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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:26:11 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:26:11 -0700 |
| commit | 831ae5e4d065aea509cba3d3ab6c2d130318e4d9 (patch) | |
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diff --git a/5785-h/5785-h.htm b/5785-h/5785-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..409712b --- /dev/null +++ b/5785-h/5785-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,3968 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<html> +<head> +<title>A TRAMP ABROAD, BY MARK TWAIN, Part 4</title> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"> + +<style type="text/css"> + <!-- + body {background:#faebd7; margin:10%; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; } + HR { width: 33%; text-align: center; } + blockquote {font-size: 97% } + .figleft {float: left;} + .figright {float: right;} + .toc { margin-left: 15%; margin-bottom: 0em;} + CENTER { padding: 10px;} + // --> +</style> + +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Tramp Abroad, by Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens) + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Tramp Abroad + Part 4 + +Author: Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens) + +Release Date: June 2004 [EBook #5785] +Posting Date: June 2, 2009 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A TRAMP ABROAD *** + + + + +Produced by Anonymous Volunteers, John Greenman and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + + +<h2>A TRAMP ABROAD BY MARK TWAIN, Part 4</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="" cellPadding=4 border=3> +<tr><td> + + + + <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/5784/5784-h/5784-h.htm">Previous Part</a> +</td><td> + <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/5786/5786-h/5786-h.htm">Next Part</a> + + + +</td></tr> +</table> +</center> + + + +<br><br><br><br> + +<center><a name="cover"></a><img alt="cover.jpg (229K)" src="images/cover.jpg" height="745" width="652"> +</center> + + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><a name="Portrait"></a><img alt="Portrait.jpg (45K)" src="images/Portrait.jpg" height="1051" width="605"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + + + +<center><a name="Moses"></a><img alt="Moses.jpg (86K)" src="images/Moses.jpg" height="949" width="565"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + + + +<center><a name="Titlepage"></a><img alt="Titlepage.jpg (41K)" src="images/Titlepage.jpg" height="1029" width="645"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + + <center> <h1>A TRAMP ABROAD, Part 4.</h1> + + <h2>By Mark Twain</h2> + <h3>(Samuel L. Clemens)</h3> + + <h3>First published in 1880</h3> + + <h3>Illustrations taken from an 1880 First Edition</h3> + + * * * * * * +</center> + +<br><br><br><br> +<h2>ILLUSTRATIONS:</h2> + +<center> +<table summary=""> +<tr><td> +<br> +1. <a href="#Portrait">PORTRAIT OF THE AUTHOR</a><br> +2. <a href="#Moses">TITIAN'S MOSES</a><br> +3. <a href="#p016">THE AUTHOR'S MEMORIES</a><br> +119. <a href="#p208">BLACK FOREST GRANDEE</a> <br> +120. <a href="#p209">THE GRANDEE'S DAUGHTER</a><br> +121. <a href="#p211c">RICH OLD HUSS</a><br> +122. <a href="#p211d">GRETCHEN</a> <br> +123. <a href="#p212a">PAUL HOCH</a><br> +124. <a href="#p212b">HANS SCHMIDT</a> <br> +125. <a href="#p213">ELECTING A NEW MEMBER</a> <br> +126. <a href="#p215">OVERCOMING OBSTACLES</a> <br> +127. <a href="#p216">FRIENDS</a> <br> +128. <a href="#p218">PROSPECTING</a> <br> +129. <a href="#p220">TAIL PIECE</a> <br> +130. <a href="#p223">A GENERAL HOWL</a> <br> +131. <a href="#p224">SEEKING A SITUATION</a> <br> +132. <a href="#p227">STANDING GUARD</a> <br> +133. <a href="#p228">RESULT OF A JOKE</a> <br> +134. <a href="#p229">DESCENDING A FARM</a> <br> +155. <a href="#p232">A GERMAN SABBATH</a> <br> +136. <a href="#p234">AN OBJECT OF SYMPATHY</a> <br> +137. <a href="#p236">A NON-CLASSICAL STYLE</a> <br> +138. <a href="#p238">THE TRADITIONAL CHAMOIS</a> <br> +139. <a href="#p242">HUNTING CHAMOIS THE TRUE WAY</a> <br> +140. <a href="#p243">CHAMOIS HUNTER AS REPORTED</a> <br> +141. <a href="#p246">MARKING ALPENSTOCKS</a> <br> +142. <a href="#p247">IS SHE EIGHTEEN OR TWENTY</a> <br> +143. <a href="#p249">I KNEW I WASN'T MISTAKEN</a> <br> +144. <a href="#p255">HARRIS ASTONISHED</a> <br> +145. <a href="#p257">TAIL PIECE</a> <br> +146. <a href="#p259">THE LION OF LUCERNE</a><br> +147. <a href="#p262">HE LIKED CLOCKS</a> <br> +148. <a href="#p265">"I WILL TELL YOU"</a> <br> +149. <a href="#p266a">COULDN'T WAIT</a> <br> +150. <a href="#p266b">DIDN'T CARE FOR STYLE</a> <br> +151. <a href="#p267a">A PAIR BETTER THAN FOUR</a> <br> +152. <a href="#p267b">TWO WASN'T NECESSARY</a><br> +153. <a href="#p267c">JUST THE TRICK</a><br> +154. <a href="#p268a">GOING TO MAKE THEM STARE</a> <br> +155. <a href="#p268b">NOT THROWN AWAY</a><br> +156. <a href="#p268c">WHAT THE DOCTOR RECOMMENDED</a> <br> +157. <a href="#p269a">WANTED TO FEEL SAFE</a> <br> +158. <a href="#p269c">PREFERRED TO TRAMP ON FOOT</a> <br> +159. <a href="#p270">DERN A DOG, ANYWAY</a> <br> +160. <a href="#p271">TAIL PIECE</a> <br> +161. <a href="#p273">THE GLACIER GARDEN</a><br> +162. <a href="#p273b">LAKE AND MOUNTAINS (MONT PILATUS)</a> <br> +163. <a href="#p274">MOUNTAIN PATHS</a><br> +164. <a href="#p276">"YOU'RE AN AMERICAN—SO AM I"</a> <br> +165. <a href="#p280">ENTERPRISE</a> <br> +166. <a href="#p281">THE CONSTANT SEARCHER</a> <br> +167. <a href="#p285">THE MOUNTAIN BOY</a> <br> +168. <a href="#p286">THE ENGLISHMAN</a> <br> +169. <a href="#p288">THE JODLER</a> <br> +170. <a href="#p289">ANOTHER VOCALIST</a> <br> +171. <a href="#p290">THE FELSENTHOR</a><br> +172. <a href="#p291">A VIEW FROM THE STATION</a> <br> +173. <a href="#p293">LOST IN THE MIST</a><br> +174. <a href="#p294">THE RIGI-KULM HOTEL</a> <br> +175. <a href="#p296">WHAT AWAKENED US</a> <br> +176. <a href="#p297">A SUMMIT SUNRISE</a> <br> +177. <a href="#p300">TAIL PIECE</a> <br> + + + +</td></tr> +</table> +</center> + +<br><br><br><br> + + +<h2>CONTENTS:</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote> + +<a href="#ch22">CHAPTER XXII</a> +<br> +The Black Forest—A Grandee and his Family—The Wealthy +Nabob—A New Standard of Wealth—Skeleton for a New Novel—Trying +Situation—The Common Council—Choosing a New Member +Studying Natural History—The Ant a Fraud—Eccentricities of the +Ant—His Deceit and Ignorance—A German Dish—Boiled Oranges +<br><br> +<a href="#ch23">CHAPTER XXIII</a> +<br> +Off for a Day's Tramp—Tramping and Talking—Story +Telling—Dentistry in Camp—Nicodemus Dodge—Seeking a Situation—A Butt for +Jokes—Jimmy Finn's Skeleton—Descending a Farm—Unexpected Notoriety +<br><br> +<a href="#ch24">CHAPTER XXIV</a> +<br> +Sunday on the Continent—A Day of Rest—An Incident at +Church—An Object of Sympathy—Royalty at Church—Public Grounds +Concert—Power and Grades of Music—Hiring a Courier +<br><br> +<a href="#ch25">CHAPTER XXV</a> +<br> +Lucerne—Beauty of its Lake—The Wild Chamois—A Great Error +Exposed—Methods of Hunting the Chamois—Beauties of +Lucerne—The Alpenstock—Marking Alpenstocks—Guessing at +Nationalities—An American Party—An Unexpected Acquaintance—Getting +Mixed Up—Following Blind Trails—A Happy Half—hour—Defeat and Revenge +<br><br> +<a href="#ch26">CHAPTER XXVI</a> +<br> +Commerce of Lucerne—Benefits of Martyrdom—A Bit of History—The +Home of Cuckoo Clocks—A Satisfactory Revenge—The Alan Who +Put Up at Gadsby's—A Forgotten Story—Wanted to be +Postmaster—A Tennessean at Washington—He Concluded to Stay A +While—Application of the Story +<br><br> +<a href="#ch27">CHAPTER XXVII</a> +<br> +The Glacier Garden—Excursion on the Lake—Life on the +Mountains—A Specimen Tourist—"Where're you From?"—An Advertising +Dodge—A Righteous Verdict—The Guide-book Student—I Believe that's All +<br><br> +<a href="#ch28">CHAPTER XXVIII</a> +<br> +The Rigi-Kulm—Its Ascent—Stripping for Business—A Mountain +Lad—An English Tourist—Railroad up the Mountain—Villages and +Mountain—The Jodlers—About Ice Water—The Felsenthor—Too +Late—Lost in the Fog—The Rigi-Kulm Hotel—The Alpine Horn—Sunrise +at Night + +</blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote> + +<br><br><br><br> +<br><br> + + + +<center><a name="p016"></a><img alt="p016.jpg (82K)" src="images/p016.jpg" height="817" width="535"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + + + +<a name="ch22"></a><center><h2>CHAPTER XXII</h2> +<h3>[The Black Forest and Its Treasures]</h3></center> +<br><br> + + +<p>From Baden-Baden we made the customary trip into the +Black Forest. We were on foot most of the time. One cannot +describe those noble woods, nor the feeling with which they +inspire him. A feature of the feeling, however, is a deep +sense of contentment; another feature of it is a buoyant, +boyish gladness; and a third and very conspicuous feature +of it is one's sense of the remoteness of the work-day +world and his entire emancipation from it and its affairs. + +<p>Those woods stretch unbroken over a vast region; +and everywhere they are such dense woods, and so still, +and so piney and fragrant. The stems of the trees are trim +and straight, and in many places all the ground is hidden +for miles under a thick cushion of moss of a vivid green color, +with not a decayed or ragged spot in its surface, and not +a fallen leaf or twig to mar its immaculate tidiness. +A rich cathedral gloom pervades the pillared aisles; +so the stray flecks of sunlight that strike a trunk +here and a bough yonder are strongly accented, +and when they strike the moss they fairly seem to burn. +But the weirdest effect, and the most enchanting is that +produced by the diffused light of the low afternoon sun; +no single ray is able to pierce its way in, then, but the +diffused light takes color from moss and foliage, +and pervades the place like a faint, green-tinted mist, +the theatrical fire of fairyland. The suggestion of mystery +and the supernatural which haunts the forest at all times +is intensified by this unearthly glow. + +<p>We found the Black Forest farmhouses and villages +all that the Black Forest stories have pictured them. +The first genuine specimen which we came upon was +the mansion of a rich farmer and member of the Common +Council of the parish or district. He was an important +personage in the land and so was his wife also, +of course. + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><a name="p208"></a><img alt="p208.jpg (43K)" src="images/p208.jpg" height="593" width="443"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>His daughter was the "catch" of the region, +and she may be already entering into immortality as the +heroine of one of Auerbach's novels, for all I know. +We shall see, for if he puts her in I shall recognize her +by her Black Forest clothes, and her burned complexion, +her plump figure, her fat hands, her dull expression, +her gentle spirit, her generous feet, her bonnetless head, +and the plaited tails of hemp-colored hair hanging down +her back. + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><a name="p209"></a><img alt="p209.jpg (79K)" src="images/p209.jpg" height="741" width="531"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>The house was big enough for a hotel; it was a hundred +feet long and fifty wide, and ten feet high, from ground +to eaves; but from the eaves to the comb of the mighty roof +was as much as forty feet, or maybe even more. This roof +was of ancient mud-colored straw thatch a foot thick, +and was covered all over, except in a few trifling spots, +with a thriving and luxurious growth of green vegetation, +mainly moss. The mossless spots were places where +repairs had been made by the insertion of bright new +masses of yellow straw. The eaves projected far down, +like sheltering, hospitable wings. Across the gable that +fronted the road, and about ten feet above the ground, +ran a narrow porch, with a wooden railing; a row of +small windows filled with very small panes looked upon +the porch. Above were two or three other little windows, +one clear up under the sharp apex of the roof. +Before the ground-floor door was a huge pile of manure. +The door of the second-story room on the side of the house +was open, and occupied by the rear elevation of a cow. +Was this probably the drawing-room? All of the front +half of the house from the ground up seemed to be +occupied by the people, the cows, and the chickens, +and all the rear half by draught-animals and hay. +But the chief feature, all around this house, was the big +heaps of manure. + +<p>We became very familiar with the fertilizer in the Forest. +We fell unconsciously into the habit of judging of a man's +station in life by this outward and eloquent sign. +Sometimes we said, "Here is a poor devil, this is manifest." +When we saw a stately accumulation, we said, "Here is +a banker." When we encountered a country-seat surrounded +by an Alpine pomp of manure, we said, "Doubtless a duke +lives here." + +<p>The importance of this feature has not been properly +magnified in the Black Forest stories. Manure is evidently +the Black-Forester's main treasure—his coin, his jewel, +his pride, his Old Master, his ceramics, his bric-a-brac, +his darling, his title to public consideration, +envy, veneration, and his first solicitude when he gets +ready to make his will. The true Black Forest novel, +if it is ever written, will be skeletoned somewhat in this way: +<br><br> +<h3>SKELETON FOR A BLACK FOREST NOVEL</h3> +<br> +<p>Rich old farmer, named Huss. + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><a name="p211c"></a><img alt="p211c.jpg (10K)" src="images/p211c.jpg" height="281" width="241"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>Has inherited great wealth +of manure, and by diligence has added to it. It is +double-starred in Baedeker. [1] The Black forest artist +paints it—his masterpiece. The king comes to see it. +Gretchen Huss, daughter and heiress. Paul Hoch, +young neighbor, suitor for Gretchen's hand—ostensibly; +he really wants the manure. + +<br><br><br><br> +<a name="p211d"></a> +<center><img alt="p211d.jpg (15K)" src="images/p211d.jpg" height="337" width="299"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>Hoch has a good many cart-loads +of the Black Forest currency himself, and therefore is a +good catch; but he is sordid, mean, and without sentiment, +whereas Gretchen is all sentiment and poetry. +Hans Schmidt, young neighbor, full of sentiment, +full of poetry, loves Gretchen, Gretchen loves him. +But he has no manure. Old Huss forbids him in the house. +His heart breaks, he goes away to die in the woods, +far from the cruel world—for he says, bitterly, "What is man, +without manure?" + +<p>1. When Baedeker's guide-books mention a thing and put + two stars (**) after it, it means well worth visiting. + M.T. + +<p>[Interval of six months.] + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><a name="p212a"></a><img alt="p212a.jpg (11K)" src="images/p212a.jpg" height="317" width="237"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>Paul Hoch comes to old Huss and says, "I am at last +as rich as you required—come and view the pile." +Old Huss views it and says, "It is sufficient—take +her and be happy,"—meaning Gretchen. + +<p>[Interval of two weeks.] + +<p>Wedding party assembled in old Huss's drawing-room. Hoch +placid and content, Gretchen weeping over her hard fate. +Enter old Huss's head bookkeeper. Huss says fiercely, +"I gave you three weeks to find out why your books +don't balance, and to prove that you are not a defaulter; +the time is up—find me the missing property or you go +to prison as a thief." Bookkeeper: "I have found it." +"Where?" Bookkeeper (sternly—tragically): "In the bridegroom's +pile!—behold the thief—see him blench and tremble!" +[Sensation.] Paul Hoch: "Lost, lost!"—falls over the cow +in a swoon and is handcuffed. Gretchen: "Saved!" Falls +over the calf in a swoon of joy, but is caught in the arms +of Hans Schmidt, who springs in at that moment. Old Huss: +"What, you here, varlet? Unhand the maid and quit the place." +Hans (still supporting the insensible girl): "Never! Cruel +old man, know that I come with claims which even you +cannot despise." + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><a name="p212b"></a><img alt="p212b.jpg (14K)" src="images/p212b.jpg" height="313" width="237"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>Huss: "What, YOU? name them." + +<p>Hans: "Listen then. The world has forsaken me, I forsook +the world, I wandered in the solitude of the forest, +longing for death but finding none. I fed upon roots, +and in my bitterness I dug for the bitterest, +loathing the sweeter kind. Digging, three days agone, +I struck a manure mine!