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author: Twain, Mark

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A TRAMP ABROAD

1

BY

MARK TWAIN

—S Bt

° THE INNOCENTS ABROAD’ ‘THE NEW PILGRIM’S PROGRESS

AUTHOR OF

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SAWVER’ ‘AN IDLE EXCURSION’ ETC.

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1884

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il

A TRAIME ABROAD,

CHAPTER L

Oxe day it occurred to me that it had been many years since the

world had been afforded the spectacle of a man adventurous

enough to undertake a journey through Europe on foot. After

much thought, I decided that I was a person fitted to furnish to

mankind this spectacle.

So I determined to do it.

This was in

March, 1878.

T looked about me for the right sort of person to accompany

me in the capacity of agent, and finally hired a Mr. Harris for

this service.

It was also my purpose to study art while in Europe. Mr.

Harris was in sympathy with me in this.

He was as much of an

enthusiast in art as I was, and not less anxious to learn to paint.

I desired to learn the German language; so did Harris.

Towards the middle of April we sailed in the ¢ Holsatia,’

Captain Brands, and had a very pleasant trip indeed.

After a brief rest at Hamburg, we made preparations for a

long pedestrian trip southward in the soft spring weather, but at

the last moment we changed the programme, for private reasons,

and took the express train.

We made a short halt at Frankfort-on-the-Main, and found

it an interesting city. I should have liked to visit the birth-place

of Guttenberg, but it could not be done, as no memorandum of

the site of the house has been kept.

So we spent an hour in the

Goethe mansion instead.

The city permits this house to belong

to private parties, instead of gracing and dignifying herself with

the honour of possessing and protecting it.

Frankfort is one of the sixteen cities which have the distine-

tion of being the place where the following incident occurred.

Charlemagne, while chasing the Saxons (as he said), or being

B

2

A TRAMP ABROAD.

gl 2t

chased by them (as they said), arrived at the bank of the river at

jiy

dawn, in a fog. The enemy were either before him or behind

him ; but in any case he wanted to get across, very badly. Ie

(!

fpuidng

g e

would have given anything for a_guide, but none was to be had.

Int

he

Presently he saw a deer, followed by her young, approach the

water. He watched her, judging that she would seek a ford, and

foll

lown

he was right.

She waded over, and the army followed. So a

great Frankish victory or defeat was gained or avoided; and in

order to commemorate the episode, Charlemagne commanded a

M

city to be built there, which he named Frankfort—the ford of

4

ggropﬂIiGU

the Franks.

None of the other cities where this event happened

musie

dcl

were named from it.

This is good evidence that Frankfort was

the first place it occurred at.

K

C

Frankfort has another distinction—it is the birthplace of the

i ther

Black arn

German alphabet : or at least of the German word for alphabet—

Buchstaben.

They say that the first movable types were made

and his

on birch sticks—Buchstabe—hence the name.

ments, a

I was taught a lesson in political economy in Frankfort. I

Koight ¥

had brought from home a box containing a thousand very cheap

and noth

adranced

cigars. By way of experiment I stepped into a little shop in a

queer old back street, took four gaily decorated boxes of wax

nd bege

matches and three cigars, and laid down a silver piece worth 48

ftivl,

cents.

The man gave me 43 cents change.

seps e ¢

In Frankfort everybody wears clean clothes, and I think we

{hought

noticed that this strange thing was the case in Hamburg too, and

dancer,

in the villages along the road. Even in the narrowest and poorest

fion he

and most ancient quarters of Frankfort meat and clean clothes

asee0nd

were the rule.

The little children of both sexes were nearly

And as for the

always nice enough to take into a body’s lap.

aancer,

uniforms of the soldiers, they were newness and brightness

carried to perfection. One could never detect a smirch or a grain

of dust upon them.

The street car conductors and drivers wore

pretty uniforms, which seemed to be just out of the bandbox, and

their manners were as fine as their clothes.

Tn one of the shops I had the luck to stumble upen a book

which has charmed me nearly to death.

It is entitled ¢ The

il

Legends of the Rhine from Basle to Rotterdam,” by F. J. Kiefer;

7

fe

translated by L. W. Garnham, B.A.

luﬂw

All tourists mention the Rhine legends—in that sort of way

t;t‘rec

TN

which quietly pretends that the mentioner has been familiar with

them all his life, and that the reader cannot possibly be ignorant

Hack

So this little book fed

sid wy

of them—but no tourist ever tells them.

me in a very hungry place; and I, in my turn, intend to feed my

i,

fhe iy

reader, with one or two little lunches from the same larder. I

¥ith {

4 TRAMP ABROAD.

8

th@ TiVQr a

0 behiyg

ghall not mar Garnham’s translation by meddling with its Eng-

ady, g,

lish; for the most toothsome thing about it is its quaint fashion

0 b hag,

of building English sentences on the German plan,—and punctuat-

Moach th

ing them according to no plan at all.

£ ford> ang

In the chapter devoted to ¢ Legends of Frankfort’ I find the

Wed, G4

following :

s and §

¢ THE KNAVE OF BERGEN.

nmanded

e ford of

¢In Frankfort at the Romer was a great mask-ball, at the

>

coronation festival, and in the illuminated saloon, the clanging

happened

music invited to dance, and splendidly appeared the rich toilets

LKIOM yyag

and charms of the ladies, and the festively costumed Princes and

Knights.

All seemed pleasure, joy, and roguish gayety, only one

lace of the

alphabet—

of the numerous guests had a gloomy exterior; but exactly the

ele made

black armour in which he walked about excited general attention,

and his tall figure, as well as the noble propriety of his move-

‘Who the

ankfort, |

ments, attracted especially the regards of the ladies.

Knight was? Nobody could guess, for his Vizier was well closed,

very cheep

and nothing made him recognisable.

Proud and yet modest he

o shopin

68 of wax

advanced to the Empress; bowed on one knee before her seat,

and begged for the favour of a waltz with the Queen of the

worth 48

festival.

And she allowed his request.

With light and graceful

steps he danced through the long saloon, with the sovereign who

[ think we

thought never to have found a more dexterous and excellent

o too, and

dancer.

But also by the grace of his manner, and fine conversa-

and poorest

tion he knew to win the Queen, and she graciously accorded him

can clothes

a second dance for which he begged, a third, and a fourth, as well

as others were not refused him.

ere Leatly

How all regarded the happy

g8 for the

dancer, how many envied him the high favour; how increased

brightness

curiosity, who the masked knight could be.

ora grain

¢Also the Emperor became more and more excited with

[vers Wore

curiosity, and with great suspense one awaited the hour, when

dbox, and

according to mask-law, each masked guest must make himself

known.

This moment came, but although all others had un-

1 & book

masked, the secret knight still refused to allow his features to be

led *The

seen, till at last the Queen, driven by curiosity, and vexed at the

Kiefer;

obstinate refusal ; commanded him to open his Vizier. He opened

it, and none of the high ladies and knights knew him. But from

- of way

the crowded spectators, 2 officials advanced, who recognised the

Jiar with

~

black dancer, and horror and terror spread in the saloon, as they

said who the supposed knight was.

It was the executioner of

1 ignornnt

hook {d

Bergen.

But glowing with rage, the King commarded to seize

the criminal and lead him to death, who had ventured to dance

) feed mY

arder.

with the Queen; so disgraced the Empress, and insulted the

B2

£

A T.RAJ[P ABROAD.

crown. The culpable threw himself at the feet of the Emperor;

quld £8 :

and said,—

e

¢“Indeed I have heavily sinned against all noble guests

eaten 8"

assembled here, but most heavily against you my sovereignand my

dow

0l

queen. The Queen is insulted by my haughtiness equal to treason,

pgad ¥

but no punishment even blood, will not be able to wash out the

brooght P

;

disgrace, which you have suffered by me.

Therefore, oh King !

8 peautilt

allow me to propose a remedy, to efface the shame, and to render

(ther serf

it as if not done.

Draw your sword and knight me, then 1 will

it o

e

throw down my gauntlet, to every one who dares to speak dis-

Joisted 8

respectfully of my king.”

(.[ m{\&]‘yﬂ‘,ﬁ

¢ The Emperor was surprised at this bold proposal, however

fhe mar0X

it appeared the wisest to him; “You are a brave knave,” he re-

them off ¥

plied after a moment’s consideration, “ however, your advice is

roughtot

good, and displays prudence, as your offence shows adventurous

walktoth

courage.

Well then "—and gave him the knight-stroke—* so I

it wasnot

raise you to nobility, who begged for grace for your offence now

the servar

kneels before me, rise as knight; knavish you have acted, and

the porte

Knave of Bergen shall you be called henceforth,” and gladly the

then he p

Black knight rose.

Three cheers were given in honour of the

+¢h

bl

Emperor, and loud cries of joy testified the approbation with

Tag unr

which the Queen danced still once with the Knave of Bergen.’

to the ke

1

1l (!

ad done,

CIIAPTER

\

el 1

1L

TnNew )

HEIDEL

DETI

P

RG.

arowd of

oaly cay

ina oy

WE stopped at an hotel by the railway station. Next morning,

as we sat in my room waiting for breakfast to come up, we got a

on their |

fullof b

good deal interested in something which was going on over the

way in front of another hotel.

Tirst, the personage who is

o ‘i:ﬁem

called the portier (who is not the porter, but is a sort of first-

0ltlon

mate of an hotel) ! appeared at the door in a spick and span new

il

T

Nowe:

blue cloth uniform, decorated with shining brass buttons, and

with bands of gold lace around his cap and wristbands; and he

0 bl

wore white gloves, too.

He shed an official glance upon the

Two women-servants

E

situation, and then began to give orders.

i

came out with pails and brooms and brushes, and gave the side-

L, thej

N

i

walk a thorough scrubbing; meanwhile two others secrubbed the

gl

four marble steps which led up to the door; beyond these we

1V0h0dy I

|

hngg

1 See Appendix A,

ang imme

W0 qp

A TRAMP ABROAD.

4

: Empe!'or,

bl Zlegty

staircase.

could see some men-servants taking up the carpet of the grand

This carpet was carried away and the last grain of dust

uang py

beaten and banged and swept out of it ; then brought back and put

Wtenggy

down again.

The brass stair rods received an exhaustive polish-

30 ot the

ing and were returned to their places.

Now a troop of servants

00 Ky |

brought pots and tubs of blooming plants and formed them into

0 ven ey

a beautiful jungle about the door and the base of the staircase.

!len 1 will

Other servants adorned all the balconies of the various stories

ek ds.

with flowers and banners; others ascended to the roof and

Now came some more

hoisted a great flag on a staff there.

| howerey

chambermaids and retouched the sidewalk, and afterwards wiped

Cn

)

b e

the marble steps with damp cloths, and finished by dusting

advice iy

them off with feather brushes.

Now a broad black carpet was

Venturoyy

brought out and laid down the marble steps and out across the side-

ok

walk to the kerbstone. The portier cast his eye along it, and found

CE now

it was not absolutely straight ; he commanded it to be straightened ;

and

the servants made the effort—made several efforts, in fact—but

the portier was not satisfied.

He finally had it taken wup, and

ur of :Lg

then he put it down himself and got it right.

n with

At this stage of the proceedings a narrow, bright red carpet

Sergen,

was unrolled and stretched from the top of the marble steps

to the kerbstone, along the centre of the black carpet. This

red path cost the portier more trouble than even the black one

had done.

But he patiently fixed and refixed it until it was

exactly right and lay precisely in the middle of the black carpet.

In New York these performances would have gathered a mighty

crowd of curious and intensely interested spectators; but here it

only captured an audience of half-a-dozen little boys, who stood

morning,

in a Tow across the pavement, some with their school knapsacks

on their backs and their hands in their pockets, others with arms

e got a

full of bundles, and all absorbed in the show.

orer the

Occasionally one

who 13

of them skipped irreverently over the carpet and took up a

position on the other side.

of first

This always visibly annoyed the

portier.

nan new

Now came a waiting interval.

The landlord, in plain clothes,

| an

16

and bareheaded, placed himself on the bottom marble step, abreast

and |

the portier, who stood on the other end of the same step ; six or

pon the

eight waiters, gloved, barcheaded, and wearing their whitest

servants

linen, their whitest cravats, and their finest swallow-tails, grouped

he side-

themselves about these chiefs, but leaving the carpet-way clear.

hed the

Nobody moved or spoke any more, but only waited.

hiese W8

In a short time the shrill

piping of a coming train washeard,

and immediately grou

ps of people began to gather in the street.

Two or three open ca

rriages arrived, and deposited some maids-

A TRAMP ABROAD.

(5

i

fesive i

f

00,

of-honour and some male officials at the hotel.

Presently another

open carriage brought the Grand-Duke of Baden, a stately man

ghot TeX

emmy W

in uniform, who wore the handsome brass-mounted, steel-spiked

ffers—

helmet of the army on his head. Last came the Empress of

aten D]

Germany and the Grand Duchess of Baden in a close carriage;

o

these passed through the low bowing groups of servants and dis-

Sight f0

appeared in the hotel, exhibiting to us only the backs of their

lvity

gm0t

heads, and then the show was over.

It appears to be as difficult to land a monarch as it is to

Bei

lad, and

launch a ship.

But as to Heidelberg.

The weather was growing pretty

down upo

So ‘we left the valley and took

fio ot

warm—very warm, in fact.

quarters at the Schloss Hotel, on the hill, above the Castle.

broadens;

Heidelberg lies at the mouth of a narrow gorge—a gorge the

e 0Tt ¢

shape of a shepherd’s crook ; if one looks up it he perceives that

and il

it is about straight for a mile and a half, then makes a sharp

fnally me

1 have

curve to the right and disappears.

This gorge—along whose

bottom pours the swift Neckar—is confined between (or cloven

3

il

through) a couple of long, steep ridges, a thousand feet high and

The f

densely wooded clear to their summits, with the exception of one

el b

section which has been shaved and put under cultivation.

comfortab

These ridges are chopped off at the mouth of the gorge, and form

aast

two bold and conspicuous headlands, with Heidelberg nestling

outto be

between them; from their bases spreads away the vast dim ex-

sl

er dies

panse of the Rhine valley, and into this expanse the Neckar goes

4

nfo the

wandering in shining curves, and is presently lost to view.

onfhe l

Now, if one turns and looks up the gorge once more, he will

sitetched

sce the Schloss Hotel on the right, perched on a precipice over-

with b

looking the Neckar,—a precipice which is so sumptuously

these i

cushioned and draped with foliage that no glimpse of the rock

of thear

The building seems very airily situated.

It has the

appears.

facl blin

appearance of being on a shelf halfway up the wooded mountain

seemed f

side; and as it is remote and isolated, and very white, it makes

inthe

a strong mark against the lofty leafy rampart at its back.

ftat g by

This hotel had a feature which was a decided novelty ; and

Ll ad()rm

one which might be adopted with advantage by any house which

(g

is perched in a commanding situation.

This feature may be

described as a series of glass-enclosed parlours clinging to the

{0e g

bﬂ7byl

outside of the house, one against each and every bedchamber and

(0n

drawing-room.

They are like long, narrow, high-ceiled bird-

ol

[y

a.

ot

cages hung against the building.

My room was a corner room,

and had two of these things, a north one and a west one.

Ong

From the north cage one looks up the Neckar gorge; from

the west one he looks down it.

This last affords the most ex-

A TRAMP ABROAD.

7

h othep

tensive view, and it is one of the loveliest that can be imagined,

Hely gy

3€l.spiked

too. Out of a billowy upheaval of vivid green foliage, a rifle-

ress of

shot removed, rises the huge ruin of Heidelberg Castle,! with

empty window arches, ivy-mailed battlements, mouldering

Uty

S and dis.

towers—the Lear of inanimate nature,—deserted, discrowned,

beaten by the storms, but royal still, and beautiful. It is a fine

S 0f theiy

sight to see the evening sunlight suddenly strike the leafy de-

S 16 15 o

clivity at the Castle’s base and dash up it and drench it as with

a luminous spray, while the adjacent groves are in deep shadow.

1T pretty

Behind the Castle swells a great dome-shaped hill, forest-

clad, and beyond that a nobler and loftier one.

The Castle looks

fmd ook

down upon the compact brown-roofed town ; and from the town

le

Now the view

two picturesque old bridges span the river.

gorge the

broadens; through the gateway of the sentinel headlands you

ieives that

gaze out over the wide Rhine plain, which stretches away, softly

larp

and richly-tinted, grows gradually and dreamily indistinct, and

ng whose

\

finally melts imperceptibly into the remote horizon.

or cloven

1 have never enjoyed a view which had such a serene and

high and

satisfying charm about it as this one gives.

on of one

The first night we were there, we went to bed and to sleep

ltivation,

early ; but I awoke at the end of two or three hours, and lay a

and form

comfortable while listening to the soothing patter of the rain

- nestling

against the balcony windows.

I took it to be rain, but it turned

f dim ex-

out to be only the murmur of the restless Neckar, tumbling over

ar §OE8

her dikes and dams far below, in the gorge.

I got up and went

EW,

into the west balcony and saw a wonderful sight.

Away down

re, he will

on the level, under the black mass of the Castle, the town lay,

pice over

stretched along the river, its intricate cobweb of streets jewelled

npfuously

with twinkling lights; there were rows of lights on the bridges;

f the rock

these flung lances of light upon the water, in the black shadows

t has the

of the arches; and away at the extremity of all this fairy spec-

mountait

tacle blinked and glowed a massed multitude of gas jets which

it makes

seemed to cover acres of ground; it was as if all the diamonds

in the world had been spread out there.

I did not know before,

jl‘ty; and

that a half mile of sextuple railway tracks could be made such

se which

an adornment.

may be

One thinks Heidelberg by day-—with its surroundings—is

the last possibility of the beautiful; but when he sees Heidel-

g 1o the

berg by night, a fallen Milky Way, with that glittering railway

nber and

led bird-

constellation pinned to the border, he requires time to consider

e 10011y

upon the verdict.

One never tires of poking about in the dense woods that

y

i

00 from

! See Appendix B.

most €%

8

A TRAMP ABROAD.

¢ dors

st

thri

clothe all these lofty Neckar hills to their tops

The great deeps

{hen e 0!

of a boundless forest have a beguiling and impressive charm in

any country; but German legends and fairy tales have given

s

these an added charm.

Ofl nﬁuﬁ‘

They have peopled all that region with

Tl

gnomes, and dwarfs, and all sorts of mysterious and uncanny

creatures.

At the time I am writing of, I had been reading so

ol clled

in the \roo

much of this literature that sometimes I was not sure but I was

beginning to believe in the gnomes and fairies as realities

llm‘ed it

nlld .

One afternoon I got lost in the woods about a mile from the

hotel, and presently fell into a train of dreamy thought about

¢t

me 48 free

418

animals which talk, and kobolds, and enchanted folk, and the

¢moara

10

rest of the pleasant legendary stuff; and so, by stimulating my

fancy, I finally got to imagining I glimpsed small flitting shapes

puch, 18

Cud&d 10 E

here and there down the columned aisles of the forest

It was a

place which was peculiarly meet for the occasion

It was a pine

ajojed ]

done. TLf

wood, with so thick and soft a carpet of brown needles that one’s

footfall made no more sound than if he was treading on wool

con Jaughy ]

meas Ion”

the tree-trunks were as round and straight and smooth as pillars,

] knew

and stood close together ;

they were bare of branches to a point

about twenty-five feet above ground, and from there upward so

0110 COnSeq

Vo

)

thick with boughs that not a ray of sunlight could pierce through.

The world was bright with sunshine out;51do but a deep and

fhing, 1

aromd 1

mellow twilight reigned in there, and also a silence so profound

that T seemed to hear my own breathings

Animy

When I had stood ten minutes, thinking and imagining, and

estion 4

getting my spirit in tune with the place, and in the right mood

WO can v

to enjoy the supernatural, a raven suddenly uttered a hoarse

could, I

sell, He

croak over my head

It made me start; and then I was angry

because I started

I looked up, and the creature was sitting on

vel in 3

a limb right over me, looking down at me

-

1

10UnGaIng,

I felt something of

the same sense of humiliation and injury which one feels when

onl

il

he finds that a human stranger has been clandestinely inspecting

could g

him in his privacy and mentally commenting upon him. I eyed

Was Jim B

the raven, and the raven eyed me.

Nothing ‘was said during

0“1\ ali

some seconds

Then the bird stepped a little way along his

W ST

£

AELY ey

limb to get a better point of observation, lifted his wings, stuck

Lt'amma

his head far down below his shoulders toward me, and croaked

ad ax

Tea 1}

again—a croak with a distinctly insulting expression about it.

At gy

If he had spoken in English he could not have said any more

tk engv

plainly than he did say in raven, ¢ Well, what do you want

ey

i

10

10‘

here?’

I felt as foolish as if I had been caught in some mean

However, I

h 18 Weg ¢]

act by a responsible being, and reproved for it.

Sl he

made no reply ; I would not bandy words with a raven

The

adversary waited a while, with his shoulders still lifted, his head

There

has by

A TRAMP ABROAD.

0

reat degp!

thrust down between them, and his keen bright eye fixed on me;

Clam 1

then he threw out two or three more insults, which I could not

ﬂ\:e giVen

understand, further than that I knew a portion of them consisted

glon with

of language not used in church.

- Uncany

I still made no reply. Now the adversary raised his head

reﬂdiﬂg 8

and called. There was an answering croak from a little distance

‘hUt Lyag

63,

in the wood—evidently a croak of inquiry. The adversary ex-

plained with enthusiasm, and the other raven dropped everything

from the

and came.

The two sat side by side on the limb and discussed

bt about

me as freely and offensively as two great naturalists might

) and the

discuss a new kind of bug. The thing became more and more

lating my

embarrassing.

They called in another friend.

This was too

ng Shapts

much.

I saw that they had the advantage of me, and so I con-

b was g

cluded to get out of the scrape by walking out of it.

They

Wasa ping

enjoyed my defeat as much as any low white people could have

that one's

done.

They craned their necks and laughed at me (for a raven

- on ool

can laugh, just like a man), they squalled insulting remarks after

a8 pillars,

me as long as they could see me. They were nothing but ravens

o a point

—1I knew that—what they thought about me could be a matter

upward so

of no consequence—and yet when even a raven shouts after you:

e through,

‘What a hat!’ ¢O, pull down your vest!’ and that sort of

deep and

thing, it hurts you and humiliates you, and there is no getting

around it with fine reasoning and pretty arguments.

profound

There can be no

Animals talk to each other, of course.

ng, and

question about that; but I suppose there are very few people

0!

who can understand them.

I never knew but one man who

ght mood

1 a hoars

could.

I knew he could, however, because he told me so him-

Was angry

self.- He was a middle-aged, simple-hearted miner who had

lived in a lonely corner of California, among the woods and

sitling on

mething of

mountains, a good many years, and had studied the ways of his

foels when

only neighbours, the beasts and the birds, until he believed he

This

inspecting

could accurately translate any remark which they made.

was Jim Baker.

According to Jim Baker, some animals have

. Leyed

only a limited education, and use only very simple words, and

id during

scarcely ever a comparison or a flowery figure; whereas, certain

along his

other animals have a large vocabulary, a fine command of language

ngs, stuck

and a ready and fluent delivery; consequently these latter talk

d croaked

a great deal; they like it; they are conscious of their talent, and

about it

they enjoy ¢ showing off.

Baker said that, after long and

any MOTe

=5

==

careful observation, he had come to the conclusion that the blue-

ot Wanb

-

jays were the best talkers he had found among birds and beasts.

ome mean

Said he :—

owever

He

e

¢ There’s more ¢o a blue-jay than any other creature.

1.

has got more moods, and more different kinds of feelings than

, his bead

10

A TRAMP ABROAD.

other creatures ; and mind you, whatever a blue-jay feels, he

can put into language.

And no mere commonplace language

~

either, but rattling, out-and-out book-talk—and bristling with

And as for command of lan-

metaphor, too—just bristling !

guage—why you never see a blue-jay get stuck for a word.

No

man ever did. They just boil out of him !

And another thing:

T've noticed a good deal, and there’s no bird, or cow, or anything

It

that uses as good grammar as a blue-jay. You may say a cat

N

&

Je 10

uses good grammar.

Well, a cat does—but you let a cat get

in {his

excited, once ; you let a cat get to pulling fur with another cat on

*“

_heen

a shed, nights, and yowll hear grammar that will give you the

0ne

lockjaw.

Ignorant people think it’s the noise which fighting cats

fhe 12

make that is so aggravating, but it ain’t so; it’s the sickening

¢ Ol

grammar they use. Now I've never heard a jay use bad grammar

and

but very seldom ; and when they do, they are as ashamed as a

o

"

human; they shut right down and leave.

D

‘You may call a jay a bird.

Well, so he is, in a measure—

00

because he’s got feathers on him, and don’t belong to no church,

i

I

perhaps; but otherwise he is just as much a human as you be.

And TI'll tell you for why. A jay’s gifts, and instincts, and

{he cc‘:::" |

(0L

feelings, and interests, cover the whole ground. A jay hasn’t

got any more principle than a Congressman. A jay will lie, a

ST

Ttw

O

jay will steal, a jay will deceive, a jay will betray; and four

times out of five, a jay will go back on his solemnest promise.

€y

)

The sacredness of an obligation is a thing which you can’t cram

into no blue-jay’s head. Now, on top of all this, there’s another

featon, yot

thing ;

(o)

a jay can outswear any gentleman in the mines.

You

Tocated L

think a cat can swear.

Well, a cat can ; but you give a blue-jay

The

8 subject that calls for his reserve powers, and where is your

glanges up

cat?

Don’t talk to m:e—I know too much about this thing.

tal both a

And there’s yet another thing: in the one little particular of

LaintinIn

down g

scolding—just good, clean, out-and-out scolding-—a blue-jay can

g

lay over anything, human or divine. Yes, sir, a jay is everything

andy

s

that a man is.

A jay can cry, a jay can laugh, a jay can feel

]v

il

I

shame, a jay can reason and plan and discuss, a jay likes gossip

16, an

d

I(

and scandal, a jay has got a sense of humour, a jay knows when

ks ey

.

he is an ass just as well as you do—maybe better.

If a ja

11 g, !

ain’t human, he’d better take in his sign, that's all.

Now I'm

e i

going to tell you a perfectly true fact about some blue-jays,’

ok

]!010, and t

i, Jy

Vgl

Dl of

the o

A TRAMP ABROAD,

11

feels by

!anglmge

ling yith

0 of Jape

CHAPTER IIL

ord, o

her thing;

BAKER’S BLUE-JAY YARN.

ajthing

Saya caf

¢ WaeN I first begun to understand jay language correctly, there

3 af get

was a little incident happened here.

Seven years ago, the last

her cat on

man in this region but me, moved away. There stands his

e you the

house,—been empty ever since; a log house, with a plank

;hting cats

roof—just one big room, and no more; no ceiling—nothing

sickening

between the rafters and the floor.

Well, one Sunday morning I

| gramumar

was sitting out here in front of my cabin, with my cat, taking

amed as g

the sun, and looking at the blue hills, and listening to the leaves

rustling so lonely in the trees, and thinking of the home away

measure—

yonder in the States, that I hadn’t heard from in thirteen years,when

10 church,

a blue-jay lit on that house, with an acorn in his mouth, and says,

as you be,

“ Hello, I reckon I have struck something.”

When he spoke,

incts, and

the acorn dropped out of his mouth and rolled down the roof, of

course, but he didn’t care; his mind was all on the thing he had

jay hasn't

He cocked his head to

will lie,a

struck.

It was a knot-hole in the roof.

and four

one side, shut one eye, and put the other one to the hole, like a

f promise,

’possum looking down a jug; then he glanced up with his bright

can't cram

eyes, gave a wink or two with his wings—which signifies grati-

¢'s another

fication, you understand,

and says, “It looks like a hole, it’s

nes. You

located like a hole,—blamed if I don’t believe it ¢s a hole ! ”

a blue-jay

¢Then he cocked his head down and took another look; he

glances up perfectly joyful, this time; winks his wings and his

re 33 your

If

this thing.

tail both, and says, “ O, no, this ain’t no fat thing, I reckon !

I ain’t in luck !—why it's a perfectly elegant hole!”” So he flew

rticular of

1g-Jay Can

down and got that acorn, and fetched it up and dropped it in,

and was just tilting his head back, with the heavenliest smile on

yerything

his face, when all of a sudden he was paralysed into a listening

y can feel

kes gossip

attitude, and that smile faded gradually out of his countenance

like breath off'n a razer, and the queerest look of surprise took

0TS when

its place.

Then he says, “ Why, I didn’t hear it fall!”

He

It a jay

Now I'm

cocked his eye at the hole again, and took a long look ; raised up

and shook his head; stepped around to the other side of the

e

hole, and took another look from that side; shook his head

j

again,

He studied a while, then he just went into the details—

walked round and round the hole, and spied into it from every

point of the compass. No use. Now he took a thinking attitude

on the comb of the roof, and scratched the back of his head with

A TRAMP ABROAD.

EC[CH

e

g don’

el

his right foot a minute, and finally says, ¢« Well, it's too many for

ool 4

il

0088

me, that’s certain; must be a mighty long hole; however, I

ain’t got no time to fool around here, I got to "tend to business;

s

Jou pu

I reckon i’s all right—chance it, anyway.”

|

it

ake 1

“So he flew off and fetched another acorn and dropped it in,

6y o

and tried to flirt his eye to the hole quick enough to see what

become of it, but he was too late.

\(3

14

ol

He held his eye there as

nded (

much as a minute; then he raised up and sighed, and says,

“ Confound it, I don’t seem to understand this thing, no way ;

ave don

1

however, I'll tackle her again.”

(4

He fetched another acorn, and

Th

done his level best to sce what become of it, but he couldn’t.

§

Aol

He says, “ Well, I never struck no such a hole as this, before;

%

Thet

3!

Then he

and ¢

T'm of the opinion it’s a totally new kind of a hole.”

begun to get mad. Ie held in for a spell, walking up and down

il

ol

the comb of the roof and shaking his head and muttering to

\i

i

el

UK.

I

er€

himself; but his feelings got the upper hand of him, presently,

1l

and he broke loose and cussed himself black in the face.

I never

:v

he doo

see a bird take on so about a little thing.

When he got through

el 0

0

he walks to the hole and looks in again for half a minute; then

e

mocked ¢

5;

he says, “ Well, you're a long hole, and a deep hole, and a

a0

=

mighty singular hole altogether—but I've started in to fill you,

el

1 a whot

and 'm d—d if I don’¢ fill you, if it takes a hundred years!”

¢ And with that, away he went.

You never see a bird work

80 since you was born.

He laid into his work like a nigger, and

the way he hove acorns into that hole for about two hours and a

—

A

of

half was one of the most exciting and astonishing spectacles I

ho

e an

ever struck.

a

nd

ITe never stopped to take a look any more—he

tie ne

'just hove ’em in and went for more.

Well, at last he could

W

hardly flop his wings, he was so tuckered out.

e comes a-

th

ICE

drooping down, once more, sweating like an ice-pitcher, drops

U

his acorn in and says, “ Now I guess I've got the bulge on you

Iy

by this time!”

So he bent down for a look.

If youll believe

M, ly

me, when his head come up again he was just pale with rage.

SRENY AL

1

1

He says, “I've shovelled acorns enough in there to keep the

Andf]

family thirty years, and if I can see a sign of one of ’em I wish I

Mo

Oa Mooty

may land in a museum with a belly full of sawdust in two

al

minutes ! ”’

8 Wy

1t By

(13

‘He just had strength enough to crawl up on to the comb,

r————

0

and lean his back agin the chimbly, and then he collected his

impressions, and begun to free his mind.

I see in a second that

what I had mistook for profanity in the mines was only just the

rudiments, as you may say.

— T

¢ Another jay was going by, and heard him doing his devo-

tions, and stops to inquire what was up. The sufferer told him

4 TRAMP ABROAD.

13

’St

00 m{my ﬁ‘r

the whole circumstance, and says, ¢ Now yonder’s the hole, and

i OWever, |

if you don’t believe me go and look for yourself.”

So this fellow

to b\lSinegs;

went and looked, and comes back and says, ¢ How many did

you say you put in there? ”

“ Not any less than two tons,” says

the sufferer.

IIe couldn’c

St 3,

The other jay went and looked again.

o1 105 g

seem to make it out, so he raised a yell, and three more jays

come.

67 therg o

They all examined the hole, they all made the sufferer

‘8( and Says,

tell it over again, then they all discussed 1it, and got off as many

I,

210 way

leather-headed opinions about it as an average crowd of humans

\

T acom, gnq

could have done.

r

|

g

b e oqulgy,

¢ They called in more jays; then more and more, till pretty

this, '0021‘1'0;

soon this whole region ’peared to have a blue flush about it.

¢

There must have been five thousand of them; and such another

Then he

' up and dowy

jawing and disputing and ripping and cussing, you never heard.

Lvery jay in the whole lot put his eye to the hole and delivered

Wuitering t

iim, Presently

v

l

a more chuckle-headed opinion about the mystery than the jay

that went there before him.

They examined the house all over,

‘face.

L never

go

throusy

too. The door was standing half open, and at last one old jay

happened to go and licht on it and look in.

Of course that

minute; then

) hole, and 4

knocked the mystery galley-west in a second.

There lay the

acorns, scattered all over the floor.

He flopped his wings and

in to fill you,

d years

I)l

raised a whoop. ¢ Come here!” he says, “ come here, every-

¢ a bird work

body; hang’d if this fool hasn’t been trying to fill up a house

with acorns

!’)

a nigger, and

They all came a-swooping down like a blue cloud,

0 hours

an

all

da

and as each fellow lit on the door and took a glance, the whole

absurdity of the contract that that first jay had tackled hit him

g spectacles [

home. and he fell over backwards suffocating with laughter, and

any more—he

the next jay took his place and done the same.

Jast he could

¢ Well, sir, they roosted around here on the house-top and

Tle comes a-

.

the trees for an hour, and guffawed over that thing like human

cher, drops

beings.

It ain’t any use to tell me a blue-jay hasn’t got a sense

on you

of humour, because I know better.

And memory, too.

They

ro'u"il helieve

brought jays here from all over the United States to look down

Je with rage.

that hole, every summer for three years.

Other birds too.

to keep the

And they could all see the point, except an owl that come from

Yem I wish ]

Nova Scotia to visit the Yo Semite, and he took this thing in

dust I £N0

on his way back.

He said he couldn’t see anything funny in

it. But then he was a good deal disappointed about Yo Semite.

o the comb

£00.

collected bis

, second that

nly jus the

pg his devo-

0

1d him

rer 10

14

A TRAMP ABROAD,

fro !

ol (2 ]'y

e

p (i

(il

Jege

03 & (4

e

jres 1

CHAPTER IV.

g s 2

STUDENT LIFE.

iy

45 he S0

s

THE summer semester was in full tide; consequently the most

8

udy, 0

aitendance

frequent figure in and about Heidelberg was the student.

Most

i

of the students were Germans, of course, but the representatives

e nesul

au

of foreign lands were very numerous.

They hailed from every

e, W

corner of the globe,—for instruction is cheap in Heidelberg, and

edll

go is living, too.

The Anglo-American Club, composed of

i

(I c:ne e Wh

British and American students, had twenty-five members, and

there was still much material left to draw from.

of fhree suce

tyo of them 1€

Nine-tenths of the Heidelberg students wore no badge or

uniform; the other tenth wore caps of various colours, and

There were five

belonged to social organisations called ¢ corps.’

corps, each with a colour of its own; there were white caps,

e omected b

The famous duel-

blue caps, and red, yellow, and green ones.

fighting is confined to the corps’ boys. The ¢ Kneipd scems

to be a speciality of theirs, too.

Kneips are held, now and then,

to celebrate great occasions,—like the election of a beer-king,

for instance.

The solemnity is simple; the five corps assemble

are hard work

at night, and at a signal they all fall loading themselves with

{hey have o

beer, out of pint mugs, as fast as possible, and each man keeps

to spare fr

his own count,—usually by laying aside a lucifer match for each

of another,

mug he empties.

The election is soon decided.

‘When the

Dall and into

candidates can hold no more, a count is instituted, and the one

going nat

who has drunk the greatest number of pints is proclaimed king.

thelr time b

1

I was told that the last beer-king elected by the corps,—or by

iy {he Joy

his own capabilities,—emptied his mug seventy-five times.

No

stomach could hold all that quantity at one time, of course,—

il

but there are ways of frequently creating a vacuum, which those

al

who have been much at sea will understand.

AW

i

lf

One sees so many students abroad at all hours, that he

sfud

Ll

i

b

b

) i e >

L SWIH';

presently begins to wonder if they ever have any working hours.

e iy

Some of them have, some of them hatven’t.

Each can choose

f Eclocl; hf‘[’(\

for himself whether he will work or play; for German university

life is a very free life; it seems to have no restraints.

The

Withy g

s Gl

student does not live in the college buildings, but hires his own

lodgings, in any locality he prefers, and he takes his meals when

St gy

Wl 1

and where he pleases.

He goes to bed when it suits him, and

He is not entered at

gUng He h:

does not get up at all unless he wants to.

EHergy

fOI an

A TRAMP ABROAD.

156

the university for any particular length of time; so he ig likely

to change about.

He passes no examination upon entering

college.

He mecrely pays a trifling fee of five or ten dollars,

receives a card entitling him to the privileges of the university,

and that is the end of it.

e is now ready for business,—or

play, as he shall prefer.

If he elects to work, he finds a large

list of lectures to choose from.

Ml the g

He selects the subjects which he

will study, and enters his name for these studies; but he can

Wdent, Mg

skip attendance.

EDIesenty iveg

(& T0m ever

The result of this system is, that lecture-courses upon speci-

alities of an unusual nature are often delivered to very slim

Eidelberg g

composed of

audiences, while those upon more practical and every-day

matters of education are delivered to very large ones.

I heard

members, gy

of one case where, day after day, the lecturer’s audience consisted

of three students,

and always the same three.

But one day

10 badge o

two of them remained away. The lecturer began as usual,—

S colows, gng

¢ Geentlemen,—

here vere fiyg

—then, without a smile,

e white s,

e fumous dugl-

he corrected himself, saying,—

¢ Sir,)—

Kneipd seem

—and went on with his

now and then,

discourse.

& beer-king,

It is said that the vast majority of the Heidelberg students

0rps assemble

are hard workers, and make the most of their opportunities; that

emselves with

they have no surplus means to spend in dissipation, and no time

ch man keeps

to spare for frolicking.

One lecture follows right on the heels

match for each

of another, with very little time for the student to get out of one

|

When the

hall and into the next; but the industrious ones manage it by

d, and the one

going on a trot.

The professors assist them in the saving of

pclaimed king,

their time by being promptly in their little boxed-up pulpits

corps;—or by

when the hours strike, and as promptly out again when the hour

o times, No

finishes.

I entered an empty leecture-room one day just before

of course,—

the clock struck.

The place had simple, unpainted pine desks

, which those

and benches for about 200 persons.

About a minute before the clock struck, a hundred and fifty

urs, that he

students swarmed in, rushed to their seats, immediately spread

rking bows

open their note-books and dipped their pens in the ink.

‘When

| can choose

the clock hegan to strike, a burly professor entered, was received

n university

with a round of applause, moved swiftly down the centre aisle,

16

faid ¢ Gentlemen,’ and began to talk as he climbed his pulpit

raints.

jives his oW

steps; and by the time he had arrived in his box and faced hig

audience, his lecture was well under way and all the pens were

meals when

its him, a1

going. He had no notes, he talked with prodigious rapidity and

energy for an hour,—then the students began to remind him in

t entered &

18

A TRAMP ABROAD.

4 ]]ﬂhne‘“'

certain well-understood ways that his time was up; he seized

yarefed 0

his hat, still talking, proceeded swiftly down his pulpit steps,

groatd fmi

got out the last word of his discourse as he struck the floor;

o, 00 1

everybody rose respectfully, and he swept rapidly down the

o lump

aisle and disappeared.

An instant rush for some other lecture-

J

] seeme

room followed, and in a minute I was alone with the empty

benches once more.

g bk

o A T

Yes, without doubt, idle students are not the rule.

Out of

ol hat 3

eight hundred in the town, I knew the faces of only about fifty ;

but these I saw everywhere and daily. They walked about the

dresed you

streets and the wooded hills, they drove in cabs, they boated on

fhesnant

3y 0L

i

eI

the river, they sipped beer and coffee, afternoons, in the Schloss

%

480018

gardens.

A good many of them wore the coloured caps of the

Thwoul

youl

corps.

They were finely and fashionably dressed, their manners

5

- seeki

were quite superb, and they led an easy, careless, comfortable

life.

If a dozen of them sat together, and a lady or a gentleman

e bas 8

which alo

passed whom one of them knew and saluted, they all rose to

fowork i

their feet and took off their caps. The members of a corps

yith an el

always received a fellow-member in this way, too; but they

1’:&

most 4 unl

paid no attention to members of other corps; they did not seem

to see them.

founder e

This was not a discourtesy; it was only a part

of the elaborate and rigid corps etiquette.

|

gy,

o what

There seems to be no chilly distance existing between the

bumbnto

German students and the professor; but, on the contrary, a

companionable intercourse, the opposite of chilliness and reserve.

merely e

Tatin. o

When the professor enters a beer hall in the evening where

students are gathered together, these rise up and take off their

arg t0o sey

caps, and invite the old gentleman to sit with them and partake.

oot on th

He accepts, and the pleasant talk and the beer flow for an hour

already ho

or two, and by-and-by the professor, properly charged and com-

inthe g

L

oy

fortable, gives a cordial good-night, while the students stand

low, o mef

bowing and uncovered; and then he moves on his happy way

o thoge

homeward with all his vast cargo of 1

ea

en

rning afloat in his hold.

s ey

Nobody finds fault or feels outraged ; no harm has been done.

chosen by

o

43 01

It seemed to be a part of corps etiquette to keep a dog or

80, too.

I mean a corps dog,—the common property of the or-

byl

001G

ganisation, like the corps steward or head servant; then tkere

j 18

i

are other dogs, owned by individuals.

16 et ]

On a summer afternoon in the Castle gardens, I have seen

g

six students march solemnly into the grounds, in single file, each

L

carrying a bright Chinese parasol and leading a prodigious dog

O sy

by a string.

It was a very imposing spectacle.

Sometimes

there would be about as many dogs around the pavilion as

students; and of all breeds and of all degrees of beauty and

A TRAMP ABROAD.

17

U; e

flzeq

ugliness. These dogs had a rather dry time of it: for they

Pubit

sreps,

were tied to the benches and had no amusement for an hour or

ek the

floor

lly oy

two at a time, except what they could get out of pawing at the

n

gnats, or trying to sleep and not succeeding.

However, they

Othey lectlu'e.

got a lump of sugar occasionally—they were fond of that.

| ‘Al ‘lle empty

It seemed right and proper that students should indulge in

dogs; but everybody else had them, too,—old men and young

1ule, (¢ of

ones, old woman and nice young ladies.

If there is one spec-

¥ aboug fity;

tacle that is unpleasanter than another, it is that of an elegantly

Ked aboug, ]

dressed young lady towing a dog by a string.

It is said to be

17 baated o

It seems to me that some

the sign and symbol of blighted love.

:

the Schlogg

other way of advertising it might be devised, which would be just

3 0]

f the

as conspicuous and yet not so trying to the proprieties.

ANnery

It would be a mistake to suppose that the easy-going, plea-

S, Comfortable

I'a

sure-secking student carries an empty head.

Just the contrary.

man

He has spent nine years in the Gymnasium, under a system

all 105 to

which allowed him no freedom, but rigorously compelled him

of 4 conps

to work like a slave.

Consequently he has left the gymnasium

with an education which is so extensive and complete, that the

00; but they

did not seem

most a university can do for it is to perfect some of its pro-

founder specialities.

It is said that when a pupil leaves the

3 only a parg

gymnasium, he not only has a comprehensive education, but he

betiween the

knows what he knows,—it is not befogged with uncertainty, it is

e contrary, &

burnt into him so that it will stay.

For instance, he does not

nd reserve

merely read and write Greek, but speaks it; the same with the

¢ Where

Latin.

Foreign youth steer clear of the gymnasium ; its rules

ke off their

are too severe.

They go to the university to put a mansard

1 and partake,

roof on their whole general education; but the German student

v for an hour

already has his mansard roof, so he goes there to add a steeple

] and com-

in the nature of some speciality, such as a particular branch of

law, or medicine, or philology—Iike international law, or diseases

ents stand

So

g happy way

of the eye, or special study of the ancient Gothic tongues.

this German attends only the lectures which belong to the

¢ in his hold,

een done.

chosen branch, and drinks his beer and tows his dog around, and

has a general good time the rest of the day.

He has been in

eep 8 dog Or

7 of the or-

|

rigid bondage so long that the large liberty of university life is

just what he needs and likes and thoroughly appreciates; and

+ then there

as it cannot last for ever, he makes the most of it while it does

last, and so lays up a good rest against the day that must see

T have seen

o fl, each

him put on the chains once more and enter the slavery of official

':n

or Professional life.

digious dog

Sometimes

ayilion 88

i

beauty 40

A TRAMP ABROAD.

gl

P i

I

vy

it

i e T

I

618 ff

o the

fh

!

CHAPTER V.

hand

e op 0

AT TUE STUDENTS' DUELLING-GROUND.

o 0

n U

7000

{iels

ok

(7!{,".‘ ]

OxE day in the interest of science my agent obtained permission

ns

to bring me to the students’ duelling-place.

We crossed the

This cwso

river and drove up the bank a few hundred yards, then turned

s

" 1y e ¥

to the left, entered a narrow alley, followed it a hundred yards,

and arrived at a two-story public-house; we were acquainted

wad introduce

We

with its outside aspect, for it was visible from the hotel.

yhie capy and ‘\

fiure

o

e led

went upstairs and passed into a large whitewashed apartment,

-

Tt

which was perhaps fifty feet long, by thirty feet wide and twenty

Pﬂl

0D

10

There was

ians

or twenty-five high.

It was a well-lighted place.

fiere Pro

Across one end and down both sides of the room

no carpet.

{ie lem'uer‘ i

'

extended a row of tables, and at these tables some fifty or seventy-

}m

elr

il

five students ! were sitting.

it

ankle they ere |

Some of them were sipping wine, others were playing cards,

others chess, other groups were chatting together, and many

were

were smoking cigarettes while they waited for the coming duels

Ionked

I

Nearly all of them wore coloured caps; there were white caps,

indsome §

green caps, blue caps, red caps, and bright yellow ones; so, all

eore, bt now £

In the windows at

htmg

the five corps were present in strong force.

ulesin i

LWL

the vacant end of the room stood six or eight long, narrow=-

Jeting st

bladed swords with large protecting guards for the hand, and

outthe

y U

outside was a man at work sharpening others on a grindstone.

he needed

P»

Te understood his business ; for when a sword left his hand one

There was g

could shave himself with it.

e fllowed and

It was observable that the young gentlemen neither bowed

fieto e

I

to nor spoke with students whose caps differed in colour from

hin} f

1

their own.

This did not mean hostility, but only an armed

tuerr

neutrality.

It was considered that a person could strike harder

o)

[

in the duel, and with a more earnest interest, if he had never been

6 g

Uiy |

in a condition of comradeship with his antagonist; therefore,

Lenomydy

-

comradeship between the corps was not permitted. At intervals

Wiy o g

the presidents of the five corps have a cold official intercourse

Wi b ln }

;3

with each other, but nothing further.

For example, when the

T

Spatse he

regular duelling day of one of the corps approaches, its presi-

dent calls for volunteers from among the membership to offer

0 gy Wothey ¢

I&mmd thei

battle; three or more respond,—but there must not be less than

I oy

B, By

jth

! See Appendix C,

m”@lh&r I

fng §

A TRAMP ABROAD.

19

three ; the president lays their names before the other presidents,

with the request that they furnish antagonists for these chal-

It

lengers from among their corps.

This is promptly done.

chanced that the present occasion was the battle-day of the

.

Red Cap Corps.

They were the challengers, and certain caps of

other colours had volunteered to meet them. The students fight

duels in the room which I have described, two days in every

aine bermission

& Crosseq tho

week during seven and a half or eight months in every year.

This custom has continued in Germany two hundred and fifty

WG, then g

4 lundreq

ar

0

ds

years.

To return to my narrative.

A student in a white cap met

WETe acquainteq

us and introduced us to six or eight friends of his who also wore

\ 1t'ne hotel,

white caps, and while we stood conversing, two strange-looking

¢ apartment,

figures were led in from another room.

They were students

and twenty

,z\\'ide

£

o

panoplied for the duel.

They were bare-headed ; their eyes

There wag

were protected by iron goggles which projected an inch or more,

8 of the roon

|

¢

f

i

the leather straps of which bound their ears flat against their

[.')' or se\‘emy.

heads; their necks were wound around and around with thick

wrappings which a sword could not cut through; from chin to

16 playing cards,

ankle they were padded thoroughly against injury; their arms

ther, and many

were bandaged and re-bandaged, layer upon layer, until they

1

|

e coming duels,

looked like solid black logs.

These weird apparitions had been

were white caps,

handsome youths, clad in fashionable attire fifteen minutes

low ones; o, all

n the windows af

before, but now they did not resemble any beings one ever sees

unless in nightmares.

They strode along, with their arms pro-

bt long, namowe

jecting straight out from their bodies; they did not hold them

or the hand, and

out themselves, but fellow-students walked beside them and gave

s 0n a grindstone

the needed support.

Joft his hand one

There was a rush for the vacant end of the room now, and

we followed and got good places.

The combatants were placed

on neither bowed

face to face, each with several members of his own corps about

| in colour from

him to assist; two seconds, well padded, and with swords in

only an amed

their hands, took near stations; a student belonging to neither

4 strike harder

of the opposing corps placed himself in a good position to um-

Tad never beed

pire the combat ; another student stood by with a watch and a

nist: therefore,

1

memorandum-book to keep record of the time and the number

d. A intervals

and nature of the wounds; a grey-haired surgeon was present

with his lint, his bandages, and his instruments.

After a

cial intercours?

mple, when the

momgent’s pause the duellists saluted the umpire respectfully, then

one after another the several offieials stepped forward, gracefully

aches, its pres”

hership to oLF

removed their caps and saluted him also, and returned to their

places. Everything was ready now; students stood crowded

nof be less than

together in the foreground, and others stood behind them on

[

e

20

A TRAMP ABROAD.

SRS

¢ 1f W

o

0]

chairs and tables.

Every face was turned towards the centre of

]U

i ile

ba

attraction.

yeane

fead 10

s ir0

The combatants were watching each other with alert eyes ;

atll eaat

a perfect stillness, a breathless interest reigned. I felt that I was

b

obting )y

p el 5

going to sce some wary work. But not so. The instant the

f by b8 ¥

i Wouns

word was given, the two apparitions sprang forward and began

e

gt dravn 08

to rain blows down upon each other with such lightning rapidity

o e el OF

il

3

that I could not quite tell whether I saw the swords or only the

=

Dlﬁ

g

b cofic

flashes they made in the air ; the rattling din of these blows, as

vm(‘n

they struck steel or paddings, was something wonderfully stirring,

4700

bt

b s o §

and they were struck with such terrific force that I could not

!

e

(P

understand why the opposing sword was not beaten down under

e, 4 O &

the assault.

Presently, in the midst of the sword-flashes, I saw

J ncking cguel

[

a handful of hair skip into the air as if it had lain loose on the

U7

victim’s head and a breath of wind had puffed it suddenly

My aequ

Ancet

flo efect 0

away.

The seconds cried ¢ Halt !’ and knocked up the combatants’

turally yished

1

swords with their own.

The duellists sat down; a student

pleasnt o Jearn

official stepped forward, examined the wounded head, and

Jowas 4 otable s

touched the place with a sponge once or twice; the surgeon

g,

came and turned back the hair from the wound, and revealed a

The duel pre

il

which ad marke

crimson gash two or three inches long, and proceeded to bind an

oval piece of leather and a bunch of lint over it; the tally-

ot {el which b

vanshe]

keeper stepped up and tallied one for the opposition in his book.

Then the duellists took position again; a small stream of

i

S1ords alwa

blood was flowing down the side of the injured man’s head, and

ba

K Oer {1

over his shoulder, and down his body to the floor, but he did

s 0t 803 o

not seem to mind this.

The word was given, and they plunged

tenposed e,

at each other as fiercely as before; once more the blows rained,

struck elre o ff

and rattled, and flashed; every few moments the quick-eyed

ften,and g by ¢

seconds would notice that a sword was bent—then they called

Sttt est olloed

¢Halt!’ struck up the contending weapons, and an assisting

13t roun

student straightened the bent one.

sile o B

al

a

d

The wonderful turmoil went on—presently a bright spark

tbi{d o fhe

i

I

sprang from a blade, and thav blade, broken in several pieces,

@t fymy bad b

sent one of its fragments flying to the ceiling.

A new sword

The exercise was tre-

(‘ﬂrp;

St gy

was provided, and the fight proceeded.

Qe gy

mendous, of course, and in time the fighters began to show

Jidy

Fly tae g g,

great fatigue.

They were allowed to rest a moment, every little

il

while ; they got other rests by wounding each other, for then

gy

l'ed el m]

Ly

he

they could sit down while the doctor applied the lint and

Ker Ieft g

il

bandages.

The law is that the battle must continue fifteen

i)

minutes if the men can hold out; and as the pauses do not

‘tevlc

count, this duel was protracted to twenty or thirty minutes, I

A TRAMP ABROAD.

21

s th

¢ Centyo of

judged. At last it was decided that the men were too much

With

alext @

2

wearied to do battle longer.

They were led away drenched with

€l thay

crimson from head to foot.

That was a good fight, but it could

Va

10 st g

Stay

not count, partly because it did not last the lawful fifteen minutes

0rard anq by

(of actual fighting), and partly because neither man was dis-

hin

an

abled by his wounds.

It was a drawn battle, and corps-law re-

Words

g rapidig

0r only

quires that drawn battles shall be re-fought as soon as the

1 thesg blows

adversaries are well of their hurts.

\ a3

During the conflict, I had talked a little, now and then, with

'nderquy St

irring,

86 1 ool poy

a young gentleman of the white cap corps, and he had mentioned

that he was to fight next—and had also pointed out his chal-

2D down gy

0nd-fashes T gy

lenger, a young gentleman who was leaning against the opposite

AN looge o the

wall smoking a cigarette, and restfully observing the duel then in

progress.

uffed it sudden%y

My acquaintanceship with a party to the coming contest had

the effect of giving me a kind of personal interest in it; I

D the combatanty

naturally wished he might win, and it was the reverse of

10WD; 3 student

pleasant to learn that he probably would not, because, although

nded hegd, gn

he was a notable swordsman, the challenger was held to be his

ce; the slirgeon

superior.

d, and revealed 5

The duel presently began, and in the same furious way

eeded to bind an

which had marked the previous one.

I stood close by, but could

er it; the tally-

tion in his hook,

not tell which blows told and which did not, they fell and

vanished so like flashes of light.

They all scemed to tell; the

small stream of

swords always bent over the opponents’ heads, from the forehead

| man's head, and

back over the crown, and seemed to touch, all the way; but it

floor, but he did

was not so—a protecting blade, invisible to me, was always in-

and they plmnged

terposed between.

At the end of ten seconds each man had

,

the blows rained,

”

struck twelve or fifteen blows, and had warded off twelve or

r

t

Al

h

8 (

uick-eyed

fifteen, and no harm done; then a sword became disabled, and a

then they called

short rest followed whilst a new one was brought.

Early in the

nd an assisting

next round the white corps student got an ugly wound on the

side of his head, and gave his opponent one like it.

In the

a bright spark

third round the latter received another bad wound in the head,

several pieces,

and the former had his under lip divided. After that, the white

A new swor

corps student gave many severe wounds, but got none of conse-

cercise was fré-

quence in return,

At the end of five minutes, from the begin-

ning of the duel, the surgeon stopped it; the challenging party

egan 0 show

i, every Litle

had suffered such injuries that any addition to them might be

other, for then

dangerous.

These injuries were a fearful spectacle, but are

better left undescribed. So, against expectation, my acquaintance

| the linf an

was the victor,

ontinue fifteed

quses 00 10

irty minutes,

/

22

A TRAMP ABROAD.

Joor ¢

t

o ol

fol §

i

fiere

il

ot the!

g e 1

Tw

js was 10

I

CHAPTER VI.

fad quarte

{ qdents

gy 0

ot telng 0

m’

Tur third duel was brief and bloody. The surgeon stopped it

ot

s o

when he saw that one of the men had received such bad wounds

that he could not fight longer without endangering his life.

% 3’0:‘

1ll:(i$§'- :

(uel

fl

ar Wik

The fourth duel was a tremendous encounter; but at the

6 S

L

Al

end of five or six minutes the surgeon interfered once more:

h 16 wa

another man so severely hurt as to render it unsafe to add to his

I

0

i a I

harms.

I watched this engagement as I had watched the others

i

—with rapt interest and strong excitement, and with a shrink

(0W

§

and a shudder for every blow that laid open a cheek or a fore-

I

(3¢

head; and a conscious paling of my face when I occasionally

16

My eyes

i arted |

saw a wound of a yet more shocking nature inflicted.

y Ul

(11

were upon the loser of this duel when he got his last and van-

Wl

quishing wound—it was in his face, and it carried away his—

I had but a glance,

i

[t

Ve,

but no matter, I must not enter into details.

and then turned quickly away, but I would not have been look-

1{«2

§ 1

I

[

ing at all if Thad known what was coming. No, that is probably

E

ite

not true; one thinks he would not look if he knew what was

coming, but the interest and the excitement are so powerful that

i;

&

Al

Q!

they would doubtless conquer all other feelings; and so, under

the fierce exhilaration of the clashing steel, he would yield and

il

ol

look, after all.

Sometimes spectators of these duels faint, and it

i

\(2%

Viim 3

does scem a very reasonable thing to do, too.

10t

sion which

Both parties to this fourth duel were badly hurt; so much so

that the surgeon was at work upon them nearly or quite an hour

10

I

This g ol

—a fact which is suggestive.

But this waiting interval was not

i

] &

wasted in idleness by the assembled students.

It was past noon ;

bl

therefore they ordered their landlord, downstairs, to send up hot

{

4l

m

beefsteaks, chickens, and such things, and these they ate, sitting

comfortably at the several tables, whilst they chatted, disputed,

)

and laughed. The door to the surgeon’s room stood open, mean-

Wiere g

g

time, but the cutting, sewing, splicing, and bandaging going on

€1

Th

in there in plain view, did not seem to disturb anyone’s appetite.

4

810

0403

i

I went in and saw the surgeon labour awhile, but could not enjoy

thg

ag

by and

it; it was much less trying to see the wounds given and received

il

ﬂ]gy Were ¢

than to see them mended; the stir and turmoil, and the music

0L e

of the steel were wanting here—one’s nerves were wrung by this

L0g oy

d ] {

Zene

grisly spectacle, whilst the duel’s compensating pleasurable thrill

iy

(i

.

was lacking.

00

b

by by

Finally the doctor finished, and the men who were to fight

g

g

)

that

06 ang

A TRAMP ABROAD.

23

the closing battle of the day came forth. A good many dinners

were not completed yet, but no matter, they could be eaten cold

after the battle; therefore everybody crowded forward to see.

This was not a love duel, but a satisfaction > affair.

These two

Surge(m §

{opped it

students had quarrelled, and were here to settle it.

They did

| such by

not belong to any of the corps, but they were furnished with

Qioung

zing his

life,

weapons and armour, and permitted to fight hcre by the five

corps as a courtesy. Hvidently these two young men were un-

lfmrf but g

thie

{ered gng ore s

familiar with the duelling ceremonies, though they were not un-

familiar with the sword.

When they were placed in position,

15208 9 g his

Vatched the ofhers

they thought it was time to begin—and they did begin, too, and

with a most impetuous energy, without waiting for anybody to

0d With g ghyipl

give the word.

0 cheek or g fore-

This vastly amused the spectators, and even

broke down their studied and courtly gravity, and surprised

] I occasiomlly

them into laughter.

Of course the seconds struck up the swords

Hiced, My eyeg

and started the duel over again.

At the word, the deluge of

8 Iast and yage

blows began, but before long the surgeon once more interfered—

anay his—

for the only reason which ever permits him to interfere

and the

d but a glince,

day’s war was over.

It was now two in the afternoon, and I had

have been look-

been present since balf-past nine in the morning. The field of

thatis probably

battle was indeed a red one by this time; but some sawdust

knew what wag

soon righted that.

There had been one duel before I arrived.

0 powerful tha

In it one of the men received many injuries, while the other one

3 and 50, under

escaped without a scratch.

would yield and

I had seen the heads and faces of ten youths gashed in every

Juels faint, and it

direction by the keen two-edged blades, and yet had not scen a

vietim wince, nor heard a moan, or detected any flecting expres-

\

hurt; 0 much $0

sion which confessed the sharp pain the hurts were inflicting,

or

> an hour

This was good fortitude indeed.

Such endurance is to be ex-

was nob

pected in savages and prize-fighters, for they are born and

Wa

18 I}Hrf noony

educated to it; but to find it in such perfection in these gently

. to send up hot

bred and kindly nurtured young fellows is matter for surprise.

they ate, sitting

It was not merely under the excitement of the sword-play that

atted, disputed,

this fortitude was shown ; it was shown in the surgeon’s room,

od open, mean-

where an uninspiring quiet reigned, and where there was no

audience.

aging going 01

The doctor’s manipulations brought out ncither

Jone’s appetite

grimaces nor moans; and in the fichts it was obgervable that

pould 20t €2jo)

these lads hacked and slashed with the same tremendous spirit,

n and Teceive

after they were covered with streaming wounds, which they had

shown in the beginning.

and the mus%c

Wrung by t I

The world in general looks upon the college duels as very

farcical affairs: true, but considering that the college duel is

casurable thl

fought by boys, that the swords are real swords, and that the

head and face are exposed, it seems to me that it is a farce which

) ere b

p Bt

24

A TRAMP ABROAD.

Las quite a grave side to it.

People laugh at it mainly because

they think the student is so covered up with armour that he

cannot be hurt.

But it is not so; his eyes and ears are protected,

but the rest of his face and head are bare.

Ie can not only be

badly wounded, but his life is in danger, and he would sometimes

It is not in-

pdfion 028

lose it but for the interference of the surgeon.

tended that his life shall be endangered. Fatal accidents are pos-

e e 0

fied

Poraps 122 T

sible, however.

For instance, the student’s sword may break,

and the end of it fly up behind his antagonist’s ear and cut an

meulbtl‘

sip 40

i

med'\

artery which could not be reached if the sword remained whole.

This has happened sometimes, and death has resulted on the spot.

ferlg

s, WL @

Formerly the student’s armpits were not protected—and at that

yoluntee

Pt

0

y dudent of

a

time the swords were pointed, whereas they are blunt now—so

an artery in the armpit was sometimes cut, and death followed.

g go—tb('re s

ot eard

of a0y’

Then, in the days of sharp-pointed swords, a spectator was an

8 IO

occasional victim ; the end of a broken sword flew five or ten

ther T

anain 10

16 ¢

I]

feet and buried itself in his neck or his heart, and death ensued

N

instantly. The student duels in Germany occasion two or three

Al

d proper

us

4l

deaths every year now, but this arises only from the carelessness

of the wounded men; they eat or drink imprudently, or commit

A0aI08H declining:

shonger than

excessses in the way of over-exertion; inflammation sets in, and

gets such a headway that it cannot be arrested.

Indeed there is

The ten men v

when heir b

TS

blood and pain and danger enough about the college duel to

entitle it to a considerable degree of respect.

bt cam

6 b

© 0

All the customs, all the laws, all the details pertaining to the

fhe

=

student duel are quaint and naive.

100!

The grave, precise, and

courtly ceremony with which the thing is conducted, invests it

nessed the

it

He o

with a sort of antique charm.

This dignity and these knightly graces suggest the tourna-

sond had gut |

ment, not the prize-fight.

The laws are as curious as they are

]

strict.

For instance, the duellist may step forward from the line

L

If he

co,

he is placed upon, if he chooses, but never back of it.

a4 S0

steps back of it, or even leans back, it is considered that he did

Ve prerinp,

2

it to avoid a blow or contrive an advantage, so he is dismissed

dhss i

from his corps in disgrace.

It would seem but natural to step

fie g rere]

from under a descending sword unconsciously, and against one’s

0 s g g [

will and intent, yet this unconsciousness is not allowed. Again,

f

.

; sfudelm likesty

if, under the sudden anguish of a wound, the receiver of it

Wtk

1A

makes a grimace, he falls some degrees in the estimation of his

0t Whep gy

fellows; his corps are ashamed of him, they call him ¢ hare-foot,”

il ly bandan

which is the German equivalent for chicken-hearted.

i

pub}

0 o

e

St ty

8 woy

Wil oy

e

e g Tized

fha

A TRAMP ABROAD.

25

ot

1t i)

b A

ith gy 0

a6 by

il

P oty

0o nl

be

Ew Olll(l [

CHAPTER VIL

Ongtj

ey

€on, |

13 106 3

| ace)

Iy addition to the corps laws, there are some corps-usages which

)

Qents gy

have the force of laws.

Ford may fy

)

Perhaps the president of a corps notices that one of the

U8 ear and gy

an

d Temaingg v

ke,

membership who is no longer an exempt—that is a freshman

—has remained a sophomore some little time without volun-

estlted o the

ot

tected—ang at

that

teering to fight; some day, the president, instead of calling for

volunteers, will appoint this sophomore to measure swords with

e Blunt poy_g,

a student of another corps; he is free to decline—everybody

and deat) followed,

says so—there is no compulsion.

This is all true—but I have

& spectator wag g

not heard of any student who did decline.

He would naturally

I fiew five o f

rather retire from the corps than decline; to decline, and still

t and death engyeq

remain in the corps, would make him unpleasantly conspicuous,

100 £0 or three

and properly so, since he knew, when he joined, that his main

om the carelessnesy

business, as a member, would be to fight.

No, there is no law

dently, or commit

against declining—except the law of custom, which is confessedly

mation sefs in, qnd

gtronger than written law, everywhere.

Indeed there is

The ten men whose duels I had witnessed did not go away

e college duel to

when their hurts were dressed, as I had supposed they would,

but came back, one after another, as soon as they were free of

3 pertaining to the

the surgeon, and mingled with the assemblage in the duelling

room.,

rave, precise, and

The white cap student who won the second fight wit-

nducted, invess it

nessed the remaining three, and talked with us during the inter-

missions.

He could not talk very well, because his opponent’s

st the tournse

sword had cut his under lip in two, and then the surgeon had

sewed it together and overlaid it with a profusion of white

as they are

d from the Jine

plaister patches; neither could he eat easily, still he contrived to

accomplish a slow and troublesome luncheon while the last duel

£t Ifhe

1

{hat he did

was preparing.

The man who was the worst hurt of all played

chess while waiting to see this engagement.

A good part of his

o he is dismissed

¢ patural to step

face was covered with patches and bandages, and all the rest

of his head was covered and concealed by them.

It is said that

ind against on,e’3

the student likes to appear on the street and in other public places

llowed. Agaih

in this kind of array, and that this predilection often keeps him

e receiver of 1

out when exposure to rain or sun is a positive danger for him,

ostimation of |

113

Newly bandaged students are a very common spectacle in the

Tim ¢hare-{00f

It is also said that the student

public gardens of Heidelberg.

ted,

is glad to get wounds in the face, because the scars they leave

will show so well there; and it is also said that these face wounds

are so prized that youths have even been known to pull them

26

A TRAMP ABROAD.

p 0

) hflI(

apart from time to time and put red wine in them, to make them

o

Jon

el

el

o (

heal badly and leave as ugly a scar as possible. It does not

ol

{l

%8 (0

look reasonable, but it is roundly asserted and maintained, never-

g 00

theless. I am sure of one thing—scars are plenty enough in

fhe

il

s porto¥

Germany among the young men ; and very grim ones they are,

ottt

a gl

too. They eriss-cross the face in angry red welts, and are

f

I

1 (e

permanent and ineffaceable. Some of these scars are of a very

[

v

I

strange and dreadful aspect ; and the effect is striking when several

i

il

1 duelsa 4

f e

i

i)

such accent the milder ones, which form a city map on a man’s

face; they su

fale}

aoest the

‘burned district > then.

o b

et olders

We had often noticed that many of the students wore a

leet

b

0F coursey W

coloured silk band or riband diagonally across their breasts. It

transpired that this signifies that the wearer has fought three

pleita yo?m {0

fl

(ine oL@

duels in which a decision was reached—duels in which he either

whipped or was whipped—for drawn battles do not count.!

P fher W

After a student has received his riband, he is ‘free;’ he can

il

ih fhey have

yhose st

cease from fighting, without reproach—except some one insult

him; his president cannot appoint him to fight ; he can voluntcer

Pl

0

i

i

if he wants to, or remain quiescent if he prefers to doso. Statistics

troug;

itsp

i

065 ]

show that he does not prefer to remain quiescent. They show

that the duel has a singular fascination about it somewhere, for

i

these free men, so far from resting upon the privilege of the badge,

{ilopes an exper

are always volunteering. A corps student told me it was on record

wivey, bis e

viedto G

that Prince Bismarck fought thirty-two of these duels in a single

summer term when he was in college.

viorous,he il

|

So he fought twenty-nine

after his badge had given him the right to retire from the field.

m‘l send thelr 8

010 00¢ O

l

P

The statistics may be found to possess interest in several

particulars, Two days in every week are devoted to duelling.

)

1l

{imfpﬂl

The rule is rigid that there must be three duels on each of these

f0

Ya

days; there are generally more, but there cannot be fewer.

n

ail ¢

o]l

Spal

"

There were six the day I was present; sometimes there are seven

Ol

or eight.

el

10

lad 1

It is insisted that eight duels a week—four for each of

10

it ]

the two days—is too low an average to draw a calculation from,

fn

\ of eating gy

but I will reckon from that basis, preferrin g an under-statement

ik

o the ¢

il

to an over-statement of the case.

This requires about 480 or

Omn o

b

500 duellists in a year—for in summer the college term is about

W cham ¢

a8, a0

' FrRoM MY DIARY.—Dined in an hotel a few miles up the Neckar,

o],

in a room whose walls were hung all over with fr

amed portrait-groups

?he 1l yhigh

of the Five Corps; some were recent, but many an

tedated photography,

o e gy

and were pictured in lithography—

the dates ranged back to forty or

I8

fifty years ago.

Nearly every individual wore the riband across his

0108 st g1

breast. In one portrait-group, representing

(as each of these pictures

e b

did) an entire Corps, I took pains to count

the ribands: there were

Whetg g

fohg

twenty-seven members,

Hheryis,

and twenty-one of them wore that significant

Ay, ol ¢

e

badge.

betlen,

s h\y

A TRAMP ABROAD.

27

bl kg then

three and a half months, and in winter it is four months and

1§

Ualhtgingg

sometimes longer.

Of the 750 students in the university at the

e

) Levey,

time I am writing of, only eighty belonged to the five corps, and

£y eng

lgh

i} 0ne

it is only these corps that do the duelling; occasionally other

they g

students borrow the arms and battle-ground of the five corps in

Welty

) and

order to settle a quarrel, but this does not happen every duelling

cary ag of an

day.!

Consequently eighty youths furnish the material for some

2 Wh

W

ey

¥l Sever|

250 duels a year.

This average gives six fights a year to each

Jmap op g Iy

of the eighty. This large work could not be accomplished if

the badge-holders stood upon their privilege and ceased to

S‘fuldents W

fore g

volunteer.

their breggt, It

Of course, where there is so much fighting, the students

028 fougl

firee

make it a point to keep themselves in constant practice with the

1 "'LECM

16 eilher

foil.

One often sees them, at the tables in the Castle grounds,

Y Qo ot count,}

using their whips or canes to illustrate some new sword trick

5 ‘foe; by oy

which they have heard about; and between the duels, on the

- S0me one. gyt

day whose history I have been writing, the swords were not

e ¢an volunteer

always idle; every now and then we heard a succession of the

050, Statistics

keen hissing sounds which the sword makes when it is being put

through its paces in the air, and this informed us that a student

1t They show

somewhere, for

was practising.

Necessarily this unceasing attention to the art

developes an expert occasionally. He becomes famous in his own

g8 of the badge,

it was on record

university, his renown spreads to other universities. He is in-

vited to Gottingen, to fight with a Gottingen expert; if he is

fuels in a single

alt twenty-ning

victorious, he will be invited to other colleges, or those colleges

from the field.

will send their experts to him. Americans and Englishmen often

erest I several

join one or another of the five corps.

A year or two ago, the

oted to due

1

1

principal Heidelberg expert was a big Kentuckian; he was in-

on each of these

vited to the various universities, and left a wake of victory

nnot be fewer.

behind him all about Germany; but at last a little student in

There was formerly a studentin Iei-

there are seven

Strasburg defeated him.

delberg who had picked up somewhere and mastered a peculiar

four for each of

leulation from,

trick of cutting up under instead of cleaving down from above.

While the trick lasted he won in sixteen successive duels in his

nder-statement

y about 480 or

own university ; but by that time observers had discovered what

his charm was, and how to break it, therefore his championship

term 13 about

ceased.

ap the Neckat,

The rule which forbids social intercourse between members

ortrait-groups

of different corps is strict.

In the duelling house, in the parks,

0 photography)

on the street, and anywhere and everywhere that students go,

a0k to forty of

pand across 13

! They have to borrow the arms because they could not get them else-

¢ these pictures

where or otherwise. As I understand it, the public authorities, all over

j‘/

ds: there Were

Germany, allow the #iVe corps to keep swords, but do not allow them to .

tht signifca”

wse them. This law is rigid ; it is only the execution of it that is lax,

28

A TRAMP ABROAD.

caps of a colour group themselves together.

If all the tables in

a public garden were crowded but one, and that one had two

red-cap students at it and ten vacant places, the yellow caps, the

blue caps, the white caps, and the green caps, seeking seats,

would go by that table and not seem to see it, nor seem to be

aware that there was such a table in the grounds.

The student

by whose courtesy we had been enabled to visit the duelling

o MK

He introduced us

fru 8

§

g

place wore the white cap—Prussian Corps.

1o 1t I

to many white caps, but to none of another colour.

The corps

Since 10

etiquette extended even to us, who were strangers, and required

fafsare 16

iy U

us to group with the white corps only, and speak only with the

et o

white corps, while we were their guests, and keep aloof from

14l

fhe

caps of the other colours.

Once I wished to examine some of

in Dan

the swords, but an American student said, ¢ It would not be quite

for fifee

polite; these now in the windows all have red hilts or blue;

bof f

they will bring in some with white hilts presently, and those you

3 cannot

can handle freely.’

When a sword was broken in the first duel,

I wanted a piece of it; but its hilt was the wrong colour, so it

svougbt 0

10 I

was considered best and politest to await a properer season. It

TeCIt

was brought to me after the room was cleared.

The length of

ougae

these swords is about three feet, and they are quite heavy. One’s

(L

disposition to cheer, during the course of the duels or at their

i

close, was naturally strong, but corps etiquette forbade any de-

Bt

{18 time

monstrations of this sort.

However brilliant a contest or a

{he

e

ey outh

victory might be, no sign or sound betrayed that anyone was

t'f:eFrer.ciA.

moved. A dignified gravity and repression were maintained at

all times.

it betanse long

When the duclling was finished and we were ready to go,

\'faled fo meth

s

the gentlemen of the Prussian Corps to whom we had been

\kns as are

introduced took off their caps in the courteous German way, and

o would

]

I

G

i

ot wai

also shook hands; their brethren of the same order took off

their caps and bowed, but without shaking hands; the gentlemen

sy

of the other corps treated us just as they would have treated

@lm, g

white caps—they fell apart, apparently unconsciously, and left

e

us an unobstructed pathway, but did not seem to see us or know

il

we were there.

If we had gone thither the following week as

aq

ol

guests of another corps, the white caps, without meaning any

19 4 o

offence, would have observed the etiquette of their order, and

d

evert

ignored our presence.!

h;ir e

iy

U6 irey by

! How strangely are comedy and tragedy blended in this life! I

b b

had not been home a full half-hour after witnessing those playful sham-

duels, when circumstances made it necessary for me to get ready im-

ot

mediately to assist personally at a real one—a duel with no effeminate

o

(tinth It

limitations in the matter of results, but a battle to the death. An

Al

I“‘ W gy

A TRAMP ABROAD.

29

£ ol g,

bl

n

thﬂt 0np

€ Yelloy

lad g

Capg

) {he

) o

ed\lnrr q

€ats,

Dor g

CIIAPTER VIIL

m

0 )

6 sty

Slden

TIIE GREAT FRENCH DUEL.

191

t dugllpy

troduge

fucn as the modern French duel is ridiculed by certain smart

L0ur,

T]e Cormg

people, it is in reality one of the most .dangerous institutions of

J€rs, ang Tequie]

our day. Since it is always fought in the open air, the comba-

4% only yigh

M. Paul de Cassagnac, the

the

tants are nearly sure to catch cold.

SEED aloof from

most inveterate of the French duellists, has suffered so often in

EXaLling sopg of

ould

this way that he is at last a confirmed invalid; and the best

10t be quit

physician in Paris has expressed the opinion that if he goes on

duelling for fifteen or twenty years more—unless he forms the

hilts gp blue;

at

1

108¢ you

habit of fighting in a comfortable room where damps and

i the

firt gl

draughts cannot intrude—he will eventually endanger his life.

tong colour, o i

This ought to moderate the talk of those people who are so

erer season, [t

stubborn in maintaining that the French duel is the most health-

The Jength of

giving of recreations because of the open-air exercise it affords.

to heavy, Onels

And it ought also to moderate that foolish talk about French

duels or at their

duellists and socialist-hated monarchs being the only people who

are immortal.

forbade any de-

& contest or a

But it is time to get at my subject.

As soon as I heard of

hat anyone was

the late fiery outbreak between M. Gambetta and M. Fourtou in

16 maintained af

the French Assembly, I knew that trouble must follow. I knew

it because a long personal friendship with M. Gambetta had re-

ere ready to go,

vealed to me the desperate and implacable nature of the man.

Vast as are his physical proportions, I knew that the thirst for

n we had been

erman way, and

revenge would penetrate to the remotest frontiers of his person.

