a land at
that And to say truly, it is comparatively a new thing here. The
selling of newspapers had its birth in Constantinople about a year ago,
uid was a child of the Prussian and Austrian war.
There is one paper published here in the English Language— the
Levant Herald— and there are generally a number of Greek and a few
Vxeneh papeis rising and £allu% stru»j0limi up and falling main
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Newspapen ue not popular with the Sultan's Govemment Tbef do
not urderstand joumaliflm. The proverb says, "The unknown ii
always great" To the court the newspaper is a mysterious and rascally
institution. They know what a pestilence is because they have on«
occasionally that thins the people out at the rate of two thousand a day,
and they regard a newspaper as a mild form of pestilence. When it
goes astray, they suppress it — pounce upon it without warning, and
throttle it. When it don't go astray for a long time, they get suspicious
and throttle it anyhow, because they think it is hatching devilry.
Imagine the Grand Vizier in solemn council with the magnates of the
realm, spelling his way through the hated newspaper, and finallv
delivering his profound decision : " This thing means mischief — it
is too darkly, too suspiciously inoflfensive — suppress it ! Warn the
publisher that we cannot Lave this sort of thing, put the editor in
prison ! "
The newspaper business has its inconveniences in Constantinople.
Two Greek papers and one French one were suppressed here within
a few days of each other. No victories of the Cretans are allowed
to be printed. From time to time the Grand Vizier sends a notice
to the various editors that the Cretan insurrection is entirely suppressed,
and although that editor knows better, he still has to print the notice
The Levant Herald is too fond of speaking praisefully of Americans
to be popular with the Sultan, who does not relish our sympathy with
the Cretans, and therefore that paper has i^ be {)urticularly circumspect
in order to keep out of troiible. Once tlie editoi. forgetting the official
notice in his paper that the Cretans were cnishfjd out, printed a letter
uf a very different tenor, from the Americfoi consul in Crete, and was
fined two hundred and fifty dollars for it. Shortly he printed another
from the same source and was imprisoned tliree months for his pains.
I think I could get the assistant editorship of the Levant HeraldfOnt I
am going to try to worry along without it.
To suppress a paper here involves the ruin of the publisher, almost
But in Naples I think they speculate on misfortunes of that kind.
Papers are suppressed there every day, and spring up the next day
under a new name. During the ten days or a fortnight we stayed there
one paper was murdered and rrisurrected twice. The news-boys are
smart there, just as they are elsewhere. They take advantage of popular
weaknesses. When they find they ar^ not likely to sell out, they
approach a citizen mysteriously, and saj* in a low voice — " Last copy,
sir : double price ; paper just been suppressed ! " The man buvs it of
course, and finds nothing in it. They do say — I do not vouch for it —
but they do say, that men sometimes print a vast edition of a paper,
with a ferociously seditious article in it, distribute it quickly among the
newsboys, and clear out till the Government's indignation cools. It
pays well Confiscation don't amount to anything. The type and
presses are not worth taking care of.
There is only one English newspaper in Naples. It ha« seventy
•ubscribers. The publiBuer is getting rich very deliberately — very
deliberately indeed.
y:
THE NEW PILGRIM'S PROGRESS,
Wf
I never shall want another Turkish lunch. The cooking apparatus
«rd£ in the little lunch-room i:ear the bazaar, and it was all open to the
itreet The cook was slovenly, and so was the table, and it had no
cloth on it The fellow took a mass of sausage-meat and coated it
roimd a wire and laid it on a charcoal fire to cook. When it was done,
he laid it aside and a do^ walked sadly in and nipped it. He smelt it
first, and probably recognised the remains of a friend. The cook took it
away from him and laid it before us. Jack said, " I pass " — he plays
eucnre sometimes — and we all passed in turn. Then tne cook baked a
broad, flat, wheaten cake, greased it well with the sausage, and started
towards us with it It dropped in the dirt, and he picked it up and
polished it on his breeches, and laid it before us. Jack said, " I pass."
We all passed. He put some eggs in a frying-pan, and stood pensively
prying slabs of meat from between his teeth with a fork. Then he
used the fork to turn the eggs with — and brought them along. Jack
said, " Pass again." All followed suit. We did not know what to do,
and so we ordered a new ration of sausage. The cook got out his wire,
apportioned a proper amount of sausage-meat, spat it on his hands and
fell to work ! This time, with one accord, we ail passed out We paid
and left. That is all I learned about Turkish lunches. A Turkish lunch
is good, no doubt but it has its little drawbacks.
When I think how I have been swindled by books of Oriental travel,
I *<>. .'rt; a tourist for breakfast. For years and years I have dreamed of
the (' d >rs of the Turkish bath ; for years ana years I have promised
myi . '); it I would yet enjoy one. Many and many a time in fancy, I
havfc Icon in the marble bath, and breathed the slumbrous fragrance of
Eastern spices that filled the air ; then passed through a weird and
complicated system of pulling and hauling, and drenching and scrubbing
by a gang of naked savages who loomed vast and vaguely through the
steaming mists, like demons ; then rested for a while on a divan fit fol
a king ; then passed through another complex ordeal, and one more
fearful than the first ; and finally, swathed in soft fabrics, been conveyed
to a princely saloon and laid on a bed of eider down, where eunuchs,
gorgeous of costume, fanned me while I drowsed and dreamed, or con-
tentedly gazed at the rich hangings of the apartment, the soft carpets,
the sumptuous furniture, the pictures, and drank delicious coffee, smoked
the soothing narghili, and dropped, at the last, into tranquil repose,
lulled by sensuous odours from unseen censers, by the gentle influence
of the narghUi's Persian tobacco, and by the music of fountains that
counterfeited the pattering of summer rain.
That was the picture, just as I got it from incendiary books of travel.
It was a poor, miserable imposture. The reality is no more like it than
the Five Points are like the Garden of Eden. They received me in a
great court, paved with marble slabs ; around it were broad galleries,
one above another, carpeted with seedy matting, railed with unpainted
balustrades, and furnished with huge rickety chairs, cushioned with
rusty old mattresses, indented with impressions left by the forms of
nine successive generations of men who nad reposed upon them. The
place wae rast, naked, dreary ; its court % bam, ita guleries itaLU for
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hnnum hoTBek The cadaverouB, half-ntide yarlets that served Is tlia
establishment had nothing of poetry in their appearance, nothing ol
romance, nothing of Oriental splendour. They shed no entrancing
odours— lust the contrary. Their himgry eyes and their lank forms
continually suggested one glaring, unsentimental fact — they wanted
what they term in California " a square meaL**
I went into one of the racks and undressed. An unclean starveling
wrapped a gaudy tablecloth about his loins, and himg a white rag over
my shoulders. If I had had a tub then, it would have come natural to
me to take in washing. I was then conducted down-stairs into the wet,
slippeiy court, and the first thing that attracted my attention were my
heels. My fall excited no comment. They expected it, no doubt. It
belonged iu the list of softening, sensuous influences peculiar to this
home of Eastern luxury. It was softening enough, certainly, but
its application was not happy. They now gave me a pair of wooden
clogs — benches in miniature, with leather straps over them to confine
my feet (which they would have done, only I do not wear No. IBs).
These things dangled uncomfortably by the straps when I lifted up my
feet, and came down in awkward and imexpected places when I put
them on the floor again, and sometimes turned sideways :^/id wrenched
my ankles out of joint. However, it was all Oriental luxury, and I did
what I could to enjoy it
They put me in another part of the bam and laid me on a stufly sort
of pallet, which was not made of cloth of gold, or Persian shawls, but
was merelv the unpretending sort of thing I have seen in the negro
quarters of Arkansas. There was nothing whatever in this dim marble
prison but five more of these biers. It was a very solemn place. I ex'
pected that the spiced odours of Araby were going to steal my senses
now, but they did not A copper-coloured skeleton, with a rag around
him, brought me a glass decanter of water, with a lighted tobacco pipe
in the top of it, and a pliant stem a yard long with a brass mouth-piece
to it
It was the famous " narghili ** of the East — the thing the Grand Turk
smokes in the pictures. This began to look like luxury. I took one
blast of it, and it was sufficient ; the smoke went in a great volume down
into my stomach, my lungs, even into the uttermost parts of my fi-ame. I
exploded one mighty cough, and it was as if Vesuvius had let go. For
the next five minutes I smoked at every pore, like a frame house that is
on fire on the inside. Not any more narghili for me. The smoke had
a vile taste, and the taste of a thousand infidel tongues that remained on
that brass mouth-piece was viler still. I was getting discouraged. When-
ever hereafter I see the cross-legged Grand Turk smoking liis narghili.
in pretended bliss, on the outside of a paper of Connecticut tobacco, 1
shall know him for the shameless humbug he is.
This prison was filled with hot air. When I had got warmed up suffi-
ciently to prepare me for a still warmer temperature, they took me wbere it
was — into a marble room, wet, slippery, and steamy, and laid me out on a
raised platform in the centre. It was very warm. Preeentlv my man
sat me down bj a tank of hot watei; dzwifihed voa well, gluved his bana
r'^iii
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THE NEW PILGRIM*S PROGRES;s.
ao9
irith a coame mitten, and began to polish me all orer with it. I began
to smell disagreeably. The more he polished the worse I smelt It was
alarming. I said to him —
'' I perceive that I am pretty far gone. It is plain that I ought to be
buried without any unnecessary delay. Perhaps you had better go
after my friends at once, because the weather is warm, and I cannot
' keep ' long."
He went on scrubbing, and paid no attention. I soon saw that he was
feducing my size. He bore hard on his mitten, and from under it rolled
little cylinders, like macaroni It could not be dirt, for it was too white.
He pared me down in this way for a long time, finally I said —
" It is a tedious process. It will take hours to trim me to the size you
irant me ; I will wait ; go and borrow a jack-plane." .
He paid no attention at alL
After a while he brought a basin, some soap, and something that
seemed to be the tail of a horse. He made up a prodigious quantity of
soapsuds, deluged me with them from head to foot, without warning mf
to shut my eyes, and then swabbed me viciously with the horsetaiL
Then he left me there, a snowy statue of lather, and went away. When
I got tired of waiting I went ard hunted him up. He was propped
against the wall in another room, asleep. I woke him. He was not
^sconcerted. He took me back and flooded me with hot water, then
turbaned my head, swathed me with dry tablecloths, and conducted me
to a latticed chicken-coop in one of the galleries, and pointed to one of
chose Arkansas beds. I mounted it, and vaguely expected the odours of
Ajaby again. Thoy did not come.
The buink, unomamented coop had nothing about it of that Oriental
voluptuousness one reads of so much. It was more suggestive of the
country hospital than anything else. The skinny servitor brought a
nai^hili, and I got him to take it out again without wasting any time
about it Then he brought the world-renowned Turkish coflfee that
poets have sung so rapturously for manv generations, and I seized upon
it as the last hope that was left of my old dream of Eastern luxury. It was
another fraud. Of all the imchristian beverages that ever passed my lips,
Turkish coflfeftis the worst. The cup is small, it is smeared with grounds ;
the coffee is biack, thick, unsavoury of smell, and execrable in taste. The
bottom of t?^e cup has a muddy sediment in it half an inch deep. This
goes down your throat, and portions of it lodge by the way, and produce
a tickling aggravation that keeps you barking and coughing for an hour.
Here endeth my experieiice of the celebrated Turkish bath, and here
also endeth my dreams of the bliss the mortal revels in who passes
through it It is a malignant swindle. The man who enjoys it is
qualified to enjoy anything that is repulsive to sight or sense, and he
tnat can invest it with a charm of poetry is able to do the same with
anything else in the world that ia tadioos aiv^ wretahad. Mid diimal
uid na^.
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CHAPTER IV.
T T rE left a dozen passengers in Constantinople, and sailed through the
VV beautiful Bosphorus and far up into the Black Sea. We left
them in the clutches of the celebrated Turkish guide " Far-
away MoBBS,^ who will seduce them into buying a shipload of ottar of
roses, splendid Turkish vestments, and all manner of curious things they
can never have any use for. Murray's invaluable guide-books have
mentioned Far-away Moses* name, and he is a made man. He rejoices
daily in the fact that he is a recognised celebrity. However, we cannot
alter our established customs to please the whims of guides ; we cannot
show partialities this late in the day. Therefore, ignoring this fellow's
brilliant fame, and ignoring the fanciful name he takes such a pride in,
we called him Ferguson, just as we had done with all other guides. It
has kept him in a state oif smothered exasperation all the time. Yet we
meant him no harm. After he had gotten himself up regardless of
expense, in showy, baggy trousers, yellow pointed slippers, fiery fez,
nLUcen jacket of blue, voluminous waist-sash of fancy Persian stufif fiUed
with a battery of sUver mounted horse-pistols, and has strapped on his
terrible scimitar, he considers it an unspeakable humiliation to be called
Ferguson. It cannot be helped. All guides are Fergusons to u& We
cannot master their dreadful foreign names.
Sebastopol is probably the worst battered town in Russia or anywhere
else. But we ought to be pleased with it, nevertheless, for we have been
in no country yet where we have been so kindly received, and where we
felt that to be Americans was a sufficient visi for our passports. The
moment the anchor was down, the Governor of the town immediately
despatched an officer on board to inquire if he could be of any assistance
to us, and to invite us to make ourselves at hoip*» v*. Sebastopol. If you
know Russia, you know that this was a wide stri^ ^^ '^pitality. They
are usually so suspicious of strangers that the^- Vorry th^^m excessively
with the delays and aggravations incident to a complicated passport
system. Had we come m)m any other country we could not have had
permission to enter Sebastopol and leave again under three idays — but as
it was, we were at liberty to go and come when and where we pleased.
Everybody in Constantinople warned uc to be very careful about our pass-
ports, see that they were strictly «h r^h, and never to mislay them for a
moment : and they told us of numerous instances of Englishmen and others
wko w«re delayed days, weeks, and even months, in Sebastopol, on accoimt
of trifling informalitieB in their passports, and for which they were not to
blaae. I had lost my paasporc, and was travelling under my room-mate's,
who stayed b«hind in Constantimople to await our return. To read the
dMoiption of him in that passport and then look at me, any man could
ne that I was no mom Uk« him than I am like Hercules. So I went
into Mie hMT^Mur of SelMuitopol with fear and trembling — full of a vague,
herrrihln appKhenidon that I was tfoing to bo fowui out and haa«;<^
THE NEW PILGRIHf'^ PROGRESS.
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But all that time my true passport had been floatmg gallantly oyerhead,
and behold it was only our fli^. They never asked us for any other.
We have hail a great many Russian and English gentlemen and ladies
on board to-day, and the time has passed cheerfully away. They were
all happy-spirited people, and I never heard our mother-tongue sound so
Eleasantly as it did when it fell from those English lips in this far-ofl
md. I talked to the Russians a good deal, just to be friendly, and they
talked to me from the same motive ; I am sure that both enjoyed the
conversation, but never a word of it either of us understood. I cud most
of my talking to those English people though, and I am sorry we can-
not carry some of them along with us.
We have gone whithersoever we chose to-day, and have met with
nothing but the kindest attentions. Nobody inquired whether we had
any passports or not
Several of the officers of the Qovemment have suggested that we take
the ship to a little watering-place thirty miles from here, and pay the
Emptor of Russia a visit He is rusticating there. These othcers said
they wou7d take it upon themselves to insure us a cordial reception.
They said if we would go, they would not only telegraph the Emperor,
but send a special courier overland to announce our coming. Our time
is so short though, and more especially our coal is so nearly out, that we
judged it best to forego the rare pleasure of holding social intercourse
with an Emperor.
Ruined Pompeii is in good conditiom compared to SebastopoL Here
you may look in whatsoever direction you please, and your eye encounters
scarcely anything but ruin, ruin, ruin !— fragments of houses, crumbled
walls, torn and ragged hUls, devastation everywhere ! It is as if a mighty
earthquake had spent all its terrible forces upon this one little spot.
For eighteen long months the storms of war beat upon the helpless town,
and left it at last the saddest wreck that ever the sun has looked upon.
Not one solitary house escaped unscathed — not one remained habitable
even. Such utter and complete ruin one coiM hardly conceive of. The
houses had all been solid, dressed stone stru ->tures ; most of them were
ploughed through and through by cannon balls — unroofed and sliced
down from eaves to foundation — and now a row of them, half a mile
long, looks merely like an endless procession of battered chimneys. No
semblance of a house remains in such as these. Some of the larger
buildings had comers knocked off ; pillars cut in two ; cornices smashed ;
holes driven straight through the walls. Many of these holes are an
round and as cleanly cut as if they had been made with an auger. Otherii
are half pierced through, and the clean impression is there in the rock,
as smooth and as shapely ?a if it were done in putty. Here and there
a ball still sticks in the wall, and from it iron tears trickle down and
diecolovr tlie stone.
The battle-fields were pi«tty eloee together. The Malakoft tuwer m
OB a hill which is right in the ed^ of the towiL The Redan was within
I rifle shot of the Malakoff ; Inkennan was a mile away ; aad Balaclava
rwuuved but an hoar's ride. The French trenches by which they
•Kd invealed tkn Hakkoff, wen eawisBl so elar* under i%
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■loping lides, that one might have stood by the Ruisian guns and towed •
•tone into them. Re[)eatedlj during three terrible days they swarmed
op the little Malakoff hill, and were beaten back with dreadful slaughter,
finally tiliey captured the place, and drove the Russians out, who then
tried to retreat into the town, but the English had taken uie Bedai^
and shut them off with a wall of flame ; there was nothing for them to
do but go back and retake the Malakoff or die under its guns. They
did go back ; tkey took the Malakoff and retook it two or three times, but
their desperate valour could not avail, and they had to give up at last
These fearful fields, where such tempests of death used to rage, are
peaceful enough now ; no sound is heard, hardly a living thing moves
about them, they are lonely and silent — their desolation is complete.
There was nothing else to do, and so everybody went to hunting
relics. They have stocked the ship with them. They brought them
from the Malakoff, from the Redan, Inkerman, Balaclava — everywhere.
They have brought cannon balls, broken ramrods, fragments of shell —
iron enough to freight a sloop. Some have even brought bones— brought
them laboriously from great distances, and were grieved to hear the
surgeon pronounce them only bones of mules and oxen. I knew Bluchez
would not lose an opportunity like this. He brought a sackful on
board, and was going for anotner. I prevailed upon him not to ga
He has already turned his state-room into a museum of worthless
trumpery, which he has gathered up in his travels. He is labelling his
trophies now. I picked one up a while ago, and found it marked " Frag-
ment of a Russian General." I carried it out to get a better light upon
it — it was nothing but a couple of teeth and a part of the jaw-bone of a
horse. I said, with some asperity —
'' Fragment of a Russian General ! This is absurd. Are you nerei
going to learn any sense ? "
He only said — " Go slow — the old woman won't know any different"
[His aunt] ...
This ^rson gathers mementoes, with a perfect recklessness now-fr*
days ; mixes them all up together, and then serenely labels them without
any regard to tioith, propriety, or even plausibility. I have found him
breaking a stone in two, and labelling half of it " Chimk busted from
the pulpit of Demosthenes ; " and ue other half, " Damick from the
Tomb of Abelard and Heloise." I have known him to gather up a handful
of pebbles by the roadside, and bring them on board ship and label them
tfl coming from twenty celebrated localities five hundred miles apart. I
remonstrate against these outrages upon reason and truth of course, but
it does no good. I get the same tranquil, unanswerable reply every
tune —
" It don't signify — the old woman won't know any different"
Ever nnee we tnree or four fortunate ones made the midi^ght trip to
Athens, it has afforded him genuine satisfaction to give everylK)dy in the
ship a pebble from the Mars Hill where St Paul preached. He got all
l^ose pebbloi on the sea-shore, abreast the ship, but professes to have
jathwinH iham. from «ne of our party. However, it is not of any ose far
•w to ecjMee tbe dece pt ko i l atfoids hka ploasaiei and does no )^UBm
andtoiflad t
ey swarmed
il slaughter,
it, who then
the Redani
for them to
^uns. They
le times, but
up at last
to rage, aie
hing moves
smplete.
to hunting
ought them
everywhere.
B of shell—
68— brought
to hear the
Lew Bluchei
sackful on
not to ga
f worthless
abelling his
•ked " Frag-
I light upon
g^-bone of a
you nevei
different"
Less now-ft*
ijR without
bund him
usted from
from the
) a handful
abel them
s apart. I
course, but
eply every
ght trip to
)ody in the
le got aU
to have
ly tMe far
no baam
THE NEW PILGRIMS t'ROGRKSS.
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bo anybody. He says he never expects to run out of mementoes of St
Paul as long as he iB in reach of a sand-bank. Well, he is nc worse thaa
others. I notice that all travellers su])ply deficiencies in their collections
^ the same way. I ihall never have any oonfideaoe in sudi fchangi amui
irhilelUvfl^
CHAPTER V.
WE have got so far east now — ^a hundred and fiity-fire degrees of
longitude from San Francisco — that my watch cannot " keep the
hang " of the time any more. It has grown discourt^ed and
stopped. I think it did a wise thing. The difference in time between
Sebastopol and the Pacific coast is enormous. When it is six o'clock in
the morning here, it is somewhere about week before last in California.
We are excusable for getting a little tangled as to time. These distrac
tions and distresses about the time have worried me so much that I was
afraid m^ mind was so much affected that I never would have any
appreciation of time again ; but when I noticed how handy I was yet about
comprehending when it was dinner-time, a blessed tranquillity settled
lown upon me, and I am tortured with doubts and fears no more.
Odessa is about twenty hours' run from Sebastopol, and is the most
northerly port in the Black Sea. We came here to ^et coal, principally.
The city has a population of one hundred and thirty-three thousand,
and is growing fiEister than any other small city out of America. It is
a free port, and is the ^at grain mart of tms particular part of the
world. Its roadstead is full of ships. Engineers are at work now
turning the open roadstead into a spacious artificial harbour. It is to
be almost encloBed by massive stone piers, one of which will extend into
the sea over three^^housand feet in a straight line.
I have not fe''3^ V" much at home for a long time as I did when I
^ raised the hill ".^ ^^^ ncood in Odessa for the first time. It looked just like
an American city; ; fine broad streets, and straight afi well ; low houaei
(two or three stories), wide, neat, and free from any ^uaintness of archi-
tectural ornamentation ; locust trees bordering the side-walks (they call
them ac&cias) ; a stirring, business-look about the streets and the stores ;
fast walkers ; a familiar nei« look about the houses and everything ; yea,
and a driving and smothering cloud of dust that was so lilce a message
from our own dear native land that we could hardly refrain from shed-
ding a few grateful tears and execrations in the old time-honoured
American way. Look up the street or down the street, thiB way or that
way, we saw only America ! There was not one thing to remind ub that
we were in Russia. We walked for some little distance, revelling in this
home-vision, and then we came upon a church and a hack-driver, and
presto ! the illusion vanished ! The church had a slender-spired dome
that rounded inward at its base, and looked like a turnip turned upside
down, and the hackman seemed to be dressed in a loni; petticoat without
•ny hoops. These things were essentially foreign, ukL so w«r« the
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occaaion for mv de«cribuig them.
We were only to stay here a day and a night and take'in coal ; we con-
sulted the guide-books and were rejoiced to know that there were no
sights in Odessa to see ; and so we had one good, untrammelled holiday
on our hands with nothing to do but idle about the cit^ and enjoy our-
selves. We sauntered through the markets and criticised the fearful
and wonderful costumes from the back country ; examined the populace
as far as eyes could do it, and closed the entertainment with an ice-cream
debauch. We do not get ice-cream everywhere, and so, when we do, we
are apt to dissipate to excess. We never cared anything about ice-
cream at home, out we look upon it with a sort of idolatry now that it
is so scarce in tnese red-hot climates of the East.
We only found two pieces of statuary, and this was another blessing.
One was a bronze image of the Due de Richelieu, grand-nephew of the
splendid Cardinal. It stood in a spacious, handsome promenade, over
looking the sea, and from its base a vast fiight of stone steps led down
to the harbour — two hundred of them, fifty feet long, and a wide land-
ing at the bottom of every twenty. It is a noble staircase, and from a
distance the people toiling up it looked like insects. I mention this
statue and this stairway oecause they have their Htorv. Richelieu
foimded Odessa — watched over it with paternal care — laboured with a
fertile brain and a wise understanding for its best interests — spent his
fortune freely to the same end — endowed it with a sound prosperity,
and one which will yet make it one of the great cities of the Old
World— built this noble stairway with money from his own private
purse — and . Well, the people for whom ne had done so much let
nim walk down these same steps one day, unattended, old, poor^ without
a second coat to his back ; and when years afterwards, he died m Sebas-
topol in poverty and neglect, they called a meeting, subscribed liberally,
and immediately erected this tasteful monument to his memory, and
named a great street after him. It reminds me of what Robert Bums'
mother said when they erected a stately monumen^^^o his memory —
" Ah, Robbie ! ye asked them for bread and they hae gi'en ye a stane."
The people of Odessa have warmly recommended us to go and call on
the Ebnperor, as did the Sebastopolians. They have telegraphed his
Majesty, and he has signified his willingness to grant us an audience.
So we are getting up the anchors and preparing to sail to his watering-
place. What a scratching around there will be now ! what a holding of
important meetings and appointing of solemn committees ! — and what a
fuioishing up of claw-hammer coats and white silk neckties ! As this
fearful ordeal we are about to pass through pictures itself to my fancy
in aU its dread sublimity, I begin to feel my fierce desire to converse
with a genuine Emperor cooling down and passing away. What am I
to do with my hands ? What am I to do with my feat I What in the
wocld am I to do with mjielf t
■■■■' ■■■-•-. .; . ... .-,• \^^
THJl NmW PFLGMJM'^^ FROGRM^S.
CHAPTER VL
\ 1 71S anchored here at Yalta, Ruaaia, two or tkre« imjn ago. To
VV the place was a viaiou of the Sierras. The tall grey mountains
that back it, their sides bristling with pinea— cloven with ravines
—here and there a hoary rock towering into view — long, straight streaks
sweeping down from the summit of the se«, marking the passage of
some avalanche of former times — all these were as like what one sees in
the Sierras as if the one were a portrait of the other. The little village
of Yalta nestles at the foot of an amphitheatre which slopes backward
and upward to the wall of hills, and lookH as if it mi^ht have sunk
quietly down to its present position from a higher elevation. This de-
pression is covered with the ^eat parks and gardens of noblemen, and
through the mass of green foliage tne bright colours of their palaces bud
out here and there like flowers. It is a beautiful spot.
We had the United States' Consul on board — tlr« Odessa ConsnL "We
assembled in the cabin and commanded him to tell us what we must do
to be saved, and tell us quickly. He made a speech. The first thing
he said fell like a blight on every hopeful sy)int : he had never seen a
court reception. (Three groans tor the Ccnsul.) Fat he said he had
seen receptions at the Qovemor-General's in Odessa, and had often
listened to people's experiences of receptions at the Russian and other
courts, and oelieved he knew very well what sort of ordeal we were
about to essay. (Hope budded again.) He said we were many ; the
summer-palace was small — a mere mansion ; doubUess we should be
received in summer fashion — in the garden ; we would stand in a row,
all the gentlemen in swallow-tail coats, white kids, and white neckties,
and the ladies in light-coloured silks, or something of that kind ; at the
proper moment — twelve meridian— the Emperor, attended by his suite
arrayed in splendid uniforms, would appear and walk slowly along the
line, bowing to some, and saying two or three words to others. At the
moment his Majesty appeared, a universal, delighted, enthusiastic smile
ought to break out like a rash among the passengers — a simle of love, of
gratification, of admiration — and witn one accord the party must begin
to bow — not obsequiously, but respectfully, and with dignity ; at the
end of fifteen minutes the Emperor would go in the house, and we could
run along home again. We felt immensely relieved. It seemed in a
manner, easy. There was not a man in the party but believed that with
a little practice he could stand in a row, especisdly if there were others
along ; there was not a man but believed he could bow without tripping
on his coat tail and breaking his neck ; in a word, we came to believe
we were equal to any item in the performance except that complicated
amile. The Consul also said we ought to draft a little address to the
Emperor, and present it to one of his aides-de-camp, who would forward
It to him at the proper time. Therefore, five gentlemen were appointed
to prepare t^e document, and the fifty others went sadly smiling about
thfB skill— practisKBg. During the next twelve honis we had the general
M\\
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SfAJiJC TWAIS'S WORKS.
\.. . I
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i
appearanee, aomehow, of being at a fnneral, where ererybody ■ww
lorry the death had oeciured, bnt glad it wan over — where everybody
wa« smilinf^, and yet broken-hearted
A committee went arthore to wait on bin Excellency the Qovemor-
Gtoneral, and learn our fate. At the end of three hours of boding hub-
pense, they came back and said the Emperor would receive us at noon
the next day — would send carriages for us — would hear the address in
person. The Grand Duke Michael had sent to invite us to his palace
also. Any man could see that there was an intention here to show
that Russia's friendship for America was so genuine as to render even
her private citizens objects worthy of kindly attentions.
At the appointed hour we drove out three miles, and assembled in the
handsome garden in front of the Emperor's palace.
We formed a circle under the trees before the door, for there waa no
one room in the house able to accommodate our threescore persons com-
fortably, and in a few minutes the imperial familv came out bowing
and smiling, and stood in our midst A number of great dignitaries m
the Empire, in undress uniforms, came with them. With every bow,
his Majestv said a word of welcome.
I copy these speeches. There is character in them — Russian character
—which is politeness itself, and the genuine article. The French are
polite, but it is often mere ceremonious politeness. A Russian imbuee
nis polite things with a heartiness, both of phrase and expression, that
compels belief in their sincerity. As I was saying, the Czar punctuated
hia speeches with bows :
" Good morning — I am glad to see you — I am gratified — I azn
delighted — I am happy to receive you ! "
Ail took ofif their hats, and the Consul inflicted the address on him«
lAxi bore it with unflinching fortitude; then took the rusty-looking
document and handed it to some great officer or other to be med away
among the archives of Russia — in the stove. He thanked us for the
address, and said he was very much pleased to see us, especially as such
friendly relations existed between Russia and the United States. The
Empress said the Americans were favourites in Russia, and she hoped
the Russians werA similarly regarded in America. These were all the
speeches that were made, and I recommend them to parties who present
policemen with gold watches, as models of brevity and point. After
this the Empress went and talked sociably (for an Empress) with
various ladies around the circle ; several gentlemen entered into a
disjointed general conversation with the Emperor ; the Dukes and
Princes, Admirals and Maids of Honour, dropped into free-and-easy
chat with first one and then another of our party, and whoever chose
stepped forwud and spoke with the modest little Grand Duchess Marie,
the Czar's daughter. She is fourteen years old, light-haired, blue-eyed,
unassuming, and pretty. Everybody talks English.
The Emperor wore a cap, frock-coat, and pantaloons, all of some kind
of plain white drilling— cotton or linen — and sported no jewellery or
any insignia whatever of rank. No costume could be less oetentatiouiL
He ia very tall and spaie, and a determined-looking m^JO, though a veij
ybody
everybody
Governor-
nod iug HU»-
U8 at noon
addresfl in
) his palace
re to show
ender even
bled in the
lere waa no
arsons com-
)ut bowing
^itaries c?
every bow,
n character
French are
ian imbuefi
ession, that
punctuated
ied — I am
!S8 on him.
}ty-looking
filed away
us for the
lly as such
fttes. The
she hoped
ire all the
ho present
nt. After
ress) with
ed into a
tukes and
i-and-easy
iver chose
ess Marie,
}lue-eyed,
!ome kind
wellery or
entatioumi
gh Aveij
THE NEW riLGIUM^S PROGERSX
«T
pleaiMii>Iookinff one nererUieleflk It ie ewy to ne that he k kind and
iifectaonatc Tnere is somethinc vwy noble in hie ezprieeion when hie
cap is o£ There ie noae ef UMt cmaninf in hie eyv that all of ne
noticed in Looie Napoleen't.
The Emprem and the litUe Qrand Dnckea wore mmple loite of foulard
(or foulard silk, I dou't know which ie proper), with a email blue spot in
it ; the dreesee were trimmed with blue ; both ladiee wore broad bine
/iaslies about their waists ; linen collare and clerical ties of muslin ; low-
sTowued straw hats trinmiod with blue velvet ; parasols and fleeh-
coloured gloves. The Qrand Duchess had no heels on her shoes. I
io nut kno^v this of my own knowledge, but one of our ladiee told me
•o. I was not looking at her shoes. I was glad to observe that she wore
her own hair, plriited in thick braids against the back of her head,
instead of the uncomely thing they call a waterfall, which is about as
much like a waterfall as a canvas-covered ham is like a cataract. Taking
the kind expression that is in the Emperor's face, and the gentleness that
iri ill his young daughter's, into consideration, I wondered if it would not
tux the Czar's firmness to the utmost to condenm a supplicating wretch
CO misery in the wastes of Siberia if she pleaded for nim. Every time
their eyes met, 1 saw more and more what a tremendous power that
vveak, diffident school-girl could wield if she chose to do it Many and
iiiany a time she might rule the Autocrat of Russia, whose lightest word
18 law to seventy mmions of human beings ! She was only a girl, and
>)lie looked like a thousand others I have seen, but never a girl provoked
such a novel and peculiar interest in me before. A strange, new senea-
iion is a rare thing in this hum-drum life ; and I had it here. There
was nothing stale or worn-out about the thoughts and feelings t^e situa-
tion and the circumstances created. It seemed strange — stranger than
[ can tell— to think that the central figure in the cluster of men and
i^omen, chatting here under the trees like the most ordinary individual
in the land, was a man who could open his lips and shiiw would fly
hrough the waves, locomotives would speed over the plains, couriers
«v'ould hurry from village to village, a hundred telegraphs would flash
the word to the four comers of an empire that stretches its vast propor-
tions over a seventh part of the habitable globe, and a countless multi-
tude of men would spring to do his bidding. I had a sort of va^e
desire to examine his hands, and see if they were of flesh and blood, like
other men's. Here was a man who could do this wonderful thing, and
yet if I chose I could knock him down. The case was plain, out it
seemed preposterous nevertheless — as preposterous as trying to knock
down a mountain or wipe out a continent. If this man sprained his
ankle, a million miles of telegraph would carry the news over moimtains
—valleys — uninhabited deserts — under the trackless sea — and ten thou-
land newspapers would prate of it ; if he were grievously ill, all the
nations would know it before the sun rose again ; if he dropped lifeless
where he stood, his fall might shake the thrones of half a world ! If
[ could have stolen his coat I would have done it When I meet a man
like that I want something to remember him by.
As a fl;enenJ thing, wa have been shown uuoufih palaoee bj some
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MARX rWAJW'S WORKS,
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ploah-l^^ged, filagreed flunkej or other, who ehaxged a finne for it ; V
after talking with the company half an hoinr, the Emperor of Ruh^
and his family conducted oa all through their manmon thfimaelv' .
They made no charge. The^ seemed to take a real pleasure in it
We spent half an hour idung through the palace, admiring the co^
apartments and the rich but eminently home-like appointments of t;
place, and then the Imperial family bade our party a kind good-by, ai
proceeded to count the spoons.
An invitation was extended to us to visit the palace of the eldest so
the Crown Prince of Russia, which was near at hand. The young ma
was absent, but the Dukes and Countesses and Princes went over th>
premises with us as leisurely as was the case at the Emperor's, and con
versation continued as Lively as ever.
It was a little after one o'clock now. We drove to the Grand Dukt
Michael's, a mile away, in response to his invitation, previously given.
We arrived in twenty minutes from the Emperors. It is a lovely
place. The beautiful palace nestles among the grand old groves of the
park, the park sits in the lap of the picturesque crags and hills, and
both look out upon the breezy ocean, in the park are rustic seats, here
and there, in secluded nooks that are dark with shade ; there are rivulets
of crystal water ; there are lakelets, with inviting, grassy banks ; there
are glimpses of sparkling cascades through openings in the wildemese
of foliage ; there are streams of clear water gushing from mimic knots
on the trunks of forest trees ; there are minute marble temples perched
apon grey old crags ; there are airy look-outs whence one may gaze
apon a broad expanse of landscape and ocean. The palace is modelled
Ktter the choicest forms of Grecian architecture, and its wide colonnades
surround a central court that is banked with rare flowers that fiU the
place with their fragrance, and in their midst spring a fountain that
cools tiie summer air, and may possibly breed mosquitoes, but I do not
think it does.
The Grand Duke and his Duchess came out, and the presentation
ceremonies were as simple as they had been at the Emperor's. In a
few minutes conversation was under way, as before. The Empress
appeared in the verandah, and the Uttle Grand Duchess came out into
the crowd. They had beaten us there. In a few minutes the Emperor
came himself on horseback. It was very pleasant. You can appreciate
it if you have ever visit jd royalty, and telt occasionally that possibly
you might be wearing out your welcome — though as a general thing, 1
believe, royalty is not scrupulous about dischar^g you when it is donp
with joxL
The Grand Duke is the third brother of the Emperor, is about thirty
seven years old, perhaps, and is the princeliest figure in Russia. He it
even taUer than the Czar, as straight as an Indian, and bears himself
like one of those gorgeous knights we read about in romances of the
Cruaadea. He looks like a great-hearted fellow who would pitoh an
enemy i^to the river in a moment, and then jump in and risk his life
in fisMug him out again. The stories they tell of nim show him to be
oC • br«re and genMWui natim. He mmt have been deaivoiu of proving
£19^ PILGRIM'S PROGRESS.
919
that Amerieans were welcome gaeeta in the imperial palaces of Rnida,
because he rode all the way to Yalta, and escorted our proceasion te
the Emperor's himself, and kept his aides scurrying about, clearing
the road and offering assistance whererer it could be needed. We were
rather familiar with him then, because we did not know who he was
We recognised him now, and appreciated the friendly spirit that
prompted him to do us a favour that any other Qrand Duke in
the world would have doubtless declined to do. He had plenty of
servitors whom he could have sent, but he chose to attend to the irattei
himself.
The Qrand Duke was dressed in the handsome and showy uniform of
a Cossack officer. The Grand Duchess had on a white alpaca robe, with
the seams and gores trimmed with black barb lace, and a little grey hat
with a feather of the same colour. She is young, rather pretty, modest
j>nd unpretending, and full of winning politeness.
Our party walked all through the house, and then the nobility escorted
them all over the groimds, and finally brought them back to the palace
about half-past two o'clock to breakrast They called it brei^ast, but
we would have called it luncheon. It consisted of two kinds of vdne,
tea, bread, cheese, and cold meats, and was served on the centre tables in
the reception-room and the verandahs — anywhere that was convenient ;
there was no ceremony. It was a sort of picnic. I had heard before
that we were to breakfast there, but Blucher said he believed Baker's
boy had suggested it to His Imperial Highness. I think not— though
it would be like him. Baker's boy is the famine-breeder of the ship.
He is always hungry. They say he goes about the state-rooms when tne
passengers are out, and eats up all the soap. And they say he eats oakum.
They say he will eat anything he can get between meals, but he prefers
oakum. He does not like oakum for dinner, but he likes it for lunch,
at odd hours, or anything that way. It makes him very disagreeable,
because it makes his breath bad, and keeps his teeth all stuck up with
tar. Baker's boy mav have suggested the breakfast, but I hope he did
not It went on well anyhow. The illustrious host moved about from
place to place, and helped to destroy the provisions and keep the con-
versation lively, and the Qrand Duchess talked with the verancCah parties
and such as had satisfied their appetites and straggled out firom the
reception-room.
The Qrand Duke's tea was delicious. Thev give one a lemon to
squeexe into it, or iced milk, if he prefers it. Tne former is best This
tea is brought overland from China. It injures the article to transport
it by sea.
When it was time to go we bade our distinguished hosts good-bye, and
they retired happy and contented to their apartments to count their
.spoons.
We had spent the best part of half a day in the home of rormlty, and
had been as cheerful and comfortable all the time as we could nave been
in the ship. I would as soon have thought of being cheerful in
Abraham'! DOBom as in the palace of an I^peior. I sapposed that
Anperoxs mtt terrible peopU I thought thaf n«T«r did anjthing b«t
I-
:
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MARK TWAWS ^OJUCS,
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weur magniflbent oiowiMi and red relret dreaiiiig-gowiifl with dalM <A
wool sewed on them in spots, and sit on thrones and scowl at the
flunkeys and the people in the paiqnette, anr. order dukes and duehessee
off to execution. I nnd, however, that when one is so fortunate as to
get behind the scenes, and see them at home and in the privacy of their
firesides, they are strangely like common mortals. They are pleasanter
to look upon then than they are in their theatrical aspect It seems to
come as natural to them to dress and act like other people as it is to put
a Mend's cedar pencil in your pocket when you are done using it But
I can never have any confidence in the tinsel kings of the theatre aftei
this. It will be a great loss. I used to take sucn a thrilling pleasure
in theuL But hereafter I will turn me sadly away, and say —
"This does not answer — this isn't the style of king that / am
acquainted with."
When they swagger round the stage in jewelled crowns and splendid
robes, I shall feel boimd to observe that all the Emperors that ever 1
was personally acquainted with wore the commonest sort of clothes and
did not swagger. And when they come on the stage attended by a vast
body-guard of supes in helmets and tin breast-plates, it will be my duty
as weU as my pleasure to inform the ignorant that no crowned head oi
my acq^uaintance has a soldier anywhere about his house or his person.
Possibly it may be thought that our party tarried too long, or did
other improper tnings, but such was not the case. The company felt
that they were occupying an imusually responsible position — they were
representing the people of America, not the Gk)vemment — and therefoie
they were careful to do their best to perform their high mission with
credit
'vf On the other hand, the Imperial families, no doubt, considered that in
entertaining us they were more es^cially entertaining the pe6ple of
America than they could by showering attentions on a whole platoon of
ministers plenipotentiary ; and therefore they gave to the event its fullest
significance, as an expression of goodwill and friendly f'^3ling toward th^
entire country. We took the kindnesses we received as attentions thus
directed, of course, and not to ourselves as a party. That we felt a
personal pride in being received as the representatives of a nation we do
not deny ; that we felt a national pride m the warm cordiality of that
reception, cannot be doubted.
Our poet has been rigidly suppressed from the time we let go the
anchor. When it was announced that we were going to visit the
Emperor of Russia, the fountains of his great deep were broken up, and
he rained inefliable bo«di for four-and-twenty nours. Our original
anxiety as to what we were going to do with ourselves was suddenly
transformed into anxiety about what we were going to do with our
Eoet The problem was solved at last Two alternatives were offered
im — he must either swear a dreadful oath that he would not issue a
line of hia poetry while he was in the Czar's dominions, or else remain
under /[fuara on board the ship until we were safe at Constantinople
again H« fought the dilismma long, but yielded at last It was a nett
delhisraaoe rechape the WKnfg^ reader would like a wj^^aaugi w Ui
THE NEW PILGRIM'S PROGRESS.
Mf
ifyle f I do not mean thii term to be offeniiTe. I only um it beeenee
" the gentle reader" haa been uaed ao often that anj change £roin it ean-
Mt but be refreshing —
** Sare oa and lano^j «i, and finally, then,
See good prorinona we enjoy while we jouruay to
For BO man propose!, which it is most true,
jLnd time will wait for none, nor for us too.**
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The lea has been unusual^ rougli ail daj. However, we hare had a
lively time of it, anyhow. We have had c^uite a rnn of visitors. The
Govemor-Genend came, and we received him with a salute of nine guns.
He brought his family with him. I observed that carpets were spread
from the pier-head to his carriage for him to walk on, though I have
seen him walk there without any carpet when he was not on business.
I thought maybe he had what the accidental insurance people might
eall an extra-hazardous polish (" policy " — joke, but not above memo-
critv) on his boots, and wished to protect them, but I examined and
could not see that they were blacked any better than usual It may
have been that he had forgotten his carpet before, but he did not have
it with him, anyhow. He was an exceedingly pleasant old gentleman ;
we all liked him, especially Blucher. When he went away Blacher
invited him to come again and fetch his carpet along.
Prince Dolgorouki and a Grand Admiral or two, whom we had seen
yesterday at me reception, came on board also. I was a little distant
with these parties, at first, because when I have been visiting Emperor*
I do not like to be too familiar with people I only know by reputation,
and whose moral characters and standing in society I cannot be thoroughly
MM^uainted with. I judged it best to be a Uttle offish at first I said to
myself. Princes and Counts and Grand Admirals are very well, but the^
are not Emperors, and one cannot be too particular about who he
associates with.
Baron Wrangel came also. He used to be Russian Ambassador at
Washington. I told him I had an uncle who fell down a shaft and
broke hunself in two, as much as a year before that That was a false-
hood, but then I was not going to let any man eclipse me on surprising
adventures merely for the want of a little invention. The Baron is a
fine man, and is said to stand high in the Emperor's confidence and
esteem.
Baron Ungem-Stemberg, a boisteroua, whole-souled old nobleman,
came with the rest He is a man of progress and enterprise — a represen-
tative man of the age. He is the Chief Director of the railway system of
Russia — a sort of railroad king. In his line he is making things move
along in this country. He has travelled extensively in America. He
says ne has tried convict labour on his railroads, and with perfect success.
He says the convicts work well, and are quiet and peaceable. He ob-
served that he employs nearly ten thousand of them now. This appeared
to be another call on my resources. I was equal to the emergency. I
laid we had eighty thousand convicts employed on the rtulways in
A.merica — all of them under seateooe of death for muidar in the fint
(iegree. That dU»Md ib«m oial ■•"* ■ ^v «.-,..*. ;...-.-..- r.,,,,,,,,-, -.
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AfARA' TWAIN'S WORKS,
We had Qeneral Todtleben (the fiunoiu defender of Sebestopol dmiag
the nege), and many inferior army and also navy officera, and a nnmbei
of unofficial Russian ladies and gentlemen. Naturally, a chamna^e
luncheon was in order, and was accomplished without loss ei life.
Toasts and jokes were discharged freely, but no speeches were made save
one thanlriik^/ the Emperor and the Grand Duke, through the Qovemor-
Qenerd, for our hospitable reception, and one by the Oovemor-G^neral
in reply, in which he returned the Emperor's thanks for the iqpeech, &c
CHAPTER VIl.
WE returned to Constantinople, and after a day or two spent in
exhausting marches about the city and voyages up the Qolden
Horn in Goxqaaty we steamed away again. We passed tlurough
the Sea of Marmora and the Dardanelles, and steered for a new land — a
new one to us, at least — iaas^ We had as yet only acquired a bowing
acquaintance with it, throigh pleasure excursions to Scutari and the
re^ons round about
We passed between Lemnos and Mjrtilene, and saw them as we had
seen Elba and the Balearic Isles — mere bulky shapes, with the softening
mists of distance upon them — whales in a fog, as it were. Then we
held our coui«»e southward, and began to ^'read up" celebrated
Smyrna.
At all hours of the day and night the sailors in the forecastle amused
themselves and aggravated us Dv burlesquing our visit to royalty.
The opening paragraph of our Address to the Emperor was framed at
follows ; —
" We are a handful of private citizens of America, travelling simply
for recreation — and unostentatiously, as becomes our unofficitu state—
and, therefore, we have no excuse to tender for presenting ourselves
before your Majesty, save the desire of ofifeiing our grateml acknow-
ledgments to the lord of a realm, which, through good and through evil
report, has been the steadfast friend of the land we love so weU."
The third cook, crowned with a resplendent tin basin and wrapped
royally in a table-cloth mottled with grease spots and coffee stains, and
bearing a sceptre that looked strangely like a belaying-pin, walked upon
p dilapidate carpet, and perched himself on the capstaii, careless of the
flying spray ; his tarred and weather-beaten Chamberlains, Dukes and
Lord High Admirals surrounded him, arrayed in all the pomp that spare
tarpaulins and remnants of old sails could furnish. Then the visiting
" watch below," transformed into graceless ladiep. and uncouth pilgrims,
by rude travesties upon waterfalls, hoopskirts, white kid gloves and
swallow-tail coats, moved solemnlv up the companion way, and bowing
low, began a system of complicatea and extraordinary smiling which few
monaichs ooold look upon aad iiTI* Thfl» a mock consul, a alvah-
THE NEW PILGRIM'S PROGRESS,
t,%\
plastered deck-sweep, drew ouii a soiled fragment of paper, and proceeded
to read, laboriously : —
^ To His Imperial Majesty, Alexander II., Emperor of RussiA :—
^ We are a nandful of private citizens of America, travelling simply
for recreation — and unostentatiously, as becomes our unofficial state —
and, therefore, we have no excuse to tender for presenting ourselvei
before your Majesty "— —
Tht Emperor — " Then what the devil did you come for ] "
" Save me desire of offering our grateful acknowledgments to the lord
of a realm which "
The Emperor — " Oh, d — n the Address ! — read it to the police. Cham-
berlain, take these people over to my brother the Grand Duke's, and
give them a square meaL Adieu ! I am happy — I am gratified — I am
delighted — I am bored. Adieu, adieu — vamos the ranui! The First
Groom of the Palace will proceed to count the portable articles of value
belonging to the premises.''
The farce then closed, to be repeated again with every change of the
watches, and embellished with new and still more extravagant inventions
of pomp and conversation.
At ail times of the day and night the phraseology of that tiresome
Address fell upon our ears. Grimy sailors came down out of the foretop
placidly announcing themselves as "a handful of private citizens of
America, trcmeUmg simply for recreation^ and unostentatiously," &c ; the
coal passers moved to their duties in the profound depths of the ship,
explaming the blackness of their faces and their uncouthness of dress,
with the reminder that they were '' a handful of private citizens, travel-
ling simply for recreation," &c. ; and when the cry rang through the
vessel at midnight : " Eight bblls ! — larboard watch, turn out ! "
the larboard watch came gaping and stretching out of their den, with
the everlasting formula — '' Ay, ay, sir ! We are a handful of private
citizens of America, travelling simply for recreation, and unostenta-
tiously, as becomes our unofficial state ! *'
As I was a member of the committee, and helped to frame the
Address, these sarcasms came home to me. I never heard a sailor pro-
claiming himself as a handful of American citizens travelling for recrea-
tion, but I wished he might trip and fall overboard, and so reduce his
handful by one individual at least I never was so tired of any one
phrase as the sailors made me of the opening sentence of the Address to
the Emperor of Russia.
This seaport of Smyrna, our first notable acquaintance in Asia, is a
closebr packed city of one hundred and thirty thousand inhabitants, and,
like Constantinople, it has no outskirts. It is as closely packed at its
outer edges as it is in the centre, and then the habitations leave
suddenly off, and the plain beyond seems houseless. It is just like any
other Oriental city — that is to say, its Moslem houses are heavy and
dark, and as comfortless as so many tombs ; its streets are crooked, rudely
snd roughly paved, and as narrow as an ordinary staircase ; the streets
uniformly carry a man to emj other place than me one he wants to go
^ and surprise him by Lmdrntf him is the most unexpected looaUties «
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MARK TWAIN'S WORKS,
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bnsineM is ehiefly carried on in great covered bazaars, ealled Ilk* d
honeycomb with innumerable ahops no larger than a common closet, and
the whole hire cut up into a maze of tuleys about inde enough to
accommodate a laden camel, and well calculated to confuse a stranger,
and eventually lose him ; everywhere there is dirt, everywhere there are
fleas, everywhere then are lean, broken-hearted dogs ; every alley is
thronged with people ; wherever you look your eye rests upon a wild
masquerade of extravagant costumes ; the workshops are all open to the
streets, and the workmen visible ; all manner of sounds assail the ear,
and over them all rings out the muezzin's cry from some taU minaret
calling the faithful vagabonds to prayer ; and superior to the call
to prayer, the noises in the streets, the interest of the costumes — superior
to everything, and claiming the bulk of attention first, last, and all the
time — IS a combination of Mohammedan stenches, to which the smell of
even a Chinese quarter would be aa pleasant as the roasting odours of
the fatted calf to the nostrils of the returning Prodigal Such is Oriental
luxury — such is Oriental splendour t We read about it all our days,
but we comprehend it not until we see it Smyrna is a very old city.
Its name occurs several times in the Bible, one or two of the disciples of
Christ visited it, and here was located one of the original seven apo-
calyptic churches spoken of in Revelations. These churches were sym-
boused in the Scripture as candlesticks, and on certain conditions there
was a sort of impUed promise that Smyrna should be endowed with «
" crown of life." She was to " be faithful unto death " — those were the
terms. She has not kept up her faith straight along, but the pilgrims
that wander hither consider that she has come near enough to it to save
her, and so they point to the fact that Smyrna to-day wears her crow^
of life, and is a great city, with a great commerce, and full of enei^,
while the cities wherein were located the other six churches, and to
which no crown of life was promised, have vanished from the earth. So
Smyrna really still possesses her crown of Ufe, in a business point of
view. Her career for eighteen centuries has been a chequered one, and
she has been under the rule of princes of many creeds, yet there has
been no season during aU that time, as far as we know (and during such
seasons as she was inhabited at all), that she has been without her little
community of Christians "faithful unto death." Hers was the only
church against which no threats were implied in the B«vela^ns, and
the only one which survived.
With Ephesus, forty miles firom here, where was located another dt
the seven churches, tiie case was different The " candlestick " has been
removed from Ephesus. Her light has been put out Pilgrims, always
prone to find prophecies in tiie Bible, and often where none exist, speak
cheerfully ana complacently of poor, ruined Ephesus as the victim of
prophecy. And yet there is no sentence that promises, without due
qualification, the destruction of the city. The words are —
"Bemember, theretore, from wksaM tho« an faUan, aixd repaai, tad da the
rst work* ; or else I will eome nnio the* q;d«k]^, sad will nmove Hktj eaadle-
•nt of his plaoe, exsept tiMM MfflML" '- hif.'.
Th«t M all ; tks other ymam vn am^fakmfy mmfpiimmittrjf to Ephesus.
Irst
I
THE NEW PILGkIM*S PROGRESS.
aaS
rhe dureftt if qualified. There ii no hiatory to show that she did not
repent But tne cru^eet habit the modem prophecy-savans have, ii
that one of coolly and arbitrarily fitting the prophetic shirt on to the
wronj; man. They do it without regani to rhyme or reason. Both the
casee I have just mentioned are instances in point. Those " prophecies"
are distinctly lerelled at the " dvwrdvu of Ephesus, Smyrna," &c., and yob
the pilgrims invariably make them refer to the cxtiu instead. No crown
of life is promised to the town of Smyrna and its commerce, but to the
handful of Christians who formed its " church." If <A«y were " faithful
unto death," they have their crown now ; but no amount of faithfulness
and legal shrewdness combined could legitimately drag the citt/ into a
participation in the promises of the prophecy. The stately language of
the Bible refers to a crown of life whose lustre will reflect the day-
oeams of the endless ages of eternity, not the butterfly existence of a
city built by men's hands, which must pass to dust with the builders^
and be forgotten even in the mere handful of centuries youchsafed to the
solid world itself between its cradle and its graye.
The fashion of delving out fulfilments of prophecy where that prophecy
consists of mere " ifs," trenches upon the absurd. Suppose, a thousand
years from now, a malarious swamp builds itself up in the shallow
harbour of Smyrna, or something else kills the town ; and suppose also
that within that time the swamp that has filled the renowned harbour
of Ephesus and rendered her ancient site deadly and uninhabitable to-
day, becomes hard and healthy ground ; suppose the natural consequence
ensues, to wit — that Smyrna becomes a melancholy ruin, and Ephesus
is rebuilt. What would the prophecy-savans say 1 They would coolly
skip over our age of the world, and say : '' Smyrna was not faithful unto
death, and so her crown of life was denied her ! Ephesus repented, and
lo ! her candlestick was not removed. Behold these evidences ! How
wonderful is prophecy ! **
Smyrna has been utterly destroyed six times. If her crown of life
had been an insurance policy, she would have had an opportunity to
«ollect on it the first time she felL But she holds it on sufmmce and by
» complimentary construction of language which does not refer to her.
Six different times, however, I suppose some infatuated prophecy-en-
thusiast blundered along and said, to the infinite disgust of Smyrna and
the Smymiotes — '^ In sooth, here is astounding fulfilment of prophecy !
Smyrna hath not been faithful unto death, and behold her crown of life
is vanished from her head. Verily, these things be astonishing ! "
Such things have a bad influence. They provoke worldly men into
using light conversation concerning sacred objects. Thick-headed com-
mentators upon the Bible, and stupid preachers and teachers, work more
damage to religion than sensible, cool-brained clergymen can fight away
again, toil as they may. It is not good judgment to fit a crown of life
upon a city which has been destroyed six times. That other class of
wiseacres, who twist prophecy in such a manner aa to make it promiee
the destruction and desolation of the same city, use jud«nment just as
bad, since the dty ia in a very floaiiahing conditiim, unhappily for tliem.
These thiims put «ignia«ati into tiie mouth of infideli^.
J- -
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A portion of the oitj is pretty ezclusiyely Turkiflh ; the Jews ba^e a
quarter to themselvea ; the Franks another quarter ; so alao with the
Armenians. The Armenians, of counte, are Christians. Their housea
are larce, clean, airy, handsomely paved with black and white squares
of marble, and in the centre of many of them is a square court, which
has in it a luxuriant flower-garden and a sparkling fountain ; the doon
of all the rooms open on tnis. A very wide hall leads to the street
door, and in this the women sit the most of the day. In the cool of the
evening they dress up in their best raiment and show themselves at the
door. They are all comely of countenance, and exceedingly neat and
cleanly ; they look as if they were just out of a band-box. Some of the
young ladies — many of them, I may say — are even very beautiful ; they
average a thade better than American girls — whi^h treasonable words 1
pray may be forgiven me. They are very sociable, and will smile back
when a stranger smiles at them, bow back wlien he bows, and talk back
if he speaks to them. No introduction is required. An hour's chat at
the door with a pretty girl one never saw before is easily obtained, and
is very pleasant. I have tried it. I could not talk anything but
EngUsn, and the girl knew nothing but Greek, or Armenian, or some
rach barbarous tongue, but we got idong very welL I find that in cases
like these, the fact that you cannot comprehend each other is not much
of a drawback. In that Russian town of Yalta I danced an astonishing
sort of dance an hour long, and one I had not heard of before, with a
very pretty girl, and we talked incessantly, and laughed exhaustinglj^,
and neither one ever knew what the other was driving at. But it waa
splendid. There were twenty people in the set, and the dance was very
lively and complicated. It was complicated enough without me — with
me it was more so. I threw in a figure now and then that surprised
those Russians. But I have never ceased to think of that girl. 1 have
written to her, but I cannot direct the epistle, because her name is one
of those nine-jointed Russian affairs, and there are not letters enough in
Dur alphabet to hold out. I am not reckless enough to try to pronounce
it when I am awake, but I make a stagger at it in my dreams, and get
up with the lockjaw in the morning. I am fading. I do not take m}'
meals now with any sort of regularity. Her dear name haunts me stil]
in my dreams. It is awful on teeth. It never comes out of my mouth
but it fetches an old snag along with it. And then lockjaw closes down
and nips off a couple of the last syllables — but they taste good.
Coming through the Dardanelles, we saw camel trains on shore with
the glasses, but we were never close to one till we got to Smyrna. These
camels are very much larger than the scrawny specimens one sees in the
menagerie. They stride along these streets, in single file, a dozen in a
train, with heavy loads on their backs, and a fancy-looking negro in
luzkish co«t«me, or an Arab, preceding them on a little donkey, and
completely overshadowed and rendered insignificant l)y the huge beacrts.
To see a camel train laden with the spices of Arabia and tke lara &bricfl
of Persia owne marching through the narrow alleys of the bazaar, among
porteM with their burdens, money-changers, lamp-merchants, Alnaschaia
m the glftSB-ware buiineea. portly crosft-legged Turks tunoking the femow
)WB haTe «
) with the
eir houBM
ite squsurei
urt, which
, the dooxt
the street
cool of the
slves at the
y neat and
Some of the
Ltifol ; they
blewordB 1
I smile back
d talk back
ur's chat at
btained, and
lything but
ian, or some
that in cases
is not much
L astonishing
afore, with a
sxhauBtingly,
But it waa
,ce was very
.t me — witii
at surprised
;irL 1 have
name is one
jrs enough in
pronounce
as, and get
[not take n^y
lints me still
i my mouth
closes down
TIf£ NEW PILGRIM* S PROGRESS.
s«7
nai^ili, and the crowds drifting to and fro in the fanciful coetumes of
the JIast, is a genuine revelation of the Orient The picture lacks
nothing. It casts you back at once into your forgotten boyhood, and
again you dream over the wonders of the ** Arabian Nights ;" again your
companions are princes, your lord is the Caliph Haroun Al Raschid, and
Jrour servants are terrific giants and genii that come with smoke and
ightniug and thunder, and go as a storm goes when tiiey depart t
CHAPTER VIII. !
WE inquired, and learned that the lions of Smyrna consisted of the
ruins of tne ancient citadel, whose broken and prodigious battle-
ments frown upon the city from a lofty hill just in the edge of
the town — the Mount Pagus of Scripture, the^ call it ; the site of that
one of the Seven Apocalyptic Churches of Asia which was located here
in the first century of the Christian era ; and the grave and the place of
martyrdom of the venerable Polycarp, who snffei^d in Smyrna for hii
religion some eighteen hundred years ago.
We took little donkeys and started. We saw Polycarp's tomb, and
then hurried on.
The "Seven Churches" — thus they abbreviate it-^came next on
the Ust. We rode there — about a mile and a half in the sweltering sun
—and visited a little Greek church which they said was built upon the
ancient site ; and we paid a small fee, and the holy attendant gave each
of us a little wax caudle as a remembrancer of the place, and I put mine
in my hat and the sun melted it, and the ^ease all ran down the back
of my neck ; and so now I have not anything left but the wick, and it if
a sorry and a wilted-looking wick at that.
Several of us argued as well as we could that the " church '' mentioned
in the Bible meant a party of Christians, and not a building ; that the
Bible spoke of them as being very poor —so poor, I thought, and so
subject to persecution (as per Polycarp's martyrdom), that in the first
place they probably could not have afforded a church edifice; and in the
second, would not have dared to build it in the open light of day if they
could ; and finally, that if they had had the privilege of building it,
common judgment would have suggested that they build it somewhere
near the town. But the elders of the ship's family ruled us down and
scouted our evidences. However, retribution came to them afterward.
They found that chey had been led astray and had gon« to the wrong
place : they discoverea that the accepted site is in the city.
Riding through the tovm, we could see marks of the six &nymss
that have existed here, and been burned up by fire or knocked down by
earthquiidLes. The hills and the rocks are rent asonder in places ; ex-
cavations expose great blocks of building-stone that have lain buried for
ages ; and all the mean houses and walls of modem Smvma along the
way an spotted white with broken piUax% eapitals» wtA fra§men4i otf
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Miilpttired in«rbl«, thftt onoe adoined the lordly palaea that win th*
glory of the city in the olden time.
The ascent of the hill of the citadel ia very steep, and we proceeded
rather ilowly. But there were matters of interest about us. In one
place, five hundred feet above the sea, the perpendicular bank on the
upper side of the road was ten or fifteen feet high, and the cut exposed
three veins of oyster-shells, just as we have seen quartz veins exposed in
the cutting of a road in Nevada or Montana. The veins were about
eighteen inches thick, and two or three feet apart, and they slanted
along downward for a distance of thirty feet or more, and then disap-
peared where the cut joined the road. Heaven only knows how far a
man might trace them by '' stripping." They were clean nice oyster-
shells, large, and just like any otner oyster-shells. Thev were tnickly
massed t<^ether, and none were scattered above or below the veins.
Each one was a well-defined lead by itself, and without a spur. My
first instinct was to set up the usual —
** MonoK :
"We, the nndersigned, olaim five olaims of two hundred feet each (and one
for diflooi«ry) on thii ledge or lode of oyster-ihelk, with aU its dips, spurs, angles,
variation*, and ■innonties, and fifty feet on eaoh side of the same, to work it, it^
fco., aooordiog to the mining laws of Smyrna, "
They were such perfectly natural-looking leads, that I could hardly
keep nrom "tiJdng them up." Among the oyster-shells were mixed
many fragments of ancient broken crockery ware. Now, how did those
masses of oyster-shells get there ? I cannot determine. Broken crockery
and oyster-shells are suggestive of restaurants — but then they could hav*"
had no such places away up there on that mountain side in our time,
because nobody has lived up there. A restaurant would not pay in
•uch a stony, forbidden, desolate place. And besides, there were no
champagne corks among the shells. If there ever was a restaurant there,
it must nave been in Smyrna's palmy days, when the hills were covered
with palaces. I could believe in one restaurant on those terms ; but
then now about the three 1 Did they have rAstaurants there at three
different periods of the world 1 — because there are two or three feet of
•olid earth between the oyster leads. Evidently, the restaurant solution
will not answer. i
The hill might have been the bottom of the sea once, and been lifted
ap, with its oyster-beds, by an earthquake. But then, how about the
trockerjt And, moreover, how about thret oyster-beds, one above
imother, and thick strata of good honest earth between ?
That theory will not do. It is just possible that this hill is Mount
Ararat, and that Noah's Ark rested here, and he ate oysters and threv
the shells overboard. But that will not do either. There are the three
layers again and the solid earth between ; and, besides, there were only
•ight in Noah's family, and they could not have eaten all these oysters
in the two or three months they staved on top of that mountain. The
beasts — ^howeyer, it ia simply atwiud to suppose he did not know any
more than to feed the beMte on oyster aappexa. '■'-'-■
THE NEW PI LG KIM'S PROGkESS.
^
,tw«n tlM.
proceeded
LB. In on«
Ilk on the
jut exposed
expoaed in
were about
ley slanted
then disap-
s how far a
dee oyeter-
ere thickly
the veins.
spur. My
Mh (and one
spun, »ngl««,
o work it, kA
r>iild hardly
were mixed
w did those
ten crockery
r could hav*»
in our time,
not pay in
sre were no
urant there,
ere covered
termB ; but
at three
ree feet of
it solution
been lifted
about the
one above
II is Mount
and threv
the three
were only
lese oysters
itain. The
know an J
It Iff painfol — it is even humiliating — but I am reduced at last to one
slender theory, that the oysters climbed up there of their own accord.
But what object could they have had in view t What did they want up
there 7 What could any oyster want to climb a hill for t To climb •
hill must neceeearily be fatigtiing and annoying exercise for an oyster.
The most natural conclusion would be that the oysters climbed up there
to look at the scenery. Yet when one comes to reflect upon the nature
of an oyster, it seems plain that he does not care for scenery. An oyster
has no taste for such things ; he cares nothing for the beautiful An
oyster is of a retiring disposition, and not lively — not even cheerful
ADove the average, and never enterprising. But, above all, an oyster
does not take any interest in scenery — he scorns it What have I arrived
at now 1 Simply at the point I started from — namelv, tho$« oysUr-shellt
are therCf in regular lavers, five hundred feet above the sea, and no man
knows how they got there. I have hunted up the guide-books, and the
gist of what they say is this : " They are there, but how they got there
IS a mystery."
Twenty-five years ago, a multitude of people in America put on theii
ascension robes, took a tearful leave of their friends, and made ready to
fly up into heaven at the first blast of the trumpet. But the angel did
not blow it. Miller's resurrection day was a failure. The Millerites
irere disgusted I did not suspect that there were Millers in Asia
M^inor, but a gentleman telb me that they had it all set for the world to
come to an end in Smyrna one day about three years ago. There was
much buzzing and preparation for a long time previously, and it cul-
minated in a wild excitement at the appointed time. A vast number
of the populace ascended the citadel hut early in the morning, to get
out of the way of the general destruction, and many of the infatuated
closed up their shops and retired from all earthly business. But the
strange part of it was, that about three in the afternoon, while this
gentleman and his friends were at dinner in the hotel, a terrific storm of
rain, accompanied by thunder and lightning, broke forth, and continued
with dire fury for two or three hours. It was a thing unprecedented in
Smyrna at that time of the vear, and scared some of the most scepticaL
The streets ran rivers, and tne hotel floor was flooded with water. The
dinner had to be suspended. When the storm finished and left every-
body drenched through and through, and melancholy and half drowned,
the ascensionifita came down from the mountain as dry as so many
charity-sermons ! They had been looking down upon the fearful storm
going on below, and really believed that their proposed destruction of
the world was proving a grand success !
A railway here in Asia — in the dreary realm of the Orient — ^in th«
fabled land of the Arabian Nights — is a strange thing to think o£ And
^et they have one already, and are building another. The present one
IS well bnilt and well conducted, by an En^ish company, but is net
doing an immense amount of business. The first year it carried a good
many passengers, but its freight IJBt only comprised eight hunond
pounds of figs !
It rasa almoit to tke very gates of Ephesua — a town great in all agit
It
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WARK TWAIN'S WORKS.
of the world — a eity familiar to readers of the Bible, and oho which waa
aa old as the very hills when the disciples of Christ preached in ita
streeta. It dates back to the shadowy ages of tradition^ and was the
birthplace uf gods renowned in Grecian mythology. The idea of a loco-
aiotiye tearing through such a place aa this, and waking the phantoms
of its old days of romance out of their dreams of dead and gone centuries,
is curious enough.
We journey thither to-morrow to see the celebrated ruins.
CHAPTER IX.
THIS has been a stirring day. The superintendent of the railway
put a train at our disposal, and did ua the further kindness of
accompanying us to Epnesus and giving to us his watchful care.
We brought sixty scarcely perceptible donkeys in the freight cars, for
we had much ground to go over. We have seen some of the most gro-
tesque costumes, along the line of the railroad, that can be imagined. I
am glad that no possiole combination of words could describe them, for
I might then be foolish enough to attempt it.
At ancient Ayassalook, in the midst of a forbidding desert, we came
upon long lines of ruined aqueducts, and other remnants of architectural
grandeur, that told us plainly enough we were neoring what had been a
metropolis once. We left the train and mounted the donkeys, along
with our invited guests — pleasant young gentlemen from the officers'
list of an American man-of-war.
The little donkeys had saddles upon them, which were made ver]f
highj in order that the riders feet might not drag the ground. The pre*
ventive did not work well in the cases of our tidiest i)ilgrims, however.
There were no bridles — nothing but a single rope tied to the bit It
was purely ornamental, for the donkey cared nothing for it. If he were
drifting to starboard, you might put your helm down hard the other
way, if it were any satisfaction to vou to do it, but he would continue to
drift to starboard all the same. There was only one process which could
be depended on, and that was to get down and lift his rear around until
his head pointed in the right direction, or take him under your arm and
carry him to a part of the road which he could not get out of without
climbing. The sun flamed down as hot as a furnace, and neckscarfs,
veils, and umbrellas seemed hardly any protection ; they served only to
make the long procession more than ever fantastic — for be it known the
ladies were all riding astride because they could not stay on the shape-
less saddles sideways, the men were perspiring and out of temper, their
feet were banging i^ainst the rocks, the donkeys were capering in every
direction but the right one and being belaboured with clube for it, and
every now and then a broad umbrella would suddenly go down out of
the cavalcade, announcing to all that one more pilgrim had bitten the
dust. It was a wilder picture than those solitudes had seen for many a
daj. No donkeys ever existed that were as hard to navigate as these^ I
(1^
THE NEW PILGRIM^S PROGRESS,
•$■
think, or that had lo many rile, ezamwrstinff inBtinota. Oeoamonally
we ^rew BO tired and hreathlejw with fij?nting tnera that we had to deaiflC
—and iinmediateljr the donkey would W)!ne down to a deliherate walk.
This, with the fatigue, und the Hun, would put a man asleep ; and ai
•con as the man wafl osleen. the donkey would lie down. My donkey
ihidl never see hiB boy hood 'h home a<^'iiin. He haa lidn down onoe tM
oiU'.n. Pie must die.
We all stood in th« Tant theatre of ancient Ephesas — the stone-bended
amy)hitheatre 1 mean — and biid our picture taken. We looked as proper
tliere a» we would look anywhere I fluppoee. We do not embellish the
general <lesolation of a deHert much. We add what dignity we can to a
etately ruin with our green umbrellas and jackaeeee, but it is little.
However, we mean well.
I wish to say a brief word of the aspect of Ephesus.
On a high, Bteep hill, toward the sea, is a grey ruin of ponderous
blockB of marble, wherein, tradition save, St Paul was imprisoned
eighteen centuries ago. From these old walla vou have the finest
view of the desolate scene where once stood Ephesus, the proudest
city of ancient timeH, and whose Temple of Diana was so noble in
design, and so exquisite of workmanship, that it ranked high in the list
of the Seven Wonders of the World.
Behind you is the sea ; in front is a level green valley (a marsh, in
fact), extending far away among the mountains ; to the right of the front
view is the old citadel of Ayaasalook, on a high hill ; the ruined Mosque
of the Sultan Selim stands near it in the plain (tliis is built over the
grave of St John, and was formerly a Christian Church) ; further toward
you is the hill of Pion, around whose front is clustered all that remains
of the ruins of Ephesus that still stand ; divided from it by a narrow
valley is the long, rocky, rugged mountain of Coressus. The scene is a
pretty one, and yet desolate — for in that wide plain no man can live,
and in it is no human habitation. But for the crumbling arches and
monstrous piers and broken walls that rise from the foot of the hill of
Pion, one could not believe that in this place once stood a city whose
renown is older than tradition itself. It is incredible to reflect that
things as familiar all over the world to-day as household words, belong
in the history and in the shadowy legends of this silent, mournful soli-
tude. We speak ot Apollo and of Diana — they were bom here ; of
the metamorphosis of Syrinx into a reed — it was done here ; of the
great god Pan — he dwelt in the caves of this hiU of Coressus ; of the
Amazons — this was their best prized home ; of BacchuB and Hercules — •
both fought the warlike women here ; of the C'yclops — they laid the
ponderous marble blocks of some of the ruins yonder ; of Homer — this
was one of his manv birthplaces ; of Cimon of Athens ; of Alcibiadas,
Lysander, Agesilaus — they visritod here ; so did Alexander the Great ;
90 did Hannibal and Antiochua, Scipio, LucuUub, and Sylla ; Bmtus,
Cassius, Pompey, Cicero, and Augustus ; Antony was a judge in this
place, and left his seat in the open court, while the arl vacates wmv
•peaking, to run after Cleopatra, who pansed the door ; from this city
these two sailed on plsanue excuiaiooa, ia tj^eye with silver oan aii^
ii
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MARK TWAIN'S WORKS,
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■'•■.«
perfamed sails, and with companies of beautiful girls to sexre them, and
actors and musicians to amuse them ; in days that seem almost modern,
80 remote are they from the early history of this city, Paul the apostle
preached the new religion here, and so did John, and here it is supposed
the former was pitted against wild beasts, for in 1 Corinthians xv. 32,
he says : —
«(
If after the manner of men I hare foaght with beaati at Ephesns," &o.,
when many men still lived who had seen the Christ ; here Mary Ma^
dalene died, and here the Virgin Mary ended her days with John, albeit
Rome has since judged it best to locate her grave elsewhere ; six or seven
hundred years ago— almost yesterday, as it were — troops of mail-clad
Crusaders thronged the streets ; and to come down to trifles, we speak
of meandering streams, and find a new interest in a common word when
we discovPT that the crooked river Meander, in yonder vallev, gave it to
our dictionary. It makes me feel as old as tnese dreary nills to look
down upon these moss-hung ruins, this historic desolation. One may
read the Scriptures and believe, but he cannot go and stand yonder in
the ruined theatre and in imagination people it again with the vanished
multitudes who mobbed Paul's comrades there and shouted, with one
voice, " Great is Diana of the Ephesians ! " The idea of a shout in such
n BoUtude as this makes one shudder.
It was a wonderful city, this Ephesus. Go where you will about
these broad plains, you find the most exquisitely sculptured marble
fragments scattered thick among the dust and weeds ; and protruding
from the ground, or lying prone upon it, are beautiful fluted columns of
porphyry and all precious marbles ; and at every step you find elegantlv
carved capitals and massive bases, and poUshed tablets en^vea with
Greek inscriptions. It is a world of precious relics, a wilderness of
3iarred and mutilated gems. And yet what are these things to the
wonders that lie buried here under the ground ? At Constantinople, at
Pisa, in the cities of Spain, are great mosques and cathedrals, whose
grandest columns came from the temples and palaces of Ephesus, and
yet one has only to scratch the ground here to match them. We shall
never know what magnificence is until this imperial city is laid bare to
the sun.
The finest piece of sculpture we have yet seen and the one that im-
pressed us most (for we do not know much about art, and cannot easUy
work up ourselves into ecstasies over it), is one that lies in this old
theatre of Ephesus which St Paul's riot has made so celebrated. It is
only the headless body of a man clad la a coat of mail, with a Medusa
head upon the breastplate, but we feel persuaded that such dignity and
B«ch majesty were never thrown into a form of stone before.
What builders they were, these men of antiquity! The massive
arches of some of these ruins rest upon piers that are fifteen feet square
and built entirely of solid blocks of marble, some of which are as large
as a Saratoga trunk, and some the rize of a boarding-house sofa. They
we not sheUs osr sh^ts of stone filled inside with rubblBh, but the whole
pier is a mass of solid masonry. Vast arches, that may havR been the
'■^^
THE NEW PILGRIM'S PROGRESS.
«33
th«m,uiA
Bt modenif
he apostle
B supposed
AIIB XT. 3i,
Vlary Ma^
ohn, albeit
lix or seven
I mail-clad
J, we speak
word when
, gave it to
ills to look
One may
I yonder in
le vanished
I, with one
out in such
wiU about
red marble
I protruding
columns ol
d elegantly
pravea with
Idemess of
bigs to the
itinople, at
rals, whose
)hesu8, and
We shall
aid bare to
le that im-
onot easily
in this old
]tted. It ii
L a Medusa
ty and
le massive
Ifeet sauare
re as iaxge
>fa. They
the whole
W, been the
^ates of the citj, are btult in the same way. They have braved the
storms and sieges of three thousand years, and have been shaken by
many an earthquake, but still they stand. When they dig alongside of
theni, they find ranges of ponderous masonry that are as pmect in every
detail as they were the day those old Gyclopian giants finished them.
An English company is going to excavate Ephesus -and then 1 ,,
AjmI now am I remincbd of —
1 I
IMXKSn or THE S-RVKN SLEEPERS.
In the Moimt of Pion, yonder, is the Cave of the Seven Sleeper*.
Once upon a time, about fifteen hundred years ago, seven young men
lived near each other in Ephesos, who belonged to the despised sect of
the Christians. It came to pass that the good King Maziimlianus (I
am telling this story for nice little boys and girls), it came to pass, I
bay, that the good King Maxinulianus feU to persecuting the Christians,
and as time rolled on he made it very warm for them. So the seven
young men said one to the other, let us get up and travel And they
got up and travelled. They tarried not to bid tiieir fathers and mother?
good-bye, or any friend they knew. They only took certain moneyi
which their parents had, and garments that belonged unto their friends,
whereby they might remember them when far away ; and fhej took
also the dog Ketmehr, which was the property of their rcighboui
Malchus, because the beast did run his head into a noose which one oi
the young men .vas carrying carelessly, and they had not time to release
him ; and they took also certain chickens that seemed lonely in the
aeighbouring coops, and likewise some bottles of curious Uquors that
6tood near the grocer's window ; and then they departed from the city.
\ M By-and-by they came to a marvellous cave in the Hill of Pion, and
entered into it and feasted, and presently they hurried on again. But
they forgot the bottles of curious liquors, and left them behind. They
travelled in many lands, and had many strange adventures. They were
virtuous young men, and lost no opportunity that fell in their way to
make their livelihood. Their motto was in these words, namely, " Pro-
crastination is the thief of time." And so, whenever they did come
upon a man who was alone, they laid, Behold, this person hath the
wherewithal — let us go through him. And they went through him.
At the end of five years they had waxed tired of travel and adventure,
and longed to revisit their old home again, and hear the voices and see
the faces that were dear unto their youth. Therefore they went through
such parties as fell in their way where they sojourned at that time, and
journeyed back towards Ephesus again. For the good King Maxi-
mihanus was become converted unto the new faith, and the Christians
rejoiced because they were no longer persecuted. One day as the sun
went down they came to the cave in the Mount cf Pion, and they said
each to his fellow. Let us sleep here, and go and feast and make merry
with our friends when the monuog cometh. And each of the seven
Ufted up his voice and said, It is a whiz. So they went in, and la
vhere they had put them, there Iat the bottles of st.'ange liquoxs, ana
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MARK TWAIN'S WORKS,
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ihey judged that age had not impaired their excellence. Wherein the
wanderers were right, and the heads of the same were leveL So each
of the young men drank six bottles, and behold they felt veiy tired
then, and lay down and slept soundly.
When they awoke, one of them, Johannes — sumamed Smithianus —
said, We are naked. And it was so. Their raiment was all gone, and
the money which they had gotten from a stranger whom they had pro-
ceeded through as they approached the city, was lying upon the ground,
corroded, and rusted and defaced Likewise the dog Ketmehr was gone,
and nothing save the brass that was upon his collar remained. They
wondered much at these things. But they took the money, and they
wrapped about their bodies some leaves, and came up to the top of the
hilL Then were they perplexed. The wonderful temple of Diana was
gone ; many grand edifices they had never seen before stood in the city ;
men in strange garbs moved about the streets, and everything was
changed.
Johannes said, It hardly seems Uke Ephesus. Yet here is the great
gymnasium ; here is the mighty theatre, wherein I have seen seventy
thousand men assembled ; here is the Agora ; there is the font where
the sainted John the Baptist immersed the converts; yonder is the
prison of the good St Paul, where we all did use to go to touch the
ancient chains that bound him and be cured of our distempers ; I see
the tomb of the disciple Luke, and afar oflf is the church wherein repose
the ashes of the holy John, whert '-^^ Christians of Ephesus go twice a
year to gather the dust from the tomb, which is able to make bodies
whole again that are corrupted by disease^ and cleanse the soul from
■in ; but see how the wharves encroach upon the sea, and what multi-
tudes of ships are anchored in the bay ; see also how the city hath
stretched abroad, far over the vaUey behind Pion, and ever unto the
w lis of Ayassalook ; and lo, all the hills are white with palaces, and
ribbed with colonnades of marble. How mighty is Ephesus become !
And wondering at what their eyes had seen, they went down into the
city and purchased garments and clothed themselves. And when they
would have passed on, the merchant bit the coins which they had given
him, with his teeth, and turned them about and looked curiously upon
them, and cast them upon his counter, and listened if they rang ; and
then he said. These be bogus. And they said. Depart thou to Hades,
and went their way. When they were come to their houses they re-
cognised them, albeit they seemed old and mean ; and they rejoiced and
were glad. They ran to the doors and knocked, and strangers opened
and looked inquiringly upon them. And they said, with great excite-
ment, while their hearts beat high and the colour in their feces came
and went, Where is my father? Where is my mother? Where aie
Dionysius and Seramon, and Pericles, and Decius ? And the strangers
that opened said, We know not these. The Seven said. How, you
know them not ? How long have ye dwelt here, and whither are they
gone that dwelt here before ye ? And the strangers Piaid, Ve play upon
Q£ with » jest, young men ; we and our fathers have sojourned under
thftM roofis thete lix geaaratioae ; the namai ye nuw rot upon the tombs,
THE NEW PILGRIM^S PROGRESS.
n%
and fhey that bore them haye mn their brief race, have laughed and
sung, have borne the sorrows and the weariness that were allotted them,
and are at rest ; for nine score years the summers have come and gone,
and the autumn leaves have fallen, since the roses have fculed out of
thdr cheeks and they laid them to sleep with the dead.
Then the seven young men turned them away from their homes, and
the strangers shut the doors upon them. The wanderers marvelled
greatly, and looked into the faces of all they met, as hoping to find one
that tney knew ; but all were strange, and passed tiiem by and spake no
friendl>' word. They were sore distressed and sad. Presently they spake
unto a citizen, and said, Who is king in Ephesus ? And the citizen
answered, and said, Whence come ye that ye know not that great
Laertius reigns in Ephesus 1 They looked one at the other greatly per-
plexed, and presently asked again, Where then is the good King Maxi-
milianuB ! The citizen moved him apart, as one who is afraid, and said,
Verily these men be mad, and dream dreams, else would tiiey know
that the king whereof they speak is dead above two hundred years
agone.
Then the scales fell from the eyes of the Seven, and one said, Alas \
that we drank of the curious liquors. They have made us weary, and
in dreamless sleep these two long centuries nave we lain. Our homes are
desolate, our friends are dead. BehoJd, the jig is up — let us die. And
that same day went they forth and laid them down and died. And in
that self-same day likewise the Seven-up did cease in Ephesus, for that
the Seven that were up were down again, and departed and dead withal.
And the names that oe upon their tombs, even unto this time, are
Johannes Smithianus, Trumps, Gift, High, and Low, Jack, and The
Game. And with the sleepers lie also the bottles wherein were once the
curious liquors ; and upon them is writ in ancient letters such words as
these — names of heathen gods of olden time perchance — Bumpunch,
Jinsling, Egnog.
Such is the story of the Seven Sleepers (with slight variations), and 1
know it is true, because I have seen the cave myself.
Really, so firm a faith had the ancients in this legend, that as late as
eight or nine hundred years ago, learned travellers held it in superstitious
fear. Two of them record that they ventured into it, but ran quickly
out again, not daring to tarry lest they should fall asleep and outlive
their great-gr.iidchildren a century or so. Even at this day the ignorant
denizens of the neighbouring country prefer not to sleep in it
" * .
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(■■'■
CHAPTER X.
WHEN I last made a memorandum we were at Ephesus, We are
in Syria now, encamped in the mountains of Lebanon. The
interregnum hai been long, both as to time and distance. We
brought not a relic from Ephesus 1 After gathering up fragments of
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MfARir TWAIN'S WORKS.
leulptazsd marblet and breaking ornaments from the inteilor work ot
the Moeqnee ; and aft» bringing them at a cost of infinite trouble
and fatigue, five miles on muleback to the railway depdt, a goyemment
officer compelled all who had such things to disgorge ! He had an order
trom Constantinople to look out for oivr ^paxty, and see that we oarried
nothing oft. It was a wise, a just, and a weU-deserved rebuke, but it
created a sensation. I never resist a temptation to plunder a stranger'i
premises without feeling insufferably vain about it. This time I felt proud
beyond expression. I was serene in the midst of the scoldings that were
heaped upon the Ottoman (jk)yemment for its affront offered to a pleasur-
ing party of entirely respectable gentlemen and ladies. I said, " We
that nave free souls, it touches us not" The shoe not only pinched our
party, but it pinched hard; a principal sufferer df^3oyere(i tnat the im-
perial order was enclosed in an envelope bearing the seal of the British
Embassy at Constantinople, and therefore must have been inspired by
the representative of the Queen. This was bad — very bad. Coming
solely from the Ottomans, it iroght have signified only Ottoman hatred
of Christians, and a vulgar ignorance as to genteel memods of expressing
it ; but coming from the Clmstianised, educated, politic British legation,
it simply intimated that we were a sort of gentlemen and ladies who
would bear watching ! So the narty regarded it, and were incensed ac-
cordingly. The truth doubtless was, uiat the same precautions would
have been taken against a/ny travellers, because the English company
who have acquired the right to excavate Ephesus, and have paid, a great
Bum for that right, need to be protected, and deserve to be. They cannot
afford to run the risk of having their hospitality abused by tnivellerSj
especially since travellers are such notorious scomers of honest behaviour.
We sailed from Smyrna in the wildest spirit of expectancy, for the
chief feature, the grand goal of the expedition, was near at hand — we
were approaching the Holy Land ! Such a burrowing into the hold ol
trunks mat had Iain buried for weeks, yes, for months ; such a hurrying
to and fro above decks and below ; such a riotous systen; of packing
and unpacking ; such a littering up of the cabins with slm Ui and skirts,
and indescribable and unclassible odds and ends ; such a making up of
bundles, and setting apart of umbrellas, green spectacles, and thick veils ;
such a critical inspection of saddles and bridles tnat had never yet touched
horses ; such a cleaning and loading of revolvers and examining of bowie-
knives ; such a half-soling of the seats of pantaloons with serviceable
buckskin; then such a poring over ancient maps; such a reading up
of Bibles and Palestine teavels ; such a marking out of routes ; such ex-
asperating efforts to divide mp the company into little bands of congenial
spirits, wno might make the long and arduous journey without quarrel-
ling ; and morning, noon, and night, such mass-meetingB in the cabins,
eucn speech-makii^, sii.ch sage suggesting, Tuch worrying and quarrelling,
and such a general raising of tiie very miechief, was never oecn in the
?ihip before 1
But it is all over now. We are cut up ihto portiesi of aix or ej^ght, and
by this timo are scattered fcir and w*de. Ours us the only one, how-
tv«i^ that )0 ventuBBf ob what ib caUmI '^ ibe lang tri^ "-that iit ool
IV^^
THE NEW PILGRIM'S PROGRESS,
«37
Into Sjria. by Baalbec to Dama8c^u^ and thencA down through the full
length of ralestine. It would b« a tediouB, and also a too riaky journey,
at wU hot season of the year, for any but strong, healthy men, accustomed
somewhat to fati^e and rough lue in the open air. The other partiea
«dll take shorter joumeyB.
For the last two months, we have been in a worry about one portion
of this Holy Land pilgrimage. I refer to transportation service. We
knew very well that Psdestine was a country which did not do a large
passenger business, and every man we came across who knew anything
about It gave us to understand that not half of our party would be able
to get dragomen and animals. At Constantinople everybody fell to
telegraphing the American Consuls at Alexandria and Beirout to give
notice that we wanted dragomen and transportation. We were desperate
-rwould take horses, jackasses, camelopards, kangaroos — anything. At
Smyrna, more telegraphing was done, to the same end. Also fearing
For the worst, we tel^raphed for a large nimiber of seats in the diligence
for Damascus, and horses for the ruins of Baalbec.
Ajb might have been expected, a notion got abroad in Syria and Egypt
that the whole population of the province of America (the Turks consider
ufl a trifling little province in some unvisited comer of the world) were
coming to the Holy Land ; and so, when we got to Beirout yesterday, we
foimd the place full of dragomen and their outfits. We had all intended
to go by diligence to Damascus, and switch off to Baalbec as we went
along, — because we expected to rejoin the ship, go to Mount Carmel, and
take to the woods from there. However, when our own private party of
eight found that it was possible and proper enough to make the '' long
trip," we adopted that programme. We have never been much trouble
to a Consul before, but we have been a fearful nuisance to our Consul
at Beirout I mention this because I cannot help admiring his patience,
nis industry, and his accommodating spirit I mention it also, because I
think some of our ship's company did not give him as full credit for his
excellent services as he deserved.
Well, out of our eight, three were selected to attend to all business
connected with the expedition. The rest of us had nothing to do but
look at the beautiful city of Beirout, with its bright, new houses nestled
among a wilderness of green shrubbery spread abroad over an upland
that sloped gently down to the sea ; and also at the mountains of
Lebanon that environ it ; and likewise to bathe in the transparent blue
water that rolled its billows about the ship (we did not know there were
sharks there). We had also to range up and down through the town
and look at the costumes. These are picturesque and fancif uL but not
BO varied as at Constantinople and Smyrna ; the women oi Beirout
add an agony — in the two former cities tJie sex wear a thin veil which
one can see trough (and they often expose their ankles), but at Beirout
they cover their entire faces with dark-coloured or black veils, so that
they look like mummies, and then es^se their breasts to the public
^ young gentleman (I believe he was a Greek) volunteered to snow us
'Around the city, and said ^t would afford him great pleasure, because he
wua studying Kngliah, and wanted praotioe in that lan^cowB. Wlun n '
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MARK TWAIN'S WORKS,
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had finiihed the roxmds, howeyer, he called for remnneratlon wrfd hi
hoped the gentlemen would give him a trifle in the way of a few piastiea
(equivalent to a few five-cent pieces). We did so. The Consul was
surprised when he heard it, and said he knew the young felloM'r
fanuly very well, and that they were an old and highly respectable
family, and worth a hundred and fiftv thousand dollars ! Some people
so situated would have been ashamed of the berth he had with us and
his manner of crawling into it
At the appointed time our business committee reported, and said all
things were m readiness — that we were to start to-day, with horses, pack
animals, and tents, and go to Baalbec, Damascus, the Sea of Tiberius,
and thence southward by the way of the scene of Jacob's dream and
other notable Bible localities to Jerusalem — from thence probably to the
Dead Sea, but possibly not — and then strike for the ocean and rejoin
the ship three or four weeks hence at Joppa ; terms, five dollars a day
apiece, in gold, and everything to be nimished by the dragoman.
They said we would live as well as at an hoteL I had read something
like that before, and did not shame my judgment by believing a word
of it I said nothing, however, but pac! <.ed up a blanket and a shawl
to sleep in, pipes and tobacco, two or three woollen shirts, a portfolio,
a guide-book, and a Bible. I also took along a towel and a cake of
loap, to inspire respect in the Arabs, who would take me for a king in
disguise.
We were to select our horses at 3 p.k. At that hour Abraham, tht
dragoman, marshalled them before us. With all solemnity I set it
down here, that those horses were the hardest lot I ever did come acrcsS)
and their accoutrements were in exquisite keeping with their style.
One brute had an eye out ; another had his taU sawed off close, like
a rabbit, and was proud of it ; another had a bony ridge running from
his neck to his tau, like one of thoite ruined aqueducts one sees about
Rome, and had a neck on him like a bowsprit ; they all limped and had
sore backs, and likewise raw places and old scales scattered about their
persons like brass nails in a hair trunk ; their gaits were marvellous to
contemplate, and replete with variety—under way the procession
looked like a fleet in a storm. It was fearfuL Blucher shook his head
and said —
*'' That dragon is going to get himself into trouble fetching these
old crates out of the hospital the way they are, unless he has got a
permit"
I said nothing. The display was exactly according t(, he guide-
book, and were we not travelling by the guide-book ? I selected a
certain horse because I thought I saw him shy, and I thought that a
horse that had spirit enough to shy was not to be despised.
At 6 o'clock P.M., we came to a halt here on the breezy summit of a
shapely mountain overlooking the sea, and the handsome valley wher«
dwelt some of those enterprising PhoenicianB of ancient times we read ac
much about ; all around us are what were once the dominionB of Hiram,
King of Tyre, who furnished timber from the cedars of these Lebanon
hilLi to build portio(Da of King SoIouumi's Temple witk
THE NEW TTLGRIM*S PROGRESS.
n9
bi
few piastrei
Donsul WM
ng felloM'c
respectable
lome people
nth MA and
md said all
horses, pack
)f Tiberius,
dream and
bably to the
and rejoin
)llarB a day
dragoman.
1 something
dng a word
md a shawl
a portfolio,
i a cake of
)r a king is
braham, the
ity I set it
ome acrcM,
their style.
close, like
ning &om
sees about
ed and had
about their
rvellous to
procession
)k his head
:hing these
has got a
1 he guide-
selected a
ight that a
immit of a
ley where*
|we read so
of Hiram,
Lebanon
Shortly after six our pack train arrived. I had not seen H before,
Aud a good right I had to be astonished. We had nineteen serving
Dien and twenty-six pack mules ! It wad a perfect caravan. It looked
like one, too, as it wound among the rocks. I wondered what in the
very mischief we wanted with such a vast turn-out as that, for eight
men. I wondered awhile, but soon I began to long for a tin plate, and
gome bacon and beans. I had camped out many and many a time
before, and knew just what was conung. I went off, vrithout waiting
for serving men, and unsaddled my horse, and washed such portions of
his ribs and his spine as projected through his hide, and when I came
back, behold five stately circus tents were up — tents that were brilliant
within with blue and gold and crimson, and all manner of splendid
adornment! I was speechless. Then they brought eight little iron
bedsteads, and set them up in the tents ; they put a soft mattress and
pillows and good blankets, and two snowwhite sheets on each bed.
Next, they rigged a table about the centre pole, and on it placed pewter
pitchers, basins, soap, and the whitest of towels — one set for each man ;
they pointed to pockets in the tent, and said we could put our small
trides in them for convenience, and if we needed pins or such things
'Jiey were sticking everywhere. Then came the finishing touch — they
spread carpets on the floor ! I simply said, " If you call this camping
out, all right — but it isn't the style i am used to ; my little baggage
that I brought along is at a discount.**
It grew dark, and they put candles on the tables — candles set in
bright, new, brazen candlesticks. And soon the bell — a genuine, simon-
pure bell — rang, and we were invited to " the saloon." I had thought
before that we had a tent or so too many, but now here was one at
least provided for ; it was to be used for nothing but an eating-saloon.
Like the others, it was high enough for a fiunlly of giraffes to live in,
and was very handsome and clean and brightooloured within. It was
a gem of a place. A table for eight, and eight canvas chairs ; a table-
cloth and napkins whose whiteness and whose fineness laughed to scorn
the things we were used to in the great excursion steamer ; knives and
forks, soup-plates, dinner-plates — everything in the handsomest kind of
style. It was wonderful ! And they call this camping out. Those
Stately fellows in baggy trousers and turbaued fezzes brought in a dinner
which consisted of roast mutton, roast chicken, roast gooBe, potatoes,
bread, tea, pudding, ap>^ U>.a, and delicious grapes ; the viands were
better cooked than any we had eaten for weeks, and the table made a
finer appearance, with its large German silver candlesticks and other
finery, than any table we had sat down to for a good while, and yet
that polite dragoman, Abraham, came bowins in and apologising
for the whole amdr, on accoimt of the unavoidable confusion of getting
onder way for a very long trip, and promising to do a great deal better
\xl f utiaee !
It is michiight now, and we l»«ak camp at six in the morning.
They calluus csmipi'ng out At thu sate ii ii a f^anona^ prinLdge
^ be a pi]«nrim to tke Holy La»(i-
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CHAPTER XI.
WE MPS cneamped near Temnin-el'Foha — a naxM which the \iop.
have Bimplified a good deal, for the sake ci convenience in
spelling. They call it Jacksonville. It Bouuda a little straBgely,
here in the YaUey of Lebanon, but it has the merit of being eaaier tc
remember than the Arabic Name.
' : ) '*001II UKK aPIBirS, so DBrABT.**
** The night shall be filled with musie,
And the cares that infest the day
^ Shall fold their tents like the Arabs,
And as silently steal away."
I slept very soundly last night, yet when the dragoman's bell rang at
half-past five this morning and the cry went abroad of " Ten minutes to
dress for breakfast ! " I heard both. It surprised me, because I have
not heard the breakfast gong in the ship for a month, and whenever we
have had occasion to fire a salute at daylight, I have only found it out
In the course of conversation afterward. However, camping out, even
though it be in a goigeous tent, makes one fresh and lively in the
morning — especially if the air you are breathing is the cool, fresh air of
^e mountains.
I was dressed within the ten minutes, and came out The saloon tent
had been stripped of its sides, and had nothing left but its roof ; so when
we sat down to table we could look out over a noble panorama of moun-
tain, sea, and hazy valley. And sitting thus, the sun rose slowly, and
suffused the picture with a world of rich colouring.
Hot mutton chop«, fried chicken, omelettes, fried potatoes, and coffee
— all excellent This wafl the bill of fare. It was sauced with a savag*
appetite purchased by hard riding the day before, and refreshing sleep
in a pure atmosphere. As I called for a second cup of coffee, I glanced
over my shoulder, and behold our white village was gone — the splemlid
tents had vanished like magic ! It was wonderful how quickly those
Arabs had " folded their tents ; " and it was wonderful also now quickly
they had gathered the thousand odds and ends of the camp together and
disappeared with them.
By haK-past six we were under way, and all the Syrian world seemed
to be under way also. Ilie road was filled with mule trains and long
processions of camels. This reminds me that we have been trying for
some time to think what a camel looks like, and now we have made \\
out When he is down on all his knees, flat on his breast to receive lii*
load, he looks something like a goose swimmin.}^ , and when he is up-
right he looks like an ostrich with an extra set of legs. Camels are not
beautiful, and their long under lip gives thom an exceedingly "gallus"*
expression. They have immense flat, forked cushions of feet, that make
8, track in the dust like a pie with a slice cut out of it Thej un not
* KxoQM ih« bIai^- no othtir word will dstKvibe it>
ch the b<m
venience in
;le straagelj,
ing ecuuer to
) bell rang at
m minutes to
cause I have
whenever we
' found it out
mg out, even
lively in the
(1, fresh air of
he saloon tent
roof ; so when
una of rnoun*
B slowly, and
»e8, and cofifee
with a savag*
Teshing sleep
ee, I glancea
the splenilid
uickly those
ow quickly
together and
rorld seemed
and long
en trying for
lave made }\
receive hi*
|ien he is up-
lels are not
ly "gallus"*
pt, that make
They aw not
TJfE NEW FILGRlii^S PROGRESS,
HI
particular about their diet They would eat a tombstone if they could
bite it. A thistle grows about here which has needles on it that would
uierce through leather, I think ; if one touches you, you can find relief
m nothing but profanity. The camels eat these. They show by their
actions that they enj(nr them. I suppose it would be a real treat to a
camel to have a keg of nails for supper.
While 1 am speaking of animals, I will mention that I have a horse
uow by the name of " Jericho." He is a mare. I have seen remarkable
horses before, but none so remarkable as this. I wanted a horse that
could shy, and this one fills the biU. I had an idea that shying indicated
spirit. If I was correct, I have got the most spirited horse on earth,
lie allies at everything he comes across with the utmost impartiality.
He appears to have a mortal dread of telegraph poles especially ; and it is
fortunate that these are on both sides of the road, because as it is now, I
uever fall ofif twice in succession on the same side. If I fell on the same
aide always, it would get to be monotonous after a while. This creature has
scared at everything ne has seen to-day, except a haystack. Ue walked
up to that with an intrepidity and a recklessness that were astonishing.
And it would fill any one with admiration to see how he preserves Im
Belf-possession in the presence of a barley sack. This dare-devil bravery
will be tb*) death of this horse some day.
He is not particularly fast, but I think be will get me through ths
Holy Laud. He has only one fault His tail has been chopped off, oi
else he has sat down on it too hard some time or other, ana he has to
tight the flies with his heels. This is all very well, but when he tries
to kick a fiy off the top of his head with his hind foot, it is too much
variety. He is going to get himself into trouble that way some day.
He reacb^A around and bites my legs too. I do nut care particularly
about that, only I do not like to see a horse too sociable.
I think the owner of this prize had a wrong opinion about him. He
had an idea that he was one of those fiery, untamed steeds ; but he ii
nut of that character. I know the Arab had this idea, because when he
brought the horse out for inspection in Beirout, he kept jerking at the
bridle and shouting vi Arabic, " Ho ! will you ] Do vou want to run away,
vou ferocious beast, and break your neck]" when all the time the
horse was not doing anything in the world, and only looked like he
\vanted to lean up against something and think. Whenever he is not
shying at things, or reaching after a fly, he wants to do that yet How
it would surprise his owner to know this !
We have Been in a historical section of country all day. At noon we
mmped three hours and took luncheon at Mekseh, near the junction oi
the Lebanon Mountains ftnd the Jebel el Kuneiyiseh, and looked down
into the immense, level, garden-like Yalley of Lebanon. To-night we are
tamping near the same valley, and have a very wide sweep of it in view.
We can see the long, whale-back ridge of Mount Hermon projecting
Above the eaetem hillB. The "dews of Hermon* are falling upon u|
now, and the tents are abnoet soaked with them. . • » ; i
Over the way from us, and higher up the valley, we can diaoem,
ibrough the glaMea, thfO feunt outlines of tne woDdexful ralcji of Baalb^a
W-
fl^^
w.
1. 1'
243
MARK TWAIN'S WORKS,
■I'l I
i**
m
the supposed Baal-Gad of Scripture. Joshua and another person were
the two spies who w* re sent into this land of Canaan by the children of
Israel to report upon its character — I mean they were the spies who re-
ported favourably. They took back with them some specimens of the
grapes of this country, atid in the children's picture books they are al-
ways represented as bearing one monstrous bunch swung to a pole
between them, a respectable load for a pack-train. The Sunday-school
books exairgerated it a little. The grapes are most excellent to this day,
but the bunches are not as large as tnose in the pictures. I was sur-
prised and hurt when I saw tnem, because thuse colos»al bunches of
grapes were one of my most cherished juvenile traditions.
Joshua reported favourably, and the children of Israel journejred on,
with Moses at the head of the general government, and Joshua in com-
mand of the army of six hundred thousand fighting men. Of women
and children and civilians there was a countless swarm. Of all that
mighty host, none bat the two faithful spies ever lived to set their feet
in the Promised Land. They and their descendants wandered forty
years in the desert, and then Moses, the gifted warrior, poet, statesman
and philosopher, went up into Pisgah and met his mysterious fate.
Where he was buried no man knows — for
<* • • • no man dug that lepulchiA.
And no man saw it e'er—
For the soni of God upturned the sod.
And laid the dead man there I "
Then Joshua began his terrible raid, and from Jericho clear to this
Baal-Qad, he swept the land like the Qenius of Destruction. He
slaughtered the peo ^le, laid waste their soil, and razed their cities to the
ground. He wasted thirty-one kiugs also. One may call ' '.. that, though
really it can hardly be cidled wasting them, because there were always
plenty of kings in those days, and to spare. At any rate, he destroyed
thiitv-one kii^, and divided out their realms among hif Israelites. He
divided up this vaU^ stretched out here before us, and so it ^as once
Jewish territory. The Jews have long since disappeared from it, how>
ever.
Back yonder an hour's ionmey from here, we passed through an Arab
village of stone dry-gooas boxes (they look like that), where Noah'e
tomb lies under lock and key. [Noah built the Ark.] Over these ol<i
hills and valleys the ark, that contained all that was left of a vanished
world, once floated.
I make no n>ology for detailing the above information. It will be
news to some of my readers, at any rate.
Noah's tomb is built of stone, and is covered with a long stone build-
ing. Bucksheesh let us in. The building had to be long, because the
pave of the honoured old navigator is two hundred and ten feet long
Itself ! It ia only about four feet high, though. He must have cast a
shadow like a lightning-rod. The proof that this is the genuine spot
whare Noah waa burial can only be doubted by uncommonly incredu-
Una paof^ The avidanca is pxettj atrrigat Shem, the son of Nocah,
ON inSTONTCAL GROUND.
Mreon were
children of
)ie8 who re-
[neiiB of the
they are al-
g to a pole
nday -school
to this day,
I was Bur-
bunches of
)urnejjred on,
jhua in com-
Of women
Of all that
set their feet
ndered forty
let, statesman
steriouB fate.
► clear to this
traction. He
Lr cities to the
. that, though
were alwayi
. he destroyed
Israelites. He
it ^as once
from it, how-
angh an Arab
[where Noah'a
^ver tiiese ol<i
1 of a vanished
It will be
Ig Btone build-
^, because the
J ten feet long
It have cast a
J genuine spot
lonly incredu-
1 ton of Noe»h,
»'l^i¥ W
SUNDAY SCHOOL GUAl'ES.
"Joshua atnl another person were the two spies sent Into Canaan to
report. They took back with them some specimens of the grapes of this
country, and in the chililren's picture-books they are always represented as
bearing one monstrous liunch between tliem. The grapes are most excellent
to this day, but tiie bunches are not as large as in the picture. I was
surprised and hurt when I saw them, because those colossal bunches of
grapes were one of my most cherished juvenile traditions."— Page 242.
:'■ )\
"Two hours to Nazareth ; and, as it was an uncommonly narrow trail,
we necessarily met all the camel trains in that particular place and nowhere
else. A camel is as tall as any ordinary dwelling-house in Syria."— Page 288.
IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-3)
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Sdoices
Corporation
23 WEST MAIN STREET
WEBSTER, N.Y. US80
(716) 873-4S03
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M
ii
THE NEW PILGRIM'S PROGRESS,
MS
WM pret o nt at the burial, and showed the place to hia descendants, who
transmitted the knowledge to their deeceudants, and the lineal descend'
snta of these introduced themselves to us to-day. It was pleasant ts
make the acquaintance of members of so respectable a family. It was ■
thing to be proud of. It was the next thing to being acquainted wiU?
Noah himsell
Noah's memorable voyage will always possess a living interest for me
henceforward.
If ever an oppressed race existed, it is this one we see fettered around
OS under the inhuman tyranny of the Ottoman Empire. I wish Europe
would let Russia annihilate Turkey a little — not much, but enough to
make it difficult to find the place again without a divining-rod or a
diving-belL The Syrians are very poor, and yet they are ground down
by a svstem of taxation that would drive any other nation frantic Last
year their taxes were heavy enough, in all conscience — but this year they
have been increased by the addition of taxes that were forgiven them in
times of famine in former years. On top of this, the Government has
levied a tax of ont-tenth of the whole proceeds of the land. This is only
half the story. The Pacha of a Pachalic does not trouble himself with
appointing tax-collectors. He figures up what all these taxes ought to
amount to in a certain district. Then he farms the collection out He
calls the rich men together, the highest bidder gets the speculation, pays
the Pacha on the spot, and then sells out to smidler fry, who sell in turn
to a piratical horde of still smaller fry. These latter compel the peasant
to bring his little trifle of grain to the village at his own cost It must
be weighed, the various taxes set apart, and the remainder returned to
the producer. But the collector delays this duty day after day, while the
producer's family are perishing for bread ; at last the poor wretch, who
cannot but understand the game, says, " Take a quarter — take half-
take two-tjiirds if you will, and let me go !" It is :i most outrageous
state of things.
These people are naturally good-hearted and intelligent, and with
education and liberty would be a happy and contented race. They
often appeal to the stranger to know ii the great world will not some
day come to their relief and save them. The Sultan has been lavishing
money like water in England and Paris, but his subjects are suffering
for it now.
This fashion of camping out bewilders me. We have bootjacks and
a bath-tub now, and yet cul the mysteries the pack-mules carry are not
revealed. What next ?
CHAPTER XIL
XII fE had « tedious ride of about five hours, in the sum, acMM the
V V Valley of Lebanon. It proved to be not quite so much of a
garden as it had seemea from the hillsides. It was a desert,
weed-giowii waste* littor«ii thickljr with itenes the liae of a nwui's fiat
)»■'
A
' 8^1
^
f
I:
MARK TWAtN*S WORKS.
w : ti
P I;
i t
i'1
fl ,i
\ ^
Sere and there the natiyes had scratched the ground and reared a deUy
orop of grain, but for the most part the yalley was eiven up to a handful
»f shepherds, whose flocks were doing what they honestly could to got
a living, but the chances were against them. We saw rude piles of
stones standing near the roadside, at intervals, and recognised the cus-
tom of marking boundaries which obtained in Jacob's time. There
were no walla, no fences, no hedges — nothing to secure a man's posses-
sions but these random heaps of stones. The Israelites held them sacred
in the old patriarchal times, and these other Arabs, their lineal descend-
ants, do so likewise. An Ajnerican, of ordinary intelligence, would soon
widely extend his property, at an outlay of mere manual labour, per-
formed at night, under so loose a system of fencing as this.
The ploiu;h8 these people use are simply a sharpened stick, such as
Abraham ploughed with, and they still winnow their wheat as he did —
they pile it on the house top, and then toss it by shoyelfuls into the aix
until the wind has blown fOl the chaff away. They neyer inyent any.
thing, neyer learn anything. ^ ^ ^
We had a fine race of a mile with an Arab perched on a camel
Some of the horses were fast, and made yery good time, but the camel
scampered by them without any yery great eflfort The yelling and
shouting, and whipping and galloping, of all parties interested, made it
an exhilarating, exciting, and particularly boisterous race.
At eleyen o'clock our eyes fell upon the walls and columns of Baalbec,
a noble ruin whose history is a sealed book. It has stood there for thou-
sands of years, the wonder and admiration of trayellers ; but who built
it, or when it was built, are questions that may neyer be answered. One
thing is yery sure, though. Such grandeur of design, and such grace of
execution as one sees in the temples of Baalbec, have not been equalled
or eyen approached in any work of men's hands that has been built
within twenty centuries past.
The great Temple of the Sun, the Temple of Jupiter, and seyeral
smaller temples, are clustered together in the middt of one of these
miserable Syrian villages, and look strangely enough in such plebeian
company. These temples are built upon massive substructions that
might support a world almost ; the materials used are blocks of stone
as Wge as an omnibus — very few, if any of them, are smaller than a
carpenter's tool-chest — and these substructions are traversed by tunnels
of masonry through which a train of cars might pass. With such
foundations as these, it is little wonder that Baalbec nas lasted so long.
The Temple of the Sun is nearly three hundred feet long and one him-
dred and sixty feet wide. It has fifty-four columns around it, but only
six are standing now — the others lie broken at its base, a confused and
picturesque heap. The six columns are perfect, as also are their bases,
Corinthian capitals and entablature — and six more shapely columns do
not exist. The columns and the entablature together are ninety feet
high — a prodigious altitude for shafts of stone to reach, truly — and yet
one only thinks of their beauty and symmetry when looking at them ;
the pillars look slender and deucate, the entablature, with its elaborate
•oulpture, looka like rich ituceo work. But when you hAve gaeed aloft
RMdailckly
to a handful
sould to got
ude piles of
isod the C11S-
me. Then
oan's posses-
them sacred
leal descend-
if would soon
labour, per-
itick, such as
t as he did —
B into the aix
r invent any.
on a camel
)ut the camel
yeUing and
isted, made it
OS of Baalbec,
here for thou-
)ut who built
flwered. One
such grace of
>een equalled
as been built
, and several
one of these
uch plebeian
ructions that
ocks of stone
laller than a
id by tunnels
With such
isted so long.
Etnd one him-
i it, but only
confused and
5 their bases,
columns do
ninety feet
Ly — and yet
ig at them ;
its elaborate
• gOMd aloft
THE RUINS OF BAALBEC.
I
"At eleven o'clock our eyea fell upon
the walls and columns of Baalbec, a noble
ruin, whose history is a sealed book, . . .
The great Temple of the Sun, the Temple
of Jupiter, and several smaller temples,
are clustered together. These temples
are built upon massive substructions that
might support a world almost With such
foundations as these, it is little wonder that Baalbec has lasted so long. The
materials used are blocks of stone as large as an omnibus— very few, if any of them,
are smaller than a carpenter's tool chest — and these substructions are traversed by
tunnels of masonry through which a train of cars might pass."— Page 244.
": .j\
■" . V
i]
!:
ifm
i'rf f.
THE NSW PTLGRTM'S PROGRESS.
MS
W
i-tv-
dll jonr eyei are weary, roa glance at the great firajgmenta of pillan
among which you are ttanmng, and find that they are eight feet through ;
and with them lie beautiful capitals apparently aa large as a small cot*
tage ; and also single slabs of stone, superbly sculptured, that are four oi
five feet thick, and would completely cover the floor of any ordinaxj
parlour. You wonder where these monstrous things came £rom, and it
takes some little time to satisfy yourself that the airy and graceful
fabric that towers above your head is made up of their mates, ft seems
too preposterous.
Tne Temple of Jupiter is a smaller ruin than the one I have been
speaking of, and yet is immense. It is in a tolerable state of preserva-
tion. One row of nine columns stands almost uninjured. They are
sixty-five feet hi^h, and support a sort of porch or roof, which connects
them with the roof of the Duilding. This porch-roof is composed of
tremendous slabs of stone, which are so finely sculptured on the under
side that the work looks Uke a fresco from below. One or two of these
slabs had fallen, and again I wondered if the gigantic masses of carved
stone that lay about me were no larger than those above my head.
Within the temple the ornamentation was elaborate and colossaL What
ft wonder of architectural beauty and grandeur this edifice must have
been when it was new ! And what a noble picture it and its statelier
companion, with the chaos of mighty fragments scattered about them,
yet makes in the moonlight !
I caimot conceive how those immense blocks of stone were ever hauled
from the quarries, or how they were ever raised to the dizzy heights they
occupy in tihe temples. And yet these sculptured blocks are trifles in
size compared with the rou^h-hewn blocks that form the wide verandah
or platform which surrounds the Great Temple. One stretch of tihat
platform, two hundred feet long, is composed of blocks of stone as large,
and some of them larger, than a street car. They surmount a wall about
ten or twelve feet hign. I thomght those were Isurge rocks, but thej^ sank
into insignificance compared with those which formed another section of
the platform. These were three in number, and I thought that each of
them was about as long as three street cars placed end to end, though of
course they are a third wider and a third higher than a street car. Per-
haps two railway freight cars of the largest pattern, placed end to end,
might better represent their size. In combined length these three stones
stretch nearly two hundred feet ; they are thirteen feet square ; two of
them are sixty-four feet long each, and the third is sixty-nine. They
are built into the massive waU some twen^ feet above the ground.
Thev are there, but how they got there is the question. I have seen
the hull of a steamboat that was smaller than one of these stones. AH
these great walls are as exact and shapely as the flimffjr things we build
of bri^ in these days. A race of gods or of giants must have inhabited
Baalbec many a century ago. Men uke the men of our day could hardly
rear such temples as these.
We went to the quarry from whence the stones of Baalbec were taken.
It waa about a auarter of a mile of^ and down hiU. In a great pit lay
th« mat* of tha lazgest stone in the xuina. It lay th«n just as the oianti
.r'
J i
I
I i
\-.
i 1
-^t
HS MAllK TWAlN^S WORKS,
of that Qffd foiffotten time had left it when they were nailed henoe— juM
tB they had left it to remain for thousands of years, an eloquent rebuke
«nto such as are prone to think slightingly of the men who lived before
them. The enormous block lies there, squared and ready for the builder^!
hands — a solid mass fourteen feet by seventeen, and but a few inches
less than seventy feet long ! Two buggies could be driven abreast ot
each other on its surface, from one end of it to the other, and leave
room enough for a man or two to walk on either side.
One uiignt swear that all the John Smiths and George Wilkinsons,
and all the other pitiful nobodies between Kingdom Come and Baalbec
would inscribe their poor little namcB upon the walls of Baalbec's mag-
nificent ruins, and would add the town, the county, and the State they
came from — and swearing thus, be infallibly correct It is a pity some
great ruin does not fall in and flatten out some of these reptiles, and
scare their kind out of ever giving their names to fame upon any waUc
or monuments again for ever.
Properly, with the sorry relics we bestrode, it was a three daya^
journey to Damascus. It was necessary that we should do it in less
than two. It was necessary because our three pilgrims would not travel
on the Sabbath-day. We were all perfectly willing to keep the Sabbath-
day, but there are times when to keep the UiUr of a sacred law whose
spirit is righteous becomes a sin, and this was a case in point We
pleaded for the tired, ill-treated horses, and tried to show that their
faithful service deserved kindness in return, and their hard lot com-
passion. But when did ever self-righteousness know the sentiment ol
pity ? What were a few long hours added to the hardships of some over-
taxed brutes when weighed against the peril of those human souls 1 It
was not the most promising party to travel with, and hope to gain a
higher veneration for reli^on through the example of its devotees. We
said the Saviour, who pitiad dumb beasts and taught that the ox must
be rescued from the mire even on the Sabbath-dav, would not have
counselled a forced march like this. We said the " long trip ^ was ex-
hausting, and therefore dangerous in the blistering heats of summer,
even when the ordinary days' stages were traversed, and if we persisted
in this hard march, some of us might be stricken down with the fevers
of the country in consequence of it. Nothing eould move the pilgrims.
They tMut press on. Men might die, horses might die, but they must
enter upon noly soil next week, with no Sabbath-breaking stain upon
them. Thus they were willing to commit a sin against the spirit of
religious law in order that they might preserve the letter of it It was
not worth while to tell them '' the letter kills." I am talking now about
personal Mends ; men whom I like ; men who are good citizens ; who
are honouj-able, upright, conscientious ; but whose idea of the Saviour's
religion seems to be distorted. , They lecture our shortcomings un-
sparingly, and every night they call us together and read to us cmipterc
&om the Testament that are full of gentleness, of charity, and of tende;
mercy, and then all the next day they stick to their saddles clear up tc
^e summits of these rugged monntiunH, and clear down again. Apply
Ike TMtamenf • ^antleiMM, and chMitgr* And tender mezey to * toiiin£
THE NEW FILGRIAPS PROGRESS.
247
virorn, and weary horse ? — Nonsense — these are for Qod's human crea-
tures, not his dumb ones. What the pilgrims choose to do, respect for
th^ir almost Hacred character demands that I should allow to pass — but
I would so Like to catcli any other member of the party riding his horee
op one of these exhauBting mllii once !
We have given the pilgrims a good many examples tliat might benefit
them, but it is virtue thrown away. They have never heard a croet
word out of our lips towards each other — but they have quarrelled once
or twice. We love to hear them at it, after they Dave been lecturing ua
The very first thing they^ did, coming ashore at Beirout, was to quarrel
in the boat I have said I like them — and I do like them — but every
time they read me a scorcher of a lecture I mean to talk back in print
Not content with doubling the legitimate stages, they switched off the
main road and went away out of the way to visit an absuird fountain called
Figia, because Balaam's ass had drank there once. So we journeyed on
through the terrible hills and deserts and the roasting sun, and then far
into me night, seeking the honoured pool of Balaam's ass, the patron
saint of all pilgrims like us. I find no entry but this in my note*
book—
'*Rode to-day, altogether, tUrteen honn, through deserts partly, and parilj
over barren, uniightly bilLi, and latterly through wild, rocky loeneiy, and
camped at about eleven o'clock at night on the banks of a limpid stream, near a
Syrian village. Do not know its name — do not wish to know it— want to go to
iMd. Two horses lame (mine and Jack's), and the others worn out Jack and I
walked three or four miles, over the hiUs, and led the horses. Fnor— bnt of a
mild type."
Twelve or thirteen hours in the saddle, even in & Christian land and
a Christian climate, and on a good horse, is a tireso. ie tourney ; but in
an oven like Syria, in a ragged spoon of a saddle tha ; sups fore-and-aft^
and " thort ships," and every way, and on a horse thai is tiied and lame,
and vet must be whipped and spurred with hardly a moment's cessation
all day long, till the blood comes from his side, and your conscience
hurts you every time you strike, L ji^u are half a man — it is a journey
to be remembered in bitterness of b^>irit and execrated with emphasis
for a liberal division of a man's lifetime.
f
CHAPTER XHL
11
THE next da^ was an outrage upon men and horses both. It
another thirteea-hour ttretch (including an hour's " nooning "). It
was over the barrenest chalk-hills and through the baldest canons
that even Syria can show. The heat quivered in the air eyeiywhere.
In the canons we almost smothered m the baking atmosphere. On
high ground the reflection from the chalk-hills was blinding. It was
cruel to urge the crippled horses, but it had to be done in order to make
Damasciu 07 Satiuday night We saw andent tombs and templet oi tan-
M
MB
MARK TWAIN*S WORKS,
: 1;
cifol Afoliiteetun oured out of the lolid rock, hi|;h up in the tee* oi
pKoipic«a above our heads, but we had neither time nur strength tc
elimb up tliere and examine them. The terse language of my note-booJt
will anBwer for the rest of the day's experiencee —
" Broke oamp at 7 A.M., and made a ghaatly trip throngh the ZeV) Oaua ralley
and the rough mountaina— honeit limping, and tliat Arab screech-owl that doon
moit of the linging and oarriet the water-akini alwaya a thouaaud iiiilea ahead,
of eoune, and no water to drink— will he i\txtr die? Beautiful atreum iu a
ohaim, lined thick with pomegranate, fig, olive, and c^uince orcburdH, and nooned
an hour at the celehratea Baalam'a Abr Fountain of Figia, second in aize in Hyria,
and the eoldeat water out of Siberia - guide-books do not say Baalanra Ass ever
drank there — somebody been impoaing on the pilgrims, may be. Bathed in it—
Jaok and I. Only a second — ioe*water. It is the principal source of the Abans
river— -onlT one-half mil* down to where it joins. Beautiful place — giant troet,
all around— 40 shady and cool, if one could keep awake — vast stream gushett
straight oat from under the mountain in a torrent. Over it ia a very aiioicut
ruin, with no known hiatory — supposed to have been for the worship of the deity
of the fountain or Balaam's ass, or somebody. Wretched nest of human vermin
about the fountain — ra^, dirt, sunken cheeks, pallor of sioknesa, sores, projecting
bones, doll, aching misery in their eyes, ana ravenous hunger speaking from
every ntloquent fibre and muacle from head to i'lot. How they sprang upon i
bone, how they crunched the bread we gave them ! Such as theae to swarm
about one and watch every bite he takes with greedy looks, and swallow unoon-
■oioualy every time he swallows, as if they half fancied the precious morsels went
down their own throats — hurry up the caravan 1 — I never shall enjo^ a meal in
this diatressful country. To think of eating three times every day under twh
eiroumstanoes for three weeks yet — it is worse punishment than nding all day
in the aun. There are sixteen starving babies from one to six years old in th«
party, and their legs are no larger than broom-handles. Left the fountain at 1
r.M. (the fountain took us at least two hours out of our way), and reached
Mahomet's look-out perch, over Damaacns, in time to get a good long look befora
it was necessary to move on. Tired? Ask of the winds that far away with
fragments strewed the sea."
' Aa the glare of day mellowed into twilight, we looked down upon a
picture which is celebrated all over the world. I think I have read
about four hundred times that when Mahomet was a simple camel-driver,
he reached this point and looked down upon Damascus for the first time,
and then made a certain renowned remark. He said, man could enter
only one paradise — he preferred to go to the one above. So he sat down
there and feasted his eyes upon the earthly paradise of Damascus, and
then went away without entering its gates. They have erected a tower
on the hiU to mark the spot where he stood.
Damascus u beautiful from the mountain. It is beautiful even to
foreigners accustomed to luxuriant vegetation, and I can easily under
stand how unspeakably beautiful it must be to eyes that are only used
to the Gkxi'forsaken barrennees and desolation of Syria. I should think
a SyriaL would go wild with ecstasy when such a picture bunts upon
him for the first time.
From his high perch, one sees before him and below him a wall of
dreary mountaini, shorn of vegetation, glaring fiercely in the sun ; it
fences in a level desert of yellow sand, smooth aa velvet, and threaded
far awaj with fine lines that stand for roads, and dotted with eraepinf
mitoa w« know are camel-trains and jouniAying maa; lifli;! ia tk«
THE NEW PILGRIM S PROGRESS,
H9
mldit of the daiert ii ipread a biUowj ezpuiM of gre«n foliftg* ; and
oeAtling in its heart sita the great white city, like an island of pearls and
opab* Kl(i'uiiing out of a sea of emeralds. Thia ia the picture you see
•jirt^i far below jou, with diatance to soften it, the sun to glorif^^ it,
strong contrasts to heighten the effects, and over it and about it a
drowHJn^' air of repose to spiritualise it and make it seem rather a beauti-
ful estray from the mysterious worlds we visit in dreams, than a sub-
stantial tenant of our coarse, dull globe. And when you think of the
leagues of blighted, blasted, sandy, rocky, sun-burnt, ugly, dreary,
infamous country you have ridden over to get here, you thijok it is the
most beautiful, beautiful picture that ever human eyes rested upon in all
the broad universe ! If I were to go to Damascus again, I would camp
on Mahomef s hill about a week, and then ^o away. There is no need
to go inside the walls. The Prophet was wise without knowing it when
he decided not to go down into the paradise of Damascus.
There ia an honoured old tradition that the immense garden which
Damascus stands in was the Qarden of Eden, and modem writers have
gathered up manv chapters of evidence tending to show that it really
was the Garden ot Eden, and that the rivers Pharpar and Abana are the
" two rivers " that watered Adam's Paradise. It may be so, but it is not
paradise now, and one would be as happy outside of it as he would be
likely to be within. It is so crooked and cramped and dirty that one
cannot realise that he is in the splendid city he saw from the hill-top.