—a Golconda, a limitless Bonanza, +of solid manure! I can buy you ALL, and have mountain +ranges of manure left! Ha-ha, NOW thou smilest a smile!" +[Immense sensation.] Exhibition of specimens from the mine. +Old Huss (enthusiastically): "Wake her up, shake her up, +noble young man, she is yours!" Wedding takes place on +the spot; bookkeeper restored to his office and emoluments; +Paul Hoch led off to jail. The Bonanza king of the Black +Forest lives to a good old age, blessed with the love of his +wife and of his twenty-seven children, and the still sweeter +envy of everybody around. + +<p>We took our noon meal of fried trout one day at the Plow Inn, +in a very pretty village (Ottenhoefen), and then went into +the public room to rest and smoke. There we found nine +or ten Black Forest grandees assembled around a table. +They were the Common Council of the parish. They had +gathered there at eight o'clock that morning to elect +a new member, and they had now been drinking beer four +hours at the new member's expense. + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><a name="p213"></a><img alt="p213.jpg (63K)" src="images/p213.jpg" height="501" width="549"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>They were men of fifty +or sixty years of age, with grave good-natured faces, +and were all dressed in the costume made familiar to us +by the Black Forest stories; broad, round-topped black felt +hats with the brims curled up all round; long red waistcoats +with large metal buttons, black alpaca coats with the +waists up between the shoulders. There were no speeches, +there was but little talk, there were no frivolities; +the Council filled themselves gradually, steadily, but surely, +with beer, and conducted themselves with sedate decorum, +as became men of position, men of influence, men of manure. + +<p>We had a hot afternoon tramp up the valley, along the grassy +bank of a rushing stream of clear water, past farmhouses, +water-mills, and no end of wayside crucifixes and saints +and Virgins. These crucifixes, etc., are set up in +memory of departed friends, by survivors, and are almost +as frequent as telegraph-poles are in other lands. + +<p>We followed the carriage-road, and had our usual luck; +we traveled under a beating sun, and always saw the shade +leave the shady places before we could get to them. +In all our wanderings we seldom managed to strike +a piece of road at its time for being shady. We had a +particularly hot time of it on that particular afternoon, +and with no comfort but what we could get out of the fact +that the peasants at work away up on the steep mountainsides +above our heads were even worse off than we were. +By and by it became impossible to endure the intolerable +glare and heat any longer; so we struck across the ravine +and entered the deep cool twilight of the forest, to hunt +for what the guide-book called the "old road." + +<p>We found an old road, and it proved eventually to be the +right one, though we followed it at the time with the conviction +that it was the wrong one. If it was the wrong one there +could be no use in hurrying; therefore we did not hurry, +but sat down frequently on the soft moss and enjoyed +the restful quiet and shade of the forest solitudes. +There had been distractions in the +carriage-road—school-children, peasants, wagons, troops of +pedestrianizing students from all over +Germany—but we had the old road to ourselves. + +<p>Now and then, while we rested, we watched the laborious +ant at his work. I found nothing new in him—certainly +nothing to change my opinion of him. It seems to me that +in the matter of intellect the ant must be a strangely +overrated bird. During many summers, now, I have watched him, +when I ought to have been in better business, and I have +not yet come across a living ant that seemed to have any +more sense than a dead one. I refer to the ordinary ant, +of course; I have had no experience of those wonderful +Swiss and African ones which vote, keep drilled armies, +hold slaves, and dispute about religion. Those particular +ants may be all that the naturalist paints them, +but I am persuaded that the average ant is a sham. +I admit his industry, of course; he is the hardest-working +creature in the world—when anybody is looking—but his +leather-headedness is the point I make against him. +He goes out foraging, he makes a capture, and then what +does he do? Go home? No—he goes anywhere but home. +He doesn't know where home is. His home may be only +three feet away—no matter, he can't find it. He makes +his capture, as I have said; it is generally something +which can be of no sort of use to himself or anybody else; +it is usually seven times bigger than it ought to be; +he hunts out the awkwardest place to take hold of it; +he lifts it bodily up in the air by main force, and starts; +not toward home, but in the opposite direction; + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><a name="p215"></a><img alt="p215.jpg (19K)" src="images/p215.jpg" height="185" width="557"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>not calmly +and wisely, but with a frantic haste which is wasteful +of his strength; he fetches up against a pebble, and instead +of going around it, he climbs over it backward dragging +his booty after him, tumbles down on the other side, +jumps up in a passion, kicks the dust off his clothes, +moistens his hands, grabs his property viciously, yanks it +this way, then that, shoves it ahead of him a moment, +turns tail and lugs it after him another moment, gets madder +and madder, then presently hoists it into the air and goes +tearing away in an entirely new direction; comes to a weed; +it never occurs to him to go around it; no, he must climb it; +and he does climb it, dragging his worthless property +to the top—which is as bright a thing to do as it would +be for me to carry a sack of flour from Heidelberg to Paris +by way of Strasburg steeple; when he gets up there he +finds that that is not the place; takes a cursory glance +at the scenery and either climbs down again or tumbles down, +and starts off once more—as usual, in a new direction. +At the end of half an hour, he fetches up within six inches +of the place he started from and lays his burden down; +meantime he has been over all the ground for two yards around, +and climbed all the weeds and pebbles he came across. +Now he wipes the sweat from his brow, strokes his limbs, +and then marches aimlessly off, in as violently a hurry +as ever. He does not remember to have ever seen it before; +he looks around to see which is not the way home, grabs his +bundle and starts; he goes through the same adventures he +had before; finally stops to rest, and a friend comes along. +Evidently the friend remarks that a last year's grasshopper +leg is a very noble acquisition, and inquires where he +got it. + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><a name="p216"></a><img alt="p216.jpg (11K)" src="images/p216.jpg" height="179" width="537"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>Evidently the proprietor does not remember +exactly where he did get it, but thinks he got it "around +here somewhere." Evidently the friend contracts to help +him freight it home. Then, with a judgment peculiarly +antic (pun not intended), they take hold of opposite ends +of that grasshopper leg and begin to tug with all their +might in opposite directions. Presently they take a rest +and confer together. They decide that something is wrong, +they can't make out what. Then they go at it again, +just as before. Same result. Mutual recriminations follow. +Evidently each accuses the other of being an obstructionist. +They lock themselves together and chew each other's jaws +for a while; then they roll and tumble on the ground till +one loses a horn or a leg and has to haul off for repairs. +They make up and go to work again in the same old insane way, +but the crippled ant is at a disadvantage; tug as he may, +the other one drags off the booty and him at the end of it. +Instead of giving up, he hangs on, and gets his shins +bruised against every obstruction that comes in the way. +By and by, when that grasshopper leg has been dragged +all over the same old ground once more, it is finally +dumped at about the spot where it originally lay, +the two perspiring ants inspect it thoughtfully and decide +that dried grasshopper legs are a poor sort of property +after all, and then each starts off in a different +direction to see if he can't find an old nail or something +else that is heavy enough to afford entertainment and at +the same time valueless enough to make an ant want to own it. + +<p>There in the Black Forest, on the mountainside, +I saw an ant go through with such a performance as this +with a dead spider of fully ten times his own weight. +The spider was not quite dead, but too far gone to resist. +He had a round body the size of a pea. The little +ant—observing that I was noticing—turned him on his back, +sunk his fangs into his throat, lifted him into the air and +started vigorously off with him, stumbling over little pebbles, +stepping on the spider's legs and tripping himself up, +dragging him backward, shoving him bodily ahead, dragging him +up stones six inches high instead of going around them, +climbing weeds twenty times his own height and jumping +from their summits—and finally leaving him in the middle +of the road to be confiscated by any other fool of an +ant that wanted him. I measured the ground which this +ass traversed, and arrived at the conclusion that what he +had accomplished inside of twenty minutes would constitute +some such job as this—relatively speaking—for a man; +to wit: to strap two eight-hundred-pound horses together, +carry them eighteen hundred feet, mainly over (not around) +boulders averaging six feet high, and in the course +of the journey climb up and jump from the top of one +precipice like Niagara, and three steeples, each a hundred +and twenty feet high; and then put the horses down, +in an exposed place, without anybody to watch them, +and go off to indulge in some other idiotic miracle for +vanity's sake. + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><a name="p218"></a><img alt="p218.jpg (29K)" src="images/p218.jpg" height="335" width="555"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>Science has recently discovered that the ant does not +lay up anything for winter use. This will knock him +out of literature, to some extent. He does not work, +except when people are looking, and only then when the +observer has a green, naturalistic look, and seems to be +taking notes. This amounts to deception, and will injure +him for the Sunday-schools. He has not judgment enough +to know what is good to eat from what isn't. This amounts +to ignorance, and will impair the world's respect for him. +He cannot stroll around a stump and find his way home again. +This amounts to idiocy, and once the damaging fact +is established, thoughtful people will cease to look +up to him, the sentimental will cease to fondle him. +His vaunted industry is but a vanity and of no effect, +since he never gets home with anything he starts with. +This disposes of the last remnant of his reputation +and wholly destroys his main usefulness as a moral agent, +since it will make the sluggard hesitate to go to him +any more. It is strange, beyond comprehension, that so +manifest a humbug as the ant has been able to fool so +many nations and keep it up so many ages without being +found out. + +<p>The ant is strong, but we saw another strong thing, +where we had not suspected the presence of much muscular +power before. A toadstool—that vegetable which springs +to full growth in a single night—had torn loose and +lifted a matted mass of pine needles and dirt of twice +its own bulk into the air, and supported it there, +like a column supporting a shed. Ten thousand toadstools, +with the right purchase, could lift a man, I suppose. +But what good would it do? + +<p>All our afternoon's progress had been uphill. About five +or half past we reached the summit, and all of a sudden +the dense curtain of the forest parted and we looked +down into a deep and beautiful gorge and out over a +wide panorama of wooded mountains with their summits +shining in the sun and their glade-furrowed sides dimmed +with purple shade. The gorge under our feet—called +Allerheiligen—afforded room in the grassy level at its +head for a cozy and delightful human nest, shut away +from the world and its botherations, and consequently +the monks of the old times had not failed to spy it out; +and here were the brown and comely ruins of their church +and convent to prove that priests had as fine an instinct +seven hundred years ago in ferreting out the choicest +nooks and corners in a land as priests have today. + +<p>A big hotel crowds the ruins a little, now, and drives +a brisk trade with summer tourists. We descended +into the gorge and had a supper which would have been +very satisfactory if the trout had not been boiled. +The Germans are pretty sure to boil a trout or anything +else if left to their own devices. This is an argument +of some value in support of the theory that they were +the original colonists of the wild islands of the coast +of Scotland. A schooner laden with oranges was wrecked +upon one of those islands a few years ago, and the gentle +savages rendered the captain such willing assistance +that he gave them as many oranges as they wanted. +Next day he asked them how they liked them. They shook +their heads and said: + +<p>"Baked, they were tough; and even boiled, they warn't +things for a hungry man to hanker after." + +<p>We went down the glen after supper. It is beautiful—a +mixture of sylvan loveliness and craggy wildness. +A limpid torrent goes whistling down the glen, and toward +the foot of it winds through a narrow cleft between lofty +precipices and hurls itself over a succession of falls. +After one passes the last of these he has a backward +glimpse at the falls which is very pleasing—they rise +in a seven-stepped stairway of foamy and glittering cascades, +and make a picture which is as charming as it is unusual. + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><a name="p220"></a><img alt="p220.jpg (25K)" src="images/p220.jpg" height="403" width="359"> +</center> + + + +<br><br><br><br><br><br> +<a name="ch23"></a><center><h2>CHAPTER XXIII</h2> +<h3>[Nicodemus Dodge and the Skeleton]</h3></center> +<br><br> + + +<p>We were satisfied that we could walk to Oppenau in +one day, now that we were in practice; so we set out +the next morning after breakfast determined to do it. +It was all the way downhill, and we had the loveliest +summer weather for it. So we set the pedometer and then +stretched away on an easy, regular stride, down through +the cloven forest, drawing in the fragrant breath +of the morning in deep refreshing draughts, and wishing +we might never have anything to do forever but walk +to Oppenau and keep on doing it and then doing it over again. + +<p>Now, the true charm of pedestrianism does not lie +in the walking, or in the scenery, but in the talking. +The walking is good to time the movement of the tongue by, +and to keep the blood and the brain stirred up and active; +the scenery and the woodsy smells are good to bear in upon +a man an unconscious and unobtrusive charm and solace +to eye and soul and sense; but the supreme pleasure comes +from the talk. It is no matter whether one talks wisdom +or nonsense, the case is the same, the bulk of the enjoyment +lies in the wagging of the gladsome jaw and the flapping +of the sympathetic ear. + +<p>And what motley variety of subjects a couple of people will +casually rake over in the course of a day's tramp! There +being no constraint, a change of subject is always in order, +and so a body is not likely to keep pegging at a single +topic until it grows tiresome. We discussed everything +we knew, during the first fifteen or twenty minutes, +that morning, and then branched out into the glad, free, +boundless realm of the things we were not certain about. + +<p>Harris said that if the best writer in the world once got +the slovenly habit of doubling up his "haves" he could +never get rid of it while he lived. That is to say, +if a man gets the habit of saying "I should have liked +to have known more about it" instead of saying simply +and sensibly, "I should have liked to know more about it," +that man's disease is incurable. Harris said that his sort +of lapse is to be found in every copy of every newspaper +that has ever been printed in English, and in almost all +of our books. He said he had observed it in Kirkham's +grammar and in Macaulay. Harris believed that milk-teeth +are commoner in men's mouths than those "doubled-up haves." +<blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote> + I do not know that there have not been moments in the + course of the present session when I should have been + very glad to have accepted the proposal of my noble friend, + and to have exchanged parts in some of our evenings + of work.—[From a Speech of the English Chancellor + of the Exchequer, August, 1879.] +</blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote> +<p>That changed the subject to dentistry. I said I believed +the average man dreaded tooth-pulling more than amputation, +and that he would yell quicker under the former operation +than he would under the latter. The philosopher Harris +said that the average man would not yell in either case +if he had an audience. Then he continued: + +<p>"When our brigade first went into camp on the Potomac, +we used to be brought up standing, occasionally, by an +ear-splitting howl of anguish. That meant that a soldier +was getting a tooth pulled in a tent. But the surgeons +soon changed that; they instituted open-air dentistry. +There never was a howl afterward—that is, from the man +who was having the tooth pulled. At the daily dental +hour there would always be about five hundred soldiers +gathered together in the neighborhood of that dental chair +waiting to see the performance—and help; and the moment +the surgeon took a grip on the candidate's tooth and began +to lift, every one of those five hundred rascals would +clap his hand to his jaw and begin to hop around on one +leg and howl with all the lungs he had! It was enough +to raise your hair to hear that variegated and enormous +unanimous caterwaul burst out! + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><a name="p223"></a><img alt="p223.jpg (54K)" src="images/p223.jpg" height="511" width="545"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>With so big and so derisive +an audience as that, a sufferer wouldn't emit a sound though +you pulled his head off. The surgeons said that pretty +often a patient was compelled to laugh, in the midst +of his pangs, but that they had never caught one crying out, +after the open-air exhibition was instituted." + +<p>Dental surgeons suggested doctors, doctors suggested death, +death suggested skeletons—and so, by a logical process +the conversation melted out of one of these subjects +and into the next, until the topic of skeletons raised up +Nicodemus Dodge out of the deep grave in my memory where he +had lain buried and forgotten for twenty-five years. +When I was a boy in a printing-office in Missouri, +a loose-jointed, long-legged, tow-headed, jeans-clad +countrified cub of about sixteen lounged in one day, +and without removing his hands from the depths +of his trousers pockets or taking off his faded ruin +of a slouch hat, whose broken rim hung limp and ragged +about his eyes and ears like a bug-eaten cabbage leaf, +stared indifferently around, then leaned his hip +against the editor's table, crossed his mighty brogans, +aimed at a distant fly from a crevice in his upper teeth, +laid him low, and said with composure: + +<p>"Whar's the boss?" + +<p>"I am the boss," said the editor, following this curious +bit of architecture wonderingly along up to its clock-face +with his eye. + +<p>"Don't want anybody fur to learn the business, 'tain't likely?" + +<p>"Well, I don't know. Would you like to learn it?" + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><a name="p224"></a><img alt="p224.jpg (27K)" src="images/p224.jpg" height="435" width="335"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>"Pap's so po' he cain't run me no mo', so I want to git +a show somers if I kin, 'taint no diffunce what—I'm strong +and hearty, and I don't turn my back on no kind of work, +hard nur soft." + +<p>"Do you think you would like to learn the printing business?" + +<p>"Well, I don't re'ly k'yer a durn what I DO learn, +so's I git a chance fur to make my way. I'd jist as soon +learn print'n's anything." + +<p>"Can you read?" + +<p>"Yes—middlin'." + +<p>"Write?" + +<p>"Well, I've seed people could lay over me thar." + +<p>"Cipher?" + +<p>"Not good enough to keep store, I don't reckon, +but up as fur as twelve-times-twelve I ain't no slouch. +'Tother side of that is what gits me." + +<p>"Where is your home?" + +<p>"I'm f'm old Shelby." + +<p>"What's your father's religious