A TRAMP ABROAD, Part 4. 

By Mark Twain

(Samuel L. Clemens)

First published in 1880

Illustrations taken from an 1880 First Edition

 * * * * * *

ILLUSTRATIONS:

 1.     PORTRAIT OF THE AUTHOR 2.     TITIAN'S MOSES 3.     THE AUTHOR'S MEMORIES 119.   BLACK FOREST GRANDEE 120.   THE GRANDEE'S DAUGHTER 121.   RICH OLD HUSS 122.   GRETCHEN 123.   PAUL HOCH 124.   HANS SCHMIDT 125.   ELECTING A NEW MEMBER 126.   OVERCOMING OBSTACLES 127.   FRIENDS 128.   PROSPECTING 129.   TAIL PIECE 130.   A GENERAL HOWL 131.   SEEKING A SITUATION 132.   STANDING GUARD 133.   RESULT OF A JOKE 134.   DESCENDING A FARM 155.   A GERMAN SABBATH 136.   AN OBJECT OF SYMPATHY 137.   A NON-CLASSICAL STYLE 138.   THE TRADITIONAL CHAMOIS 139.   HUNTING CHAMOIS THE TRUE WAY 140.   CHAMOIS HUNTER AS REPORTED 141.   MARKING ALPENSTOCKS 142.   IS SHE EIGHTEEN OR TWENTY 143.   I KNEW I WASN'T MISTAKEN 144.   HARRIS ASTONISHED 145.   TAIL PIECE 146.   THE LION OF LUCERNE 147.   HE LIKED CLOCKS 148.   "I WILL TELL YOU" 149.   COULDN'T WAIT 150.   DIDN'T CARE FOR STYLE 151.   A PAIR BETTER THAN FOUR 152.   TWO WASN'T NECESSARY 153.   JUST THE TRICK 154.   GOING TO MAKE THEM STARE 155.   NOT THROWN AWAY 156.   WHAT THE DOCTOR RECOMMENDED 157.   WANTED TO FEEL SAFE 158.   PREFERRED TO TRAMP ON FOOT 159.   DERN A DOG, ANYWAY 160.   TAIL PIECE 161.   THE GLACIER GARDEN 162.   LAKE AND MOUNTAINS (MONT PILATUS) 163.   MOUNTAIN PATHS 164.   "YOU'RE AN AMERICAN--SO AM I" 165.   ENTERPRISE 166.   THE CONSTANT SEARCHER 167.   THE MOUNTAIN BOY 168.   THE ENGLISHMAN 169.   THE JODLER 170.   ANOTHER VOCALIST 171.   THE FELSENTHOR 172.   A VIEW FROM THE STATION 173.   LOST IN THE MIST 174.   THE RIGI-KULM HOTEL 175.   WHAT AWAKENED US 176.   A SUMMIT SUNRISE 177.   TAIL PIECE

CONTENTS:

CHAPTER XXII The Black Forest--A Grandee and his Family--The WealthyNabob--A New Standard of Wealth--Skeleton for a New Novel--TryingSituation--The Common Council--Choosing a New Member Studying NaturalHistory--The Ant a Fraud--Eccentricities of the Ant--His Deceit andIgnorance--A German Dish--Boiled Oranges

CHAPTER XXIII Off for a Day's Tramp--Tramping and Talking--StoryTelling--Dentistry in Camp--Nicodemus Dodge--Seeking a Situation--AButt for Jokes--Jimmy Finn's Skeleton--Descending a Farm--UnexpectedNotoriety

CHAPTER XXIV Sunday on the Continent--A Day of Rest--An Incidentat Church--An Object of Sympathy--Royalty at Church--Public GroundsConcert--Power and Grades of Music--Hiring a Courier

CHAPTER XXV Lucerne--Beauty of its Lake--The Wild Chamois--A GreatError Exposed--Methods of Hunting the Chamois--Beauties of Lucerne--TheAlpenstock--Marking Alpenstocks--Guessing at Nationalities--An AmericanParty--An Unexpected Acquaintance--Getting Mixed Up--Following BlindTrails--A Happy Half--hour--Defeat and Revenge

CHAPTER XXVI Commerce of Lucerne--Benefits of Martyrdom--A Bit ofHistory--The Home of Cuckoo Clocks--A Satisfactory Revenge--The AlanWho Put Up at Gadsby's--A Forgotten Story--Wanted to be Postmaster--ATennessean at Washington--He Concluded to Stay A While--Application ofthe Story

CHAPTER XXVII The Glacier Garden--Excursion on the Lake--Life on theMountains--A Specimen Tourist--"Where're you From?"--An AdvertisingDodge--A Righteous Verdict--The Guide-book Student--I Believe that's All

CHAPTER XXVIII The Rigi-Kulm--Its Ascent--Stripping for Business--AMountain Lad--An English Tourist--Railroad up the Mountain--Villages andMountain--The Jodlers--About Ice Water--The Felsenthor--Too Late--Lostin the Fog--The Rigi-Kulm Hotel--The Alpine Horn--Sunrise at Night

CHAPTER XXII

[The Black Forest and Its Treasures]

From Baden-Baden we made the customary trip into the Black Forest. Wewere 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 abuoyant, boyish gladness; and a third and very conspicuous feature ofit is one's sense of the remoteness of the work-day world and his entireemancipation from it and its affairs. 

Those woods stretch unbroken over a vast region; and everywhere they aresuch dense woods, and so still, and so piney and fragrant. The stems ofthe trees are trim and straight, and in many places all the ground ishidden 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 leafor twig to mar its immaculate tidiness. A rich cathedral gloom pervadesthe pillared aisles; so the stray flecks of sunlight that strike a trunkhere and a bough yonder are strongly accented, and when they strike themoss they fairly seem to burn. But the weirdest effect, and the mostenchanting is that produced by the diffused light of the low afternoonsun; no single ray is able to pierce its way in, then, but the diffusedlight takes color from moss and foliage, and pervades the place likea faint, green-tinted mist, the theatrical fire of fairyland. Thesuggestion of mystery and the supernatural which haunts the forest atall times is intensified by this unearthly glow. 

We found the Black Forest farmhouses and villages all that the BlackForest stories have pictured them. The first genuine specimen whichwe came upon was the mansion of a rich farmer and member of the CommonCouncil of the parish or district. He was an important personage in theland and so was his wife also, of course. 

His daughter was the "catch" of the region, and she may be alreadyentering 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 recognizeher by her Black Forest clothes, and her burned complexion, her plumpfigure, her fat hands, her dull expression, her gentle spirit, her generous feet, her bonnetless head, and the plaited tails ofhemp-colored hair hanging down her back. 

The house was big enough for a hotel; it was a hundred feet long andfifty wide, and ten feet high, from ground to eaves; but from the eavesto the comb of the mighty roof was as much as forty feet, or maybe evenmore. This roof was of ancient mud-colored straw thatch a foot thick, and was covered all over, except in a few trifling spots, with athriving and luxurious growth of green vegetation, mainly moss. Themossless spots were places where repairs had been made by the insertionof bright new masses of yellow straw. The eaves projected far down, likesheltering, hospitable wings. Across the gable that fronted the road, and about ten feet above the ground, ran a narrow porch, with a woodenrailing; a row of small windows filled with very small panes looked uponthe porch. Above were two or three other little windows, one clear upunder the sharp apex of the roof. Before the ground-floor door was ahuge pile of manure. The door of the second-story room on the side ofthe house was open, and occupied by the rear elevation of a cow. Wasthis probably the drawing-room? All of the front half of the house fromthe ground up seemed to be occupied by the people, the cows, and thechickens, and all the rear half by draught-animals and hay. But thechief feature, all around this house, was the big heaps of manure. 

We became very familiar with the fertilizer in the Forest. We fellunconsciously into the habit of judging of a man's station in lifeby this outward and eloquent sign. Sometimes we said, "Here is a poordevil, this is manifest. " When we saw a stately accumulation, we said, "Here is a banker. " When we encountered a country-seat surrounded by anAlpine pomp of manure, we said, "Doubtless a duke lives here. "

The importance of this feature has not been properly magnified in theBlack Forest stories. Manure is evidently the Black-Forester's maintreasure--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 hiswill. The true Black Forest novel, if it is ever written, will beskeletoned somewhat in this way:

SKELETON FOR A BLACK FOREST NOVEL

Rich old farmer, named Huss. 

Has inherited great wealth of manure, and by diligence has added to it. It is double-starred in Baedeker. [1] The Black forest artist paintsit--his masterpiece. The king comes to see it. Gretchen Huss, daughter and heiress. Paul Hoch, young neighbor, suitor for Gretchen'shand--ostensibly; he really wants the manure. 

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 withoutsentiment, 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 thehouse. His heart breaks, he goes away to die in the woods, far from thecruel world--for he says, bitterly, "What is man, without manure?"

1. When Baedeker's guide-books mention a thing and put two stars (**)after it, it means well worth visiting. M. T. 

[Interval of six months. ]

Paul Hoch comes to old Huss and says, "I am at last as rich as yourequired--come and view the pile. " Old Huss views it and says, "It issufficient--take her and be happy, "--meaning Gretchen. 

[Interval of two weeks. ]

Wedding party assembled in old Huss's drawing-room. Hoch placid andcontent, Gretchen weeping over her hard fate. Enter old Huss's headbookkeeper. Huss says fiercely, "I gave you three weeks to find out whyyour 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 asa thief. " Bookkeeper: "I have found it. " "Where?" Bookkeeper(sternly--tragically): "In the bridegroom's pile!--behold the thief--seehim blench and tremble!" [Sensation. ] Paul Hoch: "Lost, lost!"--fallsover the cow in a swoon and is handcuffed. Gretchen: "Saved!" Falls overthe 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? Unhandthe maid and quit the place. " Hans (still supporting the insensiblegirl): "Never! Cruel old man, know that I come with claims which evenyou cannot despise. "

Huss: "What, YOU? name them. "

Hans: "Listen then. The world has forsaken me, I forsook the world, Iwandered in the solitude of the forest, longing for death but findingnone. I fed upon roots, and in my bitterness I dug for the bitterest, loathing the sweeter kind. Digging, three days agone, I struck a manuremine!--a Golconda, a limitless Bonanza, of solid manure! I can buy youALL, and have mountain ranges of manure left! Ha-ha, NOW thou smilest asmile!" [Immense sensation. ] Exhibition of specimens from the mine. OldHuss (enthusiastically): "Wake her up, shake her up, noble young man, she is yours!" Wedding takes place on the spot; bookkeeper restored tohis office and emoluments; Paul Hoch led off to jail. The Bonanza kingof the Black Forest lives to a good old age, blessed with the love ofhis wife and of his twenty-seven children, and the still sweeter envy ofeverybody around. 

We took our noon meal of fried trout one day at the Plow Inn, in a verypretty village (Ottenhoefen), and then went into the public room to restand smoke. There we found nine or ten Black Forest grandees assembledaround a table. They were the Common Council of the parish. They hadgathered there at eight o'clock that morning to elect a new member, andthey had now been drinking beer four hours at the new member's expense. 

They were men of fifty or sixty years of age, with grave good-naturedfaces, and were all dressed in the costume made familiar to us by theBlack Forest stories; broad, round-topped black felt hats with the brimscurled up all round; long red waistcoats with large metal buttons, blackalpaca coats with the waists up between the shoulders. There were nospeeches, there was but little talk, there were no frivolities; theCouncil 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. 

We had a hot afternoon tramp up the valley, along the grassy bank of arushing stream of clear water, past farmhouses, water-mills, and no endof wayside crucifixes and saints and Virgins. These crucifixes, etc. , are set up in memory of departed friends, by survivors, and are almostas frequent as telegraph-poles are in other lands. 

We followed the carriage-road, and had our usual luck; we traveled undera beating sun, and always saw the shade leave the shady places before wecould get to them. In all our wanderings we seldom managed to strikea piece of road at its time for being shady. We had a particularly hottime of it on that particular afternoon, and with no comfort but what wecould get out of the fact that the peasants at work away up on the steepmountainsides above our heads were even worse off than we were. By andby it became impossible to endure the intolerable glare and heatany longer; so we struck across the ravine and entered the deep cooltwilight of the forest, to hunt for what the guide-book called the "oldroad. "

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 thewrong 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 andenjoyed the restful quiet and shade of the forest solitudes. Therehad been distractions in the carriage-road--school-children, peasants, wagons, troops of pedestrianizing students from all over Germany--but wehad the old road to ourselves. 