The gardens are hidden by high mud-walls, and the paradise is become
a very sink of pollution and uncomeliness. Damascus has plenty of
dear, pure water in it though, and this is enough of itself to make an
Arab think it beautiful and blessed. Water is scarce in blistered Syria.
We run railways by our large cities in America ; in Syria they curve the
toads so as to make them run by the meagre little puddles they call
« fountains," and which are not found oftener on a journey than every
four hours. But the ^ rivers " of Pharpar and Abana of Scripture (mere
creeks) ran through Damascus, and so every house and every garden
hare their sparkling fountains and rivulets of water. With her fores
of foliage and her abundance of water, Damascus must be a wonder ot
wonders to the Bedouin from the deserts. Damascus is simply an oasis
— that is what it is. For four thousand years its waters have not gone
dry or its fertility failed. Now we can understand why the city has
existed so long. It could not die. So long as its waters remain to it
away out there in the midst of that howling desert, so long will Damascus
live to bless the sight of the tired and thirsty wayfarer.
"Though old as history itself , thou art fresh as the breath of spring, blooming
as thine own rose-bud, and fragrant as thine own orange flower, O Damsaous,
pearl of the East I "
Damascus dates back anterior to the days of Abraham, and is the
oldest city in the world. It was founded by Uz, the grandson of Noah
''The early history of Damascus is shrouded in the mists of a hoary
antiouity." Leave the matters written of in the first eleven chapters of
the Old Testament out, and no recorder) oyent has oceurred in the world
1 • n
H
'f
•§•
MARK TWAIN^S WORKU
■' ;l
tmt DunMotifl wm ir. eziBtonce to ncaiye the newt of it Go baok u
fkr M you will into the vague past, there was alwajn a Damascua. In
the writiuffi of every centurv for more than four thousand yean, its
name has been mentioned and its praiaes sung. To Damascus yean are
only moments, decades are only flitting trifles of time. She uieasurei
time, not by days and months and years, but by the empires she has
seen rise, and prosper, and crumble to ruin. She is a type or immurtality.
She saw the founaations of Baalbeo, and Thebes, and Ephesua laid ; she
taw these villages grow into mighty cities, and amaze the world witli
their grandeur — and she has lived to see them desolate, deserted, and
given over to the owls and the bats. She saw the Israelitish empire ex-
alted, and she saw it annihilated. She saw Qreece rise, and flourish two
thousand yean, and die. In her old age she saw Rome built ; she saw
it ovenhadow the world with its power ; she saw it perish. The few
hundreds of yean of G^enoese and Venetian might and splendour were
to ^ve old Damascus, only a trifling scintillation hardly worth remem
benng. Damascus has seen all that has ever occurred on earth, and still
she lives. She has looked upon the dry bones of a thousand empires,
and will see the tombs of a thousand more before she dies. Though
another claims the name, old Damascus is by right the Eternal City.
We reached the city gates iust at sundown. Thev do say that one
can get into any walled city of Syria, after night, for bucksheesh, except
Damascus. But Damascus with its four thousand yean of respectability
in the world, has many old fogy notions. There are no street lamps
there, and the law compels all who go abroad at night to carry lanterns,
lust as was the case in old days, when heroes and heroines of the ArabiaD
Nights walked the streets of Damascus, or flew away towards Bagdad on
enchanted carpets.
It was fairly dark a few minutes after we got within the wall, and we
rode long distances through wonderfully crooked streets, eight to ten
feet wide, and shut in on either side by the high mud-walls of the gar*
dens. At last we got to where lanterns could be seen flitting about here
and there, and knew we were in the midst of the curious old city. In
a little narrow street, crowded with our pack mules and with a swarm
of uncouth Arabs, we alighted^ and through a kind of a hole in the wall
entered tiie hotel. We stood in a great migged court, with flowen and
citron-trees about us, and a huge tank in the centre that was receiving
the waten ef many pipes. We crossed the court and entered the rooms
prepared to receive four of ua In a large marble-paved recess between
the two rooms was a tank of clear, cool water, which was kept running
over all the time by the streams that were pouring into it from half a
dozen pipes. Nothing in this scorching desolate land could look so re-
freshing as this pure water fliashing in the lamp-light ; nothing could
look so beautiful, nothing could sound so delicious as this mimic rain to
ears long unaccustomed to soundt of such a nature. Our rooms were
Uurgt, comfortably furnished, and even had their floon clothed with soft
eheerinl-tinted carpets. It was a pleasant thin^ to see a carpet again, for
M there is anytiiing drearier than !ihe tomb-like stone-paved parloun
•ndbedioomsof BniopeaiLd Ajiia.1 do not know what it ii. They maks
THE NEW PILGRIM'S PROGRESS.
a$t
one think of the grave all the time. A very broad, gaily capannoned
divan, some twelve or fourteen feet long, extended across one side of
each room, and opposite were single beds with spring mattressea.
There were great looking-glasses and marble-top tables. All thii
luxurv was ao grateful to systems and senses worn out with an ex-
hausting day's travel, as it was unexpected — for one cannot tell what
to expect in a Turkish city of even a quarter of a million inhabitants.
I do not know, but I think they used that tank between the rooms to
draw drinking water from ; that did not occur to me, however, until I had
clip{)ed my baking head far down into its cool depths. I thuugUt of it
then, and BU])erb as the bath was, I was sorry I nad taken it, and was
about to go and explain to the landlord, fiut a tiuel v curled and scented
noodle dog frisked up and nipped the calf of my leg just then, and before
1 had tinie to think, I had soused him to the bottom of the tank, and
when I saw a servant coming with a pitcher I went off and left the pup
trying to climb out and not succeeaing very welL Satisfied revenge
was All I needed to make me perfectly happy, and when I walked in Ico
supper that first night in Damascus I was in that condition. We lay on
those divans a long time after supper, smoking narghiliea and long-
stemmed chiboukff, and talking about the dreadful ride of the day, and
I knew then what I had sometimes known before — that it is wortk
while to get tired out, because one so enjoys resting afterwards.
In the morning we sent for donkeys. It is worthy of note that Wb
had to tend for these things. I said Damascus was an old fossil, and sh^
is. Anywhere else we would have been assailed by a clamorous army
of donkey-drivers, guides, pedlars, and beggars — but in Damascus the;
«o hate the very sight of a foreign Christian that they want no inter-
course whatever with him ; only a year or two ago his person was not
always safe in Damascus streets. It ia the most fanatical Mohammedan
purgatory out of Arabia. When you see one green turban of a Hadji
elsewhere (the honoured sign that my lord has made the pilgrimage to
Mecca), I think you will see a dozen in Damascus. The Damascenes
are the ugliest, wickedest looking villains we have seen. All the veiled
women we had seen yet, nearly, left their eyes exposed, but numben
of these in Damascus completely hid the face under a close-drawn, black
veil that made the woman look like a mummy. If ever we caught an
eye exposed, it was quickly hidden from our contaminating Clmstian
vision ; the beggars actually passed us by without demanding buck-
sheesh ; the merchants in the bazaars did not hold up their goods and
cry out, eagerly — " Hey, John ! " or " Look this, Howajji ! " On the
contrary, they only scowled at us, and said never a word.
The narrow streets swarmed like a hive with men and women in
strange Oriental costumes, and our small donkeys knocked them right
and left as we ploughed through them, urged on by the merciless
donkey-boys. These persecutors ran after the animals shouting and
goading them for hours together; they keep the donkey in a gallop
always, yet never get dred themselves, or fall behind. l%o donkeys
fell down and spilt ns over their heads occasionally, but there was
nothing Cor it bat to mount and huiiy on again. We wtrt banged
2i2
MARK rWATN'S IVOXKS.
f^
■nmy
agalnflt Jbaxp oomers, loaded porters, camels, and citdzem genomlly ;
and we were so taken up with looking out for coUisioiis and casualtiae.
that we had no chance to look about us at alL We rode half through
the city, and through the famous " street which is called Straight," with-
out seeing an3rthing, hardly. Our bones were nearly knocked out of
joint, we were wild \ 'ith excitement, and our sides ached with the jolting
we had suffered. I do not like riding in the Damascus street-ears.
We wore on our way to the reputed houses of Judas and Ananiat
About eighteen or nineteen hundred years ago, Saul, a native of Tarsus,
was particularly bitter against the new sect called Christians, and he left
Jerusalem and Etarted across the country on a furious crusade againsi
them. He went forth "breathing threatenings and slaughter against the
disciples of the Lord."
"And as he journeyed, he camo near DamascoB, and suddenly there nhw d
round about him a light from heaven :
" And he fell to the earth and heard a yoioe saying onto him, ' Sanl, Sau\ why
persecntest thou me ? '
"And when he knew that it was Jeans that spoke to him, he trembled, and
was astonished, aud said, * Lord, what wilt thou hare me to do ?* '*
He was told to arise and go into the ancient city, and one would tell
him what to do. In the meantime lus soldiers stood speechless and awe-
stricken, for they heard the mysterious voice but saw no man. Saul
rose up and found that that fierce supeniatural light had destroyed his
sight, and he was blind, so " they led him by the hand and brought him
to Damascus." He was converted.
Paul lay three days blind in the house of Judas, and during that time
he neither ate nor drank.
There came a voice to a citizen of Damascus, named Ananias, saying :
"Arise, and go into the street which is called Straight, and inquire at
the house of Judas for one called Saul, of Tarsus; for behold, he
prayeth."
Ananias did not wish to go at first, for he had heard of Saul before,
and he had his doubts about that style of a " chosen vessel " to preach
the gospel of peace. However, in obedience to orders, he went into the
** street called Straight " (how he ever found his way into it, and after he
did, how he ever found his way out of it Again, are mysteries only to be
accounted for by the fact that he was acting under divine inspiration).
He found Paul, and restored him and ordained him a preacher ; and
from this old house we had hunted up in the street whicn is miscalled
Straight, he had started out on that bold missionary career which he
prosecuted tiQ his death. It was not the house of the disciple who sold
the Master for thirty pieces of silver. I make this explanation in justice
to Judas, who was a far different sort of man from the person just
referred to. A very different style of man, and lived in a very good
house. It is a pity we do not know more about him.
I have given, in the above paragraphs, some more information foi
people who will not read Bible history until they are defrauded into it
Dv some such method as this. I hope that no friend of piogiMS and
9d.uoation will obsteoct or inteifeie with my peculiar miiwwi, ^ "
THE NEIV PILGRIM'S PROGRESS,
•53
llie street called Straight iB straighter than a corkBcrew, but not ai
jtraight as a rainbow. St Luke is careful not to commit himself ; he
does not saj it is the street which ii straight, but the " street which is
called Straight." It is a fine piece of irony ; it is the only facetious
remark in the Bible, I believe. We trayersed the street called Straight
a good way, and then turned off and called at the refuted house of
Ananias. There is small question that a part of the original house is
there still ; it is an old room twelve or fifteen feet under ground, and its
masonry is evidently ancient If Ananias did not live there in St Paul's
time, somebody else did, which is just as welL I took a djink out of
Ananias' well, and singularly enough, the water was just as fresh as ii
the well had been dug yesterday.
We went out towams the north end of the city to see the place where
the disciples let Paul down over the Damascus wall at dead of night —
for he preached Christ so fearlessly in Damascus that the people sought
to kill nim, just as they would to-day for the same offence, and he had
to escape ana flee to Jerusalem.
Then we called at the tomb of Mahomef s children, and at a tomb
which purported to be that of St Gtoorge, who killed the dragon, and so
on out to the hollow place under a rock where Paul hid during his flight
till his pursuers gave him up ; and to the mausoleum of the five thousand
Christians who were massacred in Damascus in 1861 by the Turks.
They say those narrow streets ran blood for several days, and that men,
women, and children were butchered indiscriminately and left to rot by
hundreds all through the Christian quarter ; they say, further, that the
stench was dxeadfuL All the Christians who could get away fled from
the city, and the Mahommedans would not defile their hands by burying
the " infidel dogs." The thirst for blood extended to the high lands of
Hermon and Anti-Lebanon, and in a short time twenty-five thousand
more Christians were massacred and their possessions laid waste. How
they hate a Christian in Damascus ! — and pretty much all over Turkey-
dom as weU. And how they will pay for it when Russia turns her guns
apon them again !
It is soothing to the heart to abuse England and France for interpos-
ing to save the Ottoman Empire from the destruction it has so richly
deserved for a thousand years. It hurts my vanity to see these pagans
refuse to eat of food that has been cooked for us ; or to eat from a dish
vre have eaten from ; or to drink from a goatskin which we have
polluted with our Christian lips, except by filtering the water through a
rag which they put over the mou i oi it or through a sponge ! I never
disliked a Chinaman as I do these degraded Turks and Arabs, and when
Russia is ready to war with them again, I hope England and France
will not find it good breeding or good judgment to interfere.
In Damascus they think uiere are no such rivers in all the world as
their little Abana and Pharpar. The Damascenes have always thought
that way. In 2 Kings, chapter v., Naaman boasts extravagantly about
them. That was three thousand years ago. He says : " Are not Abana
and Pharpar, rivers of Damascus, better than all the waters of Israel \
Uay I not wash in them and be olaon t" But miim of my leaden bavf
1 '
"
aS4
ifARir TWAIN*S WORKS,
forgotten who Naaman was long ago. Naaman was the eommuider ol
Uie Syrian armies. He was the fayourite of the king, and lived in great
■tate. " He was a mighty man of valour, but he was a leper." Strangely
enough, the house they point out to you now as his, has been turned
into a leper hospital, and the inmates expose their horrid deformities,
and hold up their ha^ds and beg for bucksheesh when a stranger enters.
One cannot appreciate the horror of this disease until he looks upon
it in all its phastliness in Naaman's ancient dwelling in Damascus.
Bones all twisted out of shape, great knots protruding from face and
body, joints decaying and dropping away— horrible I
CHAPTER XIV.
p <
,11
t-'
1,!{ '
THE last twenty-four hours we stayed in Damascus I lay prostrate
with a violent attack of cholera or cholera morbus, and therefore
had a good chance and a good excuse to lie there on that wide
divan and take an honest rest. I had nothing to do but listen to the
pattering of the fountains, and take medicine and throw it up a^ain. It
was dangerous recreation, but it was pleasanter than travelling m Syria.
I had plenty of snow from Mount Hermon, and as it would not stay on
my stomach, there was nothing to interfere with my eating it — there
was always room for more. I enjoyed myself very well. Syrian travel
has its interesting features like travel in any otner part of the world^
and yet to break your 1^ or have the cholera adds a welcome varie^
to it
We left Damascus at noon and rode across the plain a couple of hours,
and then the party stopped awhile in the shade of some fig-trees to give
me a chance to rest it was the hottest day we had seen yet ; the 8un>
flames shot down like the shafts of fire that stream out before a blow-
Sipe ; the rays seem to fall in a steady deluge on the head, and pass
ownward like rain frem a roof. I imagined I could distinguish it
between the floods of rays — I thought I could tell when each flood
■track my head, when it reached my shoulders, and when the next one
eame. It was terrible. All the desert glared so fiercely that my eyes
were swimming in tears all the time. The boys had white umbrellas
heavily lined with dark green ; they were a priceless blessing. I thanked
fortune that I had one too, notwithstanding it was packed up with the
ba^age and was ten miles ahead. It is madness to travel in Syria
wi^out an umbrella. They told me in Beirout (these people who
always gorge you with advice) that it was madness to travel m Syria
without an umbrella. It was on this account that I got one.
But, honestly, I think an umbrella is a nuisance anywhere when iti
business is to keep the sun o£ No Arab wears a bnm to his fes, or
tues an umbrella or anything to shade his eyes or his face, and he
always looks comfortable and proper in the sun. But of all the ridi-
Mloua pilots I ever \hkw% Men, oor ptfty of eight is the moet so — they
THE NEW PILGRIM'S PROGRESS,
359
ed in great
Strangely
leen turned
leformitiea,
uger enters,
looks upon
Damascus.
Da face and
lay prostratQ
nd therefore
m that wids
listen to the
ip again. It
ing in Syria.
L not stay on
ing it — there
Syrian travel
)f the world,
come varied
iple of hours,
-trees to give
ret ; the sun-
jfore a blow-
_i, and pass
[istinguisn it
k each flood
kihe next one
|hat my eyes
umDrellas
I thanked
up with the
/el in Syria
people who
rel m Syria
ere when its
his fee, or
lace, and he
the lidi-
80-~th(ey
do out fach an outlandish figure. They travel single file ; they all wear
the endless white rag of Constantinople wrapped round and round their
hats and dangling down their backs ; they aU wear thick green spec-
tacles, with side glasses to them ; they all hold white umbrellas, lined
with green, over their heads ; without exception their stirrups are too
short — they are the very worst gang of horsemen on earth ; their animals
to a horse trot fearfully hard. And when they get strung out one after
ihe other ; glaring straignt ahead and breathless, bouncing high and out
of turn all {uong the line ; knees well up and stiff, elbows flapping like
a rooster's that is going to crow, and the long file of umbrellas popping
eonvuMvely up and down — when one sees this outrageous picture
exposed to the light of day, he is amazed that the gods don't get out
their thunderbolts and destroy them off the face of the earth ! I do — I
wonder at it I wouldn't let any such caravan go through a country of
mine!
And when the sun drops below the horizon and the boys close their
umbrellas and put them under their arms, it is only a variation of the
picture, not a modification of its absurdity.
But maybe you cannot see the wild extravagance of my panorama.
You could if you were here. Here, you feel all the time just as if you
were living about the year 1200 before Christ, or back to the Patriarchs,
or forward to the New Era. The scenery of the Bible is about you—
the customs of the Patriarchs are around you — the same people, in the
same flowing robes, and in sandals, cross your path — the same long
trains of stately camels go and come — the same impressive religious
solemnity and silence rest upon the desert and the mountains that were
upon them in the remote ages of antiquity — and behold, intruding upon
a scene like this comes this fantastic mob of green-spectacled Yanks, with
their flapping elbows and bobbing umbrellas ! It is Daniel in the lioniP
den with a green cotton umbrella under his arm, all over again.
My umbrella is with the baggage, and so are my green spectacles —
and there they shall stay. I will not use them. I will show some
respect for the eternal fitness of things. It will be bad enough to get
sun-struck, without looking ridiculous into the bargain. If I fall, let
me fall bearing about me the semblance of a Christian, at least.
Three or four hours out from Damascus we passed the spot where
Saul was so abruptly converted, and from this place we looked back
over the scorching desert, and had our last glimpse of beautiful
Damascus, decked in its robes of shining green. After nightfall we
reached our tents, just outside of the nasty Arab village of Jonesborough.
Of course the real name of the place is £1 somethii^ or other, but the
isova itill refiue to recognise the Arab names or try to pronounce them.
Wlien 1 flay thfftt that viUage is of the usual strle, I mean to insinuate
that all Syrian villages within fifty miles of Damascus are alike — so
much alike, that it would require more than human intelligence to tell
▼herein one differed from another. A Syrian village is a Mve of huti
me itory high (the height of a man), and as square as a dry-goods box ;
it if mud-plastered all over, flat roof and all, and generally wmtewashed
altar a Cmmoii. Th« sama loof ofttn extandr •▼« half tht town. oot«i^
!i 5'i-
i
'4?
SS6
MARK TWATN^S WORKS.
f :'i
ing man J of the ttrMU^ which art ffenerally aboat a yard wldCb Whn
you ride through one of these viUages at noonday, you first meet a
melancholy dog. that looks up at you and silently oegs that you won't
run oyer him, out he does not o£fer to get out of the way ; next yov
meet a young boy without any clothes on, and he holds out his hand
and says " Bucksheesh ! " — he don't really expect a cent, but then ha
learned to say that before he learned to say mother, and now he cannot
break himself of it ; next you meet a woman with a black yeil drawn
closely oyer her face, and her bust exposed ; finally you come to seyeral
sore-e^ed children and children in all stages of mutilation and decay ;
and sitting humbly in the dust, and all fringed with filthy rags, is a
poor deyil, whose arms and legs are gnarled and twisted like grape yines.
These are all the people you are likely to see. The balance of the
population are asleep within doors, or abroad tending goats in the
plains and on the hill sides. The yillage is built on some consumptiyt
little watercourse, and about it is a little fresh-looking yegetation.
Beyond this charmed circle, for miles on eyery side, stretches a weary
desert of sand and grayel, which produces a grey bunchy shrub like sage-
brush. A Syrian yillage is the sorriest sight in the world, and it^
surroundings are eminently in keeping with it.
I would not haye ^one into this dissertation upon Syrian yillages
but for the fact that Nimrod, the Mighty Hunter of Scriptural notoriety,
is buried in Jonesborough, and I wished the public to know how he is
located. Like Homer, he is said to be buried in many other places, but
this is the only true and genuine place his ashes inhabit
When the original tribes were dispersed, more than four thousand
years ago, Nimrod and a large party trayelled three or four hundred
miles, and settled where the great city of Babylon afterwards stood.
Nimrod built that city. He tuso began to buUd the famous Tower of
Babel, but circumstances oyer which he had no control put it out of his
power to finish it. He ran it up eight stories high, howeyer ; two oi
them still stand at this day — a colossal mass of brickwork, rent down
the centre by earthquakes, and seared and yitrified by the lightnings of
an angry God. But the yast ruin will still stand for ages to shame the
puny labours of these modem generations of men. Its huge compart-
ments are tenanted by owls and lions, and old Nimrod lies neglected in
this wretched yillage, far from the scene of his grand enterprise.
We left Jonesborough yery early in the morning, and rode for eyei
and for eyer and for eyer, it seemed to me, oyer p^ched deserts and
rocky hiUs, hungry, and with no water to drink. We had drained the
goat-skins dry in a little while. At noon we halted before the wretched
Arab town of El Yuba Dam, perched on the side of a mountain, but the
dragoman said if we applied there for water we would be attracted by the
whole tribe, for they did not loye Christians. We had to journey on.
Two hours later we reached the foot of a tall isolated mountain, which
is crowned by the crumbling castle of Banias, the stateliest ruin of that
kind on earth, no doubt. It is a thousand feet long and two hundred
wide, all of the most symmetrical and at the same time the most pondev-
o«s nuMoniy. Tha massiye towMs and bastions are more than thirtjr
:\ ^'
THE NEW PILGRIM'S PROGRdSS,
>5?
de. Wh»
List meet a
i you won't
; next you
Lt hia hiund
ut then he
vr he cannot
, veil drawn
le to several
and decay ;
ly rags, ifl a
grapevines,
lance of the
^oatfl in the
consumptive
; vegetation.
;hefl a weary
ub like 8a||e-
>ild, and it^s
riian villages
jal notoriety,
ow how he ii
er places, but
itoet high, and have been sixty. From the mountain's peak its broken
fcurrets rise above the groves of ancient oaks and olives, and look wonder*
folly picturesque. It is of such high antiquitv that no man knows who
built It or when it was built It is utterly maccessible, except in one
place, where a bridle-path winds upward among the solid rocks to the
old ^rtcullis. The horses' hoofs have bored holes in these rocks to the
depth of six inches during the hundreds and hundreds of years that the
castle was garrisoned. We wandered for three hours among Uie cham-
bers and crypts and dungeons of the fortress, and trod where the mailed
heels of many a knightly Crusader had rang, and where Phoenician
heroes had walked ages before them.
We wondered how such a solid mass of masonry could be affected even
by an earthquake, and could not understand what agency had made
Banias a ruin ; but we found the destroyer, after a while, and then our
v^onder was increased tenfold. Seeds had fallen in crevices in the vast
walls ; the seeds have sprouted ; the tender, insignificant sprouts bad
hardened ; they grew larger and larger, and by a steady, imperceptible
pressure forced the great stones apart, and now are bringing sure destruc-
tion upon a giant work that has even mocked the earthquakes to scorn !
Qnarled and twisted trees spring from the old walls everywhere, and
beautify and overshadow the grey battlements with a wild luxuriance of
foliage.
From these old towers we looked down upon a broad, far-reaching
green plain, glittering with the pools and rivulets which are the sources
of the sacred river Jordan. It was a grateful vision, after so much
desert.
And as the evening drew near we clambered down the mountain,
through groves of the Biblical oaks of Bashan (for we were iust stepping
over the border and entering the long-sought Holv Land^ and at its
extreme foot, toward the wide valley, we entered this little execrable
village of Banias and camped in a great grove of olive trees near a
torrent of sparkling water whose banks are arrayed in fig-trees, pome-
granates, and oleanders in full leal Barring the proximity of the
village, it is a sort of paradise.
The very first thing one feels like doing when one gets into camp, aU
burning up and dusty, ia to hunt up a bath. We followed the stream
up to where it gushes out of the mountain side, three hundred yardii
from the tents, and took a bath that was so icy that if I did not know
this was the main source of the sacred river, I would expect harm to
come of it. It was bathing at noonday ii the chilly source of the
Abana, ^ River of Damascus," that gave me the cholera, so Dr B. said.
However, it generally does give me the cholera to take a bath.
The incorrigible pUgrims have come in with their pockets full of
ipecimens broken from the ruins. I wish this vandalism could be
stopped. They broke off fragments from Noah's tomb ; from the exqui-
lite sculptures of the temples of Baalbec ; &om the house of Judas and
Ananias, in Damascus ; &om the tomb of Nimrod the M^hty Hunter in
Jonesborough ; from the worn Qreek and Roman inscriptions set in the
Wiy walla of the CastU a< Banini; and now they have been ha^n^
1,.,
%
W 'i
III'! .
iiiu:
f .
i i
*^
•St
MfAUX TWAIN *S WORKS.
tnd chippfaig theie old aiches here that Jemu looked opom In the fleeK
Heaven protect the Sepulchre when thie tribe invadei JeruBalem !
The ruina here are not very interesting. There are the massive walls
of a great square building that was once the citadel ; there are many
ponderous old arches that are so smothered with dihriM that thev
Darelv project above the ground ; there are heavy-walled sewers through
WJiich the crystal brook of which Jordan is bom still runs ; in the hill-
side are the subetructions of a costly marble temple that Herod the
Great built here — patches of its handsome mosaic floors still remain ;
Uiere is a quaint old stone bridge that was here before Herod's time,
maybe ; scattered everywhere, in the paths and in the woods, are
Corinthian capitals, broken porphyry pillars, and little fra^ents of
sculpture ; and up yonder in the precipice where the fountain gushes
out, are well-worn Greek inscriptions over niches in the rock where in
ancient times the Greeks, and after them the Romans, worshipped the
sylvan god Pan. But trees and bushes grow above many of these ruins
now ; the miserable huts of a little crew of filthy Arabs are perched
upon the broken masonry of antiquity, the whole place has a sleepy,
stupid, rural look about it, and one can hardly bring himself to believe
that a busy, substantially built city once existed here, even two thousand
vears ago. The place was nevertheless the scene of an event whose effects
nave added page after page and volume after volume to the world's hi»^
tory. For in Uiis place Christ stood when he said to Peter —
*'Thoa art Peter ; and u^n this rook will I build my Ghturch, and the gates
of hell shall not prerail againat it. And I will give onto thee the kevs of the
Kingdom of Heaven ; and whatsoorer thou shalt bind on earth shall be bound
hi heaven, and whatsoever thou shalt loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven.**
On those little sentences have been built up the mighty edifice of the
Church of Rome ; in them lie the authority for the imperial power ol
the Pojp«B over temporal affairs, and their godlike power to curse a soul
or wain it white firom sin. To sustain the position of "the only tru»
Church," which Rome claims was thus conferred upon her, she has
fought and laboured and struggled for many a century, and will con-
tinue to keep herself busy in the same work to the end of time. The
memorable words I have Quoted give to this ruined city about all thf
interest it possesses to people of the present day.
It seems curious enough to us to be standing on ground that was once
actually pressed by the i^t of the Saviour. The situation is suggestive
of a reality and a tangibility that seem at variance with the vaguenesis
and mystery and ghostliness that one naturally attaches to the charactei
of a G<)d. I cannot comprehend yet that I am sitting where a Gbd has
stood, and looking upon the brook and t^e mountains which that God
looked upon, and am surrounded by dusky men and women whose
ancestors saw Him, and even talked with Him, face to face, and care*
lessly, just as they would have done with any other stranger. I cannot
eomprehend this ; the gods of my understandmg have been always hidden
In oMuds and very far away.
Tkia monkingf during bi«akiiul» th« oaual sstimblaga of squalid
THE NEW PILGRIM'S PROGRESS.
«9I
in the flesK
lalem!
laaslve walk
,re are many
u that theT
(7618 through
; in the hul-
X Herod the
still remain ;
Serod's time,
e woods, are
fragments of
intain giishea
rock where in
orshipped the
of these ruins
« are perched
has a sleepy,
iself to helieve
L two thousand
it whose effects
,he world's hi^
ar —
,h. and the gates
the keys of the
I shall be bound
)d in heaven.**
y edifice of the
)erial power ol
to curse a soul
["the only trut
tt her, sne has
\ and will con-
of time. The
about all thf
that was once
En is suggestive
the vagueness
[) the charactei
nere a God has
^hich that God
1 women whose
I face, and care-
iger. I cannot
always hidden
rt of iqiuJ^
hnxnanity sat patiently without the charmed circle of the camp and
waited for such crumbs as pity might bestow upon their misery. There
were old and young, brown-skinned and yellow. Some of the men
were tall and stalwart (for one hardlv sees anywhere such splendid-
looking men aa here in the East), but all the women and children looked
worn and sad, and distressed with hunger. They reminded me much
of Indians, did these people. They had out little clothing, but such as
they had was fanciful in character and fantastic in its arrangement
Any little absurd gewgaw or gimcrack they had they disposed in such
a way as to make it attract attention most readily. They sat in silence,
and with tireless patience watched our every motion with that vile,
uncomplaining impoliteness which is so truly Indian, and which makes
a white man so nervous and uncomfortable and savage that he wants to
exterminate the whole tribe.
These people about us had other peculiarities, which I have noticed
in the noble red man, too ; they were infested with vermin, and the
dirt had caked on them till it amounted to bark.
The little children were in a pitiable condition — they all had sore
eyes, and were otherwise afflicted in various ways. They say that
hardly a native child in all the East is free from sore eyes, and that
thousands of them go blind of one eye or both every year. I think this
must be so, for I see plenty of blind people every day, and I do not
remember seeing any children that haon't sore eyes. And, would you
•uppose that an American mother could sit for an hour, with her child
in ner arms, and let a hundred flies roost upon its eves all that time
midisturbed ? I see that every day. It makes my flesh creep. Yester-
day we met a woman riding on a little iackass, and she had a little child
m her arms ; honestly, I thought tne child had goggles on as we
approached, and I wondered how its mother could afford so much style.
But when we drew near, we saw that the goggles were nothing but a
camp meeting of flies assembled around each of the child's eyes, and at
the same time there was a detachment prospecting its nose. The flies
were happy, the child was contented, and so the mother did not
interfere.
As fioott OS the tribe found out that we had a doctor in our party,
they beg.^n to flock in from all quarters. Dr B., in the charity of his
nature, had taken a child from a woman who sat near by, oftd put some
sort of a wash upon its diseased eyes. That woman went off and started
the whole nation, and it was a sight to see them swarm t The lame,
the halt, the blind, the leprous — all the distempers that are bred of
indolence, dirt, and iniquity — were represented in the Congress in ten
minutes, and stUl they came ! Every woman that had a sick baby
brought it along, and every- woman that hadn't borrowed one. What
reverent and what worshipping looks they bent upon that dread,
mysterious power, the Doctor ! They watched him take his phials out ;
they watched him measure the particles of white powder ; they watched
him add drops of one precious liquid, and drops of another ; they lost
not the slightest movement ; their eyes were riveted upon him with \
iJMcinationi that nothing cotUd distract 1 believe they tKoughli he w«f
'!.
i,'
ite
MARK TWATN^S WORKS.
e)d like • god. When each indlTidiuJ got his porlloii of medleliie^
eyes were radiant with joy — notwithstanding by natoie they are a
thankless and impassiye race — and npon his face was written the unques«
tioning faith that nothing on earth could prevent the patient from get-
ting well now.
Christ knew how to preach to these simple, superstitious, disease-
tortured creatures : He nealed the sick. They flocked to our poor
human doctor this morning when the fame of what he had done to the
sick child went abroad in the land, and they worshipped him with theii
eves while they did not know as yet whemer there was virtue in his
simples or not The ancestors of these — people precisely like them in
colour, dress, manners, customs, simplicity — nocked in vast multitudes
after Christ, and when they saw Him make the afflicted whole with a
word, it is no wonder they worshipped Him. No wonder His deeds
were the talk of the nation. No wonder the multitude that followed
Him was so great that at one time — thirty miles from here — they had
to let a sick man down through the roof because no approach could be
made to the door ; no wonder His audiences were so great at Qalilee
that He had to preach from a ship removed a little distance from the
shore ; no wonder that even in the desert places about Bethsaida, five
thousand invaded His solitude, and He had to feed them by a mirade
or else see them suffer for their confiding faith and devotion ; no wonder
when there was a great commotion in a citry in those days, one neighbour
explained it to another in words to this effect : " They say that Jesus of
Nazareth is come ! "
Well, as I was saying, the doctor distributed medicine as lon|[ as he
had any to distribute, and his reputation is mighty in GalUee this day.
Among his patients was the child of the Sheik's daughter — for even this
poor, ragged handful of sores and sin has its royal Sheik — a poor old
mummy that looked as if he would be more at home in a poorhouse
than in the Chief Magistracy of this tribe of hopeless, shirtless savages.
The princess — I mean the Sheik's daughter — was only thirteen or four-
teen years old, and had a very sweet face and a pretty one. She wa«
the only Syrian female we have seen yet who was not so sinfully ugly
that she couldn't smile after ten o'clock Saturday night without break-
ing the Sabbath. Her child was a hard specimen, though — there wasn't
enough of it to make a pie, and the poor little thing looked so plead-
ingly up at all who came near it (as u it had an idea that now was its
chance or never), that we were filled with compassion which was genuine
and not put on.
But this laat new horse I have got is trying to break his neck over
the tent ropes, and I shall have to go out and anchor him. Jericho and
I have parted company. The new horse is not much to boast of, I think.
One of his hind legs bends the wrong way, and the other one is as
straight and stiff as a tent-pole. Most of his teeth are gone, and he is
ss blmd as a bat His noM has been broken at some time or other, «nd
is arched like a culvert now. His under lip hangs down like a camel's,
and his ears are chopped off close to his head. I had some trouble at
&Mt to find a ■«!&• for him, but I finally condndad to call hin Baalbee,
rii
THE NEW PILGHIM'S PROGHESS.
aOi
Itccaiise he iji such a nia^Miiucent ruin. I cannot keep trom talkiuf
about my horeeB, because 1 have a very long and tedious joujuey before
me, and they naturally occupy my thoughts about aa much a« matte ra
<)f apparently much greater importance.
We satisfied our pilf^^rims by making those hard rides from liaalbec
to Damascus, but Dan's horse and Jack's were so crippled we had U>
leave them behind and get fresh animals for them. The dragoman saya
Jack's horse died. I swapped horses with Mohammed, the kingly-
looking E^rptian who is our Ferguson's lieutenant By Ferguson 1
mean our dragoman Abraham, of course. I did not take this horse on
account of his personal appearance, but because I haye not seen his
back. I do not wish to see it I haye seen the backs of all the other
horses, and found most of them covered with dreadful saddle-boilf
which I know have not been washed or doctored for years. The idea
of riding all day long over such ghastly inquisitions of torture is sicker-
ing. My horse must be like the others, but I have at least the consola-
tion of not knowing it to be so.
I hope that in future I may be spared any more sentimental praises
of the Arab's idolatry of his horse. In boyhood I loi^ed to be an Arab
of the desert and have a beautiful mare, and call her Selim or Benjamin
or Mohammed, and feed her with my own hands, and let her come into
the tent, and teach her to caress me and look fondly upon me with hex
great tender eyes ; and I wished that a stranger might come at such a
time and offer me a hundred thousand dollars for her, so that I could do
like the other Arabs — hesitate, yearn for the money, but overcome by
my love for my mare, at last say, " Part with thee, my beautiful one !
Never with my life ! Away, tempter, I scorn thy gold ! " and then
bound into the saddle and speed over the desert like the wind !
But I recall those aspirations. If these Arabs be like the other Arabe,
tiieir love for their beieiutiful mares is a fraud. These of my acquaint-
ance have no love for their horses, no sentiment of pity for them, and
no knowledge of how to treat them or care for them. The Syrian
saddle-blanket is a quilted mattress, two or three inches thick. It is
never removed from the horse, day or night. It gets full of dirt
and hair, and becomes soaked with sweat. It is bound to breed sores.
These pirates never think of washing a horse's back. They do not
shelter the horses in the tents, either ; they must stay out and take the
weather as it comes. Look at poor cropped and dilapidated " Baalbec,**
and weep for the aentiment tnat haa D(Ben wasted upon the Selima of
romaneel
'\^J/\
V
\ m
CHAPTER XV.
ABOtrr an honr's ilde over a rough, rocky road, half flooded with
L wat», and through a forest of oaks of ^ashan, brought us to Dab.
From a little mound h^« in the plain issues a broad itxmm d
wnker and fonns a lante iriiallow pool, and then Ruhea foiiooaly
MARK TWAIN'S WORKS,
MM
! I J
onward, Angmentecl in yolmne. This puddle is an important «raree W
the Jordan. Its banks, and those of toe brook, are respectably adorned
with blooming oleanders ; but the unutterable beauty of the spot will
not throw a well-balanced man into conyulaions, as the Syrian books of
travel would lead one to suppose.
From the spot I am speaking of, a cannon-ball would carry beyond
the confines of Holy Land and light upon profane ground three miles
away. We were only one little hour's travel within the borders of Holy
Land — we had hardly begun to appreciate yet that we were standing
upon any different sort of earth tlum that we had always been used to,
and yet see how the historic names began alrca(Ty to cluster ! Dan—
Bashan — Lake Huleh — the Sources of Jordan — the Sea of Qalilee^
They were all in sight but the last, and it was not far away. The littU
township of Bashan was once the kingdom so famous in Scripture foi
its bulls and its oaks. Lake Huleh is the Biblical " Waters of Merom."
Dan was the northern and Beersheba the southern limit of Palestine—
hence the ezpressson " from Dan to Beersheba." It la equivalent to oui
phrases " from Maine to Texas " — " from Baltimore to San Francisco,"
Our expression and that of the Israelites both mean the same — great
distance. With their slow camels and asses, it was about a seven days'
journey from Dan to Beersheba — say a hundred and fifty or sixty miles
— it was the entire length of their country, and was not to be undertaken
without great preparation and much ceremony. When the Prodigal
travelled to " a far country," it is not likely tnat he went more thaD
eighty or ninety miles. Palestine is only from forty to sixty miles wide.
Tne State of Missouri could be split into three ralestines, and there
would then be enough material left for part of another — possibly a whole
one. From Baltimore to San Francisco is several thousand miles, but it
will be only a seven days' journey in the cars when I am two or three
years older.* If I live 1 shall necessarily have to go across the continent
every now and then in those cars, but one journey from Dan to Beer-
shebia will be sufficient, no doubt. It must be the most trying of the
two. Therefore, if we chance to discover that from Dan to Beersheba
seemed a mighty stretch of country to the Israelites, let us not be airy
with them, but reflect that it tmu and u a mighty stretch when one can-
not traverse it by rail.
The small mound I have mentioned a while ago was once occupied bj
the Phoenician city of Laish. A party of filibusters from Zoiah an^
Eschol captured me place, and lived there in a free and easy why.
worshipping gods of their own manufacture, and stealing idoJs from
their neighbours whenever they wore their own out. Jeroboam set
up a golden calf here to fascinate his people and keep them from making
dangerous trips to Jerusalem to worship, which mignt result in a return
to their rightiul allegiance. W ith all respect for those ancient Israelites,
I cannot overlook the fact that they were not a) ways virtuous enough to
withstand the seductions of a golden call Human natoxe has not
changed much since then.
Some forty centuries ago the city of Sodom wu p Uaged bj the Arab
* She nilMMi has bMD MttiMdl siBoe the atove WM wiktM.
THE NEW PILGRIM^S PROGRESS.
«6S
tant «mrae^
Lably adorned
the spot will
man booka of
carry beyond
ad three mi lei
arders of Holy
were standing
been used to,
ister ! Dan—
ea of Qalilee.
ay. Thelittlf
1 Scripture foi
ers of Merom."
of Palestine—
uivalent to oui
Jan Franciflco."
tie same— CTeat
it a Beven davs'
^ or sixty miles
, he undertaken
Q the Prodigal
rent more than
ixty miles wide,
ines, and there
toBsiblv a whole
id miles, but it
ji two or three
IS the continent
Dan to Beer-
it trying of the
I to Beersheba
us not be airj
when one can-
^ce occupied bj
3m Zo^h aD((^
id easy wav.
ng idoJs from
Jeroboam set
. from making
lult in a return
lent Israelites,
10U8 enough to
atoxe has not
by the Arab
prlneee of Mesopotamia, and among other prieonen they leiaed apon the
patriarch Lot, and brought him here on tneir way to their own pouee-
sions. They brought him to Dan, and father Abraham, who waa pur-
suing them, crept softly in at dead of night, among the whiap«njiig
oleanders and under the shadows of the stately oaks, and fell upon the
slumbering victors and startled them from their dreame with the elaah of
steel. He recaptured Lot and all the other plunder.
We moved on. We were now in a green valley five or aiz miles wide
and fifteen long. The streams which are called the sources of the Jordan
flow through it to Lake Huleh, a shallow pond three miles in diameter,
and from the southern extremity of the Lake the concentrated Jordan
flows out The Lake is surrounded by a broad marsh, grown with reeds.
Between the marsh and the mountains which wall the valley is a respect-
able strip of fertUe land ; at the end of the valley, toward Dan. as much
as half the land is BoUd and fertile, and watered by Jordan's sources.
There is enough of it to make a fann. It almost warrants the enthusiasm
of the spies of that rabble of adventurers who captured Dan. They said
— <' We have seen the land, and behold it is very good ... A place
where there is no want of anything that is in the eartn."
Their enthusiasm was at least warranted by the fact that they had nevet
seen a country as goodias this. There was enough of it for the ample
support of their six hundred men, and their famiBes too.
When we got fairly down on the level part of the Danite £urm, we
came to places where we could actually run our horses. It was a notable
circumstance.
We had been painfully clambering over interminable hills and rocks
for days together, and when we suddenly came upon this astonishina
piece of rockless plain, every man drove the spurs into his horse ana
sped away with a velocity he could surely e^joy to the utmost, but could
never hope to comprehend in Syria^
Here were evidences of cultivation — a rare sight in this country — an
acre or two of rich soil studded with last season's dead eomnstalks. of the
thickness of your thumb, and very wide apart But in siich a land it was
a thnlling spectacle. Close to it was a stream, and on its banks a great
herd of cunous-looking Syrian goats and sheep were gratefully eating
graveL I do not state this as a petrified fact — 1 only a/wppou they were
eating gravel, because there did not appear to be anything eke for them
to eat The shepherds that tended them were the very pictures of
Joseph and his brethren, I have no doubt in Che world. They were tall,
muscular, and very dark-skinned Bedouins, with inky black beards.
They had firm lips, unquailing eyes, and a kingly stateUness of bearing.
They wore the parti-coloured naif bonnet, hall hood, with fringed ends
falling upon their shoulders, and the full flowing robe barrad with
broad, black stripes — the dress one sees in all pictures of the swarthy
sons of the deseort These chaps would sell their younger brothers if
they had a chance, I think. They have the manners, the customs, the
dress, the occupation, and the loose principles of uie andent stock.
[They attacked our camp last ni^ht, and I Dear them no sood wilLl
They hid with them the pigmy jackasses one sees all over Byiia, mm
I ! .
^ t
904
MARK TWAIN'S WORKS,
II
remembcn tn all pictures of the " Flight into E^Tpt," where lltrj tnd
tli«> Youn^ Child are riding and Joseph is walking alongside, towering
hi^li above the little donkey's shoulden.
But really here the man rides and carrteA the child, as a funeral things
and the woman walks. The cuntoms have not changed since Joseph's
time. We would not have in our houses a picture representing Joseph
riding and Mary walking; we would see profanation in it; but a
Syrian Christian would not I know that hereafter the picture I first
spoke off will look odd to me.
We could not stop to rest two or three hours out from our camp, oi
courae, albeit the brook was bAdide us. So we went on an hour longer.
We saw water then, but nowhere in the waste around was there a foot of
shade, and we were scorching to death. " Like unto the shadow of f
great rock in a weary land." Nothing in the Bible is more beautiful tiian
tliat, and surely there is no place we have wandered to that '\» able to
give it such touching expression as this blistering, naked, treeless land.
Here you do not stop just when you please, but when you can. We
travelled on and found a tree at last, out no water. We rested and
lunched, and came on to this place, Ain Mellahah (the boys call it Bald-
wiusville). It was a very short day's run, but the dragoman does
not want to go further, and has invented a plausible lie about the
country beyond being infested by ferocious Arabs, who would make
sleeping in their midst a dangerous pastime. Well they ought to be
dangerous. They carry a rusty old weather-beaten flint-lock gun, with
a barrel that is longer than themselves ; it has no sights on it ; it will not
carry farther than a brickbat, and is not half so certain. And the great
sash they wear in many a fold around their waists has two or three absurd
old horse-pistols in it that are rusty from eternal disuse — weapons that
would hang fire just about long enough for you to walk out of range,
and then burst and blow the Arab's nead off. Exceedingly dangerous;
these sons of the desert are.
It used to make my blood run cold to read Wm. C. Grimes' hair-
breadth escapes from toe Bedouins, but I think I could read them no\\-
without a tremor. He never said he was attacked by Bedouins, 1
believe, or was ever treated uncivilly ; but then in about every other
chapter he discovered them approaching, anyhow, and he had a blood-
curaling fashion of working up the peril; and of wondering how hie
relations far away would feel could they see their poor wandering boy,
with his weary feet and his dim eyes, in such fearful danger ; and of
thinking for tne last time of the old homestead, and the dear old church,
and the cow, and those things ; and of finally straightening his form to
its utmost height in the saddle, drawing his trusty revolver, and then
dashing the spurs into ** Mahommed," and sweeping down upon the
ferocious enemy, determined to sell his life as dearly as possible. True,
the ^iedouins never did anything to him when he arrivea, and never had
any intention of doing anything to him in the first place, and wondered
what in the mischief he was making all that to-do about ; but still 1
eould not divest myself of the idea somehow that a frightful peril had
b««» escaped through that man's daredevil bravery, and w I nerei
THE NEW PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. s6s
oonld retd «>v)tit Wm. 0. Onmos' Bedouiiu and ileep oomforUblj After*
wanlf. Rut I J»olicvc th«' RedouinH to b« a fraud now. 1 have seen the
mouBter, and I can outrun him. I ihall never be afraid of hii daring to
•tand behind kis own gun and discharge it.
About fifteen hami-ed yean Wore Christ, thi<i camp-ground of oun
bj the watert of Meroni was the scene of one of Joshua's exteniiinating
battli Jabiu, King of Hazor (up yonder above Dan), called all the
iheiks ahout him, together with their boats, to make readj for IixmI'i
terrible genera), who was approaching.
"And when all thes« kings were met together, thojoame and pit«b*d tof*ih«r
by the waters of Merora, to fight againnt Isranl.
" And they went out, they and uli their boRta with them, maoh people, ef«<Qa
4s the sand that is vpon the sea-thore for multitude," fco.
But Joshua fell upon them and utterly destroyed them, root and
branch. That was bin URual policy in war. He never left any chance
for newspaper controversies anout who won the battle. He made this
valley, so quiet now, a reeking slaughter-pen.
Somewhere in this part of tne country— I do not know exactly where
—Israel fought another >)loody battle a hundred years later. Deborah,
the prophetess, told Barak to take ten thousand men and sally forth
a|;ainst another King Jabin who had been doing something. Barak
came down from Mount Tabor, twenty or twenty-five miles trom here,
ind gave battle to Jabin's forces who were in command of Sisera. Berak
won the fight, and while lie was making the victory complete by the
usual method of extenninating the remnant of the defeated host, Sisera
fled away on foot, and when he was nearly exhausted by fatigue and
thint, one Jael, a woman he seems to have been acquainted with, invited
him to come into her tent and rest himself. The weary soldier acceded
readily enough, and Jael put him to bed. He said he was very thirsty,
and asked ms generous preserver to get him a cup of water. Sn«
brought him some milk, and he drank of it gratefully, and lay down
again to forget in pleasant dreams his lost battle and his himibled pride.
Presentlv wnen he was asleep, she came softly^ in with a hammer, and
drove a hideous tent-pin down through his brain !
" For he was fast asleep and weary. So he died." Such is the touch-
ing language of the Bible. ** The Song of Deborah and Barak " praises
Jael for the memorable service she had rendered, in an exultant strain —
*' Blessed above women shall Jael, the wife of Heber the Keniie be, blessed
shall she be above women in the tent.
" He asked for water, and she gave him milk ; she brought forth batter in a
lordly dish.
" She put her hand to the nail, and her right hand to the workman's hammer ;
and with the hammer she smote Sisera, she smote off his head when she had
pierced and stricken through his temples.
"At her feet he bowed, he fell, he lay down ; at her feet he bowed, lie fell :
where he hewed, there he fell down dead. **
Stirring scenea like these occur in this vall«y no more. There is not
a solitary village throughout its whole extent — nor for thirty milet in
•ithar direction. There are two or three inudl clusters of Bedows twits,
s )
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905
JUARJir TWAIN^S WORKS.
but not A iliigle pennanent habitation. One may ride ten milee hera>
abouts and not see ten human bein^
To this region one of the prophetaes 1b applied—
'* I will bring the land into d«solation ; and yotir enemiM which dwell ihex«lB
•hall be aatoniflhed at it. And I will scatter you among the heathen, and I wiU
draw out a sword after you ; and yonr land ihall be desolate and yonr cities
waste."
No man can stand here by deserted Ain Mellahah and say the pro-
phecy has not been fulfilled.
In a verse from the Bible which I have quoted above, occurs the
phrase "all these kings." It attracted my attention in a moment, because
it carries to my mind such a vastly different sign^cance from what it
always did at home. I can see easily enough tiiat if I wish to profit by
this tour, and come to a correct ^inderstanding of the matters of interest
connected with it, I must studiously and faithfully unlearn a great
many things I have somehow absorbed concerning Palestine. I must
begin a system of reduction. Like my grapes whidi the spies bore out
of the Promised Land, I have got everpming in Palestine on too large a
scale. Some of my ideas were wild enough. The word Palestine always
brought to my mind a vague suggestion of a coimtry as large as the
United States. I do not know why, but such was the case. I suppose
it was because I eould not conceive of a small country having so large a
histoiy. I think J was a little surprised to find that the Grand Sultan
of Turkey was a man of only ordmary size. I must try to reduce m]F
ideas of Palestine to a more reasonable shape. One gets large impres-
sions in boyhood sometimes which he has to fight against all his life,
" All these kings." When I used to read that in Sunday School, it
suggested to me the several kings of such countries as England, France,
Spain, Qermany, Russia, &c., arrayed in splendid robes ablaze with
jewels, marching in grave procession, with sceptres of gold in their hands
and flashing crowns upon their heads. But here in Ain MeUahah, after
coming through Syria, and after giving serious study to the character and
customs of the country, the phrase " all these kings " loses its grandeur.
It suggests only a parcel of petty chiefs — ill-clad and ill-conditioned
savages much like our Indians, who lived in full sight of each other, and
whose " kingdoms " were large when they were nve miles square and
contained two thousand souls. The combmed monarchies of the thirty
"kings" destroyed by Joshua on one of his famous campaigns, only covered
an area about equal to four of our counties of ordinary size. The poor old
sheik we saw at Cesarea Philippi with his ragged band of a hundred
followers, would have been called a " king " in those aofcient times.
It is seven in the morning, and as we are in the country, the grass
onght to be sparkling with dew, the flowers enriching the air with theii
fra^gTance, and the birds singing in the trees. But, {das ! there is no dew
here, nor flowers, nor birds, nor trees. There is a plain and an unshaded
lake, and beyona them some barren mountains. The tents are tumblingr
the Arabs are quarrelling like d(^ and cats, as usual, the camp-ground
Is stiewn with packages and bundles, the labour of packing them upon
Um bftcka of the bums is prog^eMiog with ^preat actiTU^Tae hones tm
THE NEW PILGRIM'S PROGRESS.
^
saddled, the nmbrellas are out, and In ten minutes we shall mount, and
the long procession will move again. The whole citv of the Mellahah,
reburrected for a moment out of the dead centuries, will have disappearea
^ain and left no ugn.
CHAPTER XVL
WE traversed some miles of desolate country whose soil la rich
enough, but is ^ven over wholly to weeds — a silent, mournful
expanse, wherem we saw only three persons — Arabs, with
nothing on but a long coarse shirt like the '' tow linen " shirts which
laed to form the only summer garment of little negro boys on southern
)lan tatious. Shepherds they were, and they charmed their flocks with
iie traditional shepherd's pipe — a reed instrument that made music as
xa uisitely infernal as these same Arabs create when they sing.
In their pipes lingered no echo of the wonderful music the shepherd
'ore fathers heard in the plains of Bethlehem what time the angels sang
' P eace on earth, good will to men."
P art of the ground we came over was not ground at all, but rocks —
Tea m-coloured rocks, worn smooth, as if by water ; with seldom an edge
"- a comer on them, but scgoped out, honevcombed, bored out with eye-
holes, and thus wrought into all manner of quaint shapes, among which
the uncouth imitation of skulls was frequent. Over this part of the
toute were occasional remains of an old Roman road like the Appian
Way, whose paving stones still dung to their places with Roman
tenacity.
Orey lizards, those heirs of ruin, of sepulchres and desolation, glided
in and out among the rocks or lay still and sunned themselves. Where
prosperity has reigned, and fallen ; where glory has flamed, and gone
out ; where beauty has dwelt, and passed away i where gladness was,
and sorrow is ; where the pomp of life has been, and silence and death
brood in its hi^h places — there this reptile makes his home, and mocks
at human vamty. His coat is the colour of ashes : and aakea are the
lymbol of hepes that have perished, of aspirations that came to nought,
of loves that are buried. If he could speak, he would say, Build temples :
I will lord it in their ruins ; build palaces : I will inhabit them ; erect
empires : I will inherit them ; bury your beautiful : I will watch the
worms at their work ; and you, who stand here and moralise over me :
I will crawl over your corpse at the last
A few ants were in this desert place, but merely to spend the
summer. They brought their provisions from A in Mellahah — eleven
iniles.
Jack is not very well to-day, it is easy to see ; but boy as he is, he ii
too much of a man to speak of it. He exposed himseu to the sun to«
much yesterday, but since it came of his earnest desire to learn, and to
make this joumey as useful as the opportunities will allow, no one seeki
to discouacEt him by fanlt-iiading. W« miiaed hin ain hoar from tbt
r
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968
AfAMr TWAtN*S WORKS.
h
camp, and then found him some distance away, by the edge of a bibolL
and with no Qmbrella to protect him from the nerce sun. If he haa
been uaed to going without hia umbrella, it would have been well
enough of course ; but he was not He was just in the act of throwing a
clod at a mud-tuxtle which was sunning itself on a small log in uie
brook. We said :
" Don't do that, Jack. What do you want to harm him for ? What
has he done?"
" Well, then, I won't kill bim, but I ought to, because he is a fraud."
We asked mm why, but he said it was no matter. We asked him
why once or twice as we walked back to the camp, but he still said it
wae no matter. But late at night, when he was sitting in a thoughtful
mood on the bed, we asked him again, and he said :
'' Well, it don't matter ; I don't mind it now. but I did not like it to-
da^, you know, because I don't tell anything that isn't so, and I don't
think the Colonel ought to either. But he did ; he told vs at prayers
in the Pilgrims' tent last night, and he seemed as if he was reading it
out of the Bible too, about this country flowing with milk and honey,
and about the voice of the turtle being heard in the land. I thought
that was drawing it a little strong about the turtles anyhow, but I askeo!
Mr Church if it was so, and he said it was, and what Mr Church tells
me I believe. But I sat there and watched that turtle nearly an hour
to-da^, and I almost burned up in the sun ; but I never heard him sing.
I believe I sweated a double nandful of sweat — I hMAa I did — because
it got in my eyes, and it was running down over my nose all the time ;
ana you know my pants are tighter than anybody else's — Paris foolish-
ness — and the buckskin seat of them got wet with sweat, and then got
drv again and began to draw up and pinch and tear loose — it was awful
—but I never heard him sing. Finally I said. This is a fraud — that is
what it is, it is a fraud — and u I had any sense I might have known a
cursed mud-turtle couldn't sing. And then I said, I don't wish to be
hard on this fellow, I will just give him ten minutes to commence ; ten
minutes — and then if he don't, down goes his building. But he didvii
commence, you know. I had stayed there aU that time, thinking maybe
he might pretty soon, because he kept on raising his head up and letting
it down, and drawing the skin over his eyes for a minute and then
opening them out again, as if he was trying to study up something to
sing, but just as the ten minutes were up and I was all beat out and
blistered, he laid his blamed head down <» a knot and went last
Mleep."
" It 1MM a little hard, after you had waited so long."
" I should think so. I said. Well, if you won't sing, you shan't sleep,
anv way ; and if you fellows had lei me alone I womd have made him
flhm out of Qftlilee quicker than ever any turtle did yet But it isn't
any matter now — ^let it go. The skin ia all off the back of my neck."
About ten in the morning we halted at Joseph's Pit This is a ruined
Khan of the Middle Ages, in one of whose siae oonrti is a gveat walled
md aiC^^ pt with water in ii, mA tiiia pi^ one tzadition saya, is tho
one JoocdN'* oMthreu -s^ him Into. ▲ mote gmthantic ti^diticm, aided
: B.I
for? What
THE NEVr FILGRIM*S PROGRESS.
«69
bj tli« geography of the countiy, pkces the pit in Dothaa, tome two
days' journey from here. However, siace there are many who belieye
in this present pit as the true one it has its interest.
It is hard to make a choice of the most beautiful passage in a book
which is so gemmed with beautiful passages as the Biole ; But it is cer-
tain that not many things within its lids may take rank above the
exquisite story of Joseph. Who taught those ancient writers their
gimplicitv of language, their felicity of expression, their pathos, and,
cibove all, their faculty of sinking themselves entirely out of sight of
the reader, and makmg the narrative stand out alone ar/i seem to
tell itself ? Shakespeare is always present when one reads his book ;
Macaulay is present when we follow the march of his stately sentences ;
but the Old Testament writers are hidden from view.
If the pit I have been speaking of is the right one, a scene transpired
there, long ages ago, whicn is familiar to us all in pictures. The sons
of Jacob had been pasturing their flocks near there. Their father grew
uneasy at their long absence, and sent Joseph, his favourite, to see ii
anything had gone wrong with them. He travelled six or seven days'
journey ; he was only seventeen years old, and boy like, he toiled
through that long stretch of the vilest, rockiest, dustiest coimtry in Asia,
arrayed in the pride of his heart, his beautiful claw-hammer coat oi
many colours. Joseph was the favourite, and that was one crime in the
eyes of his brethren; he had dreamed dreams, and interpreted them to
foreshadow his elevation far above aU his family in the far future, and
that was another ; he was dressed well, and had doubtless displayed the
harmless vanity of youth in keeping the fact prominently before his
brothers. These were crimes his elders fretted ever among themselves,
And promised to punish when the opportunity should offer. When they
saw him coming up from the Sea of Galilee, they recognised him and
/rere glad. They said, " Lo, here is this dreamer — let us kill him."
But Bieuben pleaded for his Hfe, and they spared it. But they seized
the boy, and b^ripped the hated coat from his back and pushed him into
the pit Th€\j intended to let him die there, but Eeuben intended to
liberate bini secretly. However, while Reuben was away for a little
while, the brethren sold Joseph to some Ishmaelitish merchants who
were journeying towards Egypt. Such is the history of the pit. And
the self-same pit is there in that place even to this day ; ami there it
will remain until the next detachment of image-breakers and tomb-
desecraters arrives from the Quaker City excursion, and they will
infallibly dig it up and carry it away with thenL For behold in them
is no reverence for the solemn monuments of the past, and whitheisoe vef
th^ go they destroy and spare not
Joseph became rich, distinguished, powerful — as the Bible ezpiessei
it" ** lord over all the land of Egypt Joseph was the real king, th«
strength, the bndn of the monarchy, though Pharaoh held the title.
Joseph is one of the truly great men of the Old Testament And he
was the noblest and the muiliest, save Esau. Why shall we not say a
iood word for the princely Bedouin? The onW^crime that oan b«
Woii4(ht aiBUBst him is that he wm uiufioBtouake. why mmt •rtrrbodf
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MAR/r TWAIN^S WORKS,
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pniae JMeph'i great-hearted generosity to his cruel brethren, without
itint of fervent language, and fling only a reluctant bone of praise to
Esau for his still sublimer generosity to the brother who had wronged
him 7 Jacob took advantage of Esau's consuming hunger to rob him of
his birthright and the great honour and consideration that belonged to
the position ; by treachery and falsehood he robbed him of his father's
blessing ; he made of him a stranger in his home, and a wanderer. Yet
after twenty years had passed away and Jacob met Esau, and fell at his
feet quaking with fear and begging piteously to be spared the punish-
ment he knew he deserved, what did that magnificent savage do ] He
fell upon his neck and embraced him ! When Jacob — who was incap-
able of comprehending nobility of character — still doubting, stiU fearing,
insisted upon " finding grace with my lord" by the bribe of a present of
cattle^ what did the gorgeous son of the desert sav 7
" Nay, I have enough, my brother ; keep that thou hast unto thyself! "
Esau found Jacob nch, beloved by wives and children, and travelling
in state, with servants, herds of cattle, and trains of camels — but he him-
self was still the uncourted outcast this brother had made him. Aftei
thirteen years of romantic mystery, the brethren who had wronged
Joseph came, strangers in a strange land, hungry and humble, to buy
"a httle food;" and being summoned to a palace, charged witii crime,
they beheld in its owner their wronged brother ; they were trembling
beggars— he the lord of a mighty em^Mre ! What Joseph that ever lived
would have thrown away such a chance to ''show off?" Who stanoE
first — outcast Esau forgiving Jacob in prosperity, or Joseph on a king'^
throne forgiving the ragged tremblers whose happy rascality placed him
there 7
Just before we came to Joseph's Pit, we had ** raised " a hill, and there,
A few miles before us, with not a tree or a shrub to interrupt the view,
lay a vision which millions of worshippers in the far lands of the earth
would give half their possessions to see — the sacred Sea of Galilee !
Therefore we tarried onlv a short time at the pit We rested the
horses and ourselves, and felt for a few minutes the olessed shade of the
ancient buildings. We were out of water, but the two or three scowling
Arabs, with their long guns, who were idling about the place, said they
had none, and that there was none in the vicinity. Tney knew there
was a little brackish water in the pit, but they venerated a place made
sacred by their ancestor's imprisonment too much to be willing to see
Christian dogs drink from it But Ferguson tied rags and handker<
chiefs together till he made a rope long enough to lower a vessel to the
bottom, and we drank and then rode on ; and in a short time we dis-
mounted on those shores which the feet of the Saviour have made holy
ground.
At noon we took a swim in the Sea of QalUee — a blessed privilege in
this roasting climate — and then lunched under a neglected old fig-tree at
the fountain they call Ain-et-Tin, a hundred yards from ruined Caper
Every rivulet that gurgles out of the rocks and sands of thk
BAum.
part of the werld is dubbed with the title of '* fountain," and people
teiUw vilk the H«deoii, the grMt kkkes axkd tke MiMiwippi, ial] inkc
THE NEW PILGRIM^S PROGRESS, ffi
iransportfl of admiration over them, and exhaust their powen of oompo-
lition in writing their praises. If all the poetry and nonsense that have
been dincharged upon the fountains and the bland scenery of this region
were collected in a book, it would make a most valuable volume to bum.
During luncheon, the pilgrim enthusiasts of our party, who had been
30 light-hearted and happy ever since they touched holy ground that
they did little but mutter incoherent rhapsodies, could scarcely eat, so
anxious were they to "take shipping" and sail in very person upon the
vraters that had borne the vessels of the apostles. Their anxiety grew
and their excitement augmented with every fleeting moment, until my
fears were aroused, and I began to have misgivings that in their present
condition they might break recklessly loose from all considerations of
prudence and buy a whole fleet of ships to sail in instead of hiring a
single one for an hour, as quiet folk are wont to do. I trembled to think
of the ruined purses this day's performances might result in. I could
not help reflectmg bodingly upon the intemperate zeal with which middle-
aged men are apt to surfeit themselves upon a seductive folly which they
have tasted for the first time. And yet I did not feel that I had a right
to be surprised at the state of things which was giving me so much con-
cern. These men had been taugnt from infancy to revere, almost to
worship, the holy places whereon their happy eyes were resting now.
For many and many a year this very picture had visited their thoughti
by day, and floated through their dreams by night. To stand before it
in the flesh — to see it as they saw it now — to sail upon the hallowed sea,
and kiss the holy soil that compassed it about : these were aspirations
they had cherished while a generation dragged its lagging seasons by and
left its furrows in their faces and its frosts upon their hair. To look upon
this picture, and sail upon this sea, they had forsaken home and its idols
and journeyed thousands and thousands of miles, in weariness and tribu-
lation. What wonder that the sordid lights of work-day prudence should
pale before the glory of a hope like theirs in the full splendour of its
fruition ? Let them squander millions ! I said — who speaks of money
at a time like this ?
In this frame of mind I followed, as fast as I could, the eager foot-
steps of the pilgrims, and stood upon the shore of the lake, and swelled,
with hat and voice, the frantic hail they sent after the " ship " that was
speeding by. It was a success. The toilers of the sea ran in and
beached their barque. Joy sat upon every coimtenance.
" How much ? — ask him how much, Ferguson ! — how much to take
OB all — eight of us, and you — to Bethsaida yonder, and to the mouth
of Jordan, and to the place where the swine ran down into the sea —
auick ! — and we want to coast around everywhere — everywhere ! — all
day long ! — / could sail a year in these waters ! — and teU him we 11 stop
at Magdida and finish at Tiberias ! — ask him how much ) — ^anything—
•nythmg whatever ! — teU him we don't care what the expense is !" [T
>aid to myself, I knew how it would be.]
Ferguton (interpreting) — " He says two napolMm»— e1fl(ht doUmk*
One or two countenances felL Then a puse.
" Too modi l~we '11 give him on* l*
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MfARX TWAIN'S WORKS.
I Berer shall know how it was — I shudder yet when I think how the
plaice is given to miracles — but in a single instant of time, as it seemed
to me, that ship was twenty paces from the shore, and speeding away
like a frightened thing! Eight crest-fallen creatures stood upon the
shore, and oh, to think of it ! this — this — after all that over-mastering
ecstacy I Oh, shameful, shameful ending, after such unseemly boasting !
It was too much like "Ho! let me at him!" followed by a prudent
"Two of you hold him— one can hold me !"
Instantly there was wailing and gnashing of teeth in the camp. The
two napoleons were offered— more if necessary — and pilgrims and drago-
man shouted themselves hoarse with pleadings to the retreating boatmen
to come back. But they sailed serenely away and paid no further heed
to pilgrims who had dreamed all their lives of some day skimming ove*;
the sacred waters of Galilee and listening to its hallowed story in the whis-
perings of its waves, and had journeyed countless leagues to do it, and
— and then concluded that the fare was too high. Impertinent Moham-
medan Arabs, to think such things of gentlemen of another faith I
Well, there was nothing to do but just submit and forego the privilege
of voyaging on Gennesaret, after coming half around the globe to tastt^
that pleasure. There was a time, when the Saviour taught here, that
boats were plenty among the fishermen of the coasts — ^but boats and fisher-
men both are gone now ; and old Josephus had a fleet of men-of-war in
these waters eighteen centuries ago — a hundred and thirty bold canood
— but they also have passed away and left no sign. They battle here
no more by sea, and the commercial marine of Galilee numbers only
two small ships, just of a pattern with the little skiffs the disciples
knew. One was lost to us tor good, the other was miles away ana far
out of hail. So we moimted the horses and rode grimly on toward
Magdala, cantering along in the edge of the water for want of the means
of passing over it
How the pilgrims abused each other ! Each said it was the other's
fault, and each in turn denied it. No word was spoken by the sinners
— even the mildest sarcasm might have been dangerous at such a time.
Sinners that have been kept down and had examples held up to them,
and suffered frequent lectures, and been so put upon in a moral way ana
in the matter of going slow and being serious and bottling up slang, and
so crowded in regard to tiie matter of being proper and always and for
ever behaving, that their lives have become a burden to them, would not
lag behind pilgrims at such a time as this, and wink furtively, and bfl
joyful, and commit other such crimes — because it would not occur to
them to do it Otherwise they would. But they did do it, though — and
it did them a world of good to hear the pilgrims abuse each other, too.
We took an unworthy satiafiaction in seeing them fall out, now and then,
beea«M it flowed that they were only poor human people like us, aftei
So w« all rode down to Magdala, while the gnashisg of teeth waadi
aad waned by turns, and hann words troubled the holy calm of Galik^
Lest uiy man think I mean to be ill-natartd when I talk about ow
pililrinui MN I kA«>^ been talking I wish to say in all oneeri^ tkat I dc
THE NEW PILGRIM'S PROGREiiS,
273
aot I would not liBten to lectnrM firom men I did not like and conld not
respect ; and none of these can say I ever took their lectures unkindly,
or was restive under the infliction, or failed to try to profit hj what they
said to me. They are better men than I am ; I can say that honestly ;
they are good friends of mine, too — and besides, if they did not wish to
be stirred up occasionally in print, why in the mischief did they travel
with me 1 They knew me. They knew my liberal way — that I like to
give and take — when it is for me to give and other people to take. When
one of them threatened to leave me in Damascus wnen I had the cholera,
he bad no real idea of doing it — I know his passionate nature and the
guod impulses that underlie it And did I not overhear Church, another
pilgrim, say he did not care who went or who stayed, he would stand by
me till I walked out of Damascus on my own feet or was carried out in
a coihn, if it was a year ? And do I not include Church every time I
abuse the pilgrims — and would I be Ukely to speak ill-naturedly of him 1
I wish to stir them up and make them healthy ; that is all.
We had left Capernaum behind us. It was only a shapeless ruin. It
bore no semblance to a town, and had nothing about it to suggest that it
nad ever been a town. But all desolate and unpeopled as it was, it was
illustrious ground. From it sprang that tree of Chnstianity whose broad
arms overshadow so many distant lands to-day. After Christ was
tempted of the devil in the desert, He came here and began His teachings j
and during the three or four years He lived afterwards, this place was
His home almost altogether. He began to heal the sick, and His fame
soon spread so widely that sufferers came from Syria and beyond Jordan,
and even from Jerusalem, several days' journey away, to be cured of their
diseases. Here He healed the centurion's servant and Peter's mother-in-
law, and multitudes of the lame and the blind and persons possessed of
devils ; and here, also. He raised Jairus's daughter &om the dead. He
went into a ship with His disciples, and when they aroused Him from
sleep in the midst of a storm. He quieted the winds and lulled the
troubled sea to rest with His voice. He passed over to the other side,
a few nules away, and relieved two men of devils, which passed into
some swine. After His return He called Matthew from the receipt of
customs, performed some cures, and created scandal by eating with
publicans and sinners. Then He went healing and teaching mrough
Galilee, and even journeyed to Tyre and Sidon. He chose the twelve
disciples, and sent them abroad to preach the gospel He worked
miracles in Bethsaida and Chorazin — villages two or three miles from
Capernaum. It was near one of them that the miraculous draught of
fishes is supposed to have been taken, and it was in the desert places
near the other that He fed the thousands by the miracles of the loaves
and fishes. He cursed them both, and Capernaum also, for not repenting,
after all the great works He had done in their midst, and prophesi^
against them. They are all in ruins now — which is gratifying to the
pilgrims, for, as usual, they fit the eternal words of gods to the evanescent
things of this earth ; Christ, it is more probable, referred to the pwpUy not
their shabby villages of wigwams : He said it would be sad for them at
'' the Day of Jud^rment "— nuid what banness bare mod-horeli at tii« Day
il
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•74
MARiT TWAIN*S WORKS,
•f Jadgmenti It woula not affect the prophecy in the leant it would
neither proye it nor disprove it — if these towns were epleiidid cities no\f
instead of the almost vanished ruins they are. Ch^ ^t vasited Magdala,
which is near by Capernaum, and He also visited Oatsurea Philippi. He
went up to His old nome at Nazareth, and saw II in brothers JoMes, and
Judas, and James, and Simon — those persons who, being own brothers
to Jesus Christ, one would expect to hear mentioned sometimes, yet who
ever saw their names in a newspaper or heard them from a pulpit 1 Who
ever inquires what manner of youths they were ; and whether they slept
with Jesus, {)layed with Him, and romped about Him ; quarrelled with
Him concerning toys and trifles ; struck Him in anger not suspecting
what He was ? Whoever wonders what they thought when they saw
Him come back to Nazareth a celebrity, and looked long at His un-
familiar face to make sure, and then said, " It m Jesus ? " Who wonders
what passed in their minds when they saw this brother (who was (mly a
brother to them, however much He might be to others a mysterious
stranger, who was a god and had stood face to face with Qod above the
clouds), doing strange miracles with crowds of astonished people for
witnesses 1 Who wonders if the brothers of Jesus asked Him to come
home with them, and said His mother and His sisters were grieved at
His long absence, and would be wild with delight to see His face again 1
Whoever gives a thought to the sisters of Jesus at all ? Yet He had
listen ; and memories of them must have stolen into His mind often
when He was ill-treated among strangers ; when He was homeless and
said He had not where to lay His head ; when all deserted Him, even
Peter, and He stood alone among His enemies.
Chiist did few miracles in Nazareth, and stayed but a little while.
The people said, " Th\» the Son of Qod ! Why, his father is nothing
but a carpenter. We know the family. We see them every day. Are
not His brothers named so and so, and His sisters so and so, and is not
His mother the person they call Mary ? This is absurd." He did not
eorse EUs home, out He shook its dust from His feet and went away.
Capernaum lies close to the edge of the little sea, in a small plain
some five miles long, and a mile or two wide, which is mildly adorned
with oleanders which look all the better contrasted with the bald hilb
and the howling deserts which surround them, but they are not aa
deliriously beautiful as the books paint theno. If one be calm and
resolute he can look upon their comeliness and Uve.
One of the most astonishiiig things that have vet fallen under our
observation is the exceedingly small portion of the earth from which
sprang the now flourishing plant of Christianity. The longest journey
our Saviour ever performed was from here to Jerusalem — about one
hundred to one hundred and twenty miles. The next longest was from
here to Sidon — say about sixty or seventy miles. Instead of being wide
apart — as American appreciation of distances would naturally suggest —
the places made moat narticularly celebrated by the presence of Christ
■ze nearly all right nere in full view, and within cannon-shot oi
Oapamaum. Leaving out two or three short journeys of the Saviour,
Re ipent Hit lift, preached His ^otpel, and perfonned His miracW
'
THE NEW PILGRIM'S PROGRESS,
ie«fit-it would
iiidicl citiuH now
iflited Ma^<lala,
I Philippi. He
hers JoseH, and
5 own broth era
Jtimes, yet who
I pulpit 1 Who
Btner they slept
][iiarTeUed with
not suspecting
when they saw
•ng at His un-
Who wonders
who was only a
"8 a mysterious
God above the
lied people for
1 Him to come
^ere grieved at
Sis face again 1
Yet He had
lis mind often
homeless and
ted Him, even
a little while,
ler is nothing
ery day. Are
so, and is not
He did not
«rent away,
a small plain
lildly adorned
the bald hills
ey are not aa
be calm and
en under our
h from which
ngest journey
n — about one
gest was from
of being wide
ally suggest —
mce of Christ
Einnon->shot oi
the Saviour,
His miraclep
87$
irithin a compass no larger than an ordinary county in the Unitwl
States. It is as much as I can do to comprehend this stupefying fact
How it wears a man out to have to read up a hundred pages of historj
every two or three miles — for verily the celebrated localities of Palestine
occur that close together. How wearily, how bewilderingly they swarm
about your path i
In due time we reached the ancient village of Magdala.
CHAPTER XVII.
MAQDALA is not a beautiful place. It is thoroughly Syrian, and
that is to say that it is thoroughly ugly, and cramped, squalid,
uncomfortable, and filthy — just the style of cities that have
adorned the coimtry since Adam's time, as all writers have laboured
hard to prove, and have succeeded. The streets of Magdala are any-
where from three to six feet wide, and reeking with uncleanlineB& The
houses are from five to seven feet high, and sdi built upon one arbitrary
plan — the ungraceful form of a dry-goods box. The sides are daubed
with a smooth white plaster, and tastefully frescoed aloft and alow with
discs of camel dung placed there to dry. This gives the edifice thii
romantic appearance of having been riddled with cannon-balls, and
imparts to it a very warlike aspect. When the artist has arranged his
materials with an eye to just proportion — the small and the large (lakes
in alternate rows, and separated by carefully-considered intervals->I
know of nothing more cheerful to look upon than a spirited Syrian
fresco. The flat plastered roof is garnished by picturesque stacks of
fresco materials, wnich, having become thoroughly dried and cured, are
placed there where it will be convenient. It is used for fueL There
is no timber of any consequence in Palestine — none at all to waste upon
fires — and neither are there any mines of coal. If my description nas
been intelligible, you will perceive, now, that a square flat-roofed hovel,
neatly frescoed, with its wall- tops gallantly bastioned and turreted with
dried camel-refuse, gives to a landscape a feature that is exceedingly
festive and picturesaue, especially if one is careful to remember to stick
in a cat wherever, about the premises, there is room for a cat to sit
There are no windows to a Syrian hut, and no chimneys. When I
used to read that they let a bedridden man down through the roof of a
house in Capernaum to get him into the presence of the Saviour, I
generally had a three-story brick in my mind, and marvelled that they
did not break his neck with the strange experiment. I perceive now,
however, that they might have taken him by the heels and thrown hira
clear over the house without discommoding him very much. Palestine
u uot changed any aiuce those days in manners, cuatoms, architecture,
w people.
As we rode into Magdak uot a •onl was wmble. But the nng of tke
WwMia' ho<«fe MOMd t£« 8lttt«d populAlien. and they all owne troopinf
fii,.
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076
MARK TWAIN^S WORKS,
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out — old men and old women, boys and girlB, the blind, the enzy, and
the crippled, all in ragged, soiled, and scan^ raiment, and all abject
beggars oy nature, instinct, and education. How the vermin-tortured
▼agabondff did swarm ! How they showed their scars and sores, and
piteously pointed to their maimed and crooked limbs, and begged with
their pleaaing eyes for charity ! We had invoked a spirit we could not
lay. They hung to the horses' tails, clung to their manes and the
stirrupH, closed in on every side in ecom of dangerous hoofs — and out
of their infidel throats, with one accord, burst an agonising and most
infernal chorus : " Howajji, bucksheesh ! howajji, bucksheesh ! howarji,
bucksheesh ! bucksheesh ! buckHheesh ! " I never was in a storm like
that before.
Afl we paid the backsheesh out to sore-eyed children and brown,
buxom girls with repulsively tattooed lips and chins, we filed through
the town and by many an exquisite fr»j8co, till we came to a bramble-
infested enclosure and a Roman-looking ruin which had been the verit-
able dwelling of St Mary Magdalene, the friend and follower of Jesus.
The guide believed it, and so did I. I could not well do otherwise,
with the house right there before my eyes as plain as day. The pilgrims
took down portions of the front wall for speciniras, as is their honoured
eustom, and then we departed.
We are camped in this place now, just within the city walls of
Tiberias. We went into the town before nightfall and looked at its
people — we cared nothing about its houses. Its people are best examincid
at a distance. They are particularly uncomely Jews, Arabs, and negroes.
Squalor and poverty are the pride of Til)eria8. The young women weal
their dower strung upon a strong wire that curves downward from the
top of the head to the jaw — Turkish silver coins which they have raked
together or inherited. Most of thcv maidens were not wealthy, but
some few had been very kindly dealt with by fortune. I saw heiresses
there worth, in their own right — worth, well, I suppose I might venture
10 say, as much as nine dollars and a half. But such cases axe rare.
When you come across one of these, she naturally puts on airs. She
will not ask for bucksheesh. She will not even permit of undue
familiarity. She assumes a crushing dignity and goes on serenely prac-
tising with her fine-tooth comb and quoting poetry Just the same
as if you were not present at all. Some people cannot stand pro-
sperity.
They say that the long-nosed, lanky, dyspeptic-looking body-snatchers,
with the indescribable hats on, and a long curl dangling down in front
of each ear, are the old familiar, self-righteous Pharisees we read of in
the Scriptures. Verily they look it. Judging merely by their general
style, and without other evidence, one might easily suspect that self-
righteousness was their specialty.
From various authorities I have culled information concerning
Tiberias. It was built by Herod Antipas, the murderer of John the
Baptist, and named after the Emperor Tiberius. It is believed that it
■tuidi upon the site of what must have been, ages ago, a city of con-
iddnabk architectural pretengiooa, judgii^; by the fine porphyry pUlan'
f the crazy, and
, and all abject
irennm-tortured
and lores, and
nd begged with
it we could not
iianes and the
hoofs — and out
ising and moat
leesh ! howaiji,
n a storm lUce
THE SEA ( F GALi'.BB,
dy-snatchers,
own in front
ve read of in
their genera]
act that self*
"The celebrated Sea of Galilee is
not HO larj^e a sea as Lake Tahoe Ity
11 great ileal. The dim waters can-
not suggest the brilliancy of Tahoe.
Silence and solitude brood over
Tahoe, and silence and uolitude
brood over this lake of Oennesaret.
Hut the solitude of one is as cheer-
ful and fascinating as the solitude
of the other is dismal and repellant.
" Its history and its associations are its chiefest charms. ... In the star-
light, Galilee has no boundaries but the broad compass of the heavens, and
is a theatre meet for great events ; meet for the birth of a religion able to
save a world ; and meet for the stately Fi;^ure appointed to stand upon its
stage and proclaim its high decrees. But in the sunlight, one says : Is it for
the deeds which were done, and the words which were spoken, in this little
acre of rocks and sand eighteen centuries gone by, that the bells are ringing
to-day in the remote islands of the sea, and far and wide over continents
that clasp the circumference of the huge globe?"— Pp. 277, 280, 281.
f !
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THB NEW PILGRIM'S PROORBSS.
«77
(tiat are Mattered through Tiberiwi and down the lake nhore lonthwardi
These were fluted once, and yet, although the Btone ia about aa hard aa
iron, the flutin|n are dmoat worn away. Theie pillan are small, and
doubtleee the edifices thuy adorned were dUtinguisned more for deganoe
Lhau grandeur. This modem town— Tiberias — is only mentioned in
the. New TratHiiteut ; never in the Old.
The Sanhedrim met here last, and for three hundred years Tiberias
was the metro poll n of the Jews in Palestine. It ia one of the four holy
cities of the iHraelites, and in to them what Mecca is to the Mchammedau
and Jeruaaleiii to the Christian. It has been the abiding place of many
learned and famous Jewish rabbins. They lie buried here, and near
them lie also twenty-five thousand of their faith who travelled far to be
near them while they lived and lie with them when tliey died. The
gi uat Rubbi Ben Israel spent three years here in the early part of the
third century. He is dead now.
The celebrated Sea of Galilee is not so large a sea as Lake Tahoe* by
a good deal— H is juat about two-thirds as large. And when we come
to speak of beauty, this sea is no mure to be compared to Tahoe than a
meridian of longitude is to a rainbow. The dim waters of this pool
cannot suggest the limpid brilliancy of Tahoe ; these low, shaven, yellow
hillocks of rocks and sand, so devoid of perspective, cannot suggest the
grand peaks that compass Tahoe like a wall, and whose ribbed and
chasmed fronts are clad with stately pines that seem to ctow small and
smaller as they climb, till one irignt fancy them reduced to weeds and
Bhrubs far upward, where they join the everlasting snows. Silence and
soUtude brood over Tahoe ; and silence and solitude brood also
over this lake of Gennesaret. But the solitude of the one is as cheer<
ful and fascinating as the solitude of the other is dismal and repellant.
In the early morning one watches the silent battle of dawn and
darkness upon the waters of Tahoe with a placid interest ; but when
the shadows sulk away, and one by one the hidden beauties of the shore
unfold themselves in the full splendour of noon ; when the still surface
is belted like a rainbow with broad bars of blue and green, and white,
half the distance from circumference to centre ; when, in the lazy
sunmier afternoon, he lies in a boat, far out to where the dead blue of
tlie deep water begins, and smokes the pipe of peace and idly winka
at the distant crags and patches of snow from under his cap-brim ;
when the boat drifts shoreward to the white water, and he lolls over
the gunwale and gazes by the hour down through the crystal depthi
and notes the colours of the pebbles and reviews the finny armies glid-
ing in procession a hundred feet below ; when at night he sees moon
and stars, mountain ridges feathered with pines, jutting white capes,
bold promontories, grand sweeps of rugged scenery topped witii bald,
glinjinering peaks, jdl magnificently pictured in the polished mirror ol
the lake, in richest, softest detail, the tranquil interest that was bom
* I meuifte all lakes by Tahoe, partly becauM I am far more familiar with it
than with any other, and partly beoauie I have such a high admiration for it
and suoh a world of pleaaaat reoolleotionB of it, tliat it is Tory nearlf ii
for me to ipeak of laJns aad not meatioB k.
; rml
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hi
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I
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5
i
5
(
Hhiif
K
*.:
trt
iM^Ar rtVA/ys woaks.
with the monlng deepens and deepens, by sure degrees, till it calmlnAtef!
At last in resistless fascination !
It is solitude, for birds and squirrels on the shore and fishes in the
wmter are all the creatures that are near to make it otherwise, but it is
not the sort of solitude to make one dreary. Come to Qalilee for that
If these unpeopled deserts, these rusty mounds of barrenness, that never
never, never do shake the glare from their harsh outlines, and fade and
fSftint into vague perspective ; that melancholy ruin of Capernaum ; this
stupid village of Tiberias, slumbering under its six funereal plumes of
Salms; yonder desolate declivity where the swine of the miracle ran
own into the sea, and doubtless thought it was better to swallow a devil
or two and get drowned into the bargain than have to live longer in such
a place ; this cloudless, blistering sky ; this solemn, sailless, tintless lake,
reposing within its rim of yellow hills and low, steep banks, and looking
just aa expressionless and unpoetical (when we leave its sublime
history out of the question), as any metropolitan reservoir in Christen-
dom — if thest things are not fuod for rock me to sleep, mother, none
exist, I think.
But I should not offer the evidence for the prosecution and leave thi
defence unheard. Win. C. Grimes deposes as follows : —
** We had taken ahip to go over to the other side. The sea waa not more than
lix miles wide. Of the beauty of the scene, however I cannot say enough, nor
•an I imagine where those travellers carried their eyes who have described the
scenery of the lake as tame or uninteresting. The first great characteristic of ii
b the deep basin in which it lies. This is from three to four hundred feet deep
on all sides except at the lower end, and the sharp slope of the banks, which
are all of the richest green, is broken and diversified by the w&dys and water*
eonnes which work their way down through the sides of the basin, forming dark
chasms or light sunny valleys. Near Tiberias these banks are rooky, and ancient
■epulohres open in them, with their doors toward the water. They selected grand
•pots, as did the Egyptians of old, for burial places, aa if they designed thai when
the voioe of Ood should reach the sleepers, tney should walk forth and open theif
•yea on scenes of glorious beauty. On the east, the wild and desolate mountains
contrast finely with the deep blue lake ; and toward the north, subUme and majes-
tic, Hermon looks down on the sea, lifting his white crown to heaven with the
pride of a hill that has seen the departing footsteps of a hundred generations. On
the north-«a8t shore of the sea was a single tree, and thia is the only tree of any
■iie visible from the waters of the lake, except a few lonely palms in the city of
Tiberias, and by its solitaiy position attracts more attention than would a forest.
The whole appearance of the scene is precisely what we would expect and desire
the scenery of Ocneswuret to be, grand beauty, but quiet calm. The very moun-
tains are oalm."
It is an ingenioualy written description, and well calculated to deceive.
But if the paint and the ribbona, and the flowara be stripped from it, a
•keleton will be found beneath.
So stripped, there remains a lake six miles wide and neutraL in
eolour ; wiui stetp green banks, unrelieved by shrubbery ; at one end,
bare, unaightly rocks, with (almost invisible) holes in them of no conse-
mnee to the picture: eastward, " wild and deaolate mountaina " (low
daaolate hiUa we should have said); in the north, a mountain cadled
Hermon, with now on it; peeuliarlty of the pietitza» '* aaliynami ;'* its
piomiMAt SBatai% mm int*
I it cnlmlnateo
md leave thi
7Nh NEW PILGRIM'^ PROGRESS.
«7§
No ingennity could make inch a picturt bMutiful— to ojul% MtwJ
vision.
I claim the right to correct mlBStatements, and hare wo corrected the
colour of the water in the above recapitulation. The waters of Genn^
saret are of an exceedingly mild blue, even from a high elevation and
a distance of five miles. Close at hand (the witness was sailing on the
lake) it is hardly proper to call them blue at all, much less "deep"
blue. I wifih to state also, not as a correction, but as a matter of opinion,
that Mount Hermon is not a striking or picturesque mountain by any
means, b<-^ing too near the height of its immediate neighbours to be so.
T}iat is all. I do not object to the witness dragging a inountain forty-
five nules to help the scenery under consideration, because it is entirely
proper to do it, and, besides, the picture needs it
'* C. W. E." (of " Life in the Holy Land ") deposes as follows:—
" A beautiful sea lies embosomed among the Galilean hills, in the midst of that
land once possessed by Zebulon and Naphtali, Ashcr and Dan. The azure of the
■ky penetrates the depths of the lake, and the waters are sweet and cooi. On the
west, stretch broad fertile plains ; on the north the rocky shores rise step by stei
until in the far distance tower the snowy heights of Hermon ; on the east through
a misty veil are seen the high plains of Perea, which stretch away in rugged
mountains leading the mind by varied paths toward Jerusalem the Holy. Flowen
bl«om in this terrestrial .paradise, once beautif id and verdant with waving trees ;
yingiug birds enchant the ear ; the turtle-dove soothes with its soft note ; the
cKflted lark sends up its song toward heaven, and the grave and stately stork inspires
the mind with thought, and leads it on to meditation and repose. life here was
once idyllic, charming ; here were onoe no rich, no poor, no high, no low. It
was a world of ease, simplicity, and beauty ; bow it is a scene of desol»'»ion and
misery."
This is not an ingenious picture. It is the worst I ever taw. It
describes in elaborate detail what it terms a " terrestrial paradise," and
closes with the startling information that this paradise is " a scene of
desolation and miseri/"
I have given two fair average specimens of the character of the testi-
mony offered by the majority of the writers who visit this region. One
says, " Of the beauty of the scene I cannot say enough," and then pro-
ceeds to cover up with a woof of glittering sentences a thing which,
when stripped for inspection, proves to be only an unobtrusive basin
of water, some mountainous desolation, and one tree. The other, after a
conscientious effort to bmld a terrestrial paradise out of the same
materials, with the addition of a " grave and stately stork," spoils it all
by blundering i.pon the ghastly truth at the last
Nearly every book concerning Gkdilee and its lake describes the scenery
as beautifuL No, not always so straightforward as that Sometimes the
impression intentionally conveyed is that it is beautiful, at the same time
tliat the author is careful not to sai/ that it is in plain Saxon. But a
careful analysis of these descriptions will show that tne materials of which
they are formed are not individually beautiful, and cannot be wrought
into combinations that are beautifoL The veneration and the affection
which some of these men felt for the scenes they were speaking of^
heated their fuicieB and biassed their judgment ; but tht plMMaat fiJaitiii
i1
!. 1
^■ni
1 1
11
MARK TWAIN*S WORKS.
\\\
.
I "'i^
His'
;■
they wrote were itull of honest ainceritj at any rate. Othen wrote ab
they did, becatue they feared it would be unpopular to write otherwisd
Others were hypocriteB, and deliberately meiiut to deceive. Any ot
tnem would say in a moment, if asked, that it was cUuoays right and
always best to tell the truth. They would say that, at any rate, if they
did not perceive the drift of the auestioiu
But why should not the truth be spoken of this region? Is the truth
harmful? Has it ever needed to hide its face? God made the Sea ol
Galilee and its surroimdings as they are. Is it the province of Mr
Grimes to improve upon the work?
I am sure, from the tenor of the books I have read, that many who
have visited this land in years gone by were Presbyterians, and came
seeking evidences in support of their particular creed; they found a
Presbyterian Palestine, and they had already made up their minds to
find no other, though possibly they did not know it, oeing blinded by
their zeaL Others were Baptists, seeking Baptist evidences and a Baptist
Palestine. Others were Catholics, Methodists, Episcopalians, seeking
evidences endorsing their several creeds, and a Catholic, a Methodist, an
Episcopalian Palestine. Honest as these men's intentions may have
been, they were full of partialities and prejudices, they entered the
country with their verdicts already prepared, and they could no more
write dispassionately and impartially about it than they could about
their own wives and children. Our pilgrims have brought their verdicts
with them. They have shown it in their conversation ever since we left
Beyrout. I can almost tell, in set phrase, what they will say when they
see Tabor, Nazareth, Jericho, and Jerusalem — beccmse I have the books they
will ^^smouch" their ideas from. These authors write pictures and
frame rhapsodies, and lesser men follow and see with the author's eyes
instead of their own, and speak with' his tongue. What the pilgrims
said at Caasarea Philippi surprised me with its wisdom. I found it after-
wards in Robinson. What they said when Qennesaret burst upon their
vision charmed me with its grace. I find it in Mr Thompson s " Land
and the Book." They have spoken often, in happily worded language,
which never varied, of how they mean to lay their weary heads upon a
stone at Bethel, as Jacob did, and close their dim eyes, and dream per-
chance of angels descending out of heaven on a ladder. It was very
pretty. But I have recognised the weary head and the dim eyes finally.
They borrowed the idea— and the words — and the construction — and
the punctuation — from Grimes. The pilgrims will teU of Palestine,
when they get home, not as it appearea to iAem, but as it appeared to
Thomson, and Robinson, and Grimes — with the tints varied to suit
each pilgrim's creed.
Pilgrims, sinners, and Arabs are all abed now, and the camp is still
Labour in loneliness is irksome. Since I made my last few notes I have
been sitting outside the tent for half an hour. Night is the time to see
Galilee. Gennesaret under these lustrous stars has nothing repulsive
about it. Gennesaret with the glittering reflections of the consteUations
flecking its lurface, abnost makes me regret that I ever saw the rude
^ftre of *4u day upon it Its history ana ite aaeociationa are its chielest
THE NEW PILGRIM'S PROGRESS.
sSi
oiuurm in anj ejes, and the ipella they weave are feeble in the searching
light of the sun. Then we scarcely feel the fetters. Our thoughts wan-
der constantly to the practical concerns of life, and refuse to dwell upon
things that seem vague and unreaL But when the day is done, even
the most unimpressible must yield to the dreamy influences of this tran-
o[nil starlight The old traditions of the place steal upon his memory
and haunt his reveries, and then his fancy clothes all sights and sounds
with the supernatural. In the lapping of the waves upon the beach he
hears the dip of ghostly oars ; in the secret noises of the night he hears
Bpirit voices ; in me soift sweep of the breeze the rush of invisible things.
Phantom ships are on the sea, the dead of twenty centuries come forth
from the tombs, and in the dirges of the night- wind the scngs of old
forgotten ages find utterance agam.
In the starlight, Galilee has no boundaries but the broad compass of
the heavens, and is a theatre meet for great events ; meet for the birth
of a religion able to save a world ; and meet for the stately Figure
appointed to stand upon its stage and proclaim its high decrees. But in
the sunlight one says : Is it for the deeds which were done and the words
which were spoken in this little acre of rocks and sand eighteen centuries
gone, that the bells are ringing to-day in the remote islands of the sea
uid far and wide over continents that clasp the circumference of the huge
globe ?
One can comprehend it only when night has hidden all incongruities
and created a theatre proper for so grand a drama.
CHAPTER XVIII.
WE took another swim in the Sea of Galilee at twilight yesterday,
and another at sunrise this morning. We have not sailed, but
three swims are equal to a sail, are they not 1 There are plenty
of fish visible in the water, but we have no outside aids in this pilgrim-
age but « Tent Life in the Holy Land," « The Land and the Book,^ and
other literature of like description — no fishing-tackle. There were no
Mi to be had in the village of Tiberias. True, we saw two or three
vagabonds mending their nets, but never trying to catch anything with
them.
We did not go to the ancient warm baths two miles below Tiberias.
I bad no desire in the world to go there. This seemed a little strange,
and prompted me to try to discover what the cause of this unreasonable
iiKiifference was. It turned out to be simply because Pliny mentions
them. I have conceived a sort of unwarrantable unfriendliness toward
Pliny and St Paul, because it seems as if I can never ferret out a place
that I can have to myself. It always and eternally transpires that St
Paul has been to that place, and Pliny has *' m«^ntioned " it
In the early morning we mounted and started. And then a weird
HPj^tion marched forth at the head of tiM pioeeMOon— a piiate, I
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thought, if eyer a pirate dwelt upon land. It was a tall Amct), aa swarth;.
as an Indian ; young — say thirty years of age. On his head he had
closely bound a gorgeous yellow and red striped silk scarf, whose ends,
lavishly fringed with tassels, hung down between his shoulders and
dallied with the wind. From his neck to his knees, in ample folds, a
robe swept down that was a very star-spangled banner of curved and
sinuous bars of black and white. Out of his back somewhere, ap-
parently, the long stem of a chibouk projected, and reached far above
nis right shoulder. Athwart hip back, diagonally, arid extending high
above his left shoulder, was an Arab's gun of Saladin's time, that was
splendid with silver-plating from stock clear up to the end of ite
measureless stretch of barrel About his waist was bound many and
many a yard of elaborately figured but sadly tarnished stuff that came
from sumptuous Persia, and among the baggy folds in front the Bunbeams
glinted from a formidable battery of old brass-mounted horse-pistols and
the elided hilts of bloodthirsty knives. There were holsters for more
pistols appended to the wonderful stack of long-haired goat-skins and
Persian carpets, which the man had been taught to regard in the light
of a saddle ; and down among the pendulous rank of vast tassels that
swung from that saddle, and clanging against the iron shovel of a stirrup
that propped the warrior's knees up toward his chin, was a crooked silver-
clad scimitar of such awful dimensions and such implacable expression,
that no man might hope to look upon it and not shudder. The fringed
and bedizened prince whose privilege it is to ride the pony and lead the
elephant into a country village, is poor and naked compared to thii$
chaos of paraphernalia, and the happy vanity of the one is the very
poverty of satisfaction compared to the majestic serenity, the over-
whebmng complacency of the other.
« Who is this 1 What is this ? " That was the trembling inquiry all
down the line.
^Our guard! From Galilee to the birthplace of the Saviour the
eountiT is infested with fierce Bedouins, whose sole happiness it is, in
this me, to cut and stab and mangle and murder unoffending Christiana.
Allah be with us ! "
^ Then hire a regiment ! Would you send us out among those des-
perate hordes with no salvation in our utmost need but this old turret 1 "
The dragoman laughed — not at the facetiousness of the simile, for
verily, that guide or that courier or that dragoman never yet lived upon
earth who had in him the faintest appreciation of a ioke, even though
that joke were so broad and so ponderous that if it fell on him it woidd
flatten him out Like a postage-stamp. The dragoman laughed, and thei\
emboldened by some thought that was in his brain, no doubt, proceeded
to extremities, and winked !
In straits like these, when a man laughs it is encouraging ; when he
winks, it is positively reassuring. He mially intimated uiat one gu^
would be sufficient to protect us, but that that one was an ab^lute
necessity. It was because of the moral weight his awful panoply would
kftTe with the Bedouiiu. Thm I seid we didn't want any guard at all
If on* liantABtic TagaboMl ooild fMtect eight anaed ClhTietians and •
THE NEW FILGkIM*S PROGRESS.
»«3
pack of Ai»b ■enrantfl from all hann, sorely that detachment oonld
protect l^emselveB. He shook hia head donbtfullj. Then I said, Just
think of how it looks — think of how it wonld read, to self-reliant
Americans, that we went sneaking throngh thi^ deserted wilderness
ander the protection of this masquerading Arab, who would break his
neck getting out of the country, if a man that wa* a man ever started
after him. It was a mean, low, degrading position. Why were we
ever told to bring navy revolvers with us if we had to beprotected at
last by this infamous star-spangled B«um of the desert ? These appeals
were vain. The dragoman only smiled, and shook his head.
I rode to the front, and struck up an acquaintance with King Solo-
mon-in-all-his-glory, and got him to show me his lingering eternity of
a gun. It had a rusty flint lock ; it was ringed and barred and plated
with silver from end to end, but it was as desperately out of the per-
pendicular as are the billiard cues of '49 that one finds yet in service in
the ancient mining camps of California. The muzzle was eaten by the
rust of centuries into a ragged filigree- work, like the end of a burnt out
stove-pipe. I shut one eye and peered within — it was flaked with iron
rust like an old steamboat boiler. I borrowed the ponderous pistols and
snapped them. They were rusty inside too — had not been loaded for a
generation. I went back full of encouragement, and reported to the
guide, and asked him to discharge this dismantled fortress. It came out
then. This fellow was a retainer of the Sheik of Tiberias. He was a
lource of Government revenue. He was to the Empire of Tiberias
lehat the customs are to America. The Sheik imposed guards upon
travellers, and charged them for it It is a lucrative source of emolu-
ment, and sometimes bringa^into the national treasury as much aa
thirty-five or forty dollars a year.
I knew the warrior's secret now ; I knew the hollow vanity of hii
rusty trumpery, and despised his asinine complacency. I told on him ;
and with reckless daring the cavalcade rode straight ahead into the
perilous solitudes of the desert, and scorned his frantic warnings of the
mutilation and death that hovered about them on every side.
Arrived at an elevation of twelve hundred feet above the lake
(I ought to mention that the lake lies six hundred feet below the level
of the Mediterranean — ^no traveller ever neglects to flourish that frag-
ment of news in his letters), as bald and unthrilling a panorama as any
land can afford, perhaps, was spread out before us. Yet it was so
crowded with historical interest, that if all the pages that have been
written about it were spread upon its surface, they would flag it from
horizon to horiion like a pavement Among the localities comprised in
this view were Mount Hermon ; the hills that border Csaearea rhilippi,
Dan, the Sources of the Jordan, and the Waters of Merom ; Tibenas •
the Sea of Qalilee ; Joseph's Pit ; Capernaum ; Bethsaida ; the supposed
scenes of the Sermon on the Mount, the feeding of the multitudes, and
the miraculous draught of fishes ; the declivity down which the swine
ran to the sea ; the entrance and the exit of the Jordan ; Safed, " the
city set upon a hill," one of the four holy cities of the Jews, and the
pUoewhan thaj beliwre tha rtal Meanah will appear wImh Ha oomm to
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redeem the worid ; part (^ the battlefield of Hattiu, where the knightl)
Crusaders fought their last fight, and in a blaze of glory passed from the
stage and ended their splendid career for ever; Mount Tabor, the tradi-
tional scene of the Lord's Transfiguration ; and down towar«l tlie south
east liy a landscape that suggested to my mind a quotatioi> (imperfectly
rememoered, no doubt) —
" The EDhralmites, not being called ai)on to share in the rich apoils of tho
Ammonitiso war, assembled a mighty host to light agaiiiHt Jeplitha, Judge of Inrael ;
who, being apprised of their approach, gathered together the men of Iiraol, and
gave them battle and put them to flight. To make his victory the more secure,
he stationed guards at the different fords and passages of the .lordan, with instrue-
tions to let none pass who could not say Shibboleth. The Ephraimites, being of
a different tribe, could not frame to pronounce the word aright, but called it
Sibboleth which proved them enemies and cost them their lives ; wherefore
forty and two thousand fell at the different fords and passages of the Jordan that
day."
We jogged along peacefully over the great caravan route from Dam-
ascus to Jerusalem and Egypt — past Lubia and other Syrian hamlets,
perched in the unvarying style upon the summit of steep mounds and
nills, and fenced round about with giant cactuses (the sign of worthless
land), with prickly pears upon them like hams — and came at last to th
battlefield of Hattin.
It is a grand irregular plateau, and looks as if it might have been
created for a battlefield. Here the peerless Sidadin met the Christian
host some seven hundred years ago, and broke their power in Palestine
for all time to come. There had long been a truce between the opposing
forces, but, according to the guide-book, Raynauld of Chatillon, Lord of
Kerak, broke it by plundering a Damascus Cacavan, and refusing to give
up either the mercnants or uieir goods when Sfdadin demanded them.
Tnis conduct of an insolent pet^ chieftain stung the Sultan to the
quick, and he swore that he would slaughter Raynauld with his Q\f\x
hand, no matter how or when, or where he found him. Both armies
Srepared for war. Under the weak King of Jerusalem was the very
ower of the Christian chivalry. He Foolishly compelled them to
undergo a long exhausting march in the scorching sun, and then, with-
out water or other refreshment, ordered them to encamp in this open
plain. The splendidly mounted masses of Moslem soldiers swept round
the north end of Qennesaret, burning and destroying as they came, and
pitched their camp in front of the opposing lines. At dawn the terrific
fight began. Surrounded on all sides by the Sultan's swarming bat-
talions, the Christian knights* fought on without a hope for their lives.
They fought with desperate valour, but to no purpose ; the odds of heat
and numbers, and consuming thirst, were too great against them.
Towards the middle of the day the bravest of their band cut their way
through the Moslem ranks and gained the summit of a little hill ; and
there, hour after hour, they cIobm around the banner of the Cross, and
beat back the charging aquadioiui of the enemy.
But the doom of the Chriatian power was sealed. Sunaet found
Saladin Lord of Pidestine, the Christian chivalxy strewn in heaps upon
the fi«Id, and the King of Jenuulm, th* Qzand Master of th« Tamplan,
ley came, aud
THE NEW PILGRIM'S PROGRESS.
««$
333d Rajrnaold of Chatillon, captives in the Sidtan's tent Saladin
treated two of the prisoners with princely courtesy, and ordered refresh-
ments to be set before them. When the King handed an iced sherbet
to Chatillon, the Sultan said, " It is thou that givest it to him, not I."
He remembered his oath, and slaughtered the hupless Knight of Chatillon
with his own hand.
It was hard to realise that this silent plain had once resounded with
martial music and trembled to the tramp of armed men. It was hard to
people this solitude with rushing columns of cavalry, and stir its torpid
pulses with the shouts of victors, the shrieks of the woimded, and the flash
of banner and steel above the surging biUows of war. A desolation ia
here that not even imagination can grace with the pomp of life and
action.
We reached Tabor safely, and considerably in advance of that old
ironclad swindle of a guard. We never saw a human being on the
whole route, much less lawless hordes of Bedouins. Tabor stands
solitary and alone, a giant sentinel above the Plain of Esdraelon. It
rises some fourteen hundred feet above the surrounding level, a green,
wooden cone, symmetrical and full of grace — a prominent landmark,
and one that is exceedingly pleasant to eyes surfeited with the repulsive
monotonv of desert Syria. We climbed the steep path to its summit
through breezy glades of thorn and oak. The view presented from its
highest peak was almost beautifuL Below was the broad, level plain oi
Esdraelon, chequered with fields like a chess-board, and full as smooth
and level seemingly ; dotted about its borders with white, compact
villages, and faintly pencilled, far and near, with the curving lines of
roads and traila When it is robed in the fresh verdure of spring, it
must form a charming picture even ^y itself. Skirting its southern
border rises " Little Hermon," over whose summit a glimpse of Gilboa
is caught. Nain, famous for the raising of the widow's son, and Endor,
as famous for the performances of her witch, are in view. To the east-
ward lies the Valley of the Jordan, and beyond it the mountains of
GUead. Westward is Mount Cannel. Hermon in the north — the table-
lands of Bashan — Safed, the holy city, gleaming white upon a tall spur of
the mountains of Lebanon — a steel-blue comer of the Sea of Galilee —
oaddle-peaked Hattin, traditional "Mount of Beatitudes" and mute
witness of the last' brave fight of the Crusading host for Holy Cross —
these fill up the picture.
To glance at the salient features of this landscape through the picturesque
framework of a ragged and ruined stone wlndow-arcn of the time of
Christ, thus hiding from sight all that is unattractive, is to secure to
yourself a plec^cure worth climbing the mountain to enjoy. One must
stand on his head to get the best effect in a fine sunset, and set a land-
scape in a bold, strong framework that is very dose at hand, to bring
out all its beauty. One learns this latter truth never more to forget it,
in that mimic land of enchantment, the wonderful garden of my lord
the Count PaUayicini, near Qenoa. Ton go wandering for hours among
hills and wooded glens, artfully contrived to leave the impreeuon that
Nature ihi^wd thm and not man i foUowinfr winding paths and coming
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MARK TWAIN'S WORKS,
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laddenly npon leAping caecadea and rustic bridges ; finding stItui lak«i
where prou expected them not ; loitering through battered. medisBval
eastluH in miniature that seem hoary with age and yet were built a dozen
yeai-8 ago ; meditating over ancient crumbling tombs, whose marble
colunms were marred and broken purposely by the modem artist that
made them ; stumbling unawares upon toy palaces, wrought of rare an<^
costly materials, and again upon a peasant's hut, whose dilapidated
furmture would never suggest that it was made so to order ; sweeping
round and round in the nudst of a forest on an enchanted wooden horse
that is moved by some invisible agency ; traversing Roman roads and
passing under majestic triumphal arches ; resting in quaint bowen
where unseen spirits discharge jets of water on you from every possible
direction, and where even the flowers you touch assail you with a
shower ; boating on a subterranean lake auioug caverns and arches royally
draped with clustering stalactites, and pasBLiig out into open day upon
another lake, which is bordered with sloping banks of grass and gay
with patrician barges that swim at anchor in uie shadow of a miniature
marble temple that rises out of the clear water and glasses its white
statues, its nch capitals and fluted columns in the tranquil depths. So,
from marvel to marvel you have drifted on, thinking all the time that
the one last seen must be the chiefest And verily, the chiefest wonder
is reserved until the last, but you do not see it until you step ashore,
and passing through a wUdemess of rare flowers, collected from every
comer of the earth, you stand at the door of one more mimic temple.
Bight in this place the artist taxed his genius to the utmost, and fairly
opened the gates of fairy land. You look through an unpretending
pane of glass stained yellow ; the first thing you see is a mass of quiver>
mg foliage, ten short steps before you, in the midst of which is a ragged
opening like a gateway — a thing that is common enough in nature, and
not apt to excite suspicions of a deep human design — and above the
bottom of the gateway project, in the most careless way, a few broad
tropic leaves and brilliant flowers. All of a sudden, through this bright,
bold gateway, you catch a glimpse of the faintest, softest, richest picture
that ever graced the dream of a dying saint since John saw the New
Jerusalem glimmering above the clouds of heaven. A broad sweep of
sea, flecked with careening sails ; a sharp, jutting cape, and a lofty light-
house on it ; a sloping lawn behind it ; beyond, a portion of the old
** city of palaces," with its parks and hills ana stately mansions ; beyond
these, a prodigious mountain, with its strong outlines sharply cut against
ocean and sky ; and over all, vagrant shreds and flakes and cloud, float-
ing in a sea of gold. The ocean is gold, the city is gold, the meadow,
the mountain, the sky — everythii^ is golden — rich, and meUow, and
dreamy as a vision of Paradise. No artist could put upon canvas its
entrancing beauty, and yet, without the yellow ^lass, and the carefully
contrived accident of the framework that cast it into enchanted distance
and shut out from it all unattractive features, it was not a picture to
fedl into ecstacies over. Such is Ufe, and the trail of the serpent is
OTor US til
TlMie if nothing for h mtm inii to oono ba«k to old Taboi; thoucb
THE NEW PILGRIM a PROGRESS.
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red medisBval
3 built a dozen
whose marble
sm artist that
;ht of rare &n^
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ler ; sweeping
wooden horse
lan roads and
paint bowen
every possible
il you with a
arches royally
tpen day upon
grass and gay
of a miniature
asses its white
il depths. So,
the time that
hiefest wonder
>u step ashore,
ed from every
mimic temple,
ost, and fairly
unpretending
aass of quiver-
Lch is a ragged
in nature, and
md above the
, a few broad
gh this bright,
richest picture
saw the New
road sweep of
1 a lofty light-
on of the old
)ionB; beyond
>ly cut against
cloud, float-
the meadow,
mellow, and
on canvas its
the carefully
mted distance
a picture to
he serpent is
Taboi; thouab
the subject is tiresoine enough, and 1 cannot stick to it for wandering
off to Hceuefl that are pletisunter to remember. I think I will skip, any
how. There is nothing about Tabor (except we concede that it was the
scene of the Transftguration), but some grey old ruins, stacked up there
in all ages of the world from the days of stout Qideon and parties that
flourished thirty centuries ago to the fresh yesterday of Crusading times.
It has its Greek Convent, and the coffee there is good, but never a
splinter of the true cross or bone of a hallowed saint to arrest the idle
tlioughts of worldlings and turn them into graver channels. A Catholic
church is nothing to me that has no relics.
The plain of Esdraelon — '* the battlefield of the nations "—only sets
one to beaming of Joshua, and Benhadad, and Saul, and Gideon ; Tamer-
lane, Tancred, Coeur de Lion, and Saladin ; the warrior Kings of Persia,
Egypt's heroes, and Napoleon — for they all fought here. If the ma^c
of the moonlight could summon from the graves of forgotten centuries
and manv lands the countless myriads that have battled on this wide,
far-reachmg floor, and array them in a thousand strange costumes of
their hundred nationalities, and send the vast host sweeping down the
plain, splendid with plumes and banners and glittering lances, I could
Btay here an age to see the phantom pageant. But tne magic of t^e
moonlight is a vanity and a fraud ; and whoso putteth his trust in it
shall suffer sorrow and disappointment.
Down at the foot of Tabor, and just at the edge of the storied Plain of
Ssdraelon, is the insignificant village of Deburieh, where Deborah,
prophetess of Israel, lived. It is just like Magdala.
CHAPTER XIX
WE descended from Mount Tabor, crossed a deep ravine, and
followed a hUly, rocky road to Nazareth«^istant two hours.
All distances in the East are measured by hours, not miles.
A. good horse will walk three mUes an hour over nearly any kind of a
road ; therefore an hour here always stands for three miles. This
method of computation is bothersome and annoying ; and until one gets
thoroughly accustomed to it, it carries no intelligence to his mind until
he has stopped and translated the pagan hours into Christian miles, just
as people do with the spoken words of a foreign language they are
acquainted with, but not familiarly enough to catch !3ie meaning in a
moment Distances travelled by human feet are also estimated by
hours and minutes, though I do not know what the base of the calcula-
tion is. In Constantinople you ask, " How far is it to the Consulate ?"
and they answer, " About ten minutea" " How far is it to the Lloyds'
Agency ?" " Quarter of an hour." " How far is it to the lower bridge ?"
" Four minutes." I cannot be positive about it, but I think that there,
when a man orders a pair of pantaloons, he says he wants them a quaitw
of a nunute in the l«((i and nine Mconda around th« waiat
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Two home firom Tabor to Nazareth — and aa it was an nneommoiily
narrow crooked trail, we neceasahlv met all the camel trains and jackass
caravans between Jericho and Jacksonville in that particular place and
nuwhere else. The donkeys do not matter so much, because they are so
small that you can jump your horse over them if he is an aimnal of
spirit, but a camel is not jumpable. A camel is as tall as any ordinary
dwelling-house in Syria — which is to say, a camel is from one to two,
and sometimes nearly three feet taller tnan a good-sized man. In this
part of the country his load is oftenest in the shape of colossal sacks-
one on each side. He and his cargo take up as much room as a carriage.
Think of meeting this style of obstruction in a narrow traiL The camel
would not turn out for a king. He stalks serenely along, bringing his
cushioned stilts forward with the long, regular swing of a pendulum,
and whatever is in the way must get out of the way peaceably, or be
wiped out forcibly by the bulky sacks. It was a tiresome ride to us,
and perfectly exhausting to the horses. We were compelled to jump
over upwards of eighteen hundred donkeys, and only one person in the
party was unseated less than sixty times by the camels. This seems like
a powerful statement, but the poet hath said, " Things are not what
they seem." I cannot think of anything now more certain to make one
shudder, than to have a soft-footed camel sneak up behind him and
touch him on the ear with its cold, flabby under-lip. A camel did this
for one of the boys, who was drooping over his saddle in a brown study.
He glanced up and saw the majestic apparition hovering above him,
and made frantic efforts to get out of the way, but the camel reached out
and bit him on the shoulder before he accomplished it. This was the
only pleasant incident of the journey.
At Nazareth we camped in an olive grove near the Virgin Mary^s
fountain, and that wonderful Arab " guard " came to collect some buck-
sheesh for his " services " in following us from Tiberias and warding off
invisible dangers with the terrors of his armament. The dragoman nad
paid his master, but that counted as nothing — ^if you hire a man to
sneeze for you, here, and another man chooses to help him, you have got
to pay both. They do nothing whatever without pay. How it must
have surprised these people to hear the way of salvation offered to them
^* without money and vnthout price" If the manners, the people, oi
the customs of this country nave changed since the Saviour's time,
the figures and metaphors of the Bible are not the evidences to prove
We entered the great Latin Convent which is built over the traditional
dwelling-place of the Holy Family. We went down a flight of fifteen
steps below the ground level, and stood in a small chapel tricked out
with tapestry hangings, silver lamps, and oil-paintinga. A spot marked
by a cross, in the marble floor under the altar, was exhibited as the
place made for ever holy by the feet of the Virgin when she stood up
to receive the message of the angel. So simple, so unpretending a
locality, to be the scene of so mighty an event ! The very scene of the
Aimimciation — an event which has been commemorated by splended
shiinee and august temples all over the dvilieed wocld, and eae whieh
THE NEW PILGRIM'S PROGRESS.
389
hho pilncM of art have made it theii loftiest ambition to picture worthilj
on tneir canvas ; a spot whose history is familiar to the very children uf
every house, and city, and obscure hamlet of the furthest lands of Chria-
tendom ; a spot which myriads of men would toil across the breadth of
a world to see^ would consider it a priceless privilege to look upon. It
was easy to thmk these thoughts ; but it was not etupr to bring myself
u}) to the magnitude of the situation. I could sit off several thousand
tniles and imagine the angel anpearing with shadowy wings and lustrous
countenance, and note the glory that streamed downward upon the
Virgin's head while the message from the Throne of Qod fell upon her
ears — any one can do that beyond the ocean, but few can do it here.
I saw the little recess from which the angel stepped, but could not fill
its void. The angels that I know are creatures oi unstable fancy — they
will not fit in niches of substantial stone. Imagination labours best
in distant fields. I doubt if any man can stand in the Grotto of the
Annunciation and people with tne phantom images of his mind its too
tangible walls of stone.
They showed us a broken granite pillar, depending from the roof,
which they said was hacked in two by the Moslem conquerors of Nazareth,
in the vain hope of pulling doMm the sanctuary. But the pillar remained
miraculously suspended in the air, and, unsupported itself, supported
then and stul supports the root By dividing tms statement up among
eight, it was found not difficult to believe it.
These gifted Latin monks never do anything by halvea If they were
to show you the Brazen Seipent that was elevated in the wilderness, you
could depend upon it th;%t tney had on hand the pole it was elevated on
also, and even tne hole it stood in. They have got the " Grotto " of the
Annunciation here ; and just as convenient to it as one's throat is to his
mouth, they have itlso the Virgin's kitchen, and even her sitting-room,
where she and Joseph watched the Infant Saviour play with Hebrew
toys eighteen hundred years ago. All under one roof, and all clean,
spacious, comfortable "grottoes." It seems curious that personages
intimately connected with the Holy Family always lived in grottoes —
in Nazareth, in Bethlehem, in imperial Ephesus — and yet nobody else
in their day and generation thought of doing anything of the kind. If
they ever did, their grottoes are all gone, and 1 suppose we ought to
wonder at the peculiar marvel of the preservation of these I speak of.
When the Virgin fled from Herod's wrath, she hid in a grotto m Beth-
lehem, and the same is there to this day. The slaughter of the innocents
in Bethlehem was done in a grotto ; tie Saviour was bom in a grotto—
both are shown to pilgrims yet. It is exceedingly strange that these
tremendous events all nappe aed in gro^nioes— and exceedingly fortunate,
likewise, because the strongest houses must crumble to ruin m time, but
a grotto in the living rock will last for ever. It is an imposture — this
grotto stuflf — but it is one ihat all men ought to thank the Catholics for.
Wherever they ferret out a lost locality made holy by some Scriptural
event, they straightway build a massive— almost imperishable — church
there, and preserve the memory of that locally for the gratification of
fatore genomtkiia. If it had beaii teft Xm Protostants to do this
If.'
1 ! i
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lu
■'
•90
MAJiJC TWAIN'S WORKS.
BUMk wortlij work, we would not even know where Jenuwlem li
lo-d«7, and the man who could go and put hie ftnger on Nazareth
would be too wiae for thia world. The world owes the Catholici
iti good will even for the happy nucality of hewing out theae bogua
grottoea in the rock ; for it ie infinitely more satlBfactory to look at a
grotto, where people have ftdthfuUy believed for centuries that the
Virgin once lived, than to have to imagine a dwelling-place for her
■omewhere, anywhere, nowhere, looee and at large all over thia town of
Nazareth. There is too large a scope of country. The imagination can-
not work. There ia no one particular spot to chain your eye, rivet your
interest, and make you think. The memory of the Pilgrims cannot
perish while Plymouth Rock remains to us. The old monks are wise.
They know how to drive a stake through a pleasant tradition that w&/
hold it to its place for ever.
Wt visited the places where Jesus worked for fifteen years as a car-
penter, and where He attempted to teach in the synagogue, and was
driven out by a mob. Catholic chapels stand upon these sites and pro-
tect the little fragments of the ancient walls wnich remain. Our pil-
grims broke off specimens. We visited also a new chapel in the midst
of the town, which is built around a boulder some twelve feet long by
four feet thick ; the priests discovered, a few years ago, that the disciples
had sat upon this rock to rest once, when they had walked up uaia
Capernaum. They hastened to preserve the relic. Relics are very good
property. Travellers are expected to pay for seeing them, and they do
it cheerfully. We like the idea. One's conscience con never be the
worse for the knowledge that he has paid his way Like a man. Out
pilgrims would have uked very well to get out their lampblack and
•teneil-plates and paint their names on that ruck, together with the
names of the villages they hail from in America, but the priests permit
■othing of that kind. To speak the strict truth, however, our party
seldom offend in ihat way, though we have men in the ship who
never lose an opportunity to do it. Our pilgrims' chief sin is their
lust for "specimens." I suppose that by this time they know the
dimensions of that rock to an inch, and its weight to a ton ; and I do
not hesitate to charge that they will go back there to-night and try to
earry it off.
This " Fountain of the Virgin" is the one which tradition says Mary
used to get water from, twenty times a day, when she was a girl, and
bear it away in a jar upon her head. The water streams through faucets
in the face of a wall of ancient masonry which stands removed from the
houses of the village. The young girls of Nazareth still collect about it
by the dozen, and keep up a riotous laughter and sky-larking. The
Nazarene girls are homely. Some of them have large, lustrous eyes,
but none of them have pretty faces. These girls wear a single garment
usually, and it is loose, shapeless, of undecided colour ; it is generally
out of repair, toa They wear, from crown to jaw, cuiious strings of old
coins, after tiie manner of the belles of Tiberias, and brass jeweUfjj
anon their wrists and in their ears. They wear no shoes and stockings.
iWr are tfafi most human girls we have found in tlia ooontry yet, and
) JenuMJ«m It
ir on Naiareth
th« Catholic*
ut these boj^iu
7 to look at a
uriea that the
^-place for her
'er this town of
aagination can-
eye, rivet youi
ilgrims cannot
lonkfl are wise,
ition that w&z
years as a car-
[ogue, and was
B sites and pro-
lain. Our pil-
lel in the midst
ve feet long by
at the disciples
alked up fEoni
8 are veiy good
u, and tney do
1 never be the
s a man. Out
Ampblack and
ither with the
priests permit
ver, our party
the ship who
if sin is their
ley know the
ton ; and I do
ght and try to
ion says Mary
'OB a girl, and
irough faucets
oved from the
oUect about it
arking. Th«
lustrous eyes,
lingle garment
it IS generally
strings of old
raas jewellfjy
uid stocking
mtry yet^ aud
THE NEW PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 191
the bett natnred. But there is no question that tbMMt pictoreeqiM
maidens sadly lack comeliness.
A piltfrim— the " Enthusiast**— sai<i, "See that tall, graceful girl I
look at uie Madonna-like beauty of her countenance !"
Another pilgrim came aluiik^ ureseutlv and said, " Observe that tall,
graceful girl ; what queenly Muuonna-like gracefulness of ht^iiuty is in
her countenance ! "
I said, "She is not tall, she is short; she is not beautiful, she is
homely; she is eraceful enough, I grant, but Hhe is rather l)oi«Lero\iH."
The third and last pilgrim moved by before long, and he said, " Ah,
what a tall, graceful gin ! what Madonna- like gracefulness of queenly
beauty ! "
The verdicts were all in. It was time now to look up the authorities
for all these opinions. I found this paragraph which follows. Written
by whom ? William C. Grimes : —
*' After we were in the laddle, we rode down to the spring to hare % last look
at the women of Nazareth, who were, ai a olaai, much tlie prettiest that wa hud
Men in the Eaat. As we approached the crowd a tall girl of nineteen advanced
toward Miriam and offered her a cup of water. Her movement was gn'^ceful and
queenly. We exclaimed on the apot at the Madontia-Iike beautT of tier uuunte-
Dance. Whitely was suddenly thmty, and begged for water, and drank it slowly,
with hia eyes over the top of the cup, fixed on her large black eyes, which gased,
on him quite ai curiously as he on her. Then Moreright wanted water. She
gave it to him, and he managed to spill it so as to ask for another cap, and by the
time she came to me she saw througli the operation ; her eyes were full of fun
as she looked at me. I laughed outright, and she joined me in as gay a shout as
ever country maiden in old Orange county. I wished for a picture of her. A
Madonna, whose face was a portrait of that beautifiil Nacaretb girl, would be a
'thing of beauty ' and *a joy for ever.' "
That is the kind of gruel which has been served out from Palestine
for ages. Commend me to Fenimore Cooper to find beauty in the
Indians, and to Grimes to find it in the Arabs. Arab men are often
fine looking, but Arab women are not. We can all believe that the
Virgin Mary was beautiful ; it is not natural to think otherwise ; but
does it follow that it is our duty to find beauty in these present women
of Nazareth 1
I love to quote from Grimes, because he is so dramatic. And because
he is so romantic. And because he seems to care but little whether he
tells the truth or not, so he scares the reader or excites his envy or hii
admiration.