denomination?" + +<p>"Him? Oh, he's a blacksmith." + +<p>"No, no—I don't mean his trade. What's his RELIGIOUS +DENOMINATION?" + +<p>"OH—I didn't understand you befo'. He's a Freemason." + +<p>"No, no, you don't get my meaning yet. What I mean is, +does he belong to any CHURCH?" + +<p>"NOW you're talkin'! Couldn't make out what you was a-tryin' +to git through yo' head no way. B'long to a CHURCH! Why, +boss, he's ben the pizenest kind of Free-will Babtis' +for forty year. They ain't no pizener ones 'n what HE is. +Mighty good man, pap is. Everybody says that. If they +said any diffrunt they wouldn't say it +whar <i>I</i> wuz—not MUCH they wouldn't." + +<p>"What is your own religion?" + +<p>"Well, boss, you've kind o' got me, there—and yit +you hain't got me so mighty much, nuther. I think 't +if a feller he'ps another feller when he's in trouble, +and don't cuss, and don't do no mean things, nur noth'n' +he ain' no business to do, and don't spell the Saviour's +name with a little g, he ain't runnin' no resks—he's +about as saift as he b'longed to a church." + +<p>"But suppose he did spell it with a little g—what then?" + +<p>"Well, if he done it a-purpose, I reckon he wouldn't +stand no chance—he OUGHTN'T to have no chance, anyway, +I'm most rotten certain 'bout that." + +<p>"What is your name?" + +<p>"Nicodemus Dodge." + +<p>"I think maybe you'll do, Nicodemus. We'll give you +a trial, anyway." + +<p>"All right." + +<p>"When would you like to begin?" + +<p>"Now." + +<p>So, within ten minutes after we had first glimpsed this +nondescript he was one of us, and with his coat off +and hard at it. + +<p>Beyond that end of our establishment which was furthest +from the street, was a deserted garden, pathless, +and thickly grown with the bloomy and villainous "jimpson" +weed and its common friend the stately sunflower. +In the midst of this mournful spot was a decayed and aged +little "frame" house with but one room, one window, and no +ceiling—it had been a smoke-house a generation before. +Nicodemus was given this lonely and ghostly den as a bedchamber. + +<p>The village smarties recognized a treasure in Nicodemus, +right away—a butt to play jokes on. It was easy to see +that he was inconceivably green and confiding. George Jones +had the glory of perpetrating the first joke on him; +he gave him a cigar with a firecracker in it and winked +to the crowd to come; the thing exploded presently and swept +away the bulk of Nicodemus's eyebrows and eyelashes. +He simply said: + +<p>"I consider them kind of seeg'yars dangersome,"—and +seemed to suspect nothing. The next evening Nicodemus +waylaid George and poured a bucket of ice-water over him. + +<p>One day, while Nicodemus was in swimming, Tom McElroy +"tied" his clothes. Nicodemus made a bonfire of Tom's +by way of retaliation. + +<p>A third joke was played upon Nicodemus a day or two later—he +walked up the middle aisle of the village church, Sunday night, +with a staring handbill pinned between his shoulders. +The joker spent the remainder of the night, after church, +in the cellar of a deserted house, and Nicodemus sat on +the cellar door till toward breakfast-time to make sure +that the prisoner remembered that if any noise was made, +some rough treatment would be the consequence. The cellar +had two feet of stagnant water in it, and was bottomed +with six inches of soft mud. + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><a name="p227"></a><img alt="p227.jpg (49K)" src="images/p227.jpg" height="577" width="541"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>But I wander from the point. It was the subject of +skeletons that brought this boy back to my recollection. +Before a very long time had elapsed, the village smarties +began to feel an uncomfortable consciousness of not having +made a very shining success out of their attempts on the +simpleton from "old Shelby." Experimenters grew scarce +and chary. Now the young doctor came to the rescue. +There was delight and applause when he proposed to scare +Nicodemus to death, and explained how he was going to do it. +He had a noble new skeleton—the skeleton of the late +and only local celebrity, Jimmy Finn, the village +drunkard—a grisly piece of property which he had bought +of Jimmy Finn himself, at auction, for fifty dollars, +under great competition, when Jimmy lay very sick in +the tan-yard a fortnight before his death. The fifty +dollars had gone promptly for whiskey and had considerably +hurried up the change of ownership in the skeleton. +The doctor would put Jimmy Finn's skeleton in Nicodemus's +bed! + +<p>This was done—about half past ten in the evening. +About Nicodemus's usual bedtime—midnight—the village +jokers came creeping stealthily through the jimpson +weeds and sunflowers toward the lonely frame den. +They reached the window and peeped in. There sat the +long-legged pauper, on his bed, in a very short shirt, +and nothing more; he was dangling his legs contentedly +back and forth, and wheezing the music of "Camptown Races" +out of a paper-overlaid comb which he was pressing +against his mouth; by him lay a new jewsharp, a new top, +and solid india-rubber ball, a handful of painted marbles, +five pounds of "store" candy, and a well-gnawed slab of +gingerbread as big and as thick as a volume of sheet-music. +He had sold the skeleton to a traveling quack for three +dollars and was enjoying the result! + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><a name="p228"></a><img alt="p228.jpg (16K)" src="images/p228.jpg" height="397" width="309"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>Just as we had finished talking about skeletons and were +drifting into the subject of fossils, Harris and I heard +a shout, and glanced up the steep hillside. We saw men +and women standing away up there looking frightened, +and there was a bulky object tumbling and floundering +down the steep slope toward us. We got out of the way, +and when the object landed in the road it proved to be a boy. +He had tripped and fallen, and there was nothing for him +to do but trust to luck and take what might come. + +<p>When one starts to roll down a place like that, there is +no stopping till the bottom is reached. Think of people +FARMING on a slant which is so steep that the best you can +say of it—if you want to be fastidiously accurate—is, +that it is a little steeper than a ladder and not quite +so steep as a mansard roof. But that is what they do. +Some of the little farms on the hillside opposite Heidelberg +were stood up "edgeways." The boy was wonderfully jolted up, +and his head was bleeding, from cuts which it had got from +small stones on the way. + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><a name="p229"></a><img alt="p229.jpg (16K)" src="images/p229.jpg" height="329" width="341"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>Harris and I gathered him up and set him on a stone, +and by that time the men and women had scampered down +and brought his cap. + +<p>Men, women, and children flocked out from neighboring +cottages and joined the crowd; the pale boy was petted, +and stared at, and commiserated, and water was +brought for him to drink and bathe his bruises in. +And such another clatter of tongues! All who had seen +the catastrophe were describing it at once, and each +trying to talk louder than his neighbor; and one youth +of a superior genius ran a little way up the hill, +called attention, tripped, fell, rolled down among us, +and thus triumphantly showed exactly how the thing had been done. + +<p> +Harris and I were included in all the descriptions; +how we were coming along; how Hans Gross shouted; +how we looked up startled; how we saw Peter coming like +a cannon-shot; how judiciously we got out of the way, +and let him come; and with what presence of mind we +picked him up and brushed him off and set him on a rock +when the performance was over. We were as much heroes +as anybody else, except Peter, and were so recognized; +we were taken with Peter and the populace to Peter's +mother's cottage, and there we ate bread and cheese, +and drank milk and beer with everybody, and had a most +sociable good time; and when we left we had a handshake +all around, and were receiving and shouting back LEB' +WOHL's until a turn in the road separated us from our +cordial and kindly new friends forever. + +<p>We accomplished our undertaking. At half past eight +in the evening we stepped into Oppenau, just eleven +hours and a half out of Allerheiligen—one hundred +and forty-six miles. This is the distance by pedometer; +the guide-book and the Imperial Ordinance maps make +it only ten and a quarter—a surprising blunder, +for these two authorities are usually singularly accurate +in the matter of distances. + + + +<br><br><br><br><br><br> +<a name="ch24"></a><center><h2>CHAPTER XXIV</h2> +<h3>[I Protect the Empress of Germany]</h3></center> +<br><br> + + +<p>That was a thoroughly satisfactory walk—and the only +one we were ever to have which was all the way downhill. +We took the train next morning and returned to Baden-Baden +through fearful fogs of dust. Every seat was crowded, too; +for it was Sunday, and consequently everybody was taking +a "pleasure" excursion. Hot! the sky was an oven—and +a sound one, too, with no cracks in it to let in any air. +An odd time for a pleasure excursion, certainly! + +<p>Sunday is the great day on the continent—the free day, +the happy day. One can break the Sabbath in a hundred +ways without committing any sin. + +<p>We do not work on Sunday, because the commandment forbids it; +the Germans do not work on Sunday, because the commandment +forbids it. We rest on Sunday, because the commandment +requires it; the Germans rest on Sunday because the +commandment requires it. But in the definition +of the word "rest" lies all the difference. With us, +its Sunday meaning is, stay in the house and keep still; +with the Germans its Sunday and week-day meanings seem +to be the same—rest the TIRED PART, and never mind the +other parts of the frame; rest the tired part, and use +the means best calculated to rest that particular part. +Thus: If one's duties have kept him in the house all the week, +it will rest him to be out on Sunday; if his duties +have required him to read weighty and serious matter all +the week, it will rest him to read light matter on Sunday; +if his occupation has busied him with death and funerals +all the week, it will rest him to go to the theater Sunday +night and put in two or three hours laughing at a comedy; +if he is tired with digging ditches or felling trees +all the week, it will rest him to lie quiet in the house +on Sunday; if the hand, the arm, the brain, the tongue, +or any other member, is fatigued with inanition, +it is not to be rested by addeding a day's inanition; +but if a member is fatigued with exertion, inanition is +the right rest for it. Such is the way in which the Germans +seem to define the word "rest"; that is to say, they rest +a member by recreating, recuperating, restoring its forces. +But our definition is less broad. We all rest alike +on Sunday—by secluding ourselves and keeping still, +whether that is the surest way to rest the most of us +or not. The Germans make the actors, the preachers, +etc., work on Sunday. We encourage the preachers, +the editors, the printers, etc., to work on Sunday, +and imagine that none of the sin of it falls upon us; +but I do not know how we are going to get around the fact +that if it is wrong for the printer to work at his trade +on Sunday it must be equally wrong for the preacher to +work at his, since the commandment has made no exception +in his favor. We buy Monday morning's paper and read it, +and thus encourage Sunday printing. But I shall never do +it again. + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><a name="p232"></a><img alt="p232.jpg (20K)" src="images/p232.jpg" height="401" width="253"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>The Germans remember the Sabbath-day to keep it holy, +by abstaining from work, as commanded; we keep it +holy by abstaining from work, as commanded, and by +also abstaining from play, which is not commanded. +Perhaps we constructively BREAK the command to rest, +because the resting we do is in most cases only a name, +and not a fact. + +<p>These reasonings have sufficed, in a measure, to mend +the rent in my conscience which I made by traveling to +Baden-Baden that Sunday. We arrived in time to furbish +up and get to the English church before services began. +We arrived in considerable style, too, for the landlord +had ordered the first carriage that could be found, +since there was no time to lose, and our coachman was +so splendidly liveried that we were probably mistaken +for a brace of stray dukes; why else were we honored +with a pew all to ourselves, away up among the very elect +at the left of the chancel? That was my first thought. +In the pew directly in front of us sat an elderly lady, +plainly and cheaply dressed; at her side sat a young +lady with a very sweet face, and she also was quite +simply dressed; but around us and about us were clothes +and jewels which it would do anybody's heart good to +worship in. + +<p>I thought it was pretty manifest that the elderly lady +was embarrassed at finding herself in such a conspicuous +place arrayed in such cheap apparel; I began to feel sorry +for her and troubled about her. She tried to seem very busy +with her prayer-book and her responses, and unconscious +that she was out of place, but I said to myself, "She is +not succeeding—there is a distressed tremulousness +in her voice which betrays increasing embarrassment." +Presently the Savior's name was mentioned, and in her flurry +she lost her head completely, and rose and courtesied, +instead of making a slight nod as everybody else did. +The sympathetic blood surged to my temples and I turned and gave +those fine birds what I intended to be a beseeching look, +but my feelings got the better of me and changed it into +a look which said, "If any of you pets of fortune laugh +at this poor soul, you will deserve to be flayed for it." +Things went from bad to worse, and I shortly found myself +mentally taking the unfriended lady under my protection. +My mind was wholly upon her. I forgot all about the sermon. +Her embarrassment took stronger and stronger hold upon her; +she got to snapping the lid of her smelling-bottle—it +made a loud, sharp sound, but in her trouble she snapped +and snapped away, unconscious of what she was doing. +The last extremity was reached when the collection-plate +began its rounds; the moderate people threw in pennies, +the nobles and the rich contributed silver, but she laid +a twenty-mark gold piece upon the book-rest before her +with a sounding slap! I said to myself, "She has parted +with all her little hoard to buy the consideration of these +unpitying people—it is a sorrowful spectacle." I did not +venture to look around this time; but as the service closed, +I said to myself, "Let them laugh, it is their opportunity; +but at the door of this church they shall see her step +into our fine carriage with us, and our gaudy coachman +shall drive her home." + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><a name="p234"></a><img alt="p234.jpg (54K)" src="images/p234.jpg" height="481" width="529"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>Then she rose—and all the congregation stood while she +walked down the aisle. She was the Empress of Germany! + +<p>No—she had not been so much embarrassed as I had supposed. +My imagination had got started on the wrong scent, and that +is always hopeless; one is sure, then, to go straight +on misinterpreting everything, clear through to the end. +The young lady with her imperial Majesty was a maid of +honor—and I had been taking her for one of her boarders, +all the time. + +<p>This is the only time I have ever had an Empress under +my personal protection; and considering my inexperience, +I wonder I got through with it so well. I should have +been a little embarrassed myself if I had known earlier +what sort of a contract I had on my hands. + +<p>We found that the Empress had been in Baden-Baden +several days. It is said that she never attends +any but the English form of church service. + +<p>I lay abed and read and rested from my journey's fatigues +the remainder of that Sunday, but I sent my agent to represent +me at the afternoon service, for I never allow anything +to interfere with my habit of attending church twice every +Sunday. + +<p>There was a vast crowd in the public grounds that night +to hear the band play the "Fremersberg." This piece tells +one of the old legends of the region; how a great noble +of the Middle Ages got lost in the mountains, and wandered +about with his dogs in a violent storm, until at last +the faint tones of a monastery bell, calling the monks +to a midnight service, caught his ear, and he followed +the direction the sounds came from and was saved. +A beautiful air ran through the music, without ceasing, +sometimes loud and strong, sometimes so soft that it +could hardly be distinguished—but it was always there; +it swung grandly along through the shrill whistling +of the storm-wind, the rattling patter of the rain, +and the boom and crash of the thunder; it wound soft +and low through the lesser sounds, the distant ones, +such as the throbbing of the convent bell, the melodious +winding of the hunter's horn, the distressed bayings +of his dogs, and the solemn chanting of the monks; +it rose again, with a jubilant ring, and mingled itself +with the country songs and dances of the peasants assembled +in the convent hall to cheer up the rescued huntsman +while he ate his supper. The instruments imitated all +these sounds with a marvelous exactness. More than one +man started to raise his umbrella when the storm burst +forth and the sheets of mimic rain came driving by; +it was hardly possible to keep from putting your hand +to your hat when the fierce wind began to rage and shriek; +and it was NOT possible to refrain from starting when +those sudden and charmingly real thunder-crashes were +let loose. + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><a name="p236"></a><img alt="p236.jpg (54K)" src="images/p236.jpg" height="579" width="527"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>I suppose the "Fremersberg" is a very low-grade music; +I know, indeed, that it MUST be low-grade music, because it +delighted me, warmed me, moved me, stirred me, uplifted me, +enraptured me, that I was full of cry all the time, +and mad with enthusiasm. My soul had never had such a +scouring out since I was born. The solemn and majestic +chanting of the monks was not done by instruments, +but by men's voices; and it rose and fell, and rose again +in that rich confusion of warring sounds, and pulsing bells, +and the stately swing of that ever-present enchanting air, +and it seemed to me that nothing but the