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 ofhim. It seems to me that in the matter of intellect the ant must be astrangely overrated bird. During many summers, now, I have watched him, when I ought to have been in better business, and I have not yet comeacross 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 ofthose wonderful Swiss and African ones which vote, keep drilled armies, hold slaves, and dispute about religion. Those particular ants may beall that the naturalist paints them, but I am persuaded that theaverage ant is a sham. I admit his industry, of course; he is thehardest-working creature in the world--when anybody is looking--buthis leather-headedness is the point I make against him. He goes outforaging, he makes a capture, and then what does he do? Go home? No--hegoes anywhere but home. He doesn't know where home is. His home may beonly 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 ofuse to himself or anybody else; it is usually seven times bigger thanit 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 towardhome, but in the opposite direction; not calmly and wisely, but with afrantic haste which is wasteful of his strength; he fetches up againsta pebble, and instead of going around it, he climbs over it backwarddragging his booty after him, tumbles down on the other side, jumps upin a passion, kicks the dust off his clothes, moistens his hands, grabshis property viciously, yanks it this way, then that, shoves it aheadof him a moment, turns tail and lugs it after him another moment, gets madder and madder, then presently hoists it into the air and goestearing away in an entirely new direction; comes to a weed; it neveroccurs to him to go around it; no, he must climb it; and he does climbit, dragging his worthless property to the top--which is as brighta thing to do as it would be for me to carry a sack of flour fromHeidelberg to Paris by way of Strasburg steeple; when he gets up therehe finds that that is not the place; takes a cursory glance at thescenery and either climbs down again or tumbles down, and starts offonce more--as usual, in a new direction. At the end of half an hour, hefetches up within six inches of the place he started from and lays hisburden down; meantime he has been over all the ground for two yardsaround, and climbed all the weeds and pebbles he came across. Now hewipes the sweat from his brow, strokes his limbs, and then marchesaimlessly off, in as violently a hurry as ever. He does not remember tohave ever seen it before; he looks around to see which is not the wayhome, grabs his bundle and starts; he goes through the same adventureshe had before; finally stops to rest, and a friend comes along. Evidently the friend remarks that a last year's grasshopper leg is avery noble acquisition, and inquires where he got it. 

Evidently the proprietor does not remember exactly where he did getit, but thinks he got it "around here somewhere. " Evidently the friendcontracts to help him freight it home. Then, with a judgment peculiarlyantic (pun not intended), they take hold of opposite ends of thatgrasshopper leg and begin to tug with all their might in oppositedirections. Presently they take a rest and confer together. They decidethat something is wrong, they can't make out what. Then they go atit again, just as before. Same result. Mutual recriminations follow. Evidently each accuses the other of being an obstructionist. They lockthemselves together and chew each other's jaws for a while; then theyroll and tumble on the ground till one loses a horn or a leg and has tohaul off for repairs. They make up and go to work again in the same oldinsane 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. Insteadof giving up, he hangs on, and gets his shins bruised against everyobstruction that comes in the way. By and by, when that grasshopper leghas been dragged all over the same old ground once more, it is finallydumped at about the spot where it originally lay, the two perspiringants inspect it thoughtfully and decide that dried grasshopper legsare a poor sort of property after all, and then each starts off in adifferent direction to see if he can't find an old nail or somethingelse that is heavy enough to afford entertainment and at the same timevalueless enough to make an ant want to own it. 

There in the Black Forest, on the mountainside, I saw an ant go throughwith such a performance as this with a dead spider of fully ten timeshis own weight. The spider was not quite dead, but too far gone toresist. He had a round body the size of a pea. The little ant--observingthat I was noticing--turned him on his back, sunk his fangs into histhroat, lifted him into the air and started vigorously off with him, stumbling over little pebbles, stepping on the spider's legs andtripping 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 theirsummits--and finally leaving him in the middle of the road to beconfiscated by any other fool of an ant that wanted him. I measured theground which this ass traversed, and arrived at the conclusion that whathe had accomplished inside of twenty minutes would constitute somesuch job as this--relatively speaking--for a man; to wit: to strap twoeight-hundred-pound horses together, carry them eighteen hundred feet, mainly over (not around) boulders averaging six feet high, and in thecourse of the journey climb up and jump from the top of one precipicelike Niagara, and three steeples, each a hundred and twenty feet high;and then put the horses down, in an exposed place, without anybody towatch them, and go off to indulge in some other idiotic miracle forvanity's sake. 

Science has recently discovered that the ant does not lay up anythingfor 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 theobserver 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 forhim. He cannot stroll around a stump and find his way home again. Thisamounts to idiocy, and once the damaging fact is established, thoughtfulpeople will cease to look up to him, the sentimental will cease tofondle him. His vaunted industry is but a vanity and of no effect, sincehe never gets home with anything he starts with. This disposes of thelast remnant of his reputation and wholly destroys his main usefulnessas a moral agent, since it will make the sluggard hesitate to go to himany more. It is strange, beyond comprehension, that so manifest a humbugas the ant has been able to fool so many nations and keep it up so manyages without being found out. 

The ant is strong, but we saw another strong thing, where we had notsuspected the presence of much muscular power before. A toadstool--thatvegetable which springs to full growth in a single night--had torn looseand lifted a matted mass of pine needles and dirt of twice its own bulkinto the air, and supported it there, like a column supporting a shed. Ten thousand toadstools, with the right purchase, could lift a man, Isuppose. But what good would it do?

All our afternoon's progress had been uphill. About five or half past wereached the summit, and all of a sudden the dense curtain of the forestparted and we looked down into a deep and beautiful gorge and out over awide panorama of wooded mountains with their summits shining in the sunand their glade-furrowed sides dimmed with purple shade. The gorge underour feet--called Allerheiligen--afforded room in the grassy level at itshead for a cozy and delightful human nest, shut away from the world andits botherations, and consequently the monks of the old times had notfailed to spy it out; and here were the brown and comely ruins of theirchurch and convent to prove that priests had as fine an instinct sevenhundred years ago in ferreting out the choicest nooks and corners in aland as priests have today. 

A big hotel crowds the ruins a little, now, and drives a brisk tradewith summer tourists. We descended into the gorge and had a supper whichwould 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 totheir own devices. This is an argument of some value in support of thetheory that they were the original colonists of the wild islands of thecoast of Scotland. A schooner laden with oranges was wrecked upon oneof those islands a few years ago, and the gentle savages rendered thecaptain such willing assistance that he gave them as many oranges asthey wanted. Next day he asked them how they liked them. They shooktheir heads and said:

"Baked, they were tough; and even boiled, they warn't things for ahungry man to hanker after. "

We went down the glen after supper. It is beautiful--a mixture of sylvanloveliness and craggy wildness. A limpid torrent goes whistling downthe glen, and toward the foot of it winds through a narrow cleft betweenlofty precipices and hurls itself over a succession of falls. After onepasses the last of these he has a backward glimpse at the falls whichis very pleasing--they rise in a seven-stepped stairway of foamy andglittering cascades, and make a picture which is as charming as it isunusual. 

CHAPTER XXIII

[Nicodemus Dodge and the Skeleton]

We were satisfied that we could walk to Oppenau in one day, now thatwe were in practice; so we set out the next morning after breakfastdetermined to do it. It was all the way downhill, and we had theloveliest summer weather for it. So we set the pedometer and thenstretched away on an easy, regular stride, down through the clovenforest, drawing in the fragrant breath of the morning in deep refreshingdraughts, and wishing we might never have anything to do forever butwalk to Oppenau and keep on doing it and then doing it over again. 

Now, the true charm of pedestrianism does not lie in the walking, orin the scenery, but in the talking. The walking is good to time themovement of the tongue by, and to keep the blood and the brain stirredup and active; the scenery and the woodsy smells are good to bear inupon a man an unconscious and unobtrusive charm and solace to eye andsoul and sense; but the supreme pleasure comes from the talk. It is nomatter whether one talks wisdom or nonsense, the case is the same, thebulk of the enjoyment lies in the wagging of the gladsome jaw and theflapping of the sympathetic ear. 

And what motley variety of subjects a couple of people will casuallyrake 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 tokeep pegging at a single topic until it grows tiresome. We discussedeverything we knew, during the first fifteen or twenty minutes, thatmorning, and then branched out into the glad, free, boundless realm ofthe things we were not certain about. 

Harris said that if the best writer in the world once got the slovenlyhabit of doubling up his "haves" he could never get rid of it while helived. That is to say, if a man gets the habit of saying "I shouldhave liked to have known more about it" instead of saying simply andsensibly, "I should have liked to know more about it, " that man'sdisease is incurable. Harris said that his sort of lapse is to be foundin 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'sgrammar and in Macaulay. Harris believed that milk-teeth are commoner inmen's mouths than those "doubled-up haves. "

I do not know that there have not been moments in the course of thepresent session when I should have been very glad to have accepted theproposal of my noble friend, and to have exchanged parts in some of ourevenings of work. --[From a Speech of the English Chancellor of theExchequer, August, 1879. ]

That changed the subject to dentistry. I said I believed the averageman dreaded tooth-pulling more than amputation, and that he would yellquicker under the former operation than he would under the latter. Thephilosopher Harris said that the average man would not yell in eithercase if he had an audience. Then he continued:

"When our brigade first went into camp on the Potomac, we used to bebrought up standing, occasionally, by an ear-splitting howl of anguish. That meant that a soldier was getting a tooth pulled in a tent. But thesurgeons soon changed that; they instituted open-air dentistry. Therenever was a howl afterward--that is, from the man who was having thetooth pulled. At the daily dental hour there would always be about fivehundred soldiers gathered together in the neighborhood of that dentalchair waiting to see the performance--and help; and the moment thesurgeon took a grip on the candidate's tooth and began to lift, everyone of those five hundred rascals would clap his hand to his jaw andbegin 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 enormousunanimous caterwaul burst out!

With so big and so derisive an audience as that, a sufferer wouldn'temit a sound though you pulled his head off. The surgeons said thatpretty often a patient was compelled to laugh, in the midst of hispangs, but that they had never caught one crying out, after the open-airexhibition was instituted. "

Dental surgeons suggested doctors, doctors suggested death, deathsuggested skeletons--and so, by a logical process the conversationmelted out of one of these subjects and into the next, until the topicof skeletons raised up Nicodemus Dodge out of the deep grave in mymemory 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 sixteenlounged in one day, and without removing his hands from the depths ofhis trousers pockets or taking off his faded ruin of a slouch hat, whosebroken rim hung limp and ragged about his eyes and ears like a bug-eatencabbage leaf, stared indifferently around, then leaned his hip againstthe editor's table, crossed his mighty brogans, aimed at a distantfly from a crevice in his upper teeth, laid him low, and said withcomposure:

"Whar's the boss?"

"I am the boss, " said the editor, following this curious bit ofarchitecture wonderingly along up to its clock-face with his eye. 

"Don't want anybody fur to learn the business, 'tain't likely?"

"Well, I don't know. Would you like to learn it?"

"Pap's so po' he cain't run me no mo', so I want to git a show somers ifI kin, 'taint no diffunce what--I'm strong and hearty, and I don't turnmy back on no kind of work, hard nur soft. "

"Do you think you would like to learn the printing business?"

"Well, I don't re'ly k'yer a durn what I DO learn, so's I git a chancefur to make my way. I'd jist as soon learn print'n's anything. "

"Can you read?"

"Yes--middlin'. "

"Write?"

"Well, I've seed people could lay over me thar. "

"Cipher?"

"Not good enough to keep store, I don't reckon, but up as fur astwelve-times-twelve I ain't no slouch. 'Tother side of that is what gitsme. "

"Where is your home?"

"I'm f'm old Shelby. "

"What's your father's religious denomination?"

"Him? Oh, he's a blacksmith. "

"No, no--I don't mean his trade. What's his RELIGIOUS DENOMINATION?"

"OH--I didn't understand you befo'. He's a Freemason. "

"No, no, you don't get my meaning yet. What I mean is, does he belong toany CHURCH?"

"NOW you're talkin'! Couldn't make out what you was a-tryin' to gitthrough yo' head no way. B'long to a CHURCH! Why, boss, he's ben thepizenest kind of Free-will Babtis' for forty year. They ain't no pizenerones 'n what HE is. Mighty good man, pap is. Everybody says that. Ifthey said any diffrunt they wouldn't say it whar I wuz--not MUCH theywouldn't. "

"What is your own religion?"

"Well, boss, you've kind o' got me, there--and yit you hain't got me somighty much, nuther. I think 't if a feller he'ps another feller whenhe's in trouble, and don't cuss, and don't do no mean things, nurnoth'n' he ain' no business to do, and don't spell the Saviour's namewith a little g, he ain't runnin' no resks--he's about as saift as heb'longed to a church. "

"But suppose he did spell it with a little g--what then?"

"Well, if he done it a-purpose, I reckon he wouldn't stand no chance--heOUGHTN'T to have no chance, anyway, I'm most rotten certain 'bout that. "

"What is your name?"

"Nicodemus Dodge. "

"I think maybe you'll do, Nicodemus. We'll give you a trial, anyway. "

"All right. "

"When would you like to begin?"

"Now. "

So, within ten minutes after we had first glimpsed this nondescript hewas one of us, and with his coat off and hard at it. 