He went through this peaceful land with one hand for ever on his
revolver, and the other on his pocket-handkerchief. Always, when he
was not on the point of crying over a holy place, he was on the point oi
killing an Arab. More surprising things happened to him in Palestine
than ever happeaed to any traveller here or elsewhere Knee Mnnchanaea
died.
At Beit Jin, where nobody had interfered with him, he crept out of
hia tent at d^ of night and shot at what he took to be an Arab lyii
oa a rock, some (iig>iin»s away, planning evil Tbi ball killed a wo
t
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iM^^ TWAIN'S WORKS.
Jmt befofe he fired, be makes a dramatic pietan of hlmMlf— «a mmal,
to aoare the reader : —
" Wu It imagination, or did I lee a moring object on the inrfaoe of the rook^
If it were a man. wliy did he not now drop me? He had a beautiful shrt as I
itood out in my olack bomoose against the white tent. I had the Hensation of an
entering ballet in my throat, breast, brain."
Reckless creature i
Biding towards Qemiesaret, they saw two Bedouins, and ''we looked
to our pistols and loosened them quietly in
cool.
our shawls/' &c. Always
In Samaria he charged up a hill in the face of a volley of stones ; he
fired into the crowd of men who threw them. He says : —
**In€V<r lost an opportunity of impressing the Arabs with the perfection at
American and English weapons, and the danger of attacking any one of the armed
Franks. I think the lesson of that ball not lost."
At Beitin he gave his whole band of Arab muleteers a piece of his
mind, and then — : < ,
" I contented myself with a solemn assurance that if there occurred another
instance of disobedience to orders, I would thrash the responsible party as he
never dreamed of being thrashed, and if I could not find who was responsible, I
would whip them all, from first to last, whether there was a governor at hand to
do it or I had to do it myself."
Perfectly fearless, this man.
He rode down the perpendicular path in the rocks, from the Castle of
Banias to the oak grove, at a flying gallop, his horse striding " thirty
feet" at every bo"nd. I stand prepared to bring thirty reliable wit-
nesses to prove that Putnam's famous feat at Horseneck was insignificant
compared to this.
Behold him — always theatrical — looking at Jerusalem — this time, by
an oversight, with his hand off his pistol for once : —
" I stood in the road, my hand on my horse's neck, and with my dim eyeib
sought to trace the outlines of the holy places which I had long before fixed in
my mind, but the fast-flowing tears forbade my succeeding. There were our
Mohammedan servants, a Latin monk, two Armenians, and a Jew in our cortigt,
and all alike gazed with overflowing eyes."
If Latin monks and Arabs cried, I know to a moral certainty that the
horses cried also, and so the picture is complete.
But when necessity demanded, he could oe firm as adamant. In the
Lebanon valley an Arab youth — a Christian ; he is particular to explain
that Mohammedans do not steal— robbed him of a paltry ten dollars' worth
•f powder and shot He convicted him before a sheik and looked on
while he was poniehed by the terrible bastinado. Hear him —
" lie (Monsa) was on his Hack in a twinkling, howling, ahottlRDg, sere— sing,
but he was (sarried out to tho piaua before the door, where we eould aoo the
op«r»iioii, tuid laid fa«o ilovvn Que man uni on hi^ btick aud one on his legs,
(ft« l««t«r holding tip hi8 f««t, while ft tiurd lajd ea the bare ^nim wiik a
a piece of his
THE NEW PILGRJAf'S P/iUCiKES3.
293
■.,a<si!
rhlnooMtM-liido koorb«ih* thai whissod through the air at every stroktt. Poor
tloraright was in agony, and Kama and Nama the Second (mother and lister of
Mouaa) were on their faces begging and wailing, now embracing my knees and
DOW Whitely's, while the brother, outside, made the air ring with cries loader
than Monsa s. Eren Yusef came and asked me on his knees to relent, and last
of all Betoni — the rascal had lost a feed-bag in their house, and had been loudest
in his denunciations that morning — besought the Howajji to have mercy on the
fellow."
But not he ! The puniBhinent was " euspended," at the ^fteen^ bhWf
to hear the confession. Then Qrimes and his party rode away, and left
the entire Christian family to be fined and as severely punished as the
Mohammedan sheik should deem proper.
"As I mounted, Yusef once more begged me to interfere and have mercy on
them, but I looked around at the dark ntcea of the crowd, and I couldn't find one
drop of pity in my heart for them." ,.. . '■' . .
He closes his picture with a roUicking burst of humour which contrast!
finely with the grief of the mother and her children. , ^
One more paragraph :
" Then once more I bowed my head. It is no sname to have wept in Palestine
I wept when I saw J erusalem, I wept when I lay in the starlight at Bethlehem,
I wept on the blessed shores of Galilee. My hand was no less firm on the rein,
my nnger did not tremble on the trigger of my pistol when I rode with it in my
right hand along the shore of the blue sea *' (weeping). *' My eye was not dimmed
by those tears nor my heart in aught weakened. Let him who would sneer at
my emotion close this volume here, for he will find little to his taste in xay
joumeyings through Holy Land." ? v • i, ji • <
He never bored but he struck water.
I am aware that this is a pretty voluminous notice of Mr Grimes's
"book. However, it is proper and legitimate to speak of it, for " Nomadic
Life in Palestine " is a representative book — the representative of a clcut
of Palestine books — and a criticism upon it will serve for a criticism
upon them all. And since I am treating it in the comprehensive
capacity of a representative book, I have taken the liberty of giving
to both book ana author fictitious names. Perhaps it is in better taste,
anyhow, to do this. • ;? w. - : .; i .
CHAPTER XX.
::i\ -;
NAZARETH is wonderfully interesting because the town nas an air
about it of being precisely as Jesus left it, and one finds himself
Baying, aU the time, "The boy Jesus has stood in this doorway —
has played in that street — has touched these stones with His hands — haa
* '* A Koorbash is Arabic for cowhide, the cow being a rhinooeros. It ii the
most cruel whip known to fame. Heavy as lead, and flexible as India-rubber,
asually about forty inches long, and tapering graduallv from an inch in diameter
ko a point, it administers a blow which lemiet itt mairk fvr ti«M."— <8o»w LiM m
*wj>t, by the same author.
IP
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■ ''/ ;i !i I '
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VH
MARK TWAIN*S WORKS,
rambled orer these chalky hilLs." Whoever shall write the Boyhood of
Jesus ingeniously, will make a book which will possess a viyid interest for
young and old alike. I judge so from the greater interest we found in
Nazareth than any of our speculations upon Capernaum and the Sea of
Gktlilee gaye rise to. It was not possible, standing by the Sea of Galilee,
to frame more than a yague, far>away idea of me majestic Personage
who walked upon the crested wayes as if they had been solid earth, and
who touched tne dead and they rose up and spoke. I read among my
notes now, with a new interest some sentences from an edition of 1621
of the Apocryphal New Testament [Extract]
" Christ, kissed by a bride made dnmb by soroeren, cure* her. A leproQi girl
rared by the water in whioh the infant Ohnct waa washed, and beeomea the ser>
rant of Joseph and Mary. The leprous son of a Prince cured in like manner.
" A young man who had been bewitched and turned into a mule, miraculously
cured by the infant Sayiour being put on his back, and is married to the girl who
bad been cured of le^osy. Whereupon the bystanders praise God.
" Chapter 16. Chnst miraculously widens or contracts ^tes, ndlk-pails, sieTee
or boxes not properly made by Joseph, he not being skilful at his carpenter's
trade. The King of Jerusalem gives Joseph an order for a throne. Joseph
works on it for two years and miGces it two spans too short The fflng being
angry with him, Jesus comforts him— commands him to pull one side of the
throne, while He pulls the other, and brings it to its proper dimensions.
*' Chapter 19. Jesus, charged with throwing a boy from the roof of a house,
miraculously causes the dead body to speak and acquit Him : fetches water f oi
His mother, breaks the pitcher, and miraculously gathers the water in His mantle
and brings it home.
" Sent to a schoolmaster, refuses to tell His letters, and the schoolmaster going
to whip Him, his hand withers."
Further on in this quaint yolume of rejected gospels is an epistle of
St Clement to the Corinthians, which was used m the churcbes and
considered genuine fourteen or fifteen hundred years ago. In it this
account of uie fabled phoenix occurs :
" 1. Let us consider that wonderful type of the resurrection, whioh is seen is
the Eaatem countries, that is to sav, in Arabia.
" 2. There is a certain bird called a phoenix. Of this there is never but one at
a time, and that lives five hundred years. And when the time of its dissolution
diaws near, that it must die, it makes itself a nest of frankincense, and myrrh,
and other spices, into which, when its time is fulfilled, it enters and dies.
" 3. But its flesh, putrefying, breeds a certain worm, which, being nourished
by the juice of the dead bird, brings forth feathers ; and when it is grown to a
perfect state, it takes up the nest in which the bones of its parent lie, and carries
it from Arabia into Egypt, to a city called Heliopolis :
" 4. And flying in open day in the sight of all men, lays it upon the altar of
the sun, and so returns from whence it came.
" 5. The priests then search into the records of the time, and find that it re-
tvned precisely at tbf end of five hundred years."
BoainesM is bufiness, and there is nothing like punctuality, especially
taaphoBniz.
The few chapters relating to the infancy of the Sayiour contain many
things which seem friyolous and not worth preserying. A laree part o^
Ae resxainins portions of the book read like good Scripture, noweyet.
Tknut is one trm that ought Bot to have b4Mui rejected, bftcaiue it so eyi-
I
olmaster going
hioh is seen b>
THE NEW PILGRIM'S PROGRESS,
diently propheticallj refan to th« genenl nu of
United Statea :
•91
of th*
*' 199. They 0*1x7 themBelree high, and m prmdeai mNi ; mA. thtwgii ihej an
fook, yet woald aeem to be teaohen."
I have Bet these extracts down as I found them. Eyerywhere, amoBg
the cathedraLs of France and Italy, one linds traditions of personage!
that do not figure in the Bible, and of miracleti that are not mentioned
in its pages. But they are aU in this Apocryphal New Testament, and
though uiey have been ruled out of our modem Bible, it is claimed that
they were accepted Gospel twelve or fifteen centuries ago, and ranked
as high in credit as any. One needs to read this book before he visits
those venerable cathedrals, with their treasures of tabooed and forgotten
tradition.
They imposed another pirate upon us at Nazareth — another invincible
Arab guard. We took our last look at the city, clinging like a white-
washed wasj^s nest to the hill-side, and at eight o'clock in the morning,
departed. We dismounted and drove the horses down a bridle-path,
which I think was fully as crooked as a corkscrew ; which I know to be
as steep as the downward sweep of a rainbow, and which I believe
to be the worst piece of road in the geography except one in the
Sandwich Islands, which I remember paimuUy, and possibly one or two
mountain trails iu the Sierra Nevadas. Often in this narrow path the
horse had to poise himself nicely on a rude stone step, and then drop his
fore-feet over the edge and down something more than half his own
height This brought his nose neajr the ground, while his tail pointed
up towards the sky somewhere, and gave him the appearance of pre-
paring to stand on his head. A horse cannot look dignified in this
position. We accomplished the long descent at last, and trotted acioM
the great Plain of Esdraelon.
Some of us will be shot before we finish this pilgrimage. The pilgrims
read "Nomadic Life," and keep themselves in a constant state of
Quixotic heroism. They have their hands on their pistols all the time,
and every now and then, when you least ex^ct it, they snatch them out
and take aim at Bedouins who are not visible, and draw their knives
and make savage passes at other Bedouins who do not exist. I am in
deadly peril always, for these spasms are sudden and irregular, and of
course I cannot tdl when to be getting out of the way. If I am acci-
dentally murdered some time during one of these romantic frenzies of
the pilgrims, Mr Qrimes must be rigidly held to answer as an acoeaaory
before the fact. If the pilgrims would take deliberate aim and ahoot at
a man, it would be all rigut and proper — because that man would not
be in any danger ; but these ranaom assaults are what I object ta I
do not wish to see any more places like Esdraelon, where the ground if
level and people can gallop. It puts melodramatic nonaenae into the
pilgrims' heads. All at once, when one is jogging along stunidlj in the
sun, and thinking about something ever so far awaj^, heire tney come at
a stormy gallop, spurring and whooping at thoae ndffy old aore-backed
plugs till their heela fly higher than thair haada, ana aa thay whis by,
•I
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•96
MARK TWAIN'S WORK.S.
out camet * little potato-gun of a revolver, there is a startlinK little pop,
and a small pellet goes singing through the air. Now that I nave b^B^
this pilgrimage I intend to go through with it, though, sooth to say
nothing but uie most desperate valour has kept me to m^ purpose up
to the present time. I do not mind Bedouins — I am not anaid of them,
because neither Bedouins nor ordinary Arabs have shown any disposi-
tion to harm us ; but I <2o feel afraid of my own comrades.
Arriving at the furthest verge of the Plain, we rode a little way up a
hill and found ourselves at Endor, famous for its witch. Her descend-
ants are there yet. They were the wildest horde of half-naked savages
we have found thus far. They swarmed out of mud bee-hives ; out of
hovels of the dry-goods box pattern ; out of gaping caves under shelving
rocks ; out of crevices in the earth. In five minutes the dead solitude
and sUence of the place were no more, and a begging, screeching, shout-
ing mob were struggling about the horses* feet and blocking the way.
" Bucksheesh ! buc^neeeh I bucksheesh ! howajji, bucksheesh ! " It was
Magdala over again, only here the glare from the infidel eyes was fierce
and full of hate. The population numbers two hundred and fifty, and
more than half the citizens live in caves in the rock. Dirt, degradation,
and savagery, are Endor's specialty. We say no more about Magdala
and Deburien now. Endor neads the list It is worse than any Indian
tampoodie. The hiU is barren, rocky, and forbidding. No sprig of
grass is visible, and only one tree. This is a fig-tree, which maintains a
precarious footing among the rocks at the mouth of the dismal cavern
once occupied by the veritable "Witch of Endor. In this cavern, tradition
•ays, Saul the King sat at midnight, and stared and trembled while the
earth shook, the thunders crashed among the hills, and out of the midst
of fire and smoke the spirit of the dead prophet rose up and confronted
him. Saul had crept to this place in the darkness, while his army slept,
|o learn what fate awaited him in the morrow's battle. He went away
a sad man, to meet disgrace and death.
A spring trickles out of the rock in the gloomy recesses of the cavern,
and we were thirsty. The citizens of Endor objected to our going in
there. They do not mind dirt ; they do not mind rags ; they do not
mind vermin ; they do not mind barbarous ignorance and savagery :
they do not mind a reasonable degree of starvation ; but they do luce to
be pure and holy before their god, whoever he may be, and therefore
they shudder and grow almost pale at the idea of Christian lips polluting
a spring whose waters must descend into their sanctified gullets. We
had no wpnton desire to wound even their feelings or trample upon their
Prejudices ; but we were out of water thus early in the day, and were
urning up with thirst It was at this time, and under these circum-
stances, that I framed an aphorism which has already become celebrated.
I said, '* Necessity knows no law." We went in and drank.
We got away from the noisy wretches finally, dropping them in
squads and couples as we filed over the hills — the aged first, the infanti
next, the young girla further on ; the strong men ran beside us a mUe,
and only left wnen they had secured th* Iwt possible piaotre in the way
of buckraeeah.
THE NEW PILGRIM'S PROGRESS,
297
In an hour we reached Nain, where Christ raised the widow's son to
life. Nain is Magdala on a small scale. It has no population of any
consequence. Within a hundred yards of it is the original graveyard,
for aught I know; the tombstone lies flat on the ground, which is
Jewish fashion in Syria. I believe the Moslems do not allow them ta
have upright tombstones. A Moslem grave is usually roughly plastered
over and whitewashed, and has at one end an upright projection, which
is shaped into exceedingly rude attempts at ornamentation. In the cities
there is often no appearance of a grave at all — a tall, slender marble
tombstone, elaborately lettered, gUded, and painted, marks the burial-
place, and this is surmounted b^ a turban, so carved and shaped as to
signify the dead man's rank in Me.
Thev showed a fragment of ancient wall, which the^ said was one
side of the gate out of which the widow's dead son was being brought so
many centuries ago, when Jesus met the procession : —
" Now when He oame nigh to the gate of the city, behold there was a dead ni»n
oarried out, the onlj son of his mother, and she was a widow : and much people
of the city was with her.
"And when the Lord saw her, He had compassion on her, and said, Weep
not.
" And He came und touched the bier : and they that bare him stood still. And
Be said, Young man, I say unto thee, arise.
" And he that was dead, sat up, and began to speak. And He delivered him
to his mother.
** And there came a fear on all. And they glorified God, saying, thnt r. »reai
prophet is risen up among us ; and that God hath visited His people."
A little mosque stands upon the spot which tradition says was occupied
by the widow's dwelling. Two or three aged Arabs sat about its door.
We entered, and the pilgrims broke specimens from the foundation walls,
though they had to touch, and even step, upon the " praying carpets " to
do it. It was almost the same as breaking pieces from the hearts of these
old Arabs. To step rudely upon the sacred praying mats, with booted
feet — a thing not done by any Arab — was to inflict pain upon men who
had not offended us in any way. Suppose a party of armed foreigners
were to enter a village church in America and break ornaments from the
altar railings for curiosities, and elimb up and walk upon the Bible and
the pulpit cushions? However, the cases are different One is the
profanation of a temple of our faith — the other only the profanation of a
pagan one.
We descended to the plain again, and halted a moment at a well — oi
Abraham's cime no doubt. It was in a desert place. It was walled
three feet above ground with squared and heavy blocks of stone, aftei
the manner of Bible pictures. Around it some camels stood and others
knelt. There was a group of sober little donkeys, with naked, dusky
children clambering about them, or sitting astride their rumps, or
pulling their tails. Tawny, black-eyed, bare-footed maids, arrayed in rags
and adorned with brazen armlets and pinchbeck ear-rings, were poising
water-jars upon their heads, or drawing water from the weU. A nock ol
iheep stood by, waiting lor the shepherds to fill the hollowed stones with
water, so that theF might drink — atones which, like thoM thftt walled
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the well, were worn sinooth and deeply creased by the chafing chins of
a hundred generations of thirsty animalfl. Picturesque Arabs sat upon
the ground in groups, and solemnly smoked their long-stemmed chibouks.
Other Arabs were nlling black hog-skins with water — skins which, weU
filled, and distended with water tall the short legs projected painfully
out of the proper line, looked like the corpses of hogs bloated by drown-
hig. Here was a grand Oriental picture which 1 had worshipped a
thousand times in soft, rich, steel engravings ! But in the engraving
there was no desolation ; no dirt ; no rags ; no fleas ; no uglr features ;
no sore eyes ; no feasting flies ; no besotted ignorance in the counte-
nances ; no raw places on the donkeys' backs ; no disagreeable jabbering
in unknown tongues ; no stench of camels ; no suggestion that a couple
of tons of powder placed under the party and touched off would heighten
the effect and give to the scene a genuine interest and a charm which it
would always be pleasant to recall, even though a man lived a thousand
yean.
Oriental scenes look best in steel engravings. I cannot be imposed
upon any more by that picture of the Queen of Sheba visiting Solomon.
I shall say to myself, You look fine, msuiam, but your feet are not clean,
and you smell lUce a cameL
Presently a wild Arab in charge of a camel-train recognised an old
Mend in Ferguson, and they ran and fell upon each other's necks and
kissed each other's grimy, bearded faces upon both cheeks. It explained
instantlv a something which had always seemed to me only a far-fetched
Oriental figure of sx>eech. I refer to the circumstance of Christ's re-
buking a Pharisee, or some such character, and reminding him thai
from him he had received no " kiss of welcome." It did not seem
reasonable to me that men should kiss each other, but I am aware now
Jiat they did. There was reason in it too. The custom was natura'
and proper ; because people must kiss, and a man would not be likely
to kiss one of the women of this country of his own free will and accora.
One must travel to learn. Every day, now, old Scriptural phrases that
never possessed any significance for me before, take to tnemselves a
meaning.
We journeyed around the base of the mountain — " Little Hermon,"
—past the old Crusaders' castle of El Fuleh, and arrived at Shunem.
Tms was another Magdala, to a fraction, frescoes and alL Here tradition
says the prophet Samuel was bom, and here the Shunammite woman
bmlt a little house upon the city wall, for the accommodation of the
prophet Elisha. EUsha asked her what she expected in return. It was
a perfectly natural question, for these people are and were in the habit
of proffering favours and services and then expecting and begging for
pay. Elisha knew them welL He could not comprehend that anybody
should build for him that humble little chamber for the mere sake of
old friendship, and with no selfish motive whatever. It used to seem a
very impolite, not to say a rude question, for Elisha to ask the woman,
but it does not seem so to me now. The woman said she expected nothing
Then for her goodneM and her unselfishness, he rejoiced ner heart with
ttw n«wi th*t ahe ib ^nld bear a wm. It was a high reward—but sht
THE NEW PII^GRIM'S PROGRESS
»99
voold uot have thauked him for a daughter — daughters hare always
been unpopular here. The son was bom, grew, waxed strong, di^
Elisha restored him to life in Shunem.
We found here a grove of lemon trees — cool, shadj, hung with fruit
One is apt to over-estimate beauty when it is rare, but to m? this ^ove
seemed very beautifuL It wcu beautiful I do not over-estimate it I
must always remember Shunem gratefully, as a place which save to us
this leafy shelter after our long, hot ride. We lunched, rested, chatted,
smoked our pipes an hour, and then moimted and moved on.
As we trotted across the plain of Jezreel, we met half a dozen Digger
Indians (Bedouins) with very long spears in their hands, cavorting
around on old cowoait horses, and spearing imaginary enemies ; whoop-
ing, and fluttering their rags in the wind, and carrying on in every
respect like a pack of hopeless lunatics. At last, here were the ** wild
free sons of the desert, speeding over the plain like the wind, on their
beautiful Arabian mares " we had read so much about and longed so
much to see ! Here were the " picturesque costumes ! " This was the
« gallant spectacle ! " Tatterdemalion vagrants— cheap braggadocio —
"Arabian mares" spined and necked like the ichthyosaurus in the
museum, and humped and cornered like a dromedary ! To glance at
the genuine son of the desert is to take the romance out of him for ever
— to behold his steed is to long in charity to strip his harness off and
let him fall to pieces.
Presently we came to a ruinous old town on a hill, the same Uiiug
the ancient Jezreel.
Ahab, King of Samaria (this was a very vast kingdom for those days,
and was very nearly half as large as Bhode Island), dwelt in the city of
Jezreel, which was his capital Near him lived a man by the name of
Naboth, who had a vineyard. The king asked him for it, and when he
would not give it offered to buy it But Naboth refused to sell it In
those days it was considered a sort of crime to part with one's inheri-
tance at anv price — and even if a man did part with it, it reverted to
himself or his heirs c^ain at the next jubilee year. So this spoiled
child of a king went and lay down on the bed with his face to the wall,
and gr.eved sorely. The aueen, a notorious character in those da^s, an ^
whose name is a byword 'and a reproach even in these, came m and
asked him vrherefore he sorrowed, and he told her. Jezebel said she
could secure the vineyard ; and she went forth and forged letters to the
nobles and wise men, in the king's name, and ordered mem to proclaim
a fast and set Naboth on high before the people, and suborn two wit-
nesses to swear that he had blasphemed. They did it, and the people
stoned the accused by the city wall, and he died. Then Jezebel came
and told the Mng, and said. Behold, Naboth is no more — rise up iuid
seize the vineyard. So Ahab seized the vineyard and went into it to
possess it But the Prophet Elijah came to him there and read his tate
to him, and the fate of Jezebel; and said that in the place where the
dogs licked the blood of Nabotli, dogs should also lick nis blood — and
he said, likewise, the dogs should eat Jezebel by the wall of Jezreel In
^e co\ine of time, the kioK was killed in battle, and whan his chariot
I
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MARK TWAIN'S IVOJiXS,
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vv-lieels were wnshed in the pool of Samaria, the dogs licked the blood.
In after years, Jehu, who was King of Israel, marched down against
Jezreel, by order of one of the Prophets, and administered one of thost
convincing rebukes so common among the people of those days: he
killed man^ kings and their subjects, and as he came along he saw
Jezebel, painted and finely dressed looking out of a window, and
ordered tnat she be thrown down to him. A servant did it, and Jehu'a
horse trampled her under foot Then Jehu went in and sat down to
dinner; and presently he said, Go and bury this cursed woman, for she
is a king's daughter. The spirit of charity came upon him too late,
however, for the prophecy had already been fulfilled — the dogs had
eaten her, and they " found no more of her than the skull, and the feet,
and the palms of her hands."
Ahab, the late king, had left a helpless family behind him, and Jehu
killed seventy of the orphan sons. Then he killed all the relatives, and
teachers, and servants, and friends of the family, and rested from his
labours until he came near to Samaria, where he met forty-two persona
and asked them who they were ; they said they were brothers of the
King of Judah. He killed xhem. When he got to Samaria, he said he
would show his zeal for the Lord ; so he gathered all the priests and
people together that worshipped Baal, pretending that he was going to
adopt that worship and oflfer up a great sacrifice ; and when they were
all shut up where they could not defend themselves, he caused every
person of them to be killed. Then Jehu, the good missionary, restei;
from his labours once more.
We went back to the valley, and rode to the Fountain of Ain Jeliid.
Hiey call it the Fountain of Jezreel usually. It is a pond about one
uundred feet square and four feet deep, with a stream of water trickling
into it from under an overhanging ledge of rocks. It is in the midst of
a great solitude. Here Gideon pitched his camp in the old times ; be-
hind Shunem lay the " Midianites, the Amalekites, and the Childrei
of the East," who were " as grasshoppers for multitude ; both they and
their camels were without number, as the sand by the seaside for multi-
tude." Which meaTis that there were one hundred and thirty-five
thousand men, and that they had transportation service accordingly.
Gideon, with only three hundred men, surprised them in the night,
and stood by and looked on while they butchered each other until a
hundred and twenty thousand lay dead on the field.
We camped at Jenin before night, and got up and started again at
one o'clock in the morning. Somewhere towards daylight we passed
the locality where the best authenticated tradition locates the pit into
which Joseph's brethren threw him, and about noon, after passing over
a succession of moimtain tops, clad with groves of fig and olive trees,
with the Mediterranean in sight some forty miles away, and going by
many ancient Biblical cities whose inhabitants glowered savagely upon
our Christian procession, and were seemingly inclined to practice en it
with stones, we came to the singidarly terraced and unlovely hills that
betrayed that we were out of Gsdilee and into Samaria at last
We climbed a hiii^ hill to visit the city of Samarift, where th« woman
Bd the blood,
lown against
L one of thosa
Dse days: be
along he aaw
window, and
it, and Jehu'a
sat down to
)man, for she
him too late,
the dogs had
and the feet,
im, and Jehu
lelatiyeB, and
sted from his
y-two persona
others of the
da, he said he
iie priests and
J was going to
lien they were
caused every
donary, restec.
of Ain Jeliid.
md about one
rater trickling
th^ midst of
)ld times ; be<
the Childrei
both they and
lide for multi-
id thirty-five
cordingly.
in the night,
other until a
Tted again at
ht we passed
la the pit into
passing over
I olive trees,
and going by
lavagely upoii
practiftp en it
rely hills that
ast
re th« woman
TJTE mSW PILGRIM'S PROGRESS
301
may nave hailed from who conyersed with Ohrist at Jacob's Well, and
from whence, no doubt, came also the celebrated Good Samaritan. Herod
the Qreat is said to have made a magnificent city of this place, and a
magm:
great number of coarse limestone columns twenty feet high and two
feet through, that are almost guiltless of architectural grace of shape and
ornament, are pointed out by many authors as evidence of the fact
They would not have been considered handsome in ancient Greece^
however.
The inhabitants of this camp are particularly vicious, and stoned two
parties of our pilgrims a day or two ago who brought about the difficulty
oy showing their revolvers' when they did not intend to use them — a
thing which is deemed bad judgment in the Far West, and ought
certainly to be so considered anjrwnere. In the new territories, when a
man puts his hand on a weapon, he knows that he must use it ; he must
ase it instantly or expect to be shot down where he stands. Those
pilgrims had been reading Grimes.
There was nothing for us to do in Samaria but buy handfuls of old
Roman coins at a franc a dozen, and look at a dilapidated church of the
Crusaders and a vault in it which once contained the body of John the
Baptist. This relic was long ago carried away to Genoa.
Samaria stood a disastrous siege once, in the days of Elisha, at the
hands of the King of Syria. Provisions reached such a figure that " an
ass's head was sold for eighty pieces of silver, and the fourth part of a
cab of dove's dung for five pieces of sUver."
An incident recorded of that heavy time will give one a very good
idea of the distress that prevailed within these crumbling walls. As the
king was walking upon the battlements one day, " a woman cried out,
saying, Help, my lord, king ! And the king said, What aileth
thee ? and she answered. This woman said unto me. Give thy son that
we may eat him to-day, and we will eat my son to-morrow. So we
boiled my son, and did eat him ; and I said unto her on the next day,
Give thy son tnat we may eat liira ; and she hath hid her son."
The prophet EUsha declared that within four and twenty hours the
prices of food should go down to nothing almost, and it was so. The
Syrian aruuf broke camp and fled, for some cause or other ; the famine
was relieved from without, and many a shoddy speculator in dove's
dung and ass's meat was ruined.
We were glad to leave this hot and dusty old village and hurry on.
At two o'clock we stopped to lunch and rest at ancient Shecnem.
between the historic Mounts of Gerizim and Ebal, where in th« old
times the books of the law, the curses and the blessintfa. wen XMd from
the heighta to the Jewf ah multitudes below.
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MARK TWAIN*S WORKS,
CHAPTER XXL
I
THE narrow canon in which Nablous or Shechem la titnated 1« nndei
high cultivation, and the soil is exceedingly black and fertile. It
is well watered, and its affluent vegetation gains effect by contrast
with the barren lulls that tower on either side. One of these hills is
the ancient Mount of Blessings and the other the Mount of Curses ; and
wise men who seek for fulfilments of prophecy think they find here a
wonder of this kind — to wit, that the Mount of Blessings is strangely
fertile and its mate as strangely unproductive. We could not see
that there was really much difference between them in this respect,
however.
She«hem is distinguished as one of the residences of the patriarch
Jacob, and as the seat of those tribes that cut themselves loose from
their brethren of Israel and propagated doctrines not in conformity with
those of the original Jewish creed. For thousands of vears thiB clan
have dwelt in Shechem under strict iaJbu^ and having little commerce or
fellowship with their fellow men of any religion or nationality. For
generations they have not numbered more than one or two hundred,
ut they still aohere to their ancient faith and maintain their ancient
rites and ceremonies. Talk of famUy and old descent ! Princes and nobles
pride themselves upon Uneages they can trace back some hundreds of
years. What is this trifle to this handful of old first families of Shechem,
who can name their fathers straight back without a flaw for thousands
-Hstraight back to a period so remote that men reared in a country
where the days of two hundred years ago are called " ancient " times
grow dazed and bewildered when they try to comprehend it I Here \&
respectability for you — here is " family " — here ia high descent worth
talfing about This sad, proud remnant of a once mighty community
still hold themselves aloof from all the world ; they stUl live as their
fathers lived, labour as their fathers laboured, think as they did, feel as
they did, worship in the same place, in sight of the same landmarks,
and in the some quaint patriarcnal way their ancestors did more than
thirty centuries ago. I found myself ^zing at any straggling scion of
this strange race with a riveted fascination, just as one would stare at a
living mastodon, or a megatherium, that had moved in the grey dawn oi
creation and seen the wonders of that mysterious world that was before
the Flood.
Carefully preserved among the sacred archives of this curious com-
munity ia a MSS. copy of the ancient Jewish law, which is said to be
the oldest document on earth. It is written on vellum, and is some
four or five thousand years old. Nothing but bucksheesh can purchase
a sight Its fame is somewhat dimmed m these latter days, because oi
the doubts so many authors of Palestine travels have felt thenuelres
privileged to cast upon it Speaking of this MSS. reminds me that 1
procured from the high priest of this ancient Samaritan community, at
gMttt expense, a aecrai doooment of still hightr antiquity, and Ux men
t <
Curees ; and
THE NEW PILGRIM* S PROGRESS,
^9^
•ztraordliuury interesti which I propoie to publiah m mka m I h«T«
finished translating it
Joshua gave his dying injunction to the children of Israel at Shechem,
and buried a valuable treasure secretly under an oak tree there about
the same time. The suoerstitious Saniaritans have always been afraid
to hunt for it They believe it is guarded by fierce spirits invisible to
men.
About a mile and a half from Shechem we halted at the base of
Mount Ebal, before a little square area, enclosed by a high stone wall,
neatly whitewashed. Across one end of this enclosure is a tomb built
after the manner of the Modi ems. It is the tomb of Joseph. No truth
is better authenticated than thia.
When Joseph was dying he prophesied that exodus of the Israelites
from Egypt, which occurred four hundred years afterwards. At the
same time he exacted of his people an oath, that when they journeyed to
the land of Canaan, they would bear his bones with them, and bury
them in the ancient inheritance of his fathers. The oath was kept
** And the bones of Joieph, whioh the children of Israel brought up out of
Egypt, buried they in Sheonem, in a parcel of ground which Jaeob bought of the
sons of Hamor the father of Sheehem, for a hundred> pieces of dlyer."
Few tombs on earth command the veneration of so many races and men
of divers creeds as this of Joseph. " Samaritan and Jew, Moslem and
Christian alike, revere it, and honour it with their visits. The tomb of
Joseph, the dutiful son, the affectionate forgiving brother, the virtuous
man, the wise prince and ruler. Egypt felt his influence — the world
knows his history."
In this same " parcel of ground," which Jacob bought of the sous of
Hamor for a hundred pieces of silver, is Jacob's celebrated well. It is
cut in the solid rock, and is nine feet square and ninety feet deep. The
name of this unpretending hole in the ground, which one might pass by
and take no notice of, is as familiar as household words to even the
children and the peasants of manv a far-off country. It is more famous
than the Parthenon ; it is older tnan the Pyramids.
It was by this well that Jesus sat and talked with a woman of that
strange, antiquated Samaritan community I have been speaking of, and
told her of the mysterious water of life. As descendants of old English
nobles still cherish in the traditions of their houses, how that this kin» or
that king tarried a day with some favoured ancestor three hundred
years ago, no doubt the descendants of the woman of Samaria, living
there in Shechem, still refer with pardonable vanity to this conversation
of their ancestor, held some little tmie gone by, with the Messiah of the
Christians. It is not likelv that they undervalue a distinction such
u this. Samaritan nature & human nature, and human nature remem-
bers contact witli the illustrious always.
For an offence done to the family honour, th« sons of Jacob exteimi-
nated all Shechem once.
We left Jacob's well, and tnvelled till eight in the evening, but
rathtr slowly, for we had been in the mAt^t niiMteer Hours, and th«
;Jir
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JtfARX TWAIN'S WORKS.
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horsM ww^ craelly tired. We got so far ahead of the tents th«; we had
to camp in an Arab village, and sleep on the ground. We could have
slept in the largest of the nouses, but there were some little drawbacks :
It was populous with vermin, it had a dirt floor, it was in no respect
cleanly, and there was a family of goats in the only bedroom, and two
donkeys in the parlour. Outside there were no inconveniences, except
that the dusky, ragged, eamest-eyed villagers of both sexes and all ages
grouped themselves on their haunches aU aroimd us, and discussed us
and criticised us with noisy tongues till midnight We did not mind
the noii^, being tired ; but, doubtless, the reader is aware that it is
almost an impossible thing to go to sleep when you know that people
are looking at you. We went to bed at ten, and got up again at two,
and started once more. Thus are people persecuted by dragomen,
whose sole ambition in life is to get ahead of each other.
About daylight we passed Sniloh, where the Ark of the Covenant
rested three hundred years, and at whose gates good old Eli fell down
and " brake his neck " wlien the messenger, riding hard from the battle,
told him of tlie defeat of his people, the death of his sons, and, more
khan all, the capture of Israel's pride, her hope, her refuge, the ancient
Ark her forefathers brought with them out of Egypt It is little
wonder that, under circumstances like these, he fell down and brake his
neck. But Shiloh had no charms for us. We were so cold, that there
was no comfort but in motion, and so drowsy we could hardly sit upon
the horses.
After awhile we came to a shapeless mass of ruins, which still beam
the name of Beth-eL It was here that Jacob lay down, and had that
superb vision of angels flitting up and down a ladder that reached from
the clouds to earth, and caught glimpses of their blessed home through
the open gates of heaven.
The pUgrims took what was left of the hallowed ruin, and we pressed
on toward the goal of our crusade, renowned Jerusalem.
The further we went the hotter the sun got, and the more rocky and
bare, repulsive and dreary, the landscape became. There could not
have been more fragments of stone strewn broadcast over this part of the
world, if every ten square feet of the land had been occimied by a
separate and distinct stonecutter's establishment for an age. There was
hardly a tree or a shrub anywhere. Even the olive and the cactus, those
fast friends of a worthless soil, had almost deserted the country. No
landscape exists that is more tiresome to the eye than that which bounds
the approaches to Jerusalem. The only diflference between the roads
jnd tne surrounding country, perhaps, is that there are rather more
rocks in the roads than in the surrounding country.
We passed Ramah and Beroth, and on the right saw the tomb of th«
prophet Samuel, perched high upon a commanding eminence. Still nc
Jenisalem came in sight We nurried on impatiently. We halted »
moment at the ancient fountain of Beira ; but its stones, worn deeply by
the chins of thirsty animals that are dead and gone centuries ago, had
no interest for us — we longed to see Jerusalem. We spurred up hill
nfter hill, and usually began t« stxvtch our necks minutes belare we got
THE NBW PILGRIM*S PROGRESS.
30$
to tbe top— bat diMppointment alwayi followed : — uon stnpicl hilU
beyond — more unaiffhtly landscape — no Holy City.
At last, away in the middle of the day, ancient bita of wall and crumb-
ling arches began to line the way — we toiled ap one more hill, and every
pilgrim and every sinner swung his hat on high ! Jerusalem 1
Perched on its eternal hills, white and domed and soUd, massed
together and hooped with high grey walls, the venerable city gleamed
in the sun. So small ! Why, it was no larger than an American viUage
of four thousand inhabitants, and no larger than an ordinary Syrian
city of thirty thousand. Jerusalem numbers only fourteen thousand
people.
We dismounted and looked, without speaking a dozen sentences, across
the wide intervening valley for an hour or more ; and noted those pro-
minent features of the cit^ that pictures make funiliar to all men m)m
their school-days till their death. We could rec^nise the Tower of
Hippicus, the Mosque of Omar, the Damascus Qate, the Mount of
OliveH, the Valley of Jehoshaphat, the Tower of David, and the Garden
of Qethsemane — and dating from these landmarks could tell very nearly
the localities of many others we were not able to distinguish.
I record it here as a notable but not discreditable fact that not even
our pilgrims wept. I think there was no individual in the party whose
brain was not teeming with thoughts and images and memories evoked
by the grand history of the venerable city that lay before us, but still
aiuong thera all was no " voice of them that wept."
There was no call for tears. Tears would nave been out of place.
The thoughts Jerusalem suggest are full of poetry, sublimity, and, more
than all, dignity. Such thoughts do not find their appropriate expres-
sion in the emotions of the nursery.
Just after noon, we entered these narrow, crooked streets by the
ancient and the famed Damascus Gate, and now for several hours I
have been trying to comprehend that I am actually In the illustrious
old city where Solomon dwelt, where Abraham hela converse with the
Deity, and where walls still stand that witnessed the spectacle of t-b*
Crucitixion.
^M'
CHAPTER XXIL
A FAST walker could go outside the walls of Jerusalem and walk
entirely around the city in an hour. I do not know how else to
make one understand how small it is. The appearance of the city
is peculiar. It is as knobby with countless little domes as a prison door
is with bolt-heads. Every house has from one to half a dozen of these
white plastered domes of stone, broad and low, sitting in the oentre of,
or in a cluster upon, the flat roof. Wherefore, when one looks down
from an eniinence upon the compact mass of houses (so closely crowded
together, in fact, that there is no appearance of streets at all; faiti nO the
city looks solid), he sees the knoboiest town in tiie world. ^' apt Cob-
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306
ZM^AT TWAIN'S WORKS.
Btantinople. It looks as if it mielit be roofed, froni centre to drciim*
ference, with inverted saucers. Tne monotony of the view is interrupted
only by the great Mosque of Omar, the Tower of Hippicus, and one ot
two other bmldings th&t rise into commanding prominence.
The houses are generally two stories high, bmlt strongly of masonry,
whitewashed or plastered outside, and have a cage of wooden lattice-
work projecting m front of every window. To reproduce a Jerusalem
street, it would only be necessary to up-end a chicken-coop and hang it
before each window in an alley of American houses.
The streets are roughly and badly paved with stone, and are tolerably
crooked — enough so to make each street appear to close together con-
stantly and come to an end about a hundred yards ahead of a pilgrim as
long as he chooses to walk in it. Projecting from the top of the lower
story of many of the houses is a very narrow porch-roof or shed, without
supports from below, and I have several times seen cats jump across the
street from one shed to the other when they were out calling. The cats
could have lumped double the distance without extraordinary exertion.
I mention t^iese things to give an idea of how narrow the streets are.
Since a cat caa jump across them without the least inconvenience, it i«
hardly necessary to state that such streets are too narrow for carriages.
These vehicles cannot navigate the Holy City.
The population of Jerusalem is composed of Moslems, Jews, Greeks,
Latins, Armenians, Syrians, Copts, Abyssinians, Qreek Catholics, and a
handful of Protestants. One hundred of the latter sect are all that dwell
now in this birthplace of Christianity. The nice shades of nationality
comprised in the above list, and the languages spoken by them, are alto>
gether too numerous to mention. It seems to me that all the races and
colours and tongues of the earth must b(^ represented among the fourteen
thousand souls that dwell in Jerust Jem. Rags, wretcheduvjss, poverty,
and dirt, those signs and symbols that indicate the presence of Moslem
rule more surely than the crescent-filag itself, abound. Lepers, cripples,
the blind, and the idiotic, assail you on every hand, and they know but
one word of but one language apparently — the eternal " bucksheesh."
To see the numbers of maimed, Lialformed, and diseased humanity that
throng the holy places and obstruct the gates, one might suppose that
the ancient days had come again, and that the angel of the Lord was
expected l/O descend at any moment to stir the waters of Bethesda.
Jerusalen: is mournful, and dreary, and lifeless. 1 would not desire to
live here.
One naturally goes first to the Holy Sepulchre. It is right in the
city, near the western gate ; it and the place of the Crucifixion, and, in
in fact, every other place intimately connected with that tremendoup
event, are ingeniously massed together and covered by one roof — the
dome of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre.
Eintering the building, through tne midst of the usual assemblage of
beggars, one sees on his left a few Turkish guards — for Christians of
di^rent sects will not only quarrel, but fight also, in this sacred place,
If allowed to do it Before you is a marble slab, which covera the Stone
of Uaction, whweon the Saviour's body was laid to preuavt it far bttnaL
II
tT6 to dlCtUU*
is interrupted
lis, and one or
e.
7 of masonry,
ooden lattice-
e a Jerusalem
tp and hang it
I are tolerably
I together con-
)f a pilgrim as
3 of the lower
shed, without
imp across the
ng. The catii
nary exertion,
le streets are.
venience, it is
r for carriages.
Jews, Qreeks,
ktholics, and a
aU that dwell
of nationality
;hem, are alto*
the races and
5 the fourteen
iiKiBB. poverty,
ce 01 Moslem
pers, cripples,
hey know but
bucksheesh."
lumanity that
suppose that
the Lord was
of Bethesda.
not desire to
right in the
ixion, and, in
t tremendoup
me roof — the
assemblage of
Christians of
sacred place,
'era the Stone
it f«r busaal.
Tits NEW PILGRIM'S PROGRESS.
JBII
It WAS fonnd necessary to conceal the real stone in this way In order to
lave it from destruction. Pilgrims were too much given to chipping o£f
pieces of it to carry home. Near by is a circular railing, which marks
the spot where the Yii^in stood when the Lord's body was anointed.
Entering the great Rotunda, we stand before the most sacred locality
in Christendom — the grave of Jesua It is in tlie centre of the church,
and immediately under the great dome. It is enclosed in a sort of little
temple of yellow and white stone, of fanciful deingn. Within the little
temple is a portion of the very stone which wan rolled away from the
door of the Sepulchre, and on which the angel was sitting when Mary
came thither "at early dawn." Stooping low, we enter the vault — the
Sepulchre itself. It is only about six feet by seven, and the stone couch
on which the dead Saviour lay extends from end to end of the apait-
ment and occupies half its width. It is covered, with a marble slab
which has been much worn by the lips of pilgrimB. This slab serves as
an altar now. Over it hang some fifty gold and silver lamps, wMch are
kept always burning, and the place is otherwise scandalised by trumpery
gewgaws and tawdry ornamentation.
All sects of Christians (except Protestants) have chapels under the
roof of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, and each must keep to itself
and not venture upon another's ground. It has been proven conclu-
sively that they cannot worship together aroun^i the grave of the
Saviour of the World in peace. The chapel of the Syrians is not
handsome ; that of the Copts is the humblest of them all. It is nothing
but a dismal cavern, rougnly hewn in the living rock of the Hill of
Calvary. In one side of it two ancient tombs are hewn, which are
claimed to be those in which Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimathea
v/ere buried.
As we moved among the great piers and pillars of another part of the
church, we came upon a party of black-robed, animal- looking Italian
monks, with candles in their hands, who were chanting something in
Latin, and going through some kind of religious performance around a
disc of white marble let into the floor. It was there that the risen
Saviour appeared to Mary Magdalen in the likeness of a gardener.
Near by was a similar stone, shaped like a star — here the Magdalen
herself stood, at the same time. Monks were performing in this place
also. They perform everywhere — all over the vast building, and at all
houra Their candles are always flitting about in the gloom, and making
the dim old church more dismsd than there is any necessity that it should
be even though it is a tomb.
We were shown the place where our Lord appeared to his mother after
the Resurrection. Here, alsp, a marble slab marks the place where St
Helena, the mother of the Emperor Constaiitine, found the crosses
about thre^ hundred years after the Crucifixion. According to the
legend, this great discovery elicited extravagant demonstrations of joy.
But they were of short duration. The question intruded itself : " Whiwi
bore the blessed Saviour, and which the thieves 1 " To be in doubt, in
30 mighty a matter as this — to be imcertain which one to adore— was a
(grievous misfoxtime. It tamed the pubUe ioj to sonrow. Bat vboti
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MARK TWAIN'S WORKS.
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lived there a holy priest who conld not set bo simple a trouble as fhip at
rest ? One of these soon hi ', upon a plan that would be a certain test
A noble lady lay very ill in Jerusalem. The wise priests ordered
that the three crosses l)e taken to her bedside one at a time. It was
done. When her eyes fell upon the first one, she uttered a scream that
was heard beyond the Damascus Gate, and even upon the Mount of
Olives, it was said, and then fell back in a deadly swoon. They
recovered her and brought the second cross. Instantly she went into
fearful convulsions, and it was with the greatest difficulty that six strong
men could hold her. They were afraid, now, to bring in the third cross.
They began to fear that possibly they had fallen upon the wrong crosses,
and that the true cross was not with this number at alL However, as
the woman seemed likely to die with the convulsions that were tearing
her, they concluded that the third could do no more than put her out of
her misery with a happy dispatch. So they brought it, and behold a
miracle ! The woman pprang from her bed, smiUng and joyful, and
perfectly restored to health. When we listen to evidence like this, we
cannot but believe. We would be ashamed to doubt, and properly, too.
Even the very part of Jerusalem where all this occurred is there yet So
there is really no room for doubt
The priests tried to show us, through a small screen, a fh^ment of the
genuine Pillar of Flagellation, to which Christ was bound when they
scourged him. But we could not see it, because it was dark inside the
icreen. However, a baton is kept here, which the pilgrim thrusts through
a hole in the screen, and then he no longer doubts that the true Pillar of
Flagellation is in there. He cannot have any excuse to doubt it, for he
can feel it with the stick. He can feel it as distinctly as he could f<te]
anything.
Not far from here was a niche where they used to preserve a piece oi
the True Cross, but it is gone now. This piece of the cross was dis-
covered in the sixteenth century. The Latin priests say it was stolen
away long ago by priests of another sect That seems like a hard state-
ment to ma^e, but we know very well that it im« stolen, because we
have seen it ourselves in several of the cathedrals of Italy and France.
But the reUc that touched us most was the plain old sword of that
stout Crusader, Godfrey of Bulloigne — King Godfrey of Jerusalem. No
blade in dhristondom wields such enchantment as this — no blade of aU
that rust in the ancestral halls of Europe is able to invoke such visions
of romance in the brain of him who looks upon it — none that can prate
of such chivalric deeds or tell such brave tales of the warrior davs of old.
It stirs within a man every memory of the Holy Wars that lias been
sleeping in his brain for years, and peoples his thoughts with mail-clad
images, with marching armies, with battles and with sieges. It speaks
to him of Baldwin, and Tancred, the princely Saladin, and great Richard
of the Lion Heart It was with just such blades as these that these
•plendid heroes of romance used to segregate a man, so to speak, and
leave the half of him to fall one way and uie other half the other. This
very sword has cloven hundreds of Saracen knights from crown to chin
hi tiUMM old times when Godfrey wielded it Xt was enchanted, then, by
:«?■
iiii
THE NEW PILGRIM'S PROGRESS,
3«9
*. gvnias that wa« under the command of King Solomon. When danger
approached its master's tent it always struck the shield and clanged out
a /lerce alarm upon the startled ear of night In times of doubt, or in
fog or darkness, if it were drawn from its sheath it would point instantly
toward the foe, and thus reveal the way — and it would also attempt to
start after them of its own accord. A Christian could not be so disguised
that it would not krow him and refuse to hurt him — nor a Moslem so
disguised that it wcnLl not leap from its scabbard and take his life.
These statements are all well authenticated in many legends that are
among the most trustworthy legends the good old Catholic monks pre-
serve. I can never forget old Godfrey's sword now. I tried it on a
Moslem, and clove him in twain like a doughnut The spirit of Grimes
was upon me, and if I had had a graveyard I would have destroyed all
the infidels in Jerusalem. I wiped the blood off the old sword and
handed it back to the priest — I did not want the fresh gore to obliterate
those sacred spots that crimsoned its brightness one day six hundred
years ago and thus gave Godfrey warning that before the sun went down
his journey of life would end.
Still moving through the gloom of the Church '^f the Holy Sepulchre
we came to a small chapel, hewn out of the ruck — a place which has
been known as " The Prison of Our Lord " for many centuries. Tradi*
tion sayg that here the Saviour was confined just previously to the Cruci
fixion. Under an altar by the door was a pair of stone stocks for human
legs. These things are called the " Bonds of Christ," and the use they
were once put to has given them the name they now bear.
The Greek Chapel is the most roomy, the richest, and the showiest
chapel in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. Its altar, like that of aU
the Greek churches, is a lofty screen that extends clear across the chapel,
and is gorgeous with gilding and pictures. The numerous lamps uiat
bang before it are of gold and silver, and cost great sums.
But the feature of the place is a short column that rises from the
middle of the marble pavement of the chapel, and marks the exact centra
of the earth. The most reliable traditions tell us that this was known to
be the earth's centre, ages ago, and that when Christ was upon earth he
set all doubts upon the subject at rest for ever by stating with his own
lips that the tradition was correct Remember, He said that that parti-
cular column stood upon the centre of the world. If the centre of the
world changes, the column changes its position accordingly. This
column has moved three different times of its own accord. This i
because, in great convulsions of nature, at three different times, masses
of the earth — whole ranges of mountains, probably — have flown off into
space, thus lessening the diameter of the earth, and changing the exact
locality of its centre by a point or two. This is a verv curious and in-
teresting circumstance, and is a withering rebuke to tnose philosophers
who would make us believe that it is not possible for any portion of the
■•arth to fly off into space.
To satisfy himself that this spot was really the centre of the earth, ki
sceptic once paid weU for the privilege of a.scending to the dome of the
Qhurch to see if the sun gave nim a aiiadow at noon He came down
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MARK TfVAIN'S WORKS,
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perfectly cosiTtfus^d. The day was rery cloudy and the mm fhx«ir He
shadows at all ; btit the man was satisfied that if the sun ikad come out
and made shadows, it could not have made any for him. Proofs like
these are not to be set aside by the idle tongues of cavillers. To such as
are not bigoted, and are willing to be convinced, they carry a conviction
that nothing can ever shake.
If even greater proofs than those I have mentioned are wanted to
satisfy the headstrong and the foolish that this is the genuine centre of
the earth, they are here. The greatest of them lies in the fact that from
under this very column was taken the dutt from wh/ich Adam was made.
This can surely be regarded in the light of a settler. It is not likely
that the original first man would nave been made from an inferior
quality of earth when it was entirely convenient to get first quality from
tne world's centre. This will strike anv reflecting mind forcibly. That
Adam was formed of dirt procured in tnis very spot is amply proven by
the fact that in six thousand years no man has ever been able to prove
that the dirt was not procured here whereof he was made.
It is a singular circumstance that right under the roof of this same
great church and not far away from that illustrious column, Adam him-
self, the father of the human race, lies buried. There is no question that
he is actually buried in the grave which is pointed out as his — there can
be none — because it has never yet been proven that that grave is not the
grave m which he is buried.
The tomb of Adam ! How touching it was, here in a land of strangers,
Geu' away from home, and friends, and all who cared for me, thus to dis-
cover the grave of a blood relation. True, a distant one, but still a
relation. The unerring instinct of nature thrilled its recognition. Th«
fountain of my filial anection was stirred to its profoundest depths, and
I gave way to tumultuous emotion. I leaned upon a pillar and burst
into tears. I deem it no shame to have wept over the grave of my pooi
dead relative. Let him who would sneer at my emotion close this
volume here, for he will find little to his taste in my joumeyings through
Holy Land. Noble old man — he did not live to see his child. And I
— I — alas, I did not live to see him. Weighed down by sorrow and
disappointment, he died before I was bom — six thousand brief summers
before I was bom. But let us try to bear it with fortitude. Let us
trust that he is better off where he is. Let us take comfort in the
thought that his loss is our eternal gain.
The next place the guide took us to in the holy church was an altar
dedicated to the Roman soldier who was of the military guard that
attended the Crucifixion to keep order, and who — when the vail of the
Temple was rent in the awful darkness that followed ; when the rock of
Golgotha was split asunder by an earthquake ; when the artillery of
heaven thundered, and in the baleful glare of the lightnings the shrouded
dead flitted about the streets of Jerusalem — shook with fear and said,
" Surely this was the Son of God ! " Where this altar stands now, that
Roman soldier stood then, in full view of the crucified Saviour — in full
sight and hotuing of all the marvels that were transpiring far and wide
aMut the dromuf erence of the Hill of Calvary. And in this MlfHMuai
ran fhx««r Ho
!kad come out
Proofs like
k To such as
J a convictioii
ire wanted to
line centre of
fact that from
wm was made.
is not likely
Di an inferior
t quality from
>rcibly. That
ply proven by
able to prove
' of this same
n, Adam him-
) question that
liis — there can
rave is not the
id of strangers,
le, thus to dis-
le, but still a
gnition. Th«
Bt depths, and
lar and burst
7e of my pool
ion close this
yings through
3hila. And I
sorrow and
)rief summers
ude. Lot us
imfort in the
was an altar
' guard that
le vail of the
jn the rock of
e artillery of
the shrouded
Bar and said,
ds now, that
dour — in fuU
far and wide
hia Mlf-Mmi
THE NEW PrrGRlM'S PA' OGRESS,
3»»
spot tbe priests of the Temple beheaded him for those blasphemous words
lie had spoken.
In this altar they used to keep one of the most curious relics that
human ejea ever looked upon — a thing that had power to fascinate the
beholder in some mysterious way and keep him gazing for hours together.
It was nothing less than the copper plate Pilate put upon the Saviour's
cross, and upon which he wrote, " This is thb King or thb Jews." I
think St Helena, the mother of Constantine, found this wonderful
memento when she was here in the third century. She travelled all
over Palestine, and was always fortunate. Whenever the good old
enthusiast found a thing mentioned in her Bible, Old or New, she would
go and search for that thing, and never stop until she found it. If
it was Adam, she would find Adam ; if it was the Ark, she would find
the Ark ; if it was Goliah or Joshua, she would find them. She found
the inscription here that I was speaking of, I think. She found it in
this very spot, close to where the martjn'ed Roman soldier stood. That
copper plate is in one of the churches in Rome now. Anyone can see it
there. The inscription is very distinct.
We passed along a few steps and saw the altar built over the very spot
where the good Catholic priests say the soldiers divided the raiment of
the Saviour.
Then we went down into a cavern which cavillers say was once a
cistern. It is a chapel now, however — the Chapel of St Helena. It is
fifty-one feet long by forty-three wide. In it is a marble chair which
Helena used to sit in while she superintended her workmen when they
were digging and delving for the True Cross. In this place is an altar
dedicated to St Dimas, me penitent thief. A new bronze statue is here
—a statue of St Helena. It reminded us of poor Maximilian, so lately
shot. He presented it to this chapel when he was about to leave for his
throne in Mexico.
From the cistern we descended twelve stervt into a large roughly-shaped
grotto, carved wholly out of the living jock. Helena blasted it out
when she was searching for the True Cross. She had a laborious piece
of work here, but it was richly rewarded. Out of this place she got the
crown of thorns, the nails of the Cross, the Tjue Cross itself, and the
cross of the penitent thief. When she thought she had found every-
thing and was about to stop, she was told in a dream to continue a day
longer. It was very fortunate. She did so, and found the cross of the
other thie^.
The walls and roof of this grotto still weep bitter tears in memory of
the event that transpired on Calvary, and devout pilgrims groan and sob
when these sad tears fall upon them from the dripping rock. The
monks call this apartment the " Chapel of the Invention of the Cross "
— a name which is unfortunate, because it leads the ignorant to imagine
that a tacit acknowledgment is thus made that the tradition that Helena
found the true cross here is a fiction — an invention. It is a happiness
to know, howeveTi that intelligent people do not doubt the story in any
of its particulaxs.
,' PriiMts of anj of the eh»pels and deiunuinations in th* Church (rf the
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Holy Bepnldiie can visit this sacred grotto to weep and pnj and wor
■hip the gentle Redeemer. Two different congregations are not allowed
to enter at the same time, however, because they always fight.
Still marching through the venerable Church of the Holy Sepulchre—
among chanting priests in coarse long robes and sandals ; pilgrims of all
colours and many nationalities, in aU sorts of strange costumes ; imdei
dusky arches and by dingy piers and columns ; through a sombre cathe-
dral gloom freighted with smoke and incense, and faintly starred with
scores of candles that appeared suddenly and as suddenly disappeared,
or drifted mysteriously liither and thither about the distant aisles like
ghostly jack-o'-lanterns — we came at last to a small chapel, which is
called the "Chapel of the Mocking." Under the altar was a fragment
of a marble column ; this was the seat Christ sat on when He was
reviled and mockingly made King, crowned with a crown of thorns and
sceptred with a reed. It was here that they blindfolded Him and struck
Him, and said in derision, " Prophesy who it is that sokote thee." The
tradition that this is the identical spot of the mocking is a very ancient
one. The guide said that Saewulf was the first to mention it. I do
not know Saewulf, but still I cannot well refuse to receive his evidence
— none of us can.
They showed us where the great Godfrey and his brother Baldwin,
the first Christian Kings of Jerusalem, once lay buried by that sacred
sepulchre they had fought so long and so valiantly to wrest from the
hands of the infidel But the niches that had contained the ashes of
these renowned Crusaders were empty. Even the coverings of theif
tombs were gone— destroved by devout members of the Greek ChurcL
because Gk)direy and Baldwin were Latin princes, and had been reared
in a Christian faith whose creed differed in some unimportant respects
from theirs.
We passed on, and halted before the tomb of Melchisedek. You will
rememoer Melchisedek, no doubt He was the King who canie out
and levied a tribute on Abraham the time that he pursued Lot's captors
to Dan, and took all their property from them. That was about four
thousand years ago, and Melchisedek died shortly afterward. However,
his tomb is in a good state of preservation.
When one enters the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, the Sepulchre
itself is the first thing he desires to see, and really is almost the first
thing he does see. The next thing he has a strong yearning to see ie
the spot where the Saviour was crucified. But this they exhibit last.
It is the crowning glory of the place. One is grave and thoughtful
when he stands in the little tomb of the Saviour — he could not well be
otherwise in such a place — but he has not the slightest possible belief
that ever the Lord lay there ; and so the interest he feels in the spot is
very, very greatly marred by that reflection. He looks at the place
where Mary stood, in another part of the church, and where John stood,
and Mary Magdalen ; where the mob derided the Lord ; where the
angel sat '; where the crown of thorns was found, and the true cross ;
where the risen Saviour appeared. He looks at all these places with
interest, but with the same conviction he felt in the case of the Sepulchrw,
THE NEW PILGRIM'S PROGRESS,
m
that theie is nothing genuine about them, and that they are ima^ary
holy places created by the monks. But the place of the Crucifixion
affects him differently. He fully believes that he is looking upon the
verjr spot where the Saviour gave up his life. He remembers that
Christ was very celebrated long oefore He came to Jerusalem; he knows
that His fame was so great that crowds followed Him all the time ; he
is aware that His entiy into the city produced a stirring sensation, and
that His reception was a kind of ovation ; he cannot overlook the fact
that when He was crucified there were very many in Jerusalem who
believed He was the true Sod of Qod. To publicly execute such a
Personage was sufiicient in itself to make the locality of the execution a
memorable place for ages ; added to this the storm, the darkness, the
earthquake, the rending of the veil of the Temple, and the untimely
waking of the dead, were events calculated to fix the execution and the
scene of it in the memory of even the most thoughtless witness.
Fathers would tell their sons about the strange affair, and point out the
spot ; the sons would transmit the story to their children, and thus the
?eriod of three hundred years would easily be spanned ♦ — at which time
[elena came and built a church upon Calvarv to commemorate the
death and burial of the Lord and preserve the sacred place in the
memories of men. Since that time there has always been a church
there. It is not possible that there can be any mistake about the locality
of the Crucifixion. Not half a dozen persons knew where they buried
the Saviour, perhaps, and a burial is not a startling event, anyhow ;
therefore we can be pardoned for unbelief in the Sepulchre, but not in
the Crucifixion. Five hundred years hence there wOl be no vestige of
Bunker Hill Monument left, but America wUI still know where the
battle was fought and where Warren feU. The Crucifixion of Christ
was too notable an event in Jerusalem, and the Hill of Calvary made
too celebrated by it, to be forgotten in the short space of three hundred
years. I climbed the stairway in the church which brings one to the
top of the small enclosed pinnacle of rock, and looked upon the place
where the true cross once stood, with a far more absorbing interest than
I had ever felt in anything earthly before. I could not believe that the
three holes in the top of the rock were the actual ones the crosses stood
in, but I felt satisfied that those crosses had stood so near the place now
occupied by them, that the few feet of possible difference were a matter
of no consequence.
When one stands where the Saviour was crucified, he finds it all he
can do to keep it strictly before his mind that Christ was not crucified
in a Catholic church. He must remind himself every now and then
that the great event transpired in the open air, and not in a gloomy
candle-lighted cell in a little comer of a vast church up-stairs — a small
cell all bejewelled and bespangled with flashy ornamentation in exe-
crable taste.
Under a marble altar like a table is a circular hole in the marble
door, corresponding with the one just under it in which the true crose
* The thouffht Ib Mr Prima*!, Bot mine, and is full of good anuM. I bonrowed
U from his **Tfln« life.'*— M. T.
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stood. Th« first thin^ eveiy one does Ib to kneel down and take a
candle and examine thu hole. He does this «tiange prospectinff with an
amount of gravity that can never be estimated or appreciated bv a man
who has not seen the operation. Then he holds his candle before a
richly engraved picture of the Saviour, done on a massy slab of gold,
and wonderfully rayed and starred with diamonds, which hangs above the
hole within the altar, and his solemnity changes to lively admiration.
He rises and faces the finely wrought figures of the Saviour and the
malefactors upUfted upon their crosses behind the altar, and bright with
a metallic lustre of many colours. He turns next to the figures close to
them of the Virgin and Mary Magdalen ; next to the rift in the living
rock made by the earthquake at the time of the Crucifixion, and an
extension of which he had seen before in the wall of one of the grottoea
below. He looks next at the show-case with a figure of the Virgin in
it, and is amazed at the princely fortune in precious gems and jewellery
that hangs so thickly about the form as to hide it like a garment almost
All about the apartment the gaudy trappings of the Greek Church offend
the eye and keep the mind on the rack, to remember that this is the
place of the Crucifixion — Golgotha — the Mount of Calvary. And the
Last thing he looks at is that which was also the first — ^the place where
the true cross stood. That will chain him to the spot, and compel him
to look once more and once again after he has satisfied all curiosity and
lost all interest concerning the other matters pertaining to the locality.
And so I close my chapter on the Church of the Hcly Sepulchre — the
most sacred locality on earth to millions and millions of men, and
women, and children, the noble and the humble, bond and free. In ite
history from the first, and in its tremendous associations, it is the most
illustrious edifice in Christendom. With all its clap-trap side-shows and
onseemly impostures of every kind, it is still gran^ reverend, venerable
— for a God died there ; for fifteen hundred years its shrines have been
wet with the tears of pilgrims &om the earth's remotest confines ; for
more than two hundred, the most gallant knights that ever wielded
sword wasted their lives away in a struggle to seize it and hold it sacred
from infidel pollution. Even in our own dav a war that cost millions
of treasure and rivers of blood, was fought because two rival nations
claimed the sole right to put a new dome upon it. History is full of this
old Church of the Holy Sepulchre — full of^ blood that was shed because
of the respect and the veneration in which men held the last resting-
place of the meek and lowly, the mild and gentle Priince of Peace 1
CHAPTER XXIII.
WE were standing in a narrow street, by the Tower of Antonir
"On these stones that are crumbling away," the guide raid,
**^ the Saviour sat and rested before takmg up the cross. This ii
Hm beginning of the Sorrowful Waj, or the Way of Grief." llie pei^
THE NEW PILOKm^S PROGRESS,
315
L and tak« a
ictingwith an
ted by a man
ndle before a
' slab of gold,
uigs above the
y admiration.
riouT and the
id bright with
gures close to
in the living
ixion, and an
)f the grottoes
the Virgin in
and jewellery
mnent almost
Church offend
tat this is the
siry. And the
e place where
d compel him
I curiooity and
) the locality,
iepulchre — the
of men, and
i free. In ite
it is the most
lide-showB and
end, venerable
nes have been
confines ; for
; ever wielded
hold it sacred
cost millions
rival nations
y is full of this
shed because
e last resting*
>f Peace 1
)r of Antonirv
iie guide said,
cross. Thisii
H** Th«pai^
took note of the sacred spot, and moved on. We passed under the
" Ecce Homo Arch," and saw the very window from vmich Pilate's wife
warned her husband to have nothing to do with the persecution of the
Just Man. This window is in an excellent state of preservation consider-
ing its great age. They uhowed us where Jesus rested the second time,
and where the mob refused to give Him up, and said : " Let His blooa
be upon our heads, and upon our children's children for ever." The
French Catholics are building a church on this spot, and with their
usual veneration for historical relics, are incorporating into the new such
scraps of ancient walls as they have found there. Further on we saw
the spot where the faintiT^g Saviour fell under the weight of His cross.
A great granite column of some ancient temple lay there at the time,
and the neavy cross struck it such a blow that it broke in two in the
middle. Such was the guide's story when he halted us before the broken
column.
We crossed a street, and came presently to the former residence of St
Veronica. When the Saviour passed there, she came out, full of
womanly compassion, and spoke pitying words to Him, undaunted by
the hootings and the threatenings of the mob, and wiped the perspiration
from His face with her handkerchief We had heard so much of St
Veronica, and seen her picture by so many masters, that it was like
meeting an old friend unexpectedly to come uj)on her ancient home in
Jerusalem. The strangest thing about the incident that has made hei
name so famous is, that when she wiped the perspiration away, the print
of the Saviour's face remained upon the handkerchief, a perfect portrait,
and so remains unto this day. We knew this, because we saw this
handkerchief in a cathedral in Paris, in another in Spain, and in two
others in Italy. In the Milan Cathedral it costs five francs to see it,
and at St Peter's at Rome, it is almost impossible to see it at any
price. No tradition is so amply verified as this of St Veronica and her
handkerchief.
At the next comer we saw a deep indention in the hard stone masonry
of the comer of a house, but might have gone heedlessly by it but that
the guide said it was made by the elbow of the Saviour, who stumbled
here and feU. Presently we came to just such another indention in a
stone waU. Theguide said the Saviour feU here also, and made this
depression with His elbow.
There were other places where the Loi-d fell, and others where He
rested ; but one of the most curious landmarks of ancient history we
found on this morning walk througli the crookf A lanes that lead toward
Calvaiy was a certain stone built into a house — a stone that was so
Beamed and scarred that it bore a sort of grotesque resemblance to the
human face. The projections that answered for cheeks were worn smooth
by the passionate kisses of generations of pilgrims frem distant lands.
We asked " Why 1 " The guide said it was because this was one of
" the very stones of Jerusalem " that Christ mentioned when He was re-
proved for permitting the people to cry " Hosannah ! ** when He made
His memorable entry into the city upon an ass. One of the pilgrims
aaid, ^ But there is no evidence tmtt the itones iM, cry out — Ghziat said
( "1 f
I i.
)i6
MARK TWArtr*S WORKS.
V I
)>%i
BU I 9 ^>
that ii tue people atopped from Bhoutiiig Hosannah, the ^Hty itoniNS
would do it" Tne guiae was perfectly serene. He Baid, calnilv, *' This
ia one of the stones that uwuld have cried out" It was of little use te
try to shake this fellow's simple faith — it was easy to see that.
And so we came at last to another wonder of deep and abiding interest
—the veritable house where the unhappy wretch once lived who hjis been
celebrated in song and story for more than eighteen hundred years as the
Wandering Jew. On the memorable day of the Crucifixion he stood in
this old doorway with his arms a-kimbo, looking out upon the struggling
mob that was approaching, and when the weary Saviour would li.ive sat
down and rested Him a moment, pushed him rudely away aiul said,
" Move on ! " The Lord said, " Move on thou, likewise ! " and the com-
mand has never been revoked from that day to this. All men knov
how that the miscreant upon whose head that just curse fell has roamed
np and down the wide world, for ages and ages, seeking rest and never
finding it — courting death but always in vain — longing to stop, in city,
in wilderness, in desert solitudes, yet hearing always that relentlesp
»vaming to march— march on ! They say— do these hoary traditions—
that when Titus sacked Jerusalem and slaughtered eleven hundred
thousand Jews in her streets and byways, the Wandering Jew was seei;
dways in the thickest of the fight, and that when battle-axes gleamed ii
the air, he bowed his head beneath them ; when swords flashed theiii
deadly lightnings, he sprang in their way ; he bared his breast ti^
whizzing javelins, to hissing arrows, to any and to every weapon that
promised death, and forgetmlness, and rest But it was useless — hr
walked forth out of the carnage without a wound. And it is said that
five hundred years afterward he followed Mahomet when he carriei;
destruction to the cities of Arabia, and then turned against him, hopin<^
in this way to win the death of a traitor. His calculations were wroiii
again. No quarter was given to any living creature but one, and that
was the only one of all uie host that did not want it. He sought death
five hundred years later, in the wars of the Crusades, and offered himself
to famine and pestilence at Ascalon. He escaped again — he could not
die. These repeated annoyances could have at last but one effect — they
shook his confidence. Since then the Wandering Jew has carried on a
kind cf desultory toying with the most promising of the aids and imple-
ments of destruction, but with small hope, as a general thing. He nas
speculated some in cholera and railroads, and has taken almost a lively
interest in infernal machines and patent medicines. He is old now, and
grave, as becomes an age like his ; he indulges in no light amusements
save that he goes sometimes to executions, and is fond of funerals.
There is one thing he cannot avoid ; go where he will about the world,
he must never fail to report in Jerusalem every fiftieth year. Only a
year or two ago he was here for the thirty-sevenm time since Jesus was
crucified on (^vary. They say that many old people, who are here now,
saw him then, and had seen him before. He looks always tiie same-
old, and withez«d, and hollow-eyed, and listless, save that there is about
him something which aeema to aiiflsrest that he in lookiiiff for some one,
«q^ting Bome one — the fidendA miua youth, perhape. But th« most oi
THE NEW PILGRIM'S PROGRESS.
3rf
v^ry ftoiMG
Imlv, "This
little use t«
at.
ding interest
<fho hiia been
I years aa the
he stood in
le struggling
)uld liivve Silt
ay and said,
md the coni-
l men knov
I has roamed
3t and never
stop, in city,
at relentlesp
' traditions—
^'en hundred
Jew was seeii
58 gleamed ii
flashed thei>
[lis breast to
weapon that
i useless — hr
, is said thai
sn he carrier
; him, hopin;.
B were wron;.
me, and that
sought deatli
fered himsell
he could not
i effect — they
carried on a
is and imple-
ing. He nas
most a lively
old now, and
; amusements
merals.
>ut the world,
rear. Only a
Lce Jesus was
are here now,
8 tiie same—
Jiere is about
for gome one,
it the moat ol
thorn uie ueod now. He always pokes about the old streets, looking
lonesome, making his mark on a wall here and there, and eyeing the
ohleHt buildings with a sort of friendly half-interest ; and he sheds a few
tears at the threshold of his ancient dwelling, and bitter, bitter tears
they are. Then he collects his rent and leaves again. He has been seen
standing near the Church of the Holy Sepulchre on many a starlight
uigbt, for he has cherished an idea for many centuries that if he cuuld
only enter there he could rest. But when he approaches, the doors slam
to with a crash, the earth trembles, and all the hghts in Jerusalem bum
a ghastly blue ! He does this every fifty years, just the same. It is
hopeless, but then it is hard to break habits one has been eighteen
hundred years accustomed to. The old tourist is far away on his
wanderings now. How he must smile to see a pack of blockheads like
us, galloping about the world, and looking wise, and imagining we are
finding out a good deal about it ! He must have a consuming contempt
for the ignorant, complacent asses that go skurryiug about the world in
these rauroading days and call it travelliRg.
When the guide pointed out where the Wandering Jew had le£f
his familiar mark upon a wall, I was filled with astonishment It
read: —
"8. T.-i86o-X.»'
All I have revealed about the Wandering Jew can be amply proven
by reference to our guide.
The mighty Mosque of Omar, and the paved court around it, occupy
M fourth part of Jerusalem. They are upon Mount Moriah, where King
Solomon's Temple stood. This Mosque is the holiest place the Moham-
medan knows, outside of Mecca. Up to within a year or two past, no
Christian could gain admission to it or its courts for love or money.
But the prohibition has been removed, and we entered freely for buck-
sheesh.
I need not speak of the wonderful beauty, and the exquisite grace and
symmetry that have made this Mosque so celebrated — ^because I did not
see them. One cannot see such things at an instant glance— one fre(^uently
only finds out how really beautiful a really beautiful woman is after
considerable acquaintance with her ; and the rule applies to Niagara
Falls, to majestic mountains, and to mosques — especially to mosques.
The great feature of the Mosque of Omar is the prodigious rock in the
centre of its rotunda. It was upon this rock that Abraham came so
near offering up his son Isaac — this, at least, is authentic — it is very
much more to be relied on than most of the traditions, at any rate. On
this rock, also, the angel stood and threatened Jerusalem, and David
persuaded him to spare the city. Mahomet was well acquainted with
this stone. From it he ascended to heaven. The stone tried to follow
him, and if the angel Qabriel had not happened by the merest good
luck to be there to seize it, it would have done it Very few people
have a grip like Qabriel— the prints of his monstrous fingexs, two inchef
deep, are to be seen in that rock to-dav.
This rock, large as it is, is susj;^iaed in the air. It does not touch
!,•!«
i I!
!'■
♦ ■
I i
Si«
MARK TWAIN'S WORKS.
5 i
r
anything at all. The ^uide said m. This is veiy wonderfuL In Um
place on it where Mahomet stood, he left his foot-printa in the solid
atone. I should judge that he wore about eighteens. But what I waa
going to say, when I spoke of the rock being suspended, was, that in tha
oor of the cavern under it, they showed us a slab which they said
covered a hole, which was a tiling of extraordinary interest to all
Mohammedans, because that hole leads doMOi to perdition, and every soul
that is transferred from thence to heaven must pass up through this
orifice. Mahomet stands there an<l lifts them out by the hair. All
Mohammedans slmve their heads, but they are careful tu leave a lock of
hair for the Prophet to take hold of. Our guide observed that a good
Mohammedan would consider himself doomed to stay with the daumed
for ever if he were to lose his scalp-lock, and die before it grew again.
The most of them that I have seen ought to stay with the damned, any-
how, without reference to how they were barbered.
For several ages no woman has been allowed to enter the cavern
where that important hole is. The reason is, that one of the sex was
once caught there blabbing everything she knew about what was going
on above ground to the rapscallions in the infernal regions down below.
She carried her gossiping to such an extreme, that nothing could be
kept private— nothing could be done or said on earth but everybody in
perdition knew all about it before the sun went down. It was about
time to suppress this woman's telegraph, and it was promptly done.
Her breath subsided about the same time.
The inside of the great mosque is very showy with variegated marble
ivalls, and with windows and inscriptions of elaborate mosaic. The
Turks have their sacred relics, like the Catholics. The guide showed
us the veritable armour worn by the great son-in-law and successor of
Mahomet, and also the buckler of Mahomet's uncle. The great iron
railing, which surrounds the rock, was ornamented in one place with a
thousand rags tied to its open work. These are to remind Mahomet not
to forget the worshippers who placed them there. It is considered
the next best thing to tying tnreads around his finger by way of
reminders.
Just outside the mosque is a miniature temple, which marks the spot
where David and Golian used to sit and judge the people.*
Everywhere about the Mosque of Omar are portions of pillars,
curiously wrought altars, and fragments of elegantly carved marble —
precious remains of Solomon's Temple. These have been dug from all
depths in the soil and rubbish of Mount Moriah, and the Moslems have
always shown a disposition to preserve them with the utmost care. At
that portion of the ancient wall of Solomon's Temple which ifi called the
Jews Place of Wailing, and where the Hebrews assemble every Friday
to kiss the venerated stones, and weep over the fallen greatness of Zion,
any one can see a part of the unquestioned and undisputed Temple of
Solomon, the same consisting of three or four stones lying one upon the
other, each of which is about tvdce as long as a seven-oetave piano, and
* A pilgrim informs mo that it was not David and Goliah, but Darid and
Saul. 1 atiok to my own ntafeem«nt^ the <^aide told me, and he ought to know.
rftd. InthA
in the solid
t what I WM
B, that in the
ich they said
terest to all
lid every soul
through this
le hair. AU
lave a lock of
il that u good
L the dumued
t grew again,
iamned, any-
ar the cavern
I the sex was
bat was going
i down below,
liug could be
everybody in
It was about
romptly done,
^gated marble
mosaic. The
guide showed
i successor of
he great iron
B place with a
idahomet not
is considered
sr by way of
Liarks the spot
IS of piUarSy
ved marble —
dug from all
Moslems have
lost care. At
. is called the
every Friday
tness of Zion,
ted Temple of
one upon the
kve piano, and
but Daridand
raght to know.
r/lE NEW PILGRIM'S PROGRESS,
JIO
about M thick aa such a piano is high. But, as I have remarked before,
It is only a year or two ago that the ancient edict prohibiting Christian
rubbish like ourselves to tnttr the Mosque of Omar, and see the contly
marbles that once adorned the inner Temple, was annulled. The
designs wrought upon these fragments are all quaint and peculiar, and
so me charm of novelty is added to the deep interest they naturally
inspire. One meets with these venerable Bcra])H at every turn, especially
in the neighbouriug Monque el Aksa, iuto whose inner walls a very
large number of them are carefully built for preservation. These pieces
of stone, stained and dusty with age, dimly hint at a grandeur we have
all been taught to regard as the priuceliest ever seen on earth ; and they
call up pictures of a pageant that is familiar to all imaginations— Kianiels
laden with spices and treasure — beautiful slaves, presents for Solomon's
harem — a long cavalcado of richly caparisoned beasts and warriors —
and Sheba's Queen in the van of this vision of " Oriental magniticence."
These elegant fragments bear a richer interest than the solemn vastness
of the stones the Jews kiss in the Place of Wailing can ever have for th«
heedless sinner.
Down in the hollow ground, underneath the oUree and the orange
trees that flourish in the court of the great Mosque, is a wilderness of
pillars — remains of the ancient Temple ; they supported it. There are
ponderous archways down there also, over which the destroying
"plough " of prophecy passed harmless. It is pleasant to know we are
disappointed in that we never dreamed we might, see portions of th«
actual Temple of Solomon, and yet experience no shadow of suspicion
that they were a monkish humbug and a fraud.
We are surfeited with sights. Nothing has any fascination for ui
now, but the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. We have been there
every day, and have not grown tired of it ; but we are weary of every-
thing else. The sights are too many. They swarm about you at every
step ; no single foot of ground in all Jerusalem, or within its neighbour-
hood, seems to be without a stirring and important history of its own.
It is a very relief to steal a walk of a hundred yards without a guide
along, to talk unceasingly about every stone you step upon, and drag
you lock ages and ages to the day when it achieved celebrity.
It seems hardly real when I find myself leaning for a moment on a
ruined wall and looking listlessly down into the historic pool of Bethesda.
I did not think such tmngs o(nud be so crowded together as to diminish
their interest. But, in serious truth, we have been drifting about for
several days, using our eyes and our ears more from a sense of duty
than any higher and worthier reason. And too often we have been ^lao
when it was tuoae to go home and be distressed no more about illuatnoui
localities. -. ,itv, ::'. , .■■• ',;
Our pilgrims compress too much into one day. One can gorge
sights to repletion as well as sweetmeats. Since we breakfasted this
morning, we have seen enough to have furnished us food for a year's
letlection if we could have seen the various obj'ccts in comfort and looked
upon them deliberately. We visited the pool of Hezekiah, where Davii
i»aw Uriah'* wiiu Aomintr from the T^ath aod fell in love with her.
I >\
I
\l
i'i
'.'■'
't
i\
■j '
1 M
3PO
MARX TWAIN*S WORKS,
We went oat of the city by the Jaffii gate, and of eonne wete told
m^iy things about its Tower of Hippicus.
We rode acioss the Valley of Hinnom, between two of the pools of
Gihon, and byan aqueduct built by Solomon, which still conveys watez
to the city. We ascended the Hill of Evil Counsel, where Judas re*
ceived his thirty pieces of silver, and we also lingered a moment under
the tree a venerable tradition says he hanged himself on.
We descended to the canon again, and then the guide began to give
name and history to every bank and boulder we came to : " This was
the Field of Blood ; these cuttings in the rocks were shrines and temples
of Moloch ; here they sacrificed children ; yonder is the Zion Gate ; the
Tyropean Valley ; the Hill of Ophel ; here is the junction of the Valley
of Jehoshaphat— on your right is the Well of Job." We turned up
Jehoshaphat. The recital went on. " This is the Mount of Olives ; this is
the Hill of Offence ; the nest of huts is the Village of Siloam ; here,
yonder, everywhere, is the King's Garden ; under this nreat tree, Zach-
arias, the high priest, was murdered ; yonder is Mount Moriah and the
Temple wall ; the tomb of Absalom ; the tomb of St James j the tomb of
Zacharias ; beyond are the Gardens of Gethsemane and the tomb of the
Virgin Mary j here is the Pool of Siloam, and "
We said we would dismount, and quench our thirst, and rest. Wt
were burning up with the heat We were falling under the accumidat-
iug fatigue of days and days of ceaseless marching. AU were willing.
The Pool is a deep walled ditch, through which a clear stream ol
water runs, that comes from under Jerusalem somewhere, and pass-
ing through the Fountain of the Virgin, or being supplied from it,
reaches this place by way of a tunnel of heavy masonry. The famous
Sool looked exactly i& it looked in Solomon's time no doubt, and the same
usky. Oriental women come down in their old Oriental way, and carried
off jars of the water on their heads, just as they did three thousand years
ago, and just as the^ will do fifty tiiousand years hence if any of them
are still left on earth.
We went away from there and stopped at the Fountain of the
Virgin. But the water was not good, and there was no comfort or peace
anywhere, on account of the regiment of boys and girls and beggars that
persecuted us all the time for bucksheesh. The guide wanted us to give
them some money, and we did it ; but when he went on to say that they
were starving to death, ^re could not but feel that we had done a great
sin in throwmg obstacles in the way of such a desirable consummation,
and so we tried to collect it back, but it could not be done.
We entered the Garden of Gethsemane, and we visited the Tomb of
the Virgin, both of which we had seen before. It is not meet that J
should speak of them now. A more fitting time will come.
I cannot speak now of the Mount of Olives or its view of Jerusalem,
the Dead Sea and the mountains of Moab ; nor of the Damascus Gate,
or the tree that was planted by King Godfrey of Jerusalem. One ought
to feel pleasantly when he talks of ^ese things. I cannot say anything
about the stone column that projects over Jehosfiaphat from ^e Temple
wall like a cannon, ezce:^t that the Moslems believe chat Mahomet will
THE NEW PILGRIM'S PROGRESS
Sai
lUZBe w«M told
)f the pools of
I conveys watei
here Judas r»>
moment under
began to give
to: "This was
lies and temples
Zion Gate ; the
>n of thfe Valley
We turned up
f Olives ; this is
I Siloam; here,
Teat tree, Zach-
idoriah and the
les; the tomb of
the tomb of the
, and rest Wt
r the accumulat-
weie willing.
clear stream of
here, and pass-
ipplied from it,
^. The famous
bt, and the samfl
(vay, and carried
i thousand years
if any of them
ountain of the
iomfort or peace
nd beggars that
Einted us to give
to say that they
id done a great
consummation,
le
i the Tomb of
lot meet that J
me.
ft of Jerusalem,
lamascus Gate,
sm. One ought
ot say anything
om uie Temi)le
Mahomet wiU
dt astride of it when he comes to judge the world. It is a pity he could
not judge it from some roost of bis own in Mecca, without la-espassing on
9Mr holy ground. Close by is the Golden Gate, in the Temple wall— a
gate that was an elegant piece of sculpture in the time of the Temple,
»nd is even so yet From it, in ancient times, the Jewish High Priest
turned loose the scapegoat and let him flee to the wilderness and bear
away his twelvemonth load of the sins of Uie people. If they were to
turn one loose no\i , he would not get as far as the Garden of Gethsemane,
cill these miserable vt^abonds here would gobble him up,^ sins and alL
Thim would not care. Mutton chops and sin is good enough living
for them. The Moslems watch the Golden Ghite ¥dm a jealous eye, and
an anxious one, for they have an honoured tradition that when it falls,
Islamism will fall, and with it the Ottoman Empire. It did not grieve
me any to notice that the old gate was getting a uttle shaky.
We are at home again. We are exhausted The sun has roasted us
almost.
We have full comfort in one reflection, however. Our experiences in
Europe have taught us that in time this fatigue will be forgotten ; the
heat wiU be forgotten ; the thirst, the tiresome volubility of the guide,
the persecutions of the beggars— and then, all that will be lelt will be
pleasant memories of Jerusalem, memories we shall call up with always
increasing interest as the years go by, memories which some day will
become all beautiful when the last annoyani'.' that encumbers thum
shall have faded out of our minds never again to return. Schoolboy
lays are no happier than the dajs of after Hfe, but we look back upon
them regretfully because we have forgotten our punishments at 3 jb.ool,
and how we grieved when our marbles were lost and our kites destroyed
—because we have forgotten all the sorrows and privations of that
canonised epoch, and remember only its orchard robberies, its wooden-
aword pageants, and its fishing holidays. We are satisfied. We can
wait Our reward will come. To us Jerusalem and to-day's experi-
snces will be an enchanted memory a year hence— a memory which
tuoney could not buy from us.
CHAPTER XXIV.
WE cast up the account It footed up pretty fairly. There >
nothing more at Jerusalem to be seen, except the traditioii
houses of Dives and Lazarus of the parable, the Tombs of the King
and those of the Judges ; the spot where they stoned one of the disciph
to death, and beheaded another ; the room and the table made celebrate^
by the Last Supper ; the fig-tree that Jesus withered ; ^ number o*
historical places about Gethsemane and the Mount of Olives, and fifteen
or twenty others in different portions of the city itself.
We were approaching the end. Hrman nature asserted itself n«>«)
* Vbvooritejtflrim expreMOoo.
''■ i:
t'
I .«i
3SS
MARK TWAIN*S WORKS,
f >f 'I
Orerwork and oonBeqnent exhaiutioii began to IwTe their natnral effeet
They began to master the energies and doll the ardour of the party.
Perfectlj secure now against failing to accomplish any detail of the
pilgrimage, they felt like drawing in adyance upon the holiday soon to
De placed to their credit They grew a little lazy. They were late to
breakfast, and sat long at dinner. Thirty or forty pilgrims had arriyed
from the ship by the short routes, and much swapping of gossip had to
be indulged in. And in hot afternoons they showed a strong disposition
to lie on the cool diyans in the hotel and smoke and talk about pleasant
experiences of a month or so gone by — for «»ven thus early do episodes
of trayel, which were sometimes annoyinw, sometimes exasperating, and
full as often of no consequence at all when they transpired^ begin to
rise aboye the dead leyel of monotonous reminiscences and become
shapely landmarks in one's memory. The fog- whistle, smothered among
ft nullion of trilling sounds, is not noticed a block away, in the city, but
the sailor hears it far at sea, whither none of those thousands of trifling
sounds can reach. When one is in Home, all the domes are alike ; but
when he has gone away twelve miles, the city fades utterly from sight
and leayes St Peter's swelling above the level plain like an anchored
balloon. When one is travelling in Europe, the daily incidents seem all
alike ; but when he has placed them all two months and two thousand
miles behind him, those that were worthy of being remembered are
prominent, and t^ose that were really insignificant have vanished. This
disposition to smo^^c, and idle, and talk, was not well. It was plaii:
that it must not be allowed to gain ground. A diversion must be tried,
or demoralisation would ensue. Tne Jordan, Jericho, and the Dead
Sea were suggested. The remainder of Jerusalem must be left unvisited
for a little while. The journey was approved at once. New life stirred
in every pulse. In the saddle — abroad on the plains — sleeping in beds
bounded only by the horizon : fancy was at work with these thmgs in a
moment. It was painful to note how readily these town-bred men had
taken to the free lue of the camp and the desert. The nomadic instinct
is a human instinct ; it was bom with Adam and transmitted through
the patriarchs, and after thirty centuries of steady effort, civilisation
has not educated it entirely out of us yet It has a charm which, once
tasted, a man will yearn to taste again. The nomadic instinct cannot
be educated out of an Indian at aU.
The Jordan journey being approved, our dragoman was notified.
At nine in the morning the caravan was before the hotel door and we
were at breakfast. There was a commotion about the place. Humours
of war and bloodshed were flying everywhere. The lawless Bedouins
in the Valley of the Jordan and the deserts down b^ the Dead Sea were
up in arms, and were going to destroy all comers. They had had a
battle with a ti'oop of Turkish cavalry and defeated, them ; several men
killed. They had shut up the inhabitants of a village and a Turkish
garrison in an old fort near Jericho, and were besieging them. They
had marched upon a camp of our excursionists by the Jordan, and the
pik'rims only saved their lives by stealing away and flying to Jerusalem
onder whip and spur in the dt\Tkn«iw of tke ni^ht iuiother of our
THE NEW PILGRIM'S PROGRESS,
3«3
nAtnnd effeet
of the party,
detail of the
oliday soon to
jT were late to
IB had arrived
' goesip had to
3ng disposition
about pleasant
ly do episodes
isperating, and
)ired^ begin to
8 and become
othered among
n the city, but
inds of trifling
are alike ; but
srly from sight
:e an anchored
idents seem all
L two thousand
jmembered are
irauished. This
It was plaife
L must be tried,
and the Dead
e left unvisited
ew life stirred
eepin^ in beds
ese thmgs in a
-bred men had
)madic instinct
itted through
irt, civilisation
;n which, once
stinct cannot
notified,
lei door and we
je. Rumours
^less Bedouins
iDead Sea were
jey had had a
several men
id a Turkish
them. They
jrdan, and the
to Jerusalem
lother of out
partleB had been fired on from an ambush and then attacked in the opeik
day. Shots were fired on both sides. Fortunately there was no blood-
shed. We spoke with the very pilgrim who had fired one of the shots,
and learned from his own lips now, in this iumiinent deadly peril, only
the cool courage of the pilgrims, their strength of numbers and imposing
display of war material, had saved them from utter destruction. It was
reported that the Consul had reciuested that no more of our pilgrims
should go to the Jordan while this state of things lasted ; and, further,
that he was unwilling that any more should go, at least without an un-
usually strong military guard. Here was trouble, but with the horseaat
the door and everybody aware of what they were there ioi, what would
ym have done ? Acknowledged that you were afraid, and backed
shamefully out ? Hardly. It would not be human nature, where there
were so many women. You would have done as we did ! suid you were
not afraid of a million Bedouins — and made your will and proposed
auietly to yourself to take up an unostentatious position in the rear of
le procession.
I think we must have all determined upon the same line of tactics,
for it did seem as if we never would get to Jericho. I had a notoriously
Uow horse, but somehow I could not keep him in the rear, to save my
neck. He was for ever turning up in the lead. In such cases I trembled
a little, and got down to fix my saddle. But it was not of any use. The
others all got down to fix iheir saddles, too. 1 nevar saw such u time
with saddles. It was the first time any of them had got out of order in
three weeks, and now they had aU broken down at once. I tried walking,
for exercise — I had not had enough in Jerusalem searching for holy
places. But it was a failure. The whole mob were suffering for exercise,
and it was not fifteen minutes till they were all on foot and I had the
lead again. It was very discouraging.
This was all after we got beyond Bethany. We stopped at the village
of Bethany, an hour out from Jerusalem. They showed us the tomb of
Lazarus. I had rather live in it than in any house in the town. And
they showed us also a large " Fountain of Lazarus," and in the centre of
the village the ancient dwelling of Lazarus. Lazarus appears to have
been a man of property. The legends of the Sunday-schools do hi n
Seat injustice ; they give one the impression that he was poor. It is
cause they get him ccnfused with that Lazarus who had no merit but
his virtue, and virtue never has been as respectable as money. The
house of Lazarus is a three-story edifice, of stone masonry, but the
accumulated rubbish of ages has buried all of it but the uppper story.
We took candles and descended to the dismal cell-like chambers where
Jesus sat at meat with Martha and Mary, and conversed with them
about their brotlier. We could not but look upon these old dingy
apartments with a more than common interest
We had had a glimpse, from a mountain top, of the Dead Sea, lying
like a blue shield in the plain of the Jordan, and now we were marching
down a close, tiaming, rugged, desolate defile, where no living creatiir«
could enjoy life, except, perhaps, a salamander 1 It was such a dreary,
repuLdve, horrible solitude! It was the '' ftnlderoeas'* whwe Jf4ua
:i^' Vi
I' '11.'
i }
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ii> f
t.vi!
SH
MARK T1VAIN*S WORKS,
pNaehed, with cuneFi hair about Ub loiiuh— raiment cnongh^bnt hi
never could have got his locusts and wild honey here. We were mop-
ing along down wrough this dreadful place, every man in the rear.
Our guards — ^two gorgeous young Arab sheiks, with cargoes of swords
guns, pistols, and daggisis on board — were loafing ahead.
"Bedouins!"
Every man shrunk up and disappeared in his clothes like a mud*
turtle. My first impulse was to dash forward and destroy the Bedouins.
My second was to dash to the rear to see if there were anv coming in
that direction. 1 acted on the latter impulse. So did all the others.
If any Bedouins had approached us then from that point of the compass,
they would have paid dearly fo" their rashness. We all remarked that,
afterwards. There would have been scenes of riot and bloodshed there
that no pen could describe. I know that, because each man toM me
what he would have done, individually ; and such a medley of strange
and unheard-of inventions of cruelty you could not conceive of. One
man said he had calmly made up his mind to perish where he stood, if
need be, and never yield an inch ; he was gomg to wait with deadly
patience, till he could count the stripes upon the first Bedouin's jacket,
and then count them and let him have it. Another was going to sit still
till the first lauce reached within an inch of his breast, and then dodge
it and seize it. I forbear to tell what he was going to do to thfit Bedouin
that owned it It makes my blood run cold to think of it Anothei
was going to scalp such Bedouins as fell to his share, and take his bald-
headed sons of the desert home with him alive for trophies. But the
wild-eyed pilgrim rhapsodist was silent His orbs gleamed with a
deadly light, but his lips moved not Anxiety grew, and he was ques-
tioned, if he had ^'ot a Bedouin, what would he have done with him—
shot him ? He smiled a smile of grim coj»tempt and shook his head.
Would he have 8taV)bed hiui I Aiiotlier shake. Would he have quar-
tered him — flayed him ? More shakes. Oh ! horror, what would be
have done ?
"Eat him!"
Such was the awful sentence that thundered from his lips. What
was grammar to a desperado like that. I was glad in my heart that 1
had been spared these scenes of malignant carnage. No Bedouins
attacked our terrible rear. And none attacked the front The new-
comers were only a reinforcement of cadaverous Arabs, in shirts and
bare legs, sent far ahead of us to brandish rusty guns, and shout and
brag, and carry on like lunatics, and thus scare away aU bands of
marauding Bedouins that might lurk about our path. What a shame
ft is that armed white Christians must travel under guard of vermin
like tills as a protection against the prowling vagabonds of the desert —
those sanguinary outlaws who are always going to do something despe-
rate, but never do it I may as well mention here that on our whole
trip we saw no Bedouinc, and had no more use for an Arab guard than
we could have had for patent leather bootg ar.d white kid gloves. Thfr
Bedouins that attacked the other parties of pilg-rims so fiercely were pro-
vided lor th« oocasion by the Aral) guards of those parties, and shipped
I HE NEW PILGRIM* S PROGRESS.
Ui
oogh— but hi
^e were mop-
L in Uie rear,
oes of awordfl
3 like a miid-
the Bedouins,
any coming in
all the others.
>f the compass,
remarked that,
loodshad there
1 man told me
lley of strange
ceive of. One
are he stood, il
t with deadly
idouin's jacket
;oing to sit still
ind then dod^
;o thr<,t Bedouin
f it Another
[ take his bald-
)hies. But the
earned with a
he was ques-
ne with him—
look his head,
he have quar-
ivhat wouUl hfl
is lips. What
ly heart that 1
No Bedouina
it The new-
in shirts and
ind shout and
r all bands of
What a shame
ird of vermin
)f the desert —
lething despe-
on our whole
ab guard than
gloves. The
cely were pro-
, emd ghipped
from Jenualem for temporary service as Bedouins. They met together,
in full view of the pilgrims, after the battle, and took lunch, ojvidea
the bucksheesh extorted in the season of danger, and then accompanied
the cavalcade home to the city ! The nuisance of an Arab guard ia one
which Ib created by the Sheiks and the Bedouins together for mutual
profit, it is said, and no doubt there is a good deal of truth in it
We visited the fountain the prophet Elisha sweetened (it is sweet yet) ;
where he remained some time ana was fed by the ravens.
Ancient Jericho ib not very picturesque as a ruin. When Joshua
laarched around it seven times, some three thousand vears ago, and
blew it down with his trumpet, he did the work so well and so com-
pletely that he hardly left enough of the city to cast a shadow. The
curse pronounced against the rebuilding of it has never been remoyed.
One King, holding the curse in light estimation, made the attempt,
but was stricken sorely for his presumption. Its site will always
remain unoccupied ; and yet it is one of the very best locations for q
town we have seen in all Palestine.
At two in the morning they routed us out of bed — another piece of
unwarranted cruelty — another stupid effort of our dragoman to get ahead
of a rival. It was not two hours to the Jordan. However, we are
dressed and under way before anyone thought of looking to see what
time it was, and so we drowsed on through the chill night air and
dreamed of camp fires, warm beds, and other comfortable things.
There was no conversation. People do not talk when they are cold,
and wretched, and sleepy. We nodded in the saddle at times, and woke
up with a start to find tnat the procession had disappeared in the gloom.
Then there waf> energy and attention to business until its dusky outline^:
came in sight again. Occasionally the order was passed in a low voice
down the line — "Close up— close upl Bedouins lurk here, every-
where ! " What an exquisite shudder it sent shivering along one's
spine.
We reached the famous river before four o'clock, and the night was so
black that we could have ridden into it without seeing it Some of us
were in an unhappy frame of mind. We waited and waited for daylight,
but it did not come. Finally we went away in the dark and slept an
hour on the groimd, in the bushes, and caught cold. It was a costly
nap on that account, but otherwise it was a paying investment, because
it brought unconsciousness ol tlie dreary minutes, and put us in a some-
what fitter mood for a first glimpse of the sacred river.
With the first suspicion of dawn, every pilgrim took off his clothes and
waded into the dark torrent, singing —
'* On Jordan's stormy banks I stand.
And cast a wistful eye
To Canaan's fair and happy land,
Where my poflMflsions lie. "
But they did not sing long. The water was so fearfully cold that ihey
were obliged to stop singing and scamper out again. Then they stood on
the bank shivering, and so cha^prined uid ho grieved, tiukt they meiited
'^•il
I
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1
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i««
ufAKK TWAIN'S WORKS,
honeet compassioii. Because another dream, another cherianed ho]:>e,
had faikdL They had promifled themselves all alon» that they woulil
cross the Jordan where the Israelites crossed it when they entere<i
Canaan from their own pilgrimage in the desert. They would crouh
where the twelve stones were placed in memory of that great event.
While they did it they would picture to themselves that vast army o(
pilgrims marching through the cloven waters, bearing the hallowed ark
of the covenant and shouting hosannahs, and singing songs of thanks-
giving and praise. Each had promised himself that he would be tht
first to cross. They were at the goal of their hopes at last, but the cur
rent was too swift, the water was too cold !
It was then that Jack did them a service. With that engaging reck-
lessness of consequences which is natural to youth, and so proper and so
seemly as well, he went and led the way across the Jordan, and all was
happiness again. Every individual waded over then, and stood upon
the further bank. The water was not quite breast deep anywhere. II
it harl been more, we could hardly have accomplished the feat, for the
strong current would bi\ve swept us down the stream, and we would
have been exhausted and drowned before reaching a place where we
could make a landing. The main object compassed, the drooping, miser-
able party sat down to wait for the sun again, for all wanted to see the
water as well as feel it But it was too cold a pastime. Some cans were
filled from the holy river, some canes cut from its banks, and then we
mounted and rode reluctantly away to keep from freezing to death. So
we saw the Jordan very dimly. The thickets of bushes that bordered
its banks threw their shadows across its shallow, turbulent waters
("stormy," the hymn makes them, which is rather a complimentary
stretch of fancy), and we could not judge of the width of the stream by
the eye. We knew \yj our wading experience, however, that many streets
in America are double as wide as the Jordan.
Daylight came, soon after we got under way, and in the course of
an hour or two we reached the Dead Sea. Nothing grows in the flat,
burning desert around it but weeds and the Dead Sea apple the poets
say is beautiful to the eye, but crumbles to ashes and dust when you
break it Such as we found were not handsome, but they were bitter to
the taste. They yielded no dust. It was because they were not ripe,
perhaps.
The desert and the barren hills gleam painfully in the sun around the
Dead Sea, and there is no pleasant thing or living creature upon it oi
about its borders to cheer the eye. It i?^ a scorching, arid, repulsive
solitude. A silence broods over the scene that is depressing to the
spirits. It makes one think of funerals and death.
The Dead Sea is smalL Its waters are very clear, and it has a pebbly
bottom, and is shallow for some distance out from the shores. It yields
quantities of asphaltum ; fragments of it He all about its banks ; this
stuff gives the place something of an unpleasant smelL
All our reading had taught us to expect that the first plunge into tlie
Dead Sea would he attaint with distressing results — our bodies would
feel MS if they were suddenly pierced by millions of red-hot iM!«dle«;
THE NEW PILGRIM* S PROGRESS,
3*7
the dreadful smartizig woiild contmne for houn ; we might eTen look ta
be bliBtered from head to foot, and suffer miBerably for many days. We
were disappointed. Our eight sprang in at the same time that another
party of pilgrims did, and nobody screamed once. None of them ever
did complain of anything more than a slight pricking sensation in places
where their skin was abraded, and then only for a sh( 1; time. My face
smarted for a couple of hours, but it was partly because I got it badly
sun-burned while I was bathing, and stayed in so long that it became
plastered over with salt
No ; the water did not blister us ; it did not cover us with a slimy ooze,
and confer upon us an atrocious frt^rance ; it was not very slimy ; and
I could not discover that we smelt really any worse than we have always
smelt since we have been in Palestine. It was only a different kind of
smell, but not conspicuous on that account, because we have a great deal
of variety in that respect. We didn't smeU, there on the Jordan, the
same as we do in Jerusalem ; and we don't smell in Jerusalem Ju»t as
we did in Nazareth, or Tiberias, or Csesarea Philippi, or any of those
other ruinous ancient towns in Qalilee. No ; we change all the time,
and generally for the worse. We do our own washing.
It was a funny bath. We could not sink. One could stretch himself
at full length on his back, with his arms on his breast, and all of his
body above a line drawn from the comer of his jaw past the middle of
his side, the middle of his leg and through his ankle-bone, would remain
out of water. He could lift his head clear out, if he chose. No position
ean be retained long ; you lose your balance and whirl over, first on your
back and then on your face, and so on. You can lie comfortably on
your back, with your head out, and your legs out from your knees down,
by steadying yourself with your hands. You can sit, with your knees
irawn up to your chin and your arms clasped around them, but you are
bound to turn over presently, because you are top-heavy in that position.
You can stand up straight in water that is over your head, and from
the middle of your breast upward you will not be wet. But you cannot
remain so. The water will soon float your feet to the surface. You
cannot swim on your back and make any progress of any consequence,
because your feet stick away above the surface, and there is nothing fco
)ropel yourself with but your heels. If you swim on your face, yo a
dcK tip the water Uke a stem-wheel boat. You make no headway. A
lorse iri 80 top-heavy that he can neither swim nor stand up in the Dead
Sea. He turns over on his side at once. Some of us bathed for more
than an hour, and then came out coated with salt till we shone like
icicles. We scrabbed it off with a coarse towel, and rode off with a splendid
brand-new smeU, though it was one which was not any more disagreeable
than those we have been for several weeks enjoying. It was the varie-
gated villany and novelty of it that charmed us. Salt crystals glitter in
the sun about the shores of the lake. In places they coat the ground
like a brilliant crust of ice.
When I was a boy I somehow got the impression that the river Jordan
was four thousand miles long arid thirty-five miles wide. It is only
ainety miles long, and so crooked tiutt » man does not know which si k
W
: I"
!• .
in
Sa8
MARK TWAIN'S WORKS,
r-'MII
i,'-
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hM-^<
4'
1 i^i
U wh
of it he is on half the tiine. In goin^ ninety miles it does not get ow
more than fifty miles of ground. It is not any wider than Broadway in
New York. There is the Sea of Qalilee and thia Dead Sea — neither of
them twenty miles long or thirteen wide. And ^ret when I was in Suh
day-school I thought they were sixty thousand miles in diameter.
Travel and experience mar the grandest pictures and rob us of the
most cherished traditions of our boyhood. Well, let them go. I have
already seen the Empire of King Solomon diminish to the size of the
State of Pennsylvania ; I suppose I can bear the reduction of the seas
and the river.
We looked evei^here, as we passed along, but never saw grain or
crystal of Lot's wife. It was a great disappointment. For many and
many a year we had known her sad story, and taken that interest in her
which misfortune always inspires. But she was gone. Her pxturesque
form no longer looms above the desert of the Dead Sea to remind the
tourist of the doom that fell upon the lost cities.
I cannot describe the hideous afternoon's ride from the Dead Sea to
Mars Saba. It oppresses me yet, to think of it The sun so pelted us
that the tears ran down our cheeks once or twice. The ghastly, treeless,
CTassless, breathless canons smothered us as if we had been in an oven.
The sun had positive weight to it, I think. Not a man could sit erect
Ander it. All drooped low in the saddles. John preached in thin
" Wilderness ! " It must have been exhausting work. What a very
heaven the massy towers and ramparts of vast Alars Saba looked to u.'^
when we caught a first glimpse of them !
We stayed at this great convent all night, guests of the hospitable
priests. Mars Saba, perched upon a crag, a human nest stuck high u]^
against a perpendicular mountfun wall, is a world of grand masonry that
rises, terrace upon terrace, away above your head, like the terraced and
retreating colonnades one sees in fanciful pictures of Belshazzar's Feast
and the palaces of the ancient Pharaohs. No other human dwelling is
near. It was founded many ages ago by a holy recluse who lived at
first in a cave in the rock — a cave which is enclosed in the convent walls
now, and was reverently shown to us by the priests. This recluse, by
his rigorous torturing of his flesh, his diet of Bread and water, his utter
withdrawal from all society and from the vanities of the world, and liis
constant prayer and saintly contemplation of a skull, inspired an emula-
tion that bro ight about him many disciples. The precipice on the
opposite side of the canon is well perforated with the small holes they
dug in the rock to live in. The present occupants of Mars Saba, about
seventy in number, are all hermits. They wear a coarse robe, an ugly,
brimless stove-pipe of a hat, and go without shoes. They eat nothing
whatever but bread and salt ; tbey drink nothing but water. As long
as they live they can never go Cuwiue the walls, or look upon a woman
— for no woman is permitted to enter Mars Saba, upon any pcetozt
whatsoever.
Some of those men have been shut up there for thirty yeitrs. In all
that dreary time they have not heard the laughter of a child or tJlifl
bleesed voice of a won:an ; thev >>«»''«' "Pftr. no human tears, no humaii
THE NEW PILGRIM*S PROGRESS,
329
<juile8 ; thejr haye known no human ioys, no wholesome hunan Rorrowi
In their hearts are no memories of the past, in their brains no dreami
of the future. All that is lovable, beautiful, worthy, they have put far
nway from them ; against aJl things that are pleaaant to look upon, and
all sounds that are music to the ear, tiiey have burred their massive
doors, and reared their relentless wbIIs of stone for ever. They have
banished the tender grace of life and left only the sapped and skinny
mocker/. Their lips are lips that never kiss and never sing ; theii
hearts are hearts that never hate and never love ; their breasts are breasts
that never swell with the sentiment, " I have a country and a flag."
They are dead men who walk.
1 set down these first thoughts because they are natural, not because
they are just or because it is right to set them down. It is easy for
book-makers to say " I thought so and so as I looked upon such and
such a scene " — wnen the truth is, they thought all those fine things
afterwards One's first thought is not likely to be strictly accurate, yet
it is no crime to think it and none to write it down, subject to modi-
fication by later experience. These hermits are dead men, in several
respects, but not in all ; and it is not proper that, thinking ill of them at
first, I should go on doing so, or, speaking ill of them, I should reiterate
the words and stick to them. No; they treated us too kindly for that.
There is something human about them somewhere. They knew we
drere foreigners and Protestants, and not likely to feel admiration or
much friendliness towards them. But their large charity was above
considering such things. They simply saw in us men who were hungry,
and thirsty, and tired, and that was su£^cient. They opened their doors
and ^ave us welcome. They asked no questions, and they made no
self- righteous display of their hospitality. They fished for no compliments.
They moved quietly about, setting the table for us, making the beds, and
bringing water to wash in, and paid no heed when we said it was wrong
for them to do that when we had men whose business it was to perform
such offices. We fared most comfortably, and sat late at dinner. We
walked all over the building with the hermits afterward, and then sat on
the lofty battlements and smoked while we enjoyed the cool air, the wild
scenery and the sunset. One or two chose cosy bedrooms to sleep in, but
the nomadic instinct prompted the rest to sleep on the broad divf^n that
extended around the great hall, because it seemed like sleeping vut of
doors, and so was more cheery and inviting. It was a royal rest ^ t had.
When we got up to breakfast in the morning, we were new men.
For all this hospitality no strict charge was made. We could give some-
thing if we chose ; we need give nothing if we were poor or if we were
stingy. The pauper and the miser were as free as any in the Catholic
convents of Palestine. I have been educated to enmity towards every-
thing that is Catholic, and sometimes, in consequence of this, I find it
much easier to discover Catholic faults than Catholic merits. But there
is one thin^ I feel no disposition to overlook, and no disposition to for-
get : and that is, the honest gratitude I and aU pilgrims owe to the Con-
vent Fathers in Palestine. Their doors are always open, and there is
alwaya a weloomo for any wcnihy man who cometk whetber he comaa in
(■(
l]
;:!r
".II
(■ '•
330
MARK TWAIN'S WORKS,
\u\\
M
I \
'i n
ri^ ^-
lll''
L*
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] I
ra^fl or clad in purple. The Catholic convents are a priceleea bleasfaif;
to the poor. A pilgrim without money, whether he be a Protestant or
a Catholic, can travel the length and breadth of Palestine, and in the
midst of her desert wautes find wholesome food and a clean bed every
ni^ht in these buildings. Pilgrims in better circumstances are of't^^n
stricken down by the sun and tne fevers of the country, and then their
saving refuge is the convent. Without these hospitable retreats, trave]
in Ptdestine would be a pleasure which none but the strongest men
could dare to undertake. Our party, pilgrims and all, will fuways be
ready and always willing to touch glasses and drink health, prosperity,
and long life to the Convent Fathers of Palestine.
So, rested and refreshed, we fell into line and filed away over the
barren mountains of Judea, and along rocky ridges and through sterile
gorges, where eternal silence and solitude reigned. Even the scattering
groups of armed shepherds we met the afternoon before, tending theit
nocks of long-haired goats, were wanting here. We saw but two living
creatures. They were gazelles, of " soft-eyed " notoriety. They looked
like very young kids, but they annihilated distance like an express
train. I have not seen animals that moved faster, unless I might say it of
the antelopes of our own great plains.
At nine or ten in the morning we reached the Plain of the ShepUarsls,
and stood in a walled garden of olives, where the shepherds were watch-
ing their flocks by night, eighteen centuries ago, when the multitude ol
angels brought them the tidings that the Saviour was bom. A quarter
of a mile away was Bethlehem of Judea, and the pilgrims took some of
the stone wall and hurried on.
The Plain of the Shepherds is a desert, paved with loose stones, void
ot vegetation, glaring in the fierce sun. Only the music of the angels it
knew once coiud charm its shrubs and -^owers to life again and restore
its vanished beauty. No less potent enchantment could avail to work
this miracle.
In the huge Church of the Nativity, in Bethlehem, bmlt fifteen hun-
dred years ago by the inveterate St Helena, tney took us below ground,
and into a grotto cut in the liAring rock. This was the " manger ' where
Christ was bom. A silver star set in tho floor bears a Latin inscription
to that eflect It is polished with the kisses of many generations of wor-
shipping pilgrims. The grotto was tricked out in the usual tasteless style
observable in all the holy places of Palestine. As in the Church of the
Holy Sepulchre, envy and uncharitableness were apparent here. The
priests and the members of the Greek and Latin Churches cannot como
by the same corridor to kneel in the sacred birthplace of the Redeemer,
but are compelled to approach and retire by different avenues, lest they
quarrel and fight on tlus holiest ground on earth.
I have no " meditations " suggested by this spot, where the very first
" MeiTy Christmas ! " was uttered in all the woild, and from whence the
friend of my childhood, Santa Claus, departed on his first journey, to
gladden and continue to gladden roaring firesides on wintry momingtt
1 many a distant land for ever and for ever. I touch with reverent
finger tiie actual spot wli^n^he infant Jteut lay, but I think— -nothing.
Is I I [s i\
■m
THE NEW PILGRIM *S PROGRESS.
931
ITou tannot think in thin place any more than you can in any <»ther In
Paleflti no that would be likely to inspire reflection. Beifgara, crij |)le«, an<l
monks coni])»ia8 you about, and niako you think only ol bucksheesh whew
you would r;ithor think of Honiething more in keeping with the charactcT
of the spot.
I waa glad to get away, and glad when we had walked through the
grottoee where EuHebius wrote, and Jerome fasted, and Joseph prepared
for the flight into Egypt, and the dozen other distinguished grottoes, and
knew we were done. The Church of the Nativity is almowt as well packed
with exceeding holy places as the Church of the Holy Sepulchre itself.
They even have in it a grotto wherein tAventy thousand children were
slaughtered by Herod when he was seeking the life of the infant Saviour.
We went to the Milk Grotto, of course— a cavern where Maiy hid
herself for a while before the flight into Egypt Its walls were blac^k
before she entered, but in suckling tlie Child, a drop of her milk fell
upon the floor, and instantly changed the darkness of the wall;! to
its own snowy hue. We took many little fragments of stone from here,
because it is well known in all the East that a barren woman hath need
only to touch her lips to one of theae, and her failing will depart from
her. We took many specimens, to the end that we might conier happi-
ness upon certain households that we wot of.
We got away from Bethlehem and its troops of beggars and .-elic-
pedlars in the afternoon, and after spending some little time at Rachel's
tomb, hurried to Jerusalem as fast as possible. 1 never was so glad to get
home again before. I never hp.ve enjoyed rest as I have enjoyed it during
these last few hours. The journey to the Dead Sea, the Jordan, and
Bethlehem was short, but it was an exhausting one. Such roasting heat,
such oppressive solitude, and such dismal desolation cannot surely exist
^e where on earth. And inich fatigue !
The commonest sagacity warns me that I ought to tell the customary
pleasant lie, and say I tore myself reluctantly away from every noted
place in Palestine. Everybody tells that, but with as little ostentation
as I may, I doubt the word of every he who tells it. I could take a
dreadful oath that I have never heard any one of our forty pilgrims say
anything of the sort, and they are as worthy and as sincerely devout as
Kuy that come here. They will say it when they get home fast enough,
but why should they not? They do not wish to array themselves
against all the Lamartines and Grimeses in the world. It does not
stand to reason that men are reluctant to leave places where the very life
is almost badgered out of them by importunate swarms of beggars and
pedlars, who hang in the strings to one s sleeves and coat-tails, and shriek
and shout in his ears, and horrify his vision with the ghastly sores and
malformations they exhibit. One is glad to get away. I have beard
shameless people say they were glad to get away from Ladies' Festivals,
where they were importuned to buy by bevies of lovely young ladies.
Transform these houris into dusky hags and ragged savages, and replace
their icnnded forms with shrunken and knotted distortions, their soft
bands with scarred and hideous deformities, and the persuasive music of
thcdx ToiiM* Trith tbft disoorcUixt din of % hAtad hmguage, and thm ••«
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how mneh lingering relactonce to leave could be miutered. No ; It l<;
the neat thing to say you were reluctant, and then append the profound
thoughts that '* struggled for utterance " in your Drain ; but it is the
true thing to say that you were not reluctant, and found it impossible to
think at all — though in good sooth it is not respectable to say it, and
notpoetical either.
We do not think in the holy places ; we think in bed, afterwards,
^hen the glare, and the noise, and the confusion are gone, and in fanc}
we revisit alone the solemn monuments of the past, and summon th<
phantom pageants of an age that has passed away.
CHAPTER XXV.
WE visited all the holy places about Jerusalem which we had leh
unvisited when we journeyed to the Jordan, and then, ab»mt
three o'clock one afternoon, we fell into procession and marched
out at the stately Damascus gate, and the walls of Jerusalem shut us out
for ever. We paused on the summit of a distant hill and took a final
look, and made a final farewell to the venerable city which had been
such a good home to us.
For about four hours we travelled down hiU constantly. We followed
a narrow bridle-path which traversed the beds of the mountain gorges,
and when we could we got out of the way of the long trains of laden
camels and asses, and when we could not, we sufi^eml the misery of
being mashed up against perpendicular walls of rock, and having out
legs bruised by the pa.sBing freight Jack was caught two or three
times, and Dan and Moult as often. One horse had a heavy fall on the
slipperv rocks, and the others had narrow escapes. However, this was
as good a road as we had found in Palestine, ana possibly even the best,
and so there was not much grumbUng.
Sometimes, in the glens, we came upon luxuriant orchards of figs,
apricots, and pomegranates, and such things, but oftener the scenery
as ruggea, mountainous, verdureless, and forbidding. Here and there
towers were perched high up on acclivities which seemed almost inaces-
sible. This fashion is as old as Palestine itself, and was adopted in
ancient times for security against enemies.
We crossed the brook which furnished David the stone that kille«l
Goliah, and no doubt we looked unon the very ground whereon that
noted battle was fought We passed by a picturesque old Gothic ruin,
whose stone pavements had rung to the armed heels of many a valorous
Crusader, and we rode through a piece of country which, we were told,
once knew Samson as a citiien.
We stayed all night with the good monks at the convent of Ramleh,
and in the morning got up and galloped the horses a good part of the
diaumce from there to Ja£Ea, or Joppa, for the plain was as level as «
flwr and free from atontt^ and beiidM^ this waa oar kit maich in
THE NEW PILGRIM'S PROGRESS.
333
ed. No ; It l>^
1 the profound
L ; but it is the
t imposeible to
I to Bay it, and
«d, afterwarcU,
e, and in fancy
.d summon th<
ch we had left
id then, about
Q and marched
em shut us out
nd took a final
rhich had been
. We followed
>untain gorges,
Tains of laden
the misery of
nd having oui
two or thre«
avy fall on the
vever, this was
even the best,
chards of figs,
er the scenery
lere and there
almost inaces-
^as adopted in
me that kille«l
I whereon that
d Gothic ruin,
any a valorous
we were toH
mt of Ramleh,
K>d part of the
IS as level as a
iMt nuoch in
Holy Tjand- Thetie two or three hours finished, we and the tiled horses
could have rest and sleep as long as we wanted it This was the pl&iu
of which Joshua spoke when he said, " Sun, stand thou still on OincoUi
and thou moon in the valley of Ajalon." As we drew near to Jaffa, the
boys spurred up the horses, and indulged in the excitement of an actual
race — an experience we had hardly had since we raced on donkeys in
the Azores islands.
We came finally to the noble grove of orange-trees in which tht
Oriental city of Jaffa lies buried ; we passed through the walls, and
rode again down narrow streets and among swarms of animated rags,
and saw other sights and had otlier experiences we had long been
familiar with. We disiiiounted for the last time, and out in the offing,
riding at anchor, we saw the ship ! 1 put an exclamation point there,
because we felt one when we saw the vessel. The long pilgrimage was
ended, and somehow we seemed to feel glad of it.
[For description of Jaffa, see " Universal Gazetteer."] Simon the
Tanner formerly lived here. We went to his house. All the pilgrims
visit Simon the Tanner's house. Peter saw the vision of the beasts let
down in a sheet when he lay upon the roof of Simon the Taimer's
house. It was from Jaffa that Jonah sailed when he was told to go and
prophesy against Nineveh, and no doubt it was not far from the town
that the whale threw him up when he discovered that he had no ticket
Jonah was disobedient, and of a fault-finding, complaining disposition,
nd deserves to be lightly spoken of almost The timbers used in the
ionstruction of SolonK)n's temple were floated to Ja£fa in rafts, and the
larrow opening in the reef through which they passed to the shore, is
not an inch wider or a shade less dangerous to navigate than it was
then. Such is the sleepy nature of the population Palestine's only good
seaport has now, and always had. Jaffa nas a historv and a stirring one.
It will not be discovered anywhere in this book. If the reader will call
at the circulating library and mention mv name, he will be furnished
with books which will afford him the fullest infonnation concerning
Jaffa.
So ends the pilgrimage. We ought to be glad that we did not make
it for the purpose of feasting our e^es upon fascinating aspects of nature,
for we should have been disappointed!— at least at this season of thij
year. A writer in " Life in the Holy Land " observes —
"Monotonous and uninviting as much of the Holy Land will appear to persoti
accustomed to the aluiust constiint verdure uf tluwcrs, ample streams, and rarici
surface of our own country, we must rememl)er that its aspect to the Israelite,
after the weaiy march of forty yean through the desert most have been vet/
iifferent"
Which all of us will freely grant But it truly u " monotonous and
uninviting," and tliere is no sufficient reason for describing it as being
otherwise.
Of all the hujils there are for dismal scenery, 1 think Palestine must
be the prince. The hills are barren, they are dull of colour, they are
unpicturesque in shape. The valleys are unsightljr deserts, fringed with
■i ieeble vegetation, taat has an expression about it of being sorrowful
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334
JM^jr TWAIN'S WORKS.
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aud despondent. The Dead Sea and the Sea of Galilee sleep in tha
midst of a vast stretch of hill and plain, wherein the eye rests upon no
Eleasant tint, no striking object, no soft picture dreaming in a purple
aze, or mottled with the shadows of the clouds. Every outline is
harsh, every feature is distinct, there is no perspective — distance works
no enchantment here. It is a hopeless, dreary, heart-broken land.
Small shreds and patches of it must be very beautiful in the full flush
of spring, however ; and all the more beautiful by contrast with the
far-reaching desolation that surrounds them on every side. I would
like much to see the fringes of the Jordan in spring-time, and Shechem,
Esdralon, Ajalon, and the borders of Galilee — but even then these spots
would seem mere toy gardens set at wide intervals in the waste of a
limitless desolation.
Palestine sits in sackcloth and ashes. Over it broods the spell of a
curse that has withered its fields and fettered its energies. Where
Sodom and Gomorrah reared their domes and towers, that solemn sea
now floods the plain, in whose bitter waters no living thing exists— ovei
whose waveless surface the blistering air hangs motionless and dead —
about whose borders nothing grows out weeds, and scattering tufts of
cane, and that treacherous fruit that promises refreshment to parching
lips, but turns to ashes at the touch. Nazareth is forlorn ; about that
ford of Jordan where the hosts of Israel entered the Promised Land
with songs of rejoicing, one finds only a squalid camp of fantastic
Bedouins of the desert ; Jericho the accursed, lies a mouldering ruin
to-day, even as Joshua's miracle left it more than three thousand years
ago ; Bethlehem and Bethany, in their poverty and their humiliatioi],
have nothing about them now to remind one that they once knew the
high honour of the Saviour's presence ; the hallowed spot where the
shepherds watched their flocks by night, and where the angels sang
Peace on earth, good will to men, is untenanted by any living creature,
and unblessed by any feature that is pleasant to the eye. Renowned
Jerusalem itself, the stateliest name in history, has lost all its ancient
grandeur, and is become a pauper village ; the riches of Solomon are no
longer there to compel the admiration of visiting Oriental queens ; the
wonderful temple, which was the pride and the glory of Israel, is gone,
and the Ottoman crescent is lifted above the spot where, on that most
memorable day in the annals of the world, they reared the Holy Cross.
The noted Sea of Galilee, where Roman fleets once rode at anchor and
the disciples of the Saviour sailed in their ships, was long ago deserted
by the devotees of war and commerce, and its borders are a silent wilder-
ness ; Capernaum is a shapeless ruin ; Magdala is the home of beggared
Arabs ; Bethsaida and Chorazin have vanished from the earth, and the
"desert places" round about them, where thousands of men once listened
to the Saviour's voice and ate the miraculous bread, sleep in the hush of
a solitude that is inhabited only by birds of prey and skulking foxes.