T did not wait for him to call on me, but went at once to him.

order took off

. the gentlemen

As T expected, I found the brave fellow steeped in a profound

French calm. I say French calm, because French calmness and

d have treated

English calmness have points of difference. e was moving

ousy, and loft

swittly back and forth among the débris of his furniture, now

see s or know

and then staving chance fragments of it across the room with his

Jowing week a3

foot; grinding a constant grist of curses through his set teeth ;

t meaning 41y

and halting every little while to deposit another handful of his

\eir order, 42

hair on the pile which he had been building of it on the table.

He threw his arms around my neck, bent me over his stomach

to his breast, kissed me on both cheeks, hugged me four or five

in this Life! 1

ol S5

account of in the next chapter will show the reader that duels between

to geb ready 10

boys for fun and duels between men in earnest are very different

o efeminate

aﬁairs..

the death.

A TRAMP ABROAD.

or 10

times, and then placed me in his own arm-chair.

As soon as 1

(il f

‘B‘OOd‘ 60 ¢

had got well again, we began business at once.

o]t 800

tﬂ

I said I supposed he would wish me to act as his second, and

Jab v

he said, ¢ Of course.’

I said I must be allowed to act under a

o, ¥

{

] had 2

French name, so that I might be shielded from obloquy in my

Oewﬂ

country, in case of fatal results.

He winced here, probably at

Jus

el

the suggestion that duelling was not regarded with respect in

bttt

America.

This ac-

1ﬂﬂtﬁd

e

inthe

However, he agreed to my requirement.

counts for the fact that in all the newspaper reports M. Gam-

PREI

Jkea the

betta’s second was apparently a Frenchman.

First, we drew up my principal’s will.

I insisted upon this,

|

# occurte

y Way

and stuck to my point. I said I had never heard of a man in his

E

Al

e

i

£

right mind going out to fight a duel without first making his will.

He gaid he had never heard of a man in his right mind doing

Babit was!

P

1l

f

anything of the kind. When he had finished the will, he wished

to proceed to a choice of his ‘last words.

He wanted to know

it

Y TRVOL

how the following words, as a dying exclamation, struck me :—

mﬁi’ SATCASHICAL

‘I die for my God, for my country, for freedom of speech,

T dlvaps e

for progress, and the universal brotherhood of man !’

as 10 percep

I objected that this would require too lingering a death ; it

vhen {h

was a good speech for a consumptive, but not suited to the exi-

fol

I

gencies of the field of honour.

We wrangled over a good many

ith the 1dea

0

ante-mortem outbursts, but I finally got him to cut his obituary

down to this, which he copied into his memorandum book, pur-

eelne on act

posing to get it by heart :—

[

i

T

{

‘I DIE THAT FRANCE MAY LIVE.

Vi1

would be oo

I said that this remark seemed to lack relevancy; but he said

cven bad o

relevancy was a matter of no consequence in last words—what

His con

mk

you wanted was thrill.

0

I Wi

The next thing in order was the choice of weapons. My

0k

|

0

principal said he was not feeling well, and would leave that

e vJ.'eﬂ il

and the other details of the proposed mecting to me. There-

i

fore I wrote the following note and carried it to M. Fourtou’s

friend :—

4

¢ Sir,—M. Gambetta accepts M. Fourtou’s challenge, and

f

0]

0 pig

authorises me to propose Plessis-Piquet as the place of meeting;

Jynl;ume

to-morrow morning at daybreak as the time; and axes as the

1 and Vel

emgtep, |

weapons.

I am, sir, with great respect,

Mark TwaIN.’

M. Fourtow’s friend read this note, and shuddered.

Then

0 e g

I

Josty

Q

43

he turned to me, and said, with a suggestion of severity in his

Stamy (

tone—

Of they,

Lagke

Verg o

‘ Have you considered, sir, what would be the inevitable re-

b

b lly

th g

sult of such a meeting as this?’

i Shggeq A

A TRAMP ABROAD.

81

i, A Ong |

¢Well, for instance, what would it be?’

-

8§ hig S0, gy

¢ Bloodshed !’

¢ That’s about- the size of it,” I said.

¢ Now, if it is a fair

\

™ to act “Hder

)

Oy iy

question, what was your side proposing to shed ?’

I had him there.

He saw he had made a blunder, so he

1%, by

Wit ey

p‘CCE I

hastened to explain it away.

He said he had spoken jestingly.

ement, T

his g,

Then he added that he and his principal would enjoy axes, and

indeed prefer them, but such weapons were barred by the French

TEports 1, G,

code, and so I must change my proposal.

¢

I walked the floor, turning the thing over in my mind, and

1

]

o upon this

{

Uofa map fy his

finally it occurred to me that Gatling guns at fifteen paces would

b1

maki

be a likely way to get a verdict on the field of honour.

So I

HaXing

his i)l

framed this idea into a proposition.

i

& il

nind doing

But it was not accepted. The code was in the way again.

I, b wighe

I proposed rifles; then double-barrelled shot-guns; then Colt’s

¢ Wanted t) kngy

+

&

.

=

10k me:—

navy revolvers.

These being all rejected, I reflected a while,

and sarcastically suzgested brick-bats at three-quarters of a mile.

ojrx} of speech,

I always hate to fool away a humorous thing on a person who

has no perception of humour; and it filled me with bitterness

4 death it

when this man went soberly away to submit the last proposition

l

I

f

ed to the exi-

to his principal.

e & good many

He came back presently and said his principal was charmed

0t his obituary

with the idea of brick-bats at three-quarters of a mile, but must

dumn book, pur-

decline on account of the danger to disinterested parties passing

between.

Then I said—

)

‘Well, I am at the end of my string now.

Perhaps you

would be good enough to suggest a weapon ?

Perhaps you have

ey but hesaid

even had one in your mind all the time ?’

Jast words—what

His countenance brightened, and he said with alacrity—

¢ Oh, without doubt, monsieur !’

f weapons, My

So he fell to hunting in his pockets—pocket after pocket, and

ould leave that

he had plenty of them—muttering all the while, ¢ Now, what

to me, There-

could I have done with them ?’

o )L, Fourtou's

At last he was successful.

He fished out of his vest pocket

a couple of little things which I carried to the light and ascer-

tained to be pistois.

They were single-barrelled and silver-

challenge, and

vce of meeting;

mounted, and very dainty and pretty.

I was not able to speak

nd axes as the

for emotion.

I silently hung one of them on my watch-chain,

and returned the other.

My companion in crime now unrolled

ok Twany,

ddered. Then

a postage-stamp containing several cartridges, and gave me one

of them.

I asked if he meant to signify by this that our men

severity in 13

were to be allowed but one shot apiece.

He replied that the

French code permitted no more.

I then begged him to go on

3 inevitable 18

and suggest a distance, for my mind was growing weak and con-

32

A TRAMP ABROAD.

fused under the strain which had been put upon it.

He named

[l po 8% |

I raid—

sixty-five yards.

I nearly lost my patience.

i)

il &

¢ Sixty-five yards, with these instruments?

Squirt-guns

he hour—¥

would be deadlier at fifty. Consider, my friend, you and I are

]y f0-100

banded together to destroy life, not make it eternal.’

i ‘ee:.ueu! e

But with all my persuasions, all my arguments, I was only

il

sty

able to get him to reduce the distance to thirty-five yards; and

g

even this concession he made with reluctance, and said with a

i

sigh—

|

) fime

¢TI wash my hands of this slaughter ; on your head be it.’

It

There was nothing for me but to go home to my old lion-

1 should ¢

heart and tell my humiliating story.

When I entered, M. Gam-

e

a

betta was laying his last lock of hair upon the altar.

e sprang

towards me, exclaiming—

[t dow‘ns!

3

i

“You have made the fatal arrangements—I see it in your

I

h:wg {

|

ho!

eye!l’

‘T have.

2

t'ni h?m

fo half

Il

i

His face paled a trifle, and he leaned upon the table for sup-

Ay

POrT.

He breathed thick and heavily for a moment or two, so

TICE

tumultuous were his feelings ; then he hoarsely whispered—

26 0f

¢ The weapon, the weapon !

Quick ! what is the weapon ?’

‘Th

‘This!’ and I displayed that silver-mounted thing.

He

fome f0 3 e

cast but one glance at it, then swooned ponderously to the floor.

{he bou

When he came to, he said mournfully—

el

¢ The unnatural calm to which I have subjected myself has

oon

told upon my nerves. But away with weakness! I will confront

AL aareeanie

my fate like a man and a Frenchman.’

proceed tothe

He rose to his feet, and assumed an attitude which for sub-

Tt

limity has never been approached by man, and has seldom been

ment

is en[!ireﬁ‘

surpassed by statues.

Then he said, in his deep bass tones—

‘Behold, I am calm, I am ready, reveal to me the distance.’

them

I WLLL Dg engy

¢ Thirty-five yards.” .

.

Ty

I could not lift him up, of course; but I rolled him over, and

e

£l

poured water down his back.

IIe presently came to, and said—

]

¢ Thirty-five yards—without a rest?

But why ask?

Since

J 0l ]

i

1] g

o

murder was that man’s intention, why should he palter with small

details ?

But mark you one thing

in my fall the world shall

Ion, Ty

Jou ep ”elahq

see how the chivalry of France meets death.’

64

After a long silence he a

sk

SK

ed—

)

1§ gl

¢ Was nothing said about that man’s family standing up with

b aigy I

him, as an offset to my bulk?

But no matter ; I would not

103 [1‘)‘

fo 07

Cog ()f “11"

stoop to make such a suggestion; if he is not noble enough to

haw

suggest it himself, he is welcome to this advantage, which no

"o

h ugly

honourable man would take.’

W Crugdy all

Sl

Ien

d]

le]

A TRAMP ABROAD.

33

[ wig

W

IIe now sank into a sort of stupor ot reflection, which lasted

1

Uizt 5

1l

some minutes; after which he broke silence with—

1 JOU ang

Ly

Tha)

]:

¢ The hour—what is the hour fixed for the collision ??

¢ Dawn, to-morrow.’

Mens,

[ Wag o

0

He seemed greatly surprised, and immediately said—

J-five Jads; qnq

at such an hour.’

‘Insanity ! I never heard of such a thing.

Nobody is abroad

A sid iy

¢That is the reason I named it.

Do you mean to say you

It bead py

want an audience ? ’

10 1y ol Jigpe

‘It is no time to bandy words. I am astonished that M.

Ltered, M, Gap.

ltar, [

Fourtou should ever haveagreed to so strange an innovation.

e Sprang

Go at once and require a later hour.’

I ran downstairs, threw open the front door, and almost

| 8ee 1t n your

plunged into the arms of M. Fourtou’s second. He said—

‘I have the honour to say that my principal strenuously ob-

jects to the hour chosen

» and begs you will consent to change it

ho table for Sl

to half-past nine.’

IENs or o, o

‘Any courtesy, sir, which it is in our power to extend is at

Whispered—

he service of your excellent principal.

We agree to the pro-

the weapon

posed change of time.’

ted thing, He

‘I beg you to accept the thanks of my client’ Then he

Sl

sy

to the floor,

turned to a person behind him, and said, ‘You hear, M. Noir,

the hour is altered to half-past nine.

Whereupon M. Noir

bowed,.expressed his thanks, and went away.

My accomplice

cted myself has

continued—

| Twill confront

‘If agreeable to you, your chief surgeons and ours shall

which for sub-

proceed to the field in the same carriage, as is customary.’

has seldom been

‘It is entirely agreeable to me, and I am obliged to you for

mentioning the surgeons, for I am afraid I should not have

) bass tones—

thought of them.

How man

o the distance.

y shall T want? I suppose two or

three will be enough.’

‘ Two is the customary number for each party. I refer to

him over, and

“chief” surgeons; but considering the ex

»to, and said—

\ted positions occupied

by our cl

lents, it will be well and decorous that each of us appoins

v ask? Sinee

several consulting surgeons, from among the higl

1est in the pro-

aJter with small

fossion.

These will come in their own private carriages. Have

the world shal

you engaged a hearse ?’

‘ Bless my stupidity, I never thought of it! T will attend to

it right away. I must seem very ignorant to you; but you

nding up Wi

must try to overlook that, because I have never had any experi-

+ 1 woul ok

ence of such a swell duel as this before.

I have had a good deal

to do with duels on the P

oble enough ©

acific coast, but I sce now that they

taghy whih 2

were crude affairs. A hearse—sho ! we used to leave the elected

D

A TRAMP ABROAD.

34

J

e 108 bt

il

lying around loose;

and let anybody cord them up and cart them

piath 7

off that wanted to.

Have you anything further to suggest 2

e

ol an

the head undertakers shall ride together,

il v

¢ Nothing, except that

flis

as is usual.

The subordinat

es and mutes will go on foot, as is

s e

also usual.

I will see you at eight o’clock in the m

orning, and

I have the

The load

d

we will then arrange the order of the procession.

yitnessé

honour to bid you a good day.’

said, ¢ Very well; at what hour

il

I returned to my client, who

eatl

. Ve

is the engagement to begin?’

At th

his ¢

¢ Half-past nine.’

=

mseh‘@og

¢ Very good indeed.

Have you sent the fact to the ncws-

1

(18

apers?’

Sl

o and intimate friendship you can for

¢ Sir! If after our lon

te)

a moment deem me capable of so base

a treachery——

ﬂlh"fhe Eo‘[m

1

q

What words are these,

my dear friend? Have I

g DenI

¢ Tut, tut !

ArOWIn

wounded you?

Ah, forgive me; I am overloading you with

d

labour.

Therefore go on wit

h the other details, and drop this

Ot

The b

(€

ral

one from your list.

loody-minded Fourtou will be sure

Ol

to attend to it.

Or

I myself—yes, to make certain, I will drep

alistic friend, M. Noir.’

] now et

a note to my journ

fiat be Dad

¢ Oh, come to think, you may save

yourself the trouble; that

other second has informed M. Noir.’

earten him,

Seem,

‘H’m! I might have known it.

It is just like that Fourtou,

who always w

ants to make a display.’

mumber of

wlidity

At half-past nine in

the morning the procession approached

first came our

the field of Plessis-Piquet in the following order :

fs one.yed 2

myself; then a

fo me that

carriage—nobody in it but M. Gambetta and

chances )

carriage containing M. Fourt

ou and his second ; then a carriage

ho did not believe in God, and

containing two poet-orators w

from their breast-

0t bvs‘down

Th

these had MS. funeral orations projecting

pockets;

then a carriage containing the head surge

ons and their

ately

Sirete.

It

.

1t gy

cases of 1

nstruments; then eight private carriages containing con-

sulting surgeons;

then a hack containing a coroner; then the

[hidit

he head undertakers;

fu of s

two hearses; then a carriage containing t

1l

then a train of assistants and mutes on foot; and after these

10y

Iy co

came plodding through the fog a long procession of ¢

amp fol-

] i

out, and

lowers, p

olice, and citizens generally. It wasa noble turn-

Lbeartn

would have made a

fine display if we had had thinner weather.

I spoke several times to my

My i

There was no conversation.

he always

Ui deg

principal,

but I judge he was not aware of it, for

, e hip

referred to

his note-book and muttered absently, ‘I die that

Dol

France may live’

g,

)

ad gy

Arrived on the field, my fellov

v-second and I paced off the

This

7y iy

fl

thirty-five yards, and then drew lots for choice of position.

3 Jambmav‘

A TRAMP ABROAD.

85

D ang gy

t they

0 Slggest 1

latter was but an ornamental ceremony, for all choices were alike

all ride tgether

in such weather. These preliminaries being ended, I went to my

0

principal and asked him if he was ready. He spread himself out

‘tﬂ 00 foot

) 88 iy

Ig Lotting 41

to his full width, and said in a stern voice, ‘Ready! Let the

0

batteries be charged.’

L | laye ﬂle

The loading was done in the presence of duly constituted

I ot whyy louy

witnesses. We considered it best to perform this delicate service

with the assistance of a lantern, on account of the state of the

weather.

We now placed our men.

4o the neys.

At this point the police noticed that the public had massed

themselves together on the right and left of the field; they there-

fore begged a delay, while they should put these poor people in

=

hip )'c;u can for

a place of safety. The request was granted.

The police having ordered the two multitudes to take posi-

end) Have ]

tions behind the duellists, we were once more ready. The weather

ading you vith

growing still more opaque, it was agreed between myself and the

5, and drop fhis

other second that before giving the fatal signal we should each

ou will be sure

deliver a loud whoop to enable the combatants to ascertain each

ain, I'will drop

other’s whereabouts.

I now returned to my principal, and was distressed to observe

¢ trouble; that

that he had lost a good deal of his spirit.

I tried my best to

hearten him. I said, ‘Indeed, Sir, things are not as bad as they

e that Fourtou,

seem.

Considering the character of the weapons, the limited

number of shots allowed, the generous distance, the impenetrable

jon approached

solidity of the fog, and the added fact that one of the combatants

st came our

is one-eyed and the other cross-eyed and near-sighted, it seems

I

1

then 4

to me that this conflict need not necessarily be fatal.

There are

| t‘@n

a catiage

chances that both of you may survive.

Therefore cheer up; do

e in God, and

not be down-hearted.’

n thelr breast

This speech had so good an effect that my principal immedi-

oeons and thel

ately stretched forth his hand and said, ‘I am myself again ; give

Ecntaining con-

me the weapon.’

I laid it, all lonely and forlorn, in the centre of the vast soli-

ner; then the

1 undertakers;

tude of his palm.

e gazed at it and shuddered.

And still

nd after tllfse

mournfully contemplating it, he murmured, in a broken voice—

¢Alas! it is not death I dread, but mutilation.’

1 Of camp 10l

o tumn-out; &

-

I heartened him once more, and with such success that he

presently said, ¢Let the tragedy begin.

Stand at my back; do

ner Weataer:

| times f0 2

not desert me in this solemn hour, my friend.’

for he alvey®

I gave him my promise.

I now assisted him to point his

pistol towards the spot where I judged his adversary to be stand-

; (] die hat

ing, and cautioned him to listen well and further guide himself

by my fellow-second’s whoop.

Then I propped myself against

aced of e

Thi

¢+ M. Gambetta’s back, and raised a rousing ¢ Whoop-ee !’

D2

Tbis

Posiﬁ()l]-

A TRAMP ABROAD.

1h

are 10

was answered from out the far distances of the fog, md I immao-

Al

!

7

diately shouted—

] 0]

ik

¢ One,—two,—three,—fire !’

Frnt

el

wo little sounds like spit/ spit! broke upon my ear, and

e

o 0008 561l

in the same instant I was crushed to the earth under a mountain

of flesh.

Bruised as I was, I was still able to catch a faint accent

from above, to this effect—

‘I die for. . .for. . .perdition take it, what ¢s it I die for?

. « .oh, yes,—FrancE! I die that France may live!’

The surgeons swarmed around with their probes in their

(5 dn,', e [

hands, and applied their microscopes to the whole area of NI

(fl‘

Kin

Gambetta’s person, with the happy result of finding nothing in

[ills

It

the nature of a wound. Then a scene ensued which was in every

e

way gratifying and inspiriting.

(jerman 0%

The two gladmtors feil upon each other’s necks, with floods

fillowed aft

of proud and happy tears; that other second embraced me; the

The bel

surgeons, the orators, the undertakers, the police, everybody em-

JUSL

or

braced, everybody congratulated, everybody cried, and the whole

as

atmosplere was filled with praise and with joy unspeakable.

curtain wa

It seemed to me then that I would rather be a hero ot a

e promp

French duel than a crowned and sceptred monarch.

vards all

When the commotion had somewhat subsided, the body of

remed. A

surgeons held a consultation, and after a good deal of debate

Shakespenria

decided that with proper care and nursing there was reason to

fhat we shor

believe that I should survive my injuries

My internal hurts

oy were f

were deemed the most serious, since it was apparent that a broken

that

rib had penetrated my left lung, and that many of my organs

had been pressed out so far to one side or the other of where

Germany, §

Anothe

they belonged, that it was doubtful if they would ever learn

to perrorm their functions in such remote and unqccus*omed

‘Omfz'w 15

localities.

They then set my arm in two places, pulled my right

ing and gl

I was

n

b bl

hip into its socket again, and re-elevated my nose.

object of great interest, and even admiration ; and many sincere

stoed up iy

and warm-hearted persons had themselves introduced to me, and

L]y g

said they were proud to know the only man who had been hurt

i I for

in a French duel in forty years

Sy by

I was placed in an ambulance at the very head of the pro-

sy ot uf

cession ; and thus with gratifying éelat I was marched into Paris,

QLeI]ce filld [y

the most conspicuous figure in that great spectacle, and deposited

‘””Fﬂﬂmem

at the hospital

1§ Compe

The Cross of the Tegion of Honcur has been conferred upon

la Icoulah

st

me.

However, few escape that distinction.

e Con=

gy gy

Such is the true version of the most memorable pri

B

flict of the age.

e gng

A TRAMP ABROAD.

'

37

B |

Iy

I have no complaints to make against any one. I acted for

myself, and I can stand the consequences.

Without boasting, I

think I may say I am not afraid to stand before a modern

Ry gy 1l

French duellist, but as long as I keep in my right mind I will

lerg Moyt

ain

never consent to stand behind one again,

03 faing acey

is

(]

!ig L )

CHAPTER IX.

Yobes in gy

e ara of )

OxE day we took the train and went down to Mannheim to sce

g Nothing i

It was a mistake.

¢ King Lear’ played in German.

We sat in 9

VS i every

our seats three whole hours, and never understood anything but

the thunder and lightning ; and even that was reversed to suit

, With floods

German ideas, for the thunder came first an

the lightning

raced me; the

followed after.

everyhody en-

The behaviour of the audience was perfect.

There were no.

ind &“1e Whole

1

rustlings, or whisperings, or other little disturbances; each act

|

Ie,

was listened to in silence, and the applauding was done after the_f

8 hero of g

curtain was down. The doors opened at half-past four, the play

began promptly at half-past five, and within two minutes after-

, the body of

wards all who were coming were in their seats, and quiet

al of debate

reigned.

A German gentleman in the train had said that a

Was I

01 {0

Shakespearian play was an appreciated treat in Germany, and

nternal hurts

that we should find the house filled.

It was true; all the six™

hat

At

Al

2 broken

tiers were filled, and remained so to the end—which suggested !

\

A3

3

that it is not only balcony people who like Shakespeare in

of my oz

,

er of whe

1%

Germany, but those of the pit and the gallery too.

o

[

Another time, we went to Mannheim and attended a shivaree

ld ever lean

—otherwise an opera

the one called ¢ Lohengrin.’

The bang-

maccustomed

bt

ing and slamming and booming and crashing were something

lled wy

beyond belief.

o, 1 was an

The racking and pitiless pain of it remains

stored up in my memory alongside the memory of the time that

many sincere

to me, and

1 had my teeth fixed.

There-were circumstances which made it

d been huzt

necessary for me to stay through the four hours to the end, and

I stayed; but the recollection of that long, dragging, relentless

of

season of suffering is indestructible.

To have to endure it in

silence, and sitting still, made it all the harder.

I was in a railed

A into P

compartment with eight or ten strangers, of the two sexes, and

nd depusite‘

this compelled repression; yet at times the pain was so exquisite

that I could hardly keep the tears back. At those times, as the~

oforred UpoY

howlings and wailings and shriekings of the singers, and the

S

@

ragings and roarings and explosions of the vast orchestra, ros

priv

4t 001

higher and higher, and wilder and wilder, and fiercer an

fel)

[ oo O

88

A TRAMP ABROAD.

el ]

fiercer, I could have cried if I had been alone.

Those strangers

et

1 si]

would not have been surprised to see a man do such a thing who

acrimoniUUS ;

was being gradually skinned, but they would have marvelled at

it here, and made remarks about it no doubt, whereas there was

orge0t® P

ile {hird a0k

nothing in the present case which was an advantage over being

[0

AL

skinned. There was a wait of half an hour at the end of the

first act, and I could have gone out and rested during that time,

oul WS

et

but I could not trust myself to do it, for I felt that I should

desert and stay out.

There was another wait of half an hour

i é’one,bez

i deep 28

towards nine o’clock, but I had gone through so much by that

time that I had no spirit left, and so had no desire but to be let

gy B

alone.

pated 07

et 1

I do not wish to suggest that the rest of the people there were

ol

like me, for indeed they were not. Whether it was that they

naturally liked that noise, or whether it was that they had learned

T have

e

Je 0 10

to like it by getting used to it, I did not at that time know; but

they did like it,—this was plain enough.

While it was going

moderate

restlt £

on they sat and looked as rapt and grateful as cats do when one

strokes their backs; and whenever the curtain fell they rose to

too by-an

their feet, in one solid mighty multitude, and the air was snowed

omn gpes

{hgother o

thick with waving handkerchiefs, and hurricanes of applause

swept the place.

This was not comprehensible to me.

Of course

in order to

there were many people there who were not under compulsion

ally hun

to stay ; yet the tiers were as full at the close as they had been

peighbous

at the beginning.

This showed that the people liked it.

So’z

The finenal

In the matter of costumes

A gt

It was a curious sort of a play.

Feventeen §

and scenery it was fine and showy enough; but there was not

much action.

That is to say, there was not much really done,

opern, T

it was only talked about; and always violently. It waswhat one

the, tho

might call a narrative play. Everybody had a narrative and a

distant st

grievance, and none were reasonable about it, but all in an

afer thy.

There was little of that sort

offensive and ungovernable state.

tey crop

of customary thing where the tenor and the soprano stand down

confidenegs

by the footlights, warbling, with blended voices, and keep hold-

fhe elder I

ing out their arms towards each other and drawing them back

At o

and spreading both hands over first one breast and then the

ad bo g

other with a shake and a pressure—no, it was every rioter for

tridmtly

himself and no blending.

Each sang his indictive narrative in

gl e

turn, accompanied by the whole orchestra of sixty instruments ;

WS 1t

and when this had continued for some time, and one was hoping

dlety e

that they might come to an understanding and modify the noise,

iy, g

a great chorus composed entirely of maniacs would suddenly

£ 1o

break forth, and then during two minutes, and sometimes three,

ih fhg

1 lived over again all that I had suffered the time the orphan

asylum burned down.

taady e}é

89

A TRAMP ABROAD.

Th()ﬂe §

Bangey

th gy

We only had one brief little season of heaven and heaven’s

Ing “yh

gweet ecstasy and peace during all this long and diligent and

® Daryglyg o

This was while a

168 fhepg Wa

acrimonious reproduction of the other place.

gorgeous procession of people marched around and around, in

® v e

the third act, and sang the Wedding Chorus.

To my untutored

the end op ;

almost divine music.

Nny

tha

b

ear that was music

While my seared

e

soul was steeped in the healing balm of those gracious sounds,

laf | hy ld

shoy

it seemed to me that I could almost re-suffer the torments which

Al an hopy

had gone before, in order to be so healed again.

There is where

much by that

the deep ingenuity of the operatic idea is betrayed. It deals so

© 00t fo be e

largely in pain that its scattered delights are prodigiously aug-

mented by the contrasts.

A pretty air in an opera is prettier

0ple therg ey

there than it could be anywhere else, I suppose, just as an honest

WS that they

man in politics shines more than he would elsewhere.

167 had leame]

I have since found out that there is nothing the Germans

They like it, not in a mild and

e know; by

like so much as an opera.

e 1t wag going

moderate way, but with their whole hearts.

This is a legitimate

5 0o when gng

result of habit and education.

Our nation will like the opera,

I they ros to

too, by-and-by, no doubt.

One in fifty of those who attend

iras snowed

our operas likes it already, perhaps, but I think a good many of

the other forty-nine go in order to learn to like it, and the rest

of applause

The latter

e, Of course

in order to be able to talk knowingly about it.

T compulsion

usually hum the airs while they are being sung, so that their

hey bad been

neighbours may perceive that they have been to operas before.

elit, Sob

The funerals of these do not occur often enough.

rof costmes

A gentle, old-maidish person and a sweet young girl of

there was not

seventeen sat right in front of us that night at the Mannheim

ch really done,

opera. These people talked between the acts, and I understood

them, though I understood nothing that was uttered on the

£ was what one

mitive and &

distant stage. At first they were guarded in their talk, but

but all in an

after they had heard my agent and me conversing in Engli

sh

o of that sorb

they dropped their reserve, and I picked up many of their little

y stand down

confidences ; no, I mean many of ker little confidences—meaning

the elder party—for the young girl only listened, and gave

d kegp hold-

How pretty she was,

¢ them back

assenting nods, but never said a word.

Bust

and how sweet she was!

I wished she would speak.

;nd then the

evidently she was absorbed in her own thoughts, her ow

n young-

7 Tioter fgr

parrative 10

girl dreams, and found a dearer pleasure in silence. But she

was not dreaming sleepy dreams—no, she was awake, alive,

instruments;

alert; she could not sit still a moment.

She was an enchanting

; was hopig

study. Her gown was of a soft white silky stuff that clung to

fy the 00186y

her round young figure like a fish’s skin, and it was rippled over

id suddenly

with the gracefullest little fringy films of lace; she had deep,

times thre

tender eyes, with long, curved lashes; and she had peachy

, the orpla?

40

A TRAMNP ABDROAD.

Jke

Il

cheeks, and a dimpled chin, and such a dear little dewy rosebud

[

fad 1

1 bt

of a mouth ; and she was so dove-like, so pure, and so gracious

12

gf €

50 sweet and bewitching.

For long hours I did mi

ghtily wish

0 ".hlte 0

$byno il

l

she would speak. And at last she did ; the red lips parted, and

hitt

ot

out leaped her thought, and with such a guil

At

eﬂCOm

eless and pretty

enthusiasm too: ¢Auntie, I just Znow I've got five hundred

bt

i

7% (ne

fleas on me !’

I

ofhers

thi

fondl

"‘

That was probably over the average. Yes, it must have been

yerenot mere

v

very much over the average.

The average at that time in the

musie

JUSLGy

0

from £

Grand Duchy of Baden was forty-five to a young person (when

gl

il

1‘."11

:123

“:I

i

alone), according to the official estimate of tl

he Home Secretary

any

an W

for that year; the average for older people was shifty and inde-

terminable, for whenever a wholesome young girl came into the

ke

o0 gy

th

1t

presence of her elders she immediately lowered their average and

il

raised her own.

She became a sort of contribution-box.

This

‘B

dear young thing in the theatre had been sitting there uncon-

the fo

atha

0

sciously taking up a collection. Many a skinny old being in our

(Ui

neighbourhood was the happier and the restfuller for her coming.

1011

K

T

In that large audience, that night, there were eight very con-

spicuous people.

These were ladies who had their hats or bon-

i

nets on. What a blessed thing it would be if a lady could make

elarge 0D

n

\i

herself conspicuous in our theatres by wearing her hat! It is

ad been |

d!

not usual in Furope to allow ladies and gentlemen to take bon-

Tlee was anof

nets, hats, overcoats, canes, or umbrellas into the auditorium, but

{he personof

;

in Mannheim this rule was not enforced because the audiences

d

S

0]

were largely made up of people from a distance, and among

i

il

fhet teno’

these were always a few timid ladies who were afraid that if they

had to go into an ante-room to get their things when the play

shrie

K

s

ofaly

was over, they would miss their train. But the great mass of those

That i

who came a distance always ran the risk and took the chances,

drady )

preferring the loss of the train to a breach of good manners and

I

16 8

the discomfort of being unpleasantly conspicuous during a stretch

\{

of three or four hours.

it

Ul

ld she

%

which wa;

o

.

CHAPTER X.

)

CUJfO solg

6 a0

Is‘nidll

l?:qdji‘llr

TnrEE or four hours! Thatis a long time to sit in ore place,

I gy g

whether one be conspicuous or not, yet some of Wagner’s operas

bang along for six whole hours on a stretch !

%

and s lingg

But the people sit

there and enjoy it all, and wish it w

ould last longer.

A German

AL gy

lady in Munich told me that a

\’Ery Extravgg

person could not like Wagner's

IR

music at first, but must go through the deliberate process of

Wy

A TRAMP ABROAD.

41

dex ¥ 1

thug

0 Sacioyg

tearning to like it—then he would have his sure reward; for

d

chtlly Wi

when he had learned to like it he would hunger for it and never

be able to get enough of it.

She said that six hours of Wagner

1

18 panteq 1

S A1

d Prett

v

was by no means too much.

She said that this composer had

b fiy

¢ hugqg

made a complete revolution in music, and was burying the old

masters one by one. And she said that Wagner’s operas differed

my

—

from all others in one notable respect, and that was that they

dag

MUt Bayg by

time iy ¢

lie

were not merely spotted with music here and there, but were all

music, from the first strain to the last.

This surprised me.

I

3 erson (g

0me

0

§

eeretary

said I had attended one of his insurrections, and found hardly

She said ¢ Lohen-

1 and nge.

any music in it except the Wedding Chorus.

- Came

grin’ was noisier than Wagner’s other operas, but that if I would

0 the

v

ir.}t

keep on going to see it I should find by-and-by that it was all

(2

08 and

music, and therefore would then enjoy it.

I could have said,

1-00g, T

¢ But would you advise a person to deliberately practise having

' tl}erp u}xcon:

the toothache in the pit of his stomach for a couple of years in

i

I

order that he might then come to enjoy it?> But I reserved that

her ‘comir‘g.

remark,

It very (‘0!11

LI'J}

This lady was full of the praises of the head-tenor who had

1as or bon-

performed in a Wagner opera the night before, and went on to

dy conld make

enlarge upon his old and prodigious fame, and how many honours

er hat! Tt

:

had been lavished upon him by the princely houses of Germany.

to take bon-

Here was another surprise.

I had attended that very opera, in

uditorium, but

the person of my agent, and had made close and accurate obser-

{he andiences

vations.

So I said :

e, and among

¢ Why, madam, my experience warrants me in stating that

=

)

=

hat if they

that tenor’s voice is not a voice at all, but only a shrick—the

when the play

shriek of a hyena.’

a6 mass of those

‘That is very true,” she said; ‘he cannot sing now; it is

the chances

already many years that he has lost his voice, but in other times

| manmers

dil

m

0

he sang, yes, divinely !

So whenever he comes, now, you shall

Iring a strefch

see, yes, that the theatre will not hold the people.

Jawohl be:

Gott ! his voice is wunderschin in that past time.’

I said she was discovering to me a kindly trait in the Germans

which was worth emulating.

I said that over the water we were

not quite so generous; that with us, when a singer had lost his

voice and a jumper had lost his legs, these parties ceased to draw.

I said I had been to the opera in Hanover once, and in Mann-

1 one place

heim once, and in Munich (through my authorised agent) once,

‘ guerys opems

and this large experience had nearly persuaded me that the Ger-

mans preferred singers who couldn’t sing. This was not such a

e people sif

A German

very extravagant speech either, for that burly Mannheim tenor’s

praises had been the talk of all Heidelberg for a week before his

e Wagner

performance took place, yet his voice was like the distressing

to provess ¢

42

A TRAMP ABROAD.

fhel

hed

ol

17

noise which a nail makes when you screech it across a window-

18 4t

mﬂ“

pane. I said so to Heidelberg friends the next day, and they

nite

oty @

said, in the calmest and simplest way, that that was very true,

[u

o of 8¢

but that in earlier times his voice had been wonderfully fine.

0

i

endﬂ““

And the tenor in Hanover was just another example of this sort.

ot geate

fod

The English-speaking German gentleman who went with me to

the opera there was brimming with enthusiasm over that tenor.

Then 188

sene S

ited

He said—

¢ Ach Gott! a great man!

You shall see him,

He is so

f st ou o f

o b 10

celebrate in all Germany ; and he has a pension, yes, from the

i the2ccom)

Government. He not obliged to sing now, only twice every

ot of fhe 1

’

year; but if he not sing twice each year they take him his

dppd o 28

pension away.’

hma‘i;,‘gut ¥

Very well, we went. When the renowned old tenor appeared,

e, Bren

I got a nudge and an excited whisper—

¢Now you see him !’

o, Du

{lo curtain W

But the ¢ celebrate’ was an astonishing disappointment to me.

If he had been behind a screen I should have supposed they were

orchestra p}'n_\‘t

fime,then t2¢]

performing a surgical operation on him.

I looked at my friend.

T'o my great surprise he seemed intoxicated with pleasure, his

peverteach f

eyes were dancing with eager delight.

‘When the curtain at last

never seen th

ore, and

fell, he burst into the stormiest applause, and kept it up—as did

the whole house—until the afflictive tenor had come three times

Wallek's

Imsat o

before the curtain to make his bow. While the glowing enthusiast

was swabbing the perspiration from his face, I said—

strenming i,

up, ad insan

¢I don’t mean the least harm, but really, now, do you think

he can sing?’

—ohody va

¢ Him !

No!

Gotit im Himmel, aber, how he has been able

with a seet £

ity source,

to sing twenty-five years ago !’

[Then pensively.]

¢ 4eh, no,

now he not sing any more, he only cry.

‘When he think he

s fifeen

olders o co

sing, now, he not sing at all, no, he only make like a cat which

is unwell.

and plersnf

Where and how did we get the idea that the Germans are a

s came

stolid, phlegmatic race ? In truth, they are widely removed from

COLES Wait I

that. They are warm-hearted, emotional, impulsive, enthusiastic,

IS o] T

[y the

their tears come at the mildest touch, and it is not hard to move

them to laughter.

They are the very children of impulse.

We

bnied the i

are cold and self-contained, compared with the Germans.

el et

They

hug and kiss and cry and shout and dance and sing ; and where

it ey }

we use one loving, petting expression, they pour out a score.

1pecti of

Their language is full of endearing diminutives; nothing that they

s why ¢

love escapes the application of a petting diminutive—neither the

Vuags ay

B,

house, nor the dog, nor the horse, nor the grandmother, nor any

.

other creature, animate or inanimate.

We h&d ]

A TRAMP ABROAD.

43

A0t an

indow.

]ext d{ly

In the theatres at Hanover, Hamburg, and Mannheim, they

lat

and

they

had a wise custom. The moment the curtain went up, the lights

Vs vey

The audience sat in the

Vondery)

in the body of the house went down.

cool gloom of a deep twilight, which greatly enhanced the glow-

mple f )3

S sopt

ing splendours of the stage.

It saved gas, too, and people were

0 Weng Wi

th e

not sweated to death.

L0ver fh

fengy,

When I saw ‘King Lear’ played, nobody was allowed to see

a scene shifted ; if there was nothing to be done but slide a

: hfm' He fs %

forest out of the way and expose a temple beyond, one did not

0, Y25, fron

see that forest split itself in the middle and go shrieking away,

iy

ice every

with the accompanying disenchanting spectacle of the hands and

6 take hipy lis

heels of the impelling impulse—no, the curtain was always

dropped for an instant—one heard not the least movement be-

dtenor appeaneg

hind it—but when it went up, the next instant, the forest was

gone.

Even when the stage was being entirely re-set, one heard

no noise. During the whole time that ¢ King Lear’ was playing,

The

pointment t

the curtain was never down two minutes at any one time.

ppose they e

orchestra played until the curtain was ready to go up for the first

time, then they departed for the evening. Where the stage-waits

el at my frien],

I had

ith pleasure, bis

never reach two minutes, there is no occasion for music.

Io curtain at Jgs

never seen this two-minute business between acts but once

6 16 up—as did

before, and that was when the ¢Shaughran’ was played at

ome three times

Wallack’s.

I was at a concert in Munich one night, the people were

owing enthusiag

lid—

streaming in, the clock-hand pointed to seven, the music struck

up, and instantly all movement in the body of the house ceased

oW, do you think

—nobody was standing, or walking up the aisles, or fumbling

e has been able

with a seat, the stream of incomers had suddenly dried up at

its source.

I listened undisturbed to a piece of music that

ely.] Aoy,

hen he think be

was fifteen minutes long—always expecting some tardy ticket-

Jike 4 cat which

holders to come crowding past my knees, and being continuously

and pleasantly disappointed—but when the last note was struck,

You see, they had made those late

(Germans are 3

here came the stream again.

comers wait in the comfortable waiting-parlour from the time the

g removed {rom

music had begun until it was ended.

Te, enthusiasti

Tt was the first time I had ever seen this sort of criminals

of hard to mové

denied the privilege of destroying the comfort of a house full of

impulse e

their betters.

Some of these were pretty fine birds, but no

ermans.

e

matter, they had to tarry outside in the long parlour under the

ne; and where

inspection of a double rank of liveried footmen and waiting-

1 out & S

maids who supported the two walls with their backs and held

othing that they

the wraps and traps of their masters and mistresses on their

re—neithe

7 08

&rms.

othe, 20t &1

We had no footmen to hold our things, and it was not per-

14

A TRANP ABROAD,

&

missible to take them into the concert room; but there w

GLE

[l

gl Pq‘“c |

0!

some men and women to take charge of them for us.

They gave

sl

b

1P

ol

us checks for them and charged a fixed price, payab

le in advance

and

—five cents.

artd

0 i e

In Germany they always hear one thing at an opera which

e ;

I the

has never yet been heard in America, perhaps—I mean the

closing strain of a fine solo or duet.

480

We always smash into it

it e“C\O’i

0

f

)

with an earthquake of applause.

The result is that we rob our-

i

o he

selves of the sweetest part of the treat ;

we get the whisky, but

nay €

we don’t get the sugar in the bottom of the glass.

K

e

Our way of scattering applause along through an act scems

000

1t

to me to be better than t!

o

(1

1e Mannheim way of saving it all up

c0red

till the act is ended. I do not see how an actor can forget him-

i

self and portray hot passionhefore a cold still audience. I should

B

ks het

think he would feel foolish.

It is a pain to me to this day, to

remember how that old German Lear ra

qod hes @ pge’is

zed and wept and howled

cets of beng

£

around the stage, with never a response from that hushed house,

may ke

never a single outburst till the act was ended.

To me there was

036008 (vfﬂ!l[

something unspeakably uncomfortable in the solemn dead silences

]

E

mich, that B

J

that always followed this old person’s

tremendous outpourin as

|

Tere

of his feelings. I could not help putting myse

If in his place—I

them 10

thought I knew how sick and flat he felt during those silences,

yould

11

because I remembered a case which came under my obsecrvation

fl

e e

ne d

ne al

once, and which—but I will tell the incident:

006 10

(1

One evening on board a Mississipy

v lu‘a{t ]

b1 steamboat, a boy of ten

fook

3

years lay asleep in a berth—a long, slim-legged boy, he was en-

$he prof

cased in quite a short shirt; it was the first time Le had ever

Water-pipes, §

made a trip on a steamboat, and so he was troubl

ed, and scared,

I

Al

(%

e o

and had gone to bed, with his head filled with i

mpending snag-

st of need,

gings, and explosions, and conflagrations, and sudden death.

American mg

About ten o’clock some twenty ladies were sitting around about

sole andience,

i

the ladies’ saloon, quietly reading, sewing, embroidering, and so

ity the

I

!l

|

on, and among them sat a sweet, benignant old dame with round

spectacles on her nose and her bus

o wal

y Lnitting-needles in her

hands.

Now all of a sudden, into the midst of thi

Kingsntere

s peaceful

s, He

scene burst that slim-shanked boy in tl

1¢ brief shirt, wild-eyed,

Tis o

erect-haired, and shouting, ¢ Fire, fire ! Jump and run, the boat’s

afire, and there ain’t a minute to lose !’

fum on e

All those ladies looked

The mang

sweetly up and smiled, nobody stirred, the old lady pulled her

spectacles down, looked over them, and said, gently—

Wold i g

A9 cried—

‘But you mustn’t catch cold, child.

tun and put on your

breast-pin, and then come and tell ugs

all about it.”

*No g

Wifer|!

It was acruel chill to give to apoor little devil’s gushing velie-

iy

mence. He was expecting to be a sort of hero—the creator of

% {he ¢

er [gngg

A TRAM

ABROAD.

45

lory

(A (01

a wild panic—and here everybody sat and smiled a mocking

(A7)

€Y gayg

10 i

gmile, and an old woman made fun of his bugbear.

I turned

and crept humbly away—for I was that boy—and never even

Al a g

cared to discover whether I had dreamed the fire or actually

d

AN§—

Pera

Wliigh

geen it.

Negy ),

‘S Sag

I am told that in a German concert or opera they hardly

§ that

hity

a song j

LT

ever encore

(=) )

that though they may be dying to hear it

& the g

3 U

)|

again, their good breeding usually preserves them against re-

quiring the repetition.

Kings may encore ; that is quite another matter; it delights

4y

N 2ch soepy

Tlta

[th]

everybody to see that the King ispleased ; and as to the actor

[ CQ

encored, his pride and gratification are simply boundless.

Still,

L 10r0et

i}

Ce,

there are circumstances in which even a royal encore—

0

i

But it is better to illustrate.

'l

¢ O-I'i.\i

The King of Bavaria is a poet,

|

i

8 day, ty

aad has a poet’s eccentricities—with the advantage over all other

band ligyl)

oL

poets of being able to gratify them, no matter what form they

it hushe] |

10U

0

To me

I

may take.

He is fond of the opera, but not fond of sitting in the

Icre “‘I\«“,

presence of an audience ; therefore, it has sometimes occurred, in

e dead sienees

Munich, that when an opera has been concluded and the players

1003 fponrings

were getting off their paint and finery, a command has come to

£ in b plage—]

them to get their paint and finery on again.

Presently the King

7 those lences

would arrive, solitary and alone, and the players would begin at

10y observation

the beginning and do the entire opera over again with only that

Once he

one individual in the vast solemn theatre for audience.

oafy & boy of ten

took an odd freak into his head.

High up and out of sight, over

0y, e was en-

the prodigious stage of the court theatre is a maze of interlacing

6 lie had erer

water-pipes, so pierced that, in case of fire, innumerable little

and seared,

thread-like streams of water can be caused to descend; and in

il

nding sag-

case of need, this discharge can be augmented to a pouring flood.

d

en death,

American managers might make a note of that.

The king was

ng around about

sole audience.

The opera proceeded, it was a piece with a storm

1ng, a

nd 0

), 1liog

the mimic thunder began to mutter, the mimic wind

ame \;

ith round

began to wail and sough, and the mimic rain to patter. The

needles in her

King’s interest rose higher and higher: it developed into enthu-

th

1

3 pcaceﬁ:l

glasm.

He cried out—

But I will have real rain!

hirt, wild-yed

¢It is good, very good indeed !

turn on the water !’

un, the loat

, Jadies looked

The manager pleaded for a reversal of the command; said it

ady pulled Jer

would ruin the costly scenery and the splendid costumes, but the

—

King cried—

ill have real rain! Turn on the

¢ No miatter, no matter, I w

Ei put o Jou

water |’

So the real rain was turned on and began to descend in gossa~

gushing veber

f

mer lances to the mimic flower beds and gravel walks of the

_the creator 0

46

A TRAMP ABROAD.

el

stage.

The richly dressed actresses and acto

rs tripped about

P et

pli

singing bravely and pretending not to mind i

t

the

G i

He cried out—

The King wag

) ]l‘h

edl

delighted—his enthusiasm grew higher.

it

o)

¢ Bravo, bravo !

More thunder! more lightning | turn on

d ﬂlfm

Al

more rain !’

g ot

(7

I\

s

abt !

The thunder boomed, the lightning glared, the storm-windg

Yo

raged, the deluge poured down. The mimic ro

yalty on the stage,

ot Diee

with their soaked satins clinging to their bod

c,)eNlﬂ

05

ies, slopped around

ankle-deep in water, warbling their sweetest

and best, the fiddlers

m]oﬂe 0

under the eaves of the stage sawed away f

or dear life, with the

and

(t

] of t

cold overflow spouting down the backs of

my 0y

an

their necks, and the

d

I\

dry and happy King sat in his lofty box,

and wore his gloves to

I

JRES

ribbons applauding.

Pl

thi

00

hing |

¢ More yet !’ cried the King; ‘more yet—let loose all the

i

thunder, turn on all the water !

I will hang the man that raises

from b

an umbrella !’

T yantel

ol

When this most tremendous and effective storm that had ever

afid thabm

been produced in any theatre was at last over,

the King’s appro-

fheir judgme

bation was measureless,

He cried—

unknowa 10

¢ Magnificent, magnificent !

FEncore !

Do it again !’

(gl lumin

But the manager succeeded in persuading him to recall the

Jadit hung 4

Ant Exhibi

encore, and said the company would feel sufficiently rewarded

and complimented in the mere fact th

at the encore was desired by

i‘

ficafion 1t e

Lis Majesty, without fatiguin

to 08 1t a0

U

0

g him with a repetition to gratify

their own vanity.

vighit, Jbm

During the remainder of the act the lucky performers were

tion, Bt ¢

those whose parts required changes of dress; the others were a

m:mgersz il

soaked, bedraggled, and uncomfortable Iot

, but in the last degree

were not, ol

picturesque. The stage scenery was ruined, trap-doors were so

entered the

Mr, Har

gwollen that they wouldn’t work for a week afterwards, the fine

costumes were spoiled, and no end of minor damages were done

myselfand

by that remarkable storm.

somg orders;

It was a royal idea—that storm—and royally carried out.

ke pe

But observe the moderation of the King :

he did not insist upon

i on 4 f

his encore. If he had been a gladsome, unreflecting American

brong, App

opera-audience, he probably would have had his

storm repeated

Tlined g

and repeated until he drowned all those people.

fhese e

ad, vyt

CHAPTER XI.

Ve oty

Beglected by

Veaty

THE summer days passed pleasantly in Heidelberg. We had a

by e —

0ut iy

skilled trainer, and under his instructions we were getting our

TOUgHE

legs in the right condition for the contemplated pedestrian tours;

Vilfug,

|

! Ap

A TRAMP ABROAD.

47

lony g

\

Ipe

Ay

W

I

1o

wo were well satisfied with the progress which we had made in

] 10g v

the German language,! and more than satisfied with what we had

accomplished in Art. We had had the best instructors in drawing

lightuingl fuy

and painting in Germany—Hdmmerling, Vogel, Miiller, Dietz,

vthec

and Schumann.

Himmerling taught us landscape painting,

tOTm Wing

Opalty

0 the g

Tar

Vogel taught us figure drawing, Miiller taught us to do still-life,

09

and Dietz and Schumann gave us a finishing course in two

|

) Opped aro)

I

n

i

i

=

nd ship wrecks.

Whatever I am in

5 he i

special’cies—bat’clepioces a

Art I owe to these men.

I have something of the manner of each

ey

)

and all of them; but they all said that I had also a manner of

T Decks, g

th

Wore hl\ o]

0ves

my own, and that it was conspicuous. They said there was a

marked individuality about my style, insomuch that if I ever

painted

the commonest type of a dog, I should be sure to throw

~lgt looge all g

I

a something into the aspect of that dog which would keep him

e mag {hat s

6

from being mistaken for the creation of any other artist. Secretly

I wanted to believe all these kind sayings, but I could not; I was

o that had gy

afraid that my masters’ partiality for me, and pride in me, biassed

the King' ap

I

(e

their judgment.

So I resolved to make a test.

Privately, and

unknown to any one, I painted my great picture, ¢ Heidelberg

it again !

Castle Illuminated >—my first really important work in oils—and

‘ im t0 reeal]

had it hung up in the midst of a wilderness of oil pictures in the

Art Exhibition, with no name attached to it. To my great grati-

ciently rewande]

Was desired by

fication it was instantly recognised as mine. ~ All the town flocked

to see it, and people even came from neighbouring localities to

eition to gut] i

visit it. Jt made more stir than any other work in the Exhibi-

7 petformens were

tion.

But the most gratifying thing of all was that chance

the others were

strangers, passing through, who had not heard of my picture,

in the last degres

were not only drawn to it, as by a loadstone, the moment they

entered the gallery, but always took it for a ¢ Turner.’

rap-doors ere 5

teryands, the e

Mr. Harris was graduated in Art about the same time with

mages vere dou

myself, and we took a studio together. We waited awhile for

some orders; then as time began to drag a little, we concluded

After much consideration we deter-

ally carried ot

to make a pedestrian tour.

] not insist upon

mined on a trip up the shores of the beautiful Neckar to Heil-

bronn. Apparently nobody had ever done that. There were

oting Americn

s storm repea:ed

ruined castles on the overhanging cliffs and crags all the way;

these were said to have their legends, like those on the Rhine,

There

and, what was better still, they had never been in print.

had been

was nothing in the books about that lovely region, it

neglected by the tourist, it was virgin soil for the literary pioneer,

Meantime the knapsacks, the rough walking-suits, and the

stout walking-shoes which w

e had ordered, were finished and

o, We hads

brought to us.

A Mr. X. and a young Mr. Z. had

agreed to go

b geting O

with"us.

We went aroun

d one evening and bade good-bye to

destrian 10053

! See Appendix D for information concerning this fearful tongue,

48

A TRAMP ABR 04D,

7

"

our friends, and afterwards had a Little £

d

gl

8

wwewell banquet at the

el 16

000

hotel. We got to bed early, for we w,

anted to make an earl

iy

start, so as to take adv

Y

0 gre

antage of the cool of the morning,

he

We were out of bed at break of da

:tOCLti r

y, feeling fresh and vigo-

ek

ar 100

rous, and took a hearty breakfast

, then plunged down through

gome 0

the leafy arcades of the Castle grou

Jand or

nds, towards the town. What

find

h

he \\ﬂl I

a glorious summer morning it was,

and how the flowers di

d pour

pid N0

out their fragrance, and how the birds did sing! It w.

as just the

Tie neach

time for a tramp through the woods and mountains,

{hyee hours &

We were all dressed alike: broad slouch h

ats, to keep the

sun off; grey knapsacks; blue army shirts;

adardered D

blue overalls;

qaeniledld

leathern gaiters buttoned tight from knee down t

o ankle; high-

|

quarter coarse shoes snugly laced. Hach man h

qud diry

ad an opera-glass,

a canteen, and a guide-book ¢

ase slung over his shoulder, and

years dimtgy

carried an alpenstock in one

food thee 1

hand and a sun umbrella in the

other.

Around our hats were wound many folds of soft white

it, hepta

think the

muslin, with the ends hanging and fi

apping down our backs—ar

idea broug

ht from the Orient and used by tourists all over B

windows 1

HI‘()I?O.

Harris carried the little watch-like machine c

alled a ¢ pedometer,’

look, There!

whose office is to keep count of a m

the

an’s steps and tell how far he

has walked.

Everybody stopped to admire our costumes and

i

il

I

t00

give us a hearty ¢ Pleasant march to you !’

A

appal

When we got down town I found that w

Convenle “‘v'.

e could go by rail to

within five miles of Heilbronn,

The train was just starting, so

T thought out

we jumped aboard and went tearing aw.

o oints of

ay in splendid spirits. It

was agreed all around that we had done wisely, because it would

about where §

be juss as enjoyable to walk down the Neckar as up it, and it

fiom the grou

could not be needful to walk both ways. There were some nice

Near an.

]

German people in our compartment. I got to tal

s

king some pretty

stone—monld

private matters presently, and Harris became

figures. T

nervous; so he

nudged me and said—

costumes of

¢Speak in Ge

lish.’

rman—these Germans may understand Eng-

Sariour yag

oins,

I did so, and it was well I did; for it turned out that there

Welad g

was not a German in that party who did not understand

tothe hote g

English perfectly. It is curious how widesj

pread our language

Went fo hed.

is in Germany. After a while some of tho

se folks got out, and

e aftery

a German gentleman and his two young

daughters got in.

Il

spoke in German to one of the latter several t

Ot g

imes, but withous

ey

result. Finally she said—

¢ Ich verstehe nur Deutsch und &

ish, ang iy

nglisch *—or words to that

gy,

eect.

That is,

‘I don’t understand any language but German

rOHIl,before

and English.’

And sure enough, not cnly she but her father and sister spoke

;’

ber k;:,a a

hang

A TRAMP ABROAD.

43

g

f ot

| gk

e

English. So after that we had all the talk we wanted; and we

€] j

10

wanted a good deal, for they were a very pleasant people. They

{

e h a

Vi

were greatly interested in our costumes; especially the alpen-

Qo gy

stocks, for they had not seen any before.

They said that the

Neckar road was perfectly level, so we must be going to Switzer-

g fow

L0weyg dld

land or some other rugged country ; and asked us if we did not

I

find the walking pretty fatiguing in such warm weather.

But

g jug {hy

—

we said No.

10 egp g}

We reached Wimpfen—TI think it was Wimpfen—in about

three hours, and got out, not the least tired ; found a good hotel

Mﬂ(‘, 0"6]‘[{“

i;

0 aukle:

)

and ordered beer and dinner; then took a stroll through the

¥

o

0 !

venerable old village. Ttwas very picturesque and tumble-down,

S,

and dirty and interesting.

Ay Q)

It had queer houses five hundred

d

yearsold in it, and a military tower, 115 feet high, which had

stood there more than ten centuries.

I made a little sketch of

of

A t};g

it. Tkept a copy, but gave the original to the Burgomaster. I

A

think the original was better than the copy, because it had more

windows in it, and the grass stood up better and had a brisker

4 pedor

look. There was none around the tower, though ; I composed

tell hoy

dl' 1f

the grass myself, from studies I made in a field by Heidelberg in

costumes an(

Himmerling’s time.

The man on top, looking at the view, is

apparently too large, but I found he could not be made smaller

i

rall

0

conveniently. T wanted him there, and I wanted him visible, so

g0 b‘\.' '

8ia

ng, 89

o)

I thought out a way to manage it ; I composed the picture from

18,

I

two points of view ; the spectator is to observe the man from

I

Il

about where that flag is, and he must observe the tower itself

1t

a8 upl,

from the ground. This harmonises the seeming discrepancy.

Near an old cathedral, under a shed, were three crosses of

0

mne

Ij

stone—mouldy and damaged things

bearing

life-size stone

o

figures.

The two thieves were dressed in the fanciful court

ervous; 50 ‘1

costumes of the middle of the sixteenth century, while the

Jerstand Eng-

Saviour was nude, with the exception of a cloth around the

loins.

ut that there

We had dinner under the green trees in a garden belonging

to the hotel and overlooking the Neckar ; then, after a smoke, we

t understand

went to bed.

our language

We had a refreshing nap, then got up about three

in the afternoon and put on our panoply. As we traniped gaily

5 gob oty and

-

out at the gate of the town, we overtook a peasant’s cart, partly

15 gob il

laden with odds and ends of cabbages and similar vegetable rub-

,but without

bish, and drawn by a small cow and a smaller doakey yoked

together.

It was a pretty slow concern, but it got us into Heil-

wwords to that

bronn before dark—five miles, or possibly it was seven.

put Germad

We stopped at the very same inn which the famous old rob-

7

ber knight and rough fighter, Gtz von Berlichingen, abode in

d gister SPOk !

E

A TRAMP ABROAD.

60

i

i

our

after he got out of captivity in the Square Tower of Heilbronn

eﬂch ol

[3

between three hundred and fifty and four hundred years ago.

e to

Harris and I occupied the same room which he had occupied, and

The furniture

s ob ¢

the same paper had not all peeled off the walls yet.

was quaint old carved stuff, full four hundred years old, and some

o fhese

W

o6

f0

of the smells were over a thousand. There was a hook in the

gl

wall, which the landlord said the terrific old GGtz used to hang

(D

his iron hand on when he took it off to go to bed. Thisroom

b

Vi

e

I

was very large—it might be called immense—and it was on the

first floor ; which means it was in the second story, for in Europe

01

the houses are 5o high that they do not count the first story, else

TR %0

they would get tired

climbing before they got to the top. Thewall

fhe r

paper was a fiery red, with huge gold figu

res in it, well smirched

adof o

These doors fitted so

by time, and it covered all the doors

Tw a

g

snugly and continued the figures of the paper so unbrokenly

that when they were closed one had to go feeling and searching

arier

li

There was a stove in the corner—

along the wall to find them.

one of those tall, square, stately white porcelain things that looks

like a monument, and keeps you thinking of death when you

i

ought to be enjoying your travels. The windows looked out on

a little alley, and over that into a stable and some poultry and

I

)

L

pig yards in the rear of some tenement houses. There were the

customary two beds in the room, one in one end of it, the other

SOUL

in the other, about an old-fashioned brass-mounted single-barrelled

1

common

pistol-shot apart. They were fully as narrow as the usual Ger-

man bed, too, and had the German bed’s ineradicable habit of

ballad

spilling the blankets on the floor every time you forgot yourself

rilch )

and went to sleep.

2

hich

A round table as large as King Arthur’s stood in the centre

s of

of the room ; while the waiters were getting ready to serve our

Qi:ﬂ‘ q

dinner on it we all went out to see the renowned clock on the front

10¢ s

of the municipal buildings.

amor,

ol

CHAPTER XILI.

ity

Tue Rathhaus, or municipal building, is of the quaintest and

Wore for

most picturesque Middle-Age architecture. It has a massive

Tethey,

portico and steps before it, heavily b

alustraded, and adorned with

The clock-face

Siny of

life-size rusty iron knights in complete armour.

though

on the front of the building is very large, and of curious pattern.

Band

Ordinarily a gilded angel strikes the hour on a big bell with a

“’e \

hammer ; as the striking ceases, a life-size figure of Time raisca

Wisg Te

A TRAMP ABROAD

51

lhl‘onn

=

5 earg a,

its hour-glass and turns it; two golden rams advance and butt

-

CCHp1ed ang

—

each other; a gilded cock lifts its wings; but the main features

1 fumify

are two great angels, who stand on each side of the dial with long

horns at their lips:

0 ,dnd Some

it was said that they blew melodious blasts

4 ogk iy

on these horns every hour ;

but they did not do it for us.

We

Used ) ) hang

were told later that they blew only at night when the town was

his 00

-

still

16W2g p ghy

Within the Rathhaus were a number of huee wild boars

for in By oge

heads, preserved and mounted on brackets along the wall

they

story. d

bore inscriptions telling who killed them, and how many hundred

op, Th

g vall

€2,

years ago it was done

One room in the building was devoted to

the preservation of ancient archives

There they showed us no

il

§ 0

end of aged documents; some were signed by Popes, some by

£0

Tilley and other great Generals, and one was a letter written and

rand s

d

™

subscribed by Gtz von Berlichingen in Heilbronn in 1519, just

after his release from the Square Tower.

This fine old robber-knight was a devoutly and sincerely

religious man, hospitable, charitable to the poor, fearless in fight

ked out o

active, enterprisin

and possessed of a large and generous nature.

Ile had in him a quality which was rare in that rough time—

e I

the quality of being able to overlook moderate injuries, and of

being able to forgive and forget mortal ones as soon as he had

fth

soundly trounced the 'mthols of them.

e was prompt to take

le-bar

0d

up any poor devil’s quarrel and risk his neck to right him. The

wal G

common folk held him dear, and his memory is still green in

ballad and tradition

e used to go on the highway and rob

101

of you

rich wayfarers; and other times he would swoop down from his

e

high castle on the hills of the Neckar and capture passing car-

n i

6 CE

goes of merchandise

In his Memoirs he piously thanks the

Giver of all Good for remembering him in his needs and deliver-

ockont

G 1LV

ing sundry such cargoes into his hands at times when only

I

special providences could have relieved him

He was a doughty

warrior, and found a deep joy in battle

In an assault upon a

stronghold in Bavaria, when he was only twenty-three years old

his right hand was shot away, but he was so interested in the

ficht that he did not observe it for a while.

He said that the

’i’

iron hand which was made for him afterward, and which he

t al

i n‘E‘

wore for more than half a century, was nearly as clever a

has & I

asire

member as the fleshy one had been

I was glad to get a fuc-

i

simile of the letter written by this fine old German Robin Hood

1 odomed ™

he clock

o

[i

though I was notable to read it

He was a better artist with his

af

fell

sword than with his pen

qrious P

It

We went down by the river and saw the Square Tower

bwbell“‘“ﬂ

was a very venerable structure, very stron

and very unorna-

f Time

B 2

A TRAMP ABROAD.

;%]

frndes

mental.

There was no opening near the ground. They had to

{lis 00¢ "

use a ladder to get into it, r

8}

o doubt.

1 church, also, a curious old structure,

ple 3!

‘We visited the principa

dorned with all sorts of grotesque

oy

with a tower-like spire a

Very

The inner walls o

£ the church were placarded with

images.

bearing engraved inscriptions

yomen

large mural tablets of copper,

celebrating the merits o

f old Heilbro

nn worthies of two or three

siegery

bearing rudely-painted efligies of them-

meDy put

centuries ago, and also

No,

selves and their families

tricked out in the queer costumes of

The

The head of

the family sat in the foreground, and

those days.

pharaad

beyond him extended a sh

arply receding and diminishing row of

gons; facing him sat his wife,

and beyond her extended a long

i st

The family was usually large,

{he 1]

row of diminishing daughters.

M

but the perspective bad.

Then we hired the hack

and the horse which Gtz von

e i

and

drove several miles into the

Berlichingen used to use,

fhe gua

country to visit the place ¢

alled Weibertreu—Wife's Fidelity, I

it Was1

It was a feudal ¢

astle of the Middle Ages.

suppose it means.

pic’ged @

i

When we reached its ne

ighbourhood we fou

nd it was beautifully

round and tolerably

e and

situated, but on top of a mound, or hill,

Therefore, as the sun

it

steep,

and about two hundred feet high.

was blazing

hot, we did not climb up ther

e, but took the place

and

hile the horse leaned

-

e

f,

on trust, an

d observed it from a distance, W

up again

st a fence and rested.

The place has no interest except

being 1

that whic

head

Al

h is lent it by its legend, which is a very pretty one—

to this effect

g

07

THE LEGEND.

i

Tn the Middle Ages a couple o

f young dukes, brothers, took

o

li{

st

he one fighting for the Em-

that th

opposit

e sides in one of the wars, t

Amg

peror, the other against him.

One

of them owned the castle and

f the mound w

hich T have been speaking of; and

el

village on top o

ki

I

d

in his absence his broth

er came with his knights and soldiers and

Tt was a long and tedious business; for

the people

e

began a siege.

But at last their supplies

filly g

made a stubborn and faithful defence.

ran out, and starvation began its wor

k; more fell by hunger

i

g,

They by-and-by surren-

Was ng

than by the missiles of the enemy.

dered, and begged for charitable terms.

But the beleaguering

Were (%5

was so incensed against them for their long resist

ance that

allthe

prince

he said

he would spare none but the womenand children—all the

.

and i

men should be put to the sword wi

thout exception, and all their

fld i

g

oods destroyed. Then the women came and fell on their knees

and g

and begge

d for the lives of their husbands.

The o

d the prince, ‘not a man of them shall escape alive;

¢ No,’ sai

and g

you yourselv

es shall go with your children into houseless and

Wit} th(

A TRAMP ABROAD.

53

Yhey bad 1y

friendless banishment; but that you may not starve I grant you

sty

this one grace, that each woman may bear with her from this

fure,

Qotesqug

place as much of her most valuable property as she is able to

ande] iy

carry.

micr'lpﬁons

Very well, presently the gates swung open and out filed those

W0 0 thyg

women carrying their husbands on their shoulders.

The be-

63 0f thepy.

siegers, furious at the trick, rushed forward to slaughter the

Costumeg of

men, but the Duke stepped between and said—

qround, ang

¢ No, put up your swords—a prince’s word is inviolable.”

g roy of

When we got back to the hotel, King Arthur’s Round Table

ded 5 long

was ready for us in its white drapery, and the head waiter and

]

Jt

his first assistant, in swallow-tails and white cravats, brought in

ually

ﬂrge,

the soup and the hot plates at once.

b Gtz von

Mr. X. had ordered the dinner, and when the wine came on,

0 the

he picked up a bottle, glanced at the label, and then turned to

the grave, the melancholy, the sepulchral head waiter, and said

it was not the sort of wine he had asked for.

The head waiter

le Ares

picked up the bottle, cast his undertaker-eye on it, and said :—

beautiﬁ;li’y

¢Ii is true ; I beg pardon.’

Then he turned on his subordi-

d tolerably

, a3 the sun

nate and calmly said, ¢ Bring another label.’

At the same time he slid the present label off with his hand

k the placa

horse leaned

and laid it aside; it had been newly put on, its paste was still

wet.

When the new label came, he put it on; our French wine

erest except

being now turned into German wine, according to desire, the

DIetty ome—

head waiter went blandly about his other duties, as if the work-

ing of this sort of miracle was a common and easy thing to him.

Mr. X. said he had not known before that there were people

00K

honest enough to do this miracle in public, but he was aware

¢ fm

that thousands upon thousands of labels were imported into

ho

America from Europe every year, to enable dealers to furnish to

of and

their customers, in a quiet and inexpensive way, all the different

gldiersand

kinds of foreign wines they might require.

o the people

We took a turn around the town, after dinner, and found it

eir supples

fully as interesting in the moonlight as it had been in the day

time.

The streets were narrow and roughly paved, and there

by hunger

was not a sidewalk or a street lamp anywhere.

The dwellings

-y »

by surren:

were centuries old, and vast enough for hotels.

They widened

)deagueriﬂg

all the way up ; the stories projected further and further forward

stance thot

rell’“n the

and aside as they ascended, and the long rows of lighted windows,

T

filled with little bits of panes, curtained with figured white muslin

nd all fheir

and adorned outside with boxes of flowers, made a pretty effect.

their kneéd

The moon was bright, and the light and shadow very strongs;

and nothing could be more picturesque than those curving streets,

scape glive;

with their rows of huge high gables leaning far over toward

)ugelcﬁ an

:

b4

A TRAMP ABROAD.

heﬂ aﬂﬂlﬂ

each other in a friendly gossiping way, and the crowds below

s In

drifting through the alternating blots of gloom and mellow bars

i o0

of moonlight.

Nearly everybody was abroad, chatting, singing,

ety

romping, or massed in lazy comfortable attitudes in the door-

b%lﬂg that

ways.

had fdﬂ?ﬂ

In one place there was a public building which was fenced

about with a thick, rusty chain, which sagged from post to post

one Bt

fhe WC

in a succession of low swings.

The pavement here was made of

erodia]

heavy blocks of stone. In the glare of the moon a party of bare-

orer moré

footed children were swinging on those chains and having a noisy

i ¢

good time.

They were not the first ones who had done that;

even their great-great-grandfathers had not been the first to do it

oint OF

hat as

when they were children. The strokes of the bare feet had worn

grooves inches deep in the stone flags; it had taken many gene-

iy

rations of swinging children to accomplish that.

Everywhere in

anl i‘qﬂ‘&

e

the town were the mould and decay that go with antiquity, and

pNﬂChE

evidence it; butI donot know that anything else gave us so vivid

10

u’

a sense of the old age of Heilbronn as those foot-worn grooves in

the paving stones.

107

neare—1

ad g

as 16 th

Tearer

CHAPTER XIIL

Tom; 1t

had held

WEEN we got back to the'hotel I wound and set the pedometer

and put it in my pocket, for I was to carry it next day and keep

Vel

record of the miles we made.

The work which we had given

sleepat

the instrument to do during the day which had just closed, had

Tess thon

not fatigued it perceptibly.

o Listen

We were in bed by ten, for we wanted to be up and away

counting

on our tramp homeward with the dawn. I hung fire, but Harris

Was et

went to sleep at once. I hate a man who goes to sleep at once ;

be L coul

there is a sort of indefinable something about it which is not

biswor;

exactly an insult, and yet is an insolence; and one which is hard

then, ad

to bear, too. I lay there fretting over this injury, and trying to

61l o

go to sleep; but the harder I tried the wider awake I grew. I

a§ menf;

got to fecling very lonely in the dark, with no company but an

s fo

undigested dinner.

My mind got a start by-and-by, and began

Which g

to consider the beginning of every subject which has ever been

that ity

thought of; but it never went further than the beginning ; it

info feg

was touch and go; it fled from topic to topic with a frantic speed.

~hut it

At the end of an hour my head was in a perfect whirl, and

ity

I was dead tired, fagged out.

thrngh

The fatigue was so great that it presently began to make some

Iy a

4 TRAMP ABROAD.

65

OV bl

I

head against the nervous excitement ; while imagining myself wide

tlnu Q

gy barg

'

awake, I would really doze into momentary unconsciousnesses,

.08

g

1 the dogy.

and come suddenly out of them with a physical jerk which

nearly wrenched my joints apart—the delusion of the instant

being that I was tumbling backwards over a precipice.

After I

WS fopggg

had fallen over eight or nine precipices and thus found out that

Dost t st

one half of my brain had been asleep eight or nine times without

Yag made o

Y of bype,

the wide-awake, hard-working other half suspecting it, the

v

periodical unconsciousnesses began to extend their spell gradually

Ba iy

over more of my brain-territory, and at last I sank into a drowse

- 0ng thy,

which grew deeper and deeper and was doubtless just on the very

\ frct fo dO It

point of becoming a solid, blessed, dreamless stupor, when—

tét had worg

what was that?

Ay gep.

My dulled faculties dragged themselves partly back to life,

verywhy

n

and took a receptive attitude.

Now out of an immense, a limit-

Jy and

less distance, came a something which grew and grew, and ap-

8 1l

proached, and presently was recognisable as a sound—is bhad

I gl‘ooveg 1

rather seemed to be a feeling, before. This sound was a mile away,

now—perhaps it was the murmur of a storm; and now it was

nearer—not a quarter of a mile away; wasit the muffled rasping

and grinding of distant machinery? No, it came still nearer ;

But it came

was it the measured tramp of a marching troop?

nearer still, and still nearer—and at last it was right in the

room: it was merely a mouse gnawing the woodwork. So I

6 pedometer

had held my breath all that time for such a trifle.

‘Well, what was done could not be helped; I would go to

and keep

That was a thought-

fiven

sleep at once and make up the lost time.

6 closed bad

less thought.

Without intending it—hardly knowing it—TI fell

to listening intently to that sound, and even unconsciously

p aud awey

counting the strokes of the mouse’s nutmeg-grater.

Presently I

o, but Harris

was deriving exquisite suffering from this employment, yet may-

be I could have endured it if the mouse had attended steadily to

eep af onee;

hich 15 nof

his work ; but he did not do that; he stopped every now and

then, and I suffered more while waiting and listening for him to

hich ishard

d trying f0

begin again than I did while he was gnawing. Along at first I

was mentally offering a reward of five,—six,—seven,—ten dol-

I grew, |

lars for that mouse; but towards the last I was offering rewards

any but an

I closereefed my ears,—

and began

which were entirely beyond my means.

that is to say, I bent the flaps of them down, and furled them

ever beep

into five or six folds, and pressed them against the hearing-orifice,

vining; 1t

—but it did no good: the faculty was so sharpened by nervous

atiospeed

excitement that it was become a microphone, and could hear

whi] 20

through the overlays without trouble.

My anger grew to a frenzy, I finally did what all persons

nake S0me

56

4 TR;:iJI[ P ABROAD,

o Pﬂ\Vinz

before me have done, clear back to Adam—resolved to throw

o foor

something.

I reached down and got my walking-shoes, then sat

al‘ticle', !

up in bed and listened, in order to exactly locate the noise.

noise i

But I couldn’t do it; it was as unlocatable as a cricket’s noise

mays

and where one thinks that that is, is always the very place where

it isn’t.

ke

So I presently hurled a shoe at random, and with" a

1 c()lﬂd I

vicious vigour.

It struck the wall over Harris’s head and fell

It woke

fomitur

down on him ; IThad notimagined I could throw so far.

in the10

Harris, and I was glad of it until I found he was not angry;

pov—t

then I was sorry.

He soon went to sleep again, which pleased

me; but straightway the mouse began again, which roused my

ﬁmi}iee |

i

f0

I

temper once more. I did not want to wake Harris a second time,

¢

but the gnawing continued until I was compelled to throw the

other shoe.

This time I broke a mirror—there were two in the

degret

pent

room—I got the largest one of course.

Harris woke again, bus

did not complain, and I was sorrier than ever.

I resolved that I

Jeave ¥

would suffer all possible torture before I would disturb him a

third time.

door—t

image

The mouse eventually retired, and by-and-by I was sinking

to sleep, when a clock began to strike ; I counted till it was done,

foran

of ilea

and was about to drowse again when another clock began; I

counted ; then the two great Rathhaus clock angels began to send

1 had‘ fo

forth soft, rich, melodious blasts from their long trumpets. I

had never heard anything that was so lovely, or weird, or mys-

adl

me; by

terious—but when they got to blowing the quarter-hours, they

scemed to me to be overdoing the thing.

Every time I dropped

best

0

off for a moment, a new noise woke me.

i

Il

Each time I woke, I

missed my coverlet, and had to reach down to the floor and get it

the

YA

again.

00

il

st

(IR

At last all sleepiness forsook me.

I recognised the fact that

I

I was hopelessly and permanently wide awake.

Wide awake,

and feverish and thirsty.

When I had lain tossing there as long

e

10t §

as I could endure it, it occurred to me that it would be a good

idea to dress and go out in the great square and take a refreshing

the wall

wash in the fountain, and smoke and reflect there until the rem-

fromupg

nant of the night was gone.

together

I believed I could dress in the dark without waking Harris.

ey

I had banished my shoes after the mouge, but my slippers would

.

stood

do for a summer night.

So I roge softly, and gradually got on

i camg

everything—down to one sock.

I couldn’t seem to get on the

[k

track of that sock, any way I could fix it.

But I had to have it;

and gl

so I went down on my hands and knees with one slipper on and

T

the other in my hand, and began to paw gently around and rake

the floor, but with no success.

SHndaV

I enlarged my circle, and went

$0Hing

A TRAMP ABROAD.

67

ed

h

to t}lmw

on pawing and raking.

With every pressure of my knee, how

06 the

1 st

itete

Ljsp

the floor creaked | and every time I chanced to rake against any

ieke

"

article, it seemed to give out thirty-five or thirty-six times more

§ Nojgg

In those cases I

:' Pl&ce \\'heré

noise than it would have done in the day time.

always stopped and held my breath till I was sure Harris had not

hang yiy

awakened—then I crept along again.

I moved on and on, but

lEad gnq fol

I could not find the sock ; I could not seem to find anything but

fin, It Wkg

furniture.

I could not remember that there was much furniture

% 1ot gy

'

)

in the room when I went to bed, but the place was alive with it

thich ez

{

now—especially chairs—chairs everywhere—had a couple of

A T0use] g

families moved in, in the meantime?

And I never could seem

| 8e00nq tip

to glance on one of those chairs, but always struck it full and

0 throw the

square with my head.

My temper rose, by steady and sure

I8 two in tL‘e

degrees, and as I pawed on and on, I fell to making vicious com-

ke ‘ﬂgnin, g

ments under my breath.