Beyond that end of our establishment which was furthest from the street, was a deserted garden, pathless, and thickly grown with the bloomy andvillainous "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 asmoke-house a generation before. Nicodemus was given this lonely andghostly den as a bedchamber. 

The village smarties recognized a treasure in Nicodemus, right away--abutt to play jokes on. It was easy to see that he was inconceivablygreen and confiding. George Jones had the glory of perpetrating thefirst joke on him; he gave him a cigar with a firecracker in it andwinked to the crowd to come; the thing exploded presently and swept awaythe bulk of Nicodemus's eyebrows and eyelashes. He simply said:

"I consider them kind of seeg'yars dangersome, "--and seemed to suspectnothing. The next evening Nicodemus waylaid George and poured a bucketof ice-water over him. 

One day, while Nicodemus was in swimming, Tom McElroy "tied" hisclothes. Nicodemus made a bonfire of Tom's by way of retaliation. 

A third joke was played upon Nicodemus a day or two later--he walkedup the middle aisle of the village church, Sunday night, with a staringhandbill pinned between his shoulders. The joker spent the remainderof the night, after church, in the cellar of a deserted house, andNicodemus sat on the cellar door till toward breakfast-time to makesure that the prisoner remembered that if any noise was made, some roughtreatment would be the consequence. The cellar had two feet of stagnantwater in it, and was bottomed with six inches of soft mud. 

But I wander from the point. It was the subject of skeletons thatbrought this boy back to my recollection. Before a very long timehad elapsed, the village smarties began to feel an uncomfortableconsciousness of not having made a very shining success out of theirattempts on the simpleton from "old Shelby. " Experimenters grew scarceand chary. Now the young doctor came to the rescue. There was delightand applause when he proposed to scare Nicodemus to death, and explainedhow he was going to do it. He had a noble new skeleton--the skeleton ofthe late and only local celebrity, Jimmy Finn, the village drunkard--agrisly piece of property which he had bought of Jimmy Finn himself, atauction, for fifty dollars, under great competition, when Jimmy lay verysick in the tan-yard a fortnight before his death. The fifty dollars hadgone promptly for whiskey and had considerably hurried up the change ofownership in the skeleton. The doctor would put Jimmy Finn's skeleton inNicodemus's bed!

This was done--about half past ten in the evening. About Nicodemus'susual bedtime--midnight--the village jokers came creeping stealthilythrough 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 danglinghis legs contentedly back and forth, and wheezing the music of "CamptownRaces" out of a paper-overlaid comb which he was pressing against hismouth; by him lay a new jewsharp, a new top, and solid india-rubberball, a handful of painted marbles, five pounds of "store" candy, anda well-gnawed slab of gingerbread as big and as thick as a volume ofsheet-music. He had sold the skeleton to a traveling quack for threedollars and was enjoying the result!

Just as we had finished talking about skeletons and were drifting intothe subject of fossils, Harris and I heard a shout, and glanced up thesteep hillside. We saw men and women standing away up there lookingfrightened, and there was a bulky object tumbling and floundering downthe steep slope toward us. We got out of the way, and when the objectlanded in the road it proved to be a boy. He had tripped and fallen, andthere was nothing for him to do but trust to luck and take what mightcome. 

When one starts to roll down a place like that, there is no stoppingtill the bottom is reached. Think of people FARMING on a slant which isso steep that the best you can say of it--if you want to be fastidiouslyaccurate--is, that it is a little steeper than a ladder and not quiteso steep as a mansard roof. But that is what they do. Some of the littlefarms on the hillside opposite Heidelberg were stood up "edgeways. "The boy was wonderfully jolted up, and his head was bleeding, from cutswhich it had got from small stones on the way. 

Harris and I gathered him up and set him on a stone, and by that timethe men and women had scampered down and brought his cap. 

Men, women, and children flocked out from neighboring cottagesand joined the crowd; the pale boy was petted, and stared at, andcommiserated, and water was brought for him to drink and bathe hisbruises in. And such another clatter of tongues! All who had seen thecatastrophe were describing it at once, and each trying to talk louderthan his neighbor; and one youth of a superior genius ran a little wayup the hill, called attention, tripped, fell, rolled down among us, andthus triumphantly showed exactly how the thing had been done. 

Harris and I were included in all the descriptions; how we were comingalong; how Hans Gross shouted; how we looked up startled; how we sawPeter 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 andbrushed 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 sorecognized; we were taken with Peter and the populace to Peter'smother's cottage, and there we ate bread and cheese, and drank milk andbeer with everybody, and had a most sociable good time; and when we leftwe 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 kindlynew friends forever. 

We accomplished our undertaking. At half past eight in the eveningwe stepped into Oppenau, just eleven hours and a half out ofAllerheiligen--one hundred and forty-six miles. This is the distance bypedometer; the guide-book and the Imperial Ordinance maps make it onlyten and a quarter--a surprising blunder, for these two authorities areusually singularly accurate in the matter of distances. 

CHAPTER XXIV

[I Protect the Empress of Germany]

That was a thoroughly satisfactory walk--and the only one we were everto have which was all the way downhill. We took the train next morningand returned to Baden-Baden through fearful fogs of dust. Every seat wascrowded, too; for it was Sunday, and consequently everybody was takinga "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 pleasureexcursion, certainly!

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. 

We do not work on Sunday, because the commandment forbids it; theGermans do not work on Sunday, because the commandment forbids it. Werest on Sunday, because the commandment requires it; the Germans rest onSunday because the commandment requires it. But in the definition ofthe word "rest" lies all the difference. With us, its Sunday meaningis, stay in the house and keep still; with the Germans its Sunday andweek-day meanings seem to be the same--rest the TIRED PART, and nevermind the other parts of the frame; rest the tired part, and use themeans best calculated to rest that particular part. Thus: If one'sduties have kept him in the house all the week, it will rest him tobe out on Sunday; if his duties have required him to read weighty andserious matter all the week, it will rest him to read light matter onSunday; if his occupation has busied him with death and funerals all theweek, it will rest him to go to the theater Sunday night and put in twoor three hours laughing at a comedy; if he is tired with digging ditchesor felling trees all the week, it will rest him to lie quiet in thehouse on Sunday; if the hand, the arm, the brain, the tongue, or anyother member, is fatigued with inanition, it is not to be rested byaddeding 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 Germansseem to define the word "rest"; that is to say, they rest a member byrecreating, recuperating, restoring its forces. But our definition isless broad. We all rest alike on Sunday--by secluding ourselves andkeeping still, whether that is the surest way to rest the most of us ornot. The Germans make the actors, the preachers, etc. , work on Sunday. We encourage the preachers, the editors, the printers, etc. , to work onSunday, and imagine that none of the sin of it falls upon us; but I donot know how we are going to get around the fact that if it is wrong forthe printer to work at his trade on Sunday it must be equally wrong forthe preacher to work at his, since the commandment has made no exceptionin his favor. We buy Monday morning's paper and read it, and thusencourage Sunday printing. But I shall never do it again. 

The Germans remember the Sabbath-day to keep it holy, by abstainingfrom work, as commanded; we keep it holy by abstaining from work, ascommanded, and by also abstaining from play, which is not commanded. Perhaps we constructively BREAK the command to rest, because the restingwe do is in most cases only a name, and not a fact. 

These reasonings have sufficed, in a measure, to mend the rent in myconscience which I made by traveling to Baden-Baden that Sunday. Wearrived in time to furbish up and get to the English church beforeservices began. We arrived in considerable style, too, for the landlordhad ordered the first carriage that could be found, since there was notime to lose, and our coachman was so splendidly liveried that we wereprobably mistaken for a brace of stray dukes; why else were we honoredwith a pew all to ourselves, away up among the very elect at the left ofthe chancel? That was my first thought. In the pew directly in front ofus sat an elderly lady, plainly and cheaply dressed; at her side sata young lady with a very sweet face, and she also was quite simplydressed; but around us and about us were clothes and jewels which itwould do anybody's heart good to worship in. 

I thought it was pretty manifest that the elderly lady was embarrassedat finding herself in such a conspicuous place arrayed in such cheapapparel; I began to feel sorry for her and troubled about her. Shetried to seem very busy with her prayer-book and her responses, andunconscious that she was out of place, but I said to myself, "She isnot succeeding--there is a distressed tremulousness in her voice whichbetrays increasing embarrassment. " Presently the Savior's name wasmentioned, and in her flurry she lost her head completely, and rose andcourtesied, instead of making a slight nod as everybody else did. Thesympathetic blood surged to my temples and I turned and gave those finebirds what I intended to be a beseeching look, but my feelings got thebetter of me and changed it into a look which said, "If any of you petsof fortune laugh at this poor soul, you will deserve to be flayed forit. " Things went from bad to worse, and I shortly found myself mentallytaking the unfriended lady under my protection. My mind was wholly uponher. I forgot all about the sermon. Her embarrassment took strongerand stronger hold upon her; she got to snapping the lid of hersmelling-bottle--it made a loud, sharp sound, but in her trouble shesnapped and snapped away, unconscious of what she was doing. The lastextremity was reached when the collection-plate began its rounds; themoderate people threw in pennies, the nobles and the rich contributedsilver, but she laid a twenty-mark gold piece upon the book-rest beforeher with a sounding slap! I said to myself, "She has parted with all herlittle hoard to buy the consideration of these unpitying people--it is asorrowful spectacle. " I did not venture to look around this time; butas the service closed, I said to myself, "Let them laugh, it is theiropportunity; but at the door of this church they shall see her step intoour fine carriage with us, and our gaudy coachman shall drive her home. "

Then she rose--and all the congregation stood while she walked down theaisle. She was the Empress of Germany!

No--she had not been so much embarrassed as I had supposed. Myimagination had got started on the wrong scent, and that is alwayshopeless; one is sure, then, to go straight on misinterpretingeverything, clear through to the end. The young lady with her imperialMajesty was a maid of honor--and I had been taking her for one of herboarders, all the time. 

This is the only time I have ever had an Empress under my personalprotection; and considering my inexperience, I wonder I got throughwith it so well. I should have been a little embarrassed myself if I hadknown earlier what sort of a contract I had on my hands. 

We found that the Empress had been in Baden-Baden several days. It issaid that she never attends any but the English form of church service. 

I lay abed and read and rested from my journey's fatigues the remainderof that Sunday, but I sent my agent to represent me at the afternoonservice, for I never allow anything to interfere with my habit ofattending church twice every Sunday. 

There was a vast crowd in the public grounds that night to hear the bandplay the "Fremersberg. " This piece tells one of the old legends of theregion; 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 lastthe faint tones of a monastery bell, calling the monks to a midnightservice, caught his ear, and he followed the direction the sounds camefrom and was saved. A beautiful air ran through the music, withoutceasing, sometimes loud and strong, sometimes so soft that it couldhardly be distinguished--but it was always there; it swung grandly alongthrough the shrill whistling of the storm-wind, the rattling patter ofthe rain, and the boom and crash of the thunder; it wound soft and lowthrough the lesser sounds, the distant ones, such as the throbbingof the convent bell, the melodious winding of the hunter's horn, thedistressed bayings of his dogs, and the solemn chanting of the monks;it rose again, with a jubilant ring, and mingled itself with the countrysongs and dances of the peasants assembled in the convent hall tocheer up the rescued huntsman while he ate his supper. The instrumentsimitated all these sounds with a marvelous exactness. More than one manstarted to raise his umbrella when the storm burst forth and the sheetsof mimic rain came driving by; it was hardly possible to keep fromputting your hand to your hat when the fierce wind began to rage andshriek; and it was NOT possible to refrain from starting when thosesudden and charmingly real thunder-crashes were let loose. 

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 ofcry all the time, and mad with enthusiasm. My soul had never had such ascouring out since I was born. The solemn and majestic chanting of themonks was not done by instruments, but by men's voices; and it roseand fell, and rose again in that rich confusion of warring sounds, andpulsing bells, and the stately swing of that ever-present enchantingair, and it seemed to me that nothing but the very lowest of low-grademusic COULD be so divinely beautiful. The great crowd which the"Fremersberg" had called out was another evidence that it was low-grademusic; for only the few are educated up to a point where high-grademusic gives pleasure. I have never heard enough classic music to be ableto enjoy it. I dislike the opera because I want to love it and can't. 

I suppose there are two kinds of music--one kind which one feels, justas an oyster might, and another sort which requires a higher faculty, a faculty which must be assisted and developed by teaching. Yet if basemusic gives certain of us wings, why should we want any other? But wedo. We want it because the higher and better like it. We want it withoutgiving it the necessary time and trouble; so we climb into that uppertier, that dress-circle, by a lie; we PRETEND we like it. I know severalof that sort of people--and I propose to be one of them myself when Iget home with my fine European education. 