Palestine is desolate and unlovely. And why ahoold it be otherwise?
Can the curu of the Deity beautify a land?
Palestine is no more of this work-day world. It ia lacred to poetry
and tradition — it ii dream-land.
W^
IM^
THE NEW PILGRIM* S PROGRESS.
335
CHAPTER XXVI.
IT was worth a kingdom to be at sea again. It was a relief to drop
all anxiety whatsoever — all questions as to where we should go ;
how long we should stay ; whether it were worth while to go or
not ; all anxieties about the conditior of the horses ; all such questions
as " Shall we ever get to water ]" " Shall we ever lunch 1" " Ferguson,
how many more million miles have we got to creep under this awful sun
before we camp V* It was a relief tc cast all these torturing little
anxieties far away — ropes of steel they were, and everyone with a sepa-
rate and distinct strain on it — and feel the temporary contentment that
is bom of the banishment of all care and responsibitity. We did not
look at the compass : we did not care now where the ship went to, so
that she went out of sight of land as quickly as possible. When I travel
again, I wish to go in a pleasure ship. No amount of mone^ could hav«
purchased for us, in a strange vessel and among unfamiliar faces, the
perfect satisfaction and the sense of being at nom* again which we
experienced when we stepped on board the Quaker City — aw ovm ship
—after this wearisome pilgrimage. It is a something we have felt
always when we returned to her, and a something we nave no desiM
to selL.
We took off our blue woollen shirts, our spurs, and heavy boots, ooi
sanguinary revolvers, and our buckskin-seated pantaloons, and got
shaved and came out in Christian costume once more. AU but Jack,
who changed all other articles of his dress, but clung to his travelling
pantaJoons. They stUl preserved their ample buckskin seat intact ; and
80 his short pea-jacket and his long, thin legs assisted to make him a
picturesque object whenever he stood on the forecastle looking abroad
upon the ocean over the bows. At such times his father's last injunc-
tion suggested itself to me. He said —
" Jack, my bov, you are about to go among a brilliant company of
gentlemen and lames, who are refined and cmtivated, and thoroughly
accomplished in the manners and customs of good society. Listen to
their conversation, study their habits of life, and learn. Be polite and
obliging to all, and considerate towards everyone's opinions, failings,
and prejudices. Command the just respect of all your fellow-voyagers,
even though you fail to win their friendly regard. And Jack — don't
you ever ^e, while you live, appear in public on those decks in fair
weather, in a costume unbecoming your mother's drawing-room ! "
It would have been worth any price if the father of thi^ hopeful youth
could have stepped on board some time, and seen him standing high on
the forecastle, pea-jacket, taseeled red fez, buckskin patch and all^
placidly contemplating th« ocean — a rare spectacle for anybody's draw-
ing-room.
After a pleasant voyage and a good rest, we drew near to Egypt, and
dut of the mellowest of ituusets we saw the domes and minarets J
'< .
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33^
MARK TWAIN'S WORKS,
^ i
^\
[i 4
Alexandria riae into view. Ab soon as the anchor was down, Jack and
I got a boat and went ashore. It was night by this time, and the othei
passengers were content to remain at home and visit ancient Egypt aftei
breakfast. It was the way they did at Constantinople. They took a
lively interest in new countries, but their schoolboy impatience hri
worn off, and they had learned that it was wisdom to take things easy
and go along comfortably — these old countries do not go away in the
night ; they stay till after breakfast
When we reached the pier we found an army of Egyptian boys with
donkeys no larger than themselves, waiting for passengers — for donkeys
are the omnibuses of Egypt. We preferred to walk, out we could not
have our own way. The boys crowded about us, clamoured around us
and slewed their donkeys exactly across our path, no matter which way
we turned. They were good-natured rascals, and so were the donkeys.
We mounted, and the boys ran behind us and kept the donkeys in a
furious gallop, as is the fashion at Damascus. I believe I would rather
ride a donkey than any beast in the world. He goes briskly, he puts on
no airs, he is docile, though opinionated. Satan himself could not
scare him, and he is convenient — very convenient When you are
tired riding you can reet your feet on the ground and let him gallop
from under you.
We found the hotel and secured rooms, and were happy to know that
the Prince of Wales had stopped there once. They had it everywhere
on signs. No other princes had stopped there since, till Jack and I
came. We went abroad through the town then, and found it a city of
huge commercial buildings, and broad handsome streets brilliant with
gaslight By night it was a sort of reminiscence of Paris. But finally
Jack found an ice-cream saloon, and that closed investigations for that
evening. The weather was very hot, it had been many a day since Jack
hail seen ice-cream, and so it was useless to talk of leaving the saloon
till it shut up.
In the morning the lost tribes of America came ashore and infested
the hotels and took possession of all the donkeys and other open
barouches that offered. They went in picturesque procession to the
American Consul's ; to the great gardens ; to Cleopatra's Needles ; to
Pompey's Pillar ; to the palace of the Viceroy of Egypt ; to the Nile ;
to the superb groves of date-palms. One of our most inveterate relic-
hunters had his hammer with him, and tried to break a fragment off the
upright Needle, and could not do it ; he tried the prostrate one, and
failed ; he borrowed a heavy sledge hammer from a mason, and failed
again. He tried Pompey's Pillar, and this baflied him. Scattered all
about the mighty monolith were sphinxes of noble countenance, carved
out of Egyptian gra lite as hard as blue steel, and whose shapely features
the wear of five thousand years had failed to mark or mar. The relic-
hunter battered at these persistently, and sweated profusely over hi^
work. He might as well have attempted to deface the moon. The}'
regarded him serenely witk ihe stately smile they had worn so long,
and which seemed to say, " Peck away, poor insect; we wers not mad«
to fiar foch as you ; in ten-scoie dra^Qimig ages we have seen mora o4
i\ ' ' rM*
11
THE NEW PILGRIM'S PROGRESS,
337
pmr kind tlian th«re ars lancU at your feet : hare thej left a blemuh
apon OS 7 "
But I am forgetting the Jaffa Colonists. At Jaffa we had taken on
board some forty members of a very celebrated commimit^.* They
* The followug WM what Hark Twain originally wrote oonoeming this Oolony.
It is omitted in the American edition of The New Pilgtvm*$ Progreu .*—
AUZASDBLl, BATFT, OcL t, ISOT.
The Amerioan Bzonrsion Steamer Quaker Cittf arrived here to day from Ja£f«
in Paleatine. All the passengen are welL
The Quaker City brifagi about thirty or forty of old Adams* Ameriean-Colony
dupes. Others hare deserted before, and soTenteen have died since the foolish
expedition landed in Palestine a year ago. Fifteen still remain outside the walls
of Jaffa, with Adama the prophet. Tketie fifteen are all that are left of the
original one hundred and sixty that sailed from Maine twelve months ago, to
found a new colony and a new religion in Syria, and wait for the second coming
of Christ. The colonists have been sadly disappointed. The colony was a failure,
and Christ did not come. The colony failed on account of heavy taxes and poor
crops. A discrepancy between the almanac and the Book of Revelations inter-
fered with the Second Advent — Adams, the Prophet of Gud, got drunk in Sep-
tember 1866, and remains so to this day. It is to be hoped that he will see the
error of his ways when he gets sober.
The famous Adams Colonisation Expedition may be considered as finished,
extinguished, and ready for its obituai^. The fifteen want to go home badly
enough, but they have got no money— are in debt to Adams, and must stay and
work for him. So ends one of the strangest chapters in American history. This
man Adams is a shrewd man, and a seductive talker. He got up a new religion,
and went about preaching it in the State of Maine and thereabouts. I have aaked
leveral of these colonists on board the ship what its nature was, but they are
singularly reticent on the subject. They speak vaguely of a flood which was
promised, but turned out to be a drouth ; they do not say what the flood had to du
with their salvation, or how it was going to prosper their religion. They talk also
of the long-prophesied assembling of the Jew** In Palestine from the four quarters
of the world, and the restoration of their ancient power and grandeur ; but they
do not make it appear that an emigration of Yankees to the Holy Land was con-
templated by the old prophets as a part of that programme ; and now that ths
Jews have not " swarmed," yet one is left at a loss to understand why that cir-
cumstance should distress the American colony of Mr Adams. I can make
neither head nor tail of this religion. I have been told all along that there was
a strong free-love feature in it, but a glance at the colonists of both sexes on board
this ship has swept that notion from my mind.
Mr Adams preached his new doctrine, and gathered together a little band of
one hundred and sixty men, women, and children last year, and sailed for Jaffa
and Syria. They were simple, unpretending country people, nearly all from one
county (Washington) in Miune, and received Adams's extravagant account of the
beauty of the paradise he was taking them to and the richneHs of its soil with
full confidence. Ma^y of the colomste brought hosses and all manner of farming
implements, and all seem to have started with a fair amount of money. Adams
becune custodian of tSl the funds ; they could not have selected a b«iier — he has
sot got them yet. He had no money when he started out as a prophet ; but now
be is in reasooably comfortable oir«nmstanc«a. and liis oolonisU are redooed te
peverty. The fimt flrop of the eo l o wi e ts did net K*«Bm than evn ths sMd they
p«t in the grennd. This year they raised what is eonadsnd ia Syria a vsry
good crop— seven bttshek of wheat to the aor»— the natives call a wm mm Uka tkk
a " blessed year ; ** but tbey had sowad two b««skel4 of seed to the aere ; they hiMl
to save two huahals out f<»r nect year's planii;)g ; rent attd tajtiM to(»k rather moer
than tile bal^ooo — asvl so &« foi'lunes woro ms^. In PaktiitafM, tb~ («<tvonMa&:' <
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irere malt «nd female ; babies, young boys, and joong girli ; jaxoiu
married people, and some who aad passed a shade beyond the pnme of
life. I refer to the " Adaius Jaffa Colony." Others had deserted before.
We left in Jaffa Mr Adaius, his wife, and fifteen unfortunates who no4
only had no money, but did not know where to turn or whither to go.
Such was the statement made to us. Our forty were miserable enough
in the first place, and they lay about the decks sea-sick all the voyage,
which about completed their misery, I take it However, one or two
young men remained upright, and by constant persecution we wonne<l
out of them some little mformation. They gave it reluctantlv and in a
very fragmentary condition, for having been shamefully humbugged by
their prophet, they felt humiliated and unhappy. In such circumstances
peonle do not like to talk.
The colony was a complete ficuco. I have already said that such as
could get away did so from time to time. The prophet Adams — once
an actor, then several other things, afterwards a Mormon and a nis-
iakes one fourth of the grou yield of the field : the landlord, from whom the farm
b rented, takes one filth of the gross yield; and what is left must be saTed
for seed. Foreigners moat rent land they cannot own yet. The colonist who
raised the best crop this year lost £600 on it. He thinks if he had raiaed a better
one, it woidd have beggared him. Irrigation would make the rich plain of Jaffa
yield astonishing crops of wheat ; but, at the same time, it would make it yield
still more astonishing crops of thorns and thistles, seven feet high, and, therefore,
on the whole it would be unwise to irrigate, even if one had the facilities of it.
For one year, under the flaming sun of Syria, the colonists have struggled along
— mmeyless, disappointed, disheartened, and hopeless. The prophet-treasurer
Adams has had to support them most of the time, because he could not help
himself. He is glad to get rid of any that leaves him, no doubt, and they are
elad to get away from the filthy, thieving, miserable horde of pauper Arabs thai
have infested their "paradise" like vermin for so many weary months. Pooi
Adams himself has suffered much. Our consul at Jerusalem has been obUged
to imprison him twice for various reasons ; his lambs, whom he was trying so hard
to lead to heaven by a new road, have grumbled sore, and sighed for the flesh-
Etts of America ; hu crops have come to naught ; and even the wife of his bosom,
stead of oomforting him in his season of affliction, would deprive him of the poor
consolation of getting drunk. He has had a harder run of luck than almost any
rophet that ever lived, because, in addition to his more ordinary sufferings, he
_as had the humiliation of seeing all his prophecies go by default. It cannot be
i^herwise than disgusting to a prophet when hu prophecies don't fit the
almanac.
The QMoker City has now become an emigrant ship for fanatical pilgrims from
the Holy Land. What is to be the next chapter in her eventful history 7
What I have said about the Adams Expedition, I get from the Adams refugees
themselves, and I have no doubt that it is entirely correct. The names of those
who are passengers by the Quaker City are as follows : — Mrs P. W. Tabbatt, E.
A Tabbatt, Miss Drusilla Ward, Moses W. Leighton, Mrs Nancy S. Leighton,
M. B. Leighton, G. W. Aines, Z. Carson, Misses D. E. and L. Oarson, Leonard
Oarson, Mrs 0. M. Oarson, Mrs 0. H. Witham, K K. Emerson, John A. Briscoe,
Mrs Oharlotte A. Briscoe, Misses Lizzie G. and Julia Briscoe, Oharles E. Bums,
Mrs Lney W. Bums, J. B. A* .es and wife, A. Norton and wife, P. Norton, K
0. Norton, S. Nortoii, L. P. Norton, P. F. Emerson, Mr Rogers and wife.
About half of the above list pay their own way. The other half are provided
with fxmds raised for the purpose by varioua United States consuls in the
Lavaat. The refugees propose to go bv KrigUsh steamer from Alexandria tc
jAvrntfook MMi thence boeae to Aro e sii o a.
E;
I
THE NEW PrLGRIM*S PROGRESS.
SS9
gLcnaxjj alwavB an •dventuTer — remaiiu at Jatfa with hia handful oi
•orrowful subjecta. The forty we brought away with na wexa chiefly
destitute, though not all of them. Tliey wifl)ie<l to get to Evypt What
might become of them then they did not know, and probably did not
flare— anything to get away from hated Jaffa. They hod little to hope
for ; because after many appeals to the sympathies uf New England,
made by strangers of Boston through the newHpapers, and after tha
establishment of an office there for the reception of moneyed contribu-
tions for the Jaffa colonists, One Dollar was subscribed. The consul-
general for Egypt showed me the newspaper paragraph which mentioned
Uie circumstance, and mentioned also the discontinuance of the effort and
the closing of the office. It was evident tliat practical New England
was not sorry to be rid of such visionaries, and was not in the least
inclined to hire anybody to bring them buck to her. Still, to get to
Egypt was something, in the eyes of the unfortunate colonists, hopeleia
as the prospect seemed of ever getting further.
Thus circumstanced, they landed at Alexandria from our ship. On«
of our passengers, Mr Moses S. Beach, of the New York ^wn^ inquired of
the consnl-genersd what it would cost to send these poor people to theiz
home in Maine by the way of Liverpool, and he said tifteen hundred
dollars in gold would do it Mr Beacn gave his cheque for the money,
and so the troubles of the Jaffa coloniets were at an end.*
Alexandria was too much like a Euroi)ean city to be novel, and we
soon tired of it. We took the cars and came up here to ancient Cairo,
which is an Oriental city, and of the coiupletoHt patteni. There is little
about it to disabuse one's mind of the error if he whouM take it into his
head that he was in the heart of Arabia. Stately camels and drome-
daries, swarthy Egyptians, and like^ose Turks and black Ethiopians,
kurbaned, sashed, and blazing in a rich variety of Oriental costumes of
all shades of flashy colours, are what one sees on every hand crowding
the narrow streets and the honeycombed bazaars. We are stopping at
Shepherd's Hotel, which is the worst on earth, except the one 1 stopped
at once in a small town in the United States. I^ -» pleasant to read
this sketch in my note-book now, and know that 1 caii htand Shepherd's
Hotel sure, because I have been in one just like it in America and
■orvived : —
I stopped at the Benton House. It tued to be a good hotel, bat that proves
iiothing — I used to be a good boy, for that matter. Both of us have lost char-
acter of late years. The Benton is not a good hotel. The Benton lacks a very
great deal of being a good hotel. Perdition ia fall of better hotels than the
Benton.
It wan late at night when I got there, and I told the clerk I wuuld like ]>1>*T)tT
of lights, because I wanted to read an hour or two. When I reached No. 15 wiib
the porter (we came along a dim hall that was clad in ancient carpeting, faded,
worn out in many places, and patched with old scraps of oilcluth —a hall that
sank under one's feet, and creaked dismally to every footntep), he struck a light
* It was an nnselfish act of benevolence ; it was done without any o«tentati(m,
and has never been mentioned in any newsoaper, I think. Therefore it is refresh-
big to learn mow, seyeral months •iUx the above narratiT* was written, that
red aU ^h« eraU* d this raMM of ihe oolnmnta. 3uoh ia V&>.
■M
S40
MARK TWATN*S WORKS.
'hT»*»'
; !
rS
i{j m
—two lneh«s of a^IIow, ■orrowfnl, MiuramptiTe UIlow oaadl*, that bnindl Uuik
ftnd iiinttenDd, aixl got dbcouraged, and went out. The porter lit it again, audi
aikcd if that wiu all the \\^\\t the clerk wot. He laid, " Oh no, I >e got another
one hire," and he producod •iiiuthor couple of inohea of tallow candle. I laid.
" Li^ht them both- I '11 have to have one to lee the other by.*^ He did it, hut
the reeult waa drearier than darknein itaelf. He waa a cheery, aeoonimwdatinc
raaoaL He uid he would go "■omewherea" and steal a lamp. I abetted and
•noouraged him in hie oriminal deaign. I heard the landlord gilt after him in tiM
htn ten minutes afterwards.
"Where are you going with that lamp?"
•• Fifteen wante it, sir."
** Fifteen ! why, he 's got a double lot of candles— doee the mMi want to illnml-
Bate the house?— -due* he want to get up a torchlight prooesaion ?— what i% he up
to, anyhow ? "
" He don't like thcin candles— says he wants a lamp."
" Why, what in the nation docs— whv, I never heard of sneh a thing? What
on earth can he want with that lampf "
" Well, he only wants to read— that 's what he says. "
" Wants to read, does be ?— ain't satisfied with a thousand caudles, but has to
hare a lampl I do wunder what the devil that fellow wants that lamp for?
Take him another candle, and then if"
** Bat he wants the lamp— says he '11 hum the d — d old honae down if he donH
get a lamp ! " (a remark which I never made. )
" I 'd like to see him at it once. Well, you take it along— bat I swear it beats
Mf time, though— and see if you can't find out what in the very nation he immUs
with that lump."
And off he went, growling to himself, and still wondering and wondering over
the unaccountable conduct of No 16. The lamp was a good one, but it revealed
some disagreeable things — a bed in the suburbs of a desert of room— a bed that
had hills and valleys in it, and vou 'd have to accommodate your bodv to the
impression left in it by the man that slept there last, before you could lie com-
fortably ; a carpet that had seen better days ; a melancholy washstand in a
remote comer, and a dejected pitcher on it sorrowing over a broken nose; a
looking-glass sjdit aoroea the centre, which chopped your head off at the chin
and made yon look like some dreadful anfinished monster or other ; the paper
peding in shreds from the walls.
I signed and said, " This is eharming ; and now don't yoa think yoa oould get
me something to read ? "
The porter said, " Oh, certainly ; the old man 's got dead loads of books ; " and
he waa gone kef or* I oould tell him what sort of literatare I woold rather have.
And yet his eoontenance expressed the atmoat oonfidenoe in hia ability to exe-
cute the eommiidon with credit to himaelf. The old man made a descent
on him.
" What are yoa going to do with that pile of books ? **
'* Fifteen wants 'em, sir."
" Fifteen, is it ? He '11 want a warming-pan next— he 11 want a nurse ! Take
him everything there ia in the house— take him the bar- keeper — take him the
baggage-waggon — take him a chamber-maid ! Confound me, I never saw any-
thing like it. What did he say he wants with those booka ? "
" Wanta to read *em, like enough ; it ain't likely he wants to eat 'em, I dont
reckon.**
''Wants to read 'em — wants to read 'em this time of night, the infernal
Innatic I Well, he can't have them."
"But he aavs he's mor'ly bound to have 'em; he aaTi hell just go a'-rairin'
and a-ehargin through this house and raise more well, there 'a no tellin' what
he wont do if he don't get 'em ; because he 's drank and orasj and desperate, and
nothinf 11 soothe him down but them cussed books." [I had not made any
thNola. and WM B«t ia the eonditloa aaorilMd lo «M ku the portal)
'
THE MlW PILGRIM'S PROGRESS,
Ml
• «hing? WbM
** WelL, g» Ml ; b«t I will b« aroond wImb Im gow to niriiig Mid ckMrgiim,
Mid the int rmir h« makm I H ni*k« him nir out of tk« window.** And ihMi
Ihe old f entlenuL. went off, growlinif m bofor*.
The f«niae of th*t porior wsi eomeihinf wondarfoL He vnt •■ armful el
books on the bed and Mid " Oood-night " •• eonfidently M if he knew perfooUy
well that thoee book* were exeotly mT ityle of reeding matter. And well he
might. Hie leleeiion eoTored ihe whole nage of legitimate literature. It eom-
prised ' Tlie Great Ooniummation," by the Rev. Dr Cumming — theology ;
^' Rerieed Statutei of the State of Hiaeouri " law ; " The Complete Hone-
Dootor"— medioine ; "The Toilera of the Sen," by Vietor Hogo-roaiaaee ;
"The Worka of William Shakeapeare"— poetry. I ehall ACfrer owum to admire
the taet and ihe intelligence of that gifted porter.
But all the donkeyv in ChriBtendom, and moflt of the Egyptian bojt,
I think are at the door, and there i« some noise going on, not to put it
in Btrouger language. — We are about starting to the illustrioua Pjramidi
of Egypt, and the donkeys for the voyage are under inspection. I will
go and select one before the choice animals are all taken.
down if he dont
other ; the paper
Lnk you oould get
CHAPTER XXVIL
THE donkeys were all good, all handsome, all Btrong and in good
condition, all fast and all willing to prove it They were the
best we had found anywhere, ana the most reeherehi. I do not
know what reeherehi is, but that is what these donkeys were, anvhow.
Some were of a soil mouse-colour, and the others were white, black, and
vari-colouied. Some were close shaven aU over, except that a tuft like
a paint-brush was left on the end of the tail Others were so shaven in
fanciful landscape garden patterns, as to mark their bodies with curving
lines, which were boundea on one side by hair and on the other by the
close plush left by the shears. They had all been newly barbered, and
were exceedingly stylish. Several of the white ones were barred like
lebras with rainbow stripes of blue and red and vellow paint These
were indescribably gorgeous. Dan and Jack selected trom this lot
because they brought back Italian reminiscences of the " old masters.*
Tlie saddles were uie high, stuffy, frog-shaped things we had known in
Ephesus and Smyrna. The donkey-boys were livdy young Egyptian
rascals, who could follow a doivkey and keep him in a canter half a day
without tiring. We had plenty of spectators when we mounted, for the
hotel was full of English people bound overland to India, and officers
getting ready for the African campaign against the Abyssinian King
Theodoras. We were not a very large party, but as we chained through
the streets of the great metromlis we made noise for five hundred, and
displayed activity and createa excitement in proportion. Nobody can
Bteer a donkey, and some collided with camels, dervishes, effendis, aseea,
beggars, and eveirthing else that offered to the donkeys a reasonable
chance for a collision. When we turned into the broad avenue that
leads out of the eity towaid Old Gain, thece waa ^laatj of zoon. Tin
h «
,1: '
iSii
« H
'J
iijiiir:;!.^
i»! '
343
MARir TWAINS WORKS.
walLi of itatelj dat^-palnu that fene«d the partlenR and >iordered the wa}
threw their shadows down and made the air c<m^I and bruoiug. We roae
to the spirit of the time, and the race be«:Ame a wild rout, a itamp^ds, a
terrific panic. I wish to live to enjoy it again.
Somewliure along this route, we had a few startling exhibitiona oi
Oriental Riniplicity. A girl, apparently thirteen yean of age, came
along the great tlioroughfare <lreflHe(l like Eve before the folL We would
have called her thirteen at home ; but here girls who look thirteen are
often not more than nine in reality. Occasionally we saw stark-naked
men of superb build bathing, and making no attempt at concealment
However, an hour's acquaintance with tlus cheerful custom reconciled
the pilgrims to it, and then it ceased to occasion remark. Thus eaaily
do even the most startling novelties grow tame and spiritless to these
sight-surfeited wanderers.
Arrived at Old Cairo, the camp-fullowers took up the donkeys and
tumbled them bodily aboard a small boat with a lateen sail, and we
followed and got under weigh. The deck was closely packed with
donkeys and men ; the two sailors had to climb over ana under and
through the wedged mass to work the sails, and the steersman had to
crowafoor or five donkeys out of the way when he wished to swing his
tiller and put bin helm hard-down. But what were their troubles to
tu? We had nothing to do ; nothing to do but eujoy the trip ; nothini^
to do but shove the donkeys off our corns and look at the charming
scenery of the Nile.
On the island at our right was the machine they call the Nilometer,
a stone column whose business it is to mark the rise of the river and
prophesy whether it will reach only thirty-two feet and produce a
famine, or whether it will properly flood the land at forty and produce
plenty, or whether it will rise to fort-y-three and bring death and de-
struction to flocks and crops ; but how it does all this they could not
explain to us ho that we could understand. On the same island Ib rIII'
fhown the spot where Pharoah's daughter found Moses in the bulrushes.
Near the spot we sailed from, the Holy Familv dwelt when they
sojourned in Egypt till Herod should complete his slaughter of the
innocents. The same tree they rested un^^^^r when they first arrived
wae there a short time ago, but the Viceroy of Egypt sent it to the
EmpreM Eugenie lately. He was just in time, otherwise our pilgrims
would have had it
ITie Nile at this i>oint is muddy, swift, and turbid, and does not lack
a great deal of being as wide as the MissiBfiippi.
We scrambled up the steep bank at the ahabby town of Qhizeh,
Counted the donkeys again, and scampered away. For four or ti\'e
miles the route lay along a high embankment, which they say is to be.
the bed of a railway the Sultan means to build for no other reason than
that when the Empress of the French conies to visit him she can go to
the Pyramids in comfort This is true Oriental hospitality. I am very
glad it is our privilege to have donkeys instead of cars.
At the distance of a few miles the Pyramids rising above the p«hns
looked very dean-cut^ very grand and impofing, and very aoft and filmj
v^d
THE snnrNx Axn great pyramid.
does Tiot l:u;k
•'At the distance of a few milea,
the I'yruiiiids rising above the palma
looked very clean-cut, very grand
and imposing, and very sofi and
filmy as well. They swam In a rich
haze that took frin them all 8U(,'-
gestiuns of unfeeling stone, and
made them seem only the airy
nothings uf n dream.
"The Pyramid of Cheops. ... I could conjure up no comparison that
would convey to my mind a satisfactory comprehension of the magnitude of
this pile of monstrous stones, und su I gave it up and walked down to the
•Sphinx.
" Why try to call up the tradition of vanished Egypiian grandeur ? why
try to fancy Egypt following dead llameses to hia ton)!> in the Pyramid, or
the long multitude of Israel departing over the desert ><.. T.or V
"The Sphinx is giand in its loneliness. . . . The great Tace so sad, so
earnest, so longing, S' > patient. There was a dignity not of earth in its mien,
and in its countenaice a benignity such as never anything human wore.
It was stone, but .t seuined sentient. H ever image of stone thought, it
was thinking. . , . It was Mkmohv—Kktkusi'KCTIon— wrought into visible,
tangible form."- Pp. 342, 344, 317.
1*1
I
i* i
1.1
il
urn
,i( *
THE NEW PILGRIM* a PROGRESS.
343
IS well. They swam in a rich haze that took from them all suggoetiotn
U unfeeling stone, and made them seem only the airy nothinn of a
dream — structures which might blossom into tien of yague arches, or
ornate colonnades, maybe, and change and change again, into all graceful
forms of architecture, while we looked, and then melt deliciously away
and blend with the tremulous atmosphere.
At the end of the levee we left the mules and went in a sail-boat across
an arm of the Nile or an overflow, and landed where the sands of the
Great Sahara left their embftiikment, as straight as a wall, along the
verge of the alluvial plain of the river. A laborious walk in the fluning
sun brought us to the foot of the great Pyramid of Cheops. It was a
fairy vision no longer. It was a comigatecf, unsightly mountain of stone.
Each of its monstrous sides was a wide stairway which rose upward, step
above step, narrowing as it went, till it tapered to a point tar aloft in
the air. Insect men and women — pilgrims from the Quaker Oity — were
creeping about its dizzy perches, and one little black swarm were waving
postage stamps from the airy summit — handkerchiefs will be understood.
Of course we were besieged by a rabble of muscular Egyptians and
Arabs who wanted ibhe contract of dragging us to the top— all tourists
are. Of course you could not hear your own voice for the din that was
around you. Oi course the Sheiks said they were the only responsible
parties ; that all contracts must be made with them, all moneys paid
over to them, and none exacted from us by any but themselves alone.
Of course they contracted that the varlets who dragged us up should
not mention bucksheesh once. For such is the u/sual routine. Of course
we contracted with them, paid them, were delivered into the hands ol
the draggers, dragged up the Pyramids, and harried and be-devilled for
bucksheesh from the foundation clear to the summit. We paid it, too,
for we were purposely spread very far apart over the vast side of the
Pyramid. "Hiere was no help near if we called, and the Herculeses who
dragged us had a way of asking sweetly and flatteringly for bucksheesh,
which was seductive, and of looking fierce and threatening to throw us
down the precipice, which was persuasive and convincing.
Each step bemg full as high as a dinner-table ; there being very, very
many of the steps ; an Arab having hold of each of our arms and spring-
ing upward from step to step and ^matching us with them, forcing us to
lift our feet as high as our breast every time, and do it rapidly and keep
it up till we were ready to faint, who shall say it is not lively, exhilarat-
ing, lacerating, muscle-straining, bone-wrencnii)f^. and perfectly excru-
ciating and exhausting pastime, climbing the 1 yramids ? I beseeched
Uie varlets not to twist all my joints asunder ; I iterated, reiterated,
fven swore to them, that not wish to beat anybody to the top ; did
»11 1 could to convince them that if I got there the last of all, I would
feel blessed above men and grateful to them for ever ; I b^ged them,
prayed them, pleaded with them to let me stop and rest a moment — only
one little moment ; and they only answered with some more frightful
•prings, and an uneialisted volunteer behind opened a bombardment <rf
CMtermined boosts with his head which thxeataoed to batttr bj wMt
political oooBomy to wzook and ruin.
344
MARK TWAIN'S WORKS.
M'
[) h
f;i
I
Twice for one minute they let me rest while thej extorted bnckflht^t^
find then continued their maniac flight up the Pyramid. They wished
to beat the other parties. It was nothing to them that I, a strangei,
must be sacrificed upon the altar of their unholy ambition. But in the
midst of sorrow joy olooms. Even in this dark hour I had a sweet con •
solation. For I knew that except these Mohammedans repented they
would go straight to perdition some day. And tJuy never repent — they
never mrsake their paganism. This thought calmed me, cheered me,
and I sank down, limp and exhausted, upon the summit, but happy, m
happy and serene within.
On the one hand, a mighty sea of yellow sand stretched away toward
the end of the earth — solemn, silent, shorn of vegetation, its solitude
uncheered by any forms of creature life ; on the other, the Eden of
Egypt was spread below us — a broad green floor, cloven by the sinuous
river, dotted with villages, its vast distances measured and marked bj
the dimimshing stature of receding clusters of palms. It lay asleep in
an enchanted atmosphere. There was no sound, no motion. Above the
date-plumes in the middle distance, swelled a domed and pinnacled
mass, glimmering through a tinted, exquisite mist ; away toward the
horizon a dozen shapely pyramids watched over ruined Memphis ; and
at our feet the blana, impassible Sphvnx looked out upon the picture
from her throne in the sands as placidly and pensively aa she had looked
upon its like full fifty lagging centuries ago.
We suffered torture no pen can describe from the hungry appeals for
backsheesh that gleamed from Arab eyes and poured incessantly from
Arab lips. Why try to call up the traditions of vanished Egyptian
grandeur ; why try to fancy Egypt following dead Rameses to his tomb
in the Pyramid, or the long mmtitude of Israel departing over the desert
jonder ? Why try to think at all ? The thing was impossible. One
must bring his meditations cut and dried, or else cut and dry them
afterward.
The traditional Arab proposed, in the traditional way, to run down
Ch) ops, cross the eighth of a mile of aand intervening between it and the
taU pyramid of Cephron, ascend to Cephron's summit and return to us
on the top of Cheops — all in nine minutes by the watch, and the whole
service to be rendered for a single dollar. In the first flush of irritation,
I said let the Arab and his exploits go to the mischief. But stay. The
upper third of Cephron was coated with dressed marble, smooth as glass.
A olessed thought entered my brain. He must infallibly break hi
neck. Close the contract with despatch, I said, and let him go. He
started. We watched. He went bounding down the vast broadside,
spring after spring, like an ibex. He grew small and smaller tUl he
became a bobbing pigmy, away down toward the bottom — then dith
appeared. We turned and peered over the other side — forty seconds-
eighty seconds — a hundred -happiness, he is deitd already ! — two minutei
— and a quarter—" There he goes ! " Too true —it was too true. He
was very small now. Gradually but surely he overcame the level
ground. He began to spring and climb ae&in. Up, up, up— *t last he
iMcLed tha imooth coating — now for it Bat he dung to it with Umt
THE NEW PILGRIM'S PROGRESS,
345
They wished
I, a Btrongei,
L But in the
d a Bweet con
repented they
repent — they
t, cheered me,
but happy, m
I away toward
Q, ita solitude
, the Eden of
>y the sinuous
id marked by
L lay asleep in
a. Above the
atnd pinnacled
ty toward the
lemphis ; and
»n the picture
ihe had looked
ry appeals foi
i^seantly froiu
hed Egyptiau
is to his tomb
ver the desert
)ossible. One
jid dry them
to run down
een it and the
return to us
nd the whole
of irritation,
at stay. The
Goth as glass.
y break hi
lim go. He
st broadside,
laller till he
n — then di&
rty seconds—
-two minutei
)o true. He
ae the level
—at last he
it with tow
oaad finflSB like a fly. He crawled this wa^ and that — away to tha
right, sirinting upward — fway to the left, soil slanting upward — and
stood at last, a black peg oa the summit, and waved his pigmv scarf !
Then he crept downward to the raw steps again, then picked up nis agile
heek and flew. We loRt him presently. But presently again we saw
him under us, mounting with undiminished energy. Shortlv he bounded
into our midst with a gallant war-whoop. Time, eight minutes, forty-
one seconds. He had won. His bones were intact It was a failure.
I reflected. I said to m^self^ he is tired and must grow dizzy. I will
risk another dollar on him.
He started again. Made the trip again. Slipped on the smooth
coating — I almost had him. But an infamous crevice saved him. He
was Mith us once more — perfectly sound. Time, eight minutes, forty-
ix seconda
I said to Dan, " Lend me a dollar — I can beat this game yet"
Worse and worse. He won t^ain. Time, eight minutes, forty-eight
ueconds. I was out of all patience now. I was desperate. Money was
no longer of any consequence. I said, " Sirrah, I will give you a hundred
dollars to jump off this pyramid head first If you do not like the
terms, name your bet I scorn to stand on expenses now. I will stay
right here and risk money on you as long as Dan has got a cent"
I was in a fair way to win now, for it was a dazzling opportunity for
an Arab. He pondered a moment, and would have done it, I tnink
hut his mother arrived then and interfered. Her tears moved me--I
never can look upon the tears of woman with indifference — and I said I
would give her a hundred to jump off too.
But it was a failure. The Arabs are too high-priced in Egypt They
put on airs unbecoming to such savages.
We descended, hot and out of humour. The dragoman lit candles,
and we all entered a hole near the base of the pyramid, attended by a
zaxj rabble of Arabs, who thrust their services upon us uninvited.
They dragged us up a long inclined chute, and dripped candle- grease all
over us. This chute was not more than twice as wide and high as a
Saratoga trunk, and was walled, roofed, and floored with solid blocks of
Egyptian granite as wide as a wardrobe, twice as thick, and three times
as lung. We kept on climbing through the oppressive ^loom till I
thought we ought to be nearing the top of the pyramid again, and then
came to the " Queen's Chamber," and shortly to the Chamber of the
King. These large apartments were tombs. The walls were built of
monstrous masses of smooth granite, neatly joined together. Some of
them were nearly as large square as an ordinary parlour. A great stone
sarcophagus like a bath-tub stood in the centre of the King's Chamber.
Around it were gathered a picturesque group of Arab savages and soiled
and tattered pilgrims, who held their candles aloft in the gloom while
they chattered, and the winking blurs uf light shed a dim glory down
upon one of the irrepressible memento-seekers who was pecking at the
venerable sarcophagus with his sacrilegious hammer.
We struggled out to the open air and the bright sonshiiie, and for tha
•pace of thirty miautet vecttved ragged Arabt by couplM, dozena, Mid
I !^
346
MARK TWAIN'S WORKS,
h i
i 1 ' '
platooiu, And paid them bncksheesh for Bervices they swore and proved
by each other that thej had rendered, but which we had not been awar«
of before — and as each party was paid, they dropped into the rear of the
Srocesaion, and in due time anived again with a newly-invented
elinquent list for liquidation.
We lunched in the shade of the pyramid, and in the midst of this
encroaching and unwelcome company, and then Dan and Jack and 1
started away for a walk. A howling swarm of beggars followed us —
surrounded us — almost headed us off. A sheik, in flowing white bour-
nous and gaudy head-gear, was with them. He wanted more bucksheesh.
But we had adopted a new code — it was millions for defence, but not a
cent for bucksheesh. I asked him if he could persuade the others to
depart if we paid him. He said yes — for ten fnmca. We accepted the
contract, and said : —
" Now persuade your vassals to fall back."
He swung his long staff aroimd his head, and three Arabs bit the dust
He capered among the mob like a maniac. His blows fell like hail, and
wherever one fell a subject went down. We had to hurry to the rescue
and tell him it was only necessary to damage them a little, he need not
kill thenL In two minutes we were alone with the sheik, and remained
so. The persuasive powers of this illiterate savage were remarkable.
Each side of the Pyramid of Cheops is about as long as the Capitol at
Washington, or the Sultan's new palace on the Bosphorus, and is longer
than the greatest depth of St Peter's at Rome — which is to say, that eacl.
aide of Cheops extends seven hundred and some odd feet It is about
seventy-five feet higher than the cross on St Peter's. The first time I
ever went down the Mississippi, I thought the highest bluff on the
river between St Louis asd New Orleans — it was near Selma, Missouri
— was probably the highest mountain in the world. It is four himdred
and thirteen feet high. It BtUl looms in my memory with undiminished
grandeur. I can still see the trees and bushes growing smaller and
smaller as I followed them up its huge slant with my eye till they be-
came a feathery Mnge on the distant sunmiit This symmetrical
Pyramid of Cheops — this solid mountain of stone reared by the patient
hands of men — tnis mighty tomb of a forgotten monarch — dwarfs my
cherished moimtain. For it is four hundred and eighty feet high. In
still earlier years than those I have been recalling, Holliday's Hill, in
our town, was to me the noblest work of God. It appeared to pierce the
skies. It was nearly three hundred feet high. In those days I pondered
the subject much, but I never could understand why it did not swathe ita
summit with never-failing clouds, and crown its majestic brow with ever-
lasting snows. I had hesod that such was the custom of great mountaiiu
in other parts of the world. I remembered how I worked with another
boy, at odd afternoons stolen from study and paid for with stripes, to
undermine and start from its bed an immense boulder that rested upon
the edge of that hiU-top ; I remembered how, one Saturday afternoon,
w« gave three hours of honest effort to the task, and saw at last that our
reward was at hand ; I remembered how we sat down then and wiped
th« perapiiation away, and waited to let a pie-nie party get out of the
THE NEW PILGRIM'S PROGRESS.
347
way In the road below — and then we started the boulder. It wai
splendid. It went crashing down the hill-Bide, tearing up saplings,
mowing bushes down like grass, ripping and crushing and smashing
everytmng in its ]>ath— eternally splintered and scattered a wood pile at
the foot of the hill, and then sprang fi'om the high bank clear over a
dray in the road — the negro glanced up once and dodged — and the next
second it made infinitesimal mince-meat of a frame cooper-shop, and the
coopers swarmed out like bees. Then we said it was perfectly magnifi-
cent, and left. Because the coopers were starting up the bill to inquire.
Still the mountain, prodigious as it was, was nothing to the Pyramid
of Cheops. I could conjure up no comparison that would convey to
my mind a satisfactory comprehension of the magnitude of a pile of
monstrous stones that covered thirteen acres of ground and stretched
upward four hundred and eighty tiresome feet, and so I gave it up and
walked down to the Sphynx.
After years of waiting it was before me at last The great face was so
■ad, so earnest, so longing, so patient There was a dignity not of earth
in its mien, and in its countenance a benignity such as never anything
human wore. It was stone, but it seemed sentient If ever image of
stone thought, it was thinking. It was looking toward the verge of tht
landscape, ^et looking at nothing — nothing but distance and vacancy.
It was loolung over and beyond everything of the present, and &r into
the past It was gazing out over the ocean of Time — over lines ol
eentury-waves which, further and further receding, closed nearer and
nearer together, and blended at last into one unbroken tide, away toward
the horizon of remote antiquity. It was thinking of the wars of departed
iges ; of the empires it had seen created £uid destroyed ; of the nations
t^hose birth it had witnessed, whose progress it had watched, whose
annihilation it had noted ; of the joy and sorrow, the life and death, the
grandeur and decay, of five thousand slow revolving years. It was the
type of an attribute of man — of a faculty of his heart and brain. It was
Memory — Retrospection— wrought into visible, tangible form. All
who know what pathos there is in memories of days that are accomplished
and faces that have vanished — albeit only a trifiing score of years gone by
— will have some appreciation of the pathos that dwells in these grave eyes
that look so steadfastly back upon the things they knew before History
was bom — before tradition had being — things that were, and forms that
moved, in a vague era which even Poetry and Romance scarce know of
— and passed one by one away and left the stony dreamer solitary in the
midst of a strange new age, and uncomprehended scenes.
The Sphynx is grand in its loneliness ; it is imposing in its magnitude ;
it is impressive in the mystery that hangs over its story. And there is
that in the overshadowing majesty of this eternal figure of stone, witb
its accusing memory of the deeds of all ages, which reveals to one
something of what we shall feel when he shall stand at last in the awful
presence of God.
There are some things which, for the credit of America, should be left
unsaid, perhaps; but these very things happen sometimes to be the
▼eiy things wnid!, Ux the xeal benefit of Amerioans, ought to 1mt« iiro<
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MARK TWAIN'S JVORKS.
inment notlee. Wliile we itood looking, « woit, or ui •zerefietiioe otf
•ome kind, appeared on the jaw of the Sphjnz. We heard the familiar
olink of a hammer, and understood the caae at once. One of our well-
meaning reptiles — I mean relic-hunters — had crawled up there and wm
taryin^ to break a " specimen " from the face of this the most majestic
creation the hand of man has wrought But the great image contem-
plated the dead ages as calmly as ever, unconscious of the small insect
that was fretting at its jaw. E^^ptian granite that has defied tlie storms
and earthquakes of aU time has noUiing to fear from the taek-hammen
of ignorant excursionists — highwaymen like this specimen. He failed in
his enterj)rise. We sent a sheik to arrest him if ne had the authority,
or to warn him, if he had not, that b^ the laws of Egypt the crime he
was attemptiug to commit was punishable with imprisonment or the
bastinado. Then he desisted and went away.
The Sphynz : a hundred and twenty-five feet long, sixty feet high,
and a hundred and two feet around the head, if I remember rightly-
carved out of one solid block of stone harder than any iron. The block
must have been as large as the Fifth Avenue Hotel before the usual
waste (by the necessities of sculpture) of a fburth or a half of the original
mass was begun. I only set down these figures and these remarks to
suggest the prodigious labour the carving of it so elegantly, so symmet-
rically, so f&ultleMly, must have cost This species of stone is so hard
that figures cut in it remain sharp and unmarred after exposure to the
weather for two or three thousand years. Now did it take a hundred
fears of patient toil to carve the Sphynx ? It seems probable.
Something interfered, and we did not visit the Ked Sea and walk
upon the sands of Arabia. I shall not describe the great mosque ol
Mehemet Ali, whose entire inner walls are built of polished and glisten-
ing alabaster ; I shall not tell how the little birds have built their nests
in the globes of the great chandeliers that hang in the mosque, and how
they fifi the whole place with their music and are not afraid of anybody
because their audacity is pardoned, their rights are respected, and no-
body is allowed to interfere with them, even thoiigh the mosque be thus
doomed to go unlighted ; I certainly shall not tell the hackneyed story
of the massacre of the Mamelukes, because I am glad the lawless rascals
were massacred, and I do not wish to ^et up any sympathy in their be-
half ; I shall not tell how that one sohtary Mameluke jumped his hor»9
a hundred feet down from the battlements of the citadel and escaped,
because I do not think much of that — I could have done it myself ; 1
shall not tell of Joseph's well, which he dug in the solid rock of the
citadel hill, and whicn Ls still as good as new, nor how the same mules
he bought to draw up the water (with an endless chain) are still at it
yet, and are getting tired of it too ; I shall not tell about Joseph's
granaries which he built to store the grain in, what time the Egy])tian
brokers were " selling short," unwitting that there would be no com in
the land when it should be time for them to deliver ; I shall not tell
anything about the strange, strange city of Cairo, because it ib only a
repetition, a good deal intensified and exaggerated, of the Oriental citiea
I BaT* alreft^ qwken of : I ihall not tea of the great eaBayan which
»'!
THE NEW PILGRIM'S PROGRESS,
i49
Imtm Ufi M«oca eyery year, for I did DAt tee it ; nor of the fttBhion the
people have of prostratiiig themBelvee and so fonning a lon^ human
pavement to he ndden ov«r hy the chief of the expedition on hu return,
to the end that their salvation may he thus secured, for I did not see
that either ; I shall not speak of the railway, fur it is like any other
railway — I shall only say that the fuel they use ibr the locomotive
ii composed of mummies three thousand years old, purchased by the
ton or by the graveyard for that purpose, and that sometimes one
hears the profsme engineer call out pettishly, <' D — n these plebeians,
they dont bum worth a cent — pass out a king ; " * I shall not tell the
groups of mud cones stuck like wasps' nests upon a thousand mounds
above high water mark the length anu breadth of Egypt — villages of the
lower class ; I shall not speak of the boundless sweep of level y)lain, green
with luxuriant grain, that gladdens the eye as far as it can pierce through
the soft, rich atmosphere of Egypt ; I shedl not speak of the vision of
the Pyramids seen at a distance of five and twenty miles, for the picture
is too ethereal to be limned by an uninspired pen ; I shall not tell of the
crowds of dusky women who flocked to the cara, when they stopped a
moment at a station, to sell ua a drink of water or a ruddy, juicy pome-
granate ; I shall not tell of the motley multitudes and wild costumes
that graced a fair we found in full blast at another barliarous station ; I
ihall not tell how we feasted on thresh dates and enjoyed the pleaaant
landscape all through the flying journey ; nor how we thundered into
Alexandria, at last swarmed out of the cars, rowed aboard the ship, left
a comrade behind (who was to return to Europe, thence home), raise(]
the anchor and turned our bows homeward finally aud for ever nrom the
long voyage ; nor how, as the mellow sun went down upon the oldest
land on earth, Jack and Moult assembled in solemn state in the smoking-
room and mourned over the lost comrade the whole night long, and
would not be comforted. I shall not speak a word of any of these
things, or write a line. They shall be as a sealed book. I do not
know what a sealed book is, because I never saw one, but a sealed book
is the expression to use in this connection, because it is popular.
We were glad to have seen the land which was the mother of civilisa-
tion — which taught Greece her letters, and through Greece Rome, and
through Rome tne world ; the land which could nave humanised and
civilised the hapless children of Israel, but allowed them to depart out
of her borders uttle better than savages. We were glad to have seen
that land which had an enlightened religion with future eternal rewards
and punishments in it, while even Israel s religion contained no promise
of a nereafter. We were glad to have seen that land which had glass
three thousand years before England had it, and could paint upon it as
none of us can paint now ; that land which knew three thousand years
ago, well nigh all of medicine and suj^ery which science has discovered
lately ; which had aU those curious surgical instruments which science
has invented recently ; which had in high excellence a thousand luxuries
and necessities of an advanced civilisation which we have gradually
* Stated to me for a fMi. I onlj toU it m I fol tt. I am wilUng to ImU«v« ii
I oMi belieT« Aorthiiif.
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MARK TWAIN *S WORKS.
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fell . ,
contriTed and aceumolated in modem tunes and claimed as thlnga that
were new onder the sun ; that had paper untold centuries before we
dreamt of it — and waterfalls before our women thought of them ; that
had a perfect system of common schools so long before we boasted of
our acnievements in that direction that it seems for ever and for ever
ago ; that so embalmed the dead that flesh was almost made immortal
— which we cannot do ; that built temples which mock at destroying time
and smile grimly upon our lauded little prodigies of architecture ; that
old land that knew all which we know now, perchance, and more ; that
walked in the broad highway of civilisation in the grey dawn of creation
ages and ages before we were bom ; that left the impress of exalted,
cultivated mind upon the eternal front of the Sphynx to confound
all scoffers who, when all her other proofs had passed away, mi^ht
seek to persuade the world that imperiul Egypt, in the days of ner high
renown, had groped in darkness.
CHAPTER XXVIIL
WE were at sea now, for a veiy long voyage — we were to pan
through the entire length oi the Levant ; through the entin
length of the Mediterranean proper, also, and then cross the
full width of the Atlantic — a voyage of several weeks. We naturally
settled down into a very slow, stay-at-home manner of life, and resolved
to be quiet, exemplary people, and roam no more for twenty or thirty
days. No more, at least, than from stem to stem of the ship. It was
a very comfortable prospect though, for we were tired and needed a
long rest
We were all lazy and satisfied now, as the meagre entries in my
note-book (that sure index to me of my condition) prove. What a
stupid thing a note-book gets to be at sea, anyway. Please observe the
style :
** Sunday— ^nicM^ m tunoal, at four bells. Servioei at night, also. No
cards.
** ilfomlav— Beantifol day, but rained hard. The cattle purohased at Alex-
andria for beef ought to be shingled. Or eLie fattened. Tne water stands in
deep puddles in the depressions forward of their after shonlden. Also here and
Uiere all over their backs. It is well they are not cows — it would soak in and
ruin the milk. The poor devil eagle* from Syria looks miserable and droopy in
the rain, perched on the forward capstan. He appears to have his own opinion
of a sea voyage, and if it were put into language and the language solidified, it
would probably essentially dam the widest river in the world.
** Tifesday— ^mewhere in the neighbourhood of the island of Malta. Oannot
stop there. Oholera. Weather very stormy. Many passengers sea-dck and
invuible.
** ITediMsday— Weather still veiy savage. Storm blew two land birds i« aeiL
tnd they eame on boaxd. A hawk was blown off, also. He eirded lound ana
ited to tiM Oeahal Faik.
VHE NEW PILGRIM'S PROGRESS,
351
tomA ilie ihip, wantliig to Uffht, but afraid of the peoplcb He wai w tired
though that he had to light at laat or periflh. He stopped in the foretop repeat*
edly, and wai as often blown away oy the wind. At laat Harry caught him.
Bea full of flying-fiah. They rise in flocks of three hundred and flaah along alM)ve
the tope of the waves a distance of two or throe hundred feet, then fall and diS'
appear.
"rAttr«(2ay-- Anchored off Algiers, Africa. Beautiful city, beautiful green
hilly landscape behind it. Stayed half a daj and left. Not permitted to land,
though we showed a clean bill of health. They were afraid of Egyptian plague
and cholera.
" i^ridaj/— Morning, dominoes. Afternoon, dominoes. Evening, promenading
the decks. Afterwards, charades.
'^^ Saturday — Morning, dominoes. Afternoon, dominoes. Evening, promenad-
ing the decks. Afterwards, dominoes.
'* Sunday — Morning service, four bells. Evening service, eight bells. Mono
tonv till midnight. — Whereupon dominoes.
"Jfon<2ay— Morning, dominoes. Afternoon, dominoes. Evenin|[, promenading
the decks. Afterward, charades and a lecture from Dr 0. Dommoes.
**No date — Anchored off the picturesque city of Cagliari, Sardinia, Stayed till
midnight, but not permitted to land by these infamous foreigners. They smell
Inodorously — they do not wash — they dare not risk cholera.
" TAuTMay— Anchored off the beautiful cathedral city of Malaga, Spain.—
Went ashore in the captain's boat — not ashore, either, for they would not let ns
land. Quarantine. Shipped my newspaper correspondence, which they took
with tongs, dipped it in sea water, clipped it full of holes, and then fumigated it
with villanous vapours till it smelt like a Spaniard. Inquired about chances to
run the blockade and visit the Alhambra at Oranada. Too risky— they might
hang a body. Set sail— middle of afternoon.
"And so on, and so on, and so forth, for several days, finally, anchored ofl
Gibraltar, which looks familiar and home-like."
It reminds me of the journal I opened with the New Tear once, when
I was a boy, and a confiding and a willing prey to those impossible
ichemes of reform which well-meaning old maids and grandmothers set
for the feet of unwary youths at that season of the vear — setting over-
sized tasks for them, which, necessarily failing, as infallibly weaken Hoa
boy's strength of will, diminish his confidence in himself, and ii^ure hia
chances of success in life. Please accept of an extract : —
"Monday— (Jot up, washed, went to bed.
" Ttiuday—Qiot up, washed, went to bed.
'* WeAntiday—Qtot up, washed, went to bed.
" Thwrtday—Gioi up, washed, went to bed.
" iVirfoy — GU)t up, washed, went to bed.
*^ Next Friday— Got up, washed, went to bed.
" Friday fortnight — Got up, washed, went to bed.
** JMiowing month — Grot np, washed, went to bed."
I stopped then, discourage<L Startling events appeared to be too
rare in my career, to render a maiy necessary. I still reflect with pride,
however, that even at that early age I waished when I got up. That
journal nnished me. I never liave had the nerve to keep one lince.
My loss of confidence in myself in that line was permanent
The ship had to stay a week or more at Gibialtai to take in coal foi
the home voyage.
li woaJd M verr tmaoBM slayinft hei«, aad ao four of ua isn ^
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MARK TWAIN'S WORKS,
otuunrntfaM blockade, and epent seven delightfal dayt in Seville, Oars
aova, Cadis, and wandering through tlie pleasant rural seinery ol
Andalusia, the garden of Old Spain. The experiences uf tlkit cheery
week were too varied and numerous for a short chapter, and 1 ^ve not
room for a long one. Therefore I shall leave them all out.
I
it
CHAPTER XXIX.
TEN or eleven o'clock found us coming down to breakfast on«
morning in Cadiz. They told us the ship had been lying at
anchor m the harbour two or three hours. It was time for us to
bestir ourselves. The ship could wait only a little while because of the
quarantine. We were soon on board, and within the hour the white
city and the pleasant shores of Spain sank down behind the waves, and
passed out of sight We had seen no land fade from view so regretr
It had long ago been decided in a noisy public meeting in the main
cabin, that we could not go to Lisbon, because we must surely be
quarantined the^. We did everything by mass-meeting, in the good
old national, way, from swapping o£f one empire for another on the
programme of the voyage down to complaining of the cookery and the
scarcity of napkins. I am reminded now of one of these complaints of
the cookery inade by a passenger. The coffee had been steadily grow-
ing more and more execrable for the space of three weeks, till at last it
hfi^ ceased to be coflbe altogether, and had assumed the nature of mere
discoloured water — so this person said. He said it was so weak, that it
was transparent an inch in depth around the edge of the cup. As he
approached the table one morning he saw the transparent edge — by
means of his extraordinary vision — ^long before he got to his seat He
went back and complained in a high-handed wav to Captain Duncar
He said the coffee was disgracefuL The Captain snowed his. It seemed
tolerably good. The incipient mutineer was more outraged than ever
then, at what he denounced as the partiality shown to the captain's
table over the other tables in the ship. He flourished back and got \n»
cup and set it down triumphantly, and said —
" Just try that mixture once. Captain Duncan."
He smelt it— tasted it — smiled benignantly — then said —
" It u inferior— for coffee — but it is pretty fair tea"
The humbled mutineer smelt it, tasted it, and returned to his seat
He had made an egregious ass of himself before the whole ship. He did
it no more. After that he took things as they came. That was
me.
The old-fashioned ship-life had returned, now that we were no longer
In flight of land. For days and days it continued just the same, one day
being axactlj like another and^ to jne^ areiy oim ol them pleasant At
THE NEW PILGRIM'S PROGRESS.
)S3
in Serllle, On-
rural sonery oi
M o( tlkit cheery
, aud 1 ^Vtt not
out
bo breakfast one
kd been lying at
vaa time for us to
ie because of the
e hour the white
id the waves, and
u view so regret'
eting in the main
must surely be
ting, in the good
r another on tlie
3 cookery and the
ese complaints of
en steadily grow-
leks, till at last it
e nature of mere
) so weak, that it
the cup. As he
arent edge — by
to his seat He
aptain Duncan
his. It seemeo
_ed than ever
to the captaui'a
and got hui
led to his seat
\.e ship. He did
le. That was
were no longei
same, one day
pleMMUit At
iMl w« anchored in the open roadstead of Punchal, in the beautiful
Islands we call Madeiras.
The uiuuntains looked surpaHuiiigly lovely, clad as they were in living
(rreen ; ribbed with lava ridgeM ; flecked with white cottages ; riven by
deep chasms purple with sha^lc ; the great 8loj)es dashed with sunshine,
and mottled with shadows iltiug from the drifting squadrons of the sky,
iind the superb picture fitly crowned by towering peaks whose fronts
were swept oy the trailing fringes of the clouds.
But we could nut land. We stayed all day and looked, we abused the
man who invented quarantine, we held half a dozen mass- meetings and
crammed them full of interrupted speeches, motions that fell still-bom,
amendments that came to nought, and resolutions that died from
sheer exhaustion in trying to get before the house. At night we set
sail.
We averaged four moss-meetings a week for the voyage — we seemed
always in labour in this way, and yet so often fallaciously, that when-
ever at long intervals we were safely delivered of a resolution, it
was cause for public rejoicing, and we hoisted the flag and fired a
salute.
Days passed — and nighta ; and then the beautiful Bermudas rose out
of the sea ; we entered the tortuous channel, steamed hither and thither
among the bright summer islands, and rested at last under the flag of
Enghmd, and were welcome. We were not a nightmare here, where
were civilisation and intelligence in place of Spanish and Italian euper-
stition, dirt, and dread of cholera. A few days among the breezy groves,
the flower gardens, the coral caves, and the lovely vistas of blue watei
that went curving in and out, disappearing and anon again appearing
through jungle walls of brilliant fob^e restored the ener^es dmled by
long drowsing on the ocean, and fitted us for our final cruise — our little
run of a thousand miles to New York — America — home.
We bade good-bye to " our friends the Bermudiaiis," as our pro-
gramme hath it — the majority of those we were most intimate with were
negroes — and courted the great deep again. I said the majority. We
knew more negroes than white people, because we had a deal of washing
to be done, but we made some most excellent friends among the
whites, whom it will be a pleasant duty to hold long in grateful remem-
brance.
We sailed, and £rom that hour all idling ceased. Such another sy»-
tem of overhauling, general littering of cabins and packing of trunks we
had not seen since we let go the anchor in the harbour of Beyrout.
Everybody was busy. Lists of all purchoj^ea had to be made out, and
values attached, to facilitate matters at the custom-house. Purchases
bought by bulk in partnership had to be equitably divided, outstanding
debts cancelled, accounts compared, and trunks, boxes, and packages
labelled. All day long the bustle and confusion continued.
And now came our first accident A passenger was numing through
a gangway, between decks, one stormy night, wnea he caught his foot in
the iron staple of a door that had been heedlessly left off a hatchway, and
Ike boMt of hk las bfoke at the sakk. U wm o«r fiisl serioos bu*>
SS4
MARK TWAIN's IVORKS,
fortune. We had travelled much more than twenty thousand mhea by
land and sea in many trying climatea without a nn^Xt hurt, without
seriouB case of sickneaa, and without a death among five-and-nizty pa«-
sengers. Our good fortune had been wonderful. A sailor had jumped
oyerboard at Constantinople one night, and wns seen nu more ; but it
was suspected that his object was to desert, and there was a slim chance
at least that he reached the shore. But tlie pausenger list was complete.
There was no name missing from the register.
At last one pleasant morning we steamed up the harbour of New
York, aU on deck, sdl dressed in Christian garb— by special order, for
there was a latent disposition in some (quarters to come out as Turks—
and amid a waving ol handkerchiefs from welcoming friends, the glad
pilgrims noted the shiver of the decks that told that ship and pier nad
joined hands again, and the long, strange cruise was over. Amen.
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CHAPTER XXX.
IN this place I will print an article which I wrote for the New York
Herald the ni|;ht we arrived. I do it partly because my contract
with my publishers makes it compulsory ; partly because it is g
proper, tolerably accurate, and exhaustive summing up of the cruise of
the ship and the p(>fformances of the pilgrims in foreign lands ; and
partly because some of the passengers nave abused me for writing it,
and I wish the public to see how thankless a task it is to put one's self to
trouble to j,'lorinr unappreciative people. I was charj^ed with " rushing
into print" with these compliments. 1 did not rush. I had Mnritten
news letters to the Herald sometimes, but yet when I visited the office
that day I did not say anything about writing a valedictory. I did go
to the TrUnme office to see if such an article was wanted, because 1
belonged on the regular staff of that paper, and it was dimply a duty to
do it The managing editor was absent, and so I thought no more
about it. At nigh^ when the HerauTs req^uest came for an article, I did
not " rush." In fact, I demurred for a while, because I did not feel like
writing compliments then, and therefore was afraid to speak of the
nruise lest I might be betrayed into using other than complimentary
language. However, I reflected that it would be a just and righteou*
thing to go down and write a kind word for the Hadjis — Hadjis are
people who have made the pilgrimage -l)ecau8e parties not interested
"ould not do it so feelingly as I, a fellow- Hadji ; and so I peunea th«
valedictory. I have read it, and read it again; and if there is a sentencd
in it that is not fulsomely complimentary to captain, ship, and pas-
sengera, / cannot find it. If it is not a chapter that any company nnght
be proud to have a body write about them, my judgment is fit for
nothing. With these remarks I ooiifidently submit it lie th« unprejn*
^ioed indfiment of the reader : —
TMB NEW PrLGRlM'S PROGRESS.
M
3U8and miiM by
hurt, without a
re-and-Hixty pa»-
ilor had jumped
nu more ; but it
aa a slim chance
LBt was complete.
harbour of New
special order, for
s out as Turks —
friends, the glad
hip and pier nad
er. Amen.
mnnm ov vm holt r.An> nouBsionm*— ni vtobt ov rai
or the N«¥> York
ause my contract
J because it is a
|p of the cruise of
eign lands ; and
ne for writing it,
) put one's self to
id with "rushing
I had written
visited the office
ictory. I did go
anted, because I
simply a duty to
bought no more
an article, I did
lid not feel like
to speak of the
complimentary
at and righteouB
djis — Hadjis are
B not interested
go I peunea th«
lere is a sentence
ship, and pA6-
company might
gment is fit foe
te th« unprejn*
at Uat her •ztraordhiary ▼OJMP*
idl Street. The ei|)edition wm •
(Mginellj it wm advertiMd M •
a pleaaure ezeanioD. bat oertainlj
To THB Editor uv thi HEiiaiiUf—
The ateamer Quaker City has aocotiipliahr'l
and returiiuil to her uld pi«r at 'he foot of v<
laeoeei in lome reepeott, in nome it wan not.
* pleasure exooraion.*' \\ )' perhapH it was . |,ic»u.«i ii««^ui.iuii.
it. did not U)ok like one ; oertMiilj it did not art like one. Anybodjr'i and aTnry>
liudy'i notion of a pleiiaure exouriii>*n in thut the pnrtiei to it will of a neoeaaitj
be young and giddy nnd eouMwhat hojxteruuii. They will ditnce a good deal, ting
% good doal, make love, but aermoniHe vury little. Anybody*! and evei7b<Mly*i
notion of a well-condacted funeral la that therft must be a hearia an<l a ooriMie,
and ob>,9f uiournen and moumera by courteay, many old people, muob atdemnity,
no levity, and a prayer and a aennon withaL Three-fourtha of the Quaker Cityi
paaaeugera were between forty and Heventy yean of age 1 There waa a pio*nie
crowd for you 1 It may be auppoaed that the other fourth was oompoaed of
young girla. But it waa not. It wan chiefly compoaed of n^aty old buohelon
and a child of liz yeara. Let ua average thu agea of the Quaker City^t ^ilgrimi
and let the figure down aa fifty yeara. la any man inaane enough to imagine
that this pic-nio of patriarcba aang, made love, danced, laughed, told aneodotea,
de(Ut in ungodly lenty? In my experienoo they ainneii little in these matters.
Nu doubt it was presumed here at home thut theae frolicsome veterans laughed
and sang and romped all day, and day after dav, and kept up a noisy exoitement
from one end of the ship to the other ; and that they played blind-man's bull
or danced quadrilles and waltses on moonlight evenings on the qnarter-deek ;
and that at odd moments of unoccupied time they jotted a laoonio item or two
Id the journals they opened on such an elaborate plan when they left home, and
then skorried off to tueir whist and euchre labours under the cabin lamps. If
these things were presumed, the prenuuiption waa at fault. The venerable excur-
sioniats were not gay and frisky. They played no blind-man's buff ; they dealt
not hi whist ; they shirked not the irksome juumal, for alas I most of them were
even writing books. They never romped, thoy tolked but little, they never
aang, save in the nightly prayer-meeting. The pleasure ship was a aynagogue,
and the pleaaure tnp was a funeral excursion without a corpae. (There is
nothing exhilarating about a funeral excursion without a corpse. ) A free, hearty
laugh was a sound that was not heard oftener than once in seven days about
those decks or in those cabins, and when it was heard it met with precious little
■vmpathy. The excursionists danced, on three separate evenings, long, long ago
(it seems an age), quadrilles, of a single set, made up of three ladies and fiw
gentlemen (the latter with handkerchiefs around their arms to signify their
sex), who timed their feet to the solemn wheu^ng of a melodeon ; but even thia
melancholy orgie was voted to be sinful, and dancing was discontinued.
The pilgrims played dominoes when too much Josephus or Robinson's Holy
Land Researches, or book-writing, made recreation necessary — for dominoes ia
about as mild and sinless a ^ame as any in the world, perhaps, excepting always
the ineffably insipid diversion they call croquet, which is a game where you
don't pocket any balls and don't carom on anytiiing of any consequence, and
when you are done nobody has to pay, and there are no refreshments to saw off,
ind, consequently, there isn't any satisfaction whatever about it — they played
dominoes till they were rested, and then they blackguarded each other privately
till prayer-time. When they were not sea-sick, they were uncommonly prompt
when the dinner-gong sounded 1 Such was our daily life on board the ship—
■olemnitv, decorum, dinner, dominoea, devotions, slander. It was not lively
enough lot a pleasure trip ; but if we had only had a corpse it would have mads
a noble funerml excursion. It is all over now ; but when I look back, the idea
ef these venerable fossils skipping forth on a six months' pio-nio, aeema
•xauisitelj r-^reshing. The advartiaed ti^'e of tba axu^ition— ** The Graud Holy
"I
\
iCIiii-;
h fit.!;
I Its
I' .
1^1
' '.^
Sf0
if^/?ir TWATfrS WORKS,
Luid flaMor* Exoonion **— wm » muDumer. " Th* Grand Holy Land Fimmi
Procefliion " would have been better — much better.
Wherever we went, in Europe, Aula, or Africa, we made a Hensation, and, I
■nppose I may add, created » famine. None of us had ever been anywhere
before ; we all hailed from the interior ; travel was a wild novelty to oa, and we
eonduoted ounelves in accordance with the natural instincts that were in us,
and trammelled ourselves with no ceremonies, no conventionalities. We alwayt
took care to make it understood that we were Americans — Americans ! When
we found that a good many foreigners had hardly ever heard of America, and
that a good many more knew it only as a barbarous province away off somewhere,
that had lately been at war with somebody, we pitied the ignorance of the Old
World, but abated no jot of our importance. Many and many a simple com-
munity in the Eastern hemisphere will remember for years thp incursion of tlie
strange horde in the year of our Lord 1867, that called themselves Americans, and
seemed to imagine in some unaccountable way that they had a right to be proud of
it. We generally created a famine, partly because the coffee on the Quaker
dtp was unendurable, and sometimes the more substantial fare was not strictly
first-class ; and partly because one naturally tires of sitting long at the same
board and eating from the same dishes.
The people of those foreign countries are very, very ignorant. They looked
curiouslv at the oostnraes we had brought from the wilds of America. They
observed that we talked lomdly at tablo sometimes. They noticed that we
looked out for expenses, and got what we conveniently could out of a franc, and
wondered where in the mischief we came from. In Paris they just simply
opened their eyes and stared when we spoke to them in French ! We never did
juoeeed in making those idiots ur uerstand their own language. One of our pas-
sengers ndd to a shopkeeper, in reference to a proposed return to buy a pair ol
gloves, **Allcng rettay trankeel — may he ve coom Moonday ;" and, would yon
believe it, that shopkeeper, a bom Frenchman, had to ask what it was that had
been said. Sometimes it leems to me, somehow, that there must be a differenos
between Parisian French and Quaker City French.
The people stared at us everywhere, and we stared at them. We generally
made them feel rather small, too, before we got done with them, because we
bore down on them with America's greatnecs until we crushed them. And yet
we took kindly to the manners and customs, and especially to the fashions of the
various people we visited. When we left the Azores, we wore awful capotes and
used fine tooth combs — successfully. When we came back from Tangier, in
Africa, we were topped with fezzes of the bloodiest hue, hung with tassels like
an Indian's scalp-lock. In France and Spain we attracted some attention in
these costumes. In Italy they naturally took us for distempered Garibaldians,
and set a gun-boat to look for anything significant in our changes of uniform.
We made Rome howl. We could have made any place 1m>w1 when we had all
our clothes on. We got no fresh raiment in Greece — they had but little there
of any kind. But at Constantinople, how we turned out I Turbans, scimitars,
fezzes, horse-pistols, tunics, sashes, baggy trousers, yellow slippers — Oh, we were
gorgeous ! The illustrious dogs of Constantinople barked their under jaws off,.
and even then failed to do us justice. They are all dead by this time. The;
could not go through such a run of business as we gave them, and survive.
And then we went to soe the Emperor of Russia. We just called on him u
eomfortably as if we had known him a century or so, and when we had finished
our visit we variegated ourselves with selections from Russian costumes and
sailed away again more picturesque than e^er. In Smyrna we picked up camel'i
hair shawls and other dreasy things from Persia ; but in Palestine — ah, in Paleo
tine - our splendid career ended. They didn't wear any clothes there to speak of.
We were satisfied, and stopped. We made no experiments. We did not try theii
eostume. But we astonished the natives of that country. We astonished them
with suoh eocentrioitiee of dress aa we could muster. We prowl«d throni^h th«
Holy Land, from Cesarea Pliilippi to Jomwitwn and thfl Dead Sea, a weird pro-
I Holy Land Firaani
e ft HensatioD, and, I
iver been anywhere
ovolty to lu, and w«
ctH that were in us,
lalitiea. We alwayt
-Americans ! When
ard of America, and
away off somewhere,
s;nurance of the Old
many a simple com-
the incursion of tlie
elves Americans, and
a right to be proud of
jffee on the Quaker
fare was not strictly
ag long at the same
Lorant. They looked
I of America. Theji
,ey noticed that we
d out of a franc, and
ns they just aimplj
nch ! We never did
ge. One of our pas-
;um to buy a pair (A
V ; " and, would von
what it was that had
must be a differvnos
hem. We generally
h them, because we
led them. And yet
bo the fashions of the
re awful capotes and
from Tangier, in
ung with tassels like
some attention in
pered Garibaldians,
changes of uniform.
wl when we had all
had but little there
Turbans, scimitars,
ippers — Oh, we were
their under jaws off,,
by this time. They
a, and sunrive.
ust called on him m
hen we had finished
iisian costumes and
re picked up camel*!
estine — ah, in Puled
es there to speak of.
We did not trr their
Wt aatonished them
)rowled through th#
fkd Sea, H weird WW*-
TIfE NEW I'lLGRlM'S PROGRESS,
S57
.:<iaiion of pflgrimc,, gotten up regardless of HxpAtse, solemn, gornuu*^ graan
gpeetaoled, drowsing under blue umbrelliut. and aKtrida of a sorrier lot ut horst*,
camels, and asses than tliouo that came out uf Noah's ark, after eleven mouths ol
sea-sickness and short rations. If ever those children of Israel ui Palestine forge!
vhen Gideon's Band went through there from America, they ought to be cursed
i>uc« more and finished. It was the rarest spectacle that evar astounded mortal
eyea, perhaps.
Well, we were at homo in Palestine. It was easy to see that that was the
grand feature of the expedition. We had eared nothing much about Bnrope.
We galloped through the Louvre, the Pitti, the Ufizzi, the Vatican- all the
galleries — and through the pictured and frescoed churches of Venice, Naples, ai:>d
the cathedrals of Spain ; some of us said that certain of the great works of the
old masters were glorious creations of genius (we found it out in the guide-book,
though we got hold of the wrong picture sometimes), and the others said they
were disgraceful old daubs. We exumine<l modem and ancient statuary with a
critical eye in Florence, Rome, or anywhere we found it, and praised it if we
saw fit, and if wt; did'nt we said we preferred the wooden Indians in front of the
cigar stores oi America. But the Holy Land brought out all our enthusiasm.
We fell into raptures by the barren shores of Galilee ; we pondered at Tabor and
at Nazareth ; we exploded into poetry over the questionable loveliness of Esdrae-
Ion ; we meditated at Jezreel and Samaria over the missionary zeal of Jehu ;
we rioted — fairly rioted among the holy places of Jerusalem ; we bathed in
Jordan and the Dead Sea, reckless whether our accident-insurance policies were
extra-hazardous or not, and brought away so many jugs of preciona water from
both places that all the counti^ from Jericho to the mountains of lioab will
luffer from drouth this year, I think. Yet, the pilgrimage part of the excursion
was its pet feature — there is no question about ^at. After dismal, smileless
Palestina, beautiful Egypt had few charms for us. We merely glanced at it and
were ready for home.
They wouldn't let us land at Malta — quarantine ; they would not let ui land in
Sardinia ; nor at Algiers, Africa ; nor at Malaga, Spain, nor Cadiz, nor at the
Madeira Islands. So we got offended at all foreigners, and turned our backs upon
them and came home. I suppose we only stopped at the Bermudas because they
were in the programme. We did not cara anything about any place at all. W«
wanted to go home. Home-sickness was abroad iu the ship — it was epidemic
If the authorities of New York had known how badly we had it, they would have
quarantined us here.
The grand pilgrimage is over. Good-bye to it, and a pleasant memory to it, 1
am able to say in all kindness. I bear no malice, no ill-will toward any indi'
vidual that was connected with it, either as passenger or officer. Things I did
not like at all yesterday I like very well to-day, now that I am at home, and
always hereafter I shall be able to poke fun at the whole gang if the spirit so
moves me to do, without ever saying a malicious word. The expedition accom-
plished all that its programme promised that it should accomplish, and we ought
all to be latisfied with the management of the matter, certainly. Bye-bye !
Mabk Twaih.
I call that complimentary. It u complimentaiy ; and yet I neve?
have received a word of thanks for it from the Hadjis ; on the contrary,
I speak nothing but the serious truth when I say that many of them
even took exceptions to the article. In endeavouring to please them I
slaved over that sketch for two hours, and had my labour for my paiiu
I never will do a ganeroos deed agam.
IR
r;, ' . i r
'II
?y t
^
Hi
3S»
MARK TWAIN'S WORKS-
CONCLUSION.
NEARLY one year has flown since this notable pilgrimage itbb ende<i ,
and as I i^it here at home in Sau Francisco thinking, I am moved
to confess that day by day the mass of my memories of the ex-
cursion have grown more and more pleasant as the disagreeable incidents
of travel which encumbered them fatted one by one out of my mind —
and now, if the QwaJcer City were weighiiig her ajiclior to sail away on
the very same cruise again, nothing could gratify me more than to be a
passenger. With the same captain, and even the same pilgrims, the
same sinners. I was on excellent terms with eight or nine of the excur-
sionists (they are my staunch friends yet), and was even on speaking
terms with the rest of the sixty-five. I have been at sea quite enough to
know that that was a very good avf^rage. Because a long sea-voyage not
only brings out all the meau traits one has, and exaggerates them, but
raises up others which he never suspcctF^d he possessed, and even creates
new ones. A twelve months' voyage at sea would make of an ordinary
man a very miracle of meanness. On the other hand, if a man has good
qualities, the spirit seldom moves him to exhibit them on shipboard, at
least witii any sort of emphasis. Now I am satisfied that our pilgrmu
are pleasant old people on shore ; I am also satisfied that at sea on a
■econd voyage they would be pleasanter, somewhat, than they were on
oar grand excursion, and so I say without hesitation that I would be glad
enough to sail with them again. I could at least enjoy life with my
handful of old friends. They could enjo^ life with thtir cliques as well
— passengers invariably divide up into cliques, on aU ships.
And I wiU say here that I would rather travel with an excursion party
of Methuselahs than have to be changing ships and comrades constantly,
as people do who travel in the ordinary way. Those latter are always
grieving over some other ship they have known and lost, and over other
comrades whom diverging routes have separated from them. They learn
to love a ship just in time to change it for another, and they become
attached to a pleasant travelling companion only to lose him. They
have that most dismal experience of being in a strange vessel, among
strange people who care nothing about them, and of undergoing the
customary bullying by strange oificers, and the insolence of strange
servants, repeated over and over again within the compass of every
month. They have also that other misery of packing and unpacking
trunks — of running the distressing gauntlet of custom-houses — of the
anxieties attendant upon getting a mass of baggage from point to point
on land in safety. I had rather sail with a whole brigade of patriarch.^
than suffer so. We never packed our trunks but twice — ^when we soiled
from New York, and when we returned to it Whenever we made •
land journey, we estimated how many days we should be gone and what
amount of clothing we should need, figured it down to a mathematical
nic«ty, packed a raliae or two accordingly, and left the trunks on board.
We oluMM oar comradM from utumfL our old, tried £ri«iida« and itarted.
THE NEW PTLGRIM'S PROGRESS.
359
We were never dependexit ujx)!! strangers for companionBhip. We ofUn
had occaaion to pity AniericaTis whom we found travelling drearily among
Btrangers, with no friends to exchange pains and pleaaurea with. When-
ever we were coming back from a huid journey, our eyes Bought one
thing in the distance first — the ship— and when we saw it riding at
vichor with the flag apeak, we felt as a returning wanderer feels when
ke sees his home. When we stepped on board, our cares vanished, our
troubles were at an end — for the ship was home to us. We always had
the same familiar old state-room to go to, and feel safe, and at peace, and
comfortable again.
I have no fault to find with the manner in which our excursion was
conducted. Its programme was faithfully carried out— a thing which
Burprised me, for great enterprises usually promise vastly more than they
periomL It would be well if such an excursion could be gotten up every
vear, and the system regularly inaugurated- Travel is fatol to prejudice,
bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, aud many of our people need it sorely
on these accounts. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and
things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little comer of the earth
all one's lifetime.
The excursion is ended, and has {>a88ed to its place among the thingi
that were. But its varied scenes and ite maidfold incidents will Ungei
pleasantly in our memories for many a year to come. Always on uie
wing as we were, and merely pausing a moment to catch fitful glimpsei
of the wonders of half a world, we could not hope to receive or retain
?ivid impressions of all it was our fortune to see. Yet our holiday flight
has not been in vain — for above the confusion of vague recollectiona,
certain of its best prized pictures lift themselves and will still continue
perfect in tint and outline after their surroundings shall have faded
awi^.
We shall remember something of pleasant France ; and something also
of Paris, though it flashed upon us a splendid meteor, and was gono
again, we haidly knew how or \/liere. We shall remember always Low
we saw majestic Gibraltar glorified with the rich colouring of a Spanish
sunset and swimming in a sea of rainbows. In fancy we shall see
Milan again, and her stately Cathedral with its marble wilderness of
graceful spires. And Padua — Verona — Como, jewelled with stars ; and
patrician Venice, afloat on her stagnant flood — silent, desolate, haughty
— scornful of her humble state — wrapping herself in memories of her
lost fleets, of battle and triumph, and £01 the pageantry of a glory that ia
departed.
We cannot fo^t Florence — Naples — nor the foretaste of htiaveu that
b in the delicious atmosphere of Greece— and surely not Athena and the
broken temples of the Acropolis. Surely not venerable Rome — nor the
green plain Uiat compasses her round about, contrasting its brightnecH
with her grey decay — nor the ruined arches that stand apart in the
plain and clothe their looped and windowed raggednees with vines. We
•hjdl remember St Peter's : not as one sees it when he walks the atreeti
of Rome and fancies aU her domei aie just alike, but as he sees it leagues
away, when every meaner edifice hm finded out of sidht. and tkifc mm
ihl-t
|«o
MARK TWAIN'S WORtC^.
doma looma Aiperblj Tip In the fliuih of nmMti fall of dignity antf gmot^
itrongly outlined aa a monntauL
We uuJl remember Constantinople and the Boephonu — the eolosMl
magnificence of Baalbec — the PyramidB of Egypt — the prodigiona form,
the benignant conntenance of the Sphynx — Oriental Smyrna — sacred
Jemsalem — Damascns, the " Pearl of the East," the pride of Syria,
the fabled Garden of Eden, the home of princes and genii of the
Arabian nights, the oldest metropolis on earth, the one ci^ in all the
world that has kept its name and held its place and looked serenel j on
while kingdoms and empires of four thousand years haye risen to lif^
enjoyed their little aeAMn of iwide aitd pomp, and then vasiisbed wi
beea lorgottep 1
* ^
I. i'liiii
.' ,t
. , !'^. *:
»r^-, T^A
m&^ j*.-.^
■i' . !
ignit7 OM^ gmdb,
TU — the eoloitd
prodigioiiB form,
Smyrna — sacrad
pride of Sjiia,
ad genii of the
e ci^ in all the
[>ked serenely on
ave risen to life
em vaziishedvno
>>■.: ■ V,
V 'i.
PART III,
HUMOROUS STORIES AND SKETCHES.
THE JUMPING FROG OF CALAVERAS COUNTY.
IN compliance with the request of a friend of mine, who wrote me from
the East, I called on good-natured, garrulous old Simon Wheeler,
and inquired after my friend's friend, Leonidca W. Smiley, as
requested to do, and I hereunto append the result. I have a lurking
Buspicion that Leonidas W. Smiley is a myth ; that my friend never
knew such a personage ; and that he only conjectured that, if I asked
old Wheeler about him, it would remind him of his infamous Jim
Smiley, and he would go to work and bore me nearly to death with
some infernal reminiscence of him as long and tedious as it should be
Tweless to me. If that was the design, it certainly succeeded.
I foimd Simon Wheeler dozing comfortably by the bar-room stove of
the old, dilapidated tavern in the ancient mining camp of Angel's, and
I noti(^ that he was fat, and bald-headed, and had an expression of
winning gentleness and simplicity upon his tranquil countenance. He
roused up and gave me good-day. I told him a friend of mine had com-
missioned me to make some inquiries about a cherished companion of
his boyhood, named Leonidas W. Smiley — Rev. Leonidas W. Smiley, a
young minister of the gospel, who he had heard was at one time a resi-
dent of Angel's Camp. I added that, if Mr Wheeler could tell me
anything about this Rev. Leonidas W. Smiley, I would feel ander
many obl ig ations to hinu
Simon Wheeler backed me into a comer, and blockaded me there
with his chair, and then sat me down and reeled off the monotonous
narrative which follows this paragraph. He never smiled, he never
frowned, he never changed his voice from the gentle-flowing key to
which he tuned the initial sentence, he never betrayed the slightest
Buspicion of enthusiasm ; but all through the interminable narrative
there ran a vein of inrpreesive earnestness and sincerity, which showed
BM plainly thati m ur from hia im^giniTig that there was anything
■1
302
MARK TWAIN'S WORKS.
ridiculouB or Aumy about his stoiy, he regarded it as a really important
matter, and admired its two heroes as men of transcendent genius ip
finesse. To me, the spectacle of a man drifting serenely along through
such a queer yam without ever smiling, was exquisitely absurd. As 1
said before, I asked him to tell me what he knew of Rev. Leonidas W.
Smiley, and he replied as follows. I let him go on in his own way,
and never interrupted him once : —
There was a feller here once by the name of Jim Smiley in the wintex
of '49— or may be it was the spring of '60 — I don't recollect exactly,
somehow, though what makes me think it was one or the other is
because I remember the big flume wasn't finished when he first came
to the camp ; but any way, he was the curiosest man about, always
betting on anything that turned up you ever see, if he could get any.
body to bet on the other side ; and if he couldn't, he 'd change sides.
Anyway that suited the other man would suit him — anyway just so 'h
he got a bet, he was satisfied. But still he was lucky, uncommon lucky;
he most always come out winner. He was always ready and laying for
a chance ; there couldn't be no solit'ry thing mentioned but that feller M
ofier to bet on it, and take any side you please, as I was just tellmg you.
If there was a horse-race, you'd find him flush, or you'd find him busted
at the end of it ; if there was a dog-fight, he 'd bet on it ; if there was a
cat-fight, he'd bet on it; if there was a chicken-fight, he'd bet on it;
why, if there was two birds sitting on a fence, he would bet you which
one would fly first ; or if there was a camp-meeting, he would be there
reg'lar, to bet on Parson Walker, which he judged to be the beat
exhorter about here, and so he was, too, and a good man. If he even
seen a straddle-bug start to go anywheres, he would bet you how long it
would take him to get wherever he was going to, and if you took him
up, he would foller that straddle-bug to Mexico, but what ne would find
out where he was bound for and how long he was on the road. Lots of
the boys here has seen that Smiley, and can tell vou about him. Why,
it never made no difference to him — he would bet on any thing — the
dangdest feller. Parson Walker's wife laid very sick once, for a good
while, and it seemed as if they wam't going to save her*; but one
morning he come in, and Smiley asked how she was, and he said she
was considerable better — thank the Lord far his inf'nit mercy — and
coming on so smart that, with the blessing of Prov'dence, she'd get well
yet; and Smiley, before he thought, says, "Well, I'll risk two-and-a-half
that she don't, anyway."
Thish-yer Smiley had a mare — the boys called her the fifteen-minute
nag, but that was only in fun, you know, because, of course, she was
faster than that — and he used to win money on that horse, fo^ all she
was so slow and always had the asthma, or the distemper, cr ihe con-
sumption, or somethmg of that kind. Tliey used to give her two oi
three hundred yards' start, and then pass her under way ; but always at
the fa^-end of the race she'd get excited and desperate-like, and come
cavorting and straddling up, and scattering her legs around limber,
■ometimet in the air, axul goiPA^unes out to one aide amount the fenceii
i 1
\ really important
ieiident genius ip
ily along througU
jly absujd. As 1
Rev. Leonidas W.
in his own way,
iley in the wintei
recollect exactly,
or the other is
len he first came
an about, always
le could get any<
3'd change sides,
-anyway just so 'h
mcommon lucky;
iy and laying for
but that feller 'd
} just telling you.
i find him busted
it ; if there was a
;, he'd bet on it;
id bet you which
e would be there
to be the beat
lan. If he even
; you how long it
if you took him
lat he would find
le road. Lots of
►out him. Why,
any thing — the
once, for a good
'^e her*; but one
and he said she
'nit mercy — and
e, she'd get well
L two-and-a-half
e fifteen-minute
course, she was
Lorse, foT all she
iper, LT the con-
give her two or
; but always at
like, and come
around limber,
>n|;8t the fencet.
THE JUMPING FROG OF CALA VERAS COUNTY, 363
Aiid kicking up m-o-r-e dust and raising m-o-r-e racket with her cough<
trig and sneezing and blowing her nose — and always fetch up at the
atiiiid, just about a neck ahead, as near as you could cypher it down. '
And he had a little small bull pup, that to look at nim you'd think
he wan't worth a cent, but to set around and look ornery, and lay for a
chance to steal something. But as soon as money was upon him, ne was
a different dog ; his under-jaw 'd begin to stick out like the fo' castle of a
steamboat, and his teeth would uncover, and shine savage like the fur-
naces. And a dog might tackle him, and bully-rag him, and bite him^
and throw him over his shoulder two or three times, and Andrew Jack-
son — which was the name of the pup— Andrew Jackson would never let
on but what he was satisfied, and hadn't expected nothing else — and the
bets being doubled and doubled on the other side all the time, till the
money was all up ; and then all of a sudden he would grab that other
dog jest by the j'int of his hind leg and freeze to it — not chaw, you
understand, but only jest grip and nang on till they throwed up the
sponge, if it was a year. Smiley always come out winner on that pup,
till he harnessed a dog once that didn't have no hind legs, because
they 'd been saVd off by a circular saw, and when the thing had gone
along far enough, and the money was all up, and he come to make a
snatch for his pet holt, he saw in a minute now he 'd been imposed on,
and how the other dog had him in the door, so to speak, and he 'peareq
surprised, and then he looked sorter discouraged-like, and didn't try no
more to win the fight, and so he got shucked out bad. He gave Smiley
a look, as much as to say his heart was broke, and it was hii fault, fox
putting up a dog that hadn't no hind legs for him to take holt of, wmcb
was his main dependence in a fight, and then he limped off a piece and
laid down and died. It was a good pup, was that Andrew Jackson, and
would have made a name for hisseif if he 'd lived, for the stuff was in
him, and he had genius — I know it, because he hadn't had no oppor-
tunities to speak of, and it don't stand to reason that a dog could make
such a fight as he could under them circumstances, if he hadn't no talent.
It always makes me feel sorry when I think of that last fight of his'n,
and the way it turned out.
Well, thish-yer Smiley had rat-tarriers, and chicken-cocks, and tom-
cats, and aU them kind of things, till you couldn't rest, and you couldn't
fetch nothing for him to bet on but he 'd match you. He ketched a frog
one day, and took him home, and said he cal'klated to edercate him ;
and so he never done nothing for three months but set in his back yard
and learn that fso^ to jump. And you bet you he dAA learn him, too 1
He 'd give him a little punch behind, and the next minute you'd see that
frog whirling in the air like a doughnut — see him turn one summerset,
or maybe a couple, if he got a good start, and came down flat-footed and
all right, like a cat. He got him up so in the matter of catching flies,
and kept him in practice so constant, that he 'd nail a fly every tune as
Ieu* as he could see him. Smiiey said all a frog wanted was education,
and he could do most anything — and I believe him. Why, I 've seen
him set Dan'l Webster down here on this floor — Dan'l Webster was the
name of the frog— and sing out, *^ FUes, Dani, fliei !" aod quicker 'n you
3««
MARK TWAIN* S WORKS,
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: !
could wink, he'd spring straight up, and snake a fly off'n the counter
there, and flop down on the floor again as solid as a gob of mud, and .all
to scratching the side of his head with his hind foot as indifferent as if
he hadn't no idea he 'd been doin' any mom 'n any frog might do. You
never see a frog so modest and straigntfor'ard as he was, for all he was so
gifted. And when it come to fair and square jumping on a dead level,
ne could get over more ground at one straddle than any animal of hiu
breed you ever see. Jumping on a dead level was his strong suit, you
understand ; and when it come to that. Smiley would ante up money on
him as long as he had a red. Smilev was monstrous proud of his frog,
and weU he might be, for fellers that had travelled and oeen everywheree,
all said he laid over any frog that ever th&\f see.
Well, Smiley kept the beast in a little lattice box, and he used to fetch
him down town sometimes and lay for a bet. One day a feller — a
stranger in the camp, he was — come across him with his box, and
says :
" What might it be that you Ve got in the box % "
And Smiley says, sorter mdifferent Uke, " It might be a parrot, or it
might be a canary, maybe, but it an't — it's only just a frog."
And the feller took it, and looked at it careful, and turned it round
this way and that, and says, " H'm — so 'tis. Well, what 's he good for ] "
" Well," Smiley says, easy and careless, " he 's good enough for on*
thing, I should judge — he can outjump any frog in Calaveras county."
The feller took the box again, and took another long, particular look
and gave it back to Smiley, and says, very deliberate, " WelL I don't
see no p'ints about that frog that's any better 'n any other frog.
" Maybe you don't," Smiley says. " Maybe you understand frogs,
and maybe you don't understand 'em ; maybe you 've had experience,
and maybe you ain't only a amateur, as it were. Anyways, 1 've got
my opinion, and I '11 risk forty dollars that he can outjump any frog in
Calaveras county."
And the feller studied a minute, and then says, kinder sad Uke,
" Well, I 'm only a stranger here, and I an't got no frog ; but if I had a
frog, I 'd bet you."
And then Smiley says, "That's all right — that's all right — if you'll
hold my box a minute, I '11 go and get you a frog." And so the feller
took the box, and put up his forty dollars along with Smiley's, and set
down to wait.
So he set there a good while thinking and thinking to hisself, and
then he got the frog out and prized his mouth open and took a teaspoon
and filled him fuU of quail shot — iilled him pretty near up to his chin —
and set him on the floor. Smiley he went to the swamp and slopped
around in the mud for a long time, and finally he ketched a frog, and
fetched him in, and gave him to this feller, and says :
" Now, if you 're ready, set him alongside of Dan'l, with his fore-paws
just even with Dan'l, and I '11 give the word." Then he says, " One —
two — three — iump ! " and him and the feller touched up the frogs from
behind, and the new frog hopped off, but Dan'l give a heave, and hysted
up his ■houlden — eo— like a Frenchman, but it wan't no use— he couldn't
BRITISH FESTIVITIES, ^
badge ; he wai planted as solid as an anvil, and he couldn't no more stii
than if he was anchored out Smiley was a good deal surprised, and he
was disgusted too, but he didn't have no idea what the matter was, of
course.
The feller took the money and started away ; and when he was going
out at the door, he sorter jerked his thumb over his shoulder — this way
— at Dan'l, and says again, very deliberate, " Well, 1 don't see no p'ints
about that frog that 's any better 'n any other frog."
Smiley he stood scratching his head and looking down at Dani a long
time, and at last he says, " I do wonder what in the nation that frog thro wed
off for — I wonder if there an't something the matter with him — he 'pears
to look mighty baggy, somehow." And he ketched Dan'l by the nap of
the neck, and lifted him up and says, "Why, blame my cats, if he cfon't
weigh five pound ! " and turned him upside down, and he belched out a
double handful of shot. And then he see how it was, and he was the
maddest man — he set the frog down and took out after that feller, but he
never ketched him. And
[Here Simon Wheeler heard his name called from the front yard, and
got up to see what was wanted.] And turning to me as lie moved away,
e said : " Just set where you are, stranger, and rest easy — I ain't going
to be gone a second."
But, by your leave, I did not think that a continuation of the history
of the enterprising vagabond Jwn Smiley would be likely to afford me
much information concerning the i2«v. Leonidcu W. Smiley, and so I
started away.
At the door I met the sociable Wheeler returning, and he button-holed
me and recommenced :
" Well, thish-yer Smiley had a yaller one-eyed cow that didn't have
no tail, only just a short stump like a bannanner, and"
" Oh ! hang Smiley and his afflicted cow ! " I muttered, good-naturedly,
and bidding the old gentleman good-day, I departed.
BRITISH FESTIVITIES.
NIAGARA FALLS is a most enjoyable place of resort. The hotels
are excellent, and the prices not at all exorbitant. The oppor-
tunities for fishing are not surpassed in the coimtry; in fact,
they are not even equalled elsewhere. Because, in other localities,
certain places in the streams are much better than others ; but at
Niagara one place is just as good as another, for the reason that the fish
do not bite anywhere, and so there is no use in your walking five miles
to fish, when you can depend of being just as unsuccessful nearer home.
The advantages of this state of things have never heretofore been
properly placed before the public.
The weather is cool in summer, and the walks and drives are all
.r>r
I;
1
366
MARK TWAIN*S WORKS,
I !>
I.
i^«
' 'I
•«'
t <
\i '
' -i-
'i:|'
pleasant and none of them fatiguing. When you start out to '*do*'
the Falls you first drive down about a mile, and pay a small sum fox
tlie privilege of looking down from a precipice into tne narrowest part
of tne Niagara river. A railway " cut " through a hill would be as
comely if it had the angry river tumbling and foaming through its
bottom. You can descend a staircase here a hundred and fifty feet
down, and stand at the edge of the water. After you have done it, you
will wonder why you did it ; but you will then be too late.
The guide will explain to you, in his blood-curdling wajr, how he saw
the little steamer. Maid of the Mist, descend the fearfm rapids — how first
one paddle-box was out of sight behind the raging billows, and then the
other, and at what point it was that her smokestack toppled overboard,
and where her planking began to break and part asunder — and how she
did finally live through the trip, after accomplisliing the incredible
feat of travelling seventeen miles in six minutes, or six miles in seven*
teen minutes, I have really forgotten which. But it was very extra-
ordinary, anyhow. It is worth the price of admission to hear the guide
tell the story nine times in succession to different parties, and never
miss a word or alter a sentence or a gesture.
Then you drive over the Suspension Bridge, and divide yom- misery
between the chances of smashing down two nundred feet into the river
below, and the chances of having the railway train overhead smashing
down on to you. Either possibility is discomforting taken by itself
but mixed together, they amount in the aggregate to positive unhap>
piness.
On the Canada side you drive along the chasm between long ranks of
photographers standing guard behind their camera $», ready to make an
ostentatious frontispiece of you and your decaying a vbulance, and your
solemn crate with a hide on it, which you are expected to regard in tlie
light of a horse, and a diminished and unimportant background of
sublime Niagara ; and a great many people have the inelfable effrontery
or the native depravity to aid and abet this sort of crime.
Any day, in the hands of these photographers, you may see stately
pictures of papa and mamma, Johnny and Bub and Sis, or a couple of
country cousins, all smiling hideously, and all disposed in studied and
uncomfortable attitudes in their carriage, and all looming up in their
grand and awe-inspiring imbecility before the snubbed and diminished
presentment of that majestic presence, whose ministering spirits are the
rainbows, whose voice is the thunder, whose awful front is veiled in
clouds, who was monarch here dead and forgotten ages before this hack-
ful of small reptiles was deemed temporarily necessary to fill a crack in
the world's imnoted myriads, and will still be monarch here ages and
decades of ages after they shall have gathered themselves to their
blood relations, the other worms, and been mingled with the uniemem-
bering dust.
There is no actual harm in making Niagara a background whereon
to display one's marvellous insignificance in a good strong light, but
it requires a sort of superhuman self-complaccmcy to enable one ta
doit
i , h
it,4,
rt out to **do*
a small aum fox
B narrowest part
II would be as
ling through its
d and fifty feet
ave done it, you
[ate.
iray, how he saw
•apids — how first
ivs, and then the
jpled overboard,
sr — and how she
y the incredible
I miles in seven-
was very extra-
hear the guide
trties, and never
ide your misery
set into the river
erhead smashing
taken by itself
positive unhap-
len long ranks of
>ady to make an
ilance, and your
o regard in the
background of
'able effrontery
may see stately
or a couple of
in studied and
ing up in their
and diminished
g spirits are the
3nt is veiled in
efore this hack-
.0 fill a crack in
here ages and
lelves to their
the imiemem-
round whereon
irong light, but
enable one ta
BRITISH FESTIVITIES. |6y
When yon have examined the stupendous Horseshoe Fall till jufi ai«
gatisfied you cannot improve on it, you return to America by tlie new
Suspension Bridge, and follow up the bank to where they exhibit th«
Cave of the Winds.
Here I followed instructions, and divested myself of all my clothing,
and put on a waterproof jacket and overalls. Tliis costume is pictur-
esque, but not beautiful. A guide, similarly dressed, led the way down
a flight of winding stairs, which wound and wound, and still kept on
winding long after the thing ceased to be a novelty, and then terminated
long before it had beg\m to be a pleasure. We were tlien well down
under the precipice, but still consiaerably above the level of the river.
We now began to creep along flimsy bridges of a single plank, our
persons shielded from perdition by a crazy wooden railing, to which I
clung with both hands — not because I was afraid, but because I wanted
to. Presently the descent became steeper, and the bridge flimsier, and
sprays from the American Fall began to rain down on us in fast-
increasing sheets that soon became blinding, and after that our progress
was mostly in the nature of groping. Now a furious wind began to
rush out from behind the waterfall, which seemed determined to sweep
us from the bridge, and scatter us on the rocks and among the torrents
below. I remarked that I wanted to go home ; but it was too late.
We were almost under the monstrous wall of water thundering down
from above, and speech was in vain in the midst of such a pitiless crash
of sound.
In another moment the guide disappeared behind the grand deluge,
and bev^ildered by the thunder, driven helplessly by the wind, and
smitten by the arrowy tempest of rain, I followed. All was darkness.
Such a mad storming, roaring, and bellowing of warring wind and water
never crazed my ears before. I bent my head, and seemed to receive
the Atlantic on my back. The world seemed going to destruction. I
could not see anything, the flood poured down so savagely. I raised my
head, with open mouth, and the most of the American cataract went
down my throat. If I had sprung a leak now, I had been lost. And at
this moment I discovered that the bridge had ceased, and we must trust
for a foothold to the slippery and precipitous rocks. I never was so
scared before and survived it. But we got through at last, and emerged
into the open day, where we could stand in front of the laced and frothy
and seething world of descending water, and look at it When I saw
how much of it there was, and how fearfully in earnest it was, I was
sorry I had gone behind it.
I said to the guide, " Son, did you know what kind of an infernal
place this was before vou brought me down here ? "
"Yes."
This was sufficient. He had known all the horror of the place, and
jret he brought me there ! I regarded it as deliberate arson. I then
destroyed hun.
I managed to find my way back alone to the place from whence I had
itarted on this foolish enterprise, and then hurried over to Canada, to
ftvoid having to pay for the guide.
•\'- \ ■
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3fARir TWAIN'S WORKS,
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111
I ^'ti
I, :
At the principal hotel I fell in with the Major of the 48d Fruiileenk
and a dozen other hearty and hu8])itable Eiiulishnien, and they invitecl
me to join them in celebratinu the Que«n*H birthday. I said I would
bu delighted to do it I said 1 liked ull the ICngfiahmen I had uvui
h<i]>])ened to be act^uainted with, and that I, like all my countrymen,
id mired and honoured the Queen. But I Baid there was one iiuiu])er-
ublc drawback — I never drank anything strong upon any occasioi)
whiitt^ver, and I did not aee how I wua going to do proper and ample
juHtice to anybody's birthday with the thin and ungenerous beverages I
WftH accustomed to.
The Major scratched his head, and thought over the matter at con-
flidorable length ; but there seemed to be no way of mastering the
dilllculty, and he was too much of a gentleman to suggest even a tem-
porary abandonment of my princij)le8. But by-and-by he said —
" I have it. Drink soda-water. As long as you never do drink
anything more nutritious, there isn't any impropriety in it."
And so it was settled. We met in a large parlour, handsomely
decorated with flags and evergreens, imd seated ourselves at a board well
laden with creature comforts, both solid and liquid. The toaats were
happy, and the speeches were good, and we kept it up until long after
midnight. I never enjoyed myself more in my life. I drank thirty,
eight bottles of soda water. But do you know that that is not a reliable
article for a steady drink ? It is too gassy. When I got up in the
morning I was full of gas, and as tight as a balloon. I hadn't an article
of clothing that I could wear except my umbrella.
After breakfast I found the Major making grand preparations agoin.
I asked what it was for, and he said this was the Prince of Wales'i
birthday. It had to be celebrated that evening. We celebrated it
Much against my expectations, we had another splendid time. We
kept it up till some time after midnight again. I was tired of soda, and
so I changed off for lemonade. I drank several quarts. You may con-
sider lemonade better for a steady drink than soda-water ; but it isn't
80. In the morning it had soured on my stomach. Biting an3rthiug
was out of the question — it was equivalent to lock-jaw. I was beginning
to feel worn and sad too.
Shortly after luncheon, I found the Major in the midst of some more
preparations. He said this was the Princess Alice's birthday. I con-
cealed my grief.
" Who is the Princess Alice ? " I asked.
" Daughter of Her Majesty the Queen," the Major said.
I succumbed. That night we celebrated the Princess Alice's birth-
day. We kept it up as late as usual, and really I enjoyed it a good
deal But I could not stand lemonade. I drank a couple of kegs of
ice- water.
Jji the morning I had toothache, and cramps, and chilblains, and my
teeth were on edge from the lemonade, and I was still pretty gassy. I
fbimd the inexorable Major at it again.
**AVhoisthi8for?"Iasked.
** Uis Royal Highness the Duke of Edinburgh,^' he laid.
' li!
THE INCOME-TAX MAN,
M
the 42(1 Foiilm
, and they invited
\ I said I would
ishmen I hud uvei
[ uiy countrymen,
I was one in8U})er-
pou any occasion
proper and ample
leroua beverages I
Jie matter at con-
of mastering the
iggest even a tem-
>r he said —
never do drink
in it."
lour, handsomely
res at a board well
The toojsts were
p antil long after
. I drank thirty,
at is not a reliable
1 I got up in the
I hadn't an article
ireparations again.
Prince of Wales'i
fVe celebrated it
endid time. We
tired of soda, and
You may con-
'ater ; but it isn't
Biting anjrthing
I was beginning
dst of some more
irthday. I con-
kd.
less Alice's birth-
pnjoyed it a good
couple of kegs of
Iblalns, and my
[pretty gassy. I
3.
•« Son of the Queen 1 "
"Yes."
'♦ And this is his birthday- you havent made any mistake 1 *
•* No; th« (celebration comes off to-night."
I bowed before the new calamity. Wo celebrated the day. [ drank
part of a V)«rrel of cidor. Among the firHt o>»jectH that met my weary
und jaundice'^ eye the next <lay was the Major at Ins interminable pre-
parations agai 1. My heart woh broken, und 1 wept.
" Whom do we mourn thin time ? " I 8ai<l.
** The Princess Beatrice, daughter of the Queen,"
" Here, now," I said ; " it is time to inquire into this thing. How
long is the Queen's family likely to hold out I Who comes next on the
listl"
" Their Royal Highnesses the Duke of Cambridge, the Princess
Royal, Prince Arthur, Princess Mary of Teck Prince Leopold, the
Grand Duke of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, the Grand Duchess of mecklen-
burg-Strelitz, Prince Victor Albert "
" Hold ! There 's a limit to human endurance. I am only mortah
What man dare do, I dare ; but he who can celebrate this family in
detail and live to tell it, is less or more than man. If you have to go
through this every year, it is a mercy I was born in America, for \
haven't constitution enough to be an Englishman. I shall have to with*
draw from this enterprise. I am out of drinks. Out of drinks, and so
many more to celebrate ! Out of drinks, and only just on the outskirts
of the family yet, as you may say ! I am sorry enough to have to with-
draw, but it IS plain enough that it has to be done. I am full of gas,
and my teeth are loose, and I am wrenched with cramps, and afflicted
with scurvy, and toothache, measles, mumps, and lockjaw, and the
iiider last night has given me the cholera. Gentlemen, I mean well ;
but really I am not in a condition to celebrate the other birthdays,
(jlive us a rest"
THE INCOME-TAX MAN.
THE first notice that was taken of me when I "settled down"
recently, was by a gentleman who said he was an assessor, and
connected with the U. S. Internal Revenue Department. I said I
had never heard of his branch of business before, but I was veiy glad
to see him all the same — would he sit down ? He sat down. I did not
know anything particular to say, and yet I felt that people who have
arrived at the dignity of keeping house must be conversational, must be
easy and sociable in company. So, in default ol anything else to say, I
asked him if he was opemng his shop in our neighbourhood ?
He said he was. [I did not wish to appear ignorant, but I ha,d hoped
he would mention wnat he had for sale.]
I ventured to ask him " How was trade 1 " And he wd " So-so."
2a
370
MARK TWAIN'S WORKS.
I then said we would drop in, and if we liked his house as well as
any other, we would give him our custom.
He said he thought we would like his establishment well enough to
confine ourselves to it — said he never saw anybody who would go off
and hunt up another man in his line after trading with him once.
That sounded pretty complacent, but barring that natural expression
of vUlany which we all have, the man looked honest enough.
I do not know how it came about exactly, but graduall;y' we appeared
to melt down and run together, conversationally speaking, and then
everything went along as comfortably as clockworik.
We talked, and talked, and talked — at least I did ; and we laughed,
and laughed, and laughed — at least he did. But all the time I had my
presence of mind about me — I had my native shrewdness turned on
"full head," as the engineers say. I was determined to find out all
about his business in spite of his obscure answers — and I was determined
I T"^ould have it out of him without his suspecting what I was at. I
meant to trap him with a deep, deep ruse. I would tell him all about
tny own business, and he would naturallv so warm to me during this
leductive burst of confidence that he would forget himself, and tell me
all about his affairs before he suspected what 1 was about. I thought
to myself, My son, you little know what an old fox you are deamig
with. I said —
" Now you never would guess what I made lecturing this winter and
last sprinff ? "
"No^don't believe I could, to save me. Let me see — let me see.
About two ^thousand dollars, maybe ? But no ; no, sir, I know you
couldn't have made that much. Say seventeen hundred, maybe 1 "
** Ha! ha ! I knew you couldn't. My lecturing receipts for last spring
and this winter were fourteen thousand seven hundred!^ and fifty dollars.
What do you think of that 1 "
" Why, it is amazing — perfectly amazing. I will make a note of ii
And you say even this wasn't all ? "
** All ! Why bless you, there was my income from the Daily War-
vihoop for four months — about — about — well, what should you say to
about eight thousand dollars, for instance 1 "
" Say ! Whv, I should say I should like to see myself rolling in
just such another ocean of affluence. Eight thousand ! I '11 make a
note of it Why, man I — and on top of all this I am to understand that
you had still more income ? "
" Ha ! ha ! ha ! Whv, you 're only in the suburbs of it, so to speak.
There's my book, 'The Innocents Abroad' — price $3.50 to $5.00,
according to the binding. Listen to me. Look me in the eye. During
the last four months and a half, saving nothing of sales before that, but
just simply during the four months and a half, we 've sold ninety-five
thousand copies of that book. Ninety-five thousand ! Think of it.
Average four dollars a copy, say. It 's nearly four hundred thousand
dollars, my son. I get half.''
** The suffering Moses I 1 11 set that down. Fourteen-seven-fifty—
eight — two hundred. Total, say — well, upon my word, the grand total
house as weU as
it well enough to
vho would go off
. him once.
latural expression
lough.
ally we appeared
mking, and then
and we laughed,
le time I had my
dness turned on
d to find out all
I was determined
That I was at I
3II him all about
) me during this
Lself, and tell me
ibout. I thought
you are dealing
g this winter and
see — let me see.
ir, I know you
, maybe ? "
;s for last spring
and fifty dollars.
ake a note of ii
the Daily War-
ould you say to
lyself rolling in
I'll make a
understand that
] t
it, so to speak.
$3.50 to $5.00,
le eye. During
before that, but
sold ninety-five
Think of it
indred thousand
ien-seven-fifty—
the grand total
T/fE INCOME-TAX MAN.
371
Is about two hundred and thirteen or fourteen thousand dollars ! Ii
that possible ? "
" Possible ! If there 's any mistake it 's the other way. Two hundred
and fourteen thousand, cash, is my income for thiu year, if I know how
to cipher."
Then the gentleman got up to go. It came over me most uncomfort-
ably that maybe J had made my revelations for nothing, besides being
flattered into stretching them considerably by the stranger's astonished
exclamations. But no ; at the last moment the gentleman handed me a
large envelope, and said it contained his advertisement ; and that I would
find out all about his business in it ; and that he would be happy to
have my custom — ^would, in fact, be proud to have the custom of a man
of such prodigious income ; and that he used to think there were several
wealthy men in the city, but when they came to trade with him, lie
discovered that they barely had enough to live on ; and that, in truth,
it had been such a weary, weary age since he had seen a rich man face
to face, and talked with him, and touched him with his hands, that he
could hardly refrain from embracing me — in fact, would esteem it a
great favour if I would let him embrace me.
This so pleased me that I did not try to resist, but allowed this
simple-hearted stranger to throw his arms about me and weep a few
tranquillising tears down the back of my neck. Then he went nis way.
As soon as he was gone I opened his advertisement. I studied it
attentively for four minutes. I then called up the cook, and said —
" Hold me while I faint ! Let Marie turn the griddle-cakes."
By and by, when I came to, I sent down to the rum mill on the
comer and hired an artist by the week to sit up nights and curse that
stranger, and give me a lift occasionally in the daytime when I came to
a hara place.
Ah, what a miscreant ho was ! His " advertisement" was nothing in
the world but a wicked tax-return — a string of impertinent questions
about my private affairs, occupying the best part of four foolscap pages
of fine print — questions, I may remark, gotten up with such marvellous
ingenuity, that the oldest man in the world couldn't understand what the
most of them were driving at— <^uestions, too, that were calculated to
make a man report about four times his actual income to keep from
sAvearing to a falsehood. I looked for a loophole, but there did not appear
to be any. Inquiry No. 1 covered my case as generously and as amply
as an umbrella could cover an ant-hill —
" What were your profits, during the past year, from any trade, business, or
▼ocation, wherever carried on 1 "
And that inquiry was backed up by thirteen others of an equally
searching nature, the most modest of which required information as to
whether I had committed any burglary or highway robbery, or by any
arson or other secret source of emolument, had acquired property which
was not enumerated in my statement of income as set opposite to
inquiry No. 1. ,1 ,.:.,;... .■<..'} /: iuth -t/uf.-^ '
It was plun that that stianger had enabled me to make a goose of
i
"»r
■f- :
372
MARK TWAIN'S WORKS.
'H'!
Ji ^v
\h
•i. (
myself. It was veiy, very plain ; and bo I went out and hired anotheT
artist By working on my vanity, the stranger had seduced me into
declaring an income of $214,000. By law, Z^OOO of this was exempt from
income-tax — the only relief I could see, and it was only a drop in the ocean«
At the legal fi/e per cent., I must pay over to the Government the ap-
palling sum of ten thousand six hundred and fifty dollars, income-tax !
[I may remark, in this place, that I did not do it.]
1 am acquainted with a very opulent man, whose house is a palace,
whose table is regal, whose outlays are enormous, yet a man wno has
no income, as I have often noticea by the revenue returns ; and to him
I went for advice, in m/ distress. He took my dreadful exhibition of
receipts, he put on his glasses, he took his pen, and presto ! — I was a
pauper ! It was the neatest thing that ever was. He did it simply by
deftly manipulating the bill of "Deductions." He set down my
*' State, national, and municipal taxes " at so much ; my " losses by
shipwreck, fire, &;c.," at so much ; my "losses on sales of real estate" —
on " live stock sold " — on " payments for rent of homestead " — on " re-
pairs, improvements, interest " — on " previously taxed salary as an officer
of the United States' army, navy, revenue service," and other things.
He got astonishing " deductions " out of each and every one of these
matters — each and every one of them. And when he was done ho
handed me the paper, and I saw at a glance that during the year my
income, in the way of profits, had been one thoitsmid two hundred and
fifty dollars and forty cents.
" Now," said he, " the thousand dollars is exempt by law. What you
want to do is to go and swear this document in and pay tax on the two
hundred and fifty dollars."
[While he was making this speech his little boy Willie lifted a two
dollar green-back out of his vest pocket and vanished with it, and I
would wager anything that if my stranger were to call on that little
boy to-morrow he would make a lalse return of his income.]
" Do you," said I, " do you always work up the * deductions ' after
this fashion in your own case, sir ? "
" Well, I should say so ! If it weren't for those eleven saving clauses
under the head of 'Deduction' I should be beggared every year to
support this hateful and wicked, this extortionate and tyrannical govern-
ment."
This gentleman stands away up among the very best of the solid men
of the city— the men of moral weight, of conmiereial integrity, of unim-
Seachable social spotlessness — and so I bowed to his example. I went
own to the revenue office, and under the accusing eyes of my old
visitor I stood up and swore to lie after lie, fraud after fraud, viUany
after villany, till my soul was coated inches and inches thick with per-
jury, and my self-respect gone for ever and ever.
But what of it 1 It is nothing more than thousands of the highest,
and richest, and proudest, and most respected, honoured, and courted
men in America do every year. And so I don't care. I am not ashamed.
I shall simply, for the present, talk little, and eschew fire-proof glovesi,
lest I {all into ottrtain dreadful habito irreTOcably. ! ' '"' '
DANGER OF LYING IN BED.
37J
ANSWER TO AN INQUIRY FROM THE
COMING MAN.
" "VrOUNG AUTHOR." — Yes, Agassiz does recommend authors to eat
JL fiflh, because the phosphorus in it makes brains. So far you are
correct. But I cannot help you to a decision about the amount
you need to eat — at least, not with certainty. If the specimen composi-
tion you send is about your fair usual average, I should judge that per-
haps a couple of M-liales would be all you would want for the present.
Not the lai^est kind, but simply good, middling-sized whales.
DANGER OF LYING IN BED.
THE man in the ticket-office said, ^^Have on accident insurance
ticket, also 1"
" No," I said, after studying the matter over a little. " No, I
believe not ; I am going to be travelling by rail all day to-day. How-
ever, to-morrow I don't travel. Give me one for to-morrow." ;
The man looked puzzled. He said —
*' But it is for accident insurance, and if you are going to travel by
rail"
" If I am going to travel by rail I shan't need it. Lying at home in
bed is the tmng / am afraid of."
I had been looking into this matter. Last year I travelled twenty
thousand miles almost entirely by rail ; the year before I travelled over
twenty-five thousand miles, half by sea and half by rail ; and the year
before that I travelled in the neighbourhood of ten thousand nules,
exclusively by rail. I suppose, if I put in all the little odd journeys
here and there, I may say I have travelled sixty thousand miles during
the three years I have mentioned, and never an accident.
For a good while I said to myself every morning, " Now, I have
escaped thus far, and so the chances are just that much increased that I
shall catch it this time. I wiU be shrewd, and buy an accident ticket."
And to a dead moral certainty I drew a blank, and went to bed that
night without a joint started or a bone splintered. I got tired of that
sort of daily bother, and fell to buying accident tickets that were good
for a month. I said to myself, " A man can^t buy thirty blanks in one
bundle."
But I was mistaken. There was never a prize in the lot. I could
read of railway accidents every day — the newspaper atmosphere was
foggy with them ; but somehow they never came my way. I found I
had spent a good deal of money in the accident business, and had
m
r ■'
I
nr TT
S74
^yi^A' TWAIN'S WORKS,
' J
nothing to show for it. My suspicions were aroused, and I began to
hunt around for somebody that had won in this lottery. I found plenty
of people who had invested, but not an individual that had ever had an
accident or made a cent. I stopped buying accident tickets and went
to ciphering. The result was astounding. The febil lat not in
TBAVBLLINO, BUT IN STAYING AT HOME.
I himted up statistics, and was amazed to find that, after all the gl&^«
ing newspaper headings concerning raUroad disasters, less than threA
kmdred people had readly lost their lives by those disasters in the pre-
ceding twelve months. The Erie road was set down as the most murder-
ous in the list. It had killed forty-eix — or twenty-six, I do not exactly
remember which, but I know the number was double that of any other
road. But the fact straightway suggested itself that the Erie was an
immensely long road, and did more business than anv other line in the
country ; so the double number of killed ceased to be matter for sur-
prise.
By further figuring it appeared, that between New York and Rochester
the Erie ran eight passenger-trains each way every day — sixteen alto-
gether, and carried a daily average of 6000 persons. That is about a
million in six months — the population of New York city. Well, the
Erie kills from thirteen to twenty-three persons out of its million in six
months ; and in the same time 13,000 of New York's million die, in theii
beds ! Mv flesh crept, my hair stood on end. " This is appalling ! " I
said. " The danger isn't in travelling by rail, but in trusting to those
deadly beds. I will never sleep in a bed again."
I had figured on considerably less than one-half the length of th«
Erie road. It was plain that the entire road must transport at least
eleven or twelve thousand people every day. There are many short
roads running out of Boston that do fuUy half as much ; a great many
such roads. There are many roads scattered about the Union that do a
prodigious passenger business. Therefore it was fair to presume that an
average of 2500 passengers a day for each road in the country would be
about correct. There are 846 railway lines in our country, and 846
times 2500 are 2,115,000. So the railways of America move more than
two millions of people every day ; six hundred and fifty millions of
people a year, witnout counting the Sundays. They do tlmt, too, there
IS no question about it; though where thejr get the raw material is
clear beyond the jurisdiction of my arithmetic ; for I have hunted the
census through and through, and I find that there are not that many
people in the United States by a matter of six hundred and ten millions
at the very least They must use some of the same people over again,
likely.
San Francisco Ib one-eighth as populous as New York ; there are
60 deaths a week in the former and 500 a week in the latter — if
tliey have luck. That is, 3120 deaths a year in San Francisco, and
eight times as many in New York — say about 25,000 or 26,000. The
health of the two places is the same. So we will let it stand as a
foir presumption that this will hold good aU over the country, and
that couse(|[ueatly 25,000 out of every million of people we have
A TRAVELLING SHOW,
375
must die every year. That amoimts to one-fortieth of our total popiiU-
tiou. One million of us, then, die annually. Out of this million ten
or twelve thousand are stabbed, shot, drowned, hanged, poisoned, or
meet a similarly violent death in some other popular way, such as
perishing by kerosene lamp and hoop-skirt conflagrations, getting buried
in coal-mines, falling off housetops, breaking through church or lecture-
room floors, taking patent medicines, or committing suicide in other
forms. The Erie railroad kills from 23 to 46 ; the other 846 railroads
kiU an average of one-third of a man each ; and the rest of that million,
amounting in the aggregate to the appalling figure of nine hundred and
eighty-seven thousand six hundred and thirty-one corpses, die naturally
in their beds !
You will excuse me from taking any more chances on those beds.
The railroads are good enough for me.
And my advice to all people is, Don't stay at home any more than
you can help ; but when you have got to stay at home a while, buy a
package of those insurance tickets and sit up nights. You cannot be
too cautious.
The moral of this composition is, that thoughtless people grumble
more than is fair about railroad management in the United States.
When we consider that every day and night of the year full fourteen
thousand railway trains of various kinds, freighted with life and armed
with death, go thundering over the land, the marvel is, not that they
kill three hundred human beings in a twelvemonth,, but that they do
not kill three hundred times three hundred !
A TRAVELLING SHOW.
THERE was a feUow travelling aroimd in that country, said Mr
Nickerson, with a moral-religious show — a sort of scriptural
panorama — and he hired a wooden-headed old slab to play the
piano for him. After the first night's performance the showman says —
" My friend, you seem to know pretty much all the tunes there are,
and you worry along first-rate. But then, don't you notice that some-
times last night the piece you happened to be playing was a little rough
on the proprieties, so to speak — didn't seem to jibe with the general gait
of the picture that was passing at the time, as it were — was a little
foreign to the subject, you know — as if you didn't either trump or follow
suit, you understand ? "
" Well, no," the fellow said; "he hadn't noticed, but it might be;
he had played along just as it came handy."
So they put it up that the simple old dummy was to keep his eye on
the panorama after that, and as soon as a stunning picture was reeled
out he was to fit it to a dot with a piece of music that would help the
audience to get the idea of the subject, and warm them up like a camp-
meeting revival. That sort of thing would corral their sympathies, the
showman said.
i'1
376
MARK TWAIirS WORKS,
f;$v'i'l
\U\
There was a big audience that night — mostly middle-aged and old
people who belong to the church, and took a strong interest in Bible
matters, and the balance were pretty much young bucks and heifers—
they always come out strong on panoramas, you know, because it gives
them a chance to taste one another's mugs in the dark.
Well, the showman began to swell himself up for his lecture, and the
old mud-dobber tackled the piano and ran his fingers up and down once
or twice to see that she was all right, and the fellows behind the curtain
commenced to grind out the panorama. The showman balanced his
weight on his right foot, and propped his hands over his hips, and flung
his eyes over his shoulder at the scenery, and said—
" Ladies and gentlemen, the painting now before you illustrates the
beautiful and touching parable of the Prodigal Son. Observe the happy
expression just breaking over the features of the poor, suffering youth —
BO worn and weaiy with his long march ; note also the ecstasy beaming
from the upliftea countenance of the aged father, and the joy that
iparkles in the eyes of the excited group of youths and maidens, and
seems ready to burst into the welcoming chorus from their lips. The
lesson, my friends, is as solemn and instructive as the story is tender and
beautiiuL"
The mud-dobber was all ready, and when the second speech waa
finished, struck up —
" Oh, we '11 all get blind drunk,
When Johnny comes marching home ! "
Some of the people giggled, and some groaned a little. The showman
couldn't say a word ; he looked at the pianist sharp, but he was all lovely
and serene — he didn't know there was anything out of gear.
The panorama moved on, and the showman drummed up his girt and
started in fresh.
" Ladies and gentlemen, the fine picture now unfolding itself to your
gaze exhibits one of the most notable events in Bible history— our
Saviour and His disciples upon the Sea of Galilee. How grand, how
awe-inspiring are the reflections which the subject invokes? What
sublimity of faith is revealed to us in this lesson from the sacred writ-
ings ? The Saviour rebukes the angry waves, and walks securely upon
the bosom of the deep ! "
All around the house they were whispering, " Oh, how lovely, how
beautiful 1 " and the orchestra let himself out again — •
• - *' A life on the ocean wave,
And a home on the rolling deep ! "
There was a good deal of honest snickering turned on this time, and
considerable groaning, and one or two old deacons got up and went out.
The showman grated his teeth, and cursed the piano man to himself ;
but the fellow sat there like a knot on a log, and seemed to think he
was doin» first-rate.
After things got quiet the showman thought he would make one more
stagger at it any way, though his confidence was beginning to get
r 1i
ADVICE TO GOOD LITTLE GIRLS.
377
lond speech was
mighty sYiaky. The supes started the panorama grinding along again,
and he says —
" Ladies and gentlemen, this exquisite painting represents the raising
of Lazarus from the dead hy our Saviour. The subject has been handled
with marvellous skill by the artist, and such touching sweetness and
tenderness of expression has he thrown into it that I have known
peculiarly sensitive persons to be even affected to tears by looking at it.
Observe the half-confused, half-inquiring look upon the countenance of
the awakened Lazarus. Observe, also, the attitude and expression of
the Saviour, who takes him gently by the sleeve of his shroud with one
hand, while He points with the other toward the distant city."
Before anybooy could get off an opinion in the case the innocent old
ii6s at the piano struck up —
" Come, rise up, William Ri-i-ley,
And go along with me ! "
It was rough on the audience, you bet. All the solemn old flats got
up in a huff to go, and everybody else laughed till the windows rattled.
The showman went down and grabbed the orchestra and shook him
up, and says —
" That lets you out, you know, you chowder-headed old clam : Qo
to the door-keeper and get your money, and cut your stick — vamose the
rauclie! Ladies and gentlemen, circumstances over which I have no
control, compel me prematurely w dismiss the house."
1 1
: I
)w lovely, how
ADVICE TO GOOD LITTLE GIRLS.
GOOD little girls ought not to make mouths at their teachers for
eveiy trifling offence. This kind of retaliation should only be
resorted to under peculiarly aggravating circumstances.