Ived that |

Finally, with a venomous access of irritation, I said I would

]

I

sturh bim 5

leave without the sock ; so I rose up and made straight for the

door—as I supposed—and suddenly confronted my dim spectral

Twas sinking

image in the unbroken mirror.

It startled the breath out of me,

for an instant; it also showed me that I was lost, and had no sort

| J;t a3 done,

of idea where I was.

began; |

When I realised this, I was so angry that

0 to send

I had to sit down on the floor and take hold of something to keep

If there

rumpets, |

from lifting the roof off with an explosion of opinion.

eird, or myse

had been only one mirror, it might possibly have helped to locate

ot}

me; but there were two, and two were as bad as a thousand;

0rs, they

[ droy

besides, these were on opposite sides of the room.

I could see the

dim blur of the windows, but in my turned-around condition

foor and get

E

they were exactly where they ought not to be, and so they only

confused me instead of helping me.

| the fact {hat

I started to get up, and knocked down an umbrella; it made

a noise like a pistol-shot when it struck that hard, slick carpet-

Wide awake

<

there as long

less floor; I grated my teeth, and held my breath—Harris did

not stir.

I set the umbrella slowly and carefully on end against

Id be a good

3 refreshing

the wall, but as soon as I took my hand away, its heel slipped

from under it, and downit came again with another bang. I shrunk

ptil the rem-

together and listened a moment in silent fury—mno harm done,

everything quiet.

With the most painstaking care and nicety I

king Harris

stood the umbrella up once more, took my hand away, and down

ippers woul

it came again.

nally got o

I have been strictly reared, but if it had not been so dark

p get 0 fhe

and solemn and awful there in that lonely vast room, I do believe

] to have 1t

I should have said something then which could not be put into a

pper o0 an

Sunday-school book without injuring the sale of it.

If my rea-

nd and 22ke

soning powers had not been already sapped cry by my harass-

I qod wead

B8

A TRAMP ABROAD,

ments, I would have known better than to try to set an umbrella

1 gl

1 the i

on end on one of those glassy German floors in the dark; it can’t

be done in the daytime without four failures to one success.

1l

e

repﬂrﬂ’i?“f

et 10

had one comfort, though—Iarris was yet still and silent—he

had not stirred.

il

The umbrella could not locate me—there were four standing

gD four

around the room, and all alike. I thought I would feel along the

wall and find the door in that way. I rose up and began this

operation, but raked down a picture. It was not a large one, but

S

it made noise enough for a panorama. Harrisgave out no sound,

but I felt that if I experimented any further with the pictures I

should be sure to wake him.

o the

Better give up trying to get out.

Yes, I would find King Arthur’s Round Table once more—I

puy 18

had already found it several times—and use it for a base of

g Jearnet

Toto

departure on an exploring tour for my bed; if I could find my

bed I could then find my water pitcher; I would quench my

e best |

raging thirst and turn in.

So I started on my hands and knees,

il

because I could go faster that way, and with more confidence,

put ]

1

too, and not knock down things.

By-and-by I found the table—

) (-{Te

all

5 f

with my head—rubbed the bruise a little, then rose up and

started, with hands abroad and fingers spread, to balance myself.

OAHCA

I found a chair ; then the wall; then another chair ; then a sofa;

ab andv i

then an alpenstock, then another sofa; this confounded me, for I

T mad

had thought there was only one sofa.

I hunted up the table

Whatar

again and took a fresh start ; found some more chairs.

from, T

It occurred to me, now, as it ought to have done before, that

waggon

as the table was round, it was therefore of no value as a base to

Agun, {

aim from; so I moved off once more, and at random among the

s out of

wilderness of chairs and sofas-—wandered off into unfamiliar

the hors

regions, and presently knocked a candlestick off a mantelpiece ;

sSing-

grabbed at the candlestick and knocked off a lamp; grabbed at

Mhat

the lamp and knocked off a water-pitcher with a rattling crash,

other thi

and thought to myself, ¢ 've found you at last—I judged I was

ot [

close upon you.

Harris shouted ‘murder,” and ‘thieves, and

frontof{

finished with ¢ ’m absolutely drowned.’

4 Woran,

The crash had roused the house.

Mr. X. pranced in in his

huf digy

‘K

long night garment with a candle, young Z. after him with another

Wed

candle ; a procession swept in at another door with candles and

fi

o

I

lanterns, landlord and two German guests in their nightgowns,

the

I

and a chambermaid in hers.

Iy

0 yof

I looked around; I was at Harris’s bed, a Sabbath day’s

the g

)

journey from my home. There was only one sofa, it was against

Were frop

the wall; there was only one chair where a body could get at it

8910

b

—1I had been revolving around it like a planet, and colliding

ends,

8 1]

with it like a comet half the night.

A TRAMP ABROAD.

59

ban n

.

bl

k

R

I explained how I had been employing myselr, and why.

J SUCCesgI

Then the landlord’s party left, and the rest of us set about our

W dleyt

preparations for breakfast, for the dawn was ready to break. I

glanced furtively at my pedometer, and found I had made forty-

e g,

seven miles.

But I did not care, for I had come out for a pedes-

il

| dlong

trian tour anyway.

e thig

A8 (ng, by

0ut ng ‘Ound,

16 Pictayeg |

CHAPTER XIV.

3o 266 out,

108 morg—]

Woex the landlord learned that I and my agent were artists, our

party rose perceptibly in his esteem; we rose still higher when

00 8 Tage of

i

find my

he learned that we were making a pedestrian tour of Europe.

He told us all about the Heidelberg road, and which were

uench y

the best places to avoid, and which the best ones to tarry at; he

d

kg

g

)

Ie Confi

charged me less than cost for the things I broke in the night; he

d the t

ah

1

put up a fine luncheon for us, and added to it a quantity of great

dl)

)

light-green plums, the pleasantest fruit in Germany ; he was so

I

5 U and

anxious to do us honour that he would not allow us to walk out

lance myself,

of Heilbronn, but called up Gtz von Berlichingen’s horse and

thenasofay

cab and made us ride.

ded me, for [

I made a sketch of the turn-out. It is not a Work, it is only

1 the fabl

what artists call a ¢ study '—a thing to make a finished picture

IS,

h

bt

ot

from. This sketch has several blemishes in it; for instance, the

g before,

waggon is not travelling as fast as the horse is.

This is wrong.

23 4 base fo

Again, the person trying to get out of the way is too small; he

om among the

is out of perspective, as we say. The two upper lines are not

fo unfamiliar

the horse’s back, they are the reins; there seems to be a wheel

mantelpieee;

missing—this would be corrected in a finished Work, of course.

That

) I

bhed at

That thing flying out behind is not a flag, it is-a curtain.

Crash,

other thing up there is the sun, but I didn’t get enough distance

on it.

udged [ s

I do not remember, now, what that thing is that is in

hieves,” aud

front of the man who is running, but I think it is a haystack or

a woman. This study was exhibited in the Paris Salon of 1879,

ed inin bis

but did not take any medal ; they do not give medals for studies.

ith another

We discharged the carriage at the bridge.

The river was

candles an

full of logs—long, slender, barkless pine logs—and we leaned on

pightgovDs

the rails of the bridge and watched the men put them together

into rafts.

These rafts were of a shape and construction to suit

the crookedness and extreme narrowness of the Neckar.

They

jath diy’

were from 50 to 100 yards long, and they gradually tapered from

yag agails

a 9-log breadth at their sterns, to a 8-log breadth at their bow-

d get ot

nd GOHiding

ends. The main part of the steering is done at the bow, with a

60

A TRAMP ABRO.AD,

pole ; the 8-log breadth there furnishes room for only the steers-

e

man, for these little logs are not larger around than an average

pe)

young lady’s waist.

The connections of the several sections of

qod

the raft are slack and pliant, so that the raft may be readily bent

o1

s [

into any sort of curve required by the shape of the river.

el

The Neckar is in many places so narrow that a person can

o C1¢

al

i

throw a dog across it, if he has one; when it is also sharply

it

ho

curved in such places, the raftsman has to do some pretty nice

ad

fove:

snug piloting to make the turns. The river is not always allowed

ark mOre

to spread over its whole bed—which is as much as thirty, and

ghapont

sometimes forty yards wide—but is split into three equal bodies

(ur pa

of water, by stone dykes which throw the main volume, depth,

and current, into the central one.

In low water these neat nar-

Tl gloox

crtainty ¢

row-edged dykes project four or five inches above the surface,

like the comb of a submerged roof, but in high water they are

domof ¥

intolow-

overflowed. A hatful of rain makes high water in the Neckar,

and a basketful produces an overflow.

matters;

$orious §

There are dykes abreast the Schloss Hotel, and the current

is violently swift at that point.

I used to sit for hours in my

10y-500,

SpLl

IS D6

glass cage, watching the long narrow rafts slip along through the

s

central channel, grazing the right-bank dyke, and aiming care-

(rerme

bt nobod

fully for the middle arch of the stone bridge below; I watched

them in this way, and lost all this time hoping to see one of

pvssibilitii

domn the

them hit the bridge-pier and wreck itself sometime or other, but

was always disappointed.

One was smashed there one morning,

motion;

@lms do

but I had just stepped into my room a moment to light a pipe, so

I lost it.

oy

and vex

While I was looking down upon the rafts that morning in

Heilbronn, the dare-devil spirit of adventure came suddenly

and egi

upon me, and I said to my comrades—

ecstasy,

()

‘I am going to Heidelberg on a raft.

Will you venture

and dust

with me ?’

tired ho

Their faces paled a little, but they assented with as good a

e

grace as they could. Harris wanted to cable his mother—thought

grant ba

it his duty to do that, as he was all she had in this world—so,

and gre

while he attended to this, I went down to the longest and finest

with thi

raft and hailed the captain with a hearty ¢ Ahoy, shipmate!’

Somef

which put us upon pleasant terms at once, and we entered upon

f(ﬂiage f

business. I said we were on a pedestrian tour to Heidelberg,

vih

and would like to take passage with him.

I said this partly

!’

somefin

through young Z., who spoke German very well, and partly

alomg {

through Mr. X., who spoke it peculiarly. I canunderstand Ger-

fren o

man as well as the maniac that invented it, but I ¢alk it bess

théy A\(

through an interpreter,

tiver g

Ity

‘\

61

nly f

A TRAMP ABROAD.

16 oo,

a a"el‘ane

then shifted his quid

‘ral

)

The captain hitched up his_trousers,

SECHOHS 0

Presently he said just what I w

as expecting he

08 ey

lly by

thoughtfully.

8 riyg

T,

would say, th

at he had no license to carry passengers, and there-

b

fore was afraid the law w

ould be after him in case the matter got

3

A Perso

(n

So I chartered the raft

noised about or any accident happened.

8 alsp g

Ql‘p! )

and the crew,

and took all the responsibili

ties on myself.

atch bent to their work

"6 rety i

VWith a rattling song the starboard w

aays allypeg

and hove the cable short, then g

ot the anchor home, and our

Bt Iy, a

gtv)lnd

and soon was bowling along

bark moved off with a stately stride,

® tul .1"-0(1103

at about two knots an hour.

At first the talk was a

"'Olh |

XD?

erth,

Qur party

were grouped amidships.

4

DA

little gloomy,

and ran mainly upon the shortness of life, the un-

the perils which beset it, and the

need and wis-

face

certainty of if,

o

ey oy

dom of being always pre

pared for the worst; this shaded off

e

into low-voiced references to

he dangers of the deep, and kindred

Neckar

dden, and the mys-

matters; but as the

grey east began to re

nd

cument

el

terious solemnity

and silence of the d

awn to give place to the

ny

joy-songs of the

birds, the talk took a cheerier tone, and our

1 the

16

.

spirits began to rise steadily.

L 4

Carg

Germany, in the sum

mer, 1

s the perfection of the beautiful,

W5 I watched

but nobody has understood,

and realised, and enjoyed the utmost

aceful beauty unless he has voyaged

0 see one of

possibilities of this soft and pe

¢ 0T Other

b

I

down the Neckar on a raft.

The motion of a raft is the needful

> 00¢ mor

motion ; it is gentle, and glid

ing, and smooth, and noiseless; it

calms down all feverish activities,

it soothes to sleep all nervous

18 pipey 9

der its restful influence

all the troubles

hurry and impatience; un

mo

and vexations and sorrow

s that harass the mind vanish away,

charm, a deep and tranquil

16

Il

(10

]

and existence becomes a dream, a

ecstasy. How it contrasts with hot

and perspiring pedestrianism

nd tedious jolting behind

I you venturs

and dusty and deafening railroad rush, a

tired horses over blinding white roads!

along

t=}

, bety

veen the green and fra-

ith a5 good &

We went slipping silently

leasure and contentment that grew

grant banks,

with a sense of p

ther—thought

Sometimes the banks wer

e overhung

\

world—s,

and grew all the time.

with thick masses of willows th

at wholly hid the ground behind ;

and finest

sometimes we had noble hills

on one h

and, clothed densely with

he other hand open levels blazing

7, shipmate!

foliage to their tops, an

dont

entered upon

othe

d in the rich blue of the corn-flower ;

Heidelbery

with poppies, or cl

and sometimes

sometimes we drifte

d in the shadow of forests,

this paty

hes of velvety grass, fresh and

along the margin of long strete

eye.

And the birds !—

, and po

green and br

ight, a tireless charm to the

k and forth across the

v

Jorstand Ger-

where ; they swept bac

they were every

sic was I

ever stilled.

19

river constantly,

and their jubilant mu

It was a deep and satisfying

pleasur

e to see the sun create the

€2

A TRAMP ABROAD.

fleking

new morning, and gradually, patiently, lovingly, clothe it on with

00k

splendour after splendour, and glory after glory, till the miracle

)

was complete.

il 0

f

How different is this marvel observed from a

raft,’ from what it is when one observes it through the dingy

e Jac

I

.

windows of a railway station in some wretched village, while he

he PTUI.’}

munches a petrified sandwich and waits for the train.

ol ¥

umrouble

s 4 e

e

ity i

CHAPTER XYV.

most 18

i

DOWN THE RIVER,

fre

h e

Bl

o too

Mex and women and cattle were at work in the dewy fields by

fhe cager

Towe

this time. The people often stepped aboard the raft, as we glided

Sl

along the grassy shores, and gossiped with us and with the crew

Ay

the ride.

for a hundred yards or so, then stepped ashore again,

refreshed by

Th

Only the men did this, the women were too busy. The women

do all kinds of work on the Continent,

o

"

They dig, they hoe, they

reap, they sow, they bear monstrous burdens on their backs, they

bui ALl and

shove similar ones long distances on wheelbarrows, they drag the

cart when there is no dog or lean cow to drag it, and when there

10

is, they assist the dog or cow.

Age is no matter: the older the

r

eI

woman, the stronger she is, apparently. On the farm a woman’s

duties are not defined, she does a little of everything ; but in the

il

o

(l then

Infched

towns it is different, there she only does certain things, the men

do the rest. For instance, an hotel chambermaid has nothing to

e me

do but make beds and fires in fifty or sixty rooms, bring towels

bardly

and candles, and fetch several tons of water up several flights ot

gunding

stairs, 2 hundred pounds at a time, in prodigious metal pitchers.

impulse

She does not have to work more than eighteen or tw

enty hours a

propelle

day, and she can always

get down on her knees and -scrub

chain 13

rest.

the floors of halls and closets when she is tired and needs a

0 nds

oy,

As the morning advanced and the weather grew hot, we took

fhat

off our outside clothing, and sat in a row along the edge of the

Teihey |

raft and enjoyed the scenery, with our sun umbrellas over our

ladedy

heads and our legs dangling in the water.

Every now and then

Uses g

we plunged in and had a swim.

Every projecting grassy cape

enabl |

had its joyous group of naked ch

ildren, the boys to themselves

in st

and the girls to themselves,

the 1

atter usually in care of some

Eleye

motherly dame who sat in the shad

e of a tree with

her knitting.

00¢, g

The little boys swam out to us sometimes,

but the little maids

Which

—— & —

T

stood knee-deep in the water, and stopped their splashing and.

A TRAMP ABROAD.

63

thy 1t

UL the

O ify

frolicking to inspect the raft with their innocent eyes as it drifted

izge)

MIved

I0m

by.

Once we turned a corner suddenly, and surprised a slender

10}

i

8 dipg

girl of twelve years or upwards, just stepping into the water.

She had not time to run, but she did what answered just as well;

) Whil

b

she promptly drew alithe young willow bough athwart her white

body with one hand, and then contemplated us with a simple and

untroubled interest.

Thus she stood while we glided by. She

X

was a pretty creature, and she and her willow bough made a very

pretty picture, and one which could not offend the modesty of the

Her white skin had a low bank of

L

most fastidious spectator.

fresh green willows for background and effective contrast—for

s

she stood against them—and above and out of them projected

by

the eager faces and white shoulders of two smaller girls.

z;“wl

Towards noon we heard the inspiriting cry—

W

¢Sail ho !’

L1

)

¢ Where away?’ shouted the captain,

¢ Three points off the weather bow ! 2

. The wone

‘We ran forward to see the vessel:

It proved to be a steams

[}iéy hogl‘ they

boat—for they had begun to run a steamer up the Neckar, for

She was a tug, and one of very peculiar

i backs, they

the first time in May.

they dong the

build and aspect.

I had often watched her from the hotel, and

1d when there

wondered how she propelled herself, for apparently she had no

the older the

propeller or paddles. She came churning along, now, making a deal

T 4 Woman's

of noise of one kind and another, and aggravating it every now

and then by blowing a hoarse whistle.

She had nine keel-boats

g4 but in the

)ﬂ

6 1N

hitched on behind and following after her in a long, slender rank.

1(

o

We met her in a narrow place, between dykes, and there was

As she went

ng towe

hardly room for us both in the cramped passage.

1

s 0f

grinding and groaning by, we perceived the secret of her moving

impulse.

She did not drive herself up the river with paddles or

lp

) Yl‘

Iy

1110111‘5 )

propeller, she pulled herself by hauling on a great chain. This

eg and ‘U

chain is laid in the bed of the river, and is only fastened at the

two ends. It is seventy miles long. It comes in over the boat’s

and needs &

bow, passes around a drum, and is paid out astern.

She pulls on

that chain, and so drags herself up the river or down it.

She has

Tot, e took

neither bow nor stern, strictly speaking, for she has a long-

edge of the

-~

bladed rudder on each end,and she never turns around. She

Jag over oUF

uses both rudders all the time, and they are powerful enough to

o and then

enable her to turn to the right or the left, and steer arqund curves

grassy AP

in spite of the strong resistance of the chain. I would not have

themselies

believed that that impossible thing could be done; but I saw it

care of SO

done, and therefore I know that there is one impossible thing

her kuitg

which can be done.

What miracle will man attempt next?

Jitle mai®

We met many big keel boats on their way up, using sails,

plshing &

64

A TRAMP ABROAD:

pnifil

mule power, and profanity—a tedious and laborious business. A

times

wire rope led from the foretop mast to the file of mules on the

richand !

tow-path a hundred yards ahead, and by dint of much banging

chenfeld

and swearing and urging, the detachment of drivers managed to

TomAncey

get a speed of two or three miles an hour out of the mules against

pafive £

the stiff current.

The Neckar has always been used as a canal,

fhe von

and thus has given employment to a great many men and animals;

donjon

but now that this steamship is able, with a small crew and a bushel

place, &0

or so of coal, to take nine keel boats farther up the river in one

o hushar

hour than thirty men and thirty mules can do it in two, it is

visied b

believed that the old-fashioned towing industry is on its death-

ont ffe

bed. A second steamboat began work in the Neckar three months

who was!

after the first one was put in service.

would en

Atnoon we stepped ashore and bought some bottled beer, and

tormy 1

got some chickens cooked while the raft waited; then we im-

sef in |

mediately put to sea again, and had our dinner while the beer

was cold and the chickens hot.

There is no pleasanter place for

countty

by, and

such a meal than a raft that is gliding down the winding Neckar,

R

ture hin

past green meadows and wooded hills, and slumbering villages,

yetLin

and craggy heights graced with crumbling towers and battlements.

might o

In one place we saw a nicely dressed German gentleman with-

forsok {

out any spectacles. Before I could come to anchor he had got away.

Pleasin

It was a great pity.

I so wanted to make a sketch of him.

The

<

delivern

captain comforted me for my loss, however, by saying that the

Now

man was without any doubt a fraud who had spectacles, but kept

mouth ¢

them in his pocket in order to make himself conspicuous.

ballady

Below Hassmersheim we passed Hornberg, Gétz von Berlich-

came o

ingen’s old castle.

It stands on a bold elevation 200 feet above

the surface of the river; it has high vine-clad walls inclosing

ghost th

hallad |

trees, and a peaked tower about 75 fect high. The steep hillside,

from the castle clear down to the water’s edge, is terraced and

therefo

and fnd

clothed-thick with grape vines.

This is like farming a mansard

roof. All the steeps along that part of the river which furnish the

sorel

Wag i

proper exposure, are given up to the grape. That region is a great

producer of Rhine wines.

The Germans are exceedingly fond

anjong y

of Rhine wines; they are put up in tall, slender bottles, and are

every o

of that i

considered a pleasant beverage.

One tells them from vinegar by

the label.

{0 cayg

r

day e,

The Hornberg hill is to be tunnelled, and the new railway

will pass under the castle.

Bug

mogth

) &

THE CAVE OF THE SPECTRE,

:

Ivg [

Two miles below Hornberg castle is a cave in a low cliff

Ph”lﬂwg

which the captain of the raft said had once been occupied by 4

|

i, |

A4 TRAMP ABROAD.

e g i

beautiful heiress of ITornbere—t

=]

he Lady Gertrude—in the old

G iy

times.

It was seven hundred years ago. She had a number of

Mg

rich and noble lovers and one poor and obscure one, Sir Wendel

~

Uesagaing

Lebenfeld. With the native chuckleheadedness of the heroine of

83 gy

)

romance, she preferred the poor and obscure lover. With the

M i

native sound judgment of the father of a heroine of romance,

w abughg]

the von Berlichingen of that day shut his daughter up in his

176 in

donjon keep, or his oubliette, or his culverine, or some such

D o, it fy

place, and resolved that she should stay there until she selected

L1t e

a_husband from among her rich and noble lovers. The latter

ee oyl

visited her and persecuted her with their supplications, but with-

out effect, for her heart was true to her poor despised Crusader,

A e, and

who was fighting in the Holy Land. Finally she resolveq that she

IED Y iy

would endure the attentions of the rich lovers no longer; so one

e the heey

stormy night she escaped and went down the river and hid her-

self in the cave on the other side.

Her father ransacked the

i

aee 10

CK

country for her, but found not a trace of her.

As the days went

ne

by, and still no tidings of her came, his conscience began to tor-

)&hlaﬁe

N

ture him, and he caused proclamation to be made that if she were

eman with.

yet living and would return, he would oppose her no longer, she

might marry whom she would.

The months dragged on, all hope

d gotaay.

him, The

forsook the old man, he ceased from his customary pursuits and

pleasures, he devoted himself to pious works, and longed for the

g that the

deliverance of death.

Now just at midnight, every night, the lost heiress stood in the

5, Eur kept

mouth of her cave, arrayed in white robes, and sang a little love

0n

1l

1¢¢

b 40076

ballad which her Crusader had made for her. She judged that if he

came home alive the superstitious peasants would tell him about the

i

ghost that sang in the cave, and that as soon as they described the

Jsde

ballad he would know that none but he and she knew that song,

El‘l‘ﬂCEd :w

therefore he would suspect that she was alive, and would come

3 mansid

and find her. As time went on, the people of the region became

furnish the

sorely distressed about the Spectre of the Haunted Cave. It

nis agrent

was said that ill-luck of one kind or another always overtook

anyone who had the misfortune to hear that song.

ingly fon

Eventually,

g5, and are

every calamity that happened thereabouts was laid at the door

yinegar

of that music.

Consequently no boatman would consent to pass

the cave at night ; the peasants shunned the place, even in the

daytime.

oy Tallnay

But the faithful girl sang on, night after night, month after

month, and patiently waited; her reward must come at last.

Five years dragged by, and still, every night at midnight, the

plaintive tones floated out over the silent land, while the distant

: ]OW C]iﬂ;

¥

[Pied b)v 4

66

A TRAMP ABROAD.

boatmen and peasants thrust their fingers into their ears and

shuddered out a prayer.

And now came the Crusader home, bronzed and battle-

scarred, but bringing a great and splendid fame to lay at the feet

A

of his bride.

The old lord of Hornberg received him as a son,

and wanted him to stay by him and be the comfort and blessing

s g1

of his age; but the tale of that young girl’s devotion to him

Rine, There

and its pathetic consequences made a changed man of the knight.

(Germany 18

He could not enjoy his well-earned rest.

He said his heart was

erenl o {hem

broken, he would give the remnant of his life to high deeds in

the peopfe’s 1’avm}

the cause of humanity, and so find a worthy death and a blessed

reunion with the brave true heart whose love had more honoured

by it begad fota

him than all his victories in war.

e well.

Tt s mot o

When the people heard this resolve of his they came and told

old e e

him there was a pitiless dragon in human disguise in the Haunted

Cave, a dread creature which no knight had yet been bold

is eridence t':mg

Tikerse there

enough to face, and begged him to rid the land of its desolating

words and e

presence.

He said he would do it.

They told him about the

song, and when he asked what song it was, they said the memory

rear’s memor

Javeit by men

of it was gone, for nobody had been hardy enough to listen to it

for the past four years and more.

by the il

Towards midnight the Crusader came floating down the river

Jegnd parly fo

He drifted

read it before,

in a boat, with his trusty cross-bow in his hands.

silently through the dim reflections of the crags and trees, with

his intent eyes fixed upon the low cliff which he was approaching.

As he drew nearer he discerned the black mouth of the cave.

Tore fwo g

o high ock el

Now,—is that a white figure? Yes.

The plaintive song begins

the Rbing, and

to well forth and float away over meadow and river,—the cross-

Which mared

bow is slowly raised to position, a steady aim is taken, the bolt

with her iy

flies straight to the mark, the figure sinks down, still singing, the

knight takes the wool out of his ears, and recognises the old

0t enryting

el amog

ballad,—too late !

Ab, if he had only not put the wool in his

Inthoe old,

ears!

The Crusader went away to the wars again, and presently

et g i |

Hema 1y !

fell in battle, fighting for the Cross.

Tradition says that during

ld fy

7 filley

several centuries the spirit of the unfortunate girl sang nightly

from the cave at midnight, but the music carried no curse with

Jersenbe, g,

£ Sy i

it; and although many listened for the mysterious sounds few

i IDg’mg’ %

were favoured, since only those could hear them who had

Gay

never failed in a trust.

It is believed that the singing still con-

eD)"Ihere ]]OY ‘

Weliale] o,

tinues, but it is known that nobody has heard it during the

present century.

{ia e

i ‘AD uﬂiﬂtenﬁ'

I

;lZ

b faﬂ) g

13 ang

A TRAMP ABROAD.

67

batfle

the fot

CHAPTER XVI.

8 4 son,

Ly

\

I

it

AN ANCIENT LEGEND OF THE RHINE,

I 10 hipy

& knilt,

Tue last legend reminds one of the ‘TLorelei’—a legend of the

et wog

Rhine.

There is a song called ¢ The Lorelei.’

A

Germany is rich in folk-songs, and the words and airs of

deeds fn

4 blessed

several ot them are peculiarly beautiful—but ¢ The Lorelei’ is

honoured

the people’s favourite.

I coiild not endure it at first, but by-and-

by it began to take hold of me, and now there is no tune which I

like so well.

and told

¢ Haunted

It is not possible that it is much known in America, else I

been hold

should have heard it there.

The fact that I never heard it there

is evidence that there are others in my country who have fared

desolating

about the

likewise ; therefore, for the sake of these, I mean to print the

words and the music in this chapter.

And I will refresh the

le memory

reader’s memory by printing the legend of the Lorelei too.

I

Isten fo 1t

bave it by me in the ¢ Legends of the Rhine,’ done into English

) theriver

by the wildly gifted Garnham, Bachelor of Arts.

I print the

legend partly to refresh my own memory, too, for I have never

Te drifted

read it before.

rees, With

THE LEGEND,

preaching,

the cave,

Lore (two syllables) was a water nymph who used to sit on

ong begins

a high rock called Ley or Lei (pronounced like our word Ze) in

—the Cro8-

—

the Rhine, and lure boatmen to destruction in a furious rapid

She so bewitched them

N, fhe balt

which marred the channel at that spot.

iging, the

with her plaintive songs and her wonderful beauty, that they for-

got everything else to gaze up at her, and so they presently

o5 the old

rool in his

drifted among the broken reefs and were lost.

In those old, old times the Count Bruno lived in a great castle

near there with his son the Count Hermann, a youth of twenty.

[ presemly

Hermann had heard a great deal about the beautiful Lore, and

hat during

had finally fallen very deeply in love with her without having

g nighly

yet seen her.

So he used to wander to the neighbourhood of the

e Vi

Lei, evenings, with his zither and ¢ Express his Longing in low

ounds fe

On one of these occasions, ‘sud-

who ha

Singing,” as Garnham says.

still con

denly there hovered around the top of the rock a brightness of

—

unequalled clearness and colour, which, in increasing smaller

Jring 1€

circles thickened, was the enchanting figure of the beautiful

Lore.

¢ An unintentional cry of Joy escaped the Youth, he let his

Zither fall, and with extended arms he called out the name of

F 2

68

A TRAMP ABROAD.

1%

thie cnigmatical Being, who seemed to stoop lovingly to him and

ot

beckon to him in a friendly manner ; indeed, if his ear did not de-

fhe [¢

ceive him, she called his name with unutterable sweet Whispers,

beckou

proper to love.

Beside himself with delight, the youth lost his

fafu

e

Senses and sank senseless to the earth.’

fo her

After that he was a changed person.

He went dreaming

upset,

about, thinking only of his fairy and caring for nought else

ad ]

in the world.

¢ The old Count saw with afiliction this change-

oy

youth

ment in his son,” whose cause he could not divine, and tried to

byap

divert his mind into cheerful channels, but to no purpose.

Then

Th

the old Count used authority.

He commanded the youth to be-

any

take himself to the camp. Obedience was promised.

Garnham

e 10

Bays :

moved

¢ It was on the evening before his departure, as he wished still

deelt

once to visit the Lei and offer to the Nymph of the Rhine his

T

Sighs, the tones of hig Zither, and his Songs.

He went, in his

have

boat, this time accompanied by a faithful squire, down the

stream.

The moon shed her silvery light over the whole

of gr

the ls

Country ; the steep bank mountains appeared in the most fan-

echoin

tastical shapes, and the high oaks on either side bowed their

sng f

Branches on Hermann’s passing. As soon as he approached the

on fhe

Lei, and was aware of the surf-waves, his attendant was seized

i

with an inexpressible Anxiety, and he begged permission to land ;

Thiss

but the Knight swept the strings of his Guitar and sang :

will

¢ Once I saw thee in dark night,

Il

In supernatural Beauty bright ;

Jang

Of Light-rays was the Figure wove,

thea

|

To share its light, locked-hair strove.

me g1

¢Thy Garment colour wave-dove,

i

for m

By thy hand the sign of love,

If

Thy eyes’ sweet enchantment,

o

e,

Raying to me, oh! entrancement,

lat

ation

¢ Oh, wert thou but my sweetheart,

!

¥ I

How willingly thy love to part !

Germg

With delight I should be bound

To thy rocky house in deep ground.’

an ge

and kn

0 anof

That Hermann should have gone to that place at all, was not

wise; that he should have gone with such a song as that in his

mouth was a most serious mistake. The Lorelei did not ¢call his

name in unutterable sweet Whispers’ this time.

No, that song

naturally worked an instant and thorough ¢ changement’ in her;

and not only that, but it stirred the bowels of the whole afflicted

region round about there—for

A TRAMP ABROAD.

69

to ]]im ani

¢ Scarcely had these tones sounded, everywhere there began

7 d‘d lof dg_

tumult and sound, as if voices above and below the water.

On

4§ Whi

Spers,

-

Outh loge I

1§

the Lei rose flames, the Fairy stood above, as that time, and

beckoned with her right hand clearly and urgently to the in-

fatuated Knight, while with a staff in her left she called the waves

It dreyyy

to her service.

They began to mount heavenward ; the boat was

gl gy

upset, mocking every exertion; the waves rose to the gunwale,

thig Changg.

The

-

and splitting on the hard stones, the Boat broke into Pieces.

and tri'y,

o

youth sank into the depths, but the squire was thrown on shore

pose, They

s

by a powerful wave.’

JOutt ty b

The bitterest things have been said about the Lorelei during

. Garnhgy

many centuries, but surely her conduct upon this occasion entitles

her to our respect.

One feels drawn tenderly toward her and is

Wished ]

moved to forget her many crimes and remember only the good

16 Rhine bs

deed that crowned and closed her career.

ment, i bis

¢ The Fairy was never more seen; but her enchanting tones

¢, down the

have often been heard.

In the beautiful, refreshing, still nights

r the wholg

of spring, when the moon pours her silver light over the Country,

be mogt fan.

the listening shipper hears from the rushing of the waves, the

bowed their

echoing Clang of a wonderfully charming voice, which sings a

proached the

song from the crystal castle, and with sorrow and fear he thinks

bwas seized

on the young Count Hermann, seduced by the Nymph.’

nioland;

Here is the music and the German words by Heinrich Heine.

This song has been a favourite in Germany for forty years, and

g

will remain a favourite always, maybe.

I have a prejudice against people who print things in a foreign

Janguage and add no translation.

When I am the reader, and

the author considers me able to do the translating myself, he pays

me quite a nice compliment—but if he would do the translating

for me I would try to get along without the compliment.

If I were at home, no doubt I could get a translation of this

poem, but I am abroad and can’t ; therefore I will make a trans-

lation myself.

It may not be a good one, for poetry is out of

my line, but it will serve my purpose—which is, to give the un-

German young girl a jingle of words to hang the tune on until she

can get hold of a good version, made by some one who is a poet

and knows how to convey a poetical thought from one language

to anotlier,

ol was ot

'

o that in D

106 icau hi!

o, that 5078

ot 0 D3

hole officted

LORELEI

Andante,

]

1

]

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N

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65T

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e Any

f

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fo}

e

==

= 15 —

-

—_o—L (I ——

b»

1. Ich weiss nicht, was soll es be - deu - ten, dass ich

80

trau - rig biﬁ;

em

schon - ste Jung - frau

sit

-

zet dort o

-

ben

wun - der - bar,

2. Die

Schif - fe

wil - dem Weh:

er

3. Den Schif -fer im klei - nen

er-greift es mit

]

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T

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)

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=

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das kommt

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Die

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72

A TRAMP ABROAD.

THE LORELEIL

I cannot divine what it meaneth,

This haunting nameless pain:

A tale of the bygone ages

Keeps brooding through my braing

The faint air cools in the gloaming,

And peaceful flows the Rhine,

The thirsty summits are drinking

The sunset’s flooding wine ;

e

The loveliest maiden is sitting

High-throned in yon blue air,

Her golden jewels are shining,

She combs her golden hair;

She combs with a comb that is golden,

And sings a weird refrain

That steeps in a deadly enchantment

o

The listener’s ravished brain :

The doomed in his drifting shallop,

audAin

Jtisas

Is tranced with the sad sweet tone,

He sees not the yawning breakers,

fo be;

He sees but the maid alone :

antsi

The pitiless billows engulf him !—

fo the

So perish sailor and bark ;

clinging

And this, with her baleful singing,

L =

a Dise

Is the Lorelei’s gruesome work.

dred o

I have a translation by Garnham, Bachelor of Arts, in the

¢Legend of the Rhine,” but it would not answer the purpose I

il @e

N

mentioned above, because the measure is too nobly irregular; it

Bven!

don’t fit the tune snugly enough; in places it hangs over at the

him

ends too far, and in other places one runs out of words before he

entitl

gets to the end of a bar. ~Still, Garnham’s translation has high

Was

merits, and I am not dreaming of leaving it out of my book. I

Extra

believe this poet is wholly unknown in America and England ;

I

I take peculiar pleasure in bringing him forward because I con-

sider that I discovered him :

L

whli

LU

ofit!

THE LORELEI

‘A

Translated by L. W. Garnkam, B.4.

group

I do not know what it signifies

frave

That I am so sorrowful :

(]

A fable of old times so terrifies,

book

Leaves my heart so thoughtful.

(g

The air is cool and it darkens,

fulf]

And calmly flows the Rhine;

‘

The summit of the mountain hearkens

1n evening sunshine line.

thoug

Lare

A TRAMP ABROAD.

73

The most beautiful Maiden entranccs

Above wonderfully-there,

Ier beautiful golden attire glances,

She combs her golden hair.

With golden comb so lustrous,

And thereby a song sings,

It has a tone so wondrous,

That powerful melody rings.

The shipper in the little ship

It affets with woe’s sad might ;

e does not see the rocky clip,

e only regards dreaded height.

I believe the turbulent waves

Swallow at last shipper and Loat ;

She with her singing craves

All to visit her magic moat.

He has got in all the facts;

No translation could be closer.

and in their regular order too.

There is not a statistic wanting.

Tt is as succinct as an invoice.

That is what a translation ought

to be; it should exactly reflect the thought of the original. You

can’t sing ¢ Above wonderfully there,’ because it simply won’t go

to the tune, without damaging the singer; but it is a most

clingingly exact translation of Dort oben wunderbar—fits it like

a blister.

Mr. Garnham’s reproduction has other merits—a hun-

dred of them—Dbut it is not necessary to point them out.

They

I‘ ;\Tt?, i ﬂlﬂ

will be detected.

the purpose ]

No one with a specialty can hope to have a monopoly of it.

imegular; i

Even Garnham has a rival.

Mr. X. had a small pamphlet with

g3 over af {he

It was

him which he had bought while on a visit to Munich.

onds before be

entitled ¢ A Catalogue of Pictures in the Old Pinacotek,” and

fion bas bigh

was written in a peculiar kind of English. Here are a few

" my book. [

extracts:

nd Bnglaud;

¢It is not permitted to make use of the work in question to a

ecause cone

publication of the same contents as well as to the pirated edition

of it.

In the foreground near a pond and a

¢ An evening landscape.

group of white beeches is leading a footpath animated by

travellers.’

¢ A learned man in a cynical and torn dress holding an open

book in his hand.’

¢St. Bartholomew and the Executioner with the knife to

fulfil the martyr.’

A long while this picture was

¢ Portrait of a young man.

thought to be Bindi Altoviti’s portrait; now somebody will agair

have it to be the self-portrait of Raphael.’

74

A TRAMP ABROAD.

¢Susan bathing, surprised by the two old inen.

In the

background the lapidation of the condemned.’

(‘Lapidation” is good; it is much more elegant than

The

¢ stoning.’)

SﬁCk) E

¢ St. Rochus sitting in a landscape with an angel who looks at

preatl

his plague-sore, whilst the dog the bread in his mouth attents

roubl

him.’

and b

¢ Spring. The Goddess Flora, sitting. Behind her a fertile

His b

valley perfused by a river.’

red

¢ A beautiful bouquet animated by May-bugs, &ec.’

ceedin

¢ A warrior in armour with a gypseous pipe in his hand

fhe us

leans against the table and blows the smoke far away of

himself.

ﬂny o1

of dan

¢ A Dutch landscape along a navigable river which perfuses

dangh

it till to the background.’

)

¢ Some peasants singing in a cottage.

A woman lets drink a

fhe &

child out of a cup.’

ofhe,

¢ St. John'’s head as a boy—painted in fresco on a brick.

pI’OCE’E

(Meaning a tile.)

even

¢ A young man of the Riccio family, his hair cut off right at

the end, dressed in black with the same cap. Attributed to

ot

aphael, but the signation is false.’

A

afin

¢ The Virgin holding the Infant.

Is very painted in the man-

ner of Sassoferrato.’

obje

¢ A Larder with greens and dead game animated by a cook-

his st

maid and two kitchen-boys.’

turme

he w

¢ However, the English of this catalogue is at least as happy

stilli

as that which distinguishes an inscription upon a certain picture

in Rome—to wit :

him {

¢ Revelations-View.

St. John in Patterson’s Island.’

his i

warl

But meantime the raft is moving on,

B

of

e

CHAPTER XVII,

Tufl

Do

A MiLE or two above Eberbach we saw a peculiar ruin projecting

other,

above the foliage which clothed the peak of a high and very

o

steep hill.

This ruin consisted of merely a couple of crumbling

i |

)

masses of masonry which bore a rude resemblance to human

SGienc

faces; they leaned forward and touched foreheads, and had the

gave

look of being absorbed in conversation.

This ruin had nothing

very imposing or picturesque about it, and there was no great

e

o

deal of if, yet it was called the ¢ Spectacular Ruin.’

i

By

A TRAMP ABROAD.

I the

LEGEND OF THE ‘SPECTACULAR RUIN.

legaﬂt thay

The captain of the raft, who was as full of history as he could

WhO ]qgks a

stick, said that in the Middle Ages a most prodigious fire-

Mth ity

breathing dragon used to live in that region, and made more

trouble than a tax collector.

He was as long as a railway train,

her ferly

and had the customary impenetrable green scales all over him.

cl

His breath bred pestilence and conflagration, and his appetite

bred famine.

He ate men and cattle impartially, and was ex-

by g

ceedingly unpopular.

The German emperor of that day made

T avay of

the usual offer ; he would grant to the destroyer of the dragon

any one solitary thing he might ask for; for he had a surplusage

i perfgg

of daughters, and it was customary for dragon-killers to take a

daughter for pay.

|1y drink

So the most renowned knights came from the four corners of

the earth and retired down the dragon’s throat one after the

on 8 brick!

other.

A panic arose and spread.

Heroes grew cautious.

The

procession ceased. The dragon became more destructive than

off night af

ever. The people lost all hope of succour, and fled to the

ttributed to

mountains for refuge.

At last, Sir Wissenschaft, a poor and obscure knight, out of

| n the mane

a far country, arrived to do battle with the monster. A pitiable

object he was, with his armour hanging in rags about him, and

] by a cooke

his strange-shaped knapsack strapped upon hisback. Everybody

But

turned up their noses at him, and some openly jeered him.

v

he was calm. Hesimply inquired if the emperor’s offer was

east a3 1o

40}

rtail pieturs

still in force. The emperor said it was—but charitably advised

him to go and hunt hares, and not endanger so precious a life as

his in an attempt which had brought death to so many of the

and

world’s most illustrious heroes.

But this tramp only asked—¢ Were any of these heroes men

of science ?’

This raised a laugh, of course, for science was

despised in those days.

But the tramp was not in the least

ruffled.

e said he might be a little in advance of his age, but

no matter—science would come to be honoured, some time or

other.

He said he would march against the dragon in the

1 projecting

morning.

Out of compassion, then, a decent spear was offered

fh and 1)

him, but he declined, and said, ¢ spears were useless to men of

f erumblng

science.” They allowed him to sup in the gervants’ hall, and

o fo humal

and ad the

gave him a bed in the stables.

When he started forth in the morning, thousands wers

fad nothing

gathered to see.

The emperor said—

a5 00 G0

¢Do not be rash, take a spear, and leave off your knapsack.’

But the tramp said—

A TRAMP ABROAD.

dtmob

¢TIt is not a knapsack,” and moved straight on.

The dragon was waiting and ready.

He was breathing forth

it 1)

jofures

vast volumes of sulphurous smoke and lurid blasts of flame.

it

The ragged knight stole warily to a good position, then he un-

legelld., |

slung his cylindrical knapsack—which was simply the common

] doub

fire-extinguisher known to modern times—and the first chance

he got he turned on his hose and shot the dragon square in the

Alo

centre of his cavernous mouth.

lastin

Out went the fires in an instant,

and the dragon curled up and died.

vy

He had reared

Ase

This man had brought brains to his aid.

shout T

dragons from the

ego, in his labor

{ela})

atory ; he had watched over

them like a mother, and patiently studied them and experimented

ety W

Thus he had found out that fire

anh

upon them while they grew.

was the life principle of a dragon; put out the dragon’s fires

scatier

He could

and it could make steam no longer, and must die.

jou WO

not put out a fire with a spear, therefore he invented the extin-

whent

Jimited

guisher.

The dragon being dead, the emperor fell on the hero’s

all

neck and said—

d

¢ Deliverer, name your request, at the same time beckoning

For

Tl

s

out behind with his heel for a detachment of his daughters to

form and advance.

But the tramp gave them no observance.

(il

[1C

nex

He simply said—

¢ My request is, that upon me be conferred the monopoly of

R’O 80

the manufacture and sale of spectacles in Germany.’

wulrd

The emperor sprang aside, and exclaimed—

the

¢ This transcends all the impudence I ever heard! A modest

and an

o us,

demand, by my halidome ! Why didn’t you ask for the imperial

revenues at once, and be done with it?”’

i

To

certaln

But the monarch had given his word, and he kept it.

everybody’s surprise, the unselfish monopolist immediately re-

eVer §

duced the price of spectacles to such a degree that a great and

Ianne

crushing burden was removed from the nation.

The emperor,

6\'(?[’? ‘

to commemorate this generous act, and to testify his apprecia-

ety

tion of it, issued a decree commanding everybody to buy this

0”‘3

benefactor’s spectacles and wear them, whether they needed them

While,

or not.

Was ng

So originated the widespread custom of wearing spectacles in

of the

Germany ; and as a custom once established in these old lands

of fhe ]

is imperishable, this one remains universal in the empire to this

Woulg

day.

Such is the legend of the monopolist’s once stately and

about

sumptuous castle, now called the ¢ Spectacular Ruin.’

On the right bank, two or three miles below the Spectacular

Ruin, we passed by a noble pile of castellated buildings over-

S

looking the water from the crest of a lofty elevation.

A stretch

1\0}

A TRAMP ABROAD.

77

‘eathing forth

of two hundred yards of the high front wall was heavily draped

N of

with ivy, and out of the mass of buildings within rose three

|

flamg,

) El&n he .

picturesque old towers.

The place was in fine order, and was

the 0

gy

inhabited by a family of princely rank.

This castle had its

¢ Ing Changg

legend, too, but I should not feel justified in repeating it, because

Huarg in flg

I doubted the truth of some of its minor details.

Along in this region a multitude of Italian labourers were

Wiy

blasting away the frontage of the hills to make room for the new

railway. They were fifty or a hundred feet above the river.

e bad ey

""dtched over

As we turned a sharp corner they began to wave signals and

shout warnings to us to look out for the explosions.

It was all

EXDerimente

very well to warn us, but what could we do?

You can’t back

00t that i

a raft up stream, you can’t hurry it down stream, you can’t

Uagons fe

scatter out to one side when you haven’t any room to speak of,

. He ooyl

ted the iy

you won’t take to the perpendicular cliffs on the other shore

when they appear to be blasting there too.

Your resources are

on the ey

limited, you see.

There is simply nothing for it but to watch

and pray.

e befkoning

For some hours we had been making three and a half or four

daughters to

We had been

miles an hour, and we were still making that.

0 Observance,

dancing right along until these men began to shous, then for the

next ten minutes it seemed to me that I had never seen a raft

)

imonopoly of

go so slowly. When the first blast went off we raised our sun-

umbrellas and waited for the resuls.

No harm done; none of

the stones fell in the water. Another blast followed, and another,

4! A modet

and another.

Some of the rubbish fell in the water just astern

of us.

r theimperid

‘We ran that whole battery of nine blasts in a row, and it was

kept it To

certainly one of the most exciting and uncomfortable weeks I

mediately -

ever spent, either aship or ashore.

Of course we frequently

manned the poles and shoved earnestly for a second or so, but

fa greak and

The emperc,

every time one of those spurts of dust and débris shot aloft

every man dropped his pole and looked up to get the bearings

i appreci

of his share of it.

to buy this

It was very busy times along there for a

needed them

while.

It appeared certain that we must perish, but even that

was not the bitterest thought; no, the abjectly unheroic nature

of the death—that was the sting—that and the bizarre wording

spectacles in

of the resulting obituary—¢ Shot with a rock on a raft’ There

o ol lnds

None could be written

ire to (8

would be no poetry written about it.

about it.

Example :—

, stately a1

)

Net by war's shock, or war’s shaft—

Shot, with a rock, on a raft.

pecacult >

Jigs 0"

No poet who valued his reputation would touch such a theme

A et

78

A TRAMP ABROAD.

as that.

I should be distinguished as the only ¢distinguished

o

1T

dead’ who went down to the grave unsonnetted in 1878.

Ay

But we escaped, and I have never regretted it.

The last

tm

blast was a peculiarly strong one, and after the small rubbish

iSh

was done raining around us and we were just going to shake

hands over our deliverance, a later and larger stone came down

falf s

iTe

amongst our little group of pedestrians and wrecked an umbrella.

It did no other harm, but we took to the water just the same.

lA)

It seems that the heavy work in the quarries and the new

‘FC

aond ]

railway gradings is done mainly by Italians. That was a

revelation.

We have the notion in our country that Italians

(A)

The

nover do heavy work at all, but confine themselves to the lighter

o,

shontn

arts, like organ-grinding, operatic singin

o)

and assassination.

‘We have blundered, that is plain.

aud

la gt

18 Bu

ation

wind ¢

All along the river, near every village, we saw litt

houses for the future railway. They were finished and waiting

TUnNiE

for the rails and business.

They were as trim and snug and

the f

fo the

pretty as they could be.

They were always of brick or stone;

they were of graceful shape; they had vines and flowers about

‘P

them already, and around them the grass was bright and green,

'H

]

il

and showed that it was carefully looked after.

They were a

decoration to the beautiful landscape, not an offence.

Where-

N

know,

ever one saw a pile of gravel or a pile of broken stone, it was

always heaped as trimly and exactly as a new grave or a stack

and st

of cannon-balls; nothing about those stations, or along the

Gentl

this |

railroad or the waggon road wasallowed to look shabby or be un-

ornamental.

The keeping a country in such beautiful order as

yourl

P

(

Germany exhibits, has a wise practical side to it, too, for it

keeps thousands of people in work and bread who would other-

and {}

wise be idle and mischievous.

«

forma

at seg-

As the night shut down, the captain wanted to tie up, but

I thought maybe we might make IHirschhorn, so we went on.

{L

Presently the sky became overcast, and the captain came aft

T

looking uneasy.

He cast his eye aloft, then shook his head, and

g

said it was coming on to blow.

My party wanted to land at

0 yag

once, therefore I wanted to go on.

The captain said we ought

hn

to shorten sail, anyway, out of common prudence.

Consequently

‘B

the larboard watch was ordered to lay in his pole.

It grew

{b

il

quite dark now, and the wind began to rise.

0

It wailed through

the swaying branches of the trees and swept our decks in fitful

L

gusts. Things were taking on an ugly look. The captain shouted

bl

to the steersman on the forward log—

-~

femify

¢ How’s she heading ?’

S

The answer came faint and hoarse from far forward s

Ul

: A TRAMP ABROAD.

79

dlbt

m"Ul“h ?

¢ Nor’-east-and-by-nor'—east-by-east, half-east, sir.’

b The g

¢Let her go off a point !’

¢ Ay-aye, sir |’

el Tubhigy

¢ What water have you got?’

J0lny 0 <ha\

e g g,

i

¢ Shoal, sir.

Two foot large, on the stabboard, two and a

half scant on the labboard !’

d Wyl

i

¢ Let her go off another point !’

e sy

"

Sand the g,

¢ Ay-aye, sir!’

¢ Forward, men, all of you!

Tjively, now !

Stand by to

it g

crowd her round the weather corner!’

Tialing

y tha}t

liktr

¢ Ay-aye, sir !’

Then followed a wild running and trampling and hoarse

0)

shouting, but the forms of the men were lost in the darkness,

and the sounds were distorted and confused by the roaring of the

v il s*gt’{m

wind through the shingle-bundles.

By this time the sea was

Al

running inches high, and threatening every moment to engulf

| 4l

and

br

10K or stone

the frail bark. Now came the mate hurrying aft, and said, close

to the captain’s ear, in a low, agitated voice—

;

flowers a‘/

5‘

1‘

¢ Prepare for the worst, sir-—we have sprung a leak.’

fand grem,

¢Heavens ! where?’

They were o

¢Right aft the second row of logs.’

¢Nothing but a miracle can save us.

Don’t let the men

108, \\'.hrew

Was

know, or there will be a panic and mutiny !

Lay her in shore,

0ra stack

and stand by to jump with the stern-line the moment she touches.

or a

I

Gentlemen, I must look to you to second my endeavours in

orD

this hour of peril.

You have hats—go forrard and bail for

1l Order &

your lives!’

0 1t g fr

Down swept another mighty blast of wind, clothed in spray

and thick darkness.

o would ofher

At such a moment as this, came from away

forward that most appalling of all cries that are ever heard

at sea—

to tie up, ot

¢ Man overboard !’

9 e went o

ot came af

The captain shouted—

¢Hard a-port! Never mind the man! Let him climb aboard

¢ s head, an

or wade ashore !’

ted to Land &

id we ougtt

Another cry came down the wind—

¢ Breakers ahead !’

Consequemly

ole. It ¢1e¥

¢ Where away ?’

¢ Not a log’s length off her port fore-foot !’

yaled throug

We had groped our slippery way forward, and were now

decksin

bailing with the frenzy of despair, when we heard the mate’s

aptil shouté

terrified cry, from far aft—

¢ Stop that dashed bailing, or we shall be aground !’

But this was immediately followed by the glad shout—

yad

80

A TRAMP ABROAD.

Dut yolll

* Land aboard the starboard transom !’

¢ Saved !’ cried the captain.

¢ Jump ashore and take a turn

sS04

gl QP

around a tree, and pass the bight aboard !’

ronehizg

1\

The next moment we were all on shore weeping and embracing

for joy, while the rain poured down in torrents.

Jitering 8

The captain

cqmiortabie

said he had been a mariner for forty years on the Neckar, and in

that time had seen storms to make a man’s cheek blanch and his

g, for

fo 568 if the

pulses stop, but he had never, never seen a storm that even

sle almays

approached this one.

How familiar that sounded !

For I have

been at sea a good deal, and have heard that remark from captains

filure; e

hehud o

with a frequency accordingly.

We framed in our minds the usual resolution of thanks and

adsebthe

admiration and gratitude, and took the first opportunity to vote

it, and put it in writing and present it to the captain, with the

customary speech.

We tramped through the darkness and the drenching summer

rain full three miles, and reached ¢ The Naturalist Tavern, in

the village of Hirschhorn, just an hour before midnight, almost

Ty the mor

in the del

exhausted from hardship, fatigue, and terror.

I can never forget

with the {12

that night.

of the mena

The landlord was rich, and therefore could afford to be crusty

There were

and disobliging ; he did not at all like being turned owt of his

warm bed to open his house for us.

But no matter, his house-

foregn bin

populons

hold got up and cooked a quick supper for us, and we brewed a

some free

hot punch for ourselves, to keep off consumption. After supper

and punch we had an hour’s soothing smoke while we fought the

White ra

and sniffed

naval battle over again, and voted the resolutions; then we

retired to exceedingly neat and pretty chambers upstairs that

ity meck, v

had clean, comfortable beds in them with ' heirloom - pillow-cases

chickenya

most elaborately and tastefully embroidered by hand.

Taven hop

Such rooms and beds and embroidered linen are as frequent

said, ‘P

in German village inns as they are rare in ours.

Our villages

feel i 1y

are superior to German villages in more merits, excellences,

{00 muh f

conveniences and privileges than I can enumerate, but the hotels

be judped

do not belong in the list.

I4Y6 seen gy

¢ The Naturalist Tavern’ was not a meaningless name; for

Biyarg Tay

all the halls and all the rooms were lined with large glass cases

]

which were filled with all sorts of birds and animals, glass-eyed,

ave fongg

ably stuffed, and set up in the most natural and eloquent and

roubleg for

dramatic attitudes. The moment we were a-bed the rain cleared

€4Vt fhg py

away, and the moon came out.

I dozed off to sleep while con-

After b

templating a great white stuffed owl which was looking intently

asll of

down on me from a high perch with the air of a person who

Werg S0mg

thought he had met me before, but could not make out for

£ ).

certain.

A TRAMP ABROAD.

81

ng

ﬂl\@“

But young Z. did not get off so easily.

He said that as he

was sinking deliciously to sleep, the moon lifted away the shadows,

an by,

and developed a huge cat, on a bracket, dead and stuffed, but

ty

crouching, with every muscle tense, for a spring, and with its

1§

®

glittering glass eyes aimed straight at him.

It made Z. un-

4 ang n

comfortable.

bl

He tried closing his own eyes, but that did not

alch and ki

It}

answer, for a natural instinct kept making him open them again

imth

b by

dr

to see if the cat was still getting ready to launch at him, which

0 [ gy

she always was.

He tried turning his back, but that was a

A frop Qg’ptm.\

failure; he knew the sinister eyes were on him still.

So at last

he had to get up, after an hour or two of worry

J

and experiment,

1 0f tharky g

and set the cat out in the hall.

So he won, that time.

poriity t

Aptan, ih

renching sy

CIIAPTER XVIIL

alist Taven

midhight, ol

IN the morning we took breakfast in the garden, under the trees,

an never foge

in the delightful German summer fashion.

The air was filled

with the fragrance of flowers and wild animals; the living portion

ord to be erusy

of the menagerie of the ¢Naturalist Tavern’ was all about us.

med ot of by

There were great cages populous with fluttering and chattering

-

fter, bis house

foreign birds, and other great cages and greater wire pens,

nd we brewed

populous with quadrupeds, both native and foreign. There were

o After supper

some free creatures, too, and quite sociable ones they were.

e we fought e

White rabbits went loping about the place, and occasionally came

and sniffed at our shoes and shins; a fawn, with a red ribbon on

tions; then v

ers upsas

its neck, walked up and examined us fearlessly; rare breeds of

chickens and doves begged for crumbs, and a poor old tailless

oom-pilov-es

hand,

raven hopped about with an humble, shame-faced mien, which

said, ‘ Please do not notice my exposure—think how you would

are as frequent

s, Our vilhgs

feel in my circumstances, and be charitable.” If he was observed

too much he would retire behind something, and stay there until

it excellenes

-

he judged the party’s interest had found another object. I never

, bt the otés

have seen another dumb creature that was so morbidly sensitive.

Bayard Taylor, who could interpret the dim reasonings of animals,

Jess name; {0

and understood their moral natures better than most men, would

rge glass o8

have found some way to make this poor old chap forget his

als, glas4

troubles for a while, but we had not his kindly art, and so had to

] eloquent &

leave the raven to his griefs.

e rain ¢t

After breakfast we climbed the hill and visited the ancient

6l while con-

There

castle of Hirschhorn, and the ruined church near it.

ookilg intentlf

were some curicus old bas-reliefs leaning against the inner walls of

g gl

the church—sculptured lords of Hirschhorn in complete armour

e 00

G

82

A TRAMP ABROAD.

and ladies of Hirschhorn in the picturesque court costumes of

gond 2 ;

the Middle Ages.

These things are suffering damage and passing

it S

Therty ]

to decay ; ‘for the last Hirschhorn has been dead two hundred

T X

years, and there is nobody now who cares to preserve the family

(facher

relics.

In the chancel was a twisted stone column, and the cap-

tain told us a legend about it, of course, for in the matter of

— -

[wsh

id ot 20

legends he could not seem to restrain himself; but I do not

repeat his tale, because there was nothing plausible about i,

o 8500

except that the hero wrenched this column into its present screw-

e chas

shape with his hands—just one single wrench. All the rest of

fy o I s

the legend was doubtful.

Four ofthe

But Hirschhorn is best seen from a distance, down the river.

e o

Then the clustered brown towers perched on the green hilltop,

oo

and the old battlemented stone wall stretching up and over the

aput

grassy ridge and disappearing in the leafy sea beyond, make a

fitly, i

picture whose grace and beauty entirely satisfy the eye.

Ty

‘We descended from the church by steep stone stairways which

farn {he ex

curved this way and that down narrow alleys between the packed

(German cor

and dirty tenements of the village.

It was a quarter well stocked

ay sl

with deformed, leering, unkempt and uncombed idiots, who held

Tetbo dlm

out hands or caps and begged piteously. The people of the

dilectpe

quarter were not all idiots, of course, but all that begged seemed

young L.

to be, and were said to be.

(e &

I was thinking of going by skiff to the next town, Neckar-

fidence—y

steinach ; so I ran to the riverside in advance of the party, and

as what

asked a man there if he had a boat to hire.

I suppose I must

more fan

have spoken High German,—Court German,—I intended it for

indifferen

I turned and

that, anyway,—so he did not understand me.

pltt-Den

twisted my question around and about, trying to strike that man’s

Words ar

average, but failed.

He could not make out what I wanted.

ancestors

Now Mr. X. arrived, faced this same man, looked him in the eye,

quire of g

and emptied this sentence on him, in the most glib and confident

Hoey

way i—

¢ Can man boat get here ?°

mpoyed

lek ot g]

The mariner promptly understood and promptly answered.

belnge

I can comprehend why he was able to understand that particular

ity |

sentence, because by mere accident all the words in it except

‘get’ have the same sound and the same meaning in German that

fire oy

Presay |

they have in English; but how he managed to understand Mr.

o Oﬂg bem

X.’s next remark puzzled me.

I will insert it presently.

X.

turned away a moment, and I asked the mariner if he could not

about gy

find a board, and so construct an additional seat.

-

Iy

I spoke in the

by

purest German; but I might as well have spoken in the purest

Choctaw for all the good it did. The man tried his best tounder-

y day, hm

Ot

A TRAMP ABROAD.

83

MWigeang

Jasg

stand me ; he tried, and kept on trying, harder and harder, until

al g

I saw it was really of no use, and said—

IV thy , i

There, don’t strain yourself; it is of no consequence.’

0 ty

Then X. turned to him and crisply said—

L the gy

¢ Machen Sie a flat board.’

£ of

Qlf, uf I

dO ot

I wish my epitaph may tell the truth about me if the man

: ﬂmble abgm

did not answer up at once, and say he would go and borrow a

board as soon as he had lit the pipe which he was filling.

impre My

6 16 f

We changed our mind about taking a boat, sowe did not have

to go.

I have given Mr. X.’s two remarks just as he made them.

Four of the five words in the first one were English, and that they

8 down the Tt

e gren b

were also German was only accidental, not intentional; three out

of the five words in the second remark were English, and English

U and oy

only, and the two German ones did not mean anything in par-

b beyond mghy

g epe,

ticular, in such a connection.

X. always spoke English to Germans, but his plan was to

3 stairways Wit

turn the sentence wrong end first and upside down, according to

eeen the puk

arter well stockel

German construction, and sprinkle in a German word without

any essential meaning to it, here and there, by way of flavour.

didiots, who ke

Yet he always made himself understood. He could make those

he people of i

dialect-speaking raftsmen understand him, sometimes, when even

t begued seend .

young Z. had failed with them ; and young Z. was a pretty good

German scholar.

For one thing, X. always spoke with such con-

xt town, Necka

fidence—perhaps that helped. And possibly the raftsmen’s dialect

of the party, i

was what is called platt-Deutsch, and so they found his English

| suppose |

more familiar to their ears than another man’s German.

Quite

L intended it r

indifferent students of German can read Fritz Reuter’s charming

. 1 tumed ad

platt-Deutsch tales with some little facility because many of the

stk that mats

words are English.

I suppose this is the tongue which our Saxon

- what ] wad

ancestors carried to England with them. By-and-by I will in-

4 him in the e

quire of some other philologist.

b and e

However, in the meantime, it had transpired that the men

employed to caulk the raft had found that the leak was not a

leak at all, but only a crack between the logs—a crack which

mntly ausverd

belonged there, and was not dangerous, but had been magnified

There-

1 that prtiea

into a leak by the disordered imagination of the mate.

pls in i e

fore we went aboard again with a good degree of confidence, and

presently got to sea without accident.

As we swam smoothly

7o Gemad i

"mderstand

along between the enchanting shores, we fell to swapping notes

about manners and customs in Germany and elsewhere.

; presaly.

As T write, now, many months later, I perceive that each of

if e oul i

us, by observing and noting and inquiring diligently and day

Tspoke D2

ain e

by day,had managed to lay in a most varied and opulent stock of

a2

pis best 012 o

84

A TRAMP ABROAD.

misinformation.

But this is not surprising ; it is very diflicult to

yend}

jlote

oW s

get;

accurate details in any country.

finks,

For example, I had the idea once, in Heidelberg, to find out

all about those five student corps. I started with the White Cap

ol gt

oo of i

Corps. I began to inquire of this and that and the other citizen,

and here is what I found out :—

o ] ST

1. Tt is called the Prussian Corps, because none but Prussians

yeoturés

frtand o

are admitted to it.

%%

9. Tt is called the Prussian Corps for no particular reason. It

offirfor @

firgh cours

has simply pleased each corps to name itself after some German

because O

State.

3. It is not named the Prussian Corps at all, but only the

fhose e

5

erimel

White Cap Corps.

i

4. Any student can belong to it who is a German by birth.

) and be

e

gobupat

5. Any student can belong to it who is European by birth.

Thus

6. Any European-born student can belong to it, except hebe

a Frenchman.

but not f

enouzh

7. Any student can belong to it, no matter where he was

born.

Bven

8. No student can belong to it who isnot of noble blood.

needed

Onceat B

9. No student can belong to it who cannot show three full

generations of noble descent.

sure fhat

since 1 ha

10. Nobility is not a necessary qualification.

11. No moneyless student can belong to it.

might be

12. Money qualification is nonsense—such a thing has never

had got{

been thought of.

remark,

I got some of this information from students themselves—

0ut her ¢

students who did not belong to the corps.

I finally went to head-

etumed

quarters—to the White Caps—where I would have gone in the

The

first place if T had been acquainted. But even at headquarters I

which

found difficulties; I perceived that there were things about the

pelsstria

White Cap Corps which one member knew and another one

couty i

didn’t. It was natural ; for very few members of any organisation

know all that can be known about it.

I doubt if there is a man

gelnt!emau

mans, oo

or a woman in Heidelberg who would not answer promptly and

they had

confidently three out of every five questions about the White Cap

Parties

Corps which a stranger might ask; yet it is a very safe bet that

Usta] by

two of the three answers would be incorrect every time.

Ao

There is one German custom which is universal—the bowing

Iext oy

courteously to strangers when sitting down at table or rising up

U8 Withoy

from it.

This bow startles a stranger out of his self-possession,

the first time it occurs, and he is likely to fall over a chair or

Oved gy

look of (

something, in his embarrassment, but it pleases him nevertheless.

One socn learns to expect this bow and be on the look-out and

10

expecu‘ng

Il

A TRAMP ABROAD.

85

Yery dimcuh b

ready to return it; but to learn to lead off and make the initial

) g T

i

bow one’s self is a difficult matter for a diffident man.

One

tewh

Ite ()

thinks, ‘If I rise to go, and tender my bow and these ladiex

%ot i,

and gentlemen take it into their heads to ignore the cus-

tom of their nation, and not return it, how shall I feel in

6 byt

Pm‘m'ans

case I survive to feel anything?’

Therefore he is afraid to

venture. He sits out the dinner, and makes the strangers rise

otlgy e, Jf

first and originate the bowing. A table d’hdte dinner is a tedious

affair for a man who seldom touches anything after the three

% 801 Gy

first courses; therefore I used to do some pretty dreary waiting

because of my fears. It took me months to assure myself that

ﬁH, but only fhe

those fears were groundless, but I did assure myself at last by

man by b

experimenting diligently through my agent.

I made Rarris get

up and bow and leave : invariably his bow was returned, then I

pean by bi

got up and bowed myself and retired.

Iy €X0ept ey

Thus my education proceeded easily and comfortably for me,

but not for Harris.

Three courses of a table d’lidte dinner were

! where he wy

enough for me, but Harris preferred thirteen.

Even after I had acquired full confidence, and no longer

oble blood.

needed the agent’s help, I sometimes encountered difficulties.

how three ful

Once at Baden-Baden I nearly lost a train because I could not be

sure that three young ladies opposite me at table were Germans,

since I had not heard them speak ; they might be American, they

might be English, it was not safe to venture a bow ; but just as I

thing has neer

had got that far with my thought, one of them began a German

remark, to my great relief and gratitude ; and before she had got

ts themselves—

out her third word, our bows had been delivered and graciously

Iy wentto I

6

el

returned, and we were off.

ave gonedn 2

There is a friendly something about the German character

f headgpares |

which is very winning.

When Harris and I were making a

pedestrian tour through the Black Forest, we stopped at a little

hings abon

\d another o

country inn for dinner one day; two young ladies and a young

oy organin

gentleman entered and sat down opposite us.

They were pedes-

trians, too.

here isa m

Our knapsacks were strapped upon our backs, but

r promptly 8

they bad a sturdy youth along to carry theirs for them. All

the White (3

parties were hungry, so there was no talking. By-and-by the

y cafe ettt

usual bows were exchanged, and we separated.

Hime.

As we sat at a late breakfast in the hotel at Allerheiligen,

next morning, these young people entered and took places near

—thebowg

Jo or rsig ¥

us without observing us; but presently they saw us and at once

bowed and smiled; not ceremoniously, but with the gratified

selfposstsh

=

yer & dhar

look of people who have found acquaintances where they were

7 neve!

theless

expecting strangers.

Then they spoke of the weather and the

roads.

We also spoke of the weather and the roads.

Next,

, Jokeant &

86

A TRAMP ABROAD.

iTherty

they said they had had an enjoyable walk, notwithstanding

Then

the weather.

We said that that had been our case, too.

fre

they said they had walked thirty English miles the day

Everyb'

before, and asked how many we had walked. I could not

everj‘body :

Harris told them we had made

Jooking 10

lie, so I told Harris to do it.

thirty English miles, too. That was true; we had ‘made’ them,

ouiseys

though we had had a little assistance here and there.

§That

(eman

After breakfast they found us trying to blast some information

out of the dumb hotel clerk about routes, and observing that we

] g

were not succeeding pretty well, they went and got their maps

She

and things, and pointed out and explained our course so clearly

fr namey

that even a New York detective could have followed it.

And

qud Bader

when we started they spoke out a hearty good-bye and wished

Beonly @

us a pleasant journey. Perhaps they were more generous with

If one

|

us than they might have been with native wayfarers because we

ghadi

were a forlorn lot and in a strange land ; I don’t know; I only

him o di

know it was lovely to be treated so.

offnded:

Very well, I took an American young lady to one of the fine

will drop

balls in Baden-Baden, one night, and at the entrance-door up-

London,

stairs we were halted by an official—something about Miss

with me

Jones’s dress was not according to rule; I don’t remember what

ahout i

it was, now: something was wanting—her back hair, or a shawl,

Fegpens

or a fan, or a shovel, or something. The official was ever so

£41 006 €

polite, and ever so sorry, but the rule was strict, and he could

coud be!

not let us in.

It was very embarrassing, for many eyes were on

us.

But now a richly dressed girl stepped out of the ball-room,

inquired into the trouble, and said she could fix it in a moment.

She took Miss Jones to the robing-room, and soon brought her

back in regulation trim, and then we entered the ball-room with

this benefactress unchallenged.

Hoveves

Being safe now, I began to puzzle through my sincere but

ansteinac

ungrammatical thanks, when there was a sudden mutual recog-

trout dig

Two

nition—the benefactress and I had met at Allerheiligen.

to-honr

weeks had not altered her good face, and plainly her heart was

e g

in the right place yet, but there was such a difference between

Tnean thyt

these clothes and the clothes I had seen her in before, when she

We megnt

was walking thirty miles a day in the Black Forest, that it was

Bor ]

quite natural that I had failed to recognise her sooner.

I had

on my other suit, too, but my German would betray me to a

picturesqr

JOu; the

person who had heard it once, anyway. She brought her brother

Storgs th

and sister, and they made our way smooth for that evening.

Ut g

Well, months afterwards, I was driving through the streets

forg

of Munich in a cab with a German lady, one day, when she

said—

e ¢

Mlatig o

A TRAMP ABROAD.

87

0h

Mg,

&, top, Th

¢There, that is Prince Ludwig and his wife, walking along

Tilgg

there.’

|

the by

g

Everybody was bowing to them—cabmen, little children, and

ol o hﬁd n

everybody else—and they were returning all the bows and over-

a mﬂde’t

iy,

looking nobody, when a young lady met them and made a deep

Ere,

'

curtsey.

SO

10y

¢ That is probably one of the ladies of the court,’ said my

0erving

German friend.

20 thej

n,

I said—

Bl 1

I know her.

T don't know

s g )

¢She is an honour to it, then.

ylbwed it Qd

her name, but I know her.

I have known her at Allerheiligen

and Baden-Baden.

She ought to be an Empress, but she may

=078 and g

6 gEnetous i

be only a Duchess; it is the way things go in this world.’

ATETs g

If one asksa German a civil question, he will be quite sure to

If you stop a German in the street and ask

1t know Loy

get a civil answer.

him to direct you to a certain place, he shows no sign of fecling

offended. If the place be difficult to find, ten to one the man

0 0n6 of the e

will drop his own matters and go with you and show you. In

rance-door .

ng about M

London, too, many a time, strangers have walked several blocks

with me to show me my way.

There is something very real

remember what

about this sort of politeness.

Quite often, in Germany, shop-

i, or 2 shay]

al was ever

keepers who could not furnish me the article I wanted, have

gent one of their employés with me to show me a place where it

t

and he coul

could be had.

eyes }\'ere (U]

i)

[l room

it in & momett

on. brought bt

CHAPTER XIX.

y ball-room it

ITowEVER, I wander from the raft.

We made the port of Neck-

my sincere b

arsteinach in good season, and went to the hotel and ordered a

) mutual 2

trout dinner, the same to be ready against our return from a

heilgen, T

two-hour pedestrian excursion to the village and castle of Dils-

berg, a mile distant, on the other side of the river. I do not

7 her heart 8

orece betwe'en

mean that we proposed to be two hours making two miles—no,

fore, Whet S8

we meant to employ most of the time in inspecting Dilsberg.

For Dilsberg is a quaint place.

It is most quaintly and

est, that it wad

~

Imagine the beautiful river before

gooners

tl

picturesquely situated, too.

petray e 108

you; then a few rods of brilliant green sward on its opposite

shore ; then a sudden hill—no preparatory gently-rising slopes,

it her o

but a sort of instantaneous hill—a hill two hundred and fifty or

eyening

}

three hundred feet high, as round as a bowl, with the same taper

b e street

upward that an inverted bowl has, and with about the same

d:]; e o

telation of height to diameter that distinguishes a bowl of good

88

A TRAMP ABROAD,

e 10 I

honest depth—a hill which is thickly clothed with green bushes

O

erﬂmen

—a comely, shapely hill, rising abruptly out of the dead level of

fheeDIE

i

the surrounding green plains, visible from a great distance down

The ¢4

the bends of the river, and with just exactly rovm on the top of

deni'e’s’ hat

its head for its steepled and turreted and roof-clustered cap of

{

< Amive

architecture, which sameis tightly jammed and compacted within

the perfectly round hoop of the ancient village wall.

‘;

and life

been A"

There is no house outside the wall on the whole hill, or any

heating

vestige of a former house; all the houses are inside the wall,

but there isn’t room for another one. It is really a finished town,

harn, Al

|

ot farm

and has been finished a very long time.

There is no space be-

tween the wall and the first circle of buildings; no, the village

Jgl 1

fhem a0

wall is itself the rear wall of the first circle of buildings, and the

roofs jut a little over the wall and thus furnish it with eaves.

conper W

The general level of the massed roofs is gracefully broken and

Jmged {l

yoomsof

relieved by the dominating towers of the ruined castle and the

tall spires of a couple of churches; so, from a distance, Dilsberg

ducks a1

has rather more the look of a king’s crown than a cap. That

picking

lofty green eminence and its quaint coronet form quite a striking

vy old

picture, you may be sure, in the flush of the evening sun.

chinupo

children

We crossed over in a boat and began the ascent by a narrow,

i

umindfi

steep path, which plunged us at once into the leafy deeps of the

bushes.

But they were not cool deeps by any means, for the

Bxey

sun’s rays were weltering hot, and there was little or no breeze

the plce

to temper them. As we panted up the sharp ascent, we met

the di

brown, bare-headed and bare-footed boys and girls, occasionally,

Tt dul

and sometimes men ; they came upon us without warning, they

sights W

gave us good-day, flashed out of sight in the bushes, and were

tank or

pitcher-

gone as suddenly and mysteriously as they had come.

They

were bound for the other side of the river to work.

This path

bl

had been travelled by many generations of these people.

They

Our

e more

have always gone down to the valley to earn their bread, but

they have always climbed their hill again to eat it, and to sleep

cession ¢

in their snug town.

tatl, |

It is said that the Dilsbergers do not emigrate much; they find

arche g

that living up there above the world, in their peaceful nest, is

efft g

pleasanter than living down in the troublous world. The seven

45 guide

hundred inhabitants are all blood-kin to each other, too ; they

fook

have always been blood-kin to each other for fifteen hundred

Iandscapg

years; they are simply one large family, and they like the home

Dearer yy

folks better than they like strangers, hence they persistently stay

[

006 by

at home. It has been said that for ages Dilsberg has been merely

the gy

a thriving and diligent idiot-factory. I saw no idiots there,

Prinig

but the captain said, ‘ Because of late years the government has

an emp‘

A TRAMP ABROAD.

89

Sregy

1 bUck

€ deaq

le\d

taken to lugging them off to asylums and otherwheres; and

b dig

government wants to cripple the factory, too, and is trying to get

e dOr

Lty

to

these Dilsbergers to marry out of the family, but they don’t like to.’

A

fre]

The captain probably imagined all this, as modern science

MDact

oy,

I

“denies that the intermarrying of relatives deteriorates the stock.

Arrived within the wall, we found the usual village sights

and life.

We moved along a narrow, crooked lane which had

hol )

) O any

' 1nside

o

been paved in the Middle Ages.