And then there is painting. What a red rag is to a bull, Turner's "SlaveShip" was to me, before I studied art. Mr. Ruskin is educated in artup to a point where that picture throws him into as mad an ecstasy ofpleasure as it used to throw me into one of rage, last year, when I wasignorant. His cultivation enables him--and me, now--to see water in thatglaring yellow mud, and natural effects in those lurid explosionsof mixed smoke and flame, and crimson sunset glories; it reconcileshim--and me, now--to the floating of iron cable-chains and otherunfloatable things; it reconciles us to fishes swimming around on topof the mud--I mean the water. The most of the picture is a manifestimpossibility--that is to say, a lie; and only rigid cultivation canenable a man to find truth in a lie. But it enabled Mr. Ruskin to doit, and it has enabled me to do it, and I am thankful for it. A Bostonnewspaper reporter went and took a look at the Slave Ship flounderingabout in that fierce conflagration of reds and yellows, and said itreminded him of a tortoise-shell cat having a fit in a platterof tomatoes. In my then uneducated state, that went home to mynon-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 wouldsay, now. 

Months after this was written, I happened into the National Gallery inLondon, and soon became so fascinated with the Turner pictures that Icould hardly get away from the place. I went there often, afterward, meaning to see the rest of the gallery, but the Turner spell was toostrong; it could not be shaken off. However, the Turners which attractedme most did not remind me of the Slave Ship. 

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 thehotel, ready to take charge of us. I asked him if he was "all fixed. " Hesaid 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 railwayfares. On the continent the railway fare on a trunk is about the sameit is on a man. Couriers do not have to pay any board and lodging. Thisseems a great saving to the tourist--at first. It does not occur to thetourist that SOMEBODY pays that man's board and lodging. It occurs tohim by and by, however, in one of his lucid moments. 

CHAPTER XXV

[Hunted by the Little Chamois]

Next morning we left in the train for Switzerland, and reached Lucerneabout ten o'clock at night. The first discovery I made was that thebeauty of the lake had not been exaggerated. Within a day or two I madeanother 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 notavoid human society; and that there is no peril in hunting it. 

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 vastherds 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, onthe contrary, it will attack him; its bite is not dangerous, but neitheris it pleasant; its activity has not been overstated --if you try to putyour finger on it, it will skip a thousand times its own length at onejump, and no eye is sharp enough to see where it lights. A great dealof romantic nonsense has been written about the Swiss chamois and theperils of hunting it, whereas the truth is that even women and childrenhunt it, and fearlessly; indeed, everybody hunts it; the hunting isgoing on all the time, day and night, in bed and out of it. It is poeticfoolishness to hunt it with a gun; very few people do that; there isnot one man in a million who can hit it with a gun. It is much easier tocatch it than it is to shoot it, and only the experienced chamois-huntercan do either. Another common piece of exaggeration is that about the"scarcity" of the chamois. It is the reverse of scarce. Droves of onehundred million chamois are not unusual in the Swiss hotels. Indeed, they are so numerous as to be a great pest. The romancers always dressup the chamois-hunter in a fanciful and picturesque costume, whereas thebest way to hunt this game is to do it without any costume at all. 

The article of commerce called chamois-skin is another fraud; nobodycould skin a chamois, it is too small. The creature is a humbug inevery way, and everything which has been written about it is sentimentalexaggeration. It was no pleasure to me to find the chamois out, for hehad been one of my pet illusions; all my life it had been my dream tosee him in his native wilds some day, and engage in the adventuroussport of chasing him from cliff to cliff. It is no pleasure to me toexpose him, now, and destroy the reader's delight in him and respect forhim, but still it must be done, for when an honest writer discovers animposition it is his simple duty to strip it bare and hurl it down fromits place of honor, no matter who suffers by it; any other course wouldrender him unworthy of the public confidence. 

Lucerne is a charming place. It begins at the water's edge, with afringe of hotels, and scrambles up and spreads itself over two or threesharp hills in a crowded, disorderly, but picturesque way, offeringto the eye a heaped-up confusion of red roofs, quaint gables, dormerwindows, toothpick steeples, with here and there a bit of ancientembattled wall bending itself over the ridges, worm-fashion, and hereand there an old square tower of heavy masonry. And also here and therea town clock with only one hand--a hand which stretches across the dialand has no joint in it; such a clock helps out the picture, but youcannot tell the time of day by it. Between the curving line of hotelsand the lake is a broad avenue with lamps and a double rank of low shadetrees. The lake-front is walled with masonry like a pier, and hasa railing, to keep people from walking overboard. All day long thevehicles dash along the avenue, and nurses, children, and tourists sitin the shade of the trees, or lean on the railing and watch the schoolsof fishes darting about in the clear water, or gaze out over the lakeat the stately border of snow-hooded mountain peaks. Little pleasuresteamers, black with people, are coming and going all the time; andeverywhere one sees young girls and young men paddling about in fancifulrowboats, or skimming along by the help of sails when there is any wind. The front rooms of the hotels have little railed balconies, where onemay take his private luncheon in calm, cool comfort and look down uponthis busy and pretty scene and enjoy it without having to do any of thework connected with it. 

Most of the people, both male and female, are in walking costume, andcarry alpenstocks. Evidently, it is not considered safe to go about inSwitzerland, even in town, without an alpenstock. If the tourist forgetsand comes down to breakfast without his alpenstock he goes back and getsit, and stands it up in the corner. When his touring in Switzerland isfinished, he does not throw that broomstick away, but lugs it homewith him, to the far corners of the earth, although this costs himmore trouble and bother than a baby or a courier could. You see, thealpenstock is his trophy; his name is burned upon it; and if he hasclimbed a hill, or jumped a brook, or traversed a brickyard with it, hehas the names of those places burned upon it, too. 

Thus it is his regimental flag, so to speak, and bears the record of hisachievements. It is worth three francs when he buys it, but a bonanzacould not purchase it after his great deeds have been inscribed upon it. There are artisans all about Switzerland whose trade it is to burnthese things upon the alpenstock of the tourist. And observe, a man isrespected in Switzerland according to his alpenstock. I found I couldget no attention there, while I carried an unbranded one. However, branding is not expected, so I soon remedied that. The effect uponthe next detachment of tourists was very marked. I felt repaid for mytrouble. 

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 andthe Americans coming next. The Americans were not as numerous as I hadexpected they would be. 

The seven-thirty table d'hôte at the great Schweitzerhof furnisheda mighty array and variety of nationalities, but it offered a betteropportunity to observe costumes than people, for the multitude satat immensely long tables, and therefore the faces were mainly seen inperspective; but the breakfasts were served at small round tables, and then if one had the fortune to get a table in the midst of theassemblage he could have as many faces to study as he could desire. We used to try to guess out the nationalities, and generally succeededtolerably well. Sometimes we tried to guess people's names; but thatwas a failure; that is a thing which probably requires a good deal ofpractice. We presently dropped it and gave our efforts to less difficultparticulars. One morning I said:

"There is an American party. "

Harris said:

"Yes--but name the state. "

I named one state, Harris named another. We agreed upon one thing, however--that the young girl with the party was very beautiful, andvery tastefully dressed. But we disagreed as to her age. I said she waseighteen, Harris said she was twenty. The dispute between us waxed warm, and I finally said, with a pretense of being in earnest:

"Well, there is one way to settle the matter--I will go and ask her. "

Harris said, sarcastically, "Certainly, that is the thing to do. All youneed to do is to use the common formula over here: go and say, 'I'm anAmerican!' Of course she will be glad to see you. "

Then he hinted that perhaps there was no great danger of my venturing tospeak to her. 

I said, "I was only talking--I didn't intend to approach her, but I seethat you do not know what an intrepid person I am. I am not afraid ofany woman that walks. I will go and speak to this young girl. "

The thing I had in my mind was not difficult. I meant to address herin the most respectful way and ask her to pardon me if her strongresemblance to a former acquaintance of mine was deceiving me; and whenshe should reply that the name I mentioned was not the name she bore, Imeant to beg pardon again, most respectfully, and retire. There would beno harm done. I walked to her table, bowed to the gentleman, then turnedto her and was about to begin my little speech when she exclaimed:

"I KNEW I wasn't mistaken--I told John it was you! John said it probablywasn't, but I knew I was right. I said you would recognize me presentlyand come over; and I'm glad you did, for I shouldn't have felt muchflattered 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 everexpecting to see again. "

This was a stupefying surprise. It took my wits clear away, for aninstant. 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 vaguelyremember the girl's face, now, but I had no idea where I had seen itbefore, or what name belonged with it. I immediately tried to get up adiversion about Swiss scenery, to keep her from launching into topicsthat might betray that I did not know her, but it was of no use, shewent right along upon matters which interested her more:

"Oh dear, what a night that was, when the sea washed the forward boatsaway--do you remember it?"

"Oh, DON'T I!" said I--but I didn't. I wished the sea had washed therudder and the smoke-stack and the captain away--then I could havelocated this questioner. 

"And don't you remember how frightened poor Mary was, and how shecried?"

"Indeed I do!" said I. "Dear me, how it all comes back!"

I fervently wished it WOULD come back--but my memory was a blank. Thewise way would have been to frankly own up; but I could not bring myselfto 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 cluebut never getting one. The Unrecognizable continued, with vivacity:

"Do you know, George married Mary, after all?"

"Why, no! Did he?"

"Indeed he did. He said he did not believe she was half as much to blameas her father was, and I thought he was right. Didn't you?"

"Of course he was. It was a perfectly plain case. I always said so. "

"Why, no you didn't!--at least that summer. "

"Oh, no, not that summer. No, you are perfectly right about that. It wasthe following winter that I said it. "

"Well, as it turned out, Mary was not in the least to blame --it was allher father's fault--at least his and old Darley's. "

It was necessary to say something--so I said:

"I always regarded Darley as a troublesome old thing. "

"So he was, but then they always had a great affection for him, althoughhe had so many eccentricities. You remember that when the weather wasthe least cold, he would try to come into the house. "

I was rather afraid to proceed. Evidently Darley was not a man--hemust be some other kind of animal--possibly a dog, maybe an elephant. However, tails are common to all animals, so I ventured to say:

"And what a tail he had!"

"ONE! He had a thousand!"

This was bewildering. I did not quite know what to say, so I only said:

"Yes, he WAS rather well fixed in the matter of tails. "

"For a negro, and a crazy one at that, I should say he was, " said she. 

It was getting pretty sultry for me. I said to myself, "Is it possibleshe is going to stop there, and wait for me to speak? If she does, theconversation is blocked. A negro with a thousand tails is a topic whicha person cannot talk upon fluently and instructively without more orless preparation. As to diving rashly into such a vast subject--"

But here, to my gratitude, she interrupted my thoughts by saying:

"Yes, when it came to tales of his crazy woes, there was simply noend to them if anybody would listen. His own quarters were comfortableenough, but when the weather was cold, the family were sure to have hiscompany--nothing could keep him out of the house. But they always boreit kindly because he had saved Tom's life, years before. You rememberTom?

"Oh, perfectly. Fine fellow he was, too. "

"Yes he was. And what a pretty little thing his child was!"

"You may well say that. I never saw a prettier child. "

"I used to delight to pet it and dandle it and play with it. "

"So did I. "

"You named it. What WAS that name? I can't call it to mind. "

It appeared to me that the ice was getting pretty thin, here. I wouldhave given something to know what the child's was. However, I had thegood luck to think of a name that would fit either sex--so I brought itout:

"I named it Frances. "

"From a relative, I suppose? But you named the one that died, too--onethat I never saw. What did you call that one?"

I was out of neutral names, but as the child was dead and she hadnever seen it, I thought I might risk a name for it and trust to luck. Therefore I said:

"I called that one Thomas Henry. "

She said, musingly:

"That is very singular ... Very singular. "

I sat still and let the cold sweat run down. I was in a good deal oftrouble, but I believed I could worry through if she wouldn't ask meto name any more children. I wondered where the lightning was going tostrike next. She was still ruminating over that last child's title, butpresently she said:

"I have always been sorry you were away at the time--I would have hadyou name my child. "

"YOUR child! Are you married?"

"I have been married thirteen years. "

"Christened, you mean. "

`"No, married. The youth by your side is my son. "

"It seems incredible--even impossible. I do not mean any harm by it, butwould you mind telling me if you are any over eighteen?--that is to say, will you tell me how old you are?"

"I was just nineteen the day of the storm we were talking about. Thatwas my birthday. "

That did not help matters, much, as I did not know the date of thestorm. I tried to think of some non-committal thing to say, to keep upmy end of the talk, and render my poverty in the matter of reminiscencesas little noticeable as possible, but I seemed to be about out ofnon-committal things. I was about to say, "You haven't changed a bitsince then"--but that was risky. I thought of saying, "You have improvedever so much since then"--but that wouldn't answer, of course. I wasabout to try a shy at the weather, for a saving change, when the girlslipped in ahead of me and said:

"How I have enjoyed this talk over those happy old times--haven't you?"