very lowest +of low-grade music COULD be so divinely beautiful. +The great crowd which the "Fremersberg" had called out was +another evidence that it was low-grade music; for only +the few are educated up to a point where high-grade music +gives pleasure. I have never heard enough classic music +to be able to enjoy it. I dislike the opera because I want +to love it and can't. + +<p>I suppose there are two kinds of music—one kind which +one feels, just as an oyster might, and another sort +which requires a higher faculty, a faculty which must +be assisted and developed by teaching. Yet if base music +gives certain of us wings, why should we want any other? +But we do. We want it because the higher and better +like it. We want it without giving it the necessary +time and trouble; so we climb into that upper tier, +that dress-circle, by a lie; we PRETEND we like it. +I know several of that sort of people—and I propose +to be one of them myself when I get home with my fine +European education. + +<p>And then there is painting. What a red rag is to a bull, +Turner's "Slave Ship" was to me, before I studied art. +Mr. Ruskin is educated in art up to a point where that +picture throws him into as mad an ecstasy of pleasure +as it used to throw me into one of rage, last year, +when I was ignorant. His cultivation enables him—and me, +now—to see water in that glaring yellow mud, and natural +effects in those lurid explosions of mixed smoke and flame, +and crimson sunset glories; it reconciles him—and me, +now—to the floating of iron cable-chains and other +unfloatable things; it reconciles us to fishes swimming +around on top of the mud—I mean the water. The most of +the picture is a manifest impossibility—that is to say, +a lie; and only rigid cultivation can enable a man to find +truth in a lie. But it enabled Mr. Ruskin to do it, +and it has enabled me to do it, and I am thankful for it. +A Boston newspaper reporter went and took a look at the Slave +Ship floundering about in that fierce conflagration of reds +and yellows, and said it reminded him of a tortoise-shell +cat having a fit in a platter of tomatoes. In my then +uneducated state, that went home to my non-cultivation, +and I thought here is a man with an unobstructed eye. +Mr. Ruskin would have said: This person is an ass. +That is what I would say, now. + +<blockquote><blockquote> + Months after this was written, I happened into the National + Gallery in London, and soon became so fascinated with the + Turner pictures that I could hardly get away from the place. + I went there often, afterward, meaning to see the rest + of the gallery, but the Turner spell was too strong; + it could not be shaken off. However, the Turners + which attracted me most did not remind me of the Slave Ship. +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<p>However, our business in Baden-Baden this time, +was to join our courier. I had thought it best +to hire one, as we should be in Italy, by and by, +and we did not know the language. Neither did he. +We found him at the hotel, ready to take charge of us. +I asked him if he was "all fixed." He said he was. +That was very true. He had a trunk, two small satchels, +and an umbrella. I was to pay him fifty-five dollars +a month and railway fares. On the continent the railway +fare on a trunk is about the same it is on a man. +Couriers do not have to pay any board and lodging. +This seems a great saving to the tourist—at first. +It does not occur to the tourist that SOMEBODY pays that +man's board and lodging. It occurs to him by and by, +however, in one of his lucid moments. + + +<br><br><br><br><br><br> +<a name="ch25"></a><center><h2>CHAPTER XXV</h2> +<h3>[Hunted by the Little Chamois]</h3></center> +<br><br> + +<br><br> +<center><a name="p238"></a><img alt="p238.jpg (87K)" src="images/p238.jpg" height="472" width="651"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>Next morning we left in the train for Switzerland, +and reached Lucerne about ten o'clock at night. +The first discovery I made was that the beauty of the lake +had not been exaggerated. Within a day or two I made +another discovery. This was, that the lauded chamois +is not a wild goat; that it is not a horned animal; +that it is not shy; that it does not avoid human society; +and that there is no peril in hunting it. + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><a name="p242"></a><img alt="p242.jpg (38K)" src="images/p242.jpg" height="345" width="545"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>The chamois is +a black or brown creature no bigger than a mustard seed; +you do not have to go after it, it comes after you; +it arrives in vast herds and skips and scampers all over +your body, inside your clothes; thus it is not shy, +but extremely sociable; it is not afraid of man, on the +contrary, it will attack him; its bite is not dangerous, +but neither is it pleasant; its activity has not been +overstated —if you try to put your finger on it, +it will skip a thousand times its own length at one jump, +and no eye is sharp enough to see where it lights. +A great deal of romantic nonsense has been written +about the Swiss chamois and the perils of hunting it, +whereas the truth is that even women and children +hunt it, and fearlessly; indeed, everybody hunts it; +the hunting is going on all the time, day and night, +in bed and out of it. It is poetic foolishness to hunt +it with a gun; very few people do that; there is not +one man in a million who can hit it with a gun. +It is much easier to catch it than it is to shoot it, +and only the experienced chamois-hunter can do either. +Another common piece of exaggeration is that about the +"scarcity" of the chamois. It is the reverse of scarce. +Droves of one hundred million chamois are not unusual +in the Swiss hotels. Indeed, they are so numerous +as to be a great pest. The romancers always dress up +the chamois-hunter in a fanciful and picturesque costume, +whereas the best way to hunt this game is to do it without +any costume at all. + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><a name="p243"></a><img alt="p243.jpg (109K)" src="images/p243.jpg" height="937" width="563"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>The article of commerce called +chamois-skin is another fraud; nobody could skin a chamois, +it is too small. The creature is a humbug in every way, +and everything which has been written about it is +sentimental exaggeration. It was no pleasure to me to find +the chamois out, for he had been one of my pet illusions; +all my life it had been my dream to see him in his native +wilds some day, and engage in the adventurous sport +of chasing him from cliff to cliff. It is no pleasure +to me to expose him, now, and destroy the reader's delight +in him and respect for him, but still it must be done, +for when an honest writer discovers an imposition it +is his simple duty to strip it bare and hurl it down +from its place of honor, no matter who suffers by it; +any other course would render him unworthy of the public +confidence. + +<p>Lucerne is a charming place. It begins at the water's edge, +with a fringe of hotels, and scrambles up and spreads +itself over two or three sharp hills in a crowded, +disorderly, but picturesque way, offering to the eye +a heaped-up confusion of red roofs, quaint gables, +dormer windows, toothpick steeples, with here and there +a bit of ancient embattled wall bending itself over +the ridges, worm-fashion, and here and there an old square +tower of heavy masonry. And also here and there a town +clock with only one hand—a hand which stretches across +the dial and has no joint in it; such a clock helps out +the picture, but you cannot tell the time of day by it. +Between the curving line of hotels and the lake is a broad +avenue with lamps and a double rank of low shade trees. +The lake-front is walled with masonry like a pier, +and has a railing, to keep people from walking overboard. +All day long the vehicles dash along the avenue, and nurses, +children, and tourists sit in the shade of the trees, +or lean on the railing and watch the schools of fishes +darting about in the clear water, or gaze out over the lake +at the stately border of snow-hooded mountain peaks. +Little pleasure steamers, black with people, are coming +and going all the time; and everywhere one sees young +girls and young men paddling about in fanciful rowboats, +or skimming along by the help of sails when there is any wind. +The front rooms of the hotels have little railed balconies, +where one may take his private luncheon in calm, +cool comfort and look down upon this busy and pretty +scene and enjoy it without having to do any of the work +connected with it. + +<p>Most of the people, both male and female, are in walking +costume, and carry alpenstocks. Evidently, it is not +considered safe to go about in Switzerland, even in town, +without an alpenstock. If the tourist forgets and +comes down to breakfast without his alpenstock he goes +back and gets it, and stands it up in the corner. +When his touring in Switzerland is finished, he does not +throw that broomstick away, but lugs it home with him, +to the far corners of the earth, although this costs him +more trouble and bother than a baby or a courier could. +You see, the alpenstock is his trophy; his name +is burned upon it; and if he has climbed a hill, +or jumped a brook, or traversed a brickyard with it, +he has the names of those places burned upon it, too. + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><a name="p246"></a><img alt="p246.jpg (39K)" src="images/p246.jpg" height="519" width="415"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>Thus it is his regimental flag, so to speak, and bears +the record of his achievements. It is worth three francs +when he buys it, but a bonanza could not purchase it +after his great deeds have been inscribed upon it. +There are artisans all about Switzerland whose trade it is +to burn these things upon the alpenstock of the tourist. +And observe, a man is respected in Switzerland according +to his alpenstock. I found I could get no attention there, +while I carried an unbranded one. However, branding is +not expected, so I soon remedied that. The effect +upon the next detachment of tourists was very marked. +I felt repaid for my trouble. + +<p>Half of the summer horde in Switzerland is made up of +English people; the other half is made up of many nationalities, +the Germans leading and the Americans coming next. +The Americans were not as numerous as I had expected +they would be. + +<p>The seven-thirty table d'hôte at the great Schweitzerhof +furnished a mighty array and variety of nationalities, +but it offered a better opportunity to observe costumes +than people, for the multitude sat at immensely long tables, +and therefore the faces were mainly seen in perspective; +but the breakfasts were served at small round tables, +and then if one had the fortune to get a table in the +midst of the assemblage he could have as many faces +to study as he could desire. We used to try to guess out +the nationalities, and generally succeeded tolerably well. +Sometimes we tried to guess people's names; but that was +a failure; that is a thing which probably requires a good +deal of practice. We presently dropped it and gave our +efforts to less difficult particulars. One morning I +said: + +<p>"There is an American party." + +<p>Harris said: + +<p>"Yes—but name the state." + +<p>I named one state, Harris named another. We agreed upon +one thing, however—that the young girl with the party +was very beautiful, and very tastefully dressed. +But we disagreed as to her age. I said she was eighteen, +Harris said she was twenty. The dispute between us +waxed warm, and I finally said, with a pretense of being +in earnest: + +<p>"Well, there is one way to settle the matter—I will go +and ask her." + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><a name="p247"></a><img alt="p247.jpg (13K)" src="images/p247.jpg" height="363" width="273"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + + +<p>Harris said, sarcastically, "Certainly, that is the thing +to do. All you need to do is to use the common formula +over here: go and say, 'I'm an American!' Of course she +will be glad to see you." + +<p>Then he hinted that perhaps there was no great danger +of my venturing to speak to her. + +<p>I said, "I was only talking—I didn't intend to approach her, +but I see that you do not know what an intrepid person +I am. I am not afraid of any woman that walks. +I will go and speak to this young girl." + +<p>The thing I had in my mind was not difficult. +I meant to address her in the most respectful way and ask +her to pardon me if her strong resemblance to a former +acquaintance of mine was deceiving me; and when she should +reply that the name I mentioned was not the name she bore, +I meant to beg pardon again, most respectfully, and retire. +There would be no harm done. I walked to her table, +bowed to the gentleman, then turned to her and was about +to begin my little speech when she exclaimed: + +<p>"I KNEW I wasn't mistaken—I told John it was you! +John said it probably wasn't, but I knew I was right. +I said you would recognize me presently and come over; +and I'm glad you did, for I shouldn't have felt much flattered +if you had gone out of this room without recognizing me. +Sit down, sit down—how odd it is—you are the last person I +was ever expecting to see again." + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><a name="p249"></a><img alt="p249.jpg (51K)" src="images/p249.jpg" height="511" width="587"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>This was a stupefying surprise. It took my wits +clear away, for an instant. However, we shook hands +cordially all around, and I sat down. But truly this +was the tightest place I ever was in. I seemed to vaguely +remember the girl's face, now, but I had no idea where I +had seen it before, or what name belonged with it. +I immediately tried to get up a diversion about Swiss scenery, +to keep her from launching into topics that might +betray that I did not know her, but it was of no use, +she went right along upon matters which interested her more: + +<p>"Oh dear, what a night that was, when the sea washed +the forward boats away—do you remember it?" + +<p>"Oh, DON'T I!" said I—but I didn't. I wished the sea +had washed the rudder and the smoke-stack and the captain +away—then I could have located this questioner. + +<p>"And don't you remember how frightened poor Mary was, +and how she cried?" + +<p>"Indeed I do!" said I. "Dear me, how it all comes back!" + +<p>I fervently wished it WOULD come back—but my memory was +a blank. The wise way would have been to frankly own up; +but I could not bring myself to do that, after the young +girl had praised me so for recognizing her; so I went on, +deeper and deeper into the mire, hoping for a chance clue +but never getting one. The Unrecognizable continued, +with vivacity: + +<p>"Do you know, George married Mary, after all?" + +<p>"Why, no! Did he?" + +<p>"Indeed he did. He said he did not believe she was half +as much to blame as her father was, and I thought he +was right. Didn't you?" + +<p>"Of course he was. It was a perfectly plain case. +I always said so." + +<p>"Why, no you didn't!—at least that summer." + +<p>"Oh, no, not that summer. No, you are perfectly right +about that. It was the following winter that I said it." + +<p>"Well, as it turned out, Mary was not in the least +to blame —it was all her father's fault—at least +his and old Darley's." + +<p>It was necessary to say something—so I said: + +<p>"I always regarded Darley as a troublesome old thing." + +<p>"So he was, but then they always had a great affection +for him, although he had so many eccentricities. +You remember that when the weather was the least cold, +he would try to come into the house." + +<p>I was rather afraid to proceed. Evidently Darley was not +a man—he must be some other kind of animal—possibly +a dog, maybe an elephant. However, tails are common +to all animals, so I ventured to say: + +<p>"And what a tail he had!" + +<p>"ONE! He had a thousand!" + +<p>This was bewildering. I did not quite know what to say, +so I only said: + +<p>"Yes, he WAS rather well fixed in the matter of tails." + +<p>"For a negro, and a crazy one at that, I should say he was," +said she. + +<p>It was getting pretty sultry for me. I said to myself, +"Is it possible she is going to stop there, and wait for +me to speak? If she does, the conversation is blocked. +A negro with a thousand tails is a topic which a person +cannot talk upon fluently and instructively without more +or less preparation. As to diving rashly into such a +vast subject—" + +<p>But here, to my gratitude, she interrupted my thoughts +by saying: + +<p>"Yes, when it came to tales of his crazy woes, there was +simply no end to them if anybody would listen. His own +quarters were comfortable enough, but when the weather +was cold, the family were sure to have his company—nothing +could keep him out of the house. But they always bore it +kindly because he had saved Tom's life, years before. +You remember Tom? + +<p>"Oh, perfectly. Fine fellow he was, too." + +<p>"Yes he was. And what a pretty little thing his child was!" + +<p>"You may well say that. I never saw a prettier child." + +<p>"I used to delight to pet it and dandle it and play +with it." + +<p>"So did I." + +<p>"You named it. What WAS that name? I can't call it +to mind." + +<p>It appeared to me that the ice was getting pretty +thin, here. I would have given something to know +what the child's was. However, I had the good luck +to think of a name that would fit either sex—so I brought it +out: + +<p>"I named it Frances." + +<p>"From a relative, I suppose? But you named the one that died, +too—one that I never saw. What did you call that one?" + +<p>I was out of neutral names, but as the child was dead +and she had never seen it, I thought I might risk a name +for it and trust to luck. Therefore I said: + +<p>"I called that one Thomas Henry." + +<p>She said, musingly: + +<p>"That is very singular ... very singular." + +<p>I sat still and let the cold sweat run down. I was +in a good deal of trouble, but I believed I could worry +through if she wouldn't ask me to name any more children. +I wondered where the lightning was going to strike next. +She was still ruminating over that last child's title, +but presently she said: + +<p>"I have always been sorry you were away at the time—I +would have had you name my child." + +<p>"YOUR child! Are you married?" + +<p>"I have been married thirteen years." + +<p>"Christened, you mean." + +<p>`"No, married. The youth by your side is my son." + +<p>"It seems incredible—even impossible. I do not mean +any harm by it, but would you mind telling me if you +are any over eighteen?