If you have nothing but a rag doll stuffed with saw-dust, while one oi
your more fortunate little playmates has a costly china one, you should
treat her wdth a show of kindness nevertheless. And you ought not to
attempt to make a forcible swap with her unless your conscience would
justify you in it, and you know you are able to do it.
You ought never to take your little brother's " chawing-gum " away
from him by main force ; it is better to beguile with the promise of the
first two dollars and a half you find floating down the river on a grind-
stone. In the simplicity natural to his time of life, he wUl regard it as
a peifectly fair transaction. In all ages of the world this plausible
fiction has lured the obtuse infant to financial ruin.
If at any time you find it necessary to correct your brother, do not
correct him with mud — never on any account throw mud at him, be-
cause it will soil his clothes. It is better to scald him a little ; for then
you attain two desirable results — you secure his immediate attention to
the lesson you are inculcating, ana at the same time, your hot water will
have a tendency to remove impurities from his person — and possibly the
skin also, in spots.
I-
y\
n
!}•'•
nr
i-!T * 'I ;
378
MARX^ TWAIN'S WORKS.
If your mother tells you to do a thing, it is wrong to reply that you
won't. It is better and more becoming to intimate that you will do a»
•he bids you, and then afterwards aut quietly iu the matter according to
the dictates of your better judgment.
You should ever bear in mind that it is to your kind parents that you
are indebted for your food and your nice bed and your beautiful clothes,
and for the priyilege of staying home from school when you let on that
you are sick. Therefore you ought to respect their little prejudices and
humour their little whims, and put up with their little foibles, until they
get to crowding you too much.
Qood little girls should always show marked deference for the aged.
Vou ought never to **sass" old people, unless they "sass" you first
MAP OF PARIS.
I PUBLISHED my « Map of the Fortifications of Paris " in my own
paper a fortnight ago, but am obliged to reproduce it to satisfy the
extraordinary demand for it which has ansen in military circles
throughout the country. General Grant's outspoken commendation
originated this demand, and General Sherman's fervent endorsement
added fuel to it. The result is that tons of these maps have been fed to
tiie suflfering soldiers of our land, but without avail. They hunger stilL
We wiU cast these lines into the breach, and stand by and await the effect,
The next Atlantic mail will doubtless bring news of a European
frenzy for the map. It is reasonable to expect uiat the siege of Paris
will be suspended till a German translation of it can be forwarded (iu
is now in preparation), and that the defence of Paris will likewise be
suspended to await the reception of the French translation (now pro-
jessing under my own hands, and likely to be unique). King
William's high praise of the map, and Napoleon's frank enthusiasm
concerning its execution, will ensure its prompt adoption in Europe as
the only authoritative and legitimate exposition of the present military
situation. It is plain that if the Prussians cannot get into Paris with
the facilities afforded by this production of mine, they ought to deliver
the enterprise into abler hands.
Strangers to me keep insisting that this map does not '^explain
itself." One person came to me with bloodshot eyes and a harassed
look about him, and shook the map in my face, and said he believed I
was some new kind of idiot. I have been abused a ^ood deal by other
quick-tempered people like him, who came with smiilar complaints.
Now, therefore, I yield willingly, and for the information of the
ignorant will briefly explain the present military situation as illus-
t^ated by the map. Part of the Prussian forces, imder Prince Frederick
WilHam, are now boarding at the " farm-house " in the margin of the
map. There is nothing between them and Vincennes but a rail fenee
in bad repair. Any corporal can see at a glance that they have only to
bum it, pull it down, crawl under, climb over, or walk around it, just
n& the commauder-iu-ehief shall elect Another portion of the Prussian
MAP OF PARIS.
to reply that you
fit you will do a«
atter according to
I parents that you
beautiful clothes,
n you let on that
tie prejudices and
foibles, until they
ince for the aged,
ems" you first
?arifl " in my own
ce it to satisfy the
n military circles
n commendation
rent endorsement
I have been fed to
rhey hunger stilL
d await the effect,
fs of a European
le siege of Paris
be forwarded (iC
will likewise be
ation (now pro-
unique). King
rank enthusiasm
on in Europe as
present mihtary
into Paris with
ought to deliver
3S not "explain
and a harassed
d he believed I
Dd deal by other
ilar complaints,
rmation of the
nation as illus*
rince Frederick
margin of the
ut a rail fence
lOy have only to
around it, just
of the Prussian
■5
••Let the student who desires to contemplate the map stand on his head,
or hold it before a looking-glass. That will bring it right. "
•• I have seen a great many maps in my time, but none that this map
reminds me of." — Trochu.
"I said to my son, Frederick William, 'If you could only make a map
like that, I should be perfectly willing to see you die-even anxious. '"-
IFiKiom ii/. -Page 380.
• 'i
rri
MAP OF PARTS.
379
forces are at Podunk, under Von Moltke. Thev have nothing to do
but float down the river Seine on a raft and scale the walls ot Paris.
Let the worshippers of that overrated soldier believe in liini still, and
abide the result : for me, / do not believe he will ever think of a ralu
At Omaha and the High Bridge are vast maeoes of Prussian infantry, and
it is only fair to say that they are likely to ziay there, as that figure of
a window-sash between them stands for a brewery. Away up out of
sight over the top of the map is the fleet of the Pioissian navy, ready at
any moment to come cavorting down the Erie Canal (imless some
new iniquity of an unprincipled Legislature shall put up the tolls, and
80 render it cheaper to walk.) To me it looks as if Paris is in a
singularly close place,
map.
She never was situated before as she is in this
Mark Twain.
TO THE READER.
The accompanying map explains itself.
The idea oi this map is not original with me, but is borrowed from
the great metropolitan journals.
I claim no other merit for this production (if I may so call it) than
that it is accurate. The main blemish of the city paper-maps, of which
it is an imitation, is, that in them more attention seems paid to artistic
picturesqueness than geographical reliability.
Inasmuch as this is the firat time I ever tried to draft and engrave
h map, or attempt anything in the line of art at all, the commendations
the work has received, and the admiration it has excited among the
people, have been very grateful to my feelings. And it is touching to
reflect that by far the most enthusiastic of these praises have come Oom
people who know nothing at all about art.
By an unimportant oversight I have engraved the map so that it reads
wrong end first, except to left-handed people. I forgot that in order to
make it right in print it should be drawn and engraved upside down.
However, let the student who desires to contemplate the map stand on
his head, or hold it before a looking-glass. That will bring it right.
The reader will comprehend at a glance that that piece of river with
the " High Bridge" over it got left out to one side by reason of a slip of
the graving-tool, which rendered it necessary to change the entire course
of the River Rhine, or else spoil the map. After having spent two days
in digging and gouging at the map, I would have changed the course of
the Atlantic Ocean before I would have lost so much work.
I never had so much trouble with anything in my life as I had with
this map, I had heaps of little fortifications scattered aU around Paris
at first, but every now and then my instrument would slip and fetch
away whdle miles of batteries, and leave the vicinity as clean as if the
Prussians had been there.
The reader will find it well to frame this map for future reference, so
that it may aid in extending popular intelligence, and dispelling the
gvide-spread ignorance of the day. Mark Twain.
'm
Id
ifii
180
UAUX TWAIN*S WORKS.
OFFICIAL COMMENDATIONS.
It 18 the only map of the kind I ever saw.
It places the situation in an entirely new light
I cannot look upon it without shedding tears.
It is very nice large print.
U. S. Qraitp,
Bismarck.
BRianAM YoDNO.
Napoleon.
My wife was for years afflicted with freckles, and, though everythinj2
was done for her relief that could he done, all was in vain. But, gir,
since her lirst glance at your map, they have entirely left her. She hac
nothin*' but convulsions now.
J. Smith.
If I had had this map I could have got out of Metz without anj
iroubl«.
Bazaimu.
I have seen a great many maps in my time, but none that this oue
reminds me of.
Troohu.
It is but fair to say that in some respects it is a truly remarkable map.
W. T. Sherman.
I said to my son Fred crick William, " If you could only make a map
like that I should be perfectly willing to see you die— even anxious."
WlXilJAM III.
[-4|ii !
51
ABOUT BARBERS.
ALL things change except barbers, the ways of barbers, and the sur-
roundings of barbers. These never change. What one experiences
in a barber's shop the first time he enters oue is what he always
experiences in barbers shops afterwards till the end of his days. I got
shaved this morning as usual. A man approached the door from Jones
Street as I approached it from Main — a tning that always happens. 1
hurried up, but it was of no use ; he entered the door one little step
oJiead of me, and I followed in on his heels and saw him take the onlv
U. S. Orant.
BlSMAROK.
GUAM YoDNO.
Napoleon.
lough everything
I vaiii. But, girj
3l't her. She hue
J. Smith.
leU without an}
Bazaimk.
^iie that this oue
Trochu.
remarkable map.
T. Sherman.
nly make a map
even anxious."
VlLUAM 111.
:s, and the sur-
one experiences
hat he always
lis days. I got
oor from Jonea
ra happens, i
one little step
take the ohIt
ABOUT BARBERS,
381
racant chair, the one presided over hy the best barber. It alwaya
lianpens so. I sat down, hoping that I might fall heir to the chair
i)elonging to the l)ettcr of the remaining two barbers, for he had already
kvun combing liis man's hair, while his comrade was not yet quite done
rubbing up and oiling his cuHtomer's locks. I watclic<l the prolMibilities
with strong interest. When 1 saw that No. 2 was gaining' on No. 1 my
interest grew to solicitude. When No. 1 stopped a moment to make
change on a bath ticket for a newcomer, and lost ground in the race, my
Holicitude rose to anxiety. When No. 1 caught up again, and both he
and his comrade were pulling the towels away and brushing the powder
from their customer's cheeks, and it was about an even thing which one
would say " Next I " first, my very breath stood still with the suspense.
But when at the culmuiating moment No. 1 stopped to pass a comb
a couple of times through his customer's eyebrows, I saw that he had
lost tne race by a sini^de instant, and I rose indignant and quitted the
shop, to keep from falling into the hands of No. 2 ; for I have none
uf that enviable firmness that enables a man to look calmly into the
eyes of a waiting barber and toll him he will wait for his fellow-barber's
chair.
I stayed out fifteen minutes, and then went back, hoping for better
luck. Of course all the chairs were occupied now, and four men sat
waiting, silent, unsociable, distraught, and looking bored, as men
iilways do who are awaiting their turn in a barber's shop. I sat down
in one of the iron-armed compartments of an old sofa, and put in the
time for a while reading the framed advertisements of all sorts of
quack nostrums for dyeing and colouring the hair. Then I read the
greasy names on the private bay rum bottles ; rea( [ the names and
noted the numbers on the private shaving cups in the pigeon-holes j
studied the stained and damaged cheap prints on the walls, of battles,
early Presidents, and voluptuous recumbent sultanas, and the tiresome
and everlasting young girl putting her grandfather's spectacles on ;
execrated in my heart the cheerful canary and the distracting parrot
that few barber's shops are without. Finally, I searched out the least
dilapidated of last year's illustrated papers that littered the foul centre-
table, and conned their unjustifiable misrepresentations of old forgotten
events.
At last my turn came. A voice said " Next ! " and 1 surrendered to
—No. 2, of course. It always happens so. I said meekly that I was in
a hurry, and it affected him as strongly as if he had never heard it. He
nhoved up my head, and put a napkin under it. He ploughed his fingers
into my collar and fixed a towel there. He explored my hair with his
claws and suggested that it needed trimming. I said I did not want it
trimmed. He explored again and said it was pretty long for the present
style — better have a little taken off ; it needed it behind especially. I
said I had had it cut only a week before. He yearned over it reflec-
tively a moment, and then asked with a disparaging manner, who cut
it ? I came back at him promptly with a " You did ! " I had him
there. Then he fell to stirring up nis lather and regarding himself in
the glass, stopping now and then to get close and examme his chin
I H
i- rt
8". I"
382
AM^A' TWAIN'S WORKS,
criticallv or inspect a pimple. Then he lathered one side of my face
thoroughly, and was about to lather the other, when a dog fight attracted
his attention, and he ran to the window and stayed and saw it out,
losing two shillings on the result in bets with the other barbers, a thing
which gave me great stitisfaction. He finished lathering, and then began
to rub in the suds with his hand.
He now began to sharpen his razor on an old suspender, and was
delayed a good deal on account of a controversy about a cheap masquerade
ball he had figured at the night before, in red cambric and bogus ermine,
as some kind of a king. He was so gratified with being chaffed about
some damsel whom he had smitten with his charms that he used every
means to continue the controversy by pretending to be annoyed at the
chaffings of his fellows. This matter begot more surveyings of himself
in the glass, and he put down his razor and brushed ms hair with
elaborate care, plastering an inverted arch of it down on his forehead,
accomplishing an accurate " part " behind, and brushing the two wings
forward over his ears with nice exactness. In the meantime the lather
was drying on my face, and apparently eating into my vitals.
Now he began to shave, digging his fingers into my countenance to
stretch the sMn, bundling and tumbling my head this way and that as
convenience in shaving demanded, and expectorating pleasantly all the
while. As long as he was on the tough sides of my face I did not
suffer ; but when he began to rake, and rip, and tug at my chin, the
tears came. He now made a handle of my nose, to assist him in shav-
ing the comers of my upper lip, and it was by this bit of circumstantial
evidence that I discovered that a part of his duties in the shop was to
clean the kerosene lamps. I had often wondered in an indolent way
whether the barbers did that, or whether it was the boss.
About this time I was amusing myself trying to guess where he would
be most likely to cut me this time, but he got ahead of me, and sliced
me on the end of the chin before I had got my mind made up. He im-
mediately sharpened his razor — he might have done it before. I do not
like a close shave, and would not let Mm go over me a second time. I
tred to get him to put up his razor, dreading that he would make for
the side of my chin, my pet tender spot, a place which a razor cannot
touch twice without making trouble ; but he said he only wanted to just
smooth off one little roughness, and in that same moment he slipped his
razor along the forbidden ground, and the dreaded pimplij-signs of a
close shave rose up smarting and answered to the caU. Now he soaked
his towel in bay rum, and slapped it all over my face nastily ; slapped
it over as if a human being ever yet washed his face in that way. Then
he dried it hy slapping with the dry part of the towel, as if a human
being ever dried his face in such a fashion ; but a barber seldom rubs
vou like a Christian. Next he poked bay rum into the cut place with
his towel, then choked the wound with powdered starch, then soaked
it with bay rum again, and would have gone on soaking and powdering
it for evermore, no doubt, if I had not rebelled and begged off. He
powdered my whole face now, straightened me up, and began to plough
my hair thoughtfully with his hands. Then he suggested a shampoo,
9 side of my face
log fight attracted
and saw it out,
r barbers, a thing
g, and then began
pender, and was
iheap masquerade
ind bogus ermine,
ng chaffed about
at he used every
e annoyed at the
eyings of himself
led his hair with
on his forehead,
ag the two wings
mtime the lather
vitals.
y countenance to
way and that as
pleasantly all the
y face I did not
; at my chin, the
sist him in shav-
of circumstantial
the shop was to
an indolent way
>ss.
s where he would
)f me, and sliced
ade up. He im-
efore. I do not
second time. I
Iwould make for
h a razor cannot
y wanted to just
t he slipped his
mpli-signs of a
Now he soaked
astily J slapped
hat way. Then
|1, as if a human
ber seldom rubs
|e cut place with
ch, then soaked
and powdering
egged off. He
egan to plough
ted a shampoo,
AURELIA'S UNFORTUNATE YOUNG MAN. 383
and said my hair needed it badly, very badly. I observed tliat I
shampooed it myself very thoroughly in the bath yesterday. I ** had
him " again. He next recommended some of " Smith's Hair Glorifier,"
and offered to sell me a bottle. I declined. He praised the new
perfume, " Jones's Delight of the Toilet," and proposed to sell me
some of that. I declined again. He tendered me a toothwash atrocity
of his own invention, and when I declined offered to trade knives
with me.
He returned to business after the miscarriage of this last enterprise,
sprinkled me aU over, legs and all, greased my hair in defiance of my
protest against it, rubbed and scrubbed a good deal of it out by the roots,
and combed and brushed the rest, parting it behind, and plastering the
eternal inverted arch of hair down on my forehead, and then, while
combing my scant eyebrows and defiling them with pomade, strung out
an account of the achievements of a six-ounce black and tan terrier of
his till I heard the whistles blow for noon, and knew I was five minutes
too late for the train. Then he snatched away the towel, brushed it
lightly about my face, passed his comb through my eyebrows once more,
and gaily sang out *' Next ! "
This barber fell down and died of apoplexy two hours later. I am
•raiting over a day for my revenge — I am going to attend his funeral.
AURELIA'S UNFORTUNATE YOUNG
,„:....,...„.. MAN. „ , ,, ,
THE facts in the following case came to me by letter from a young
lady who lives in the beautiful city of San Jos6 ; she is perfectly
unknown to me, and simply signs herself " Aurelia Maria," which
may possibly be a fictitious name. But no matter, the poor girl is almost
heartbroken by the misfortunes she has undergone, and so confused by the
conflicting counsels of misguided friends and insidious enemies, that she
does not know what course to pursue in order to extricate herseK from
the web of difficulties in which she seems almost hopelessly involved.
In this dilenmia she turns to me for help, and supplicates for my guidance
and instruction with a moving eloquence that would touch the heart of
a statue. Hear her sad story : —
She says that when she was sixteen years old she met and loved, with
all the devotion of a passionate nature, a young man from New Jersey,
named Williamson Breckinridge Caruthers, who was some six years her
senior. They were engaged, with the free consent of their friends and
relatives, and for a time it seemed as if their career was destined to be
characterised by an immunity from sorrow beyond the usual lot of
humanitv. But «t last the tide of fortune turned ; voung Carutheni
't '^ A'\
5^4
MARK TWAIN'S WORKS.
m
became infected with small-pox of the most virulent type, and when ho
recovei ed from his illness, his face was pitted like a waflfle-mould and
his comeliness gone for ever. Aurelia thought to break off the engage-
rient at first, but pity for her unfortunate lover caused her to postpone
the marriage-day tor a season, and give him another trial.
The very day before the wedding was to have taken place, Breckin-
ridge, while absorbed in watching the flight of a balloon, walked into a
well and fractured one of his legs, and it had to be taken off above the
knee. Again Aurelia was moved to break the engagement, but again
love triumphed, and she set the day forward and gave him another
chance to reform.
And again misfortune overtook the unhappy youth. He lost one arm
by the premature discharge of a Fourth-of-July cannon, and within three
months he got the other pulled out by a carding-machine. Aurelia's
heart was almost crushed By these latter calamities. She could not but
be deeply grieved to see her lover passing from her by piecemeal, feeling,
as she did, that he could not last for ever under this disastrous process
of reduction, yet knowing of no way to stop its dreadful career, and in
her despair she almost regretted, like brokers who hold on and lose, that
she haa not taken him at first, before he had suffered such an alarming
depreciation. Still her brave soul bore her up, and she resolved to bear
with her friend's unnatural disposition yet a little longer.
Again the wedding-day approached, and again disappointment over-
shadowed it : Caruthers fell ill with the erysipelas, and lost the use of one
of his eyes entirely. The friends and relatives of the bride, considering
that she had already put up with more than could reasonably have beeu
expected of her, now came forward and insisted that the match should
be broken off; but after wavering awhile, Aurelia, with a generous
spirit which did her credit, said she had reflected calmly upon the
matter, and could not discover that Breckinridge was to blame.
So she extended the time once more, and he broke his other leg.
It was a sad day for the poor girl when she saw the surgeons reverently
bearing away the sack whose uses she had learned by previous experience,
and her heart told her the bitter truth that some more of her lover was
gone. She felt that the field of her affections was growing more and
more circumscribed every day, but once more she frowned down her
relatives and renewed her betrothal.
Shortly before the time set for the nuptials another disaster occurred.
There was but one man scalped by the Owens River Indians last year.
This man was Williamson Breckinridge Caruthers, of New Jersey. He
was hurrying home with happiness in his heart, when he lost his hair
for ever, and in that hour of bitterness he almost cursed the mistaken
mercy that had spai-ed his head.
At last Aurelia is in serious perplexity as to what she ought to do.
She still loves her Breckinridge, she writes, with truly womanly feeling
— she still loves what is left of him — but her parents are bitterly opposed
to the match, because he has no property and is disabled from working,
and she has not sufiicient means to support both comfortably. " Now,
what should she do 1 " she asks with pamf ul and anxious solicitude.
ype, and when ho
waffle-mould and
ak off the engage-
jd her to postpone
rial.
en place, Breckin-
oon, walked into a
iken olf above the
jement, but again
gave him another
He lost one arm
a, and within three
achine. Aurelia's
She could not but
piecemeal, feeling,
diBastrous process
Iful career, and in
d on and lose, that
such an alarming
lie resolved to bear
iger.
lappointment over-
1 lost the use of one
I bride, considering
ksonably have beeu
the match should
with a generous
calmly upon the
o blame.
lis other leg.
irgeons reverently
evious experience,
5 of her lover was
rowing more and
owned down her
disaster occurred.
Indians last year,
ew Jersey. He
he lost his hair
ed the mistaken
she ought to do.
womanly feeling
bitterly opposed
jd from working,
jrtably. " Now,
golicitude.
FIRST INTERVIEW WITH ARTEMUS WARD, 385
It is a delicate question ; it is one which involves th« lifelong happi<
ttess of a woman, and that of nearly two-thirds of a man, and I feel that
it would be assuming too great a responsibility to do more than make a
mere suggestion in the case. How would it do to build to him ? If
Aurelia can afford the expense, let her furnish her mutilated lover "vith
wooden arms and wooden legs, and a glass eye and a wig, and give him
another show ; give him ninety days, without grace, and if he does not
break his neck m the meantime, marry him and take the chances. It
does not seem to me that there is much risk, any way, Aurelia, because
if he sticks to his propensity for damaging himself every time he sees a
good opportunity, nis next experiment is bound to finish him, and then
you are all right, you know, married or single. If married the wooden
legs, and such other valuables as he may possess, revert to the
widow, and you see you sustain no actual loss save the cherished
fragments of a noble but most unfortunate husband, who honestly
strove to do right, but whose extraordinary instincts were against
him. Try it, Maria ! I have thought the matter over carefully and
well, and it is the only chance I see for you. It would have been
a happy conceit on the part of Caruthers if he had started with his
ueck and broken that first ; but since he has seen fit to choose a
different policy and string himself out as long as possible, I do
not tbl ^ - we ought to upbraid him for it if he has enjoyed it. We
must '^c e best we can under the circumstances, and try not to
feel e.B.D . .?f,ad at him.
FIRST INTERVIEW WITH ARTEMUS
WARD.
I HAD never seen him before. He brought letters of introduction
from mutual friends in San Francisco, and by invitation I break-
fasted with him. It was almost religion, there in the silver mines,
to precede such a meal with whiskey cocktails. Artemus, with the true
cosmopolitan instinct, always deferred to the customs of the country he
was in, and so he ordered three of those abominations. Kingston was
present. I am a match for nearly any beverage you can mention
except a whiskey cocktail, and therefore I said I would rather not
drink one. I said it would go right to my head, and confuse me so that
I would be in a helpless tangle in ten minutes. I did not want to act
like a lunatic before strangers. But Artemus gently insisted, and I
drank the treasonable mixture under protest, and felt all the time that
I wag doing a thing I might be sorry for. In a minute or two I begau
2b
^
;*
i: ^H
- i^
I I
\ w
386
i <\
u
AfARK TWAIN'S WORKS.
'\y-'
w^*
IV'
m t
w
», ^'
V I
.' <B'
when the casings come nearer or approach each
may say — that is, when they do approach, which of
to imagine that my ideas were clouded. I waited in great anxiety
for the conversation to open, with a sort of vague hope that my
nnderetandiug would prove clear, after all, and my misgivings ground-
less.
Artemus dropped an unimportant remark or two, and then assumed
a look of superhuman earnestness, and made the following astounaing
speech. He said : —
" Now there is one thing I ought tc ask you about before I forget
it. You have been here in Silverland — here in Nevada — two or three
years, and, of course, your position on the daily press has made it
necessary for you to go down in the mines and examine them care-
fully in detail, and therefore you know all about the silver-mining
business. Now, what I want to get at is — is, well, the way the
deposits of ore are made, you know. For instance. Now, as I under-
stand it, the vein which contains the silver is sandwiched in between
casings of granite, and runs along the ground, and sticks up like a
curb-stone. Well, take a vein forty feet thick, for example, or eighty,
for that matter, or even a hundred — say you go down on it with a
shaft, straight down, you know, or with what you call 'incline,'
maybe you go down five hundred feet, or maybe you don't go down
but two hundred — any way you go down, and all the time this vein
grows narrower,
other, you maj
course they do not always do, particularly in cases wliere the nature of
the formation is such that they stand apart wider than they otherwise
would, and which geology has failed to account for, although eveirything
in that science goes to prove that, all things being equal, it would if it
did not, or would not certainly if it did, and then of course they are.
Do not you think it is ? "
I said to myself :—
" Now I just knew how it would be — that whiskey cocktail has done
the business for me ; I don't understand any more than a clam."
And then I said aloud —
" I — I — that is — if you don't mind, would you — would you say that
over again ? I ought "
" Oh, certainly, certainly ! You see I am very unfamiliar with the
subject, and pernaps I don't present my case clearly, but I "
" No, no — no, no — you state it plain enough, but that cocktail has
muddled me a little. But I will — no, I do understand for that matter;
but I would get the hang ot it all the better if you went over it again—
and I '11 pay better attention this time."
He said, " Why, what I was after was this." m .
[Here he became even more fearfully impressive thsui ever, and
emphasised each particular point by cnecking it off on his finger
ends/1
"Hiis vein, or lode, or ledge, or whatever you call it, runs along
between two layers of granite, just the same as if it were a sandwich.
Very welL Now, suppose you go down on that, say a thousand feet, or
maybe twelve hundred (it don't really matter), before you drift, and then
r.A
. in i^reat anxiety
tie hope that my
lisgivings grouud-
and then assumed
lowing astoimaing
mt before I forget
rada — two or three
>ress has made it
:amine them care*
the silver-mining
well, the way the
Now, as I under-
viched in between
d sticks up like a
example, or eighty,
lown on it with a
^ou call 'incline,'
rou don't go down
the time this vein
or approach each
>proach, which of
rhere the nature of
lan they otherwise
Ithough eveiTthing
qual, it would if it
)i course they are.
cocktail has done
lan a clam."
T^ould you say that
ifamiliar with the
Ibut I »
that cocktail has
Id for that matter;
Int over it again—
than ever, and
)ff on his finger
11 it, runs along
I were a sandwich.
thousand feet, or
lou drift, and then
FIRST INTERVIEW WITH ARTEMUS WARD. 387
yon start your drifts, some of them across the ledge, and others along
the length of it, where the sulphurets — I believe they call them su£
phurets, though why they should, considering that, so far as I can see,
the main dependence of a miner does not so lie, as some suppose,
but in which it cannot be successfully maintained, wherein the same
should not continue, while part and parcel of the same ore not com-
mitted to either in the sense referred to, whereas, under different
circumstances, the most inexperienced among us could not detect it if
it were, or might overlook it if it did, or scorn the very idea of such a
thing, even though it were palpably demonstrated as such. Am I not
right?"
i said, sorrowfully — " I feel ashamed of myself, Mr Ward. I
know I ought to imderstand you perfectly well, but you see that
treacherous whiskey cocktail has got into my head, and now I cannot
understand even the simplest proposition. 1 told you how it would
be."
" Oh, don't mind it, don't mind it ; the fault was my own, no doubt
— though I did think it clear enough for"
" Don't say a word. Clear ! "VThy, you stated it as clear as the sun
to anybody but an abject idiot ; but it's that confounded cocktail that
has played the mischief."
*' No ; now don't say that. I '11 begin it all over again, and "
"Don't now — for goodness sake, don't do anything of the kind,
because I tell you my head is in such a condition that I don't
believe I could understand the most trifling question a man could ask
me."
"Now, don't you be afraid. I'll put it so plain this time that
you can't help but get the hang of it. We will begin at the very
beginning.* [Leaning far across the table, with determined impressive-
ness wrought upon his every feature, and fingers prepared to keep
tally of each point as enumerated ; and I, leaning forward with pain-
ful interest, resolved to comprehend or perish.] "You know the
vein, the ledge, the thing that contains the metal, whereby it con-
stitutes the medium between all other forces, whether of present
or remote agencies, so brought to bear in favour of the former
against the latter, or the latter against the former or all, or both, or
compromising the relative differences existing within the radius whence
culminate the several degree? of similarity to which "
I said — ** Oh, hang my wooden head, it ain't any use ! — it ain't any
use to try — I can't understand anything. The plainer you get it the
more I can't get the hang of it."
I heard a suspicious noise behind me, and turned in time to see
Hingston dodging behind a newspaper, and quaking with a gentle
ecstasy of laughter. I looked at Ward again, and he had thrown off his
dread solemmty and was laughing also. Then I saw that I had been
sold — that I had been made the victim of a swindle in the way of a
string of plausibly worded sentences that didn't mean anything under
the sun. Artemus Ward W48 one of the best fellows in the woud. and
!.:■
^il
} ]
i^f -!
iK.
1
[i
i88
HA/ifr TWATf^S WORKS.
one of the moat companionable. It has been said that be was
not fluent in conversation, but, with the above experience in my mind,
1 diller.
, CURING A COLD.
{T ifl a good thing, perhaps, to write for the amusement of the public,
but it is a far higher and nobler thing to write for their instruc-
tion, their profit, their actual and tangible benefit. The latter
is the sole object of this article. If it prove the means of restoring to
health one solitary sufferer among my race, of lighting up once more
the fire of hope and joy in his faded eyes, of bringing oack to his dead
heart again the quick, generous impulses of other days, I shall be amply
rewarded for my labour ; my soul will be permeated with the sacred
delight a Christian feels when he has done a good, unselfish deed.
Irving led a pure and blameless life, I am justified in believing that
no man who knows me will reject the suggestions I am about to make,
out of fear that I am trying to deceive him. Let the public do itself
the honour to read my experience in doctoring a cold, as herein set
forth, and then follow in my footsteps.
When the White House was burned in Virginia, I lost my home, my
happiness, my constitution, and my trunk. The loss of the two first-named
articles was a matter of no great consequence, since a home without a
mother or a sister, or a distant young female relative in it, to remind you,
by putting your soiled linen out of sight and taking your boots down of!
the mantel-piece, that there are those who think about you and care
for you, is easily obtained. And I cared nothing for the loss of my
happiness, because not being a poet, it could not be possible that melan-
choly woiild abide with me long. But to lose a good constitution and
a better trunk were serious misfortunes. On the day of the fire my
fionstitution succumbed to a severe cold, caused by imdue exertion in
getting ready to do something. I suffered to no purpose, too, because
the plan I was figuring at for the extinguishing of the fire was so
elaborate that I never got it completed until the middle of the following
week.
The first time I began to sneeze, a friend told me to go and bathe rny
feet in hot water and go to bed. I did so. Shortly afterwards, another
friend advised me to get up and take a cold shower-bath. I did that
also. Within the hour, anotner friend assured me that it was policy to
" feed a cold and starve a fever." I had both. So I thought it best to
fill myself up for the cold, and then keep dark and let the fever starve
awhile.
In a case of thia kind, I seldom do things by halves ; I ate pretty
heartily ; I coxkferred my custom upon a stranger who had just opened
bit Mttaiiinuit that morning : he w<td near me in respectful silence
liir
d that he wafl
Lce in my mind,
CURING A COLD,
3<9
nt of the public,
or their instruc-
efit. The latter
IS of restoring to
s up once more
back to his dead
I shall be amply
with the sacred
Lfish deed,
n believing that
L about to make,
I public do itself
Id, as herein set
st my home, my
e two first-named
home without a
, to remind you,
boots down off
you and care
the loss of my
sible that melan-
constitution and
of the fire my
idue exertion in
3se, too, because
the fire was so
of the following
a and bathe my
srwards, another
ath. I did that
it was policy to
(Ught it best to
he fever starve
I ate pretty
lad just opened
spectful silence
nntil I had finished feeding my cold, when he inquired if the people
about Virginia were much afflicted with colds ? I told him I thought
they were. He then went out and took in his sign. I started down
toward the office, and on the way encountered another bosom friend, who
told me that a quart of salt water, taken warm, would come as near
curing a cold as anything in the world. I hardly thought I had room
for it, but I tried it anyhow. The result was surprising. I believed 1
had thrown up my immortal souL
Now, as I am giving my experience onljr for the benefit of those who
are troubled with the distemper I am writing about, I feel that they
will see the propriety of my cautioning them against following such
portions of it as proved inefficient with me, and acting upon this con-
viction, I warn tliem against warm saltwater. It maybe a good enjugh
remedy, but I think it is too severe. If I had another cold in the head,
and there were no course left me but to take either an earthquake or a
quart of warm salt water, I would take my chances on the earthquake.
Aft«r the storm which had been raging in my stomach had subsided,
and no more good Samaritans happening along, I went on borrowing
handkerchiefs again and blowing them to atoms, as had been my custom
in the early st^es of my cold, until I came across a lady who had just
arrived from over the plains, and who said she had lived in a part of the
country where doctors were scarce, and had from necessity acquired con-
giderable skill in the treatment of simple " family complaints." I knew
ahe must have had much experience, for she appeared to be a hundred
and fifty jrears old.
She mixed a decoction composed of molasses, aquafortis, turpentine,
and various other drugs, and instructed me to take a wine-glass full of
it every fifteen minutes. I never took but one dose ; that was enough ;
it robbed me of all moral principle, and awoke every unworthy impulse
of my nature. Under its malign influence my brain conceived miracles
of meanness, but my hands were too feeble to execute them ; at that
time, had it not been that my strength had surrendered to a succession
of assaults from inftdlible remedies for my cold, I am satisfied that I
Would have tried to rob the graveyard. Like most other people, I often
feel mean, and act accordingly ; but until I took that medicine I had
never revelled in such supernatural depravity, and felt proud of it. At
the end of two days I was ready to go to doctoring again. I took a few
more unfailing remedies, and finally drove my cold from mv head to
my lungs.
I got to coughing incessantly, and my voice fell below zero ; I con-
versed in a thundering base, two octaves below my natural tone ; I
could only compass my regular nightly repose by coughing myself
down to a state of utter exhaustion, and then the moment I began to
talk in my sleep, my discordant voice woke me up again.
My case grew more and more serious every day. Plain gin was
recommended ; I took it. Then gin and molasses ; I took that also.
Then gin and onions ; I added the onions, and took all three. I
detected no particular result, however, except that I had acquired a
breath like a tnusard'a
< i
i . ]
I
t I
il;
y *
f il
t «
11
Hi
■is? '
190
JKM^AT TWAIN'S WORKS.
1 found I had to travel for my health. I went to Lake Biglet witft
my reportorial comrade, Wilson. It is gratifyinff to me to reflect that
we travelled in considerable style ; we went in the Pioneer coach, and
my friend took all his baggage with him, consisting of two excellent
silk handkerchiefs and a daguerreotype of his grandmother. We sailed
and hunted and fished and danced all day, and I doctored my cough all
night. By managing in this way, I made out to improve every hour in
the twenty-four. But my disease continued to grow worse,
A sheet-bath was recommended. I had never refused a remedy yet,
and it seemed poor policy to commence then ; therefore I determined to
t»kke a sheet-bath, notwithstanding I had no idea what sort of axranae-
ment it was. It was administered at midnight, and the weather was
very frosty. My breast and back were bared, and a sheet (there ap-
peared to be a thousand yards of it) soaked in ice-water, was wound
around me until I resembled a swab for a Golumbiad.
It is a cruel expedient. When the chilly rag touches one's warm
flesh, it makes him start with sudden violence, and gasp for breath just
as men do in the death agony. It froze the marrow in my bones, and
stopped the beating of my heart I thought my time had come.
Young Wilson said the circumstance reminded him of an anecdote
about a negro who was being baptized, and who slipped from the
parson's grasp, and came near being drowned. He floundered around,
though, and nnally rose up out of the water considerably strangled, and
furiously angry, and started ashore at once, spouting water like a whale,
and remailmig, with great asperity, that "One o' dese days some
gen'lman's nigger gwyne to get killed wid jes' such dam foolishness aa
dis!"
Never take a sheet-bath — never. Next to meeting a lady acquaint-
ance, who, for reasons best known to herself, don't see you when she
looks at you, and don't know you when she does see you, it is the most
uncomfortable thing in the world.
But, as I was saymg, when the sheet-bath failed to cure my cough, a
lady Mend recommended the application of a mustard plaster to my
breast. I believe that would have cured me eflFectually, if it had not
been for young Wilson. When I went to bed, I put my mustard
plaster — which was a very gorgeous one, eighteen inches square — where
I could reach it when I was ready for it. But young Wilson got
hungry in the night, and — here is food for the imagination.
After sojourning a week at Lake Bigler, I went to Steamboat Springs,
and beside the steam baths, I took a lot of the vilest medicines that
were ever concocted. They would have cured me, but I had to go back
to Virginia, where, notwithstanding the variety of new remedies I
abeorbed every day, I managed to aggravate my disease by carelessnesN
and undue exposure.
I finally concluded to visit San Francisco, and the first day I got
there, a lady at the hotel told me to drink a quart of whisky every
twenty -four hours, and a triend up town recommended precisely the
same course. Each advised me to ttuce a quart ; that made half a gallon*
"^-did it. and still live. filti .T£\.u'i ^ fiiil ji.7jv
Lake Bigler wHli
me to reflect that
'ioneer coach, and
of two excellent
other. We sailed
>red my cough all
ove every hour in
vorse,
ised a remedy yet,
•e I determined to
it sort of arraTiffe-
the weather was
t sheet (there ap-
i^ater, was wound
■I •-}■):
uches one's warm
isp for breath just
in my bones, and
lad come,
m of an anecdote
slipped from the
oundered around,
)ly strangled, and
rater like a whale,
, dese days some
Am foolishness as
a lady acquaint-
ee you when she
ou, it is the most
ure my cough, a
trd plaster to my
ly, if it had not
ut my mustard
s square — where
ling Wilson got
ion.
amboat Springs,
medicines that
had to go back
ew remedies I
by carelessneM
first day I got
" whisky every
'. precisely the
Ic lialf a gallon*
THE SIAMESE TWINS,
39>
^ Now, with the kindest motives in the world, I offer for the considera-
tion of consumptive patients the variegated course of treatment I have
lately ^one through. Let them try it : if it don't cure, it can't aion
tlmn kiU them.
■ ! I
I. '.
,: " . ; THE SIAMESE TWINS.
I DO not wish to write of the personal hahiU of these strange creatures
solely, but also of certain curious details of various kinds concern-
ing them, which, belonging only to their private life, have never
crept into print. Knowing the Twins intimately, I feel that I am
peculiarly well qualified for the task I have taken upon myself.
The Siamese Twins are naturally tender and affectionate in disposi-
tion, and have clung to each other with singular fidelity throughout a
lon^ and eventful fife. Even as children they were inseparable com-
pamons ; and it was noticed that they always seemed to prefer each
other's society to that of any other persons. They nearly alwaya
played together ; and, so accustomed was their mother to this peculiarity,
that, whenever both of them chanced to be lost, she usually only hunted
for one of them — satisfied that when she found that one she would find
his brother somewhere in the immediate neighbourhood. And yet these
creatures were ignorant and unlettered — barbarians themselves and
the oflfepring of barbarians, who knew not the light of philosophy and
science. What a withering rebuke is this to our boasted civilisation,
with its quarreUings, it wranglings, and its separations of brothers !
As men, the Twins have not always lived in perfect accord ; but,
still there has always been a bond between them which made
them unwilling to go away from each other and dwell apart. They
have even occupied the same house, as a general thing, and it is
believed that they have never failed to even sleep together on any
night since they were bom. How surely do the habits of a lifetime
become second nature to us ! The Twins always go to bed at the same
time ; but Chang usually gets up about an hour before his brother. By
an understanding between themselves, Chang does all the in-door work
and Eng runs aU the errands. This is because Eng Ukes to go out ;
Changs habits are sedentary. However, Chang always goes along.
Eng IS a Baptist, but Chang is a Eoman Catholic ; still, to please his
brother, Chang consented to be baptized at the same time that Eng was,
on condition that it should not " count" During the War they were
strong partizans, and both fought gallantly all through the great struggle
— Eng on the Union side and Chang on the Confederate. They took
each other prisoners at Seven OakSj but the proofs of capture were so
evenly balanced in favour of each, tiiat a general army court ha^ to be
I
'2 I,
M'
;■ K-
m
r
T
m^ ' 1
* ',
39«
AM/e/r TWAIN*S WORKS.
aesembled to determine which one was properly tlie captor, and which
\he captive. The jury was unable to agree for a long time ; but the
f exed ';[ue8tion was finally decided by agreeing to consider them both
prisoners, and then exchanging thenu At one time Chang was convicted
of disobedience of orders, and sentenced to ten days in the guard-house,
but Eag, in spite of all arguments, felt obliged to share his imprison-
ment, notwitnstanding he himself was ent&ely innocent ; and so, to
save the blameless brother from suffering, they had to discharge both
from custody — the just reward of faithfulness.
Upon one occasion the brothers fell out about something, and Chang
knocked Eng down, and then tripped and fell on him, whereupon both
clinched and began to beat and gouge huth. other without mercy. The
bystanders interfered, and tried to separate them, but tliey could not do
it, and so allowed them to fi^ht it out In the end both were disabled,
and were carried to the hospital on one and the same shutter.
Their ancient habit of gomg always together had its drawbacks when
they reached man's estate, and entered upon the luxury of courting.
Both fell in love with the same girl. Each tried to steal clandestine
interviews with her, but at the critical moment the other would always
turn up. By and by Eng saw, with distraction, that Chang had won
the girl's affections ; and, from that day forth, he had to bear with the
agony of being a witness to all their dainty billing and cooing. But
with a magnanimity that did him infinite credit, he succumbed to his
fate, and gave countenance and encouragement to a state of things that
bade fair to sunder his generous heart-strings. He sat from seven every
evening until two in the morning, listening to the fond foolishness of
the two lovers, and to the concussion of hundreds of squandered kisses
— for the privilege of sharing only one of which he would have given
his right nand. But he sat patiently, and waited, and gaped, and
yawned, and stretched, and longed for two o'clock to come. And he
took long walks with the lovers on moonlight evenings — sometimes
traversing ten miles, notwithstanding he was usually suffering from
rheumatism. He is an inveterate smoker ; but he could not smoke
on these occasions, because the young lady was painfully sensitive to
the smell of tobacco. Eng cordially wanted them married, and done
vnth it ; but although Chang often asked the momentous question, the
young lady could not gather suflicient courage to answer it while Eng
was by. However, on one occasion, after having walked some sixteen
miles, and sat up till neaily daylight, Eng dropped asleep, fioin sheer
exhaustion, and then the question was asked and answered. The lovers
were married. All acquainted with the circumstances applauded the
noble brother-in-law. His unwavering faithfulness was the theme of
every tongue. He had stayed by them all through their long and
arduous courtship ; and when at last they were married, he lifted his
hands above their heads, and said with impressive unction, " Blees yc,
my children, I will never desert ye ! ^ and he kept hia word. Fidelity
like this is adl too rare in this cold world.
By and by Eng fell in love with his sister-in-law's sister, and married
h«r, and lince that day they have aU lived together, night and day, in
aptor, and which
g time ; but the
tsider thorn both
ing was convicted
the guard house,
are his imprison-
icent ; and so, to
io discharge both
;hing, and Chang
whereupon both
out mercy. The
;]iey could not do
th were disabled,
hutter.
drawbacks when
xury of courting.
steal clandestine
ler would always
Chang had won
. to bear with the
md cooing. But
succumbed to his
kte of things that
from seven every
nd foolishness of
iquandered kisses
I'ould have given
and gaped, and
come. And he
ings — sometimes
suffering from
ould not smoke
lly sensitive to
.rried, and done
us question, the
er it while Eng
id some sixteen
eep, fioin sheer
[ed. The lovers
applauded the
the theme ot
;heir long and
id, he lifted his
ion, " Bless yc,
or(L Fidelity
and married
Iht and day, in
THE SIAMESE TWINS,
393
an exceeding «ociability which is touching and beautiful to behold, and
is a scathing rebuke to our boasted civilisation.
The sympathy existing between those two brothers is so close and so
refined that the feelings, the impulses, the emotions of the one are
instantly experienced by the other. When one is sick, the other is
sick ; when one feels pain, the other feels it ; when one is angered, the
other^s temper takes fire. We have already seen with what happy
facility they both fell in love with the same girl. Now, Chang is
bitterly opposed to all forms of intemperance, on principle ; but Eng is
the reverse — for, while these men's feelings and emotions are so closely
wedded, their reasoning faculties are unfettered ; their thoughts are free.
Chang belongs to the Good Templars, and is a hard-working and enthu-
siastic supporter of all temperance reforms. But, to his bitter distress,
every now and then Eng gets drunk, and, of course, that makes Chang
drunk too. This unfortunate thing has been a great sorrow to Chang,
for It almost destroys his usefulness in his favourite field of effort As
sure as he is to head a great temperance procession Eng ranges up along-
side of him, prompt to the minute, ana drunk as a lord ; but yet no
more dismally and hopelessly drunk tlian his brother, who has not
tasted a drop. And so the two begin to hoot and yell, and throw mud
and bricks at the Good Templars ; and of course they break up the pro-
cession. It would be manifestly wrong to punish Chang for what Eng
does, and, therefore, the Good Templars accept the untoward situation,
and suffer in silence and sorrow. They have officially and deliberately
examined into the matter, and find Chang blameless. They have taken
the two brothers and filled Chang full of warm water and su^ar and
Eng full of whisky, and in twenty-five minutes it was not possible to
tell which was the drunkest. Both were as drunk as loons — and on hot
whisky punches, by the smell of their breath. Yet all the while Chang's
moral principles were unsullied, his conscience clear ; and so all just
men were forced to confess that he was not morally, but only physically
drunk. By every right and by every moral evidence the man was
strictly sober ; and, therefore; it caused his friends all the more anguish
to see him shake hands with the pump, and try to wind his watch with
his night-key.
There is a moral in these solemn warnings — or, at least, a warning in
these solemn morals ; one or the other. No matter, it is somehow. Let
us heed it ; let us profit by it
I could say more of an instructive nature about these interesting
beings, but let what 1 have written suffice.
Having forgotten to mention it sooner, I will remark, in conclusion,
that the ages of the Siamese Twins are rcspoctively fifty-one and Mij-
three years
\
y {' *-ti •.>(
i;!
394
MARK TWAIN'S WORKS,
t''.i
■\ .IM
//
A VISIT TO NIAGARA. I
'i4iR/ir TWAIN vm<«(i Nicuiara FalU. He was seeking out the curie-
titiea that are mid to cU)ound at this celebrated resortf when hn
suddenly found what he styles
If!
t »
n»
<l
mP
THB NOBLB RED MAN.
Thb noble Red Man has always been a friend and darling of mine. I
love to read about him in tales and legends and romances. I love to
read of his inspired sagacity, and his love of the wild free life of moun-
tain and forest, and lus general nobility of character, and his stately
metaphorical manner of speech, and his chivalrous love for the dusky
maiden, and the picturecc^ue pomp of his dress and accoutrements.
Especially the pictures(jue pomp of his dress and accoutrements. When
I found the shops at Niagara Falls full of dainty Indian bead- work, and
stunning moccasins, and equally stunning toy figures representing
human heings who carried tneir weapons in holes bored through their
arms and bodies, and had feet shaped like a pie, I was filled with
emotion. I knew that now, at last, I was going to come face to face
with the noble Red Man.
A lady clerk in a shop told me, indeed, that all her grand array of
curiosities were made by the Indians, and that they were plenty about
the Falls, and that they were friendly, and it would not be dangerous to
speak to them. And sure enough, as I approached the bridge leading
over to Luna Island, I came upon a noble Son of the Forest sitting under
a tree, diligently at work on a bead reticule. He wore a slouch hat and
brogans, and had a short black pipe in his mouth. Thus does the bane-
ful contact with our effeminate civilisation dilute the picturesque pomp
which is so natural to the Indian when far removed from us in his
native haunts. I addressed the relic as follows : —
" Is the Wawhoo- Wang- Wang of the Whack-a- Whack happy ? Does
the great Speckled Thunder sigh for the war path, or is his heart con-
tented with dreaming of the dusky maiden, the Pride of the Forest '/
Does the mighty Sachem yearn to drink the blood of his enemies, or
is he satisfied to make bead reticules for the pappooses of the paleface /
Speak, sublime relic of bygone grandeur — veneraole ruin, speak ! "
The relic said —
" An' is it mesilf, Dennis Hooligan, that ye 'd be takin' for a dirty
Injin, ye drawlin', lantern-jawed, spider-legged divil ! By the piper
that played before Moses, I '11 ate ye ! "
I went away from there.
By and by, in the neighbourhood of the Terrapin Tower, I came
a{>on a gentle daughter of the aborigines in fringed and beaded buck-
dun moccasins and leggins, seated on a bench, with her pretty wares
about her. She had just carved out a wooden chief that had a strong
V A VISIT TO NIAGARA.^^
39»
1 1 '
ng <mi the eufric-
resortf whtn hn
:ng of mine. I
Qces. I love to
se life of moun-
and his stately
Q for the dusky
accoutrements,
ements. When
bead-work, and
B8 representing
1 through their
w&a filled with
me face to face
grand array of
•e plenty about
^e dangerous to
bridge leading
8t sitting under
slouch hat and
does the bane-
turesque pomp
'rom us in his
happy 1 Does
his heart con-
of the Forest '/
his enemies, or
I the paleface /
, speak ! "
i' for a dirty
By the piper
ower, I came
beaded buck-
' pretty wares
t had a strong
family resemblance to a clothes-pin, nnd was now boring a hole through
his abdomen to put his bow Uuougli. 1 hesitated a moment, and then
addressed her :
" Is the heart of the forest maiden heavy 1 Is the Laughing Tadpole
lonely ? Does she mourn over the extinguished council-firos of bur
race, and tlie vanished glory of her ancestors i Or does her sad spirit
wander afar toward the hunting-grounds whither her brave Gobbler-of-
the-Lightnings is gone 1 Why is my daughter silent l Uas she aught
against the paleface stranger I "
The maiden said — ' "
" Fail, an' is it Biddy Malone ye dare to be callin' names 1 Lave this,
or I '11 shy your lean carcass over the cataract, ye sniveling blaggard I "
I adjourned from there also.
" Confound these Indians !" I said. " Thev told me they wore tame ;
but, if appearances go for anytliing, I sliouki way they were all on th«
war patli.
I made one more attempt to fraternise with them, and only one. 1
came upon a camp of them gathered in the shade of a great tree, making
wampum and moccasins, and addressed them in the language of friend-
ship ;
" Noble Red Men, Braves, Grand Sachems, War Chiefs, Squaws, and
High Muck-a-Mucks, the paleface from the land of the setting sun
greets you ! You, Beneficent Polecat — you, Devourer of Mountains —
you. Roaring Thundergust — you, Bully Boy with a Glass Eye — the
paleface from beyond the great waters greets you all ! War and
pestilence have tninned your ranks, and destroyed your once proud
nation. Poker and seven-up, and a vain modem expense for soap, un-
known to your glorious ancestors, have depleted your purses. Appro-
priating, in your simplicity, the property of others, has gotten you into
trouble. Misrepresenting facta, in your simple innocence, has aamaged
your reputation witli tne soulless usurper. Trading for forty-rod
whisky, to enable you to get drunk and happy and tomahawk your
families, has played the everlasting mischief with the picturescjue pomp
of your dress, and here you are, m the broad light of the mnetet nth
century, gotten up like tne ragtag and bobtail of the purlieus of New
York. For shame ! Remember your ancestors ! Recall their mighty
deeds ! Remember Uncas ! — and Red Jacket ! — and Hole in the Day !
— and Horace Greeley ! Emulate their achievements ! Unfurl your-
selves under my banner, noble savages, illustrious guttersnipes "
" Down wid him ! " " Scoop tlie blaggard ! " " Bum him 1 " " Hang
him!" " Dhrown him ! "
It was the quickest operation that ever was. I simply saw a sudden
flash in the air of clubs, brickbats, fists, bead-baskets, and moccasins — a
single flash, and they all appeared to hit me at once, and no two of them
in the same place. In the next instant the entire tribe was upon me.
They tore all the clothes oflf me ; they broke my arms and legs ; they
gave me a thump that dented the top of my head till it would hold
coffee like a saucer ; and, to crown their disgraceful proceedings and add
insult to injury, they threw me over the Niagara Falls, and I got wet
>
\
i,
r
iW
nw
liii
39^
MARK TWAIN'S WORKS.
About ninety or a hundred feet from the top, the remains of my vest
caught on a projecting rock, and I was almost drowned before I could
get loose. I finally fell, and brought np in a world of white foam
at the foot of the Fall, whose celled and bubhly masses towered up several
inches above my head. Of course I goi; into the eddy. I sailed round
and round in it forty-four times — chasing a chip and gaining on it — each
round trip a half mile — reaching for the same bush on the bank forty-
four times, and just exactly missing it by a hair's-breadth every time.
At last a man walked down and sat down close to that bush, and put
a pipe in his mouth, and lit a match, and followed me with one eye and
kept the other on the match, while he sheltered it in his hands from the
wind. Presently a puff of wind blew it out. The next time I Bwept
around he said —
"Got a match?"
" Yes ; in my other vest. Help me out, please."
« Not for Joe."
When I came round again, I sard —
" Excuse the seemingly impertinent curiosity of a drowning man, but
will you explain this singular conduct of yours ? "
" With pleasure. I am the coroner. Don't hurry on my account. 1
(mn wait for you. But I wish I had a match."
I said — " Take my place, and I *11 go and get you one."
He declined. This lack of confidence on his part created a coldness
between us, and from that time forward I avoided him. It was my idea,
in case anything happened to me, to so time the occurrence as to throw
my custom into the hands of the opposition coroner over on the
American side.
At last a policeman came along, and arrested me for disturbing the
peace by yelling at people on shore for help. The judge fined me, out I
had the advantage of him. My money was with my pantaloons, and my
pantaloons were with the Indians.
Thus I escaped. I am now lying in a very critj^al condition. At
least I am lying anyway — critical or not critiiial.
I am hurt all over, but I cannot tell the full extent yet, because the
doctor is not done taking the inventory. He will make out my manifest
this evening. However, thus far he thinks only sixteen of my wounds
are fatal. I don't mind the others.
Upon regaining my right mind, I said —
" It is an awful savage tribe of Indians that do the bead work and
moccasins for Niagara Falls, doctor. Where are they from ? "
" Limerick, my son."
I shall not be able to finish my reraarks about Niagara Falla until I
get better.
mains of my vest
id before I could
i of white foam
>wered up several
I sailed round
ming on it — each
the bank forty-
th every time.
it bush, and put
with one eye and
A hands from the
it time I swept
Dwning man, but
L my account. 1
»
eated a coldness
It was my idea,
nee as to throw
er over on the
disturbing the
fined me, out I
;aloons, and my
condition. At
ret, because the
out my manifest
of my wounds
bead work and
a Falls until i
SENDING THEM THROUGH,
KfJ
SENDING THEM THROUGH.
BEN HALLIDAY was a man of prodigious energy, who used to send
mails and passengers flying across me continent in his overland
stage-coaches like a very whirlwind — two thousand long miles in
fifteen days and a half, by the watch ! But this fragment of history is
not about Ben Halliday, but about a young New York boy by the name
of Jack, who travelled with our small party of pilgrims in the Holy
Land * (and who had gone to Califomia in Mr Halliday's overland coaches
three year? before, and had by no means forgotten it or lost his gushing
admiration of Mr H.)
Aged nineteen. Jack was a good-hearted and well-meaning boy, who
had been reared in the city of New York, where, although he learnt a
great many useful things, his Scriptural education had been a good deal
neglected — ^to such a degree, indeed, that all Holy Land History was fresh
and new to him, and all Bible names mysteries that had never disturbed
his virgin ear. Also in our party was an elderly pilgrim who was the
reverse of Jack, in that he was learned in the Scriptures and an enthusiast
concerning them. He was our encyclopedia, and we were never tired
of listening to his speeches, nor he of making them. He never passed a
celebrated locality, from Bashan to Bethlehem, without illuminating it
with an oration. One day, when camped near the ruins of Jericho, he
burst forth with something like this —
" Jack, do you see that range of mountains over yonder that bounds
the Jordan valley ? The mountains of Moab, Jack ! Think of it, my
boy — the actual mountains of Moab — renowned in Scripture history !
We are standing face to face with those illustrious crags and peaks — and
for all we know (dropping his voice impressively) our eyes may he resting
at this very moment upon the spot where lies the Mysterious Gravb
OF Moses ! Think of it, Jack ! "
" Moses who f " (falling inflection).
" Moses who ? Jack, you ought to be ashamed of your criminal ignor-
ance. Why, Moses the great guide, soldier, poet, lawgiver of ancient
Israel ! Jack, from where we stand, to Egypt, stretches a fearful desert
three hundred miles in extent— and across that desert that wonderful
man brought the Children of Israel ! — guiding them with unfailing saga-
city for forty years over the sandy desolation and among the obstructing
rocks and hills, and landed them at last, safe and sound, within sight of
this very spot; and where we now stand they entered the Promised
Land ^dth anthems of rejoicing ! It was a wonderful, wonderful thing
to do. Jack! Think of it!"
" Fort^ years ? Only three hundred miles ? Humph ! Ben Halliday
would have fetched them through in thirty-six hours ! "
The boy meant no harm. He did not know that he had said any-
* Sm '' Th« iDQOMiiti Abroftd.**
HiH^
398
MARK TWAIN'S WORKS.
thing that was wrong or irreverent. And so nc' one scolded him or felt
oflfended with him — luid nobody cvuM^ but sonie ungeneroufl spirit in-
capable of excusing the heedless blunders of a boy.
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ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.
I .;
l< |V yr ORAL STATISTICIAN."— I don't want any of your statistics,
iVl I took vonr whole batch and lit my pipe with it. I hate your
kind of people. You are always ciphering out how much a
man's health is injured, and how much his intellect is impaired, and
liow many pitiful dollars and cents he wastes in the course of ninety-
two years' indulgence in the fatal practice of smoking ; and in the
equally fatal practice of drinking coffee ; and in playingmlliards occa-
sionally ; and in taking a glass of wine at dinner, &c. &,c. <&c. And
you are always figuring out how many women have been burned to
death because of the dangerous fashion of wearing expansive hoops, &c.
&c. &c. You never see more than one side of the question. You are
blind to the fact that most old men in America smoke and drink coffee,
although, according to your theory, they ought to have died young ; and
that hearty old Englishmen drink wine and survive it, and portly old
Dutchmen both drink and smoke freely, and yet grow older and fatter
all the time. And you never try to find out how much solid comfort^
relaxation, and enjoyment a man derives from smoking in the course of
a lifetime (which is worth ten times the money he would save by letting
it alone), nor the appalling aggregate of happiness lost in a lifetime by
your kind of people from not smoking. Of course you can save money
by denying yourself all those little vicious enjoyments for fifty years ;
but then what can you do with it ] What use can you put it to ? Money
can't save your infinitesimal soul. All the use that money can be put
to is to purchase comfort and enjoyment in this life ; therefore, as you
are an enemy to comfort and enjoyment, where is the use of accumulat*
ing cash % It won't do for you to say that you can use it to bettor
purpose in furnishing a good table, and in charities, and in supporting
tract societies, because you know yourself that you people who have no
petty vices are never known to give away a cent, and that you stint your,
selves so in the matter of food tnat you are always feeble and hungry.
And you never dare to laugh in the daytime for fear some poor wretch,
seeing you in a good humour, will try to borrow a dollar of you ; and
in church you are always down on your knees, with your eyes buried in
the cushion, when the contribution-box comes around ; and you never
give the revenue officers a full statement of your income. Now you
know all these things yourself, don't you ? Very well, then, what is the
use of your stringing out your miserable lives to a lean and withered old
age ? What is the use of your saving money that is so utterly worthle8H
to you ? In a word, why don't you go off somewhere and die« and not
ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS,
•«09
5olded him or felt
merouB spirit in-
■A '\ a
DENTS.
of your statistics,
h it. I hate your
; out how much a
is impaired, and
course of ninety-
ing ; and in the
ag oilliards occa-
zc. &c. (fee. And
been burned to
ansive hoops, &c.
lestion. You are
and drink coffee,
died young; and
It, and portly old
older and fattei
Lch solid comfort,
in the course of
d save by letting
in a lifetime by
can save money
for fifty years ;
at it to % Money
Loney can be put
herefore, as you
se of accumuliit-
ise it to better
J in supporting
>le who have no
you stint your.
le and hungry.
ne poor wretch,
Eu: of you ; and
r eyes buried in
and you never
)me. Now you
len, what is the
nd withered old
tterly worthless
nd die, and not
b<» always trying to seduce people into becoming as " ornery ** and un-
loveable as you are yourselves, by your ceaseless and villanous " moral
statistics ? " Now, I don't approve of dissipation, and I don't indulge
in it either ; but I haven't a particle of confidence in a man who has
no redeeming petty vices whatever, and so I don't want to hear from
you any more. I think you are the very Si.nif man who read me a long
lecture last week about the degrading vice or smoking cigars, and then
came back, in my absence, with your reprehensible fire-proof gloves on,
and carried off my beautiful parlour stove.
"Simon Wheeler," Sonora. — The following simple and touching
remarks and accompanying poem have just come to hand from the rich
gold-mining region of Sonora :
To Mr Mark Twain : The within parson, which I have set to poetry under the
name and style of "He Done His Level Best," was one among the whitest men
I ever see, and it an't every man that knowed him that can find it in his heaii;
to say he 's glad the poor cuss is husted and gone home to the States. He was
here in an early day, and he was the handyest man about takin' holt of anything
that come along you most ever see, I judge. He was a cheerful, stirrin' cretur',
always doin' somethin', and no man can say he ever see him do anything by
halvers. Freachin' was his nateral gait, but he warn't a man to lay back and
twidle his thumbs because there didn't happen to be nothin' doin* in his own
especial line— no, sir, he was a man who would meander forth and stir up some*
thing for hisself. His last acts was to go his pile on " kings-and " (calklatin' to fill,
laut which he didn't fill), when there was a " flush " out agin him, and naterally,
you see, he went under. And so he was cleaned out, as you may say, and he
struck the home-trail, cheerful but flat broke. I knowed this talon ted man in
Arkansaw, and if you would print this humbly tribute to his gorgia abilities, yon
would greatly obleege his onhappy friend.
■ , . . HK DONE HIS LEVEL BEST, ;• ,,
■ ' Was he a mining on the flat —
,'.;■ He done it with a rest ;
Was he a leading of the choir — .1
He done his level best.
If he 'd a reg'lar task to do,
He never took no rest ;
Or if 'twas off -and-on— the same— '
He done his level best.
_, It-; ' ' - 1 ... • I •
If he was preachin' on his beat,
, ;; ; ( : ( He 'd tramp from east to west, ^
And north to south — in cold and heat.
He done his level best. ,.; , . • r.
• ' He'd yank a sinner outen (Hades),* "'.'
v:.i'' ^<;■ And land him. with the blest ;
Then snatch a prayer 'n waltz in agaiu,
And do his level best. . ;,. ,, ,,,,,.
* Here I hare taken a slight liberty with the original MS. ' * Hades * does noft
make such good metre as the other word of one syUable, but it Boxmds better.
■Ui.
MARK TWATN*S WORKS,
He 'd ousB and sing and howl and pray«
And dance and drink and jest,
And lie and steal — all one to him —
He done his level best.
Whate'er this man was sot to do,
He done it with a zest ;
No matter what his contract was,
He 'd do his level best.
^lk!'';rn^!
it« 5
11
%
lAv
Verily, this man was gifted with " gorgis abilities," and it is a happi-
ness to me to embalm the memory of their lustre in these columns. If
it were not that the poet crop is unusually large and rank in California
this year, I would encourage you to continue writing, Simon Wheeler ;
but, as it is, perhaps it might be too risky in you to enter against so
much opposition. • . *>
" Professional Beggar." — No j you are not obliged to take green-
backs at par.
" Melton Mowbray," * Dutch Flat. — This correspondent sends a lot
of doggerel, and says it has been regarded as very good in Dutch Flat.
I give a specimen in verse : —
*' The Assyrian came down like a wolf on the fold,
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold ;
And the sheen of his spears was like stars on the sea ;
When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee."
There, that will do. That may be very good Dutch Flat poetry, bus
it won't do in the metropolis. It is too smooth and blubbery ; it reads
like buttermilk gurgling from a jug. What the people ought to have is
something spirited — something uke " Johnny Comes Marching Home."
However, keep on practising, and you may succeed yet. There is genius
in you, but too much blubber.
" Amateur Serenader." — Yes ; I will give you some advice, and do
it with a good deal of pleasure. I live in a neighbourhood which is well
stocked with young ladies, and consequently 1 am excruciatingly sensi-
tive up ^n the subject of serenading. Sometimes 1 suflfer. In the first
place, always tune your instruments before you get within three hundred
yards of your destination. This will enable you to take your adored
unawares, and create a pleasant surprise by launching out at once upon
your music. It astonisnes the dogs and cats out of their presence of
mind, too, so that if you hurry you can get through before they have a
* This piece of pleasantry, published in a San Francisco paper, was mistakon
bv the countiy journals for seriousness, and many and loud were the dennncia-
turns of the ignorance of author and editor, in not knowing that the lines in
question were " written by Byron."
1; ,' ., "•
• ■ I I
nd it ia a liappi-
JHe columns. If
nk in California
Jimon Wheeler ;
enter against so
1 to take green*
dent sends a lot
in Dutch Flat.
>
»
lat poetry, bu!
)bery ; it reads
ught to have is
rching Home."
"'here is genius
advice, and do
which is well
liatingly sensi-
In the first
;hree hundred
your adored
at once upon
r presence of
re they have a
, was miatakon
the denuncia-
hat the linns m
ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.
401
chance to recover and interrupt you ; besides, there is nothing captivat-
ing in the sounds produced in tuning a lot of melancholy guitars and
fiddles, and neither does a group of able-bodied sentimental young men
00 engaged look at all dignified. Secondly, clear your throats and do all
the coughing you have got to do before you arrive at the seat of war. I
have known a voung lady to be ruthlessly startled out of her slumbers
by such a sudden and direful barking and " h'm-h'm-ing," that she
imagined the house was beleagured by patients from the neighbouring
hospital. Do you suppose the music was able to make her happy after
that? Thirdly, don't st^md right under the porch and howl, out get
out in the middle of the street, or better still, on the other side of it
Distance lends enchantment to the sound. If you have previously
transmitted a hint to the lady that she is ^oing to be serenaded, sh^ will
understand whom the music is for ; besides, if you occupy p neutral
position in the middle of the street, maybe all the neighbours round
will take stock in your serenade, and invite you to take wine with them.
Fourthly, don't sing a whole opera through ; enough of a thing 's
enough. Fifthly, don't sing " Lilly Dale." The profound satisfaction
that most of us derive from the reflection that the girl treated of in that
Bong is dead, is constantly maned by the resurrection of the lugubrious
ditty itself by your kind of people. Sixthly, don't let your screaming
tenor soar an octave above all the balance of the chorus, and remain
there setting everybody's teeth on edge for four blocks around ; and,
above all, don't let him sing a solo ; probably there is nothing in the
world so suggestive of serene contentment and perfect bliss as the spec-
tacle of a calf chewing a dish-ra^ ; but the nearest approach to it is
your reedy tenor, standing apart, m sickly attitude, with head thrown
Dack and eyes uplifted to the moon, piping his distressing solo. Now do
not pass lightly over this matter, friend, but ponder it with that serious-
ness which its importance entitles it to. Seventhly, after you have run
all the chickens and dogs and cats in the vicinity distracted, and roused
them into a frenzy of crowing and cackling, and yowling, and caterwaul-
ing, put up your dreadful instruments and go home. Eighthly, as soon
as you start, gag your tenor — otherwise he will be letting olf a screech
every now and then, to let the people know he is around. Your amateur
tenor is notoriously the most self-conceited of all God's creatures.
Tenthly, don't go serenading at all ; it is a wicked, unhappy, and sedi-
tious practice, and a calamity to all bouIb that are weary and desire to
slumber and be at rest.
"St Olaib HiGOiNS." Lot /injre^M.— "My life is a failure; I have ador
wildly, madly, and she whom I love has turned coldly from me and shed
affections upon another. What would you advise me to do? **
-f
You should set your affections on another, also— ot an. serend, if
there are enough to go round. Also, do everything you can to make
four former flame uimappy. There is an abei\rd idea disseminated in
novels, that the happier a girl is with another man, the happier it makes
Uie old lover she luis blighted Bcm't allow yourself to believe any sudi
So
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403
^^J?Ar TWAIN'S WORKS,
Qonsenfie as that The more cause that girl fmds to regret that she did
Qot marry you, the more comfortable you will feel over it. It isn't
poetical, but it is mighty sound doctrine.
"ARiTHMcnous." Virginia, Nevada.- '' If it would take a cannon ball 3i
Moonds to travel four milei, and 3j seconds to travel the next four, and 3| to
travel the next four, and if its r.at-.e of progress continued to diminish in the
same ratio, how long would it take it to go fifteen hundred millionB of milM ?
I don't know.
" Ambitious Learner," Oakland. — Yes ; you are right — America
was not discovered by Alexander Selkirk.
" DisoARDKD LOVEB."— I loved, and still love, the beautiful Edwitha Howard,
and intended to marr^ her. Yet, during nay temporary absence at Benicia, last
week, alas! she married Jones. Is my happiness to be thus blasted for life?
Have I no redress ? "
Of course you have. All the law, written and unwritten, is on your
side. The intention and not the a>ct constitutes crime — in other words,
constitutes the deed. If you call your bosom friend a fool, and intend it
for an insult, it iis an insult ; but if you do it playfully, and meaning no
insult, it is not an insult. If you discharge a pistol acctdentallt/f and kill
a man, you can go free, for you have done no murder ; but if you try to
kUl a man, and manifestly intend to kill him, but fail utterly to do it,
the law still holds that the intention constituted the crime, and you are
guilty of murder. Ergo, if you had married Edwitha accidentcUl;^, and
without really intending to do it, you would not actually be married to
her at all, because the act of marriage could not be complete without the
intention. And ergo, in the strict spirit of the law, since you deliberately
intended to marry Edwitha, and didn't do it, you are married to her aU
the same — ^because, as I said before, the intention constitutes the crime.
It is as clear as day that Edwitha is your wife, and your redress lies in
laking a club and lu^cilating Jones with it as much as you can. Any
man has a right to protect Ms own wife from the advances of other men.
But you have another alternative — ^you were married to Edwitha Jwrstf
because of your deliberate intention, and now you can prosecute her for
bigamy, in subsequently marrying Jones. But there is another phase
in this complicated case : You intended to marry Edwitha, and conse-
quently, according to law, she is your wife — ^there is no getting around
that ; out she didn't marry you, and if she never intended to marry you,
you are not her husband, of course. Ergo, in marrying Jones, she was
guilty of bigamy, because she wag the wife of another man at the time ;
which is all very well as far as it goes — but then, don't you see, she had no
other husband when she married Jones, and consequently she was not
guilty of bigamy. Now, according to this view of the case, Jones married
a spinsteTy who was a vndow at the same time and another man's vnfe at
the same time, and yet who had no husband and never had one, and never
had any intention of getting married, and therefore, of course, never had
been married ; and by the same reasoning you are a bacheU/r^ because
you have never been any one's hutband: and a mwrried man^ because
I \
ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS,
403
right — America
you have a wife living ; and to all intents and purposes a widtywtr^
because you have been deprived of that wife ; and a consummate cus for
tfoing otf to Benicia in tlie tirst place, while thin;,'8 were so mixed. And
by this time I have ^ot myseli' so tangled up in the intricacies of this
extraordinary case that I shall have to give up any furtlier attem])t to
advise you — I might get confused and fail to make myself understood.
* think I could take up the argument where I left olF, and by following
it closely awhile, perhaps I could prove to your satistaction, either that
you never existed at all, or that you are dead now, and consequently
don't need the faithless Edwitha — I think 1 could do that, if it would
afford you any comfort.
** Arthur Augustus." — No ; you are wrong ; that is the proper way
to throw a brickbat or a tomahawk ; but it doesn't answer so well for a
bouquet ; you will hurt somebody if you keep it up. Turn your nose-
gay upside down, take it by the stems, and toss it with an upward
sweep. Did you ever pitch quoits \ that is the idea. The practice of
recklessly heaving immense solid bouquets, of the general size and
weight of prize cabbages, from the dizzy altitude of the galleries, is
dangerous and very reprehensible. Now, night before last, at the
Academy of Music, just after Signorina had finished that exqui-
site melody, " The Last Rose of Sunmier," one of these lioral pile-drivers
came cleaving down through the atmosphere of apjdause, and if she
liadii't de])U>ye<l suddenly to the right, it would have driven her into tlie
floor like a shingle-nail. Of course that bou(juet was well mtiant ; but
how wouM you like to have been the target ] A sincere compliment is
always grateful to a lady, so long as you don't try to knock her down
with it.
" Young Mother." — And so you think a baby is a thing of beauty
and a joy for ever ] Well, the idea is pleasing, but not original ; every
cow thinks the same of its own calf. Perhaps tiie cow may not think it
so elegantly, but still she thinks it nevertheless. I honour the cow for
it. We all honour this touching maternal instinct wherever we find it,
be it in the home of luxury or in the humble cow-shed. But really,
madam, when I come to examine the matter in all its bearings, I find
that the correctness of your assertion does not manifest itself in all
cases. A soiled baby, with a neglected nose, cannot be conscientiously
regarded as a thing of beauty ; and inasmuch as babyhood spans but
three short years, no baby is competent to be a joy " for ever." It
pains me thus to demolisn two-thirds of your pretty sentiment in a
single sentence ; but the position I hold in this chair requires that I
shall not permit you to deceive and mislead the public with your plau-
sible figures of speech. I know a female baby, aged eighteen months,
in this city, which cannot hold out as a "joy" twenty -four hours on a
stretch, let alone " for ever." And it possesses some of the most remark-
able eccentricities of character and appetite that have ever fallen under
my notice. I will set down here a statement of this infant's operations
(conceived, planned, and carried out by itself, and without suggestion
404
MARK TWAIN*S WORKS,
!;*. '13
or astistance from its mother or any one else), during a single day ;
and what I shall say can be substantiated by the sworn testimony of
witnesNi^s.
It commenced by eating one dozen lari^'u blue-maHs pills, box and all ;
then it fell down a flight oi stairs, and aro»e with a blue and purple knot
on its forehead, after which it proceeded in quest of further refreshment
and amusement. It found a glass trinket ornamented with brass- work
— smashed up and ate the glass, and then swallowed the brass. Then it
drank about twenty drops of laudanum, and more than a dozen table-
spoonfuls of strong spirits of camphor. The reason why it took no more
laudanum was because there was no more to take. After this it lay
down on its back, and shoved five or six inches of a silver-headed whale-
bone cane down its throat ; got it fast there, and it was all its mothei
could do to pull the cane out again, without pulling out some of the
child with it. Then, being hungry for glass again, it broke up several
wine-glasses, and fell to eating and swallowing tlie fragments, not mind-
ing a cut or two. Then it ate a quantity of butter, pepper, salt, and
Cfdifomia matches, actually taking a spoonful of ))utter, a spoonful of
salt, a spoonful of pepper, and three or four lucifer matches at each
mouthful. (1 will remark here that tliis thing of beauty likes painted
German lucifers, and eats all she can get of them ; but she infinitely
prefers California matches, which I regard as a compliment to our home
manufactures of more than ordinary value, coming, as it does, from one
who is too young to flatter.) Then she washed her head with soap and
water, and afterwards ate what soap was left, and drank us much of the
suds as she had room for ; rifter which she sallied forth and took the cow
familiarly by the tail, and got kicked heels over head. At odd times
during the day, when this joy for ever happened to have nothing par-
ticular on hand, she put in the time by climbing up on places, and
falling down off them, uniformly damaging herself in the operation.
As young as she is, she speaks many words tolerably distinctly ; and
being plain-spoken in other respects, blunt and to the point, she opens
conversation with all strangers, male or female, with the same formula,
*' How do, Jim ? " Not being familiar with the ways of children, it is
possible that I have been magnifying into matter of surprise things
which may not strike any one who is familiar with infancy as being
at all astonishing. However, I cannot believe that such is the case, and
so I repeat that my report of this babjr's performances is strictly true ;
and if any one doubts it, I can produce th^ child. I will further engage
that she will devour anything that is given her (reserving to myself only
the right to exclude anvils), and fall down from any piece to which she
may be elevated (merely stipulating that her preference for alighting on
her head shall be respected, and, therefore, that the elevation chosen
shall be high enough to enable her to accomplish this to her satisfac-
tion.) But I find I have wandered from my subject ; so, without
further argument, I will reiterate my conviction that not all babies
are things of beauty and joys for ever.
<(
ABITHMBTI0U8." Yirgmiay Nevada.— ** I am an enthuaiactio student of
TO RAISE POULTRY.
405
UMthematloi, and it is 10 vexatioas to me to find my progreM constantly impeded
b^ these mysterious arithmetical technioalities. Now do tell me what the
difference is between geometry and conohology ? "
Here you come a^ain with your arithmetical conundrums, when I am
suffering death witn a cold in the head. If you could have seen the
expression of scorn that darkened my countenance a moment ago, and
was instantly split from the centre in every direction like a fractured
looking-glass by my last sneeze, you never would have written t'iat
disgraceful question. Conchology is a science which has nothing to do
witn mathematics : it relates only to shells. At the same time, however,
a man who opens oysters for an hotel, or shells a fortified town, or sucks
eggs, is not, strictly speaking, a conchologist — a fine stroke of sarcasm
that, but it will be lost on such an uniiitellectual clam as you. Now
compare conchology and geometry together, and you will see what the
difference is, and your question will be answered. But don't torture
me with any more arithmetical horrors (for I detest figures) until you
know I am rid of my cold. I feel the bitterest animosity towards you
at this moment — bothering me in this may, when I can do nothing but
sneeze and rage and snort pocket-handkerchiefs to atoms. If I had yov
in range of my nose, now, I would blow your brains out.
■tio student of
TO RAISE POULTRY.*
SERIOUSLY, from early youth I have taken an especial interest
in the subject of poultry-raising, and so this membership touches
a ready sympathv in my breast. Even as a school-boy, poultry-raising
was a study witn me, and I may say without egotism that as early as
the age of seventeen I was acquainted with aU the best and speediest
methods of raising chickens, from raising them off a roost by burning
lucifer matches under their noses, down to lifting them off a fence on a
frosty night by insinuating the end of a warm board imder their heels.
By the time I was twenty years old, I really suppose I had raised more
poultry than any one individual in all the section round about there.
The very chickens came to know my talent, by and by. The youth of
both sexes ceased to paw the earth for worms, and old roosters that
came to crow, " remained to pray," when I passed by.
I have had so much experience in the raising of fowls that I cannot
but think that a few hints from me might be useful to the Society.
The two methods I have already touched upon are very simple, and are
only used in the raising of the commonest class of fowls ; one is for
* Being a letter written to a Poultry Society th«t had conferred a eomplimen-
tary membership upon the author*
i'i
:i
V
"1«
406
A^AH/C TWAIN'S WORKS,
■ammer, the othei for winter. In the one case yon start out wltb a
friend along about eleven o'clock on a summer's night (not later,
because in some SUites — especially in California and Oregon — chickens
always rouse up just at niianight and crow from ten to tnirty minutes,
according to the ease or difficulty they experience in getting the public
waked up), and your friend carries with nira a sack. Arrived at the
hen-roost (your neighbour's, not your own), you light a match and hold
it under first one and then another pullet s nose until they are willing
to go into that bag without making an^ trouble about it. You then
return home, either taking the bag with vou or leaving it behind,
according as circumstances shall dictate. N.B. — I have seen the time
when it was eligible and appropriate to leave the sack behind and
walk oflf with considerable velocity, without ever leaving any word
where to send it
In the case of the other method mentioned for raising poultry, your
friend takes along a covered vessel with a charcoal fire in it, aiul you
carry a long slender plank. This is a frosty night, understand. Arrived
at the tree, or fence, or other hen-roost (your own if you are an idiot),
you warm the end of your plank in your friend's fire vessel, and then
raise it aloft and ease it up gently against a slumbering chicken's foot.
If the subject of your attentions ifl a true bird, he will infallibly return
thanks with a sleepy cluck or two, and step out and take up quarters
on the plank, thus becoming so conspicuously accessory before the fact
to his own murder as to make it a grave question in our minds, as it
once was in the mind of Blackstone, whether he is not really and
deliberately committing suicide in the second degree. [But you enter
into a contemplation of these legal refinements subsequently — not then.]
When you wish to raise a fine, large, donkev-voiced Shanghai rooster,
you do it with a lasso, just as you would a buU. It is because he must
be choked, and choked effectually, too. It is the only good, certain
way, for whenever he mentions a matter which he is cordially interested
in, the chances are ninety-nine in a hundred that he secures somebody
else's immediate attention to it too, whether it be day or night.
The Black Spanish is an exceedingly fine bird and a costl;^ on&
Thirty-five dollars is the usual figure, and fifty a not uncommon price for
a specimen. Even its eggs are worth from a dollar to a dollar and a hdif
A-piece, and yet are so unwholesome that the city physician seldom or
never orders them for the workhouse. Still I have once or twice pro-
cured as high as a dozen at a time for nothing, in the dark of the moon.
The best way to raise the Black Spanish fowl is to go late in the evening
and raise coop and all. The reason I recommend this method is, that the
birds being so valuable, the owners do not permit them to roost around
promiscuously, but put them in a coop as strong as a fire-proof safe, and
keep it in the kitchen at night. The method I spoak of is not always
a bright and satisfying success, and yet there are so many little articles
of vertu about a kitchen, that if you fail on the coop you can generally
bring away something else. I brought away a nice steel trap one night,
worth ninety cents.
But what is the use in my pouring out my whole intellect on this
**liu^
art out wltb a
ght (not later,
egon — chickens
thirty minutes,
tting the public
Arrived at the
match and hold
they are willing
t it. You then
vdng it behind,
t seen the time
ick behind and
iving any word
ng poultry, your
) in it, and you
iTstand. Arrived
ou we an idiot),
vessel, and then
ig chicken's foot,
inl'allibly retuni
take up quarters
y before the fact
our minds, as it
I not really and
[But you enter
Bntly — not then.]
Shanghai rooster,
because he muBt
ily good, certain
rdially interested
ecures somebody
)r night,
ad a costly one.
sommon price for
dollar and a half
rsician seldom or
ice or twice pro-
ark of the moon,
te in the evening
Lcthod is, that the
Q to roost around
pe-proof safe, and
of is not always
my little articles
ou can generally
" trap one night,
intellect on this
CALIFORNIAN EXPERIENCE,
407
•abject t I have shown the Western New York Poultry Society that
they have taken to their bosom a party who is not a spring chicken by
any means, but a man who knows all about poultry, and is just as hign
up in the most etticient methods of raising it as the President of the
institution himsell. I thank these gentlemen for the hunorury member-
ship they have conferred upon me, and shall stand at all times ready
and willing to testify my good fueling and my ofhcial zeal by deeds ai
well as by this hastily penned advice and information. Whenever they
are ready to go to raising poultry, let them call for me any 'Evening after
eleven o'clock, and I shall be on hand promptly.
CALIFORNIAN EXPERIENCE.
A" FORTY-NINER " (as the first emigrants to California are still
called, in memoiy of the year 1849), who long ago retunied from
the Pacific, has discovered the following poem among hia forgotten
papers, and sends it for insertion in these pages. His note statcH that
lie picked it up in the streets of Stockton, California, twenty years ago ;
and the endorsement on the back, and the old and yellow aspect of the
MS., are good evidence of his truthfulness. Miners were very plenty in
Stockton in those old days, and among them were many in whose hearts
this "Lament" would nave found an answering chord, and in their
apparel an eloquent endorsement ; but that is all past now. Stockton
has no miners any more, and no celebrity, except as bein^ the place
where the State insane asylum is located. But that celebnty is broad
and well established ; so much so, that when one is in Calimmia and
tells a person he thinks of going to Stockton, the remark must be ex-
plained, or an awkward report may get out. You would not say in
New York that a friend of yours had gone to Sing Sing, without explain-
ing that he was not accredited to the penitentiary — unless he was ; in
which cose the explanation would be unnecessary elaboration of e
remark that was elaborate enough before. ■.,,.,.
hi ■■
"Vi-K;
THE MINER'S LAMENT.
,.)
1/ V.':
^l*..|
Blgh on a rough and dismal orag,
Where Keau might spout, " Ay I there's the rub," »
Where oft, no doubt, eome midnight hag
Had danced a jig with Beelzebub, ,, , ,,j . ;. ,
There stood, beneath the pale moonlight, ' ' . °
mmer grim, with visage long, m i
Who vexed the drowsy ear of night > ' '> ^'^ J ^• i'«
With dxeadful rhyme and dismal song.
''*
r
.,•!
I'
H
u\
408
f
AfA/i/C TIVAIN*S WORKS.
He sang, " I hare no harp or lute
To sound the stem deoreei of Fal»}
I onoo puueised a two-holed Ante,
But that I lold to raiae a stake.
Than wake thy itraina, my wild tin-pMi^
AffriKht the oriokets from their latn {
Make wood and mountain ring again.
And terrify the grizzly beari.
'* My heart ii on a distant ihore,
My gentle lore ii far away ;
Shf 'h-eami not that my clothes are tors I
^nd all besmeared with dirty clay ;
k»he little knows how much of late,
Amid tliese dark and dismal scenes,
I 're struggled with an adrerse fate,
And lived, ah, me ! on pork and beam.
** Oh ! that a bean would nerer grow
To fling its shadow o'er my heart ;
My tears of grief are hard to flow.
But food like this must make them start.
The good old times hare passed away,
And all things now are strange and new,
All sare my shirt and tro".sers grey.
Three stockings and one cowhide shoe I
** Oh, give me back the days of rore,
And all those udght though fading scene*—
Connected with that happy shore
Where turkeys grow, and dams, and gnvmt^
Those days that sank long weeks ago
Deep in the solemn grare of time.
And left no trace that man may know,
Save trousers all patched up behind I
And boots all worn, and shirts all torn,
Or botched with most outrageous stitohio—
Oh. give me back those days of yore,
And take these weather-beaten broeohei 1 "
"THE UNION— RIGHT OR WRONG?"
I CAN assure ^ou, ladies and gentlemen, that Nevada had live!)
newspapers in those days.
My great competitor among the reporters was Boggs of the Union,
an excellent reporter.
Once in three or four months he would get a little intoxicated ; but,
as a general thing, he was a wary and cautious drinker, although always
ready to damp himself a little with the enemy.
He had the advantage of me in one thing ; he could get the monthly
public school report, and I could not, becauae the principal* hated my
sheet — the Ent^rprue. ,1 •
* The head master of the sehooL
^THE UN/ON— RIGHT OR WRONGS
4^
nu»—
.ONG?"
|ada had livel)
;8 of the Unim,
itoxicateA; but,
Ithough always
let the monthly
bipal* hated my
One inowT night, when the report wee due, I iterted out, sadly won*
lering how I waa to get it
Presently, a few steps up the almost deserted street, I stumbled od
Uuggs, and asked him where he was going.
" After the school report"
" 1 11 go aloncr with you."
" No, tir, I 11 excuse you.*
" Have it your own way."
A saloon-keeper's bo^ passed by with a steaming pitcher of hot punch,
and Boggs snuned the fragrance gratefully.
He gazed fondly after the boy, and saw him start up the Enterprue
stairs.
I said —
" I wish you could help me get that school business, but since you
can't, I must run up to the Union office and see if I can get a proof
of it after it 's set up, though I don't begin to suppose I can. Good
ni-,'ht."
" Hold on a minute. I don't mind getting the report and sitting
around with the bo^s a little, while you copy it, if you're willing to
drop down to the pnncipal's with me."
" Now you talk like a human being. Come along."
We ploughed a couple of blocks through the snow, got the report, a
nhort document, and soon copied in our othce.
Meantime, Boggs helped himself to the punch.
I gave the manuscript back to him, and we started out to get an in-
quest
At four o'clock in the morning, when we had gone to press, and were
having a relaxing concert as usual — for some of the printers were good
eingerH, and others good performers on the guitar ana on that atrocity
the accordian — the proprietor of the Union strode in and asked if any-
body had heard anything of Boggs or the school report.
We stated the case, and all turned out to help hunt for the delinquent.
We found him standing on a table in a saloon, with an old tin lantern
iu one hand and the school report in the other, haranguing a gang of
" corned '' miners on the iniquity of squandering the public moneys on
education " when hundreds and hundreds of honest murd- working men
were literally starving for whisky."
He had been assisting in a regal spree with those parties for houm.
We dragged him away, and put him to bed.
Of course there was no school report in the Urvionj and Boggs held me
accountable, though I was innocent of any intention or desire to compass
its absence from that paper, and was as sorry as any one that the misfor-
tune had occurred. Hut wo were perfectly friendly.
The day the next school report was due, the proprietor of the Ten-
nessee Mine furnished us a buggy, and asked us to go down and write
flomething about the property — a very common request, and one always
gladly acceded to when people furnisned buggies, for we were as fond ol
pleasure excunions as otner people.
♦w
MARK TWAIN'S WORKS.
The " mine '' was a hole in the ground ninety feet deep, and no way
of getting' dow n into it but by holding on to a rope and being lowered
with a windlass.
The workmen had just gone off somewhere to dinner.
I was not stroug enough to lower Hogg's bulk ; so I took an unlighted
candle in my teeth, made a loop for my foot in the end of the rope, im
plored Boggs not to go to sleep or let the windlass get the start of him,
and then swung out over the shaft.
I reached the bottom muddy and bruised about the elbows, but safe.
I lib the candle, made an examination of the rock, selected some
specimens, and shouted to Boggs to hoist away.
No answer.
Presently a head appeared in the circle of daylight away aloft, and »
voice came down —
" Are you all set 1 "
" All set — hoist away."
" Are you comfortable ? "
** Perfectly."
« Could you wait a Uttle ? "
** Oh, certainly — no particular hurry,"
« Well— good-bye."
** Why ? Where are you going ? "
" After the school rep^H ! "
And he did.
I stayed down there an nour, and surprised the workmen when the^
hauled up and found a man on the roi^e instead of a bucket of rock.
I walked >iome, too — five miles — up hUl.
We ha(^ no school report next morning ; but the Union had.
DISGRACEFUL PERSECUTION OF A
BOY.
IN San Francisco, the other day, " a well-dressed boy, on his way lu
Sunday-school, was arrested and thrown into the* city prison for
stoning Chinamen." What a commentary is this upon human
iustice ! What sad prominence it gives to our human disposition to
tyrannise over the weak ! San Francisco has little right to take credit
to herself for her treatment of this poor boy. What had the child's
education been? How should he suppose it was wrong to stone a
Chinaman ? Before we side against nim, along with outraged San
Francisco, let us give him a chance — ^let ub hear the testimony for the
defence.
deep, and uo way
ind being lowered
r.
took an unlighted
d of the rope, im
the start of him,
! elbows, but safe.
>ck, selected some
away aloft, and u
iorkmen when the^
)ucket of rock.
nion had.
3N OF A
boy, on his way tu
ihecity prison for
this upon human
nan disposition to
nght to take credit
lat had the child's
wrong to stone a
dth outraged San
testimony for the
DISGRACEFUL PERSECUTION OF A BOY aw
Ho was a "well-dressed" boy, and a Sunday-school scholar, and, there-
fore, the chances are that his parents were intelligent, weU-to-do people,
with just enough natural villany in their composition to make them
yearn after the daily papers, and enjoy them ; and so this boy had
opportunities to learn all through the week how to do right, as well aa
on Sunday.
It was in this way that he found out that the great commonwealth of
California imposes an unlawful mining-tax upon John the foreigner, and
allows Patrick the foreigner to dig gold for nothing — probably because
the degraded Mongol is at no expense for whisky, and the renned Celt
cannot exist without it.
It was in this way that he found out that a respectable number of the
tax-gatherers — it would be unkind to say all of them — collect the tax
twice, instead of once ; and that, inasmuch as they do it solely to dis-
courage Chinese immigration into the mines, it is a thing that is much
applauded, and likewise regarded as being singularly facetious.
It was in this way that he found out that when a white man robs a
sluice-box (by the term white man is meant Spaniards, Mexicans, Portu-
guese, Irish, Hondurans, Peruvians, Chileans, &c. &c.), they make him
leave the camp ; and when a Chinaman does that thing, they hang
him.
In was in this way that he found out that in many districts of the vast
Pacific coast, so strong is the wUd, free love of justice in the hearts of the
people, that whenever any secret and mysterious crime is committed,
they say, " Let justice be done, though the heavens fall," and go straight-
way and swing a Chinaman.
It was in this way that he found out that by studying one hall of each
day's " local items," it would appear that the police of San Francisco
were either asleep or dead, and by studying the other half it would seem
that t^e reporters were gone mad with admiration of the energy, the
virtue, the mgh effectiveness, and the dare-devil intrepidity of that very
police— making exultant mention of how " the Argus-eyed officer So-and-
so," captured a wretched knave of a Chinaman who was stealing chickens,
and brought him gloriously to the city prison ; and how " the gallaiit
officer Such-and-such-a-one," quietly kept an eye on the movements of
an " unsuspecting, almond-eyed son of Confucius " (your reporter is
nothing if not facetious), following him around with that far-off look of
vacancy and unconsciousness always so finely affected by that inscrutable
being, the forty-dollar policeman, during a waking interval, and captured
him at last in the very act of placing Ms hands in a suspicious manner
upon a paper of tacks, left by the owner in an exposed situation ; and
how one officer performed this prodigious thing, and another officer that,
and another the other — and pretty much every one of these performances
having for a dazzling central incident a Chinaman guuty of a shilling's
worth of crime, an unfortunate, wliose mi8demf";nour must be hurraed
into something enormous in order to keep the public from noticing how
many really important rabcals went uncaptured in the meantime, and
how overrated those glorified policemen actually are.
It was in this way that the Doy found out that the LegialatiU9| being
\
I ■
^ ^^..- ifWT^iiij'Bir
413
MARK TWAIN'S WORKS.
r<
' ll
II >
J 1
J' I
) 'I I
! r
-r-
aware that the Constitution has made America an asylum for the poor
and the oppressed of all nations, and that, therefore, the poor and op-
pressed who fly to our shelter must not be chained a disablmg admission
fee, made a law that every Chinaman, upon landing, must be vaccinated
upon the wharf, and pay to the State's appointed officer ten dollars for
the service, when there are plenty of doctors in San Francisco who would
be glad enough to do it for nim for fifty cents.
It was in tliis way that the boy found out that a Chinaman had no
rights that any man was bound to respect ; that he had no sorrows that
any man was bound to pity ; that neither his life nor his liberty was
worth the purchase of a penny when a white man needed a scapegoat ;
that nobody loved Chinamen, nobody befriended them, nobody spared
them suffering when it was convenient to inflict it ; evervbody, indi-
viduals, communities, the majesty of the State itself, joined in hating,
abusing, and persecuting these hiimble strangers.
And, therefore, what could have been more natural than for this
sunny-hearted boy, tripping along to Sunday-school, with his mind
teeming with freshly-learned incentives to high and virtuous action, to
say to himself —
'' Ah, there goes a Chinaman ! Qod will not love me if I do not stone
him."
And for this he was arrested and put in tL-^ oHv jaiL
Everything conspired to teach hun that it was a high and holy thing
to stone a Chinaman, and yet he no sooner attempts to do his duty than
he is puniahed for it — he, poor chap, who has been aware all his life that
one of the principal recreations of the police, out toward the Gold
Refinery, is to look on with tranquil enjoyment while the butchers of
Brannan Street set their dogs on unoffending Chinamen, and make then
flee for their lives.*
Keeping in mind the tuition in the humanities which the entire
" Pacific coast " gives its youth, there is a very sublimity of grotesquenesa
in the virtuous flourish with which the good city fathers of San Francisco
proclaim (as they have lately done) that "The police are positively
ordered to arrest all boys, of every description and wherever found, who
engage in assaulting Chinamen."
Still, let us be truly glad they have made the order, notwithstandiuL',
its prominent inconsistency ; and let us rest perfectly confident the police
are glad, too. Because there is no personal peril in arresting boys, pro-
vided they be of the small kind, and the reporters will have to laud ttieir
performances just as loyally as ever, or go without items.
The new mrm for locail items in San Francisco will now be :—
* I have many such memoriea in my mind, but am thinking juit at present of
one particular one, where the Brannan Street butchers set their dogs on a China-
man who was quietly passing with a basket of clothes on his head ; and while the
dogs mutilated his flesh, a butcher increased the hilarity of the oocasioii by
knocking some of the Chinaman's teeth down his throat with half a brick. Thin
incident sticks in my memory with a more malevolent tenacity, perhaps, on
a/THJoant of the fact that I was in the employ of a San Francisco pomal at the
time, and was not allowed to publish it because it might offend soma of the
pcouliar element that subsoribed for the paper.— Mask Twain.
im for the pooi
le poor and op-
ibling admission
ist be vaccinated
r ten dollars for
lcIbco who would
hinaman had no
[ no sorrows that
• his liberty was
ded a scapegoat ;
, nobody 8]5ared
everybody, indi-
oined in hating,
il than for this
, with his mind
irtuous action, to
) if I do not stone
jh and holy thing
'do his duty than
re all his life that
toward the GoW
the butchers o*
and make then
e
which the entirt
of grotesquenesa
of San Francisco
.ce are positively
srever found, who
I, notwithstandin;.;
Infident the police
Jresting boys, pro-
lave to laud their
lis.
Iwill
now
be :—
Ig ju»t at present of
lir dogs on a Cliina-
lead ; and while the
lof the oocasiou l>y
half a brick. Tliin
iaoity, perhaps, on
l^oo jotimid at the
afifend soma of the
INFORMATION WANTED,
413
" The ever vigilant and efficient officer So-and-so succeeded, yeet^rday
afternoon, in arresting Master Tommy Jones, after a determined resist-
ance," &c. &c, followed by the cistomary statistics and final hurrah,
with its unconBcious sarcasm : " "We are hap]»y in being able to state that
this is the forty-seventh boy arrested by this gallant officer since the new
ordinance went into effect. The most extraordinary activity prevails in
the police department Nothing like it has been seen since we can
remember."
INFORMATION WANTED.
Washington, Dtctmher 10, 1867.
COULD you give me any information respecting such islands, if any,
as the Government is going to purchase %
It is an uncle of mine that wants to know. He is an indus-
trious man and well-disposed, and wants to make a living in an honest,
humble way, but more especially he wants to be quiet. He wishes to
settle down, and be quiet and unostentatious. He has been to the new
island St Thomas, but he says he thinks things are unsettled there. He
went there early with an attache of the State department, who was sent
down with money to pay for the island. My uncle had his money in
tlie same box, and so when they went ashore, getting a receipt, the sailors
hroke open the box and took all the money, not making any distinction
between Government money, which was legitimate money to be stolen,
and my uncle's, which was his own private property, and should have
been respected. But he came home and got some more and went back.
And then he took the fever. There are seven kinds of fever down there,
you know ; and, as his blood was out of order by reason of loss of sleep,
and g'jneral wear and tear of mind, he failed to cure the first fever, and
then somehow he got the other six. He is not a kind of man that
enjoys fevers, though he is well-meaning, and always does what he
thinks is right, and so he was a good deal annoyed when it appeared
he was going to die.
But he worried through, and got well and started a farm. He fenced
it in, and the next day that great storm came on, and washed the most
of it over to Gibraltar, or around there somewhere. He only said, in his
patient way, that it was gone, and he wouldn't bother about trying to
find out where it went to, thoiigh it was his opinion it went to
Gibraltar.
Then he invested in a mountain, and started a farm up there, so as to be
out of the way when the sea came ashore again. It was a good mountain,
and a good farm, but it wasn't any use ; an earthquake came the next
night and shook it all down. It was alj fragments, you know, and so
niixed up with another man's property, that he could not tell whicli were
his fragments without going to law ; and he wnnld not do that, because
MARK TWAIN'S WORKS,
his main object in going to St Thomas was to be quiet All that he
wanted was to settle down and be quiet
He thought it all over, and finally he concludCvi to tr^ the low ground
again, especially as he wanted to start a brickyard this time. He bought
a flat, and put out ten thousand bricks to dry preparatory to baking them.
But luck appeared to be against him. A volcano shoved itself through
there that night, and elevated his brickyard about two thousand feet in
the air. It irritated him a good deal. He has been up there, and he
says the bricks are all baked right enough, but he can't get them down.
At first, he thought maybe Government would get the bricks down for
iiini, because if Govermnent bought the island, it ought to protect the
property where a man has invested in good faith ; but all ^ e wants is
quiet, and so he is not going to apply for the subsidy he was thinking
about.
He went back there last week in a couple of ships of war, to prospect
around the coast for a safe place for a farm where he could be quiet ;
but another earthquake came, and hoisted both of the ships out into one
of the interior counties, and he came near losing his life. So he has
given up prospecting in a ship, and is discouraged.
WeU, now, he don't know what to do. He has tried Walrussia ; but
the bears kept after him so much, and kept him so much on the jump, as
it were, that he had to leave the country. He could not be quiet there
with those bears prancing after him all the time. That is how he came
to go to the new island we have bought — St Thomas. But he is getting
to think St Thomas is not quiet enough for a man of his turn of mind,
And that is why he wishes me to find out if Government is likely to buy
some more islands shortly. He has heard that Government is thinking
about buying Porto Rico. If that is true, he wishes to try Porto Rico,
if it is a quiet place. Hew is Porto Rico for his style of man 1 Do yau
think the Government will buy it \
MENTAL PHOTOGRAPHS.
I HAVE received from the publishers, New York, a neatly-printed
page of questions, with blanks for answers, and am requested to fill
those blanks. These questions are so arranged as to ferret out the
most secret points of a man's nature without his ever noticing what the
idea is until it is all done, and his "character" gone for ever. A
number of these sheets are bound together and called a Mental Photo-
graph Album. Nothing could induce me to fill those blanks but the
asseveration of my pastor, that it will benefit my race by enabling young
people to see what 1 am, and giving them an opportunity to become like
somebody else. This overcomes niy scrui)les. I have but little charao-
tar, but wb'xt I have I am willing to part with for the public good. I
do not boast of this character, further than that I built it up by layseU^
et All that be
' the low gronnd
me. He bought
to baking them,
jd itself through
thousand feet in
up there, and he
; get them down.
. bricks down for
ht to protect the
t all ^ e wants is
he was thinking
• war, to prospect
could be quiet ;
ihips out into one
} l&e. So he has
dWalrussia; but
,L on the jump, as
not be quiet there
at is how he came
But he is getting
his turn of mind,
Dt is likely to buy
nment is thinking
to try Porto Rico,
of man 1 Do yan
;s.
a neatly-printed
. requested to fill
to ferret out the
[noticing what the
tone for ever. A
^ a Mental Photo-
jse blanks but the
Iby enabling young
lity to become like
Je but little charao-
Ihe public good. I
It it up by layBell,
MENTAL PHOTOGRAPHS,
41s
at odd hours, during the last thirty years, and without other educational
aid than I was able to pick up in the ordinary schools and colleges. I
have filled the blanks as follows : —
WHAT IB YOUR FAVOURITB
Colour % — Anything but dun.
Flower ? — The night-biooming Sirius.*
Tree ? — Any that bears forbidden fruit.
Object in Nature ? — A dumb belle.
Hour in the Day ? — The leisure hour.
Perfume ? — Cent, per cent.
Gem '/ — The Jack of Diamonds, when it is trump.
Style of Beauty ? — The Subscriber's.
Names, Male and Female ? — M'aimez (Maimie) for a female, and
Tacus and Marius for males.
Painters 1— Sign-painters.
Piece of Sculpture % — The Greek Slave, with his hod.
Poet ? — Robert Browning, when he has a lucid interval.
Poetess \ — Timothy Titcomb.
Prose Author ? — Noah "Webster, LL.D.
Characterfi in Romance ] — The Napoleon Family.
In History ] — King Herod.
Book to take up for an hour ? — Rothschild's pocket-book.
What book (not reli^dous) would you part with last ? — The one I
might happen to be reading on a railroad during the disaster season.
What epoch would you choose to have lived in 1— Before the present
Erie — it was safer.
Where would you like to live? — In the moon, because there is no
water there.
Favourite amusement? — Hunting the "tiger," or some kindred
(fame.
Favourite Occupation ? — " Like dew on the gowan — lying."
What trait of character do you most admire in man ? — The noblest
form of cannibalism — love for his fellow-man.
In woman ] — Love for her fellow-man.
What trait do you most detest in each 1 — That ** trait " which you put
" or " to to describe its possessor.f
If not yourself, who would you rather be ? — The Wandering Jew,
with a nice annuity.
What is your idea of happiness ] — Finding the buttons all on.
Your idea of Misery ? — Breaking an egg in your pocket.
What is your hHe noire ? — [What is my which ]]
What is your Dream i — Nightmare, as a general thing.
What do you most diead ] — Exposure.
^ I grant you this is a little obscure — but in explaining to the unfortunate
that Sirius is the dog-star, and blooms only at xiight, I am afforded an oppor-
tunity to air my erudition. [It is only lately acquired.]
t I have to explain it every single time -" Tkait-OB." I nhould think a fine
cultivated intellect might guess that without any help.
i
i
M^'':
4i«
AfAJ^A' TWAIN^S WORKS,
What do you believe to be your Distinguishing C?haracteristie f— ^
Hunger.
What is the Subliraest Passion of which human nature is capable t—
Loving your sweetheart's enemies.
What are the Sweetest Words in the world ? — " Not Guilty."
What are the Saddest ?— *' Dust unto Dust."
What is your Aim in Lift;? — To endeavour to be absent when my
time comes.
What is your Motto ? — Be virtuous and you will be eccentric
MY FIRST LITERARY VENTURE.
ii! :
I..
i ■« i
•'[>'
|5;1:
I WAS a very smart cliild at the age of thirteen — an unusually smart
child, I thought at the time. It was then that I did my first
newspaper scribbling, and most unexpectedly to me it stirred up a
fine sensation in the community It did, indeed, and I was very pioud
of it, too. I was a printer's *' devil," and a progressive 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
rordwood, cabbages, and unmarketable turnips), and on a lucky
summer's day he left town to be gone a week, and asked me if I
tliought I could edit one issue of the paper judiciously. Ah ! didn't I
want to try ! Hinton was the editor of the rival paper. He had
lately been jilted, and one night a friend found an open note on the
f)oor fellow's bed, in which he stated that he could no longer endure
ife and had drowned himself in Bear Creek. The friend ran down
there aiid discovered Hinton wading back to shore ! He had concluded
he wouldn't. The village was full of it for several days, but Hinton did
not suspect it. I thought this was a fine opportunity. I wrote an
elaborately wretched account of the whole matter, and then illustrated
it with villanous cuts engraved on the bottoms of wooden type with a
jack-knife — one of them a picture of Hinton wading out into the creek
in his shirt, with a lantern, sounding the depth of the water with a
walking-stick. I thought it was <lesperately funny, and was densely
unconscious that there was any moral obliquity about such a publica-
tion. Being satisfied with this eflFort I looked around for other worlds
to conquer, and it struck me that it would make good, interesting
matter to charge the editor of a neighbouring country paper with a
piece of gratuitous rascality and *' foe him squirm ! "
1 did it, putting the article into the form of a parody on the Burial of
" Sir John Moore " — and a pretty crude parody it was, too.
Then I lampooned two prominent citizens outrageously — not becaufw
MY FIRST LITERARY VENTURE.
4IT
haracteristie t—
they had done anything to deserve it, but merely becauae I thought it
was my duty to make the pa})er lively.
Next 1 gently touched up the newest stranger — the lion of the day,
the goi^eous ioumeyman tailor from Quincy. He was a simpering
coxcomb of the first water, and the " loudest " dressed man in the
State. He was an inveterate woman -killer. Every week he wrote
lushy " poetry " for the " Journal," about his newest coiiquent. Ilia
rhymes For my week were headed, " To Mary in H l," meaning to
Mary in Hannibal, of course. But while setting up the piece I was
suddenly riven from head to heel by what I regarded as a perfect
thunderbolt of humour, and I compressed it into a snappy foot-note
at the bottom — thus : — *' We will let this thing pass, just this once ;
but we wish Mr J. Gordon Kunnels to understand distinctly that we
have a character to sustain, and from this time forth when he wants to
commune with his friends in h — 1, he must select some other medium
than the columns of this journal ! "
The paper came out, and I never knew any little thing attract so
much attention as those playful trifles of mine.
For once the Hannibal journal was in demand — a novelty it had not
experienced before. The whole town was stirred. Hinton dropped in
with a double-barrelled shot-gun early in the forenoon. Wnen he
found that it was an infant (as he called me) that had done him the
damage, he simply pulled my ears and went away ; but he threw
up his situation that night and left town for good. The tailor came
with his goose and a pair of shears ; but he despised me too, and
departed for the South that night. The two lampooned citizens came
with threats of libel, and went away incensed at my insignificance.
The country editor pranced in with a warwhoop next day, suffering for
blood to drink ; but he ended by forgiving me cordially and inviting
me down to the drug store to wash away all animosity in a friendly
bumper of " Fahnestock's Vermifuge." It was his little joke. My
uncle was very angry when he got back — unreasonably so, I thought,
considering what an impetus I had given the paper, and considering
also that gratitude for his preservation ought to have been upptinnost
in his mind, inasmuch as by his delay he had so wonderfully escaped
dissection, tomahawking, libel, and getting bis head shot off. But he
Boftened when he looked at the accounts and saw that I had actually
booked the unparalleled number of thirty-three new subscribers, and
had the vegetaoles to show for it, cord wood, cabbage, beans, and un-
■aleablft turnips enough to run the family for two years I
2 D
ilt
MARK TWAIN'S WORKS,
m
\h ' '
i^
• 1 1^ ,■
1 ■, MM' i
HOW THE AUTHOR WAS SOLD IN
NEWARK.
' ; » ,
IT Ib teldom pleasant to tell on one's bcIF, but sometimes it is a sort
of relief to a man to make a sad confession. I wish to unburden my
mind now, and yet I almost believe that I am moved to do it more
because I long to bring censure upon another man than because I desire
to pour balm upon my wounded heart. (I don't know what balm is,
but I believe it is the correct expression to use in this connection —
never having seen any balm.) You may remember that I lectured in
Newark lately for the young gentlemen of the Clayonian Society ? I
did at any rate. During the afternoon of that day I was talking with
one of the young gentleman just referred to, and he said he had an
uncle who, from some cause or other, seemed to have grown per-
manently bereft of all emotion. And with tears in his eyes, this
y^oung man said, " Oh, if I could only see him laugh once more ! Oh,
if I could only see him weep ! " 1 was touched. I could never with-
stand distress.
I said : " Bring him to my lecture. I '11 start him for you."
" Oh, if you could but do it ! If you could but do it, all our family
would bless you for evermore — for he is so very dear to us. Oh, my
benefactor, can you make him laugh ] can you bring soothing tears to
those parched orbs ? "
I was profoundly moved. I said : " My son, bring the old party
round. I have got some jokes in that lecture that will make him
laugh if there is any laugh in him ; and if they miss fire, I have got
some others that will make him cry or kill him, one or the other."
Then the young man blessed me, and wept on my neck, and went after
his imcle. He placed him in full view, in the second row of benches
that night, and 1 began on him. I tried him with mild jokes, then
with severe ones ; I dosed him with bad jokes and riddled him with
good ones ; I fired old stale jokes into him, and peppered him fore
and aft with red-hot new ones ; I warmed up to my work, and
assaulted him on the right and left, in front and behind ; I fumed
and sweated and charged and ranted till I was hoarse and sick, and
frantic and furious ; but I never moved him once — I never started
a smile or a tear ! Never a ghost of a smile, and never a s. '^ I'ion of
moisture ! J. was astounded. I closed the lecture at last with one
despairing shriek — with one wild burst of humour, and hurled a joke
of supernatural atrocity full at him !
Then I sat down bewildered and exhausted.
The president of the society came up and bathed my head with cold
water, and said ; " What made you carry on 80 towards the last ? "
dtl
)LD IN
imes it is a sort
to unburden my
ed to do it more
because I desire
)w what balm is,
lis connection —
[lat I lectured in
lian Society ? I
wras talking with
said he had an
lave grown per-
il his eyes, thifl
once more ! Oh,
ould never with-
er you,"
t, all our family
r to us. Oh, my
soothing tears to
ig the old party
, will make him
IB iire, I have got
le or the other."
k, and went after
1 row of benches
mild jokes, then
riddled him with
ippered him fore
» my work, and
jehind ; I fumed
rse and sick, and
—I never started
v&T a 8. ^^ I'ion of
at last with one
,nd hurled a joke
ly head with cold
Is the last ? "
THE OFFICE BORE.
419
I Raid I was trying to make that confounded old fool laugh, in th«
iecond row.
And he said : " Well, you were wasting your time, because he is deaf
and dumb, and as blind as a badger ! "
Now, was that any way for that old man's nephew to impose on a
stranger and oq)han like me? I simply ask you. aa a man and a
brother, if that was any way for him to do ?
H
E
THE OFFICE BORE.
E arrives just as regularly as the clock strikes nine in the morning.
And so he even beats the editor sometimes, and the porter must
leave his work ar I climb two or three pairs of stairs to unlock
the " Sanctum " door and let him in. He lights one of the ottice pipes —
W)l reilecting, perhaps, that the editor may be one of those " stuck-up "
people who would as soon have a stranger defile his tooth-brush as his
ipe-steni. Then he begins to loU — for a person who can consent to loaf
is useless life away in ignominious indolence has not the energy to sit
up straight. He stretches full length on the sofa awhUe ; then draws
up to half-length ; then gets into a chair, hangs his head back and his
anns abroad, and stretches his legs till the rims of his boot-heels rest
upon the floor ; by and by sits up and leans forward, with one leg or
both over the arm of the chair. But it is jitill observable that with all
his changes of position, he never assumes the upright or a fraudful
affectation of dignity. From time to time he yawns, and stretches, and
scratches himself with a tranquil, mangy enjoyment, and now and then
he grunts a kind of stuffy, overfed grunt, which is full of animal con-
tentment. At rare and long intervals, however, he sighs a sigh that is
the eloquent expression of a secret confession, to wit : " 1 am useless
and a nuisance, a cumberer of the earth." Tlie bore and his com-
rades — for there are usually from two to four on hand, day and
night — mix into the conversation when men come in to see the
editors for «• moment on business ; they hold noisy talks among them-
selves about politics in particular, and all other subjects in general
— even warming up, after a fashion, sometimes, and seeming to take
almost a real interest in what they are discussing : they ruthlessly call
an editor from his work with such a remark as : " Did you see this,
Smith, in the ' Gazette ? ' " and proceed to read the paragraph while the
suflerer reins in his impatient pen and listens : they often loll and
sprawl round the office hour alter hour, swapping anecdotes, and relating
personal exjjeriences to each other —hairbreadth escapes, social encoun-
ters with diBtin&ruished men, election reminiscences, sketches of odd
• li- *i
4*>
MARK TWAIN'S WORKS,
eharacten, &c. And through all tliose hours they Bmoke, and sweat,
and sigh, and scratch, and perform Huch otlier services for their fellow-
men as come within the pun'iew of their gentle mission uoon earth, and
never seem to comprehend that they are robbing the editors of their
time, and the public of journalistic excellence in next day's paper. At
other times they drowse, or dri-amily pore over exchanges, or droop
limp and pensive over the cliair-urms for an hour. Even this soUaun
silence is small respite to the editor, for the next uncomfortable thing
to havitig people looK over his shoulders, perhaps, is to have them sit by
in silence and listen to the scratching of nis pen. If a body desires to
talk private business with one of the editors, ne must call him outside,
for no hint milder than blasting powder or nitro-glvcerine would be
likely to move the bores out of listening distance. To have to sit and
endure the presence of a bore day after day ; to feel your cheerful spirits
begin to sink as his footstep sounds on the stair, and utterly vanish
away as his tiresome form enters the door ; to suffer through his anec-
dotes and die slowly to his reminiscences ; to feel always the fetters of
his clogging presence ; to long hopelessly for one single day's privacy ;
to note with a shudder, by and by, that to contemplate his funeral in
fancy has ceased to soothe, to imagine him undergoing in strict and
faithful detail the tortures of the ancient Inquisition has lost its power
lo satisfy the heart, and that even to wish him millions and millions and
millions of miles in Tophet is able to bring only a fitful gleam of joy ;
to have to endure all this, day after day, and week after week, and
month after month, is an affliction that transcends any other that men
eiufifer. Physical pain is pastime to it, and hanging a pleasure excundon.
AMONG THE FENIANS.
■',4 I
WISHING to post myself on one of the most current topics of the
day, I hunted up an old friend, Denis McCarthy, who is editor
of the new Fenian Journal in San Francisco, The Iruh People.
I found him sitting on a sumptuous candle-box, in his shirt-sleeves,
■olacing himself with a whiff at the national dhideen or caubeen, or
whatever they call it — a clay pipe with no stem to speak of. I thought
it might flatter him to adaress him in his native tongue, and so I bowed
with considerable grace and said :
«Anah!"
And he said, ** Be jabers ! "
« Och hone 1 " said I.
** Mavoumeen dheelish, acushU machree," replied The McCarthj.
THE CASE OF GEORGE F/SHEJt, 421
** Erin j<o bragh," I continued with vivacity.
" Afitliore 1" reH])oii(ieU The McCurthy.
" Tare an' ouna ! " Haid 1.
' Bhe dha husth ; i'ag a rogarah hniiH ! " said the bold Fenian.
" Ye have nie there, be nie howI ! " siiid T ; " for 1 aiu not 'u])' in tin-
nicctieH of the language, you understand ; I only know enough of it to
enable nie to ' keep my end up ' in an ordinary conversation.
!.
le McCarthj.
THE CASE OF GEORGE FISHER.
'"PHIS is history. It is not a wild extravaganza, like " John Williani-
JL Bon Mackenzie's Great Beef Contract," but is a plain statement of
facta and circumstances with which the Congress of the United
States has interested itself from time to time during the long period of
half a century.
I will not call this matter of George Fisher's a great deathless and
unrelenting swindle upon the Government and people of the United
States— for it has never been so decided, and I hold that it is a grave and
solemn wrong for a writer to cast slurs or call names when such ia the
case — but wiS simply present the evidence and let the reader de'duce
his own verdict. Then we shall do nobody injustice, and our consciencefl
ihall be clear.
On or about the 1st day of September 1813, the Creek war being then
in progress in Florida, the crops, herds, and houses of Mr George Fisher,
a citizen, were destroyed, either by the Indians or by the United States
troops in pursuit of them. By the terms of the law, if the Indians
destroyed the property, there was no relief for Fisher ; but if the troops
destroyed it, the Government of the United States was debtor to Fisher
fer the amount involved.
George Fisher must have considered that the Indians destroyed the
property, because, although he lived several years afterward, he does not
appear to have ever made any claim upon the Government.
In the course of time Fisher died, and his widow married again. And
hv and by, nearly twenty years after that dimly-remembered raid upon
Fisher's cornfields, the widow Fisher^s new husband petitioned Congress
for pay for the property, and backed up the petition with many deposi-
tions and afl&davits which purported to prove that the troops, and not
the Indians, destroyed the property ; that the troops, for some inscrut-
able reason, deliberately burned down " houses " (or cabins) valued at
$600, the same belonging to a peaceable private citizen, and abo destroyed
various other property oelonging to the same citizen. But Congress
declined to belieye ihaX the troops were such idiots (after overteSdng
:\ II
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(716) 873-4S03
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4«
MARK TWAIN'S WORKS,
h:;.
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Hi
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and Matlerlng a band of Indians proved to liaye been fotrnd destroying
Fisher's property) as to calmly continue the work of destruction them-
selves, and make a complete joD of what the Indians had only commenced.
So Congress denied the petition of the heirs of Q«orge Fisher in 1832,
and did not pay them a cent.
We hear no more from them officially until 1848, sixteen years after
their first attempt on the Treasury, and a full generation after the death
of the man whose fields were destroyed. The new generation of Fisher
heirs then came forward and put in a bill for damages. The Second
Auditor awarded them $8873, being half the damage sustained by Fisher.
The Auditor said the testimony showed that at least half the destruction
was done by the Indians " before the troops started in pursuit,*^ and of
course the Government was not responsible for that half.
2. That was in April 1848. In December 1848, the heirs of George
Fisher, deceased, came forward and pleaded for a " revision " of their
bill of damages. The revision was made, but nothing new could be
found in their favour except an error of $100 in the former calculation.
However, in order to keep up the spirits of the Fisher family, the Auditor
concluded to go back and allow interest from the date of the first petition
(1832^ to the date when the bill of damages was awarded. This sent
the Fishers home happy with sixteen years interest, on $8873 — the same
amounting to $8997 94. Total, $17870 94.
3. For an entire vear the suffering Fisher family remained quiet — even
satisfied, after a fashioiL Then they swooped down upon Government
with their wrongs once more. That old patriot, Attorney-General
Toucey, burrowed through the musty papers of the Fishers and dis-
covered one more chance for the desolate orphans — interest on that
original award of $8873 from date of destruction of the property (1813)
up to 1832 ! Result, $10,(XU 89 for the indigent Fishers. So now we
have : — First, $8873 damages ; second, interest on it from 1832 to 1848,
$8997 94 ; third, interest ou it dated back to 1813, $10,004 89. Total,
$27,875 83 ! What better investment for a great-grandchild than to get
the Indians to bum a cornfield for him sixty or seventy years before his
birth, and plausibly lay it on lunatic United States troops ?
4. Strange as it may seem, the Fishers let Congress alone for five
years— or, what is perhaps more likely, failed to make themselves heard
by Congress for that length of time. But at last in 1854, they got a
hearing. They persuaded Congress to pass an act requiring the Auditor
to re-examine their case. But tliis time they stumbled upon the misfor-
tune of an honest Secretary of the Treasury (Mr James Guthrie), and he
spoiled everything. He said in very plain language that the Fishers were
not only not entitled to another cent, but that those children of many
sorrows and acquainted with grief had heen paid too much already.
6. Therefore another interval of rest and silence ensued — an interval
which lasted four years — viz., till 1858. The " right man in the right
place " was then Secretaiy of War — John B. Floyd, of peculiar renown !
Here was a master intellect ; here was the very man to succour the
suffering heirs of dead and forgotten Fisher. Tkey came up firom
Florida with a rush — a great tidid wave of Fiahen freighted with the
THE CASE OF GEORGE FISHER,
433
jund deitroying
sstruction tnem-
>iily commenced.
Fisher in 1832,
teen years after
1 after the death
ration of Fisher
38. The Second
tained by Fisher,
f the destruction
pursuit" and of
heirs of George
jvision" of their
Lg new could be
rmer calculation,
tnily, the Auditor
' the first petition
rdcd. This sent
$8873— the same
dned quiet — even
ipon Government
Attorney-General
Fishers and dis-
-interest on that
e property (1813)
lers. So now we
rom 1832 to 1848,
10,004 89. Total,
dchild than to get
y years before hi«
)ops?
ress alone for five
themselves heard
1854, they got a
iiring the Auditor
L upon the misfor-
B Guthrie), and he
it the Fishers were
children of many
luch already.
iflued — an interval
t man in the right
I peculiar renown !
BUI to succour the
ley came up from
[reighted with the
same old musty documents about the same inmiortal cornfields of their
ancestor. They straightway got an Act passed transferring the Fisher
matter from the dull Auditor to the ingenious Floyd. What did Floyd
do ? He said, " it was proved tftat tfie Indiaiia destroy ad everything they
could before the troops entered in pursuit.' He considered, therefore, that
what they destroyed must have consisted of '' the houses with all their
contents^ and tlis liquor " (the most trilling part of the destruction, and
set down at only $32(X) all told), and that tlie Government troops then
drove them ofi' and calmly proceed to destroy —
Turn hundred and tioenty acres of corn in the field, thirty-five acres of
wheat, and nine hundred and eighty-six head of live stock I [What a
singularly intelligent army we had in those days, according to Mr Floyd
— ^though not according to the Congress of 1832.]
So Mr Floyd decided that the Government was not responsible for
that $3200 worth of rubbish which the Indians destroyed, but was
responsible for the property destroyed by the troops — which property
consisted of (I quote from the printed U.S. Senate document) —
DOLLIBS.
Corn at Bassett's Creek . . . . 3,000
Cattle
Stock hogs . .
Drove hogs . .
Wheat .
Hides
Com on the Alabama River
6,000
1,050
1,204
350
4,000
3,600
Total .... 18,104
That sum, in his report, Mr Floyd calls the "full value of the pro-
perty destroyed by the troops." He allows that sum to the starving
Fishers, together with interest prom 1813. From this new sum
total the amounts already paid to the Fishers were deducted, and then
the cheerful remainder (a fraction under forty thousand dollars) was
handed to them, and again they retired to Florida in a condition of
temporary 'tranquillity. Their ancestor's farm had now yielded them,
altogether, nearly sixty-seven thousand dollars in cash.
6. Does the reader suppose that that was the end of it ? Does he
suppose those diffident Fisners were satisfied ? Let the evidence show.
The Fishers were quiet just two years. Then they came swarming up
out of the fertile swamps of Florida with their same old documents, ana
besieged Congress once more. Congress capitulated on the first of June,
1860, and instructed Mr Floyd to overhaiil those papers again and pay
that bill. A Treasury clerk was ordered to go through those papers
and report to Mr Floyd what amount was still due the emaciated
Fishers. This clerk (I can produce him whenever he is wanted) dis-
covered what was apparently a glaring and recent forgery in the papers,
whereby a witness's testimony as to the price of com m Florida in 1813
was made to name double the amount which that witness had originally
specified as the price I The clerk not only called his superior's attention
to this thing, but in making up his brief of the case called particular
Attention to it in writing. That part of the brief never got 0^<tr§ Congre$t,
)r
424
MAJiK TIVAIN'S WORKS,
=» t,
If i
nor has Congress ever vet had a hint of a forgery existing among tho
Fisher papers. Nevertheless, on the hasis of the doubled prices (and
totally Ignoring the clerk's assertion that the figures were manifestly
and unauestionably a recent forgery), Mr Floyd remarks In his new
report tnat " the testimony, particularly in regard to the com crops,
DEMANDS A MUCH HIGHER ALLOWANCE than any heretofore made by the
Auditor or myself." So he estimates the crop at sixty bushels to the
acre (double what Florida acres produce), and then virtuously allows pay
for onlv half the crop, hut allows two dollars and a half a bushel for tnat
half, when there are rusty old books and documents in the Congressional
library to show just what the Fisher testimony showed before the
forgery — viz., that in the fall of 1813 com was only worth from $1 25
to $1 50 a bushel. Having accomplished this, what does Mr Floyd do
next 1 Mr Floyd (" with an earnest desire to execute trulv the legis-
lative will," as he piously remarks) goes to work and makes out an
entirely new bill of^ Fisher damages, and in this new bill he placidly
ignores the Indians altogether — puts no particle of the destruction of the
Fisher property upon them, but, even repenting him of charging them
with burning the cabins and drinking the whisky and breaking the
crockery, lays the entire damage at the door of the imbecile United States
troops, down to the very last item ! And not only that, but uses the
forgery to double the loss of com at " Bassett's Creek," and uses it again
to absolutely treble the loss of corn on the " Alabama River." This new
and ably conceived and executed bill of Mr Floyd's figures up as foUowe
(I copy again from the printed U.S. Senate document) : —
The United States in account with the hgal representatives of Oeorge
Fisher^ deceased.