"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 washolily grateful to be through with the ordeal, and was about to make mygood-bys and get out, when the girl said:

"But there is one thing that is ever so puzzling to me. "

"Why, what is that?"

"That dead child's name. What did you say it was?"

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 toknow, anyway, so I said:

"Joseph William. "

The youth at my side corrected me, and said:

"No, Thomas Henry. "

I thanked him--in words--and said, with trepidation:

"O yes--I was thinking of another child that I named--I have nameda great many, and I get them confused--this one was named HenryThompson--"

"Thomas Henry, " calmly interposed the boy. 

I thanked him again--strictly in words--and stammered out:

"Thomas Henry--yes, Thomas Henry was the poor child's name. I namedhim for Thomas--er--Thomas Carlyle, the great author, you know--andHenry--er--er--Henry the Eighth. The parents were very grateful to havea child named Thomas Henry. "

"That makes it more singular than ever, " murmured my beautiful friend. 

"Does it? Why?"

"Because when the parents speak of that child now, they always call itSusan Amelia. "

That spiked my gun. I could not say anything. I was entirely out ofverbal obliquities; to go further would be to lie, and that I would notdo; 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:

"I HAVE enjoyed this talk over old times, but you have not. I saw verysoon that you were only pretending to know me, and so as I had wasted acompliment on you in the beginning, I made up my mind to punish you. AndI have succeeded pretty well. I was glad to see that you knew George andTom and Darley, for I had never heard of them before and therefore couldnot be sure that you had; and I was glad to learn the names of thoseimaginary children, too. One can get quite a fund of information outof you if one goes at it cleverly. Mary and the storm, and the sweepingaway of the forward boats, were facts--all the rest was fiction. Marywas my sister; her full name was Mary ------. NOW do you remember me?"

"Yes, " I said, "I do remember you now; and you are as hard-headed as youwere thirteen years ago in that ship, else you wouldn't have punished meso. 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 werethen, and you have transmitted a deal of your comeliness to this fineboy. There--if that speech moves you any, let's fly the flag of truce, with the understanding that I am conquered and confess it. "

All of which was agreed to and accomplished, on the spot. When I wentback to Harris, I said:

"Now you see what a person with talent and address can do. "

"Excuse me, I see what a person of colossal ignorance and simplicity cando. The idea of your going and intruding on a party of strangers, thatway, and talking for half an hour; why I never heard of a man in hisright mind doing such a thing before. What did you say to them?"

"I never said any harm. I merely asked the girl what her name was. "

"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 exhibitionof yourself. But you know I couldn't really believe you would do such aninexcusable thing. What will those people think of us? But how did yousay it?--I mean the manner of it. I hope you were not abrupt. "

"No, I was careful about that. I said, 'My friend and I would like toknow what your name is, if you don't mind. '"

"No, that was not abrupt. There is a polish about it that does youinfinite credit. And I am glad you put me in; that was a delicateattention which I appreciate at its full value. What did she do?"

"She didn't do anything in particular. She told me her name. "

"Simply told you her name. Do you mean to say she did not show anysurprise?"

"Well, now I come to think, she did show something; maybe it wassurprise; I hadn't thought of that--I took it for gratification. "

"Oh, undoubtedly you were right; it must have been gratification; itcould not be otherwise than gratifying to be assaulted by a strangerwith such a question as that. Then what did you do?"

"I offered my hand and the party gave me a shake. "

"I saw it! I did not believe my own eyes, at the time. Did the gentlemansay anything about cutting your throat?"

"No, they all seemed glad to see me, as far as I could judge. "

"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 amuseourselves with him. ' There is no other way of accounting for theirfacile docility. You sat down. Did they ASK you to sit down?"

"No, they did not ask me, but I suppose they did not think of it. "

"You have an unerring instinct. What else did you do? What did you talkabout?"

"Well, I asked the girl how old she was. "

"UNdoubtedly. Your delicacy is beyond praise. Go on, go on--don't mindmy apparent misery--I always look so when I am steeped in a profound andreverent joy. Go on--she told you her age?"

"Yes, she told me her age, and all about her mother, and hergrandmother, and her other relations, and all about herself. "

"Did she volunteer these statistics?"

"No, not exactly that. I asked the questions and she answered them. "

"This is divine. Go on--it is not possible that you forgot to inquireinto her politics?"

"No, I thought of that. She is a democrat, her husband is a republican, and both of them are Baptists. "

"Her husband? Is that child married?"

"She is not a child. She is married, and that is her husband who isthere with her. "

"Has she any children. "

"Yes--seven and a half. "

"That is impossible. "

"No, she has them. She told me herself. "

"Well, but seven and a HALF? How do you make out the half? Where doesthe half come in?"

"There is a child which she had by another husband--not this onebut another one--so it is a stepchild, and they do not count in fullmeasure. "

"Another husband? Has she another husband?"

"Yes, four. This one is number four. "

"I don't believe a word of it. It is impossible, upon its face. Is thatboy there her brother?"

"No, that is her son. He is her youngest. He is not as old as he looked;he is only eleven and a half. "

"These things are all manifestly impossible. This is a wretchedbusiness. It is a plain case: they simply took your measure, andconcluded to fill you up. They seem to have succeeded. I am glad I amnot in the mess; they may at least be charitable enough to think thereain't a pair of us. Are they going to stay here long?"

"No, they leave before noon. "

"There is one man who is deeply grateful for that. How did you find out?You asked, I suppose?"

"No, along at first I inquired into their plans, in a general way, andthey 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 touraround with them with pleasure, and offered to bring you over andintroduce you, they hesitated a little, and asked if you were from thesame establishment that I was. I said you were, and then they said theyhad changed their mind and considered it necessary to start at once andvisit a sick relative in Siberia. "

"Ah, me, you struck the summit! You struck the loftiest altitude ofstupidity that human effort has ever reached. You shall have a monumentof jackasses' skulls as high as the Strasburg spire if you die beforeI do. They wanted to know I was from the same 'establishment' that youhailed from, did they? What did they mean by 'establishment'?"

"I don't know; it never occurred to me to ask. "

"Well 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 thinkof yourself?"

"Well, I don't know. I didn't know I was doing any harm; I didn't MEANto do any harm. They were very nice people, and they seemed to like me. "

Harris made some rude remarks and left for his bedroom--to break somefurniture, he said. He was a singularly irascible man; any little thingwould disturb his temper. 

I had been well scorched by the young woman, but no matter, I took itout on Harris. One should always "get even" in some way, else the soreplace will go on hurting. 

CHAPTER XXVI

[The Nest of the Cuckoo-clock]

The Hofkirche is celebrated for its organ concerts. All summer long thetourists flock to that church about six o'clock in the evening, and paytheir franc, and listen to the noise. They don't stay to hear all ofit, but get up and tramp out over the sounding stone floor, meeting latecomers who tramp in in a sounding and vigorous way. This trampingback and forth is kept up nearly all the time, and is accented bythe continuous slamming of the door, and the coughing and barking andsneezing of the crowd. Meantime, the big organ is booming and crashingand thundering away, doing its best to prove that it is the biggest andbest organ in Europe, and that a tight little box of a church is themost favorable place to average and appreciate its powers in. It istrue, there were some soft and merciful passages occasionally, but thetramp-tramp of the tourists only allowed one to get fitful glimpses ofthem, so to speak. Then right away the organist would let go anotheravalanche. 

The commerce of Lucerne consists mainly in gimcrackery of the souvenirsort; the shops are packed with Alpine crystals, photographs ofscenery, and wooden and ivory carvings. I will not conceal the fact thatminiature figures of the Lion of Lucerne are to be had in them. Millionsof them. But they are libels upon him, every one of them. There is asubtle something about the majestic pathos of the original which thecopyist cannot get. Even the sun fails to get it; both the photographerand the carver give you a dying lion, and that is all. The shape isright, the attitude is right, the proportions are right, but thatindescribable something which makes the Lion of Lucerne the mostmournful and moving piece of stone in the world, is wanting. 

The Lion lies in his lair in the perpendicular face of a low cliff--forhe 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 stickingin his shoulder, his protecting paw rests upon the lilies of France. Vines hang down the cliff and wave in the wind, and a clear streamtrickles from above and empties into a pond at the base, and in thesmooth surface of the pond the lion is mirrored, among the water-lilies. 

Around about are green trees and grass. The place is a sheltered, reposeful woodland nook, remote from noise and stir and confusion--andall this is fitting, for lions do die in such places, and not on granitepedestals in public squares fenced with fancy iron railings. The Lion ofLucerne would be impressive anywhere, but nowhere so impressive as wherehe is. 

Martyrdom is the luckiest fate that can befall some people. Louis XVIdid not die in his bed, consequently history is very gentle with him;she is charitable toward his failings, and she finds in him high virtueswhich are not usually considered to be virtues when they are lodged inkings. 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 qualitiesare kingly but the last. Taken together they make a character whichwould have fared harshly at the hands of history if its owner had hadthe ill luck to miss martyrdom. With the best intentions to do the rightthing, he always managed to do the wrong one. Moreover, nothing couldget the female saint out of him. He knew, well enough, that in nationalemergencies he must not consider how he ought to act, as a man, but howhe ought to act as a king; so he honestly tried to sink the man and bethe king--but it was a failure, he only succeeded in being the femalesaint. He was not instant in season, but out of season. He could not bepersuaded to do a thing while it could do any good--he was iron, he wasadamant in his stubbornness then--but as soon as the thing had reached apoint where it would be positively harmful to do it, do it he would, andnothing 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 goodwhich it would have done if applied earlier. His comprehension wasalways a train or two behindhand. If a national toe required amputating, he could not see that it needed anything more than poulticing; whenothers saw that the mortification had reached the knee, he firstperceived that the toe needed cutting off--so he cut it off; and hesevered the leg at the knee when others saw that the disease had reachedthe thigh. He was good, and honest, and well meaning, in the matter ofchasing national diseases, but he never could overtake one. As a privateman, he would have been lovable; but viewed as a king, he was strictlycontemptible. 

His was a most unroyal career, but the most pitiable spectacle in it washis sentimental treachery to his Swiss guard on that memorable 10th ofAugust, when he allowed those heroes to be massacred in his cause, andforbade them to shed the "sacred French blood" purporting to be flowingin the veins of the red-capped mob of miscreants that was raging aroundthe palace. He meant to be kingly, but he was only the female saint oncemore. Some of his biographers think that upon this occasion the spiritof Saint Louis had descended upon him. It must have found pretty crampedquarters. If Napoleon the First had stood in the shoes of Louis XVI thatday, instead of being merely a casual and unknown looker-on, there wouldbe no Lion of Lucerne, now, but there would be a well-stocked Communistgraveyard in Paris which would answer just as well to remember the 10thof August by. 

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 saintof the trivial and foolish Marie Antoinette, and her biographersstill keep her fragrant with the odor of sanctity to this day, whileunconsciously proving upon almost every page they write that the onlycalamitous instinct which her husband lacked, she supplied--the instinctto root out and get rid of an honest, able, and loyal official, wherevershe found him. The hideous but beneficent French Revolution would havebeen deferred, or would have fallen short of completeness, or evenmight not have happened at all, if Marie Antoinette had made the unwisemistake of not being born. The world owes a great deal to the FrenchRevolution, and consequently to its two chief promoters, Louis the Poorin Spirit and his queen. 

We did not buy any wooden images of the Lion, nor any ivory or ebonyor marble or chalk or sugar or chocolate ones, or even any photographicslanders of him. The truth is, these copies were so common, souniversal, in the shops and everywhere, that they presently became asintolerable to the wearied eye as the latest popular melody usuallybecomes to the harassed ear. In Lucerne, too, the wood carvings ofother sorts, which had been so pleasant to look upon when one saw themoccasionally at home, soon began to fatigue us. We grew very tiredof seeing wooden quails and chickens picking and strutting aroundclock-faces, and still more tired of seeing wooden images of the allegedchamois skipping about wooden rocks, or lying upon them in familygroups, or peering alertly up from behind them. The first day, I wouldhave bought a hundred and fifty of these clocks if I had the money--andI 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 bepretty enough, no doubt, when I get them home. 

For years my pet aversion had been the cuckoo clock; now here I was, atlast, 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 ithome to a certain person; for I have always said that if the opportunityever happened, I would do that man an ill turn. 

What I meant, was, that I would break one of his legs, or something ofthat 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 boughtthe cuckoo clock; and if I ever get home with it, he is "my meat, " asthey say in the mines. I thought of another candidate--a book-reviewerwhom I could name if I wanted to--but after thinking it over, I didn'tbuy him a clock. I couldn't injure his mind. 

We visited the two long, covered wooden bridges which span the green andbrilliant Reuss just below where it goes plunging and hurrahing outof the lake. These rambling, sway-backed tunnels are very attractivethings, with their alcoved outlooks upon the lovely and inspiritingwater. They contain two or three hundred queer old pictures, by oldSwiss masters--old boss sign-painters, who flourished before thedecadence of art. 