—that is to say, will you tell +me how old you are?" + +<p>"I was just nineteen the day of the storm we were +talking about. That was my birthday." + +<p>That did not help matters, much, as I did not know +the date of the storm. I tried to think of some +non-committal thing to say, to keep up my end of the talk, +and render my poverty in the matter of reminiscences +as little noticeable as possible, but I seemed to be +about out of non-committal things. I was about to say, +"You haven't changed a bit since then"—but that was risky. +I thought of saying, "You have improved ever so much +since then"—but that wouldn't answer, of course. +I was about to try a shy at the weather, for a saving change, +when the girl slipped in ahead of me and said: + +<p>"How I have enjoyed this talk over those happy old +times—haven't you?" + +<p>"I never have spent such a half-hour in all my life before!" +said I, with emotion; and I could have added, with a +near approach to truth, "and I would rather be scalped +than spend another one like it." I was holily grateful +to be through with the ordeal, and was about to make +my good-bys and get out, when the girl said: + +<p>"But there is one thing that is ever so puzzling to me." + +<p>"Why, what is that?" + +<p>"That dead child's name. What did you say it was?" + +<p>Here was another balmy place to be in: I had forgotten the +child's name; I hadn't imagined it would be needed again. +However, I had to pretend to know, anyway, so I said: + +<p>"Joseph William." + +<p>The youth at my side corrected me, and said: + +<p>"No, Thomas Henry." + +<p>I thanked him—in words—and said, with trepidation: + +<p>"O yes—I was thinking of another child that I named—I +have named a great many, and I get them confused—this +one was named Henry Thompson—" + +<p>"Thomas Henry," calmly interposed the boy. + +<p>I thanked him again—strictly in words—and stammered +out: + +<p>"Thomas Henry—yes, Thomas Henry was the poor child's name. +I named him for Thomas—er—Thomas Carlyle, the great author, +you know—and Henry—er—er—Henry the Eighth. The parents +were very grateful to have a child named Thomas Henry." + +<p>"That makes it more singular than ever," murmured my +beautiful friend. + +<p>"Does it? Why?" + +<p>"Because when the parents speak of that child now, +they always call it Susan Amelia." + +<p>That spiked my gun. I could not say anything. I was entirely +out of verbal obliquities; to go further would be to lie, +and that I would not do; so I simply sat still and +suffered—sat mutely and resignedly there, and sizzled—for I +was being slowly fried to death in my own blushes. +Presently the enemy laughed a happy laugh and said: + +<p>"I HAVE enjoyed this talk over old times, but you have not. +I saw very soon that you were only pretending to know me, +and so as I had wasted a compliment on you in the beginning, +I made up my mind to punish you. And I have succeeded +pretty well. I was glad to see that you knew George and Tom +and Darley, for I had never heard of them before and therefore +could not be sure that you had; and I was glad to learn +the names of those imaginary children, too. One can get +quite a fund of information out of you if one goes at +it cleverly. Mary and the storm, and the sweeping away +of the forward boats, were facts—all the rest was fiction. +Mary was my sister; her full name was Mary ———. NOW +do you remember me?" + +<p>"Yes," I said, "I do remember you now; and you are as +hard-headed as you were thirteen years ago in that ship, +else you wouldn't have punished me so. You haven't +changed your nature nor your person, in any way at all; +you look as young as you did then, you are just as beautiful +as you were then, and you have transmitted a deal +of your comeliness to this fine boy. There—if that +speech moves you any, let's fly the flag of truce, +with the understanding that I am conquered and confess it." + +<p>All of which was agreed to and accomplished, on the spot. +When I went back to Harris, I said: + +<p>"Now you see what a person with talent and address can do." + +<p>"Excuse me, I see what a person of colossal ignorance and +simplicity can do. The idea of your going and intruding +on a party of strangers, that way, and talking for half +an hour; why I never heard of a man in his right mind +doing such a thing before. What did you say to them?" + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><a name="p255"></a><img alt="p255.jpg (20K)" src="images/p255.jpg" height="279" width="387"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>"I never said any harm. I merely asked the girl what her +name was." + +<p>"I don't doubt it. Upon my word I don't. I think you +were capable of it. It was stupid in me to let you go +over there and make such an exhibition of yourself. +But you know I couldn't really believe you would do such +an inexcusable thing. What will those people think +of us? But how did you say it?—I mean the manner of it. +I hope you were not abrupt." + +<p>"No, I was careful about that. I said, 'My friend and I +would like to know what your name is, if you don't mind.'" + +<p>"No, that was not abrupt. There is a polish about it that +does you infinite credit. And I am glad you put me in; +that was a delicate attention which I appreciate at its +full value. What did she do?" + +<p>"She didn't do anything in particular. She told me +her name." + +<p>"Simply told you her name. Do you mean to say she did +not show any surprise?" + +<p>"Well, now I come to think, she did show something; +maybe it was surprise; I hadn't thought of that—I took +it for gratification." + +<p>"Oh, undoubtedly you were right; it must have been gratification; +it could not be otherwise than gratifying to be assaulted +by a stranger with such a question as that. Then what did you +do?" + +<p>"I offered my hand and the party gave me a shake." + +<p>"I saw it! I did not believe my own eyes, at the time. +Did the gentleman say anything about cutting your throat?" + +<p>"No, they all seemed glad to see me, as far as I could judge." + +<p>"And do you know, I believe they were. I think they said +to themselves, 'Doubtless this curiosity has got away from +his keeper—let us amuse ourselves with him.' There is +no other way of accounting for their facile docility. +You sat down. Did they ASK you to sit down?" + +<p>"No, they did not ask me, but I suppose they did not think +of it." + +<p>"You have an unerring instinct. What else did you do? +What did you talk about?" + +<p>"Well, I asked the girl how old she was." + +<p>"UNdoubtedly. Your delicacy is beyond praise. Go on, +go on—don't mind my apparent misery—I always look +so when I am steeped in a profound and reverent joy. +Go on—she told you her age?" + +<p>"Yes, she told me her age, and all about her mother, +and her grandmother, and her other relations, and all +about herself." + +<p>"Did she volunteer these statistics?" + +<p>"No, not exactly that. I asked the questions and she +answered them." + +<p>"This is divine. Go on—it is not possible that you +forgot to inquire into her politics?" + +<p>"No, I thought of that. She is a democrat, her husband +is a republican, and both of them are Baptists." + +<p>"Her husband? Is that child married?" + +<p>"She is not a child. She is married, and that is her +husband who is there with her." + +<p>"Has she any children." + +<p>"Yes—seven and a half." + +<p>"That is impossible." + +<p>"No, she has them. She told me herself." + +<p>"Well, but seven and a HALF? How do you make out the half? +Where does the half come in?" + +<p>"There is a child which she had by another +husband—not this one but another one—so it is a stepchild, +and they do not count in full measure." + +<p>"Another husband? Has she another husband?" + +<p>"Yes, four. This one is number four." + +<p>"I don't believe a word of it. It is impossible, +upon its face. Is that boy there her brother?" + +<p>"No, that is her son. He is her youngest. He is not +as old as he looked; he is only eleven and a half." + +<p>"These things are all manifestly impossible. This is a +wretched business. It is a plain case: they simply took +your measure, and concluded to fill you up. They seem +to have succeeded. I am glad I am not in the mess; +they may at least be charitable enough to think there +ain't a pair of us. Are they going to stay here long?" + +<p>"No, they leave before noon." + +<p>"There is one man who is deeply grateful for that. +How did you find out? You asked, I suppose?" + +<p>"No, along at first I inquired into their plans, in a +general way, and they said they were going to be here +a week, and make trips round about; but toward the end +of the interview, when I said you and I would tour around +with them with pleasure, and offered to bring you over +and introduce you, they hesitated a little, and asked +if you were from the same establishment that I was. +I said you were, and then they said they had changed +their mind and considered it necessary to start at once +and visit a sick relative in Siberia." + +<p>"Ah, me, you struck the summit! You struck the loftiest +altitude of stupidity that human effort has ever reached. +You shall have a monument of jackasses' skulls as high +as the Strasburg spire if you die before I do. +They wanted to know I was from the same 'establishment' +that you hailed from, did they? What did they mean by +'establishment'?" + +<p>"I don't know; it never occurred to me to ask." + +<p>"Well <i>I</i> know. They meant an asylum—an IDIOT asylum, +do you understand? So they DO think there's a pair of us, +after all. Now what do you think of yourself?" + +<p>"Well, I don't know. I didn't know I was doing any harm; +I didn't MEAN to do any harm. They were very nice people, +and they seemed to like me." + +<p>Harris made some rude remarks and left for his +bedroom—to break some furniture, he said. He was a singularly +irascible man; any little thing would disturb his temper. + +<p>I had been well scorched by the young woman, but no matter, +I took it out on Harris. One should always "get even" +in some way, else the sore place will go on hurting. + + + +<br><br> +<center> +<a name="p257"></a> +<img alt="p257 (11K)" src="images/p257.jpg" height="167" width="347" /> +</center> +<br><br> + + + +<br><br><br><br><br><br> +<a name="ch26"></a><center><h2>CHAPTER XXVI</h2> +<h3>[The Nest of the Cuckoo-clock]</h3></center> +<br><br> + +<p>The Hofkirche is celebrated for its organ concerts. +All summer long the tourists flock to that church about six +o'clock in the evening, and pay their franc, and listen +to the noise. They don't stay to hear all of it, but get up +and tramp out over the sounding stone floor, meeting late +comers who tramp in in a sounding and vigorous way. +This tramping back and forth is kept up nearly all the time, +and is accented by the continuous slamming of the door, +and the coughing and barking and sneezing of the crowd. +Meantime, the big organ is booming and crashing and +thundering away, doing its best to prove that it is +the biggest and best organ in Europe, and that a tight +little box of a church is the most favorable place +to average and appreciate its powers in. It is true, +there were some soft and merciful passages occasionally, +but the tramp-tramp of the tourists only allowed one to get +fitful glimpses of them, so to speak. Then right away +the organist would let go another avalanche. + +<p>The commerce of Lucerne consists mainly in gimcrackery of the +souvenir sort; the shops are packed with Alpine crystals, +photographs of scenery, and wooden and ivory carvings. +I will not conceal the fact that miniature figures of the +Lion of Lucerne are to be had in them. Millions of them. +But they are libels upon him, every one of them. +There is a subtle something about the majestic pathos +of the original which the copyist cannot get. Even the sun +fails to get it; both the photographer and the carver give +you a dying lion, and that is all. The shape is right, +the attitude is right, the proportions are right, but that +indescribable something which makes the Lion of Lucerne +the most mournful and moving piece of stone in the world, +is wanting. + +<p>The Lion lies in his lair in the perpendicular face of a low +cliff—for he is carved from the living rock of the cliff. +His size is colossal, his attitude is noble. His head +is bowed, the broken spear is sticking in his shoulder, +his protecting paw rests upon the lilies of France. +Vines hang down the cliff and wave in the wind, and a clear +stream trickles from above and empties into a pond at the base, +and in the smooth surface of the pond the lion is mirrored, +among the water-lilies. + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><a name="p259"></a><img alt="p259.jpg (59K)" src="images/p259.jpg" height="473" width="559"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>Around about are green trees and grass. The place is +a sheltered, reposeful woodland nook, remote from noise +and stir and confusion—and all this is fitting, for lions +do die in such places, and not on granite pedestals +in public squares fenced with fancy iron railings. +The Lion of Lucerne would be impressive anywhere, +but nowhere so impressive as where he is. + +<p>Martyrdom is the luckiest fate that can befall some people. +Louis XVI did not die in his bed, consequently history is +very gentle with him; she is charitable toward his failings, +and she finds in him high virtues which are not usually +considered to be virtues when they are lodged in kings. +She makes him out to be a person with a meek and modest +spirit, the heart of a female saint, and a wrong head. +None of these qualities are kingly but the last. +Taken together they make a character which would have fared +harshly at the hands of history if its owner had had the ill +luck to miss martyrdom. With the best intentions to do +the right thing, he always managed to do the wrong one. +Moreover, nothing could get the female saint out of him. +He knew, well enough, that in national emergencies he must +not consider how he ought to act, as a man, but how he +ought to act as a king; so he honestly tried to sink +the man and be the king—but it was a failure, he only +succeeded in being the female saint. He was not instant +in season, but out of season. He could not be persuaded +to do a thing while it could do any good—he was iron, +he was adamant in his stubbornness then—but as soon as +the thing had reached a point where it would be positively +harmful to do it, do it he would, and nothing could +stop him. He did not do it because it would be harmful, +but because he hoped it was not yet too late to achieve +by it the good which it would have done if applied earlier. +His comprehension was always a train or two behindhand. +If a national toe required amputating, he could not see +that it needed anything more than poulticing; when others +saw that the mortification had reached the knee, he first +perceived that the toe needed cutting off—so he cut it off; +and he severed the leg at the knee when others saw that the +disease had reached the thigh. He was good, and honest, +and well meaning, in the matter of chasing national diseases, +but he never could overtake one. As a private man, +he would have been lovable; but viewed as a king, he was +strictly contemptible. + +<p>His was a most unroyal career, but the most pitiable +spectacle in it was his sentimental treachery to his +Swiss guard on that memorable 10th of August, when he +allowed those heroes to be massacred in his cause, +and forbade them to shed the "sacred French blood" +purporting to be flowing in the veins of the red-capped +mob of miscreants that was raging around the palace. +He meant to be kingly, but he was only the female saint +once more. Some of his biographers think that upon this +occasion the spirit of Saint Louis had descended upon him. +It must have found pretty cramped quarters. If Napoleon +the First had stood in the shoes of Louis XVI that day, +instead of being merely a casual and unknown looker-on, +there would be no Lion of Lucerne, now, but there would +be a well-stocked Communist graveyard in Paris which would +answer just as well to remember the 10th of August by. + +<p>Martyrdom made a saint of Mary Queen of Scots three +hundred years ago, and she has hardly lost all of her +saintship yet. Martyrdom made a saint of the trivial +and foolish Marie Antoinette, and her biographers still +keep her fragrant with the odor of sanctity to this day, +while unconsciously proving upon almost every page they write +that the only calamitous instinct which her husband lacked, +she supplied—the instinct to root out and get rid of +an honest, able, and loyal official, wherever she found him. +The hideous but beneficent French Revolution would have +been deferred, or would have fallen short of completeness, +or even might not have happened at all, if Marie +Antoinette had made the unwise mistake of not being born. +The world owes a great deal to the French Revolution, +and consequently to its two chief promoters, Louis the +Poor in Spirit and his queen. + +<p>We did not buy any wooden images of the Lion, nor any ivory +or ebony or marble or chalk or sugar or chocolate ones, +or even any photographic slanders of him. The truth is, +these copies were so common, so universal, in the shops +and everywhere, that they presently became as intolerable +to the wearied eye as the latest popular melody usually +becomes to the harassed ear. In Lucerne, too, the wood +carvings of other sorts, which had been so pleasant to look +upon when one saw them occasionally at home, soon began +to fatigue us. We grew very tired of seeing wooden quails +and chickens picking and strutting around clock-faces, +and still more tired of seeing wooden images of the alleged +chamois skipping about wooden rocks, or lying upon them +in family groups, or peering alertly up from behind them. +The first day, I would have bought a hundred and fifty +of these clocks if I had the money—and I did buy +three—but on the third day the disease had run its course, +I had convalesced, and was in the market once more—trying +to sell. However, I had no luck; which was just as well, +for the things will be pretty enough, no doubt, when I get +them home. + +<p>For years my pet aversion had been the cuckoo clock; +now here I was, at last, right in the creature's home; +so wherever I went that distressing "HOO'hoo! HOO'hoo! +HOO'hoo!" was always in my ears. For a nervous man, +this was a fine state of things. Some sounds are hatefuler +than others, but no sound is quite so inane, and silly, +and aggravating as the "HOO'hoo" of a cuckoo clock, I think. +I bought one, and am carrying it home to a certain person; +for I have always said that if the opportunity ever happened, +I would do that man an ill turn. + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><a name="p262"></a><img alt="p262.jpg (31K)" src="images/p262.jpg" height="323" width="561"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>What I meant, was, that I +would break one of his