A strapping, ruddy girl was

beating flax or some such stuff in a little bit of a goods-box of a

a finisheg tin

barn, and she swung her flail with a wili—if it was a flail; I was

B9 pate by

3 10, {

not farmer enough to know what she was at; a frowsy, bare-

legged girl was herding half a dozen geese with a stick—driving

ildiny

sh ity

them along the lane and keeping them out of the dwellings; a

cooper was at work in a shop which I know he did not make so

‘fufiy brokey ml

large a thing as a hogshead in, for there was not room. In the front

ed castlo a

rooms of dwellings girls and women were cooking or spinning, and

ance, Dildhen

ducks and chickens were waddling in and out, over the threshold,

na cap, T

picking up chance crumbs and holding pleasant converse; a

| guire a srikin

very old and wrinkled man sat asleep before his door, with his

g sun,

chin upon his breast, and his extinguished pipe in his lap ; soiled

1t by a narnor,

children were playing in the dirt everywhere along the lane,

unmindful of the sun.

afy doeps f the

means, for the

Except the sleeping old man, everybody was at work, but

tle or no breeze

the place was very still and peaceful, nevertheless; so still that

ascent

the distant cackle of the successful hen smote upon the ear but

Tl o¢

¥ Te'

little dulled by intervening sounds.

That commonest of village

am

IR

al

, 0E]

sights was lacking here—the public pump, with its great stone

301

(13‘1 “'EI'E

tank or

IS O

trough of limpid, water, and its group of gossiping

pitcher-bearers; for.there is no well or fountain or spring on this

ad come, The

ork, Thispth

tall hill; cisterns of rain water are used.

Our alpenstocks and muslin tails compelled attention, and as

o people They

their bread, b

we moved through the village we gathered a considerable pro-

cession of little boys and girls, and so went in some state to the

it and to g9

castle.

It proved to be an extensive pile of crumbling walls,

arches and towers, massive, properly grouped for picturesque

nch; theyfod

effect, weedy, grass-grown, and satisfactory. The children acted

eaceful nesh ¥

d, Theserel

as guides; they walked us along the top of the highest wall, then

took us up into a high tower and showed us a wide and beautiful

e, too; ]

heen hund®

landscape, made up of wavy distances of woody hills, and a

nearer prospect of undulating expanses of green lowlands on the

ke the hone

one hand, and castle-graced crags and ridges on the other, with

oristently 47

But the

the shining curves of the Neckar flowing between.

1 been I

principal show, the chief pride of the children, was the ancient

it e

and empty well in the grass-grown court of the castle. Its

orernét

90

A TRAMP ABROAD.

Weﬂ, l

massive stone curb stands up three or four feet above ground,

and is whole and uninjured. The children said that in the

delivefed 1

Middle Ages this well was four hundred feet deep, and furnished

all the village with an abundant supply of water, in war and

peace.

They said that in that old day its bottom was below the

level of the Neckar, hence the water supply was inexhaustible.

Tt was

But there were some who believed it had never been a well

company

at all, and was never deeper than it is now—eighty feet ; that at

course b

that depth a subterranean passage branched from it and de-

the falk

scended gradually to a remote place in the valley, where it

youd 2

opened into somebody’s eellar or other hidden recess, and that

el

the secret of this locality is now lost.

Those who hold this

o — S g S

e is

belief say that herein lies the explanation that Dilsberg, besieged

might o

by Tilley and many a soldier before him, was never taken: after

himsel

the longest and closest sieges the besiegers were astonished to

Straight

perceive that the besieged were as fat and hearty as ever, and as

confrive

well furnished with munitions of war—therefore it must be that

in that

the Dilsbergers had been bringing these things in through the

persuade

subterranean passage all the time.

piece of

The children said that there was in truth a subterranean outlet

sy

down there, and they would prove it.

So they set a great truss

(

all ber

of straw on fire and threw it down the well, while we leaned on

wisfim

the curb and watched the glowing mass descend.

It struck

foriy

bottom ard gradually burned out.

No smoke came up. The

1ing beg

children clapped their hands and said—

could ne

‘You see! Nothing makes so much smoke as burning

;

have he

straw—now where did the smoke go to, if there is no subter-

ranean outlet ? >

flung

showed

So it seemed quite evident that the subterranean outlet indeed

Then o

existed. But the finest thing within the ruin’s limits was a

I

she rece

noble linden, which ‘the children said was four hundred years

mission

old, and no doubt it was. It had a mighty trunk and a mighty

had falg

spread of limb and foliage.

The limbs near the ground were

Abm

nearly the thickness of a barrel.

fa

KeD o

That tree had witnessed the assaults of men in mail—how

by

a0}

remote such a time seems, and how ungraspable is the fact that

real men ever did fight in real armour!—and it had seen the

Whe

8l it

W

time when these broken arches and crumbling battlements were

a trim and strong and stately fortress, fluttering its gay banners

change]

CObihg

in the sun, and peopled with vigorous humanity,—how impossibly

Was rick

long ago that seems I—and here it stands yet, and possibly may

ut b

still be standing here, sunning itself and dreaming its historical

F

T

“ancient.’

dreams, when to-day shall have been joined to the days called

Bey

lg C0i0y

A TRAMP ABROAD.

91

shovg

g ¢

fougy

hat i

i

Well, we sat down under the tree to smoke, and the captain

B and g

ke

delivered himself of his legend :

H('rl

Ly

1 ¥ by f

THE LEGEND OF DILSBERG CASTLE.

J mp‘ha\l\nbl

Tt was to this effect.

In the old time there was once a great

V6 begy . I

iy

68

it

company assembled at the castle, and festivity ran high. Of

00 1t gy g,

course there was a haunted chamber in the castle, and one day

vl

the talk fell upon that.

It was said that whoever slept in it

€ y)

Ve §

d

nd

Liig

would not wake again for fifty years.

Now when a young knight

10

named Conrad von Geisberg heard this, he said that if the castle

were his he would destroy that chamber, so thatno foolish person

b ()

might have the chance to bring so dreadful a misfortune upon

16

himself and afflict such as loved him with the memory of it.

ety

Straightway the company privately laid their heads together to

/38 ever, ang g

1t must by

contrive some way to get this superstitious young man to sleep

in that chamber. And they succeeded—in this way. They

0 through

persuaded his betrothed, a lovely mischievous young creat

ure,

niece of the lord of the castle, to help them in their plot.

She

ErTanean outle

presently took him aside and had speech with him. She used

great trug

all her persuasions, but could not shake him; he said his belief

e we leaned on

was firm that if he should sleep there he would wake no more

1d, It sk

Catha-

for fifty years, and it make him shudder to think of it.

came up, The

rina began to weep.

This was a better argument; Conrad

He yielded, and said she should

could not hold out against it

ke 4 bunig

have her wish if she would only smile and be happy again. She

0 15 10 subte-

flung her arms about his neck, and the kisses she gave him

showed that her thankfulness and her pleasure were very real.

an oufleb indeed

Then she flew to tell the company her success, and the applause

's limity was &

she received made her glad and proud she had undertaken her

hundred yeas

mission, since all alone she had accomplished what the multitude

C and & mghy

had failed in.

At midnight, that night, after the usual feasting, Conrad was

o ground e

taken to the haunted chamber and left there.

He fell asleep,

in mail—-hor

by-and-by.

5 he fat tat

When he awoke again and looked about him,

his heart stood

still with horror!

The whole aspect of the chamber was

- ad seen {6

tlements Veré

changed. The walls were mouldy and hung with ancient

cobwebs; -the curtains and beddings were rotten ; the furniture

s gaf banners

o mposshl

was rickety and ready to fall to pieces. He sprang out of bed,

ossibly 26

but his quaking knees sank under him and he fell to the floor.

¢ This is the weakness of age,” he said.

ity histoi

He rose and sought his clothing. It was clothing no longer.

he days Gl

The colours were gone, the garments gave way in many places

92

A TRAJ![P ABROAD.

while he was putting them on.

He fled, shuddering, into the

i4h i

p g &

corridor, and along it to the great hall.

Here he was met by a

middle-aged stranger of a kind countenance, who stopped and

[l

iy dide

o

gazed at him with surprise.

Conrad said—

Fer b

(38

il

His hea

¢ Good sir, will you send hither the lord Ulrich ?°

The stranger looked puzzled a moment, then said—

2V ﬂd bmS

¢The lord Ulrich ?’

fiung & o

¢ There

¢ Yes—if you will be so good.’

The stranger called—¢ Wilhelm !’

A young serving man

[ .“ﬂ

dll go 00

came, and the stranger said to him—

]QS

And ¢

¢ Is there a lord Ulrich among the guests ?’

¢ I know none of the name, so please your honour.’

ot

yere g

Conrad said, hesitatingly—

‘I did not mean a guest, but the lord of the castle, sir.’

e i

The stranger and the servant exchanged wondering glances.

RN

Then the former said—

youa hed

‘I am the lord of the castle.”

hight the

¢ Since when, sir?’

decay, an

¢Since the death ot my father, the good lord Ulrich, more

sleep s

than forty years ago.’

in their

Conrad sank upon a bench and covered his face with his

now di

bands while he rocked his body to and fro and moaned. The

be sure,

stranger said in a low voice to the servant—

ready for

¢I fear me this poor old creature is mad.

Call some one.

for the m

In a moment several people came, and grouped themselves

now!’

about, talking in whispers.

He |

Conrad looked up and scanned the

faces about him wistfully. Then he shook his head and said ia

dreamy v

a grieved voice—

Tan

¢ No, there is none among ye that I know. I am old and

guave!

alone in the world. They are dead and gone these many years

Al

that cared for me.

But sure, some of these aged ones I sce

Ting sank

about me can tell me some little word or two concerning them.’

Allds

Several bent and tottering men and women came nearer and

and comp

answered his questions about each former friend as he mentioned

tl}e lace

the names. This one they said had been dead ten years, that

His tum ¢

one twenty, another thirty.

Each succeeding blow struck

heavier and heavier.

At last the sufferer said —

Bim ty by

Qered sty

¢ There is one more, but I have not the courage to—O my

Gond

lost Catharina !’

One of the old dames said—

Jeas; ye

am gy

¢ Ah, I knew her well, poor soul! A misfortune overtook

Brave,

her lover, and she died of sorrow nearly fifty years ago. She

Dy

lieth under the linden tree without the court.’

Conrad bowed his head and said—

Moy ¢

]mugiﬂ‘ary

I

'

A TRAMP ABROAD.

93

uflerin"

y Wt

I

Wi

]

¢ Ah, why did I ever wake!

And so she died of grief for

)y

‘ Thg 5‘»0[]

me, poor child. So young, so sweet, so good.

She never wit-

el ‘e:nd

tingly did a hurtful thing in all the little summer of her life.

tih»

Her loving debt shall be repaid—for I will die of grief for her.”

1800~

His head dropped upon his breast.

In a moment there was

a wild burst of joyous laughter, a pair of round young arms were

flung about Conrad’s neck, and a sweet voice cried—

e

i‘ér\'ing i

|

“There, Conrad mine, thy kind words kill me—the farce

shall go no further !

Look up, and laugh with us—'twas all a

jest !’

lonoyr,!

And he did look up, and gazed, in a dazed wonderment—for

the disguises were stripped away, and the aged men and women

were bright and young and gay again.

Catharina’s happy

tale, g

tongue ran on—

Oudering gy

¢ "Twas a marvellous jest, and bravely carried out. They gave

you a heavy sleeping draught before you went to bed, and in the

night they bore you to a ruined chamber where all had fallen to

decay, and placed these rags of clothing by you. And when your

od Ulrich,

sleep was spent and you came forth, two strangers, well instructed

in their parts, were here to meet you; and all we, your friends,

s face with iy

in our disguises, were close at hand, to see and hear, you may

| moaned, The

be sure.

Ah, 'twas a gallant jest !

Come, now, and make thee

ready for the pleasures of the day.

How real was thy misery

ll some one!

for the moment, thou poor lad !

Look up and have thy laugh,

uped themselys

now !’

and scanned the

He looked up, searched the merry faces about him in a

head and sud

dreamy way, then sighed and said—

‘T am a-weary, good strangers; I pray you lead me to her

T odand

grave.’

hese many yes

All the smiles vanished away, every cheek blanched, Catha-

ged ones [w

rina sank to the ground in a swoon.

All day the people went about the castle with troubled faces,

neering hew.

ame nearer and

and communed together in under-tones. A painful hush pervaded

g5 he mentonel

the place which had lately been so full of cheery life. Each in

his turn tried to arouse Conrad out of his hallucination and bring

ten years

him to himself; but all the answer any got was a meek, bewil-

{ blow struck

dered stare, and then the words—

¢ Good stranger, I have no friends, all are at rest these many

rage to~01

years; ye speak me fair, ye mean me well, but I know ye not;

I am alone and forlorn in the world—prithee lead me to her

grave.

e 0

a4

During two years Conrad spent his days, from the early

s 440 %

morning till the night, under the linden tree, mourning over the

inlagir{ax'y grave of his Catharina. Catharina wus the only

94

A TRAMP ABROAD.

fhe ofhess!

company of the harmless madman. He was very friendly toward

iy Jadi

her because, as he said, in some ways she reminded him of his

He often said—

it B

Catharina whom he had lost ¢ fifty years ago.’

{ip bridges

¢She was so gay, so happy-hearted—but you never smile;

They Were

and always when you think I am not looking, you cry.’

and felt Ii‘

When Conrad died, they buried him under the linden, accor-

scenetye

ding to his directions, so that he might rest ‘near his poor

and SOV

Catharina.’

Then Catharina sat under the linden alone, every

matters;

day and all day long, a great many years, speaking to no one,

wanied 8

and never smiling; and at last her long repentance was rewarded

with death, and she was buried by Conrad’s side.

Harris pleased the captain by saying it was a good legend ;

and pleased him further by adding—

“Now that I have seen this mighty tree, vigorous with its

Nex? mo

four hundred years, I feel a desire to believe the legend for its

Hambur

sake; so I will humour the desire, and consider that the tree

(Germans

really watches over those poor hearts and feels a sort of human

tenderness for them.’

particn)a‘

dong izn

We returned to Neckarsteinach, plunged our hot head into

nean

the trough at the town pump, and then went to the hotel and ate

our trout dinner in leisurely comfort, in the garden, with the

ing o i

itisa e

beautiful Neckar flowing at our feet, the quaint Dilsberg looming

hour and

beyond, and the graceful towers and battlements of a couple of

medieval castles (called the ¢Swallow’s Nest’! and ¢The

if youtl

Brothers *) assisting the rugged scenery of a bend of the river

be ey

down to our right. We got to sea in season to make the eight-

Jou can

mile run to Heidelberg before the night shut down.

We sailed

admiraf

by the hotel in the mellow glow of sunset, and came slashing

tongue, |

down with the mad current into the narrow passage between the

soff and

dykes.

I believed I could shoot the bridge myself, so I went to

Hambur;

Howerer

the forward triplet of logs and relieved the pilot of his pole and

his responsibility.

Dattered

We went tearing along in a most exhilarating way, and I

aref

performed the delicate duties of my office very well indeed for a

here

first attempt ; but perceiving, presently, that I really was going

Ve sef g

to shoot the bridge itself instead of the archway under it, I

Xatur‘

judiciously stepped ashore.

The next moment I had my long-

Ko

coveted desire: I saw a raft wrecked. It hit the pier in the

5 inCOHY\

centre and went all to smash and scatteration like a box of

i brig

matches struck by lightning.

Pursug; ¢

I was the only one of our party who saw this grand sight;

faid ry

! The seeker after information is referred to Appendix E for our Cap-

B i

tain’s Legend of the ¢ Swallow’s Nest’ and ¢ The Brothers.

°fb()fh i

Hero he

1 fieg)

A TRAMP ADBROAD.

95

towgy

nge]

lmfh

the others were attitudinising, for the benefit of tte long rank of

Heo

ft

€0 i

young ladies who were promenading on the bark,

and so they

Ju Leyey B

b

lost it. But I helped to fish them out of the river, down below

Jou gy

the bridge, and then described it to them as well as I could.

e gy

b deg,

They were not interested, though. They said they were wet

e by

1

and felt ridiculous, and did not care anything for descriptions of

S

ey

scenery. The young ladies, and other people, crowded around

EAxIng

0

g

and showed a great deal of sympathy, but that did not help

3‘:,

::R

matters ; for my friends said they did not want sympathy, they

(

lel'Ce Was ey

wanted a back alley and solitude.

@8 ol lgm,

Vigoons wih i

CHAPTER XX.

the g fr

NexT morning brought good news—our trunks had arrived from

er fhat fhe frg

Hamburg at last.

The

13 8 50 of b

Let this be a warning to the reader.

Germans are very conscientious, and this trait makes them very

particular. Therefore if you tell a German you want a thing

our ot head iy

0 the hofel ands

done immediately, he takes you at your word; he thinks you

mean what you say; so he does that thing immediately—accord-

garden, with fs

ing to his idea of immediately—which is about a week; that is,

Dilsberg oomin

it is a week if it refers to the building of a garment, or it is an

8 of a couple

hour and a half if it refers to the cooking of a trout. Very well;

Vest'! and ‘The

if you tell a German to send your trunk to you by ¢slow freight,’

bend of the rver

he takes you at your word; he sends it by ‘slow freight,’ and

0 make the

you cannot imagine how long you will go on enlarging your

down, Wi

admiration of the expressiveness of that phrase in the German

and came §

tongue, before you get that trunk. The hair on my trunk was

age betieen

soft and thick and useful, when I got it ready for shipment in

so] wenth

Hamburg ; it was baldheaded when it reached Heidelberg.

However, it was still sound, that was a comfort, it was not

ot sftl

s ol al

battered in the least; the baggagemen seemed to be conscientiously

careful, in Germany, of the bageage entrusted to their hands.

rating Wiy ol

There was nothing now in the way of our departure, therefore

rell ndeed fgra

really ws §1%3

we set about our preparations.

Naturally my chief solicitude was about my collection of

yay under 1y

Keramics.

Of course I could not take it with me; that would

T Jad my et

¢ the pr bt

be inconvenient, and dangerous besides.

I took advice, but the

best bric-a-brackers were divided as to the wisest course to

p lke a b

pursue: some said pack the collection and warehouse it; others

said try to get it into the Grand Ducal Museum at Mannheim for

g gl S8

safe keeping. So I divided the collection, and followed the advice

of both parties.

I set aside for the Museum those articles which

;ndi,x phrortt

¢S

were the most frail and precious.

A TRAMP ABROAD.

Among these was my Etruscan tear-jug. I bought this tear-

hii I deep il]fﬂn

jug of a dealer in antiquities for four hundred and fifty dollars.

Jecton of beg8

The man said the Etruscans used to keep tears

It is very rare.

gpicture 0

or something in these things, and that it was very hard to get

ipthemi 560

hold of a broken one now.

I also set aside my Henri IL. plate.

Triseasy

This is very fine and rare; the shape is exceedingly beautiful and

despise S5 4

unusual.

Tt has wonderful decorations on it, but I am not able

g Byng ol

to reproduce them.

It cost more than the tear-jug, as the dealer

context €0 D

said there was not another plate just like it in the world.

He

proud £ be.

said there was much false Henri II. ware around, but that the

Teason 45 11

genuiness of this piece was unquestionable. He showed me its

i Instrious I

pedigree, or its history if you please; it was a document which

jug. Very)

traced this plate’s movements all the way down from its birth—

and theest

showed who bought it, from whom, and what he paid for it—from

in Mannhein

the first buyer down to me, whereby I saw that it had gone

there yet.

steadily up from thirty-five cents to seven hundred dollars. He

T had bu

said that the whole Keramic world would be informed that it

ad kept bac

was now in my possession and would make a note of it, with the

It waga gre

price paid.

Heidelberg, ¢

There were Masters in those days, but alas! it is not so now.

ar tio I far

Of course the main preciousness of this piece lies in its colour;

ad a plas

it is that old sensuous, pervading, ramifying, interpolating, trans-

The oy tro

boreal blue which is the despair of modern art. The little sketch

rightly it o

which I made of this gem cannot and does not do it justice, since

that the dis

I have been obliged to leave out the colour.

quitted the

However, I must not be frittering away the reader’s time

10 Baden-B:

with these details.

I did not intend to go into any detail at all,

Which we g

at first, but it is the failing of the true keramiker, or the true

ingly warm,

devotee in any department of bric-a-brackery, that once he gets

One of

his tongue or his pen started on his darling theme, he cannot

the sreet,

well stop until he drops from exhaustion. He has no more sense

a lucky eng

of the flight of time than has any other lover when talking of his

sensitive g

sweetheart.

The very ‘marks’ on the bottom of a piece of rare

genuine yefy

crockery are able to throw me into a gibbering ecstasy; and I

time, but

could forsake a drowning relative to help dispute about whether

artis burg

the stopple of a departed Buon Retiro scent-bottle was genuine or

8~

spurious.

Many people say that for a male person, bric-a-brac hunting

‘Thave

and gy et

is about as robust a business as making doll-clothes, or decoratin s

Japanese pots with decalcomanie butterflies would be, and these

£0t5 ey

Wl

people fling mud at that elegant Englishman, Byng, who wrote a

fothat f g

book called ¢ The Bric-a4-Brac Hunter,” and make fun of him for

chasing around after what they choose to call ¢his despicahle

Lﬂd b(

Vs walkipg.

trifles;’ and for ‘gushing’ over these.trifles ; and for exhibiting

! 0ngg g

bOn

A TRAMP ABROAD.

97

!

hlS Mr

ad fi

Ol

his ‘deep infantile delight’ in what they call his ¢ tuppenny col-

>

o 1\9(

Jection of beggarly trivialities;

and for beginning his book with

Yery ]mrd §

a picture of himself] seated, in a ¢ sappy, self-complacent attitude,

Y Lo |

Pl

in the midst of his poor little ridiculous bric-a-brac junk shop.’

Il b

lﬂ A

It is easy to say these things; it is easy to revile us, easy to

I g

hil)

despise us; therefore, let these people rail on; they cannot feel

U8, 25t

)

as Byng and I feel—it is their loss, not ours. For my part I am

16 wol,

;

content to be a bric-a-bracker and a keramiker—more, I am

Ld, by gy t

proud to be so named.

I am proud to know that I lose my

© showe e i

reason as immediately in the presence of a rare jug with an

illustrious mark on the bottom of it, as if I had just emptied that

vt

1 from i

jug. Very well; I packed and stored a part of my collection,

and the rest of it I placed in the care of the Grand Ducal Museum

6 paid for

Ul

that i g m

in Mannheim, by permission.

My Old Blue China Cat remains

there yet.

I presented it to that excellent institution.

dred dol

i

Tnfo

th

I had but one misfortune with my things.

An egg which I

had kept back from breakfast that morning was broken in packing.

0t of i

I had shown it to the best connoisseurs in

It was a great pity.

Heidelberg, and they all said it was an antique. We spent a day

[t 'J‘S 10f 80 2o,

.

We

it coloury

or two in farewell visits, and then left for Baden-Baden.

!

had a pleasant trip of it, for the Rhine valley is always lovely.

ng, frans

T

je it

The only trouble was that the trip was too short. If I remember

rightly, it only occupied a couple of Lours; therefore I judge

Lo it ustice s

Lt

We

that the distance was very little, if any, over fifty miles.

quitted the train at Oos, and walked the entire remaining distance

to Baden-Baden, with the exception of a lift of less than an hour

fhe rgader’s tin‘t‘e

all 4k

which we got on a passing waggon, the weather being exhaust-

£l

or

1

6 b

ingly warm.

We came into town on foot.

f onee e g

One of the first persons we encountered, as we walked up

be e

the street, was the Rev. Mr.

, an old friend from America—

110 Ore &

a lucky encounter, indeed, for his is a most gentle, refined and

ohen talking of 3

sensitive nature, and his company and companionship are a

ofa piece o

genuine refreshment.

We knew he had been in Europe some

g ecstasyj At

time, but were not at all expecting to run across him. Both

¢ about Wheld

g

parties burst forth into loving enthusiasms, and Rev. Mr.

[ yias genuitet

sald—

‘I have got a brimful reservoir of talk to pour out on you,

and an empty one ready and thirsting to receive what you have

o-iehrac b

s o decoris

got; we will sit up till midnight and have a good satisfying

interchange, for I leave here early in the morning.’

We agreed

g by

to that, of course.

o, who M8

‘, C’un Of him fir

I bad been vaguely conscious, for a while, of a persen who

{

was walking in the street abreast of us. I had glanced furtively at

| ‘his

despimh’f

1

hibit

bim once or twice, and noticed that he was a fine, large, vigorous

d for &8

H

98

A TRAMP ABROAD.

fhe gOU

o ny iﬂ

young fellow, with an open, independent countenance, faintly

gl

i do

shaded with a pale and even almost imperceptible crop of early

arpe

g

fh

down, and that he was clothed from head to heel in cool and

led ol

enviable snow-white linen.

I thought I had also noticed that

i

gl good to

his head had a sort of listening tilt to it.

Now about this time

i theold 2

the Rev. Mr.

said—

¢ The side-walk is hardly wide enough for three, so. I will

yame s VA0

jng 00 {10

walk behind; but keep the talk going, keep the talk going,

there’s no time to lose, and you may be sure I will do my share.’

fhat part

He ranged himself behind us, and straightway that stately

Jeam 4 0

(terman; 0!

snow-white young fellow closed up to the side-walk alongside

fklo tis

him, fetched him a cordial slap on the shoulder with his broad

palm, and sung out with-a hearty cheeriness—

Firtofy

bt dont

¢ Americans, for two-and-a-half and the money up !

Hey 2?

¢The Reverend winced, but said mildly—

think and d

¢ Yes—we are Americans.’

hetyeen you

fhat was ve

¢Lord love you, you can just bet that’s what I am, every

time !

Put it there !’

when [ge

He held out his Sahara of a palm, and the Reverend laid his

take me g

yourat! t

diminutive hand in it, and got so cordial a shake that we heard

and sthooldea

his glove burst under it.

¢ Say, didn’t I put you up right ?’

aboutit! He

¢ 0 yes.

Justai' any

¢Sho! I spotted you for my kind the minute I heard your

e Qonehy

clack. You been over here long?”’

spavined, e

¢ About four months.

your bar, |

Have you been over long?’

¢ Long ?

Well, I should say so !

Going on two years, by

tired of it m

geeminy !

Say, are you homesick ?’

W Coning

Whether [y

¢ No, I can’t say that I am. Are you?’

¢ Oh, hell, yes!’

This with immense enthusiasm.

did't come ;

The Reverend shrunk a little, in his clothes, and we were

schoo] books,

aware, rather by instinct than otherwise, that he was throwing

dort kg

out signals of distress to us; but we did not interfere or try to

bakergfer

succour him, for we were quite happy.

oy bt

The young fellow hooked his arm into the Reverend’s now,

ting I

with the confiding and grateful air of a waif who has been long-

gy )

ing for a friend, and a sympathetic ear, and a chance to lisp once

ta K

more the sweet accents of the mother tongue—and then he

Ut Iy Pt

limbered up the muscles of his mouth and turned himself loose —

Cl‘llp

p‘.‘l‘, ﬂnd fI‘ (

and with such a relish !

Some of his words were not Sun-

Iv

T gotto gy

occur.

day-school words, so I am obliged to put blanks where they

‘I’IOT

=8, in

g ]

thez)

‘Yes indeedy!

RS

0”“7 JO

Americans, that's all,

If 7 ain’t an American there ain't any

by

!

And when T heard you fellows gassing

b2

A TRAMP ABROAD.

99

Yl

i

;

g &

M

6, iy

away in the good old American language, I'm”

‘.;,

if it wasn’t

0}

0 gy

i

0]

all I could do to keep from hugging you !

My tongue’s all

%

<

I

iz

warped with trying to curl it around these

forsaken

wind-galled nine-jointed German words here; now I tell you it’s

0 3 g

1§

awful good to lay it over a Christian word once more and kind of

let the old taste soak in.

Pm from Western New York.

My

for thr, i

il

name is Cholley Adams.

I'm a student, you know. Been here

eep g tﬂ’k

I like

T

ldon

going on two years.

I'm learning to be a horse-doctor.

that part of it, you know, but

these people, they won’t

Ay thy

ttst

e

learn a fellow in his own language, they make him learn in

Sl ,

A0er wih b

German ; so before I could tackle the horse-doctoring I had to

43

g

tackle this miserable language.

¢ First-off, I thought it would certainly give me the botts,

but I don’t mind it now.

n_“]“y ! Ey

T've got it where the hair’s short, I

think ; and dontchuknow, they made me learn Latin, too.

Now

between you and me, I wouldn’t give a ~<='for all the Latin

it 1 i, oy

that was ever jabbered; and the first thing I calculate to do

when I get through, is to just sit down and forget it. - "T'wont

¢ Reverend Lyt

take me long, and I don’t mind the time, anyway. And I tell

lake that e b

you what! the difference between school teaching over yonder

and school-teaching over here—sho !

We don’t know anything

about it !

Here you’ve got to peg and peg and peg, and there

just ain’t any let-up—and what you learn here, you've got to

3

imafe T heaed oo

know, dontchuknow—or else you'll have one of these ~—

spavined, spectacled, ring-boned, knock-kneed old professors in

your hair.

et long !’

I’ve been here long enough, and I'm getting blessed

an o g b

tired of it, mind I tell you.

The old man wrote to me that he

was coming over in June, and said he'd take me home in August,

whether I was done with my education or not, but durn him, he

didn’t come ; never said why ; just sent me a hamper of Sunday-

and e et

school books, and told me to be good, and hold on a while.

I

don’t take to Sunday-school books, dontchuknow—I don’t

- e yas throri

nterfere or frf

hanker after them when I can get pie—but I read them, any-

way, because whatever the old man tells me to do, that’s the

thing I’'m a~going to do, or tear something you know.

I buckled

o Reverend’s,nof

in and read all of those books, because he wanted me to; but

ho has beel

that kind of thing don’t excite me; I like something hearty.

hanceto

But I'm awful homesick.

I’'m homesick from ear-socket to

yue_—ﬂnd th?n b

crupper, and from crupper to hock joint; but it ain’t any use,

o himse oo~

T've got to stay here, till the old man drops the rag and gives the

g were ot 30

word—yes, sir, right here in this

country I've got to

Janks whett &7

linger till the old man says Come’—and you bet your bottom

dollar, Jobnny, it ain’t just as easy as it is for a cat to have

] there (i

it 4

twins |’

H 2

i flom 8%

100

A TRAMP ABROAD.

-

p al ot

At the end of this profane and cordial explosion he fetched a

prodigious ¢ Whoosh !’ to relieve his lungs and make recognition

i ber dﬂm‘

{950, 119

of the heat, and then he straightway dived into his narrative

again for ¢ Johnny's > benefit, beginning, ¢ Well,"*~—-—it ain’

i fherélor®

oo e o0

any use of talking, some of those old American words do have a

s Germanys

kind of a bully swing to them; a man can express himself with

’em—a man can get at what he wants to say, dontchuknow.’

smefor anot

When we reached our hotel and it seemed that he was about

antinig

to lose the Reverend, he showed so much sorrow, and begged so

instance for

Job waer OF

hard and so earnestly, that the Reverend’s heart was not hard

enough to hold out against the pleadings—so he went away with

(Corshad 1

the parent-honouring student, like a right Christian, and took

fiotiendi gav!

supper with him in his lodgings and sat in the surf-beat of his

They do

slang and profanity till near midnight, and then left him—

Trnkballe,a

ofler, whilet

left him pretty well talked out, but grateful ¢clear down to his

frogs,” as he expressed it.

The Reverend said it had transpired

of hdylke

f0 566 JOU=]

during the interview that ¢Cholley’ Adams’s father was an

extensive dealer in horses in Western New York ; this accounted

By.and

for Cholley’s choice of a profession.

The Reverend brought

siretches s

away a pretty high opinion of Cholley as a manly young fellow,

the for, o

with stuff in him for a useful citizen ; he considered him rather

such compreh

a rough gem, but a gem, nevertheless.

Dehind ber

structed imsid

her fiss

jou coniempn

CHAPTER XXI.

Qown whers ]

5(1)'—

*How my

BApEN-BADEN sits in the lap of the hills, and the natural and

artificial beauties of the surroundings are combined effectively

ference, g bey

Nuck B,

and charmingly. The level strip of ground which stretches

through and beyond the town is laid out in handsome plea-

1§ th

sure grounds, shaded by noble trees and adorned at intervals

mon bgfm(»

I §

with lofty and sparkling fountain-jets.

Thrice a day a fine band

are expeitiug

makes music in the public promenade befcre the Conversation-

atsa iy

House, and in the afternoons and evenings that locality is popu-

& rem ad C‘

lous with fashionably dressed people of both sexes, who march

OF g

g gy

back and forth past the great music stand and look very much

bored, though they make a show of feeling otherwise.

It seems

N B

like a rather aimless and stupid existence.

A good many of

Wiy gy

these people are there for a real purpose, however; they are

JOu gl g

o}

racked with rheumatism, and they are there to stew it out in

ansxrgr, gt |

the hot baths.

Ie, |

These invalids looked melancholy enough, limn-

fyourﬂas

ing about on their canes and crutches, and appareuntly brooding

¥ithy

T ey

A TRAMP ABROAD.

101

g

I

T,

Le TECOHn

i

over all sorts of cheerless things. People say that Germany,

| Whl&n

bligly

with her damp stone houses, is the home of rheumatism,

If

il

that is so, Providence must have foreseen that it would be S0,

A orgy o

and therefore filled the Jand with these healing baths. Perhaps

Uress i

no other country is so generously supplied with medicinal springs

| do‘mehukﬁgw 3

as Germany. Some of these baths are good for one ailment,

|

1026 b g

some for another; and again, peculiar ailments are conquered by

TTOW, ang

ey

combining the individual virtues of several different baths.

For

instance, for some forms of disease the patient drinks the native

1645 yygg

’ he We

hot water of Baden-Baden, with a spoonful of salt from the

i

Carlsbad springs dissolved in it.

That is not a dose to be

Chrig

an, g

h

b iy

forgotten right away.

They don’t sell this hot water; no, you go into the great

”l thep |

]

clear do

Trinkhalle, and stand around, first on one foot and then on the

otlier, while two or three young girls sit pottering at some sort

0 1t

bad ¢

§ I

of lady-like sewing work in your neighbourhood and can’t seem

to see you—polite as three-dollar clerks in government offices.

OIK

fil

5

By-and-by one of these rises painfully, and stretches’ ;—

Reverend by

stretches fists and body heavenward till she raises her heels from

anly FOlIngf

the floor, at the same time refreshing herself with a yawn of

I

110 ol

such comprehensiveness that the bulk of her face disappears

behind her upper lip, and one is able to see how she is con-

structed inside—then she slowly closes her cavern, brings down

her fists and her heels, comes languidly forward, contemplates

you contemptuously, draws you a glass of hot water and sets it

down where you can get it by reaching for it.

You take it and

say—

¢ How much ? '—and she returns you, with elaborate indif-

£ N

ference, a beggar’s answer—

¢ Nach Beliebe (what you please).’

nd

o

This thing of using the common beggar’s trick and the com-

mon beggar’s shibboleth to put you on your liberality when you

4

are expecting a simple straightforward commercial transaction,

adaya

adds a little to your prospering sense of irritation.

You ignore

e

her reply, and ask again—

¢ How much ?’

ho 1

and she calmly, indifferently, repeats—

id ]

001;

.

very I

¢ Nach Beliebe.

Iist

hervist

You are getting angry, but you are trying not to show it

you resolve to keep on asking your question till she changes her

A good mnf;

There-

Lowever;

answer, or at least her annoyingly indifferent manner.

g {0

o 1t 0’

fore, if your case be like mine, you two fools stand there, and

oly enctd

without perceptible emotion of any kind, or any emphasis on any

p[;:llréud)'

102

A TRAMP ABROAD.

ilnce

syllable, you look blandly into each other’s eyes, and hold the

ay

s U2

following idiotic conversation—

o s of )

¢ How much ?’

it e &1

¢ Nach Beliebe.’

¢How much?’

pestljet?

¢Nach Beliebe,’

e han ¥

¢How much?’

s W}m

¢ Nach Beliebe.’

fosed o com

¢ How much ?°

i 1) uttere

fporof .8

¢ Nach Beliebe.’

¢ How much ?’

s D

¢ Nach Beliebe.’

qud be 1)

¢ How much ??

gl

Russins or

¢ Nach Beliebe.’

I do not know what another person would have done, but at

{hey have I

this point I gave it up; that cast-iron indifference, that tranquil

fo 8 109

befone a Ba

contemptuousness, conquered me, and I struck my colours.

Now I knew she was used to receiving about a penny from

prince!

manly people who care nothing about the opinions of scullery

Ttisan

suobbery, b

maids, and about tuppence from moral cowards; but I laid a

silver twenty-five-cent piece within her reach and tried to

and they v

shrivel her up with this sarcastic speech—

fisn uneed

=]

I

¢If it isn’t enough, will you stoop sufficiently from your

afara for

=1

official dignity to say so?’

1 filly el

She did not shrivel.

Without deigning to look at me at all,

Biden s el

she languidly lifted the coin and bit it!—to see if it was good.

gie, T

Then she turned her back and placidly waddled to her former

lehing by

roost again, tossing the money into an open till as she went

There

along.

She was victor to the last, you see.

yeans they

I have enlarged upon the ways of this girl because they are

the healiﬁg

typical; her manners are the manners of a goodly number of

numeroys |

the Baden-Baden shopkeepers.

The shopkeeper there swindles

Tukue fy f

you if he can, and insults you whether he succeeds in swindling

Bavay iy

you or not.

The keepers of baths also take great and patient

&0y sorf of |

pains to insult you. The frowsy woman who sat at the desk in the

o f

lobby of the great Friederichsbad and sold bath tickets, not only

insulted me twice every day, with rigid fidelity to her great

the iy

0 it iy

trust, but she took trouble enough to cheat me out of a shilling,

4 bow g

I

one day, to have fairly entitled her to ten.

Baden-Baden’s

Doty g

{

splendid gamblers are gone, only her miscroscopic knaves re-

main.

01 Qg

JOU oy

An English gentleman who had been living there several

Whigh g,

years said—

8 yoq

¢If you could disguise your nationality, you would not find

£ 1ogpy

A TRAMP ABROAD.

103

%% ad g "

any insolence here. These shopkeepers detest the English and

despise the Americans ; they are rude to both

, more especially

to ladies of your nationality and mine. If these go shopping

without a gentleman or a man servant, they are tolerably sure to

be subjected to petty insolences—insolences of manner and tone

rather than word, though words that are hard to bear are not

always wanting. I know of an instance where a shopkeeper

tossed a coin back to an American lady with the remark, snap-

pishly uttered, “ We don’t take French money here.”—And I

know of a case where an English lady said to one of these shop-

keepers, “ Don’t you think you ask too much for this article 27

and he replied with the

question, “Do you think you are

obliged to buy it?” However, these people are not impolite to

Russians or Germans, And as to rank, they worship that, for

d bave o by

ence, tha

they have long been used to generals and nobles. If you wish

to see to what abysses servility can descend, present yourself

trck my

before a Baden-Baden shopkeeper in the character of a Russian

ot a pn

prince.’

pinicns of

It is an inane town, filled with sham, and petty fraud, and

nds; but I i

ach and fried

snobbery, but the baths are good. I spoke with many people,

and they were all agreed in that. Ihad had twinges of rheuma-

tism unceasingly during three years, but the last one departed

ciently from o

after a fortnight’s bathing there, and I have never had one since.

I fully believe I left my rheumatism in Baden.Baden. Baden-

0 Jook ot meatel

Baden is welcome to it.

It was little, but it was all I had to

yseeif ity

give.

I would have preferred to leave something that was

ed to ber

catching, but it was not in my power.

on il a8 e v

There are several hot springs there, and during two thousand

years they have poured forth a never-diminishing abundance of

1] becanse thy

the healing water. This water is conducted in pipes to the

goodly 10

numerous bath-houses, and is reduced to an endurable tempe-

per here

rature by the addition of cold water.

The new Friederichsbad

ooeeds In 81

is a very large and beautiful building, and in it one may have

oteat and i

any sort of bath that has ever been invented, and with all the

additions of herbs and drugs that his ailment may need or that

ot thede

] tickets, o o:‘.{

the physician of the establishment may consider a useful thing

to put into the water.

You go there, enter the great door, get

ey to ber £

a bow graduated to your style and clothes from the gorgeous

o of %

. Baden B

portier, and a bath-ticket and an insult from the frowsy woman

for a quarter; she strikes a bell, and a serving-man conducts

»B("OPic b ¥

you down a long hall and shuts you into a commodious room

which has a washstand, a mirror, a bootjack, and a sofa in it, and

ing {46 o

there you undress at your leisure.

The room is divided by a great curtain. You draw this cur.

o would 26 g

104

A TRAMP ABROAD.

tain aside, and find a large white marble bath-tub, with its rim

ool

e €

sunk to the level of the floor, and with three white marble steps

leading down into it. This tub is full of water, which is as clear

Jodians MIE ]

as crystal, and is tempered to 28° Réaumur (about 95° Fahren-

This 19

m.my dO\YU

heit).

Sunk into the floor, by the tub, is a covered copper box

which contains some warm towels and a sheet.

You look fully

jsther 8

as white as an angel when you are stretched out in that limpid

saying 08

Tndians, a1

bath. You remain in it ten minutes the first time, and after-

—

wards increase the duration from day to day, till you reach

That the ¢

twenty-five or thirty minutes.

There you stop. The appoint-

gl'[l

s

D

ly,an

ments of the place are so luxurious, the benefit so marked, the

qmusemel

price so moderate, and the insults so sure, that you very soon

There

e, spelt

find yourself adoring the Friederichsbad and infesting it.

We had a plain, simple, unpretending, good hotel in Baden-

Spe

o

Baden—the Hotel de France— and alongside my room I had a

aler o

giggling, cackling, chattering family who always went to bed

aguod ma

Jjust two hours after me and always got up just two hours ahead

Jis. fombt

of me.

But that is common in German hotels; the people gene-

from the 1

rally go to bed long after eleven and get up long before eight.

moved fror

The partitions convey sound like a drum-head, and everybody

fhe cemeter

knows it ; but no matter, a German family who are all kindness

chiseled an

and consideration in the daytime make apparently no effort to

fombstones 1

moderate their noises for your benefit at night.

They will sing,

but eurio

laugh, and talk loudly, and bang furniture around in the most

dvayse

pitiless way.

If you knock on your wall appealingly, they will

ad which

quiet down and discuss the matter softly amongst themselves for

insrgion,

a moment—then, like the mice, they fall to persecuting you

quaint and

again, and as vigorously as before.

They keep cruelly late and

early hours, for such noisy folk.

than a e

Of course when one begins to find fault with foreign people’s

ways, he is very likely to get a reminder to look nearer home,

l

before he gets far with it.

I open my note-book to see if I can

find some more information of a valuable nature about Baden-

Baden, and the first thing I fall upon is this :

i

Baden-Baden (no date).—Lot of vociferous Americans at

breakfast this morning. Talking at everybody, while pretending

to talk among themselves.

On their first travels, manifestly.

Showing off. The usual signs—airy, easy-going references to

grand distances and foreign places.

¢ Well, good-bye, old fellow,

|

We g

if I don’t run across you in Italy, you hunt me up in London

Vi Iué.ei’ o

before you sail.’

The next item which I find in my note-book is this one :

Clﬂmlng W

flog

¢ The fact that a band of 6,000 Indians are now murdering

Dads gy

our frontiersmen at their impudent leisure, and that we are only

HI the WOI'I d.

A TRAMP ABROAD.

105

by

gy

Whit

& gy

able to send 1,200 soldiers against them, is utilised here to dis-

ﬂrh

courage emigration to America.

The common people think the

(aboy

o

y

%on

dly

Indians are in New Jersey.’

L

This is a new and peculiar argument against keeping our

4 Yo |

00§ fy]

army down to a ridiculous figure in the matter of numbers. It

0t 1y f

is rather a striking one, too.

I have not distorted the truth in

I tlmﬂ] P

saying that the facts in the above item, about the army and the

a

)il yoy

Indians, are made use of to discourage emigration to America.

b}

That the common people should be rather foggy in their geo-

L 8

graphy, and foggy as to the location of the Indians, is matter for

th

amusement, maybe, but not of surprise.

40 YU very

There is an interesting old cemetery in Baden-Baden, and

we spent several pleasant hours in wandering through it and

0 B

o my ron ]}

spelling out the inscriptions on the aged tombstones. Apparently

after a man has lain there a century or two, and has had

Ivays et 1

o ho

a good many people buried on top of him, it is considered that

his tombstone is not needed by him any longer.

I judge so

the ey

from the fact that hundreds of old gravestones have been re-

Long before

moved from the graves and placed against the inner walls of

d, and ¢

e all kinds

the cemetery.

What artists they had in the old times !

They

chiselled angels and cherubs and devils and skeletons on the

rently no effr

tombstones in the most lavish and generous way—as to supply—

They will

but curiously grotesque and outlandish as to form.

It is not

around 1o the

always easy to tell which of the figures belong among the blest,

wa

lingly, the

l

and which of them among the opposite party. But there was an

,,

f them

inscription, in French, on one of those old stones which was

0

quaint and pretty, and was plainly not the work of any other

o eruely bzt

than a poet.

It was to this effect :—

ith foreig

HERE

Reroses 1N Gob,

Jook nea

ook fo see 12

CAROLINE DE CLERY,

A RELIGIEUSE oF St. DENIS,

are about Bz

AGED 83 YEARS—AND BLIND.

TOE LIGHT WAS RESTORED TO HER

ous Ameritass ¥

IN BADEN THE 5TH OF JANUARY,

. hile pretd j

1839.

ravels, 10

0ing referencss

We made several excursions on foot to the neighbouring

jd-byey ol feH?W-

I

villages, over winding and beautiful roads, and through en-

po 1 1 10

chanting woodland scenery. The woods and roads were similar

to those at Heidelberg, but not so bewitching.

I suppose that

o s s 01

roads and woods which are up to the Heidelberg mark are rare

¢ 10

7 murted

in the world.

et ol

] that

106

A TRAMP ABROALD.

Once we wandered clear away to La Favorita Palace, which

goled i

is several miles from Baden-Baden.

g her 2€

The grounds about the

‘hataﬂi o

palace were fine; the palace was a curiosity. It was built by

a Margravine in 1725, and remains as she left it at her death.

! 1008

i i comp

We wandered through a great many of its rooms, and they all

had striking peculiarities of decoration.

For instance, the walls

‘,‘%‘

elmhl? it

of one room were pretty completely covered with small pictures

s

smnm o

g g

of the Margravine in all conceivable varieties of fanciful costumes,

ke

some of them male.

The walls of another room were covered with grotesquely

o adory

fi

| qanly €1

and elaborately figured hand-wrought tapestry. The musty

ancient beds remained in the chambers, and their quilts and cur-

In fhiil 0

i g

tains and canopies were decorated with curious hand-work, and

din

the walls and ceilings frescoed with historical and mythological

1 have |

scenes in glaring colours.

There was enough crazy and rotten

rubbish in the building to make the true brick-a-bracker green

ald have

with envy. A painting in the dining-hall verged upon the in-

ey of

delicate—but then the Margravine was herself a trifle indelicate.

ot Tnog and

It is in every way a wildly and picturesquely decorated

house, and brimful of interest as a reflection of the character and

tastes of that rude bygone time.

In the grounds, a few rods from the palace, stands the Mar-

gravine’s chapel, just as she left it—a coarse wooden structure,

Trou Baden

wholly barren of ornament.

It is said that the Margravine

would give herself up to debauchery and exceedingly fast living

To

\

for several months at a time, and then retire to this miserable

caibe fose

lim, A%

wooden den and spend a few months in repenting and getting

ready for another good time.

She was a devoted Catholic, and

tentment;

was perhaps quite a model sort of a Christian as Christians went

aud a thir

the remef

then, in high life.

Tradition says she spent the last two years of her life in the

‘

tion fron

strange den I have been speaking of, after having indulged her-

Tl

She shut

self in one final, triumphant, and satisfying spree.

Where thy

herself up there, without company, and without even a servant,

amant,

and so abjured and forsook the world. In her little bit of a

1y gy

kitchen she did her own cooking ; she wore a hair shirt next the

st of

skin, and castigated herself with whips—these aids to grace are

gl gy

exhibited there yet.

She prayed and told her beads, in another

Ininggyt

|

little room before a waxen Virgin niched in a little box against

e i

the wall ; she bedded herself like a slave.

E16 g

In another small room is an unpainted wooden table, and

Strike the

behind it sit half-life-size waxen figures of the Holy Family,

el g

made by the vely worst artist that ever lived, perhaps, and

1

b i

Thig

g b

A TRAMP ABROAD.

107

ilace, Which

elothed in gaudy, flimsy drapery.!

The Margravine used to

S aboyg fhe

a8 s

bring her meals to this table and dine with the Holy Family.

b gy

by

What an idea that was!

What a grisly spectacle it must have

h,

been !

Imagine it!

Those rigid, shock-headed figures, with

and they al

8, he

corpsy complexions and fishy glass eyes, occupying one side of

the table in the constrained attitudes and dead fixedness that

m pictures

distinguish all men that are born of wax, and this wrinkled,

1 costumes,

smouldering old fire-eater occupying the other side, mumbling

her prayers and munching her sausages in the ghostly stillness

otesquely

and shadowy indistinctness of a winter twilight.

It makes one

6 mugy

feel crawly even to think of it.

s and

In this sordid place, and clothed, bedded, and fed like a

dwork, and

pauper, this strange princess lived and worshipped during two

mythologia]

1 and tottey

years, and in it she died. Two or three hundred years ago, this

would have made the poor den holy ground; and the church

racker green

would have set up a miracle-factory there and made plenty of

upon the ine

fl ndelicate,

money out of it. The den could be moved into some portions

of France and made a good property even now.

ly decorated

harscter and

1ds the Mar-

CHAPTER XXIL

en structure,

T'roy Baden-Baden we made the customary trip into the Black

Margravine

Forest.

We were on foot most of the time.

One cannot des-

Iy fast living

his miserable

cribe those noble woods, nor the feeling with which they inspire

him. A feature of the feeling, however, is a deep sense of con-~

g and getiog

Catholic, and

tentment ; another feature of it is a buoyant, boyish gladness;

ristians ent

and a third and very conspicuous feature of it is one’s sense of

the remoteness of the work-day world and his entire emancipa-

tion from it and its affairs.

er life in the

Those woods stretch unbroken over a vast region; and every-

ndulged -

where they are such dense woods, and so still, and so piney and

. She shut

n 4 servath

fragrant.

The stems of the trees are trim and straight, and in

many places all the ground is hidden for miles under a thick

lttle bit of &

cushion of moss of a vivid green colour, with not a decayed or

hirt next e

to grace are

ragged spot in its surface, and not a fallen leaf or twig to mar its

immaculate tidiness.

A rich cathedral gloom pervades the pil-

5 in another

lared aisles; so the stray flecks of sunlight that strike a trunk

, box aginst

here and a bough yonder are strongly accented, and when they

strike the moss they fairly seem to burn.

But the weirdest

n table :}nd

effect, and the most enchanting, is that produced by the diffused

Toly Fauil

! The Saviour was represented as a lad of about fifteen years of age.

;erbaps; i

This figure had lost one eye,

108

A TRAMP ABROAD.

1nge1'sB P

light of the low afternoon sun ; no single ray is able to pierce its

Bgcumuk{tiou‘

way in, then, but the diffused light takes colour from moss and

el onnt

foliage, and pervades the place like a faint, green-tinted mist, the

0

theatrical fire of fairyland. The suggestion of mystery and the

o ildy

The 1mpo

supernatural which haunts the forest at all times is intensified

fof 106 Bl

by this unearthly glow.

i

fo

rrs

We found the Black Forest farmhouses and villages all that

i s §

the Black Forest stories have pictured them. The first genuine

consid

specimen which we came upon was the mansion of a rich farmer

}

el e et

and member of the Common Council of the parish or district.

118

e was an important personage in the land, and so was his wife

also, of course.

His daughter was the ¢ catch’ of the region, and

i

she may be already entering into immortality as the heroine of

one of Auerbach’s novels for all I know.

We shall see, for if he

i

i

.

puts her in I shall recognise her by her Black Forest clothes, and

1

i

her burned complexion, her plump figure, her fat hands, her dull

AU

expression, her gentle spirit, her generous feet, her bonnetless

The ]

head, and the plaited tails of hemp-coloured hair hanging down

Pau

her back.

Win)

The house was big enough for a hotel ; it was a hundred feet

{

0A1y

long and fifty wide, and ten feet high, from ground to eaves;

3

184

but from the eaves to the comb of the mighty roof was as much

as forty feet, or maybe even more.

This roof was of ancient

s,

b, yo

mud-coloured straw thatch a foot thick, and was covered all over,

except in a few trifling spots, with a thriving and luxurious

(irechen,

growth of green vegetation, mainly moss.

Huss fonbi

The mossless spots

dien the

were places where repairs had been made by the insertion of

Whatis

bright new masses of yellow straw.

The eaves projected far

[lnte

down, like sheltering, hospitable wings.

Across the gable that

Pul |

fronted the road, and about ten feet above the ground, ran a nar-

row porch, with a wooden railing ; a row of small windows filled

By

sy, ‘T

with very small panes looked upon the porch. Above were two

or three other little windows, one clear up under the sharp apex

{

Wed

manure.

of the roof. Before the ground-floor door was a huge pile of

P

(ang,

The door of a second-story room on the side of the

house was open, and occupied by the rear elevation of a cow.

odg

{reg

|

Was this probably the drawing-room? All of the front half of

the house from the ground up seemed to be occupied by the

il

i

:Jhi:ing PIO

people, the cows, and the chickens, and all the rear half by

draught animals and hay. But the chief feature all around this

e f

house was the big heaps of manure.

aly:

We became very familiar with the fertiliser in the Forest.

Uengh ay

We fell unconsciously into the habit of judging of a man’s station

in life by this outward and eloquent sign. Sometimes we said,

i

I % &

My |

aff

™ G

A TRAMNP ABROAD.

109

g PiQTCe ity

¢ Here is a poor devil, this is manifest.” When we saw a stately

L1005 g

accumulation, we said, ¢ Here is a banker.’

When we encoun-

mig, ¢

)

he

tered a country seat surrounded by an Alpine pomp of manure,

ey ang g

we said, ¢ Doubtless a duke lives here.’

3 leHSiﬁQd

The importance of this feature has not been properly magni-

fied in the Black Forest stories.

Manure is evidently the Black

0esall fg

I8t onyyg

Forester’s main treasure—his coin, his jewel, his pride, his Old

Master, his keramics, his bric-a-brac, his darling, his title to

Tich fyy

public consideration, envy, veneration, and his first solicitude

o it

when he gets ready to make his will.

The true Black Forest

Was his wify

novel, if it is ever written, will be skeletoned somewhat in this

Tegion, anq

way <

¢ heroing of

SKELETON FOR BrLAck Forest NOVEL.

see, for if b

Clothes, gng

Rich old_rarmer, named Huss.

Has inherited great wealth of

=

nds, her dy]

manure, and by diligence has added to it.

It is double-starred

T bonnetlesy

in ¢ Baedeker.’ !

The Black Forest artist paints it—his master-

piece.

The King comes to see it.

anging down

heiress.

Gretchen ITuss, daughter and

Paul Hoch, young neighbour, suitor for Gretchen’s

band—ostensibly ; he really wants the manure.

Hoch has a

hundred foet

d to eaves:

good many cart-loads of the Black Forest currency himself, and

therefore is a good catch; but he is sordid, mean, and without

jas as much

)

s of anclent

sentiment, whereas Gretchen is all sentiment and poetry. Ians

ered all over,

Schmidt, young neighbour, full of sentiment, full of poetry, loves

)

Gretchen, Gretchen loves him.

But he has no manure.

Old

1 Tnxurions

Huss forbids him the house.

His heart breaks, he goes away to

ossless spofs

die in the woods, far from the cruel world—for he says, bitterly,

) Insertion of

¢ WWhat is man, without manure?’

projected fr

[Interval of six months.]

e gable that

Paul Hoch comes to old Huss and says, ‘I am at last as rich

d, ran & nar

as you required—come and view the pile.” Old Huss views it, and

indowsfilled

says, ‘It is sufficient—take her and be happy’—meaning Gretchen.

ve were two

[Interval of two weeks.

sharp apes

Wedding party assembled in old Huss's drawing-room ; Hoch

Enter

uge pile of

placid and content, Gretchen weeping over her hard fate.

side of the

old Huss’s head book-keeper.

Huss says fiercely, ‘I gave you

) of & Cov.

three weeks to find out why your books don’t balance, and to

vont half of

prove that you are not a defaulter; the time is up—find me the

ied by the

missing property or you go to prison as a thief.” Book-keeper :

‘I have found it.

ar half by

¢Where?’

Book-keeper: sternly—tragi-

around this

cally: ‘In the bridegroom’s pile !—behold the thief:

see him

blench and tremble !> [Sensation.] Paul Hoch: ‘Lost, lost!’

fe Foresh

! When Baedeker’s guide-books mention a thing and put two

bV

mn’s stﬂtl()ll

Btars * * after it, it means ¢ well worth visiting.’—

g e Saldy

A TRAMP ABROAD.

—falls over the cow in a swoon and is_handcuffed. Gretchen:

surVI‘\'Ors! ﬂﬂé

fber Jands.

¢ Saved !’

TFalls over the calf in a swoon of joy, but is caught

Tefollow

in the arms of Hans Schmidt, who springs in at that moment.

01d Huss: ¢ What, you here, varlet ? unhand the maid and quit

pureled mde

iy P

the place.

Hans: still supporting the insensible girl: ¢ Never !

g e S8

Cruel old man, know that I come with claims which even you

cannot despise.’

fpbeing $14¢

ol ate

Huss: ¢ What, yow? name them.

Hans: ¢ Then listen.

The world had forsaken me, I forsook

gt

the world. I wandered in the solitude of the forest, longing for

ot 808

wee By

death, but finding none.

I fed upon roots, and in my bitterness

ol d heat

I dug for the bitterest, loathing the sweeter kind.

Digging,

three days agone, I struck a manure mine!—a Golconda, a

el e 0

limitless Bonanza of solid manure !

gmde-book ol

I can buy you all, and

Tfe found

have mountain ranges of manure left!

Ha ha! now thou

smilest a smile !’

[Immense sensation.] Exhibition of speci-

115 06

thov

mens from the mine.

{ it was the

Old Huss, enthusiastically: ¢ Wake her

bmuein b

up, shake her up, noble young man, she is yours!’ Wedding

takes place on the spot; book-keeper restored to his office and

fegpntly on

The Bonanza King of

st o the f

emoluments ; Paul Hoch led off to gaol.

the Black Forest lives to a good old age, blessed with the love

tage oad-

of his wife and of his twenty-seven children, and the still sweeter

frnisng s

*

roadall fo ou

envy of everybody around. ~——

We took our noon meal of fried trout one day at the Plow

Nowand

Inn, in a very pretty village (Ottenhofen), and then went into

s vork,

There we found nine or

the public room to rest and smoke.

change my

ten Black Forest grandees assembled around a table.

They

ntelleet th

were the Common Council of the parish.

They had gathered

many S

been i e

there at eight o’clock that morning to elect a new member, and

they had now been drinking beer four hoursat the new member’s

anhthat g

expense. They were men of fifty or sixty years of age, with

tothe ordy

grave, good-natured faces, and were all dressed in the costume

Vouderf§

made familiar to us by the Black Forest stories: broad, round-

ol slveg

topped, black felt hats, with the brims curled up all around;

1y b

long red waistcoats with large metal buttons, black alpaca coats

There were no

1t th gy

with the waists up between the shoulders.

1813 gy

speeches, there was but little talk, there were no frivolities; the

Council filled themselves gradually, steadily, but surely, with

8 Iool:iug\m

lin, g, o0

/ beer, and conducted themselves with sedate decorum, as became.

dUEs hé

a0] |

/ men of position, men of influence, men of manure.

4

~ We had a hot afternoon tramp up the valley, along the grassy

060t knyy

A

A ﬂ)

3 10 g

bank of a rushing stream of clear water, past farmhouses, water-

aV6 g9

mills, and no end of wayside crucifixes, and saints, and Virgins.

1t

These crucifixes, etc.,are set up in memory of departed friends by

g ty hlﬂlself

i o °“"ht

A TRAMP ABROAD,

111

Gretchm .

survivors, and are almost as fre

Ut Cight

other lands.

quent as telegraph poles are in

% oy,

We followed the carriage road, and h

ad our usual luck ; we

U and gy

travelled under a beating sun, and alwa

1 Ve |

ys saw the shade leave

Y fven Jou

the shady places before we could get to

them. In all our wan-

derings we seldom managed to strike a piece of road at its time

for being shady. We had a particularly hot time of it on that

16, T fopsy

particular afternoon, and with no comfort but wh

at we could get

out of the fact that the peasants at work

) longing oy

mountain sides above our heads were e

away up on the steep

ven worse off than we

Iy bitlterness

were. By-and-by it became impossible to endure the intolerable

Iggng

e

glare and heat any longer; so we struck across the ravine and

0loonds, o

B

entered the deep cool twilight of the forest, to hunt for what the

jou all, and

guide-book called the ¢ old road.’

oy thoy

fion of Spec

We found an old road, and it proved eventually to be the

right one, though we followed it at the time with the conviction

¢ “Wake her

that it was the wrong one. If it was the wrong one there could

" Weddng

is office and

be no use in hurrying, therefore we did not hurry, but sat down

frequently on the soft moss,

and enjoyed the restful quiet and

anza King of

shade of the forest solitudes.

There had been distractions in the

vith the love

carriage road—school children, peasants, wagons, troops of pedes-

il sweeter

trianising students from all over Germany—but we had the old

road all to ourselves.

b the Plow

Now and then, while we rested, we watched the laborious ant

en went info

ound nine or

at his work. I found fothing new in him—certainly nothing to

change my opinion of him.

It seems to me that in the matter of

table, They

intellect the ant must be a strangely overrated bird. During

had gathered

many summers now I have watched him, when I ought to have

menber, and

been in better business, and I have not yet come across a living

ey member’s

ant that seemed to have any more sense than a dead one. T refer

of age, v

to the ordinary ant, of course; I have hadno experience of those

the costume

wonderful Swiss and African ones which vote, keep drilled armies,

yoad, roud-

hold slaves, and dispute about religion. Those particular ants

all around;

may be all that the naturalist paints them, but I am persuaded

alpaca coes

that the average ant is a sham.

—

I admit higindustry, of course ;

re Wete 10

he is the hardest-working creature in the worldl—when anybody

solities; the

is looking—but his leather-headedness is the point I make against

him. He goes out foraging, he makes a capture, and then what

sul'ély; bl

does he do?

Go home?

ly asﬁ@@

No; he goes anywhere but home. He

doesn’t know where home is.

His home may be only three feet

away; no matter, he can’t find it.

He makes his capture, as I

g thegrasy

ses, Water:

have said ; it is generally something which can be of no sort of

use to himself or anybody else; it is usually seven times bigger

nd Virgins:

than it ought to be ; he hunts out the awkwardest place to take

fiends 17

112

A TRAMP ABROAD.

il offr

hold of it; he lifts it bodily up in the air by main force, and

e 48

starts—not toward home, but in the opposite direction; not

g e

calmly and wisely, but with a frantic haste which is wasteful of

adof i

his strength ; he fetches up against a pebble, and, instead of going

prosed 84

around it, he climbs over it backwards, dragging his booty after

and-b,V: i

him, tumbles down on the other side, jumps up in a passion,

gmeoll

kicks the dust off his clothes, moistens his hands, grabs his pro-

spot wher

perty viciously, yanks it this way, then that, shoves it ahead of

fhought

him a moment, turns tail and lugs it after him another moment,

R

sorbof e

gets madder and madder, then presently hoists it into the air and

diection

goes tearing away in an entirely new direction ; comestoa weed ;

No; he must climb it,

isheary ¢

it never occurs to him to go around it.

valueless €

and he does climb it, dragging his worthless property to the top

There

—which is as bright a thing to do as it would be for me to carry

anto

a sack of flour from Heidelberg to Paris by way of Strasburg

of fully

steeple. When he gets up there he finds that that is not the place ;

dead, bnt

takes a cursory glance at the scenery, and either climbs down

again or tumbles down, and starts off once more—as usual, in a

ofapea

new direction.

At the end of half an hour he fetches up within

i on i

{he air a

six inches of the place he started from, and lays his burden down.

Meantime, he has been over all the ground for two yards around,

b@l

Now he

p,

(i

and climbed all the weeds and pebbles he came across.

wipes the sweat from his brow, strokes his limbs, and then

himup

He traverses

ing weeds

marches aimlessly off, in as violent a hurry as ever.

Summifs—

a good deal of zig-zag country, and by-ind-by stumbles on his

He does not remember to have ever seen it

e confi

same booty again.

measured

before ; he looks around to see which is not the way home, grabs

his bundle, and starts. He goes through the same adventures

the concly

mimes y

he had before; finally stops to rest, and afriend comes along.

Evidently the friend remarks that a last year’s grasshopper leg is

Sperking—

a very noble acquisition, and inquires where he gotit. Evidently

horseg fgg

the proprietor does not remember exactly where he did get it,

(ﬂOt aroug

Evidently the

qf e jouy

but thinks he got it ‘around here somewhere.’

friend contracts to help him freight it home.

Then, with a

It gy

judgment peculiarly antic (pun not intentional), they take hold

fest high“; :

of opposite ends of that grasshopper leg and begin to tug with all

Withog gy

their might in opposite directions.

Presently they take a rest,

Othey idot

and confer together.

They decide that something is wrong, they

g

can’t make out what.

Then they go at it again, just as before.

iy

>

Q

ame result.

Mutual recriminations follow.

Evidently each

S0me x

accuses the cther of being an

obstructionist.

L~

They warm up,

by g

‘and the dispute ends in a fight.

They lock themselves together

-

Jook, a

Y

and chew each other’s jaws for a while; then they roll and

g i

tumble on the ground till one loses a horn or a leg and has to

LI

4 TRAMP ABROAD.

113

()rcey i)

haul off for repairs.

They make up and go to work again in the

00 ot

same old insane way, but the crippled ant is at a disadvantage ;

astefu] of

tug as he may, the other one drags off the booty and him at the

dof gy

end of it.

Instead of giving up, he hangs on, and gets his shins

0ty oy

bruised against every obstruction that comes in the way. By-

8 s,

and-by, when that grasshopper leg has been dragged all over the

U8 IS prg.

same old ground once more, it is finally dumped at about the

tahegdof

spot where it originally lay. The two perspiring ants inspect it

I Moment

1)

thoughtfully and decide that dried grasshopper legs are a poor

the i g

sort of property after all, and then each starts off in a different

3t0a Weed

direction to see if he can’t find an old nail or something else that

5t climb i,

is heavy enough to afford entertainment and at the same time

0 the top

valueless enough to make an ant want to own it.

¢ {0 carry

There in the Black Forest, on the mountain side, I saw an

f Strasbufg

ant go through with such a performance as this with a dead spider

ttho plce;

of fully ten times his own weight.

The spider was not quite

limbs down

dead, but too far gone to resist.

He had a round body the size

ustal, ing

of a pea.

The little ant—observing that I was noticing—turned

5 U Withn

him on his back, sunk his fangs into his throat, lifted him into

rden dow,

the air, and started vigorously off with him, stumbling over

rds around,

little pebbles, stepping on the spider’s legs and tripping himself

s, Nowhe

up, dragging him backwards, shoving him bodily ahead, dragging

,and then

him up stones sixinches high instead of going around them, climb-

He traverses

ing weeds twenty times his own height and jumping from their

"

mbles on his

summits—and finally leaving him in the middle of the road to

ever seent

—

be confiscated by any other fool of an ant that wanted him.

i

home, grabs

measured the ground which this ass traversed, and arrived at

o adventures

the conclusion that what he had accomplished inside of twenty

comues along.

minutes would constitute some such job as this—relatively

=

speaking—for a man; to wit: to strap two eight hundred pound

hopper eg

horses together, carry them eightcen hundred feet, mainly over

Evidently

p did geth

(not around) boulders averaging six feet high, and in the course

1

of the journey climb up and jump from the top of one precipice

yidently fhe

hen, With 8

like Niagara, and three steeples, each a hundred and twenty

feet high; and then put the horses down, in an exposed place,

v take hold

without anybody to watch them, and go off to indulge in some

g it

other idiotic miracle for vanity’s sake.

take @ 185}

14

Science has recently discovered that the ant does not lay up

wrong, ey

This will knock him out of literature

anything for winter use.

<t g8 befor

to some extent.

He does not work, except when people are

fenly o

warm Uy

looking, and only then when the observer has a green, naturalistic

look, and seems to be taking notes.

This amounts to deception,

ves

mgethcr r

and will injure him for the Sunday schools.

He bas not judg-

y ]'0h an

This

ment enough to know what is good to eat from what isn’t.

é and bas®?

S

114

A TRAMP ABROAD.

gt &

amounts to ignorance, and will impair the world's respect for

ied e

him.

He cannot stroll around a stump and find his way home

i Bakel

again. This amounts to idiocy, and once the damaging fact is

fora b

established, thoughtful people will cease to look up to him, the

e

sentimental will cease to fondle him. ~His vaunted industry is

pistuze

but a vanity and of no effect, since he never gets home with

forent §

anything he starts with.

This disposes of the last remnant of

Tl

nds b

his reputation, and wholly destroys his main usefulness as a moral

£ or

el

agent, since it will make the sluggard hesitate to go to him any

f

e be

more.

1t is strange beyond comprehension that so manifest a

humbug as the ant has been able to fool so many nations and

plest

ol

keep it up so many ages without being found out.

[t

The ant is strong, but we saw another strong thing, where we

had not suspected the presence of much muscular power before.

A toadstool—that vegetable which springs to full growth in a

single night—had torn loose and lifted a matted mass of pine =

needles and dirt of twice its own bulk into the air, and supported

TWs wer

it there, like a column supporting a shed. Ten thousand toad-

stools, with the right purchase, could lift a man, I suppose.

But

o fh

hreakas

what good would it do?

we bad

All our afternoon’s progress had been up hill.

About five or

meter, o0

half-past we reached the summit, and all of a sudden the dense

curtain of the forest parted, and we looked down into a deep

through

and beautiful gorge and out over a wide panorama of wooded

morning

have

mountains with their summits shining in the sun and their glade-

furrowed sides dimmed with purple shade.

The gorge under

dotng i

our feet—called Allerheiligen—afforded room in the grassy level

Now

at its head for a cosy and delightful human nest, shut away

Walking

from the world and its botherations, and consequently the monks

good to

blood ap

of the old times had not failed to spy it out; and here were the

brown and comely ruins of their church and convent to prove

Vool

that priests had as fine an instinct seven hundred years ago in

and ungk

ferreting out the choicest nooks and corners in a land as priests

1

thesapr

have to-day.

e —— i

one fyks

A big hotel erowds the ruins a little now, and drives a brisk

the iy

trade with summer tourists.

We descended into the gorge and

ﬂ"‘PPiﬂg'o

had a supper which would have been very satisfactory if the

: And Y

trout had not been boiled. The Germans are pretty sure to boil

Wil gy

a trout or anything else if left to their own devices.

This is an

King

argument of some value in support of the theory that they were

804 o

the original colonists of the wild islands off the coast of Scotland.

103ty

A schooner laden with oranges was wrecked upon one of those

5 ﬁfteen

islands a few years ago, and the gentle savages rendered the

02t iy )

captain such willing assistance that he gave them as many

Cirtaip b

A TRAMP ABROAD,

115

et oy

oranges as they wanted. Next day

he asked them how they

12y o

liked them.

g fiot

They shook their heads and said—

¢ Baked, they were tough ; and even boiled, they warn’t things

| him1 the

for a hungry man to hanker after.’

ﬂ(hlstr)v ii

We went down the glen after supper.

It is beautiful—a

0mg i

mixture of sylvan loveliness and craggy wildness.

A limpid

ehan of

-

torrent goes whistling down the glen, and toward the foot of it

33 mopy|

winds through a narrow cleft between lofty precipices and hurls

0 him gy

itself over a succession of falls.

After one passes the last of

manifst

these he has a backward glimpse at the falls which is ve

ationg gng

pleasing—they rise in a seven-stepped stairway of foamy and

glittering cascades, and make a picture which is as charming

) Where

as it is unusual,

Wer before,

owth in

58 of ping

CHAPTER XXIit.

d supported

usand toads

WE were satisfied that we could walk to Oppenau in one day,

pose. Bt

now that we were in practice, so we set out next morning after

breakfast determined to do it.

It was all the way down hill, and

bot five o

we had the loveliest summer weather for it. So we set the pedo-

n the dense

meter, and then stretched away on an easy, regular stride, down

nto & degp

through the cloven forest, drawing in the fragrant breath of the

L of woodsd

morning in deep refreshing draughts, and wishing we might never

their glade

have anything to do for ever but walk to Oppenau, and keep on

rorge e

doing it, and then doing it over again.

Now the true charm of pedestrianism does not lie in the

sy Jevel

, shuf amy

walking, or in the scenery, but in the talking.

The walking is

good to time the movement of the tongue by, and to keep the

y the monks

ere ere e

4

blood and the brain stirred up and active; the scenery and the

woodsy smells are good to bear in upon a man an unconscious

nb to proté

—~

and unobtrusive charm and solace to eye and soul and sense ; but

years agoll

1 a8 prs

the supreme pleasure comes from the talk. It is no matter whether

one talks wisdom or nonsense, the case is the same; the bulk of

iresa ik

the enjoyment lies in the wagging of the gladsome jaw and the

flapping of the sympathetic ear.

) gorge pll

tory i 2

And what a motley variety of subjects a couple of people

will casually rake over in the course of a day’s tramp! There

gure 0 ol

being no constraint, a change of subject is always in order, and

This i1

50 a body is not likely to keep pegging at a single topic until it

i they ve®

grows tiresome.

We discussed everything we knew, during the

of Seotlnts

—

first fifteen or twenty minutes, that morning, and then branched

e of e

out into the glad, free boundless realm of the things we were not

ndered the

certain about.

) 8 ol

12

/

\

A TRAMP ABROAD.

116

Harris said that if the best writer in the world once got the

il 22 |

glovenly habit of doubling up his ‘have’s’ he could never get

fhedeep

rid of it while he lived. That is to say, if a man gets the habit

to fur ¥

of saying, ‘I should have liked to have known more about it,’

I

instead of saying simply and sensibly, ‘I should have liked to

aountl"}ﬁe

Harris said

know more about it,” that man’s disease is incurable.

ooy

that this sort of lapse is to be found in every copy of every news-

taking

paper that has ever been printed in English, and in almost all of

Jimpan

our books.

He said he had observed it in Kirkham’s grammar

Jeaf, st

and in Macaulay.

Harris believed that milk-teeth are commoner

litors

in men’s mouths than those ¢ doubled-up have’s.’ !

I said I believed the

fom 8 ¢

That changed the subject to dentistry.

com]

average man dreaded tooth-pulling more than amputation, and

il

1

Ta

that he would yell quicker under the former operation than he

would under the latter.

The philosopher Harris said that the

of ac

(7

average man would not yell in either case if he had an audience.

%

Then he continued :

0

¢ When our brigade first went into camp on the Potomac we

1K

ol

e

used to be brought up standing, occasionally, by an ear-splitting

howl of anguish. That meant that a soldier was getting a tooth

By

pulled in a tent.

But the surgeons soon changed that; they in-

somers

stituted open-air dentistry. There never was a howl afterwards

and [ d

—that is, from the man who was having the tooth pulled. At

Do

the daily dental hour there would always be about 500 soldiers

nes!’

gathered together in the neighbourhood of that dental chair

Al

waiting to see the performance—and help; and the moment the

chance

surgeon took a grip on the candidate’s tooth, and began to lift,

an)thin

every one of those 500 rascals would clap his hand to his jaw

and begin to hop around on one leg and howl with all the lungs

! C}l

he had !

Tt

It was enough to raise your hair to hear that varie-

With so

Al

gated and enormous unanimous caterwaul burst out !

Al

big and so derisive an audience as that, a sufferer wouldn’t emit

{(‘

a sound though you pulled his head off. The surgeons said that

‘No

pretty often a patient was compelled to laugh, in the midst of his

firg

fi

pangs, but that they had never caught one crying out, after the

18 whgt

open-air exhibition was instituted.’

(““

Dental surgeons suggested doctors, doctors suggested death,

tlm

death suggested skeletons—and so, by a logical process, the con-

il

versation melted out of one of these subjects and into the next,

il

1 T do not know that there have not been moments in the course of

‘o

the present session when I should have been very glad to have accepted

the proposal of my noble friend, and to have exchanged parts in some

N0yt

l0\

of our evenings of work.—[From a speech of the English Chancellor

N

of the Exchequer, August 1879.]

dis o

A TRAMP ABROAD.

iy

lee 2ot the

Tever ot

until the topic of skeletons raised up Nicodemus Dodge out nt

3 he hapy

——

the deep grave in my memory where he had lain buried and forget-

& aboyg

ten for twenty-five years.

When I wasa boy in a printing office

o ke ¢

in Missouri, a loose-jointed, long-legged, two-headed, jeans-clad,

s g

eountrified cub of about sixteen lounged in one day, and withous

EVery ngys.

removing his hands from the depths of his trousers pockets, or

ot ]

s

taking off his faded ruin of a slouch hat, whose broken brim hung

'S gtotumgy

limp and ragged about hiseyes and ears like a bug-eaten cabbage

'€ Commopey

leaf, stared indifferently around, then leaned his hip against the

e

editor’s table, crossed his mighty brogans, aimed at a distant fly

believed tho

from a crevice in his upper teeth, laid him low and said with

composure—

tation, an{

¢ Whar’s the boss?’

fion tha by

ald that the

¢TI am the boss,’ said the editor, following this curious bit

an andience,

of architecture wonderingly along up to its clock-face with his

.

eye.

‘Don’t want anybody fur to learn the business, ’t aint

Potomacy

likely ?°

ear-spliting

.

ol

¢ Well, I don’t know.

Would you like to learn it ?’

',‘Ulﬂg at

¢ Pap’s so po’ he cain’t run me no mo’, so want to git a show

at; they in

—

1 afterwards

somers if I kin, ’tain’t no diffunce what—I’m strong and hearty,

and I don’t turn my back on no kind of work, hard nur soft.’

pulled, &

‘Do you think you would like to learn the printing busi-

500 soldies

Qental char

ness?’

A

¢ Well, I don’t re’ly k'yer a durn what I do learn, so’s I git a

) moment

=

'.

chance fur to make my way.