The lake is alive with fishes, plainly visible to the eye, for the wateris very clear. The parapets in front of the hotels were usually fringedwith fishers of all ages. One day I thought I would stop and see afish caught. The result brought back to my mind, very forcibly, acircumstance which I had not thought of before for twelve years. Thisone:

THE MAN WHO PUT UP AT GADSBY'S

When my odd friend Riley and I were newspaper correspondents inWashington, in the winter of '67, we were coming down PennsylvaniaAvenue one night, near midnight, in a driving storm of snow, when theflash of a street-lamp fell upon a man who was eagerly tearing along inthe opposite direction. "This is lucky! You are Mr. Riley, ain't you?"

Riley was the most self-possessed and solemnly deliberate person in therepublic. He stopped, looked his man over from head to foot, and finallysaid:

"I am Mr. Riley. Did you happen to be looking for me?"

"That's just what I was doing, " said the man, joyously, "and it's thebiggest luck in the world that I've found you. My name is Lykins. I'mone of the teachers of the high school--San Francisco. As soon as Iheard the San Francisco postmastership was vacant, I made up my mind toget it--and here I am. "

"Yes, " said Riley, slowly, "as you have remarked ... Mr. Lykins ... Hereyou are. And have you got it?"

"Well, not exactly GOT it, but the next thing to it. I've brought apetition, signed by the Superintendent of Public Instruction, and allthe 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. "

"If the matter is so pressing, you will prefer that we visit thedelegation tonight, " said Riley, in a voice which had nothing mocking init--to an unaccustomed ear. 

"Oh, tonight, by all means! I haven't got any time to fool around. Iwant their promise before I go to bed--I ain't the talking kind, I'm theDOING kind!"

"Yes ... You've come to the right place for that. When did you arrive?"

"Just an hour ago. "

"When are you intending to leave?"

"For New York tomorrow evening--for San Francisco next morning. "

"Just so.... What are you going to do tomorrow?"

"DO! Why, I've got to go to the President with the petition and thedelegation, and get the appointment, haven't I?"

"Yes ... Very true ... That is correct. And then what?"

"Executive session of the Senate at 2 P. M. --got to get the appointmentconfirmed--I reckon you'll grant that?"

"Yes ... Yes, " said Riley, meditatively, "you are right again. Thenyou take the train for New York in the evening, and the steamer for SanFrancisco next morning?"

"That's it--that's the way I map it out!"

Riley considered a while, and then said:

"You couldn't stay ... A day ... Well, say two days longer?"

"Bless your soul, no! It's not my style. I ain't a man to go foolingaround--I'm a man that DOES things, I tell you. "

The storm was raging, the thick snow blowing in gusts. Riley stoodsilent, apparently deep in a reverie, during a minute or more, then helooked up and said:

"Have you ever heard about that man who put up at Gadsby's, once? ... But I see you haven't. "

He backed Mr. Lykins against an iron fence, buttonholed him, fastenedhim with his eye, like the Ancient Mariner, and proceeded to unfoldhis narrative as placidly and peacefully as if we were all stretchedcomfortably in a blossomy summer meadow instead of being persecuted by awintry midnight tempest:

"I will tell you about that man. It was in Jackson's time. Gadsby's wasthe principal hotel, then. Well, this man arrived from Tennesseeabout nine o'clock, one morning, with a black coachman and a splendidfour-horse carriage and an elegant dog, which he was evidently fondof and proud of; he drove up before Gadsby's, and the clerk and thelandlord and everybody rushed out to take charge of him, but he said, 'Never mind, ' and jumped out and told the coachman to wait--

said he hadn't time to take anything to eat, he only had a little claimagainst the government to collect, would run across the way, tothe Treasury, and fetch the money, and then get right along back toTennessee, for he was in considerable of a hurry. 

"Well, about eleven o'clock that night he came back and ordered a bedand told them to put the horses up--said he would collect the claim inthe morning. This was in January, you understand--January, 1834--the 3dof January--Wednesday. 

"Well, on the 5th of February, he sold the fine carriage, and boughta cheap second-hand one--said it would answer just as well to take themoney home in, and he didn't care for style. 

"On the 11th of August he sold a pair of the fine horses--said he'doften thought a pair was better than four, to go over the rough mountainroads with where a body had to be careful about his driving--and therewasn't so much of his claim but he could lug the money home with a paireasy enough. 

"On the 13th of December he sold another horse--said two warn'tnecessary to drag that old light vehicle with--in fact, one could snatchit along faster than was absolutely necessary, now that it was goodsolid winter weather and the roads in splendid condition. 

"On the 17th of February, 1835, he sold the old carriage and bought acheap second-hand buggy--said a buggy was just the trick to skim alongmushy, slushy early spring roads with, and he had always wanted to try abuggy on those mountain roads, anyway. 

"On the 1st August he sold the buggy and bought the remains of an oldsulky--said he just wanted to see those green Tennesseans stare and gawkwhen they saw him come a-ripping along in a sulky--didn't believe they'dever heard of a sulky in their lives. 

"Well, on the 29th of August he sold his colored coachman--said hedidn't need a coachman for a sulky--wouldn't be room enough for two init anyway--and, besides, it wasn't every day that Providence sent a mana fool who was willing to pay nine hundred dollars for such a third-ratenegro as that--been wanting to get rid of the creature for years, butdidn't like to THROW him away. 

"Eighteen months later--that is to say, on the 15th of February, 1837--he sold the sulky and bought a saddle--said horseback-riding waswhat the doctor had always recommended HIM to take, and dog'd if hewanted to risk HIS neck going over those mountain roads on wheels in thedead of winter, not if he knew himself. 

"On the 9th of April he sold the saddle--said he wasn't going to riskHIS life with any perishable saddle-girth that ever was made, over arainy, miry April road, while he could ride bareback and know and feelhe was safe--always HAD despised to ride on a saddle, anyway. 

"On the 24th of April he sold his horse--said 'I'm just fifty-seventoday, hale and hearty--it would be a PRETTY howdy-do for me to bewasting such a trip as that and such weather as this, on a horse, whenthere ain't anything in the world so splendid as a tramp on foot throughthe fresh spring woods and over the cheery mountains, to a man that ISa 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 mylittle old collection, and mosey off to Tennessee, on my own hind legs, with a rousing good-by to Gadsby's. '

"On the 22d of June he sold his dog--said 'Dern a dog, anyway, whereyou're just starting off on a rattling bully pleasure tramp through thesummer woods and hills--perfect nuisance--chases the squirrels, barksat everything, goes a-capering and splattering around in the fords--mancan't get any chance to reflect and enjoy nature--and I'd a blamed sightruther carry the claim myself, it's a mighty sight safer; a dog'smighty 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. '"

There was a pause and a silence--except the noise of the wind and thepelting snow. Mr. Lykins said, impatiently:

"Well?"

Riley said:

"Well, --that was thirty years ago. "

"Very well, very well--what of it?"

"I'm great friends with that old patriarch. He comes every evening totell me good-by. I saw him an hour ago--he's off for Tennessee earlytomorrow morning--as usual; said he calculated to get his claim throughand be off before night-owls like me have turned out of bed. The tearswere in his eyes, he was so glad he was going to see his old Tennesseeand his friends once more. "

Another silent pause. The stranger broke it:

"Is that all?"

"That is all. "

"Well, for the TIME of night, and the KIND of night, it seems to me thestory was full long enough. But what's it all FOR?"

"Oh, nothing in particular. "

"Well, where's the point of it?"

"Oh, there isn't any particular point to it. Only, if you are not inTOO much of a hurry to rush off to San Francisco with that post-officeappointment, Mr. Lykins, I'd advise you to 'PUT UP AT GADSBY'S' for aspell, and take it easy. Good-by. GOD bless you!"

So saying, Riley blandly turned on his heel and left the astonishedschool-teacher standing there, a musing and motionless snow imageshining in the broad glow of the street-lamp. 

He never got that post-office. 

To go back to Lucerne and its fishers, I concluded, after aboutnine hours' waiting, that the man who proposes to tarry till he seessomething hook one of those well-fed and experienced fishes will findit wisdom to "put up at Gadsby's" and take it easy. It is likely thata fish has not been caught on that lake pier for forty years; but nomatter, the patient fisher watches his cork there all the day long, justthe same, and seems to enjoy it. One may see the fisher-loafers just asthick and contented and happy and patient all along the Seine at Paris, but tradition says that the only thing ever caught there in modern timesis a thing they don't fish for at all--the recent dog and the translatedcat. 

CHAPTER XXVII

[I Spare an Awful Bore]

Close by the Lion of Lucerne is what they call the "Glacier Garden"--andit is the only one in the world. It is on high ground. Four or fiveyears ago, some workmen who were digging foundations for a house cameupon this interesting relic of a long-departed age. Scientific menperceived in it a confirmation of their theories concerning the glacialperiod; so through their persuasions the little tract of ground wasbought and permanently protected against being built upon. The soil wasremoved, and there lay the rasped and guttered track which the ancientglacier 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 theturbulent torrent which flows beneath all glaciers. These huge roundboulders still remain in the holes; they and the walls of the holes areworn smooth by the long-continued chafing which they gave each other inthose old days. 

It took a mighty force to churn these big lumps of stone around in thatvigorous way. The neighboring country had a very different shape, atthat time--the valleys have risen up and become hills, since, and thehills have become valleys. The boulders discovered in the pots hadtraveled a great distance, for there is no rock like them nearer thanthe distant Rhone Glacier. 

For some days we were content to enjoy looking at the blue lakeLucerne and at the piled-up masses of snow-mountains that border it allaround--an enticing spectacle, this last, for there is a strange andfascinating beauty and charm about a majestic snow-peak with the sunblazing upon it or the moonlight softly enriching it--but finally weconcluded to try a bit of excursioning around on a steamboat, and a dashon foot at the Rigi. Very well, we had a delightful trip to Fluelen, ona breezy, sunny day. Everybody sat on the upper deck, on benches, underan awning; everybody talked, laughed, and exclaimed at the wonderfulscenery; in truth, a trip on that lake is almost the perfection ofpleasuring. 

The mountains were a never-ceasing marvel. Sometimes they rose straightup out of the lake, and towered aloft and overshadowed our pygmy steamerwith their prodigious bulk in the most impressive way. Not snow-cladmountains, these, yet they climbed high enough toward the sky to meetthe clouds and veil their foreheads in them. They were not barren andrepulsive, but clothed in green, and restful and pleasant to the eye. And they were so almost straight-up-and-down, sometimes, that one couldnot 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. 

Sometimes one of these monster precipices had the slight inclination ofthe huge ship-houses in dockyards--then high aloft, toward the sky, ittook a little stronger inclination, like that of a mansard roof--andperched on this dizzy mansard one's eye detected little things likemartin boxes, and presently perceived that these were the dwellings ofpeasants--an airy place for a home, truly. And suppose a peasant shouldwalk in his sleep, or his child should fall out of the frontyard?--the friends would have a tedious long journey down out of thosecloud-heights before they found the remains. And yet those far-awayhomes looked ever so seductive, they were so remote from the troubledworld, they dozed in such an atmosphere of peace and dreams--surely noone who has learned to live up there would ever want to live on a meanerlevel. 

We swept through the prettiest little curving arms of the lake, amongthese colossal green walls, enjoying new delights, always, as thestately panorama unfolded itself before us and rerolled and hid itselfbehind us; and now and then we had the thrilling surprise of burstingsuddenly upon a tremendous white mass like the distant and dominatingJungfrau, or some kindred giant, looming head and shoulders above atumbled waste of lesser Alps. 

Once, while I was hungrily taking in one of these surprises, and doingmy best to get all I possibly could of it while it should last, I wasinterrupted by a young and care-free voice:

"You're an American, I think--so'm I. "

He was about eighteen, or possibly nineteen; slender and of mediumheight; open, frank, happy face; a restless but independent eye; a snubnose, which had the air of drawing back with a decent reserve fromthe silky new-born mustache below it until it should be introduced; aloosely hung jaw, calculated to work easily in the sockets. He wore alow-crowned, narrow-brimmed straw hat, with a broad blue ribbonaround it which had a white anchor embroidered on it in front; nobbyshort-tailed coat, pantaloons, vest, all trim and neat and up with thefashion; 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 withlarge oxidized silver sleeve-buttons, bearing the device of a dog'sface--English pug. He carried a slim cane, surmounted with an Englishpug's head with red glass eyes. Under his arm he carried a Germangrammar--Otto's. His hair was short, straight, and smooth, and presentlywhen he turned his head a moment, I saw that it was nicely partedbehind. He took a cigarette out of a dainty box, stuck it into ameerschaum holder which he carried in a morocco case, and reached for mycigar. While he was lighting, I said:

"Yes--I am an American. "

"I knew it--I can always tell them. What ship did you come over in?"