legs, or something of that sort; +but in Lucerne I instantly saw that I could impair his mind. +That would be more lasting, and more satisfactory every way. +So I bought the cuckoo clock; and if I ever get home +with it, he is "my meat," as they say in the mines. +I thought of another candidate—a book-reviewer whom +I could name if I wanted to—but after thinking +it over, I didn't buy him a clock. I couldn't injure +his mind. + +<p>We visited the two long, covered wooden bridges which span +the green and brilliant Reuss just below where it goes +plunging and hurrahing out of the lake. These rambling, +sway-backed tunnels are very attractive things, with their +alcoved outlooks upon the lovely and inspiriting water. +They contain two or three hundred queer old pictures, +by old Swiss masters—old boss sign-painters, who flourished +before the decadence of art. + +<p>The lake is alive with fishes, plainly visible to the eye, +for the water is very clear. The parapets in front of the +hotels were usually fringed with fishers of all ages. +One day I thought I would stop and see a fish caught. +The result brought back to my mind, very forcibly, +a circumstance which I had not thought of before for +twelve years. This one: + +<p>THE MAN WHO PUT UP AT GADSBY'S + +<p>When my odd friend Riley and I were newspaper correspondents +in Washington, in the winter of '67, we were coming down +Pennsylvania Avenue one night, near midnight, in a driving +storm of snow, when the flash of a street-lamp fell upon a man +who was eagerly tearing along in the opposite direction. +"This is lucky! You are Mr. Riley, ain't you?" + +<p>Riley was the most self-possessed and solemnly deliberate +person in the republic. He stopped, looked his man +over from head to foot, and finally said: + +<p>"I am Mr. Riley. Did you happen to be looking for me?" + +<p>"That's just what I was doing," said the man, joyously, +"and it's the biggest luck in the world that I've found you. +My name is Lykins. I'm one of the teachers of the high +school—San Francisco. As soon as I heard the San Francisco +postmastership was vacant, I made up my mind to get it—and here +I am." + +<p>"Yes," said Riley, slowly, "as you have remarked ... +Mr. Lykins ... here you are. And have you got it?" + +<p>"Well, not exactly GOT it, but the next thing to it. +I've brought a petition, signed by the Superintendent +of Public Instruction, and all the teachers, and by more +than two hundred other people. Now I want you, if you'll +be so good, to go around with me to the Pacific delegation, +for I want to rush this thing through and get along home." + +<p>"If the matter is so pressing, you will prefer that we +visit the delegation tonight," said Riley, in a voice +which had nothing mocking in it—to an unaccustomed ear. + +<p>"Oh, tonight, by all means! I haven't got any time to +fool around. I want their promise before I go to +bed—I ain't the talking kind, I'm the DOING kind!" + +<p>"Yes ... you've come to the right place for that. +When did you arrive?" + +<p>"Just an hour ago." + +<p>"When are you intending to leave?" + +<p>"For New York tomorrow evening—for San Francisco +next morning." + +<p>"Just so.... What are you going to do tomorrow?" + +<p>"DO! Why, I've got to go to the President with the petition +and the delegation, and get the appointment, haven't I?" + +<p>"Yes ... very true ... that is correct. And then what?" + +<p>"Executive session of the Senate at 2 P.M.—got to get +the appointment confirmed—I reckon you'll grant that?" + +<p>"Yes ... yes," said Riley, meditatively, "you are +right again. Then you take the train for New York in +the evening, and the steamer for San Francisco next morning?" + +<p>"That's it—that's the way I map it out!" + +<p>Riley considered a while, and then said: + +<p>"You couldn't stay ... a day ... well, say two +days longer?" + +<p>"Bless your soul, no! It's not my style. I ain't a man +to go fooling around—I'm a man that DOES things, +I tell you." + +<p>The storm was raging, the thick snow blowing in gusts. +Riley stood silent, apparently deep in a reverie, +during a minute or more, then he looked up and said: + +<p>"Have you ever heard about that man who put up at Gadsby's, +once? ... But I see you haven't." + +<p>He backed Mr. Lykins against an iron fence, buttonholed him, +fastened him with his eye, like the Ancient Mariner, +and proceeded to unfold his narrative as placidly +and peacefully as if we were all stretched comfortably +in a blossomy summer meadow instead of being persecuted +by a wintry midnight tempest: + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><a name="p265"></a><img alt="p265.jpg (25K)" src="images/p265.jpg" height="475" width="287"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>"I will tell you about that man. It was in Jackson's time. +Gadsby's was the principal hotel, then. Well, this man +arrived from Tennessee about nine o'clock, one morning, +with a black coachman and a splendid four-horse carriage and +an elegant dog, which he was evidently fond of and proud of; +he drove up before Gadsby's, and the clerk and the landlord +and everybody rushed out to take charge of him, but he said, +'Never mind,' and jumped out and told the coachman +to wait— + + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><a name="p266a"></a><img alt="p266a.jpg (20K)" src="images/p266a.jpg" height="219" width="579"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>said he hadn't time to take anything to eat, +he only had a little claim against the government to collect, +would run across the way, to the Treasury, and fetch +the money, and then get right along back to Tennessee, +for he was in considerable of a hurry. + +<p>"Well, about eleven o'clock that night he came back +and ordered a bed and told them to put the horses +up—said he would collect the claim in the morning. +This was in January, you understand—January, +1834—the 3d of January—Wednesday. + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><a name="p266b"></a><img alt="p266b.jpg (16K)" src="images/p266b.jpg" height="199" width="581"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>"Well, on the 5th of February, he sold the fine carriage, +and bought a cheap second-hand one—said it would answer +just as well to take the money home in, and he didn't care +for style. + +<p>"On the 11th of August he sold a pair of the fine +horses—said he'd often thought a pair was better than four, +to go over the rough mountain roads with where a body +had to be careful about his driving—and there wasn't +so much of his claim but he could lug the money home +with a pair easy enough. + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><a name="p267a"></a><img alt="p267a.jpg (13K)" src="images/p267a.jpg" height="183" width="573"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>"On the 13th of December he sold another horse—said +two warn't necessary to drag that old light vehicle +with—in fact, one could snatch it along faster than +was absolutely necessary, now that it was good solid +winter weather and the roads in splendid condition. + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><a name="p267b"></a><img alt="p267b.jpg (10K)" src="images/p267b.jpg" height="153" width="547"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>"On the 17th of February, 1835, he sold the old carriage +and bought a cheap second-hand buggy—said a buggy +was just the trick to skim along mushy, slushy early +spring roads with, and he had always wanted to try +a buggy on those mountain roads, anyway. + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><a name="p267c"></a><img alt="p267c.jpg (11K)" src="images/p267c.jpg" height="181" width="579"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>"On the 1st August he sold the buggy and bought the +remains of an old sulky—said he just wanted to see +those green Tennesseans stare and gawk when they saw +him come a-ripping along in a sulky—didn't believe +they'd ever heard of a sulky in their lives. + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><a name="p268a"></a><img alt="p268a.jpg (11K)" src="images/p268a.jpg" height="143" width="561"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>"Well, on the 29th of August he sold his colored +coachman—said he didn't need a coachman for a +sulky—wouldn't be room enough for two in it anyway—and, +besides, it wasn't every day that Providence sent a man +a fool who was willing to pay nine hundred dollars for +such a third-rate negro as that—been wanting to get +rid of the creature for years, but didn't like to THROW him away. + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><a name="p268b"></a><img alt="p268b.jpg (12K)" src="images/p268b.jpg" height="185" width="553"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p> +"Eighteen months later—that is to say, on the 15th +of February, 1837—he sold the sulky and bought +a saddle—said horseback-riding was what the doctor +had always recommended HIM to take, and dog'd if he +wanted to risk HIS neck going over those mountain roads +on wheels in the dead of winter, not if he knew himself. + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><a name="p268c"></a><img alt="p268c.jpg (7K)" src="images/p268c.jpg" height="149" width="509"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>"On the 9th of April he sold the saddle—said he wasn't +going to risk HIS life with any perishable saddle-girth +that ever was made, over a rainy, miry April road, +while he could ride bareback and know and feel he was +safe—always HAD despised to ride on a saddle, anyway. + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><a name="p269a"></a><img alt="p269a.jpg (18K)" src="images/p269a.jpg" height="209" width="563"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>"On the 24th of April he sold his horse—said 'I'm just +fifty-seven today, hale and hearty—it would be a PRETTY +howdy-do for me to be wasting such a trip as that and such +weather as this, on a horse, when there ain't anything +in the world so splendid as a tramp on foot through +the fresh spring woods and over the cheery mountains, +to a man that IS a man—and I can make my dog carry my +claim in a little bundle, anyway, when it's collected. +So tomorrow I'll be up bright and early, make my little +old collection, and mosey off to Tennessee, on my own +hind legs, with a rousing good-by to Gadsby's.' + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><a name="p269c"></a><img alt="p269c.jpg (12K)" src="images/p269c.jpg" height="185" width="533"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>"On the 22d of June he sold his dog—said 'Dern a dog, +anyway, where you're just starting off on a rattling bully +pleasure tramp through the summer woods and hills—perfect +nuisance—chases the squirrels, barks at everything, +goes a-capering and splattering around in the +fords—man can't get any chance to reflect and enjoy +nature—and I'd a blamed sight ruther carry the claim myself, +it's a mighty sight safer; a dog's mighty uncertain +in a financial way—always noticed it—well, GOOD-by, +boys—last call—I'm off for Tennessee with a good +leg and a gay heart, early in the morning.'" + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><a name="p270"></a><img alt="p270.jpg (9K)" src="images/p270.jpg" height="189" width="539"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>There was a pause and a silence—except the noise +of the wind and the pelting snow. Mr. Lykins said, +impatiently: + +<p>"Well?" + +<p>Riley said: + +<p>"Well,—that was thirty years ago." + +<p>"Very well, very well—what of it?" + +<p>"I'm great friends with that old patriarch. He comes +every evening to tell me good-by. I saw him an hour +ago—he's off for Tennessee early tomorrow morning—as usual; +said he calculated to get his claim through and be off +before night-owls like me have turned out of bed. +The tears were in his eyes, he was so glad he was going +to see his old Tennessee and his friends once more." + +<p>Another silent pause. The stranger broke it: + +<p>"Is that all?" + +<p>"That is all." + +<p>"Well, for the TIME of night, and the KIND of night, +it seems to me the story was full long enough. But what's +it all FOR?" + +<p>"Oh, nothing in particular." + +<p>"Well, where's the point of it?" + +<p>"Oh, there isn't any particular point to it. Only, if you +are not in TOO much of a hurry to rush off to San Francisco +with that post-office appointment, Mr. Lykins, I'd advise +you to 'PUT UP AT GADSBY'S' for a spell, and take it easy. +Good-by. GOD bless you!" + +<p>So saying, Riley blandly turned on his heel and left +the astonished school-teacher standing there, a musing +and motionless snow image shining in the broad glow +of the street-lamp. + +<p>He never got that post-office. + +<p>To go back to Lucerne and its fishers, I concluded, +after about nine hours' waiting, that the man who proposes +to tarry till he sees something hook one of those well-fed +and experienced fishes will find it wisdom to "put up +at Gadsby's" and take it easy. It is likely that a fish +has not been caught on that lake pier for forty years; +but no matter, the patient fisher watches his cork there +all the day long, just the same, and seems to enjoy it. +One may see the fisher-loafers just as thick and contented +and happy and patient all along the Seine at Paris, +but tradition says that the only thing ever caught there +in modern times is a thing they don't fish for at all—the +recent dog and the translated cat. + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><a name="p271"></a><img alt="p271.jpg (12K)" src="images/p271.jpg" height="375" width="323"> +</center> + + + + +<br><br><br><br><br><br> +<a name="ch27"></a><center><h2>CHAPTER XXVII</h2> +<h3>[I Spare an Awful Bore]</h3></center> +<br><br> + + +<p>Close by the Lion of Lucerne is what they call the +"Glacier Garden"—and it is the only one in the world. +It is on high ground. Four or five years ago, +some workmen who were digging foundations for a house +came upon this interesting relic of a long-departed age. +Scientific men perceived in it a confirmation of their +theories concerning the glacial period; so through +their persuasions the little tract of ground was bought +and permanently protected against being built upon. +The soil was removed, and there lay the rasped and guttered +track which the ancient glacier had made as it moved +along upon its slow and tedious journey. This track +was perforated by huge pot-shaped holes in the bed-rock, +formed by the furious washing-around in them of boulders +by the turbulent torrent which flows beneath all glaciers. +These huge round boulders still remain in the holes; +they and the walls of the holes are worn smooth by +the long-continued chafing which they gave each other +in those old days. + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><a name="p273"></a><img alt="p273.jpg (89K)" src="images/p273.jpg" height="865" width="551"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>It took a mighty force to churn +these big lumps of stone around in that vigorous way. +The neighboring country had a very different shape, +at that time—the valleys have risen up and become hills, +since, and the hills have become valleys. The boulders +discovered in the pots had traveled a great distance, +for there is no rock like them nearer than the distant +Rhone Glacier. + +<p>For some days we were content to enjoy looking at the blue +lake Lucerne and at the piled-up masses of snow-mountains +that border it all around—an enticing spectacle, +this last, for there is a strange and fascinating beauty +and charm about a majestic snow-peak with the sun blazing +upon it or the moonlight softly enriching it—but finally +we concluded to try a bit of excursioning around on +a steamboat, and a dash on foot at the Rigi. Very well, +we had a delightful trip to Fluelen, on a breezy, sunny day. +Everybody sat on the upper deck, on benches, under an awning; +everybody talked, laughed, and exclaimed at the wonderful scenery; +in truth, a trip on that lake is almost the perfection +of pleasuring. + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><a name="p273b"></a><img alt="p273b.jpg (40K)" src="images/p273b.jpg" height="453" width="503"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>The mountains were a never-ceasing marvel. +Sometimes they rose straight up out of the lake, +and towered aloft and overshadowed our pygmy steamer +with their prodigious bulk in the most impressive way. +Not snow-clad mountains, these, yet they climbed high +enough toward the sky to meet the clouds and veil their +foreheads in them. They were not barren and repulsive, +but clothed in green, and restful and pleasant to the eye. +And they were so almost straight-up-and-down, sometimes, +that one could not imagine a man being able to keep +his footing upon such a surface, yet there are paths, +and the Swiss people go up and down them every day. + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><a name="p274"></a><img alt="p274.jpg (48K)" src="images/p274.jpg" height="669" width="457"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>Sometimes one of these monster precipices had the slight +inclination of the huge ship-houses in +dockyards—then high aloft, toward the sky, it took a little +stronger inclination, like that of a mansard roof—and +perched on this dizzy mansard one's eye detected little +things like martin boxes, and presently perceived that +these were the dwellings of peasants—an airy place +for a home, truly. And suppose a peasant should walk +in his sleep, or his child should fall out of the front +yard?