T’d jist as soon learn printn ’s

hegan to

any thing.’

nd fo b

¢ Can you read ? *

all the lungs

¢ Yes—middlin’.!

ar hat vaie

¢ Write ??

) Witho

ouldn’t ¢

)

=

¢ Well, I’ve seed people could lay over me thar.’

¢ Cipher ?°

ons said thif

¢ Not good enough to keep store, I don’t reckon, but up as

pidst of b

fur as twelve-times-twelve I ain’t no slouch.

"Tother ride of that

ut afer

is what gits me.’

¢ Where is your home ?’

ested deal

‘I'm m old Shelby.’

ess, the o

¢ What’s your father’s religious denomination ? ’

o the 1exh

¢Him ?

O, he’s a blacksmith.’

)§

f

‘No, no—I don’t mean his trade.

What's his religious de-

) he course?

|

nomination ??

have aP 1

He’s a Freemason.’

s in SOD®

¢ O—I didn’t understand you befo’.

d Chancellr

¢ No—no, you don’t get my meaning yet.

What I mean is,

does he belong to any clhurch?’

=

A TRAMP ABROAD.

118

(ned

¢ Now you're talkin’!

Couldn’t make out what you was a

Iﬁed’ hls

tryin’ to get through yo' head no way. Blong to a church!

Why, boss, he’s ben the pizenest kind of a Free-will Babtis’ for

i i

At

forty year. They ain’t no pizener ones n’ what he is. Mighty

el

good man, pap is.

Everybody says that.

If they said any

diffrunt they wouldn’t say it whar I wuz—not much they

nightl ¥

wouldn’t.’

The oK

ellrof

¢ What is your own religion ?”’

-

il o

¢ Well, boss, you've kind o’ got me thar—and yit you hain’t

got me so mighty much, nuther.

I think ’t if a feller he’ps

member

another feller when he’s in trouble, and don’t cuss, and don’t do

youd b

yaterdn

no mean things, nur noth’n’ he ain’t no business to do, and don’t

Bt

spell the Savior’s name with a little g, he ain’t runnin’ no resks

—he’s about as saift as if he b’longed to a church.’

that bro

Jong tim

¢ But suppose he did spell it with a little g—what then 7’

comfort

¢Well, if he done it a-purpose, I reckon he wouldn’t stand no

chance—he oughtn't to have no chance, anyway, I'm most rotten

stecess

certain *bout that.’

Bispert

came i

¢What is your name?’

¢ Nicodemus Dodge.’

pl‘OpGSéC

¢I think maybe you’ll do, Nicodemus,

We'll give you a

was QI

of the |

trial, anyway.’

drunka

¢ All right.!

¢ When would you like to begin ?°

Jimny

¢ Now.”

compet

So within ten minutes after we had first glimpsed this non-

night

descript he was one of us, and with his coat off and hard at it.

whisky

Beyond that end of our establishment which was furthest

ship

tonin

from the street was a deserted garden, pathless, and thickly

grown with the bloomy and villanous ¢jimpson’ weed and its

Th

¢ommon friend the stately sunflower.

In the midst of this

Nicods

mournful spot was a decayed and aged little ¢ frame’ house, with

reepiy

but one room, one window, and no ceiling—it had been a smoke-

foward

house a generation before. Nicodemus was given this lonely and

eeped

ghostly den as a bedchamber.

very sh

The village smarties recognised a treasure in Nicodemus,

Contentg

right away—a butt to play jokes on.

It was easy to gee that he

o By

was inconceivably green and confiding.

George Jones had the

againgt

glory of perpetrating the first joke on him; he gave him a cigar

iy

with a fire-cracker in it and winked to the crowd to come; the

of oy

thing exploded presently and swept away the bulk of Nicodemus’s

g gg

eyebrows and eyelashes.

He simply said—

j

skeltoy

¢I consider them kind of seeg’yars dangersome ’—and seemed

the el

to suspect nothing. The next evening Nicodemus waylaid George

a bucket of ice-water over him,

»»Just .

A TRAMP ABROAD.

119

00 gg

| Churgh )

One day, while Nicodemus was in swimming, 'Tom McElroy

abtis for

“tied " his clothes. Nicodemus made a bonfire of Tom’s, by way

of retaliation.

S gy

A third joke was played upon Nicodemus, a day or two later

—he walked up the middle aisle of the village church, Sunday

ich they

night, with a staring handbill pinned between his shoulders.

The joker spent the remainder of the night, after church, in the

you haip's

cellar of a deserted house, and Nicodemus sat on the cellar door

till toward breakfast time to make sure that the prisoner re-

ellr hes

membered that if any noise was made some rough treatment

d doxt gy

would be the consequence.

, and dop't

The cellar had two feet of stagnant

water in it, and was bottomed with six inches of soft mud.

100 Tesk

But I wander from the point. Itwas the subject of skeletons

that brought this boy back to my recollection.

then !

Before a very

't stand g

long time had elapsed, the village smarties began to feel an un-

comfortable consciousness of not having made a very shining

most rotten

success out of their attempts on the simpleton from ¢old Shelby.’

came to the rescue.

Experimenters grew scarce and chary. Now the young doctor

There was delight and applause when he

proposed to scarce Nicodemus to death, and explained how he

give you s

=

was going to do it.

He had a noble new skeleton—the skeleton

of the late and only local celebrity, Jimmy Finn, the village

drunkard—a grisly piece of property which he had bought of

Jimmy Finn himself, at auction, for fifty dollars, under great

competition, when Jimmy lay very sick in the tan-yard a fort-

ed this non-

night before his death.

The fifty dollars had gone promptly for

hard ab it

whisky, and had considerably hurried up the change of owner-

was furthes

ship in the skeleton. The doctor would put Jimmy Finn's skele-

ton in Nicodemus’s bed !

and thickly

veed and 1

This was done—about half-past ten in the evening.

About

idst of fhs

Nicodemus’s usual bedtime—midnight—the village jokers came

house, with

creeping stealthily through the jimpson weeds and sunflowers

en & smoke-

toward the lonely frame den.

They reached the window and

s Jonely an

peeped in.

There sat the long-legged pauper, on his bed, in a

very short shirt, and nothing more; he was dangling his legs

Nicodemtsy

contentedly back and forth, and wheezing the music of ¢ Camp-

) gee fhat he

-

town Races’ out of a paper-overlaid comb which he was pressing

against his mouth; by him lay a new jewsharp, a new top, a

yos had e

him a 0B

solid india-rubber ball, a handful of painted marbles, five pounds

) come; t‘e

>

of ‘storé’ candy, and a well-gnawed slab of gingerbread as big

=

and as thick as a volume of sheet music.

He had sold the

Nicodemss

skeleton to a travelling quack for three dollars and was enjoying

the result !

nd seened

Just as we had finished talking about skeletons and were

i

pid Gennse

=

~

120

A TRAMP ABROAD.

o

drifting into the subject of fossils, Harris and I heard a shout,

domete

and glanced up the steep hillside.

We saw men and women

ke it

standing away up there looking frightened, and there was a bulky

o aub

object tumbling and floundering down the steep slope toward us.

{stanee

We got out of the way, and when the object landed in the road

it proved to be a boy.

ITe had tripped and fallen, and there

was nothing for him to do but trust to luck and take what might

come.

When one starts to roll down a place like that there is no

Tt ¥

stopping till the bottom is reached. Think of people furming on

ere ¢

a slant which is so steep that the best you can say of it—if you

he

want to be fastidiously accurate—is, that it is a little steeper than

feartl

a ladder and not quite so steep as a mansard roof. DBut that is

Sunday

what they do.

Some of the little farms on the hillside opposite

e

Heidelberg were stood up ‘edgeways.”

The boy was wonder-

with 0

fully jolted up, and his head was bleeding from cuts which it

€30

had got from small stones on the way.

g

V)

|l

Harris and I gathered him up and set him on a stone, and

bappy

by that time the men and women had scampered down and

brought his cap,

\\‘HhO}l!

e

Men, women, and children flocked out from neighbouring

forbids

cottages and joined the crowd; the pale boy was petted, and

C0mma

stared at, and commiserated, and water was brought for him to

mand

drink, and bathe his bruises in.

And such another clatter of

Commé

tongues ! All who had seen the catastrophe were describing it

“rest!

at once, and each trying to talk louder than his neighbour; and

one youth of a superior genius ran a little way up the hill, called

stay i

and

attention, tripped, fell, rolled down among us, and thus tri-

and o

umphantly showed exactly how the thing had been done.

Harris and I were included in all the descriptions: how we

and

Thug

were coming along; how Hans Gross shouted; how we looked

will

up startled; how we saw Peter coming like a cannon-shot; how

judiciously we got out of the way and let him come; and with

lim ty

bty

what presence of mind we picked him up and brushed him off,

and set him on a rock when the performance was over.

We

himy;

were as much heroes as anybody else, except Peter, and were so

tothe

recognised ; we were taken with Peter and the populace to Peter’s

ing at

mother’s cottage, and there we ate bread and cheese, and drank

fregs g

g

milk and beer with everybody, and had a most sociable good

time; and when we left we had a hand-shake all around, and

other

were receiving and shouting back Leb’ woll’s until a turn in the

by adg

road separated us from our cordial and kindly new friends for ever.

EXerti

We accomplished our undertaking.

At half-past eight in

“’hfch 1

the evening we stepped into Oppenau, just eleven hours and a

by, ”IPI

A TRAMP ABROAD.

121

4 shout1

half out from Allerheiligen—146 miles. This is the distance by

Womgy

pedometer; the guide-book and the Imperial Ordnance maps

34 bulky

make it only ten and a quarter—a surprising blunder, for these

OWar g,

two authorities are usually singularly accurate in the matter of

Lfhe 1)

distances.

and thep

that i

-

CHAPTER XXIV.

!16

[i

.re.is J0)

ing on

[~

Tuar was a thoroughly satisfactory walk, and the only one we

it~ifyo

were ever to have which was all the way down hill.

We took

eeper than

the train next morning and returned to Baden-Baden through

DUt hat i

o

fearful fogs of dust.

Every seat was crowded, too, for it was

lo opp

OSLEE

.....

Sunday, and consequently everybody was taking a ¢pleasure’

1S Wonder-

excursion.

Hot ! the sky was an oven, and a sound one, too,

S Which it

with no cracks in it to let in any air. An odd time for a pleasure

excursion, certainly.

stone, and

Sunday is the great day on the Continent—the free day, the

down and

happy day. One can break the Sabbath in a hundred ways

without committing any sin.

ighbouring

We do not work on Sunday, because the commandment

elted, and

forbids it; the Germans do not work on Sunday, because the

for him to

commandment forbids it.

We rest on Sunday, because the com-

mandment requires it; the Germans rest on Sunday, because the

v cltter of

eseribing i

commandment requires it.

But in the definition of the word

‘rest’ lies all the difference.

With us, its Sunday meaning is,

thour; and

ill called

stay in the house and keep still; with the Germans its Sunday

and week-day meaning seems to be the same—rest the tired part,

d thos tri

0ne.

and never mind the other parts of the frame; rest the tired part,

s how e

and use the means best calculated to rest that particular part.

Thus, if one’s duties have kept him in the house all the week, it

e looked

will rest him to be out on Sunday; if his duties have required

shot; hov

him to read weighty and serious matter all the week, it will rest

gnd with

him to read light matter on Sunday; if his occupation has busied

\ed him Oﬁy

him with death and funerals all the week, it will rest him to go

over. We

to the theatre Sunday night and put in two or three hours laugh-

nd were

ing at a comedy; if he is tired with digging ditches or felling

1 fo Defr

trees all the week, it will rest him to lie quiet in the house on

qud drank

Sunday; if the hand, the arm, the brain, the tongue, or any

ciable g0

other member is fatigued with inanition, it is not to be rested

round, &

by adding a day’s inanition; but if a member is fatigued with

urm o €2

exertion, inanition is the right rest for it.

Such is the way in

s for e

which the Germans seem to define the word ‘rest,’ that is to

g eight

say, they rest a member by recreating, recuperating, restoring its

ours A

122

A TRAMP ABROAD.

forces.

But our definition is less broad. We all rest alike on

mye thos

Sunday,—by secluding ourselves and keeping still, whether that

oy feD

The Germans

is the surest way to rest the most of us or not.

it

make the actors, the preachers, etc., work on Sunday., We en-

30“11 o

pd o

courage the preachers, the editors, the printers, etc., to work on

Sunday, and imagine that none of the sin of it falls upon us; but

fle W

I do not know how we are going to get around the fact that if it

wholly

is wrong for the printer to work at his trade on Sunday, it must

TS

be equally wrong for the preacher to work at his, since the com-

suappl

mandment has made no exception in his favour.

We buy

soutd)

Monday morning’s paper and read it, and thus encourage Sunday

Onstil

printing.

But I shall never do it again.

rached

The Germans remember the Sabbath day to keep it holy, by

ate PeC

abstaining from work, as commanded; we keep it holy by ab-

slien

staining from work as commanded, and by also abstaining from

before

play, which is not commanded. Perhaps we constructively break

pxrted‘

the command to rest, because the resting we do is in most cases

uupiy

only a name, and not a fact.

ture {0

These reasonings have sufficed, in a measure, to mend the

o mys

rent in my conscience which I made by travelling to Baden-

Qoo

Baden that Sunday. We arrived in time to furbish up and get

We arrived in

wih 1

to the English church before services began.

Th

considerable style, too, for the landlord had ordered the first

alkeg

carriage that could be found, since there was no time to lose, and

N

our coachman was so splendidly liveried that we were probably

mistaken for a brace of stray dukes; else why were we honoured

el

?hnt I

with a pew all to ourselves, away up among the very elect at the

left of the chancel? That was my first thought.

In the pew

0T

hdy

directly in front of us sat an elderly lady, plainly and cheaply

ad b

dressed ; at her side sat a young lady with a very sweet face,

and she also was quite simply dressed; but around us and about

ers

us were clothes and jewels which it would do anybody’s heart

Lokt

good to worship in.

I thought it was pretty manifest that the elderly laday was

barr

i

Thad

embarrassed at finding herself in such a conspicuous place ar-

rayed in such cheap apparel ; I began to feel sorry for her and

T

troubled about her.

She tried to seem very busy with her

s,

of ¢

i

prayer-book and her responses, and unconscious that she was out

of place, but I said to myself, ¢ She is not succeeding,—there is

I

the ¢

a distressed tremulousness in her voice which betrays increasing

embarrassment.’

Presently the Saviour’s name was mentioned,

106 gf

and in her flurry she lost her head completely, and rose and

ferg

curtsied, instead of making a slight nod as everybody else did.

Th

ear )

The .s.yx_l.npathetic blood surged to my temples and I turned and

told,

A TRAMP ABROAD.

123

ﬁlike on

et (g

gave those fine birds what I intended to be a beseeching look, but

g

my feelings got the better of me and changed it into a look

'8 en.

which said, ¢ If any of you pets of fortune laugh at this poor

Vork gp

soul, you will deserve to be flayed for it.’

Things went from

U5 bnp

bad to worse, and I shortly found myself mentally taking

tat f §

the unfriended lady under my protection.

My mind was

it mgg

wholly upon her, I forgot all about the sermon. Her embar-

the cop.

rassment took stronger and stronger hold upon her; she got to

We by

snapping the lid of her smelling bottle,—it made a loud sharp

5 Sunday

sound, but in her trouble she snapped and snapped away, un-

conscious of what she was doing. The last extremity was

reached when the collection-plate began its rounds; the mode-

holy, by

J byab-

rate people thréw in pennies, the nobles and the rich contributed

ing from

silver, but she laid a twenty-mark gold piece upon the book-rest

before her with a sounding stap !

I said to myself, ¢ She has

ey breafi

¢

q

parted with all her little hoard to buy the consideration of these

unpitying people,—it is a sorrowful spectacle.” I did not ven-

mend the

ture to look around this time; but as the service closed I said

) Baden-

to myself, ¢ Let them laugh, it is their opportunity ; but at the

p and get

door of this church they shall see her step into our fine carriage

mived in

with us, and our gaudy coachman shall drive her home.’

Then she rose,—and all the congregation stood while she

the first

lose, and

walked down the aisle.

She was the Empress of Germany !

No, she had not been so much embarrassed as I had sup-

probably

honoured

posed. My imagination had got started on the wrong scent, and

Ject a6 the

that is always hopeless; one is sure, then, to go straight on mis-

interpreting everything, clear through to the end.

The young

) the pew

d cheaply

lady with her Imperial Majesty was a maid of honour,—and I

had been taking her for one of her boarders, all the time.

eet face

This is the only time I have ever had an Empress under my

and abont

personal protection ; and, considering my inexperience, I wonder

I should have been a little em-

Iy's heart

I got through with it so well.

barrassed myself if I had known earlier what sort of a contract

Judy was

I had on my hands.

place ar-

We found that the Empress had been in Baden-Baden several

7 her and

days.

It is said that she never attends any but the English form

with her

of church service.

g Was ous

Ilay a-bed and read and rested from my journey’s fatigues

there s

the remainder of that Sunday, but I sent my agent to represent

neteasing

me at the afternoon service, for I never allow anything to inter-

entionety

fere with my habit of attending church twice every Sunday.

10s6 40

There was a vast crowd in the public grounds that night to

else did.

This piece tells one of

hear the band play the ¢ Fremersberg.’

[rned an f

5

the old legends of the region: how a great noble of the Middle

124

A TRAMP ABROAD.

i e

Ages got lost in the mountains, and wandered about with hLis

fing !

dogs in a violent storm, until at last the faint tones of a monas-

uppgr fi

tery bell, calling the monks to a midnight service, caught his

know £

ear, and he followed the direction the sounds came from and was

saved. A beautiful air ran through the music, without ceasing ;

of ther

atione

sometimes loud and strong, sometimes so soft that it could hardly

A

be distinguished,—but it was always there; it swung grandly

Tume!

along through the shrill whistling of the storm-wind, the rat-

Ruskin

tling patter of the rain, and the boom and crash of the thunder

it wound soft and low through the lesser sounds, the distant

Bl

{lrows

fhrow

ones, such as the throbbing of the convent bell, the melodious

winding of the hunter’s horn, the distressed baying of his dogs,

ultiva

g y@l

and the solemn chanting of the monks; it rose again, with a

mixed

jubilant ring, and mingled itself with the country songs and

E

him—

dances of the peasants assembled in the convent hall to cheer up

unfoa

the rescued huntsman while he ate his supper.

The instruments

imitated all these sounds with a marvellous exactness. More than

(R0)

fure

one man started to raise his umbrella when the storm burst forth

and the sheets of mimic rain came driving by ; it was hardly

rigid

enabl

possible to keep from putting your hand to your hat when the

fierce wind began to rage and shriek; and it was not¢ possible to

[am¢

fook 4

refrain from starting when those sudden and charmingly real

confy

thundercrashes were let loose.

I suppose the Fremersberg is very low-grade music ; I know,

tortol

el

indeed, that it must be low-grade music, because it so delighted

me, warmed me, moved me, stirred me, uplifted me, enraptured

Itho

woul

me, that I was full of cry all the time, and mad with enthusiasm.

My soul had never had such a scouring out since I-was born.

a1

I

The solemn and majestic chanting of the monks was not done

by instruments, but by men’s voices; and it rose and fell, and

o

rose again in that rich confusion of warring sounds, and pulsing

be 1

Neit

bells, and the stately swing of that ever-present enchanting air,

and it seemed to me that nothing but the very lowest of low-

char

s,

grade music could be so divinely beautiful.

The great crowd

which the Fremersberg had called out was another evidence that

and

it was low-grade music ; for only the few are educated up to a

tally

point where high-grade music gives pleasure.

I have never

ot

heard enough classic music to be able to enjoy it. I dislike the

anyh

opera because I want to love it and can’t.

I suppose there are two kinds of music,—one kind which

1

Gl

one feels, just as an oyster might, and another sort which re-

ety

quires a higher faculty, a faculty which must be assisted and

developed by teaching. Yet if base music gives certain of us

Often,

ner e

wings, why should we want any other? But we do.

We want

ey

A TRAMP ABROAD.

12

With iy

it because the higher and better like it. But we want it without

| Mopgg.

giving it the necessary time and trouble; so we climb into that

gt b

I

g Wag

upper tier, that dress circle, by a lie; we pretend we like it.

know several of that sort of people,—and I propose to be one

Casing :

of them myself when I get home with my fine European edu-

4 hardly

cation.

frang

And then there is painting. What a red rag is to a bull,

%

,

16 1af

Mr.

hum r:

Turner’s ¢ Slave Ship’ was to me before I studied Art.

Ruskin is educated in art up to a point where that picture

1 disyrg

throws him into as mad an ecstasy of pleasure as it used to

elodiong

throw me into one of rage, last year, when I was ignorant. His

is dogs

cultivation enables him—and me, now—to see water in that glar-

I, With 3

ing yellow mud, and natural effects in those lurid explosions of

0ngs and

mixed smoke and flame, and crimson sunset glories; it reconciles

) heer up

him,—and me, now,—to the floating of iron cable-chains and other

IStrumenty

unfloatable things; it reconciles us to fishes swimming around

More than

on top of the mud,—I mean the water.

The most of the pic-

urst forth

ture is a manifest impossibility,—that is to say, a lie; and only

fas hardly

rigid cultivation can enable a man to find truth in a lie.

But it

when the

enabled Mr. Ruskin to do it, and it has enabled me to do it, and

0ssible to

I am thankful for it.

A Boston newspaper reporter went and

ingly real

took a look at the Slave Ship floundering about in that fierce

conflagration of reds and yellows, and said it reminded him of a

1 Tknow,

tortoise-shell cat having afit in a platter of tomatoes. In my then

) deighted

uneducated state, that went home to my non-cultivation, and

I thought here is a man with an unobstructed eye.

Mr. Ruskin

enrapiurel

That is what I would

nthusiast,

would have said: This person is an ass.

[ yras borm

say, now.!

However, our business in Baden-Baden this time was to

g 1ot done

d fell, and

join our courier. Ihad thought it best to hire one, as we should

be in Italy by-and-by, and we did not know that language.

nd pulsing

Neither did he.

nting ait

We found him at the hotel, ready to take

st of lovr-

charge of us.

I asked him if he was “all fixed.

He said he

was.

That was very true.

He had a trunk, two small satchels,

eat cond

and an umbrella.

dence that

I was to pay him 55 dollars a month and

railway fares.

On the Continent the railway fare on a trunk is

od uptoa

about the same as it is on a man.

ave never

Couriers do not have to pay

disike the

any board and lodging. This seems a great saving to the tourist—

! Months after this was written, I happened into the National

ind which

Gallery in London, and soon became so fascinated with the Turner

which zee

pictures that I could hardly get away from the place. I went there

gisted and

often, afterward, meaning to see the rest of the gallery, but the Tur-

fain of 1

ner spell was too strong; it could not be shaken off. However, the

Turners which attracted me most did not remind me of the Slave Ship.

Ve waak

126

A TRAMP ABROAD.

pls?

at first. It does not occur to the tourist that somebody pays

that man’s board and lodging. It occurs to him by-and-by,

5‘)0It 0}

however, in one of his lucid moments,

i expOS‘

.

eect

e

bare 40

CHAPTER XXV.

suliers

flo

L

NExT morning we left in the train for Switzerland, and reached

Lucerne about ten o’clock at night.

The first discovery I made

witha

was that the beauty of the lake had not been exa

O

fox

gerated.

o o

Within a day or two I made another discovery. This was, that

iy 0

the lauded chamois is not a wild goat; that it is not a horned

(it

there 4

animal; that it is not shy; that it does not avoid human society ;

and that there is no peril in hunting it.

The chamois is a black

idges

or brown creature no bigger than a mustard seed; you do not

Beary

have to go after it, it comes after you; it arrives in vast herds

ong b

and skips and scampers all over your body, inside your clothes;

has ne

thus it is not shy, but extremely sociable ; it is not afraid of

cannof

man, on the contrary it will attack him ; its bite is not dangerous,

otels

but neither is it pleasant; its activity has not been overstated,—

a0k o

if you try to put your finger on it, it will skip a thousand times

likea,

its own length at one jump, and no eye is sharp enough to see

board,

where it lights.

A great deal of romantic nonsense has been

DUSES

written about the Swiss chamois and the perils of hunting it,

on the

whereas the truth is that even women and children hunt it, and

the ol

fearlessly ; indeed, everybody hunts it; the hunting is going on

10

all the time, day and night, in bed and out of it.

It is poetic

with |

foolishness to hunt it with a gun; very few people do that ;

0De §¢

It

there is not one man in a million who can hit it with a gun.

TOV-y

is much easier to catch it than it is to shoot it, and only the

ﬂﬂ}’ W

experienced chamois hunter can do either.

Another common

baleon

piece of exaggeration is that about the ¢scarcity ” of the chamois.

comfr

It is the reverse of scarce.

Droves of 100,000,000 chamois are

it i

not unusual in the Swiss hotels.

Indeed, they are so numerous

1o

as to be a great pest.

The romancers always dress up the

0oty

chamois hunter in a fanciful and picturesque costume, whereas

ety

the best way to hunt this game is to do it without any costume

at all.

stock,

The article of commerce called chamois skin is another

0 b

fraud ; nobody could skin a chamois, it is too small.

The

4 Comg

creature is a humbug in every way, and everything which has

ot thy

been written about it is sentimental exaggeration.

It was no

pleasure to me to find the chamois out, for he had been one of

the fy

aud by

my pet illusions; all my life it had been my dream to see him

Bluck jy

A TRAMP ABROAD.

b

127

Ody pays

Y-and.by

m his native wilds some day, and engage in the adventurous

sport of chasing him from cliff to cliff. It is no pleasure to me

to expose him now, and destroy the reader’s delight in him and

respect for him ; but still it must be done, for when an honest

writer discovers an imposition it is his simple duty to strip it

bare and hurl it down from its place of honour, no matter who

suffers by it: any other course would render him unworthy of

the public confidence.

0 tegghed

€y I mady

Lucerne is a charming place.

It begins at the water’s edge,

with a fringe of hotels, and scrambles up and spreads itself over

Xagoeratel,

8 s, that

two or three sharp hills in a crowded, disorderly, but picturesque

0t & hormeq

way, offering to the eye a heaped-up confusion of red roofs,

quaint gables, dormer windows, toothpick steeples, with here and

an scietys

315 8 black

there a bit of ancient embattled wall bending itself over the

ridges, worm-fashion, and here and there an old square tower of

you do nos

) vast herds

heavy masonry. And also here and there a town clock with only

one hand—a hand which stretches straight across the dial and

our clothes:

has no joint in it; such a clock helps out the picture, but you

06 affaid of

cannot tell the time of day by it.

Between the curving line of

bdungerons

hotels and the lake is a broad avenue with lamps and a double

verstated,—

rank of low shade trees.

The lake front is walled with masonry

sand times

like a pier, and has a railing to keep people from walking over-

ugh to ¢

board. All day long the vehicles dash along the avenue, and

5o has been

nurses, children, and tourists sit in the shade of the trees, or lean

hunting i

on the railing and watch the schools of fishes darting about in

hrunt if, 2nd

the clear water or gaze out over the lake at the stately border of

i goingon

snow-hooded mountain peaks.

Little pleasure-steamers, black

It is poet

with people, are coming and going all the time; and everywhere

le do that

one sees young girls and young men paddling about in fanciful

ha g, It

row-boats, or skimming along by the help of sails when there is

nd ouly the

any wind. The front rooms of the hotels have littls railed

Jer comuon

balconies, where one may take his private luncheon in calm cool

e chamos

comfort and look down upon this busy and pretty scene and enjoy

chamois ar®

it without having to do any of the work connected with it.

0 pumerets

Most of the people, both male and female, are in walking

o5 Up {08

costume, and carry alpenstocks.

Evidently it is not considered

safe to go about in Switzerland, even in town, without an alpen-

me, Whetes

2

stock.

n costume

If the tourist forgets, and comes down to breakfast with-

3 another

out his alpenstock, he goes back and gets it, and stands it up in

a corner.

When his touring in Switzerland is finished, he does

all T8

- yhich 1S

not throw that broomstick away, but lugs it home with him, to

sy

the far corners of the earth, although this costs him more trouble

been 0n¢’?

and bother than a baby or a courier could. You see, the alpen-

o e

stock is his trophy ; his name is burned upon it; and if he has

4 TRAMP ABROAD.

and Sﬂ}'y “Y!

climibed a hill, or jumped a brook, or traversed a brickyard with

P

it, he has the names of those places burned upon it, too.

Thus

hen be

it is his regimental flag, so to speak, and bears the record of his

g

achievements.

It is worth three francs when he buys it, but a

[ sdy

bonanza could not purchase it after his great deeds have been

There are artisans all about Switzerland

b Tsee )

inscribed upon it.

whose trade it is to burn these things upon the alpenstock of the

108 afral'd‘q

tourist.

And observe, a man is respected in Switzerland accord-

young ng."

The thi

ing to his alpenstock.

I found I could get no attention there

while I carried an unbranded one.

However, branding is not

addoess her

if e it

expensive, so I soon remedied that.

The effect upon the next

detachment of tourists was very marked.

I felt repaid for my

Qecelving

trouble.

fioned a8

ot

Half of the summer horde in Switzerland is made up of

Iy

il

4

English people ; the other half is made up of many nationalities,

The

her,

”a‘n

1y

the Germans leading and the Americans coming next.

Americans were not as numerous as I had expected they would

chaimed—

be.

s

The 7.80 table d’héte at the great Schweitzerhof furnished a

suid 1t

mighty array and variety of nationalities, but it offered a better

did

w'oulxl T

Id

opportunity to observe costumes than people, for the multitude

sat at immensely long tables, and therefore the faces were mainly

oft

1000

odd it

1=

seen in perspective; but the breakfasts were served at small

round tables, and then if one had the fortune to get a table in

4%l

|

This

the midst of the assemblage he could have as many faces to study

as he could desire. We used to try to guess out the nationalities,

for an ing

Sometimes we tried to

and [ sof ¢

and generally succeeded tolerably well.

guess people’s names, but that was a failure; that is a thing

wasin, |

which probably requires a good deal of practice.

We presently

Thadnoj

One

with i,

dropped it and gave our efforts to less difficult particulars.

morning I said :—

seenery, t

that I g

¢ There is an American party.’

Harris said,—

along Uon

¢ Yes, but name the State.

‘0 deg

I named one State, Harris named another.

We agreed upon

forward by

one thing, however, that the young girl with the party was very

0 {lfm

beautiful, and very tastefully dressed. But we disagreed as to

Washed

e

her age.

I said she was eighteen, Harris said she was twenty.

then [

The dispute between us waxed warm and I finally said, with a

‘:\Hd d

pretence of being in earnest—

d oy g,

¢ Well, there is one way to settle the matter—I will go and

Tndegg

ask her.

fEI‘ Ve

Harris said, sarcastically, ¢ Certainly, that is the thing to do.

Yisa b

All you need to do is to use the common formula over here: go

UP]' bU”c(

A TRAMP ABROAD.

129

ki i

0, Thyg

and say, “I'm an American!” Of course she will be glad to

0 f 1

see you.’

Then he hinted that perhap

Iy 1“, bt 3

s there was no great danger of my

S BaYe fggy

venturing to speak to her.

I said, ‘I was only talking—T didn’t intend to approach her,

Vitzerayg

Dstock of the

but I see you do not know what an intrepid person I am. I am

not afraid of any woman that walks.

I will go and speak to this

and aggny.

young girl.’

tention (e

The thing I had in my mind was not difficult,

I meant to

uding i 1

pon the peyg

address her in the most respectful way and ask her to pardon me

if her strong resemblance to a former acquaintance of mine was

epaid for y

deceiving me; and when she should reply that the name I men-

tioned was not the name she bore, I meant to beg pardon again,

mad p of

most respectfully, and retire.

There would be no harm done.

ationalitiey

I walked to her table, bowed to the gentleman, then turned to

? next, The

her, and was about to begin my little speech when she ex-

claimed—

o they woul

‘I knew I wasn’t mistaken—1I told John it was you! John

f furnished s

m

said it probably wasn’t, but 1 xnew I was right. I said you

fered a betta

would recognize me presently and come over ; and I'm glad you

the mulfituds

did, for I shouldn’t have felt much flattered if you had gone out

Were mainl

of this room without recognizing me.

Sit down, sit down—how

ved at smil

-

\

odd it is—you are the last person I was ever expecting to sce

et 4 tab

I

o

again.’

faces to

This was a stupefying surprise.

It took my wits clear away

o nationaliies

for an instant. However, we shook hands cordially all round,

13 e fried o

and I sat down.

But truly this was the tightest place I ever

hat is & thing

was in. I seemed to vaguely remember the girl’s face now, but

We presnty

with it.

I had no idea where I had seen it before, or what name belonged

tionlars, (e

I immediately tried to get up a diversion about Swiss

scenery, to keep her from launching into topics that might betray

that I did not know her, but it was of no use, she went right

along upon matters which interested her more.

€O dear, what a night that was, when the sea washed the

forward boats away,—do you remember it?’

» agteed 11

€0, donlt T1” said I,—but I didn’t.

I wished the sea had

arty Was 1E(

washed the rudder and the smoke-stack and the captain away,—

saoreed 880

]

yas e

then I could have located this questioner.

‘And don’t you remember how frightened poor Mary was,

i, i

and how she cried?’

‘Indeed I do!’ said 1.

¢ Dear me, how it all comes back !*

I will g0 ad

»

I fervently wished it would come back,—but my memory

was a blank. The wise way would have been to frankly own

thing tod

ver here:

up; but I could not bring myself to do that, after the young

X

A TRAMP ABROAD.

keep by

girl had praised me so for recognizing her; so I went on, deeper

qUuse

he

and deeper into the mire, hoping for a chance clue, but never

et

Ton!

getting one. The Unrecognizable continued, with vivacity,—

) pﬂl

¢ Do you know, George married Mary, after all?’

¢Why, no'!

Did he?’

(\e)}

¢ Indeed he did.

He said he did not believe she was half as

You

T

much to blame as her father was, and I thought he was right.

Didn’t you?’

G d

I always

You

¢ Of course he was. It was a perfectly plain case.

said so.’

pind!

I

4

an

¢ Why no you didn’t !—at Jeast that summer.’

U

ol

€0, no, not that summer.

No, you are perfectly right

10

about that.

Tt was the following winter that I said it.’

Howere,

oe!

elner

¢ Well, as it turned out, Mary was not in the least to blame,

— it was all her father’s fault,—at least his and old Darley’s.’

T

Tt was necessary to say something,—so I said,—

Fro

6

¢I always regarded Darley as a troublesome old thing.’

{hat di

¢So he was, but then they always had a great affection for

(Ui

b“

him, although he had so many eccentricities. You remember

T

that when the weather was the least cold, he would try to come

she bad

into the house.’

st o

I was rather afraid to proceed.

Lvidently Darley was not a

i

man,—he must be some other kind of animal,—possibly a dog,

[

maybe an elephant.

However, tails are common to all animals,

Mhy

so I ventured to say,—

Lt

¢ And what a tail he had !’

deal of

¢ One!

He had a thousand !’

wou

This was bewildering.

I did not quite know what to say,

the |

so I only said,—

over

f

¢ Yes, he was rather well fixed in the matter of tails.’

h

¢ For a negro, and a crazy one at that, I should 81y he was,’

ol

Il

ﬂ

]

said she.

I said to myself, ¢ Is it

(}0(

It was getting pretty sultry for me.

Th

possible ghe is going to stop there, and wait for me to speak ?

! Cm

If she does, the conversation is blocked. A negro with a thou-

‘No

sand tails is a topic which a person cannot talk upon fluently

Tt

and instructively without more or less preparation. ~As to diving

bam fy

rashly into such a vast subject,—’

£lonf

66D

But here, to my gratitude, she interrupted my thought by

gaying,—

Ty

about,

“Yes, when it came to tales of his crazy woes, there was

That

simply no end to them if anybody would listen. His own

quarters were comfortable enough, but when the weather was

ofthe

817, f kg

cold, the family were sure to have his company,—nothing could

{‘

¢ latty

4 TRAMP ABROAD.

131

t o deeper

LB

keep him out of the house.

But they always bore it-kindly

—

because he had saved Tom’s life, years before.

You remember

I,N'acity,\

Tom?’

¢ O, perfectly. Fine fellow he was, too.’

EWas hylf g

¢ Yes, he was. And what a pretty little thing his child was!’

16 Wag r“]g‘m‘

¢ You may well say that.

I never saw a prettier child.

¢TI used to delight to pet it and dandle it and play with it.

¢So did I

56, Ialwm;;s

¢‘You named it.

What was that name? I can’t call it to

mind.’

tetly gy

It appeared to me that the ice was getting pretty, thin, here.

it!

I would have given something to know what the child’s sex was.

eash o bamg

However, I had the good luck to think of a name that would fit

either sex,—so I brought it out,—

{Daﬂey‘sl

¢T named it Frances.’

i

IIng,

‘From a relative, I suppose?

Dut yoﬁ named the one

fon

or

that died, too,—one that I never saw.

What did you call that

one?’

0u Temember

d try to come

I was out of neutral names, but as the child was dead and

she had never seen it, I thought I might risk a name for it and

trust to luck.

Therefore I said,—

rlvyl vas

)

)

‘T called that one Thomas Henry.’

She said, musingly,—

foalla

¢ That is very singular

. . very singular.

I sat still and let the cold sweat run down.

T was in a good

deal of trouble, but I believed I could worry chrough if she

W what (0 8

wouldn’t ask me to name any more children.

I wondered where

the lightning was going to strike next.

She was still ruminating

f fall

over that Jast child’s title, but presently she said,—

‘I have always been sorry you were away at the time,—I

10"y he

would have had you name my child.’

¢ Your child !

Are you married ?’

) n]}'SEIf, I

¢ I have been married thirteen yeacs.’

me fo S

¢ Christened, you mean.’

o witha hor

¢ No, married. The youth by your side is my son.’

gpon finent)f

¢It seems incredible,~—even impossible.

I do not mean any

Astodidy

harm by it, but would you mind telling me if you are any over

b

eighteen ?—that is to say, will you tell me how old you are ?’

0y thOUgm

|

‘I was just nineteen the day of the storm we were talking

about.

That was my birth-day.’

e, thee ©

That did not help matters much, as I did not know the date

i His o

»

of the storm.

I tried to think of some non-committal thing to

] eather T

say, to keep up my end of the talk and render my poverty in

nOIhing ot |

the matter of reminiscences as little noticeable as possible, but I

X 2

i

132

A TRAMP ADBROAD.

ied fo deat]

seemed to be about out of non-committal things.

I was about

]

3 app

to say, ¢ You haven't changed a bit since then,’—but that was

] hae

] Jang

risky.

I thought of saying ¢ You have improved ever so much

ULk

I was about

since then,’—but that wouldn’t answer, of course.

wﬁﬂhﬁd‘

to try a shy at the weather, for a saving change, when the girl

il

slipped in ahead of me and said,—

wpuy u

(

it

Twas glﬂ

¢ How I have enjoyed this talk over those happy old times,—

for L ud 2

haven’t you ?’

e that )

‘I never have spent such a half hour in all my life before !’

o

said I, with emotion; and I could have added, with a near

fion 00t ¢

approach to truth, ‘and I would rather be scalped than spend

ad

another one like it.

I was holily grateful to be through with

the ordeal, and was about to make my good-byes and get out,

s v

when the girl said,—

T

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

¢ Why, what is that?’

hart

jou yould

¢ That dead child’s name.

What did you say it was?’

natare I

Here was another balmy place to be in: I had forgotten the

Jou

child’s name; I hadn’t imagined it would be needed again.

1}

However, I had to pretend to know, anyway, so I said,—

fine

¢ Joseph William.’

fhe

The youth at my side corrected me, and said,—

<

Col

¢ No,—Thomas Henry.’

.\l‘ 0

1 thanked him,—in words,—and said, with trepidation,—

When Iy

¢O yes,—I was thinking of another child that I named,—

“Now

I have named a great many, and I get them confused,—this one

‘Bxe

was named Henry Thompson,—

simplicy

‘ Thomas Henry,” calmly interposed the boy.

I thanked him again,—strictly in words,—and stammered

arly of

out,—

Tnerer |

before,

¢ Thomas Henry,—yes, Thomas Henry was the poor child’s

name. I named him for Thomas,—er,—Thomas Carlyle, the

g

ECATAR

great author, you know,

and Ieary—cr,

er, Ilenry VIIL

The parents were very grateful to have a child named Thomas

Ty

Henry?

e cap

‘ That makes it more singular than ever, murmured my

and mafe

beautiful friend.

cquldn"

¢ Does it ?

“ jML W

Why ?°

‘Because when the parents speak of that child now, they

Im?ﬂﬂ {

always call it Susan Amelia.’

NI

That spiked my gun. I could not say anything. I was

oy

g

il

ke

entirely out of verbal obliquities; to go further would be to lie,

Ao, th

and that I would not do; so I simply sat still and suffered—sat

dUE) 0 in

8 g

mutely and resignedly there, and sizzled—for I was being slowly

g

il

A TRAMP ABROAD.

133

ag dhoyy

fried to death in my own blushes.

Presently the enemy laughed

1 that

a happy laugh and said,—

YO 0 1yl

‘1 have enjoyed this talk over old times, but you have not.

Was oy

tn th

I saw very soon that you were only pretending to know me, and

6 g

so as I had wasted a compliment on you in the beginning, I made

up my mind to punish you.

And I hav

e succeeded pretty well.

O gy

I was glad to see that you knew George

and Tom and Darley,

for I had never heard of them before, and therefore could not be

lfe efyr

sure that you had; and I was glad to learn the names of those

With 5 g

imaginary children, too.

One can get quite a fund of informa-

than spend

tion out of you if one goes at it cleverly. Mary and the storm,

rough with

and the sweeping away of the forward boats, were facts—all the

and gt o

rest was fiction.

Mary was my sister,

her full name was Mary

Now do you remember me ?’

to me!

‘Yes’ I said, ‘I do remember you now; and you are as

hard-hearted as you were thirteen years ago in that ship, else

was!’

you wouldn’t have punished me so. You haven’t changed your

forgotten fle

nature nor your person, in any way at all; you look just as

eeded agin

young as you did then, you are just as beautiful as you were

i~

then, and you have transmitted a deal of your comeliness to this

fine boy. There,—if that speech moves you any, let’s fly the

flag of truce, with the understanding that I am conquered and

confess it.’

dation;—

All of which was agreed to and accom

plished, on the spot.

t [ named,—

When I went back to Harris, I said,—

e —this one

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

‘Ixcuse me, I see what a person of colossal ignorance and

simplicity can do. The idea of your going and intruding on &

d stammered

party of strangers, that way, and talking for half an hour; w

hy

I never heard of a m

)

an in his right mind doing such a thing

before. What did you say to them?’

) poor

le, fhe

‘Inever said any harm. I merely asked the girl what her

Caly

e

name was.’

Tenry VIl

‘I don’t doubt it.

Jpon my word I don’t. I think you

ned Thous

were capable of it. It was stupid in me to let you go over there,

aF

and make such an exhibition of yourself. But you know

4

rmured 2]

couldn’t really believe you would do such an inexcusable thing.

What will those people think of us! But how did you say it?

—I mean the manner of it.

I hope you were not abrupt.’

| pov, 9

‘No, I was careful about that.

I said, “ My friend and I

would like to know what your name is, if you don’t mind.”’

\ing-

I ws

‘No, that was not abrupt. There is a polish about it that

ol

1ld be

does you infinite credit.

And I am glad you put me in; that

; uﬁET i

was a delicate attention wh

ich I appreciate at its full value

g 07

What did she do??

134

A TRAMNP ABROAD.

o, d

¢She didn’t do anything in particular.

She told me hes

ffell,

name.’

an W

¢ Simply told you her name.

Do you mean to say she did

{That

not show any surprise?’

she did show something;

{his 00y t

¢Well, now I come to think,

<

may

quibib fi

be it was surprise; I hadn’t thought of that,—I took it for

¢ Ano

gratification.’

Ve

¢ O, undoubtedly you were right; it -must have been grati-

iTdo

fication ; it could not be otherwise than gratifying to be assaulted

Then what did

Ts hat b

by a stranger with such a qnestion as that.

‘NO,

oudo?’

gshelod

‘I offered my hand, and the party gave me a shake.’

The

¢Isaw it! I did not believe my own eyes, at the time. Did

Business

the gentleman say anything about cutting your throat.’

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

and cone

an g\ﬂ'\

¢ And do you know, I believe they were.

I think they said

enough

to themselves, ¢ Doubtless this curiosity has got away from his

keeper—let us amuse ourselves with him.”

There is no other

here lon

No,

way of accounting for their facile docility. You sat down. Did

Th

they ask you to sit down ?’

jou find

¢No, they did not ask me, but I supposed they did not think

N,

of it.

‘You have an unerring instinct.

What else did you do?

a4

frips o

What did you talk about?’

¢ Well, I asked the girl how old she was.’

sid yo

Go on, go

Offered |

¢ Undoubtedly. Your delicacy is beyond praise.

and ask

on,—don’t mind my apparent misery,—I always look so when I

am steeped in a profound and reverent joy. Go on, she told

Tnid

and co

you her age?’

reltive

¢ Yes, she told me her age, and all about her mother, and her

grandmother, and her other relations, and all about herself.’

‘Al

¢ Did she volunteer these statistics?’

altifuds

¢ No, not exactly that.

I asked the questions and she an-

shall by

swered them.’

e if

from {

¢ This is divine.

Go on,—it is not possible that you forgot

I

to inquire into her politics?’

What g

1

¢ No, I thought of that.

She is a democrat, her husband isa

republican, and both of them are Baptists.’

T

‘ Her husband ?

Is that child married ?°’

00 yon

i

¢ She is not a child. She is married, and that is her hushand

| N

who is there with her.’

l‘§

¢ Has she any children ?’

P

Ldidyg

¢ Yes,—seven and a half.?

=

ang by

th

¢ That is impossible.’

i

Hapy

o

A TRAMP ABROAD.

od

‘]‘d g ])ez

¢ No, she has them. She told me herself.’

¢ Well, but seven and a half. How do you make out the

N she gig

half?

Where does the half come in ?’

¢ That is a child which she had by another husband,—not

ling, 1

00k it gy

count it full measure.’

this one, but another one,—so it is a step-child, and they do not

¢ Another husband? Has she had another husband ??

been g

‘Yes, four.

This one is number four.’

B assanlto]

‘I do not believe a word of it. It is impossible upon its face.

0 Wit gig

Is that boy there her brother ?’

¢ No, that is her son,

He is not as old

f

]

ko)

He is her youngest.

as he looks; he is only eleven and a half.’

¢ These things are all manifestly impossible. This is a wretched

’Ume Dif

at.

business.

It is a plain case: they simply took your measure,

ould

I

il

and concluded to fill you up. They seem to have succeeded.

I

the

am glad I am not in the mess; they may at least be charitable

1T0m 4

enough to think there ain’t a pair of us.

Are they going to stay

€ 1810

here long?’

5 down, ln

¢ No, they leave before noon.’

¢ There is one man who is deeply gfateful for that. IIow did

Tid not think

you find out?

You asked, I suppose?’

¢ No, along at first I inquired into their plans in a general

did you d!

way, and they said they were going to be here a week, and make

trips round about; but toward the end of the interview, when I

said you and I would tour around with them with pleasure, and

offered to bring you over and introduce you, they hesitated a little,

. Goony

mk 01 hen

I

and asked if you were from the same establishment that I was.

) 0n, Sle fol

I said you were, and then they said they had changed their mind,

and considered it mecessary to start at once and visit a sick

relative in Siberia.’

other, a

£

vi o

¢Ah me, you struck the summit!

You struck the loftiest

he

altitude of stupidity that human effort has ever reached. You

and ghe ane

shall have a monument of jackass’s skulls as high as the Strasburg

spire if you die before I do.

They wanted to know if I was

from the same *establishment” that you hail from, did they ?

it you fgt

What did they mean by ¢ establishment?”’

‘I don’t know ; it never occurred to me to ask.’

ushand 58

¢ Well, 7 know.

They meant an asylum—an idiot asylum,

do you understand ?

So they do think there’s a pair of us, after

all. Now what do you think of yourself ?’

Jor b

Jaud

¢ Well I don’t know.

I didn’t know I was doing any harm

I didn’t mean to do any harm.

They were very nice people,

and they seemed to like me.’

Harris made some rude remarks and left for his bedroom,—

=

136

A TRAMP ABROAD.

a fhe

ond

to break some furniture, he said. He was a singularly irascible

s minorel

man ; any little thing would disturb his temper.

Aromnd

I had been well scorched by the young woman,

I took it out of Harris.

but no matter,

Eheltel'edy l"

One should always ‘get even’ in some

way, else the sore place will go on hurting.

qnd conits

acesy &l

finey 01

any where,

Marty

CHAPTER XXVI

Tous X

A\

gell

TaE Hofkirche is celebrated for its organ concerts. All summer

long the tourists flock to that church about six o’clock in the

and she |

sidered

evening, and pay their franc, and listen to the noise. They don’t

makes i

stay to hear all of it, but get up and tramp out over the sounding

stone floor, meeting late comers who tramp in in a sounding and

eart of

vigorous way. This tramping back and forth is kept up nearly

qualties

all the time, and is accented by the continuous slamming of the

characte!

ifitson

door, and the coughing and barking and sneezing of the crowd.

Meantime, the big organ is booming and crashing and thundering

intention

away, doing its best to prove that it is the biggest and loudest

Wrong on

him, H

organ in Europe, and that a tight little box of a church is the

most favourable place to average and appreciate its powers in.

mush not

It is true there were some soft and merciful passages occasionally,

anglbo!

but the tramp-tramp of the tourists only allowed one to get fitful

be the i

glimpses of them, so to speak.

fomale &

Then right away the organist

would let go another avalanche.

He couls

The commerce of Lucerne consists mainly in gimecrackery of

good—h

the souvenir sort; the shops are packed with Alpine crystals,

a3 5000

photographs of scenery, and wooden and ivory carvings. I will

Jostive

not conceal the fact that miniature figures of the Lion of Lucerne

are to be had in them.

e

stop bimy

Millions of them.

But they are libels

because

upon him, every one of them.

There is a subtle something about

good wh

the majestic pathos of the original w

hich the copyist cannot get.

bensiop

Even the sun fails to get it; bot

h the photographer and the carver

Yequired

give you a dying lion, and thatis all,

The shape is right, the

morg hy

attitude is right, the proportions are right, but that indescribable

bad reg}

something which makes the Lion of Lucerne the most mournful

i

ting off~

and moving piece of stone in the world, is wanting.

When g

The Lion lies in his lair in the

perpendicular face of a low

'.:

cliff—

800l ang

for he is carved from the living rock of the cliff, His size

Latigyg] g

is colossal, his attitude is noble.

His head is bowed, the broken

spear is sticking in his shoulder,

ay, b N

the lilies of France.

his protecting paw rests upon

Shicty o

Vines hang down the cliff and wave in the

wind, and a clear stre

am trickles from above and empties into a

gy,

13y I

Benigpg}, |

A TRAMP ABROAD.

137

tly g,

pond at the base, and in the smooth surface

of the pond the Lion

U g g

e

is mirrored, among the water lilies,

»

Around about are green trees and grass.

0 i g

sheltered, reposeful, woodland nool

The place is a

<, remote from noise and stir

and confusion—and all this is fitting,

y for lions do die in such

places, and not on granite pedestals in public syuares fenced with

fancy iron railings. The Lion of Lucerne would be impressive

anywhere, but nowhere so impressive as where he is,

Martyrdom is the luckiest fate that ¢

an befall some people.

All gy

Louis XVI. did not die in his bed,

consequently history is

very gentle with him; she is ch

aritable toward his failings,

Utlock n g

and she finds in him high virtues

+ They doyy

which are not usually con-

sidered to be virtues when they

are lodged in kings.

She

the sounding

makes him out to be a person with a meek

nding g1

T

and modest spirit, the

heart of a female saint,

and a wrong head.

None of these

Up nary

qualities are kingly, but the last,

mming of th

Taken together they make a

character which would have fared harshl

y at the hands of history

of the erowd,

if its owner had had the ill Iuck

to miss martyrdom. With the best

1 Ihunderiug

intentions to do the right thing, he always managed to do the

and Joudest

wrong one. Moreover, nothing could get the female saint out of

hurch s he

him. He knew, well enough, that in national emergencies he

3 pOwers i,

must not consider how he ought to act as a man, but how he

occasionally

ought to act as a king : so he Lonestly tried to sink the man and

e to geb fithl

be the king—but it was a failure

female saint.

, he only succeeded in being the

the orgar

He was not instant in season, but out of season.

He could not be persuaded to do a thing while it could do

good—he was iron, he was adam

any

imerackery of

ant in his stubbornness then—bug

Ipine arysal

as soon as the thing had reached a point where it would be

positively harmful to do it

vings, [ il

» do it he would, and nothing could

jon of Tucerne

stop him.

He did not do it because it

would be harmful, but

because he hoped it w

they are Jibels

as not yet too late to achieve by it the

mething abott

good which it would have done if applied eailier. Ilis compre-

hension was always a train or two behindhand. If a national toe

f canno geh

nd the carver

required amputating, he could not see that it needed anything

more than poulticing; when others saw that the mortification

» s Tight, e

indescribah}e

had reached the knee, he first perceived that the toe needed cnt-

j0st mournil

ting off—so0 he cut it off; and he severed the leg at the knee

when others saw that the disease had reached the thigh. He was

o of 8 17

good, and honest, and well meaning, in the matter of chasing

i His site

national diseases, but he could never overtake one. As a private

man, he would have been lovable ; but viewed as a king he was

the roken

g rests Upol

strictly contemptible.

is was a most unroyal career, but the most pitiable spectacle

yave i 12

in it

was his sentimental treachery to his Swiss guard on that

npﬁes info 8

memorable .August 10, when he allowed those heroes to be

138

A TRAMP ABROAD.

Tor 7

massacred in his cause, and forbade them to shed the ¢sacred

here I W.ﬂs)_

French blood’ purporting to be flowing in the veins of the red-

e

capped mob of miscreants that was raging around the palace.

o my €4t

He meant to be kingly, but he was only the female saint once

more.

Some of his biographers think that upon this occasion

Some Soun

fnang, AnC

the spirit of Saint Louis had descended upon him. It must have

dlock, 1t

found pretty cramped quarters.

If Napoleon I. had stood in the

fain JEIS0

shoes of Louis XVI. that day, instead of being merely a casual

and unknown looker-on, there would be no Lion of Lucerne now,

Jappencd

{hat T w0

but there would be a well-stocked Communist graveyard in Paris,

in Liucert

which would answer just as well to remember August 10 by.

Martyrdom made a saint of Marie Queen of Scots three

would be

pought

hundred years ago, and she has hardly lost all of her saintship

yet.

Martyrdom made a saint of the trivial and foolish Marie

‘my e?

candidt

Antoinette, and her biographers still keep her fragrant with the

—hutal

odour of sanctity to this day, while unconsciously proving upon

.

.

almost every page they write that the only calamitous instinct

injue

I

We

which her husband lacked, she supplied—the instinct to root out

and get rid of an honest, able, and loyal official, wherever she

{he gree

found him.

The hideous but beneficent French Revolution

and hur

fumnels |

would have been deferred, or would have fallen short of com-

upan f

pleteness, or even might not have happened at all, if Marie

{hreg hu

Antoinette had made the unwise mistake of not being born. The

world owes a great deal to the French Revolution, and conse-

sign pu

The

quently to its two chief promoters, Louis the Poor in Spirit and

his queen.

the wat

ustally

We did not buy any wooden images of the Lion, nor any

J

ivory, or ebony, or marble, or chalk, or sugar, or chocolate ones,

would

The truth is, these

Iy 1)

or even any photographie slanders of him.

-

copies were so common, so universal, in the shops and every-

of befo

where, that they presently became as intolerable to the wearied

eye as the latest popular melody usually becomes to the harassed

]

ear.

In Lucerne, too, the wood carvings of other sorts, which

L

il

£ponder

had been so pleasant to look upon when one saw them occasion-

ally at home, soon began to fatigue us.

We grew very tired of

downD

seeing wooden quails and chickens picking and strutting around

siorm

clock-faces, and still more tired of seeing wooden images of the

Who

alleged chamois skipping about wooden rocks, or lying upon them

1031 iy

The

in family groups, or peering alertly up from behind them.

‘Th

first day, I would have bought a hundred and fifty of these clocks

Rile

if T had had the money

and I did buy three—but on the third

Jerson

day the disease had run its course, I had convalesced, and was in

head fo;

the market once more—trying to sell.

However, I had no luck;

Tay

which was just as well, for the things will be pretty enough, no

|

Thy

doubt, when I get them home.

A TRAMP ADBROAD.

the ‘g

of the Ted,

For years my pet aversion had been the cuckoo clock; now

here I was, at last, right in the creature’s home; so wherever I

16 ply

went, that distressing ‘70o’hoo ! hoo’hoo ! hoo’hoo!? was always

© St gy

in my ears. For a nervous man, this was a fine state of things.

1§ (\Qmion

Some sounds are hatefuller than others, but no sound is quite so

VI gy

inane, and silly, and aggravating as the ¢7%oo’hoo’ of a cuckoo

stood iy he

clock, I think.

I bought one, and am carrying it home to a cer-

T8 4 ey

tain person; for I have always said that if the opportunity ever

ey,

happened, I would do that man an ill turn. What I meant, was,

JardinPary

that I would break one of his legs, or something of that sort: but

ush 10 by,

in Lucerne I instantly saw that I could impair his mind. That

f Stals thg

her sanily

would be more lasting, and more satisfactory every way. So I

bought the cuckoo clock; and if I ever get home with it, he is

{oolish M

‘my meat,’ as they say in the mines.

I thought of another

3

LS With thy

candidate—a book reviewer, whom I could name if I wanted to

proving un

—but after thinking it over, I didn’t buy him a clock. I couldn’t

i

Imitous ing

it

injure his mind.

t £0 o0t onf

&

We visited the two long covered wooden bridges which span

, Wherever s

the green and brilliant Reuss just below where it goes plunging

ch Revoluton

and hurrahing out of the lake.

These rambling, swaybacked

short of con:

tunnels are very aftractive things, with their alcoved outlooks

i Mo

upon the lovely and inspiriting water.

They contain two or

o born, Th

three hundred queer old pictures, by old Swiss masters—old boss

and o

sign painters, who flourished before the decadence of art.

il

The lake is alive with fishes, plainly visible to the eye, for

I 10 DLl

the water is very clear.

The parapets in front of the hotels were

usually fringed with fishers of all ages.

One day I thought I

s Lion, nor a1y

chocolate o

would stop and see a fish caught.

The result brought back to

truth

my mind, very forcibly, a circumstance which I had not thought

!

=

of before Jor twelve years.

This one:

ops aud exer

fo the weare!

THE MAN WHO PUT UP AT GADSBY’S.

to the ba

o SOt i

When my odd friend Riley and I were newspaper corre-

spondents in Washington, in the winter of 67, we were coming

them occasisn-‘

y very fire ¢

down Pennsylvania Avenue one night, near midnight, in a driving

storm of snow, when the flash of a street lamp fell upon a man

rutting ﬂgll‘

This

who was eagerly tearing along in the opposite direction.

| images of e

-

man instantly stopped and exclaimed—

ngupos 2

0

¢ This is lucky ! You are Mr. Riley, ain’t you?’

id them:

Riley was the most self-possessed and solemnly deliberate

of these oot

person in the republic.

He stopped, looked his man over from

af on fhe B

-

head to foot, and finally said—

oedynd \vas‘in

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

| pad 0153

¢ That's just what I was doing,’ said the man joyously, ¢ and

iy noughy?

140

A TRAMP ABROAD.

fi back

it’s the biggest luck in the world that I’ve found you.

My name

SN

fteed b

is Lykins. I’'m one of the teachers of the High School, San

Francisco.

As soon as I heard the San Francisco

peded 00

postmastershiy

ere AL &

was vacant I made up my mind to get it—and here I am.’

‘Yes,” said Riley, slowly, ‘as you have remarked. . . . Mr,

igead a

i

Lykins. . . .here you are. And have you got it ?’

¢Well, not exactly got it, but the next thing to it.

T've

Galshys'

from Ten

brought a petition, signed by the Superintendent of Public In-

-~

struction and all the teachers, and by more than two hundred

coachmal

which be

other people. Now I want you, if you'll be so good, to go around

with me to the Pacific dele

gation ; for I want to rush this thing

Gadsb)'vsr

through and get along home.’

ouf 10

‘If the matter is so pressing, you will prefer that we visit the

jump‘@d 0

fo take

delegation to-night,’ said Riley, in a voice which had nothing

(overnm

mocking in it—to an unaccustomed ear.

¢ Oh, to-night, by all means! I haven’t got any time to fool

and fetch

for he e

around. I want their promise before I go to bed—1I ain’s the

talking kind, I'm the doing kind !’

Vel

ondered ¢

‘Yes. . . .yow've come to the right place for that. When

did you arrive?’

colleot

undersar

¢Just an hour ago.’

¢ When are you intending to leave ?’

el

‘ For New York to-morrow evening—for San Francisco next

cheap s

morning.’

the mon

¢ Just go.

‘On

. - What are you going to do to-morrow ?’

‘Do! Why, I've got to go to the President with t

he petition

often th

and the dele

mountaj

gation, and get the appointment, haven’t 17’

‘Yes. . . .very true. . . .thatis correct. And then what?’

driving-

the mon

‘Executive Session of the Senate at 2 P.M.—got to get the

appointment confirmed—I reckon yowll grant that ??

“On

‘Yes. .. .yes’ said Riley, meditatively,

‘you are right

DOCESFJF.

again.

Then you take the train for New York

in the evening

stateh |

and the steamer for S

an Francisco next morning 2’

Was oo

¢ That’s it—that’s the way I map it out.’

tion,

Riley considered a while, and then said,—

“0n

‘You couldn’t stay. .

.aday. .

- well, say two days

A chegp,

longer 7’

shim g

‘ Bless your soul, no! It’s not my style. I aint a man to

sy

go focling around—I'm a man that docs thing

O,

s, Itell you.

The storm was raging, the tl

tick snow blowing in gusts,

ol g

Riley stood silent, apparently deep

in a reverie

, during a minute

Starg ang

or more, then he looked up and said,—

fly—

¢ Have you ever heard about that man who

Vs,

put up at Gadsby’s

once?. . . .But I see you haven'’t.’

el

A TRAMNP ABROAD.

141

My Ny

§

hOOL Sﬂﬂ

He backed Mr. Lykins against an iron fence, buttonholed him,

fastened him with his eye, like the Ancient Mariner, and pro-

=

)st;na?tershig

ceeded to unfold his narrative as placidly and peacefully as if we

were all stretched comfortably in a blossomy summer meadow,

”l 0.0 |Ml‘.

instead of being persecuted by a wintry midnight tempest :—

¢Iwill tell you about that man.

It was in Jackson’s time.

i,y

(3

Gadsby’s was the principal hotel then.

Well, this man arrived

f PUMH} In.

from Tennessee about nine o’clock one morning, with a black

0 hugge

coachman and a splendid four-horse carriage and an elegant dog,

b0 g0 oy

(

’,

which he was evidently fond and proud of; he drove up before

sh thi g,

()

}i

Gadsby’s, and the clerk and the landlord and everybody rushed

out to take charge of him; but he said “Never mind,” and

b We vist o

jumped out and told the coachman to wait—said he hadn’t time

bad Loy

to take anything to eat, he only had a little claim against the

Government to collect, would run across the way to the Treasury

time o f]

and fetch the money, and then get right along back to Tennessee,

A~ gy (g

for he was in a considerable hurry.

¢ Well, about eleven o'clock that night he came back and

that, TV i)

ordered a bed and told them to put the horses up—said he would

collect the claim in the morning. This was in January, you

understand—dJanuary 1834

January 3—W ednesday.

¢ Well, on February 5 he sold the fine carriage and bought a

Tancisco next

cheap second-hand one—said it would answer just as well to take

the money home in, and he didn’t care for style.

TOW ?]

¢On August 11 he sold a pair of the fine horses—said he'd

fl

often thought a pair was better than four to go over the rough

1 petition

I

mountain roads with where a body had to be careful about his

en what!"

driving—and there wasn’t so much of his claim but he could lug

00t o g {he

the money home with a pair easy enough.

.)7

¢On December 13 he sold another horse—said two warn’s

ou are Tl

necessary to drag that old light vehicle with—in fact, one could

snatch it along faster than was absolutely necessary, now that it

1 the eveuy

was good solid winter weather, and the roads in splendid condi-

tion.

¢ On February 17, 1833, he sold the old carriage and bought

a cheap second-hand buggy—said a buggy was just the trick to

ay two dﬂ}‘

skim along mushy, slushy early spring roads with, and he had

always wanted to try a buggy on those mountain roads, anyway.

int a man

‘On August 1 he sold the buggy and bought the remains of

]l you’

an old sulky—said he just wanted to see those green Tennesseeans

og in gt

stare and gawk when they saw him come a-ripping along in a

in g 3 pinute

sulky—didn’t believe they'd ever heard of a sulky in their

lives.

pat Gadly

‘Well, on August 29 he sold his coloured coachman—said

142

A TRAMP ABROAD.

ening o

he didn’t need a coachman for a sulky—wouldn’t be room enough

fo Tennes

for two in it anyway—and besides it wasn’t every day that

alhted 0

Providence sent a man a fool who was willing to pay nine hun-

b

dred dollars for such a third-rate negro as that—been wanting to

pelave !

0 glﬂd )

get rid of the creature for years, but didn’t like to throw him

onee OTe

away.

Anot

¢ Bighteen months later—that is to say, on February 15,

sl

1887—he sold the sulky and bought a saddle—said horseback

{Tha

riding was what the doctor had always recommended %im to take,

T

and dog’d if he wanted to risk Z¢s neck going over those moun-

to me th

tain roads on wheels in the dead of winter, not if he knew him-

0h,

self.

e

¢On April 9 he sold the saddle—said he wasn’t going to risk

i(h

his life with any perishable saddle-girth that ever was made,

over a rainy, miry April road, while he could ride bareback and

nobdn

£ pos

know and feel he was safe—always had despised to ride on a

saddle, anyway.

apat 6

bless

¢On April 24 he sold his horse—said, “I'm just 57 to-day,

00

hale and hearty—it would be a pretty howdy-do for me to be

wasting such a trip as that and such weather as this on a horse,

3100

when there ain’t anything in the world so splendid as a tramp on

foot through the fresh spring woods and over the cheery moun-

JiC

To

tains, to a man that is a man—and I can make my dog carry my

about 1

claim in a little bundle anyway, when it’s collected.

So to-

morrow I'll be up bright and early, make my little old collection,

till

le s

fishe

and mosey off to Tennessee, on my own hind legs, with a rousing

Good-bye to Gadsby’s.’

sy,

¢ On June 22 he sold his dog

said “Dern a dog, anyway,

pier fo

his cor

where you’re just starting off on a rattling bully pleasure-tramp

through the summer woods and hills—perfect nuisance—chases

it Or

the squirrels, barks at everythin

o) o

g, goes a-c

apering and splattering

" and Iy

around in the fords—man can’t get any chance to reflect and

says th

enjoy nature—and I'd a blamed sight rather carry the claim

thing ]

cat,

myself, it's a mighty sight safer ; a dog’s mighty uncertain in a

financial way—always noticed it—well, good-bye, boys—Iast

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 the pelting snow.

< Well?’

Mr. Lykins said, impatiently,—

Crose

Garden);

Riley said,—

Btoung,

¢ Well—that was thirty years ago.”

foungyg

¢ Very well, very well—what of it?’

ey,

¢ I'm great friends with that old patriarch. He comes every

ligy theg

A TRAMP ABROAD.

143

100 gy

v

/

@“Y thcat

evening to tell me good-bye, I saw him an hour ago--he’s off

(G{

for Tennessee early to-morrow morning

as usual ; said he cal-

LT

di

o fy

culated to get his claim through and be off before night-owls like

to fl

me have turned out of bed. The tears were in his eyes, he was

() Lm

so glad he was going to see his old Tennessee and his friends

once more.’

Another silent pause. The stranger brcke it,—

¢Is that all 2’

e

iathstalll

er thog

¢ Well for the #ime of night, and the kind of night, it seems

e e by

to me the story was full long enough.

But what’s it all for?®

¢ Oh, nothing in particular.’

011Y

¢ Well, where’s the point of it ?’

¢ Oh, there isn’t any particular point to it

Only, if you are

a

i

not in t00 much of a hurry to rush off to San Francisco with

d to }xue a

that post-office appointment, Mr. Lykins, I'd advise you to ¢ put

up at Gadsby’s” for a spell, and take it easy. Good-bye. God

7 tod

bless you !”

I I

(R0}

So saying, Riley blandly turned on his heel and left the

on &

astonished school teacher standing there, a musing and motion-

a8 4

Q9

atllp

less snow image shining in the broad glow of the street lamp.

eC

Ie never got that post-office.

o

1y

i

To go back to Lucerne and its fishers, I concluded, after

N

1d

about nine hours’ waiting, that the man who proposes to tarry

)

till he sees somebody hook one of those well-fed and experienced

ylithal

fishes will find it wisdom to ‘put up at Gadsby’s’ and take it

easy.

It is likely that a fish has not been caught on that lake

pier for forty years; but no matter, the patient fisher watches

4

his cork there all the day long just the same, and seems to enjoy

i,

One may see the fisher-loafers just as thick and contented

and happy and patient all along the Seine at Paris, but tradition

says that the only thing ever caught there in modern times is a

e 0!

1

thing they don’t fish for at all—the recent dog and the translated

any the ¢

cat,

r uncertal

bye, oy

nd 8 g

CHAPTER XXVIL

e o o

CLosE by the Lion of Lucerne is what they call the ¢ Glacier

n[atienﬂ)'l'

Garden,” and it is the only one in the world.

It is on high

ground. Four or five years ago some workmen who were digging

foundations for a house came upon this interesting relic of a long-

departed age.

Scientific men perceived in it a confirmation of

their theories concerning the glacial period; so through their

Ho cones aef

144

4 TRAMP ABROAD.

persuasions the little tract of ground was bought, and permanently

e, L

8l

Ji

ali ild

protected against being built upon.

The soil was removed, and

feious

there lay the rasped and guttered track which the ancient glacier

Jared

qua the el

had made as it moved along upon its slow and tedious journey.

This track was perforated by huge pot-shaped holes in the bed-

0 svdllct'\"e 3

1

{

el n Sl

rock, formed by the furious was

1ing around in them of boulders

by the turbulent torrent which flows beneath all glaciers.

These

yho had ear

e Jovel

huge round boulders still remain in the holes; they and the walls

of the holes are worn smooth by the long-continued chafing which

Te swep!

they gave each other in those old days.

It took a mighty force

ke among

to churn these big lumps of stone around in that vigorous way.

alvays 8 10

renled an

The neighbouring country had a very different shape at that

time—the valleys have risen up and become hills since, and the

e g

white mass

hills have become valleys.

The boulders discovered in the pots

had travelled a great distance, for there is no rock like them nearer

Kindred gl

than the distant Rhone Glacier.

oflesen Al

For some days we were content to enjoy looking at the blue

Once vl

Lake Lucerne, and at the piled-up masses of snow mountains

and domg m

that border it all round : an enticing spectacle this last, for there

Lagt, ['ma

is a strange and fascinating beauty and charm about a majestic

e

He wisa

snow peak, with the sun blazing upon it or the moonlight softly

enriching it; but finally, we concluded to try a bit of excursion-

medim

]

ing around on a steamboat, and a cash on footat the Rigi. Very

pendent ege

well, we had a delightful trip to Fluelen, on a breezy sunny day.

with a de

Everybody sat on the upper deck, on benches, under an awning ;

itunilif

everybody talked, laughed, and exclaimed at the wonderfal

to work eas

scenery.

In truth, a trip on that lake is almost the perfection

brimmed

of pleasuring.

The mountains were a never-ceasing marvel.

had a whi

Sometimes they rose straight up out of the lake, and towered

failed coa,

aloft and overshadowed our pigmy steamer with their prodigious

fashion; 7e

bulk in the most impressive way. Not snow-clad mountains these,

shoes, tied

yet they climbed high enough towards the sky to meet the

apen collyr

clouds and veil their foreheads in them.

They were not barren

cuff o

and repulsive, but clothed in green, and restful and pleasant to

he derig

the eye; and they were so almost straight-up-and-down some-

times that one could not imagine a man being able to keep his

SUmoupe

1der by

footing upon such a surface, yet there are paths, and the Swiss

Wi shoz-[y §

people go up and down them every day.

15 heg] i

Sometimes one of these monster precipices had the slight incli-

took 5

Ciga

nation of the huge ship-houses in dock-yards; then high aloft

,OI € Which

towards the sky it took a little stronger inclination, like that of a

Ogar, iy

mansard roof, and perched {on this dizzy mansard one’s eye

: YES) [ al

datected little things like martin-boxes, and presently perceived

gy |

thut these were the dwellings of peasants—an airy place for a

6 vy fy

4 TRAMP ADRROAD.

liin

1

145

Pertugy

Uil

tly

home, truly. And suppose a peasant should walk in his

T@Inf)'.'ed’

md

sleep,

or his child should fall out of the front yard ? Tl

1e friends would

0% i

Ourmey,

have a tedious long journey out of those cloud-heights

>

before they

310

found the remains.

And yet those far-aw.

a

2y homes looked ever

the e,

so seductive ; they were so remote from the troub]

ed world, they

m.ﬂf Do

dozed in such an atmosphere of peace and dreams

clers, T

lese

—surely ne one

who had learned to live up there would ever w

ant to live on a

y and the \\'aiﬁg

meaner level.

| chgﬁ 08 which

mieh

fy fy

0r

We swept through the prettiest little curving arms of the

N

lake, among these colossal green walls, enjoying new dcl

T

Y

fgizls

always as the stately panorama unfolded ‘itself before us

and

Iy

at {ht

1

re-rolled and hid itself behind us; and now and then we hLad

since, g

¢

16

£ u..‘

the thrilling surprise of bursting suddenly upon a tremendous

1 the mt

white mass like the distant and dominating Jungfrau, or some

kindred giant, looming head and shoulders above a tumbled waste

of lesser Alps.

N7 A {

Once while I was hungrily taking in one of these surprises,

IV

)l

and doing my best to get all I possibly could of it while it should

last, I was interrupted by a yourg and care-free voice—

4l

M

o

Q

o’'m I.

o}

‘You're an American, I think ?

it

0L €XC

He was about eighteen, or possibly nineteen ; slender, and of

medium height; open, frank, happy face; a restless but inde-

pendent cye; a snub rose, which had the air of drawing back

unny

with a decent reserve from the silky new-born moustache below

1 and

it until it should be introduced; a loosely-hung jaw, calculated

the W

to work easily in the sockets.

He wore a low-crowned, narrow-

brimmed straw hat, with a broad blue ribbon around it, which

had a white anchor embroidered on it in front; nobby short-

%{

, al

tailed coat, pantaloons, vest—all trim and neat, and up with the

the

Ir

fashion ; red-striped stockings, very low-quarter patent leather

mounfal

|

shoes, tied with black ribbon ; blue ribbon around his neck, wide-

06

h

ky to meeh !

open collar ; tiny diamond studs, wrinkleless kids, projecting

il

W.ere )

cuffs, fastened with large oxydised silver sleeve-buttons bearing

an

-

the device of a dog’s face—English pug. He carried a slim cane,

a4

Ol

owh SOH‘,L:'

surmounted with an English pug’s head with red glass eycs

Under his arm he carried a German Grammar, Otto’s. His hair

e to keep *°

was short, straight, and smooth; and presently, when he turned

o

"

f

Lis head a moment, I saw that it was nicely parted behind. IIe

took a cigarette out of a dainty box, stuck it into a meerschaum

thoslight

Df::-'

g

holder which he carried in a morocco case, and reached for my

then bi

cigar.

o 4

‘While he was Jighting, I said—

‘ny

e

‘Yes, I am an American.’

DSAI

4 onés ¥

|

‘I knew it.

e

I can always tell them.

What ship did you

ntly

come over in ?’

ford

ity Plﬂce

L

14

A TRAMP ABROAD.

oot

¢ Holsatia.>

1] don’f

‘We came in the ¢ Batavia”’—Cunard, you know.

What

{

1 Three

kind of a passage did you have?’

* Tolerably rough.’

Anericans

¢So did we.

Captain said he’d hardly ever seen it rougher.

i (ity

(rermal

Where are you from ?’

¢ New England.’

ifes!

¢Som I.

I’'m from New Bloomfield.

(hat

Anybody with you?’

¢ Yes, a friend.’

‘ HCta:l (

It's awful slow going round

fDont

“Our whole family’s along.

10!

alone, don’t you think so ?’

fil

¢ Rather slow.’

Tican

But]

¢Ever been over here before??

SViosy

Good

‘T haven’t.

But we've been all around —

t\p_

My first trip.

Paris, and everywhere.

I'm to enter Harvard

next year,

y \\h\

Can’t enter till I know

Studying German all the time now.

spak A

0

German.

I know considerable French.

I get along pretty well

at here

in Paris, or anywhere where they speak I'rench.

What hotel

‘Ho

are you stopping at?’

“Sho,

¢ Schweitzerhof.!

know the

‘No !

Is that so? I never sce you in the reception room.

Lok f

I go to the reception room a great deal of the time, because

Tey |

there,

there’s so many Americans there. I make lots of acquaintances. I

know an American as soon as I see him, and so I speak to him

No A

and make his acquaintance.

I like to be always making ac-

them! |

quaintances, don’t you?’

make lots

‘Lord, yes!’

because 1

¢ You see it breaks up a trip like this, first rate. T ncver get

along thr

bored on a trip like this, if I can make acquaintances and have

Ak

somebody to talk to.

But I think a trip like this would be an

Tsth

awful bore if a body couldn’t find anybody to get acquainted

fown whey

with and talk to on a trip like this.

TI'm fond of talking, ain’t

aintyou

you?’

Diri

¢ Passionately.’

“That

¢ Have you felt bored on this trip ?*

gy

¢ Not all the time, but part of it.’

‘That’s it—you see you ought to go around and get ac-

American (

18 aqug)

quainted, and talk.

That’s my way.

That’s the way I always

1ake ey

do—1I just go ’round, 'round, 'round, and talk, talk, talk—I never

Wi ]

get bored. You been up the Rigi yet?’