"HOLSATIA. "

"We came in the BATAVIA--Cunard, you know. What kind of passage did youhave?"

"Tolerably rough. "

"So did we. Captain said he'd hardly ever seen it rougher. Where are youfrom?"

"New England. "

"So'm I. I'm from New Bloomfield. Anybody with you?"

"Yes--a friend. "

"Our whole family's along. It's awful slow, going around alone--don'tyou think so?"

"Rather slow. "

"Ever been over here before?"

"Yes. "

"I haven't. My first trip. But we've been all around--Paris andeverywhere. I'm to enter Harvard next year. Studying German all thetime, now. Can't enter till I know German. I know considerable French--Iget along pretty well in Paris, or anywhere where they speak French. What hotel are you stopping at?"

"Schweitzerhof. "

"No! is that so? I never see you in the reception-room. I go tothe reception-room a good deal of the time, because there's so manyAmericans there. I make lots of acquaintances. I know an American assoon as I see him--and so I speak to him and make his acquaintance. Ilike to be always making acquaintances--don't you?"

"Lord, yes!"

"You see it breaks up a trip like this, first rate. I never got bored ona trip like this, if I can make acquaintances and have somebody totalk to. But I think a trip like this would be an awful bore, if a bodycouldn't find anybody to get acquainted with and talk to on a trip likethis. I'm fond of talking, ain't you?

"Passionately. "

"Have you felt bored, on this trip?"

"Not all the time, part of it. "

"That's it!--you see you ought to go around and get acquainted, andtalk. 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 theRigi yet?"

"No. "

"Going?"

"I think so. "

"What hotel you going to stop at?"

"I don't know. Is there more than one?"

"Three. You stop at the Schreiber--you'll find it full of Americans. What ship did you say you came over in?"

"CITY OF ANTWERP. "

"German, I guess. You going to Geneva?"

"Yes. "

"What hotel you going to stop at?"

"Hôtel de l'Écu de Génève. "

"Don't you do it! No Americans there! You stop at one of those bighotels over the bridge--they're packed full of Americans. "

"But I want to practice my Arabic. "

"Good gracious, do you speak Arabic?"

"Yes--well enough to get along. "

"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?"

"Hotel Pension-Beaurivage. "

"Sho, you ought to stop at the Schweitzerhof. Didn't you know theSchweitzerhof was the best hotel in Switzerland?-- look at yourBaedeker. "

"Yes, I know--but I had an idea there warn't any Americans there. "

"No Americans! Why, bless your soul, it's just alive with them! I'm inthe great reception-room most all the time. I make lots of acquaintancesthere. Not as many as I did at first, because now only the new ones stopin there--the others go right along through. Where are you from?"

"Arkansaw. "

"Is that so? I'm from New England--New Bloomfield's my town when I'm athome. I'm having a mighty good time today, ain't you?"

"Divine. "

"That's what I call it. I like this knocking around, loose and easy, andmaking 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 awfulfond of talking when I can get hold of the right kind of a person, ain'tyou?"

"I prefer it to any other dissipation. "

"That's my notion, too. Now some people like to take a book and sitdown and read, and read, and read, or moon around yawping at the lake orthese mountains and things, but that ain't my way; no, sir, if they likeit, let 'em do it, I don't object; but as for me, talking's what I like. You been up the Rigi?"

"Yes. "

"What hotel did you stop at?"

"Schreiber. "

"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. Whatship did you come over in?"

"VILLE DE PARIS. "

"French, I reckon. What kind of a passage did ... Excuse me a minute, there's some Americans I haven't seen before. "

And away he went. He went uninjured, too--I had the murderous impulse toharpoon him in the back with my alpenstock, but as I raised the weaponthe disposition left me; I found I hadn't the heart to kill him, he wassuch a joyous, innocent, good-natured numbskull. 

Half an hour later I was sitting on a bench inspecting, with stronginterest, a noble monolith which we were skimming by--a monolith notshaped by man, but by Nature's free great hand--a massy pyramidal rockeighty feet high, devised by Nature ten million years ago against theday when a man worthy of it should need it for his monument. The timecame at last, and now this grand remembrancer bears Schiller's name inhuge letters upon its face. Curiously enough, this rock was not degradedor defiled in any way. It is said that two years ago a stranger lethimself down from the top of it with ropes and pulleys, and painted allover it, in blue letters bigger than those in Schiller's name, thesewords: "Try Sozodont;" "Buy Sun Stove Polish;" "Helmbold's Buchu;" "TryBenzaline for the Blood. " He was captured and it turned out that he wasan American. Upon his trial the judge said to him:

"You are from a land where any insolent that wants to is privilegedto profane and insult Nature, and, through her, Nature's God, if byso doing he can put a sordid penny in his pocket. But here the case isdifferent. Because you are a foreigner and ignorant, I will make yoursentence light; if you were a native I would deal strenuously withyou. Hear and obey: --You will immediately remove every trace ofyour offensive work from the Schiller monument; you pay a fine of tenthousand francs; you will suffer two years' imprisonment at hard labor;you will then be horsewhipped, tarred and feathered, deprived of yourears, ridden on a rail to the confines of the canton, and banishedforever. The severest penalties are omitted in your case--not as a graceto you, but to that great republic which had the misfortune to give youbirth. "

The steamer's benches were ranged back to back across the deck. My backhair was mingling innocently with the back hair of a couple ofladies. Presently they were addressed by some one and I overheard thisconversation:

"You are Americans, I think? So'm I. "

"Yes--we are Americans. "

"I knew it--I can always tell them. What ship did you come over in?"

"CITY OF CHESTER. "

"Oh, yes--Inman line. We came in the BATAVIA--Cunard you know. What kindof a passage did you have?"

"Pretty fair. "

"That was luck. We had it awful rough. Captain said he'd hardly seen itrougher. Where are you from?"

"New Jersey. "

"So'm I. No--I didn't mean that; I'm from New England. New Bloomfield'smy place. These your children?--belong to both of you?"

"Only to one of us; they are mine; my friend is not married. "

"Single, I reckon? So'm I. Are you two ladies traveling alone?"

"No--my husband is with us. "

"Our whole family's along. It's awful slow, going around alone--don'tyou think so?"

"I suppose it must be. "

"Hi, there's Mount Pilatus coming in sight again. Named after PontiusPilate, 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 Americantold me. I don't read when I'm knocking around like this, having a goodtime. Did you ever see the chapel where William Tell used to preach?"

"I did not know he ever preached there. "

"Oh, yes, he did. That American told me so. He don't ever shut uphis 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 everbeen over here before?"

"Yes. "

"I haven't. It's my first trip. But we've been all around--Paris andeverywhere. I'm to enter Harvard next year. Studying German all the timenow. Can't enter till I know German. This book's Otto's grammar. It's amighty good book to get the ICH HABE GEHABT HABEN's out of. But I don'treally 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 HATGEHABT, WIR HABEN GEHABT, IHR HABEN GEHABT, SIE HABEN GEHABT--kind of'Now-I-lay-me-down-to-sleep' fashion, you know, and after that, maybeI don't buckle to it for three days. It's awful undermining to theintellect, German is; you want to take it in small doses, or first youknow your brains all run together, and you feel them sloshing around inyour head same as so much drawn butter. But French is different; FRENCHain't anything. I ain't any more afraid of French than a tramp's afraidof pie; I can rattle off my little J'AI, TU AS, IL A, and the rest ofit, just as easy as a-b-c. I get along pretty well in Paris, or anywherewhere they speak French. What hotel are you stopping at?"

"The Schweitzerhof. "

"No! is that so? I never see you in the big reception-room. I go inthere a good deal of the time, because there's so many Americans there. I make lots of acquaintances. You been up the Rigi yet?"

"No. "

"Going?"

"We think of it. "

"What hotel you going to stop at?"

"I don't know. "

"Well, then you stop at the Schreiber--it's full of Americans. What shipdid you come over in?"

"CITY OF CHESTER. "

"Oh, yes, I remember I asked you that before. But I always ask everybodywhat ship they came over in, and so sometimes I forget and ask again. You going to Geneva?"

"Yes. "

"What hotel you going to stop at?"

"We expect to stop in a pension. "

"I don't hardly believe you'll like that; there's very few Americans inthe pensions. What hotel are you stopping at here?"

"The Schweitzerhof. "

"Oh, yes. I asked you that before, too. But I always ask everybody whathotel they're stopping at, and so I've got my head all mixed up withhotels. But it makes talk, and I love to talk. It refreshes me upso--don't it you--on a trip like this?"

"Yes--sometimes. "

"Well, it does me, too. As long as I'm talking I never feel bored--ain'tthat the way with you?"

"Yes--generally. But there are exception to the rule. "

"Oh, of course. I don't care to talk to everybody, MYSELF. If a personstarts in to jabber-jabber-jabber about scenery, and history, andpictures, and all sorts of tiresome things, I get the fan-tods mightysoon. I say 'Well, I must be going now--hope I'll see you again'--andthen I take a walk. Where you from?"

"New Jersey. "

"Why, bother it all, I asked you THAT before, too. Have you seen theLion of Lucerne?"

"Not yet. "

"Nor I, either. But the man who told me about Mount Pilatus says it'sone of the things to see. It's twenty-eight feet long. It don't seemreasonable, but he said so, anyway. He saw it yesterday; said it wasdying, then, so I reckon it's dead by this time. But that ain't anymatter, of course they'll stuff it. Did you say the children areyours--or HERS?"

"Mine. "

"Oh, so you did. Are you going up the ... No, I asked you that. Whatship ... No, I asked you that, too. What hotel are you ... No, you toldme that. Let me see ... Um .... Oh, what kind of voy ... No, we'vebeen over that ground, too. Um ... Um ... Well, I believe that is all. BONJOUR--I am very glad to have made your acquaintance, ladies. GUTENTAG. "

CHAPTER XXVIII

[The Jodel and Its Native Wilds]

The Rigi-Kulm is an imposing Alpine mass, six thousand feet high, whichstands by itself, and commands a mighty prospect of blue lakes, greenvalleys, and snowy mountains--a compact and magnificent picturethree hundred miles in circumference. The ascent is made by rail, orhorseback, or on foot, as one may prefer. I and my agent panopliedourselves in walking-costume, one bright morning, and started downthe lake on the steamboat; we got ashore at the village of Waeggis;three-quarters of an hour distant from Lucerne. This village is at thefoot of the mountain. 

We were soon tramping leisurely up the leafy mule-path, and then thetalk began to flow, as usual. It was twelve o'clock noon, and a breezy, cloudless day; the ascent was gradual, and the glimpses, from underthe curtaining boughs, of blue water, and tiny sailboats, and beetlingcliffs, were as charming as glimpses of dreamland. All the circumstanceswere perfect--and the anticipations, too, for we should soon beenjoying, for the first time, that wonderful spectacle, an Alpinesunrise--the object of our journey. There was (apparently) no real needfor hurry, for the guide-book made the walking-distance from Waeggis tothe summit only three hours and a quarter. I say "apparently, " becausethe guide-book had already fooled us once--about the distance fromAllerheiligen to Oppenau--and for aught I knew it might be gettingready to fool us again. We were only certain as to the altitudes--wecalculated to find out for ourselves how many hours it is from thebottom to the top. The summit is six thousand feet above the sea, butonly forty-five hundred feet above the lake. When we had walked half anhour, we were fairly into the swing and humor of the undertaking, so wecleared for action; that is to say, we got a boy whom we met to carryour alpenstocks and satchels and overcoats and things for us; that leftus free for business. I suppose we must have stopped oftener to stretchout on the grass in the shade and take a bit of a smoke than this boywas used to, for presently he asked if it had been our idea to hire himby the job, or by the year? We told him he could move along if he wasin a hurry. He said he wasn't in such a very particular hurry, but hewanted to get to the top while he was young. 

We told him to clear out, then, and leave the things at the uppermosthotel and say we should be along presently. He said he would secure us ahotel if he could, but if they were all full he would ask them to buildanother one and hurry up and get the paint and plaster dry against wearrived. Still gently chaffing us, he pushed ahead, up the trail, andsoon 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 andinterest. We halted awhile at a little public house, where we had breadand cheese and a quart or two of fresh milk, out on the porch, with thebig panorama all before us--and then moved on again. 

Ten minutes afterward we met a hot, red-faced man plunging down themountain, making mighty strides, swinging his alpenstock ahead of him, and taking a grip on the ground with its iron point to support thesebig strides. He stopped, fanned himself with his hat, swabbed theperspiration from his face and neck with a red handkerchief, panteda moment or two, and asked how far to Waeggis. I said three hours. Helooked surprised, and said:

"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?"

I said it was. 

"Well, " said he, "I can't stand another three hours, I've had enoughtoday; I'll take a bed there. "

I asked:

"Are we nearly to the top?"