—the friends would have a tedious long journey down +out of those cloud-heights before they found the remains. +And yet those far-away homes looked ever so seductive, +they were so remote from the troubled world, they dozed +in such an atmosphere of peace and dreams—surely no one +who has learned to live up there would ever want +to live on a meaner level. + +<p>We swept through the prettiest little curving arms +of the lake, among these colossal green walls, +enjoying new delights, always, as the stately panorama +unfolded itself before us and rerolled and hid itself +behind us; and now and then we had the thrilling surprise +of bursting suddenly upon a tremendous white mass like the +distant and dominating Jungfrau, or some kindred giant, +looming head and shoulders above a tumbled waste of lesser Alps. + +<p>Once, while I was hungrily taking in one of these surprises, +and doing my best to get all I possibly could of it while it +should last, I was interrupted by a young and care-free voice: + +<p>"You're an American, I think—so'm I." + +<p>He was about eighteen, or possibly nineteen; slender and +of medium height; open, frank, happy face; a restless +but independent eye; a snub nose, which had the air +of drawing back with a decent reserve from the silky +new-born mustache below it until it should be introduced; +a loosely hung jaw, calculated to work easily in the sockets. +He wore a low-crowned, narrow-brimmed straw hat, +with a broad blue ribbon around it which had a white +anchor embroidered on it in front; nobby short-tailed +coat, pantaloons, vest, all trim and neat and up with +the fashion; red-striped stockings, very low-quarter +patent-leather shoes, tied with black ribbon; blue ribbon +around his neck, wide-open collar; tiny diamond studs; +wrinkleless kids; projecting cuffs, fastened with large +oxidized silver sleeve-buttons, bearing the device +of a dog's face—English pug. He carried a slim cane, +surmounted with an English pug's head with red glass eyes. +Under his arm he carried a German grammar—Otto's. His hair +was short, straight, and smooth, and presently when he turned +his head a moment, I saw that it was nicely parted behind. +He took a cigarette out of a dainty box, stuck it into +a meerschaum holder which he carried in a morocco case, +and reached for my cigar. While he was lighting, I said: + +<p>"Yes—I am an American." + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><a name="p276"></a><img alt="p276.jpg (25K)" src="images/p276.jpg" height="473" width="289"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>"I knew it—I can always tell them. What ship did you +come over in?" + +<p>"HOLSATIA." + +<p>"We came in the BATAVIA—Cunard, you know. What kind +of passage did you have?" + +<p>"Tolerably rough." + +<p>"So did we. Captain said he'd hardly ever seen it rougher. +Where are you from?" + +<p>"New England." + +<p>"So'm I. I'm from New Bloomfield. Anybody with you?" + +<p>"Yes—a friend." + +<p>"Our whole family's along. It's awful slow, going around +alone—don't you think so?" + +<p>"Rather slow." + +<p>"Ever been over here before?" + +<p>"Yes." + +<p>"I haven't. My first trip. But we've been all around—Paris +and everywhere. I'm to enter Harvard next year. +Studying German all the time, now. Can't enter till I +know German. I know considerable French—I get along +pretty well in Paris, or anywhere where they speak French. +What hotel are you stopping at?" + +<p>"Schweitzerhof." + +<p>"No! is that so? I never see you in the reception-room. +I go to the reception-room a good deal of the time, +because there's so many Americans there. I make lots +of acquaintances. I know an American as soon as I see +him—and so I speak to him and make his acquaintance. +I like to be always making acquaintances—don't you?" + +<p>"Lord, yes!" + +<p>"You see it breaks up a trip like this, first rate. +I never got bored on a trip like this, if I can +make acquaintances and have somebody to talk to. +But I think a trip like this would be an awful bore, +if a body couldn't find anybody to get acquainted with +and talk to on a trip like this. I'm fond of talking, +ain't you? + +<p>"Passionately." + +<p>"Have you felt bored, on this trip?" + +<p>"Not all the time, part of it." + +<p>"That's it!—you see you ought to go around and get acquainted, +and talk. That's my way. That's the way I always do—I +just go 'round, 'round, 'round and talk, talk, talk—I +never get bored. You been up the Rigi yet?" + +<p>"No." + +<p>"Going?" + +<p>"I think so." + +<p>"What hotel you going to stop at?" + +<p>"I don't know. Is there more than one?" + +<p>"Three. You stop at the Schreiber—you'll find it full +of Americans. What ship did you say you came over in?" + +<p>"CITY OF ANTWERP." + +<p>"German, I guess. You going to Geneva?" + +<p>"Yes." + +<p>"What hotel you going to stop at?" + +<p>"Hôtel de l'Écu de Génève." + +<p>"Don't you do it! No Americans there! You stop at one +of those big hotels over the bridge—they're packed +full of Americans." + +<p>"But I want to practice my Arabic." + +<p>"Good gracious, do you speak Arabic?" + +<p>"Yes—well enough to get along." + +<p>"Why, hang it, you won't get along in Geneva—THEY don't +speak Arabic, they speak French. What hotel are you +stopping at here?" + +<p>"Hotel Pension-Beaurivage." + +<p>"Sho, you ought to stop at the Schweitzerhof. Didn't you +know the Schweitzerhof was the best hotel in +Switzerland?— look at your Baedeker." + +<p>"Yes, I know—but I had an idea there warn't any +Americans there." + +<p>"No Americans! Why, bless your soul, it's just alive with +them! I'm in the great reception-room most all the time. +I make lots of acquaintances there. Not as many as I did +at first, because now only the new ones stop in +there—the others go right along through. Where are you from?" + +<p>"Arkansaw." + +<p>"Is that so? I'm from New England—New Bloomfield's my town +when I'm at home. I'm having a mighty good time today, +ain't you?" + +<p>"Divine." + +<p>"That's what I call it. I like this knocking around, +loose and easy, and making acquaintances and talking. +I know an American, soon as I see him; so I go and speak +to him and make his acquaintance. I ain't ever bored, +on a trip like this, if I can make new acquaintances and talk. +I'm awful fond of talking when I can get hold of the right +kind of a person, ain't you?" + +<p>"I prefer it to any other dissipation." + +<p>"That's my notion, too. Now some people like to take +a book and sit down and read, and read, and read, or moon +around yawping at the lake or these mountains and things, +but that ain't my way; no, sir, if they like it, let 'em do it, +I don't object; but as for me, talking's what <i>I</i> like. +You been up the Rigi?" + +<p>"Yes." + +<p>"What hotel did you stop at?" + +<p>"Schreiber." + +<p>"That's the place!—I stopped there too. FULL of Americans, +WASN'T it? It always is—always is. That's what they say. +Everybody says that. What ship did you come over in?" + +<p>"VILLE DE PARIS." + +<p>"French, I reckon. What kind of a passage did ... excuse me +a minute, there's some Americans I haven't seen before." + +<p>And away he went. He went uninjured, too—I had the murderous +impulse to harpoon him in the back with my alpenstock, +but as I raised the weapon the disposition left me; +I found I hadn't the heart to kill him, he was such +a joyous, innocent, good-natured numbskull. + +<p>Half an hour later I was sitting on a bench inspecting, +with strong interest, a noble monolith which we were +skimming by—a monolith not shaped by man, but by Nature's +free great hand—a massy pyramidal rock eighty feet high, +devised by Nature ten million years ago against the day +when a man worthy of it should need it for his monument. +The time came at last, and now this grand remembrancer +bears Schiller's name in huge letters upon its face. +Curiously enough, this rock was not degraded or defiled +in any way. It is said that two years ago a stranger let +himself down from the top of it with ropes and pulleys, +and painted all over it, in blue letters bigger than those in +Schiller's name, these words: +<center> + <p>"Try Sozodont;" + <br>"Buy Sun Stove Polish;" + <br>"Helmbold's Buchu;" + <br>"Try Benzaline for the Blood." +</center> +<p>He was captured and it turned out that he was an American. +Upon his trial the judge said to him: + +<p>"You are from a land where any insolent that wants to is +privileged to profane and insult Nature, and, through her, +Nature's God, if by so doing he can put a sordid penny +in his pocket. But here the case is different. Because you +are a foreigner and ignorant, I will make your sentence light; +if you were a native I would deal strenuously with you. +Hear and obey: —You will immediately remove every trace +of your offensive work from the Schiller monument; you pay +a fine of ten thousand francs; you will suffer two years' +imprisonment at hard labor; you will then be horsewhipped, +tarred and feathered, deprived of your ears, ridden on a +rail to the confines of the canton, and banished forever. +The severest penalties are omitted in your case—not as +a grace to you, but to that great republic which had the +misfortune to give you birth." + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><a name="p280"></a><img alt="p280.jpg (12K)" src="images/p280.jpg" height="533" width="227"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>The steamer's benches were ranged back to back across +the deck. My back hair was mingling innocently with +the back hair of a couple of ladies. Presently they +were addressed by some one and I overheard this conversation: + +<p>"You are Americans, I think? So'm I." + +<p>"Yes—we are Americans." + +<p>"I knew it—I can always tell them. What ship did you +come over in?" + +<p>"CITY OF CHESTER." + +<p>"Oh, yes—Inman line. We came in the BATAVIA—Cunard +you know. What kind of a passage did you have?" + +<p>"Pretty fair." + +<p>"That was luck. We had it awful rough. Captain said +he'd hardly seen it rougher. Where are you from?" + +<p>"New Jersey." + +<p>"So'm I. No—I didn't mean that; I'm from New England. +New Bloomfield's my place. These your children?—belong +to both of you?" + +<p>"Only to one of us; they are mine; my friend is not married." + +<p>"Single, I reckon? So'm I. Are you two ladies traveling alone?" + +<p>"No—my husband is with us." + +<p>"Our whole family's along. It's awful slow, going around +alone—don't you think so?" + +<p>"I suppose it must be." + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><a name="p281"></a><img alt="p281.jpg (14K)" src="images/p281.jpg" height="517" width="181"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>"Hi, there's Mount Pilatus coming in sight again. +Named after Pontius Pilate, you know, that shot the apple +off of William Tell's head. Guide-book tells all about it, +they say. I didn't read it—an American told me. I don't +read when I'm knocking around like this, having a good time. +Did you ever see the chapel where William Tell used +to preach?" + +<p>"I did not know he ever preached there." + +<p>"Oh, yes, he did. That American told me so. He don't +ever shut up his guide-book. He knows more about this lake +than the fishes in it. Besides, they CALL it 'Tell's +Chapel'—you know that yourself. You ever been over here +before?" + +<p>"Yes." + +<p>"I haven't. It's my first trip. But we've been all +around—Paris and everywhere. I'm to enter Harvard next year. +Studying German all the time now. Can't enter till I +know German. This book's Otto's grammar. It's a mighty +good book to get the ICH HABE GEHABT HABEN's out of. +But I don't really study when I'm knocking around this way. +If the notion takes me, I just run over my little +old ICH HABE GEHABT, DU HAST GEHABT, ER HAT GEHABT, +WIR HABEN GEHABT, IHR HABEN GEHABT, SIE HABEN +GEHABT—kind of 'Now-I-lay-me-down-to-sleep' fashion, you know, +and after that, maybe I don't buckle to it for three days. +It's awful undermining to the intellect, German is; +you want to take it in small doses, or first you know +your brains all run together, and you feel them sloshing +around in your head same as so much drawn butter. +But French is different; FRENCH ain't anything. I ain't +any more afraid of French than a tramp's afraid of pie; I can +rattle off my little J'AI, TU AS, IL A, and the rest of it, +just as easy as a-b-c. I get along pretty well in Paris, +or anywhere where they speak French. What hotel are you +stopping at?" + +<p>"The Schweitzerhof." + +<p>"No! is that so? I never see you in the big reception-room. +I go in there a good deal of the time, because there's +so many Americans there. I make lots of acquaintances. +You been up the Rigi yet?" + +<p>"No." + +<p>"Going?" + +<p>"We think of it." + +<p>"What hotel you going to stop at?" + +<p>"I don't know." + +<p>"Well, then you stop at the Schreiber—it's full of Americans. +What ship did you come over in?" + +<p>"CITY OF CHESTER." + +<p>"Oh, yes, I remember I asked you that before. But I +always ask everybody what ship they came over in, and so +sometimes I forget and ask again. You going to Geneva?" + +<p>"Yes." + +<p>"What hotel you going to stop at?" + +<p>"We expect to stop in a pension." + +<p>"I don't hardly believe you'll like that; there's very few +Americans in the pensions. What hotel are you stopping +at here?" + +<p>"The Schweitzerhof." + +<p>"Oh, yes. I asked you that before, too. But I always +ask everybody what hotel they're stopping at, and so I've +got my head all mixed up with hotels. But it makes talk, +and I love to talk. It refreshes me up so—don't it +you—on a trip like this?" + +<p>"Yes—sometimes." + +<p>"Well, it does me, too. As long as I'm talking I never +feel bored—ain't that the way with you?" + +<p>"Yes—generally. But there are exception to the rule." + +<p>"Oh, of course. <i>I</i> don't care to talk to everybody, MYSELF. +If a person starts in to jabber-jabber-jabber about scenery, +and history, and pictures, and all sorts of tiresome things, +I get the fan-tods mighty soon. I say 'Well, I must be going +now—hope I'll see you again'—and then I take a walk. Where you +from?" + +<p>"New Jersey." + +<p>"Why, bother it all, I asked you THAT before, too. +Have you seen the Lion of Lucerne?" + +<p>"Not yet." + +<p>"Nor I, either. But the man who told me about +Mount Pilatus says it's one of the things to see. +It's twenty-eight feet long. It don't seem reasonable, +but he said so, anyway. He saw it yesterday; said it +was dying, then, so I reckon it's dead by this time. +But that ain't any matter, of course they'll stuff it. +Did you say the children are yours—or HERS?" + +<p>"Mine." + +<p>"Oh, so you did. Are you going up the ... no, I asked +you that. What ship ... no, I asked you that, too. +What hotel are you ... no, you told me that. +Let me see ... um .... Oh, what kind of voy ... no, +we've been over that ground, too. Um ... um ... well, +I believe that is all. BONJOUR—I am very glad to have +made your acquaintance, ladies. GUTEN TAG." + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><a name="p283"></a><img alt="p283.jpg (12K)" src="images/p283.jpg" height="173" width="507"> +</center> + + +<br><br><br><br><br><br> +<a name="ch28"></a><center><h2>CHAPTER XXVIII</h2> +<h3>[The Jodel and Its Native Wilds]</h3></center> +<br><br> + +<p>The Rigi-Kulm is an imposing Alpine mass, six thousand +feet high, which stands by itself, and commands a mighty +prospect of blue lakes, green valleys, and snowy +mountains—a compact and magnificent picture three hundred miles +in circumference. The ascent is made by rail, or horseback, +or on foot, as one may prefer. I and my agent panoplied +ourselves in walking-costume, one bright morning, +and started down the lake on the steamboat; we got ashore +at the village of Waeggis; three-quarters of an hour distant +from Lucerne. This village is at the foot of the mountain. + +<p>We were soon tramping leisurely up the leafy mule-path, +and then the talk began to flow, as usual. It was +twelve o'clock noon, and a breezy, cloudless day; +the ascent was gradual, and the glimpses, from under +the curtaining boughs, of blue water, and tiny sailboats, +and beetling cliffs, were as charming as glimpses of dreamland. +All the circumstances were perfect—and the anticipations, +too, for we should soon be enjoying, for the first time, +that wonderful spectacle, an Alpine sunrise—the object +of our journey. There was (apparently) no real need +for hurry, for the guide-book made the walking-distance +from Waeggis to the summit only three hours and a quarter. +I say "apparently," because the guide-book had already +fooled us once—about the distance from Allerheiligen +to Oppenau—and for aught I knew it might be getting ready +to fool us again. We were only certain as to the +altitudes—we calculated to find out for ourselves how many hours +it is from the bottom to the top. The summit is six +thousand feet above the sea, but only forty-five hundred +feet above the lake. When we had walked half an hour, +we were fairly into the swing and humor of the undertaking, +so we cleared for action; that is to say, we got a boy whom +we met to carry our alpenstocks and satchels and overcoats +and things for us; that left us free for business. +I suppose we must have stopped oftener to stretch out +on the grass in the shade and take a bit of a smoke +than this boy was used to, for presently he asked if it +had been our idea to hire him by the job, or by the year? +We told him he could move along if he was in a hurry. +He said he wasn't in such a very particular hurry, +but he wanted to get to the top while he was young. + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><a name="p285"></a><img alt="p285.jpg (22K)" src="images/p285.jpg" height="671" width="221"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>We told him to clear out, then, and leave the things at +the uppermost hotel and say we should be along presently. +He said he would secure us a hotel if he could, but if they +were all full he would ask them to build another one +and hurry up and get the paint and plaster dry against +we arrived. Still gently chaffing us, he pushed ahead, +up the trail, and soon disappeared. By six o'clock we +were pretty high up in the air, and the view of lake +and mountains had greatly grown in breadth and interest. +We halted awhile at a little public house, where we +had bread and cheese and a quart or two of fresh milk, +out on the porch, with the big panorama all before us—and +then moved on again. + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><a name="p286"></a><img alt="p286.jpg (24K)" src="images/p286.jpg" height="431" width="361"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>Ten minutes afterward we met a hot, red-faced man plunging +down the mountain, making mighty strides, swinging his +alpenstock ahead of him, and taking a grip on the ground +with its iron point to support these big strides. +He stopped, fanned himself with his hat, swabbed the +perspiration from his face and neck with a red handkerchief, +panted a moment or two, and asked how far to Waeggis. +I said three hours. He looked surprised, and said: + +<p>"Why, it seems as if I could toss a biscuit into the lake +from here, it's so close by. Is that an inn, there?" + +<p>I said it was. + +<p>"Well," said he, "I can't stand another three hours, +I've had enough today; I'll take a bed there." + +<p>I asked: + +<p>"Are we nearly to the top?" + +<p>"Nearly to the TOP? Why, bless your soul, you haven't +really started, yet." + +<p>I said we would put up at the inn, too. So we turned +back and ordered a hot supper, and had quite a jolly +evening of it with this Englishman. + +<p>The German landlady gave us neat rooms and nice beds, +and when I and my agent turned in, it was with the resolution +to be up early and make the utmost of our first Alpine sunrise. +But of course we were dead tired, and slept like policemen; +so when we awoke in the morning and ran to the window it +was already too late, because it was half past eleven. +It was a sharp disappointment. However, we ordered +breakfast and told the landlady to call the Englishman, +but she said he was already up and off at daybreak—and +swearing like mad about something or other. We could not +find out what the matter was. He