¢No.

[ Pref

¢ Going?’

! ot

and &

¢1 think so.’

}ameg at

4 TRAMP ABROAD,

147

¢ What hotel are you going to stop at ?’

W08, Wiy

¢I don’t know.

¢ Three.

Is there more than one ?°?

You stop at the Schreiber—yowll find it full of

i

Yol

Americans. What ship did you say you came over in? 2

¢ ¢« City of Antwerp.”’

¢ German, I guess.

You going to Geneva ?’

SRYECSt

1y with yoy1

J

J

¢ What hotel you going to stop at?’

¢ Hotel de ’Ecu de Geneve.’

' going mouyg

¢ Don’t you do it!

No Americans there !

You stop at one

of those big hotels over the bri

dge—they’re packed full of Ame-

W

ricans.’

¢ But I want to practise my Arabic.’

nall g

¢ 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.

)I¢

at here ?’

What hotel are you stopping

hat |

¢ Hotel Pension-Beaurivage.’

¢Sho, you ought to stop at the Schweitzerhof. Didn’t

ou

nilon Toom

know the Schweitzerhof was the best hotel in Switzerland ?

Look at your Baedecker.’

6

(

there.’

¢ Yes, I know—but I had an idea there warn’t any Americans

U

K 10 il

¢ No Americans!

Why, bless your soul, it's just alive with

it

them !

Tm in the great reception room most all the time. I

make lots of acquaintances there.

Not as many as I did at first,

because now only the new ones stop in there—the others go right

along through. ~Where are you from ?’

nd

¢ Arkansaw.’

hear |

¢Is that s0? I'm from New England—New Bloomfield’s my

town when I'm at home. I'm having a mighty good time to-day,

)}

alking,

ain’t you?”’

¢ Divine.’

¢ That’s what I call it.

I like this knocking around, loose

and easy, and making acquaintances and talking. I know an

American soon as I see him; so I go and speak to him and make

od and

t a0

his acquaintance.

I ain’t ever bored on a trip like this if I can

make new acquaintances and talk.

p Wayie

I'm awful fond of talking

|, tal

i, ] ere

when I can get hold of the right kind of a person, ain’t you?’

¢ I prefer it to any other dissipation.’

¢ That's my notion, too. Now some people like to take a book

and sit down and read, and read, and read, or moon around

yawping at the lake or these mountains and things, but that ain’t

L2

148

1-1 TRAMP ABROAD.

il

my way ; 1o, sir, if they like it, let em do it, I don’t object; but

{hen be

as for me, talking’s what I like.

You been up the Rigi ?’

earsy T.l ¢

¢Yes.’

for ever.

¢ What hotel did you stop at?’

agueeto

¢ Schreiber.’

tune 10

¢ That’s the place !—1I stopped there too.

Full of Americans

The

wasn’t it? It always is—always is.

That’s what they say.

deck, M

Everybody says that.

‘What ship did you come over in?’

of 8 00U

¢ « Ville de Paris.””’

one A

¢ French, I reckon.

What kind of a passage did . . . . Ex-

You

cuse me a minute, there’s some Americans I haven’t seen

Yes-

before.’

I had the

T

And away he went.

He went uninjured too.

€ome Ove

murderous impulse to harpoon him in the back with my alpen-

H;Ci

stock, but as I raised the weapon the disposition left me; I

‘Oh,

found I hadn’t the heart to kill him, he was such a joyous, inno-

youkno

cent, good-natured numskull.

Pre

Half an hour later I was sitting on a bench inspecting, with

T

strong interest, a nobie monolith which we were skimming by—

hardly ¢

a monolith not shaped by man, but by Nature’s free, great hand

Ner

—a massy pyramidal rock eighty feet high, devised by Nature

o

ten million years ago against the day when a man worthy of it

New Dl

should need it for his monument.

The time came at last, and

now this grand remembrancer bears Schiller’s name in huge let-

both of

0y

ters upon its face. Curiously enough, this rock was not degraded

ied,

or defiled in any way.

It is said that two years ago a stranger

let himself down from the top of it with ropes and pulleys, and

‘S

alone?”’

painted all over it, in blue letters bigger than those in Schiller’s

No

name, these words:—

¢ TrYy S0zoDONT;’

=

Ou

alone—

¢ Buy Sun Stove PorisH ;?

Ts

¢ HeLmBoLD’s Bucau ;’

‘H,

¢ Try BENZALINE FOR THE Broop.’

alter Py

He was captured, and it turned out that he was an American.

liam T

Upon his trial the judge said to him :—

didy't 1

‘You are from a land where any insolent that wants to is

knockiy

o T

privileged to profane and insult Nature, and, through her, Nature’s

8 the ¢

God, if by so doing he can put a sordid penny in his pocket.

‘I

But here the case is different.

Because you are a foreigner and

‘O

ignorant, I will make your sentence light: if you were a native,

v

ever shu

I would deal strenuously with you.

Hear and obey. You will

than g

immediately remove every trace of your offensive work from the

0y th,

Schiller monument; you will pay 2 fine of ten thousand francs;

Tes

4 TRAMP ABROAD.

149

£ b

E

you will suffer two years’ imprisonment at hard labour; you will

then be horsewhipped, tarred and feathered, deprived of your

ears, ridden on a rail to the confines of the canton, and banished

for ever. The severe penallies are omitted in your case—not as

a grace to you, but to that great republic which had the misfor-

Amerig

tune to give you birth.’

they gy,

The steamer’s benches were ranged back to back across the

n!

deck. My back hair was mingling innocently with the back hair

of a couple of ladies. Presently they were addressed by some-

B

one and I overheard this conversation :—

ve.n’.t

£¢en

‘ You are Americans, I think? So’m I.

¢ Yes—we are Americans.’

Thad fhg

come over in ?°

‘I knew it—I can always tell them. What ship did you

Ly alpm;-

lef me: T

f

¢ ¢ City of Chester.”

Jous, onge

‘ Oh, yes—Inman line. We came in the “ Batavia »—Cunard,

you know. What kind of a passage did you have ?’

eetng, wilh

¢ Pretty fair.

ming by—

¢ That was luck. We had it awful rough. Captain said he'd

geat hand

hardly ever seen it rougher.

Where are you from?’

by Nat

i

"

¢ New Jersey.’

orth

0y

¢So'm I. No—I didn’t mean that : I'm from New England.

at

lagt

New Bloomfield’s my place.

These your children ?—belong to

n b

both of you?’

‘ Only to one of us; they are mine; my friend is not mar-

ried.

I

¢ Single, I reckon ?

So'm 1.

Are you two ladies travelling

alone ?’

n

AL

¢ No—my husband is with us.’

¢ Our whole family’s along.

It’s awful slow, going around

alone—don’t you think so ?’

‘I suppose it must be.’

¢ Hi, there’s Mount Pilatus coming in sight again.

Named

after Pontius Pilate, you know, that shot the apple off of Wil-

Americh

liam Tell’s head. Guidebook tells all about it, they say. I

didn’t read it—an American told me.

I don’t read when I'm

knocking around like this, having a good time. Did you ever

yants 10 ]‘

see the chapel where William Tell used to preach ?’

o, Natures

¢I do not know he ever preached there.’

his pocéh

¢ Oh, yes, he did.

That American told me so.

He don’t

eiguer &

He knows more about this lake

ever shut up his guide-book.

rea 1l

1:9,

than the fishes in it. Besides, they call it “Tell’s Chapel ?—you

Tou v

know that yourself. You ever been over here before 2’

k from fhe

‘Yes.)

ud francsj

A TRAMP ADROAD,

¢ I haven’t.

It’s my first trip. But we've been all around—

1Yes—

ell,

Paris, and everywhere. I'm to enter Harvard next year. Study-

ing Geerman all the time now.

Can’t enter till I know German.

puel-!

This book’s Otto’s Grammar. It's a mighty good book to get the

Yes-

¢ ()h,’ (

ich habe gehabt haben's out of. ButI don’t really study when I'm

knocking around this way.

If the notion takes me, I just run

]i 2 pel‘i(

over my little old ick habe gehabt, du hast gehabt, er hat gehabt,

history, ¢

fun-fods!

all

wir haben gehabt, ihr habet gehabt, sie haben gehabt—kind of

“ Now-I-lay-me-down-to-sleep ” fashion, you know, and after

Ilsey

that, maybe I don’t buckle to it again for three days. It’s awful

¢Ner

|l

i

undermining to the intellect, German is; you want to take it in

small doses, or first you know your brains all run together, and

el the

you feel them sloshing around in your head same as so much

ot

drawn butter.

Yo

But French is different ; French ain’t anything.

I ain’t any more afraid of French than a tramp’s afraid of pie;

Pilatus

I can rattle off my little j’a, tu as, il a, and the rest of it, just

Jong,

|

as easy as a-b-c.

I get along pretty well in Paris, or anywhere

s ity

f

where they speak French.

‘What hotel you stopping at?”’

f

i

¢ The Schweitzerhof.’

Did

'{{I‘

0l

‘No! is that so? I never sce you in the big reception room.

I go in there a good deal of the time, because there’s so many

“Oh

Americans there.

I make lots of acquaintances.

You been up

youth

the Rigi yet ?’

hotel

¢No.’

um

¢ Going ?’

that gn

¢ We think of it.’

al

¢ What hotel you going to stop at?’

ladies,

¢TI don’t know.’

¢ Well, then, you stop at the Schreiber—it’s full of Ameri-

cans.

What ship did you come over in?’

¢« City of Chester.”’

¢ Ob, yes, I remember I asked you that before. But I always

The R

ask everybody what ship they came over in, and so sometimes L

Which

forget and ask again.

You going to Geneva ?’

¢ Yes.’

likes

i

g

¢ What hotel you going to stop at?”’

aseent

¢ We expect to stop in a pension.’

¢I don’t hardly believe yowll like that; there’s very few

Prefr

0ng by

Americans in the pensions. What hotel are you stopping at here?’

¢ The Schweitzerhof.”

e £0f

¢ Oh, yes, I asked you that before, too.

But I always ask

our

ounty

everybody what hotel they’re stopping at, and so I’ve got my

head all mixed up with hotels.

But it makes talk, and I love to

We

talk. It refreshes me up so—don’t it you—on a trip like this?®

i gy

HOOI], a

A TRAMP ABROAD.

151

Loy

A fydy.

¢ Yes—sometimes.’

¢ Well, it does me, too.

W German,

As long as I'm talking I never feel

2t Rt the

—

bored—ain’t that the way with you ?’

Y Whenly

¢ Yes—generally. But there are exceptions to the rule.’

5 L0t

¢ Oh, of course. [ don’t care to talk to everybody myself.

If a person starts in to jabber-jabber-jabber about scenery, and

Tt fJ(’]{ﬂb!‘

li=kind ¢

history, and pictures, and all sorts of tiresome things, I get the

fan-tods mighty soon.

I say, “ Well, I must be going now—hope

Wy and afty

. Dyanty

T'll see you again”—and then I take a walk. Where you from ?’

0 take ity

¢New Jersey.’

¢ Why, bother it all, I asked you that before, too.

together, and

seen the Lion of Lucerne?’

Have you

89 80 el

¢ Not yet.’

't anying

But the man who told me about Mount

¢Nor I, either.

fnid of e

Pilatus says it’s one of the things to see.

It’s twenty-eight feet

est of 1 u

long.

He

Or an

It don’t seem reasonable, but he said so, anyway.

7 8

7

saw it yesterday ; said it was dying then, so I reckon it's dead by

this time.

But that ain’t any matter, of course they’ll stuff it.

Did you say the children are yours—or /ers?’

00 T0m,

¢ Mine.

£0- Tuany

¢ Oh, so you did.

Are you going up the . .

. no, I asked

ou Nbcen 3

you that.

What ship . .

no, I asked you that, too.

What

hotel are you

. no, you told me that.

Let me see

.

.

um

.

. oh, what kind of a voy . .. . no, we've been over

that ground too.

Um

um

well, I believe that is

all.

Bonjour—TI am very glad to have made your acquaintance,

ladies.

Guten tag.

ull o Anet

CHAPTER XXVIIL

Bt Lalwt

Tre Rigi-Kulm is an imposing Alpine mass, 6,000 feet high,

) sometin|

which stands by itself, and commands a mighty prospect of blue

lakes, green valleys, and snowy mountains—a compact and

The

magnificent picture three hundred miles in circumference,

ascent is made by rail, or horseback, or on foot, as one may

prefer.

I and my agent panoplied ourselves in walking costume,

els VeIJ ff;‘f

one bright morning, and started down the lake on the steamboat;

jing af e

we got ashore at the village of Wiiggis, three-quarters of an

hour distant from Lucerne.

This village is at the foot of the

mountain.

I always i

Jve g

tf

We were soon tramping leisurely up the leafy mule-path,

4 L Joe!

and then the talk began to flow, as usual.

It was twelve o’clock

]

ik

o lis!

noon, and a breezy, cloudless day; the ascent was gradual, and

15

A TRAMP ABROAD.

1Ty

the glimpses, from under the curtaining boughs, of blue water,

herey it’,s |

and tiny sail-boats, and beetling cliffs, were as charming as

] sai

glimpses of dreamland. All the circumstances were perfect—and

A\

the anticipations, too, for we should soon be enjoying, for the

first time, that wonderful spectacle, an Alpine sunrise—the

Enough f‘

T ash

object of our journey. There was (apparently) no real need

Are

to hurry, for the guide-book made the walking distance from

‘Ne

Wiiggis to the summit only three hours and a quarter.

I say

rally

¢ apparently,’” because the guide-book had already fooled us once

I

-

—about the distance from Allerheiligen to Oppenau—and for

and ord

aught I knew. it might be getting ready to fool us again.

—

We

were"dnl}' certain as to the altitudes—we calculated to find

yith thi

The

out for ourselves how many hours it is from the bottom to the

when [

top. The summit is 6,000 feet above the sea, but only 4,500

feet above the lake.

up el

When we had walked half an.hour, we

of cour

were fairly into the swing and humour of the undertaking, so

we cleared for action; that is to say, we got a boy whom we met

e awc

oo lat

to carry our alpenstocks, and satchel, and overcoats and things

for us; that left us free for business.

point

to call

I suppose we must have stopped oftener to stretch out on the

grass in the shade and take a bit of a smoke than this boy was

daybre

used to, for presently he asked if it had been our idea to hire

could ¢

him by the job or by the year.

We told him he could move

-

Judy th

had t

along if he was in a hurry. Ile said he wasn’t in such a very

all tha

particular hurry, but he wanted to get to the top while he was

young. We told him to clear out then, and leave the things at

in twe

the uppermost hotel and say we should be along presently. He

said he would secure us a hotel if he could, but if they were all

Harri

matio

full he would ask them to build another one and hurry up and

get the paint and plaster dry against we arrived.

Still gently

that }3<

chaffing us he pushed ahead, up the trail, and soon disappeared.

!

By six o’clock we were pretty high up in the air, and the view of

the sy

luke and mountains had greatlly grown in breadth and interest.

fotab

the lef

We halted a while at a little public-house, where we had bread

and cheese and a quart or two of fresh milk, out on the porch,

a long

tain,

with the big panorama all before us—and then moved on again,

Ten minutes afterwards we met a hot, red-faced man plunging

On. our

down the mountain, with mighty strides, swinging his alpenstock

Tallyg

ahead of him and taking a grip on the ground with its iron point

Increq

to support these big strides.

He stopped, fanned himself with

Ii

1

f

)

his hat, swabbed the perspiration from his face and neck with a

Ver) i

red handkerchief, panted a moment or two, and asked how far it

I

was to Wiiggis,

I said three hours.

altih

said—

Ie looked surprised and

udg

thgjp

A TRAMP ABROAD.

blug Vg

¢ Why, it seems as if I could toss a biscuit into the luke from

Wy, ,

here, it’s so close by.

Is that an inn there?’

perfeetland

I said it was.

Vg fy

¢ Well, said he, ‘I can’t stand another three hours, I've had

Snrigp—)

I}

enough for to-day : I’ll take a bed there.’

10 73] g

I asked—

Isan fy,

¢ Are we nearly to the top?’

linter, |

]

Ooled ng g

‘Nearly to the top/ Why, bless your soul, you haven’t

really started yet.’

Lall~gnq fy

s

I said we would put up at the inn, too.

So we turned back

Sagam, Ve

and ordered a hot supper, and had quite a jolly evening of it

lted to g

with this Englishman.

bottom o f

The German landlady gave us neat rooms and nice beds, and

Ut only 4500

when I and my agent turned in, it was with the resolution to be

{an houy, e

But

up early and make the utmost of our first Alpine sunrise.

mder‘aking, N

of course we were dead tired, and slept like policemen ; so when

Whom wemgt

we awoke in the morning and ran to the window it was already

ts and thiog

too late, because it was half-past eleven.

It was a sharp disap-

pointment. However, we ordered breakfast and told the landlady

ich out on the

to call the Englishman, but she said he was already up and off at

this boy s

daybreak—and swearing mad about something or other.

We

r idea to hin

could not find out what the matter was.

He had asked the land-

e could mors

lady the altitude of her place above the level of the lake, and she

had told him fourteen hundred and ninety-five feet.

That was

in such a vey

while l‘xe i

all that was said ; then he lost his temper. Ile said that between

o the

fools and guide-books, a man could acquire ignorance enough

pre

in twenty-four hours in a country like this to last him a year.

f they

Harris believed our boy had been loading him up with misinfor-

mation ; and this was probably the case, for his epithet described

] huny wp

Sl

that boy to a dot.

We got under way about the turn of noon, and pulled out for

il d] )

nd the vié

the summit again, with a fresh and vigorous step. When we had

,‘:

got about two hundred yards, and stopped to rest, I glanced to

) and miere

yre had bret

the left while I was lighting my pipe, and in the distance detected

a long worm of black smoke crawling lazily up the steep moun-

on the poth

tain.

Of course that was the locomotive. We propped ourselves

oved on 158

on our elbows at once, to gaze, for we had never seen a mountain

oan plug’s

-

railway yet. Presently we could make out the train. It seemed

s alpensto

it iron oI

incredible that the thing should creep straight up a sharp slant

like the roof of a house—but there it was, and it was doing that

[ himse]f \\'i!h

very miracle.

] neck yithd

In the course of a couple of hours we reached a fine breezy

ed hov farh

altitude where the little shepherd-huts had big stones all over

surprised al

their roofs to hold them down to the earth when the great storms

154

A TRAMP ABROAD.

rage.

The country was wild and rocky about here, but there

15 1L

enormolls U

were plenty of trees, plenty of moss, and grass,

Away off on the opposite shore of the Jake we could see some

e 78

villages, and now for the first time we could observe the real dif-

yereo

f con

hree

h‘C

ference between their proportions and those of the giant moun-

tains at whose feet they slept.

‘When one is in one of those vil-

&

el §

Jea

lages it seems spacious, and its houses seem high and not out of

proportion to the mountain that overhangs them—but from our

pod 26T

During ¢

altitude, what a change ! The mountains were bigger and grander

than ever, as they stood there thinking their solemn thoughts with

inerors ¥

their heads in the drifting clouds, but the villages at their feet—

i

e W

on e

when the painstaking eye could trace them up and find them—

were so reduced, so almost invisible, and lay so flat against the

g your v

ground, that the exactest simile I can devise is to compare ther

pikeftol

to ant-deposits of granulated dirt over-shadowed by the huge

onort bx

bulk of a cathedral.

The steamboats skimming along under the

pihe i

i

stupendous precipices were diminished by distance to the dain-

fhey KnoW

tiest little toys, the sail-boats and row-boats to shallops proper

¢

n

for fairies that keep house in the cups of lilies and ride to court

w'uer? a‘ne-r

on the backs of bumble-bees.

ikl

it

Presently we came upon half a dozen sheep nibbling grass in

ier

the spray of a stream of clear water that sprang from a rock wall

e

g

a hundred feet high, and all at once our ears were startled with

sl

amelodious‘Lul...1....1....lul-lul-lahee-0-0-0 !” pealing

fo strete

joyously from a near but invisible source, and recognized that we

how e

were hearing for the first time the famous Alpine jodel in its own

18

native wilds.

And we recognised, also, that it was that sort of

Tnt!

quaint commingling of baritone and falsetto which at home we

§me 1

call ¢ Tyrolese warbling.’

bt we

Tke jodling (pronounced yodling—emphasis on the o) con-

Dl

tinued, and was very pleasant and inspiriting to hear. Now the

-1

Ve

jodler appeared—a shepherd boy of sixteen—and in our gladness

So he

of over-

and gratitude we gave him a franc to jodel some more.

along

jodeled, and welistened. Wemoved on presently,and he generously

jodeled us out of sight. After about fifteen minutes, we came across

iy

hﬂd fog

another shepherd boy who was jodling, and gave him half a franc

to keep it up. He also jodeled us out of sight. After that, we

hﬂ\lnn |

Witk

found a jodler every ten minutes; we gave the first one eight

& —

cents, the second one six cents, the third one four cents, the

Dy

7 the

fourth one a penny, contributed nothing to Nos. 5, 6, 7, and

1§10

during the remainder of the day hired the rest of the jodlers, at

le

a franc apiece, not to jodel any more. There is somewhat too

T &y

Wy

much of this jodling in the Alps.

e e

About the middle of the afternoon we passed through a prodi-

ey

i ewmm)

A TRAMP ABROAD.

168

0t gy

gious natural gateway called the Felsenthor, formed by two

ey $0mg

enormous upright rocks, with a third lying across the top.

There was a very attractive little hotel close by, but our energies

16 vea] .

b gy,

were not conquered yet, so we went on.

f thoge .

Three hours afterward we came to the railway track.

It was

006 ut o

planted straight up the mountain with the slant of a ladder that

UG Irom g

|

leans against a house, and it seemed to us that a man would need

d

fxr

good nerves who proposed to travel up it or down it either.

nd grap

d

Iy

10

During the latter part of the afternoon we cooled our roasting

interiors with ice-cold water from clear streams, the only really

thely fet_

ind thepy

satisfying water we had tasted since we left home, for at the

blig

hotels on the continent they merely give you a tumbler of ice to

)YLI

1§

goak your water in, and that only modifies its hotness, doesn’t

by th

1¢

make it cold. Water can only be made cold enough for summer

e

comfort by being prepared in a refrigerator or a closed ice-

DE N

d

How do

10

pitcher.

Europeans say ice water impairs digestion.

they know ?—they never drink any.

ride to court

At ten minutes past six we reached the Kaltbad station,

where there is a spacious hotel with great verandahs which com-

mand a majestic expanse of lake and mountain scenery.

We

ling grass n

were pretty well fagged out now, but as we did not wish to miss

14 10k wl

the Alpine sunrise, we got through with our dinner as quickly as

startle

possible and hurried off to bed.

It was unspeakably comfortable

-0

e

0

to stretch our weary limbs between the cool damp sheets. And

nized that we

how we did sleep!—for there is no opiate like Alpine pedestrian-

Jel in dtsom

sm

g i

IV 0f

In the morning we both awoke and leaped out of bed at the

) 4 ho;m it

same instant and ran and stripped aside the window curtains,

but we suffered a bitter disappointment again: it was already

, the o) ot

half-past three in the afternoon.

ar, Nomte

We dressed sullenly and in ill spirits, each accusing the other

Harris said if we had brought the courier

our gladues

g

of over-sleeping.

nore, 9

obe

along, as we ought to have done, we should not have missed these

sunrises. I said he knew very well that one of us would have

e gcnerou:}?

o cameatos

had to sit up and wake the courier; and I added that we were

having trouble enough to take care of ourselves on this climb,

| hlf o frane

frer that, 18

without having to take care of a courier besides.

¢ one il

During breakfast our spirits came up a little, since we found

¢ cents, 148

by the guide-book that in the hotels on the summit the tourist

is not left to trust to luck for bLis sunrise, but is roused betimes

5, 6’ 77 a

by a man who goes through the halls witha great Alpine horn,

o fodlns ¥

menhat (09

blowing blasts that would raise the dead. And there was

another consoling thing : the guide-book said that up there on

the summit the guests did nof wait to dress much, but seized a

ght pr

156

A TRAMP ABROAD.

o ihe pest 1

red blanket and sailed out arrayed like an Indian,

This was

good; this would be romantic; two hundred and fifty people

{he ol ¥

yelons

f

t 10

grouped on the windy summit, with their hair flying and their

red blankets flapping, in the solemn presence of the snowy

dartp

]

osgh

ranges and the messenger splendours of the coming sun, would

d aud g

be a striking and memorable spectacle.

So it was good luck, not

ill luck, that we had missed those other sunrises.

0

g

fenton

U:

We were informed by the guide-book that we were now

{ronlliey

3,228 feet above the level of the lake—therefore full two-thirds

pecan

e

fime olr |

Il

of our journey had been accomplished.

We got away at a

e

quarter past four p.M.; a hundred yards above the hotel the rail-

i

C\ldu\[

shoy

way divided ; one track went straight up the steep hill, the other

one turned square off to the right, with a very slight grade.

il

miols

We took the latter, and followed it more than a mile, turned a

Teen (e ct

(

If we

g dull b 0f

rocky corner and came in sight of a handsome new hotel.

had gone on, we should have arrived at the summit, but Harris

anafifade, OU

il

16

preferred to ask a lot of questions—as wusual, of a man who

:

didn’t know anything—and he told us to go back and follow the

e sa0

att

other route.

We did so.

We could ill afford this loss of time.

Y

We climbed and climbed; and we kept on climbing; we

(ot

reached about forty summits, but there was always another one

olten

just ahead.

It came on to rain, and it rained in dead earnest.

anay

We were soaked through, and it was bitter cold.

Next a smoky

crusly de

fog of clouds covered the whole region densely, and we took to

ininp

the railway ties to keep from getting lost.

Sometimes we slopped

display of |

along in a narrow path on the left-hand side of the track, but

how us o

by-and-by, when the fog blew aside a little and we saw that we

We g

were treading the rampart of a precipice, and that our leftelbows

Trepating

were projecting over a perfectly boundless and bottomless

draing.r

vacancy, we gasped, and jumped for the ties again.

ina come

The night shut down, dark, and drizzly, and cold. About

1ot gef ne

eight in the evening the fog lifted and showed us a well-worn

ﬂlllﬂﬂg a

path which led up a very steep rise to the left.

We took it, and

and shive

as soon as we had got far enough from the railway to render the

There ye

finding it again an impossibility, the fog shut down on us once

more.

i€ thvat f

“elu

We were in a bleak unsheltered place now, and had to trudge

to gee

right along in order to keep warm, though we rather expected to

fourgt

go over a precipice sooner or later.

About nine o’clock we made

Tnarkeq (¢

an important discovery—that we were not in any path. We

cuveq by

groped around a while on our hands and knees, but could not

find it; so we sat down in the mud and the wet scant grass to

e

wuya;

wait. We were terrified into this by being suddenly confronted

with a vast bcdy which showed itself vaguely for an instant, and

comfm o}

éuppe,

A TRAMP ABRO.D.

157

iy

in the next instant was smothered in the fog again.

i People

It was really

the hotel we were after, monstrously magnified by the fo

(=}

o,

, but

g aud the

-t oy

we took it for the face of a precipice and decided not to try to

3 5m, wo

claw up it.

We sat there an hour, with chattering teeth and quivering

00d hlck) ot

bodies, and quarrelled over all sorts of trifles, but gave most of

our attention to abusing each other for the stupidity of deserting

16 Were ny

the railway track.

We sat with our backs to that precipice,

Lt

because what little wind there was came from that quarter.

At

iy,

e il

some time or other the fog thinned a little; we did not know

when, for we were facing the empty universe and the thinness

, the ot

could not show ; but at last Harris happened to look around, and

quade,

there stood a huge, dim, spectral hotel where the precipice had

) furned 4

been.

hotel, Tt ye

One could faintly discern the windows and chimneys, and

a dull blur of lights.

Our first emotion was deep, unutterable

ity bt B

E a man v

gratitude, our next was a foolish rage, born of the suspicion that

possibly the hotel had been visible three-quarters of an hour

and follow the

10ss of time,

while we sat there in those cold puddles quarrelling.

Yes, it was the Rigi-Kulm hotel—the one that occupies the

climbing; v

extreme summit, and whose remote little sparkle of lights we had

3 another one

often seen glinting high aloft among the stars from our balcony

dead eamnest

away down yonder in Lucerne.

The crusty portier and the

X

a sty

crusty clerks gave us the surly reception which their kind deal

nd we took b

in in prosperous times, but by mollifying them with an extra

wesopped

display of obsequiousness and servility we finally got them to

the track, b

show us to the room which our boy had engaged for us.

ye

We got into some dry clothing, and while our supper was

our L€Lv

£lOow

preparing we loafed forsakenly through a couple of vast cavernous

This stove was

nd botionles

drawing-rooms, one of which had a stove in it.

in a corner, and densely walled around with people.

We could

ol Ao

not get near the fire, so we moved at large in the arctic spaces,

g g wellvon

among a multitude of people who sat silent, smileless, forlorn,

7o took it 10

and shivering—thinking what fools they were to come, perhaps.

to rnder e

There were some Americans, and some Germans, but one could

o on i 0nce

see that the great majority were English.

We lounged into an apartment where there was a great crowd,

It was a memento-magazine.

The

pad fotrudy

to see what was going on.

tourists were eagerly buying all sorts and styles of paper-cutters,

o expected!

marked ¢ Souvenir of the Rigi,” with handles made of the little

]

ock we A ¢

i

curved horn of the ostensible chamois; there were all manner of

: pat.

wooden goblets and such things, similarly marked.

I was going

pub .

4 20

f

to buy a paper-cutter, but I believed I could remember the cold

cant g8

comfort of the Rigi-Kulm without it, so I smothered the impulse.

confront

Iy

Supper warmed us, and we went immediately to bed; but

ig!

st 2

158

A TRAMP ABROAD.

et

af

first, as Mr. Baedeker requests all tourists to call his attention to

gt

ald

any errors which they may find in his guide-books, I dropped him

ook b

n fhe

a line to inform him that when he said the foot journey from

Jere

Wiggis to the summit was only three hours and a quarter, he

pundre

Jand

missed it by just about three days.

I had previously informed

pgup®

H’S

him of his mistake about the distance from Allerheiligen to Op-

s long 88

penau, and had also informed the Ordnance Department of the

{

German Government of the same error in the Imperial maps.

I

00

el

will add, here, that I never got any answer to these letters, or

allto

any thanks from either of those sources; and what is still niore

fold

10

discourteous, these corrections have not been made, either in the

et b

i

maps or the guide-books.

But I will write again when I get

(\‘

it

i

time, for my letters may have miscarried.

|

geren 0 GO0

We curled up in the clammy beds, and went to sleep without

10

i ve (e 17

rocking.

We were so sodden with fatigue that we never stirred

(Xy

od

nor turned over till the blooming blasts of the Alpine horn aroused

1o

us. It may well be imagined that we did not lose any time. We

snatched on a few odds and ends of clothing, cocooned ourselves

in the proper red blankets, and plunged along the halls and out

into the whistling wind bare-headed.

We saw a tall wooden

scaffolding on the very peak of the summit, a hundred yards away,

and made for it.

oo

We rushed up the stairs to the top of this scaf-

herety

folding, and stood there, above the vast outlying world, with hair

flying and ruddy blankets waving and cracking in the fierce

\n

breeze.

faly

¢ Fifteen minutes too late, at least!’ said ITarris, in a vexed

gloam

voice.

¢ The sun is clear above the horizon.’

horn-blo

¢ No matter,’ I said, ‘it is a most magnificent spectacle, and

1ot ouly

we will see it do the rest of its rising, anyway.’

the su

anly od

In a moment we were deeply absorbed in the marvel before

us, and dead to everything else.

The great cloud-barred disk of

what yot

the sun stood just above a limitless expanse of tossing white-caps

woming

—so0 to speak—a billowy chaos of massy mountain domes and

peaks draped in imperishable snow, and flooded with an opaline

glory of changing and dissolving splendours, whilst through rifts

in a black cloud-bank above the sun, radiating lances of diamond

dust shot to the zenith.

The cloven valleys of the lower world

swam in a tinted mist which veiled the ruggedness of their crags

I ket

and ribs and ragged forests, and turned all the forbidding region

Tyag,

into a soft and rich and sensuous paradise.

the gt

We could not speak.

We could hardly breathe.

We

Wishe] 1

could only gaze in drunken ecstasy and drink it in.

Presently

Warm ang

Harris exclaimed—

Ceededy

¢ Why, ——nation, it’s going down !’

00l

A TRAMP ABROAD.

159

LT

Perfectly true. We bad missed the morning horn-blow, and

T0pped ki

slept all day.

This was stupefying.

Harris said,—

00y gy

¢ Look bere, the sun isn’t the spectacle—it’s us—stacked up

g (I‘l"rter, e

Lere on the top of this gallows, in these idiotic blankets, and two

S infygg

hundred and fifty well-dressed menand women down here gawk-

tllgen ¢ One

ing up at us and not caring a straw whether the sun rises or sets,

e o

as long as they’ve got such aridiculous spectacle as this to set

g, |

down in their memorandum-books,

They seem to be laughing

It

their ribs loose, and there’s one girl there that appears to be going

i1

=

B 8t g

all to pieces.

I never saw such a man as you before.

I think

et gy

vou are the very last possibility in the way of an ass.’

¢ What have 7 done?”’ I answered with heat.

D Whep | B

¢What have you done?

You’ve got up at half-past

legp wifhoy

seven o’clock in the evening to see the sun rise, that's what

ou’ve done.

© Never stimed

16 horn aroued

¢ And have you done any better, I'd like to know ? I always

used to get up with the lark, till T came under the petrifying in-

any time, Ve

ed ourele

fluence of your turgid intellect.’

8 halls and ou

¢ You used to get up with the lark! On, no doubt; you’ll

\

a fall woo

1

get up with the hangman one of these days.

But you ought to be

d yard

ashamed to be jawing here like this in a red blanket, on a forty-

foot scaffold on top of the Alps.

And no end of people down

op of ¢

orld, with

here to boot; this isn’t any place for an exhibition of temper.’

And so the customary quarrel went on.

When the sun was

o in the fire

fairly down, we slipped back to the hotel in the charitable

We had encountered the

ina veued

gloaming, and went to bed again.

horn-blower on the way, and he had tried to collect compensation,

not only for announcing the sunset, which we did see, but for

t spectace @

the sunrise, which we had totally missed, but we said no, we

only took our solar rations on the ‘European plan’—pay for

, marvel befor{

| barred dikc

what you get.

He promised to make us hear his horn in the

morning, if we were alive,

sing hieOR

s dones 1

ith an ol

s hnongh 2

CHAPTER XXIX.

s of diand?

=

he Jower WO

ITE kept his word.

We heard his horn and instantly got up.

g Uf theif Cl‘iﬂ‘gi

It was dark and cold and wretched. As I fumbled around for

piding 4

the matches, knocking things down with my quaking hands, I

wished the sun would rise in the middle of the day, when it was

reathe:

T

j

-

warm and bright and cheerful, and one wasn’t sleepy. We pro-

, P

ceeded to dress by the gloom of a couple of sickly candles, but we

could hardly button anything, our hands shook so.

I thought of

160

A TRAMP ADROAD.

0 or W

how many happy people there were in Europe, Asia, and America,

o 0

and everywhere, who were sleeping peacefully in their beds and

1 C0!

did not have to get up and see the Rigi sunrise—people who did

egrees 0

]

| o8

not appreciate their advantage, as like as not, but would get u

juddd g

in the morning wanting more boons of Providence.

While think-

)

yid

ing these thoughts I yawned, in a rather ample way, and my

o iem, 200

upper teeth got hitched on anail over the door, and whilst I was

g !

mounting a chair to free myself, arris drew the window curtain

e

s B

as 0

and said—

o sids

¢ Oh, this is luck ! We shan’t have to go out at all; yonder

aple fom b

are the mountains, in full view.

e domn

That was glad news, indeed. It made us cheerful right away.

fin—amost

One could see the grand Alpine masses dimly outlined against

(ounties, fOW

the black firmament, and one or two faint stars blinking through

rifts in the night.

Fully clothed, and wrapped in blankets, we

meador, gt

flock 0

huddled ourselves up, by the window, with lighted pipes, and

fell into chat, while we waited in exceeding comfort to see how

unique Gicd

—mdall

an Alpine sunrise was going to look by candle-light.

By-and-by

outand i

a delicate, spiritual sort of effulgence spread itself by impercep-

Jnges, ith

tible degrees over the loftiest altitudes of the snowy wastes—but

children mi

there the effort seemed to stop.

I said, presently—

¢ There isa hitch about this sunrise somewhere.

It doesn’t

before; the

one or to]

seem to go.

‘What do you reckon is the matter withit?’

¢ I don’t know.

It appears to hang fire somewhere.

I never

puddles—

saw a sunrise act like that before.

Can it be that the hotel is

ear-drops

formable f

playing anything on us?’

¢ Of course not.

levels of ¢

The hotel merely has a property interest in

the sun, it has nothing to do with the management of it.

It'ista

glided alon

precarious kind of property, too; a succession of total eclipsrs

the distanc

Now what can be the matter

the isthmy

would probably ruin this tavern.

with this sunrise ?’

stretch out

knew fnvig

Harris jumped up and said—

‘I've got it ! I know what’s the matter with it! We've been

tancea tof

looking at the place where the sun set last night !’

actl} thg ‘r

¢It is perfectly true! Why couldn’t you have thought of that

Tatire preg

sooner ? Now we've lost another one.

And all through your

tals gy

IRES, g,

blundering.

It was exactly like you to light a pipe and sit down

to wait for the sun to rise in the west.’

Lbeliey

You

a7, but |

‘It was exactly like me to find out the mistake, too.

never would have found it out.

I find out all the mistakes.’

Chosg Ihe Ia

ey, Thy

¢ You make them all, too, else your most valuable faculty

would be wasted on you.

But don’t stop to quarrel now; may-

A g

be we arenot too late yet.’

ind g {

But we were.

The sun was well up when we got to the ex-

18 yerg ¢

Yahition ground.

A TRAMP ABROAD.

161

‘.d America)

\

1t beds gng

On our way up we met the crowd returning—men and

|

women dressed in all sorts of queer costumes, and exhibiting all

P whogi)

degrees of cold and wretchedness in their gaits and countenances

0l gt

While iy,

A dozen still remained on the ground when we reached there,

huddled together about the scaffold with their backs to the bitter

1, and

Wl T g

wind. They had their red guide-books open at the diagram of

the view, and were painfully picking out the several mountains,

vty

and trying to impress their names and positions on their memo-

ries.

It was one of the saddest sights I ever saw.

ol; youdy

Two sides of this place were guarded by railings, to keep

people from being blown over the precipices. ~The view, looking

| ightaay,

sheer down into the broad valley, eastward, from this great eleva-

lned aging

tion—almost a perpendicular mile—was very quaintand curious.

king through

Counties, towns, hilly ribs and ridges, wide stretches of green

Dlnkets, wo

meadow, great forest tracts, winding streams, a dozen blue lakes,

ed pipes, and

a flock of busy steamboats—we saw all this little world in

It to see how

unique circumstantiality of detail

saw it just as the birds see it

. By-udly

-

—and all reduced to the smallest of scales and as sharply worked

by imperg-

out and finished as a steel engraving.

The numerous toy vil-

lages, with tiny spires projecting out of them, were just as the

.

7 Wastes—Dut

children might have left them when done with play the day

o, It docsat

before; the forest tracts were diminished to cushions of moss;

hit?’

one or two big lakes were dwarfed to ponds, the smaller ones to

here. Tnever

puddles—though they did not look like puddles, but like blue

ear-drops which had fallen and lodged in elight depressions, con-

f the hatel s

formable to their shapes, among the moss-beds and the smooth

levels of dainty green farm-land; the microscopic steamboats

rty intere

tofit, Tbiss

glided along as in a city reservoir, taking a mighty time to cover

the distance between ports which seemed only a yard apart; and

total eclpss

the isthmus which separated two lakes looked as if one might

be the malte

stretch out on it and lie with both elbows in the water, yet we

knew invisible wagons were toiling across it and finding the dis-

tance a tedious one.

This beautiful miniature world had ex-

| TVelve bt

actly the appearance of those ‘relief maps’ which reproduce

nature precisely, with the heights and depressions and other de-

fought of

tails graduated to a reduced scale, and with the rocks, trees,

flrongh o

lakes, etc., coloured after nature.

: and ot dowd

I believed we could walk down to Wiggis or Vitznau in a

day, but I knew we could go down by rail in about an hour, so I

foo. 100

ke,

chose the latter method. I wanted to see what it was like, any-

stk

way. The train came along about the middle of the forenoon,

Jnable

and an odd thing it was.

The locomotive boiler stood on end,

o nom;

and it and the whole locomotive were tilted sharply backward.

There were two passenger cars, rocfed, but wide open all around.

M

B

ot 0 the ¢5°

163

A TRAMP ADBROAD.

These cars were not tilted back, but thé seats were; this enables

fhe §thbsf

the passenger to sit level while going down a steep incline.

gantng &

There are three railway tracks; the central one is cogged ;

ol andn

the ¢ lantern wheel’ of the engine grips its way along those cogs,

the peasnm

and pulls the train up the hill or retards its motion on the down

of the S

trip.

About the same speed—three miles an hour—is main-

fhe e

Whether going up or down, the locomotive

tained both ways.

of 20° o

is always at the lower end of the train. It pushes, in the one

ceeding

The passenger rides backwards

case, braces back in the other.

~

{heip ar

going up, and faces forward going down.

the nor

e

e

We got front seats, and while the train moved along about

e

raall

fiL

fifty yards on level ground, I was not the least frightened ; but

20°tadd

now it started abruptly down stairs, and T caught my breath.

Byt

And T, like my neighbours, unconsciously held back, all I could,

mb

and threw my weight to the rear, but of course that did no

I had slidden down the balusters when I was a

by

particular good.

and

boy, and thought nothing of it, but to slide down the balusters

with u

0

in a railway train is a thing to make one’s flesh creep. Some-

YIEW o {

‘:

times we had as much as ten yards of almost level ground, and

Loy

this gave us a few full breaths in comfort; but straightway we

would turn a corner and see a long steep line of rails stretching

Japs

down below us, and the comfort was at an end.

One expected

Bridee: 4

through \

to see the locomotive pause, or slack up a little, and approach

strand,

this plunge cautiously, but it did nothing of the kind ; it went

Oneh

calmly on, and when it reached the jumping-off place it made a

gudden bow, and went gliding smoothly down st;;irﬁ,pntféublcd

§ creef

houg

ugh he

by the circumstances.

It was wildly exhilarating to slide along the edge of the pre-

done jt—

80 en

cipices after this grisly fashion, and look straight down upon that

far-off valley which I was describing a while ago.

fo see an

There was no level ground at the Kaltbad station ; the rail-

bed was as steep as a roof; I was curious to see how the stop

was going to be managed. But it was very simple; the train

came sliding down, and when it reached the right spot it just

stopped—that was all there was to it’—stopped on the steep

incline, and when the exchange of passengers and baggage had

AN by

been made, it moved off and went sliding down again.

The

togo ]

train can be stopped anywhere, at a moment’s notice.

Wndertyky

There was one curious effect, which I need not take the

himgglf

trouble to describe, because I can scissor a description of it out

Thinkj

they dig

of the railway company’s advertising pamphlet, and save my

ink

Sterarfgy,

;On the whole tour, particlarly at the Descent, we undergo

All

gmde.b%k l

on optical illusion which often seems to be incredible.

I fagt

)

a e

0ut )

e, (

Sl

A TRAMP ABROAD,

163

g

the shirubs, fir-trees, stables, houses, etc., seem to be bent in a

> el

slanting direction, as by an immense pressure of air.

They are

% 00y,

)

all standing awry, so much awry that the chélets and cottages of

1 1}19 oy

the peasants seem to be tumbling down.

R Jir‘.

It is the consequence

i

of the steep inclination of the line.

Those who are seated in

congiy

In {

the carriage do not observe that they are going down a declivity

16 Ong

of 20° to 25° (their seats being adapted to this course of pro-

o

I

ceeding and being bent down at their backs).

They mistake

their carriage and its horizontal lines for a proper measure of

the normal plain, and therefore all the objects outside, which

ten

(&}

i I

really are in a horizontal position, must chow a disproportion of

my

20° to 25° declivity, in regard to the mountain.’

[

By the time one reaches Kaltbad, he has acquired confidence

ot dvlru

in the railway, and he now ceases to try to ease the locomotive

by holding back. Thenceforward he smokes his pipe in serenity,

n

and gazes out upon the magnificent picture below and about him

il

with unfettered enjoyment.

There is nothing to interrupt the

| grownd, ¢

view or the breeze; it is like inspecting the world on the wing

ITowever, to be exact, there is one place where the serenity

;:ghm”'

NI

lapses for a while; this is while one is crossing the Schnurrtobel

)1

I

e ¢

Bridge: a frail structure which swings its gossamer frame down

nd

a

)i

through the dizzy air, over a gorge, like a vagrant spider-

strand.

\Ce 10

One has no difficulty in remembering his sins while the train

s o)

i

is creeping down this bridge ; and he repents of them, tco;

though he sees, when he gets to Vitznau, that he need not have

done it—the bridge was perfectly safe.

6 of the

I 1af

So ends the eventful trip which we made to the Rigi-Kulm

I VoL

to see an Alpine sunrise.

on; 11} !

how

le; {

16

CITAPTER

XXX.

t .PEE 1

n b

0

ba

fult

008

{3

Ax hour’s sail brought us to Lucerne again. I judged it best

1]

to go to bed and rest several days, for I knew that the man who

g

alll

undertakes to make the tour of Europe on foot must take rare of

himself,

10

f f

ke

fio

il

Thinking over my plans, as mapped out, I perceived that

i of i

they did not take in the Furka Pass, the Rhone Glacier, the Fin-

d 57

steraarhorn, the Wetterhorn, ete

.

I immediately e

38

X&

amined the

guide-book to see if these were important, and found they were

e

unr’&I"”

i

in fact, a pedestrian tour of Europe could not be complete with-

ed]b]é

out them.

Of course that decided me at once to sce them, for I

M 2

164

A TRAMP ADROAD,

whidh i

1]£\Cicr-

never allow myzself to do things by halves, or in a slurring, slip-

shod way.

\\'aﬂd‘?fin

I called in my agent and instructed him to go without delay

of these

fherst

and make a careful examination of these noted places, on foot,

and bring me back a written report of the result, for insertion in

L

fon ¥

my book. I instructed him to go to Hospenthal as quickly as

possible, and make his grand start from there; to extend his

the gt

-@

dlimb !

foot expedition as far as the Giesbach fall, and return to me from

thence by diligence or mule. I told him to take the courier with

started

him.

Jin g

He objected to the courier, and with some show of reason,

Jarze

since he was about to venture upon new and untried ground ;

heat €

fhen W

but I thought he might as well learn how to take care of the

courier now as later, therefore I enforced my point.

I said that

Man's’

the trouble, delay, and inconvenience of travelling with a courier

used f

were balanced by the deep respect which a courier’s presence

- e

betwee

commands, and I must insist that as much style be thrown into

here

my journeys as possible.

of wea

So the two assumed complete mountaineering costumes and

of the

departed.

A week later they returned, pretty well used up, and

pi\th j\

my agent handed me the following

head ¢

and e

OFFICIAL REPORT

down |

Washe

Of ‘a Visit to the Furka Region.

By H. Harris, Agent.

Iitt}eh

About 7 o’clock in the morning, with perfectly fine weather,

to Jus

Just

we started from Iospenthal, and arrived at the maison on the

tl

0y

Furka in a little under quatre hours. The want of variety in the

Th

scenery from Ilospenthal made the Lahkahponecka wearisome;

lacie

but let none be discouraged : no one can fail to be completely

Hitte

recompensée for his fatigue, when he sees, for the first time, the

CI0ss

monarch of the Oberland, the tremendous Finsteraarhorn.

A

tedion

moment before all was dulness, but a pas further has placed us

the GI\

on the summit of the Furka; and exactly in front of us, at a

sel, v

lopow of only fifteen miles, this magnificent mountain lifts its

to clim

snow-wreathed precipices into the deep blue sky. The inferior

mountains on each side of the pass form a sort of frame for the

for son

ped, an

picture of their dread lord, and close in the view so completely

that no other prominent feature in the Oberland is visible from

Steraar}

Titely

this bong-a-bong ; nothing withdraws the attention from the soli-

tary grandeur of the Finsteraarhorn and the dependent spurs

g6 1y

0ur g]]

which form the abutments of the central peak.

With the addition of some others, who were also bound tor

('ld fﬂm

the (trimsel, we formed a large xhvloj as we descended the steg

Obﬁged f

A TRAMP ABROAD.

16

which winds round the shoulder of a mountain toward the Rhone

Tiﬂg, dlp-

alacier.

We soon left the path and took to the ice; and after

wandering amongst the crevasses un peu, to admire the wonders

00t dly

5 00 fC»()[]

of these deep blue caverns, and hear the rushing of waters through

st

their subglacial channels, we struck out a course towards autre

Quickly 5

coté and crossed the glacier successfully, a little above the cave

extend by

from which the infant Rhone takes its first bound from under

0 e froy

the grand precipice of ice.

Half a mile below this we began to

ourier i

climb the flowery side of the Meienwand. One of our party

started before the rest, but the Zitze was so great that we found

7of ey

him quite exhausted, and lying at full length in the shade of a

large Gestein. We sat down with him for a time, for all felt the

el round;

carg of fhe

heat exceedingly in the climb up this very steep bolwoggoly, and

L said tt

then we set out again together, and arrived at last near the Dead

Man’s Lake, at the foot of the Sidelhorn. This lonely spot, once

ith & e

used for an extempore burying-place, after a sanguinary battue

r's pree

between the French and Austrians, is the perfection of desolation:

thromn it

there is nothing in sight to mark the hand of man, except the line

of weather-beaten whitened posts, set up to indicate the direction

ostumes

used up od

of the past in the owdawakk of winter. Near this point the foot-

path joins the wider track, which connects the Grimsel with the

head of the Rhone schnawp: this has been carefully constructed,

and leads with a tortuous course among and over les pierres,

f

down to the bank of the gloomy little swosh-swosh, which almost

|

We arrived a

s, A

washes against the walls of the Grimsel Hospice.

little before 4 o’clock at the end of our day’s journey, hot enough

fine w

to justify the step, taken by most of the partie, of plunging into

1aison

the crystal water of the snow-fed lake.

varily

The next afternoon we started for a walk up the Unteraar

0 WeAIISODe

glacier, with the intention of, at all events, getting as far as the

bo complt] >

Hitte which is used as a sleeping-place by most of those who

bt time, 2

cross the Strahleck Pass to Grindelwald. We got over the

thon, 3 |

tedious collection of stones and débris which covers the pied of

hag p‘;ﬂCE U

1

the Gletcher, and had walked nearly three hours from the Grim-

nt of U

sel, when, just as we were thinking of crossing over to the right,

nfaid

==

'

to climb the cliffs at the foot of the hut, the clouds, which had

)

1

16

1

for some time assumed a threatening appearance, suddenly drop-

e for

pad, and a huge mass of them, driving towards us from the Fin-

so compltl

steraarhorn, poured down a deluge of Zaboolong and hail. Fortu-

qisle £

nately, we were not far from a very large glacier table; it was a

from fhe ff""f

huge rock balanced on a pedestal of ice high enough to admit of

s

‘)e]]deﬂt bt

our all creeping under it for gowkarak. A stream of puckittypulk

had furrowed a course for itself in the ice at its base, and we were

g i

obliged to stand with one Fuss on each side of this, and endcavour

}

Jso bout

e 1)

pdet !

166

A TRAMP ABROAD.

s (0

to keep ourselves chaud by cutting steps in the steep bank of the

pedestal, so as to get a higher place for standing on, as the wasscr

o o

rose rapidly in its trench. A very cold bzzzzzzzz¢ecee accompanied

(n

the storm, and made our position far from pleasant; and pre-

oot d

hat &

sently came a flash of Blitzen, apparently in the middle of our

peim

little party, with an instantaneous clap of yokky, sounding like a

nou

large gun fired close to our ears: the effect was startling; but in

e

a few seconds our attention was fixed by the roaring echoes of the

o

thunder against the tremendous mountains which completely sur-

T s

rounded us.

This was followed by many more bursts, none of

make

welche, however, was so dangerously near; and after waiting a

onl

long demi-hour in our icy prison, we sallied out to walk through

[a8

a haboolong which, though not so heavy as before, was quite

1ot |

enough to give us a thorough soaking before our arrival at the

Near

Hospice.

walk

The Grimsel is certainement a wonderful place; situated at

the bottom of a sort of huge crater, the sides of which are utterly

e 9\

savage Gebirge, composed of barren rocks which cannot even sup-

seen

port a single pine arbre, and afford only scanty food for a herd of

the

gmwlkwllolp, it looks as if it must be completely begraben in the

for ]

winter snows. Enormous avalanches fall against it every spring,

of 1

sometimes covering everything to the depth of thirty or forty feet;

ahoy

and, in spite of walls four feet thick, and furnished with outside

who

iron shutters, the two men who stay here when the voyageurs are

feag

snugly quartered in their distant homes can tell you that the snow

sometimes shakes the house to its foundations.

ghe

€x(

Next morning the hogglebumguilup still continued bad, but

ahu

we made up our minds to go on, and make the best of it.

ITalf

cl

an hour after we started the Regen thickened unpleasantly, and

forn

we attempted to get shelter under a projecting rock, but being far

100

too nass already to make standing at all agredable, we pushed on

Com

for the Handeck, consoling ourselves with the reflection that from

0vel

the furious rushing of the river Aar at our side, we should at all

to ]

events see the celebrated Wasserfull in grande perfection.

Nor

byl

were we nappersocket in our expectation ; the water was roaring

down its leap of 250 feet in a most magnificent frenzy, while the

thatr

trees which cling to its rocky sides swayed to and fro in the

alo

violence of the hurricane which it brought down with it: even

the stream, which falls into the main cascade at right angles, and

asge

toutfois forms a beautiful feature in the scene, was now swollen

story

into a raging torrent; and the violence of this ‘meeting of the

ahoy

waters,) about fifty feet below the frail bridge where we stood,

e y

was fearfully grand. While we were looking at it, glicklicheweise

To.

a gleam of sunshine came out, and instantly a beautiful rainbow

€xch

ang |

167

ank of the

4

TRAMP ABROAD.

& Wasey

was formed by the spray, and hung in mid air suspended over

mpaie]

the awful gorge.

3 and e

On going into the chdlet above the fall, we were informed

e of g

e

that a Bricke had broken down near Guttanen, and that it would

iing e

be impossible to proceed for some time : accordingly we were kept

g bty

in our drenched condition for eine Stunde, when some voyageurs

chogs of

arrived from Meyringen, and told us that there had been a trifling

accident, aben that we could now cross.

On arriving at the spot,

pltely

1018 of

I was much inclined to suspect that the whole story was a ruse to

[}

make us slowwk, and drink the more in the Handeck Inn, for

h

only a few planks had been carried away, and though there might

M

perhaps have been some difficulty with mules, the gap was certainly

Avdl gl (e

not larger than a mmbgle might cross with a very slight leap.

Near Guttanen the haboolong happily ceased, and we had time to

)

ltuat

walk ourselves tolerably dry before arriving at Reichenbach, wo

hareu

we enjoyed a good dine at the Hotel des Alps.

0

Ten st

Te

Next morning we walked to Rosenlaui, the beau idéal of Swiss

foral

m— e ————

scenery, where we spent the middle of the day in an excursion to

This was more beautiful than words can describe,

rabn in‘t':.:

the glacier.

for in the constant progress of the ice it has changed the form

ey §

r forty

of its extremity, and formed a vast cavern, as blue as the sky

witho

above, and rippled like a frozen ocean.

A few steps cut in the

ofjaqers e

whoopjamboreehoo enabled us to walk completely under this, and

The

feast our eyes upon one of the loveliest objects in creation.

o the suom

glacier was all around divided by numberless fissures of the same

exquisite colour, and the finest wood Erdbeeren were growing in

ned ba

abundance but a few yards from the ice.

The inn stands in a

0f

i

charmant spot close to the coté de la riviere which, lower down,

forms the Reichenbach fall, and embosomed in the richest of pine-

hut e

woods, while the fine form of the Wellhorn looking down upon it

ye

completes the enchanting bopple.

In the afternoon we walked

ion that 2

over the Great Scheideck to Grindelwald, stopping to pay a visit

J‘ovuld

to the Upper glacier by the way; but we were again overtaken

100

by bad hogglebumgullup, and arrived at the hotel in solche a state

yas !

that the landlord’s wardrobe was in great request.

o

The clouds by this time seemed to have done their worst, for

a lovely day succeeded, which we determined to devote to an

ith 16 e‘

£

-

ascent of the Faulhorn.

We left Grindelwald just as a thunder-

65,0

1l

f ang|

storm was dying away, and we hoped to find guten Wetter up

pow £

above; but the rain, which had nearly ceased, began again, and

¢l

ng 0

we were struck by the rapidly increasing froid as we ascended.

re e

il

000y

v

Two-thirds of the way up were completed when the rain was

i

exchanged for gnillic, with which the Boden was thickly covered,

j ﬁl] rain I

and before we arrived at the top the gnillic and mist became so

168

4

TRAMP ABRO.LD.

ad 10k

oty

at

thick that we could not see one another at more than twenty

poopoo distance, and it became diflicult to pick our way over the

il nlﬂﬂy

rough and thickly covered ground.

Shivering with cold we

o0 e

(A

i

turned into bed with a double allowance of clothes, and slept

comfortably while the wind howled autour de la maison: when

B

I awoke, the wall and the window looked equally dark, but in

‘0

i

another hour I found I could just see the form of the latter; so

I jumped out of bed, and forced it open, though with difficulty,

-~

‘]

from the frost and the quantities of gnillic heaped up against it.

(S

A row of huge icicles hung down from the edge of the roof,

4]

and anything more wintry than the whole Anblick could not well

i

be imagined ; but the sudden appearance of the great mountains

/]

in front was so startling that I felt no inclination to move towards

[

bed again.

The snow which had collected upon la fenétre had

increased the [Finsterniss oder der Dunlelheit, so that when I

(0 N

[

looked out I was surprised to find that the daylight was consider-

("

able, and that the balragoomal would evidently rise before long.

1

Only the brightest of lcs etoiles were still shining; the sky was

cloudless overhead, though small curling mists lay thousands of

feet below us in the valleys, wreathed around the feet of the

mountains, and adding to the splendour of their lofty summits.

We were soon dressed and out of the house, watching the gradual

i‘i

approach of dawn, thoroughly absorbed in the first near view of

Wha

the Oberland giants, which broke upon us unexpectedly after the

intense obscurity of the evening before.

¢ Kabaugwalkko song-

washee Kum Wetterhorn snawpo !’ cried some one, as that grand

summit gleamed with the first rose of dawn : and in a few moments

ay

the double crest of the Schreckhorn followed its example; peak

after peak seemed warmed with life, the Jungfrau blushed even

e |

more beautifully than her neighbours, and soon, from the Wetter-

(]

horn in the East to the Wildstrubel in the West, a long row of fires

glowed upon mighty altars, truly worthy of the gods.

The wigw

was very severe; our sleeping place could hardly be distingues

Chin

from the snow around it, which had fallen to the depth of a flirk

during the past evening, and we heartily enjoyed a rough scramble

Al

en bas to the Giesbach falls, where we soon found a warm climate.

Word

At noon the day before at Grindelwald the thermometer could

not have stood at less than 100° Fahr. in the sun; and in the

evening, judging from the icicles formed, and the state of the

windows, there must have been at least twelve dingblatter of frost,

thus giving a change of 80° during a few hours.

hagy

I said—

i

‘ You have done well, Harris; this report is concise, compact,

1ng g

for of

well expressed ; : the language is crisp, the descriptions are vivid

A TRAMP ABROAD.

169

1t

and not needlessly elaborated; your report goes straight to the

e {

ho

point, attends strictly to business, and doesn’t fool around.

It is

Wl e

in many ways an excellent document.

But it has a fault—it is

g ey

too learned, it ismuch too learned.

What is “ dingblatter”?’

2

n Whep

¢ Dingblatter is a Fiji word meaning ¢ degrees.

IK, g

1

¢ You knew the English of it, then?”’

ol

ey )

¢ Oh yes.

diffen!

¢ What is “ gnillic” ?’

aa)

¢ That is the Esquimaux term for “snow.”’

f the 1

¢ So you knew the English for that too?’

dn

00 ¢

e

¢ Why, certainly.’

mounty

¢ What does “ mmbglx ” stand for ?’

ve towards

9

¢ That is Zulu for “ pedestrian.

e had

¢« While the form of the Wellhorn looking down upon it

1|

completes the enchanting “ bopple.”

What is “ bopple” 2’

It’s Choctaw.’

“ciPicture.”

¢ What is schnawp

’7?7

That is Choctaw also,?

¢ ¢ Valley.”

101

¢ What is “ bolwoggoly " 1’

¢ That is Chinese for ¢ hill,”?

foet of

um

¢ Kahkaaponeeka ?’

el

G Nseentay

Choctaw.’

¢ “But we were again overtaken by bad ¢ hogglebumgullup.’ ”

ear view ‘c:'

What does hogglebumgullup mean ?’

¢ That is Chinese for ¢ weather.”?

)

¢ Is hogglebumgullup better than the English word? Isit

any more descriptive ?

¥ o

¢ No, it means just the same.’

mp

¢ And dingblatter, and gnillic,—and bopple, and schnawp,—

I

hed

fl

he W

are they better than the English words?’

¢ No, they mean just what the English words do.”

TOW 0!

Why have you used all this

ne

¢ Then why do you use them ?

Chinese and Choctaw and Zulu rubbish ?°

e dist

¢ Because I didn’t know any French but two or three words,

t

hof

and I didn’t know any Latin or Greek at all.’

ol

) SCT

¢ That is nothing.

Why should you want to use foreign

all

words, anyhow ?”’

meter (010

¢ To adorn my page.

They all do it.’

qnd 10 I‘l'.E

SWilio 1 s ali222

sate of te

¢ Everybody. Everybody that writes elegantly. Anybody

therof 0%

has a right to that wants to.’

¢ I think you are mistaken.’

I then proceeded in the follow-

ing scathing manner :—‘ When really learned men write books

s, comth

for other learned men to read, they are justified in using as many

g are v

170

A TRAMP ABROAD,

ol

learned words as they please—their audience will understand

or?

them ; but a man who writes a book for the general public to

PO

read is not justified in disfiguring his pages with untranslated

|

foreign expressions.

It is an insolence toward the majority of

fish

the purchasers, for it is a very frank and impudent way of say-

the

ing, “Get the translations made yourself if you want them;

KU

There are

Jok

this book is not written for the ignorant classes.”

of |

men who know a foreign language so well, and have used it so

ear

long in their daily life, that they seem to discharge whole volleys

3

the

of it into their English writings unconsciously, and so they omit

the

to translate, as much as half the time.

That is a great cruelty

to nine out of ten of the man’s readers.

What is the excuse

i

0

for this? The writer would say he only uses the foreign language

il

where the delicacy of his point cannot be conveyed in English.

I

o

Very well, then he writes his best things for the tenth man, and

he ought to warn the other nine not to buy his book.

However,

108

the excuse he offers is at least an excuse; but there is another

1ng

set of men who are like you: they know a word here and there,

1

Th

of a foreign language, or a few beggarly little three-word phrases,

Wl

filched from the back of the Dictionary,and these they are continu-

10

ally peppering into their literature, with a pretence of knowing

il

that language,—what excuse can they offer ?

The foreign words

Q}

and phrases which they use have their exact equivalents in a

At

(%Y

Qe

nobler language,—English; yet they think they “adorn their

page” when they say Strasse for street, and Balnhof for railway-

e

Vi

station, and so on,—flaunting these fluttering rags of poverty in

of

the reader’s face, and imagining he will be ass enough to take

them for the sign of untold riches held in reserve.

I will let

[N

your “learning” remain in your report; you have as much

right, I suppose, to ““adorn your page” with Zulu and Chinese and

hi

18

Choctaw rubbish, as others of your sort have to adorn theirs

with insclent odds and ends smouched from half-a-dozen learned

hi

tongues whose a-b abs they don’t even know.’

(0!

When the musing spider steps upon the red-hot shovel, he

ug

first exhibits a wild surprise, then he shrivels up. Similar was

864

the effect of these blistering words upon the tranquil and un-

101

suspecting Agent.

I can be dreadfully rough on a person when

4y

the mood takes me.

Py

g

CHAPTER XXXI.

b

il

Weg

WE now prepared for a considerable walk—from Lucerne to

be}

Interlaken, over the Briinig Pass.

But at the last moment the

1l

00

A TRAMP 4BROAD.

171

derstand

weather was so good that I changed my mind and hired a four-

publio ¢y

horse carriage. It was a huge vehicle, roomy, as easy in its

sl

motion as a palanquin, and exceedingly comfortable.

oty o

Y of gy

We got away pretty early in the morning, after a hot break-

fast, and went bowling along over a hard, smooth road, through

1t they:

Thers gy

the summer loveliness of Switzerland, with near and distant

lakes and mountains before and about us for the entertainment

Hﬂk?

of the eye, and the music of multitudinous birds to charm the

ear

Sometimes there was only the width of the road between

they (‘!;l

the imposing precipices on the right and the clear cool water on

ah cuely

the left with its shoals of uncatchable fishes skimming about

V7,

£ EXcUse

1lan

age

through the bars of sun and shadow; and sometimes in place

of the precipices, the grassy land stretched away, in an appar-

ok

Bilk

ently endless upward slant, and was dotted everywhere with snug

little chalets, the peculiarly captivating cottage of Switzerland.

i

The ordinary chilet turns a broad, honest gable end to the

road, and its ample roof hovers over the home in a protect-

ing, caressing way, projecting its sheltering eaves far outward.

i

The quaint windows are filled with little panes, and garnished

I Con

with white muslin curtains, and brightened with boxes of bloom-

f k

ing flowers.

Across the front of the house, and up the spread-

1 WON

ing eaves, and along the fanciful railings of the shallow porch,

alents fni

are elaborate carvings—wreaths, fruits, arabesques, verses from

dom ther

Scripture, names, dates, etc.

The building is wholly of wood,

or

reddish brown in tint, a very pleasing colour.

It generally has

vines climbing over it.

Set such a house against the fresh green

o

ngh

of the hillside, and it looks ever so cosy and inviting and pictur-

vl

esque, and is a decidedly graceful addition to the landscape.

ve a3 much

One does not find out what a hold the chélet has taken upon

him until he presently comes upon a new house—a house which

(10

il

is aping the town fashions of Germany and France, a prim,

);EH Jearned

hideous, straight-up-and-down thing, plastered all over on the

outside to look like stone, and altogether so stiff, and formal, and

; 5]10\'61‘, !’.5

ugly, and forbidding, and so out of tune with the gracious land-

Gimilar WS

scape, and so deaf and dumb and dead to the poetry of its sur-

roundings, that it suggests an undertaker at a picnic, a corpse at

il and o

son T8

a wedding, a puritan in Paradise.

In the course of the morning we passed the ‘spot where

Pontius Pilate is said to have thrown himself into the lake.

The

legend goes that after the Crucifixion his conscience troubled

him and he fled from Jerusalem and wandered about the earth,

weary of life and a prey to tortures of the mind. Eventually

he hid himself away, on the heights of Mount Pilatus, and dwelt

Tince

rﬂe to

i

alone among the clouds and crags for years; but rest and peace

nomeﬂ

172

4

TRAMP ADROAD.

were still denied him, so he finally put an end to his misery by

Jisan

fack

drowning himself.

Presently we passed the place where a man of better odonr

PN

was born.

g S

This was the children’s friend Santa Claus, or St.

Nicholas.

There are some unaccountable reputations in the

itk

world. This saint’s is an instance.

e has ranked for ages as

e

the peculiar friend of children, yet it appears he was not much

s

of a friend to his own.

He had ten of them, and when fifty

)

years old he left them, and sought out as dismal a refuge from

-

Ihey

the world as possible and became a hermit in order that he

PC‘t

it b

might reflect upon pious themes without being disturbed by the

joyous and other noises from the nursery, doubtless.

hav

~ Judging by Pilate and St. Nicholas, there exists no rule for

sl

the construction of hermits : they seem made out of all kinds of

fou

material.

But Pilate attended to the matter of expiating his sin

i

while he was alive, whereas St. Nicholas will probably have to go

bro

on climbing down sooty chimneys, Christmas Eve, for ever, and

conferring kindness on other people’s children, to make up for

the

deserting his own.

His bones are kept in a church in a village

the

(Sachseln), which we visited, and are naturally held in great

do

reverence. His portraitis common in the farmhouses of the region,

the

but is believed by many to be but an indifferent likeness. During

jul

his hermit life, according to the legend, he partook of the bread

il

and wine of the communion once

0f

the month he fasted.

/amon’th, but. all t/he rest of

/

il

Il

A constant marvel with us,

as Welsped‘valong tﬁe bases of the

a

steep mountains, on this journey, was, not that avalanches occur,

One does not

he

but that they are not occurring all the time.

Wl

understand why rocks and landslides do not plunge down these

declivities daily.

A landslip occurred three quarters of a

k|

T

century ago, on the route from Arth to Brunnen, which was a

if

formidable thing.

A mass of conglomerate two miles lon

o)

g, a

fa

thousand feet broad, and a hundred feet thick, broke away from

I¢]

a cliff three thousand feet high and hurled itself into the valley

below, burying four villages and five hundred people, as in a

Wa

grave,

We had such a beautiful day, and such endless pictures of

It

]Gal

limpid lakes, and green hills and valleys, and majestic mountains,

and milky cataracts dancing down the steeps and gleaming in the

!

the

eg

sun, that we could not help feeling sweet toward all the world ;

so we tried to drink all the milk, and eat all the grapes and

o]

apricots and berries, and buy all the bouquets of wild flowers

ling

‘E

ing

which the little peasant boys and girls offered for sale; but we

had to retire from this contract, for it was too heavy. At short

War

barr

A TRAMP ADROAD,

173

1ser) by

distances—and they were entirely too short—all along the road,

! odony

were groups of neat and comely children, with their wares nicely

) o §f,

and temptingly set forth in the grass under the shade trees, and

10 g

as soon as we approached they swarmed into the road, holding

Tares g

out their baskets and milk bottles, and ran beside the carriage,

10} mygh

barefoot and bareheaded, and importuned us to buy. They seldom

desisted early, but continued to run and insist—beside the wag-

then fiy

ae fop

gon while they could, and behind it until they lost breath, Then

r that b

-

they turned and chased a returning carriage back to their trading

el by the

post again. After several hours of this, without any intermission,

it becomes almost annoying.

I do not know what we should

have done without the returning carriages to draw off the pur-

0 Tule for

suit.

However, there were plenty of these, loaded with dusty

‘Ki;l

s r1

tourists and piled high with luggage.

Indeed, from Lucerne to

Y

I

e 0

20

Interlaken we had the spectacle, among other scenery, of an un-

broken procession of fruit pedlars and tourist carriages.

ever, aud

ke up for

Our talk was mostly anticipatory of what we should see on

the down grade of the Briinig, by-and-by, after we should pass

1.4 villge

the summit.

All our friends in Lucerne had said that to look

| in gl

down upon Meiringen, and the rushing blue-gray river Aar, and

le region

the broad level green valley; and across at the mighty Alpine

3. During

the bread

precipices that rise straight up to the clouds out of that valley;

and up at the microscopic chalets perched upon the dizzy eaves

e test of

of those precipices and winking dimly and fitfully through the

drifting veil of vapour; and still up and up, at the superb Oltschi-

ases of the

bach and the other beautiful cascades that leap from those rugged

che

I

I

heights, robed in powdery spray ruflled with foam, and girdled

o does et

with rainbows—to look upon these things, they said, was to look

ow thee

upon the last possibility of the sublime and the enchanting.

tors of 8

Therefore, as I say, we talked mainly of these coming wonders;

hich was &

if we were conscious of any impatience, it was to get there in

s long; 8

favourable season ; if we felt any anxiety, it was that the day might

(lWIl)' 1

remain perfect, and enable us to sce those marvels at their best.

the valley

As we approached the Kaiserstuhl, a part of the harness gave

o 131

way.

We were in distress for a moment, but only a moment.

It was the fore-and-aft gear that was broken—the thing that

ieures f

leads aft from the forward part of the horse and is made fast to

the thing that pulls the waggon. In America this would have

ountains

ingin the

been a heavy leathern strap; but all over the continent it is

nothing but a piece of rope the size of your little finger—clothes-

he \\'01'] j

line is what it is.

!mFeS an

Cabs use it, private carriages, freight carts

g floves

and waggons, all sorts of vehicles have it. In Munich I after-

wards saw it used on a long waggon laden with fifty-four half-

¢ but ¥

YAt short

barrels of beer; I had before noticed that the cabs in Heidelberg

174

A TRAMP ABROAD.

fe

used it;—not new rope, but rope that had been in use since

nd i

Abraham’s time—and I had felt nervous, sometimes, behind it,

yotere

when the cab was tearing down a hill.

But I had long been ac-

odou

customed to it now, and had even become afraid of the leather

gt )

B

strap which belonged in its place.

Our driver got a fresh piece of

clothes-line out of his locker and repaired the break in two

foamid

J dre

minutes.

give

So much for one European fashion.

Every country has its

any

fhy

own ways.

It may interest the reader to know how they ‘put

3

tof’ I

10

horses to’ on the continent.

The man stands up the horses on

0l

each side of the thing that projects from the front end of the

waggon, and then throws the tangled mass of gear on top of the

horses, and passes the thing that goes forward through a ring,

il

(1

4 Im [

and hauls it aft, and passes the other thing through the other ring

Wl

(918

and hauls it aft on the other side of the other horse, opposite to

driver

the first one, after crossing them and bringing the loose end

datter

back, and then buckles the other thing underneath the horse, and

he I

takes another thing and wraps it around the thing I spoke of be-

U

fore, and puts another thing over each horse’s head, with broad

flappers to it to keep the dust out of his eyes, and puts the iron

Tell

in d

thing in his mouth for him to grit his teeth on, up hill, and

brings the ends of these things aft over his back, after buckling

dram

scene

another one around under his neck to hold his head up, and

¢

A

hitching another thing on a thing that goes over his shoulders to

m(l(iE

keep his head up when he is climbing a hill, and then takes

the slack of the thing which I mentioned a while ago, and fetches

prett

it aft and makes it fast to the thing that pulls the waggon, and

fons

I never

diffe

hands the other things up to the driver to steer with.

have buckled up a horse myself, but I do not think we do it that

inth

the |

way.

We had four very handsome horses, and the driver was very

ling,

proud of his turn-out.

He would bowl along on a reasonable

amby

trot, on the highway, but when he entered a village he did it on

a furious run, and accompanied it with a frenzy of ceaseless whip

and {

He tore

talle

(1

crackings that sounded like volleys of musketry.

through the narrow streets and around the sharp curves like a

five

the g

moving earthquake, showering his volleys as he went, and before

him swept a continuous tidal wave of scampering children, ducks,

toh

(]

cats, and mothers clasping babies which they had snatched out

be w,

of the way of the coming destruction; and as this living wave

g

washed aside, along the walls, its elements, being safe, forgot

they

§

la}

their fears and turned their alluring gaze upon that gallant

King

driver till he thundered around the next curve and was lost

i

to sight.

(“

A TRAMP ABROAD,

1

|

%y

Ny

He was a great man to those villagers, with his gaudy clothes

hin i

and his terrific ways.

Whenever he stopped tohave his cattle

BEN 3¢

watered and fed with loaves of bread, the villagers stood around

g

Allley

admiring him while he swaggered about, the little boys gazed up

1 Dlece (f

at his face with humble homage, and the landlord brought out

£ 10ty

foaming mugs of beer and conversed proudly with him while

he drank.

Then he mounted his lofty box, swung his explo-

7 hag Ity

sive whip, and away he went again, like a storm. Ihad not seen

0t

anything like this before since I was a boy, and the stage used

to flourish through the village with the dust flying and the horn

of zhé

tooting.

0p of the

When we reached the base of the Kaiserstuhl, we took two

h 8 g,

more horses ; we had to toil along with difficulty foran hour and

0

a half or two hours, for the ascent wasnot very gradual, but

10}

when we passed the backbone and approached the station, the

loge end

driver surpassed all his previous efforts in the way of rush and

and

clatter.

He could not have six horses all the time, so he made

the most of his chance while he had it.

€ 01 08

pith broad

Up to this point we had been in the heart of the William

ts the on

Tell region.

The hero is not forgotten, by any means, or held

p bl and

in doubtful veneration.

His wooden image, with his bow

drawn, above the doors of taverns, was a frequent feature of th3

r buckling

d up, and

scenery.

houldersto

About noon we arrived at the foot of the Briinig pass, and

made a two-hour stop at the village hotel, another of those clean,

then takes

d fetehs

pretty, and thoroughly well-kept inns which are such an as-

00

all

9

{

tonishment to people who are accustomed to hotels of a dismally

different pattern in remote country towns. There was a lake here,

h‘::l ¢

yet

e doithat

in the lap of the great mountains, the green slopes that rose toward

the lower crags were graced with scattered Swiss cottages nest-

or a8 VeIy

ling among miniature farms and gardens, and from out a leafy

ambuscade on the upper heights tumbled a brawling cataract.

s reasonal

Carriage after carriage, laden with tourists and trunks, arrived,

e didit

We were early at the

and the quiet hotel was soon populous.

seless 7D

table d’héte, and saw the people all come in. There were twenty=~

He tore

five, perhaps.

They were of various nationalities, but we were

e ke

the only Americans.

Next to me sat an English bride, and next

and be?

to her sat her new husband, whom she called ¢ Neddy,” though

Jren, ducks

he was big enough and stalwart enough to be entitled to his full

afched 00

name.

They had a pretty little lover’s quarrel over what wine

i

ing Ve

they should have. Neddy was for obeying the guide-book and

i ot

taking the wine of the country; but the bride said—

ab gnllant

=

¢ What, that nahsty stuff !’

j s o

‘Tt isn’t nahsty, Pet, it's quite good.’

4

176

A TRAMP ABROAD.

/ [hroughf

¢ It s nahsty.