"Nearly to the TOP? Why, bless your soul, you haven't really started, yet. "

I said we would put up at the inn, too. So we turned back and ordered ahot supper, and had quite a jolly evening of it with this Englishman. 

The German landlady gave us neat rooms and nice beds, and when I and myagent turned in, it was with the resolution to be up early and make theutmost 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 thewindow it was already too late, because it was half past eleven. Itwas a sharp disappointment. However, we ordered breakfast and told thelandlady to call the Englishman, but she said he was already up and offat daybreak--and swearing like mad about something or other. We couldnot find out what the matter was. He had asked the landlady the altitudeof her place above the level of the lake, and she told him fourteenhundred and ninety-five feet. That was all that was said; then he losthis temper. He said that between ------fools and guide-books, a mancould acquire ignorance enough in twenty-four hours in a country likethis to last him a year. Harris believed our boy had been loading himup with misinformation; and this was probably the case, for his epithetdescribed that boy to a dot. 

We got under way about the turn of noon, and pulled out for the summitagain, with a fresh and vigorous step. When we had gone about twohundred yards, and stopped to rest, I glanced to the left while I waslighting my pipe, and in the distance detected a long worm of blacksmoke crawling lazily up the steep mountain. Of course that was thelocomotive. We propped ourselves on our elbows at once, to gaze, for wehad never seen a mountain railway yet. Presently we could make out thetrain. It seemed incredible that that thing should creep straight up asharp slant like the roof of a house--but there it was, and it was doingthat very miracle. 

In the course of a couple hours we reached a fine breezy altitude wherethe little shepherd huts had big stones all over their roofs to holdthem down to the earth when the great storms rage. The country was wildand rocky about here, but there were plenty of trees, plenty of moss, and grass. 

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 betweentheir proportions and those of the giant mountains at whose feet theyslept. When one is in one of those villages it seems spacious, andits houses seem high and not out of proportion to the mountain thatoverhangs them--but from our altitude, what a change! The mountains werebigger and grander than ever, as they stood there thinking their solemnthoughts with their heads in the drifting clouds, but the villagesat their feet--when the painstaking eye could trace them up and findthem--were so reduced, almost invisible, and lay so flat against theground, that the exactest simile I can devise is to compare them toant-deposits of granulated dirt overshadowed by the huge bulk of acathedral. The steamboats skimming along under the stupendous precipiceswere diminished by distance to the daintiest little toys, the sailboatsand rowboats to shallops proper for fairies that keep house in the cupsof lilies and ride to court on the backs of bumblebees. 

Presently we came upon half a dozen sheep nibbling grass in the sprayof a stream of clear water that sprang from a rock wall a hundred feethigh, 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 butinvisible source, and recognized that we were hearing for the firsttime the famous Alpine JODEL in its own native wilds. And we recognized, also, that it was that sort of quaint commingling of baritone andfalsetto which at home we call "Tyrolese warbling. "

The jodeling (pronounced yOdling--emphasis on the O) continued, andwas very pleasant and inspiriting to hear. Now the jodeler appeared--ashepherd boy of sixteen--and in our gladness and gratitude we gave hima franc to jodel some more. So he jodeled and we listened. We movedon, presently, and he generously jodeled us out of sight. After aboutfifteen 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 ofsight. After that, we found a jodeler every ten minutes; we gave thefirst one eight cents, the second one six cents, the third one four, thefourth one a penny, contributed nothing to Nos. 5, 6, and 7, and duringthe remainder of the day hired the rest of the jodelers, at a francapiece, not to jodel any more. There is somewhat too much of thejodeling in the Alps. 

About the middle of the afternoon we passed through a prodigious naturalgateway called the Felsenthor, formed by two enormous upright rocks, with a third lying across the top. There was a very attractive littlehotel close by, but our energies were not conquered yet, so we went on. 

Three hours afterward we came to the railway-track. It was plantedstraight up the mountain with the slant of a ladder that leans against ahouse, and it seemed to us that man would need good nerves who proposedto travel up it or down it either. 

During the latter part of the afternoon we cooled our roasting interiorswith ice-cold water from clear streams, the only really satisfying waterwe had tasted since we left home, for at the hotels on the continentthey merely give you a tumbler of ice to soak your water in, and thatonly modifies its hotness, doesn't make it cold. Water can only be madecold enough for summer comfort by being prepared in a refrigerator ora closed ice-pitcher. Europeans say ice-water impairs digestion. How dothey know?--they never drink any. 

At ten minutes past six we reached the Kaltbad station, where there isa spacious hotel with great verandas which command a majestic expanse oflake and mountain scenery. We were pretty well fagged out, now, but aswe did not wish to miss the Alpine sunrise, we got through our dinneras quickly as possible and hurried off to bed. It was unspeakablycomfortable to stretch our weary limbs between the cool, damp sheets. And how we did sleep!--for there is no opiate like Alpine pedestrianism. 

In the morning we both awoke and leaped out of bed at the same instantand ran and stripped aside the window-curtains; but we suffered a bitterdisappointment again: it was already half past three in the afternoon. 

We dressed sullenly and in ill spirits, each accusing the other ofoversleeping. Harris said if we had brought the courier along, as weought to have done, we should not have missed these sunrises. I said heknew very well that one of us would have to sit up and wake thecourier; and I added that we were having trouble enough to take careof ourselves, on this climb, without having to take care of a courierbesides. 

During breakfast our spirits came up a little, since we found by thisguide-book that in the hotels on the summit the tourist is not left totrust to luck for his sunrise, but is roused betimes by a man who goesthrough the halls with a great Alpine horn, blowing blasts that wouldraise the dead. And there was another consoling thing: the guide-booksaid 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. Thiswas good; this would be romantic; two hundred and fifty people groupedon the windy summit, with their hair flying and their red blanketsflapping, in the solemn presence of the coming sun, would be a strikingand memorable spectacle. So it was good luck, not ill luck, that we hadmissed those other sunrises. 

We were informed by the guide-book that we were now 3, 228 feet abovethe level of the lake--therefore full two-thirds of our journey had beenaccomplished. We got away at a quarter past four P. M. ; a hundred yardsabove the hotel the railway divided; one track went straight up thesteep hill, the other one turned square off to the right, with a veryslight 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 wehad gone on, we should have arrived at the summit, but Harrispreferred to ask a lot of questions--as usual, of a man who didn't knowanything--and he told us to go back and follow the other route. We didso. We could ill afford this loss of time. 

We climbed and climbed; and we kept on climbing; we reached about fortysummits, but there was always another one just ahead. It came on torain, and it rained in dead earnest. We were soaked through and itwas bitter cold. Next a smoky fog of clouds covered the whole regiondensely, 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 thetrack, but by and by when the fog blew aside a little and we saw that wewere treading the rampart of a precipice and that our left elbows wereprojecting over a perfectly boundless and bottomless vacancy, we gasped, and jumped for the ties again. 

The night shut down, dark and drizzly and cold. About eight in theevening the fog lifted and showed us a well-worn path which led up avery steep rise to the left. We took it, and as soon as we had got farenough from the railway to render the finding it again an impossibility, the fog shut down on us once more. 

We were in a bleak, unsheltered place, now, and had to trudge rightalong, in order to keep warm, though we rather expected to go over aprecipice, sooner or later. About nine o'clock we made an importantdiscovery--that we were not in any path. We groped around a while on ourhands and knees, but we could not find it; so we sat down in the mud andthe wet scant grass to wait. 

We were terrified into this by being suddenly confronted with a vastbody which showed itself vaguely for an instant and in the next instantwas 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 aprecipice, and decided not to try to claw up it. 

We sat there an hour, with chattering teeth and quivering bodies, andquarreled over all sorts of trifles, but gave most of our attention toabusing each other for the stupidity of deserting the railway-track. Wesat with our backs to the precipice, because what little wind there wascame 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 thethinness could not show; but at last Harris happened to look around, andthere stood a huge, dim, spectral hotel where the precipice had been. One could faintly discern the windows and chimneys, and a dull blur oflights. Our first emotion was deep, unutterable gratitude, our next wasa foolish rage, born of the suspicion that possibly the hotel had beenvisible three-quarters of an hour while we sat there in those coldpuddles quarreling. 

Yes, it was the Rigi-Kulm hotel--the one that occupies the extremesummit, and whose remote little sparkle of lights we had often seenglinting high aloft among the stars from our balcony away down yonderin Lucerne. The crusty portier and the crusty clerks gave us thesurly reception which their kind deal out in prosperous times, but bymollifying them with an extra display of obsequiousness and servilitywe finally got them to show us to the room which our boy had engaged forus. 

We got into some dry clothing, and while our supper was preparing weloafed forsakenly through a couple of vast cavernous drawing-rooms, one of which had a stove in it. This stove was in a corner, and denselywalled around with people. We could not get near the fire, so we movedat large in the artic spaces, among a multitude of people who satsilent, smileless, forlorn, and shivering--thinking what fools they wereto come, perhaps. There were some Americans and some Germans, but onecould see that the great majority were English. 

We lounged into an apartment where there was a great crowd, to seewhat was going on. It was a memento-magazine. The tourists were eagerlybuying all sorts and styles of paper-cutters, marked "Souvenir of theRigi, " with handles made of the little curved horn of the ostensiblechamois; there were all manner of wooden goblets and such things, similarly marked. I was going to buy a paper-cutter, but I believedI could remember the cold comfort of the Rigi-Kulm without it, so Ismothered the impulse. 

Supper warmed us, and we went immediately to bed--but first, as Mr. Baedeker requests all tourists to call his attention to any errors whichthey may find in his guide-books, I dropped him a line to inform him hemissed it by just about three days. I had previously informed him of hismistake about the distance from Allerheiligen to Oppenau, and had alsoinformed the Ordnance Depart of the German government of the same errorin the imperial maps. I will add, here, that I never got any answer tothose letters, or any thanks from either of those sources; and, what isstill more discourteous, these corrections have not been made, either inthe maps or the guide-books. But I will write again when I get time, formy letters may have miscarried. 

We curled up in the clammy beds, and went to sleep without rocking. Wewere so sodden with fatigue that we never stirred nor turned over tillthe blooming blasts of the Alpine horn aroused us. 

It may well be imagined that we did not lose any time. We snatched ona few odds and ends of clothing, cocooned ourselves in the proper redblankets, and plunged along the halls and out into the whistling windbareheaded. We saw a tall wooden scaffolding on the very peak of thesummit, a hundred yards away, and made for it. We rushed up the stairsto the top of this scaffolding, and stood there, above the vast outlyingworld, with hair flying and ruddy blankets waving and cracking in thefierce breeze. 

"Fifteen minutes too late, at last!" said Harris, in a vexed voice. "Thesun is clear above the horizon. "

"No matter, " I said, "it is a most magnificent spectacle, and we willsee it do the rest of its rising anyway. "

In a moment we were deeply absorbed in the marvel before us, and dead toeverything else. The great cloud-barred disk of the sun stood just abovea limitless expanse of tossing white-caps--so to speak--a billowy chaosof massy mountain domes and peaks draped in imperishable snow, andflooded with an opaline glory of changing and dissolving splendors, while through rifts in a black cloud-bank above the sun, radiatinglances of diamond dust shot to the zenith. The cloven valleys of thelower world swam in a tinted mist which veiled the ruggedness of theircrags and ribs and ragged forests, and turned all the forbidding regioninto a soft and rich and sensuous paradise. 

We could not speak. We could hardly breathe. We could only gaze indrunken ecstasy and drink in it. Presently Harris exclaimed:

"Why--nation, it's going DOWN!"

Perfectly true. We had missed the MORNING hornblow, and slept all day. This was stupefying. 

Harris said:

"Look here, the sun isn't the spectacle--it's US--stacked up here on topof this gallows, in these idiotic blankets, and two hundred and fiftywell-dressed men and women down here gawking up at us and not caringa straw whether the sun rises or sets, as long as they've got such aridiculous spectacle as this to set down in their memorandum-books. Theyseem to be laughing their ribs loose, and there's one girl there thatappears 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. "

"What have I done?" I answered, with heat. 

"What have you done? You've got up at half past seven o'clock in theevening to see the sun rise, that's what you've done. "

"And have you done any better, I'd like to know? I've always used toget up with the lark, till I came under the petrifying influence of yourturgid intellect. "

"YOU used to get up with the lark--Oh, no doubt--you'll get up with thehangman one of these days. But you ought to be ashamed to be jawinghere like this, in a red blanket, on a forty-foot scaffold on top of theAlps. And no end of people down here to boot; this isn't any place foran exhibition of temper. "

And so the customary quarrel went on. When the sun was fairly down, weslipped back to the hotel in the charitable gloaming, and went to bedagain. We had encountered the horn-blower on the way, and he had triedto collect compensation, not only for announcing the sunset, which wedid see, but for the sunrise, which we had totally missed; but we saidno, we only took our solar rations on the "European plan"--pay for whatyou get. He promised to make us hear his horn in the morning, if we werealive.