had asked the landlady +the altitude of her place above the level of the lake, +and she told him fourteen hundred and ninety-five feet. +That was all that was said; then he lost his temper. +He said that between ———fools and guide-books, a man +could acquire ignorance enough in twenty-four hours in a +country like this to last him a year. Harris believed +our boy had been loading him up with misinformation; +and this was probably the case, for his epithet described +that boy to a dot. + +<p>We got under way about the turn of noon, and pulled out +for the summit again, with a fresh and vigorous step. +When we had gone about two hundred yards, and stopped +to rest, I glanced to the left while I was lighting my pipe, +and in the distance detected a long worm of black smoke +crawling lazily up the steep mountain. Of course that was +the locomotive. We propped ourselves on our elbows at once, +to gaze, for we had never seen a mountain railway yet. +Presently we could make out the train. It seemed incredible +that that thing should creep straight up a sharp slant +like the roof of a house—but there it was, and it was doing +that very miracle. + +<p>In the course of a couple hours we reached a fine breezy +altitude where the little shepherd huts had big stones +all over their roofs to hold them down to the earth when +the great storms rage. The country was wild and rocky +about here, but there were plenty of trees, plenty of moss, +and grass. + +<p>Away off on the opposite shore of the lake we could +see some villages, and now for the first time we could +observe the real difference between their proportions +and those of the giant mountains at whose feet they slept. +When one is in one of those villages it seems spacious, +and its houses seem high and not out of proportion to the +mountain that overhangs them—but from our altitude, +what a change! The mountains were bigger and grander +than ever, as they stood there thinking their solemn +thoughts with their heads in the drifting clouds, +but the villages at their feet—when the painstaking +eye could trace them up and find them—were so reduced, +almost invisible, and lay so flat against the ground, +that the exactest simile I can devise is to compare +them to ant-deposits of granulated dirt overshadowed +by the huge bulk of a cathedral. The steamboats skimming +along under the stupendous precipices were diminished +by distance to the daintiest little toys, the sailboats +and rowboats to shallops proper for fairies that keep +house in the cups of lilies and ride to court on the backs +of bumblebees. + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><a name="p288"></a><img alt="p288.jpg (83K)" src="images/p288.jpg" height="687" width="549"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>Presently we came upon half a dozen sheep nibbling grass +in the spray of a stream of clear water that sprang +from a rock wall a hundred feet high, and all at once +our ears were startled with a melodious "Lul ... +l ... l l l llul-lul-LAhee-o-o-o!" pealing joyously +from a near but invisible source, and recognized that we +were hearing for the first time the famous Alpine JODEL +in its own native wilds. And we recognized, also, +that it was that sort of quaint commingling of baritone +and falsetto which at home we call "Tyrolese warbling." + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><a name="p289"></a><img alt="p289.jpg (36K)" src="images/p289.jpg" height="591" width="361"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>The jodeling (pronounced yOdling—emphasis on the O) +continued, and was very pleasant and inspiriting to hear. +Now the jodeler appeared—a shepherd boy of +sixteen—and in our gladness and gratitude we gave him a franc +to jodel some more. So he jodeled and we listened. +We moved on, presently, and he generously jodeled us +out of sight. After about fifteen minutes we came across +another shepherd boy who was jodeling, and gave him half +a franc to keep it up. He also jodeled us out of sight. +After that, we found a jodeler every ten minutes; +we gave the first one eight cents, the second one +six cents, the third one four, the fourth one a penny, +contributed nothing to Nos. 5, 6, and 7, and during +the remainder of the day hired the rest of the jodelers, +at a franc apiece, not to jodel any more. There is somewhat +too much of the jodeling in the Alps. + +<p>About the middle of the afternoon we passed through +a prodigious natural gateway called the Felsenthor, +formed by two enormous upright rocks, with a third lying +across the top. There was a very attractive little +hotel close by, but our energies were not conquered yet, +so we went on. + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><a name="p290"></a><img alt="p290.jpg (26K)" src="images/p290.jpg" height="483" width="295"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>Three hours afterward we came to the railway-track. It +was planted straight up the mountain with the slant +of a ladder that leans against a house, and it seemed +to us that man would need good nerves who proposed +to travel up it or down it either. + +<p>During the latter part of the afternoon we cooled our +roasting interiors with ice-cold water from clear streams, +the only really satisfying water we had tasted since we +left home, for at the hotels on the continent they +merely give you a tumbler of ice to soak your water in, +and that only modifies its hotness, doesn't make it cold. +Water can only be made cold enough for summer comfort by +being prepared in a refrigerator or a closed ice-pitcher. +Europeans say ice-water impairs digestion. How do they +know?—they never drink any. + +<p>At ten minutes past six we reached the Kaltbad station, +where there is a spacious hotel with great verandas which +command a majestic expanse of lake and mountain scenery. +We were pretty well fagged out, now, but as we did +not wish to miss the Alpine sunrise, we got through our +dinner as quickly as possible and hurried off to bed. +It was unspeakably comfortable to stretch our weary limbs +between the cool, damp sheets. And how we did sleep!—for +there is no opiate like Alpine pedestrianism. + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><a name="p291"></a><img alt="p291.jpg (39K)" src="images/p291.jpg" height="433" width="549"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>In the morning we both awoke and leaped out of bed at the +same instant and ran and stripped aside the window-curtains; +but we suffered a bitter disappointment again: it +was already half past three in the afternoon. + +<p>We dressed sullenly and in ill spirits, each accusing +the other of oversleeping. Harris said if we had brought +the courier along, as we ought to have done, we should +not have missed these sunrises. I said he knew very well +that one of us would have to sit up and wake the courier; +and I added that we were having trouble enough to take +care of ourselves, on this climb, without having to take +care of a courier besides. + +<p>During breakfast our spirits came up a little, since we +found by this guide-book that in the hotels on the summit +the tourist is not left to trust to luck for his sunrise, +but is roused betimes by a man who goes through the halls +with a great Alpine horn, blowing blasts that would +raise the dead. And there was another consoling thing: +the guide-book said that up there on the summit the guests +did not wait to dress much, but seized a red bed blanket +and sailed out arrayed like an Indian. This was good; +this would be romantic; two hundred and fifty people +grouped on the windy summit, with their hair flying and +their red blankets flapping, in the solemn presence of the +coming sun, would be a striking and memorable spectacle. +So it was good luck, not ill luck, that we had missed +those other sunrises. + +<p>We were informed by the guide-book that we were now +3,228 feet above the level of the lake—therefore +full two-thirds of our journey had been accomplished. +We got away at a quarter past four P.M.; a hundred yards +above the hotel the railway divided; one track went +straight up the steep hill, the other one turned square +off to the right, with a very slight grade. We took +the latter, and followed it more than a mile, turned a +rocky corner, and came in sight of a handsome new hotel. +If we had gone on, we should have arrived at the summit, +but Harris preferred to ask a lot of questions—as usual, +of a man who didn't know anything—and he told us to go +back and follow the other route. We did so. We could ill +afford this loss of time. + +<p>We climbed and climbed; and we kept on climbing; we reached about +forty summits, but there was always another one just ahead. +It came on to rain, and it rained in dead earnest. +We were soaked through and it was bitter cold. Next a +smoky fog of clouds covered the whole region densely, +and we took to the railway-ties to keep from getting lost. +Sometimes we slopped along in a narrow path on the left-hand +side of the track, but by and by when the fog blew aside +a little and we saw that we were treading the rampart +of a precipice and that our left elbows were projecting +over a perfectly boundless and bottomless vacancy, +we gasped, and jumped for the ties again. + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><a name="p293"></a><img alt="p293.jpg (34K)" src="images/p293.jpg" height="407" width="543"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>The night shut down, dark and drizzly and cold. +About eight in the evening the fog lifted and showed us +a well-worn path which led up a very steep rise to the left. +We took it, and as soon as we had got far enough from the +railway to render the finding it again an impossibility, +the fog shut down on us once more. + +<p>We were in a bleak, unsheltered place, now, and had +to trudge right along, in order to keep warm, though we +rather expected to go over a precipice, sooner or later. +About nine o'clock we made an important +discovery—that we were not in any path. We groped around a while +on our hands and knees, but we could not find it; +so we sat down in the mud and the wet scant grass to wait. + +<p>We were terrified into this by being suddenly confronted +with a vast body which showed itself vaguely for an instant +and in the next instant was smothered in the fog again. +It was really the hotel we were after, monstrously magnified +by the fog, but we took it for the face of a precipice, +and decided not to try to claw up it. + +<p>We sat there an hour, with chattering teeth and quivering bodies, +and quarreled over all sorts of trifles, but gave most +of our attention to abusing each other for the stupidity +of deserting the railway-track. We sat with our backs +to the precipice, because what little wind there was +came from that quarter. At some time or other the fog +thinned a little; we did not know when, for we were facing +the empty universe and the thinness could not show; +but at last Harris happened to look around, and there stood +a huge, dim, spectral hotel where the precipice had been. +One could faintly discern the windows and chimneys, +and a dull blur of lights. Our first emotion was deep, +unutterable gratitude, our next was a foolish rage, +born of the suspicion that possibly the hotel had been +visible three-quarters of an hour while we sat there +in those cold puddles quarreling. + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><a name="p294"></a><img alt="p294.jpg (38K)" src="images/p294.jpg" height="409" width="539"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>Yes, it was the Rigi-Kulm hotel—the one that occupies +the extreme summit, and whose remote little sparkle +of lights we had often seen glinting high aloft among +the stars from our balcony away down yonder in Lucerne. +The crusty portier and the crusty clerks gave us the surly +reception which their kind deal out in prosperous times, +but by mollifying them with an extra display of obsequiousness +and servility we finally got them to show us to the room +which our boy had engaged for us. + +<p>We got into some dry clothing, and while our supper was +preparing we loafed forsakenly through a couple of vast +cavernous drawing-rooms, one of which had a stove in it. +This stove was in a corner, and densely walled around +with people. We could not get near the fire, so we moved +at large in the artic spaces, among a multitude of people +who sat silent, smileless, forlorn, and shivering—thinking +what fools they were to come, perhaps. There were some +Americans and some Germans, but one could see that the +great majority were English. + +<p>We lounged into an apartment where there was a great crowd, +to see what was going on. It was a memento-magazine. +The tourists were eagerly buying all sorts and styles of +paper-cutters, marked "Souvenir of the Rigi," with handles +made of the little curved horn of the ostensible chamois; +there were all manner of wooden goblets and such things, +similarly marked. I was going to buy a paper-cutter, but I +believed I could remember the cold comfort of the Rigi-Kulm +without it, so I smothered the impulse. + +<p>Supper warmed us, and we went immediately to bed—but first, +as Mr. Baedeker requests all tourists to call his attention +to any errors which they may find in his guide-books, I +dropped him a line to inform him he missed it by just +about three days. I had previously informed him of his +mistake about the distance from Allerheiligen to Oppenau, +and had also informed the Ordnance Depart of the German +government of the same error in the imperial maps. +I will add, here, that I never got any answer to those letters, +or any thanks from either of those sources; and, what is still +more discourteous, these corrections have not been made, +either in the maps or the guide-books. But I will write +again when I get time, for my letters may have miscarried. + +<p>We curled up in the clammy beds, and went to sleep without +rocking. We were so sodden with fatigue that we never stirred nor +turned over till the blooming blasts of the Alpine horn +aroused us. + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><a name="p296"></a><img alt="p296.jpg (26K)" src="images/p296.jpg" height="373" width="513"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>It may well be imagined that we did not lose +any time. We snatched on a few odds and ends of clothing, +cocooned ourselves in the proper red blankets, and plunged +along the halls and out into the whistling wind bareheaded. +We saw a tall wooden scaffolding on the very peak +of the summit, a hundred yards away, and made for it. +We rushed up the stairs to the top of this scaffolding, +and stood there, above the vast outlying world, with hair +flying and ruddy blankets waving and cracking in the fierce +breeze. + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><a name="p297"></a><img alt="p297.jpg (66K)" src="images/p297.jpg" height="929" width="487"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>"Fifteen minutes too late, at last!" said Harris, +in a vexed voice. "The sun is clear above the horizon." + +<p>"No matter," I said, "it is a most magnificent spectacle, +and we will see it do the rest of its rising anyway." + +<p>In a moment we were deeply absorbed in the marvel before us, +and dead to everything else. The great cloud-barred disk +of the sun stood just above a limitless expanse of tossing +white-caps—so to speak—a billowy chaos of massy mountain +domes and peaks draped in imperishable snow, and flooded +with an opaline glory of changing and dissolving splendors, +while through rifts in a black cloud-bank above the sun, +radiating lances of diamond dust shot to the zenith. +The cloven valleys of the lower world swam in a tinted +mist which veiled the ruggedness of their crags and ribs +and ragged forests, and turned all the forbidding region +into a soft and rich and sensuous paradise. + +<p>We could not speak. We could hardly breathe. +We could only gaze in drunken ecstasy and drink in it. +Presently Harris exclaimed: + +<p>"Why—nation, it's going DOWN!" + +<p>Perfectly true. We had missed the MORNING hornblow, +and slept all day. This was stupefying. + +<p>Harris said: + +<p>"Look here, the sun isn't the spectacle—it's US—stacked +up here on top of this gallows, in these idiotic blankets, +and two hundred and fifty well-dressed men and women down +here gawking up at us and not caring a straw whether the sun +rises or sets, as long as they've got such a ridiculous +spectacle as this to set down in their memorandum-books. +They seem to be laughing their ribs loose, and there's +one girl there that appears to be going all to pieces. +I never saw such a man as you before. I think you are +the very last possibility in the way of an ass." + +<p>"What have <i>I</i> done?" I answered, with heat. + +<p>"What have you done? You've got up at half past seven +o'clock in the evening to see the sun rise, that's what +you've done." + +<p>"And have you done any better, I'd like to know? I've +always used to get up with the lark, till I came under +the petrifying influence of your turgid intellect." + +<p>"YOU used to get up with the lark—Oh, no +doubt—you'll get up with the hangman one of these days. +But you ought to be ashamed to be jawing here like this, +in a red blanket, on a forty-foot scaffold on top +of the Alps. And no end of people down here to boot; +this isn't any place for an exhibition of temper." + +<p>And so the customary quarrel went on. When the sun +was fairly down, we slipped back to the hotel in the +charitable gloaming, and went to bed again. We had +encountered the horn-blower on the way, and he had tried +to collect compensation, not only for announcing the sunset, +which we did see, but for the sunrise, which we had +totally missed; but we said no, we only took our solar +rations on the "European plan"—pay for what you get. +He promised to make us hear his horn in the morning, +if we were alive. + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><a name="p300"></a><img alt="p300.jpg (19K)" src="images/p300.jpg" height="393" width="419"> +</center> + + + + + +<br> +<br> + + +<center> +<table summary="" cellPadding=4 border=3> +<tr><td> + + + + <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/5784/5784-h/5784-h.htm">Previous Part</a> +</td><td> + <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/5786/5786-h/5786-h.htm">Next Part</a> + + + + +</td></tr> +</table> +</center> + + + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's A Tramp Abroad, by Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens) + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A TRAMP ABROAD *** + +***** This file should be named 5785-h.htm or 5785-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/5/7/8/5785/ + +Produced by Anonymous Volunteers, John Greenman and David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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