/ tamovel

¢ No, it ¢sn’¢ nahsty.

/

¢Tt’s oful nahsty, Neddy, and I shanh’t drink it.’

said toa

Joscent

Then the question was, what she must have.

She said he

knew very well that she never drank anything but champagne.

Jomnin

She added—

ofavhi

corksir

‘You know very well papa always has champagne on his

table, and I’ve always been used to it.’

we ol

them if

Neddy made a playful pretence of being distressed about the

there I

expense, and this amused her so much that she nearly exhausted

herself with laughter, and this pleased Z¢m so much that he

repeated his jest a couple of times, and added new and killing

pem

varieties to it.

When the bride finally recovered, she gave

our e

amived

Neddy a love-box on the arm with her fan, and said with arch

1oad, |

severity—

¢ Well, you would kave me—nothing else would do—so

the pree

three fe

youw'll have to make the best of a bad bargain. Do order the

champagne, I'm oful dry.’

ot hav

So with a mock groan which made her laugh again, Neddy

Tl seen

ordered the champagne.

Tirope

The fact that this young woman had never moistened the

Isted In

selvedge edge of her soul with a less plebeian tipple than cham-

CEH[HT}'

pagne had a marked and subduing effect upon Iarris.

e

ing thn

believed she belonged to the royal family. But I had my doubts.

wheel d

We heard two or three different languages spoken by people

quered

at the table, and guessed out the nationalities of most of the

the \\'pyl

guests to our satisfaction, but we failed with an elderly gentle-

We

man and his wife and a young girl who sat opposite us, and with

and thif

a gentleman of about thirty-five who sat three seats beyond Harris.

and prof

We did not hear any of these speak.

‘

But finally the last-named

grasy b

)

gentleman left while we were not noticing, but we looked up as

ling s}

he reached the far end of the table.

He stopped there a moment,

tance d{.u

and made his toilet with a pocket comb. So he was a German;

allogeth

or else he had lived in German hotels long enough to catch the

the ;U 3

fashion. When the elderly couple and the young girl rose to

it i

leave they bowed respectfully to us.

So they were Germans,

Tty

too

This national custom is worth six of the other one, for

exrort.

tishofy

Tient; e

After dinner we talked with several Englishmen, and they

about [

inflamed our desire, to a hotter degree than ever, to see the

€ zesf,

sights of Meiringen from the heights of the Briinig pass. They

Rever ol

said the view was marvellous, and that one who had seen it once

could never forget it. They also spoke of the romantic nature of

medisme,

the road over the pass, and how in one place it had been cut

Iy “l;bec

4 T]éA;’lIP ABROAD,

177

through a flank of the solid rock, in

such a way that the moun-

tain overhung the tourist

as he passsd by ;

and they furthermore

i by

said that the sharp turns in the road and

the abruptness of the

descent would afford us a thrilling experi

Jillllpagne'

ence, for we should go

down in a flying gallop

and seem to be spinning around the rings

of a whirlwind, like

e g

corkscrew.

a drop of whisky descending the spirals of a

I got all the information out of tl

1ese gentlemen that

abont g

we could need ; and then, to make everyt

hing complete, I asked

exhangte]

them if a body could get hold of a little

fruit and milk here and

there, in case of necessity. The

1 that b

y threw up their hands in speech-

less intimation that the road w

as simply paved with refreshment

and kﬂ!ing

pedlars.

We were impatient

8he fave

to get away now, and the rest of

s

our two-hour stop rather d

ragged. But finall

y the set time

| with anh

arrived and we began the ascent.

road.

Indeed, it was a wonderful

It was smooth, and compact, and clean, and the side next

I do—g

o onder e

v

the precipices was guarded all along

by dressed stone posts about

three feet high, pl

aced at short distances

apart.

The road could

not have been better buil

t if Napoleon the First had built it.

'H:H, I\ tll:

ITe seems to have been tl

1e introducer of the sort of roads which

i wope now uses.

All literature which describes life as it ex-

Istened fhe

isted in England, France, and Germany up to the close of the last

than chan-

century is filled with pictures of coacl

1es and carriages wallow-

armis. I

ing throngh tl

1ese three countries in mud and slush half-

g do

wheel deep; but after Napoleon had floundered tl

irough a cen-

n by people

quered kingdom he gener

most O

the world could follow

ally arranged things so that the rest of

dry shod.

len

We went on climbing, higher and 1

d

higher, and curving hither

us, and

and thither, in the shade of noble wood

Sy

and with a rich variety

joud Hans

and profusion of wild flowers all about us;

and glimpses of rounded

st aunel

grassy back-bones below

us occupied by trim chélets and nib-

bling sheep, and other glin

ooked mp &

1pses of far lower altitudes, where dis-

0 3 IOEL

tance diminished the chil

ets to toys and obliterated the shee

o

4 Germa:y!:

altogether ; and every now

and then some ermined monarch

of

to catch fe

the Alps swung magnifice

ntly into view for a moment, then

drifted pastan intery

il 1o ¥

ening spur and disappeared again.

o (ermath

It was an intoxicatin

satisfaction that follows

g trip, altogether ; the exceeding sense of

er 0t

a good dinner added la

rgely to the enjoy-

ment; the having something es

about, like the a

pecial to look forward to, and muse

y, and tiy

pproaching

grandeurs of Meiringen, sharpened

]

o

the zest.

Smoking w

as never so good before, solid comfort was

10 gop W

o I

never solider ; we lay back

ag:

unst the thick cushions, silent,

meditative, steeped in felicity.

seel it 01169' >

io patire 0

] bos ¥

I rui)bed my eyes, :)pened .them, ar;d started. i l;nd been

N

178

A TRAMP ABROAD.

qu:l'lnt

dreaming I was at sea, and it was a thrilling surprise to wake up

gefs 0

and find land all around me.

It took me a couple of seconds to

ovenss

¢ come to, as you may say ; then I took in the situation. The

wih

horses were drinking at a trough in the edge of a town, the

i |

driver was taking beer, Harris was snoring at my side, the

qegn

courier, with folded arms and bowed head, was sleeping on the

a>péc‘

box, two dozen barefooted and bareheaded children were gathered

about the carriage, with their hands crossed behind, gazing up

with serious and innocent admiration at the dozing tourists

et

dark

baking there in the sun.

Several small gitls held night-capped

babies nearly as big as themselves in their arms, and even these

(ne

mous

fat babies seemed to take a sort of sluggish interest in us.

fhe

We had slept an hour and a half and missed all the scenery !

If I had been a girl, T

I did not need anybody to tell me that.

ahou

could have cursed for vexation.

As it was, I woke up the agent

and gave him a piece of my mind.

Instead of being humiliated,

foth

fowa

he only upbraided me for being so wanting in vigilance. He

dd

said he had expected to improve his mind by coming to Europe,

but a man might travel to the ends of the earth with me and

gréﬂ‘

tine

never see anything, for I was manifestly endowed with the very

genius of ill-luck.

He even tried to get up some emotion about

e

that poor courier, who never got a chance to see anything, on

timi'\

;

account of my heedlessness.

But when I thought I had borne

about enough of this kind of talk, I threatened to make Harris

adl

ofa

tramp back to the summit and make a report on that scenery,

and this suggestion spiked his battery.

and

We drove sullenly through Brienz, dead to the seductions of

g

of

its bewildering array of Swiss carvings and the clamorous hoo-

hooing of its cuckoo clocks, and had not entirely recovered our

cour

F YaT——

oent

spirits when we rattled across the bridge over the rushing blue

river and entered the pretty town of Interlaken.

It was just

sty

about sunset, and we had made the trip from Lucerne in ten

scho

hours.

ml

old

ling

fort

CHAPTER XXXII.

loviy

1

“WVE located ourselves at the Jungfrau Hotel, one of those huge

the &

establishments which the needs of modern travel have created

in every attractive spot on the Continent.

There was a great

g

&ony

gathering at dinner, and as usuul one heard all sorts of lan-

o g]

guages.

Ebi!’an

The table d’hdte was served by waitresses dressed in the

g,

A TRAMP ABROAD.

Wk )

quaint and comely costume of the Swiss peasants. This con-

oonds

0, The

sists of a simple gros de laine, trimmed with ashes of roses, with

overskirt of sacreblew ventre saint gris, cut bias on the off side,

o, g

with facings of petit polonaise and narrow insertions of paté de

sile {he

e

foie gras backstitched to the mise-en-scéne in the form of a jeu

1 on {

desprit. It gives to the wearer a singularly piquant and alluring

Yo oof

fa

1)

aspect.

One of these waitresses, a woman of forty, had side whiskers

"

They were two fingers broad,

oﬁrisfﬁ

reaching half way down her jaw.

i

]

dark in colour, pretty thick, and the hairs were an inch long.

1 e

One sees many women on the Continent with quite conspicuous

118,

N~

moustaches, but this was the only woman Isaw who had reached

o eenery |

the dignity of whiskers.

e gl |

After dinner the guests of both sexes distributed themselves

p the

a0,

about the front porches and the ornamental grounds belonging

Ul

0

to the hotel, to enjoy the cool air; but as the twilight deepened

i |

|

towards darkness, they gathered themselves together in that

[0

saddest and solemnest and most constrained of all places, the

?

fh

e

great blank drawing-room which is a chief feature of all Con-

ith the

tinental summer hotels.

There they grouped themselves about,

101,

in couples and threes, and mumbled in bated voices, and looked

njih

timid and homeless and forlorn.

a0 0

There was a small piano in this room, a clattery, wheezy,

make

asthmatic thing, certainly the very worst miscarriage in the way

it seetr

of a piano that the world has seen.

In turn, five or six dejected

and home-sick ladies approached it doubtingly, gave it a single

inquiring thump, and retired with the lockjaw. But the boss

of that instrument was to come, nevertheless; and from my own

morous

poovered

country—from Arkansaw.

She was a brand-new bride, inno-

cent, girlish, happy in herself and her grave and worshipping

I

stripling of a husband; she was about eighteen, just out of

school, free from affectations, unconscious of that passionless

cerne 14

multitude around her; and the ver

first time she smote that

old wreck one recognised that it had met its destiny. Her strip-

ling brought an armful of aged sheet music from their room—

for this bride went ¢ heeled,” as you might say—and bent himself

lovingly over and got ready to turn the pages.

The bride fetched a swoop with her fingers from one end ot

i

the key-board to the other, just to get her bearings, as it were,

f those

7o (re

and you could see the congregation set their teeth with the

g

agony of it. Then, without any more preliminaries, she turned

was &

on all the horrors of the ‘Battle of Prague, that venerable

gt 0

She

shivaree, and waded chin-deep in the blocd of the slain.

i

made a fair and honourable average of two false notes in every

ik Gd

N 2

180

A TRAMP ADROAD.

1do

five, but her soul was in arms and she never stopped to correct,

b

The audience stood it with pretty fair grit for a while, but when

the cannonade waxed hotter and fiercer, and the discord-average

pardly !

Jave

rose to four in five, the procession began to move.

A few

stragglers held their ground ten minutes longer, but when the

]'udgmf

Ii

girl began to wring the true inwardness out of the ¢ cries of the

wounded,” they struck their colours and retired in a kind of panie.

bl

of the

There never was a completer victory; I was the only non-

combatant left on the field.

I would not have deserted my

feet h

fhedt

countrywoman anyhow, but indeed I had no desires in that

direction.

None of us like mediocrity, but we all reverence

fore

dow

perfection.

This girl’s music was perfection in its way ; it was

the worst music that had ever been achieved on our planet by a

in the

distan

mere human being.

I moved up close, and never lost a strain.

When she got

four o

She did it with a pleased

through, I asked her to play it again.

five ti_

1l

alacrity and a heightened enthusiasm.

She made it all discords,

this time.

She got an amount of anguish into the cries of the

attrac

wounded that shed a new light on human suffering.

She was

block

on the war-path all the evening. All the time, crowds of people

every

gathered on the porches and pressed their noses against the

keep

windows to look and marvel, but the bravest never ventured in.

Man)

The bride went off satisfied and happy with her young fellow,when

4 COU

herappetite was finally gorged, and the tourists swarmed in again.

L saw

What a change has come over Switzerland, and in fact all

fiien

Burope, during this century!

Seventy or eighty years ago

wortl

Napoleon was the only man in Europe who could really be called

the

a traveller; he was the only man who had devoted his attention

in B

cour]

to it and taken a powerful interest in it; he was the only man

who had travelled extensively; but now everybody goes every-

1

where ; and Switzerland, and many other regions which were

tom

unvisited and unknown remotenesses a hundred years ago, arein

It

our days a buzzing hive of restless strangers every summer. But

Plice

I digress.

stepp

In the morning, when we looked out of our windows, we saw

th

)

a wonderful sight.

Across the valley, and apparently quite

0Wer

neighbourly and close at hand, the giant form of the Jungfrau

prise

rose cold and white into the clear sky, beyond a gateway in the

0 wh

nearer highlands.

It reminded me, somehow, of one of those

‘]

colossal billows which swell suddenly up beside one’s ship, at

1l

sea, sometimes, with its crest and shoulders snowy white, and

‘]

the rest of its noble proportions streaked downward with creamy

‘A

foam

‘I

I took out my sketch-book and made a little picture of the

hig i

Jungfrau, merely to get the shape,

A TRAMP ABROAD.

181

) Ot

U ey

I do not regard this as one of my finished works, in fact I do

'a\'&mge

A1

not rank it among my Works at all; it is only a study; it is

A foy

hardly more than what one might call a sketch.

Other artists

When gy

have done me the grace to admire it; but I am severe in my

16807 )

judgments of my own pictures, and this one does not move me.

Lof

It was hard to believe that that lofty wooded rampart on the

on

left which so overtops the Jungfrau was not actually the higher

of the two, but it was not, of course.

It is only 2,000 or 8,000

feet high, and of course has no snow upon it in summer, whereas

610 {

ey

the Jungfrau is not much short of 14,000 feet high, and there-

'

fore that lowest verge of snow—on her side, which seems nearly

Y3 1t wag

Jallg

1

e

fhya

down to the valley level—is really about 7,000 feet higher up

in the air than the summit of the wooded rampart.

It is the

distance that makes the deception.

The wooded height is but

four or five miles removed from us, but the Jungfrau is four or

14

five times that distance away.

Walking down the street of shops, in the forenoon, I was

attracted by a large picture, carved, frame and all, from a single

block of chocolate-coloured wood.

There are people who know

everything.

Some of these had told us that continental shop-

keepers always raise their prices on English and Americans.

‘.

n

Many people had told us it was expensive to buy things through

ellowm

a courier, whereas I had supposed it was just the reverse. When

od

I saw this picture I conjectured that it was worth more than the

jul

friend I proposed to buy it for would like to pay, but still it was

worth while to inquire; so I told the courier to step in and ask

the price, as if he wanted it for himself; I told him not to speal

in English, and above all not to reveal the fact that he was a

courier.

6 Ol

Then I moved on a few yards, and waited.

u

The courier came presently and reported the price. I said

o were

to myself, ¢ It is a hundred francs too much,” and so dismissed the

0, 161l

matter from my mind.. But in the afternoon I was passing that

o b

place with Harris, and the picture attracted me again.

We

1me

stepped in to see how much higher broken German would raise

the price.

The shopwoman named a figure justa hundred francs

s, we s

lower than the courier had named,

ntly q}ifff

This was a pleasant sur-

Jun|

1]

orrall

prise.

I said I would take it.

After I had given directions as

o

nt

to where it was to be shipped, the shopwoman said, appealingly—

0 (I

those

¢ If you please, do not let your courier know you bough it.’

This was an unexpected remark.

I said—

's

ghitey &%

——

¢ What makes you think I have a courier ?’

¢ Ah, that is very simple; he told me himself?

creanf

¢ He was very thoughtful.

But tell me—why did you charge

him more than you are charging me?’

0 of the

18

A TRAMP ABROAD.

il

¢That is very simple, also : I do not have to pay you a per-

el |

centage.’

You would have had to pay the courier

yhose !

¢Oh, I begin to see.

Jim,

'

a percentage.’

~~TUndoubtedly.

The courier always has his percentage.

In

peratm

mea

this case it would have been a hundred francs.’

¢ Then the tradesman does not pay a part of it—the purchaser

confu§

pays all of il

where

¢There are occasions when the tradesman and the courier

Heis

agree upon a price which is twice or thrice the value of the

105 4

article, and then the two divide, and both get a percentage.’

‘I see.

But it seems to me that the purchaser does all the

the d

order

paying, even then.’

¢Oh, to be sure !

It goes without saying.’

day y

‘But I have bought this picture mysell; therefore why

to hir

shouldn’t the courier know it?’

chang

The woman exclaimed, in distress—

put §

IIe would

the b

¢ Ah, indeed it would take all my little profit!

come and demand his hundred francs, and I should have to pay.’

peid

You could refuse.’

to Ser

¢He has not done the buying.

¢ T could not dare to refuse.

He would never bring travellers

can f

and

here again. More than that, he would denounce me to the other

couriers, they would divert custom from me, and my business

A

would be injured.’

effor

I went away in a thoughtful frame of mind. I began to see

hotly

why a courier could afford to work for fifty-five dollars a month

their

and his fares.

A month or two later I was able to understand

anof]

o

why a courier did not have to pay any board and lodgin

o

, and

TECON

heart

why my hotel bills were always larger when I had him with me

than when I left him behind, somewhere, for a few days.

«“

office

Another thing was also explained, now, apparently.

In one

town I had taken the courier to the bank to do the translating

dogs,

Wl‘ﬂpi

when I drew some money.

I had sat in the reading-room till

bﬂbit.‘

the fransaction was finished.

Then a clerk had brought the

then

money to me in person, and had been exceedingly polite, even

ang |

going o far as to precede me to the door and hold it open for

are

me and bow me out as if I had been a distinguished personage.

fime,

It was a new experience.

Exchange had been in my favour ever

and o

I got

since I had been in Europe, but just that one time.

0

simply the face of my draft, and no extra francs, whereas I had

alloy

expected to get quite a number of them.

This was the first time

arg ju

I had ever used the courier at a bank.

I had suspected some-

furheg,

thing then, and as long as he remained with me afterwards I

B,

managed bank matters by myself,

to 866 §

4

TRAMP ABROAD.

183

1 por

Still, if I felt that I could afford the tax, I would never

E Ouriey

travel without a courier, for a good courier is a convenience

whose value cannot be estimated in dollars and cents.

Without

\Iage, I

him, travel is a bitter harassment, a purgatory of little exas-

perating annoyances, a ceascless and pitiless punishment—I

Purchasgy

mean to an irascible man who has no business capacity and is

confused by details.

16

Without a courier, travel hasn’t a ray of pleasure in it, any-

01 g

-

where ; but with him it is a continuous and unruffled delight,

He is always at hand, never has to be sent for; if your bell is

l

L g

1

not answered promptly—and it seldom is—you have only to open

the door and speak, the courier will hear, and he will have the

order attended to or raise an insurrection.

You tell him what

day you will start, and whither you are going—leave all the rest

el yly

to him. You need not inquire about trains or fares, or car

changes, or hotels, or anything else.

At the proper time he will

put you in a cab or an omnibus, and drive you to the train or

He v

0

I

|

W

the boat; he has packed your luggage and transferred it, he has

[Ol

]

paid all the bills.

Other people have preceded you half an hour

to scramble for impossible places and lose their tempers, but you

o travels

can take your time, the courier has secured your seats for you,

and you can occupy them at your leisure.

1Y

othe (

At the station, the crowd mash one another to pulp in the

effort to get the weighers’ attention to their trunks; they dispute

hotly with these tyrants, who are cool and indifferent; they get

a1l

their baggage billets, at last, and then have another squeeze and

another rage over the disheartening business of trying to get them

recorded and paid for, and still another over the equally dis-

m

ith e

heartening business of trying to get near enough to the ticket

office to buy a ticket; and now, with their tempers gone to the

1“ e

dogs, they must stand penned up and packed together, laden with

) {

wraps and satchels and shawl-straps, with the weary wife and

70010

babies, in the waiting-room, till"the doors are thrown open—and

hy

then all hands make a grand final rush to the train, find it full,

D10

OLLEE

and have to stand on the platform and fret until some more cars

nen 10

are put on.

They are in a condition to kill somebody by this

1 Ope*

time. Meantime you have been sitting in your car, smoking,

favo

I

el

and observing all this misery in the extremest comfort.

On the journey the guard is polite and watchful—won’t

e 17

preds

Jud

allow anybody to get into your compartment—tells them you

fimé

are just recovering from the small-pox and do not like to be dis-

ho

oL

ed qome

turbed. For the courier has made everything right with the

guard. At way-stations the courier comes to your compartment

herwaf §

to see if you want a glass of water, or a newspaper, or anything ;

184

4

TRAMP ADROAD.

at eating-stations he sends luncheon out to you, while the other

people scramble and worry in the dining-rooms. If anything

breaks, about the car you are in, and the station-master proposes

to pack you and your agent into a compartment with strangers,

N

p !

the courier reveals to him confidentially that you are a French

ade 0

duke, born deaf and dumb, and the official comes and makes

i

10se

affuble signs that he has ordered a choice car to be added to the

it

train for you.

At custom-houses the multitude file

through, hot

oughl

tediously

101

Ju

X

and irritated, and look on while the officers burrow into the

19

trunks and make a mess of everything ; but you hand your keys

nof &

to the courier and sit still.

Perhaps you arrive at your destina-

tion in a rainstorm at ten at night—you generally do.

The

il

boa

multitude spend half an hour verifying their baggage and getting

it transferred to the omnibuses; but the courier puts you into a

inth

vehicle withouta moment’s loss of time, and when you reach your

Jived

hotel you find your rooms have been secured two or three days

in advance, everything is ready, you can go at once to bed.

il

Was,

Some of those other people will Lave to drift around to two or

three hotels, in the rain, before they find accommodations.

aga

I have not set down half of the virtues that are vested in a

S0

good courier, but I think I have set down a sufliciency of them

nd

to show that an irritable man who can afford one and does not

&=

inde

employ him is not a wise economist.

My courier was the worst

and

cont

one in BEurope, yet he was a good deal better than none at all. It

could not pay him to be a better one than he was, because I

tem|

could not afford to buy things through him.

IHe was a good

whi

cnough courier for the small amount he got out of his service.

am

Yes, to travel with a courier is bliss, to travel without one is the

Juds

reverse.

and

I have had dealings with some very bad couriers; but 1 have

have

\

also had dealings with one who might fairly be called perfection.

1le was a young Polander, named Joseph N. Verey.

He spoke

knoy

eight languages, and seemed to be equally at home in all of them ;

Iy

he was shrewd, prompt, posted, and punctual; he was fertile in

degp

resources, and singularly gifted in the matter of overcoming

once

difficulties ; he not only knew how to do everything in his line,

galn

but he knew the best ways and the quickest; he was handy with

iﬂg J

children and invalids; all his employer needed to do was to take

itsy;

life easy and leave everything to the courier.

His addressis, care

oulti

of Mr. O. H. Caygill, 8371 Strand, London.

Excellent couriers

and

are somewhat rare; if the reader is about to travel, he will find

10§ gy

it to his advantage to make a note of this one.

Clriog

Sud0p |

A TRAMP ABROAD.

185

the ofhep

jthing

Dioposgy

CIIAPTER XXXIII

m'&ngm’

8 Hrengh

Tue beantiful Giesbach Fall is near Interlaken, on the other

i ghey

ed ty

side of the lake of Brienz, and is illuminated every night with

those gorgeous theatrical fires whose name I cannot call just at

this moment.

This was said to be a spectacle which the tourist

i

ought by no means to miss.

I was strongly tempted, but I could

W 1nto hy

The

o

not go there with propriety, because one goes in a boat.

Lyour

task which I had set myself was to walk over Europe on foot,

U

I

not skim over it in a boat.

I had made a tacit contract with

yd

I was willing to make

myself; it was my duty to abide by it.

boat-trips for pleasure, but I could not conscientiously make thewm

U 1nto

al'

in the way of business.

It cost me something of a pang to lose that fine sight, but T

Ie¢

lived down the desire, and gained in my self-respect through the

to

triumph.

I had a finer and a grander sight, however, where I

was.

This was the mighty dome of the Jungfrau softly outlined

18

against the sky and faintly silvered by the starlight.

There was

something subduing in the influence of that silent and solemn

and awful presence; one seemed to meet the immutable, the

0y of

indestructible, the eternal, face to face, and to feel the trivial

he wors

and fleeting nature of his own existence the more sharply by the

contrast.

tall

One had the sense o being under the brooding con-

templation of a spirit, not an inert mass of rocksand ice—a spirit

5 4

which had looked down, through the slow drift of the ages, upon

a million vanished races of men, and judged them; and would

uf ope &

judge a million more—and still be there, watching, unchanged

and unchangeable, after all life should be gone and the earth

s

Jid

have become a vacant desolation.

)

3!

While I was fecling these things, I was groping, without

i

o §p0ic

knowing it, toward an understanding of what the spell is which

{4

allo

I WGy

people find in the Alps, and in no other mountains—that strange,

deep, nameless influence which, once felt, cannot be forgotten—

)

Qverco

once felt, leaves always behind it a restless longing to feel it

lal

I

again—a longing which is like homesickness; a grieving, haunt-

n b

Jandy W10

ing yearning, which will plead, implore, and persecute till it has

its will. I met dozens of people, imaginative and unimaginative,

s 10156

ress ISy

ar

cultivated and uncultivated, who had come from far countries

and roamed through the Swiss Alps year after year—they cou'ld

il

cguﬂ?rﬂ

not explain why.

They had come first, they said, out of idle

il

curiosity, because everybody talked about it; they had comse

s.uce because they could not help it, and they should keep u:.1

186

A TRAMP ABROAD.

ey

coming, while they lived, for the same reason; they had tried

yho 48

(

to break their chains and stay away, but it was futile ; now they

had no desire to break them. Others came nearer formulating

s

il

what they felt; they said they could find perfect rest and peace

nowhere else when they were troubled; all frets and worries

fhe ré

and chafings sank to sleep in the presence of the benignant

a4 gregﬁ

fhe 11

serenity of the Alps; the Great Spirit of the Mountain breathed

I

his own peace upon their hurt minds and sore hearts, and healed

them ; they could not think base thoughts or do mean and sordid

enollg‘

—~

Arkar

things here, before the visible throne of God.

Down the road a piece was a Kursaal—whatever that may

a forn

be—and we joined the human tide to see what sort of enjoyment

h)' {h

e

it might afford.

It was the usual open-air concert, in an orna-

mental garden, with wines, beer, milk, whey, grapes, etc.—the

The

whey and the grapes being necessaries of life to certain invalids

houg

tofi

whom physicians cannot repair, and who only continue to exist

by the grace of whey or grapes.

One of these departed spirits

hol

told me, in a sad and lifeless way, that there was no way for him

—

its €

asif

to live but by whey; never drank anything, now, but whey,

and dearly, dearly loved whey, he didn’t know whey he did, but

g]’(‘?‘

he did. After making this pun he died—that is the whey it

the !

served him.

i

Some other remains, preserved from decomposition by the

4—

ou

grape system, told me that the grapes were of a peculiar breed,

to ]

highly medicinal in their nature, and that they were counted out

and administered by the grape-doctors as methodically as if they

Wa

il

were pills.

The new patient, if very feeble, began with one

0cCl

grape before breakfast, took three during breakfast, a couple

between meals, five at luncheon, three in the afternoon, seven at

lo

0K

dinner, four for supper, and part of a grape just before going to

fl

16

bed by way of a general regulator.

The quantity was gradually

00g

and regularly increased, according to the needs and capacity of

The

the patient, until by-and-by you would find him disposing of his

one grape per second all the day long, and his regular barrel per

Spec

day.

mist

{he

e said that men cured in this way, and enabled to discard

um

|

the grape system, never afterward got over the habit of talking

the

as if they were dictating to a slow amanuensis, because they

the

;i

always made a pause between each two words while they sucked

the substance out of an imaginary grape.

He said these were

ol

He said that men who had been

tedious people to talk with.

alle

cured by the other process were easily distinguished from the

rest of mankind because they always tilted their heads back

of ug

fl

e §

between every two words, and swallowed a swig of imaginary

breat

87

A TRAMP ABROAD.

| frigg

ITe said it was an impressive thing to observe two men

i they

whey.

1\11aﬁng

who had been cured by the tw

o processes engaged in conversa-

tion—said their pauses and accompanying movements Were so

L Deaca

at a stranger would think himself in

Vg

continuous and regular th

One finds out

the presence of a couple of automati

¢ machines.

gy

elling if he stumbles upon

breafheg

a great many wonderful things by trav

d hegl)

the right person.

I did not remain long at the Kursaal;

the music was good

Wsorig

med ratler tame after the cyclone of that

enough, but it see

Arkansaw expert.

Besides my adventurous spirit had conceived

tl}at gy

thing less than a trip from Interlaken,

a formidable enterprise—mno

So it was

an

by th

¢ Gemmi and Visp, clear t

o Zermatt, on foot!

he details, and get ready for an early start.

efe

necessary to plan ¢

110!

The courier (this w

as not the one I have just been speaking of )

1§

thought that the portier of the hotel would be

able to tell us how

10

He showed us the

to find our way. And so it turned out.

whole thing on a relief-map, and we could see our route, with all

J for b

its elevations and depressions, its villages and its rivers, as clearly

it e

as if we were sailing over it in a balloon. A relief-map isa

did, bus

The portier also wrote down each day’s journey and

great thing.

Whey i

the nightly hotel on a piece

of paper, and made our course so

plain that we should never be able to get lost wi

thout high-priced

n by te

outside help.

ar breed,

I put the courier in the ¢

are of a gentleman who was going

unted ouf

to Lausanne, and then we went to bed, after laying out the

asif they

walking costumes and putting them into condition for instant

with oe

occupation in the morning.

down to breakfast at 8 A.M., it

§ ol

However, when we came

looked so much like rain that I hired a two-horse top-buggy for

l, SEV.EH i

the first third of the journey.

For two or three hours we

0 goig {0

h skirts the beautiful lake of

\f

jogged along the lev

el road whic

of

Thun, with a dim an

d dreamlike picture of watery expanses and

10

14 OI 1§

spectral Alpine forms a

lways before us, veiled in a mellowing

mist. Then a steady downpour set in, and hid e

verything but

ba?rel per

the nearest objects.

We kept the rain out of our faces with

umbrellas, and away from our bodies

with the leather apron of

fo diard

lne

but the driver sat unsheltered, and placidly

soaked

of ta

LS

the buggy ;

We had the road all to

quse ]

the weather in and seemed to like it.

ourselves, and I never had a pleasanter excursion.

o sucked

hese Tr®

The weather began to clear while we were driving up a valley

called the Kienthal, and presently a vast black cloud-bank in front

Jad 1e2

and uncurtained the grand proportions and

fyon 12

of us dissolved away

It was a sort of

the soaring loftinesses of the Blumis Alp.

mds baf'

mgid]

breath-taking surprise; for we had not supposed there was any-

18%

A TRAMP ABROAD.

ot

thing behind that low-hung blanket of sable cloud but level

gl

hf

valley. What we had been mistaking for fleeting glimpses of

e {

sky away aloft there were really p

atches of the Blumis’s snowy

U

crest caught through shredded rents in the drifting pall of vapour.

Rﬂndf

We dined in the inn at Frutigen, and our driver ought to

nud I

have dined there too, but he would not have had time to dine and

1l flue

get drunk both, so he gave his mind to making a masterpiece of

st

the latter, and succeeded. A German gentleman and his two

far

young lady daughters had been taking their nooning at the inn,

4rou

and when they left, just alicad of us, it was plain that their driver

of e

was as drunk as ours, and as happy and good-natured too, which

1t wa

was saying a good deal.

These rascals overflowed with atten-

mile

tions and information for their guests, and with

brotherly love

abot

for each other.

They tied their reins, and took off their coats

trash

and hats, so that they might be able to give unencumbered

Tw

attention to conversation and to the

gostures necessary for its

illustration.

hety

mal

Al

The road was smooth; it led up and over and down a con-

hg

ad

tinual succession of hills; but it was narrow, the horses were

but

used fo it, and could not well get out of it anyhow; so why

shouldn’t the drivers entertain themselves and us ?

The noses

11e

of our horses projected sociably into the rear of the forward

carriage, and as we toiled up the long hills our driver stood u

Jow

two

and talked to his friend, and his friend stood up and talked back

to him, with his rear to tl

dow

and we went fl

1e scenery. When the top was reached,

id

ying down the other side, there was no change in

the programme. I carry in my memory yet the picture of that

(fas

forward driver, on his knees on his hi

gh seat, resting his elbows

on its back, and beaming down on his passengers, w

a b

ith happy

106

eye, and flying hair, and jolly red face, and off

ering his card

P

to the old German gentleman, while he praised his hack and

hoo

thry

horses, and both teams were whizzing down a long hill with

nobody in a position to tell whether we were bound to destruc-

char

Case

tion or an undeserved safety.

Toward sunset we entered a be

autiful green valley dotted

Wag

bell

with chélets, a cosy little domain, h

idden away from the busy

world in a cloistered nook,

among giant

precipices topped with

400

snowy peaks that seemed to float like isl

il

WWa

ands above the curling

surf of the sea of vapour that severed

them from the lower

b(x

18,

world. Down from vague and vaporous heights, little ruffled

18y

zigzag milky currents came crawling,

and found their way to the

()i

Id

verge of one of those tremendous ov

erhanging walls, whence they

(BB R NI S S

If

plunged, a shaft of silver, shivered

t

0 atoms in mid-descent, and

lo

750

turned to an airy puff of luminous

duast.

Iere and there, in

em g

A TRAMP ABROAD.

189

u le\vel

grooved depressions among the snowy desolations of the upper

[‘1[

\%[S (,t

altitudes, one glimpsed the extremity of a glacier, with its sea-

10y y

green and honeycombed battlements of ice.

Iy Aoy

Up the valley, under a dizzy precipice, nestled the village of

S0t

Kandersteg, our halting-place for the night. We were soon there,

& ang

and housed in the hotel. But the waning day had such an inviting

of

influence that we did not remain housed many moments, but

o

struck out and followed a roaring torrent of ice-water up to its

gl

far source in a sort of little grass-carpeted parlour, walled in all

around by vast precipices and overlooked by clustering summits

Whigy

Nl

of ice.

This was the snuggest little croquet-ground imaginable ;

atlen,

it was perfectly level, and not more than a mile long by half a

i)

mile wide.

The walls around it were so gigantic, and everything

about it was on so mighty a scale, that it was belittled, by con-

trast, to what I have likened it to—a cosy and carpeted parlour.

J lor ity

It was so high above the Kandersteg valley that there was nothing

between it and the snow-peaks.

I had never been in such inti-

VD & oon

mate relations with the high altitudes before; the snow-peaks

had always been remote and unapproachable grandeurs hitherto,

§0 W

but now we were hob-a-nob—if one may use such a seemingly

irreverent expression about creations so august as these.

6 101val

We could see the streams which fed the torrent we had fol-

lowed issuing from under the greenish ramparts of glaciers; but

two or three of these, instead of flowing over the precipices, sank

down into the rock and sprang in big jets out of holes in the

mid-face of the walls.

The green nook which I have been describing is called the

Ire

(Gasternthal.

lbos

The glacier streams gather and flow through it in

a broad and rushing brook to a narrow cleft between lofty preci-

{

pices; here the rushing brook becomes a mad torrent and goes

booming and thundering down towards Kandersteg, lashing and

| il

thrashing its way over and among monster boulders, and hurling

TG

chance roots and logs about like straws.

There was no lack of

OdEl

cascades along this route.

The path by the side of the torrent

was so narrow that one had to look sharp when he heard a cow-

]a doﬁ?d

bell, and hunt for a place that was wide enough to accommodate

{he busy

a cow and a Christian side by side, and such places were not

) el wilh

always to be had at an instant’s notice.

The cows wear church-

[4 g

bells, and that is a good idea in the cows, for where that torrent

e lovet

is you couldn’t hear an ordinary cow-bell any further than you

Jp rui?

could hear the ticking of a watch.

o il

I needed exercise, so I employed my agent in setting stranded

el

logs and dead trees adrift, and I sat on a boulder and watched

genfy &

them go whirling and leaping head over heels down the boiling

ety

190

A TRAMP ABROAD.

51131‘}71)

torrent. It was a wonderfully exhilarating spectacle.

When 1

had had exercise enough, I made the agent take some, by running

ond

fhing

a race with one of those logs.

I made a trifle by betting on

the log.

inchll“

el 1

After dinner we had a walk up and down the quiet Kander-

i

fhi

steg valley, in the soft gloaming, with the spectacle of the dying

lights of day playing about the crests and pinnacles of the still

(l)

1ng

:

1

ot

1St

and solemn upper realm for contrast, and text for talk. There

were no sounds but the dull complaining of the torrent and the

Jng

occasional tinkling of a distant bell.

The spirit of the place was

e

him.

i

a sense of deep, pervading peace; one might dream his life

tranquilly away thef'e, and not miss it or mind it when it was

251!

dow

gone.

The summer departed with the sun, and winter came with

fob

the stars. It grew to be a bitter night in that little hotel, backed

chil

up against a precipice that had no visible top to it; but we kept

warm, and woke in time in the morning to find that everybody

0D

else had left for the Gemmi three hours before—so our little plan

pre

80,

of helping that German family (principally the old man) over

the Pass was a blocked generosity.

oo

be

Ay,

Wi

be

CHAPTER XXXIV.

loc

We hired the only guide left, to lead us on our way. He was

(i

over seventy, but he could have given me nine-tenths of his

He shouldered

W

strength and still had all his age entitled him to.

fi

our satchels, overcoats, and alpenstocks, and we set out up the

It was hot work.

The old man soon begged us to

i

steep path.

W

hand over our coats and waistcoats to him to carry, too, and we

th

did it; one could not refuse so little a thing to a poor old man

tn

like that; he should have had them if he had been a hundred

il

and fifty.

When we began that ascent, we could see a microscopic

il

chilet perched away up against heaven on what seemed to be the

highest mountain near us. It was on ourright, across the narrow

an

head of the valley. But when we got up abreast it, on its own

&

Wl

level, mountains were towering high above on every hand, and

we saw that its altitude was just about that of the little Gastern-

By

Je

thal which we had visited the evening before.

Still, it seemed a

long way up in the air, in that waste and lonely wilderness of

flo

rock.

It had an unfenced grass-plot in front of it which seemed

fie)

A

Ky

about as big as a billiard-table, and this grass-plot slanted so

Whi

A TRAMP ABROAD,

191

Whey

b) nyipy

sharply downwards, and was so brief, and ended so exceedingly

Gl

g o

soon at the verge of the absolute precipice, that it wasa shuddery

thing to think of a person’s venturing to trust his foot on an

incline so situated at all.

Suppose a man stepped on an orange-

o Kandy

0 the d)}p

peel in that yard : there would be nothing for him to seize ;

sof h

nothing could keep him from rolling; five revolutions would

talk, 1T

bring him to the edge, and over he would go. What a frightful

ot

distance he would fall !—for there are very few birds that fly as

high as his starting-point.

e would strike and bounce, two or

16 Dlag

i

three times on his way down, but this would be no advantage to

him.

I would as soon take an airing on the slant of a rainbow

When it g

as in such a front yard.

I would rather, in fact, for the distance

¢

down would be about the same, and it is pleasanter to slide than

to bounce.

I could not see how the peasants got up to that

but we

chélet—the region seemed too steep for anything but a balloon.

db

As we strolled on, climbing up higher and higher, we were

continually bringing neighbouring peaks into view, and lofty

our

0 man

prominences which had been hidden behind lower peaks before ;

)0

50, by-and-by, while standing before a group of these giants, we

looked around for the chilet again: there it was, away down

below us, apparently on an inconspicuous ridge in the valley ! It

was as far below us, now, as it had been above us'when we were

beginning the ascent.

After a while the path led us along a railed precipice, and we

looked over—far beneath us was the snug, parlour again, the little

Gasternthal, with its water-jets spouting from the face of its rock

walls.

We could have dropped a stone into it.

We had been

Ie

finding the top of the world all along—and always finding a still

i 0

uf up

i

higher top stealing into view in a disappointing way just ahead ;

be ""id

s 00

when we looked down into the Gasternthal we felt pretty sure

0, and 1

fiv

that we had reached the genuine top at last, but it was not so;

We were

o

ol e

there were much higher altitudes to be scaled yet.

en o hundd

still in the pleasant shade of forest trees, we were still in a region

which was cushioned with beautiful mosses and aglow with the

o

many-tinted lustre of innumerable wild-flowers.

ped fobe

We found, indeed, more interest in the wild-flowers than m

S thg I]‘ﬂm"‘

anything else. We gathered a specimen or two of every kind

{ on ifs

om

which we were unacquainted with; so we had sumptuous bouquets.

But one of the chief interests lay in chasing the seasons of the

r’ hﬂﬂd; ﬂﬂ\

ilo Gase

year up the mountain and determining them by the presence of

it st

flowers and berries which we were acquainted with. For in-

yild

st

{

stance, it was the end of August at the level of the sea; in the

pih #2*

Kandersteg valley, at the base of the Pass, we found flowers

which would not be due at the sea level for two or three weeks ;

b slﬁﬂwd 4

I

192

A TRAMP ABROAD.

e 159

higher up we entered October, and gathered fringed gentians.

i 00 €

I made no notes, and have forgotten the details, but the con-

o Jne @

struction of the floral calendar was very entertaining while it

poutted 0

lasted.

s 00U

In the high regions we found rich store of the splendid red

080

flower called the Alpine rose, but we did not find any example

A one

of the ugly Swiss favourite, called Edelweiss. Its name seems to

rend

indicate that it is a noble flower and that it is white.

It may be

qon i1 il

noble enough, but it is not attractive, and it is not white.

The

discouraged

fuzzy blossom is the colour of bad cigar ashes, and appears to be

i\

Jii

0

made of a cheap quality of grey plush.

It has a noble and dis-

rally ek

tant way of confining itself to the high altitudes, but that is

doubtles

probably on account of its Jooks; it apparently has no monopoly

edatein f

of those upper altitudes, however, for they are sometimes in-

upon. a0

truded upon by some of the loveliest of the valley families of

wild-flowers.

Everybody in the Alps wears a sprig of Edelweiss

empty 163

in his hat.

owning i

It is the native’s pet, and also the tourist’s.

All the morning, as we loafed along, having a good time,

the woﬂd

0]

T

Il

other pedestrians went staving by us with vigorous strides, and

smilele

with the intent and determined look of men who weie walking

for a wager.

and 1

These wore loose knee-breeches, long yarn stock-

semblanc

ings, and hobnailed high-laced walking-shoes.

They were

creature!

gentlemen who would go home to Ingland or Germany and tell

how many miles they had beaten the guide-bock every day.

—— el o

ages hnd

But I doubted if they ever had much real fun, outside of the

energy,

bases wa

mere magnificent exhilaration of the tramp through the green

split off

valleys and the breezy heights; for they were almost always

alone, and even the finest scenery loses incalculably when there is

oy

no one to enjoy it with.

place v

Working

All the morning an endless double procession of mule-mounted

tourists filed past us along the narrow path—the one procession

gatenwa

going, the other coming.

We had taken a good deal of trouble

Wajstio

to teach ourselves the kindly German custom of saluting all

White U

o

grove

S

strangers with doffed hat, and we resolutely clung to it that

morning, although it kept us bare-headed most of the time and

Interegt

Still we found an interest in the

was not always responded to.

anjthing

thing, because we naturally liked to know who were English and

hay

at

100

n

Americans among the passers-by. All Continental natives 1e-

sponded, of course; so did some of the English and Americans,

and g

but as a general thing these two races gave no sign. Whenever

Uelrig

a man or a woman showed us cold neglect, we spoke up con-

the ven

fidently in our own tongue and asked for such information as we

apect

happened to need, and we always got a reply in the same lan-

SUggestiop

guage. The English and American folk are not less kindly than

Ourisbjng

A TRAMP ABROAD.

163

o Gentiang,

other races, they are only more reserved, and that comes of

U the .

g i

habit and education. In one dreary, rocky waste, away above

the line of vegetation, we met a procession of twenty-five

mounted young men, all from America.

Pleadg g

We got answering

bows enough from these, of course, for they were of an age to

Syl

learn to do in Rome as Rome does, without much effort.

dme ey

At one extremity of this patch of desolation, overhung by

Ll

bare and forbidding crags which husbanded drifts of everlasting

Wh

snow in their shaded cavities, was a small stretch of thin and

aPpears

discouraged grass, and a man and a family of pigs were actually

0l a

living here in some shanties.

Consequently this place could be

b

£ f}

2t

really reckoned as ‘property;’ it had a money value, and was

10 mongy)

||

doubtless taxed.

I think it must have marked the limit of real

estate in this world.

It would be hard to set a money value

upon any piece of earth that lies between that spot and the

Edeneg

empty realm of space.

That man may claim the distinction of

N

Q

owning the end of the world, for if there is any definite end to

the world he has certainly found it.

] golayd fig

From here forward we moved through a storm-swept and

€0 W

smileless desolation.

All about us rose gigantic masses, crags,

yam

and ramparts of bare and dreary rock, with not a vestige or

They

semblance of plant or tree or flower anywhere, or glimpse of any

1an

creature that had life.

The frost and the tempests of unnumbered

&

ages had battered and hacked at these cliffs, with a deathless

U6

energy, destroying them piecemeal ; so all the region about their

Al

bases was a tumbled chaos of great fragments which had been

split off and hurled to the ground.

Soiled and aged banks of

snow lay close about our path.

The ghastly desolation of the

place was as tremendously complete as if Doré had furnished the

E

working plans for it.

But every now and then, through the stern

gateways around us, we caught a view of some neighbouring

16 P!

1L 0L

fr

majestic dome, sheathed with glittering ice, and displaying its

white purity at an elevation compared to which ours was

Sl

al

g f0 1

1

grovelling and plebeian, and this spectacle always chained one’s

interest and admiration at once, and made him forget there was

he fim

anything ugly in the world.

erest 10

il

I have just said that there was nothing but death and deso-

Fng

|

[

lation in these hideous places, but I forgot. In the most forlorn

nﬁzi

V~€S 16

and arid and dismal one of all, where the racked and splintered

Americi

débris was thickest, where the ancient patches of snow lay against

TV heneret

the very path, where the winds blew bitterest and the general

ke up o

aspect was mournfullest and dreariest, and furthest from any

fion 1

suggestion of cheer or hope, I found a solitary weé forget-me-not

e 1

flourishing away, not a droop about it anywhere, but holding its

indy it

{

4 TRAMP ABROAD.

194

{hofot of

bright blue st

ar up with the prettiest and gallantest air in the

world, the only happy

spirit, the only smiling thing, in all that

b

o, P

¢ Cheer up!—as long as we

1t°€h

yith

grisly desert.

She seemed to say,

the

are here, let us m

ake the best of it.’

I judged she had earned a

furbe

so I plucked her up and sent

of it

s

right to a more hospitable place;

Jacier, &

her to America to a friend who wou

1d respect her for the fight

she had made, all by her small self, to make a whole vast

{hemsel®

breaking its heart over the

fleto

despondent Alpine desolation stop

at the bright side of

unalterable, and hold up its head and look

fhree s

things for once.

and begd

a strongly built little inn called

arn 410

We stopped for a nooning at

the Schwarenbach. It sits in a lonely spot among the peaks,

orm, ]

where it is swept by the trailing fringes of the cloud-rack, and is

Jikeal

rained on, snowed on, and pelted and persecuted by the storms

and od

nearly every day of its life. It was the only habitation in the

canght

whole Gemmi Pass.

Tosa

Close at hand, now, was a chance for a blood-curdling Alpine

could b

adventure.

Close at hand was the snowy mass of the Great

Warmel

He

Altels cooling its top-knot in the sky and daring us to an ascent.

T was fired with the idea, and immediately made up my mind to

of snoy

deliver

procure the necessary guides, ropes, ete., and undertake it. I in-

structed Harris to go to the landlord of the inn and set him about

heights

our preparations.

Meantime I went diligently to work to read

moved

T

up and find out what this much-talked-of mountain-climbing

was like, and how one should go about it—for in these

Platea

matters I was ignorant. I opened Mr. Hinchliff’s ¢ Summer

clingin

Months among the Alps’ (published 1857), and selected his

fronte

account of his ascent of Monte Rosa.

It began—

<

and

¢TIt is very difficult to free the mind from excitement on the

aside

evening before a grand expedition——

was b

T saw that T was too calm; so I walked the room a while and

tumed

worked myself into a high excitement; but the book’s next

1633 g

remark—that the adventurer must get up at two in the morning

By

—came as near as anything to flatting it all out again.

How-

two,

ever, I reinforced it, and read on, about how Mr. Hinchliff

Mont

dressed by candle-light and was ‘soon down among the guides,

]

who were bustling about in the passage, packing provisions, and

frea

gelogen . e T

the Al

making every preparation for the start;’ and how he glanced out

Breith

into the cold clear night and saw that—

¢The whole sky was blazing with stars, larger and brighter

T

g

onge

than they appear through the dense atmosphere breathed by

inhabitants of the lower parts of the earth. They seemed

slp

Ped

00 {hej

actually suspended from the dark vault of heaven, and their

thougyy

gentle light shed a fairy-like gleam over the snow-fields around

ndﬂe w

Al )y the

A TRAMP ABROAD.

195

] gy

the foot of the Matterhorn, which raised its stupendous pinnacle

O

8 o

on high, penetrating to the heart of the Great Bear, and crowning

0 eame] 3

itself with a diadem of his magnificent stars.

Not a sound dis-

U an gy

turbed the deep tranquillity of the night, except the distant roar

for e

of streams which rush from the high plateau of the St. Theodule

‘ \R'nole VVﬂ:t

glacier, and fall headlong over precipitous rocks till they lose

’tht

‘over fhe

d

14

themselves in the mazes of the Gorner glacier.’

f

A0

bl

I

He took his hot toast and coffee, and then ahout half-past

three his caravan of ten men filed away from the Riffel Hotel,

lo i.nn al

and began the steep climb. At half-past five he happened to

7 the

turn around, and ¢ beheld the glorious spectacle of the Matter=

horn, just touched by the rosy-fingered morning, and looking

like a huge pyramid of fire rising out of the barren ocean of ice

and rock around it.’

Then the Breithorn and the Dent Blanche

caught the radiant glow; but ‘the intervening mass of Monte

il

Al

Rosa made it necessary for us to climb many hours before we

f the

could hope to see the sun himself, yet the whole air soon grew

toe

0404

warmer after the splendid birth of day.’

Iy m

He gazed at the lofty crown of Monte Rosa and the wastes

ke

1t

of snow that guarded its steep approaches, and the chief guide

gt

jim

delivered the opinion that no man could conquer their awful

york to

heights and put his foot upon that summit.

But the adventurers

moved steadily on, nevertheless.

ain-clim

They toiled up, and up, and still up; they passed the Grand

for i

Plateau ; then toiled up a steep shoulder of the mountain,

¢

(]

clinging like flies to its rugged face; and now they were con-

=

fronted by a tremendous wall from which great blocks of ice

ment o1

the

and snow were evidently in the habit of falling.

They turned

aside to skirt this wall, and gradually ascended until their way

was barred by a ‘maze of gigantic snow crevasses’—so they

14

lo

turned aside again, and ¢ began a long climb of sufficient steep-

b

ne

ness to malke a zigzag course necessary.’

the mer

o310

two.

Fatigue compelled them to halt frequently for a moment or

At one of these halts somebody called out, ‘Look at

. Hi

Mont Blanc !’ and ¢ we were at once made aware of the very

great height we had attained by actually seeing the monarch of

)

&

the Alps and his attendant satellites right over the top of the

]

‘ g}ancedW

[

Breithorn, itself at least 14,000 feet high !’

These people moved in single file, and were all tied to a

nd it |

|

strong rope, at regular distances apart, so that if one of them

ralbed ]

slipped on those giddy heights, the others could brace themselves

on their alpenstocks and save him from darting into the valley,

ey S0

thousands of féet below.

nd 0

By-and-by they came to an ice-coated

Jds ano?

ridge which was tilted up at a sharp angle and had a precipice

o2

A TRAMP ABROAD.

196

b hent

on one side of it.

They had to climb this, so the guide in the

e other

lead cut steps in the ice with his hatchet, and as fast as he took

ﬁﬂd mk'll‘\{

his toes out of one of these slight holes, the toes of the man

s oust

behind him occupied it.

ool B

¢ Slowly and steadily we kept on our way over this dangerous

fushions

part of the ascent, and I daresay it was fortunate for some of us

that attention was distracted from the head by the paramount

reciic

canght &

necessity of looking after the feet; for, while on the left the

2

incline of ice was so steep that it would be impossible for any man

consider

i

to save himself in case of a slip, unless the others could hold him

up, on the right we might drop a pebble from the hand over

a Jiéee

1ot

d

precipices of unknown extent down wupon the tremendous glacier

below.

Being {

sy !

¢Great caution, therefore, was absolutely necessary, and in

st b

this exposed situation we were attacked by all the fury of tlat

grand enemy of aspirants to Monte Rosa

a severe and bitterly

a1t W

000, &

cold wind from the north.

The fine powdery snow was driven

past us in clouds, penetrating the interstices of our clothes, and

an in}n

No

the pieces of ice which flew from the blows of Peter’s axe were

whisked into the air, and then dashed over the precipice.

We

veneer

the ls

had quite enough to do to prevent ourselves from being served

heaver

in the same ruthless fashion, and now and then, in the more

violent gusts of wind, were glad to stick our alpenstocks into

3

cree

the ice and hold on hard.’

over {

Having surmounted this perilous steep, they sat down and

afew

cesslo

tock a brief rest with their backs against a sheltering rock and

their heels dangling over a bottomless abyss; then they climbed

foll |

spider

to the base of another ridge, a more difficult and dangerous one

still :

¢ The whole of the ridge was exceedingly narrow, and the

very

fall on each side desperately steep, but the ice in some of these

green

intervals between the masses of rock assumed the form of a

ll

noble

mere sharp edge, almost like a knife; these places, though not

more than three or four short paces in length, looked un-

and a

the Al

commonly awkward ; but, like the sword leading true believers

to the gates of Paradise, they must needs be passed before we

from

could attain to the summit of our ambition.

These were in one

study

eor two places so narrow, that in stepping over them with toes

But ]

well turned out for greater security, one end of the foot projected

to e

over the awful precipice on the right, while the other was on the

feel

Eeginning of the icy slope on the left, which was scarcely less

that t

steep than the rocks. On these occasions Peter would take my

me, |

hand, and each of us stretching as far as we could, he was

4 degq

thus enabled to get a firm footing two paces or rather more from

of the {

A TRAMP ABROAD.

197

s fy

me, whence a spring would probably bring him to the rock on

028 g

of the Ly

the other side ; then, turning round, he called to me to come,

and taking a couple of steps carefully, I was met at the third by

Il

day ey

his outstretched hand ready to clasp mine, and in a moment

stood by his side.

The others followed in much the same

S0me of

fashion.

Once my right foot slipped on the side towards the

¢ Pﬂrameuné

l

precipice, but I threw out my left arm in a moment so that it

) ‘!hg

caught the icy edge under my armpit as I fell, and supported me

I

lolf

fm

considerably ; at the same instant I cast my eyes down the side

13

hang

on which I had slipped, and contrived to plant my right foot on

[/

a piece of rock as large as a cricket-ball, which chanced to

i)

protrude through the ice, on the very edge of the precipice.

Being thus anchored fore and aft, as it were, I believe I could

fur

0

easily have recovered myself, even if I had been alone, though it

must be confessed the situation would have been an awful one;

and by

I W

as it was, however, a jerk from Peter settled the matter very

goon, and I was on my legs all right in an instant.

The rope 1is

an immense help in places of this kind.’

I'§

Now they wrrived at the base of a great knob or dome

pice, |

veneered with ice and powdered with snow—the utmost summit,

Lol

the last bit of solidity between them and the hollow vault of

heaven.

They set to work with their hatchets, and were soon

creeping, insect-like, up its surface, with their heels projecting

over the thinnest kind of nothingness, thickened up a little with

td

a few wandering shreds and films of cloud moving in lazy pro-

cession far below.

g

Presently one man’s toe-hold broke and he

fell !

There he dangled in mid-air at the end of the rope, like a

spider, till his friends above hauled him into place again.

(W)

A little bit later the party stood upon the wee pedestal of the

W

very summit, in a driving wind, and looked out upon the vast

green expanses of Italy and a shoreless ocean of billowy Alps.

e o{:.l

When T had read thus far, Harris burst into the room in a

b

noble excitement and said the ropesand the guides were secured,

and asked if I was ready.

I said I believed I wouldn’t ascend

I

ol

the Altels this time. I said Alp-climbing was a diffevent thing

be

Ll

from what I had supposed it was, and so I judged we had better

yere 1

study its points a little more before we went definitely into it.

Wit

But I told him to retain the guides and order them to follow us

to Zermatt, because I meant to use them there.

Isaid I could

t ]/)

1

It

feel the spirit of adventure beginning to stir in me, and was sure

that the fell fascination of Alp-climbing would soon be upon

oty 8

me.

tak

¢ If

I said he could make up his mind to it that we would de

a deed before we were a week older which would make the hair

be 8

of the timid curl with fright.

ore fom

198

A TRAMP ABROAD.

) ob]lfem

This made Hairis happy, and filled him with ambitious

dan

ify

He went at once to tell the guides to follow us

4 SPY

fyts

anticipations.

Rig

to Zermatt and bring all their paraphernalia with them.,

4 168Dy

el hat

Joked 2

e P“

I8

CHAPTER XXXV.

e —

o long W

Vel

A crEAT and priceless thing is a new interest! How it takes

have €1¢

possession of a man ! how it clings to him ! how it rides him !

the clo

I strode onward from the Schwarenbach hostelry a changed man,

yiall a6

I walked in a new world, I saw with

We me

a reorganised personality.

new eyes. I had been looking aloft at the giant snow-peaks only

Jiters,

as things to be worshipped for their grandeur and magnitude,

there ¥

and their unspeakable grace of form; I looked up at them now,

mules

as also things to be conquered and climbed. My sense of their

coni

grandeur and their noble beauty was neither lost nor impaired ;

nside

I had gained a new interest in the mountains without losing the

(Ause

old ones. I followed the steep lines up, inch by inch, with my

and noted the possibility or impossibility of following them

precp

eye,

the o

with my feet.

When I saw a shining helmet of ice projecting

s

above the clouds, I tried to imagine I saw files of black specks

habit

toiling up it roped together with a gossamer thread.

his b

We skirted the lonely little lake called the Daubensee, and

Wher

presently passed close by a glacier on the right—a thing like a

s ol

great river frozen solid in its flow and broken square off like a

over

wall at its mouth.

I had never been so near a glacier before.

heart

Here we came upon a new board shanty, and found some men

mule’

engaged 'in building a stone house; so the Schwarenbach was

Tubb;

soon to have a rival. We bought a bottle or so of beer here; at

0CCas

any rate they called it beer, but I knew by the price that it was

Tnye

dissolved jewellery, and I perceived by the taste that dissolved

I

jewellery s not good stuff to drink.

We stepped

10aso

We were surrounded by a hideous desolation.

Was ¢

forward to a sort of jumping-off place, and were confronted by a

startling contrast; we seemed to look down into fairyland. Two

there

and g

or three thousand feet below us was a bright green level, with a

Tecen

pretty town in its midst, and a silvery stream winding among the

and g

meadows; the charming spot was walled in on all sides by

1nasoy

gigantic precipices clothed with pines; and over the pines, out

of the softened distances, rose the snowy domes and peaks of the

Violen

bu

Monte Rosa region. How exquisitely green and beautiful that

little valley down there was !

The distance was not great enough

Ulomg

A TRAMP ABROAD.

199

! i

to obliterate details, it only made them little, and mellow, and

Fo fOHow W

dainty, like landscapes and towns seen through the wrong end of

a spy-glass.

Right under us a narrow ledge rose up out of the valley, with

a green, slanting, bench-shaped top, and grouped about upon this

green-baize bench were a lot of black and white sheep which

looked merely like over-sized worms.

The bench seemed lifted

well up into our neighbourkood, but that was a deception—it was

a long way down to it.

o ity

We began our descent, now, by the most remarkable road I

b rides i

have ever seen.

It wound in corkscrew curves down the face of

t]lﬂnged m,

ly

9

the colossal precipice—a narrow way, with always the solid rock

d

Wil

wall at one elbow, and perpendicular nothingness at the other.

W

IJ

We met an everlasting procession of guides, porters, mules,

| magniy

1

litters, and tourists climbing up this steep and muddy path, and

b hem o,

there was no room to spare when you had to pass a tolerably fat

ensg f they

mule.

I always took the inside, when I heard or saw the mule

0r im

coming, and flattened myself against the wall.

I preferred the

1l

108Ing e

I’m? :

inside, of course, but I should have had to take it anyhow, be-

Il

ch,

it

cause the mule prefers the outside.

A mule’s preference—on a

L0

{en

precipice—is a thing to be respected. Well, his choice is always

the outside.

His life is mostly devoted to carrying bulky pan-

14¢

niers and packages which rest against his body—therefore he is

habituated to taking the outside edge of mountain paths, to keep

his bundles from rubbing against rocks or banks on the other.

be

th

When he goes into the passenger business he absurdly clings to

his old habit, and keeps one leg of his passenger always dangling

\re ol

er before

over the great deeps of the lower world, while that passenger’s

d some nen

heart is in the highlands, so to speak.

More than once I saw a

mule’s hind foot cave over the outer edge and send earth and

renbach v

ocr here;

rubbish into the bottomless abyss; and I noticed that upon these

occasions the rider, whether male or female, looked tolerably

o thab 1t 8

-

unwell.

af disael

There was one place where an 18-inch breadth of light

masonry had been added to the verge of the path, and as there

Te seppe

e b7

<

was a very sharp turn here, a panel of fencing had been set up

there at some ancient time, as a protection.

This panel was old

Jnd, 0

and grey and feeble, and the light masonry had been loosened by

recent rains.

e Wit

A young American girl came along on a mule,

m0Dg i

and in making the turn the mule’s hind foot caved all the loose

1 sies ]

masonry and one of the fence posts overboard; the mule gave a

; Pmeg, af

violent lurch inboard to save himself, and succeeded in the effort,

ksl e

but that girl turned as white as the snows of Mont Blanc for a

il 889

moment,

Eﬂt eﬂ‘)“g

i

200

A TRAMP ABROAD.

fln®

The path here was simply a groove cut into the face of the

e on !

precipice; there was a four-foot breadth of solid rock under the

el

traveller, and a four-foot breadth of solid rock just above

shich F

bis head, like the roof of a narrow porch; he could look out

from this gallery and see a sheer summitless and bottomless wall

gol’gelm 5

of rock before him, across a gorge or crack a biscuit’s toss in

foct 0 1

ke hu

width—but he could not see the bottom of his own precipice

unless he lay down and projected his nose over the edge.

Idid

ot b3

not do this, because I did not wish to soil my clothes.

4 st00g

- ——

Every few hundred yards, at’particularly bad places, one came

preﬁ}'a L

across a panel or so of plank fencing; but they were always old

wag 1l

ushand

and weak, and they generally leaned out over the chasm and did

fhe hus

not make any rash promises to hold up people who might need

support.

There was one of these panels which had only its upper

man C0

(M

board left; a pedestrianising English youth came tearing down

the path, was seized with an impulse to look over the precipice,

fo glan

staring

and without an instant’s thought he threw his weight upon that

downy

crazy board.

It bent outward a foot!

I never made a gasp

before that came so near suffocating me.

The English youth’s

1t=50

He

sank 0

face simply showed a lively surprise, but nothing more.

fl

went swinging along valleywards again, as if he did not know he

the

had just swindled a coroner by the closest kind of a shave.

T

g

The Alpine litter is something like a cushioned box made fast

between the middles of two long poles, and sometimes it is a

He s

chair with a back to it and a support for the feet.

It is carried

Al

by relays of strong porters.

The motion is easier than that of

A

any other conveyance. We met a few men and a great many

ladies in litters; it seemed to me that most of the ladies looked

that ff

Il

pale and nauseated ; their general aspect gave me the idea that

may |

they were patiently enduring a horrible suffering. As a rule,

listeng

T‘

they looked at their laps, and left the scenery to take care of itself.

bap

But the most frightened creature I saw was a led horse that

a pan

overtook us,

Poor fellow! he had been born and reared in the

W

grassy levels of the Kandersteg valley, and had never seen any-

about

think like this hideous place before.

Every few steps he would

the L

stop short, glance wildly out from the dizzy height, and then

hundy

spread his red nostrils wide and pant as violently as if he had

slan

been running a race; and all the while he quaked from head to

had £,

heel as with a palsy.

He was a handsome fellow, and he made a

there

fine statuesque picture of terror, but it was pitiful to see him

& Tnigf

suffer so.

becang

This dreadful path has had its tragedy. Baedeker, with his

find oy

customary over-terseness, begins and ends the tale thus: ¢The

ground

descent on horseback should be avoided. In 1861 a Comtesse

vl iy

A TRAMP ABROAD.,

201

fﬂ(}e Of the

I»Under th&

d’Ierlincourt fell from her saddle over the precipice and was

Just

ﬂb()\'e

killed on the spot.’

Il

We looked over the precipice there, and saw the monument

look o

which commemorates the event.

gy

It stands in the bottom of the

gorge, in a place which has been hollowed out of the rock to pro-

ISty

tect it from the torrent and the storms.

" P

Our old guide never

spoke but when spoken to, and then limited himself to a syllable

,

Iy, Ty

3

or two; but when we asked him about this tragedy he showed

%) 01¢ ¢

a strong interest in the matter.

He said the Countess was very

pretty, and very young—hardly out of her girihood, in fact. She

g gy

S0 ang g

was newly married, and was on her bridal tour.

The young

husband was riding a little in advance; one guide was leading

T

the husband’s horse, another was leading the bride’s.

The old

1y

man continued—

¢The guide that was leading the husband’s horse happened

e

whf

to glance back, and there was that poor young thing sitting up

staring out over the precipice; and her face began to bend

Ildeam

1

A

1

|

downward a little, and she put up her two hands slowly and met

;

ih youty

it—so—and put them flat against her eyes—so—and then she

more, [

10t know by

sank out of the saddle, with a sharp shriek, and one caught only

the flash of a dress, and it was all over.’

have,

Then after a pause—

X made fif

1

¢ Ah, yes, that guide saw these things—yes, he saw them all,

imes 1 s

He saw them all, just as I have told you.’

t 15 o

After another pause—

¢Ah, yes, he saw them all.

My God, that was me.

I was

that guide !’

This had been the one event of the old man’s life; so one

he1

(it

may be sure he had forgotten no detail connected with it.

We

dsa

listened to all he had to say about what was done and what

are (!

happened and what was said after the sorrowful occurrence, and

a painful story it was.

b

eared it

When we had wound down toward the valley until we were

about on the last spiral of the corkscrew, Harris’s hat blew over

r seel A

g he \’(Dllvi

the last remaining bit of precipice—a small cliff a hundred or a

al

id

(it}

hundred and fifty feet high—and sailed down towards a steep

I

;! if

e

had

slant composed of rough chips and fragments which the weather

om head 0

had flaked away from the precipices.

We went leisurely down

e mades

there, expecting to find it without any trouble, but we had made

o e b

a mistake as to that.

We hunted during a couple of hours—not

because the old straw hat was valuable, but out of curiosity to

find out how such a thing could manage to conceal itself in open

{ with i

ground where there was nothing for it to hide behind. When

us: ‘e

(omtes

vne is reading in bed, and lays his paper-knife down, he cannot

202

A TRAMP ABROAD.

gt

find it again if it is smaller than a sabre; that hat was as stub-

born as any paper-knife could have been, and we finally had to

oot Jut

give it up; but we found a fragment that had once belonged to

The

el ¢

an opera-glass, and by digging around and turning over the

rocks we gradually collected all the lenses and the cylinders and

adorned !

the various odds and ends that go to make up a complete opera-

atered

glass.

We afterwards had the thing reconstructed, and the

piddle

owner can have his adventurous long-lost property by submitting

gither

~ Han

proofs and paying costs of rehabilitation. We had hopes of

finding the owner there, distributed ‘around amongst the rocks,

ngulou

for it would have made an elegant paragraph ; but we were dis-

Wi Spl

appointed. Still, we were far from being disheartened, for there

ghoutt

was a considerable area which we had not thoroughly searched ;

¢ (ham

we were satisfied he was there, somewhere, so we resolved to

s Jl

Then we

wait over a day at Leuk and come back and get him.

made?

sat down to polish off the perspiration and arrange about what

creatl

we could do with him when we got him.

Harris was for con-

aln’

tributing him to the British Muscum; but I was for mailing

A

him to his widow.

That is the difference between Harris and

gl‘ﬂ\'ﬁ

me : Harris is all for display, T am all for the simple right, even

almos

though I lose money by it.

Harris argued in favour of his pro-

doing

position and against mine; I argued in favour of mine and

wing,

against his.

The discussion warmed into a dispute ; the dispute

with:

warmed into a quarrel.

I finally said, very decidedly—

P

He goes to the widow.’

¢ My mind is made up.

it e

Harris answered sharply—

picio

¢ And my mind is made up.

He goes to the Museum,’

SCio

I said, calmly—

asto

¢ The Museum may whistle when it gets him.’

hotl

Harris retorted—

Wate

¢ The widow may save herself the trouble ot whistling, for I

1nou

will see that she never gets him.’

CIHpI

After some angry bandying of epithets, T said—

uneo

¢ It seems to me that you are taking on a good many airs

el

about these remains.

I'don’t quite see what you've got to say

about them ?’

with

eft

$dn?

Pve got all to say about them.

They’d never have

been thought of if I hadn’t found their opera-glass.

The corpse

Arin

snt]

belongs to me, and I'll do as I please with him.’

as 1

I was leader of the Expedition, and all discoveries achieved

by it naturally belonged to me.

I was entitled to these remains,

]

self

and could have enforced my right; but rather than have bad

blood about the matter, I said we would toss up for them.

I

the |

Aty

threw heads and won, but it was a barren victory, for although

front

ARG

A TRAMP ABROAD.

203

18 a3 sl

lly g o

we spent all the next day searching, we never found a bone. I

g 1,

cannot imagine what could ever have become of that fellow.

We

3 OV fly

The town in the valley is called Leuk or Leukerbad.

lﬂde[s an

ointed our course toward it, down a verdant slope which was

P}Gte Okrgs

adorned with fringed gentians and other flowers, and presently

b and fhy

entered the narrow alleys of the oulskirts and waded toward the

middle of the town through liquid ¢ferfiliser.

They ouglt to

' SmeitIing

U hopygf

=

either pave that village or organise a ferry.

f the g

.

Harris’s body was simply a chamois-pasture ; his person was

€ et i

populous with the little hungry pests; his skin, when he stripped,

1 o ey

was splotched like a scarlet fever patient’s; so, when we were

about to enter one of the Leukerbad inns, and he noticed its sign,

e

¢ Chamois Hotel,” he refused to stop there.

He said the chamois

Te0lyed §)

. Theryy

was plentiful enough, without hunting up hotels where they

made a specialty of it.

I was indifferent, for the chamois is a

about wlyt

creature that will neither bite me nor abide with me: but to

fas for oppe

calm Harris, we went to the Hotel des Alpes.

for malip

At the table d'hidte we had this for an incident.

A very

Hais and

Tight, e

grave man—in fact his gravity amounted to solemnity, and

almost to austerity—sat opposite us, and he was ‘tight,” but

of bis o

He took up a corked hottle of

ming ad

doing his best to appear sober.

wine, tilted it over his glass a while, then set it out of the way,

vthe dispe

with a contented look, and went on with his dinner.

:

Presently he put his glass to his mouth, and of course found

it empty.

He looked puzzled, and glanced furtively and sus-

piciously out of the corner of his eye at a benignant and uncon-

o,

scious old lady who sat at his right.

Shook his head, as much

as to say, ¢ No, she couldn’t have done it.’

He tilted the corked

bottle over his glass again, meantime searching around with his

watery eye to see if anybody was watching him. He ate a few

g fir]

mouthfuls, raised his glass to his lips, and of course it was still

empty.

He bent an injured and accusing side-gaze upon that

unconscious old lady, which was a study to see.

She went on

N

s

eating and gave no sign.

He took up his glass and his bottle,

ot t0 8

to§]

with a wise private nod of his head, and set them gravely on the

left-hand side of his plate—poured himself another imaginary

ever are

drink—went to work with his knife and fork once more—pre-

The et

sently lifted his glass with good confidence, and found it empty,

as usual.

He straightened him-

el

This was almost & petrifying surprise.

o TOALY

self up in his chair and deliberately and sorrowfully inspected

have

the busy old ladies at his elbows, first one and then the other.

theni

At last he softly pushed his plate away, set his glass directly in

lfhorg

front of him, held on to it with his left hand, and proceeded to

204

A TRAMP ABROAD.

pour with his right.

o

This time he observed that nothing came.

fient

f

He turned the bottle clear upside down; still nothing issued

|

from it; a plaintive look came into his face, and he said, as if to

100655 s

pight o

himself, ¢'ic! They've got it all !’

Then he set the bottle down,

The !

resignedly, and took the rest of his dinner dry.

Jetrel

1t was at that table d’hdte, too, that I had under inspection

the largest lady I bave ever seen in private life.

She was over

precipice:

seven feet high, and magnificently proportioned.

‘What had first

clem, o

ad 11

called my attention to her was my stepping on an outlying flange

of her foot, and hearing, from up toward the ceiling, a deep

llﬂ{ﬁ} i

¢ Pardon, m’sieu, but you encroach !’

Th piy‘tf

That was when we were coming

through the hall, and the

of s

gt hun

place was dim, and I could see her only vaguely.

The thing

which called my attention to her the second time was, that at a

comices

and star

table beyond ours were two very pretty girls, and this great lady

came in and sat down between them and me and blotted out the

fhis

view.

She had a handsome face, and she was very finely formed

weary

—perfectly formed, I should say.

But she made everybody

in pl\ﬁ

around her look trivial and commonplace.

Ladies near her

clouds

tions—

looked like children, and the men about her looked mean. They

looked like failures; and they looked as if they felt so, too.

storm-S

She sat with her back to us.

I never saw such a back in my

\'flpUUT

life.

I would have so liked to see the moon rise over it.

The

there

whole congregation waited, under one pretext or another, till she

would

would

finished her dinner and went out; they wanted to see her at her

full altitude, and they found it worth tarrying for.

She filled

s

He co

0

one’s idea of what an empress ought to be, when she rose up in

her unapproachable grandeur and moved superbly out of that

8 gls

place.

0nee |

We were not at Leuk in time to see her at her heaviest

town

weight.

She had suffered from corpulence, and had come there

We st

to getrid of her extra flesh in the baths. Five weeks of soaking—

the fa

five uninterrupted hours of it every day—had accomplished her

perper

purpose and reduced her to the right proportions.

Thep

Those baths remove fat, and also skin-diseases.

The patients

with |

remain in the great tanks hours at a time.

A dozen gentlemen

aseent

and ladies occupy a tank together, and amuse themselves with

he gog

rompings and various games.

They have floating desks and

three

tables, and they read or lunch or play chess in water that is

thiﬂk (

breast-deep.

The tourist can step in and view this novel spec-

ang

tacle if he chooses.

There’s a poor-box, and he will have to

‘;

8ivan

contribute. There are several of these big bathing-houses, and

you can always tell when you are near one of them by the

dlizzyin‘

glven y

romping noises and shouts of laughter that proceed from its

yield U

A TRAMP ABROAD.

20

hing

.

0

g,

)\

1 g

N

The water is running water, and changes all the time, else a

)

patient with a ringworm might take the bath with only a partial

Nitly dow

success, since while he was ridding himself of his ringworm he

might catch the itch.

F ng

chtion

The next morning we wandered back up the green valley,

VS oy

leisurely, with the curving walls of those bare and stupendous

b

gt

precipices rising into the clouds before us.

I had never seen a

clean, bare precipice stretching up 5,000 feet above me before,

(g

and I never shall expect to see another one.

They exist, per-

haps, but not in places where one can easily get close to them.

This pile of stone is peculiar. From its base to the soaring tops

il ang gy

'l"ly;e tlzin;

of its mighty towers, all its lines and all its details vaguely sug-

gest human architecture. There are rudimentary bow windows,

)

One could sit

Lol

cornices, chimneys, demarcations of stories, &e.

and stare up there and study the features and exquisite graces of

this grand structure, bit by bit, and day after day, and never

weary his interest. The termination, toward the town, observed

in profile, is the perfection of shape.

It comes down out of the

|

clouds in a succession of rounded, colossal, terrace-like projec-

el

tions—a stairway for the gods; at its head spring several lofty

storm-scarred towers, one above another, with faint films of

vapour curling always about them like spectral banners. If

there were a king whose realms included the whole world, here

would be the palace meet and proper for such a monarch.

He

would only need to hollow it out and put in the electric light.

He could give audience to a nation at a time under its roof.

Our search for those remains having failed, we inspected with

out

a glass the dim and distant track of an old-time avalanche that

once swept down from some pine-grown summits behind the

hear

town and swept away the houses and buried the people ; then

1—

we struck down the road that leads toward the Rhone, to see

the famous Ladders.

These perilous things are built against the

perpendicular face of a cliff two or three hundred feet high.

The peasants, of both sexes, were climbing up and down them,

pafints

with heavy loads on their backs.

I ordered Harris to make the

7

I

=

ascent, so I could put the thrill and horror of it in my book, and

-

he accomplished the feat successfully, through a sub-agent, for

three francs, which I paid.

It makes me shudder yet when T

think of what I felt when I was clinging there between heaven

el spet

and hearth in the person of that proxy. At times the world

swam around me, and I could hardly keep from letting go, so

| Jare 0

sty

dizzying was the appalling danger. Many a person would have

given up and descended, but I stuck to my task, and would not

) by fhe

yield until I had accomplished it. I felt a just pride in my

4 TRAMP ABROAD.

206

exploit, but I would not have repeated it for the wealth of the

sl

world. I shall break my neck yet with some such foolhardy

J

qur 810

w0l

foun

performance, for warnings never seem to have any lasting effect

upon me.