DOL. 0.
I813.-To550headof cattle, at 10 dollars . . 5,50000
To 86 head of drove hogs .... 1,20400
To 350 liead of stock hogs .... 1,750 00
To 100 ACRES or CORN ON Bassett's Crkek . 6,000 00
To 8 barrels of whisky .... 350 00
To 2 barrels of brandy . . . .28000
To 1 barrel of rum . .... 7000
To dry goods and merchandise in store , . 1,100 00
To 35 acres of wheat .... 350 00
To 2000 hides 4,000 00
To furs and hats in store .... 600 00
To crockery ware in store .... 100 00
To smiths^ ayid carpenters* tools . • . 250 00
To houses burned and destroyed . . . 600 00
To 4 dozen bottles of wine . . . . 48 00
1814.— To 120 acres of corn on Alabama River . . 9,500 00
To crops of peas, fodder, &c. . . . 3,250 00
Total 34,952 00
To hiterest on $22,202, from July 1813 to No-
vember 1860, 47 years and 4 months . . 63,053 68
To interest on $12,750, from September 1814 to
November 1860, 46 yean and 2 months . 3S,.317 60
Total
133,823 18
THE CASE OF GEORGE tlSHER,
4^5
ing among tho
led prices (and
ere manifestly
ks in his new
the com cropsy
re made by the
I bushels to the
usly allows pay
"bushel for that
e Congressional
wed before the
►rth from $1 26
es Mr Floyd do
truly the legis-
maKes out an
biU he placidly
jstruction of the
f charging them
id breaking the
le United States
at, but uses the
md uses it again
Lver." This new
res up as followe
es of Oec^rge
DOL. 0.
5,50000
1,204 00
1,75000
6,000 00
35000
28000
7000
1,100 00
350 00
4,000 00
600 00
100 00
250 00
600 00
48 00
9,500 00
3,250 00
34,962 00
63,063 68
35,317 60
133,32318
He puts everything in this time. He does not even allow Hint the
Indiiuis destroyed the crockAy or drank the four dozen IxtHlea of
(cuiruut) wine. When it came to supernatural comprehenHiveuesa in
"gobbling," John B. Floyd was without his equal, in his own or any
other generation. Subtracting from the above total the $67,000 already
Slid to George Fisher's implacable heirs, Mr Floyd announced that the
overninent was still indebted to them in the sum of sixty-six thousand five
hundred and nineteen dollars and eighty-five cents, " which," Mr Floyd
complacently remarks, "will be paid, accordingly, to the administrator
of the estate of George Fisher, deceased, or to his attorney in fact."
But, sadly enough for the destitute orphans, a new President came in
just at this time, Buchanan and Floyd went out, and they never got
their money. The first thing Congress did in 1861 was to rescind the
resolution of June 1, 1860, under which Mr Floyd had been ciphering.
Then Floyd (and doubtless the heirs of George Fisher likewise) had to
give up financial business for a while, and go into the Confederate army
and serve their country.
Were the heirs of George Fisher kiUed ? No. They are back now at
this very time (July 1870), beseeching Congress through that blushing and
diffident creature, Garrett Davis, to conunence making payments again
on their interminable and insatiable bill of damages for corn and whisky
destroyed by a gang of irresponsible Indians, so long ago that even govern-
ment red-tape has failed to keep consistent and intelligent track of it.
Now, the above are facts. They are history. Any one who doubts it
can send to the Senate Document Department of the Capitol for H. R.
Ex. Doc. No. 21, 36th Confess, 2nd Session, and for S. Ex. Doc. No.
106, 41st Congress, 2nd Session, and satisfy himself. The whole case u
set forth in the first volume of the Court of Claims Reports.
It is my belief that as long as the continent of America holds together,
the heirs of George Fisher, deceased, will still make pilgrimages to
Washington from uie swamps of Florida, to plead for just a little more
cash on their bill of damages (even when they received the last of that
sixty-seven thousand dollars, they said it was only one-fourth what the
Govenmient owed them on that fruitful corn-field), and as long as they
choose to come, they will find Garrett Davises to drag their vampire
schemes before Congress. This is not the only hereditary fraud (if fraud
it is— which I have before repeatedly remarked is not proven) that is
being quietly handed down from generation to generation of fathen and
90UB, through the persecuted Treasuiy of the United States.
!•
ll.'M.
h '
436
MARK TWAIN'S WORKS,
LITERATURE IN THE DRY DIGGINGS.
Up there, you know, they read everythivg, because in most of
those little camps they have no libraries, and no books to
speak of, except now and then a patent of lice report or a prayer-
book, or literature of that kind, in a general way, that will hang on and
last a good while when people are careful with it, like miners ; but as
for novels, they pass them around and wear them out in a week or two.
Now there was Coon, a nice, bald-headed man at the hotel in Angel's
Camp, I asked him to lend me a book, one rainy day ; he was silent a
moment, and a shade of melancholy flitted across his fine face, and then
he said : " Well, I 've got a mighty responsible old Webster Unabridged,
what there is left of it, but they started her sloshing around, and slosh-
ing around, and sloshing around the camp before ever I got a chance to
read her myself ; and next she went to Murphy's, and from there she
went to Jackass Qulch, and now she's gone to San Andreas, and I don't
expect I '11 ever see that book again. But what makes me mad is, that
for all they're so handy about keeping her sashshaying around from shanty
to shanty, and from camp to camp, none of em 's ever got a good word
for her. Now Coddington had her a week, and she was too many for
him — he couldn't speU the words ; he tackled some of them regular
busters, tow'rd the middle, you know, and they throwed him ; next. Dyer,
he tried her a jolt, but he couldn't pronounce 'em — Dyer can hunt quail
or play seven- up as well as any man, understand, but he can't ©ron(m/i(»
worth a cuss ; he used to worry along well enough though, till he 'd flush
one of them rattlers with a clatter of syllables as long as a string of sluice-
boxes, and then he 'd lose his grip and throw up his hand ; and so, finally,
Dick Stoker harnessed her, up there at his cabin, and sweated over her,
and cussed over her, and rastled with her, for as much as three weeks,
night and day, till he got as far as R, and then passed her over to 'Lige
Pickerell, and said she was the all-firedest dryest reading that ever he
struck. Well, well, if she 's come back from San Andreas, you can get
her, and prospect her, but I don't reckon there 's a good deal left of her
by this time, though time was when she was as likely a book as any in
the State, and as hefty, and had an amount of general information in
her that was astonishing, if any of these cattle had known enougli to
get it out of her." And ex-corporal Coon proceeded cheerlesslv to scout
with his brush after the straggling hairs on the rear of his head, and
drum them to the front for inspection and roll-call, as was his usual mB-
torn before turning in for his regular afternoon nap.
1 ij<
THE GREAT BEEF CONTRACT,
427
[GGINGS.
ise in most of
id no books to
ort or a prayer-
^ hang on and
miners; but as
1 a week or two.
lotel in Angel's
he was silent a
le face, and then
Bter Unabridged,
ound, and slosh-
got a chance to
L from there she
Teas, and I don't
me mad is, that
ound from shanty
^ot a good word
as too many for
[of them regular
lim ; next, Dyer,
r can hunt quail
le can't j9ron(m/ic<
Th, till he'd hush
a string of sluice-
1 ; and so, finally,
weated over her,
I as three weeks,
her over to 'Lige
ing that ever he
•eas, you can get
deal left of her
a book as any in
1 information in
nown enougli to
leerlessly to scout
of his nead, and
ivas his usual ens'
THE FACTS IN THE CASE OF THE
GREAT BEEF CONTRACT.
IN as few words as possible I wish to lay before the nation what share,
howsoever small, I have had in this matter — this matter which
has so exercised the public mind, engendered so much ill-feeling,
and so filled the newspapers of both continents with distorted statements
and extravagant comments.
The origin of this distressful thing was this — and I assert here that
every fact in the following resume can be amply proved by the official
records of the General Government :—
John Wilson Mackenzie, of Rotterdam, Chemung county, New Jersey,
deceased, contracted with the Qeuenil Government, on or about the l()th
day of October 1861, to furnish to General Sherman the sum total of
thirty barrels of beef.
Very well.
He started after Sherman with the beef, but when he got to Washing-
ton Sherman had gone to Manassas ; so he took the beef and followed
liini there, but arrived too late ; he followed him to Nashville, and from
Nashville to Chattanooga, and from Chattanooga to Atlanta— but he
never could overtake him. At Atlanta he took a fresh start, and fol-
lowed him clear through his march to the sea. He arrived too late
Again by a few days j but hearing that Sherman was going out in the
Quaker City excursion to the Holy Land, he took shi])j)ing for Beyrouth
calculating to head off the other vessel. When he arrived in Jerusalem
with his beef, he learned that Sherman had not sailed in the Quaker
(Jiiy, but had gone to the Plains to fight the Indians. lie returned to
America, and started for the Rocky Mountains. After eighteen days of
arduous travel on the Plains, and when he had got within four miles of
Sherman's headquarters, he was tomahawked and scalped, and the
Indians got the oeef. They got all of it but one barrel. Sherman's
army captured that ; and so, even in death, the bold navigator partly
fulfilled his contract. In his will, which he had kept like a journal,
he bequeathed the contract to his son, Baitholomcw W. Bartholomew
W. made out the following bill, and then died : —
The United Status
In acct. vnth JOHN Wilson Maokenzib,
of New Jersey, deceased,
To thirty barrels of beef for Geueral Sherman,
® «100
To travelliug expenaeB and transportation .
Total
Rec'd Pay't.
Dr.
$3000
14,000
•17,000
He died then ; but he left the contract to Wm. J. Martin, who tried
to collect it, but died before he got through. He left it to Barker J.
•■rt
m
428
MARK TWAIN'S WORKS.
K
il
Allen, and he tried to collect it also. He did not survive. Barker J.
Alien left it to Anson G. Rogers, who attempted to collect it, and got
along as far as the Ninth Auditoi''8 Otlice, when Death, the great
Leveller, caiue all unsumnioned, and foreclosed on him also. He left
the bill to a relative of his in Connecticut, Vengeance Hopkins by name,
who lasted four weeks and two days, and made the best time on record,
coming within one of reaching the Twelfth Auditor. In his will he
gave the contract bill to his uncle, by the name of 0-be-joyful Johnson.
It was too undermining for Joyful. His last words were: " Weep not for
me—/ am willing to go." And so he was, poor soul. Seven people
inherited the contract after that, but they all died. So it came into my
hands at last. It fell to me through a relative by the name of Hubbard
— Bethlehem Hubbard, of Indiana. He had had a grudge against me
for a long time ; but in his last moments he sent for me, and forgave
me everything, and weeping, gave me the beef contract.
This ends the history of it up to the time that I succeeded to the
property. I will now endeavour to set myself straight before the
nation in everything that concerns my share in the matter. I took this
beef contract, and the bill for mileage and transportation, to the Presi-
dent of the United States.
He said, " Well, sir, what can I do for you ? "
I said, " Sire, on or about the 10th day of October 1861, John Wilson
Mackenzie, of Rotterdam, Chemung county. New Jersey, deceased,
contracted with the Qenerul Government to furnish to General ?;herman
the sum total of thirty barrels of beef"
He stopped me there, and dismissed me from his jiresenco — kindly
but firmly. The next day I called on the Secretary of State.
He said, "Well, sir?"
I said, " Your Royal Highness, on or about the iOth day of October
1861, John Wilson Mackenzie, of Rotterdam, Chemung county. New
Jersey, deceased, contracted with the General Government to furnish to
General Sherman the sum total of thirty barrels of beef "
" That will do, sir — that will do. This ofl&ce has nothing to do with
contracts for beef."
I was bowed out. I thought the matter all over, and, finally, the
following day, I visited the Secretary of the Navy, who said, " Speak
quickly, sir ; do not keep me waiting."
I said, " Your Royal Highness, on or about the 10th day of October
1861, John Wilson Mackenzie, of Rotterdam, Chemung county, New
Jersey, deceased, contracted with the General Government to furnish to
General Sherman the sum total of thirty barrels of beef "
Well, it was aa far aa I could get. Ht had nothing to do with beef
contracts for General Sherman either. I began to think it was a
curious kind of a Government. It looks somewhat as if they wanted to
get out of paying for that beef. The following day I went to the
Secretary of the Interior.
I said, "Your Imperial Highness, on or about the 10th day of
October"
^ That is sufficienti sir. I have heard of you before. Qo, take youx
THE GREAT BEEF CONTRACT.
429
Ive. Barker J.
leci it, and got
satli, the great
also. He left
ipkins by name,
time on reccutl,
In his will lie
joyful Jolinsoa
" Weep not for
Seven people
it came into my
ime of Hubbard
idge against me
me, and forgave
ucceeded to the
ight before the
ter. I took this
Dn, to the Presi-
61, John Wilson
ersey, deceased,
leneral Sherman
resence— kindly
State.
1 day of October
Qg county, New
ent to furnish to
»
thing to do with
and, finally, the
ho said, " Speak
1 day of October
ng county, New
ent to furnish to
to do with beef
think it was a
f they wanted to
I went to the
he 10th day of
Qo, take youi
Infamous beef contract out of this establishment The Interior Depart-
ment has nothing whatever to do with subsistence for the army."
I went awav. But I was exasperated now. I said I would haunt
them ; I would infest every department of this iniauitous Government
till that contract business was settled. I would collect that bill, or fall
as fell my predecessors, trying. I assailed the Postmaster-Oeneral ; 1
besieged the Agricultural Department ; I waylaid the Speaker of the
House of Representatives. They had nothing to do with army contracts
for beef. I moved upon the Commissioner of the Patent Ollice.
I said, " Your August Excellency, on or about "
" Perdition ! have you got here with your incendiary beef contract at
last ? We have nothiiig to do with beef contracts for tlie army, my dear
sir."
" Oh, that is all very well — but somebody has got to pay for that beef.
It has got to be paid noWy too, or I '11 confiscate this old Patent Ollice
and everything in it."
" But, my dear sir "
" It don't make any difference, sir. The Patent Office is liable foi
that beef, I reckon ; and, liable or not liable, the Patent Office has got
to pay for it."
Never mind the details. It ended in a fight. The Patent Office won.
But I found out something to my advantage. I was told that the
Treasury Department was the proper place for me to go to. I went
there. I waited two hours and a half, and then I was admitted to the
First Lord of the Treasury.
I said, " Most noble, grave, and reverend Signor, on or about the lOtb
day of October 18C1, John Wilson Macken"
''That is sufficient, sir. I have heard of you. Go to the First
Auditor of the Treasury."
I did 80. He sent me to the Second Auditor. The Second Auditor
sent me to the Third, and the Third sent me to the First Comptroller
of the Corn-Beef Division. This began to look like business. He
examined his books and p^^ his loose papers, but found no minute of the
beef contract I went to -he Second Comptroller of the Corn-Beef
Division. He examined hib books and his loose papers, but with no
success. I was encouraged. During that week I got as far as the Sixth
Comptroller in that division ; the next week I got through the Claims
Department ; the third week I began and competed the Mislaid Con-
tracts Department, and got a foothold in the Dead Reckoning Depart-
ment I finished that in three days. There was only one place leit for
it now. I laid siege to the Commissioner of Odds and Ends. To his
clerk, rather — he was not there himself. There were sixteen beautiful
young ladies in the room, writing in books, and there were seven well-
favoured young clerks showing them how. The young women smiled
up over their shoulders, and the clerks smiled back at them, and all
went merry as a marriage bell. Two or three clerks that wei^e read-
ing the newspapers looked at me rather hard, but went on reading, and
nobody said anything. However, I had been used to this kmd of
aliicnty £rom Fourth- AsMAtant- Junior Olerki all through my eventful
h:
♦30
MARK TWAIN'S WORKS,
^
«
career, from the very day I entered the first office of the Corn-Beef
Buruuu clear till I pusBed ont of the last one in the Deafl Keckonina
DiviBion. I had got ho accoinpliBhed by this tiiue, that I could stand
on one foot from the uionient I entered an office till a clerk spoke to
me, without changing more than two, or maybe three times.
So 1 stood there till I had changed four different times. Then I said
to one of the clerks who was reading —
" Illustrious Vagrant, where is the Grand Turk 1 "
** What do you mean, sir 1 whom do you mean. If you mean the
Chief of the Bureau, he is out."
" Will he visit the harem to-day 1 "
The young man glared upon me a while, and then went on reading
his paper. But I knew the ways of those clerks. I knew I was safe if
he got through before another New York mail arrived. He only had two
more papers left. After a whUe he finished them, and then he yawned
«»nd asked me what I wanted.
" Renowned and honoured Imbecile : On or about "
" You are the beef contract man. Give me your papers."
lie took them, and for a long time he ransacked his odds and ends.
Finally he found the North- West Passage, as / regarded it — he fouiul
the long-lost record of that beef contract — he found the rock upon
which so many of my ancestors had split before they ever got to it 1
was deeply moved. And yet I rejoiced — for I survived. I said with
emotion, " Give it me. The Government will settle now." He wavetl
me back, and «aid there was something yet to be done first.
" Where is this John Wilson Mackenzie % " said hOt
« Dead."
"When did he die 1"
« He didn't die at all— he was killed."
"How?"
** Tomahawked."
" Who tomahawked him ?"
" Why, an Indian, of course. Yon didn't suppose it wag a superlii
tendent of a Sunday-school, did you ? "
" No. An Indian, was it 1 "
"The same."
" Name of the Indian r
" His name ? I don't know his name."
" Must have his name. Who saw the tomahawking done % •
"I don't know."
" You were not present yourself, then ? *
" Which you can see by my hair. I was absent."
" Then how do you know that Mackenzie is dead ?"
" Because he certainly died at that time, and I have every reason to
believe that he has been dead ever since. I kium he has, in fact"
" We must have proofs. Have you got the Indian ? " h rr. ■ i
* Of course not"
** Well, you must get him. Have you got the tomahawk ? *"
* I neyer thought of Buck a thing." <^' -
I the Corn-Beef
Dead Reckonina
it I could stana
a clerk spoke to
mes.
38. Then I Wiifl
[f you mean the
went on reading
new 1 was safe ii
He only had two
I then he yawned
)er8."
is odds and ends,
fded it— he found
d the rock upon
ever got to it. 1
ived. I said with
now." He wav»l
s first.
THE PETRIFIED MAN,
431
It was a Buperiii
done?'
re every reason t«>
las, in fact."
iwkT
•J. •> :VJ
** You must get the tomahawk. You must prodtice the Indian and
the tomahawk. If Mackenzie's death can be proven by these, you can
tlien go before the commiiwiou appointed to audit claims with some
show of getting your bill under such headwa;^ that your children mar
poflHibly live lo receive the money and eujov it But that man's death
wvai be proven. However, 1 may as well tell you that the Government
will never pay that transportation and those travelling expenses of the
lamented Mackenzie. It may possibly pay for the barrel of beef that
Sherman's soldiers captured, if you can get a relief bill through Con-
gress making an appropriation for that purpose ; but it will not pay for
the twenty-nine barrels the Indians ate.
" Then there is only a hundred dollars due me, and thai isn't certain !
After all Mackenzie's travels in Europe, Asia, and America with that
beef ; after all his trials, and tribulations, and transportation ; cifter the
slaughter of all those innocents that tried to collect that bill ! Young
man, why didn't the First Comptroller of the Coni-Beef Division tell
me this?"
" He didn't know anything about the genuineness of your claim."
" Why didn't the Second tell me \ why didn't the Third \ why didn't
all those divisions and departments tell me '\ "
"None of them knew. We do things by routine here. You have
followed the routine and found out what you wanted to know. It is the
best way. It is the only way. It is very regular, and very slow, but
it is very certain."
" Yes ; certain death. It has been, to the most of our tribe. I begin
to feel that I, too, am called. Young man, you love the bright creature
yonder with the gentle blue eyes and the steel pens behind her ears — I
see it in your soft glances ; you wish to marry her — but you are poor.
Here, hold out your hand — here is the beef contract ; go, take her and
be happy ! Heaven bless you, my children ! "
This is all I know about the great beef contract, that has created so
much talk in the community. The clerk to whom I bequeathed it died.
I know nothing further about the contract, or any one connected with
it. I only know that if a man lives long enough he can trace a thing
through tne Circumlocution Office of Washington, and find out, after
much labour and trouble and delay, that which he could have found out
on the first day if the business of the Circumlocution Office were as
ingeniously systematiaed as it would be if it were a great private mer-
cantile institution.
THE PETRIFIED MAN.
Now, to show how really hard it is to foist a moral or a truth iipoB
an unsuspecting public through a burlesque without entirely and
absurdly missing one's mark, I will here set down two expericaicei
of my own in this thing. In the fall of 1862, in Neva<ia and California,
i
i
[
1
\
1
1
' »
^ ■ ■ i
Bf *T"
Ni
r-
*
r 1 .
If.
it
'J
'*>,.
f 'I;
43«
Jl/y|^Ar TWAIN'S WORKS,
the people got to ninning wild about extraorrlinaiy petri/actioni and
other natural marvels. One could sciircely pick un a paper without
finding in it une or two {glorified diHcovcrics of this kind. The mania
was becoming a little ndiculouB. I was a bran-new local editor in
Virginia City, and I felt called upon to destroy this growing evil ; we
all have our benignant fatherly niootla at one time or another, I 8U])|)oh(',.
I chose to kill tlio petrifaction mania with a delicate, a very dehcute
satire. But maybe it was altogether too delicate, for nobody ever per-
ceived the satire ptu't of it at all. I put my scheme in the shape of the
discovery of a remarkable petrified man.
I had had a temporary falling out with Mr Sewall, the new coronet
and justice of the peace of Humboldt, and thought I might as well touch
him up a little at the same time and make him ridiculous, and thus com-
bine pleasure with business. So 1 told, in patient belief-compelling
detail, all about the finding of a petrified man at Gravelly Ford (exactly
a hundred and twenty miles, over a breakneck mountain trail, from
where Sewall lived) ; how all the savants of the immediate neighbour-
hood had been to examine it (it was notorious that there was not a
living creature within fifty nnles of there, except a few starving Indiana,
some cripj)led gras8h()i)i>era, and four or five buzzards out of meat and too
feeble to get away) ; how those savants all pronounced the petrified man to
have been in a state of complete petrifaction for over ten generations ;
and then, with a seriousness that I ought to have been ashamed to
assume, I stated that as soon as Mr Sewall heard the news he summoned
a jury, moimted his mule, and posted oft", with noble reverence foT
otiicial duty, on that awful five days' journey, through alkali, sage-brush,
peril of body, and imminent starvation, to hild, an inquett on this man
that had been dead and turned to everlasting stone for more than three
hundred years ! And then, my hand being " in," so to speak, I went on,
with the same unflinching gravity, to state that the jury returned a ver-
dict that deceased came to his death from protracted exposure. This only
moved me to higher flights of imagination, and I said that the jury, with
that charity so characteristic of pioneers, then dug a grave, and were
about to give the petrified man Cnristian burial, wnen they found that
for ages a limestone sediment had been trickling down the face of the
stone against which he was sitting, and this stuff had run under him and
cemented him fast to the " bed-rock ; ** thq^t the jury (they were all
silver-miners) canvassed the difficulty a moment, and then got out their
powder and fuse, and proceeded to drill a hole under him, in order to
bla^t him from his position^ when Mr Sewall, " with that delicacy so
characteristic of him, forbade them, observing that it would be Little
less than sacrilege to do such a thing."
From beginning to end the " Petrified Man " squib was a string of
roaring absurdities, albeit they were told with an im&ir pretence of truth
that even imposed upon me to some extent, and I was in some danger
of believing m my own fraud. But I really had no desire to deceive
anybody, and no expectation of doing it I depended on the way the
petrified man was ntting to explain to the public that he was a swindle.
Yet I purposely mixed that up with other things, hoping to make it
MY FAMOUS ''BLOODY MASSACRE,"
433
the new coronet
9b6ciir»^and I (lid. I would describe the nogition of one foot, and then
Buv Ilia right tliuuib was against tlie aide of nia notie ; thuii talk about hin
other foot, and presently come back and say the fingers of his right hand
were sprciul apart ; then talk about the back of liis head a Utile, and
return and say the left thumb was hookutl into the right Utile finger ;
then ramble off about somothing else, and by and by drift buck again
and remark that the fingers of the let't li vnd were spread like those ot the
right But I was too ingenious. I mixod it up ratlier too much ; and
BO all that description of tiie attitude, as a key lu tiie huuibuggery of the
article, was entirely lost, for nobody but me ever discovered and com-
{)rehoude.d the peculiar and suggestive position of tliu petritied man's
lands.
As a iatire on the petrifaction mania, or anything else, my Petrified
Man was a disheartening failure ; for everybody received him in in-
nocent good faith, and 1 was stunned to see the creature I had begotten
to pull down the wonder- business with, and bring derision upon it, calmly
exalted to the grand chief })lace in the Ust of the genuine marvels our
Nevada had produced. I was so disappointed at the curious miscarriage
of my scheme, that at first 1 was angry, and did not Uke to think about
it ; but by and by, when the exchanges begun to come in with the Pet-
rified Man copied and guilelessly glorified, 1 began to feel a soothing
secret satisfaction ; and as my gentleman's field of travels broadened, aiul
by the exchanges I saw that he steadily and implacably penetrated
territory after territory, State after State, and land after land, till he
swept the great globe and culminated in sublime and unimpeached
legitimacy in the august London Lancet^ my cup was full, and I said I
was glad I had done it. I think that for about eleven months, as nearly
as I can remember, Mr Sewall's daily mail-bag continued to be swollen
by the addition of half a bushel of newspapers hailing from many climes
with the Petrified Man in them, marked around with a prominent belt
of ink. I sent them to him. I did it for spile, not for fun. He used
to shovel them into his back yard and curse. And every day during all
those months the miners, his constituents (for miners never quit joking
a person when they get started), would call on him and ask if he could
tell them where they could get hold of a paper with the Petrified Man
in it. He could have accommodated a continent with thorn. I hated
Sewall in those days, and these things pacified me and pleased me. 1
could not have gotten more real comfort out of him without kilUng
him.
r
MY FAMOUS "BLOODY MASSACRE."
THE other burlesq^ue I have referred to was my fine satire upon the
financial expedients of " cooking dividends," a thing which became
shamefully frequent on the Pacific coast for a while. Once more,
hi my Belf-complacent simpUcity, I felt that the time had arrived for me
2e
i
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PI
434
MARK TWAIN'S WORKS.
to rise up and be a reformer. I put this reformatory satire In the shapo
of a fearful " Massacre at Empire City." The San Francisco papers
were making a great outcry about the iniquity of the Daney Silver-
Mining Company, whose directors had declared a " cooked " or false
dividend, for the purpose of increasing the value of their stock, so that
they covld sell out at a comfortable figpre, and then scramble from
under the tumbluig concern. And while abusing the Daney, those
papers did not forget to urge the public to get rid of all their silver
stocks and invest in sound and safe San Francisco stocks, such as the
Spring Valley Water Company, &c. But right at this unfortunate
'•unclure, behold the Spring Valley cooked a dividend too ! And so,
nnder the insidious mask of an invented "bloody massacre," I stole
upon the public unawares with my scathing satire upon the dividend-
eooking system. In about half a column of imaginary human carnage
I told now a citizen had murdered his wife and nine children, and then
committed suicide. And I said slyly, at the bottom, that the sudden
madness of which this melancholy massacre was the result, had been
brought about by his having allowed himself to be persuaded by the
California papers to sell his sound and lucrative Nevada silver stocks,
and buy into Spring Valley just in time to get cooked along with that
company's fancy dividend, and sink every cent he had in the world.
All, it was a deep, deep satire, and most ingeniously contrived. But
I made the horrible details so carefully and conscientiously interesting
that the public simply devoured them greedily, and wholly overlooked
the following distinctly-stated facts, to wit: — The murderer was per-
fectly well known to every creature in the land as a bachelor, and
consequently he could not murder his wife and nine children ; he
murdered them "in his splendid dressed-stone mansion just in the edge
of the great pine forest between Empire City and Dutch Nick's," when
even the veiy pickled oysters that came on our tables knew that there
was not a '* dressed-stone mansion " in all Nevada Territory ; also that,
so icx from there being a " great pine forest between Empire City and
Dutch Nick's," there wasn't a solitary tree within fifteen miles of either
place ; and, finally, it was patent and notorious that Empire City and
Dutch Nick's were one and the same place, and contained only six
houses anyhow, and consequently there could be no forest between
them; and on top of all these absurdities I stated that this diabolical
murderer, after inflicting a wound upon himself that the reader ought
to have seen would have killed an elephant in the twinkling of an eye,
jumped on his horse and rode /ottr mites, waving his wife's reeking scalp
in the air, and thus performing entered Carson City with tremendous
SclcU, and dropped dead in front of the chief saloon, the envy and
admiration of all beholders.
Well, in idl my life I never saw anything like the sensation that little
satire created. It was the talk of the town, it was the talk of the Tex-
ritoiy. Most of tilie citizens dropped gently into it at breakfast, and they
never finished their meal There was something about those minutely
fidthfol dettdls tliat was a sufficing substitute tor food. Few people
that were able to read took food that morning. Dan and I (Dan wa»
IP I ii-i
ml: S"'
tire in tbe ahapo
Francisco pap erg
le Daney Silver-
jooked" or false
eir stock, bo that
1 scramble from
lie Daney, those
f all their silver
ocks, such as the
this unfortunate
d too ! And so,
lassacre," I stole
)on the dividend-
y human carnage
hildren, and then
that the sudden
result, had been
persuaded by the
ada silver stocks,
i along with that
in the world.
y contrived. But
tiously interesting
vhoUy overlooked
lurderer was per-
s a bachelor, and
ine children ; he
n just in the edge
l^^^ch Nick's," when
knew that there
_itory ; also thatj
Empire City and
m miles of either
Empire Cily and
»ntamed only six
10 forest between
lat this diabolical
the reader ought
inkling of an eye,
jife's reeking scalp
with tremendous
[)n, the envy and
Insation that little
le talk of the Ter*
Ireakf ast, and they
ut those minutely
|)od. Few people
and I (Dan wai
AfV FAMOUS **BLOODY MASSACRE.''
435
my reportoria! associate) took our seats on either side of our customary
table m the " Eagle Restaurant," and, as I unfolded the shred they used
to call a napkin in that establishment, I saw at the next table two stal-
wart innocents with that sort of vegetable dandruff sprinkled about
their clothing which was the sign and evidence that they were in from
the Truckee with a load of hay. The one facing me had the morning
paper folded to a long narrow ctrip, and I knew, without any telling,
that that strip represented the column that contained my pleasant finan-
cial satire. From the way he was excitedly mumbling, 1 saw that the
heedless son of a hay-mow was skipping with all his might, in order to
get to the bloody details as quickly as possible ; and so he was missing
the guide-boards I had set up to warn him that the whole thing was a
fraud. Presently his eyes spread wide open, just as his jaws swung
asunder to take in a potato approaching it on a fork ; the potato halted,
the face lit up redly, and the whole man was on fire with excitement
Then he broke into a disjointed checking-off of the particulars — Ids
potato cooling in mid-air meantime, and his mouth making a reach for
it occasionally, but always bringing up suddenly against a new and stUl
more direful performance of my hero. At last he looked his stunned
and rigid comrade impressively in the face, and said, with an expression
of concentrated awe —
" Jim, he b'iled his baby, and he took the old 'oman's skelp. Cuss'd
if / want any breakfast !"
And he laid his lingering potato reverently down, and he and hia
friend departed from the restaurant empty but satisfied.
He never got down to where the satire part of it began. Nobody ever
did. They found the thrilling particulars sufficient. To drop in with
a poor Httle moral at the fag-end of such a gorgeous massacre, was to
follow the expiring sun with a candle, and hope to attract the world's
attention to it.
The idea that anybody could ever take my massacre for a genuine
occurrence never once suggested itself to me, hedged about as it was by
all those tell-tale absurdities and impossibilities concerning the " great
pine forest," the " dressed-stone mansion," &c. But I found out then,
and never have forgotten since, that we never read the dull explanatory
surroundings of marvellously exciting things when we have no occasion
to suppose that some irresponsible scribbler is trying to defraud us ; we
sJdp all that, and hasten to revel in the blood-curdUng particulars and
be happy.
Therefore, being bitter'^ experienced, I tried hard to word that agri-
cultural squib of mine in such a way as to deceive nobody ; and I partly
succeeded, but not entirely. However, I did not do any harm with it
any way. In order that parties who have lately written me about vege-
tables and things may know that there vxls a time when I would have
answered their questions to the very best of my ability, and considered
it my imperative duty to do it, I refer them to the narrative of my
one week's experience as an agricultural editor, which will be found
further on. ,i
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436
MARK TWAIN'S WORKS.
\\i>ti
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■'< '■
ill
THE JUDGE'S "SPIRITED WOMAN."
•* T WAS Bitting here," said the judge, " in this old pulpit, holding
X court, and we were trying a big, wicked-looking Spanish desperado
for killing the hnsband of a bright, pretty Mexican woman. It was
a lazy summer day, and an awfully long one, and the witnesses were
tedious. None of us took any interest in the trial except that nervous,
uneasy devil of a Mexican woman — because you know how they love
and how they hate, and this one had loved her husband with all her
might, and now she had boiled it all down into hate, and stood here
spitting it at that Spaniard with her eyes ; and I tell you she would stir
m« up, too, with a little of her summer lightning occasionally. Well, I
had my coat off and my heels up, lolling and sweating, and smoking one
of those cabbage cigars the San Francisco people used to think were good
enough for us in those times ; and the lawyers they all had their coats
off, and were smokiM and whittling, and the witnesses the samej and so
was the prisoner. Well, the fact is, there wam't any interest in a
murder trial then, because the fellow was always brought in "not
guilty," the jury exj)ecting him to do as much for them some time ;
and, although the evidence was straight and square against this Spaniard,
we knew we could not convict him without seeming to be rather high-
handed and sort of reflecting on every gentleman in the community :
for there wam't any carriages and liveries then, and so the only * style '
there was, was to keep your private graveyard. But that woman seemed
to have her heart set on hanging that Spaniard ; and you *d ought to
have seen how she would glare on him a minute, and then look up at
me in her pleading way, and then turn and for the next five minutes
search the jury's faces, and by and by drop her face in her hands for just
a little while as if she was most ready to give up ; but out she 'd come
again directly, and be as live and anxious as ever. But when the jury
announced the verdict — Not Guilty, and I told the prisoner he waa
acquitted and free to go, that woman rose up till she appeared to be as
tall and grand as a seventy-four-gun-ship, and says she —
" * Judge, do I understamd you to say that this man is not guilty, that
murdered my husband without any cause before my own eyes and my
little children's, and that all has been done to him that ever justice and
the law can do ? "
" * The same,' says I.
" And then what do you reckon she did 1 Why, she turned on that
smirking Spanish fool like a wild cat, and out with a < navy ' and shot
him dead in open court ! "
** That was spirited, I am willing to admit,"
" Wasn't it, wough ? " said the judge, admiringly. " I wouldn't have
missed it for anything. I adjourned court right on the spot, and we put.
an OUT coats and went out and took up a collection for her and her cubs,
tnd sent them over the mountains to their friends. Ah, she wwe d
qniited wench ! "
HOG WASH,
437
)MAN."
pulpit, holding
anish desperado
woman. It was
witnessefl were
pt that nervous,
how they love
id with all her
and stood here
u she would stir
»nally. WeU, I
md smoking one
think were good
. had their coats
the samCj and so
ly interest in a
)rought in **not
lem some time ;
ist this Spaniard,
be rather high-
the community:
the only 'style*
it woman seemed
you'd ought to
then look up at
.ext five minutes
ler hands for just
ft out she 'd come
jut when the jury
prisoner he waa
ippeared to be aa
not guilty, that
[wn eyes and my
ever justice and
16 turned on that
* navy * and shot
I wouldn't have
[spot, and we put
ler and her cubs,
Ah, she was »
HOGWASH.
FOR five years I have preserved the following miracle of pointless
imbecility and bathos, waiting to see if I could find anything in
literature that was worse. But in vain. I have read it forty or
fifty times altogether, and with a steadily increasing pleasurable disgust.
I now oflFer it for competition as the sickliest specimen of sham senti-
mentality that exists. I almost always get it out and read it when I
am low spirited, and it has cheered many and many a sad hour for me.
I will remark, in the way of general inlbrmation, that in California, that
land of felicitous nomenclature, the literary name of this sort of stuff is
" hogwash."
[From the California Faiiner,']
A TOUCHING INCIDENT.
Mr Editor, — I hand jom the following for insertion if you think it
worthy of publication ; it is a picture, though brief, of a living reality which
the writer witnessed, within a little time since, in a luxurious city —
A beautiful lady sat beneath a verandah overshadowed by clustering
vines ; in her lap was a young infant, apparently asleep. The mother
sat, as she supposed, unobserved, and lost in deep meditation. Eichly
robed and surrounded with all the outward appearances of wealth and
station, wife and mother and mistress of a splendid mansion and garden
around it, it would have seemed as if the heart that could claim to be
queen here should be a happy one. Alas ! appearances are not alwayi
tne true guide, for
That mother sat there like a statue awhile.
When over her face beamed a sad, sad smile ;
Then she started and shuddered as if terrible fears
"Were crushing her spirit— then came the hot tears.
And the wife and mother, with all that was seemingly joyous around
her, gave herself up to the full sweep of agonising sorrow. I gazed
upon this picture for a little while only, for my own tears fell freely and
without any control : the lady was so truthful and innocent, to aU out-
ward appearances, that my own deepest sympathies went out instantly
to her and her sorrows.
This is no fancy sketch, but a sad, sad reality. It occurred in the
ve^ heart of our city, and, witnessing it with deep sorrow, I asked my-
self, how can these things be 1 But I remember that this small incident
may only be a foreshadowing of some great sorrow deeply hidden in that
mother's aching heart. The bard of Avon says^
When sorrows come, they come not single spies,
But in battalions.
I had turned away fox a moment to look at some object that attracted
■->
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■ Hi '
:
II 1
II
'j|j:;
43i<
MAH/C TWAIN*S WORKS,
my attention, when, looking again, this child of Borrow was drying Iiat
eyea carefully and preparing to leave and go within —
Autl there will canker sorrow eat her bud,
And cbaHti the uative beauty from her oheek.
JOHNNY GREER.
** nr*HE church was densely crowded that lovely summer Sabbath,**
X said the Sunday-school superintendent, " and all, as their eyei
rested upon the small coffin, seemed imj)res8ed by the poor black
boy's fate. Above the stillness the pastor's voice rose, and chained the
interest of every ear as he told, with many an envied compliment,
how that the brave, noble, daring little Johnny Greer, when he saw the
drowned body sweeping down toward the deep part of the river whence
the agonised parents never could have recovered it in this world,
gallantly sprang into the stream, and at the risk of his life towed
the corpse to snore, and held it fast till help came and secured it.
Johnny Greer was sitting just in front of me. A ragged street boy,
with eager eye, turned upon him instantly, and said in a hoarse
whisper —
" * No ; but did you, though V
" ' Yes.'
" * Towed the carkiss ashore and saved it yo'self ? '
"'Yes.'
" * Cracky 1 What did they give you ? '
«* Nothing.'
" ' W-h-a-t ! [with intense disgust.] D'you know what I 'd a done 1
I 'd a anchored him out in the stream, and said, Fwe dollars, gmti, or
you cam'i have yo' ttiygtr.' " , ,
A DARING ATTEMPT, ETC,
439
was diyiog bf>£
Qamer SabbatL,**
Jl, as their eye«
y the poor black
and chained the
ed compliment,
vhen he saw the
the river whence
; in this world,
f hia life towed
and secured it.
gged street boy,
aid in a hoarse
hat I'd a donel
A DARING ATTEMPT AT A SOLUTION
OF IT.
THE Fenian invasion failed because George Francis Train was
absent. There was no lack of men, arms, or ammunition, but
iJiere was sad need of Mr Train's organising power, his coolness
ftnd caution, his tranquillity, his strong good sense, his modesty and
reserve, his secrecy, his taciturnity, and, above all, his frantic and
bloodthirsty couiage. Mr Train ana his retiring and diffident private
secretary were obliged to be absent, though the former must certainly
have been lying at the point of death, else nothing could have kept him
from hurrying to the rront, and oflfering his heart's best blood for the
Downtrodden People he so loves, so worships, so delights to champion.
He must have been in a disabled condition, else nothing could have sept
him from invading Canada at the head of his " children."
And, indeed, this modem Samson, solitary and alone, with his
formidable jaw, would have been a more troublesome enemy than live
times the Fenians that did invade Canada, because </iey could be made
to retire, but G. F. would never leave the field while there was an
audience before him, either armed or helpless. The invading Fenians
were wisely cautious, knowing that such of them as were caught would
))e likely to hang ; but the Champion would have stood in no such
danger. There is no law, military or civil, for hanging persons afficted
in his peculiar way.
He was not present, alas ! — save in spirit. He could not and would
not waste so fine an opportunity, though, to send some ecstatic lunacy
over the wires, and so ne wound up a ferocious telegram with this : —
WnH VxiraBANOB stkspbd in Wobmwood's Gall,
D N Old Emoland, bat wi all 1
Aad teeep your powder dry,
Geo. Francis Teain.
Shkbman House,
Ohioaoo, Noon, Tharsday, May 26.
P. S.— Just arrived, and addxeMed grand Fenian Meeting in Fenian Armoury,
donating 160.
This person coald be made really oseful by roosting him on some
lighthouse or other prominence where storms prevail, because it takes
BO much wind to keep him going that he probably moves in the midst
of a dead calm wherever he travels.
•«!.
-"•i
m
Mil
440
AfAJHAT TiVA/N'S WORKS,
II
It : •"
i
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I- ;■-?:
AN INQUIRY ABOUT INSURANCES.
COMING down from Sacramento the other night, I found on a
centre-table in the saloon of the steamboat a pamphlet advertise-
ment of an Accidpnt Insurance Company. It interested me a
good deal with its General Accidents, and its Hazardous Tables, and
Extra-Hazardous furniture of the same description, and I would like to
know something more about it. It is a new thing to me. I want to
invest if I come to like it. I want to ask merely a few questions of the
man who carries on this Accident shop.
He publishes this list as accidents he is willing to insure people
against : —
General Accidents include the Travelling Risk, and also all forms of
Dislocations, Broken Bones, Ruptures, Tendons, Sprains, Concussions,
Crushings, Bruisings, Cuts, Stabs, Gunshot Wounds, Poisoned Wounds,
Bums and. Scalds, Freezing, Dog-bites, Unprovoked Assaults by Bur-
glars, Robbers, or Murderers, the action of Lightning or Sunstroke, the
eflfects of Explosions, Chemicals, Floods, and Earthquakes, Suffocation
by Drowning or Choking — where such accidental injury totally
disables the person insured from following his usual avocation, or
causes death within three months from the time of the happening of
the injury.
I want to address this party as follows : —
Now, Smith — I suppose likely your name is Smith — I think we can
eome to an understanding about your little game without any hard
feelings. For instance :
Do you allow the same money on a dog-bite that you do on an earth-
quake ? Do you take special risks for specific accidents ? — that is to say,
could I, by getting a policy for dog-bites alone, get it cheaper than if I
took a chance in your whole lottery ? And if so, and supposing I got
insured against earthquakes, would you charge any more for Sat
FranciscQ earthquakes than for those that prevail in places that are
better anchored down ? And if I had a policy on earthquakes alone, 1
couldn't collect on dog-bites, maybe, could I ?
' If a man had such a policy, and an earthquake shook him up and
ioosened his joints a good deal, but not enough to incapacitate him from
engaging in pursuits which did not require him to be tight, wouldn't you
pay him some of his pension ? Why do you discriminate between Pro-
voked and Unprovoked Assaults by Burglars ? If a burglar entered my
house at dead of night, and I, in the excitement natural to such an occa-
sion, should forget myself and say something that provoked him, and he
should cripple me, wouldn't I get anything f But if I provoked him by
pure accident, I would have you there, I judge ; because you would have
to pay for the Accident part of it, anyhow, seeing that insuring against
AN INQUIRY ABOUT INSURANCES.
441
\NCES.
, I found on a
iphlet advertise-
interested me a
lous Tables, and
I would like to
me. I want to
questions of the
;o insure people
also all forms ol
us, Concussions,
oisoned Wounds,
A-ssaults by Bur-
ir Sunstroke, the
akes, Suffocation
i injury totally
al avocation, or
iie happening of
-I think we can
rithout any hard
a do on an earth-
?— that is to say,
cheaper than if I
supposing I got
T more for Sai
. places that are
ihquakes alone, 1
look him up and
Vcitate him from
^ht, wouldn't you
ite between Pro-
irglar entered my
. to such an occa-
|)ked him, and he
[provoked him by
J you would have
insuring against
accidents is just your strong suit, you know. Now, that item about pro-
tecting a man against freezing is good. It will procure you all the custom
you want in this country. Because, you understand, the people here-
abouts have suffered a good deal from just such climatic drawbacks as
that Why, three years ago, if a man— being a small fish in the matter
of money — went over to Washoe and bought into a good silver mine,
they would let that man go on and pay assessments till his purse got
down to about thirty-two Fahrenheit, and then the big fish would close
ill on him and freeze him out. And from that day forth you might con-
sider that man in the light of a bankrupt community ; and you would
liave him down to a ppot, too. But if you are ready to insure againi.
that sort of thing, and can stand it, you can give Washoe a fair start.
You might send me an agency. Business ? Why, I could get you more
business than you could attend to. With such an understanding as that,
the boys would all take a chance.
You don't appear to make any particular mention of taking risks on
blighted affections. But if you should conclude to do a little business in
that line, you might put me down for six or seven chances. I wouldn't
mind expense — you might enter it on the extra hazardous. I suppose I
would get aheaa of you in the long run anyhow, likely. I have been
blighted a good deal in my time.
But now as to those " Effects of Lightning." Suppose the lightning
were to strike out at one of your men and miss him, and fetch another
party — could that other party come on you for damages ? Or could th»
relatives of the party thus suddenly snatched out of the bright world in
the bloom of his youth come on you in case he was crowded for time 1
as of course he would be, you know, under such circumstances.
You say you have " issued over sixty thousand policies, forty-five
of which have proved fatal and been paid for. Now, do you know
that that looks a little shaky to me, in a measure ) You appear to
have it pretty much all your own way, you see. It is all very well for
the lucky forty-five that have died " and been paid for," but how about
the other fifty-nine thousand nine himdred and fifty-five 1 You have got
their money, haven't you? but somehow the lightning don't seem to
strike them, and they don't get any chance at you. Won't their families
got fatigued waiting for their dividends ? Don't your customers drop off
rather slow, so to speak ?
You will ruin yourself publishing such damaging statements as that,
Smith. I tell you as a friend. If you had said that the fifty-nine
thousand nine hundred and fifty-five died, and that forty-five lived, you
would have issued about four tons of policies the next week. But people
are not going to get insured, when you take so much pains to prove that
there is such precious little use in it.
U^
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442
MAl^/C TWAIN'S WORKS.
I
LIONISING MURDERERS.
HAD heard so much about the celebrated fortune-teller, Madame
, that I went to see her yesterday. She has a dark complexion
naturally, and this effect is heightened by artificial aids which cost
her nothing. She wears curls — very black ones, and I had an impres-
nion that she gave their native attractiveness a lift with rancid butter.
She wears a reddish check handkerchief, cast loosely around her neck,
and it was plain that her other one is slow getting back from the wash.
I presume she takes snuff. At any rate, something resembling it had
lodged among the hairs sprouting from her upper lip. I know she likos
garlic — I knew that as soon as she sighed. She looked at me searchingly
for nearly a minute, with her black eyes, and then said —
" It is enough. Come 1 "
She started down a very dark and dismal corridor — I stepping close
after her. Presently she stopped, and said that, as the wa^ was crooked
and so dark, perhaps she had better get a light. But it seemed un-
gallant to allow a woman to put herself to so much trouble for me, and
10 I said —
** It is not worth while, madam. If you will heave another sigh, 1
think I con follow it."
So we got along all right Arrived at her official and mysterious deu,
she asked me to tell her the date of my birth, the exact hour of that
occurrence, and the colour of my grandmother's hair. I answered .oa
accurately as I could. Then she said —
" Young man, summon your fortitude— do not tremble. I am about
to reveal the past."
"Information concerning the fuimtt would be, in a general way,
more"
" Silence ! You hare had much trouble, some joy, some good fortune,
some bad. Your great grandfather was hanged."
« That is a 1—."
" Silence ! Hanged, sir. But it was not his fault. He could not
help it."
" I am glad you do him justice."
" Ah — grieve, rather, that the jury did. He was hanged. His star
crosses yours in the fourth division, lifth sphere. Consequently you will
be hanged also."
" In view of this cheerful "
" I vmut have silence. Yours was not, in the beginning, a criminal
nature, but circumstances changed it. At the age of nine you stole
sugar. At the age of fifteen you stole money. At twenty you stole
horses. At twenly-five ^ou committed arson. At thirty, hardened in
crime, you became an editor. You are now a ;^blic lecturer. Worse
things are in store for you. You will be sent to ^^ngress. Next, to the
UOmSING MURDERERS,
443
He could not
penitentiary. Finally, happlneas will come again — all will be well — you
will be hanged."
I was now in tears. It seemed hard enough to go to Congress ; but
to be hanged — tids was too sad, too dreadfuL The woman seemed sur-
prised at my grief. I told her the thoughts that were in my mind.
Then she comforted me.
** Why, man," * she said, " hold up your head — yow have nothing to
grieve about. Listen. You will live in New Hampshire. In your
sharp need and distress the Brown family will succour you— such of them
as Pike the assassin left aUve. They will be benefactors to you. When
you shall have grown fat upon their bounty, and are grateful and happy,
you will desire to make some modest return for these things, and so you
will go to the house some night and brain the whole family with an axe.
You will rob the dead bodies of your benefactors, and disburse your
^ins in riotous living among the rowdies and courtesans of lioston.
Then you will be arrested, tried, condeumed to be hanged, thrown into
prison. Now is your happy day. You will be converted — you will be
converted just as soon as every effort to compass pardon, commutation,
or reprieve has failed — and then ! Why, then, every morning and every
afternoon, the best and purest young ladies of the village will assemble
in your cell and sing hymns. This will show that assassination is
respectable. Then you will write a touching letter, in which you will
forgive all those recent Browns. This will excite the public admiration.
No public can withstand magnanimity. Next, they will take you to
* In this paragraph the fortune-teller details the exaet history of the Pike-
Brown assassination case in New Hampshire, fr im the suocouring and saving of
the stranger Pike bj the Browns, to the subsequent hanging and coffining of that
treacherous miscreant. She adds nothing, invents nothing, exaggerates nothing
(see any New £ngland paper for November 1869). This Pike-Brown case is
selected merely as a type, to illustrate a custom that prevails, not in New Hamp<
shire alone, but in every State in the union — I mean the sentimental custom of
visiting, petting, glorifying, and snuffling over murderers like this Pike, from the
day they enter the jail under sentence of death until they swing from the gallows.
The following extract from Temple Bar (1866) reveals the fact that this custom
is not confined to the United States: — '' On December 31st, 1841, a man named
John Johnes, a shoemaker, murdered his sweetheart, Mary Hallam, the daughter
of a respectable labourer, at Mansfield, in the county uf Nottingham. He was
executed on March 23d, 1842. He was a man of unsteady habits, and gave way
to violent fits of passion. The girl declined his addresses, and he said if he
did not have her no one else should. After he had inflicted the first wound,
which waa not immediately fatal, she begged for her life, but seeing him resolved,
asked for time to pray. He said that he would prav for both, and completed the
crime. The wounds were inflicted by a shoemakers knife, and her throat was
out barbarously. After this he dropped on his knees some time, and prayed
Grod to have mercy on two unfortunate lovers. He made no attempt to escape,
and confessed the crime. After his imprisonment he behaved in the most
decorous manner j he won upon me good opinion of the jail ohaplain, and he
was visited by the Bishop of Lincoln. It does not appear that he expressed any
contrition for the crime, but seemed to paM away with triumphant certainly
that he was going to rejoin Mb victim in heaven. Me vxu virited by some piotu
and benevolent ladies of Nottingham^ tome of whom declared he vxu a ehUd of God,
if ever there wu one. One of thr. ladii'j tent him a white, eam^lUa to vtear at
kit Mtcutiou,"
4
; I
Ht i
,-' '*^
V :'■ li'l:
444
3fAIifr TWAIN'S WORKS.
the Hcaffold, with great klat^ at the head of an imposing procemion conv
{)0»e(1 of clergymen, officiula, citizens generally, ana young ladiea walkinu
pensively two and two, and bearing bouquets and immortellee. You will
mount the scaffold, and while the great concourse stand uncovered in
your presence, you will read your sappy little speech which the minister
has written for you. And then, in tne midst of a grand and impressive
silence, they will swing you into per Paradise, my son. There will
not be a dry eye on tne ground. You will be a hero ! Not a rough
there but will envy you. Not a rough there but will resolve to emulate
you. And next, a great procession will follow you to the tomb — will
weep over your remains — the young ladies will sing again the hynms
made dear oy sweet associations connected with the jail, and, as a last
tribute of affection, respect, and appreciation of your many sterling quali-
ties, they will walk two and two around your bier, and strew wreaths
of flowers on it And lo ! you are canonised. Think of it, son — ingrate,
assassin, robber of the dead, drunken brawler among thieves and harlots
in the slums of Boston one month, and the pet of the pure and innocent
daughters of the land the next ! A bloody and hateful devil — a bewept,
bewailed, and sainted martyr — all in a month 1 Fool I — so noble a
fortune, and yet you sit here grieving ! "
" No, madame," I said, " you do me wrong, you do indeed. I am
perfectly satisfied. I did not know before that my great-grandfatlier
was hanged, but it is of no consequence. He has probably ceased to
bother about it by this time — and I have not commenced yet. I confess,
madam, that I do something in the way of editing and lecturing, but the
other crimes you mention have escaped my memory. Yet I must have
committed them — you would nut deceive an orphan. But let the past
be as it was, and let the future be as it may — these are nothing. I have
only cared for one thing. I have always felt that I should be hanged
some day, and somehow the thought has annoyed me considerably;
but if you can only assure me that I shall be hanged in New Hamp-
shire"
" Not a shadow of a doubt ! '*
" Bless you, my benefactress ! — excuse this embrace — you have re-
moved a great load from my breast. To be hanged in New Hampshire
is happiness — it leaves an honoured nfi.me behind a man, and introducoN
him at once into the best New Hampshire society in the other world."
I then took leave of the fortune-teller. But, seriously, is it well to
glorify a murderous villain on the scaffold, as Pike was glorified in New
Hampshire % Is it well to turn the penalty for a bloody crimo into a
reward ? Is it just to do it ? Is it safe ?
A MEMORY,
445
A MEMORY.
WHEN I (wiy timt I never knew my auBiere father to he enamoured
of but one poem in all the long half-century that ho lived, persons
who know him will easily believe me ; when I say that I
never conipoaed but one poem in all the long third of a century that I
have lived, persons who know me will bo sincerely gratoful ; and, finally,
when I say that the poem which I composed was not the one which my
ffither was enamoured of, persons who may have known us both will not
need to have this truth shot into them with a mountain howitzer before
they can receive it. My father and I were always on the most distant
terms when I was a boy — a sort of anned neutrality, so to speak. At
irregular intervals tliis neutrality was broken, and suffering ensued ;
but I will be candid enough to sajr that the breaking and the suffering
were always divided up with strict impartiality between us — which is
to say, my father did the breaking, and I did the suffering. As a
general thing I was a backward, cautious, unadventurous boy. But once
I jumped off a two-storey stable ; another time I gave an elephant a
"plug" of tobacco, and retired without waiting for an answer; and
Btill another time I pretended to be talking in my sleep, and got off a por-
tion of a very wretched original conundrum in hearing of my father. Let
us not pry into the result ; it was of no consec^uence to any one but me.
But the poem I have referred to as attracting my father's attention
and achieving his favour was " Hiawatha." Some man who courted a
sudden and awful death presented him an early copy, and I never lost
faith in my own senses until I saw him sit down and go to reading it in
cold blood — saw him open the book, and heard him read these following
lines, with the same inflectionless judicial frigidity with which he
always read
witness —
his charge to the jury, or administered an oath to a
•• Take your bow, O Hiawatha,
Take your arrows, Jasper-headed,
Take your war club, Puggawaugun,
And your mittens, Minjekahwan,
And your birch canoe for sailing.
And the oil of Mishe-Nama."
Presently my father took out of his breast-pocket an imposing "War-
ranty Deed," and fixed his eyes upon it, and dropped into meditation.
1 knew what it was. A Texan lady and gentleman had given my half-
brother, Orrin Johnson, a handsome property in a town in the north,
in gratitude to him for having saved their uves by an act of brilliant
heroism.
By and by my father looked toward me and sighed.
Then he said. " If I had such a son as this poet^ here were a subject
w^orthier than tne traditions of these Indians."
" If you please, sir, where ? **
"In this deed."
i.
\
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! ■ > ■
1' ^ ''
at •
6
44«
/f>//fA' TWAIN*S WORKS,
"Inthe— aeedl"
"Yea — in this very deed," said my father, throwing it on the tabia
" There is more poetry, more romauce, more sublimity, more 8i)ltindid
imagery hid<len away m that homely document than could be found in
all the traditions of all the savages that live."
" Indeed, sir ) Could I — could I get it out, sir ? Could I compose
the poem, sir, do you think ? "
"You?"
I wilted.
Present! V my father's face softened somewhat, and he said —
" Go tiud try. But mind ; curb folly. No poetry at the expense of
truth. Keep strictly to the facts."
I said I would, and bowed myself out, and went up-stairs.
" Hiawatha " kept droning in my head — and so aid my father's re-
marks about the sublimity and romance hidden in my subject, and also
his injunction to beware of wasteful and exuberant fancy. 1 noticed just
here that I had heedlessly brought the deed away witn me. Now, at
this moment came to me one of those rare moods of daring recklessness,
such as I referred to a while ago. Without another thought, and iu
plain defiance of the fact that I knew my father meant me to write the
romantic story of my half-brother's adventure and subsequent good for-
tune, I ventured to heed merely the letter of his remarks and ignore
their spirit. I took the stupid " Warranty Deed " itself and chopped it
into Hiawathian blank verse, without altering or leaving out three
words, and without transposing six. It required loads of courage to go
down-stairs and face niy father with my performance. I started three
or four times before I finally got my pluck to where it would stick.
But at last I said I would go down and read it to him if he threw me
over the church for it I stood up to begin, and he told me to come
closer. I edged up a little, but still left as much neutral ground be-
tween us as I thought he would stand. Then I began. It would be
useless for me to try to tell what conflicting emotions expressed them-
selves upon liis face, nor how they grew more and more intense as I pro-
ceeded ; nor how a fell darkness descended upon his countenance, and he
began to gag and swallow, and his hands began to work and twitch, as
I reeled off line after line, with the strength ebbing out of me and my
legs trembling under me.
THE STORY OF A GALLANT DEED.
THIS INDENTURB, made the tenth
Day of November, in the year
Of our Lord one thousand eight
Hundred nx-and-fifty,
Between Joanna S. E. Gbat
And Fhiup Gbat, her husband.
Of Salem Oity in the State
Of Texas, of the first part,
And O. B. Johnson, of the town
Of Aiutin, ditto, WITNESSETH f
t on the table.
more splendid
lid be found in
>uld I couipotie
said —
) the expense o!
^aire.
my father's re-
lubject, and also
T. I noticed just
1 me. Now, at
ing recklessness,
thought, and in
me to write the
sequent good for-
lanu and ignoi-e
Jf and chopped it
saving out three
of courage to go
I started three
B it would stick.
L if he threw me
old me to come
itral ground be-
in. It would be
expressed them-
s intense as I pro-
intenance, and be
:k and twitch, as
lit of me and my
2D.
A MEMORY. 441
That Mid party of flnt part,
For and Id oonaideratiun
Of the lam of Twanty Thouia^d
Dollar!, lawful money of
Tlie U. 8. of Americay,
To them in hand now paid by laid
Party of the second part,
The due receipt whereof ii here-
fiy oonfesied and aoknowledg-od,
Have Granted, Bargained, Hold, Remlaed*
Released and Aliened and Oonveyed,
Confirmed, and by theae presents do
Grant and Bargain, Sell, Remise,
Alien, Release, Oonvey, and Con-
Firm unto the said aforesaid
Party of the second part,
And to his heirs and assiens
For ever and ever, ALL
That certain piece or parcel of
LAND situate in city of
Dunkirk, county of Chautauqua,
And likewise furthermore in York States
Bounded and described, to wit.
As follows, herein, namely :
BEGINNING at the distance of
A hundred two-and*forty feet
l^orth-half east, north-east-by-northf \
East'uorth-east and northerly
Of the northerly line of Mulligan Street,
On the westerly line of Braunigan Street);
And running thence due northerly
On Brannigan Street 200 feet.
Thence at right angles westerly,
North-west-by-weit-and-west-half-west
West-and-by-north, north-west-by-west
About —
I kind of dodged, and the boot-jack broke the looking-glass. I could
have waited to see what became of the other missilea u I had wanted
to^ but I took no interest in such thinga.
1
...:ll
448
MARK TlVAm^S WORKS,
"f
fi '
tt«»i
1^ 1,
POLITICAL ECONOMY.
lOLITICAL Economy is the basis of all good government The
wisest men of all ages have brought to bear upon this subject
the
[Here I was interrupted and informed that a stranger wished to see
me down at the door. I went and confronted him, and asked to know
his business, struggling all the time to keep a tight rein on my seething
political economy ideas, and not let them break away from me or get
tangled in their harness. And privately I wished the stranger was in
the bottom of the canal with a cargo of wheat on top of him. I was all
in a fever, but he was cool. He said he was sorry to disturb me, but as
he was passing he noticed that I needed some lightning-rods. I said,
" Yes, yes — go on — what about it ?" He said there was nothing about
it, in particiuar— nothing except that he would like to put them up for
me. I am new to housekeeping; have been used to hotels and boarding-
houses all my life. Like anybody else of similar experience, I try to
appeal (to strangers) to be an old housekeeper; consequently I said in
an off-hand way that I had been intending for some time to have six or
eight lightning-rods put up, but The stranger started, and looked
inquiringly at me, but I was serene. I thought that if I chanced to
make any mistakes, he would not catch me by my countenance. He
said he would rather have my custom than any man's in town. I said,
" All right," and started off to wrestle with my great subject again, when
he called me back and said it would be necessary to know exactly how
many " points " I wanted put up, what parts of the house I wanted them
on, and what quality of rod I preferred. It was close quarters for a man
not used to the exigencies of housekeeping ; but I went through credit-
ably, and he probably never suspected that I was a novice. I told him
to put up eight "points," and put them all on the roof, and use the best
quality of rod. He said he could furnish the " plain " article at 20 cents
a foot ; " coppered," 25 cents ; " zinc-plated spirju-twist," at 30 cents, that
would stop a streak of lightning any time, no matter where it was bound,
and " render its errand harmless and its further progress apocryphal"
I said apocryphal was no slouch of a word, emanating from the source
it did, but, philology aside, I liked the spiral-twist and would take that
brand. Then he said he could make two hundred and fifty feet answer ;
but to do it right, and make the best job in town of it, and attract the
admiration of the just and the unjust alike, and compel all parties to
say they never saw a more symmetrical and hypothetical display of
lightning-rods since they were Dom, he supposed he really coulmi't get
along without four hundred, though he wa» not vindictive, and trusted
he was willing to try. I said, go ahead and use four hundred, and make
any kind of a job he pleased out of it, but let me get back to my work.
So I got rid of him at last ; and now, after half-an-nour spent in gettmg
POUTICAL ECONOMY,
449
ireminei^^ The
)Oii this subject
rer wished to see
L asked to know
, on my seething
from me or get
; stranger was in
• him. I was aU
isturb me, but aa
jig-rods. I said,
ras nothing about
) put them up for
;el8 and boarding-
;perience, I try to
equently I said m
me to have six or
tarted, and looked
at if I chanced to
countenance. He
5 in town. I said,
abject again, when
fcnow exactly how
[use I wanted them
luarterrs for a man
Lt through credit-
lovice. I told him
If, and use the best
article at 20 cents
;,» at 30 cents, that
irhereitwasbound^
gress apocryphal"
' ig from the source
td would take that
L fifty feet answer ;
it, and attract the
jipel all parties to
fhetical display of
reaUy couldn't get
ictive, and trusted
lundred, and make
back to my work.
fpent in getting
my train of political ecoiiomy thoughts coupled together again, I am
ready to go on once more.]
richest treasures of their genius, their experience of life, and theii
learning. The great lights of commercial jurisprudence, international
confraternity, and biological deviation, of all ages, all civilisations, and
all nationalities, from Zoroaster down to Horace Greeley, have- -
[Here I was interrupted again, and required to go down and confer
further with that lightning-rod man. I hurried off, boiling and surging
with prodigious thoughts wonibed in words of such majesty that each one
of them was in itself a straggling procession of syllables that might be
fifteen minutes passing a given point, and once more I confronted him
— he so calm and sweet, I so hot and frenzied. He was standing in
the contemplative attitude of the Colossus of Rhodes, with one foot on
my infant tuberose, and the other among my pansies, his hands on hia
hips, his hat-brim tilted forward, one eye shut and the other gazing
critically and admiringly in the direction of my principal chimney. He
said now there was a state of things to make a man glad to be alive ; and
added, " I leave it to yow if you ever saw anything more deliriously pic-
turesque than eight lightning-rods on one chimney 1" I said I had no
present recollection of anything that transcended it. He said that in
his opinion nothing on this earth but Niagara Falls was superior to it
in the way of natui-al scenery. All that was needed now, he verily
believed, to make my house a perfect balm to the eye, was to kind of
touch up the other chimneys a little, and thus " add to the generous
coup d'ail a soothing unil'ormity of achievement which would allay the
excitement naturally consequent upon the first coup d'etat." I asked
him if he learned to talk out of a book, and if I could borrow it any-
where ? He smiled pleasantly, and said that his manner of speaking
was not taught in books, and that nothing but familiarity with lightning
could enable a man to handle his conversational style with impunity.
He then figured up an estimate, and said that about eight more rods
scattered about my roof would about fix me right, and he guessed five
hundred feet of stufi" would do it ; and added that the first eight had got
a littl'i the start of him, so to speak, and used up a mere trifie of material
r.iure than he had calculated on — a hundred feet or along there. I sanl
1 was in a dreadful hurry, and I wished we could get this business pei-
manently mapped out, so that I could go on with my work. He said, " 1
couldhsiYe put up those eight rods, and mai'ched off aliout my buainess —
some men would have done it. But no : I said to myself, this man is
a stranger to me, and I will die before I '11 wrong him ; there ain't
lightning-rods enough on that house, and for one I '11 never stir out
of my tracks till I 've done as I would be done by, and told him so.
Stranger, my duty is accomplished ; if the recalcitrant and dephlogistic
messenger of heaven strikes your" " There, now, there," I said,
"put on the other eight — add five hundred feet of spiral-twist— do any-
thing and everything you want to do ; but calm your sufferings, and try
to keep your feelings where you can reach them with the dictionary
>:f
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'{
' {•
V m
A 1 <
; . !
^'li
;'t
'^ Ij
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♦5<5
AM/PA' TWAIN'S WORKS.
Meanwhile, if we understand each other now, I will go to work again." 1
think I have been sitting here a full hour, this time, trying to get back
to where I was when my train of thought was broken up by the last
interruption ; but I believe I have accomplished it at last, and may
venture to proceed again.]
wrestled with his great subject, and the greatest among them have found
it a worthy adversary, and one that always comes up fresh and smiling
after every throw. The great Confucius said that he would rather be a
profound political economist than chief of police. Cicero frequently said
that political economy was the grandest consummation that the human
mind was capable of consuming ; and even our own Greeley has said
vaguely but forcibly that " Political
[Here the lightning-rod man sent up another call for me. I went
down in a state of mind bordering on impatience. He said he would
rather have died than interrupt me, but when he was employed to do a
job, and that job was expected to be done in a clean, workmanlike manner,
and when it was finished and fatigue urged him to seek the rest and re-
creation he stood so much in need of, and he was about to do it, but
looked up and saw at a glance that all the calculations had been a little
out, and if a thunder storm were to come up, and that house, which he
felt a personal interest in, stood there with nothing on earth to protect it
but sixteen lightning-rods " Let us have peace ! " I shrieked.
" Put up a hundred and fifty ! Put some on the kitchen ! Put a dozen
on the bam ! Put a couple on the cow ! — put one on the cook ! — scatter
them all over the persecuted place till it looks like a zinc-plated, spiral-
twisted, silver-mounted cane-brake ! Move ! Use up all the material
you can get your hands on, and when you run out of lightning-rods put
up ram-rods, cam-rods, stair-rods, piston-rods — anything that will pander
to your dismal appetite for artificial scenery, and bring respite to my
raging brain and nealing to my lacerated soul ! " Wholly unmoved-
further than to smile sweetly — this iron being simply turned back his
wristbands daintily, and said " He would now proceed to hump himself."
WeU, all that was nearly three hours ago. . It is questionable whether
L am cahn enough yet to write on the noble theme of political economy,
but I cannot resist the desire to try, for it is the one subject that is
nearest to my heart and dearest to my brain of all this world's philo-
sophy.]
" economy is heaven's best hoon to man." "When the loose but
gifted Byron lay in his Venetian exile he observed that, if it could be
granted him to go back and live his misspent life over again, he would
give his lucid and unintoxicated intervals to the composition, not of
frivolous rhymes, but of essays upon political economy. Washington
loved this exquisite science ; such names as Baker, Beckwith, Judson,
Smith, are imperishabhr linked with it ; and even imperial Homer, in
khe ninth book of th» Lliadi has said '
ork again." 1
ng to get back
up by the last
fast, and may
lem have found
jh and smiling
lid rather be a
frequently said
hat the human
Greeley has said
or me. I went
J said he would
iployed to do a
nanake manner,
the rest and re-
»ut to do it, but
had been a little
house, which he
arth to protect it
e ! " I shrieked-
n ! Put a dozen
le cook ! — scatter
nc-plated, spiral-
all the materia]
ghtning-rods put
f that will pander
ig respite to my
lolly unmoved-
turned back his
3 hump himself."
itionable whether
oUtical economy,
1 subject that is
lis world's philo-
en the loose but
[it, if it could be
again, he would
iposition, not of
jiy. Washington
[eckwith, Judson,
Homer, in
POLITICAL ECONOMY. 451
Fiat justilia, mat ooelum.
Post mortem unnm, ante bellum.
Hie jacet hoc, ez-paxte rei,
Politicam e-conomioo eat.
The grandeur of these conceptions of the old poet, together with the
'eUcity of the wording which clothes them, and the sublimity of the
miagery whereby they are illustrated, have singled out that stanza, and
made it more celebrated than any that ever
f" Now, not a word out of you — not a single word. Just state your
bill and relapse into impenetrable silence for ever and ever on these
premises. Nine hundred dollars? Is that alii This check for the
amount will be honoured at any respectable bank in America. What is
that multitude of people gathered in the street for ? How ? — * looking at
the lightning-rods ! ' Bless my life, did they never see any lightning-
rods before ? Never saw * such a stack of them on one establishment,'
did I understand jrou to say ? I will step down and critically observe
this popular ebulhtion of ignorance."]
Three Days Later. — We are all about worn out For four-and-
twenty hours our bristling premises were the talk and wonder of the
town. The theatres languished, for their happiest scenic inventions
were tame and commonplace compared with my lightning-rods. Oui
street was blocked night and day with spectators, and among them
were many who came from the country to see. It was a blessed
relief on tne second day, when a thunder-storm came up and the light-
ning began to " go for " my house, as the historian Josephus quaintly
phrases it It cleared the galleries, so to speak. In five minutes there
was not a spectator within half a mile of my place ; but aU the high
houses about that distance away were full, windows, roof, and all. And
well they might be, for all the falling stars and Fourth-of- July fireworks
of a geLeration, put together and rained down simultaneously out of
heaven in one brilliant shower upon one helpless roof, would not have
any advantage of the pyrotechnic display that was making my house so
magnificently conspicuous in the general gloom of the storm. By actual
count, the lightning struck at my establishment seven hundred and sixty-
four times in forty minutes, but tripped on one of those faithful rods
every time, and slid down the spiral twist and shot into the earth before
it probably had time to be surprised at the way the thing was done. And
through aU that bombardment only one patch of slates was ripped up, and
that was because, for a single instant, the rods in the vicinity were tran-
sporting all the lightning they could possibly accommodate. Well,
nothing was ever seen like it since the world began. For one whole day
and night not a member of my family stuck his head out of the window
but he got the hair snatched off it as smooth as a billiard-ball ; and if
the reader will believe me, not one of us ever dreamt of stirring abroad.
But at last the awful siege came to an end — ^because there was absolutely
no more electricity left in the clouds above us witliln grappling distance
of my insatiable rods^ Then I sallied forth, and gathered danng work-
\
45a
MARK TWAIN'S WORKS.
l).-:i!
\\rfA
\ "<■■
men together, and not a bite or a nap did we take till the nremiace were
utterly stripped of all their terrific armament except just* three roda on
the house, one on the kitchen, and one on the bam — and behold tlieso
remain there even unto this day. And then, and not till then, the
people ventured to use our street again. I will remark here, in passing,
that during that fearful time I did not continue my essay upon political
economy. I am not even yet settled enough in nerve and brain to re-
sume it.
To Whom it Mat Concern. — Parties having need of three thousand
two hundred and eleven feet of best quality zinc-plated spiml -twist
lightning-rod stuff, and sixteen-hundred and thirty-one silver-tipped
points, all in tolerable repair (and, although much worn by use, still
equal to any ordinary emergency), can hear of a bargain by addressing
the publisher.
JOHN CHINAMAN IN NEW YORK.
A CORRESPONDENT (whose signature, "Lang Bemis," is more m
leas familiar to the public) contributes the following : —
As I passed along by one of those monster American tea-stores
in New York, I found a Chinaman sitting before it acting in the capacity
of a sign. Everybody that passed by gave him a steady stare as long aa
their heada would twiat over their shoulders without dislocating tneii
necks, and a large group had stopped to stare deliberately.
Is it not a shaine that we, who prate ao much about civiliaation and
humanity, are content to degrade a fellow-being to auch an office aa this 1
la it not time for reflection when we find ourselves willing to see in such
a being, in such a situation, matter merely for frivolous curiosity instead
of regret and grave reflection? Here was a poor creature whom hard
fortune had exiled from his natural home beyond the seas, and whose
troubles ought to have touched these idle strangers that thronged about
him ; but did it ? Apparently not. Men calling themselves the superior
race, the race of culture and of gentle blood, scanned his quaint Chinese
hat, with peaked roof and ball on top, and his long queue aangKng down
his back ; hia abort silken blouse, curiously frogged and figured (and,
like the rest of his raiment, rusty, dilapidated, and awkwardly put on) ;
hia blue cotton, tight-legged pants, tied close around the ankles ; and
his clumay blunt-toed ahoes with thick cork aolea ; and having so scanned
him from head to foot, cracked some unseemly joke about his outlandish
attire or hia melancholy face, and paased on. In my heart I pitied the
friendless Mongol. I wondered what was passing behind hia sad
face, and what diatant scene hia vacant eye was dreaming o£ Were his
thoughts with hia heart, ten thousand miles away, beyond the billowy
waates of the Pacific ? among the rice-fields and the plumy palms of
China ? under the shadows of remembered mountain-peaks^ or in grovea
A NABOB'S VISIT TO NEW YORK.
453
of bloomy shrubs aud strange forest-trees unknown to climes like ours t
And now and then, rippling among his visions and his dreams, did he
hear familiar laughter and half-forgotten vuices, aud did he catch fitful
glimpses of the friendly faces of a bygone time? A cruel fate it is, I
said, that ie befallen this bronzed wanderer ; a cheerless destiny enough.
In order that the group of idlers might be touched at least by the words
of the poor fellow, since the appeal of hia pauper dress and his dreary
exile was lost upon them, I touched him on the shoulder and said —
" Cheer up — don't be down-hearted. It is not America that treats
you in this way, it is merely one citizen, whose greed of gain has eaten
the humanity out of his heart. America has a broader hospitality
for the exiled and oppressed. America and Americans are always ready
to help the unfortunate. Money shall be raised — you shall go back to
China — you shall see your friends again. What wages do they pay you
here ?"
*' Divil a cint but four dollars a week and find meself ; but it 's aisy,
barrin the troublesome furrin clothes that 's so expinsive."
The exile remains at his post. The New York tea-merchants who
need picturesque signs are not likely to run out of Chinamen.
A NABOB'S VISIT TO NEW YORK.
eas, and whose
IN Nevada there used to be current the story of an adventure of twc
of her nabobs, which may or may not have occurred. I give it
for what it is worth :
Col. Jim had seen somewhat of the world, and knew more or less of
its ways ; but CoL Jack was from the back settlements of the States, had
led a ufe of arduous toil, and had never seen a city.
These two, blessed with sudden wealth, projected a visit to New
York — CoL Jack to see the sights, and Col. Jmi to guard his imsophis-
tication from misfortune. They reached San Francisco in the night and
sailed in the morning. Arrived in New York Col. Jack said —
" I 've heard tell of carriages all my life, and now I mean to have a
ride in one ; I don't care what it costs. Come along."
They stepped out on the side-walk, and Col. Jim called a stylish
barouche. But Col. Jack said —
" No, sir ! None of your cheap-John turiiouts for me. I 'm here to
have a good time, and money ain't any object. I mean to have the
nobbiest rig that 's going. Now here comes the very trick. Stop that
yaller one with the pictures on it— don't you fret — I U stand all tne ex-
penses myself."
So Col. Jim stopped an empty omnibus and they got in. Said Col.
Jack —
" Ain't it gay, though ? Oh no, I reckon not. Cushions, and win-
dows aud pictuiuti liil you can't rest. What would the boys say if they
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MARK TWAIN'S WORKS,
could tee ns cutting a swell like thiB in New York? By Qteoige, I wish
they could see us."
Then he put his head out of the window, and shouted to the driver —
" Say, Jonnny, this suits me ! — suits yours truly, you bet you ! I want
this she-bang aU day. I'm on it, old man ! Let 'em out ! Make 'em go !
We '11 make it all right to you, sonny! "
The driver passed his hand through the strap-hole and tapped for his
fare — it was before the gongs came into common use. CoL Jack took the
\iand and shook it cordiallv. He said—
" You twig me, old para ! All right between gents. Smell of that,
and see how you like it! "
And he put a twenty doUar gold piece in the driver's hand. After a
Dioment the driver said he could not make change.
" Bother the change ! Ride it out. Put it in your pocket*
Then to CoL Jim, with a sounding slap on his thigh —
" Ain't it style, though % Hanged if I don't hire this thing every daj
for a week."
The omnibus stopped and a young lady got in. Col. Jack stared foi
a moment, then nudged CoL Jim with his elbow.
" Don't say a wora," he whispered ; " let her ride if she wants to.
Gracious, there's room enough."
The young lady got out her portmonnie and handed her fare to CoL
Jack.
" What 's this for ?" he said.
" Give it to the driver, please."
" Take back your money, madame. We can't allow it. You are wel-
come to a ride here as long as you please, but the she-bang is chartered ;
we can't let you pay a cent."
The girl shrank into a comer, bewildered. An old lady with a basket
climbed in, and proflfered her fare.
" Excuse me,'' said CoL Jack. " You are perfectly welcome here,
madame, but we can't allow you to pay. Set right down there, mum,
and don't you feel the least uneasy. Make yourself as free as if you
were in your own turnout."
Within two minutes three gentlemen, two fat women, and a couple oi
children entered.
" Come right along, friends," said CoL Jack ; ** don't mind us. Thia
is a free blow-out." Then he whispered to Col. Jim, " New York ain't
no sociable place, I don't reckon — it ain't no name for it"
He resisted every eifort to pass fares to the driver, and made every-
body cordially welcome. The situation dawned on the people, and
they pocketed their money, and delivered themselves up to covert en-
joyment of the episode. Half-a-doz: n n.ore passengers entered.
" Oh, there is plenty of room," said Col. Jack. " Walk right in and
make yourselves at home. A blow-out ain't worth anything as a blow-
out, unless a body has company." Then in a whisper to Col. Jim—
« But ain't these New Yorkers friendly ] And ain't they cool about it
too 1 Icebergs ain't anywhere. I reckon they 'd tackle a hearse, if it
was going their way."
HIGGJNS,
455
More passengers got in ; more yet, and still more. Both seats were
filled, and a me of men were standing up holding on to the cleats
overhead. Parties with baskets and bundles were climbing up on the
roof. Half-suppressed laughter rippled up from aU sides.
" Well, for clean, cool, out-and-out cheek, if this don't bang anything
that I ever saw, I 'm an Injun," whispered CoL Jack.
A Chinaman crowded his way in.
*' I weaken," said Col. Jack. *' Hold on, driver ! Keep your seats,
ladies and gents. Just make yourselves free— everything 's paid for.
Driver, rustle these folks around as long as they 're a mind to go — friends
of ours, you know. Take them everywhere, and if you want more
money, come to the St Nicholas, and we '11 make it all right. Pleasant
journey to you, ladies and gents ; go it just as long as you please— it
shan't cost you a cent ! "
The two comrades got out, and Col. Jack said —
" Jimmy, it 's the sociablest place I ever saw. The Chinaman waltzed
in as comfortable as anybody. If we 'd stayed a while I reckon we 'd
had some niggers. By George, we 'U have to barricade our doors to-
aight, or some of these ducks will be trying to sleep with us."
r
HIGGINS.
*• 'W'ES, I remember that anecdote," the Sunday-school superintendent
X said, with the old pathos in his voice, and the old sad look in
his eyes. " It was about a simple creature named Higgins, that
used to haul rock for old Maltby. When the lamented Judge Bagley
tripped and fell down the court-house stairs and broke his neck, it was a
great question how to break the news to poor Mrs Bagley. But finally
the body was put into Higgins' waggon, and he was instructed to take it
to Mrs B., but to be very guarded and discreet in his language, and not
break tiie news to her at once, but do it gradually and gently. When
Higgins got there with his sad freight, he shouted till Mis Bagley came
to the door.
Then he said, " Does the widder Bagley live here ] "
" The widow Bagley 1 No^ sir ! "
" I '11 bet she does. But have it your own way. Well, does Judgt
Bagley live here?"
" Yes ; Judge Bagley lives here."
"I'U bet he don't But never mind, it ain't for me to contradict
Is the Judge in *? "
" No, not at present."
** I jest expected as much. Because, you know — take hold o' suthLn,
mum, for I 'm a-going to make a little communication, and I reckon
uxaybe it 'U jar you some. There 's been an accident, miuu. I 've got
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MARK TWAIN'S WORKS.
the old Judge curled up out here in the waggon, and when yon see him
you '11 acknowledge yourself that an inquest 'j about the oi
could be a comfort to him / *
■mij thing that
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AMONG THE SPIRITS.
THERE was a stance in town a few nights since. As 1 was making
for it, in company "with the reporter of an evening paper, he said
he had seen a gambler named Gus Graham shot down in a town
in Illinois years ago by a mob, and as he was probably the only person in
San Francisco who knew of the circumstance, he thought he would
"give the spirits Graham to chaw on a while." \^N.B. — This young
creature is a Democrat, and speaks with the native strength and in-
elegance of his tribe.] In the course of the show he wrote ms old pal's
name on a slip of, paper, and folded it up tightly and put it in a hat
which was passed around, and which already had about five hundred
similar documents in it. The pile was dumped on the table, and the
medium began to take them up one by one and lay them aside asking,
" Is this spirit present ? or this ? or this ? " About one in fifty would
rap, and tne person who sent up the name would rise in his place and
question the defunct At last a spirit seized the medium's hand and
wrote " Gus Graham " backward. Then the medium went skirmishing
through the papers for the corresponding name. And that old sport
knew nis card by the back. When the medium came to it, after pick-
ing up fifty others, he rapped ! A committee-man unfolded the paper,
and it was the right one. I sent for it and got it It was all right
However, I suppose all Democrats are on sociable terms with the devil
The young man got up and asked —
" Did you die in '51 ? '62 ? '53 ] '64 ? "
cancer] consumption? dog-bite? small-
Ghost—" Rap, rap, rap."
**Did you die of cholera?
poict violent death?"
" Rap, rap, rap."
" Were you hanged ? drowned ? stabbed ? shot ? "
** Rap, rap, rap."
"Did you die in Mississippi? Kentucky? New York? Sandwich
Islands ? Texas ? lUinois ? "
" Rap, rap, rap."
" In Adams county ? Madison ? Randolph ? "
** Rap, rap, rap."
It was no use trying to catch the departed gambler. He knew liis
hand, and played it like a major.
About this time a couple of Germans stepped forward, an elderly
man and a spry young feUow, cocked and primed for a sensation- They
AMONG THE SPIRITS,
4ir
lork? Sandwich
wrote Mnne names. Then young OUendorflf said something which
Bounded like —
" Ist elu Geist hieraua ? [Bursts of laughter from the audience.]
Three raps — signifyiiif,' that there lem a Geist hieraua.
" WoUen Sie Schriehen 1 " [More laughter.]
Three raps.
" Finzig stoUen, linsowfterowlickterbairowfterfrowleineruhackfolde-
roU"
Incredible as it may seem, the spirit cheeriully answered Yes to that
astonishing proposition.
rhe audience grew more and more boisterously mirthful with every
fresh c[uestion, and they were informed that the performance could not
go on in the midst of so much levity. They became quiet.
The German ghost didn't appear to know anything at all — couldn't
answer the simplest questions. Youn^ Ollendorff tinally stated some
nimibers, and tried to get at the time of the spirit's death ; it appeared
to be considerably mixed as to whether it died in 1811 or 1812, which
was reasonable enough, as it had heen so long ago. At last it wrote
u 12."
Tahleau i Young Ollendorff sprang to his feet in a state of consuming
excitement. He exclaimed —
" Laties und shentlemen ! I write de name fon a man vot lifs I
Speerit-rabbing dells me he ties in yahr eighteen hoondred and dweU|
but he yoos as live and helty as "
The medium — " Sit down, sir ! "
Ollendorff— " But I vant to "
Medium — " You are not here to make speeches, sir — sit down ! " [Mr
0. had squared himself for an oration.]
Mr 0. — "But de speerit cheat ! — dere is no such speerit" [All
this time applause and laughter by turns from the audience.]
Medium — " Take your seat, sir, and I will explain this matter."
And she explained. And in tnat explanation she let off a blast which
was so terrific that I half expected to see voung Ollendorff shot up
through the roof. She said he had come up there with fraud and deceit
and cheating in his heart, and a kindred spirit had come from the land
of shadows to commune with him ! She was terribly bitter. She said
in substance, though not in words, that perdition was full of just such
fellows as Ollendorff, and they were ready on the slightest pretext to
rush in and assume anybody's name, and rap, and write, and lie, and
swindle with a perfect looseness whenever they could rope in a living
affinity like poor Ollendorff to communicate with ! [Great applause and
laughter.]
Ollendorff stood his ground \dih. good pluck, and was going to open
his batteries again, when a storm of cries arose all over the house, " Get
down ! Go on ! Clear out ! Speak on — we '11 hear you ! Climb down
from that platform ! Stay where you are ! Vamose ! Stick to your post
—say your say ! "
The medium rose up and said if Ollendorff remained, she would not.
She recognised no one's right tu come ttiere and insult her b^ practising
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MARIC TWATirS WORKS.
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a deception upon her, and attempting to bring ridicule upon lo solemn
a thing as her religious belief. The audience then became quiet, and
the subjugated OUendorflf retired from the platform.
The other Qeriuun raised a spirit, questioned it at some length in his
own language, and said the answers were correct The medium claimed
to be entirely unacquainted with the German language.
Just then a gentleman called me to the edge of the platform and asked
me if I were a Spiritualist I said I was not. He asked me if I were pre-
judiced. I said not more than any unbeliever ; but I could nut believe
m a thing which 1 could not understand, and I had not seen anything
yet that I could by any possibility cipher out He said, then, that ho
didn't think I was the cause of the dilHdence shown by the spirits, but
he knew there was un antagonistic influence around that table some-
where ; lie had noticed it from the first ; there was a painful negative
current passing to his sensitive organisation from that direction con-
slantly. I told him I guessed it was that other fellow ; and I said.
Blame a man who was all the time shedding these disgraceful negative
currents ! This appeared to satisfy the mind of the inquiring fanatic,
and he sat down.
I had a very dear friend who, T had heard, had gone to the spirit-
land, and I desired to know something concerning him. There was
something so awful, though, about talking with living, sinful lips to
the ghostly dead, that I could hardly bring myself to rise and speak.
But at last I got tremblingly up, and said, with a low and trembling
voice —
" Is the spirit of John Smith present ?"
(You never can depend on these Smiths ; you call for one, and the
whole tribe will come cLiUering out of Tophet to answer you.)
" Whack ! whack ! whack ! whack ! "
Bless me ! I believe all the dead and lost John Smiths between San
Francisco and the nether world boarded that poor little table at once !
1 was considerably set back — stunned, I may say. The audience urged
me to go on, however, and I said —
"What did you die of?"
The Snuths answered to every disease and casualty that men can
die of.
"Where did you die?"
They answered Yes to every locality I could name while my geography
held out.
" Are you happy where you are ?"
There was a vigorous and unanimous ** No !" from the late Smiths.
" Is it warm there ?"
An educated Smith seized the medium's hand and wrote —
" It 's no name for it"
" Did you leave any Smiths in that plac^ when you came away?"
"Dead loads of them!"
I fancied I heard the shadowy Smiths chuckle at this feeble joke— the
rare joke that there could be live loads of Smiths where all are dead.
** How many SmitJis are present ?"
!ilil
AMONr T7iK "PIRITS.
iS9
'^ Eighteen millions —the {uocefldiun . 9w Ml m ttovr h«pi f tlM
other Hide of China."
"Then there are many Smiths in the kingiio' of the h *t"
" The Prince Apollyon calls all now comofh mith oi ^-neral prin-
ciples ; and continues to do so until he is corrc . .^d, if hr chances to be
mistaken."
" What do lost spirits call their droiir abode ?"
"They call it the Smithsonian Institute."*
I got hold of the right Smith at last — the particular Smith I was
after — my dear, lost, lamonted friend — and learned that he died a
violent death. I fejired as mucli. He said his wife talked him to
death. Poor wretch !
By and by up started another Smith. A gentleman in the audience
iaid that this was his Smith. So he questioned him, and this Smith
eaid he too died by violence. He had oeen a good deal tangled in his
religious belief, and was a sort of a cross between a Universalist and a
Unitarian ; has got straightened out and changed his opinions since he
left here ; said he was perfectly happy. We proceeded to question this
talkative and frolicsome old parson. Among spirits I judge he is the
gayest of the gay. He said he had no tangible body ; a bullet could
[>as3 through him and never make a hole ; rain could pass through him
as through vapour, and not disconunode him in the least (so I suppose
he don't Know enough to come in when it rains — or don't care enough) ;
8ays heaven and hell are simply mental conditions ; spirits in the former
have happy and contented minds, and those in the latter t.re torn by
remorse oi conscience ; says as far as he is concerned, he is all right — he
is happy ; would not say whether he was a very good or a very bad man
on earth (the shrewd old waterproof nonentity ! I asked the question
BO that I might average my own chances for his luck in the other
world, but he saw my drift) ; says he has an occupation there — puts in
his time teaching and being taught ; says there are spheres — grades of
perfection — he is making very good progress — has been promoted a
Bohere or so since his matriculation (I said, mentally, " Go slow, old
man, go slow, you have got all eternity before you," and he replied
not) ; ne don't know how many spheres there are Onit I suppose there
must be millions, because if a man goes galloping through them at the
rate this old Universalist is doing, he will get through an infinitude of
them by the time he has been there as long as old Sesostris and those
ancient mummies • *ina there is no estimating how high he uill get in
even the infancy of eternity — I am afraid the old man is scouring along
rather too fast for the style of his surroundings, and the length of time
he has got on his hands) ; says spirits cannot feel heat or cold (which
uulitates somewhat against all my notions of orthodox destniction — fir«
and brimstone) ; says spirits commune with each other by thought —
they have no language ; says the distinctions of sex are preserved there
—and so forth and so on.
The old parson wrote and talked for an hour, and showed by hii
quick, shrewd, intelligent replies that he had not been sitting up night*
in the other world for nothmg ; he had been prying into ererytmni;
* Tiiu u&me of a scieutUio insUtntiou at Wasi^iiifiou.
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MARK TWATN*S WORKS,
worth knowing, and finding out everything he posBiblj coaId--«{i he
Bftid hiniaelf- when he did not underatand a tiling, he hunted up a spirit
who could expbiin it, consequently lu; is pretty thoroughly iwsuod.
And for his accommodating conduct and his uniform courtesy to lue, 1
sincerely hope he will continue to progress at his present velocity until
he lands on the very roof of tbo liighost sphere of all and thus acbievet
iwrfcction.
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WHEN I WAS A SECRETARY.
I AM not a private secretary to a senator any more, now. I held the
berth two months in security and in great cheerfulness of spirit, hut
my bread began to return from over ^e waters, then — that is to say, my
works came back and revealed themselves. I judged it best to resi;.,'!!.
The way of it was this. My employer sent for me one morning tolerably
early, and, as soon as I had (inished inserting some conundrums clan-
destinely into his last great speech upon finance, I entered the presence.
There was something portentous in his appearance. His cravat was
untied, his hair was in a state of disorder, and nis countenance bore about
it the signs of a suppressed storm. He held a package of letters in hk
tense grasp, and I knew that the dreiided Pacific mail was in. Ht-
said —
" I thought you were worthy of confidence."
I said, " Yes, sir."
He said, " I gave ^ou a letter from certain of my constituents in the
State of Nevada, asking the establishment of a post-office at Baldwin's
Ranch, and told you to answer it, as ingeniously as you could, witli
arguments which should persuade them that there was no real necessity
for an ofi&ce at that place."
I felt easier. " On, if that is all, sir, I did do that."
" Yes, you did. I will read your answer, for your own humiliation :
•'* Washinqtok, Nov. 24.
*' ' Messrs Smith, Jones, and others.
" ' Gentlemen, — What the uuBchief do yoa suppose you want with a post-otiice
at Bcoldwin'a Ranch ? It would not do you any good. If any letters came there,
you couldn't read them, you know; and, besides, such letters as ought to pass
through, with money in them, for other localities, would not be likely to (jet
through, you must perceive at onoe ; and that would make trouble for us all. !No ;
don't bother about a post-office in your camp. I have your best interests at heart,
and feel that it woidd only be an ornamental folly. What you want is a nict
iail, you know -a nice, substantial jail and a free school. Those will be a lasting
benefit to you. These will make you really contented and happy. I will moTt
in the matter at onoe. '—
**' Very truly, ko.,
'"Mark Twain,
" 'For James W. N**, U. S. Senator.'
" That IS the way you answered that letter. Those people say tlies
WHEN r WAS A SFXREIARY,
««i
bly conld— «» he
hunted up a flpirit
lorouRhly posU«<l
. courtesy to me, 1
lent velocity until
ujul thus ac.bieve^
ARY.
5, now.
I held the
I'lnoss of spirit, but
-that is to say, my
ed it best to resign.
J morning tolerably
) conundrums clan-
itered the presence.
5. His cravat was
itenance bore about
age of letters in hk
mail was in. Ht
constituents in the
;-office at Baldwiii'«
you could, with
las no real necessity
)wn humiliation :
4HINQT0H, Nov. 24.
taut with a post-otiice
ky letters came there,
lers as ought to pass
[not be likely to (jti
loubleforua all. Ko;
lest interests at heart,
It you want is a iiict
Those will be a lasting
1 happy. Iwillmovt
IWAIM,
I**, U. S. Senator,
Ise people say the;
mW hang me, if I ever enter that district again ; and I am perfectly
HjitiHiietl they toill, too."
" Well, sir, I did not know I was doing any harm. I only wantc«l to
convince thcnu"
" Ah. Well, you did convince them, I make no manner of doubt. Now,
here is another specimun. I gave you a netition from certain guntlcmeu
of Nevada, pruving that I would get a bill through (^ongresa incorporalf
ing the Metnodist Episcopal Church of the State of Nevada. I told you
to Bay, in reply, that the creation of such a law came more properly
within the province of the State Legislature ; and to endeavour to show
them that, m the present feebleness of the reli^dous element in that new
commonwealth, the expediency of incorporating the Church was ques-
tionable. What did you write ?
" ' Wahhinoton, Nov. 24.
•' *Btv. John Halifax and others.
" * Oentlbmbn, — Yuu will have to go to the State Logislatare about that apecu*
lation of yo«ra — Oongrcis don't know anything aboxit rehgion. Rut don't you
hurry to go there, either ; because this thing you propose to do out in that now
country isn't expedient— in fact, it is ridiculous. Your religious people there are
too feeble, in intellect, in morality, in piety— in everything, i)retty much. You
had better drop this— you can't make it work. You can't issue stock on an in<
corporation like that— or if you could, it would only keep you in trouble all the
time. The other denominations would abuse it, and "bear" it, and "sell it
iiiiort," and break it down. They would do with it just as they would with one
of your silver mines out there— they would try to make all the world believe it
was "wildcat." You ought not to do anything that is calculated to bring a
■flcred thing into disrepute. You ought to be ashamed of yourselves- that is
wliat I think about it. You close your petition with the words : " And we will
ever pray." I think you had better- -you need to do it.
'• * Very truly, &c.,
'"Mark Twain,
♦♦ • For James W. N**, U. S. Senator.'
" That luminous epistle finishes me with the religious element among
my constitutents. But that my political murder might be made sure,
gome evil instinct prompted me to hand you this memorial from the
grave company of elders composing the Board of Aldermen of the city of
San Francisco, to try your hand upon — a memorial praying that the
city's right to the water- lots upon the city front might be established by
law of Congress. I told you this was a dangerous matter to move in. 1
told you to write a non-committal letter to the Aldermen — an ambiguous
letter — a letter that should avoid, as far a possible, all real consideration
and discussion of the water-lot question. If there is any feeling left in
you — any shame — surely tliis letter you virrote, in obedience to that
order, ought to evoke it, when its words fall upon your ears :
" * Washington, TVor. 27.
•* ' The Hon. Board of Aldermen, liic.
" * Gbntlemkn, — George Washington, the revered Father of his Country, is
dead. His long and brilliant career is closed, alas ! for ever. He was greatly
respected in this section of the country, and his untimely decease cast a gloom
over the whole community. He died on the 14th day of Decem'oer 1799. He
passAd peacefully away from the Bcena of hii honours and his great achicvementt.
1
mi
i!i,>:f
V :. 1
4C1
MAT^/C TWAIN'S WORKS.
«ii!
fki^:rn
m
II 4^
the most lamented hero and the bent beloved that ever earth hath yielded unto
Death. At Huch a time as this, you speak of water-lots ! — what a lot was his!
'* ' What is fame ! Fame is an accident. Sir Isaao Newton discovered an
apple falluig to the ground— a trivial discovery, truly, and one which a million
men had mt^e before him — but his parents were influential, and so they tortured
that small circumstance into something wonderful, and, lo! the simple world
took up the shout and, in almost the twinkling of an eye, that man was famous.
HVeasure these thoughts.
" • Poesy, sweet poesy, who shall estimate what the world owes to thee I
*• Mary liad a little lamb, its fleece was white as snow —
And everywhere that Mary went, the lamb was sure to go."
'* Jack and Gill went up the hill
To draw a pail of water ;
Jack fell down and broke his crown
And Gill came tumbling after. "
For simplicity, elegance of diction, and freedom from immoral tendencies, I
regard tnose two poems in the light of gems. They are suited to all grades of
intelligence, to every sphere of life— to the field, to the nursery, to the guild,
Especially should no Board of Aldermen be without them.
** ' Venerable fossils ! write again. Nothing improves one so much as friendly
eorrespondence. Write again — and if there is anything in this memorial of yours
that refers to anvthing in particular, do not be backward about explaining it. Wt
shall always be happy to hear you chirp.
•* * Very truly, &c,
" * Mark Twain,
(( (
For James W. N*», U. S. Senator.'
'* That is an atrocious, a nimous epistle ! Distraction ! "
" Well, sir, I am really sorry if there is anything wrong about it — but
— but — it appears to me to dodge the water-lot question."
" Dodge the mischief ! Oh ! — but never mind. As long as destruc-
tion must come now, let it be complete. Let it be complete—let this last
of your performances, which I am about to read, make a finality of it. I
am a rumed man. I had mj misgivings when I gave you the letter
from Humboldt, asking that the post route from Indian Gulch to Shake-
speare Gap and intermediate points, be changed partly to the old Mormon
traU. But I told you it was a delicate question, and warned you to deal
with it deftly — to answer it dubiously, and leave them a little in the
dark. And your fatal imbecility impelled you to make this disastrous
reply. I should -nink you would stop your ears, if you are not dead to
all shame :
** * Washinoton, Nov. 30.
'* * Mettrs PerkinM, Wagner^ et al.
** * Gentlemen,— It is a delicate question about this Indian trail, but, handled
with proper deftness and dubiousness, I doubt not we shall succeed in some
measTire or otherwise, because the place where the route leaves the Lassen
Meadows, over beyond where those two Shawnee chiefs, Dilapidated-Vengeance
and Biter-of-the-Cloudfl, were scalped last winter, this being the favourite direc
tion to some, but others preferring something else in consequence of things, the
Mormon trail leaving Mosby's at three in the morning, and pasving through Jaw-
bone Flat to Blucher, and then down by Jug-Handle, the road pasiuig to the righi
of it, and naturally leaTiitg it on Hm ri^h^ too, and Dawion'i on the left ot the
I hath yielded unto
lat a lot was LIh!
irton discovered an
me which a million
nd so they tortured
[ the simple world
it man was famous.
owes to thee 1
low —
sure to go,**
A FINE OLD MAN,
463
moral tendencies, 1
lited to all grades of
irsery, to the guild,
» 80 much as friendly
is memorial of youra
at explaining it. We
fAIN,
*», U. S. Senator.*
on!"
rong about it — but
m."
s long as destruc-
plete — let this last
I a finality of it. I
,ve you the lettei
n Gulch to Shake-
to the old Mormon
iramed you to deal
em a little in the
ake ihu disastrous
ou are not dead to
HINGTON, Nw. 30.
n trail, but, handled
all succeed in some
9 leaves the Lassen
lapldated-Vengeance
; the favourite direc-
;iuence of things, the
lasting through Jaw-
' paMing to the right
h on the left of the
trail where It passes to the left of laid Dawson'i, and onward thence to Tomahawk,
thus making the route cheaper, easier of access to all who can get at it, and com-
passing all the desirable objeots so considered by others, and, therefore, conferring
the most good upon the greatest number, and, consequently, I am encouraged to
hope we shall. However, I shall be ready, and happy, to afiFord you still further
information upon the subject, from time to time, as you may desire it and the
Post-office Department be enabled to furnish it to me.
" • Very truly, &c.,
" * Mabk Twain,
** • For James W. N**, U. S. Senator.'
** Theife — now, what do you think of that ? "
" Well, I don't know, sir. It — well, it appears to me— to be dubious
enough.**
** Du — leave the house ! I am a ruined man. Those Humboldt
aavages never will forgive me for tangling their brains up with this
inhuman letter. I have lost the respect of the Methodist Church, the
Board of Aldermen"
" Well, I haven't anything to say about that, because I may have
missed it a little in their cases, but I wai too many for the Baldwin's
Ranch people, General ! "
" Leave the house ! Leave it for ever and for ever, too ! '*
I regarded that as a sort of covert intimation that my services could
be dispensed with, and so I resigned. I never will be a private secretanr
to a senator again. You can't please that kind of people. They don't
blow anything. They can't appreciate a party's eflforts.
A FINE OLD MAN.
JOHN WAGNER, the oldest man in Buffalo— one hundred and
four years old — recently walked a mile and a half in two
weeks.
He is as cheerful and bright as any of these other old men that
charge around so in the newspapers, and in every way as remark'
able.
Last November he walked five blocks in a rain-storm, without any
shelter but an umbrella, and cast his vote for Grant, remarking that he
had voted for forty-seven presidents — which was a lie.
His " second crop " of rich brown hair arrived from New York
yesterday, and he naa a new set of teeth coming — from Philadel-
phia.
He is to be married next week to a girl one hundred and two years
old, who still takes in washing.
They have been engaged eighty years, but their parents persistently
refused their consent until three days ago.
John Wagner is two years older than the Rhode Island veteran, and
yet has never tasted a drop of liquor in his life — unless — unless you
count whisky.
^
n
464
MARK TIVAIN'S WORKS.
THP: TONE-IMPARTING COMMITTEE,
I'h: I
r 1
ii<
' •'fc*».
11^
v:^
m
\\
WHEN I get old and ponderously respectable, only one thing will
be able to make me truly happy, and that will be to be put on
the Venerable Tone- Imparting Committee of the city of New
York, and have nothing to do but sit on the platform, solemn aiid
imposing, along with Peter Cooper, Horace Greeley, &c. &c., and shed
momentary fame at second hand on obscure lecturers, draw public
attention to lectures which would otherwise clack eloquently to sound-
ing emptiness, and subdue audiences into respectful hearing of all sorts
of unpopular and outlandish dogmas and isms.
That is what I desire for the cheer and gratification of my grey
hairs.
Let me but sit up there with those fine relics of the Old Red Sand-
stone Period and give Tone to an intellectual entertainment twice
a week and be so reported, and my happiness will be complete.
Those men have been my envy for a long, long time.
And no memories of my life are so pleasant as my reminiscence of
their long and honourable career in the Tone-imparting service.
I can recoUect the first time I ever saw them on the platforms just as
well as I can remember the events of yesterday.
Horace Greeley sat on the right, Peter Cooper on the left, and Thomae
Jefferson, Red Jacket, Benjamin Franklin, and John Hancock sat
between them.
This was on the 22nd of December 1799, on the occasion of the stats
funeral of (Jeorge Washington in New York.
It was a great day, that — a great day, and a very, very sad one.
I remember that Broadway was one mass of black crape from Castle
Garden nearly up to where the City Hall now stands.
The next time I saw these gentlemen ofiiciate was at a ball given for
the purpose of procuring money and medicines for the sick and wounded
soldiers and sailors.
Horace Greeley occupied one side of the platform, on which the
musicians were exalted, and Peter Covoper the other.
There were other Tone-imparters attendant upon the two chiefs, but
I have forgotten their names now.
Horace Greeley, grey-haired and beaming, was in sailor costume-
white duck pants, blue shirt open at the breast, large neckerchief, loose
as an ox-bow, and tied with a jaunty sailor knot, broad turnover collar
with star in the comer, shiny black little tarpaulin hat roosting
daintily far back on head, and flying two gaUant long ribbons.
Slippers on ample feet, round spectacles on benignant nose, and pitch-
fork in hand, comjpleted Mr Greeley, and made him, in my boyish
admiration, every mch a sailor, and worthy to be the honoured
great-grandfather of the Neptune he was bo ingeuioualy represent-
ing.
I shall never forget hiiUr
\ {
THE TONE-IMPARTING COMMITTEE.
465
VlITTEE,
y one thing will
L be to be put on
the city of New
orm, solemn and
cc. &c., and shod
era, draw piiblic
juently to sound-
faring of all sorts
tion of my grey
tie Old Red Sand-
ertainment twice
complete.
/•
ly reminiscence of
Lg service.
\ platforms just ae
B left, and Thomae
jhn Hancock sat
sasion of the stats
iry sad one.
irape from Castle
t a ball given for
sick and wounded
01, on which the
le two chiefs, but
I sailor costimie—
leckerchief, loose
Id turnover collar
hat roosting
jribbons.
ft nose, and pitch-
1, in my boyish
the honoured
^ouoly represent-
Mr Cooper was di-essed as a general of militia, and was dismally and
appresaively warlike.
I neglected to remark, in the proper place, that the soldiers and
sailors in whose aid the ball was given had just been sent in from
Boston — this was during the war of 1812.
At the grand national reception of Lafayette, in 1824, Horace Greely
sat on the right and Peter Cooper on the left.
The other Tone-imparters of that day are now sleeping the Bleep of
the juflt
I was in the audience when Horace Greeley, Peter Cooper, and other
chief citizens, imparted Tone to the great meetings in favour of French
liberty in 184&
Then I never saw them any more until here lately ; but now that I
am living tolerably near the city, I run down every time I see it
announced that " Horace Greeley, Peter Cooper, and several other dush
tinguished citizens, will occupy seats on the platform ; " and next
morning, when I read in the first paragraph of the phonographic report
that "Horace Greeley, Peter Cooper, and several other distinguished
citizens occupied seats on the platform," I say to myself, " Thank God,
I W88 present"
TLus I have been enabled to see these substantial old friends of mine
git on the platform and give Tone to lectures on anatomy, and lectures
on agriculture, and lectures on stirpiculture, and lectures on astronomy,
on chemistry, on miscegenation, on *' Is Man Descended from the Kan-
garoo % " on veterinary matters, on all kinds of religion, and several kinds
of politics ; and have seen them give Tone and grandeur to the Four-
legged Girl, the Siamese Twins, the Great Egyptian Sword Swallower,
and the Old Original Jacobs.
WTienever somebody is to lecture on a subject not of general interest,
I know that my venerated Bemains of the Old Bed Sandstone Period
will be on the platform ; whenever a lecturer is to appear whom nobody
has heard of before, nor will be likely to seek to see, I know that the
real benevolence of my old friends will be taken advantage of, and that
they will be on the platform (and in the bills) as an advertisement ; and
whenever any new and obnoxious deviltry in philosophy, morals, or
politics is to l>e sprung upon the people, I know perfectly well that these
mtrepid old heroes will be on that platform too, in the interest of fuU
and tree discussion, and to crush down all narrower and less generous
souls with the solid dead weight of their awful respectability.
And let us all remember that while these inveterate and imperishable
presiders (if you please) appear on the platform every night in the year
as regularly as the volunteered piano nrom Steinway's or Chickering's,
and have bolstered up and given Tone to a deal of questionable merit
and obscure emptiness in meir time, they have also diversified thif
inconsequential service by occasional powerful uplifting and upholding
of great progreasiTe ideas which smaller inoi feared to meddle in&k or
oountenano^
2«
•\
II
- 1
:\ )
■<:'
i ::, 1
■1
M'
!'^3
, «i
••»1
m
Ih
i66
i/yi^A' TWAIN'S WORKS.
A REMARKABLE STRANGER.
J?e»n9 a Sandwich Island Reminiscence.
I HAD barely finished my simple statement, when the stranger at tha
other comer of the room spoke out with rapid utterance and fever-
ish anxiety —
" Oh, that was certainly remarkable after a fashion, but you ought to
have seen my chimney — vou ought to have seen mi/ chimney, sir !
Smoke ! Humph ! I wish I may hang if — Mr Jones, you remember
that chimney — you must remember that chimney ! No, no. I recollect,
now, you wam't living on this side of the island then. But I am tell-
ing you nothing but the truth, and I Mrish I may never draw another
breath if that chimney didn't smoke so that the smoke actually got
caked in it, and I had to dig it out with a pickaxe ! You may smile,
gentlemen, but the High Sheriff's got a hunk of it which I dug out
before his eyes, and so it 's perfectly easy for you to go and examine for
yourselves."
The interruption broke up the conversation, which had already
begim to lag, and we presently hired some natives and an out-rigger
canoe or two, and went out in the roaring surf to watch the chil-
dren at their sport of riding out to sea perched on the crest of a gigantic
wave.
Two weeks after this, while talking in a company, I looked up and
detected this same man boring through and through me with his intense
eye, and noted again his twitching muscles and his feverish anxiety to
speak. ' ;
The moment I paused, he said —
" Beg your pardon, sir, beg your pardon, but it can only be considered
remarkable when brought into strong outline by isolation. Sir, con-
trasted with a circumstance which occurred in my own experience, it
instantly becomes commonplace. No, not that — for I Mrill not speak so
discourteously of any experience in the career of a stranger and a
gentleman — but I am obliged to say that you could not and you would
not ever again refer to this tree as a large one, if you could behold,
as I have, the great Yakmatack tree in the island of Ounaska, sea of
Kamtschatka — a tree, sir, not one inch less than four hundred and
fifteen feet in solid diameter ! — and I wish I may die in a minute if it
ign't 80 ! Oh, you needn't look so questioning, gentlemen. Here 'a
old Cap. Saltmarah tan say whether I know what I 'm talking about or
not. i showed him the tree."
Oajptain Saltmairth. — " Come, now, cat your anchor, lad — you 'lu
A REMARKABLE STRANGER,
4fl7
ER.
! stranger at th«
ranee and fever-
■;'l < '.' 1 I
lut you ought to
f chimney, sir !
J, you remember
no. I recollect,
But I am tell-
er draw another
oke actually got
You may smile,
^hich I dug out
and examine for
Ich had already
nd an out-rigger
watch the chil-
xest of a gigantic
looked up and
witii his intense
veiish anxiety to
ily be conaideTed
lation. Sir, con-
ni experience, it
niW. not apeak so
stranger and a
„ and you would
)u could behold,
: Ounaska, sea of
fUr hundred and
a minute if it
ilemen. Here's
talking about or
lor, lad— you 'w
hearing too taut. You promiud to show me that Btunner, and I walked
more tnan eleven mile with you through the cussedest aggravatingest
jungle / ever see, a-hunting for it ; but the tree you showed me finally
wam't as big around as a beer cask, and you know that your own self,
Markiss."
" Hear the man talk ! Of coutm the tree was reduced that way ; but
didn't I explain it ] Answer me. Didn't I ] Didn't I say I wished
you could have seen it when / first saw it ] When you got up on your
car and called me names, and said I had brought you eleven miles to
look at a sapling, didn't I explain to you that all the whaleships in the
North Seaa had been wooding oflF of it for more than twenty-seven years
And did you s'pose the tree could last for-wcr, con-/ound it 1 I don't
see why you want to keep back things that way, and try to injuie a
person that's never done you any harm."
Somehow this man's presence made me uncomfortable, and I was glad
when a native arrived at that moment to say that Muckawow, the most
companionable and luxurious among the rude war-chiefs of the islands,
desired us to come over and help him enjoy a missionary whom he had
found trespassing on his grounds. I think it was about ten days after-
wards, that as I finished a statement I was making for the instruction
of a group of friends and acquaintances, and which made no pretence of
being extraordinary, a familiar and hated voice chimed instantly in on
the heels of my last word, and said —
«' But, my dear sir, there was nothmg remarkable about that horse, or
the circumstance either — nothing in the world 1 I mean no sort of
offence when I say it, sir, but you really do not know anything whatever
about speed. Bless your heart, if you could only have seen my mare
Margaretta — there was a beast — there was lightning for you ! Trot !
Trot is no name for it — she flew ! How she could whirl a buggy
along ! I started her out once, sir — Colonel Bilgewater, you recollect
that animal perfectly well — I started her out about thirty or thirty-five
yards ahead of the awfuUest stor^n I ever saw in my life, and it chased
us upwards of eighteen miles ! It did, by the everlasting hills ! And
I am telling you nothing but the unvarnished truth, when I say that
not one single drop of rain fell on me — not a single dropy sir I And I
swear to it ! But my dog was a-swimming behind the waggon all the
way
i^
For a week or two I stayed mostly within doors, for I seemed to meet
this person everywhere, and he had become utterly hateful to me. But
one evening I dropped in on Captain Perkins and his friends, and we
had a sociable time. About ten o'clock I chanced to be talking about a
merchant friend of mine, and without really intending it, the remark
slipped out that he was a little mean and parsimonious about paving
his workmen. Instantly, through the steam of a hot whisky punch on
the opposite side of the room, a remembered voice shot — and for the
moment I trembled on the imminent verge of profanity : —
** Oh, my dear sir, really you expose yourself when you parade that aa
a larprudng eiroumstanoe. Blees your heart and hide, you are ignonuit
-
m
;hiii
••f-v-'^
I
ilrfel
^ ft
■f '1
w
i f:
••111
468
MARIC TWAIN'S WORKS,
of the very A B C of meaunesB ! ignorant as the unborn bab« ! i|;nonmt
as unborn i\JovM. You don't know anything about it ! It is pitiable to
see you, sir, a well-spoken and prepossessing stranger, making such an
enormous pow-wow nere about a subject concerning which your ignor-
ance is perfectly ghastly ! Look me in the eye, if you please ; look me
in the eye. John James Godfrey was the son of poor but honest
parents in the State of Mississippi — boyhood friend of mine — ^bosom
comrade in later years. Heaven rest his noble spirit, he is gone from
us now. John James Godfrey was hired by the Hayblossom Mining
Company in California to do some blasting for them — the * Incorporated
Company of Mean Men,' the boys used to call it. Well, one day he
drilled a hole about four feet deep and put in an awful blast of powder,
and was standing over it ramming it down with an iron crowbar about
nine foot long, when the cussed thing struck a spark and fired the
powder, and scat ! away John Godfrey whizzed like a skyrocket, him
and his crowbar ! Well, sir, he kept oc going up in the air higher and
higher, till he didn't look any bigger than a boy — and he kept going on
up higher and higher, till he didn't look any bigger than a doll — ana h«
kept on going up higher and higher till he didn't look any bigger than
a Uttlo small bee — and then he went out of sight ! Presently he came
in sight again, looking like a little small bee — and he came along
down further and further, till he looked as big as a doll again —
and down further and further, till he was as big as a boy again — and
further and further, till he was a full-sized man once more ; and him
and his crowbar came a- whizzing down, and lit right exactly in the same
old tracks and went to r-ramming do^n and r-ramming down, and
r- ramming down again, just the same, as if nothing had happened !
Now don't you know that poor cuss warn't gone only sixteen minutes,
and yet that Incorporated Company of Mean Men docked him for the
LOST TIME ! "
I said I had the headache, and so excused myself and went home.
And on my diary I entered " another night spoiled " by this offensive
loafer. And a fervent curse was set down with it to keep the item
company. And the very next day I packed up, out of all patience, and
left the islands. Almost from the very beginning, I regarded that man
as a falsifier.
The line of points represents an interval of years.
At the end of which time the opiuiou hazarded in that last sentence
came to be gratify ingly and remarkably endorsed and by wholly disin-
terested persons.
The man Markiss was found one morning hanging to a beam of his
own bedroom (the doors and windows securely fastened on the inside),
dead, and on his breast was pinned a paper in his own handwriting
begfiing his friends to suspect no innocent person of having anything to
M
MR. SKAE^S ITEM.
469
is pitiable to
king such an
1 your ignor-
saso ; look me
)r but bonest
mine — ^boaom
is gone from
assom Mining
' Incorporated
1, one day he
ast of powder,
crowbar about
and fired the
kyrocket, him
air higher and
, kept going on
a doU — ana ha
tny bigger than
isently he came
he came along
a doll again—
boy again— and
more ; and him
5tly in the sanw
ing down, and
had happened !
[ixteen minutes,
HIM FOR THE
id went home.
J this offensive
keep the item
[11 patience, and
larded that man
it last sentence
wholly disin-
^ a beam of hia
on the inside),
In handwriting
■• r anything to
do with his death, for that it was the work of his own hands entirely.
Yet the jury brought in the astounding verdict that deceased came to
his death " by the hands of some person or persons unknown ! "
They explained that the perfectly undeviating consistency of Markiss'a
character for thirty years towered aloft as colossal and indestructible
testimony, that whatever statement he chose to make was entitled to
instant and unquestioning acceptance as a. falsehood. And they further-
more stated their belief tliat he was not dead, and instanced the
strong circumstantial evidence of his own word that he was dead —
and beseeched the coroner to delay the funeral as long as possible,
which was done. And so in the tropical climate of Lahaina the coffin
stood open for seven days, and then even the loyal jury gave him up.
But they sat on him again, and changed their verdict to "suicide
induced by mental aberration," because, said they, with penetration, " he
said he was dead, and he was dead ; and woidd ho have told the truth if
he had been in nis right mind 1 No, sir."
AN ITEM WHICH THE EDITOR HIMSELF >
COULD NOV UNDERSTAND.
OUR esteemed friend, Mr. John William Skae, of Virginia-City,
walked into the office where we are sub-editor at a late hour last
night, with an expression of profound and heartfelt suffering
upon his countenance, and sighing heavily, laid the following item
reverently upon the desk, and walked slowly out again. He paused a
moment at the door, and seemed struggling to command his feelings
sufficiently to enable him to speak, and then, nodding his head towards
his manuscript, ejaculated in a broken voice, " Friend of mine — oh I
how sad ! " and burst into tears. We were so moved at his distress that
we did not think to call him back and endeavour to comfort him until
he was gone, and it was too late. The paper had already gone to press,
but knowing that our friend would consider the publication of this item
important, and cherishing the hope that to print it would afford a melan-
choly satisfaction to his sorrowing heart, we stopped the press at once
and inserted it in our columns : —
DiSTRBSBiNO Accident.- Last evening, about six o'clock, as Mr. William
Schuyler, an old and respectable citizen of South Park, was leaving his residence
to go down town, as has been his usual custom for many years, with the excep-
tion only of a short interval in the spring of ISSO. during which he was Qoniined
"'I >'
n
i I'.
470
MARX TWAIN*S WORKS,
.£. !'t
i!(
y '.£
r/''-^
***f»
i I
lo his bed by injurieti received in attempting to stop a runaway horse by thonghi>
lessly placing himself directly in its wake and throMring ap bin hands v.nn shouting,
whioh if he had done so even a single moment sooner, must inevitably have
frightened the animal still more instead of checking its speed, although disastrous
enough to himself as it was, and renderod more melancholy and distrcsHing by
reason of the presence of his wife's mother, who was there and saw the sad
occurrence, notwithstanding it is at least likely, though not necessarily so, that
she should be recounoitering in another direction when incidents occur, not being
vivacious and on the look out, as a general thing, but even the reverse, as her
own mother is Raid to have stated, wlio is no more, but died in the full hope of
a glorious resurrection, upwards of three years ago, aged eighty-six, being a
Christian woman and without gtiile, as it were, or property, in oonsequenoe of
the fire of 1849, which dpstroycd every single thing she had in the world, liut
such is life. Let us h1] take war'^ing by this solemn occurrence, and let us
endeavour so to conduct ourselves that when we come to die we can do it. Let
US place our hands upon our hearts, and say with earnestness and sincerity that
from this day forth we will beware of the intoxicating bowl. — First Edition 0}
the Galifomian.
The boss-editor has been in here raising the very miscliief, and tearing
his hair and kicking the furniture about, and abusing me like a pick-
pocket. He says that every time he leaves me in charge of the paper
for half an hour, I get imposed upon by the first infant or the first imot
that comes along. And he says that distressing item of Johnny Skae'a
IB nothing but a lot of distressing bosh, and has got no point to it, and
no sense in it, and no intbrmation in it, and that there was no earthlj
necessity for stopping the press to publish it. He says every man he
meets mis insinuated that somebody about The Galifomian office has
gone crazy.
Now aU this comes of being goud-hearted. If I had been as unaccom-
modating and unsympathetic as some people, I would have told Johnny
Skae that I wouldn't receive his communication at such a late hour, and
to go to blazes with it ; but no, his snuffling distress touched my heart,
and I jumped at the chance of doing something to modify his misery. I
never reaa his item to see whether there was anything wrong about it,
but hastily wrote the few lines which preceded it, and sent it to the
printers. And what has my kindness done for me? It has done
nothing but bring down upon me a storm of abuse and ornamental
blasphemy.
Now I will just read that item myself, and see if there is any foun-
dation for all this fuBS. And if there is, the author of it shadl hear
firom me.
• • t • • • • •'•
I hare read it, and I am bound to admit that it seems a little mixed
Kt a first glance. However, I will peruse it once more.
I have read it again, and it does really seem a good deal more mixed
than ever.
I have read it over five times, but if I can get at the meaning of it, I
wish I may get my jnst deserts. It won't bear analysis. There are
thini^ about it which I cannot understand at aU. It don't say whatever
THE AUTHOR'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY,
471
18 a little mixed
sal more mixed
became of William Schuyler. It just says enough about him to get one
interested in his career, and then drops him. Who is William Schuyler,
anyhow, and what part of South Park did he live in, and if he started
down town at six o'clock, did he ever get there, and if he did, did an^-
tliiu^' happen to him 'i Is Kt the individual that met with the " dis-
tressing accident?" Considering the elaborate circumstantiality of
detail observable in the item, it seems to me that it ought to contain
more than it does. On the contrary, it is obscure — and not only obscure,
but utterly incomprehensible. Was the breaking of Mr Schuyler's leg,
fifteen years ago, the " distressing accident " that plunged Mr Skae into
unspeakable grief, and caused him to come up here at dead of night and
stop our press to acquaint the world with the Uiifortunate circumstance ?
Or did the " distressing accident " consist in the destruction of Schuyler's
mother-in-law's property in early times 1 Or did it consist in tlie death
of that person herself three years ago ? (albeit it does not appear that
she died by accident.) In a word, wliat AH that " distressing accident "
consist in ? What did that drivelling ass of a Schuyler stand in th«
wake of a runaway horse for, with his shouting and gesticulating, if he
wanted to stop him 1 And how the mischief could he get run over by
3 horse that had already passed beyond him ? And what are we to take
" warning " by ? and how is tliis extraordinary chapter of incomprehensi-
bilities going to be a " lesson " to us 1 And, above all, what hjis the in-
toxicating " bowl " got to do with it, anyhow 1 It is not stated that Schuyler
drank, or that his wife drank, or that his mother-in-law drank, or that
the horse drank — wherefore, then, the reference to the intoxicating bowl ]
It does seem to me that if Mr Skae had let the intoxicating bowl alone
himself, he never would have got into so much trouble about this
exasperating imaginary accident. I have read this absurd item over
and over again, with all ite insinuating plausibility, until my head
awims ; but I can make neither head nor tail of it There certamly
seems to have been an accident of some kind or other, but it is hn-
possible to determine what the nature of it was, or who was the sufferer
by it. I do not like to do it, but I feel compelled to request that the
next time anything happens to one of Mr Skae's friends, he will append
such explanatory notes to his account of it as wiU enable me to find out
what sort of an accident it was and whom it happened to. I had rather
all his friends should die than that I should be driven to the verge of
lunacy again in trying to cypher out the meaning of another such pro-
duction as the above.
THE AUTHOR'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY.
TWO or three persons having at different times intimated that if I
would write an autobiography they would read it when they got
leisure, I yield at last to toia frenzied public demaod, and naie-
with tender my nistorf. . ; ^ . i ., ^^
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47«
ilf/i/eA- TWAIN'S WORKS.
Ours iB a noble old house, and stretchea a long way back into antiquity.
The earliest anceBtor the Twains have any record of was a friend of the
family by the name of Higgins. Tliia waa in the eleventh century,
when our people were living in Aberdeen, county of Cork, England.
Why it is that our long line has ever since borne the maternal name
(except when one of them now and then took a playful refuge in an
alxa» to avert foolishness) instead of Iliggins, is a mystery wliicli none
of UB has ever felt much desire to stir. It is !i kind of vague pretty romance,
and we leave it alone. All the old aristocratic families do that way.
Arthour Twain was a man of considerable note — a solicitor on the
highway in William Rufus's time. At about the age of thirty he went
to one of those line old English places of resort called Newgate, to see
about something, and never returned again. While there he died
suddenly.
Augustus Twain seems to have made something of a stir about the
year 1160. He was as full of fun as he could be, and used to take hia
old sabre and sharpen it up, and get in a convenient place on a dark
night, and stick it through people as they went by, to see them jump.
He was a bom humorist. But ne got to going too far with it ; and the
first time he wgs found stripping one of these parties the authorities
removed one end of him, and put it up on a nice high place on Temple
Bar, where it could contemplate the people and have a good time. He
never liked any situation so much or stuck to it so long.
Then for the next two hundred jeoxB the familv tree shows a succes-
dion of soldiers — noble, high-spLnted fellows, who always went into
battle singing, right behind the army, and always went out a-whooping,
right ahead of it.
This is a scathing rebuke to old dead Froissart's poor witticism, that
our family tree never had but one limb to it, and that that one stuck out
at right angles, and bore fruit winter and summer.
Early in the fifteenth century we have Beau Twain, called "the
Scholar." He wrote a beautiful, beautiful hand. And he could imitate
anybody's hand so closely that it was enough to make a person laugh his
head off to see it. He had infinite sport with his talent. But by and
by he took a contract to break stone lor a road, and the roughness of the
work spoiled his hand. Still, he enjoyed life all the time he was in the
etone business, which, with inconsiderable intervals, was some forty-two
years. In fact, he died in harness. During all those long years he gave
such satisfaction that he never was through with one contract a week
till Government gave him another. He was a perfect pet. And he was
always a favourite with his fellow artists, and was a conspicuous member
of their benevolent secret society called the Chain Gang. He always
wore his hair short, had a preference for striped clotiies, and died
lamented by the Government. He was a sore loss to his country, for he
was so regular.
Some years later we have the illustrious John Morgan Twain. He
came over to this country with Columbus in 1492 as a passenger. He
appeus to have been of a crusty uncomfortable disposition. He com*
pWjied of the food all the way over, and was always threatening to go
THE AUTHOR'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY.
473
)ut a-whooping,
whore unless there was a change. He wanted fresh shad. Hardly a
day passed over his hea<l that he did not go idling about the ship with
his nose in the air, sneering about the coinmauder, and saying he did
not believe Columbus knew where he was going to or had ever been
there before. The memorable cry of " Land ho ! " thrilled every heart
in the ship but his. He gazed a while through a piece of smoked glass
at the pencilled line lying on the distant water, and then said, " Land be
hanged ! It 's a raft ! "
When this questionable passenger came on board the ship he brought
nothing with him but an old newspaper containing a handkerchief
marked " B. Q.," one cotton sock marked " L. W. C," one woollen one
marked " D. F.," and a night-shirt marked " O. M. R. ' And yet during
the voyage he worried more about his " trunk," and gave himself more
airs about it than all the rest of the passengers put together. If the ship
was " down by the head," and would not steer, he would go and move
his " trunk " further aft, and then watch the effect. If the ship was " by
the stem," he would suggest to Columbus to detail some men to " shift
that baggage." In storms he had to be gagged, because his wailings about
his " trunk " made it impossible for the men to hear the orders. The
man does not appear to have been openly charged with any gravely un-
becoming thing, but it is noted in the ship's log as a " curious circum-
itance " that, albeit he brought his baggage on board the ship in a news-
paper, he took it ashore in four trunks, a queensware crate, and a couple
of champagne baskets. But when he came back insinuating, in an
insolent, swaggering way, that some of his things were missing, and was
going to search the other passengers' b^gage, it was too much, and they
threw him overboard. ITiey watche<l long and wonderingly'for him tb
come up, but not even a bubble rose on the quietly-ebbing tide. But,
while every one was most absorbed in gazing over the side and the
interest was momentarily increasing, it was observed with consternation
that the vessel was adrift and the anchor cable hanging limp from the
bow. Then in the ship's dimmed and ancient log we find this quaint
note : —
In time it was disooavered y* y* troblesome passenger hadde gonue downe and
got y« anchor, and toke y« same and soldo it to y* dam saavages from jr^ niteiior
Baying y* he hadde founde it, y* sonne of a ghun 1
Yet this ancestor had good and noble instincts, and it is with pride
that we call to mind the fact that he was the first white person who ever
interested himseK in the work of elevating and civilising our Indians.
He built a commodious jail, and put up a gallows, and to his dying day
he claimed with satisfaction that he had had a more restraining and
elevating influence on the Indians than any other reformer that ever
laboured among them. At this point the chronicle becomes less frank
and chatty, and closes abruptly by saying that the old voyager went to
see his gallows perform on the first white man ever hanged in America,
and whUe there received injuries which terminated in his death.
The great grandson of the '* Reformer " flourished in siztee^ hundred
ind somethij^, and was known in our annals as " the old Admiralf"
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♦74
MARK TWAIN'S WORKS,
ij
thoui^'h in history he had other titloH. IIh wiim lon^ in command of fleet
of Bwift vt'HHclrt, well anne<l and nmnned, and did j(reat wrvice in Inirry
ing up merchantmen. Vesrtuls which he fcllowed and kept his c^i^'K- liyc
on always made good fair time across the ocean. But if a ship still
loitered in spite of all he could do, his indication would grow till ho
could contain himself no longer — and then he would take that Rliip
home where he live<l and keep it there carefully, expecting the owners
to come for it, but they never did. And he wouul try to get the idlenesN
and sloth out of the sailors of that ship by compelling them to take in-
vigorating exercise and a bath. He called it " walking a plank." All
the pupils liked it. At any rate they never found any tault with it
after trying it. When the owners were late coming for their ships, the
Admiral always burned them, so that the insurance money should not
be lost. At last this fine old tar was cut down in the fulness of his
years and honours. And to her dying day his poor heart-broken widow
believed that if he had been cut down fifteen minutes sooner he might
have been resuscitated.
Charles Henry Twain lived during the latter part of the seventeenth
century, and was a zealous and distinguished missionary. He converted
sixteen thousand South Sea Islanders, and taught them that a dog-tooth
necklace and a pair of spectacles was not enough clothinj,' to come to
divine service in. His poor Hock loved him very, very dearly ; and
when his funeral was over they got up in a body (and came out of the
restaurant) with tears in their eyes, and saying one to another that he was
a good tender missionary, and they wished they had some more of him.
Pah-go-to-wah-wah-pdkketekeewi8 (Mighty-Hunter-with-a-Hogj,'-
Eye) Twain adorned the middle of the eighteenth century, and aided
Gen. Braddock with all his heart to resist the oppressor Washington.
It was this ancestor who fired seventeen times at our Wasliington fronj
behind a tree. So far the beautiful romantic narrative in the moral
story-books is correct, but when that narrative goes on to say that at the
seventeenth round the awe-stricken savage said solemnly that that man
was being reserved by the Great Spirit for some mighty mission, and
he dared not lift his sacrilegious rifle against him again, the narrative
seriously impairs the integrity of history. What he aid say was —
" It ain't no (hie !) no use. 'At man 's so drunk he can't stan' still
long enough for a man to hit him. I (hie !) / can't 'ford to fool away
any more am'nition on him /"
That was why he stopped at the seventeenth round, and it was a
good, plain, matter-of-fact reason, too, and one that easily comnienda
itself to us by the eloquent persuasive flavour of probability there is
about it.
I always enjoyed the story-book narrative, but I felt a marring mis-
giving that every Indian at Biuddock's Defeat who fired at a soldier a
couple of times {two easily gi'ows to seventeen in a century), and niisseil
him, jumped to the conclusion that the Great Spirit was reserving that
soldier for some grand mission ; and so I somehow feared that the only
reason why Washington's case is remembered and the others forgotten
ia, that in jub the prophecy came true and in that of the others it didn't
JOURNAUSAf rN rENAESS£E.
475
There iit»» not bookB enough on enrth to contain the record of the pro.
(ihecicH liidiunH and otiior unauthoriMt*.*! parties Iiave mmU; but one maj
carry in hiH overcoat pockets the record of all the prophecies that have
been fulfiJUd,
I will remark here, in paRNin^, that certain anct^Kton of mine are rc
thorouj,'lily well known in hiHtory by their aluises that I have not felt
it to be worth wliile to dwell upon them, or even mention them in
the order of their birth. Amoni; these may be mentioned R1CBA.RD
Brinhley Twain, alias Ouy Fawkes ; John Wkntworth Twain, alicu
Sixtoen-String Jack ; William Hooarth Twain, alicu .lack Sheppard;
Ananiah Twain, alim Barou Munchausen ; John Gborok Twain,
alia* Cant. Kydd. And then there are George Francis Train, Tom
Pepper, Nebuchadnezzar, and Balaam's Ass ; they all belong to our
family, but to a branch of it somewhat distantly removed from the
honourable direct line — in fact, a collateral branch, whose merabers
chielly differ from the ancient stock in that, in order to acquire the
notoriety we have always yearned Jind hungered for, they have got into
• low way of going to jail instead of getting hanged.
It is not well, wuen writing an autoWography, to follow your ancestry
down too close to your own time — it is safest to speak only vaguely
of your great-grandfather, and then skip from there to yourseF, wmch I
Dow do.
I wt*8 bom without teeth, and there Richard III. had the advantage
of me ; but I was bom without a humpback likewise, and there I haid
the advantage of him. My parents were neither very poor nor con-
gpicuously honest.
But now a thought occurs to me. My own history would really
seem so tame contrasted with that of my ancestors that it is simply
wisdom to leave it unwritten until I am hanged. If some other
biographies I have read had stopped with the ancestry until a like
event occurred, it would have been a felicitous thing foi the reading
public How does it strike youf
JOURNALISM IN TENNESSEE.
[From the Bv/nkum Ex/preu.']
The editor of the Memphis Avalanche aw oop a thoB mildly down upon a oorre
■pondent who posted him as a Radical: — "'Wnile he was writing the first word,
the middle, dotting hii i's, crossing his t's, and punching his period, he knew hs
was concocting a sentence that was saturated with infamy and reeking with
falsehood." — Exehange. 1
I WAS told by the physician that a Southern climate would improve
my health, and so I went down to Tennessee, and got a berth on
the McmvM Olory and Johnton County War-Whoop as asaociate
editor. When I went on du^ I found the chief editor ntting tilted
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476
Afy^/eA- TWAIN*S WORKS,
back in a three-legged chair with his feet on a pine table. There wai
another pine table in the room, and another afflicted cliair, and both
were half buried under newspapers and scraps and sheets of manuscript.
There was a wooden box of sand, sprinkled with cigar stubs and " old
soldiers," and a stove with a door hanging by its upper hinge. The chief
editor had a long-tailed black cloth frock coat on, and white linen pants.
His boots were smah and neatly blacked. He wore a rftflied shirt, a lar^e
•eal ring, a standing collar of obsolete pattern, and a checkered neckerchief
with the ends hanging down. Date of costume about 1848. He wuh
smoking a cigar, and trying to think of a word, and in pawing his hair
he had rumpled his locks a good deal. He was scowling fearfully, and
I judged that he was concocting a particularly knotty editorial. He
told me to take the exchanges and skim through them and write up the
'* Spirit of the Tennessee ^nress," condensiug into the article all of theii
contents that seemed of interest
I wrote as follows : —
*< SPIRIT OF THE TBNNSSSBB PRBSa
"The editors of the Semi-Weekly Earthquake evidently labour under
a misapprehension with regard to the Ballyhack railroad. It is not the
object 01 the company to leave Buzzardville off to one side. On the
contrary, they consider it one of the most important points along the
line, and consequently can have no desire to slight it The gentlemen
of the Eaarthqwake will, of course, take pleasure in making ue correc-
tion.
"John W. Blossom, Esq., the able editor of the Higginsville Thwnder'
holt and BatUe Cry of Freedom, arrived in the city yesterday. He is
■topping at the Van Buren House.
" we observe that our contemporary of the Mud Springs Morning Howl
has fEillen into the error of supposing that the election of Van Werter is
not an established fact, but he will have discovered his mistake before
this reminder reaches him, no doubt. He was doubtless misled by in-
complete election returns.
" It is pleasant to note that the city of Blathersville is endeavouring
to contract with some New York gentlemen to pave its well-nigh
impassable streets with the Nicholson pavement But it is difficult to
accomplish a desire like this since Memphis got some New Yorkers to do
a Hke service for her, and then declined to pay for it. However, the
Daily Hurrah still urges the measure with ability, and seems confident
of \iltimate success.
I passed my manuscript over to the chief editor for acceptance,
alteration, or destruction. He glanced at it and his face clouded. He
ran his eye down the pages, and his countenance grew portentous.
It was easy to see that something was wrong. Presently he sprang up
and said —
" Thunder and lightning ! Do you suppose I am going to speak of
those cattle that way 2 Do you suppose my subscribers are going to
stand such gruel as that 1 Qive me the pen ! "
JOURNALISM IN TENNESSEE,
477
I nerer saw a pen scrape and scratch its way so viciously, or plough
through another man's verbs and adjectives so relentlessly. While he
was in the midst of his work, somebody shot at him through the open
mndow, and marred the symmetry of his ear.
" Ah," aaid he, " that is that scoundrel Smith, of the Moral Volcano
— he was due yesterday." And he snatched a navy revolver from his
belt and fired. Smith dropped, shot in the thigh. The shot spoiled
Smith's aim, who was just taking a second aim, and he crippled a
stranger. It was me. Merely a finger shot off.
Then the chief editor went on with his erasures and interlineations.
Just as he finished them a hand-grenade came down the stove pipe,
and the explosion shivered the stove into a thousand fra^ents. How-
ever, it did no further damage, except that a vagrant piece knocked a
eouple of my teeth out.
"That stove is utterly ruined," said the chief editor.
I said I believed it was.
" Well, no matter — don't want it this kind of weather. I know the
man that did it. 1 11 get him. Now, here is the way this stuff ought
to be written."
I took the manuscript. It was scarred with erasures and interlinea-
tions till its mother wouldn't have known it if it had one. It now
read as follows : —
u
SPIRIT OF THB TBNN9SBEB PRESS.
** The inveterate liars of the Semi- Weekly Earthquake are evidently
endeavouring to palm off upon a noble and chivalrous people another of
their vile and brutal falsehoods with regard to that most glorious con-
ception of the nineteenth century, the Ballyhack railroad. The idea
that Buzzardville was to be left off at one side originated in their own
fulsome brains — or rather in the settlings which ikey regard as brains.
They had better swallow this lie if they; want to save their abandoned
reptile carcasses the cowhiding they so richly deserve.
" That aas, Blossom, of the Higginsville Tlmnderholt and Battle Cry of
Freedom, is down here again sponging at the Van Buren.
"We observe that the besotted blackguard of the Mud Springs
Homing Howl is giving out, with his usual propensity for lying, that
Van Werter is not elected. The heaven-bom mission of journalism is
to disseminate truth ; to eradicate error ; to educate, refine, and elevate
the tone of public morals and manners, and make all men more gentle,
more virtuous, more charitable, and in bML ways better, and holier, and
happier ; and yet this black-hearted villain degrades his great office per-
sistently to the dissemination of faLsehood, calumny, vituperation, and
degrading vulgarity.
•* BlathersvUle wanti a Nicholson pavement— it wanta a jail and a
poorhouee more. The idea of a pavement in a one horse town with two
gin mills and a blacksmith's shop in it, and that mustard-plaster of a
newspaper, the Daily Hurrah ! Better borrow of Memphis, where the
artieU is cheap. The crawling insect, Buokner, who ^diti the HurroA,
II.
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♦7«
MARK TIVAIN'S WORKS,
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is braying about this businesa with his customary imbecility, and iinft>
gining that he is talking sense."
" Now thxU is the way to write — peppery and to the point. Mush>
and-niilk jonmalism gives me the fan- tods."
About this time a brick came through the window with a splintering
crash, and gave me a considerable of a jolt in the back. I moverl out of
range — I began to feel in the way.
The chief said, " That was the Colonel, likely. I've been expecting
him for two days. He will be up, now, right away."
He was correct. The Colonel appeared in tlie door a moment after-
ward with a dragoon revolver in his hand.
He said, " Sir, I have the honour of addressing the poltroon who edito
this mangy sheet % "
" You have. Be seated, sir. Be careful of the chair, one of its legs ia
gone. I believe I have the honour of addressing the blatant scoundrel
Col. Blatherskite Tecumseh ] "
" That's me. I have a little account to settle with you. If you are
at leisure we will begin."
" I have an article on the ' Encouraging Progress of Moral and Intel-
lectual Development in America ' to finish, but there is no hurry.
Begiii."
Both pistols rang out their fierce clamour at the same instant The
chief lost a lock of his hair, and the Colonel's bullet ended its cex.m y^i
the fleshy part of my thigh. The Colonel's left shoulder was c^ u i
little. They fired again. Both missed their men this time, bui . ^ot
my share, a shot in the arm. At the third fire both gentlemen were
woimded slightly, and I had a knuckle chipped. I then said, I believed
I would go out and take a walk, as this was a private matter, and I had
a delicacy about participating in it further. But both gentlemen begged
me to keep my seat, and assured me that I was not in the way. I had
thought differently up to this time.
They then talked about the elections and the crops a while, and I fell
to tying up my wounds. But presently they opened fire again with
animation, and every shot took effect — but it is proper to remark that
five out of the six fell to my share. The sixth one mortally wounded
the Colonel, who remarked, with fine humour, that he would have to
say good morning now, as he had business up town. He then inquired
the way to the undertaker's and left.
The chief turned to me and said, " I am expecting company to dinner,
and shall have to get ready. It will be a favour to me if you wiU read
proof and attend to the customers."
I winced a little at the idea of attending to the customers, but I vrai
too bewildered by the fusilade that was still ringing in my ears to think
of anything to say.
He continued, *• Jones will be here at 3 — cowhide him. Gillesj)ie
will call earlier, perhaps — throw him out of the window. Ferguson wUl
be along about 4 — kill him. That is all for to-day, I believe. If you
have any odd time, you may write a blistering article on the police — give
the Chief Inspector ratfi. The oowhidea are under the table ; weapons
JOURNALISM IN TENNESSEE.
th a splintering
I move^l out of
been expecting
a, moment after-
jltroon who edito
one of its legs ia
)latant acoundrel
Moral and Intel-
jre is no hurry.
i while, and I fell
i fire again with
!! to remark that
nortally wounded
Tbie would have to
[Be then inquired
|>mpany to dinner,
if you will read
pmers, but I yrw
my ears to think
"Colonel, the editor of the opposition joiuiuil, appeared iu the door with
a dragoon revolver in his hand.
" He E,aid, ' Sir, I have the honour of addressing the poltroon who edits
this mangy sheet V '
'"You have. Be seated, sir. Be careful of the chair, one of its legs is
gone. I believe I have the honour of addressing the blatant scoundrel
Colonel Blatherskite Tecumseh.'
" ' That's me. I have a little account to settle with you. If you are at
leisure, we will begin.'"— Page 478.
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18 too '.
to-day
JOURNALISM IN TENNESSEE.
479
in the drawer — ammunition there in the comer — lint and bandages up
there in the pigeon-holes. In case of accident, go to Lancet, the Burgeon,
down-stairs. He advertises — we take it out in trade."
He was gone. I shuddered. At the end of the next three hours I
bad been through perils so awful that all peace of mind and all cheer-
fulness had gone from me. Gillespie had called and thrown me out of
the window. Jones arrived promptly, and when I got ready to do the
cowhiding he took the job off my hands. In an encounter with a
stranger, not in the bill of fare, I had lost my scalp. Another stranger,
by the name of Thompson, left me a mere wreck and ruin of chaotic
rags. And at last, at Day in the comer, and beset bv an infuriated mob
of editors, blacklegs, politicians, and desperadoes, wno raved and swore
and flourished their weapons about my head till the air shimmered with
glancing flashes of steel, I was in the act of resigning my berth on the
paper when the chief airived, and with him a rabble of charmed and en-
thusiastic friends. Then ensued a scene of riot and camage such as no
human pen, or steel one either, could describe. People were shot, probed,
dismembered, blown up, thrown out of the window. There was a brief
tornado of murky blasphemy, with a confused and frantic war-dance
glimmering through it, and tnen all was over. In five minutes there
was silence, and the gory chief and I sat alone and surveyed the sanguin-
ary ruin that strewed the floor around us.
He said, " You'll like this place when you get used to it"
I said, " I '11 have to get you to excuse me, I think — maybe, I might
'mite to suit you after a while ; as soon as I had had some practice and
learned the language I am confident I could. But, to speak the plain
truth, that (sort of energy of expression has its inconveniences, and a
man is liable to interruption. You see that yourself. Vigorous writing
is calculated to elevate the public, no doubt, but then I do not like to
attract so much attention as it calls forth. I can't write with comfort
when I am interrupted so much as I have been to-day. I like this berth
well enough, but I don't like to be left here to wait on the customers.
The experiences are novel, I grant you, and entertaining too, after a
fashion, but they are not judiciously distributed. A gentleman shoots
at you through the window and cripples me; a bomb-sheU comes down
the stove-pipe for your gratification, and sends the stove-door down my
throat ; a friend drops in to swap compliments with you, and freckles
n^ with bullet-holes till my skin wont hold my principles; you go to
dinner, anci Jones comes with his cowhide, Gillespie throws me out of
the window, Thompson tears all my clothes off, and an entire stranger
takes ray scaJp with the easy freedom of an old acquaintance ; and in
less than five minutes all the blackguards in the country arrive in their
war-paint, and proceed to scare the rest of me to death with their toma-
Liwks. Take it altogether, I never had such a spirited time in all my
life as 1 Imre had to-day. No ; I like you, and I like your ca m un-
ruffled way of explaining things to the cnstomexB, but you see I am
not used to it The Southern heart is too impulsive ; Southern hospitality
i8 too lavish with the stranger. The paragraphs which I have written
to-day, and into whose oold sentences your masterly hand \\a& infused
li
i'
IHw^
■r
1 fv ^
'ii'
p
1'
■i ■
1^
i ■ , - ■,
m
480
i/>4J?Ar TWAIN'S WORKS,
fche fervent spirit of Tennesseean journalism, will wake up another nest
of hornets. All that mob of editors will come — aud tney will come
hungry, too, and want somebody for breakfast. I shall have to bid you
adieu. I decline to be present at these festivities. I came South for
my health, I will go back on the same errand, and suddenly. Tennessee
journalism is too stirring for me."
After which we parted witV mutual regret, and I took apartments at
the hospital.
!!•; '! «>i
I*!. >f
AN EPIDEMIC.
ONE calamity to which the death of Mr Dickens dooms this conntiy
has not awakened the concern to which its gravity entitles it
We refer to the fact that the nation is to be lectured to death and
read to death all next winter by Tom, Dick, and Harry, with poor lamented
Dickens for a pretext. AU the vagabonds who can spell will aflSict th«
people with "readings" from Pickwick and Copperfield, and all th<
insignificants who have been ennobled by the notice of the great novelist,
or transfigured by his smUe, will make a marketable commodity of it
now, and turn the sacred reminiscence to the practical use of procuring
bread and butter. The lecture rostrums will fairly swarm with thesa
fortunates. Already the signs of it are perceptible. Behold how the
unclean creatures are wendmg toward the dead lion, and gathering to
the feast —
" Reminiscences of Dickens." A lecture. By John Smith, who heard
him read eight times.
" Bemembrances of Charles Dickens." A lecture. By John Jonea^
who saw him once in a street car and twice in a barber's shop.
" Recollections of Mr Dickens." A lecture. By John Brown, who
gained a wide fame by writing deliriously appreciative critiques and
rhapsodies upon the great author's public readings ; and who shook
hands with the great author upon various occasions, and held converse
with him severd times.
" Readings from Dickens." By John Whyte, who has the great
delineator's style and manner perfectly, having attended all his readings
in this country, and made these things a study, always practising each
readingbefore retiring, and while it was hot from the great delineator's
lips. Upon this occasion Mr W. will exhibit the remains of a cigar
which he saw Mr Dickens smoke. This Relic is kept in a solid silver
box made purposely for it
« SiightB and Soand« of the Qreftt Novelist A popnlMr leotnie. ^|f
JOURNALISM IN TENNESSEE.
up another nest
they will come
bave to bid you
same South for
jiily. Tennessee
: apartments at
oms this cotmtry
avity entitles it
ired to death and
Lth poor lamented
11 will afflict th«
eld, and aU th«
lie great novelist,
commodity of it
use of procuring
warm with these
Behold how the
md gathering to
mith, who heard
By John Jones,
^ shop.
)hn Brown, who
ve critiques and
and who shook
id held converse
"The chief arrived with a rabble of enthusiastic friends. Then ensued a
scene of riot no pen could describe. ... In five minutes there was silence,
and the gory chief and I sat alone. He said—' Vou will like this place when
you pet used to it.' "— Page 479.
ACGIDEIJT
WARD
I
}
"After this we parted with mutual regret, and I took apartments at the
hospital."— Page 480.
}}'
m
ALL
li
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FAVOURS FROM CORRESPONDENTS,
481
John Gray, who waited on his table all the time he was at the Grand
Hotel, New York, and still has in his possession and will exhibit to the
audience a fragment of the Last Piece of Bread which the lamented
author tasted in this countiy.
" Heart Treasures of Precious Moments with Literature's Departed
Monarch." A lecture. By Miss Serena Amelia Tryphenia McSpadden,
who still wears, and will always wear, a glove upon the hand made
sacred by the clasp of Dickens. Only Death shall remove it
" Readings from Dickens." By Mrs J. OHooligan Murphy, who
washed for nim.
« Familiar Talks with the Great Author." A narrative lecture. By
John Thomas, for two weeks his valet in America.
And so forth, and so on. This isn't half the list. The man who has
a " Toothpick once used by Charles Dickens " will have to have a hear-
ing ; ana the man who " once rode in an omnibus with Charles
Dickens ; " and the lady to whom Charles Dickens " granted the hospi-
talities of his umbrella during a storm ; " and the person who " possesses
a hole which once belonged to a handkerchief owned by Charles Dickens."
Be patient and long-sutfering, good people, for even this does not fill up
the measure of what you must endure next winter. There is no crea-
ture in all this land who has had any personal relations with the late
Mr Dickens, however slight or trivial, but will shoulder his way to the
rostrum, and inflict his testimony upon his helpless countrymen. To
some people it is fatal to be noticed by greatness.
FAVOURS FROM CORRESPONDENTS.
AN unknown friend in Cleveland sends me a printed paragraph,
signed " Lucretia," and says, " I venture to forward to you the
enclosed article taken from a news correspondence in a New
Haven paper, feeling confident that for gushing tenderness it has never
been equalled. Even that touching Western production which you
printed in the June Galaxy bv way of illustrating what Califomian
journalists term * hogwash,' is tnin when compared with the unctuout"
ooze of ' Lucretia.' " The Clevelander has a correct judgment, as
Lucretia's paragraph, hereunto appended, will show : —
" One lovely morning last week, the pearly gates of heaven were left
ajar, amd white-robed angels earthward came, bearing on their snowy
pinions a lovely babe. Silently, to a quiet home-nesl^ where love and
peace abide, the angels came and placed the infant softly on a young
mother's arm, saying, in sweet musical strains, ' Lady, the Saviour bids
you take this child and nurse it for Him.' The low-toned music died
away as the angeli passed upward to their bright home, but the baby
girl sleeps quietly in her new-found homa. W« wish um joy, you^g
parents, in tay happineM.' '-'-■"■
'%:■■
4S2
AfARX" TIVAIN*S WORKS.
W' I
'•Ik i
M-'ih
This, if I have been rightly informed, in not the customary method of
acquiring offHpring, and for all its seeming plausibility it does not look
to me to be above RU8])icion. I have lived many years in this world,
and I never knew of lui infant being brought to a party by angeU,
or other unauthorised agents, but it made more or less talk in the neigh-
bourhood. It may be, Miss Lucretia, that the angels consider New
Haven a more eligible wlace to raise children in than the realms of
eternal day, and are capable of deliberately transferring infants from the
one locality to the other ; but I shall have to get you to excuse me. I
look at it differently. It would be hard to get me to believe such a
thing. And I will tell you why. However, never mind. You know,
yourself, that the thing does not stand to reason. Still, if you were
present when the babe was brought so silently to that quiet home-nest,
and placed in that soft manner on the young mother's arm, and if you
heara the sweet musical strains which the messengers made, and could
not recognise the tune, and feel justified in believing that it and like-
wise the messengers themselves were of super-sublunary origin, I pass.
And so I leave the question open. But I will say, and do say, that I
have not read anytning sweeter than that paragraph for seventy oi
eighty yeara.
CURIOUS RELIC FOR SALE.
FM I-
"For Bale, for the benefit of the Fund for the Relief of the Widows and
Orphans of Deceased Firemen, a Curious Ancient Bedouin PlPB, procured at the
city of Endor in Palestine, and believed to have once belonged to the justly-
reuowned Witch of Endor. Parties desiring to examine this singular relic with
a view to purchasing can do so by calling upon Daniel S., 119 and 121 William
Street, New York."
AS per advertisement in the Herald, A curious old relic indeed, as
I had a good personal right to know. In a single instant of tiiue
a long-drawn panorama of sights and scenes in the Holy Land
flashed through my memory — town and grove, desert, camp, and caravan
clattering after each other and disappearing, leaving me with a little of
the surprised and dizzy feeling which I have experienced at sundry times
when a long express train has overtaken me at some quiet curve and
gone whizzmg, car by car, around the comer and out of sight. In that
prolific instant I saw again all the country from the Sea of QalUee and
Nazareth clear to Jerusalem, and thence over the hills of Judea and
through the Vale of Sliaron to Joppa, down by the ocean. Leaving out
unimportant stretches of country and details of incident, I saw and
experienced the following described matters and things : — Immediately
three years fell away from my age, and a vanished time was restored to
me — September 1867. It was a naming Oriental day — this one that had
come up out of the past and brought along its actors, its stage-properties,
»nd Bcenic effects — and our party had just ridden tbiough the squalid
CURIOUS RELIC FOR SALE.
4«3
hiv« of human vermin which Htill hold« the ancient Biblical name of
Endor ; I was bringing up the rear on my grave four-dollar steed, who
was about bc^anuing tu compose liiiusulf for his usual uoou nap. My !
only fifteen tiiiimtes before how the black, mangy, nine-tenth* naked,
teii-tenthH filthy, ignorant, bigoted, besotted, hungry, lazy, malignant,
screeching, crowding, struggling, wailing, begging, cunning, hateful
spawn of the original Witch had swarmed out of the caves in the rocks,
and the holes and crevices in the earth, and blocked our horses' way,
besieged us, threw theniselvea in the animals' path, clung to their manes,
saddle-furniture, and tails, asking, beseeching, demanding " bucksheesh !
huchsfueah I BUOKSHEEaii ! " We had rained small copper Turkish
coins among them, as fugitives fiing coats and liats to pursuing wolves,
and then had spurred our way through as they stopped to scramble for
the largess. I was fervently thankful when we hiul gotten well up on
the desolate hillside and outstripped them, and left them jawing and
gesticulating in the rear. What a tempest had seemingly gone roaring
and cranliing by me and left its dull thunders pulsing in my ears !
I was in the rear, as I was saying. Our pack-iriuies and Arabs were
far ahea<l, and Dan, Jack, Moult, Davis, Denny, Church, and Birch
(these names will do as well as any to represent the boys) were following
close after them. As my horse nodded to rest I heard a sort of panting
behind me, and turned and saw that a tawny youth from the village
had overtaken me — a true remnant and representative of his ancestress
the Witch — a galvanised scurvy, wrought into the human shape and
garnished with ophthalmia and leprous scars — an airy creature with an
invisible shirt-front that reached below the pit of his stomach, and no
other clothing to speak of except a tobacco-pouch, an ammunition-pocket,
and a venerable gun, which was long enough to club any game with that
came within shooting distance, but far from etficient as an article of dress.
I thought to myself, " Now this disease with a human heart in it Ib
going to shoot me." I smiled in derision at the idea of a Bedouin daring
to touch off his great-grandfather's rusty gun and getting his head blown
off for his pains. But then it occurred to me, in simple school-boy
language, " Suppose he should take deliberate aim and * haul off,' and
fetch me with the butt-end of it 1 " There was wisdom in that view of
it, and I stopped to parley. I found he was only a friendly villain who
wanted a trifle of bucksheesh, and after begging wnat he could get in
that way was perfectly willing to trade off everything he had for more.
1 believe he would have parted with his last shirt for bucksheesh, if he
had one. He was smoking the " humbliest " pipe I ever saw — a dingy,
fnnnel-shaped, red-clay thing, streaked and grimed with oil and tears of
>x)bacco, and with all the different kinds of dirt there are, and thirty per
:ent. of them peculiar and indigenous to Endor and perdition. And
rank ? I never smelt anything like it. It withered a cactus that stood
lifting its prickly hands aloft beside the traiL It even woke up my
horse. I said I would take that It cost me a franc, a Russian
kopek, a brass button, and a slate pencil ; and my spendthrift lavish-
ue»u so won upon the son of the desert that he passed over his pouch of
most unspeakably viUainouB tobacco to me as a free gift What a pipe
/
':.»
.V: *
11'.
t-
iC"
4«4
MAHir TWAIN'S WORKS,
M
It WMy to b« itire ! It had a rude bfaM wire cover to It, and a little
coane iron chain Buspended from the bowl^ with an iron splinter attached
to loosen up the tobacco and pick vour teeth with. The stem looked
like the half of a slender walking-stick with the bark on.
I felt that this pipe had belonged to the original Witch of Endor as
soon as I saw it, and as soon as I smelt it I knew it. Moreover, I asked
the Arab cub in good English if it was not so, and he answered in good
Arabic that it was. I woke up my horse and went my way, smoking.
And presently I said to myself, reflectively, " If there i» anything that
could make a man delibemtely assault a dying cripple, I reckon maybe
an unexpected whiff from this pipe would do it." I smoked along till
I found I was beginning to lie, and project murder, and steal my own
things out of one pocket and hide them in another ; and then I put up my
treasure, took off my spurs, and put them under my horse's tail, and
shortly came tearing through our caravan like a hurricane. From that
time forward, going to Jerusalem, the Dead Sea, and the Jordan, Bethany,
Bethlehem, and everywhere, I loafed contentedly in the rear and enjoyed
my infamous pipe and revelled in imaginary villany. But at the end of
two weeks we turned our faces toward the sea and journeyed over the
Judean hills, and through rocky defiles, and among the scenes that
Samson knew in his youth, and by and by we touched level ground just
at night, and trotted off cheerily over the plain of Sharon. It was per-
fectly ioUy for three hours, and we whites crowded along together, close
after the chief Arab muleteer (all the pack-animals and the other Arabs
were miles in the rear), and we laughed and chatted and argued hotly
about Samson, and whether suicide was a sin or not, since Paul speaks
of Samson distinctly as being saved and in heaven. But by and by the
night air, and the duskiness, and the weariness of eight hours in the
saddle began to tell, and conversation flagged and finally died out utterly.
The squeak-squeaking of the saddles grew very distinct ; occasionally
somebody sighed, or started to hum a tune and gave it up ; now and
then a horse sneezed. These things only emphasised the solemnity and
the stillness. Everybody got so bstless that for once I and my dreamer
found ourselves in the lead. It was a glad new sensation^ and I longed
to keep the place for evermore. Every little stir in the dmgy cavalcade
behind made me nervous. Davis and I were riding side by side right
after the Arab. About eleven o'clock it had become really chilly, and
the dozing* boys roused up and began to inquire how far it was to Bamlah
yet, and to demand that the Arab should nurry along faster. I gave it
up then, and mv heart sank within me, because of course they would
come up to scold the Arab. I knew I had to take the rear again. In
my sorrow I unconsciously took to my pipe, my only comfort. As I
touched the match to it the whole company came lumbering up and
crowding my horse's rump and flanks. A wniff of imoke drifted bacic
over my shoulder, and —
"The suffering Moses !*
**Whew!" ^
" By George, who opened that graveyard t *
** Boys, that Arab 's beoi swallowing something dead 1 *
CURIOUS REUC FOR SALE,
485
Right awaj there wm a gaj) behind n*. ^liff after whiflT mailed airily
back, and each ono widened the hruach. Within fifteen secondi the
barking and gaaping aixl Hneezing and coughing of the boyn, and their
angry abuse of the Arul) guide, had dwindled to a munnur, and Davia
anu I were alone with the iua«ler. Davis did not know what was the
matter, and don't to this daj. Occasionallj he caught a faint film of the
•moke, and fell to scolding at the Arab and wondering iiow long lie hud
been decaying in that wav. Our boys kept on dropping back further
and further, till at last they were only in hearing, not in sight And
every time they started gingerly forward to recomioitre — or shoot the
Arab, as they pco])08ed to do— I let them get within good fair range of
my relic (she would carry seventy vards witli wonderful precision}, and
then wafted a whiif among them that sent them gtisping and strangling
to the rear again. I kept my gun well charged and ready, and twice
within the hour I decoyed the bovs right un to my horse's tail, and then
with one malarious blast emptied the saddles almost. I never heard an
Arab abused so in my life. He really owed his preservation to me,
because for one entire nour I stood between him and certain death. The
boys would have killed him if they could have got by me.
By and by, when the company were far in tne rear, I put away my
pipe — I was getting fearfully dry and crisp about the gills, and rather
ulown with good diligent work — and spurred my animated trance up
alongside the Arab, and stopped him and asked for water. He unslung
his httle gourd-shaped earthenware jug, and I put it under my moustache
and took a long, glorious, satisfying draught. 1 was going to scour the
mouth of the jug a little, but 1 saw that I had brought the whole train
together once more by my delay, and that they were all anxious to drink
too — and would have been long ago if the Arab had not pretended that
he was out of water. So I hastened to pass the vessel to Davis. He
took a mouthful, and never said a word, out climbed off his horse and
lay down calmly in the road. I felt sorry for Davis. It was too late
now, though, and Dan was drinking. Dan got down, too, and hunted
for a soft place. I thought I heard Dan say, " That Arab's friends ought
to keep hun in alcohol, or else take him out and bury him somewhere."
All the boys took a drink and climbed down. It is not well to go into
further particulars. Let us draw the curtain upon this act
Well, now, to think that after three changing years 1 should hear
from that curious old relic again, and see Dan advertising it for sale for
the benefit of a benevolent object. Dan is not treating that present right.
I gave that pipe to him for a keepsake. However, he probably finds that
it keeps away custom and interferes with business. It is the most con-
rincing inanimate object in all this part of the world, perhaps. Dan
and I were room-mates in all that long Quaker City voyage, and
whenever I desired to have a little season 01 privacy, I used to fire up on
that pipe and persuade Dan to go out ; and ne seldom waited to change
his clotiies either. In about a quarter, or from that ^c three-quarters of
a minute, he would be propping up the smoke-steck '•« tlw. upper deck
and raving. I wonder now the faithful old reli; is £oiii'; *.o sell !
s^
i:
4«6
MARK TWAIN'S WORKS,
SCIENCE V. LUCK.
« ■;?*■
. ■•»
AT that time, in Kentucky (said the Hon. Mr Knott, M.C.), the law
l\ was very Btrict against what is termed " games of chance." About
a dozen of the boys were detected playing " seven-up " or " old
■ledge " for money, and the grand jury found a true bill against them.
Jim Sturgis was retained to defend them when the case came up, of
course. The more he studied over the matter, and looked into the evid-
ence, the plainer it was that he must lose a case at last — there was no
getting around that painful fact. Those boys had certainly been betting
money on a game of chance. Even public sympathy was roused in behalf
of Sturgis. People said it was a pity to see him mar his successful career
with a big prominent case like this, which must go against Imn.
But after several restless nights an inspired idea flashed upon Sturgis,
and he sprang out of bed delighted. He thought he saw his way through.
The next day he whispered around a little among his clients and a few
friends, and then when the case came up in court he acknowledged the
seven-up and the betting, and, as his sole defence, had the astounding
effrontery to put in the plea that old sledge was not a game of chance !
There was the broadest sort of a smile all over the faces of that sophisti.
cated audience. The judge smiled with the rest But Sturgis maintained
a coimtenance whose earnestness was even severe. The opposite counsel
tried to ridicule him out of his position, and did not succeed. The judge
t'ested in a ponderous judicial way about the thing, but did not move
lim. The matter was becoming grave. The judge lost a little of his
patience, and said the joke had gone far enough. Jim Sturgis said he
knew of no joke in the matter — his clients could not be punished for
indulging in what some people chose to consider a game of chance until
it was -profven that it was a game of chance. Judge and counsel said that
would be an easy matter, and forthwith called Deacons Job, Peters,
Burke, and Johnson, and Dominies Wirt and Higgles, to testify j and
they unanimously and with strong fieeling put down the legal quibble
of Sturgis by pronouncing that old sledge was a game of chance.
* What do you call it rum ?" said the judge.
*'' I call it a game of science ! " retorted Sturgis ; " and I Tl prove it,
too!" ,
They saw his little game.
He brought in a cloud of witnesses, and produced an overwhelming
mass of testimony, to show that old sledge was not a game of chanc«
but a game of science.
Instead of being the simplest case in the world, it had somehow turned
out to be an excessively knotty one. The judge scratched his head over
it a while, and said there was no way of coming to a determination,
because just as many men could be brought into court who would testify
on one side as could be found to testify on the other. But he said he
was willing to do the fair thing by aU parties, and would act upon any
•oggestioa Mr Sturgis would make for the soluticKii of the difficulty.
"^HOW TS THIS FOR HIGHr
487
Mr Storgii was on his feet in a second.
'< Impanel a jury of six of each, Luck veraui Science. Qive them
candles and a couple of decks of cards. Send theui into the jury room,
and just abide by the result ! "
There was no disputing the fairness of the proposition. The four
deacons and the two dominies were sworn in as the " chance " jurymen,
and six inveterate old seven-up professors were chosen to represent the
" science " side of the issue. Tney retired to the jury room.
In about two hours Deacon Peters sent into court to borrow three
dollars from a friend. [Sensation.] In about two houis more Dominie
Higgles sent into court to borrow a " stake " from a friend. [Sensation.]
During the next three or four hours the other dominie and the other
deacons sent into court for small loans. And still the packed audience
waited, for it was a prodigious occasion in Bull's Comers, and one in
which every father of a faniilv was necessarily interested.
The rest of the story can be told briefly. About daylight the jury
came in, and Deacon Job, the foreman, reaa the following
,.,•■■ VERDICT. ■;, ,.i
We, the jury in the case of the Commonwealth of Kentucky vs. John
Wheeler et a?., have carefully considered the points of the case, and
tested the merits of the several theories advanced, and do hereby
unanimously decide that the game commonly known as old sledge or
seven-up is eminently a game of science and not of chance. In demon-
stration whereof it is herebv and herein stated, iterated, reiterated, set
forth, and made manifest tnat, during the entire night, the "chance"
men never won a game or turned a jack, although both feats were
common and frequent to the opposition ; and furthermore, in support of
this our verdict, we call attention to the significant fact that the
"chance" men are all busted, and the "science" men have got the
money. It is the deliberate opinion of this jury, that the " chance "
theory concerning seven-up is a pernicious doctrine, and calculated to
inflict untold suffering and pecuniary loss upon any community that
takes stock in it.
" That is the way that seven-up came to be set apart and particular-
ised in the statute-books of Kentucky as being a game not of chance but
ctf science, and therefore not punishable under the law," said Mr Knott
** That Terdict is of record, and holds good to this day."
! ,
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H-' ■
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4db
MARK TWAIN'S WORKS.
THE KILLING OF JULIUS CiESAR
" LOCALISED."
Bwitg the only irue <md rdiahU account ever published ; taken from the
Roman " Bailtf Evening Fasces,'* of the date of that tremendous
oecwrrence.
NOTHING in the world aflfords a newspaper reporter so much satis-
faction as gathering up the details of a bloody and mysterious
murder, and writing them up with aggravating circumstantiality.
He takes a living delight in this labour of love — for such it is to him
especially if he knows that all the other papers have gone to press, and
his will be the only one that will contain the dreadful intelligence. A
feeling of regret has often come over me that I was not reporting in Rome
when CsBsar was killed — reporting on an evening paper, and the only one
in the city, and getting at least twelve hours ahead of the morning paper
boys with this most magnificent " item " that ever feU to the lot of the
craft. Other events have happened as startling as this, but none that
possessed so peculiarly all the characteristics of the favourite " item " of
the present day, magnified into grandeur and sublimity by the high rank,
fame, and social and political standing of the actors in it.
However, as I was not permitted to report Caesar's assassination in the
regular way, it has at least afforded me rare satisfaction to translate the
following able account of it from the original Latin of the Roman Daily
Evening Fusees of that date — second edition.
"Our usually quiet city of Rome was thrown into a state of wild
excitement yesterday by tne occurrence of one of those bloody affrays
which sicken the heart and fill the soul with fear, while they inspire all
thinking men with forebodings for the future of a city wnere numan
life is held so cheaply, and the gravest laws are so openly set at defiance.
As the result of that affray, it it our painful duty, as public journalists,
to record the death of one of our most esteemed citizens — a man whose
name is known wherever this paper circulates, and whose fame it has
been our pleasure and our privilege to extend, and also to protect from
the tongue of slander and falsehood, to the best of our poor ability. We
refer to Mr J. Csesar, the Emperor-elect
" The facts of the case, as nearly as our reporter could determine them
from the conflicting statements of eye-witnesses, were about as follows : —
The affair was an election row, of course. Nine-tenths of the ghastly
butcheries that disgrace the city nqw-a-days grow out of the bickerings
and jealousies and animosities engendered by these accursed elections.
Rome would be the gainer by it if her very constables were elected to
serve a century ; for in our experience we have never even been able to
choose a dog-pelter without celebrating the event with a dozen knock-
downs and a general cramming of the station-house with drunken vaga-
bonda over-night It is said uiat when the immense majority for Csssar
at the polls in the market was declared the other day, and the crown was
offered to that gentleman, even his amaaing unselfishnees in refusing \%
^^^JiyfJ
KILLING OF JULIUS CuESAR *' LOCALISED." 489
three times was not sufficient to save him from the whispered insults of
such men as Caeca, of the Tenth Ward, and other hirelings of the dis-
appointed candidate, hailing mostly from the Eleventh and Thirteenth
and other outside districts, who were overheard speaking ironically and
contemptuously of Mr Csesar's conduct upon that occasion.
" We are further informed that there are many among us who think
ttiey are justified ii' believing that the assRssination of Julius Caesar waa
a put-up thin^ — »'\ .;ut-and-dried arrangement, hatched by Marcus Brutua
and a lot of his hired roughs, and carried out only too faithfully accord-
ing to the programme. Whether there be good grounds for this suspicion
or not, we leave to the people to judge for themselves, only asking that
they will read the following account of the sad occurrence carefully and
dispassionately before they render that judgment.
"The Senate was already in session, and Csesar was coming down
the street towards the capitol, conversing with some personal friends,
and followed, as usual, by a large number of citizens. Just an he was
passing in front of Demosthenes and Thucydides's drug-store, he was
observing casually to a gentleman, who, our informant thinks, is a
fortune-teller, that the Ides of March were come. The reply was, *Yes,
they are come, but not gone yet' At this moment Artemidorus stepped
up and passed the time of day, and asked Caesar to read a schedule or a
tract, or something of the kind, which he had brought for his persual.
Mr Decius Brutus also said something about an * humble suit ' which h%
wanted read. Artemidorus begged that attention might be paid to his
first, because it was of personal consequence to Caesar. The latter replied
that what concerned himself should be read last, or words to that effect
Artemidorus begged and beseeched him to read the paper instantly.*
However, Ceesar shook him off, and refused to read any petition in the
street He then entered the capitol, and the crowd followed him.
** About this time the following conversation was overheard, and we
consider that, taken in connection with the events which succeeded it, it
bears an appalling significance : Mr Papilius Lena remarked to George
W. Cassius (commonly known as the * Nobby Boy of the Third Ward '),
a bruiser in the pay of the Opposition, that he hoped his enterprise to-
day might thrive ; and when Cassius asked ' What enterprise ? ' he only
closed his left eye temporarily and said with simulated indifference,
* Fare you well,' and sauntered towards Caesar. Marcus Brutus, who is
suspected of being the ringleader of the band that killed Caesar, asked
what it was that Lena had said. Cassius told hiin, and added in a low
tone, * I fear our purpose is discovered.'
" Brutus told his wretched accomplice to keep an eye on Lena, and a
moment after Cassius urged that lean and hungry vagrant, Casca, whoso
reputation here is none of the best, to be sudden, for he feared prevention.
He then turned to Brutus, apparently much excited, and asked what
(thould be done, and swore that either he or Caesar should never twm ba^ik
—he would kUl himself first. At this time CaBsar was talking to som«
' Mark that : it is hinted by William Shakespeare, who saw the beginning and
the end of the unfortunate affraj, that this " lehedule " was limidy a noto dis-
eoTerinj{ to Oibmii that a plot was brewiai; to take his life.
■all
, H ;f
;; I ,
490
MARK TWAIN'S WORKS,
m
M
m-
of the back-countT]r members about the approaching fall elections, and
paying little attention to what was goini? on around him. Billy Tre-
boniuB got into conversation with the people's friend and Csusar's — Mark
Antony— and under some pretence or other got him awa^, and BrutuH,
DeciuB, Casca, Cinna, Metellus Cimber, and others of the gang of in-
famous desperadoes that infest Rome at present, closed around the doouieil
CsBsar. Then Metellus Cimber knelt down and begged that his brotliei'
might be recalled from banishment, but Csesar rebuked him for his
fawning conduct, and refused to grant his petition. Immediately, at
Cimber's request, first Brutus and then Cassius begged for the return of
the banisned Publius ; but Caesar still refused. He said he could not
be moved ; that he was as fixed as the North Star, and proceeded to
speak in the most complimentary terms of the fimmess of tnat star, and
its steady character. Then he said he was like it, and he believed lie
was the only man in the country that was ; therefore, since he \va>
* constant ' that Cimber should be banished, he was also ' constant ' thai
he should stay banished, and he 'd be hanged if he didn't keep him so !
*' ln8^;antly seizing upon thiB shallow pretext for a fight, Casca sprang
at Ctetittr and struck him with a dirk, Caesar grabbing him by the anu
with his right hand, and launching a blow straight from the shoulder
with his left, that sent the reptile bleeding to the earth. He then
backed up against PompeVs statue, and squared himself to receive his
assailants. Cassius and Cfimba and Cinna rushed upon him with their
daggers drawn, and the former succeeded in inflicting a wound upon Iub
body ; but before he could strike again, and before either of the others
could strike at all, Ceesar stretched the three miscreants at his feet with
as many blows of his powerful fist. By this time the Senate was in an
indescribable uproar ; the throng of citizens in the lobbies had blockatled
the doors in their ^ntic eiforts to escape from the building, the ser-
geant-at-arms and his assistants were struggling with the assassins,
venerable senators had cast aside their encumbering robes, and were
leaping over benches and flying down the aisles in wild confusion
towards the shelter of the committee-rooms, and a thousand voices
were shouting * Po-Uce ! Po-Uce ! ' in discordant tones that rose above
the frightful din like shrieking winds above the roaring of a tempest.
And amid it all, great Caesar stood with his back against the statue,
like a lion at bay, and fought his assailants weaponless and hand to
hand, with the defiant bearing and the unwavering courage which he
had shown before on manv a bloody field. Billy Trebonius and Caius
Legarius struck him with their daggers and fell, as their brother-
conspirators before them had fallen. But at last, when Ceoear saw his
old friend Brutus step forward, aimed with a murderous knife, it ii
said he seemed utterly overpowered with grief and amazement, and
dropping his invincible left arm by his side, he hid his face in the folds
of his mantle and received the treacherous blow without an effort to
stay the hand that gave it He only said, * Et tu, BruU f and fell life-
less on the marble pavement
" We learn that the coat deceased had on when he was killed was
the lame he wore in his tent on the afternoon of the day he overcauM
THE RECENT RESIGNATION
491
the Nervii, and that when it was removed from the corpse it was found
to be cut and gashed in no less than seven different places. There was
nothing in the pockets. It will be exhibited at the coroner's inquest,
and will be damning proof of the fact of the killing. These latter facts*
may be relied on, as we get them from Mark Anthony, whose position
enables him to learn every item of news connected with the one subject
of absorbing interest of to-day.
♦* Later. — While the coroner was summoning a jury, Mark Antony
and other friends of the late Caesar got hold of the body, and lugged it
off to the Forum, and at last accounts Antony and Brutus were making
speeches over it and raising such a row among the people that, as we go
to press, the chief of police is satisfied there is going to be a riot, and is
taking measures accordingly."
THE FACTS CONCERNING THE RECENT j
RESIGNATION.
Wabhinoton, Dec. 2, 1867.
I HAVE resigned. The Government appears to go on much the
same, but there is a spoke out of its wheel, nevertheless. I was
clerk of the Senate Committee on Conchology, and I have thrown
up the position. I could see the plainest disposition on the part of the
other members of the Government to debar me from having any voice
in the counsels of the nation, and so I could no longer hold office and
retain my self-respect. If I were to detail all the outrages that were
heaped upon me during the six days that I was connected with the
Government in an official capacity, the narrative would fill a volume.
They appointed me clerk of that Committee on Conchology, and then
allowed me no amanuensis to play billiards with. I would have borne
that, lonesome as it was, if I had met with that couitesy from the other
members of the Cabinet which was my due. But I did not. Whenever
I observed that the head of a department was pursuing a wrong course,
I laid down everything and went and tried to set him right, as it was
my duty to do ; and I never was thanked for it in a single instance. I
went, with the best intentions in the world, to the Secretary of the
Navy, and said —
" Sir, I cannot see that Admiral Farragut is doing anything but skir-
mishing around there in Europe, having a sort of pic-nic. Now, that
may be all very well, but it does not exhibit itself to me in that light
If there is no fighting for him to do, let him come home. There is no
use in a man having a whole fleet for a pleasure excursion. It is too
expensive. Mind, I do not object to pleasure excursions for the naval
ofiicers — ^pleasure excursions that are ia reason — pleasure excursions
that are economicid. Now, they might go down tne Mississippi on a
raft"
You ought to have heard him stoim ! One would have suppoier^. I
1
m
r;i
::::;!■
V' 9
%
tm
MARK TWAIN *S WORKS,
i.
h«d committed a crime of lome kind. But I didn't mind. I Mdd it
was cheap, and full of republican simplicitj, and pexfectly safe. I said
**hat) for a tranquil pleasure excursion, there was nothing equal to a
»a ♦
Then the Secretary of the Navy asked me who I was ; and when I
told him I was connected with the Govemment, he wanted to know in
nrhat capacity. I said that, without remarking upon the singularity of
•uch a question, coming, as it did, from a member of that same Govern-
ment, I would inform him that I was clerk of the Senate Committee on
Concnology. Then there was a fine storm ! He finished by ordering
me to leave the premises, and give my attention strictly to my own
business in future. My first impulse was to get him removed. How-
ever, that would harm others beside himself, and do me no real good,
and so I let him stay.
I went next to the Secretary of War, who was not inclined to see me
at all until he learned that I was connected with the Government. If I
had not been on important business, I suppose I could not have got in.
I asked him for a light (he was smoking at the time), and then I told
him I had no fault to find with his defending the parole stipulations of
General Lee and his comrades in arms, but that I could not approve of
his method of fighting the Indians on the Plains. I said he fought too
scattering. He ought to get the Indians more together — get them to-
gether in some convenient place, where he could have provisions enough
for both parties, and then nave a general massacre. I said there was
nothing so convincing to an Indian as a general massacre. If he could
not approve of the massacre, I said the next surest thing for an Indian
was soap and education. Soap and education are not as sudden as a
massacre, but they are more deadly in the long run ; because a half*
massacred Indian may recover, but if you educate him and wash him, it
is bound to finish him some time or other. It undermines his constitu-
tion ; it strikes at the foundations of his being. " Sir," I said, " the time
has come when blood-curdling cruelty has become necessary. Inflict
soap and a spelling-book on every Indian that ravages the Plains, and
let them die ! "
The Secretary of War asked me if I was a member of the Cabinet, and
I said I was— and I was not one of these ad vntervm people either.
(Severe, but merited.) He inquired what position I held, and I said I
was clerk of the Senate Committee on Conchology. I was then ordered
under arrest for contempt of court, and restrained of my liberty for the
best part of a day.
I almost resolved to be silent thenceforward, and let the Government
get aloi^ the best way it could. But dul^ called, and I obeyed. I called
on the Secretary of the Treasury. He said —
" What will you have ? "
The question threw me off my guard. I said, " Eum punch."
He said, " If you have got any business here, sir, state it — and in as
few words as possible."
I then said that I waa sorry he had seen fit to change the subject su
THE RECENT RESIGN A TION.
493
abraptly, because such conduct '^as yery offensive to me ; but under the
eircuinstancee I would overlook the matter and come to the point. I
now went into an earnest expostulation with him upon the extravagant
length of his report I said it was expensive, unnecessary, and awkwardly
constructed ; there were no descriptive passages in it, no poetry, no sen-
timent—no heroes, no plot, no pictures — not even woodcuts. Nobody
would read it, that was a clear case. I urged him not to ruin his reputa-
tion by getting out a thing like that. If he ever hoped to succeed in
literature, he must throw more variety into his writings. He must
beware of dry detail. I said that the main popularity of the almanac
was derived from its poetry and conundrums, and that a few conundrums
distributed around through his Treasury report would help the sale of it
more than all the internal revenue he could put into it. I said these
things in the kindest spirit, and yet the Secretary of the Treasury fell
into a violent passion. He even said I was an ass. He abused me m the
most vindictive manner, and said that if I came there again meddling
with his business, he would throw me out of the window. I said 1
would take my hat and go, if I could not be treated with the respect due
to my office, and I did go. It was just like a new author. They always
think they know more than anybody else when they are getting out
their first book. Nobody can tell them anything.
During the whole time that I was connected with the Government
it seemed as if I could not do anything in an official capacity without
getting myself into trouble. And yet 1 did nothing, attempted nothing,
ut what I conceived to be for the good of my country. The sting oj
my wrongs may have driven me to unjust and harmful condusions^but
it surely seemed to me that the Secretary of State, the Secretary of War,
the Secretary of the Treasuiy, and others of my confrkresj had conspired
from the very beginning to dnve me from the Administration. I never
attended but one Cabinet meeting while I was connected with the
Government That was sufficient for me. The servant at the White
House door did not seem disposed to make way for me untU I asked if
the other members of the Cabinet had arrived. He said they had, and
I entered. They were all there ; but nobody offered me a seat. They
stared at me hs if I had been an intruder. The President said —
" Well, sir, who are youV*
I handed him my card, and he read — "The Hon. Mark Twain,
Clerk of the Senate Committee on Conchology." Then he looked at me
from head to foot, as if he had never heard of me before. The Secretary
of the Treasury said —
"This is the meddlesome ass that came to recommend me to pHt
poetry and conimdrums in my report, as if it were an almanac.'^
The Secretary of War said — " It is the same visionary that came to me
yesterday with a scheme to educate a portion of the Indians to death, and
massacre the balance."
The Secretary of the Navy said — " I recognise this youth as the person
who has been interfering with my business time and again during the
week. He is distressed about Admual Farraguf s using a vholo fleet
11:
:\ki
WA'
%
'^:->i.
i''i'i
■ ! )
1 .
^i
494
AfAJfX^ TWAIN'S WORKS,
for a pleasure excuraion, as he terms it His proposition abont sobm
inBane pleasure excursiuu on a raft is too absurd to repeat"
I saiu — " Gentlemen, I perceive here a dispoBition to throw discredit
upon every act of my official career ; I perceive, also, a disposition to
debar me from all voice in the counsels of the nation. No notice what-
ever was sent to me to-day. It was only by the merest chance that I
learned that there was going to be a Cabinet meeting. But let these
things pass. All I wish to know is, is this a Cabinet meeting, or is
it not?*
The President said it was. ' '•' ^ '
"Then," I said, ''let us proceed to business at once, and not fritter
away valuable time in unbecoming faidt-findings with each other'n
official conduct"
The Secretary of State now spoke up, in his benignant way, and said,
" Young man, you are labouring under a mistake. The clerks of the
Congressional committees are not members of the Cabinet. Neither are
the doorkeepers of the Capitol, strange as it may seem. Therefore, much
as we could desire your more than human Avisdom in our deliberations,
we cannot lawfully avail ourselves of it The counsels of the nation
must proceed without you ; if disaster follows, as follow full well it may,
be it balm, to your sorrowing spirit, that by deed and voice you did what
In you lay to avert it You have my blessing. Farewell."
These gentle words soothed my troubled breast, and 1 went away.
But the servants of a nation can know no peace. I had hardly reached
my den in the capitol, and disposed my feet on the table like a repre-
sentative^ when one of the Senators on the Conchological Committee
came in m a passion and said — . >. . r : -i^x-
" Where have you been all day?"
I observed that, if that was anybody's affair but my own, I had been
to a Cabinet meeting. < " ' • i>.-
" To a Cabinet meeting ! I would like to know what business you
had at a Cabinet meeting?"
I said I went there to consult — allowing for the sake of aigument,
that he was in anywise concerned in the matter. He grew insolent then,
and ended by saying he had wanted me for three days past to copy a
report on bomb-shells, egg-shells, clam-shells, and I don't know what all,
connected with conchology, and nobody had been able to find me.
This was too much. This was the feather that broke the clerical
camel's back. I said, " Sir, do you suppose that I am going to work for
six dollars a day ? If that is the idea, let me recommend the Senate
Committee on Conchology to hire somebody else. I am the slave of no
faction ? Take back y'>ur degrading commission. Give me liberty, or
give me death ! "
From that hour I was no longer connected with the Government
Snubbed by the department, snubbed by the Cabinet, snubbed at last
by the chairman of a committee I was endeavouring to adorn, I yielded
to [)ersecutiou, cast far from me the perils and seductions of my great
office, and forsook my bleeding cx>untry iu the hour of her peril
But I had done Uia State some service, and I sent in my bill
THE RECENT RESIGNATION,
495
. about loiiM
row discredit
iispoaition to
notice what-
ihance that I
But let these
aeeting, oi is
ad not fritter
each other't!
jyray, and said,
clerks of the
. Neither are
tierefore, much
deliberations,
of the nation
ill well it may,
e you did what
1 went away,
hardly reached
5 like a repre-
cal Committee
vn, I had been
business you
e of argument,
V insolent then,
)ast to copy a
enow what all,
find me.
ke the clerical
)ing to work for
end the Senate
the slave of no
me liberty, or
le Government
inubbed at last
xlom, I yielded
ns of my great
peril
ly bill
The United fttatet of America in a4;eount with the Hon. CUtrk of the SentUe
Committee on Conchology, Dr.
To oooiultation with Socretaiy of War, tRO
To conHultation witli Secretary of Navy, 50
To coiiiullatioii with JSecretary of the Treasury, 50
Cabinet oonsultatioii, NA charge.
To mileage to and from Jerusaleni,* vid Egyiit, Algiers, Gibraltar, ami
Cadiz, 14,000 niiluH, at '20c a mile, 2800
To Salary as Clerk of Senate Ooiuiniti;ee on Conohology, tax days, at 16
per day, 36
Total, 12986
Not an item of this bill has been paid, except that trifle of 36 dollars
for clerkship salary. The Secretary of the Treasury, pursuing me to
the last, drew his pen through all the other items, and simply marked in
the margin " Not allowed." So, the dread alternative is embraced at
last. Repudiation has begun ! The nation is lost. True, the l*resident
promised that he would mention my claim in his Message, and recom-
mend that it be paid out of the first moneys received on account of the
Alabama claims ; but will he recollect to do it ? And may not I be
forgotten when the Alabama claims are paid ] Younger claimants than
I am mav be forgotten when the Alabama claims are paid.
I am done with official life for the present. Let those clerks who are
willing to be imposed on remain. 1 know numbers of them, in the
Departments, who are never informed when there is to be a Cabinet
meeting, whose advice is never asked about war, or finance, or commerce,
by the neads of the nation, any more than if they were not connected
with the Government, and who actually stay in their offices day after
day and work ! They know their importance to the nation, and they
unconsciously show it in their bearing, and the way they order their
Bustenance at the restaurant — but tliey work. I know one who has to
paste all sorts of little scraps from the newspaper into a scrap-book —
sometimes as many as eight or ten scraps a day. He doesn't do it well,
but he does it as well as he can. It is very fatiguing. It is exhaust-
ing to the intellect. Yet he only gets 1800 dollars a year. "With a
brain like his, that young man could amass thousands and thousands of
dollars in some other pursuit, if he chose to do it. But no — his heart is
with his country, &nd he will serve her as long as she has got a scrap-
book left. And I know clerks that don't know how to write very well,
but such knowledge as they possess they nobly lay at the feet of their
country, and toil on and suffer for 2500 dollars a year. What they
write has to be written over again by other clerks, sometimes ; but when
a man has done his best for his country, should his country complain 1
Then there are clerks that have no clerkships, and are waiting, and wait-
ing, and waiting, for a vacancy — waiting patiently for a chance to help
their country out — and while they are waiting, they only get barely,
* Territorial delegates charge mileage both ways, although they never go back
when they get here once. Why my mileage is denied me is more than I ou
ttodintaiiii
A
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aw. ^i- .'!
?K.'«i:-4i
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MARK TWAIN'S WORKS.
1000 dollars a year for it. It is sad — it ii very, very sad. When a
member of Congresfl has a friend who is gifted, but has no employment
wherein his great powers may be brought to bear, he confers him upon
his country, and gives him a clerkship in a Department. And there
that man has to slave his life out, lighting documents for the benefit of a
nation that never thinks of liim, never sympathises with him — and all
for 2000 or 3000 dollars a year. Wlien I shall have completed my UhI
of all the clerks in the several departments, with my statement of what
they have to do, and what they ^et for it, you will see that there are not
half enough clerks, and that what there are do not get half enough pay.
"AFTER ' JENKINS.
A GRAND affair of a ball — th« Pioneers'— came oflf at the Occidental
some time ago. The following notes of the costumes worn by the
belles of the occasion may not be uninteresting to the general
reader, and Jenkins may get an idea therefrom —
Mrs W. M. was attired m an elegant jpdti defoiegras, made expressly
for her, and was greatly admired.
Miss S. had her hair done up. She was the centre of attraction foi
the gentlemen and the envy of all the ladies.
Miss G. W. was tastefullv dressed in a tout ememblef and was greeted
with deafening applause wnerever she went
Mrs C. N. was superbly arrayed in white kid gloves. Her modest
and engaging manner accorded well with the unpretending simplicity
of her costume, and caused her to be regarded with absorbing interest
by every one.
The charming Miss M. M. B. appeared in a thrilling waterfall, whose
exceeding grace and volume compelled the homage of pioneers and
emigrants alike. How beautiful she was !
The queenly Mrs L. R. was attractively attired in her new and beauti-
ful false teeth, and the hon jour effect they naturally produced was
heightened by her enchanting and well sustained smile. The maimer
of the lady is charmingly pensive and melancholy, and her troops of
admirers desired no greater happiness than to get on the scent of her
sozodont-sweetened sighs, and track her through her sinuous course
among the gay and restless multitude.
Miss R. P., with that repugnance to ostentation in dress, which is bo
peculiar to her, was attired in a simple white lace eollar, fastened with
a neat pearl-button solitaire. The fine contrast between the sparkling
vivacity of her natural optic, and the steadfast attentiveness of her placid
glass eye, was tbe subject of general and enthusiastic remark.
The radiant and sylph-like Mn T. wove hoopa. She showed to
RTLEY— NEWSPAPER CORRESPONDENT.
497
Adranta^e, and created a sensation wherever she appeared. She waa the
gayest or the gay.
Miss C. L. B. had her fine nose elegantly enamelled, and the easy grace
with which she blew it from time to time, iiiarkud her as a cultivated
and accomplished woman of the world ; its exquisitely modulated tone
excited the admiration of all who had the happiness to hear it.
and was greeted
RILEY— NEWSPAPER CORRESPONDENT.
ONE of the best men in Washington— or elsewhere — is Rilbt,
correspondent of the great San francisco dailies.
Riley is full of humour, and has an unfailing vein of irony,
which makes his conversation to the last degree entertaining (as long as
the remarks are about somebody else). But, notwithstanding the
possession of these equalities, which should enable a man to write a
happy and an appetismg letter, Riley's newspaper letters often display a
more than earthly solemnity, and likewise an unimaginative devotion to
petrified facts, which surprise and distress all men who know him in his
unofficial character. He explains this curious thing by saying that his
employers sent him to Washington to write facts, not fancy, and that
several times he has come near losing his situation by inserting
humorous remarks which, not being looked for at headquarters, and
consequently not understood, were thought to be dark and bloody
speeches intended to convey signals and warnings to murderous secret
societies, or something of that kind, and so were scratched out with a
shiver and a prayer and cast into the stove. Riley says that sometimes
he is so afflicted with a yearning to write a sparkling and absorbingly
readable letter that he simply cannot resist it, and so he goes to his den
and revels in the delight of untramelled scribbling; and then, with
suffering such as only a mother can know, he destroys the pretty children
of his ^cy and reduces his letter to the required dismal accuracy.
Having seen RUey do this very thing more than once, I know where-
of 1 speak. Often I have laughed with him over a happy passage, and
grieved to see hinn plough his pen through it He would say, " I had to
write that or die ; and I Ve got to scratch it out or starve. Thf^ wouldn't
stand it, you know."
I think Riley is about the moat entertaining company I ever saw.
We lodged together in many places in Washington during the winter of
'67-8, moving comfortably irom place to place, and attracting attention
by paying our boturd — ^a course which cannot fail to make a person c(mi-
spicuous in Washington. Riley would tell all about his trip to California
in the early days, by way of the Isthmus and the San Juan river ; and
about his baking bread in San Francisco to gain a living, and setting up
ten-pins, and practising law, and opening oysters, and delivering lectures,
and teadiing French, and tending bar, and reporting for the newspapers,
•nd keeping dancing-school, ana interpreting Chinese in the oourta-^
4x
':, 1
II
49S
AfAJii: TWAIN'S WORKS.
W'h
hi
4lii
which latter woo lucrative, and Riley was duim; handsomely and laying
up a little money when ])eo|)le be^an to find mult because his transla-
tions were too *' free," u thing for which Uiley considered he ought not to
be held responsible, since he did not know a word of the Chinese tongue,
and only adopted interpreting as a means of gaining an honest livelihood
Through the machinations oi enemies he wivs removed from the pusitioa
of official inter[)reter, and a man put in his phice who was familiar with
the Chinese language, but did not know any English. And Riley used
to tell about publisliing a newspaper up in what is Alaska now, but
was only an iceberg then, with a population composed of bears, wal-
ruses, Indians, and other animals ; and how the iceberg got adrift at last,
and left all his paying subscribers behind, and as soon as the common-
wealth floated out oi the jurisdiction of Russia the people rose and
threw off their allegiance and ran up the English flag, calculating to
hook on and become an English colony as they drifted along down the
British Possessions ; but a land breeze and a crooked current carried
them by, and they ran up the Stars and Stripes and 8teere<l for California,
missed the connection again and swore allegiance to Mexico, but it
waan't any use ; the anchors came home every time, and away they went
with the north-east trades drifting off side-ways toward the Sandwich
Islands, whereupon they ran up the Cannibal flag and had a grand
human barbecue in honour of it, in which it was noticed that the better
a man liked a friend the better he enjoyed him ; and as soon as they got
fairly within the tropics the weather got so fearfully hot that the iceberg
began to melt, and it got so sloppv under foot that it was almost ini'
possible for ladies to get about at all ; and at last, just as they came in
sight of the islands, the melancholy remnant of the once majestic iceberg
canted first to one side and then to the other, and then plunged under
for ever, carrying the national archives along with it— and not only the
archives and the populace, but some eligiUe town lots which had in<
creased in value as fast as they diminished in size in the tropics, and
which Riley could have sold at thirty cents a pound and made himsell
rich if he could have kept the province afloat ten hours longer and got
her into port
And BO forth and so on. with all the facts of Riley's trip through
Mexico, a journey whose nistory his felicitous fancy can make more
interesting than any novel that ever was written. What a shame it \&
to tie RUev down to the dreary mason-work of laying up solemn dead-
walls of fact ! He does write a plain, straightforward, and perfectly
accurate and reliable correspondence, but it seems to me that I would
rather have one chatty paragraph of his fancy than a whole obituary of
his facts.
Riley is very methodical, untiringly accommodating, never forgeu
anythuig that is to be attended to, is a good son, a staunch friend, and a
permanent reliable enemy. He will put himself to any amount of
trouble to oblige a body, and therefore alwavs has his hands full of
things to be d( ae for the helpless and the shiftless. And he knows how
to do nearly everything, too. He is a man whose native benevolence i«
a well-spring that never goes dry. He itMinds idways ready to help
(ly and UyiiiR
le his transla-
le ougbt not to
hinese tongue,
lest livelihood
m the position
J faiiiiliar with
ind Riley used
Bwka now, but
of bears, wal-
»t adrift at laat,
I the conimon-
eople rose and
, calculating to
long down the
current carried
1 for California,
Mexico, but it
away they went
L the Sandwich
id had a grand
I that the bettei
soon as they got
that the iceberg
was almost iiu-
as they came in
majestic iceberg
plunged under
id not only the
, which had in*
the tropics, and
1 made himselt
longer and got
^B trip through
lean make more
\t a shame it is
ip solemn dead-
■ and perfectly
^ ths*t I would
[hole obituary of
-5, never forgeta
[ch friend, and a
lany amount of
|s hands full of
. he knows how
I benevolence i«
retdy to help
RILEY—NEWSPAPER CORRESPOI^DRNT. 499
wtioever needs help, as far an he is able — and not simply with hk
money, for that is a cheap and common charity, but with hand and
brain, and fatigue of limb and sacrifice of time. This sort of men ii
rare.
Riley has a ready wit, a quidrnens and aptness at selecting and apply-
ing quotations, ana a countenance that is as solemn and as blank as the
back side of a tombstone when he is <lelivering a particularly exasperat-
ing joke. One night a negro woman was bum eel to death in a nouse
next door to us, and Riley said that our landlady would be oppressively
emotional at breakfast, bt'cause she generally made use of such oppor-
tunities as offered, being of a morbidly seTitimental turn, and so we
should find it best to let her talk along and say nothing back — it was
the only way to keep her tears out of the gravy. Riley said there never
was a funeral in the neighbourhood but that the gravy was watery for a
week.
And, sure enough, at breakfast the landlady was down in the very
sloughs of woe — entirely broken-hearted. Everything she looked at
reminded her of that poor old negro woman, and so the buckwheat
cakes made her sob, the coflfee forced a groan, and when the beefsteak
came on she fetched a wail that made our hair rise. Then she got to
talking about deceased, and kept up a steady drizzle till both of us were
soaked through and through. Presently she took a fresh breath and
said, with a world of sobs —
"Ah, to think of it, only to think of it! — the poor old faithful
creature. For she was so faithful. Would you believe it, she had been
a servant in that self-same house and that self -same family for twenty-
seven years come Christmas, and never a cross word and never a lick !
And, oh, to think she should meet such a death at last ! — a-sitting over
the red-hot stove at three o'clock in the morning and went to sleep and
fell on it and was actually rocuted / Not just frizzled up a bit, but
literally roasted to a crisp I Poor faithful creature, how she vxu
cooked ! I am but a poor woman, but even if I have to scrimp to
do it, I will put up a tombstone over that lone sufferer's grave — and Mr
Riley if you would have the goodness to think up a little epitaph to
lUt on it which would sort of describe the awful way in which she met
put
her
n
"Put it, *Wdl donef good and faithful servant!'" said Riley, anJ
never smiled*
!..A V3 1 =--)i-
I ;■■
-^i (.'4 '.'.i ;^U. HI ,:i^. . .■»
..If'
W
■ fi
ii t
fOO
MARK TWAIN'S WORKS,
A FASHION ITEM.
AT General Grant's reception, the other aight, the most fashionabl?
dressed lady was Mrs G. C. She wore a pink satin dress, plain in
front but with a good deal of rake to it — to the train, I mean ; it
was said to be two or three yards long. One could see it creeping along
the floor some little time after the woman was gone. Mrs C. wore also a
white bodice, cut bias, with Pompadour sleeves, flounced with ruches ; low
neck, with the inside handkerchief not visible, with white kid gloves.
She had on a pearl necklace, which glinted lonely, high up the midst of
that barren waste of neck and shoulders. Her hair was frizzled into a
tangled chapparel, forward of her ears, aft it was drawn together, and
compactly bound and plaited into a stump like a pony's tail, and further-
more was canted upward at a sharp angle, and ingeniously supported by
a red velvet crupper, whose forward extremity was made mst with a
half-hitch around a hairpin on the top of her head. Her whole top
hamper was neat and becoming. She had a beautiful complexion when
she nrst came, but it faded out by degrees in a most unaccountable way.
However, it is not lost for good. I found the most of it on my shoulder
afterwards. (I had been standing near the door when she had been
squeezing out with the throng.) There were other fashionable ladieii
present, of course, but I only took notes of one as a specimen. The
subject is one of great interest to ladies, and I would gladly enlarge upon
it were I able to do it justice.
3 t
* i
A MEDIAEVAL ROMANCE.
CHAPTER I.
THB BBOBET BEVBALBD.
Fwas night. Stillness reigned in the grand old feudal castle of
Klugenstein. The year 1222 was drawing to a close. Far away
up in the tallest of the castle's towers a single light glimmered. A
secret council was being held there. The stem old lord of Klugenstein
sat in a chair of state meditating. Presently he said, with a tende^^
accent —
"My daughter I"
A young man of noble presence, clad from head to heel in knightlj
mail, answered —
«Spe^, father I"
" My daughter, the time is come for the revealing of the mystery that
hath puzzled all your young life. Know, then, that it had its birth in
the matters whitvh I shall now unfold. My brother Ulrich is the great
Duke of Brandenburgh. Our father, on his deathbed, decreed that if
no son were bom to Ulrich the succession should pass to my house,
|»roYided a ton W:>x« bom to me. Aiid further, in case no Ron were
A MEDIJRVAL ROMANCE.
501
bom to either, but only danghters, then the succession Bhoiald paaa to
Ulrich's daughter if she proved stainless ; if she did not, my daughter
should succeed if she retained a blameless name. And so I and my old
wife here prayed fervently for the good boon of a son, but the praver
was vain. You were bom to us. I was in despair. I saw the mighty
prize slipping from my grasp — the splendid dream vanishing away !
And I had been so hopeful ! Five years had Ulrich lived in wedlock,
and yet his wife had borne no heir of either sex.
"*But hold,' I said, *all is not lost.' A saving scheme had shot
athwart my brain. You were bom at midnight. Only the leech, the
nurse, and six waiting-women knew your sex. I hanged them everv
one before an hour sped. Next morning all the barony went mad with
rejoicing over the proclamation that a Bon was bom to Klugenstein — an
heir to mighty Brandenburgh ! And well the secret has been kept.
Your mother's own sister nursed your infancy, and from that time for-
ward we feared nothing.
" When you were ten years old a daughter was bom to Ulrich. We
grieved, but hoped for good results from measles, or physicians, or othe"
natural enemies of infancy, but were always disappointed. She lived
»he throve — Heaven's malison upon her ! But it is nothing. We are
safe. For, ha ! ha ! have we not a son ? And is not our son the future
Duke? Our well -beloved Conrad, is i; lot so? — for woman of eight'
and-twenty years as you are, my child, none other name than that hath
ever fallen to "ijovi. /
"I^ow it hath come to pass that age hath laid its hand upon my
brother, and he waxes feeble. The cares of state do tax him sore, there-
fore he wills that you shall come to him and be abeady Duke in act,
though not yet in name. Your servitors are ready — you journey forth
to-night.
" Now listen well. Remember every word I say. There is a law 8«!
old as Germany, that if any woman sit for a single instant in the gre^t
ducal chair before she hath been absolutely crowned in presence of th?
people — SHE SHALL DIB ! So heed my words. Pretend humility. Pro-
nounce your judgments from the Premier's chair, which stands at the
foot of the throne. Do this until you are crowned and safe. It is not
likely that your sex will ever be discovered, but still it is the part of
wisdom to make all things as safe as may be in this treacherous earthly
life."
" my father ! is it for this my life hath been a lie ? Was it that
I might cheat my unoffending cousin of her rights ? Spare me, father,
apareyour child ! "
" Wiiat, hussy ! Is this my reward for the august fortune my brain
has wrought for thee ? By the hones of my father, this puling sentiment
of thine but ill accords with my humour. Betake thee to the Duke
instantly, and beware how thou meddlest with niy purpose ! "
Let this sr^fice of the conversation. It is enough for us to know that
the prayers, the entreaties, and the tears of the gentle-natured girl
availed nothing. Neither they nor anything could move the stout old
lord of Klugenstem. And bo, at last; with a heavy heart, the daughtei
' .^1
■>| I
W-
f'l
!' i
r
50a
JifAXX nVAIN'S" WORKS,
MW the casile gates dose behind her, and found henelf riding awaj is
the darknesa surrounded by a knightly array of armed vassals and a
brave follovring of servants.
The old baron sat silent for many minutes after his daughter's
teparture, and then he turned to his sad wife, and said —
"Dame, our matters seem speeding fairly. It is full three months
since I sent the shrewd and handsome Count Detzia on his devilish
mission to my brother's daughter Constance. If he fail we are not
wholly safe, but if he do succeed no power can bar our girl from being
Duchess, e'en though ill fortune should decree she never should be Duke !"
" My heart is fml of bodings ; yet all may still be well."
^' Tush, woman ! Leave the owls to croak. To bed with ye, and
dream of Brandenburgh and grandeur ! "
Di : . (
'.X <
, \
( i
m
" i'1 ' ■ ■
,^1
i rWA
CHAPTER II.
FESTIVITT AND TBABS.
Six days after the occurrences related in the above chapter, the brilliant
capital of the Duchy of Brandenburgh was resplendent with military
pageantrv, and noisy with the rejoicings of loyal multitudes, for Conrad,
the young ' .•:. to the crown, was come. The old Duke's heart was full
of happiness, for Conrad's handsome person and graceful bearing had
won his love at once. The great halls of the palace were thronged with
nobles, who welcomed Conrad bravely ; and so bright and happy did all
things seem, that he felt his fears and sorrows passing away, and giving
place to a comforting contentment.
But in a remote apartment of the palace a scene of a diflferent nature
was transpiring. By a window stood the Duke's only chUd, the Lady
Constance. Her eyes were red and swoUen, and full of tears. She wai
alone. Presently she fell to weeping anew, and said aloud —
" The villain Detzin is gone — has fled the dukedom ! I could not be-
lieve it at first, but, alas ! it is too true. And I loved him so. I dared
to love him though I knew the Duke my father would never let me wed
him. I loved mm — but now I hate him ! With all my soul I hate
him ! Oh, what is to become of me i I dm. lost, lost, lost ! I shall go
madl
CHAPTER IIL
THE PLOT THICKENS.
A FEW months drifted by. All men published the praises of the young
Conrad's government, and extolled thewisdomof his judgments, the mer-
cifulness of his sentences, and the modesty with whi.'li he bore himself iu
his great office. The old Duke soon gave everything into his hands, and
sat apart and listened w;th proud satisfaction while nis heir delivered the
decrtii of the crown fron. the seat of the Premier. It seemed plain that
hiB daughter's
A MEDIMVAL ROMANCE,
J«S
one 80 loved and praised and honoured of all men aa Conrad was eould
not be otherwise than happy. But, strangely enough, he was not For
he saw vnth dismay that the Princess Constance had begun to love him !
The love of the rest of the world was happy fortune for him, but this was
freighted with danger ! And he saw, moreover, that the delighted Duke
had discovered his daughter's passion likewise, and was already dreaming
of a marriage. Every day somewhat of the deep sadness that had been
in the princess's face faded away ; every day hope and animation beamed
brighter from her eye ; and by and by even vagrant smiles visited the
face that had been so troubled.
Conrad was appalled. He bitterly cursed himself for having yielded
to the instinct that had made him seek the companionship of one of his
own sex when he was new and a stranger in the palace — when he was
sorrowful and yearned for a sympathy such as only women can give or
feeL He now began to avoid his cousin. But this only made matters
worse, for naturally enough, the more he avoided her the more she cast
herself in his way. He marvelled at this at first, and next it startled
him. The girl haunted him ; she hunted him ; she happened upon him
at all times and in all places, in the night as well as m the day. She
seemed singularly anxious. There was surely a mystery somewhere.
This could not go on for ever. AU the world was talking about it
The Duke was beginning to look perplexed. Poor Conrad was becoming
a very ghost through dread and dire distress. One day as he was emerg-
ing from a private ante-room attached to the picture gallery Constance
confronted him, and seizing both his hands in hers, exclaimed —
" Oh, why do you avoid me ] What have I done — what have I said,
to lose your kind opinion of me — for surely I had it once ? Conrad, do
not despise me, but pity a tortured heart ? I cannot, cannot hold the
words unspoken longer, lest they kill me — I lotb you, Conrad !
There, despise me if you must, but they ioomW be uttered ! "
Conrad was speechless. Constance hesitated a moment, and then, mis-
interpreting his sUence, a wild gladness flamed in her eyes, and she flung
her arms about his neck and said —
" You relent ! you relent ! You can love me — you wiU love me ! Oh,
say you will, my own, my worshipped Conrad ! '*
Conrad groaned aloud. A sickly pallor overspread his countenance,
and he trembled like an aspen. Presently, in desperation, he thrust the
poor girl from him, and cried —
" You know not what you ask ! It is for ever and ever impossible ! "
And then he fled like a criminal, and left the princess stupefied with
amazement. A minute afterward she was crying and sobbing there, and
Donrad was crying and sobbing in his chamber. Both were in despair.
Both saw ruin staring them in the face.
By and by Constrnce rose slowly to her feet and moved away, saying —
" To thini; that he was despising my love at the very moment tliat I
thought it was melting his cruel heart ! I hate him ! He spumed uie
— did this BUUi— he spumed me from him like a dog ! "
%
n
;, it
1. ?
l-t"
I t'
i f
\-
904
MARK TWAIN'S WORKS.
CHAPTER IV.
THE AWFUL RBVBLATION.
Time pasBed on. A settled sadnesB rested once more upon the eoun*
tenfuice of the good Duke's daughter. She and Conrad were seen togethei
no more now. The Duke grieved at this. But as the weeks wore away
Conrad's colour came back to his cheeks, and his old-time vivacity to
his eye, nnd he administered the government with a clear and sttaaily
ripening wisdom.
Presently a strange whisper began to be heard about the palace. It
frew louder ; it spread fa/tner. The gossips of the city got nold of it
t swept the dukedom. And this is what tne whisper said —
" The Lady Constance hath given birth to a child ! "
When "jhe lord of Klugenstein heard it he swung his plumed helmet
thrice around his head and shouted —
" Long live Duke Conrad ! — for lo, his crown is sure from this day
forward ! Detzin has done his errand well, and the good scoundrel shaU
be rewarded ! "
And he spread the tidings far and wide, and for eight-p.nd-forty hours
no soul m all the barony but did dance and sing, carouse and illuminate,
to celebrate the great event, and all at proud and happy old Klugeustein's
expense.
CHAPTER V.
THE FBIQHTFUL CATASTROPHE.
The trial was at hand. All the great lords and barons of Branden-
burgh were assembled in the Hail of Justice in the ducal palace. No
space was left unoccupied where there was room for a spectator to stand
or sit. Conrad", clad m purple and ermine, sat in the Premier's chair,
and on either side sat the great judges of the realm. The old Duke had
sternly commanded that the trxal of his daughter should proceed without
favour, and then had taken to his bed broken-hearted. His days were
numbered. Poor Conrad had begged, as for his very life, that he might
be spared the misery of sitting in judgment upon his cousin's crime, but
it did not avail.
The saddest heart in all that great assemblage was in Conrad's breast
The gladdest was in his father's, for, unknown to his daughter
" Conrad," the old Baron Klugenstein was come, and was among the
crowd of nobles triumphant in the swelling fortunes of his house.
After the heralds had made due proclamation and the other prelimi-
naries had followed, the venerable Lord Chief- Justice said — " Prisoner,
stand forth ! "
T118 unhappy princess rose, and stood miveiled before the vast multi-
tude. The Lord Chief-Justice continued —
" Most noble lady, before the great judges of this realm it hath been
charged and proven that out of holy wedlock your Grace hath given
A MEDTJSVAL TtOMANCR,
505
lumed helmet
birth onto a child, and by our ancient law the penalty is death except-
ing in one sole contingency, whereof his Grace the acting Doke, our
good Lord Conrad, will advertise you in his solemn sentence now ;
wherefore give heed."
Conrad stretched forth the reluctant sceptre, and in the self-same
moment the womanly heart beneath his robe yearned pityingly toward
the doomed prisoner, and the tears came into his eyes. He opened his
lips to speak, but the Lord Chief-Justice said quickly —
" Not there, your Grace, not there ! It is not lawful to pronounce
judgment upon any of the ducal line save prom the ducal throne ! "
A slmdder went to the heart of poor Conrad, and a tremor shook the
iron frame of his old father likewise. Conrad had not been crowned
— dared he profane the throne? He hesitated and turned pale with
fear. But it must be done. Wondering eyes were already upon him.
They would be suspicious eyes if he hesitated longer. He ascended the
throne. Presently he stretched forth the sceptre a^ain, and said —
" Prisoner, in the name of our sovereign Lord Ulrich, Duke of Bran-
denburgh, I proceed to the solemn duty that hath devolved upon me.
Give heed to my words. By the ancient law of the land, except you
produce the partner of your guilt and deliver him up to the executioner
you must surely die. Embrace this opportunity — save yourseK while
yet you may. Name the father of your child ! "
A solemn hush fell upon the great court — a silence so profound that
men could hear their own hearts beat. Then the princess slowly turned,
with eyes gleaming with hate, and pointing her finger straight at Conrad,
said —
" Thou art the man ! "
An appalling conviction of his helpless, hopeless peril struck a chill
to Conrad's heart like the chill of death itself. What power on earth
could save him ! To disprove the charge he must reveal that he was a
woman, and for an uncrowned woman to sit in the ducal chair was
death ! At one and the same moment he and his grim old father
swooned and fell to the ground.
The remainder of this thrilling and eventful story will not be found
in this or any other publication, either now or at any future time.
The truth is, I have got my hero (or heroine) into such a particularly
close place that I do not see how I am ever going to get him (or her)
out of it again, and therefore I will wash my hands of the whole busi-
ness, and leave that person to get out the best way that offers — oi' else
otay there. I thought H was going to be easy enough to straighten out
that little difficulty, but it looks (Afferent now.
1 ■
iv
11
H i V
■i.ii
"■it
■'.t,i
n
5o6
MARK TIVAIN*S WORKS,
,. i
i-
" LUCRETIA SMITHES SOLDIER.
I AM an ardent admirer of those nice, sickly war stories which hav«
lately been so popular, and for the last three months I have been
at work upon one of that character, which is now completed. It
can be relied upon as true in every particular, inasmuch as the facts it
contains were compiled from the official records in the War Department
of Washington. It is but just, also, that I should confess that I have
drawn largely on " Jominis Art of Wax" the " Message of the President
and Accompanying Docimients," and sundry maps and military works,
so necessary for reference in building a novel like this. To the accommo-
dating Directors of the Overland Telegraph Company I take pleasure in
returning my thanks for tendering me the use of their wires at the
customary rates. And, finally, to all those kind friends who have, by
good deeds or encouraging words, assisted me in my labours upon this
story of " Lucretia Smith's Soldier," during the past three months, and
whose names are too numerous for special mention, I take this method
of tendering my sincerest gratitude.
OHAFTBR Z.
On a balmy May morning in 1861, the little village of Bluemass, in
Massachusetts, lay wrapped in the splendour of the newly-risen Gun.
Reginald de Whittaker, confidential and only clerk in the house oi
Bushrod and Ferguson, general dry goods and grocery dealers and keepen
of the post-office, rose from his bunk under the counter, and shook him
self. After yawning and stretching comfortably, he sprinkled the flooi
and proceeded to sweep it. He had only haK finished his task, however,
when he sat down on a keg of nails and fell into a reverie. "■ This is my
last day in this shanty," said he. " How it will surprise Lucretia when
she hears i £im going for a soldier ! How proud she will be, the little
darling ! " He pictured himself in all manner of warlike situations ; the
hero of a thousand extraordinary adventures ; the man of rising fame ;
the pet of Fortune at last ; and beheld himself, finally, returning to his
own home, a bronzed and scarred brigadier-general, to cast his honours
and his matured and perfect love at the feet of his Lucretia Borgia
Smith.
At this point a thrill of joy aiici pride suffused his system ; but he
looked down and saw his broom, and blushed. He came toppling down
firom the clouds he had been soaring among, and was an olracure clerk
again, on a salary of two dollars and a half a week.
'- ',
'j.^ -J, -
CHAPTER II.
At eight o'clock that evening, with a heart palpitating with Ihe proud
news he had brought for his beloved, Reginald sat in Mr Smith's parlour
Awaiting Luoretia'f appearance. The moment she entered, he sprang tc
ER.
es which hav«
hs I have been
completed. It
L as the facts it
ar Department
58S that I have
f the President
□onitary works,
) the accommo-
ake pleasure in
LT wires at the
J who have, by
)our8 upon this
:ee months, and
ke this method
of Bluemass, in
ewly-risen Gun.
In the house ol
lers and keepen
and shook him
inkled the flooi
s task, however,
3. " This is my
J Lucretia when
ill be, the little
! situations ; the
of rising fame ;
returning to his
jast his honours
jucretia Borgia
System ; but he
toppling down
obscure clerk
ith the proud
Smith's parloui
I, he sprang to
LUCRETIA SMITWS SOLDIER,
507
ffl«et her, hiB i»at lighted by the torch of love that waa blazing in hit
head somewhere and shining through, and ejaculated, " Mine 0¥m ! " a«
he opened his arms to receive her.
" Sir ! ^ said she, and drew herself up like an offended queen.
Poor Reginald was stricken dumb with astonishment. This chilling
demeanour, this angry rebuff, where he had cj^pected the old, tender
welcome, banished the gladness from his heart as the cheerful brightness
is swept from the landscape when a dark cloud drifts athwart the face of
the sun. He stood bewildered a moment, with a sense of goneness
on him like one who finds himself suddenly overboard upon a mid-
night sea, and beholds the shijp pass into shrouding gloom, while the
dreadful conviction falls upon his soul that he has not been missed. He
tried to speak, but his pallid lips refused their office. At last he mur-
mured—
" O Lucretia ! what have I done ? what is the matter ? why this cruel
coldness ? Don't you love your Reginald any more ?"
Her Ups curled in bitter scorn, and she replied, in mocking tones —
" Don't I love my Reginald any more 1 No, I dow'i love my Reginald
any more ! Go back to your pitiful junk-shop and grab your pitiful
yard-stick, and stuff cotton in your ears, so that you can't hear youi
country shout to you to fall in and shoulder arms. Go !" And then,
unheeding the new light that flashed from his eyes, she fled from the
room and slammed the door behind her.
Only a moment more ! Only a single moment more, he thought, and
he could have told her how he had already answered the summons and
signed the muster-roll, and aU would have been well ; his lost bride
would have come back to his arms with words of praise and thanks-
giving upon her lips. He made a step forward, once, to recall her, but
he remembered that he was no longer an effeminate drygoods student,
and his warrior soul scorned to sue for quarter. He strode from the
place with martial firmness, and never looked behind him*
CHAPTBB m.
When Lucretia awoke next morning, the faint music of fife and tlie
roll of a distant uium came floating upon the soft spring breeze, and as
she listened the sounds grew more subdued, and finally passed out of
heivring. She lay absorbed in thought for many minutes, and then she
sighed, and said, " Oh ! if he were only with that band oi feUows, how
I could love him 1 "
In the course of the day a neighbour dropped in, and when the con-
versation turned upon the soldiers, the visitor said —
" Reginald de Whittaker looked rather down-hearted, and didn't shout
when he marched along with the other boys this morning. I expect it's
owing to you, Miss Loo ; though when I met him coming here yesterday
evening to teU you he 'd enlisted, he thought you 'd like it and be proud
of Mercy ! what in the nation 's the matter with the girl ] "
Nothing; only a sudden misery had fallen like a blight upon her heart,
and a deadly pallor telegraphed ife to her coantenance. She xoae up
>•<
!',''!
I i »
'I •]
II U
I /#'"! "
fo8
MAIiJC TWAIN'S WORKS,
without a word, and walked with a firm sLep oat of the room ; but onoe
within the sacred seclusion of her own chamber her strong will gave way,
and she burst into a flood of passionate tears. Bitterly she upbraided her-
self for her foolish haate of tne night before, and her harsh treatment of
her lover at the very moment that he had come to anticipate the proudest
wish of her heart, and to tell her that he had enrolled himself under the
battle-flag, and was going forth to fight as her soldier. Alas ! other
maidens would have soldiers in those glorious fields, and be entitled to
the sweet pain of feeling a tender solicitude for them, but she would be
unrepresented. No soldier in all the vast armies would breathe her
name as he breasted the crimson tide of war ! She wept again — or
rather, she went on weeping where she left off a moment before. In
her bitterness of spirit she almost cursed the precipitancy that had
brought all this sorrow upon her young life
For weeks she nursed her grief in silence, while the roses faded from
her cheeks. And through it all she clung to the hope that some da^ the
old love would bloom again in Reginald s heart, and he would write to
her ; but the long summer days dragged wearily along, and still no letter
came. The newspapers teemed with stories of battle and carnage, and
eagerly she read them, but always with the same result : the tears wellfd
ktp and blurred the closing lines — ^the name she sought was looked for in
vain, and the dull aching returned to her sinking heart. Letters to the
other girls sometimes contained brief mention of him, and presented
always the same picture of him — a morose, unsmiling, desperate man,
always in the thickest of the fight, begrimed with powder, and moving
calm and unscathed through tempests of shot and shell, as if he bore a
charmed life.
But at last, in a long list of maimed and killed, Poor Lucretia read
these terrible words, and fell fainting to the floor : — " R, D. Whittakcr^
-private soldier, desperately wounded I "
CHAPTER IV.
On a couch in one of the wards of an hospital at Washington lay a
wounded soldier ; his head was so profusely oandaged that his features
were not visible : but there was no mistaking the happy face of the
young girl who sat beside him — it was Lucretia Borgia Smith's. She
iijwi hunted him out several weeks before, and since that time she had
patiently watched by him and nursed him, coming in the morning as
soon as the surgeon nad finished dressing his wounds, and never leaving
him until relieved at nightfall. A ball had shattered his lower jaw, and
he could not utter a sv' '. j'3 ; through aU her weary vigils she had never
once been blessed with a grateful word from his dear lips ; yet she
stood to her post bravely and without a murmur, feeling that when he
did get well again she would hear that which would more than reward
her for all her devotion.
. At the hour we have chosen for the opening of this chapter, Lucietis
4 "'
BAKER'S CAT.
509
, in a tumult of happy excitement ; for the Burgeon had told her that
at last her Whittaker nad recovered sufficiently to admit of the removal
of the bandages from his head, and she was now waiting with feverish
impatience for the doctor to come and disclose the loved featuicH to her
view. At last he came, and Lucretia, with beaming eyes and Huttering
heart, bent over the couch with anxious expectancy. One bandage was
removed, then another and another, and lo I the poor wounded face was
revealed to the light of day.
"Omyowndar"
What have we here ? What is the matter ? Alas ! it was the face at
a stranger! .
Poor Lucretia! With one hand covering her upturned eyes, she
Etaggered back with a moan of anguish. Then a spasm of fury distorted
her countenance as she brought her fist down with a crash that made
the medicine-bottles on the table dance again, and exclaimed—
" Oh ! confound my cats, if I haven't gone and fooled away three
mortal weeks here, snuffling over the wrong soldier 1 "
It was a sad, sad truth. The wretched but innocent and unwitting
imposter was R. D., or Richard Dilworthy Whittaker, of Wisconsin, the
Boloier of dear little Eugenie Le Mulligan, of that State, and utterly
unknown to our unhappy Lucretia B. Smith !
Such is Ufe, and the tail of the serpent is over us alL Let us draw
the curtain over this melancholy history — for melancholy it must still
remain, during a season at least, for the real Reginald de Whittaker has
not tamed up yet.
''1
ji
( 1
'ii
il 1
BAKER'S CAT.
[The following is a Califomian story.]
WHENEVER Dick Baker, of Deadhorse Gulch, was out of luck,
and a little downhearted, he would fall to mourning over the
loss of a wonderful cat he used to own (for where women and
children are not, men of kindly impulse take up with pets, for they
must love something). And he always spoke of the strange sagacity of
that cat with the air of a man who believed in his secret heart that there
was something human about it — maybe even supematuiaL
I heard him talking about this animal once. He said, " Gentlemen,
I used to have a cat here by the name of Tom Quartz, which you 'd a
took an interest in, I reckon — most anybody would. I had him here
eight years, and he was the remarkablest cat I ever see. He was a
large grey one of the Tom specie, and he had more hard natural sense
than any man in this camp, and a power of dimity j he wouldn't let the
Gov'not of Oalifomia be familiar with him. He neTer ketched a zat in
i'.-
f
¥
' '}
d II
5 to
MARK TWAIN*S WORKS,
M'-\
\\ .'-
:f 'I
41
N
*'.i
his life — 'peared to be above it. He never cared for nothing but
milling. He knowed more about mining, that cat did, than any man I
ever see. You couldn't tell him nothing about placer digging, and aa
for pocket mining, why, he was just bom for it. He would dig out alter
me and Jim when we went over the hills nrospecting, and he would
trot along behind us for aa much as five mile, if we went so far. And
he had the best judgmout about mining ground — why, you never see
anything like it When we went to work he 'd scatter a glance around,
and if he didn 't think much of the indications, he would give a look as
much as to say, 'Well, 1 '11 have to ijet vou to excuse me ;' and without
unotlier woi 1 1 he 'd hyste his nose into the air and shove for home. But
if the ground suited him, he would lay low and keep dark till the first
pan was washed, and then he would sidle up and take a look, and if
there was about sir or seven grains of gold he was satisfied (he didn't
want no better prospect 'n that), and then he would lay down on our
coats and snore like a steamboat till we 'd struck the pocket, and then
get up and superintend.
" Well, by and by, up comes this quartz excitement. And everybody
was into it ; everybody was picking and blasting instead of shovelling dirt
on the hill side; everybody was putting down a shaft instead of scraping
the surface. Nothing would do Jim, but we must tackle the ledges
too — and so we did. We commenced putting down a shaft, and Tom
Quartz he began to wonder what in the dickens it was all about. He
hadn't ever seen any mining like that before, and he was all upset, as
you may say ; he couldn't come to a right understanding of it no way —
it was too many for him. He was down on it too, you bet you — he was
down on it powerful — and always appeared to consider it the cussedest
foolishness out. But that cat y ou know, he was always agin newfangled
arrangements — somehow he could never abide 'em. You know how it
is with old habits. But by and by Tom Quartz began to get sort of
reconciled a little, though he never could altogether understand that
eternal sinking of a shaft and never panning out anything. At last he
got to coming down in the shaft himself to try to cypher it out. And
when he 'd got the blues, and feel kind o' scrufly, aggravated, and dis-
gusted— -.knowing, as he did, that the hois was running up all the time,
and we wam't making a cent — he would curl up on a gunny sack in the
comer and go to sleep. Well, one day when the shaft we? down about
eight foot, the rock got so hard that we had to put in a blast— the first
blasting we *d ever done since Tom Quartz was bom.
" And then we lit the fuse, and dumb out, and got off about fifty yards,
and forgot and left Tom Quartz sound asleep on the gunny sack. In
about a minute we seen a puff of smoke burst up out of the hole, and
Uien everything let go with an awful crash, and about four million tons
of rocks, and dirt, and smoke, and splinters, shot up about a mile and a
half into the air ; wid, by George, right in the midst of it vas old Tcm
Quartz going end over end, and a-snorting, and a-sneezing, and a- clawing,
and a-reaching for things like all possessed. But It wam't no use, you
know ; it wam't no use. And that was the last we see of him for aliout
two minutes and % hil4 and then all of a sudden it begin to rain rocks and
STORY OF THE BAD LITTLE BOY,
5"
nothing but
in any man I
giring, and m
dig out alter
nd he would
BO far. And
you never see
glance around,
give a look as
' and witbuut
)r home. But
rk till the first
a look, and if
afied (he didn't
J down on our
)cket, and then
And everybody
: shovelling tUrt
tead of scraping
ickle the ledges
shaft, and Tow
all about. He
j^as all upset, as
g of it no way—
Det you— he was
it the cussedest
agin newfangled
ou know how it
a to get sort of
understand that
Lng. At last he
x&t it out And
^avated, and dis-
up all the time,
Jinny sack in the
[wj:? down about
blast— the first
about fifty yards,
Winy sack. In
Bf the hole, and
four million tons
put a mile and »
it vas old Tom
g, and a-clawing,
frn't no use, you
[of him for about
, rain rocks an^
rabbage, and direcUy he come down ker whop about ten foot off from
where we stood. Well, I reckon he was p'raps the omerie8t-lookii),'r»
beast you ever see. One ear wu.s sot back on his neck, and his tail w 'm
itove up, and hia eye winkers was singed olT, and he was all blacked
ap with powder and smoke^ and all slopj)y with mud and alush from one
end to tue other. Well, sir, it warn't no use to try to apologise ; we
couldn't say a word. lie took a sort of a disgusted look at hisself, and
then he looked at us ; and it was just exactly the same as if he had
said, ' Gents, may he you think it 's smart to take advantuj^'e of a cat that
ain't had no experience in quartz-mining, but I think diflerent ! ' and
then he turned on his heel and marched off home, without ever saying
another word.
" That was jest his style. And maybe you won't believe it ; but after
that you never see a cat so prejudiced against quartz-mining as what he
was.
you
And, by and by, when he did get to going down in the shaft agin
. — da been astonished at his sa^'acity. The minute we'd touch off a
Dlast and the fuse 'd begin to sizzle, ho 'd give a look as much as to say,
* Well, I '11 have to get you to excuse me ; * and it was surprising the
ray he 'd climb out ot that hole and go for a tree. Sagacity ? It aint
n/i »,..in« fni. if 'Twa«i iuspiratlou ! "
DO name for it.
I said, " Well, Mr Baker, this prejudice against quartz-mining was re-
markable, considering how he came by it. Couldirt you ever cure him
ofitr'
" Cure him 1 No. When Tom Quartz was sot once he was aiwaya
got, and you might a blowed him up as much as three million times, and
you'd never a broke him of his cussed prejudice agin quartz-mining."
The affection and the pride that lit up Baker's face when he delivered
this tribute to the firmness of his humble friend of other days will
always be a vivid memory with me.
STORY OF THE BAD LITTLE BOY.
ONCE there was a bad little boy whose name was Jim — though, if
you will notice, you wiU find that bad little boys are nearly alwayg
called James in your Sunday-school books. It was veiy strange,
but still it was true that this one was called Jim.
He didn't have any sick mother either — a sick mother who was pioui
and had the consumption, and would be glad to lie down in the grave
and be at rest but for the strong love she bore her boy, and the anxiety
she felt that the world would be harsh and cold towards him when she
was gone. Most bad boys in the Sunday-books are named James, and
have sick mothers, who teach them to say, " Now, I lay me down, &c.,
aii<l sins them to deep with sweet, plainUve voices, and then kisB them
I
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23 WeST MAIN STREET
WEBSTER, N.Y. MSSO
(716) 872-4 S03
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MARK TWAIN'S WORKS,
M
t 4
eood-night, and kneel down by the bedside and weep. But it waa dlf-
rerent with thia fellow. He waa named Jim, and there waant anythins
the matter with his mother — no consumption, nor anything of that kina
Slie was rather stout than otherwise, and she was not pious ; moreover,
she was not anxious on Jim's account. She said if he were to break his
neck it wouldn't be much loss. She always spanked Jim to sleep, and
she never kissed him good-night ; on the contrary, she boxed his ears
when she was ready to leave him.
Once this little bad boy stole the key of the pantry, and slipped in
there and helped himself to some jam, and filled up the vessel with tar,
so that his mother would never know the difference ; but aU at once a
terrible feeling didn't come over him, and something didn't seem to
whisper to him, *' Is it ri^ht to disobey my mother ? Isn't it sinful to do
thisr Where do bad little boys go who gobble up their good kind
mother's jam 1 " and then he didn't kneel down all alone and promise
never to be wicked any more, and rise up with a Hght, happy heart, and
go and tell his mother all about it, and beg her forgiveness, and be
blessed by her with tears of pride and thankl'ulness in her eyes. No ;
that is the way with all other bad boys in the books ; but it happened
otherwise with this Jim, strangely enough. He ate that jam, ana said
it was bully, in his sinful, vulgar way ; and he put in the tar, and said
that was bully also, and laughed, and observed "that the old woman
would get up and snort " when she found it out ; and when she did find
it out, he denied knowing anvthing about it, and she whipped him
severely, and he did the crying hims^f. Everythinjg about this boy waa
curious — everything turned out differently with him from the way it
does to the bad Jameses in the books.
Once he climbed up in Farmer Acorn's apple-tree to steal apples, and
the limb didn't break, and he didn't fall and oreak his arm, and get tore
by the farmer's great dog, and then languish on a sick bed for weeks,
and repent and become good. Oh ! no ; he stole as many apples as he
wanted, and came down all right ; and he was aU ready for the dog too,
and knocked him endways with a rock when he came to tear him. It
was ver]^ strange— nothing like it ever happened in those mild little
books with marbled backs, and with pictures in them of men with
swallow-tailed coats and bell-crowned hats, and pantaloons that are
short in the legs, and women with the waists of their dresses under theii
arms, and no hoops on. Nothing like it in any of the Sunday-sdiool
books.
Once he stole the teacher's penknife, and, when he was afraid it
would be found out and he would get whipped, he slipped it into
Oeorge Wilson's cap — poor Widow Wilson's son, the moral boy, the
good little boy of the village, who always obeyed his mother, and never
told an untruth, and was fond of his lessons, and infatuated with Sunday-
school. And when the knife drop;^ed from the cap, and poor George
hung his head and blushed, as ii in conscious guilt, and the grieved
teacher charged the theft upon him, and was just in the very act of
bringing the switch down upon his trembling shoulders, a white*
haired. impiobaULe justice of the peace did not suddenly appear in
STORY OF THE BAD LITTLE SOY.
513
But it was dll-
rasn't anything
ag of that kind.
0U8 ; moreover,
Bie to break hia
m to sleep, and
boxed hia ears
and slipped in
vessel with tar,
ut all at once a
r didn't seem to
a't it sinful to do
their good kind
one and promise
happy heart, and
•giveness, and b«
t her eyes. No ;
but it happened
lat jam, and said
the tar, and said
it the old woman
when she did find
she whipped him
ibout this boy was
from the way it
, steal apples, and
, arm, and get tore
^ck bed for weeks,
nany apples as he
iy for the dog too,
[e to tear him. It
tiiose mild little
dem of men with
fntaloons that are
[•esses under their
le Sunday-school
he was afraid it
ke slipped it into
[e moral boy, the
aother, and never
ited with Sund&y-
L and poor George
\ and the grieved
n the very act ol
^ulders, a white-
Iddenly appear u»
their midst, and strike an attitude ana say, "Spar« this noblu Ixiy
— there stands the cowering culprit ! 1 was passiug the school-door
at receee, and, unseen myself, I saw the theft committed ! " And
then Jim didn't get whaled, and the venerable justice didn't read
the tearful school a homily, and take George by the hand and say such
a boy deserved to be exalted, and then tell him to come and make his
home with him, and sweep out the office, and make fires, and run errands,
and chop wood, and study law, and help his wife to do household
iabours, and have all the balance of the time to play, and get forty cents
a month, and be happy. No ; it would have happened that way in the
books, but it didn't mippen that way to JinL No meddling old clam
of a justice dropped in to make trouble, and so the model bov Qeorge
got thrashed, and Jim was glad of it, because, you know, Jim hated
moral boys. Jim said he was " down on them milksops." Such waa
the coarse language of this bad, neglected boy.
But the strangest thing that ever happened to Jim was the time
he went boating on Sunday, and didn't get drowned, and that other
time that he got caught out in the storm when he was fishing on Sun-
day, and didn't get struck by lightning. Why, you might look, and
look, and look through the Sunday-school books from now till next
Christmas, and you would never come across anything like this. Oh
no ; you would find that all the bad boys who go boating on Sunday
invariablv get drowned ; and all the bad boys who get caught out in
storms when they are fishing on Sunday infallibly get struck by light-
ning. Boats with bad bovs in them always upset on Sunday, and it
always storms when bad boys go fishing on the Sabbath. How this
Jim ever escaped is a mystery to me.
This Jim bore a charmed life — that must have been the way of
it Nothing could hurt him. He even gave the elephant in the mena-
gerie a plug of tobacco, and the elephant didn't knock the top of his
head off with his trunk. He browsed around the cup^>oard after essence
of peppermint, and didn't make a mistake and drink aqua j^rtis. He
stole nis fathers gun and went hunting on the Sabbath, and Jidtj'* shoot
three or four of ms fingers off. He struck his little sister on the teui le
«rith his fist when he was angry, and she didn't linger in pain through
long summer days, and die with sweet words of forgiveness upon hei
lips that redoubled the anguish of his breaking heart. No ; she got
over it. He ran off and went to sea at last, and didn't come back and
find himself sad and alone in the world, his loved ones sleeping in the
quiet churchyard, and the vine-embowered home of his boyhood tumbled
down and gone to decay. Ah ! no ; he came home drunk as a piper,
and got into the station-house the first thing.
And he ^w up and married, and raised a large family, and brained
them all with an axe one nignt, and got wealthy by all manner of
cheating and rascality ; and now he is tne infemalest, wickedest scoun-
drel in his native village, and is universally respected, and belongs to
the Legislature.
So you see ther« never was a bad James in the Sunday-school books
that had aueh a streak of lock as this sinfal Jim wi^H the charmed life.
i,
! :1
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$K4
MARK TWAIN'S WORKS.
If';' !
m/'ii
THE STORY OF THE GOOD LITTLE BOY
WHO DID NOT PROSPER.
[Th« following has been written at the instance of several literary friends, who
Ihonght that, if the history of '* The Bad Little Boy who Did not Come to
Orief " (a moral sketch which I published five or six years ago) was worthy of
{)reservation several weeks in print, a fair and unprejudiced oompanion'piece to
t would deserve a similar immorttJity. J
ONCE there was a good little boy by the ntune of Jacob BlivenB. He
always obeyed his parents, no matter how absurd and unreason-
able their demands were ; and he always learned his book, and
never was late at Sabbath-school. He would not play hookey, even
when his sober judgment told him it was the most profitable thing he
could do. None oi the other boys could ever make that boy out, 1m
acted so strangely. He wouldn't lie, no matter how convenient it was.
He just said it was wrong to lie, and that was sufficient for him. And
he was so honest that he was simply ridiculous. The curious ways that
that Jacob hud surpassed everything. He wouldn't play marbles on
Sunday, he wouldn't rob birds' nests, he wouldn't give hob pennies to
organ-grinders' monkeys ; he didn't seem to take any interest in any
kind of rational amusement So the other boys used to try to reason
it out and come to an understanding of him, but they couldn't arrive at
any satisfactory conclusion. As I said before, they could only figure out
a sort of vague idea that he was " afflicted," and so they took him under
their protection, and never allowed any harm to come to him.
This good little boy read all the Sunday-school books ; they were his
greatest delight This was the whole secret of it. He believed in the
good little boys they put in the Sunday-school books ; he had every con-
fidence in them. He longed to come across one of them alive, once ; but
he never did. They all died before his time, maybe. Whenever he
read about a particularly good one he turned over quickly to the end to
see what became of him, because he wanted to travel thousands of miles
and ^aze on him ; but it wasn't any use ; that good little boy always
died in the last chapter, and there was a picture of the funeral, with all
his relations and the Sunday-school children standing around the grave
in pantaloons that were too short, and bonnets that were too large, and
•verybody crying into handkerchiefs that had as much as a yard and &
half of stuff in them. He was always headed off in this way. He never
could see one of those good little boys on account of his always dying in
the last chapter.
Jacob had a noble ambition to be put in a Sunday-school book H«
wanted to be put in, with pictures representing him gloriously declining
to lie to hia mother, and her weeping for joy about it ; and pictures repre-
tantang him itandin^ on the doontep giving a penny to a poor beggar-
wonua with six children, and telLuog her to speixd it firaely, bat nut
li tl
I
STORY OF A GOOD LITTLE BOY.
fi5
'LE BOY
oraryfriendB, ^he
Did not Come to
kgo) WM worthy ol
jompanion*P*®®® ^
kcobBlivena. He
•d and unreaaon-
ed his book, and
lay hookey, even
rofitable thing he
that boy out, h«
convenient it wa&
Qt for him. And
curiou8 ways that
b play marbles on
ve hot pennies to
ay interest in any
ed to try to reason
f couldn't arrive at
uld only figure out
ey took him under
to him. .
,k8 ; they were hia
le believed in the
, he had every con-
m alive, once ; but
Ibe. Whenever he
ickly to the end to
thousands of miles
little boy always
te funeral, with all
g around the grave
fere too large, and
jh as a yard and t
• • way. He nevei
always dying in
/-school book. H«
{lorioualy declining
land picture* repre-
to » poor bcgg»T-
it ftwsly, but not
Id b« •ztraTa(;ant, becauae extiavaguice is a ain ; and piotoNt of him
mafinaQimoiiBly refunng to tell on the bad boy who alwayi lay in wait for
him around the comer aa he came from school, and welted him over th*
head with a lath, and then chased him home, aaying, " Hi ! hi 1 " aa ha
proceeded. That was the ambition of young Jacob Blivena. He wiahed
to be put in a Sundav-school book. It made him feel a little uncom-
fortable sometimes when he reflected that the good little boys always died.
He loved to live, you know, and this was the most unpleasant feature about
being a Sunday-school-bouk boy. He knew it was not healthy to be good.
He knew it was more fatal than consumption to be so supematurally
good as the boys in the books were ; he knew that none of them had
ever been able to stand it long, and it pained him to think that if thcT
put him in a book he wouldn't ever see it. or even if they did get the book
out before he died it wouldn't be popular without any picture of hia
funeral in the back part of it. It couldn't be much of a Sunday-school
book that couldn't tell about the advice he gave to the community when
he was dying. So at last, of course, he had to make up his mind to do
the best he could under the circumstances — to live right, and hang on aa
long as he could, and have his dying speech all ready when his time
aame.
But somehow nothing ever went right with this good little boy ;
nothing ever turned out with him the way it turned out with the gciod
little l^ys in the books. Thev always had a good time, and tiie bad boys
had the broken legs ; but in his case there was a screw loose somewhere,
and it all happened just the other way. When he found Jim Blake
stealing apples, and went under the tree to read to him about the bad
little boy who fell out of a neighbour's apple-tree and broke his arm,
Jim fell out of the tree too, but he fell on him, and broke ht$ arm, and
Jim wasn't hurt at all. Jacob couldn't understand that. There wasn't
anything in the books like it
And once, when some bad boys pushed a blind man over in the mud,
and Jacob ran to help him up and receive his blessing, the blind man
did not give him any blessing at all, but whacked him over the head
with his stick and said he would like to catch him shoving him again,
and then pretending to help him up. This was not in accordance with
any of the books. Jacob looked them all over to see.
One thing that Jacob wanted to do was to find a lame dog that hadn't
any place to stay, and was hungry and persecuted, and bring him home
and pet him and have that dog's imperishable gratitude. And at last he
found one and was happy ; and he brought him home and fed him, but
when he was going to pet him the dog flew at him and tore all the
clotibea off him except those that were in front, and made a spectacle of
him that was astonishing. He examined authorities, but he could not
understand the matter. It was of the same breed of dogs that was in
Uie books, but it acted ver^ differently. Whatever this ooy did he got
into trouble. The very things the boys in the books got rewarded for
turned out to be about the most unprofitable things he could invest in.
Once, when he was on his way to Sunday-school, he saw some bad boya
itarting off plaaauring in a sail-boat He was filled with conateniAtioo,
Hi
1'
w
»i
lfC'1
:1«
It; 4
ft .
Si6
MAHIC TWAIirS WORKS.
beoftUM he knew from hu reading that boys who went sailinff on Sunday
inTaiiably got drowned. So he ran ont on a raft to warn uiem, but a
log turned with him and slid him into the river. A man got him out
pretty soon, and the doctor pumped the water out of him, and gave him
a £ra8h start with his beUows, but he caught coM and lay sick a-bed
nine weeks. But the most unaccountable thing about it was that ths
bad boys in the boat had a good time all day, and then reached home
alive and weU in the most surprising manner. Jacob Blivens said there
was nothing like these things in the books. He was perfectly dumb-
founded.
When he got weU he was a little discouraged, but he resolved to keep
on trying anyhow. He knew that so far his experiences wouldn't do to
E} in a book, but he hadn't yet reached the allotted term of life for good
ttle boys, and he hoped to be able to make a record yet if he could hold
on tm his time was fully up. If everything else failed he had his dying
speech to fall back on.
He examined his authorities, and found that it was now time for him
to go to sea as a cabin-bov. He called on a ship captain and made hfs
application, and when the captain asked for his recommendations he
proudly drew out a tract and pointed to the words, " To Jacob Blivens,
from his affectionate teacher." But the captain was a coarse, vulgar man,
and he said, " Oh, that be blowed ! (hat wasn't any proof that he knew
how to wash dishes or handle a slush-bucket, and he guessed he didn't
want him." This was altogether the most extraordinary thing that ever
happened to Jacob in all his life. A compliment from a teacher, on a
tract, had never failed to move the tenderest emotions of ship captains,
and open the way to all offices of honour and profit in their gift — it
never nad in any book that ever hi had read. He could hardly believe
his seniles.
This boy always had a hard time of it Nothing ever came out
according to the authorities with him. At last, one day, when he was
around hunting up bad little boys to admonish, he found a lot of them
in the old iron foundry fixing U]p a little joke on fourteen or fifteen dogs,
which they had tied together in long processi£>n, and were going to
ornament with empty nitro-glycerine cans made fast to their tails.
Jacob's heart was touched. Ue sat down on one of those cans (for he
never minded grease when duty was before him), and he took hold of the
foremost dog by the collar, and turned his reproving eye upon wicked
Tom Jonea. But just at that moment Alderman McWdter, full of
wrath, stepped in. All the bad boys ran away, but Jacob Blivens rose
in conscious innocence and began one oi bhose stately little Sunday-
■chool-book speeches which always commence with " Oh, sir ! " in dead
opposition to the fact that no boy, good or bad, ever starts a remark with
'^ Oh, sir : * But the alderman never waited to hear the rest. He took
Jacob Blivens by the ear and turned him around, and hit him a whack
in the rear with the flat of his hand ; and in an instant that good little
boy shot out through the roof and soared away towards the sun, with
the fragments of those fifteen dogs stringing after him like the tail of a
kite. And ther* wvan't a si^ of that aldennan or that old iron foondiy
THE SUNDA Y-SCMOOL,
«17
left on the face of the earth ; and, aa for Tonng Jacob Blivena, he never
got a chance to make his last dying speech after all his trouble fixing it
np, unless he made it to the birds ; because, although the bulk of him
came down all right in a tree-top in an adjoining county, the rest of liim
was apportioned around among four townships, and so they had to hold
five inquests on him to find out whether he was dead or not, and how it
occurred. You never saw a boy scattered so.
Thus perished the good little'boy who did the l)est he could, but didn't
come out according to the hooks. Everj' boy who ever did as he did
prospered except him. His case is truly 'remarkably, It will probably
never be accounted for.
J
THE SUNDAY-SCHOOL.
TJST about the close of that long, hard winter," said the Sunday-
school superintendent, " as I was wending toward my duties
one brilliant Sabbath morning, I glanced down toward tiie
levee, and there lay the Gity of Hartford steamer ! No mistake about
it : there she was, puffing and nanting after her long pilgrimage through
the ice. A glad sight f Weil, I should say so ! And then came a
pang right away because I should have to instruct empty benches, sure ;
the youngsters would all be off welcoming the first steamboat of the
season. You can imagine how surprised I was when I opened the door
and saw half the benches full ! My gratitude was free, large, and sin-
cere. I resolved that they should not find me unappreciative.
'* I said, ' Boys, you cannot think how proud it makes me to see you
here, nor what renewed assurance it gives me of your affection. I con-
fess that I said to myself, as I came along and saw that the City of
Hartford WQB in*
'''No I hut is tihe, though f
** And, as quick as any flash of lightning, I stood in the piessnce of
empty benches 1 I had brought them the news mjsell*
i I
1:1
w
I'''
W
%
'i< , 1
:]f II'
If
|i« MAXX TIVA/N'S WORKS,
POOR HUMAN NATURE.
THERE are some natures which never grow large enough to wptnik
out, and eaj a bad act i* a bad act until they have inquired into
the politics or the nationality of the man who did it And they
are not really Bcarce, either. Cain is branded a murderer so heartily
and unanimously in America only because he was neither a Democrat
nor a Republican. The Feejee Islander's abuse of Cain ceased very
suddenly when the white man mentioned casually that Cain was •
Feejee IslaDder.
The next remark of the savage, after an awkward pause, was, " Well,
what did Abel come fooling around there for ? **
11
A TOUCHING STORY OF GEORGE
WASHINGTON'S BOYHOOD.
IF it please your neighbour to break the sacred calm of night with the
snorting of an unholy trombone, it is your dut^ to put up with hi«
wretcheii music and your privUege to pity him for the unhappy
instinct that moves him to delight in such discordant sounds. I did not
always think thus : this consideration for musical amateurs was bom oi
certain disagreeable personal experiences that once followed the develop-
ment of a luce instinct in myself. Now, this infidel over the way, who
is learning to play on the trombone, and the slowness of whose progress
is almost miraculous, goes on with his harrowing work every nighty
uncursed by me, but tenderly pitied. Ten years ago, for the same
offence, I would have set fire to his house. At that time I was a prey to
an amateur violinist for two or three weeks, and the sufferings I endured
at his hands are inconceivable. He played '< Old Dan Tudker," and he
never played an^hing else ; but he performed that so badly that he
could throw me mto fits with it if I were awake, or into a nightmare if
I were asleep. As long as he confined himself to "Dan Tucker,"
though, I bore with him and abstained from violence ; but when he
projected a fresh outrage, and tried to do " Sweet Home,'' I went over
and burnt him out. My next assailant was a wretch who felt a call to
play the clarionet He only played the scale, however, with his dis-
tressing instrumetat, and I let him run the length of his tether also ; but,
finally, when he branched out into a ghastly tune, I felt my reason
deserting me under the exquisite torture, and I sallied forth and burnt
him out likewise. During the next two years I burned out an amateur
comet player, a bugler, a bassoon-sophomore, and a barbarian whos*
laUnts ran in the haw-drum lino.
STORY OF GEORGE WASHINGTON'S BOYHOOD, 519
lougb to ipeak
^e inquired into
i it And they
erer so heartily
Lher a Democrat
ain ceased very
lat Cain was a
ise, was, " Well,
rEORGE
OD.
of night with tho
I put up with hi«
for the unhappy
tiinds. I did not
>UTB was bom 01
.ed the develop-
/er the way, who
ff whose progress
»rk every night,
"0, for the same
[e I was a prey to
fcrings I endured
Tu(ier," and he
badly that he
_ a nightmare if
"Dan Tucker"
but when he
ae," I went over
7ho felt a call to
_^ with his difl-
ftether also ; but,
felt my reason
forth and burnt
out an amateur
rbaiian whoM
I would certainly have scorched this trombone man if he had moved
into my neighbournood in those days. But as I said before, I leave him
to his own destruction now, because I have had experience as an amateur
myself, and I feel nothing but compassion for that kind of people.
Besides I have learned that there lies dormant in the souls of all men a
penchant for some particular musical instrument, and an unsuspected
yearning to learn to pl^ on it, that are bound to wake up and demand
attention some day. Therefore, you who rail at such as disturb your
slimibers with unsuccessful and demoralising attempts to subjugate a
fiddle, beware ! for sooner or later your own time will come. It is cus-
tomarv and popular to curse these amateurs when they wrench you out
of a pleasant dream at night with a peculiarly diabolical note ; but seeing
that we are all made alike, and must all develop a distorted Ulent foi
music in the fulness of time, it is not right. I am charitable to my
trombone maniac ; in a moment of inspiration he fetches a snort some-
times, that brings me to a sitting posture in bed, broad awake and
weltering in a cold perspiration. Perhaps my first thought is, that there
has been an earthc[uake ; peihaps I hear the trombone, and uiy next
thought is, that suicide and the silence of the grave would be a happy
release from this nightly agony ; perhaps the old instinct comes st7 ong
upon me to go after my matches ; but my first cool, collected tho ight
is, that the trombone man's destiny is upon him, and he is workLag it
out in suffering and tribulation ; and I banish from me the unworthy
instinct that would prompt me to bum him out.
After a long immunity from the dreadful insanity that moves a man
to become a musician in defiance of the wiU of God that he should con-
fine himself to sawing wood, I finally fell a victim to the Instrument
tiiey call the accordion. At this day 1 hate that contrivance as fervently
us any man can, but at the time I speak of I suddenly acquired an
idolatrous affection for it. I got one of powerful capacity, and learned
to play "Days of Absence" on it. It seems to me, row, that I must
have been gifted with a sort of inspiration to be enab? J,, in the state of
ignorance in which I then was, to select out of the whole r nge of musical
composition the one solitary tune that sounds most distressing on the
accordion. I do not suppose there is another tune in the world with
which I could have infidcted so much anguish upon my race as I did
with that one during my short musical career.
After I had been playing " Days of Absence " about a week, I had tho
vanity to think I could improve the original melody, and I set about
adding some little flourishes and variations to it, but with rather indif-
ferent success, I suppose, as it brought my landlady into my preeencs
with an expression about her of being opposed to such desperate . enters
prises. Said she, " Do you know any oUier tune but that, Mr Twain ? "
I told her^ meeklv, that I did not " Well, then," said she, " stick to i^
)ast aa it 18 ; donMi put any variations to it, because it 's rough enough on
tho boarders the way it is now."
The £»ci ia, it was oomothing tsjx^ than simply "roQgh enough* on
them; it WMidtogothor too Ton(;h; half of them left od the otbv half
f90
MARK TWAIN'S WORKS*
iMilf^
■
^^^BUrl^^^^^^^^K '1
H'
H
wofold hftTe followed, but Mn Jonae ured them by disolutrgiiif me from
the premises.
I only stayed one niffht at my next lod^g-house. Mrs Smith
was after me early in the luoming. She said, " You can go, sir ; 1
don't want you here : I have had one of your kind before — a poor
lunatic, that played the banjo and danced break-downs, and jarred the
glass all out of the windows. You kept me awake all night, and if you
was to do it again I 'd take and smash that thing over your head ! I
could see that this woman took no delight in music, and I moved to
Mrs Brown's.
For three nights in succession I gave my new neighbours " Days of
Absence," plain and unadulterated, save by a few discords that rather
improved tne (general effect than otherwise. But the yenr first time I
tried the variations the boarders mutinied. I never did find anybody
that would stand those variations. I was very well satisfied with my
efforts in that house, however, and I left it without any regrets ; I drove
one boarder as mad as a March hare, and another one tried to scalp his
mother.
I went to board at Mrs Murphy's, an Italian lady of many excellent
qualities. The very first time I struck up the variations, a haggard,
care* worn, cadaverous old man walked into my room and stood beaming
upon me a smile of ineffable happiness. Then he placed his hand upon
my head, and looking devoutly aloft, he said with unction, and in
a voice trembling with emotion, " Qod bless you, young man ! God
bless you ! for you have done that for me which ifi beyond all praise.
For years I have suffered from an incurable disease, and knowing my
doom was sealed and that I must die, I have striven with all my power
to resign myself to my fate, but in vain — the love of life was too strong
within me. But Heaven bless you, my benefactor! for since I heard
you play that tune and those variations, I do not want to live any longer
— I am entirely resigned — I am willing to die— in fact, I am anxious to
die." And then the old man fell upon my neck and wept a flood of
happy tears. I was surprised at these things ; but I could not help feel-
ing a little proud at what I had done, nor could I help giving the old
gentleman a parting blast in the way of some peculiarly laceratmg varia-
tions as he went out at the door. They doubled him up like a jack-knife,
and the next time he left his bed of pain and suffering he was all right,
in a metallic coffin.
My passion for the accordion finally spent itself and died out, and I
was glad when I foimd myself free from its unwholesome influence.
While the fever was upon me, I was a living, breathing calamity where-
ever I went, and desolation and disaster followed in my wake. I bred
discord in families, I crushed the spirits of the light-heturt^d, I drove the
melancholy to despair, I hurried invalids to premature dissolution, and
I fear I disturbed the very dead in their graves. I did inckldUable
harm, and inflicted untold suffering upon my race with my execrable
music ; and yet to atone for it all, I did but one single bleined act, in
making that weary old man willing to go to hi* long uome.
WTT-ISSPIRATIONS JF THE •TWO-YEAR-OLDS,'* $2\
Still, I derired tome Uttle benent from that ftccordi<m ; for whil« I
oontinued to praetiBe on it, I never had to pay any board — landlords were
always willing to compromiae, on my leaving before the monUi was np.
Now, I had two objects in view in writing the foregoing, one of which
was (o try and reconcile people to those poor unfortunates who feel that
thev have a ^;enius for music, and who drive their neighbours crazy every
night in trving to develop and cultivate it ; and the other was to intro-
duce an admirable story about Little George Washington, who could
Not Lie, and the Cheny-Tree— or the Apple-Tree — I have forgotten now
which, although it was told me only yesterday And writing such a
long and elaborate introductory has caused me to forget the story itself ;
bnt it waa very touching.
ENIGMA.
NOT wishing to be outdone in literary enterprise by those mAgazines
which have attractions especially desired for the pleasing of the
fancy and the streiigthenmg of the intellect of youth, we have
rontrived and builded the following enigma, at great expense <^ time and
labour: —
I am a word of 13 letters.
My 7, 9, 4, 4, is a village in Europe.
My 7, 14, 6, 7, is a kind of dog.
My 11, 13, 13, 9, 2, 7, 2, 3, 6, 1, 13. is a peculiar kind of stuff.
My 2, 6, 12, 8, 9, 4, is the name of a great general of ancient times
(have spelt it to best of ability, though may have missed the bull's eye
on a letter or two, but not enough to signify).
My 3, 11, 1, 9, 16, 2, 2 6, 2, 9, 13, 2, 6, 16, 4, 11, 2, 3, 5, 1, 10, 4, 8,
is the middle name of a Russian philosopher, up whose full cognomen
fame is slowly but surely climbing.
My 7, 11, 4, 12, 3, 1, 1, 9, is an obscure but very proper kind of buja;.
My whole is — but perhaps a reasonable amount of diligence and in-
genuity will reveal that
We take a just pride in offering the customary gold pen or cheap
sewing-machine for comet solutions of the aboTO.
WIT-INSPIRATIONS OF THE "TWO
YEAR OLDS."
AUj infants appear to have an impertinent and disagreeable fashion
now-a-days of saying '^ smart " things on most oecadons that offer,
and e8X>ecuiUy on occasions when they ought not to be saying any-
thing at all. Judf^mg by the averBge pnbliihed specimans of smart say-
$22
HARK TWAIirS WORKS,
mi
inga, the riging generation of children are little better than idioti. And
the parents miiBt rarely be but little better than the ohildrenf for in moat
caaea thej are the publiahers of the Bunbursta of infantile imbecility
which dazzle ub from the pagea of our periodicala. I may seem to speak
with some heat, not to say a suspicion of personal spite ; and I do admit
that it nettles me to hear about so many gifted infants in these days, and
remember that I seldom said anything smart when I was a child. I
tried it once or twice, but it was not popular. The family were not ex-
pecting brilliant remarks from me, and so they snubbed me sometimes,
and spanked me the rest. But it makes my flesh creep and my blood
run cold to think what might haye happened to me if I had dared to
utter some of the smart mings of this generation's "four-year-olds"
where my father could hear me. To haye simply skinned me aliye and
considered his duty at an end would haye seemed to him criminal leni-
ency towards one so sinning. He was a stem, unsmiling man, and hated
all forms of precocity. If I had said some of the things I haye referred
to, and said them m his hearing, he would haye destroyed me. He
would, indeed he would, proyided the opportunity remained with him.
But it would not, for I would haye had judgment enough to take some
strychnine first and say my smart thing afterward. The fair record of
my life haa been tarnished by just one pun. My father oyerheard that,
and he hunted me oyer four or fiye townships seeking to take my life.
If I had been full-grown of course he would naye been right ; but, child
aa I was, I could not know how wicked a thing I had done.
I made one of those remarks ordinarily called " smart things " before
that, but it was not a pun. Still, it came near causing a serious rupture
between my father and myself. My father and mother, my uncle £ph*
raim and lus wife, and one or two others, were present, and the conyer-
sation turned on a name for me. I was lymg there trying some
India-rubber rings of yarious patterns, and endeayouring to make a
selection, for I was tired of trying to cut my teeth on people's fingers,
and wanted to get hold of something that would enable me to hurry the
thing through and get at something else. Did you eyer notice wnat a
nuisance it was cutting your teeth on your nurse's finger, or how back-
breaking and tiresome it was trying to cut them on your big toe ? And
did you neyer get out of patience and wish ^our teeth were m Jericho
long before you got them half cut ? To me it seems as if these things
happened yesterday. And they did, to some children. But I digreas.
I was lying there trying the India-rubber rings. I remember looking at
the clock and noticing uiat in an hour and twenty-fiye minutes I would
be two weeks old, and thinking to myself how little I had done to merit
the blessings that were so unsparingly layished upon me.
My father said, ''Abraham ia a good name. My gxandfiather waa
named Abraham."
My mother said, ''Abraham ia a good name. Yeij well. Let iii
have Abndiam for one of his namea."
I said, '* Abraham snxti the subaciiber." " * ' * - ' r
My &ther frowned, my mother looked pleased.
My aunt aud, " What a little dading it ia I "
WIT^INSPIRATIONS OF THE •^TWO-YEAR-OLDS,'' Pj
Mj fatlier said, " Iiaao is a f;;ood iiim«, and Jacob ia a good name."
My mother assented and said, "No names are better. Let na add
Isaac and Jacob to his names."
J said, " All riffht Isaac and Jacob are good enough for jours tmly.
Pass me that ratUe, if you please. I can't diew India-rubber rings all
dar."
Not a soul made a memorandum of these sayings of mine for publica-
tion. I saw tliat, and did it mvself, else they would have been utterly
lorit So far from meeting witn a generous encouragement like other
children when developing intellectually, I was now furiously scowled
upon by my father ; my mother looked grieved and anxious, and even
my aunt had about her an expression of seemirg to think that maybe I
had gone too far. I took a vicious bite out of an India-rubber ring, and
eovertly broke the rattle over the kitten's head, but said nothing.
Presently my father said, " Samuel is a very excellent name.''
I saw that trouble was coming. Nothing could prevent it. I laid
down my rattle ; over the side of the cradle I dropped my uncle's silver
watch, the clothes brush, the toy dog, my tin soldier, the nutmeg-grater,
and other matters which I was accustomed to examine and meditate
upon and make pleasant noises with, and bang and batter and break
wnen I needed wholesome entertainment Then I put on my little
frock and my little bonnet, and took my pigmy shoes in one hand and
my liquorice in the other, and climbed out on the floor. I said to myself,
Now, if the worst comes to the worst I am ready.
Then I said aloud, in a firm voice, " Father, I cannot, cannot wear the
name of SamueL"
** My son ? "
" Father, I mean it. I cannot**
«Whv?''
" Father, I have an invincible antipathy to that name."
" My son, this is unreasonable. Miiny great and good men have been
named Samuel."
'' Sir, I have yet to hear of the fiibt instance."
"What! There was Samuel the prophet Was not he great and
good?"
" Not so very."
" My son ! With His own voice the Lord called him."
" Yes, sir, and had to call him a couple of times before he would
come ! "
And then I sallied forth, and that stem old man sallied forth after
me. He overtook me at noon the following dav, and when the inter-
view was over I had acquired the name of Samuel, and a thrashing and
other useful information ; and by means of this compromiae my father's
wrath was appeased, and a misunderstanding bridged over, which
might have become a permanent rupture if I baa chosen to be unreason-
able. But just judging bv this episode, what would my father have done
to me if I had ever utitered in his hearing one of the flat aickly thingi
these "two-veaiK>lda" sav in print nowHb-dayit- In mj opinion then
would have Man a oaie of infaimoide in our family.
\
■-k. ^.,.j..
5*4
MARK TWAIN'S WORKS.
iLi
DAN MURPHY.
ONE of the saddest thingg that ever came under my notice (said th«
banker's clerk) was there in doming, during the war. Dan
Murphy enlisted as a private, and fought very bravely. The boys
all liked him, and, when a wound by and by wes^ened him down till
carrying a musket was too heavy work for him, they clubbed together
and fixed him up as a sutler. He made money then, and sent it iQways
to his wife to bank for him. She was a wasner and ironer, and knew
enough by hard experience to keep money when she' ^ot it. She didn't
waste a penny. On the contrary, she began to get miserly as her bank
account grew. She grieved to part with a cent, poor creature, for twice
in her hard-working life she had known what it was to be hungry, cold,
friendless, sick, and without a dollar in the world, and she had a haunt-
ing dread of suffering so again. Well, at last Dan died ; and the boys,
in testimony of their esteem and respect for him, telegraphed to Mn
Murphy to know if she would like to have him embalmed and sent
home ; when you know the usual custom was to dump a poor devil like
him into a shallow hole, and tlitn inform his friends what had become
of him. Mrs Murphy jumped to the conclusion that it would only cost
two or three dollars to embalm her dead husband, and so she telegraphed
" Yes." It was at the " wake " that the bill for embalming arrived, and
was presented to the widow.
3he uttered a wild sad wail that pierced every heart, and sai^
" Sivinty-foive dollars for stoofl&n* Dan, blister their sowls ! Did thim
divils suppose I was goin' to stairt a Museim, that I 'd be dalin' in aucb
expinsive curiassities ! "
The banker's dei-k said there was not a dry eye in the house.
t:
HOW I EDITED AN AGRICULTURAL PAPER.
I DID not take the tem{)OTary editorship of an agricultural paper with*
out misgivings. Neither would a landsman take command of a
ship wimout nmmyings. But I was in circumstances that made
the salary an object The regular editor of the paper was going off for a
holiday, and I accepted the terms he offered, ana took his place.
The sensation of being at work again was luxurious, and I wrought
all the week with imflagging pleasure. We went to press, and I waited
a day with some solicitude to see whether my effort was going to attract
any notice. As I left the office, toward sundown, a group of men and
boys at the foot of the stairs dispersed with one impulse, and gave me
passage-war, and I heard one or two of them say : " Thaf s hun ! " I
WM natnnuly pl«aMd Iqr thia inddant. The next monun|{ I found a
EDITING AN AGRICULTURAL PAPER.
I
y notice (said th*
t the wax. Dan
ravely. The boya
aed him down till
r clnbbed together
and sent it always
ironer, and knew
got it. She didn't
iserly as her bank
creature, for twice
to be hungry, cold,
d she had a haunt-
ied ; and the boys,
telegraphed to Mm
mbalmed and sent
np a poor devil like
8 what had become
, it would only cost
d so she telegraphed
(aiming arrived, and
"I was in olrcumstunces th:it made the salary an object, although
I knew nothing about aiirieulture."— Paj^e 524.
I
, ^1
"An old irentleman called to know why I had written— • Turnips should
never be pulled, it injures them. It is much better to send a boy up and
let him shake the tree."'— Page .525.
h^9h
R
H
im
HOW 1 EDITED AN AGRICULTURAL PAPER, 5^5
dmilar gioap at the foot of the Btun, and ■cattering oouplee and
indiyidualfl atandin^ here and there in the street, and oYer the way,
watching me with interest The group separated and fell back as I
approached, and I heard a man say, ** Look at his eye ! " I pretended
not to observe the notice I was attracting, but secretly I was pleased
with it, and was purposing to write an account of it to my aunt. I went
up the short flight of stairs, and heard cheery voices and a ringing laugh
as I drew dear the door, which I opened, and caught a glimpse of two
young rural-looking men, whose faces blanched and lengthened when
they saw me, and men they both plunged through the window with a
great crash. I was surprised.
In about half an hour an old gentleman, with a flowing beard and a
fine but rather austere face, entered, and sat down at my invitation. He
seemed to have something on his mind. He took off his hat and set it
on the floor, and got out of it a red silk handkerchief and a copy of our
paper.
He put the paper on his lap, and, while he polished his spectacles
with his handkerchief, he said, " Are you the new editor % "
I said I was.
" Have you ever edited an agricultural paper before 1 "
" No," I said j " this is my &«t attempt"
** Very likely. Have you had any experience in agriculture practi-
cally?"
** No ; I believe I have not"
** Some instinct told me so," said the old gentleman, putting on his
s^tacles, and looking over them at me with asperity, wnile he folded
his paper into a convenient shape. '' I wish to read you what must have
made me have that instinct It was this editoriaL Listen, and see if it
was you that wrote it : — * Turnips should never be pulled, it injures
them. It is much better to send a boy up and let him shake the tree.'
Now, what do you think of that? — for I really suppose you wrote
it?"
** Think of it ? Why, I think it is good. I think it is sense. I have
no doubt that every year millions and millions of bushels of turnips are
ipoiled in this townudp alone by being pulled in a half-ripe conmtion,
when, if they had sent a boy up to shake the tree "
" Shake your grandmother ! Turnips don't grow on trees ! "
"Oh, the^ don't, dont they? Well, who said they did? The Ian-
guage was mtended to be figurative, wholly figurative. Anybody that
knows anything will know that I meant that the boy should shake the
vine."
Then this old person got up and tore his paper all into small shreds,
and stamped on tnem, and broke several thmgs with his cane, and said
I did not know as much as a cow ; and then went out and banged the
door after him, and, in short, acted in such a way that I fancied he was
displeased about something. But not knowing what the trouble was, I
comd not be any help to mm.
Pretty soon after this a long cadaverous creature, with lanky locks
hanging down to his shoulden, and a week's stubble >«^i^g from tke
• \
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MARK TWAIN'S WORKS,
■•\
I-! I
-
Bill '
hills «nd Tallejri of hia fitee, darted within the door, and halted, motion*
leas, with finger on lip, and head and body bent in Usteninff attituda
No sound was heard. Still he listened. No sound. Hien he turned
the key in the door, and came elaborately tiptoeing toward me till he
was within long reaching distance of me, when he stopped, and after
scanning my face with intense interest for a while, drew a folded copy
of our paper from his bosom, and said —
" There, you wrote that Read it to me — quick ! Relieve me. 1
suffer."
I read as follows ; and as the sentences fell from my lips I could see
the relief come, I could see the drawn muscles relax, and the anxiety go
out of the face, and rest and peace steal over the features like the merci-
ful moonlight over a desolate landscape :
<' The guano is a fine bird, but great care is necessary in rearing it
It should not be imported earlier than June or later than Septenmer.
In the winter it should be kept in a warm place, where it can hatch out
its young.
" It is evident that we are to have a backward season for grain
Therefore it will be well for the farmer to begin setting out his corn-
stalks and planting his buckwheat cakes in Jul^ instead of August
"Concerning the Pumpkin. — This berry is a favourite with the
natives of the interior of New England, who prefer it to the gooseberry
for the making of fruit-cake, and who likewise give it the preference
over the raspberry for feeding cows, as being more filling and fully as
satisfying. The pumpkin is the only esculent of the orange family that
will thrive in the North, except the gourd and one or two varieties ol
the squash. But the custom of planting it in the front yard with the
shrubbery is fast going out of vo^e, for it is now generally conceded
that the pumpkin as a shade tree is a failure.
" Now, as the warm weather approaches, and the ganders begin to
spawn"
The excited listener sprang toward me to shake hands, and said —
" There, there — ^that will do. I know I am all right now, because
you have read it just as I did, word for word. But, stranger, when I
first read it this morning, I said to myself, I never, never believed it
before, notwithstanding my friends kept me under watch so strict, but
now I beHeve I am crazy ; and with that I fetched a howl that you
might have heard two miles, and started out to kill somebody — because,
you know, I knew it woidd come to that sooner or later, and so I might
as well begin. I read one of them paragraphs over again, so as to be
certain, and then I burned my house down and started. I have crippled
several people, and have got one fellow up a tree, where I can get him
if I want him. But I thought I would call in here as I passed alorg,
and make the thing perfectly certain ; and now it is certain, and I tell
Cit is lucky for the chap that is in the tree. I should have killed
, sure, as I went back. Gk)od-bye, sir, good-bye ; you have taken a
great load off mv luindi "ilLv reason has stood the strahi of one of youi
agricultural articles, and 1 fiXittv that nothing can ever unseat it now.
EDITING AN AGRICULTURAL PAPER.
A
i\
id lutlted, motion-
listeninff attitud&
Then l^tt tamed
toward me till he
itopped, and aftei
rew a folded copy
Relieve me. 1
ay lips I could see
md tne anxiety go
res like the merci-
isary in rearins it
r than September,
re it can hatch out
, season for grain
;ting out his com-
iad of August
favourite with the
t to the gooseberry
B it the preference
ailing and fully aa
orange family that
lor two varieties ol
ront yard with the
generally conceded
I ganders begin to
ids, and said —
right now, because
;, stranger, when 1
never believed it
atch so strict, but
a howl that you
imebody— because,
;er, and so I might
again, so as to be
. I have crippled
lere I can get nim
as I passed along,
certain, and I tell
ould have killed
you have taken •
hi of one of youi
er unseat it now.
"A subscriber tiptoed towards me and pointed out this pnssoge—' The
guano is a fine bird, but great care is necessary in rearing it. In the winter
it should be liept in a warm place.' "—Page 526.
! Hi
I I
: f-- •
The reguhir editor returned—" You liave ruined the paper. Why didn't you
tell me you didn't know anything about agriculture ? "—Page 627.
• / ', ■
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HOW I EDITED AN AGRICULTURAL PAPER. 527
I felt a little uncomfortable about the ciipplinga and anoni ttda
person had beoi entertaining himself with, for I eomd not help feelii^^
remotely acceaaoiy to them. But these thoughts were quickly baniahec^
for tiie regular editor walked in ! [I thought to myself, Now if you had
gone to E^ypt as I recommended you to, I might have had a chance to
get my hand in ; but you wouldn't do it, and here you are. I sort of
expected you.] 1 .- . ,
The editor was looking sad and perplexed and dejected.
He surveyed the wreck which that old rioter and these two young
farmers had made, and then said, " This is a sad business — a very sad
business. There is the mucilage bottle broken, and six panes of glass,
and a spittoon and two candlesticks. But that is not the worst The
reputation of the paper is injured— and permanently, I fear. True,
there never was such a call for the paper before, and it never sold such
a large edition or soared to such celebrity ; — but does one want to be
famous for lunacy, and prosper upon the infirmities of his mind 1 My
friend, as I am an honest man, the street out here is full of people, and
others are roosting on the fences, waiting to get a glimpse of you, oecause
they think you are crazy. And well they mignt sater reading ^our
editorials. They are a disgrace to journalism. Why, what put it into
your head that you could edit a paper of this nature ) Tou do not seem
to know the first rudiments of agriculture. You speak of a furrow and
a harrow as being the same thing ; you talk of the moulting season for
cows ; and you recommend the domestication of the pole-cat on account
of its playfulness and its excellence as a ratter I xour remark that
clams wiU lie quiet if music be played to them was superfluous — entirely
superfluous. Nothing disturbs clams. Clams always lie quiet. Clams
care nothing whatever about music. Ah, heavens and earth. Mend ! if
you had made the acquiring of ignorance the study of your Ufe, you
oould not have graduated with higher honour than you could to-day.
I never saw anything like it. Your observation that the horse-chesnut
as an article of commerce is steadily gaining in favour, is simply cal-
culated to destroy this journal. I want you to throw up your situation
and ^0. I want no more holiday — I could not enjoy it if I had it
Certamly not with you in my chair. I would always stand in dread of
what you might be going to recommend next It makes me lose all
patience every time 1 tmnk of your discussing oyster-beds under the
head of ^* Landscape Qardeniug." I want you to go. Nothing on earth
could p^uade me to take another hoHday. Oh ! why didn't you tdl
me you didn't know anything about agriculture ? "
" TeU you, you cornstalk, you cabbage, you son of a cauliflower ? It 's
the first time I ever heard such an unfedmg remark. I tell you I have
been in the editorial business going on fourteen years, and it is the fiist
time I ever heard of a man's having to know anything in order to edit
a newspaper. You turaJp ! Who write the dramatic critiques for the
aecond-rate papers T Why, a parcel of promoted dioemakera and
apprentice apothecaries, who know just as much about good acting as I
do about good fanning and no more. Who review the books 1 People
who iMver wrote one. Who do up thA heftvy ItadMi on finanMl
i \
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528
MARK TWAIN^S WORKS.
PartiM who h«T6 htA the largest opportonifciM far knowioff nothing
about it Who criticise the Indian campaiguB 1 Gentlemen wno do not
know a war-whoop from a wigwam, and wno never hare had to run a
footrace with a tomahawk, or pluck arrows out of the several members
of their families to build the evening camp-tire with. Who write the
temperance appeals, and clamour about the flowing bowl ? Folks who
will never draw another sober breath till they do it in the srave. Who
edit the agricultural papers, you — yam 1 Men, as a generj3 thing, who
fail in the poetry line, yellow-coloured novel line, sensation-drama line,
city-editor line, and finally fall back on agriculture as a temporary
reprieve from the poorhouse. You try to tell me anything about the
newspaper business ! Sir, I have been through it from Alpha to Omaha,
and I tell you that the less a man knows the bi^'ger noise he makes and
the higher the salary he commands. Heaven knows if I had but been
ignorant instead of cultivated, and impudent instead of diffident, I could
have made a name for myself in this cold selfish world. I take my
leave, sir. Since I have been treated as you have treated me, I am
perfectly willing to go. But I have done my duty. I have fulfilled
my contract as far as I was permitted to do it. I said I could make
your paper of interest to all classes — and I have. I said I could run
your circulation up to twenty thousand copies, and if I had had two
more weeks I 'd have done it. And I 'd have given you the best class
of readers that ever an agricultural paper had — not a farmer in it, nor a
solitary individual who could tell a water-melon tree from a peach-vine
to save his life. You are the loser by this rupture, not me, Pie-plaut
Adios."
I then left. s
AN UNBURLESQUABLE THING.
THERE is one other thing which transcends the powers of burlesque,
and that is a Fenian " invasion." First, we have the portentous
« mystery that precedes it for six months, when all the air is filled
with stage whisperings ; when " Councils" meet every night with awful
secrecy, and the membership try to see who can get up first in the morn-
ing and tell the proceedings. Next, the expatriated Nation struggles
through a travail of national squabbles and political splits, and is f^Ily
delivered of a litter of " governments," and Presidents McThis, and
Generals O'That, of several different complexions, politically speaking ;
and straightway the newspapers teem with the new names, and men who
were insignificant and obscure one day find themselves great and famous
the next. Then the several " governments," and presidents, and generals,
and senates get by the ears, and remain so until the customary necessity
of carrying the American city elections with a minority vote comes
around and unites them ; then they begin to " sound the tocsin of war "
again — that is to say, in solemn whisperings at dead of night they
secretly plan a Canadian raid, and publish it in the World next morn-
ing ; they begin to refer significantly to " Ridgway," and we reflect
bc^iugly that there ia no telling how aoon that slaughter may b«
THE UNDERTAKERS STORY.
529
r knowinff nothing
itlemen wno do not
bare had to run a
tie several members
;h. Who write the
bowl ? Folks who
In the grave. Who
genenu thing, who
nsation-drama line,
ire as a temporary
mything about the
m Alpha to Omaha,
noise he makes and
s if I had but been
of diffident, I could
world. I take my
) treated me, I am
J. I have fulfilled
said I could make
I said I could run
I if I had had two
I you the best class
I farmer in it, Jior a
3 from a peach-vine
, not me, Pie-plant.
HING.
repeated. Presently the " invasion " begins to take tangible shape, and,
as no news travels so freely or so fast as the " secret " doings of the Fenian
Brotherhood, the land is shortly in a tumult of apprehension. The
telegraph announces that " last night 400 men went north from Utica,
but refused to disclose their destination — were extremely reticent —
answered no questions — were not armed or in uniform, but xt vxu noticed
thiit they marched to the depot in militarii fashion " — and so on. Fifty
such despatches follow each other within two days, evidencing that
squads of locomotive mystery have gone north from a hundred dinerent
points and rendezvoused on the Canadian oorder — and that, conse-
quently, a horde of 25,000 invaders, at least, is gathered together ; and
tnen, hurrah ! they cross the line ; hurrah I they meet the enemy ; hip, hip,
hurrah ! a battle ensues ; hip — no, not hip nor hurrah — for the U. S. Mar-
shal and one man seize the Fenian General-in-Chief on the battle-field, in
the midst of his " army," and bowl him off in a carriage and lodge him in
a common jail — and, presto ! the illustrious " invasion " is at an end !
The Fenians have not done many things that seemed to call for
pictorial illustration ; but their first care has usually been to make a
picture of any performance of theirs that would stand it as soon as
possible after its achievement, and paint everything in it a violent
green, and embellish it with harps and pickaxes, and other emblems of
national grandeur, and print thousands of them in the severe simplicity
of primitive lithography, and hang them above the National Palmdium
among the decanters. Shall we nave a nice picture of the battle of
Pigeon Hill and the little accident to the Commander-in-Chief.
No ; a Fenian " invasion " cannot be burlesqued, because it uses up aU
the material itself. It is harmless fun, this annual masquerading toward
the border ; but America should not encourage it, for tne reason that it
may some time or other succeed in embroiling the country in a war with
a friendly power— and such an event as that would be ill compensated by
the liberation of even so excellent a people as the Downtrodden Nation.
THE UNDERTAKER'S STORY.
*^ '\T ^^» ^^^^ corpse," said the imdertaker, patting the folded hands of
l\i deceased approvingly, " was a brick— every way you took him
he was a bnck. He was so real accommodating, and so modest-
like and simple in his last moments. Friends wanted metallic burial case
— ^nothing elsie would do. I couldn't get it There wam't going to be time
— anybody could see that. Corpse said never mind, shake him up nome
kind of a box he could stretch out in comfortable, he wam't particular 'bout
the general style of it. Said he went more on room than style, any way,
in a last final container. Friends wanted a silver door-plate on the coffin,
signifying who he was and wher* he was from. Now you know a fellow
couldn't roust out such a gaily thing as that in a little country town likt
this. What did corpse say t Corpse said, whitewash his old canoe and
dob his address and generid destination onto it with a blacking brush and
a stencil plate, long with a verse from some likely hymn or. other, and
^ L
I
$30
MARK TWAIN'S WORKS.
W
! ■ I,
t I
m
»■;■*
p'int him for the tomb, and give him a good start, and inst let him
rip. H9 wam't diBtreeaed any more than you be— on tne contrary,
just as carm and collected aa a hearse-horae ; said he judged that
whei' he was going to a body would And it considerable better to
attract attention by a picturesque moral character than a natty burial
ease with a swell door-plate on it Splendid man, he was. I 'd
druther do for a corpse like that'n any I've tackled in seven year.
There 's some satisfaction in buryin' a man like that. You feel that
what you're doing is appreciated. Lord bless you, so 's he |];ot planted
before he sp'iled, he was perfectly satisfied ; said his relations meant
well, perfectly well, but all them pre|)arations was bound to delay
the thmg more or less, and he didn t wish to be kept layin' around.
You never see such a clear head as what he had — and so carm and
BO cool. Just a hunk of brains — that is what he was. Perfectly
awM. It was a ripping distance from one end of that man's head
to t'other. Often and over again he's had brain-fever a-raging in
one place, and the rest of the pile didn't know anything about it —
didnii affect it any more than an Injun insurrection in Arizona affects
the Atlantic States. Well, the relations they wanted a big funeral,
but corpse said he was down on flummery — didn't want any pro-
cession — fill the hearse full of mourners, and get out a stem line and
tow him behind. He vxw the most down on style of any remains I
ever struck. A beautiful simple-minded creature — it was what he
was, you can depend on that, lie was Just set on having things the
way he wanted them, and he took a solid comfort in laying his little
plans. He had me measure him and take a whole raft of directions ;
then he had the minister stand up behind a long box with a table-
doth over it and read his funeral sermon, saying * Angcore, angcore ! '
at the good places, and making him scratch out every bit of brag
about him, and all the hifalutin ; and then he made them trot out
the choir so *s he could help them pick out the tunes for the occasion,
and he got them to sing * Pop Goes the Weasal,' because he 'd always
liked that tune when he was down-hearted, and solemn music made
him sad ; and when they sung that with tears in their eves (because
they all loved him), and his relations grieving around, he just laid
there as happy as a bug, and trying to beat time and showing all
over how mucn he enjoyed it ; and presently he got worked up and
excited, and tried to jom in, for mind you he was pretty proud of
his abilities in the sin^ng line; but the first time he opened hia
mouth and was just gom^ to spread himself his breath took a walk.
I never see a man snuffed out so sudden. Ah, it was a great loss —
it was a powerful loss to this poor little one-horse town. Well, well,
well, I hain't got time to be palavering along here — got to nail on the
lid and mosey along with him ; and if you 11 just give me a lift we '11
slceet him into the hearse and meander along. JRelations bound to have
it so — don't pay no attention to dying injunctions, minute a corpse 's
gone ; but if I nad my way, if I didn't respect his la«t wishes and tow
him behind the hearse, I '11 be cussed. I consider that whatever a corpse
wants done for his comfort is a little enough matter, and a man hain't
oot no right to deceive him or take advant^e of him ; and whateTer a
and fnst let hlni
-on tne contrary,
I he judged that
iderable better to
an a natty burial
m, he was. I 'd
in seven year.
it. You feel that
> 's he got planted
.8 relations meant
8 bound to delav
apt layin' around,
-and so carm and
was. Perfectly
' that man's head
•fever a-ragin^ in
lything about it —
in Arizona affects
«d a big funeral,
L*t want any pro-
it a stem line and
I of any remains I
—it was what ho
having things the
n laying his little
raft of directions ;
box with a table-
ngcore, angcore I '
every bit of brag
de them trot out
8 for the occasion,
ause he'd always
lemn music made
eir eyes (because
und, he just laid
and showing all
t worked up and
pretty proud of
e he opened hifi
eath took a walk,
as a great loss —
own. Well, well,
got to nail on the
e me a lift we '11
jns bound to have
lute a corpse's
it wishes and tow
[whatever a corpse
and a man hain't
: and whatever a
A GENERAL REPLY,
$31
corpse trusts me to do I 'm a-going to (fo, you know , even If it 's to ttuf?
him and paint him yaller and keep him for a keepsaku — you hear me/**
He cracked his whip and went lumlniring awav witli his ancient ruin
of a hearse, and I continued my walk witli a valuable lesson learned —
that a healthy and wholesome cheerfulness is not necessarily impuesible
to any occupation. The lesson is likely to be lasting, for it will take
many montos to obliterate the memory of the remarks and circumstancet
that impressed it
A GENERAL REPLY.
WHEN I was sixteen or seventeen yearn old a splendid idea bunt
upon me— a bran new-one, which had never occurred to any-
body before : I would write some " pieces" and take them down
to the editor of the Republican and ask him to give me his plain, im-
vamished opinion of their value ! Now, old and mreadbare as t^e idea
was, it was fresh and beautiful to me, and it went flaming and crashing
through my system like the genuine lightning and thimder of origin-
ality. I wrote the pieces, i wrote them with that placid confidence
and that happy facility which only want of practice and absence of liter-
ary experience can give. There was not one sentence in them that cost
half an hour's weighing and shaping and trimming and fixing. Indeed,
it is possible that there was no one sentence whose mere wording cost
even one-sixth of that time. If I remember rightly, there was not one
single erasure or interlineation in aU that chaste manuscript. [I have
since lost that large belief in my powers, and likewise that marvellous
perfection of execution.] I sttuied down to the " Republican " office
with my pocket full of manuscript, my brain full of dreams, and a grand
future opening out before me. I knew perfectly well that the editor
would be ravished with my pieces. But presently —
However, the particulars are of no consequence. I was only about
to say that a shadowy sort of doubt just then intruded upon my
exaltation. Another came, and another. Pretty soon a whole pro-
cession of them. And at last, when I stood before the Republiecm
office and looked up at its tall, unsympathetic front, it seemed hardly m€
that could have *' eninned " its towers ten minutes before, and was now
so shrunk up and pitiful that if I dared to step on the gratings I should
probably go through.
At al)0ut that crisis the editor, the very man I had come to consult,
came down-stairs, and halted a moment to pull at his wristbands and
settle his coat to its place, and he happened to notice that I was eyeing
him wistfully. He asked me what I wanted. I answered, "No>
THING ! " with a boy's own meekness and shame ; and dropping my
eyes, crept humbly round till I was fairly in the alley, and then drew a
mOf grateful breath of relief, and picked up my heels and ran I
I was satisfied. I wanted no more. It was my first attempt to get a
I*;'
M
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533
Afi4JeAr TWAIN'S WORKS.
*< plain, unvarnished opinion" out of a literary man concerning mj com*
positions, and it has lasted me until now. And in these latter days,
whenever I receive a bundle of MS. through the mail, with a request
that I will pass judgment upon its merits, I feel like sayins to the
author, " If you nad only taken your piece to some grim and stately
newspaper office where you did not know anybody, you would not have
■0 fine an opinion of your production as it is easy to see you have now."
Every man who becomes editor of a newspaper or magazine straight
way begins to receive MSS. from literary aspirants, together with re-
quests Uiat he will deliver judgment upon tne same ; and after com-
plying in eight or ten instances, he finally takes refuse in a general ser-
mon upon tne subject, which he inserts in his publication, and always
afterwards refers such correspondents to that sermon for answer. I
have at last reached this station in my literary career. I now ceuse to
reply privately to my applicants for advice, and proceed to construct my
public sermon.
As all letters of the sort I am speaking of contain the very same
matter, differently worded, I o£fer as a fair average specimen the last
mie I have received : —
** Mabk Twain, Esq.
M.
Oct, 3.
** Dear Sib, — I am a youth just out of school and ready to start in
life. I have looked around, but don't see anything that suits exactly.
Is a literary life easy and profitable, or is it tne hard times it is gener-
ally put up for 1 It rmut be easier than a good many if not most of
the occupations, and I feel drawn to launch out on it, make or break,
sink or swim, survive or perish. Now, what are the conditions of sue*
cess in literature 1 You need not be afraid to paint the thing iust as it
is. I can't do any worse than faiL Everything else offers the same.
When I thought of the law — yes, and five or six other professions — I
found the same thing was the case every time — viz., all full— overrun —
tvery profeBtion to crammed that niecess is rendered impossille — too many
hands and not enough work. But I must try aomething^ and so I turn
at last to literature. Something tells me that that is the true bent of
my genius, if I have any. I enclose some of my pieces. Will you
read them over and give me your candid, unbiassed opinion of them ?
And now I hate to trouble you, but you have been a young man your-
self, and what I want is for you to get me a newspaper job of writing to
do. Tou know many newspaper people, and I am entirely unknown.
And will you make the best terms you can for me ? though I do not
expect what might be called high wages at first, of course. Will you
candidly say what such articles as these I enclose are worth}? I have
plenty of them. If you should sell these and let me know, I can send
you more as good and maybe better than these. An early reply, &c
" Yours truly, &c."
I will answer you in good faith. Whether my remarks ihall have
great value or not, or my suggestions be worth following, are problems
which I take great pleaauie in leaving entirely to you for •elation. To
11
A GENERAL REPLY.
533
begin , Then are (leveral nuestions in your letter which only ft man'i
life experience can eventually artswcr for him — not another nian'ti wonla.
I will Bimply skip those.
1. Literature, uke the ministry, meilicin<i), the law, and all other occU'
pationB, is cramped and huulered for want of men to do the work, not
want of work to do. Wheii people tell you the reverse, thev Hj[)eak that
which is not true. If you de«ir« to test this, you need only hunt up a
first-class editor, reporter, business lijanager, foreman of a 8ho]), mechanic,
or artist in any branch of industry, and try to hire him. You will find
that he is already hired. lie is sooer, industriouB, capable, and reliable,
and is always in demand. He cannot get a day's holiday except by
courtesy of his employer, or his city, or the great general public. But
if you need idlers, shirkers, half-instructed, unAmbitious, and comfort-
■eeidng editors, reporters, lawyers, doctors, and mechanics, apply any-
where. There are millions of them to be had at the droppmg of a
handkerchief.
2. No ; I must not and will not vent are any opinion whatever as to
the literary merit of your productions. The public is the only critic
whose judgment is worth anything at all. Do not take my poor word
for this, but reflect a moment and take your own. For instance, if
Sylvanus Cobb or T. S. Arthur had submitted their maiden MSS. to
you, you would have said, with tears in vour eyes, " Now, please don't
write any more ! " But you see yourself how popular they are. And
if it had been left to you, vou womd have said tne " Marble Faun " was
tiresome, and that even " rarudise Lost " lacked cheerfulness ; but you
know they sell. Many wiser and better men than you pooh-poohed
Shakespeare even as late as two centuries ago, but still that old party
has outlived those people. No ; I will not sit in judgment upon your
literature. If I honestly and conscientiously praised it, I might thus
help to inflict a lingering and pitiless bore upon the public ; if I
honestly and conscientiously condemned it, I might thus rob the world
of an imdeveloped and unsuspected Dickens or Shakespeare.
3. I shrink m>m hunting up literary labour for you to do and receive
pay for. Whenever your literary productions have proved for them-
selves that they have a real value, you wiU never have to go around
hunting for remunerative literary work to do. You will require more
hands uian you have now, and more brains than you probably ever will
have, to do even half the work that will be offered you. Now, in order
to arrive at the proof of value hereinbefore spoken of, one needs only to
adopt a very simple and eertainly very sure process ; and that is, to
lorite vnthout pay witil somebody offers pay. If nobody offers pay within
three years, the candidate may look upon this circumstance with the
most implicit confidence as the sign that sawing wood is what he was
intended for. If he has any wisdom at all, then he will retire with
dignity and assume his heaven-appointed vocation.
In the above remarks I have only offered a course of action which Mr
Dickens and most other successful literary men had to follow ; but it is
a course which will find no sympathy with my client, perhaps. The
young literary aspirwut ifi a very, very curious creature. He knows that
S34
MAHJC TWAIN'S WORKS,
jh
if he wished to become a tinner the master smith would require him to
prove the possession of a good character, and wo'ild require him to
promise to stay in the shop tnree years — possibly fo^ir — aud would make
nim sweep out and bring water and build fires all the first year, and let
him learn to black stoves in the intervals ; and for these good honest
services would pay him two suits of cheap clothes and his board ; and
next year he would begin to receive instructions in the trade, and a
dollar a week would be added to his emoluments: and two dollars
would be added the third year, and three the fourtn ; and then, if he
had become a first-rate tinner, he would get about fifteen or twenty, or
may be thirty dollars a week, with never a possibility of getting seventy-
five while he lived. K he wanted to become a mechanic of any other
kind he would have to undergo this same tedious, ill-paid apprentice-
ship. If he wanted to become a lawyer or a doctor he would nave fifty
times worse, for he would get nothing at all during his long ap^rentice-
^p, and in addition would have to pay a large sum for tuition, and
have the privilege of boarding and clothing himself. The literary
aspirant knows afl this, and yet he has the hardihood to present him-
self for reception into the uterary guild, and ask to share its high
honours and emoluments, without a single twelvemonth's apprentice-
ship to show in excuse for his preRomption ! He would smile pleasantly
if he were asked to make even so simple a thing as a ten-cent tin dippei
without previous instruction in the art; but, all green and ignorant,
wordy, pompously assertilve, ungrammatical, and with a vague (ustorted
knowledge of men and the world acquired in a back count^ village, he
wUl serenely take u^ so dangerous a weapon as a pen, and attack th«
most formidable sul^ect that finance, commerce, war, or politics can fur>
nish biTn withaL It would be laughable if it were not so sad and so
pitiable. The poor fellow would not intrude upon the tin shop without
an apprenticeship, but is willing to seize and wield with unpractised
hand an instrument which is able to overthrow dynasties, change
religions, and decree the weal or woe of nations.
If my correspondent wiU write free of charge for the newspapers of
his neighbourhood, it will be one of the strangest things that ever hap-
pened u he does not get all the employment he can attend to on those
terms. And as soon as ever his writings are worth money plenty of
people will hasten to offer it.
And, by way of serious and well-meant encouragement, I wish to urge
upon him once more the truth, that acceptable writers for the press axe
so scarce that book and periodicAl publishers are seeking them cod
gUntly, and with a vigilance that never grows heedless fox a moment
mi.
Vi 1
h '41 <U
1 ?>! f Ik
I
AN ENTERTAINING ARTICLE. 535
AN ENTERTAINING ARTICLE.
TAKE the following paragraph from an article in the Biaton
Advertiser: —
An Emolish Critic on Mark Twain. — Perhaps the most successful
flights of the humour of Mark Twain have been descriptions of the per-
sons who did not appreciate his humour at all. We have become
familiar with the Califomians who were thrilled with terror by his
burlesque of a newspaper reporter's way of telling a story, and we have
heard of the Pennsylvania clergyman who sadly returned his " Innocents
Abroad " to the book-agent with the remark that " the man who could
shed tears over the tomb of Adam must be an idiot." But Mark Twain
may now add a much more glorious instance to his string of trophies.
The Saturday Review, in its number of October 8, reviews his book of
travels, whicn has been republished in England, and reviews it seriously.
We can imagine the delight of the humourist in reading this tribute to
his power ; and, indeed, it is so amusing in itself that he can hardly do
better than reproduce the article in full in his next monthly Memoranda.
[Publishing the above paragraph thus gives me a sort of authority fox
reproducing the Saturday Reviev^s article in full in these pages. 1
dearly wanted to do it, for I cannot write anything half so delicious
myself. If I had a cast-iron dog that could read this English criticism
and preserve his austerity, I would drive him off the doorstep. — Editob
Memoranda.]
[From the Londxm Saturday Review.]
REVIEWS OF NEW BOOKS.
** The Innocents Abroad." A Book of Travels. By Mark Twain.
London : Hotten, publisher. 1870.
Lord Macaulay died too soon. We never felt this so deeply as when
we finished the last chapter of the above-named extravagant work.
Macaulay died too soon, for none but he could mete out complete and
comprehensive justice to the insolence, the impertinence, the presumption,
the mendacity, and, above all, the majestic ignorance of this author.
To say that the " Innocents Abroad " is a curious book would be to use
the faintest language — would be to speak of the Matterhom as a neat
elevation, or of Niagara as being ** nice " or " pretty." " Curious " is too
tame a word wherewith to describe the imposing insanity of this work.
There is no word that is large enough or long enough. Let us, therefore,
photograph a passing glimpse of book and author, and trust the rest to
the reader. Let the cultivated English student of human nature picture
to himself this Mark Twain as a person capable of doing; the following-
described things — and not only doing them, but with incredible inno
"lence priniinq them cabxily in a book. For iiuitance —
m . i .'
i\
\
1-
53fl
AfAHIC TWAIN'S WORKS,
He BtatM that he entered a hair-dressei's in Paris to get sbared. and
the first ''rake'' the barber gave witJi his razor it 2o(m^m(2 Au '^ AMb "
wiid lifted him out of the chair.
This is unquestionably exaggerated. In Florence he was so annoyed
^7. h^g<u^ that he pretends to have seized and eaten one in a frantic
■pint of revenge. There is of course no truth in this. He gives at full
length a theatrical programme seventeen or eighteen hundred years old,
which he professes to have found in the ruins of the Coliseum among the
dirt and mould and rubbish. It is a sufl&cient comment upon this state-
ment to remark that even a cast-iron programme would not have lasted
so long under such circumstances. In Greece he plainly betrays
both fright and flight upon one occasion, but with frozen effrontery
puts the latter in this tame form : " "We sidled toward the Pirwus."
*^ Sidled," indeed I He does not hesitate to intimate that at Ephesui,
when his muie strayed from the proper course, he got down, took him
under his arm, carried him to the road again, pointed him right,
remounted, and went to sleep contentedly tiU it was time to restore
the beast to the path once more. He states that a growing youth among
his ship's passengers was in the constant habit of appeasing his hunger
with soap and oakum between meals. In Palestine he tells of ants that
came eleven miles to spend their summer in the desert and brought their
provisions with them ; yet he shows by his description of the country
that the feat was an impossibility. He mentions, as if it were the most
commonplace matter, that he cut a Moslem in two in broad daylight in
Jerusalem with Godfrey de Bouillon's sword, and would have shed more
blood if he had had a graveyard of his own. These statements are
onworthy a moment's attention. Mr Twain or any other foreigner
who did such a thing in Jerusalem would be mobbed, and would infal-
libly lose his Ufe. But why go on 1 Why repeat more of his audacious
and exasperating falsehoods ? Let us close fittingly with this one : he
affirms that ** in the mosque of St Sophia at Constantinople I got my
feet so stuck up with a complication of gums and general impurity that
I wore out more than two thousand pair o/ bootjacks getting my boots off
that night." It is monstrous — such statements are simply lies — there is
no other name for them. Will the reader longer marvel at the brutal
ignorance that pervades the American nation when we tell him that we
are informed upon the best authority that this extravagant compilation
of falsehoods, this exhaustless mine of ignorance, this " Innocents
Abroad," has actually been adopted by the schools and colleges of
several of the States as a text-book !
But, if his falsehoods are distressing, his innocence and his ignorance
are enough to make one burn the book and despise the author. In one
place he was so appalled at the sudden spectacle of a murdered man,
unveiled by the moonlight, that he jumped out of window, going
through sash and all, and then remarks with the most childlike sim-
plicity that he " was not scared, but was considerably agitated." It puts
OS out of patience to note that the simpleton is densely unconscious that
Lucrexia Borgia ever existed off the stage. He is vulgarly ignorant of
AN ENTERTAINING ARTICLE,
537
all foreign languages, but is frank enough to criticise the Italians' use of
their own tongue. He says they spell the name of their great painter
" Vinci, but pronounce it V inchy " — and then adds with a naivete possible
only to helpless ignorance, "foreignert cdwavs spell better than they pro-
nov/nce" In another place he commitft the bald absurdity of putting the
phrase " tare an ouns into an Italian's mouth. In Rome he unhesitat-
mgly believes the legend that St Philip Neri's heart was so inflamed
with divine love that it burst his ribs — believes it wholly because an
author with a learned list of university degrees strung after his name
endorses it — " otherwise," says this gentle idiot, " I should have felt a
curiosity to know what Philip had for dinner." Our author makes a
long fatiguing journey to the Grotto del Cane on purpose to test its
poisoning powers on a dog — got elaborately ready for the experiment,
and then discovered that he had no dog. A wiser person would have
kept such a thing discreetly to himself, but with this harmless creature
everythingcomes out. He hurts his foot in a rut two thousand years old in
exhumed Pompeii, and presently, when staring at one of the cinder-like
corpses unearthed in the next square, conceives the idea that maybe it ia
the remains of the ancient Street Commissioner, and straightway hii
horror softens down to a sort of chirpy contentment with the conditioD
of things. In Damascus he visits the weU of Ananias three thousand
years old, and is as surprised and delighted as a child to find that the
water is " as pure and fresh as if the well had been dug yesterday." Ir
the Holy Land he gags desperately at the hard Arabic and Hebrew
Biblical names, and finally concludes to call them Baldwinsville, Wil*
Uamsburgh, and so on, ^^for convenience of spelling I"
We have thus spoken freely of this man's stupefying simplicity and
innocence, but we cannot deal similarly with his colossal ignorance.
We do not know where to begin. And i^ we knew where to begin, we
certainly should not know where to leave off. We wiU give one specimen.
and one only. He did not know un^il he got to lUme that Michael
Angelo was dead ! And then, instead of crawling away and hiding hia
shameful ignorance somewhere, he proceeds to express a pious, grateful
sort of satisfaction that he is goue and out of his troubles !
No ; the reader may seek out the author's exhibitions of his unculti-
vation for himself. The book is absolutely dangerous, considering the
magnitude and variety of its misstatements, and the convincing confi-
dence with which they are made. And yet it is a text-book in the
schools of America !
The poor blunderer mouses among the sublime creations of the Old
Masters, trying to acquire the elegant proficiency in art-knowledge which
he has a groping sort of comprehension is a proper thing for the travelled
man to be able to display. But what is the manner of his study "i And
what is the progress he achieves ? To what extent does he familiarise
himself with the great pictures of Italy, and what degree of appreciation
does he anive at 1 Bead : —
When we see a monk going about with a lion and looking up into
heaven, we know that that is St Mark. When we see a monk with a
book and a pen, looking tranquilly up to heaven, trying to think of a
$38
MARK TWAIN'S WOJiKS.
i\
n i
trord, we know that that is St Matthew. When we see a monk sitting
on a rocky looking tranqmllj up to heaven, with a human skull beside
him, and without other oaggage, we know that that is St Jerome, because
we know that he always went flying light in the matter of baggage.
When we see other monks looking tr^quilly up to heaven, but having
no trade-mark, we always ask who those parties are. We do this because
we humbly wish to learn.
He then enumerates the thousands and thousands of copies of these
several pictures which he has seen, and adds with accustomed simplicity
that he leels encouraged to believe that when he has seen " bomb horb "
of each, and had a larger experience, he will eventually " begin to take
an absorbing interest in them " — ^the vulgar boor !
That we have shown this to be a remarkable book we think no one will
deny. That it is a pernicious book to place in the hands of the confiding
and uninformed we think we have also shown. That the book is a
deliberate and wicked creation of a diseased mind is apparent upon eveiy
page. Having placed our judgment thus upon record, let us close with
what charity we can, by remarking that even in this volume there ia
some good to be found, for whenever the author talks of his own country
and lets Europe alone he never fails to make himself interesting, and
not only interesting, but instructive. No one can read without benefit
his occasional chapters and paragraphs about life in the gold and silver
mines of California and Nevada ; about the Indians of the plains and
deserts of the West, and their cannibalism ; about the raising of vege-
tables in kegs of gunpowder by the aid of two or three teaspoonfuls of
guano ; about the moving of small farms from place to place at ni^ht in
wheelbarrows to avoid taxes ; and about a sort of cows and mules m the
Humboldt mines that climb down chimneys and disturb the people at
night These matters ore not only new, but are well worth knowing,
It is a pity the author did not put in more of the same kind. His book
is well written and is exceedingly entertaining, and so it just barely
escaped being quite valuable also.*
" HISTORY REPEATS ITSELF."
THE following I find in a Sandwich Island paper which some friend
has sent me from that tranquil far-ofi^ retreat The coincidence
between my own experience and that here set down by the late
Mr Benton is so remarkable that I cannot forbear publishing and com-
menting upon the j)aragraph. The Sandwich Island paper says : —
How touching is this tribute of the late Hon. T. H. Benton to his
mother's influence : — '' My mother asked me never to use tobacco ; I
* The abov« article wan written by me at
Sm«t(;'« oriticisin of my book.— Mabk TwAnr.
M u^veity upon Ui« tStUtfrUof
, "A.
THE LATE BENJAMIN FRANKLIN,
539
jen " SOME MOBB
ly " begiii to take
have neyor touched it fmm that time to the present day. She asked me
not to gamble, and I have never gambled. I cannot tell who is losing
in games that are bcdng played. She admonished me, too, against
Uquor-drinking, and whatever capacity for endurance I have at present,
and whatever usefulness I may have attained through life, I attribute to
having complied with her pious and correct wishes. When I was seven
years of age she asked me not to drink, and then I made a resolution of
total abstinence ; and that I have adhered to it through all time I owe
to my mother."
I never saw anything so curious. It is almost an exact epitome of
my own moral career — after simply substituting a grandmotner for a
mother. How well I remember my grandmother^s asking me not to use
tcbacco, good old soul ! She said, "You're at it again, are you, you
whelp? Now, don't ever let me catch you chewing tobacco before
breakfast again, or I lay I '11 blacksnake you within an inch of your
life ! " I have never touched it at that hour of the morning from that
time to the present day.
She asked me not to gamble. She whispered and said, '^ Put up tho89
Kricked cards this minute ! — two pair and a jack, you numskull, and the
other fellow's got a flush ! "
I never have gambled from that day to this — never once — ^without a
" cold deck " in my pocket I cannot even teU who is going to lose in
games that are being played unless I dealt mysell
When I was two years of age she asked me not to drink, and then I
made a resolution of total abstinence. That I have adhered to it and
enjoyed the beneficent effects of it through all time, I owe to my grand-
mother — let these tears attest my gratitude. I have never drunk a drop
from that day to this of any kind of water.
lupoa Um 8(Uurda§
THE LATE BENJAMIN FRANKLIN.
[Never put off till to-morrow what you can do day after to-morrow just «
well— B. P.]
THIS party was one of those persons whom they call Philosophers.
He was twins, being bom simultaneously in two different houses
in the city of Boston. These houses remain unto this day, and
have signs upon them worded in accordance with the facts. The signs
are considered well enough to have, though not necessary, because the
inhabitants point out the two birth-places to the stranger anyhow, and
sometimes as often as several times in the same day. The subject of this
memoir was of a vicious disposition, and early prostituted his talents to
the invention of mftTima and aphorisms calculated to inflict suffering
upon tlie rising generation of all subsequent ages. His simplest acts,
&£io, were contrived with a view to their being held up for the emulation
of boys for ever — boys who might otherwise have been happy. It was
in this spirit that he became the son of a soap-boiler, and probably for
$40
MARK TWAIN'S WORKS,
no other reason than that the efforts of all future boys who tried to be
Bnjthing might be looked upon with suspicion unless they were the
sons of soap-boilers. With a malevolence which is without parallel in
history, he would work all day, and then sit up nights, and let on to be
studying algebra by the light of a smouldering fire, so that all other boys
might have to do that also or else have Benjamin Franklin thrown up
to them. Not satisfied with these proceedings, he had a fashion of living
wholly on bread and water, and studying astronomy at meal time — a
thing which has brought affliction to millions of boys liuce, whose
fathers had read Franklin's pernicious biography.
His maxims were full of animosity toward boys. Now-a-days a boy
cannot follow out a single natural instinct without tumbling over some
of those everlasting aphorisms and hearing from Franklin on the spot.
If he buys two cents' worth of peanuts his father says, " Kemember what
Franklin has said, my son — ' A groat a day 's a penny a year ; ' " and the
comfort is all gone out of those peanuts. If he wants to spin his top
when he is done work his father c^uotes, " Procrastination is the thief of
time." If he does a virtuous action he never gets anything for it, be-
cause " Virtue is its own reward." And that boy is hounded to death
and robbed of his natural rest because Franklin said once, in one of his
inspired flights of malignity —
Early to bed, and early to rise,
Makoa a man healthy and wealthy and wise.
As if it were any object to a boy to be healthy and wealthy and leise on
such terms. The sorrow that that maxim has cost me through my
parents' experimenting on me with it, tongue cannot tell. The legitimate
result is my present state of general debiUty, indigence, and mental aber-
ration. My parents used to have me up before nine o'clock in the
morning, sometimes, when I was a boy. If they had let me take my
natural rest, where would I have been now ? Keeping store, no doubt,
and respected by aU.
And what an adroit old adventurer the subject of this memoir was !
In order to get a chance to fly his kite on Sunday he used to hang a key
on the string and let on to be fishing for lightning. And a guile-
less public would go home chirping about the "wisdom" and the
" genius " of the hoary Sabbath-breaker. If anybody caught him playing
" mumble-peg " by himself, after the age of sixty, he would immediately
appear to be ciphering out how the grass grew — as if it was any of his
business. My grandfather knew him well, and he says Franklin was
always fixed — always ready. If a bodj% during his old age, happened on
him unexpectedly when he was catching flies, or making mud pies, or
sliding on a cellar-door, he would immediately look wise, and ri\. cr.t a
maxim, and walk off with his nose in the air and his cap turnea vvrong
side before, trying to appear absent-minded and eccentric He was a
hard lot.
He invented a stove that would smoke your head off in four hours hy
the clock. One can see the almost devilish satisfaction he took in it b)
his giving it his name.
RUNNING FOR GOVERNOR.
UJ
B who tried to be
288 they were the
ithout parallel in
i. and let on to be
Lhat all other boys
smklin thrown up
a fashion of living
r at meal time — a
[>oyB unce, whose
Now-a-days a boy
rabling over some
iklin on the spot.
" Remember what
ayear ;'" and the
ts to spin his top
tion is the thief of
Qything for it, be-
hoimded to death
once, in one of his
irisa
ealthy and wise on
t me through my
IL The legitimate
e, and mental aber-
ine o'clock in the
let me take my
g store, no doubt,
this memoir was !
sed to hang a key
ig. And a guile-
dsdom" and the
mght nim playing
^oiS-d immediately
it was any of hu
[ays Franklin was
age, happened on
ig mud pies, or
[ise, and r7;> cr.t a
:ap turned wrong
bntric He was a
in four hours by
he took in it bji
He was always proud of telling how he entered Philadelphia for the
first time, with nothing in the world but two shillings in his pocket and
four rolls of bread under his arm. But really, when you come to exa-
mine it critically, it was nothing. Anybody could have done it
To the subject of this memoir belongs the honour of recommendina
the army to go back to bows and arrows in place of bayonets and
muskets. He observed, with his customary force, that the bayonet was
very well under some circimistances, but that he doubted whether it
could be used with accuracy at long range.
3enjamin Franklin did a great many notable tilings for his country
and made her young name to be honoured in many lands as the mother
of such a son. It is not the idea of this memoir to ignore that or covei
it up. No ; the simple idea of it is to snub those pretentious maxims ol
his, which he worked up with a ^at show of originality out of truisms
that had become wearisome platitudes as early as the dispersion from
Babel ; and also to snub his stove, and his militaiy inspirations, his
unseemly endeavour to make himself conspicuous when he entered
Philadelphia, and his flying his kite and fooling away his time in all
sorts of such ways when he ought to have been foraging for soap -fat, or
constructing candles I merely desire to do away with somewhat of
the prevalent calamitous idea among heads of families that Franklin
atmbired his great genius by working for nothing, studying by moon-
lignt, and getting up in the night instead of waiting till morning like a
Christian ; and that this programme, rigidly inflicted, will make a
Franklin of every father's fooL It is time these gentlemen were find-
ing out that these execrable eccentricities of instinct and conduct are
omy the evidences of genius, not the creators of it I wish I had been
the father of my parents long enough to make them comprehend this
truth, and thus prepare them to let their son have an easier time of it.
When I was a child I had to boil soap, notwithstanding my father was
wealthy, and I had to get up early and study geometry at breakfast,
and peddle my own poetry, and do everything just as Franklin did, in
the solemn hope that I would be a Franklin some day. And here I
;»m.
RUNNING FOR GOVERNOR.
A FEW months ago I was nominated for Governor of the great State
of New York, to run against Mr Stewart L. Woodford and Mr John
T. HoflEman on an independent ticket. I somehow felt that I had
one prominent advantage over these gentlemen, and that was — good
character. It was easy to see by the newspapers that, if ever they had
known what it was to bear a good name, that time had gone by. It was
plain that in these latter years they had become familiar with all manner
of shameful crimes. But at the very moment that I was exalting my
advantage and joying in it in secret, there was a muddy undercurrent of
discomfort "nling'' the deeps of my happiness, and that was — the
having to hear my name bandied about in familiar connection with
^i" '' if
1
■V
P: lu
: iS -4
542
MARIC TWAIN'S WORKS,
those of such people. I grew more and more disturbed. FiiiiiUv I wrote
my grandmother about it. Her answer came quick and sharp. She said —
*' lou have never done one single thing in all your life to be ashamed
of — not one. Look at the newspapers— look at them and comprehend
what sort of characters Messrs Woodford and Hofi^an are, and then see
if you are willing to lower yourself to their level and enter a publio
canvass with them."
It was my very thought I I did not sleep a single moment that night.
But after all I could not recede. I was fully committed, and must go on
with the fight As I was looking listlessly over the papers at bre^cfast
I came across this paragraph, and I may truly say I never was so con-
founded before : —
" Perjury. — Perhaps, now that Mr Mark Twain is before the people
as a candidate for Governor, he will condescend to explain how he came
to be convicted of perjury by thirty-four witnesses in Wakawak, Cochin
China, in 1863, the intent of which perjury being to rob a poor native
widow and her helpless tamiiy ot a meagre plantain-patch, their only
stay and support in their bereavement and desolation. Mr Twain owe8
it to himself, as well as to the great people whose suffrages he asks, to
clear this matter up. Will he do it ? '
I thought I should burst with amazement ! Such a cruel, heartless
charge. I never had seen Cochin China ! I never had heard of Waka-
wak ! I didn't know a plantain-patch from a kangaroo ! I did not
know what to do. I was crazed and helpless. I '^et the day slip away
without doing anything at all. The next morning the same paper had
this — ^nothing more : —
" Significant. — Mr Twain, it will be observed, is suggestively silent
about the Cochin China perjury."
{Mem. — During the rest of the campaign thi& paper never referred
to me in any other way than as " the imamous perjurer Twain."]
Next came the Qaaettey with this : —
** Wanted to Know. — Will the new candidate for Governor deign to
explain to certain of his fellow-citizens (who are 8u£Pering to vote for
him !) the little circumstance of his cabin-mates in Montana losing small
valuables from time to time, until at last, these things having been
invariably found on Mr Twain's person or in his * trunk ' (newspaper
he rolled his traps in), they felt -compelled to give him a friendly
admonition for his ovm good, and so tarred and feathered him, and rode
him on a rail, and then advised him to leave a permanent vacuum in
the place he usually occupied in the camp. Will ne do this ? "
Could anything be more deliberately malicious than that? For 1
never was in Montana in my life.
[After this, this journal customarily spoke of me as " Twain, the
Montana Thiet"]
I got to picking up papers apprehensively — much as one would lift a
desired blanket which he had some idea, might have a rattlesnake under
it. One day this met my eye : —
" The Lib Nailed !— By the sworn affidavits of Michael CFlanagan,
Ee(i., of the Five Points, and Mr Kit Bums and IkiU John Allen, of
.. Fii.allv 1 wrote
sharp, bnesaid —
life to be asliamed
a and comprehend
Q are, and then aee
md enter a public
noment that night,
ed, and must go on
papers at brejUtfast
: never was so con-
LB before the people
Lplain how he came
L Wakawak, Cochin
X) rob a poor native
n-patch, their only
1. Mr Twain owes
uffrages he asks, to
h a cruel, heartless
lad hea/rd of Waka-
ngaroo ! I did not
t the day slip away
the same paper had
suggestively silent
iper never referred
-Sr Twain."]
Gbvemor deign to
lufFering to vote for
[ontana losing smaD
Ihings having been
f trunk ' (newspaper
Ive him a friendly
^ered him, and rode
lanent vacuum in
do this?"
Ithan that 1 For 1
le as «* Twain, the
I as one would lift a
rattlesnake undci
lichael CFlanagan,
\Ur John Allen, of
RUNNING FOR GOVERNOR.
543
Water Street, it is established that Mr Mark Twain's vile statement
that tlie lamented grandfather of our noble standard-bearer, John T.
Hoffnmn, was hanged for highway robbery, is a brutal and gratuitous
LIB, without a shadow of foundation in fact. It is disheartening
to virtuous men to see such shametui means resorted to to achieve poli-
tical success as the attacking of the dead in their graves, and deminj
their honoured names with slander. When we thuik of the unguis
this miserable falsehood must cause the innocent relatives and friends
of the deceased, we are almost driven to incite an outraged and insulted
public to summary and unlawful vengeance upon the traducer. But
no ! let Uh leave hun to the agony of a lacerated conscience (though if
passion should get the better of the public, and in its blind fury they
should do the traducer bodily injury, it is but too obvious that no jury
could convict and no court punish the perpetrators of the deed)."
The ingenious closing sentence had the effect of moving me out oi
bed with despatch that night, and out at the back door adso, while the
"outraged and insulted public" surged in the front way, breaking
furniture and windows in their righteous indignation as they came, and
taking oflf such property as they could carry when they went And
yet I can lay my nand upon the Book and say that I never slandered
Governor Hoffman's grandfather. More : I had never even heard oi
him or mentioned him up to that day and date.
[I will state, in passing, that the journal above quoted from alwayi
referred to me afterward as " Twain, the Body-Snatcner."]
The next newspaper article that attracted my attention was the fol>
lowing : —
"A Sweet Candidate. — Mr Mark Twain, who was to make such a
blighting speech at the mass meeting of the Independents last night,
lidn't come to time ! A telegram from his physician stated that he had
oeen knocked down by a runaway team, and his leg broken in two places
— sufferer ^ng in great agony, and so forth, and so forth, and a lot more
bosh of the same sort And the Independents tried hard to swallow
the wretched subterfuge, and pretend that they did not know what was
the real reason of the absence of the abandoned creature whom they
denominate their standard-bearer. A certain man was seen to reel into Mr
Twain's hotel last night in a state of beastly intoxication. It is the im*
perative duty of the Independents to prove that this besotted brute was
not Mark Twain himself. We have them at last ! This is a case that
admits of no shirking. The voice of the people demands in thunder-
tones, * Who was that man ? ' "
It was incredible, absolutely incredible, for a moment, that it wai
really my name that was coupled with this disgraceful suspicion. Three
lon^ years had passed over my head since I had tasted ale, beer, wine^
or liquor of any kind.
[It sl\ow8 what effect the times were having on me when I sav that I
saw myself confidently dubbed "Mr Delirium Tremens Twain" in the
next issue of that journal without a pang — ^notwithstanding I knew that
with monotonous fidelity the paper womd go on caUing me so to tha
vory end.1
S44
ATARK TWAIN'S WORKS,
■i
^&ll
M
^mjm, y^
\
||H|
}
V
I 'i> t Lt ^aH
By thla time anonymous letters were getting to be an important part
of my mail matter. This form was common —
How about that old woman you kiked of your premisers which was
beging. Pol Pbt.
And this —
There is thin^
body but me.
hear thro' the papers from Handt Andt.
bings which yon have done which is unbeknowens to any-
). You better trot out a few dols. to yours truly, or you 'U
This is about the idea. I could continue them till the reader woe
surfeited, if desirable.
Shortly the principal Republican journal " convicted " me of whole-
Bale bribery, and the leading Democratic paper " nailed " an aggravated
case of blackmailing to me.
[In this way I acquired two additional names : *' Twain the Filthy
Corruptionist," and " Twain the Loathsome Embracer."]
By this time there had grown to be such a clamour for an " answer "
to all the dreadful charges that were laid to me that the editors and
leaders of my party said it would be political ruin for me to idmai]
silent any longer. As if to make their appeal the more imperalive, tlu
following appeared in one of the papers tne very next day : —
" Behold the Man ! — The maependent candidate still maintains
silence. Because he dare not speak. Every accusation against him has
been amply proved, and they have been endorsed and re-endorsed by
his own eloquent silence, till at this day he stands for ever convicted.
Look upon your candidate. Independents ! Look iipon the Infamous
Perjurer ! the Montana Thief! the Body-snatcher ! Contemplate your
incarnate Delirium Tremens ! your Filthy Corruptionist ! your Loath*
some Embracer ! Gaze upon him — ponder him well — and then say if
you can give your honest votes to a creature who has earned this dismal
array of titles by his hideous crimes, and dares not open his mouth in
denial of any one of them ! "
There was no possible way of getting out of it, and so in deep humi'
liation, I set about preparing to " answer " a mass of baseless charges and
mean and wicked falsehoods. But I never finished the task, for the very
next morning a paper came out with a new horror, a fresh malignity, aiid
seriously charged me with burning a lunatic asylum with all its inmates,
because it obstructed the view from my house. This threw me into a
sort of panic. Then came the charge of poisoning my uncle to get his
property, with an imperative demand that the grave should be opened.
This drove me to the verge of distraction. On top of this I was accused
of employing toothless and incompetent old reliEttives to prepare the
food for the foundling hospital when I was warden. I was wavering-
wavering. And at last, as a due and fitting climax to the shamelesg
persecution that party rancour had inflicted upon me, nine little toddling
children, of all shades of colour and degrees of raggedness, were taught
to rush on to the platform at a public meeting, and clasp me aroimd the
k)g8 and call me Pa !
) an important part
reDMsers which was
Pol Pb¥.
abeknowena to anv-
ura truly, or you '^U
ILlndt Andt.
till the reader wae
icted " me of whole-
iled " an aggravated
" Twain the Filthy
ser."]
)ur for an " answer "
that the editors and
n for me to x email
more imperallva, tlu
ixt day : —
date Btill maintains
ction against him has
and re-endorsed by
i for ever convicted.
upon the Infamous
Contemplate youi
tioniat ! your Loath*
ell— and then say ii
I earned this dismal
open his mouth in
jd so in deep humi-
baseless charges and
the task, for the very
fresh malignity, aiid
I with all its inmates,
[his threw me into a
my uncle to get his
re should be opened,
3f this I was accused
aves to prepare the
I was wavering-
ax to the shamelesg
i, nine little toddling
tedness, were taught
pilasp me around the
TffE POOH EDITOR,
^%
I ffave up. I hauled down mr coloun and surrenderwi. I waa ii I
equal to the requirements of a Qubematorial campaign in the State of
New York, and ito i sent in my withdrawal from the candidacy, and
in bitterness of spirit signed it, " Truly yours, onct a decent man, but
now
- Mauk TwAiN, L P., M. T., B. S., D. T., F. C, and L. E."
THE POOR EDITOR.
To be the editor of any kind of newspaper, either country or metro-
politan (but very especially the former), la a position which mual
be trying to a good-natured man ! Because it makes him an
object of charity whether or no. It makes him the object of a peculiar
and humiliating, because an interested, charity — a charity thrust upon
him with offensive assurance and a perfectly unconcealed taken-for-
granted air that it will be received with gratitude, and the donor aooounted
a benefactor ; and at the very same time the donor's chief motive, his
vulgar self-interest, is left as frankly unconcealed. The country editor
offers his advertising space to the puoHc at the trifle of one doUar and
a half or two dollars a square, first insertion, and one would suppose his
" patrons " would be satisfied with that But they are not The^ puxzle
their thin brains to find out some still cheaper way of getting their wares
celebrated — some way whereby they can advertise virtually for nothing.
They soon hit upon that meanest and shabbiest of all contrivances for
robbing a gentle-spirited scribbler, viz., the conferring upon him of a
present and begging a "notice'' of it— thus pitifully endeavouring to not
only invade his sacred editorial columns, but get ten dollars' worth of
advertising for fifty cents' worth of merchandise, and on top of that leave
the poor creature burdened with a crushing debt of gratitude ! And so
the corrupted editor, having once debauched his independence and re-
ceived one of these contemptible presents, wavers a little while the rem-
nant of his self-respect is consuming, and at last abandons himself to a
career of ihame, and prostitutes his columns to " notices " of every sort
of present that a stingy neighbour chooses to inflict upon Imn. The
confectioner insults him with forty centfl' worth of ice-cream — and he
lavishes four "squares" of editorial compliments on him ; the grocer
insults him with a buncn of ovw-grown radiahes and a dozen prize
turnips — and gets an editorial paragraph of perfectly lurid gratitude ;
the farmer insulta him with three dollars' worth of peaches, or a beet
like a man's leg, or a water-melon like a channel-buo]^ or a cabbage in
many respects like his own head, and expects a thira of a column of
exuberant imbecility — and gets it And these triyjal charities are not
resptectfully and gracefully tendered, but are thrnst iniMlently upon the
victim, and with an air that plainly shows that the victim will be held
to a strict aoeoontability in the next iasue of his papec
p
'l !
isliHI j'.'l
I ■' :.
i
mil
l#
Afj4R^ TWATN'S WORKS,
I am not an eAltor of a newspaper, and ahall always try to do rijSfht
and be good, so that Ood will not make iiie one ; but there arv sonu
persons who have got the impression soniehuw that I am that kind of
character, and they treat me accordingly. They send me a new-fangled
wheelbarrow, and ask me to " notice ' it ; or a peculiar boot-jack, and
ask me to " notice '^ it ; or a sample of co£fee, and ask me to " notice " it ;
or an article of furniture worth eight or ten dollars, or a pair of crutches,
or a truss, or an artificial nose, or a few shillings' worth of rubbish of the
vegetable species ; and here lately, all in one day, I received a barrel oi
apples, a thmg to milk cows with, a basket of peaches, a box of grapes, a
new sort of wooden leg, and a patent "composition'' grave-stone.
** Notices" requested. A barrel of apples, a cow-milker, a basket of
peaches, and a box of grapes, all put together, are not worth the bore of
writing a " notice," or a tenth part of the room the " notioe " would
take up in the paper, and so they remained unnoticed. I had no imme-
diate use Tor the wooden leg, and would not have accepted a charity
gravestone if I had been dead and actually suffering for it when it came :
■o I sent those articles back.
I do not want any of these underhanded obligation-inflicting preaente.
I prefer to cramp myself down to the use of such things as I can afford,
and then pay for them ; and then when a citizen needs the labour of my
hands he can have it, and I will infallibly come on him for damagea
The ungraceful custom, so popular in the back settlements, of faceti-
ously wailing about the banen pockets of editors, is the parent of this
uncanny present-inflicting, and it is time that the guild tnat originated
the custom and now suffer in pride and purse from it reflect^ that
decent and dignified povertp' is thoroughly respectable ; while the flaunt-
ing of either a real or pretended neediness in the public face, and the
bartering of nauseating *' puffs" for its legitimate fruit of charita])le
presents, are as thorougnly indelicate, unbecoming, and disreputable.
MY WATCH— AN INSTRUCTIVE
LITTLE TALE.
MY beautiful new watch had run eighteen months without losing
or gaining, and without breaking any part of its machinery or
stopping. I had come to believe it infallible in its judgments
about the tmie of day, and to consider its constitution and its anatomy
imperishable. But at last, one night, I let it run down. I grieved
about it as if it were a recognised messenger and forerunner of calamity.
HtxX by-and-by I cheered up, set the watch by guese^ and commanded
m^ bodings and superstitions to depart Next day I stepped into the
skuef jew^er's to set it by the exact time, and the head oi um establish-
fnaot took it out of my hand and proceeded to set it for mai Thfcn 1m
MY WATCHMAN INSTRUCTIVE TALE.
AJ8 try to do rip;ht
but there are sodm
I am that kind of
d me a new-fangled
iiliar boot-jack, and
L me to " notice " it ;
yv a pair of crutches,
•th of rubbish of the
received a barrel ol
B, a box of grapes, a
lition" grave-stone,
milker, a basket of
)t worth the bore of
be "notice" would
[L I had no imme-
accepted a charity
f^or it when it came :
1-inflicting preientfi.
ings as I can afford,
ids the labour of my
lim for damages,
ittlements, of facet!-
the parent of this
iiild tnat originated
^m it reflect^ that
while the flaunt-
ublic face, and the
fruit of charitable
nd disreputabla
JCTIVE
kths without losing
its machinery or
in its judgments
and its anatomy
down. I griev^
unner of calanLity.
and commanded
'. stepped into the
id oruw eetablish-
for niL Th«n 1m
Baa eighteen iiiunthi without atopping.
And got thirteen duya uhend
Then it ran down.
Then it drifted back into the snow
of last year.
Then it got into a raging fever.
Watchmalter said " King bolt was
broken."
H'
HP'
:-iii
W :
■ .. i
il
^B^'
!
m
f;
BwP
t ■
A:V INSTRUCTrVE LITTLE TALE,
54>
isiAy " She Ifl four minutes slow — regulator wants pnshinff im.* I tried
to stop him — tried to make him understand that the watcn tept perfect
time. But no ; all this human cabbage could see was that the watch
was four minutes slow, and the regulator nvust be pushed uj> a little ;
and so, while I danced around him in anguish, and pleaded with him to
let the watch alone, he calmly and cruelly did the shameful deed. My
watch began to gain. It g med faster and faster day by day. Within
the week it sickened to a raging fever, audits pidse wentup to a hundred
and fifty in the shade. At the end of two months it had left all the time*
pieces of the town far in the rear, and was a fraction over thirteen days
a head of the almanac. It was away into November enjoying the snow,
while the October leaves were stiU turning. It hurried up house-rent,
bills payable, and such things, in such a ruinous way that I could not
abide it. I took it to the watchmaker to be regulated. He asked me il
I had ever had it repaired. I said no, it had never needed any repair-
ing. He looked a look of vicious happiness and eagerly prized tiie watch
open, then put a small dice-box into his eye and peered into its machinery.
He said it wanted cleaning and oiling, besides regulating — come in a
week. After being cleaned and oiled and regulated, my watch slowed
down to that degree that it ticked like a toUing beU. I began to be left
by trains, I failed all appointments, I got to missing my dinner ; my
wateh strung out three days' grace to four and let me go to protest \ I
gradually drifted back into yesterday, then day before, then into last
week, and by-and-by the comprehension came upon me that all solitary
afid alone I was lingering fdong in week before last, and the world was
out of sight. I seemed to detect in myself a sort of sneaking fellow-
feeling for the mummy in the museum, and a desire to swap news with
him. I went to a watchmaker again. He took the watoh aU to pieces
while I waited, end then said the barrel was " swelled." He said he
could reduce it in three days. After this the watch averaged weU, but
nothing more. For half a day it would go like the very mischief, and
keep up such a barking and wheezing, and whooping and sneezing and
snorting, that I could not hear myself think for the disturbance ; and
as long as it held out there was not a watch in the land that stood any
chance against it. But the rest of the day it would keep on slowing
down and fooling along until all the clocks it had left behind caught up
again. So at last, at the end of twenty-four hours, it would trot up to
the judges' stand all right and just in time. It would show a fair and
square average, and no man could say it had done more or less than its
duty. But a correct average is only a mUd virtue in a watch, and I took
this instrument to another watchmaker. He said the kingbolt was
broken. I said I was glad it was nothing more serious. To tell the
plain truth, I had no idea what the kingbolt was, but I did not choose
to appear ignorant to a stranger. He repaired the kingbolt, but what
the watch gained in one way it lost in another. It womd mn a while
and then stop a while, and men run a while again, and so on, using its
own discretion about the intervala And every time it went off it kicked
back like a mus^M^ I padded my breast for a few days, but finally took
the watch to anothet watohmaker. Ha nicked it all to pieces and turned
U8
HARK TWAIN'S WORKS,
the ruin over and over under his class ; and then he said there appeared
to be something the matter with the hair-trigger. He fixed it, and gave
it a fresh start. It did well now, except that always at ten minutes to
ten the hands would shut together like a pair of scissors, and from that
time forth they would travel together. The oldest man in the world
could not make head or tail of the time of day by such a watch, and so
I went again to haye the thing repaired. This person said that the
crystal had got bent, and that the mainspring was not straight. He also
remarked that part of the works needed half-soling. He made these
things all right, and then my timepiece performed unexceptionably, save
that now and then, after working along quietly for nearly eight hours,
everything inside would let go all of a sudden and begin to buzz like a
bee, and the hands would straightway begin to spin round and round so
fast that their individuality was lost completely, and they simply seemed
a delicate spider's web over the face of the watch. She woiQd reel off
the next twenty-four hours in six or seven minutes, and then stop with
a bang. I went with a heavy heart to one more watchmaker, and looked
on wnue he took her to pieces. Then I prepared to cross-question him
rigidly, for this thing was getting serious. The watch had cost two
hundred dollars originally, and I seemed to have paid out two or three
thousand for repairs. While I waited and looked on I presently recog-
nised in this watchmaker an old acquaintance — a steamboat engineer of
other days, and not a good engineer either. He examined all tiie parts
eaxefally, just as the other watchmakers had done, and then delivered
his ver^ct with the same confidence of manner.
He said —
" She makes too much steam — you want to hang the monkey-wrencL
on the safety-valve ! "
I brained him on the spot, and had him buried at my own expense.
My uncle William (now deceased, alas !) used to say that a good horse
was a good horse until it had run away once, and that a good watch was
a good watch until the repairers got a chance at it. And he used to
wonder what became of all the unsuccessful tinkers, and gunsmiths,
and shoemakers, and blacksmiths, and engineers ; but nobody could evei
tell him.
A SANDWICH ISLAND EDITOR.
BY a Sandwich Island paper (the Conmurcial Advertiser) I learn that
Mr H. M. Whitney, its able editor and proprietor for sixteen
years, is just retiring from business, having sold out to younger
men. I take this opportunity of thanking the disappearing veteran for
coniteaes done and mfennation afforded me in bygone days. Mr Whitnef^
MY WATCH.— AN INSTRUCTIVE TALE -continued.
lid there appeared
fixed it, and gave
it ten minutes to
ra, and from that
lan in the world
h a watch, and so
son said that the
straight. He also
He made these
xceptionably, save
jarly eight hours,
gin to buzz like a
lund and roxind so
bey simply seemed
Jhe woiQd reel off
Qd then stop with
imaker, and looked
sross-question him
atch Had coat two
L out two or three
I presently recog-
mboat engineer of
ined all the parts
tnd then delivered
16 monkey-wrench
ay own expense.
that a good horse
a good watch was
And he used to
and gunsmiths,
nobody could evw
rrtiser) I learn that
)rietor for sixteen
d out to younger
aring veteran for
^ys. MxWhitntry
Then it went at railroad speed.
It began to buzz like a bee.
At 10 minutes to 10 tlie hands would shut
together like a pair of scissors.
Then Engineer looked at it, and said,
"She makes too much noise — you want
to hang the monkey-wrench."
So I went again to have it repaired.
I brained him on the spot, and had him
buried at my own expense.
THE PORTRAIT,
549
U one of the fairest-minded and best hearted cannibals I ever knew, if I
do say it myself. There is not a stain upon his name, and never has
been. And he is the best judge of a human being I ever saw go
through a market. Many a time I have seen natives try to palm oflf
part of an old person on him for the fragment of a youth, but I never
saw it succeed! Ah, no, there was no deceiving H. M. Whitney. He
could tell the very family a roast came from if he had ever tried the
family before. I remember his arresting my hand once and saying.
'^ Let that alone — it 's from one of those Hulahulas — a very low family
—and tough." I cannot think of Whitney without my mouth watering.
We used to partake of a great many people in those halcyon days,
which shall come again, alas 1 never more. We lived on the fat of the
land. And I will say this for Henry Whitney — he never thought less
of his friend after examining into him, and he was always sorry when
his enemy was gone.
Most of the above may fairly and justly rank as nonsense, but my
respect and regard for Mr Whitney are genuine.
THE PORTRAIT. ,
I NEVER can look at those periodical portraits in your magazine
without feeling a wild, tempestuous ambition to be an artist. I
have seen thousands and thousands of pictures in my time — acree
of them here, and leagues of them in the galleries of Europe — ^but never
any that moved me as the magazine portraits do.
There is the portrait of Monsignore Capel in the November number ;
now, wvM anything be sweeter than that ? And there was Bnmarck's
in the October numtjer ; who can look at that without bein^ purer and
stronger and nobler for it ? And Thurlow Weed's picture m the Sep-
tember number ; I would not have died without seeing thai — no, not for
anything this world can give. But look back still further, and recfdl
luy own likeness as printed in the August issue ; if I had been in my
grave a thousand years when that appeared, I would have got up and
visited the artist.
I sleep with all these portraits under my piUow every ni^ht, so that I
can go on studying them as soon as the day dawns in th e morning. I know
them all as thoroughly as if I had made them myself ; I know everv line
and mark about them. Sometimes when company are present I shuffle
the portraits all up together, and then pick them out one by one, and
call their names without referring to the printing at the bottom. I
seldom make a mistake — never when I am cakn.
1 have had the portraits framed for a long time, waiting till my aunt
gets everything ready for han^ng them up in tlie parlour. But first
one thins and then another int^eres, and so the thing va delayed.
I'
550
MARK TWAIN'S WORKS.
m..
n
'h\
Once she said thej would have more of the peculiar kind of light they
needed in the attic The old simpleton ! it is as dark as a tomb up
there. But she doee not know anything about Art, and so she has no
reverence for it.
Well, from nursing those magazine portraits so long, J have eome at
last to have a perfect infatuation for Art I have a teacher now, and
vxj enthusiasm continually and tumultuously grows as I learn to use
with more and more facility the pencil, brush, and graver. I am study-
ing under De Melville, the house and portrait painter. (His name was
Smith when he lived West) He does any kind of artist work a body
wants, having a genius that is universal, like Michael Angelo — ^resembles
that great artist, in fact The back of his head is like his, and he wears
his hat-brim tilted down on hid nose to expose it
I have been studying undei De Melville several months now. The
first month I painted fences, and gave general satisfaction. The next
month I whitewashed a bam. The third, I was doing tin roofis ; the
fourth, common signs ; the fifth, statuary to stand before cigar shops.
This present month is only the sixth, and I am already in portraits !
The humble offering which accompanies these remarks — the portrait
of His Majesty William III., King of Prussia — is my fifth attempt in
portraits, and my greatest success. It has received unbounded praise
nom all classes of the community, but that which gratifies me most is
the frequent and cordial verdict mat it resembles the magazine portraits.
Those were my first love, my earliest admiration, the ori^nal source and
incentive of my Art-ambition. Whatever I am in Art to-day I owe to
the magazine portraits. I ask no credit for myself — I deserve none.
And I never take any, either. Many a stranger obr come to my exhibi-
tion (for I have had my portrait of ELing William on exhibition at one
dollar a ticket), and would have gone away blessing me if I had let him,
but I never did. I always stated where I got the idea.
King William wears large bushy side whiskers, and some critics have
iihou^ht that this portrait would be more complete if they were added.
But it was not possible. There was not room for side whiskers and
epaulettes both, and so I let the whiskers go, and put in the epaulettes
for the sake of style. That thing on his hat is an eagle. The Frussian
eagle — it is a national emblem. When I say hat I mean helmet ; but
it seems impossible to make a picture of a helmet that a body can have
confidence in.
I wish kind friends everywhere would aid me in my endeavour to
Attract a little attention to the magazine portraits. I feel persuaded it
ean be accomplished if the course to be pursued be chosen with judg*
ment I wnte for that magazine all the time, and so do many abler
men, and if I can get tiie portraits into universal favour it is all I aek j
the reading matter will take care of itsell
!."i'i .l;.r:i. -•aJ.ljLii.f fn - v' u
'lj:f,.j -ii
j-;;U
V ' i
•• ■; :
.'.;;■;' -w:' ■,,.
^ ..ifU:. •
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dnd of light thej
rk as a tomb up
nd so she has uo
[gt J have eome at
teacher now, and
as I learn to use
ver. I am study-
. (His name was
urtist work a body
Lngelo — resembles
mBf and he wears
Lonths now. The
fiction. The next
ng tin roofis; the
lefore c^ar shops.
Y in por&aits !
arks — the portrait
y fifth attempt in
unbounded praise
atifies me most is
nagazine portraits.
»ri^nal source and
pt to-day I owe to
—I deserve none.
)me to my exhibi-
exhibition at one
if I had let him,
some criticB have
they were added.
ide whiskers and
in the epaulettes
). The Prussian
lean helmet ; but
a body can have
my endeavour to
feel persuaded it
shosen with judg-
o do many abler
ur it is all I ask J
PORTRAIT OF THE EMPEROR OF GERMANY.
WILLIAM ///,,
King William wears large bushy side whiskers, and some critics have
thought that this portrait would be more complete if they were added. But
it was not possible. There was not room for side whiskers and epaulettes
both, and so I let the s'.de whiskers go, and put in the epaulettes for sake of
style.— Page 550.
n'i
\
SHORT AND SINGULAR RATIONS,
SSI
SHORT AND SINGULAR RATIONS.
As many will remember, the clipper-ship Hornet^ of New York, waa
burned at sea on her passage to San Francisco. The disaster
occurred in lat. 2° 2(y north, long. 112° 8' west After being forty-
three days adrift on the broad Pacinc in open boats, the crew and
passengers aucceeded in making Hawaii. A tribute to the courage and
brave endurance of these men has been paid in a letter detailing their
Bu£ferings ^the particulars being gathered from their own lips), from
wiiich the loUowing excerpt is made : —
On Monday, the thirty-eighth day after the disaster, ^' we had nothing
left," said the third mate, '' but a pound and a half of ham — the bone
was a good deal the heaviest part of it — and one soup-and-bully tin."
These things were divided among the fifteen men, and they ate it — two
ounces of food to each man. I do not count the ham-bone, as that waa
saved for next day. For some time, now, the poor wretches had been
cutting their old boots into small pieces and eatmg them. They would
also pound wet rags to a sort of pulp, and eat tiiem.
On the thirty-ninth day the ham-bone was divided up into rations,
and scraped with knives and eaten. I said, *' You say the two sick men
remained sick all through, and after a while two or three had to be re«
Ueved from standing watch ; how did you get along without medicines !**
The reply was, " Oh ! we couldn't have kept them if we *d had them ;
if we'd had boxes of pUls, or anything like that, we 'd have eaten them.
It was just as well — ^we couldn't have kept them, and we couldnt hava
given mem to the sick men sdone — we 'd have snared them around all
alike, I guess." It was said rather in jest, but it was a pretty true jest,
no doubt r I ; ' ' > i i f 'i
After apportioning tlie ham-bone, the captain cat the canvas cover
that had been around the ham into fifteen equal pieces, and each man
took his portion. This was the last division of food the captain made. Then
the men broke up the snutll oaken butter tub, and divided the stavM
among themselves, and gnawed them up. The shell of a little green
turtle was scraped with Imives, and eaten to the last shaving. The third
mate chewed pieces of boots, and spat them out, but ate nothing except
the soft straps of two pairs of boots — ate three on the thirty-ninth day
and saved one for the fortieth.
The men seem to have thought in tneir own minds of the shipwrecked
mariner's last dreadful resort— cannibalism ; but they do not appear to
have conversed about it. They only thought of the casting lots and
killing one of their number as a possibility ; but even when they were
eating rags, and bone, iumI boots, and shell, and hard oak wood, they seem
to have still had a notion that it was remote. Thev felt that some one
ii the company must die soon — which one they wail knew ; and during
the last three or four days of their terrible voyage they were patiently
■>ut hungrily waiting for him. I wonder if the subject of these anticip»>
553
MARK TIVAIN'S WORKS.
tions khew what they were thinking of? He must have known it — he
must have felt it. They had even calculated how lon^ he would last
They said to themselves, but not to each other, '* He will die Saturday
—and then I "
There was one exception to the crpirit of delicacy I have mentioned —
a Frenchman — who kept an eye of stronc personal interest upon the
sinking man, and noted his faiung strength with untiring care and some
degree of cheerfulness. He frequently said to Thomas, ^I think he vrill
go off pretty soon now, sir ; and then we 11 eat him 1 " This is very
sad.
Thomas, and also several of the men, state that the sick ** Portyghee,"
during the five days that they were entirely out of provisions, actually
ate two silk handkerchiefs and a couple of cotton shirts, besides his shan
of the boots, and bones, and lumber.
Captain Mitchell was fifty-six years old on the twelfth of June — ^the
fortieth day after the burning of the ship, and the third day before the
boat's crew reached land. He said it looked somewhat as if it might be
the last one he was going to enjoy. He had no birthday feast except
some bits of ham-canvas— no luxury but this, and no suDstantials save
the leather and oaken bncket-staves.
Speaking of the latter diet, one of the men told me he was obliged to
eat a pair of boots, which were so old and rotten that they were mil oi
holes ; and then he smiled gently, and said he didn't know, though, but
til at the holes tasted about as good as the balance of the boot This
van was very feeble, and after saying that he went to bed*
HONOURED AS A CURIOSITY
IN HONOLULU,
IF you get into conversation with a stranger in Honolulu, and experi-
ence that natural desire to know what sort of ground you are tread-
ing on by finding out what manner of man your stranger is, strike
out boldly and address him as " Captain." Watch him narrowly, and if
you see by his countenance that you are on the wrong track, ask him
where he preaches. It is a safe bet that he is either a missionary or
captain of a whaler. I became personally acquainted with seventy-two
captains and ninety-six missionaries. The captains and ministers form
one-half of the population ; the third fourth is composed of common
Kanakas and mercantile foreigners and their fietmilies; and the final
fourth is made up of high officers of the Hawaiian Qovemment. And
there are just about cats enough for three apiece all around.
A solemn stranger met me iii the suburbs one day, and said :
' " Good morning, your reverence. Preach in the stone church yondei^
60 doubt?" -*
.4i4l.
•DOGGEREU
553
ill die Saturday
*^ No, I dont I 'm not a preacher."
** Really, I beg your pardon, captain. I trust you had a good leaMnL
How much oil "
" Oil ! Why what do you take me for ? I 'm not a whaler."
" Oh ! I beg a thousand pardons, your Excellency. Major-Qeneral in
the household troops, no doubt? Minister of the Interic>r, Ukel^l
Secretary of War? First Qentleman of the Bedchamber? Commis-
sioner of the Royal "
** Stu£f ! man. I 'm no official I 'm not connected in «ny way with
the Government.'*
" Bless my life ! Then who the mischief are you ? what the mischief
ure you ? and how the mischief did you get here ? and where in thunder
did you come from ? "
"I'm only a private personage — an unassuming stranger — lately
arrived from America."
" No ! Not a missioDAry ! not a whaler ! not a member of his
Majesty's Government ! not even Secretary of the Navy ! Ah ! heaven !
it is too blissful to be true ; alas ! I do but dream. And yet that noble,
honest countenance — those oblique, ingenuous eyes — that massive head,
incapable of — of anything ; your hand ; give me your hand, bright waif.
Excuse these tears. For sixteen weary years 1 have yearned for a
moment like this, and "
Here his feelings were too much for him, and he swooned away. I
pitied this poor creature from the bottom of my heart I was deeply
moved. I shed a few teaxs on him, and kissed him for his mother, i
then took what small change he had, and " ^oved."
** DOGGEREL.''
A MINNESOTA correspondent empties the following anecdotes into
the drawer of this '' Memoranda?' The apparently impossible feat
described in the second one is not common, and therefore the
rarity of the situation commends it to this department of this magazine,
and will no doubt secure the sympathy of the reader. The correspond-
ent says : —
" A few months ago S. and myself had occasion to make a trip up the
Missouri While waiting at Sioux City for a boat we saw some of those
white Esquimaux dogs, and S. became possessed of the idea that it was
necessary for his happiness that he should have one of the breed ; so we
huuted up the proprietor and opened negotiations. We found that he
had none to spare at the time, but that he expected some puppies would
be bom to the world in a month or six weeks. That suited S. well
enough, as he expected to return to Sioux City in about three months,
ar.d a bargain was struck."
Well, we came back ; but S. bad by that time got out of conceit of the
554
MARK TWAIN'S WORKS,
IHIMA \
Ml;
MP'
I >
fll
dog, and did not want him. I liiBiBted on his sticking to the bargain,
and succeeded in getting him and the proprietor of the dogs togetlier.
" Mr W.," Raid I, " wLen we were here some tliree months ago yon
promlHed to save for us an Esauimaux puppy. Were any Iwm 1" , ..
" Oh, yaw ; de buppies vaa oom." u
" Well, have vou got one for us 1 * '
" Nein, I don t got any."
" Whv, how is tnat ? You remember you promised to save one."
" Well, mine vriend, I '11 tell how it vas " [confidentially, and drawing
close]. ** Now you see de buppy dog he live in de ehtable mit de norse,
and [very pathetically] de horse he got step-ped on to de do-ag, and de
do-ag he got di-ed."
And thus it was that S. did not get his puppy ; but 1 made hiin
engage another. .,,.,, - :. ,. •
While up the river 1 heard the following story, shovnng how an
animal can rise, when necessary, superior to its nature : —
'' You see," said the narrator, " the beaver took to the water, and the
dog was after him. First the beaver was ahead, and then the dog. It
was tuck and nip whether the dog would catch the beuver, and nuoc and
tip whether the beaver would catch the dog. Finally the beaver got
across the river, and the dog had almost caught him when, phit 1 up
the beaver skun up a tree." ^ ,^ ,^ , ,
'* But," said a bystander, " beavers can't climb trees."
" A beaver can't climb a tree ? By gosh he hod to climb a tree^ the
dog was a crowdin' him so ! " ,^ „ ,
MEAN PEOPLE.
MY ancient comrade " Doesticks," in a letter from New York, quotes
a printed paragraph concerning a story I used to tell to lecture
auaiences about a wonderfully mean man whom I used to know,
and then Mr D. throws himself into a passion and relates the following
circumstance (writing on both sides of his paper, which is at least singu-
lar in a journalist, if not profane and indecent) : —
^' Now, I don't think much of that I know a better thing about old
Captain Asa T. Mann of this town. You see, old Mann used to own
and conmiand a pickaninny, bull-headed, mud-turtle-shaped craft of a.
schooner that hailed from Perth Amboy. Old Mann used to prance out
of his little cove where he kept his three-cent craft, and steal along the
coast of the dangerous Kill von Kull on the larboard side of Staten
Island, to smouch oysters from unguarded beds, or pick clams oft sloo^^s
where the watch had gone to bed £amk. Well, once old Mi^in went on
a long voyage for him. He went down to Virginia, taking his wife and
little ooj wiUi luiu. The old rapscallion put on all sorts of airs, and
INSTANCES OF PRESENCE OF MIND,
555
ut 1 made him
ihowing how an
limb a trM^ th£
pretended to keep up as strict discipline as if Iub craft was a nun-of^war.
One day his darling baby tumbled overboard. A sailor named Jonea
jumped over after hun. and after cavorting around about an hour or so
succeeded in getting tne miserable little scion of a worthless sire on
board auain. Thou old Mann got right up on his di^ty — he put on
all the dig. he had handy — and in two miuute» he had Jones into double
irons, and there he kept him three weeks in the foruhuld, for leaving th*
itiim vnthout ordersJ*
I will not resurrect my own mean man, for possibly he might not
•how to good advantage in the presence of tnis gifted sailor ; but I will
enter a Toledo bridegroom against the sou of tno suit wave, and let the
winner take the money. 1 give the Toledo story just as it comes to
me. (It, too, is written on lK)th sides of the paper ; but as this corre<
spondent is not a journalist, the act is only wicked, not o>>8cene.)
<< In this village there lived, and continue to live, two chaps who in
their bachelor days were chums. S.^ one of the chaps, tiring of single
blessedness, took unto himself a wile and a wedding, with numerous
pieces of silverware and things from congratulating friends. C, the
other chap, sent in a handsome silver ladle, costing several dollars or
more. Their friendship continued. A year later C. also eutered into
E' lership for life with one of the fair Eves ; and he also had a wcd-
S., Deing worth something less than 20,000 dollars, thought he
^ t to return the compliment of a wedding present, and a happy
thought struck him. He took that ladle down to the Jeweller from
whom it was purchased by C. the year liefore, and traded it vffor ailmf
taU 4i*heii to pramii do 0, and hie bride,"
REMARKABLE INSTANCES OF
--PRESENCE OF MIND.
THE steamer Ajax encountered a terrible storm on her down trip
from San Francisco to the Sandwich Islands. It tore her light
spars and rigging all to shreds and splinters, upset all furniture
th&i could be upset, and spilled passengers around, and knocked them
hither and thither with a perfect looseness. For forty-eight hours no
table could be set, and everybody had to eat as best they might under
the circumstances. Most of the party went hungry, though, and attended
to their praving. But there was one set of "seven-up" players who
nailed a card-table to the floor, and stuck to their game through thick
and thin. Captain F , of a great banking-house in San Francisco, a
man of great coolness and presence of mind, was of this party. One
night the storm suddenly culminated in a climax of unparalleled fury ;
the vessel went down on her beam ends, and everythi^ let go with a
aiMh — pa/wwngers. tables, cards, bottles — evei;ytbiAg came ^ilattering to
r *^' '
:,j i
^■■^.r 1
I''
i
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r H
[B
n> )*«
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H
t B
32'
uF
-
M.
pit
m
'it
m
,- , St?;*?"
M6
if/4^Ar TWAIN'S WORKS,
the floor in a chaos of disorder and confusion. In a moment fil^ Bor«!
distressed and pleading voices ejaculated, ^' O Heaven ! help us m oui
extremity ! " and one voice rang out clear and sharp above the plaintive
chorus and said, " Remember, boys, I played the tray for low ! * It
was one of the gentlemen I have mentioned who spoke. And the
remark showed good presence of mind and an eye to business.
Lewis L , of a great hotel in San Francisco, was a passenfier.
There were some savage grizzly bears chained in cages on deck. One
night in the midst of a hurricane, which was accompanied by rain and
thunder and lightning, Mr L came up, on his way to bed. Just as
he stepped into the pitchy darkness of the deck, and reeled to the still
more pitchy motion of the vessel (bad), the captain sang out hoarsely
through his speaking tnmipet, " Bear a hand aft, there ! " The words
were aadlv marred and jumbled by the roaring wind. Mr L
thought tne captain said, " The bears are after you there ! " and he
'- let go all holts " and went down into his boots. He murmured, " I
knew how it was going to be — I just knew it from the start — I said
all along that those bears would get loose some time ; and now Fll be
the first man that they '11 snatch. Captain ! captain ! — can't hear me —
storm roars so ! O God ! what a fate ! I have avoided wild beasts all
my life, and now to be eaten by a grizzly bear in the middle of the
ocean, a thousand miles from land ! Captain ! captain ! — bless my
soul, there 's one of them — I 've got to cut and run ! " And he did cut
and run, and smashed through the door of the first state-room he came
to. A gentleman and his wife were in it. The gentleman exclaimed,
" Who 's that ? " The refugee gasped out, " great Scotland ! those
bears are loose, and just raising Cain all over the ship 1 " and then
sunk down exhausted. The gentleman sprang out of bed and locked
the door, and prepared for a siege. Alter a while, no assault being
made, a rpconnoisance was made from the window, and a vivid
flash of lightning revealed a dear deck. Mr L— — then made a dart
for his own state-room, gained i^ locked himseK in, and felt that his
body's salvation was accomplished, and by little less than a miracle.
The neikt day the subject of this memoir, though still very feeble and
nervous, had the hardihood to make a joke upon his adventure. He
said that when he found himself in so tight a place (as he thought), he
didn't bear it with much fortitude, and when he found himself safe at
last in his state-room, he regarded it as the bearest escape hn had ever
had in his life. He then went to bed, and did not get up again for nine
days. This unquestionably bad joke cast a gloom over the whole ship's
company, and no effort was sufficient to restore their wonted cheerful-
ness until the vessel reached her port, and other scenes en«ed it from
their meiuories.
THE STEED **OAHUP
557
THE STEED "OAHU."
THE landlord of the American hotel at Honolulu said the partj had
been gone nearly an hour, but that he could give rae my choice of
several horses that could easily overtake them. I said, Never
mind — I preferred a safe horse to a fast one — I would like to have an
excessively gentle horse — a horse with no spirit whatever — a lame one,
if he had such a thing. Inside of five minutes I was mounted, and per-
fectly satisfied with my outfit. I had no time to label him, " This is a
horse," and so, if the public took him for a sheep, I cannot help it I
was satisfied, and that was the main thing. I could see that he had as
many fine points as any man's horse, and I just hun^ my hat on one of
them, behind the saddle, and swabbed the perspiration from my face,
and started. I named him after this island, " Oahu " (pronounced
0-waw-hoo). The first gate he came to he started in ; I had neither
whip nor spur, and so I simply argued the case with him. He firmly
resisted argument, but ultimately yielded to insult and abuse. He
backed out of that gate and steered mr another one on the other side of
the street. I triumphed by my former process. Within the next six
hundred yards he crossed the street fourteen times, and attempted
thirteen gates, and in the meantime the tropical sun was beating down
and threatening to cave the top of my head m, and I was literally drip-
ping with perspiration and profanity. (I am only human^ and I was
sorely aggravated ; I shall behave better next time.) He quitted the
gate business after that, 'JcA went along peaceably enough, but absorbed
in meditation. I noticed this latter circumstance, and it soon began to fill
me with the gravest apprehension. I said to myself, This malignant
brute is planning some new outrage — some fresh devilry or other ; no
horse ever thought over a subject so profoundly as this one is doing just
for nothing. The more this thing preyed upon my mind, the more
aneasy I became, until at last the suspense became unbearable, and I
dismounted to see if there was anything wild in his eye ; for I had
heard that the eye of this noblest of our domestic animals is very ex-
pressive.. I cannot describe what a load of anxiety was lifted from my
mind when I found that he was only asleep. I woke him up and
started him into a faster walk, and then the inoom villany of his nature
came out again. He tried to climb over a stone wall five or six feet
high. I saw that I must apply force to this horse, and that I might aa
well b^in first as last I plucked a stout switch from a tamarind tree,
and the moment he saw it ne gave in. He broke into a convulsive sort
of a canter, which had three short steps in it and one long one, and
reminded me alternately of the clattering shake of the great earthquake
and the sweeping plunging of the A^ax in a storm.
i
558
AfA/^/C TWAIN'S WORKS,
A STRANGE DREAM.
I*-
m
k ^
tvi I? i
hit ikSl
fit
I! I A;
EC^
Drc<vmed at the Volcano House, Crater of " KUatua," Sandwich Idand$t
April 1, 1866.
ALL day long I have sat apart and pondered orer the mjsterioiu
occurrences of last night. . . . There is no link lacking in the
chain of incidents. My memoiy presents each in its proper order
with perfect distinctness, but still ■' 1;
However, never mind these reflections. T will drop them, and proceed
to make a simple statement of the facts.
Towards eleven o'clock, it was suggested that the character of the
night was peculiarly suited to viewing the mightiest active volcano on
the earth's surface in its most impressive sublimity. There was no light
of moon or star in the inky heavens to mar the effect of the crater's
gorgeous pyrotechnics.
In due time I stood with my companion on the wall of the vast
cauldron which the natives ages ago named HaU mem mau — ^the abyss
wherein thev were wont to throw the remains of the chiefs, to tiie end
that vulgar feet might never tread above them. We stood there, at dead
of night, a mile above the level of the sea, and looked down a thousand
feet upon a boiling, surging, roaring ocean of fire ! — shaded our eyes from
the blinding glare, and gazed far away over the crimson waves with a
vague notion that a supernatural fleet, manned by demons and freighted
with the damned, might presently sail up out of the remote distance
— started when tremendous thunder-bursts shook the earth, and followed
with fascinated eyes the grand jets of molten lAva that sprang high up
toward the zenith and exploded in a world of fiery spray that ut up the
sombr J heavens with an infernal splendour.
" What is your little bonfire of Vesuvius to this ? "
My ejaculation roused my companion from his reverie, and we fell
into a conversation appropriate to the occasion and the surroundings.
We came at last to speak of the ancient custom of casting the bodies of
dead chieftains into this fearful caldron ; and mv comrade, who is of
the blood royal, mentioned that the founder of his race, old King
Eamehameha the first — that invincible old pagan Alexander — had found
other sepulture than die burning depths 01 the Hale mcM num. I grew
interested at once. I knew that the mystery of what became of the
corpse of the warrior king had never been fathomed. I was aware that
there was a legend connected with this matter, and I felt as if there
ccnild be no more fitting time to listen to it than the present The
descendant of the Eamehamehas said —
" The dead king was brought in royal state down the long winding
road that descends from the rim of the crater to the scorched and chasm<
rivon plain that lies between the Hale num mau and those beetling walls
vonder in the distance. The guards were set, and the troops of mourners
be^pAU the weird wail for the deyarted. In the middle of the xiight came
Iwich lUandtt
t;he mysterioufi
lackmg in the
tB proper order
m, and proceed
Ittracter of the
tive volcano on
ire was no light
of the crater's
all of the vast
rum — ^the abyss
liefs, to the end
d there, at dead
>wn a thousand
i our eyes from
a. waves with a
a and freighted
emote distance
h, and followed
sprang high up
that Ht up the
e, and we feU
surroundings,
g the bodies of
»de, who is of
ace, old King
ler— had found
num. I grew
became oi the
was aware that
elt as if there
present The
long winding
ed and chasm*
beetling walls
ps of mourners
Uia night came
A STRANGE DREAAf,
559
ft sound of innumerable voices in the %ir, and the rush of invisible wlisgs.
The funeral torches wavered, burned blue, and went out ; the mourners
and watchers fell to the ground paralysed by fright; and many minutes
elapsed before any one du«d to move or speak, for they believed that the
phantom messengers of the dread Qoddess of Fire had been in their midst
When at last a torch was lighted, the bier was vacant — the dead monarch
had been spirited away ! Consternation seized upon all, and they fled
out of the crater. When day dawned, the multitude returned and began
the search for the corpse. But not a footprint not a sign, was ever
found. Day after day the search was continued, and every cave in the
great walls, and every chasm in the plain for miles around, was examined,
but aU to no purpose ; and from that day to this the resting-place of tiie
lion king's bones is an unsolved mystery. But years afterward, when
the glim prophetess Wiahowakawak lay on her deathbed, the goddess
Pele appeared to her in a vision, and told her that eventudly the secret
would be revealed, and in a remarkable manner, but not until the great
KauhuhUf the Shark god, should desert the sacred cavern Atut Ptt^t, in
the Island of Molokai, and the waters of the sea should no more visit it,
and its floors should become dnr. Ever since that time the simple con-
fiding natives have watched for the sign. And now, after many and
many a summer has come and gone, and they who were in the flower of
youtn then have waxed old and died, the day is at hand ! The great
Shark god h "^ deserted the Atut Pvhi — a month ago, for the first time
within the s of the ancient legends, the waters of the sea ceased to
flow into t • . ^vem, and its stony pavement is become dry ! As you
may easily believe, the news of this event spread like wil(mre through
the islands, and now the natives are looking every hour for the miracle
which is to unveil the mystery and reveal the secret grave of the dead
hero."
fi ?•
-^ After I had gone to bed I got to thinking of the volcanic magnificence
we had witnessed, and could not go to sleep. I hunted up a book, and
concluded to pass the time in reading. The first chapter I came upon
related several instances of remarkable revelations made to men through
the agency of dreams— of roads and houses, trees, fences, and all manner
of landmarks, shown in visions and recognised afterwards in waking
hours, and which served to point the way to some dark mystery or other.
At length I fell asleep, and dreamed that I was abroad in the great
plain that skirts the McUe mau num. I stood in a sort of twilight which
softened the outlines of surrounding objects, but stiU left them tolerably
distinct A gaunt muffled figure stepped out from the shadow of a rude
column of lava, and moved away with a slow and measured step, beckon-
ing me to foUow. I did so. I marched down, down, down hundreds
of feet, upon a narrow trail which wound its tortuous course through
piles and pyramids of seamed and blackened lava, and under over-
hanging masses of sulphur formed by the artist hand of nature into an
infimtude of fanciful shapes. The thought crossed my mind that
possibly my phantom guide might lead me down among the bowels of
the crater, and then disappear and leave me to grope my way thrvngh
5&
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its maies, and work out my deliverance aa beat I might; and ao, with an
eje to such a contingency, I picked up a stone and " blazed " my course
by breaking off a projecting comer occasionally from lava walls and
festoons of sulphur* Finally we turned into a cleft in the crater's side,
and pursued our way through its intricate windings for many a fathom
down toward the home of me subterranean fires, our course lighted all
the while by a ruddy glow which filtered up through innumerable cracks
and crevices, and which afforded me occasional glimpses of the flood of
molten fire boiling and hissing in the profound depths beneath us. The
heat was intense, and the sulphurous atmosphere suffocating, but I toiled
on in the footstepu of my stately guide, and uttered no complaint. At
last we came to a sort of rugged chamber, whose sombre and blistered
walls spake with mute eloquence of some fiery tempest that had spent
its fury here in a bygone age. The spectre pointed to a great boulder at
the farther extremity — stood and pointed, silent and motionless, for a
few fleeting moments, and then disappeared ! " The grave of the first
Eamehameha ! ^ The words swept mournfully by from an unknown
source, and died away in the distant corridors of my prison-house, and I
was alone in the bowels of the earth, in the home of desolation, in the
presence of death !
My first frightened impulse was to fly, but a stronger impulse arrested
me and impelled me to approach the massive boulder the spectre had
pointed at. With hesitating step I went forward and stood beside it —
nothing there. I grew bolder, and walked around and about it, peering
shrewmy into the shadowy half-light that surrounded it — still nothing.
I paused to consider what to do next. While I stood irresolute I
chanced to brudh the ponderous stone with my elbow, and lo ! it vibrated
to my touch ! I would as soon have thought of starting a kiln of bricks
with my feeble hand. My curiosity was excited. I bore against the
boulder, and it still yielded — I gave a sudden push with my whole
strength, and it toppled from its foundation with a crash that sent the
echoes thundering down the avenues and passages of the dismal cavern !
And there, in a shallow excavation over which it had rested, lay the
crumbling skeleton of King Kamehameha the Great, thus sepulchred in
long-gone ^ears by supernatural hands! The bones could be none
other, for with them lay the priceless crown oipuUvrnxdanM coral, sacred
to royalty, and tofru to all else beside. A hollow human groan issued
out of th e
I woke up. How glad I was to know it was all a dream ! " This
comes of listening to the legend of the noble lord — of reading of those
lying dream revelations — of allowing myself to be carried away by the
wild beauty of old KiJlxama at midnight— of gorging too much pork and
beans for supper ! ^ And so I turned over and feU asleep again — and
dreamed the same dream precisely as before — followed the phantom
** blazed" my course — arrived at the grim chamber — heard the sad spirit
voice — overturned the massy stone— beheld the regal crown and decay-
ing bones of the great king !
1 woke up, ana reflected long upon the curious and aingnlarly vivid
dream, and finally muttered to myself, '^ Thin— this is bMomingterionat*
ght; and lo, with an
** blazed " my course
!rom lava walls and
I; in the crater's side,
8 for many a fathom
or course lighted all
li innumerable cracks
mpses of the flood of
bhs beneath us. The
focating, but I toiled
1 no complaint. At
sombre and blistered
apest that had spent
to a great boulder at
md motionless, for a
'he grave of the first
Y from an unknown
Y prison-house, and I
of desolation, in the
Qger impulse arrested
older the spectre had
ind stood beside it —
and about it, peering
ded it — still nothing.
I stood irresolute I
w, and lo ! it vibrated
rting a kiln of bricks
I bore against the
ush with my whole
a crash that sent the
)f the dismal cavern !
; had rested, lay the
t, thus sepulchred in
ones could be none
maHovma coral, sacred
human groan issued
U a dream! "This
—of reading of those
carried away by the
; too much pork and
1 asleep again — and
wed the phantom —
-heard the sad spirit
al erown and decay-
d linearly Tivid
beeoming ■erious I *
A STRANGE DREAM.
yjt
I fell asleep again, and again I dreamed the same dream, without a
single variation ! I slept no more, but tossed restlessly in bed, and
longed for daylight. And when it came 1 wandered forth, and descended
to the wide plain in the crater. I said to myself, " 1 am not supersti-
tious ; but if there is anything in that dying woman's prophecy, I am
the instrument appointed to uncurtain this ancient mystery.'' As I
walked along, 1 even half expected to see my solemn guide step out from
some nook in the lofty wall, and beckon me to come on. At last, when
I reached the place where I had first seen him in my dream, I recognised
every surrounding object, and there, winding down among the blocks
and fragments of lava, saw the veiy trail 1 had traversed in my vision !
I resolved to traverse it again, come what might. I wondered if, in my
unreal journey, I had " blazed " my way, so that it would stand the test
of stem reality ; and thus wondering, a chill went to my heart when I
eame to the first stony projection I had broken off in my dream, and saw
the fresh new fracture, and the dismembered fragment lying on the
ground ! My curiosity rose up and banished all fear, and 1 hurried
along as fast as the rugf^ed road would allow me. 1 looked for my other
" blazes," and found them ; found the cleft in the wall ; recognised all
its turnings ; walked in the light that ascended from the furnaces
visible far below ; sweated in the close, hot atmosphere, and breathed
the sulphurous smoke — and at last 1 stood hundreds of feet beneath the
peaks of Kileana in the ruined chamber, and in the presence of the
mysterious boulder !
" This is no dream," 1 said ; " this is a revelation from the realm of
the supernatural ; and it becomes not me to longer reason, conjecture,
suspect, but blindly to obey the impulse given me by the unseen power
that guides me."
I moved wiih a slow and reverent step towards the stone, and bore
against it. It yielded perceptibly to the pressure. I brought my full
weight and strength to bear, and surged against it. It yielded again *
but 1 was so enfeebled by my toilsome journey that I could not over
throw it. I rested a little, and then raised an edge of the boulder by a
strong, steady push, and placed a small stone under it to keep it from
sinking back to its place. I rested again, and then repeated the process.
Before long, I had added a third prop, and had got the edge of the
boulder considerably elevated. The labour and the close atmosphere
together were so exhausting, however, that I was obliged to lie down
then, and recui;)erate my strength by a longer season of rest And so,
hour after hour I laboured, growing more and more weary, but still up-
held by a fascination which I felt was infused into me by the invisible
powers whose will I was working. At last I concentrated my strength
m a final effort, and the stone rolled from its position.
1 can never forget the overpowering sense of awe that sank down like
a great darkness upon my spirit at that moment. After a solemn pause
to prepare myself, with bowed form and uncovered head, I slowly turned
my gaze till it rested upon the spot where the great stone had Uan.
There weren't any bones there !
• • • • > s * •
503
MARK TWAJN S WORKS.
l' 1 » ■'■ •*■'
CONCERNING CHAMBERMAIDS. ''">^'-'
AQAINST all chambermaids, of whatsoever age or nationality, I
launch the curse of bachelordom ! Because :
They always put the pillows at the opposite end of the bed
from the gas-burner, so that while you read and smoke before sleepina
(as is the ancient and honoured custom of bachelors), you have to hold
your book aloft, in an uncomfortable position, to keep the light from
dazzling your eyes.
When they mid the pillows removed to the other end of the bed in
the morning, they receive not the suggestion in a friendly spirit ; but,
glorying in their absolute sovereignty, and unpitying your helplessness,
they make the bed just as it was originally, and gloat in secret over the
pang their tpanny will cause you.
Always after that, when they find you have transposed the pllows,
thev undo your work, and thus defy and seek to embitter the life that
God has given you.
If they cannot get the light in an inconvenient position any other
way, they move the bed.
If you pull your trunk out six inches from the wall, so that the lid
will stay up when you open it, they always shove that trunk back
again. They do it on purpose.
If you want the cuspidor in a certain spot, where it wiU be handy,
they don't and so they move it.
They always put your other boots into inaccessible places. They
chiefly enjoy depositing them as far under the bed as the wall will per-
mit. It u because this compels you to get down in an undigiufied
attitude and make wild sweeps for them in the dark with the boot-jack,
and swear. i ,«;xai. -■:,
They alwavs put the match-box in some other place. They hunt up
a new place for it eveir day, and put up a bottle, or other perishable
glass tmng, where the box stood before. This is to cause you to break
that glass thing, groping in the dark, and get yourself into trouble. ,:
They tat for ever and ever moving the furniture. When you come
in in the night, you can calculate on finding the bureau where the
wardrobe was in tne morning. And when you go out in the morning,
if you leave the slop-bucket by the door and the rocking-chair by the
window, when you come in at midnight, or thereabouts, you will fall
over that rocking-chair, and you will proceed toward the window and
sit down in that slop-tub. This will disgust you. They like that
No matter where you put anything, they are not going to let it stay
there. They will take it and move it the first chance they get. It is
their nature. And, besides, it gives them pleasure to be mean and
contrary this ^*y. They would die if they couldn't be villains. ,. ':,
Tliey always save up all the old scraps of printed rubbish you throw
on the floor, and stack them up carefully on the table, and start the fire
AfARK TWAIN'S WORKS.
563
lAIDS.
.)!
or nationalitjy I
9 end of tlie bed
e before sleepina
jrou have to nola
>p the light from
Qd of the bed in
jndly spirit ; but,
rour helplessness,
Ln secret over the
osed the pillows,
tter the life that
)8ition any othei
i, BO that the lid
that trunk back
t will be handj,
le pkces. They
le wall will per-
i an undignified
ith the boot-jack,
They hunt up
other perishable
se you to break
ito trouble.
When you come
ireau where the
in the morning,
ing-chair by the
8, you will fall
;he window and
Y like that
g to let it stay
they get. It is
3 be mean and
villains.
)bish you throw
nd start the fire
with your valuable mau 'iscripts. If there is any one particular olil scrap
that you are more down on tiiau any other, and which you are gradim'ly
veanng your life out trying to get rid of, you may take all tlie pains
you possibly can in that direction, but it won't be of any use, because
they will always fetdi that old scrap back and put it in the same old
place again every time. It does them good.
And they use up more hair-oil than any six men. If charged with
purloining the same, they lie about it. Wliat do they care about a here-
nfter ? Absolutely nothing.
If you leave the key in the door for convenience sake, they will carry
it down to the office and give it to the clerk. They do this under the
thinpretence of trying to protect your property from thieves ; but actually
they do it because they want to make you tramp back down-stairs after
it when you come home tired, or put you to the trouble of sending a
waiter for it, which waiter will expect you to pay him something. In
which case I suppose the degraded creatures divide.
They keep always trying to make your bed Ijefore you get up, thus
destroying your rest and inflicting agony upon you ; but attter you get
upi^hey don't come any more till next day.
They do all the mean things they can think of, and they do them out
of pure cussedness, and nothing else.
Chambermaids are dead to every human instinct.
I have cursed them in behalf of outraged bachelordom. They deserve
it. If I can get a bill through the Legislature abolishing chambermaids,
I mean to do it
Printed by Ballantyne, Hanson &> Co
Edinburgh &* London
-.*/