When the people of the hotel found that I had been

bl ©

climbing those crazy Ladders, it made me an object of consider-

g roLe:

able distinction.

behind 0

Next morning, early, we drove to the Rhone valley and took

TWhe

the train for Visp. There we shouldered our knapsacks and

gome plﬂ

things, and set out on foot, in a tremendous rain, up the winding

and il

gorge, towards Zermatt.

Hour after hour we slopped along, by

yere 10

heir 0F

the roaring torrent, and under noble Lesser Alps which were

clothed in rich velvety green all the way up, and had little

he s’

atomy Swiss homes perched upon grassy benches along their

ghirts 0

mist-dimmed heights.

e, |

The rain continued to pour and the torrent to boom, and we

to bed

continued to enjoy both. At the one spot where this torrent

yyere 0

tossed its white mane highest, and thundered loudest, and lashed

Th

the big boulders fiercest, the canten had done itself the honour

fhe fal

to build the flimsiest wooden bridge that exists in the world.

withot

While we were walking over it, along with a party of horsemen,

than o

I noticed that even the larger rain-drops made it shake. I called

witho

It seemed to me

Harris’s attention to it, and he noticed it too.

that if I owned an elephant that was a keepsake, and I thought a

ood deal of him, I would think twice before I would ride him

over that bridge.

We climbed up to the village of St. Nicholas, about half-past

four in the afternoon, waded ankle-deep through the fertiliser-

We

juice, and stopped at a new and nice hotel close by the little

to 1in

church. We_stripped and went to bed, and sent our clothes

down to be baked.

All the horde of soaked tourists did the

conti

while

same,

That chaos of clothing got mixed in the kitchen, and

in th

there were consequences.

I did not get back the same drawers I

Soun

sent down, when our things came up at 6.15; I got a pair on a

SEN

new plan.

They were merely a pair of white rufile-cuffed

absurdities, hitched together at the top with a narrow band, and

trive

1t mg

they did not come quite down to my knees. They were pretty

enough, but they made me feel like two people, and disconnected

i po

at that.

The man must have been an idiot that got himself up

there

there

like that, to rough it in the Swiss mountains.

The shirt they

brought me was shorter than the drawers, and hadn’t any sleeves

there

8oung

to it—at least it hadn’t anything more than what Mr. Darwin

would call ¢rudimentary’ sleeves; these had ‘edging’ around

ity

them, but the bosom was ridiculously plain.

The knit silk

the e

hargg

under-shirt they brought me was on a new plan, and was really

|

£ Crg

A TRAMP ABROAD.

207

Wealty o ;

Ith foﬂlhard

st

a sensible thing; it opened behind, and had pockets in it to put

erct

your shoulder-blades in; but they did not seem to fit mine, and

it | h{d

ey

so I found it a sort of uncomfortable garment.

They gave my

40l g,

bobtail coat to somebody else, and sent me an ulster suitable for

a giraffe.

T had to tie my collar on, because there was no button

ey

i

LS

behind on that foolish little shirt which I described a while ago.

KAy

1l

When I was dressed for dinner at 6.30, I was too loose in

1D they

some places and too tight in others, and altogether I felt slovenly

{lptd al

and ill-conditioned.

However, the people at the table d’héte

8 Which

\\';:{5

were no better off than I was; they had everybody’s clothes but

and hag Jjg,

their own on.

A long stranger recognised his ulster as soon as

&) along

(e

he saw the tail of it following me in, but nobody claimed my

shirts or my drawers, though I described them as well as I was

‘b%mfan

(

L 1rg

Iy

able.

I gave them to the chambermaid that night when I went

16 thig

to bed, and she probably found the owner, for my own things

esty an

i

were on a chair outside my door in the morning.

ll

There was a loveable English clergyman who did not get to

the table d’héte at all.

in the \';@:f}.‘

His breeches had turned up missing, and

7 of horsemg,

without any equivalent.

He said he was not more particular

than other people, but he had noticed that a clergyman at dinner

3

ke

AU

seemed fo

without any breeches was almost sure to excite remark.

d1th

ould ride b

\

CHAPTER XXXVL

it b

i

We did not oversleep at St. Nicholas.

The church-bell began

to ring at 4.30 in the morning, and from the length of time it

1 éur |

continued to ring I judged that it takes the Swiss sinner a good

while to get the invilation through his head.

Most church-bells

Litchen, ad

e droves ]

in the world are of poor quality, and have a harsh and rasping

sound which upsets the temper and produces much sin, but the

t 8 pairond

ufle

(i

o

fid

St. Nicholas bell is a good deal the worst one that has been con-

trived yet, and is peculiarly maddening in its operation.

Still,

o band, ad

it may have its right and its excuse to exist, for the community

7 ere ey

disconnect

is poor and not every citizen can afford a clock, perhaps; but

there cannot be any excuse for our church-bells at home, for

f bimsel

there is no family in America without a clock, and consequentl

o it e

there is no fair pretext for the usual Sunday medley of dreadful

tany ST

sounds that issues from our steeples.

There is much more pro-

M. Darvid

fanity in America on Sunday than in all the other six days of

g ! ¢

the week put together, and it is of a more bitter and malignant

o kit il

character than the week-day profanity, too.

It is produced by

s 1

the cracked-pot clangour of the cheap church-bells.

208

A TRAMP ABROAD

to"e

pacte

We build our churches almost without regard to cost; we

fhat 6

\\aS !

rear an edifice which is an adornment to the town, and we gild

fhe W ll 0

it, and fresco it, and mortgage it, and do everything we can

u) mme

think of to perfect it, and then spoil it all by putting a bell on

Great E

it which afflicts everybody who hears it, giving some the head-

“ a\h nﬂ[{‘ﬂ

ache, others St. Vitus’s dance, and the rest the blind-staggers.

sl

T

pper €

An American village at ten o’clock on a summer Sunaay is

them ¥

the quietest and peacefullth and holiest thing in nature; but it

fhing W

is a pretty different thing half an hour ]auer

Mzr. Poe’s poem

To me

of the ¢ Bells

stands incomplete to this day; but it is well

imagize

enough that it is so, for the public reciter or ¢ reader’ who goes

taken

4

around trying to imitate the sounds of the various sorts of bel

rabid Pro

with his voice would find himself ‘up a stump’ when he got to

In th

the church-bell—as Joseph Addison would say. The church is

it and

always trying to get other people to reform ; it might not be a

the lanes

bad 1dea to reform itself a little, by way of example

It is still

wretched

clinging to one or two things which were useful once, but which

turnip o1

are not useful now, neither are they ornamental

One is the

why, you

bell-ringing to remind a clock

aked town that it is church-

Al

time, and another is the reading from the pulpit of a tedious

First it

list of ¢notices’ which everybody who is interested has already

Protes

stall

read in the newspaper

The clergyman even reads the hymn

‘They do

through—a relic of an ancient time when hymn-books were

Then 1t

scarce and costly ; but everybody has a hymn-book now, and so

make th

the public reading is no longer necessary

It is not merely

unuecessary, it is generally painful

for the average clergyman

and they

goats: ¢

could not fire into his congregation with a shot-gun and hit a

worse reader than himself, unless the weapon scattered shame-

canton—

fully

nature,

I am not meaning to be flippant and irreverent, I am

chamol

only meaning to be truthful

The average clergyman, in all

countries and of all denominations, is a very bad reader.

One

bu thes

would think he would at least lc‘un how to read the Lord’

guide-b

Prayer, by-and-by, but it is not so

He races through it as if

you wan

canton

he thought the quicker he got it in the sooner it would be

answered. A person who does not appreciate the exceeding

dow, e

ones by

value of pauses, and does not know how to measure their

duration judiciously, cannot render the grand simplicity and

lovely 'y

dignity of a composition like that effectively.

Thegs £

We took a tolerably early breakfast, and tramped off toward

hle\h

Zermatt through the reeking lanes of the village, glad to get

trot grg

away from that bell

By-and-by we had a fine spectacle on our

ey )

right.

It was the warlike butt-end of a huge glacier, which

Canton th,

looked down on us from an Alpine height which was well up in

He by

the blue sky,

It was an astonishing amount of ice to be com-

i o fy

A TRAMP ABROAD.

209

Ly e

pacted together in one mass.

We ciphered upon it and decided

.

:\'r}nd \ve’gﬂd

)

that it was not less than several hundred feet from the base of

Yiiy

g We ¢

the wall of solid ice to the top of it—Harris believed it was

T

O th .

really twice that. We judged that if St. Paul’s, St. Peter’s, the

Great Pyramid, the Strasburg Cathedral, and the Capitol at

T

€ )y

day 4

Washington were clustered against that wall, a man sitting on

14|

its upper edge could not hang his hat on the top of any one of

We; g

them without reaching down three or four hundred feet—a

[r Po

b

thing which, of course, no man could do.

Vel

To me, that mighty glacier was very beautiful. I did not

€

imagine that anybody could find fault with it; but I was mic-

taken. Harris had been snarling for several days. He was a

rabid Protestant, and he was always saying—

hurh

‘In the Protestant cantons you never see such peverty and

Hl;r:

g0t no

|

I

|

dirt and squalor as you do in this Catholic one; you never sece

1886l

the lanes and alleys flowing with foulness; you never see such

wretched little sties of houses; you never see an inverted tin

turnip on top of a church for a dome; and as for a church-bell,

161

why, you never hear a church-bell at all’

of a el

All this morning he had been finding fault, straight along.

S

!

First it was with the mud. He said, ‘It ain’t muddy in a

€40

l

6

.

Protestant canton when it rains.’

Then it was with the dog:

it

b0

¢ They don’t have those lop-eared dogs in a Protestant canton.’

0.

W, andy

Then it was with the roads: ¢ They don’t leave the roads to

net

101

I

make themselves in a Protestant canton, the people make them—

&

76 CIEL!

and they make a road that is a road, too.’

Next it_was_the

1l

goats: ‘ You never see a goat shedding tears in a Protestant

tar

Wl

canton—a goat, there, is one of the cheerfullest objects in

i

nature.’

Next it was the chamois: ¢ You never see a Protestant

ndl

chamois act like one of these—they take a bite or two and go;

One

but these fellows camp with you and stay.’

Then it was the

i

the Lo

)}

guide-beards: ¢ In a Protestant canton you couldn’t get lost if

you wanted to, but you never see a guide-board in a Catholic

01

;l

canton.’

R

ol

Next, ¢ You never see any flower-boxes in the win-

dows, here—never anything but now and then a cat—a torpid

the €

measure it

one; but you take a Protestant canton: windows “perfectly

lovely with flowers

and as for cats, there’s just acresof them.

glmphu[)" i

These folks in this canton leave a road to make itself, and then

fine you three franes if you “trot” over it—as if a horse could

\ Ed Oﬁ m“‘ﬂrd

trot over such a sarcasm of a road.’

Next about the goitre :

? l.’ld fo gEC

¢ They talk about goitre !—I haven’t seen a goitre in this whole

tacle 000

canton that I couldn’t put in a hat.’

gl Jaciery W H(?

He had growled at everything, but I judged it would puzzle

syl

him to find anything the matter with this majestic glacier.® I

P

ice fo be (ome

210

A TRAMP ABROAD.

h o 1l

intimated as much; but he was ready, and said with surly

oh

4 S ¢

discontent—

Ih

¢ You ought to see them in the Protestant cantons.’

e

This irritated me.

Off

a0, of €0

But I concealed the feeling, and asked—

o

Ly

Dot

¢ What is the matter with this one ?’

¢ Matter? Why, it ain’t in any kind of condition.

They

gD

e, bt

The moraine has been

_god At

never take any care of a glacier here.

here 38

spilling gravel around it, and got it all dirty.’

¢ Why, man, they can’t help that.’

couside{‘ﬂtiﬂl

oy WAl

¢ They?

You’re right.

That is, they won't.

They could if

they wanted to.

You never see a speck of dirt on a Protestant

he Was & d

foelings &

glacier.

Look at the Rhone glacier.

It is fifteen miles long,

yery mout

and seven hundred feet thick.

If this was a Protestant glacier

you wouldn’t see it looking like this, I can tell you.’

lfishness )

¢ That is nonsense.

ared. 81l

What would they do with it ?’

¢ They would whitewash it.

They always do.’

A parem \

I did not believe a word of this, but rather than have

which WOl

ot

trouble I let it go; for it is a waste of breath to argue with a

bigot.

I even doubted if the Rhone glacier was in a Protestant

would ba

then the 1

canton; but I did not know, so I could not make anything by

QU DAL

contradicting a man who would probably put me down at once

with manufactured evidence.

Baedeker

hurt to col

About nine miles from St. Nicholas we crossed a bridge over

the raging torrent of the Visp, and came to a long strip of

frivolous:

flimsy fencing which was pretending to secure people from

all Thad ¢

would et

tumbling over a perpendicular wall forty feet high and into the

river.

Three children were approaching ; one of them, a little

Wey

girl about eight years old, was running; when pretty close to us

proaching

she stumbled and fell, and her feet shot under the rail of the

mountain

fence and for a moment projected over the stream.

It gave us a

moving {

sharp shock, for we thought she was gone, sure, for the ground

it, dong

slanted steeply, and to save herself seemed a sheer impossibility ;

Thotoga

but she managed to scramble up, and ran by us laughing.

avry d

We went forward and examined the place and saw the long

ing {o e

tracks which her feet had made in the dirt when they darted

Tun acro;

over the verge.

If she had finished her trip she would have

aliay vy

struck some big rocks in the edge of the water, and then the

mistking

torrent would have snatched her down-stream among the half-

st He

covered boulders and she would have been pounded to pulp in

He toye

two minutes. We had come exceedingly near witnessing her

third of

death.

mongte y

And now Harris’s contrary nature and inborn selfishness

Platforn

were strikingly manifested.

He has no spirit of self-denial.

4 the g

He began straight off, and continued for an hour, to express

s apey

hig gratitude that the child was not destroved. I never saw

A TRAMP ABROAD.

211

il yip nly

such a man,

That was the kind of person he was; just

togg!

so he was gratified, he never cared anything about anybody

else.

I had noticed that trait in him, over and over again.

1 ang hefe

Often, of course, it was mere heedlessness, mere want of reflec-

tion.

Doubtless this may have been the case in most in-

Onditi, N

stances, but it was not the less hard to bear on that account

Oraing g i

—and after all, its bottom, its groundwork, was selfishness.

There is no avoiding that conclusion.

In the instance under

consideration, I did think the indecency of running on in that

+ Ty gy

wa

might occur to him; but no, the child was saved and

00 8 Profgy

he was glad, that was sufficient—he cared not a straw for my

i

I%E

|

ey b

feelings, or my loss of such a literary plum, snatched from my

ALt plgiy

very mouth at the instant it was ready to drop into it.

His

selfishness was sufficient to place his own gratification in being

i it

spared suffering clear before all concern for me, his friend.

0

Apparently he did not once reflect upon the valuable details

;i[lllEI than s

which would have fallen like a windfall to me: fishing the child

10 argue wil

out—witnessing the surprise of the family and the stir the thing

510 Profesyy

would have made among the peasants—then a Swiss funeral—

ke anythig by

then the roadside monument, to be paid for by us and have

¢ down 4t o

our names mentioned in it.

And we should have gone into

Baedeker and been immortal.

I was silent.

I was too much

If he could act so, and be so heedless and so

ed a biidge ore

hurt to complain.

a long s

frivolous at such a time, and actually seem to glory in it, after

all I had done for him, I would have cut my hand off before I

e people fix

oh and in

would let him see that I was wounded.

We were approaching Zermatt, consequently we were ap-

of I‘lvlem,a

A month before this

rett

J

¢

fou

proaching the remowned Matterhorn.

the

rﬁifof i

mountain had been only a name to us, but latterly we had been

m, Tigewt

moving through a steadily thickening double row of pictures of

» for

it, done in oil, water, chromo, wood, steel, copper, crayon, and

photography, and so it had at length become a shape to us—and

er ImpossOl

Jaughing:

a very distinct, decided, and familiar one, too. We were expect-

ing to recognise that mountain whenever or wherever we should

nd s thelg

run across it.

We were not deceived. The monarch was far

hen they dare

away when we first saw him, but there was no such thing as

she would B

mistaking him. He has the rare peculiarity of standing by him-

r and fhe

self.

He is peculiarly steep, too, and is also most oddly shaped.

mong the Jult

He towers into the sky like a colossal wedge, with the upper

ided 'P”lp h

third of its blade bent a little to the left.

The broad base of this

itnessng ¥

monster wedge is planted upon a grand glacier-paved Alpine

o st

-

platform whose elevation is ten thousand feet above sea level;

as the wedge itself is some five thousand feet high, it follows that

of st

its apex is about fifteen thousand feet above sea level.

So the

P 2

u, 0 &

Torr &

212

A TRAMP ABROAD.

il

ghout i

whole bulk of this stately piece of rock, this sky-cleaving mono-

iith, is above the line of eternal snow. Yet while all its giant

| 'lﬂ in

front €

imbers

neighbours have the look of being built of solid snow, from their

ides 4

waists up, the Matterhorn stands black and naked and for-

axpl

jtions &

bidding the year round, or merely powdered or streaked with

jale a0

fo

white in places, for its sides are so steep that the snow cannot

0L

stay there. Its strange form, its august isolation, and its majestic

0essiony

'

roW 10

0

fyell

unkinship with its own kind, make it, so to speak, the Napoleon

of the mountain world. ‘Grand, gloomy, and peculiar,’ is a phrase

o Americil

Ve wer

which fits as aptly as it fitted the great captain.

Think of a monument a mile high, standing on a pedestal

of the UP'

two miles high !

This is what the Matterhorn is—a monument.

for here WA

Its office henceforth, for all time, will be to keep watch and ward

yiho bunts

over the secret resting-place of the young Lord Douglas, who

out & gUide:

gll L conld

in 1865 was precipitated from the summit over a precipice 4,000

feet high, and never seen again. No man ever had such a monu-

ot short Tar

ment as this before. The most imposing of the world’s other

Jeny than f

monuments are but atoms compared to it; and they will perish,

the peaks

and their places will pass from memory, but this will remain.!

110 pleasur

A walk from St. Nicholas to Zermatt is a wonderful ex-

but it 58

perience. Nature is built on a stupendous plan in that region.

find pleas

One marches continually between walls that are piled into the

have trar

skies, with their upper heights broken into a confusion of ‘sub-

thought

lime shapes that gleam white and cold against the background of

climber's

blue; and here and there one sees a big glacier displaying its

upon him

grandeurs on the top of a precipice, or a graceful cascade leap-

may have

There is nothing

ing and flashing down the green declivities.

Girdlesto

tame, or cheap, or trivial—it is all magnificent.

That short

had spen

valley is a picture gallery of a notable kind, for it contains no

break his

mediocrities; from end to end the Creator has hung it with His

for Bngla

masterpieces.

to clmb:

We made Zermatt at three in the afternoon, nine hours out

new andy

from St. Nicholas.

Distance, by guide-book, twelve miles; by

ab onee,

pedometer, seventy-two. We were in the heart and home of the

axes, ool

mountain-climbers now, as all visible things testified. The snow-

peaks did not hold themselves aloof, in aristocratic reserve; they

They o

Whete g

nestled close around, in a friendly sociable way; guides, with

prise, |

the ropes and axes, and other implements of their fearful calling

dOWn—a

1ot do,

1 The accident which cost Lord Douglas his life (see Chapter XLI.)

also cost the lives of three other men.

These threo—fell four-fifths of a

Bren

mile, and their bodies were afterwards found lying side by side upon a glacier,

thro it

whence they were borne to Zermatt and buried in the churchyard. The

remains of Lord Douglas have mnever been found.

The secret of his

elsshoy

ad ogt

sepulchre, like that of Meses, must remain a mystery always.

8 d CjEI‘s’ ol

d

vy

A TRAMP ABROAD.

213

)

Tong,

a“ g

flang

glung about their persons, roosted in a long line upon a stone

Moy,

10 thej

wall in front of the hotel, and waited for customers; sun-burned

e gy

climbers in mountaineering costume, and followed by their

! S

guides and porters, arrived from time to time, from break-neck

© S0y gy

expeditions among the peaks and glaciers of the High Alps;

A0

flo

male and female tourists, on mules, filed by in a continuous pro-

) L

cession, hotelward-bound from wild adventures which would

E Napolegy

lar

153

52 Py

grow in grandeur every time they were described at the English

or American fireside, and at last outgrow the possible itself.

3 008 ey

We were not dreaming; this was not a make-believe home

~3 0Ny,

of the Alp-climber, created by our heated imaginations; no,

for here was Mr. Girdlestone himself, the famous Englishman

\ja?c31 and

Tarl

W

h

0

who hunts his way to the most formidable Alpine summits withs

pecipeg 4.\2)«]'\)

out a guide. I was not equal to imagining a Girdlestone; it was

all I could do to even realise him, while looking straight at him

u such g

16 World's

at short range.

I would rather face whole Hyde Parks of artil-

lery than the ghastly forms of death which he has faced among

bey will

will remain,

the peaks and precipices of the mountains.

There is probably

wonderfil ex.

no pleasure equal to the pleasure of climbing a dangerous Alp ;

but it is a pleasure which is confined strictly to people who can

i that reg

piled into

find pleasure in it.

I have not jumped to this conclusion; I

niusion of

ab !

have travelled to it per gravel train, so to speak.

I have

thought the thing all out, and am quite sure I am right. A born

backgroud o

climber’s appetite for climbing is hard to satisfy ; when it comes

r displayig i

upon him he is like a starving man with a feast before him; he

| cas;ade l

Mr.

nere

may have other business on hand, but it must wait.

Girdlestone had had his usual summer holiday in the Alps, and

it Th

had spent it in his usual way, hunting for unique chances to

1 1t con

Hl

I

break his neck; his vacation was over, and his luggage packed

g i yith s

for England, but all of a sudden a hunger had come upon him

to climb the tremendous Weisshorn once more, for he heard of a

nine hours ot

new and utterly impossible route up it. His baggage was unpacked

Jve 1

at once, and now he and a friend, laden with knapsacks, ice-

1d bome of f

axes, coils of rope, and canteens of milk, were just setting out.

o, Thesur

They would spend the night high up among the snows, some-

where, and get up at two in the morning and finish the enter-

se;"e l

prise.

I had a strong desire to go with them, but forced it

fearfl

down—a feat which Mr. Girdlestone, with all his fortitude, could

not do.

1)

o

Even ladies catch the climbing mania, and are unable to

throw it off. A famous climber of that sex had attempted the

T

Weisshorn a few days before our arrival, and she and her guides

, secreh

i

il

had lost their way in a snowstorm high up among the peaks and

glaciers, and been forced to wander around a good while before

)'5.

214

A TRAMP ABROAD.

s g

they could find a way down. When this lady reached the bottom

iR

she had been on her feet twenty-three hours !

Our guides, hired on the Gemmi, were already at Zermatt

LMS knd

when we reached there.

So there was nothing to interfere with

i

o S0 b

our getting up an adventure whenever we should choose the time

hing; wd

and the object. I resolved to devote my first evening in Zermatt

Jly; the !

to studying up the subject of Alpine climbing, by way of pre-

s

paration.

et {62

I read several books, and here are some of the things I found

cqch fime

out. One’s shoes must be strong and heavy and have pointed

forough 8

hobnails in them. The alpenstock must be of the best wood,

theguly ©

for if it should break loss of life might be the result.

One

whole of my

should carry an axe to cut steps in the ice with, on the great

and 1 teﬂ bﬂ

heights. There must be a ladder, for there are steep bits of rock

fortunately

which can be surmounted with this instrument—or this utensil—

but could not be surmounted without it; such an obstruction

brought me

of the pret

has compelled the tourist to waste hours hunting another route,

appeared, :

when a ladder would have saved him all trouble.

One must

fhey fell o

have from 150 to 500 feet of strong rope, to be used in lowering

from utter

the party down steep declivities, which are too steep and smooth

or eight b

to be traversed in any other way. One must have a steel hook

on another rope—a very useful thing; for when one is ascend-

gigantc Je

Mhes

ing, and comes to a low bluff which is yet too high for the

ladder, he swings this rope aloft like a lasso, the hook catches at

e let gof

than twen

the top of the bluff, and then the tourist climbs the rope hand

Tvainly

over hand—being always particular to try and forget that if the

with the

hook gives way he will never stop falling till he arrives in

ing etsa

some part of Switzerland where they are not expecting kim.

kicked ou

Another important thing—there must be a rope to tie the whole

head, T

party together with, so that if one falls from a mountain or

ished, T

down a bottomless chasm in a glacier, the others may brace back

place of

on the rope and save him. One must have a silk veil, to pro-

CONSCIOuS

tect his face from snow, sleet, hail, and gale, and coloured goggles

Stairesse

to protect his eyes from that dangerous enemy, snow-blindness.

the whol

Finally, there must be some porters, to carry provisions, wine,

and scientific instruments,

and also blanket bags for the party

atagp

to sleep in.

Hisy

climbeq §

I closed my readings with a fearful adventure which Mr.

Whymper once had on the Matterhorn

when he was prowling

dlnber

around alone, 5,000 feet above the town o

f Briel. He was edging

his way gingerly around the corner of

a precipice where the

upper edge of a sharp declivity of ice-

glazed snow joined it.

This declivity swept down a couple of hu

which curved around and ended at a

ndred feet, into a gull

precipice 800 ‘feet high,

A TRAMP ABROAD.

215

thed boty

overlooking a glacier.

His foot slipped, and he fell.

He

8ay8i—

Qay

H

¢

@ Zermat

f

i

0 ey

th

‘My knapsack brought my head down first, and I pitched

E100% th

into some rocks about a dozen feet below ; they caught some-

Eing Loy

thing, and tumbled me off the edge, head over heels, into the

) y\\‘ay of .

gully ; the baton was dashed from my hands, and I whirled

downwards in a series of bounds, each longer than the last; now

‘16 tl!ingg 1 fy i

over ice, now into rocks, striking my head four or five times,

178 Y

each time with increased force. The last bound sent me spinning

1108 ety

through the air in a leap of fifty or sixty feet, from one side of

8 el

the gully to the other, and I struck the rocks, luckily, with the

whole of my left side.

“:hr 0n the et

They caught my clothes for a moment,

Xt bt o

and I fell back on to the snow with motion arrested. My head

i thisufyg)

fortunately came the right side up, and a few frantic catches

020 gbsygyy

brought me to a halt in the neck of the gully and on the verge

g anofher ry

G,

of the precipice. Baton, hat, and veil skimmed by and dis-

)

6 mug

appeared, and the crash of the rocks—which I had started—as

sed 1 oy

they fell on to the glacier, told how narrow had been the escape

eep and smog

from utter destruction. As it was, I fell nearly 200 feet in seven

or eight bounds.

Ten feet more would have taken me in one

7e 4 stee] bk

one 13 ascend-

=2

gigantic leap of 800 feet on to the glacier below.

¢ The situation was sufficiently serious.

The rocks could not

0 high for i

hook catehesa

be let go for a moment, and the blood was spirting out of more

han

dtil

1

than twenty cuts.

The most serious ones were in the head, and

the rope b

I vainly tried to close them with one hand, whilst holding on

rgehthat 1t

with the other.

| bg amivs

It was useless; the blood gushed out in blind-

ing jets at each pulsation.

At last, in a moment of inspiration, T

expecting hin

0 ti the wlol

kicked out a big lump of snow and stuck it as plaister on my

y mountai ¢t

head. The idea was a happy one, and the flow of blood dimin-

ished. Then, scrambling up, I got, not a moment too soon, to a

1 brae otk

k vl fo prr

place of safety, and fainted away. The sun was setting when

consciousness returned, and it was pitch-dark before the Great

Joured grggs

Staircase was descended ; but by a combination of luck and care,

ow-blindues

the whole 4,700 feet of descent to Breil was accomplished with-

yigons, Wit

out a slip, or once missing the way.’

for the pary

His wounds kept him a-bed some days. Then he got up and

climbed that mountain again.

"That is the way with a true Alp-

e which Mf'

climber ; the more fun he has, the more he wants.

yas vy

o 78 0905

g There (2

'

oied b

‘WJ

nfo 8§

W ligh

216

A TRAMP ABROAD,

o d

shere I

al

ens Was

gred

Jion, DU

K

CHAPTER XXXVIL

As ustd

under@gl. ¢

Ar1ER I had finished my readings I was no longer myself; I

~ojects an

3

was tranced, uplifted, intoxicated, by the almost incredible perils

xpedition &7

and adventures I had been following my authors through, and

ncludin

0

o

[}9‘

the triumphs I had been sharing with them.

I sat silent some

Thwastu

time, then turned to Harris, and said—

s el

¢ My mind is made up.’

pumbers a0

Something in my tone struck him; and when he glanced at

tion that had

my eye and read what was written there, his face paled percep-

commad

tibly.

He hesitated a moment, then said—

n s'mgle ﬁ'e:

¢ Speak.’

sfrong TOPE:

I answered with perfect calmness—

Jevel, ith 7

¢T WILL ASCEND THE RIFFELBERG.’

exceptin ¥€

If T had shot my poor friend he could not have fallen from

My reaing

his chair more suddenly. If I had been his father he could not

péned in the

have pleaded harder to get me to give up my purpose. But I

enough; [

turned a deaf ear to all he said. When he perceived at last that

nothing could alter my determination he ceased to urge, and for

obeyed my

When

a while the deep silence was broken only by his sobs. I sat in

to move, |

marble resolution, with my eyes fixed upon vacancy, for in spirit

over halfa;

I was already wrestling with the perils of the mountains, and my

“@

had on s

friend sat gazing at me in adoring admiration through his tears.

‘around 1

At last he threw himself upon me in a loving embrace, and ex-

claimed in broken tones—

the other,

in his lef

¢ Your Harris will never desert you. We will die together !’

orutehes s

I cheered the mnoble fellow with praises, and soon his fears

. the homs ¢

were forgotten, and he was eager for the adventure. He wanted

to summon the guides at once and leave at two in the morning,

Alpine ro

as he supposed the custom was; but I explained that nobody

[mdp

in the poy

was looking at that hour, and that the start in the dark was not

usually made from the village, but from the first night’s resting-

five uides

place on the mountain side.

alpenstock

I said we would leave the village

at three or four p.x. on the morrow; meantime he could notify

Uon vy

the guides, and also let the public know of the attempt which we

et we ¢

proposed to make.

onkey

I went to bed, but not to sleep. No man can sleep when he

Alig|—g

is about to undertake one of these Alpine exploits. I tossed

a3 infeyy

feverishly all night long, and was glad enough when I heard the

tion oy

clock strike half-past eleven, and knew it was time to get up for

ehind, (

BEXeS )y

dinner. I rose jaded and rusty, and went to the noon meal,

1A ang g

A TRAMP ABROAD.,

217

where I found myself the centre of interest and curiosity, for the

news was already abroad. It is not easy to eat calmly when you

are a lion, but it is very pleasant, nevertheless.

As usual, at Zermatt, when a great ascent is about to be

MR

undertaken, everybody, native and foreign, laid aside his own

'A'W::dib‘!e

[/c;il

§

projects and took up a good position to observe the start.

The

Thl‘lhu;"“‘ l‘Ld

£

expedition consisted of 198 persons, including the mules, or 203,

Slent

including the cows.

As follows:

It was full four o’clock in the afternoon before my cavalcade

was entirely ready. At that hour it began to move. In point of

o0 he glﬂﬂ(‘éd 4

numbers and spectacular effect it was the most imposing expedi-

€ Jled Pirey

tion that had ever marched from Zermatt.

I commanded the chief guide to arrange the men and animals

in single file, twelve feet apart, and lash them all together on a

strong rope.

He objected that the first two miles was a dead

level, with plenty of room, and that the rope was never used

ave flln g

except in very dangerous places. But I would not listen to that.

er b could

My reading had taught me that many serious accidents had hap-

0%, Bt [

pened in the Alps simply from not having the people tied up soon

ved 4

enough ; I was not going to add one to the list. The guide then

0 lrge,

obeyed my order.

S0D8,

Is

When the procession stood at ease, roped together, and ready

tor

to move, I never saw a finer sight.

It was 3,122 feet long—

al

|

over half a mile; every man but Harris and me was on foot, and

oh |

had on his green veil and his blue goggles, and his white rag

ccoseem,

brce, i

around his hat, and his coil of rope over one shoulder and under

the other, and his ice-axe in his belt, and carried his alpenstock

(e to

in his left hand, his umbrella (closed) in his right, and his

| o |

crutches slung at his back.

The burdens of the pack mules and

the horns of the cows were decked with the Edelweiss and the

o, Hewa

Alpine rose.

) the

I and my agent were the only persons mounted. We were

] that nobod]

in the post of danger in the extreme rear, and tied securely to

dark was o

five guides apiece.

Our armour-bearers carried our ice-axes,

irhtsn

e

alpenstocks, and other implements for us.

We were mounted

ro the il

upon very small donkeys, as a measure of safety; in time of

, could o

-

peril we could straighten our legs and stand up, and let the

npé yihich ¢

donkey walk from under.

Still, I cannot recommend this sort of

animal—at least for excursions of mere pleasure—because his

hgp wihen e

ears interrupt the view.

I and my agent possessed the regula-

(3,

[ foss

tion mountaineering costumes, but concluded to leave them

[ hear 82

behind. Out of respect for the great numbers of tourists of both

sexes who would be assembled in front of the hotels to see us

0 gth U for

00D Téd)

pass, and also out of respect for the many tourists whom we exe

218

A TRAMP ADROAD,

foen 00

festied

hox'

pected to encounter on our_ expedition, we decided to make the

i

e

ascent in evening dress.

consuhl

isfo &)

At fifteen minutes past four I gave the command to move,

b

g

oo’

and my subordinates passed it along the line. The great crowd

hey W

in front of the Monte Rosa hotel parted in twain, with a cheer,

Whethei

el

fhat o

as the procession approached, and as the head of it was filing by

stinctﬂ’

af ey

I gave the order, ¢ Unlimber—make ready—moist!’ and with

one impulse up went my half mile of umbrellas. It was a beau-

ey 00 20647

Nothing like

o ome 0%

tiful sight, and a total surprise td*the spectators.

Plaiﬂl)' e

that had ever been seen in the Alps before.

The applause it

brought forth was deeply gratifying to me, and I rode by with

amiling 8

all went 128

qmy plug hat in my hand to testify my appreciation of it. It

7

was the only testimony I could offer, for I was too full.to speak.

cautiousy,

We watered the caravan at the cold stream which rushes

the mountail

down a trough near the end of the village, and soon afterward

il Towa

left the haunts of civilisation behind wus.

About half-past five

e 1p O

o’clock we arrived at a bridge which spans the Visp, and after

ol the remalr

throwing over a detachment to see if it was safe, the caravan

ol enST

crossed without accident.

The way now led, by a gentle ascent,

pever see fne

carpeted with fresh green grass, to the church of Winkelmatten.

bezan t0Tp

Without stopping to examine this edifice, I executed a flank

dition, - om

movement to the right and crossed the bridge over the Findel-

Clealy

enbach, after first testing its strength.

Here I deployed to the

speech in l

right again, and presently entered an inviting stretch of meadow

perilousap

land which was unoccupied save by a couple of deserted huts

Tad escaped

toward its furthest extremity. These meadows offered an excel-

cue them,

lent camping-place.

We pitched our tents, supped, established

malntain U

would alloy

a proper guard, recorded the events of the day, and then went to

bed.

appear durt

We rose at two in the morning and dressed by candle-light.

and make

It was a dismal and chilly business.

A few stars were shining,

expeditions

but the general heavens were overcast, and the great shaft of the

This

Matterhorn was draped in a sable pall of clouds.

The chief

E—

With some

guide advised a delay ; he said he feared it was going to rain.

cover when

We waited until nine o’clock, and then got away in tolerably

clear weather.

1y yislor

any book o

Our course led up some terrific steeps, densely wooded with

But for thy

larches and cedars, and traversed by paths which the rains had

To add to

slept & mg

guttered and which were obstructed by loose stones.

Persnader

the danger and inconvenience, we were constantly meeting re-

R

for the

turning tourists on foot or horseback, and as constantly being

Lot

crowded and battered by ascending tourists who were in a hurry

Slept bt

and wanted to get by.

Qur troubles thickened. About the middle of the afternoon

Would ot

yself ey

A TRAMP ABROAD,

219

o { gk fly

the seventeen guides called a halt and held a consultation. After

M oy

consulting an hour they said their first suspicion remained intact

—that is to say, they believed they were lost.

I asked if they

6 e gy

o Wil g

did not know it ? No, they said, they couldn’t absolutely know

L1t g fl

g}y

whether they were lost or not, because none of them had ever

been in that part of the country before.

07| g

W

i

They had a strong in-

stinct that they were lost, but they had no proofs, except that

I3,

g i by,

0fh)

they did not know where they were.

They had met no tourists

e ﬂpphu%

I}

for some time, and they considered that a suspicious sign.

Plainly we were in an ugly fix.

The guides were naturally

1 ] rodg by

unwilling to go alone and seek a way out of the difficulty ; sowe

oy of§,

too fyllty

all went together.

For better security we moved slowly and

am Which

cautiously, for the forest was very dense.

We did not move up

the mountain, but around it, hoping to strike across the old

. so0 afyyg

trail.

Toward nightfall, when we were about tired out, we

O bl

came up against a rock as big as a cottage.

This barrier took

he “‘P; g gty

e, the ¢

all the remaining spirit out of the men, and a panic of fear and

despair ensued. They moaned and wept, and said they should

7 a gentle

never see their homes and their dear ones again,

Then they

of Winkel

executed

began to upbraid me for bringing them upon this fatal expe-

dition.

Some even muttered threats against me.

over the I

Clearly it was no time to show weakness.

So I made a

d[’P]O

speech in which I said that other Alp-climbers had been in as

teteh of m

perilous a position as this, and yet by courage and perseverance

of deserted i

offered an

had escaped.

I promised to stand by them ; I promised to res-

{2

cue them.

I closed by saying we had plenty of provisions to

Ipped, ¢

maintain us for quite a siege; and did they suppose Zermatt

and then vt

would allow half a mile of men and mules to mysteriously dis-

appear during any considerable time, right above their noses,

] by candl

and make no inquiries ?

No, Zermatt would send out searching

ars W

expeditions, and we should be saved.

grents

3l

This speech had a great effect.

The men pitched the tents

The

ouds,

with some little show of cheerfulness, and we were snugly under

5 guing B e

cover when the night shut down.

I now reaped the reward of

2

my wisdom in providing one article which"

1

s not mentioned in

ay i folat]

any book of Alpine adventure but this.

I refer to the paregoric.

oy wode |

But for that beneficent drug, not one of those men would have

slept a moment during that fearful night.

But for that gentle

o the i 24

s, Toalt

persuader they must have tossed, unsoothed, the night through ;

for the whisky was for me.

Yes, they would have risen in the

iy meei

As it was, everybody

sonsandf % |

morning unfitted for their heavy task.

gereins 10

slept but my agent and me—only we two and the barkeepers. I

would not permit myself to sleep at such a time.

I considered

I meant to be on hand

f he afet

myself responsible for all those lives.

!

220

A TRAMP ABROAD,

jons i

and ready, in case of avalanches,

I am aware now that there

Porl

mafe

o f

were no avalanches up there, but I did not know it then.

gy &1

Bl

]l'\d noﬂ]l

We watched the weather all through that awful night, and

kept an eye on the barometer, to be prepared for the least

0 00 i)

he €

nded 08

change.

There was not the slightest change recorded by the

o nt

dom

instrument, during the whole time.

Words cannot describe the

comfort that that friendly, hopeful, steadfast thing was to me in

Jobridge

that season of trouble.

faut

“@nd W

It was a defective barometer, and had

. he el 42

no hand but the stationary brass pointer, but I did not know

Je, and

that until afterward.

If I should be in such a situation again, I

e by &

oused

abel

should not wish for any barometer but that one.

edofart

All hands rose at two in the morning and took breakfast,

and as soon as it was light we roped ourselves together and went

il

fetoserved

frain of

nae

at that rock.

For some time we tried the hook-rope and other

means of scaling it, but without success—that is, without perfect

By pightll

success.

faken 0.

The hook caught once, and Harris started up it, hand

Next mot

over hand, but the hold broke, and if there bad not happened to

be a chaplain sitting underneath at the time, Harris would cer-

our vay Wes

He

nature of the

tainly have been crippled.

As it was, it was the chaplain.

took to his crutches, and I ordered the hook-rope to be laid

g dull despon

fhat not co]

aside. It was too dangerous an implement where so many people

that we were

were standing around.

We were puzzled for a while; then somebody thought of the

cireumstance

ladders.

to sugest

One of these was leaned against the rock, and the men

there must

went up it tied together in- couples.

Another ladder was sent

up for use in descending.

At the end of half an hour everybody

fime, yeb we

Demord

was over, and that rock was conquered.

We gave our first

grand shout of triumph.

But the joy was short-lived, for some-

done quickl

:

body asked how we were going to get the animals over.

I contrived

mised well,

This was a serious difficulty ; in fact, it was an impossibility.

The courage of the men began to waver immediately; once

one end of

find the 1o

more we were threatened with a paniec.

But when the danger

was most imminent, we were saved in a mysterious way. A

guide himg

mule which had attracted attention from the beginning by its

suceess, he

disposition to experiment, tried to eat a five-pound can of nitro-

Lpon fhe

glycerine.

This happened right alongside the rock.

The ex-

and Into

plosion threw us all to the ground, and covered us with dirt and

the rope

débris; it frightened us extremely, too, for the crash it made was

ith exgey

deafening, and the violence of the shock made the ground

other timeg

tremble.

However, we were grateful, for the rock was gone.

gttt iy

Its place was occupied by a new cellar, about thirty feet across,

ips whe

by fifteen feet deep. The explosion was heard as far as Zermatt;

over halfy

and an hour and a half afterward many citizens of that town

800 ahy)

were knocked down and quite seriously injured by descending

i held oy

A TRAMP ABROAD.

221

0} Toy ‘

ther

W1t

portions of mule meat, frozen solid.

This shows, better than

Lawy

any estimate in figures, how high the experimenter went.

h i

] fy g,

g

We had nothing to do now but bridge the cellar and proceed

on our way. With a cheer the men went at their work.

I

d

" Tetorgeg by

g

attended to the engineering myself.

I appointed a strong detail

08 ey

06ty

b Was 1

to cut down trees with ice-axes and trim them for piers to support

the bridge.

This was a slow business, for ice-axes are not good

‘mmh(ﬂl‘ a

g

b

to cut wood with.

gy

y

I caused my piers to be firmly set up in ranks

in the cellar, and upon them I laid six of my forty-foot ladders,

i gy |

L S.m

side by side, and laid six more on top of them. Upon this bridge

1 ¢

I caused a bed of boughs to be spread, and on top of the boughs

0k breg

()

a bed of earth six inches deep.

I stretched ropes upon either

MUEL an ey

i

A

side to serve as railings, and then my bridge was complete.

band oty

train of elephants could have crossed it in safety and comfort.

00|

00 e

By nightfall the caravan was on the other side, and the ladders

f bnd

taken up.

10 1o}

Ir

]

;

Tou

¥

Next morning we went on in good spirits for a while, though

our way was slow and difficult, by reason of the steep and rocky

chaphin, §

:;

nature of the ground and the thickness of the forest; but at last

C10pe fo

i

i

a dull despondency crept into the men’s faces, and it was apparent

50 many Pa,;ig

that not only they, but even the guides, were now convinced

that we were lost.

The fact that we still met no tourists was a

)

dy thought o

|

circumstance that was but too significant. Another thing seemed

ock, and the

to suggest that we were not only lost, but very badly lost; for

r adder wa

there must surely be searching parties on the road before this

0 hour ever

time, yet we had seen no sign of them.

fe gare ou

Demoralisation was spreading ; something must be done, and

tJived, or s

done quickly too.

Fortunately, I am not unfertile in expedients.

als over

I contrived one now which commended itself to all, for it pro-

340 ]

I

mised well.

I took three-quarters of a mile of rope and fastened

mediat

one end of it around the waste of a guide, and told him to go and

I instructed him to

when the

=

d

find the road, whilst the caravan waited.

guide himself back by the rope, in case of failure; in case of

ferious TaJ !

beginung by

success, he was to give the rope a series of violent jerks, where-

nd can of i

upon the Expedition would go to him at once.

He departed,

and in two minutes had disappeared among the trees. I paid out

ook, Theer

g with dir al

the rope myself, while everybody watched the crawling thing

with eager eyes.

The rope crept away quite slowly, at times, at

osh 1 maders

other times with some briskness.

Twice or thrice we seemed to

5 te g

get the signal, and a shout was just ready to break from the men’s

rock i 1%

lips when they perceived it was a false alarm.

But at last, when

ity et 401y

over half a mile of rope had slidden away, it stopped gliding and

fipas il

stood absolutely still—one minute—two minutes—three—while

of 08

we held our breath and watched.

by desel j

222

A TRAMP ABROAD.

el i

=1

Was the guide resting? Was he scanning the country from

wmmﬂﬁ

gome high point ?

Was he inquiring of a chance moun-

Yk

fimé-

taineer ?

Stop—had he fainted from excess of fatigue and

e Proce:élc

anxiety ?

et &

This thought gave us a shock. I was in the very act of

oo S T

0

detailing an expedition to succour him, when the cord was

Jiing 4O

assailed with a series of such frantic jerks that I could hardly

1068

mumph

1 .was ¢

keep hold of it. The huzza that went up, then, was good to hear.

10 gmde

tied t0

¢Saved ! saved !’ was the word that rang out, all down the long

The fuy

rank of the caravan.

We found the route to be

r&m’

f €TeD want

We rose up and started at once.

jnnocent dumb

good enough for a while, but it began to grow difficult, by-and-by,

and this feature steadily increased. When we judged we had

penaced 1Y 3

rocaimed that

gone half a mile, we momently expected to see the guide; but

drectly over

no, he was not visible anywhere; neither was he waiting, for the

still moving, consequently he was doing the same.

sealed, exeept

rope was

their fell pury

This argue

d that he had not found the road yet, but was marching

1 see {hat adv

to it with some peasant.

There was nothing for us to do but

)

el eges; 1

plod along, and this we did. At the end of three hours we were

el again

still plodding. This was not only mysterious, but exasperating.

And very fatiguing, too; for we had tried hard, along at first, to

by the very

catch up with the guide, but had only fagged ourselves in vain;

more the t

column as [

for although he was travelling slowly he was yet able to go faster

than the hampered caravan over such ground.

Rodman gun

At three in the afternoon we were nearly dead with ex-

T was s

The

of ingratitud

haustion—and still the rope was slowly gliding out.

treacherous

murmurs against the guide had been growing, steadily, and at

last they were become loud and savage. A mutiny ensued. The

work in thos

Tam Was sef

men refused to proceed.

They declared that we had been

Welive

travelling over and over the same ground all day, in a kind of

circle. They demanded that our end of the rope be made fast

s e had

suspicon, |

to a tree, so as to halt the guide until we could overtake him and

kill him.

This was not an unreasonable requirement, so I gave

0V 80 b

the order.

onif mekiy

lyngin g

As soon as the rope was tied, the Expedition moved forward

with that alacrity which the thirst for vengeance usually inspires.

allowed ghe

But after a tiresome march of almost half a mile, we came to a

nid itelf of

hill covered thick with a crumbly rubbish of stones, and so steep

Up with gl

that no man of us all was now in a condition to climb it. Every

a0 roung j

attempt failed, and ended in crippling somebody. Within twenty

I5overy ]

minutes I had five men on crutches.

Whenever a climber tried

and the S

to assist himself by the rope,.it yielded and let him tumble back-

i, [ had §

wards.

The frequency of this resulf suggested an idea to me.

alled it

I ordered the caravan to 'bout face and form in marching order;

8l g

A TRAMP ABROAD.

223

u]e Qg‘m

4 Qhan

by foy

I then made the tow-rope fast to the rear mule,

(8

command—

and gave the

fty

(I} any

¢ Mark time—by the right flank—forward—march !’

b 1y

of

The procession began to move, to the impressive strains of a

-

e

A\

battle chant, and I said tom

Y

yself, “Now, if the rope don’t break,

I judge this will fetch that guide into the camp.’ I watched the

at | COuld }a

ALY

rope gliding down the hill, and presently when I was all fixed for

al o

L}

L fog

triumph I was confronted by a bitter disappointment: there was

n

no guide tied to the rope, it was only a very indignant old black

Ild hn 0y ok

e §

ram. The fary of the baffled Expedition ‘exceeded all bounds.

ey even wanted to wreak their unreasoning vengeance on this

lmCuIt’ b) Ay

" Judged

innocent dumb brute. But I stood between them and their prey,

v

I

menaced by a bristling wall of ice-axes and alpenstocks, and

the g

Ui

proclaimed that the

was but one road to this murder, and it was

‘ej\:aiting,

fir

;

b

directly over my co

£

) domg he g

e. HEven as I spoke I saw that my doom was

sealed, except a miracle supervened to divert these madmen from

y 00 \Yﬁsmﬂﬁm

their fell purpose. I see that sickening wall of weapons now;

for us o ¢ s

I see that advancing host as I saw it then, I see the hate in those

166 Bous v

cruel eyes; I remember how I drooped my head upon my breast;

but exageny

I feel again the sudden earthquake shock in my rear, administered

, along ot

]

by the very ram I was sacrificing myself to save; I hear once

urselves in

more the typhoon of laughter that burst from the assaulting

f able fogo

column as I clove it from van to rear like a Sepoy shot from a

Rodman gun.

ly dead yith &

I was saved. Yes, I was saved, and by the merciful instinct

i

iling o,

§

o

of ingratitude which nature had planted in the breast of that

cadily, and 4

treacherous beast.

The grace which eloquence had failed to

(Iny €08

work in those men’s hearts had been wrought by a laugh.. The

at we lad

ram was set free and my life was spared.

=

We lived to find out that that guide had deserted us as soon

day,in & k}\

as he had placed a half-mile between himself and us.

To aver.

o be

overfake b

suspicion, he had judged it best that the line should continue to

ementy 0 | 3

move; so he caught that ram, and at the time that he was sitting

on it making the rope fast to it, we were imagining that he was

, mored forl}‘zri

!‘

lying in a swoon, overcome by fatigue and distress.

When he

allowed the ram to get up, it fell to plunging around, trying to

usaly e

g Ve (¢ i

rid itself of the rope, and this was the signal which we had risen

up with glad shouts to obey. We had followed this ram round

15, ad 954

and round in a circle all day—a thing which was proven by the

Jinb . 37

Tithinfret]

discovery that we had watered the Expedition seven times at one

and the same spring in seven hours.

As expert a woodman as I

climber 1

p tunbl

am, I had somehow failed to notice this until my attention was

called to it by a hog. Thisv*}_l_g_g‘was always wallowing there, and

b l.dfﬂt fo ke |

as he was the only hog we saw, his frequent repetition, together

lﬂrcbfﬂg

ol

224

A TRAMP ABROAD.

1 eotl

with his unvarying similarity to himself, finally caused me to

tlld )

reflect that he must be the same hog, and this led me to the

:clelmﬁc

)

bol

deduction that this must be the same spring also—which indeed

i

ot 10

it was.

1 boll

I made a note of this curious thing, as showing in a striking

fhese

instrume

manner the relative difference between

(=]

glacial action and the

it hes

[of the

action of the hog.

It is now a well-established fact that glaciers

fhe Jal

move; I consider that my observations go to show, with equal

have bDl

led i

I shall

conclusiveness, that a hog in a spring does not move.

] nted 0

be glad to receive the opinions of other observers upon this point.

olled 3 h‘ﬂh g

To return, for an explanatory moment, to that guide, and

yere S

then I shall be done with him. = After leaving the ram tied to

ot affeced &

the rope, he had wandered at large a while, and then happened

e onp

to run across a cow. dJudging that a cow would naturally know

gon, Changed

more than a guide, he took her by the tail, and the result justified

Hked by 2

She nibbled her leisurely way down-hill till it

his judgment.

every 4a]:

was near milking time; then she struck for home and towed him

e dnjured

into Zermatt.

my satishet

therefore

conld take

CHAPTER XXXVIIL

weather m

it was g

oorns, 1

WE went into camp on that wild spot to which that ram had

brought us.

The men were greatly fatigued.

Their conviction

governmen

that we were lost was forgotten in the cheer of a good supper,

upon them

to the cook

and before the reaction had a chance to set in, I loaded them up

with paregoric and put them to bed.

found tha

the defect

Next morning I was considering in my mind our desperate

to the sul

situation and trying to think of a remedy, when Harris came to me

with a Baedeker map which showed conclusively that the moun-

T next

tain we were on was still in Switzerland—yes, every part of it

i i

sl the

was in Switzerland. So we were not lost, after all.

This was

opinion ¢

to indica

an immense relief: it lifted the weight of two such mountains

from my breast. I immediately had the news disseminated and

of 200

the map exhibited, The effect was wonderful.

As soon as the

etermal g

men saw with their own eyes that they knew where they were,

10 Sn0w

and that it was only the summit that was lost and not them-

ternal g

selves, they cheered up instantly and said with one accord, let

and dogg

the summit take care of itself, they were not interested in its

one whil

troubles.

Was 4s

Our distresses being at an end, I now determined to rest the

Qeserteq

men in camp and give the scientific department of the Expedition

fure, [t

a chance, Tirst Imade a barometric observation, to get our alti-

s q Pﬂng

76 by

A TRAMP ABROAD.

22

h

i

1§ Jo] e

g fo

10 fhy

tude, but I could not perceive that there wasany result.

I knew,

~vlig

gy i

by my scientific reading, that either thermometers or barometers

ought to be boiled, to make them accurate ; I did not know which

a 5?11]*{0

it was, so I boiled both. There was still no result; so I examined

100 g

i

these instruments and discovered that they possessed radical ble-

it o]

mishes: the barometer had no hand but the brass pointer, and

Wy W

i

the ball of the thermometer was stuffed with tin foil.

I might

Yt Mova

|

have boiled those things to rags, and never found out anything.

pon

1 hunted up another barometer ; it was new and perfect.

I

|

'Jide‘. af

Dboiled it half an hour in a pot of bean soup which the cooks

B

A o] f)

were making.

The result was unexpected : the instrument was

1 4]

1annened

not affected at all, but there was such a strong barometer taste to

the soup that the head cook, who was a most conscientious per-

e

|

gon, changed its name in the bill of fare. The dish was so greatly

0w,

liked by all, that I ordered the cook to have barometer soup

every day.

It was believed that the barometer might eventually

16 ang I(;\;'efl Elm

I had demonstrated to

be injured, but I did not care for that.

my satisfaction that it could not tell how high a mountain was,

therefore T had no real use for it.

Changes of the weather I

could take care of withoutit; I did not wish to know when the

weather was going to be good ; what I wanted to know was when

it was going to be bad, and this I could find out from Harris’s

h that 1

el

corns.

Harris had had his corns tested and regulated at the

Their

government observatory in Heidelberg, and one could depend

[a

upon them with confidence.

So I transferred the new barometer

(03

to the cooking department, to be used for the official mess. It was

found that even a pretty fair article of soup could be made with

the defective barometer ; so I allowed that one to be transferred

d our

el

to the subordinate messes.

I next boiled the thermometer, and got a most excellent re-

sult; the mercury went up to about 200° Fahrenheit. In the

opinion of the other scientists of the Expedition, this seemed

to indicate that we had attained the extraordinary altitude

m

of 200,000 feet above sea level.

Science places the line of

eternal snow at about 10,000 feet above sea level.

There was

As soon

pre i

il

no snow where we were, consequently it was proven that the

eternal snow line ceases somewhere above the 10,000 foot level

ind

nd 106

This as an interesting fact, and

ne

and does not begin any more.

It

one which had not been observed by any observer before.

(i

was as valuable as interesting, too, since it would open up the

deserted summits of the highest Alps to population and agricul-

ot

ture. It was a proud thing to be where we were, yet it caused

e Expediljﬁﬂ

us a pang to reflect that but for that ram we might just as well

o

have been 200,000 feet higher.

Q

226

A TRAMNP ABROAD.

A t0 il

The success of my last experiment induced me to try an ex-

Ll

Jwst

mi

periment with my photographic apparatus. I got it out, and

boiled one of my cameras, but the thing was a failure: it made

5, e

)

the wood swell up and burst, and I could not see that the lenses

q 0 it

gLl i

ther

were any better than they were before.

Jid iny 0

I now concluded to boil a guide.

It might improve him, it

1 his ol

I

could not impair his usefulness.

But I was not allowed to pro-

1

Jlife

ceed.

25 T

Guides have no feeling for science, and this one would not

el 2

U

consent to be made uncomfortable in its interest.

ad I

In the midst of my scientific work, one of those needless acci-

at e 2

n‘ea.ure

el

dents happened which are always occurring among the ignorant

and thoughtless.

A porter shot at a chamois and missed it and

(e mou

had 00

f e

crippled the Latinist.

This was not a serious matter to me, for

Iualm

a Latinist’s duties are as well performed on crutches as otherwise

—but the fact remained that if the Latinist had not happened to

o calt o

d more

be in the way a mule would have got that load. That would

yere 00F

font

have been quite another matter, for when it comes down to a

question of value there is a palpable difference between a Latinist

yitich 1 WeS

o particulam

and a mule.

I could not depend on having a Latinist in the

right place every time; so, to make things safe, I ordered that in

o Wed

future the chamois must not be hunted within the limits of the

Riffelberg

camp with any other weapon than the forefinger.

completed

My nerves had hardly grown quiet after this affair when they

Ve had

makes its i

got another shake-up—one which utterly unmanned me for a

moment : a rumour swept suddenly through the camp that one

solid ice, wo

of the barkeepers had fallen over a precipice.

and we coul

However, it turned out that it was only a chaplain.

I had

Rurggen G

laid in an extra force of chaplains, purposely to be prepared for

The m

in fronf of

emergencies like this, but by some unaccountable oversight had

come away rather short-handed in the matter of barkeepers.

mediately 1

On the following morning we moved on, well refreshed and

along 3t pr

consisted in

in good spirits.

I remember this day with peculiar pleasure,

because it saw our road restored to us.

Yes, we found our road

interrupted

again, and in quite an extraordinary way. We had plodded along

WE—

bottles on

some two hours and a half, when we came up against a solid

for Alping ¢

mass of rock about twenty feet high.

I did not need to be in-

for Rl y

Leaving

structed by a mule this time.—I was already beginning to know

more than any mule in the Expedition.—I at once put in a blast

the clilet,

of dynamite, and lifted that rock out of the way. But to my

scientif

surprise and mortification, I found that there had been a chalet

ardly egu

on top of it.

Jouth of g}

T

I picked up such members of the family as fell in my vicinity,

! ‘Pl'ettyl

and subordinates of my corps collected the rest.

None of these

Vs, Thepy

poor people were injured, happily, but they were much annoyed.

Beats~]f

I

A TRAMP ABROAD.

227

¢ try

gy,

I explained to the head chaleteer just how the thing happened,

mlt, and

flyyg

mﬂe

and that I was only searching for the road, and would certainly

® that g

have given him timely notice if I had known he was up there.

I said I had meant no harm, and hoped I had not lowered my-

Prog

self in his estimation by raising him a few rods in the air.

I

said many other judicious things, and finally when I offered to

t aHO\ved fy i

1 0ng g u,

he was mollified and satisfied.

rebuild his chalet, and pay for breakages, and throw in the cellar,

He hadn’t any cellar at all,

before;; he would not have as good a view, now, as formerly, but

5138 Heﬁdleg g

what he had lost in view he had gained in cellar, by “exact

8 e iy

measurement.

He said there wasn’t another hole like that in

W D

the mountains—and he would have been right if the late mule

atfey to me’ f“

had not tried to eat up the nitroglycerine.

25 oheryy,

I put a hundred and sixteen men at work, and they rebuilt

m ADnened

iat ol

the chalet from its own débris in fifteen minutes:™ It was a good

deal more picturesque than it was before, too.

The man said we

0ntes dopnfy,

were now on the Feli-Stutz, above the Schwegmatt—information

een g [

which I was glad to get, since it gave us our position to a degree

Lafuig

of particularity which we had not been accustomed to for a da

ordered th

or so. We also learned that we were standing at the foot of the

o it s

Riffelberg proper, and that the initial chapter of our work was

completed.

Tlr when ’

We had a fine view, from here, of the energetic Visp, as it

N

ed m

malkes its first plunge into the world from under a huge arch of

Calp

!

solid ice, worn through the foot-wall of the great Gorner Glacier;

aud we could also see the Furggenbach, which is the outlet of the

apldl

n [

Furggen Glacier.

\er

The mule-road to the summit of the Riffelberg passed right

Ove

in front of the chalet, a circumstance which we almost im-

thet

mediately noticed, because a procession of tourists was filing

along it pretty much all the time.!

The chaleteer’s business

[1ar piéd

consisted in furnishing refreshments to tourists.

My blast had

ind o

interrupted this trade for a few minutes, by breaking all the

)

lo

fed

bottles on the place ; but I gave the man a lot of whisky to sell

i .

for Alpine champagne, and a lot of vinegar which would answer

for Rhine wine, consequently trade was soon as brisk as ever.

ol oI

ing kP

Leaving the Expedition outside to rest, I quartered myself in

it ina ¥

the chalet, with Harris, purposing to correct my journals and

scientific observations before continuing the ascent.

I had

But b2y

e 8 fij]jr'!

hardly begun my work when a tall, slender, vigorous American

youth of about twenty-three, who was on his way down the

i

! ¢ Pretty much’ may not be elegant English, but it is high timeit

e of fieé

was,

There is no elegant word or phrase which means just what it

means,—M., T,

ot

Q2

228

A TRAMP ABROAD.

‘S,DOH

mountain, entered and came toward me with that breezy self-

complacency which is the adolescent’s idea of the well-bred ease

{he et

qon

Rome )

of the man of the world. His hair was short and parted accurately

0{ ﬂl

in the middle, and he had all the look of an American person

llent

fhose O

hep AP

who would be likely to begin his signature with an initial, and spell

st

st

o 200

his middle name out.

He introduced himself, smiling a smirk

ou

smile borrowed from the courtiers of the stage, extended a fair-

(ne &

day §

asant’s A0

skinned talon, and whilst he gripped my hand in it he bent hig

o, WOIS

]

bedy forward three times at the hips, as the stage-courtier does,

sl

and said in the airiest and most condescending and patronising

s orerlooke

|

qoain JOU

Wi

:

way—I quote his exact language—

¢ Very glad to make your acquaintance, 'm sure; very glad

il he e

chanbers by

indeed, assure you.

I’ve read all your little efforts and greatly

,

I, You

admired them, and when I heard you were here, I . .

.

I indicated a chair, and he sat down.

This grandee was the

1.8, A

T, b

grandson of an American of considerable note in his day, and

G5,

not wholly forgotten yet—a man who came so near being a great

man that he was quite generally accounted one while he lived.

m Europe.

I slowly paced the floor, pondering scientific problems, and

apen to me

heard this conversation :

pleasu, 20

Grandson. First visit to Europe ?

palaces of

Yes.

Harris. Mine ?

titled perso

G. S. (With a soft reminiscent sigh suggestive of by-gone

vilations a

where Lar

joys that may be tasted in their freshness but once.) Ah, I

know what it is to you.

A first visit !—ah, the romance of it !

in the Jand

I wish I could feel it again.

the Im

D

o

o

It is enchantment.

1, It

. Yes, I find it exceeds all my dreams.

I

(¢}

a little o

G. S, (.\Vith a dainty gesture of the hand signifying, ¢ Spare

6.8

me your callow enthusiasms, good friend.”) Yes, / know, I

There’s n

know ; you go to cathedrals, and exclaim ; and you drag through

Boston'y v

couldn't ¢

league-long picture-galleries and exclaim ; and you stand here,

and there, and yonder, upon historic ground, and continue to

Where's th

exclaim; and you are permeated with your first crude concep-

a.good opi

tions of Art, and are proud and happy. Ah, yes, proud and

travelled 4

happy—that expresses it.

Yes, yes, enjoy it—it is right—it is

i pain n

an innocent revel.

18,60 leaye

I1. And you?

Don’t you do these things now ?

His tate

© S 1LY

Oh, that is wery good !

My dear sir, when you

When [ g

are as old a traveller as I am, you will not ask such a question

ain, [,

asthat. [ visit the regulation gallery, moon around the regula-

I I

tion cathedral, do the worn round of the regulation sights, yet?

—HExcuse me !

G5 ]

follo g

H. Well, what do you do, then?

iy

A TRAMP ABROAD.

229

at brEE

h

) &

[

& wel] br

G. S. Do? Iflit—and flit—for I am ever on the wing—but I

rte]

eyt

avoid the herd. To-day I am in Paris, to-morrow in Berlin,

anon in Rome; but you would look for me in vain in the

Loy

i

galleries of the Louvre or the common resorts of the gazers in

liine

A sy

u\[

those other capitals.

If you would find me, you must look in the

"‘J

€

tende]

unvisited nooks and corners where others never think of going.

m gt

he }

One day you will find me making myself at home in some obscure

d

E-Coutje

peasant’s cabin, another day you will find me in some forgotten

castle, worshipping some little gem of art which the careless eye

B and paty

i

has overlooked and which the unexperienced would despise;

again you will find me a guest in the inner sanctuaries of palaces

T yon

while the herd is content to get a hurried glimpse of the unused

Al

chambers by feeing a servant.

grandes y

If

. You are a guest in such places ?

G. S. And a welcome one.

II. 1t is surprising.

How does it come ?

G. S. My grandfather’s name is a passport to all the courts

m Europe.

¢ prob

I bave only to utter that name and every door is

open to me.

I flit from court to court at my own free will and

pleasure, and am always welcome.

I am as much at home in the

palaces of Europe as you are among your relatives.

I know every

titled person in Europe, I think.

I have my pockets full of in-

ive of |

vitations all the time.

I am under promise now to go to Italy,

once)

=

where I am to be the guest of a succession of the noblest houses

T0mance o 11

in the land.

In Berlin my life is a continued round of gaicty in

the Imperial palace.

It is the same wherever I go.

1 enchanoet

But it must make Boston seem

I. It must be very pleasant.

a little slow when you are at home.

e

G. S. Yes, of course it does.

But I don’t go home much.

There’s no life there—little to feed a man’s higher nature.

d

Boston’s very narrow, you know. She doesn’t know it, and you

|

couldn’t convince her of it; so I say nothing when I'm there:

where’s the use?

d ¢

Yes, Boston is very narrow, but she has such

(rude

a good opinion of herself that she can’t see it.

A man who has

travelled as much as I have, and seen as much of the world, sees

it plain enough, but he can’t cure it, you know, so the best way

is to leave it and seck a sphere which is more in harmony with

his tastes and culture.

I run across there once a year perhaps,

1Al

when I have nothing important on hand, but I'm very soon back

h

4 (1t

again. I spend my time in Europe.

H.

see. You map out your plans and

K

il

I

c]"b

15

)

il 1L

G. S. No, excuse me.

I don’t map out any plans.

Isimply

follow the inclination of the day. I am limited by no ties, no

requirements; I am not bound in any way. I am tooold a

230

A TRAMP ABROAD.

el

ovely

travelleeto hamper myself with deliberate purposes.

Tam simply

ot

oSt

a traveller—an inveterate traveller—a man of the world, in a

i

0 5

word—I can call myself by no other name.

I do not say, ‘I am

0 Qlﬁﬁm

going here, or I am going there;’ I say nothing at all, I only act.

i)

06 ﬁ"

0 €

“c()\lfa

For instance, next week you may find me the guest of a grandee

th dr uom a0

of Spain, or you may find me off for Venice, or flitting toward

WQ jint

/vht

Dresden.

I shall probably go to Egypt presently; friends will

ey

say to friends, ¢ He is at the Nile cataracts;’ and at that very

b

latort

moment they will be surprised to learn that I'm away off yonder

in India somewhere.

forin (8 %

I am a constant surprise to people.

They

aqalns

51

g grall

are always saying, ¢ Yes, he was in Jerusalem when we heard of

artO

00 Al

him last, but goodness knows where he is now.’

The dif

Presently the Grandson rose to leave—discovered he had an

couAZe a8

appointment with some Emperor, perhaps.

He did his graces

fo s P

over again : gripped me with one talon, at arm’s length, pressed

-

yithout toe

his hat against his stomach with the other, bent his body in the

middle three times, murmuring—

15ce1'ine.

bilty of

¢ Pleasure, 'm sure; great pleasure, 'm sure.

Wish you much

yalked pro

success.’

Hotel and

Then he removed his gracious presence.

It is a great and

Teg I

solemn thing te have a grandfather.

it i el

I have not purposed to misrepresent this boy in any way, for

-

what little indignation he excited in me soon passed and left

allswere

Was uople

nothing behind it but compassion.

One cannot keep up a grudge

There

against a vacuum.

I have tried to repeat the lad’s very words;

Jadies and

it T have failed anywhere, I have at least not failed to reproduce

which i

the marrow and meaning of what he said.

He and the

had been )

innocent chatterbox whom I met on the Swiss lake are the

a stone m

most unique and interesting specimens of Young America I

T bl

came across during my foreign tramping.

The grandson of

twenty-three referred to himself five or six times as an ‘old

CUrious 1

mountain

traveller,” and as many as three times (with a serene complacency

that I bad

which was maddening) as a ‘man of the world.’

There was

Thers by

something very delicious about his leaving Boston to her ¢nar-

rowness,” unreproved and uninstructed.

Grat)

I formed the caravan in marching order presently, and after

looksa gl

and dang

riding down the line to see that it was properly roped together,

gave the command to proceed.

In a little while the road carried

mometer,

us to open, grassy land.

We were above the troublesome forest

in chany

all the y

now, and had an uninterrupted view, straight before us, of our

summit—the summit of the Riffelberg.

breezy g

1ore. thg

We followed the mule road, a zigzag course, now to the

right, now to the left, but always up, and always crowded and

exploit i

incommoded by going and coming files of reckless tourists who

T

A TRAMP ABROAD.

231

Ty

mply

were never, in a single instance, tied together.

I was obliged to

he Worlg

g

exert the utmost care and caution, for in many places the road

o ggy ¢

) iy

ball |

0

was not two yards wide, and often the lower side of it sloped

Jag

away in slanting precipices eight and even nine feet deep. I had

S0 Ay

i

t

to encourage the men constantly, to keep them from giving way

ity {owyg

to their unmanly fears.

J) triendy il

We might have made the summit before night but for a

| Ihﬂt Ty

»

%

delay caused by the loss of an umbrella. I was for allowing the

J O o o

umbrella to remain lost, but the men murmured, and with reason,

Ople, ﬂ,y

for in this exposed region we stood in peculiar need of protection

0 Ve by

against avalanches; so I went into camp and detached a strong

arty to go after the missing article.

The difficulties of the next morning were severe, but our

dih

IE hal bl

S gats

courage was high, for our goal was near.

At noon we conquered

lengh,

the last impediment—we stood at last upon the summit—and

without the loss of a single man, except the mule that ate the

S body iy

glycerine.

Our great achievement was achieved—the possi-

Wish Joumuh

bility of the impossible was demonstrated, and Harris and I

|

walked proudly into the great dining-room of the Riffelberg

is gt |

Hotel and stood our Alpenstocks up in the corner.

Yes, I had made the grand ascent; but it was a mistake to do

1L any way,

it in evening dress.

The plug hats were battered, the swallow-

tails were fluttering rags, mud added no grace, the general effect

was unpleasant and even disreputable.

D Upa gruogs

3V

There were about seventy-five tourists at the hotel—mainly

ladies and little children—and they gave us an admiring welcome

eato e

The ascent

He and

which paid us for all our privations and sufferings.

I

i

had been made, and the names and dates now stand recorded on

a stone monument there to prove it to all future tourists.

g Anery ]

'

-

I boiled a thermometer and took an altitude, with a most

y grandsn

curious result: the summit was not as ligh as the point on the

s 250 ‘ol

mountain side where I had taken the first altitude.

Suspecting

o complet]

! There 8

that I had made an important discovery, I prepared to verify it.

There happened to be a still higher summit (called the Gorner

fp her ‘mite

Grat) above the hotel, and notwithstanding the fact that it over-

looks a glacier from a dizzy height, and that the ascent is difficult

I, ad

and dangerous, I resolved to venture up there and boil a ther-

e tgel

mometer.

So I sent a strong party, with some borrowed hoes,

road

in charge of two chiefs of service, to dig a stairway in the soil

some 1%

all the way, and this I ascended, roped to the guides.

This

puy 0

breezy height was the summit proper—so I accomplished even

more than I had originally purposed to do.

This fool-hardy

oW

fo

e

exploit is recorded on another stone monument.

ro“’ded i

[

I boiled my thermometer, and sure enough this spot, which

Dmnts o

232

A TRAMP ABROAD.

ofl

purported to be 2,000 feet higher than the locality of the hotel,

om0

fhe

turned out to be 9,000 feet lower.

Thus the fact was clearly

qunt

demonstrated that, above a certain point, the higher a point seems

g o

omiel

to be, the lower it actually 1s.

Our ascent itself was a great

3

achievement, but this contribution to science was an inconceivably

[0

of ea&ed

greater matter.

Al

00

Cavillers object that water boils at a lower and lower tem-

I

R an i

a0

il % e

perature the higher and higher you go, and hence the apparent

anomaly.

I answer that I do not base my theory upon what the

by S oW

boiling water does, but upon what a boiled thermometer says.

pe

You can’t go behind the thermometer.

frng i 2

I had a magnificent view of Monte Rosa, and apparently all

ualngy

the rest of the Alpine world, from that high place.

All the

{osun 1S

circling horizon was piled high with a mighty tumult of snowy

Jirtothe

crests.

One might have imagined he saw before him the tented

finf to it~

arepttle

camps of a beleaguering host of Brobdingnagians.

But lonely, conspicuous, and superb rose that wonderful

Jook it v

upright wedge, the Matterhorn.

Its precipitous sides were pow-

{he sun 18

dered over with snow, and the upper half hidden in thick clouds

which now and then dissolved to cobweb films and gave brief

glimpses of the imposing tower as through a veil.

A little later

e

the Matterhorn ! took to himself the semblance of a volcano; he

was stripped naked to his apex—around this circled vast wreaths

of white cloud which strung slowly out and streamed away slant-

A come-

wise toward the sun, a twenty-mile stretch of rolling and tum-

4 man

bling vapour, and looking just as if it were pouring out of a

Riffelber

crater. Later again, one of the mountain’s sides was clean and

strange <

clear, and another side densely clothed from base to summit in

1D

thick smoke-like cloud which feathered off and blew around

the shaft’s sharp edge like the smoke around the corners of a

burning ‘building.

The Matterhorn is always experimenting,

?iré

In the sunset, when all the

and always gets up fine effects too.

hou

|

lower world is palled in gloom, it points toward heaven out of

the pervading blackness like a finger of fire.

In the sunrise—

well, they say it is very fine in the sunrise.

Authorities agree that there is no such tremendous ‘lay out’

%

of snowy Alpine magnitude, grandeur, and sublimity to be seen

f:;

I

Lim

! Nore.—I had the very unusual luck to catch one little momentary

glimpse of the Matterhorn wholly unencumbered by clouds.

I levelled my

11

photographic apparatus at it without the loss of an instant, and should

41

have got an elegant picture if my donkey had not interfered. It was my

Tvant

purpose to draw this photograph all by myself for my book, but was obliged

3.6

to put the mountain part of it into the hands of the professional artist

ﬁﬂger.b(

because I found I could not do landscape well,

4T

253

of fhe

A TRAMP ABROAD.

i

g

W g

from any other accessible point as the tourist may see from the

P

summit of the Riffelberg. Therefore let the tourist rope him-

O poi o

g Qe

self up and go there; for I have shown that with nerve, caution,

‘;

1conge

and judgment the thing can be done.

;abf},

T wish to add one remark here—in parentheses, so to speak—

dlux\(r f I

suggested by the word ¢snowy,” which I have just used. We

f

have all seen hills and mountains and levels with snow on them,

I

n

Uffn W

i

and so we think we know all the aspects and effects produced

by snow. But indeed we do not, until we have seen the Alps.

Possibly mass and distance add something—at any rate some-

nfly

thing zs added.

Among other noticeable things, there is a

apare

Ally

" a

il

Il fhe

dazzling, intense whiteness about the distant Alpine snow when

111111

the sun is on it, which one recognises as peculiar, and not fami-

The snow which one is accustomed to has a

i the zemti

|

liar to the eye.

tint to it—painters usually give it a bluish cast—but there is no

perceptible tint to the distant Alpine snow when it is trying to

036 Won

Were oy

look its whitest.

As to the unimaginable splendour of it when

the gun is blazing down on it—well, it simply ¢s unimaginable.

] gare

A

CHAPTER XXXIX.

\l

iy

A GUIDE-BOOK is a queer thing.

The reader has just seen what

ant

a man who undertakes the great ascent from Zermatt to the

Tng otk o

Yet Baedeker makes these

d

Riffelberg Hotel must experience.

43

strange statements concerning this matter :—

o Sl

I}lli‘..

1. Distance—three hours.

blewy arou

;

2. The road cannot be mistaken.

3. Guide unnecessary.

CGT{)EFS (18]

4. Distance from Riffelberg Hotel to the Gorner Grat, one

yhen

hour and a half.

eavel q’di u

5. Ascent simple and easy. Guide unnecessary.

g sunrE—

6. Elevation of Zermatt above sea level, 5,315 feet.

7. Elevation of Riffelberg Iotel above sea level, 8,429 feet.

!

8. Elevation of the Gorner Grat above sea level, 10,289 feet.

)

I

I have pretty effectually throttled these errors by sending

J o be s

B

Lim the following demonstrated facts :—

Jp momentd]

1. Distance from Zermatt to Riffelberg Hotel, seven days.

[ !ereﬂfd /

2. The road can be mistaken.

If I am the first that did it,

i

ny

I want the credit of it too.

8. Guides are necessary, for none but a native can read those

sl

h'gild

ol 0108

finger-boards.

4, The estimate of the elevation of the several localities

234

A TRAMP ABROAD.

above sea level is pretty correct—for Baedeker.

He only misses

ot

me

[

it about a hundred and eighty or ninety thousand feet.

anel

fi

So'lcm\ui 4

I found my arnica invaluable.

My men were suffering ex-

cruciatingly, from the friction of sitting down so much. During

o there ¥ :

qolerhand

two or three days not one of them was able to do more than lie

down or walk about; yet so effective was the arnica, that on the

geience Wl

fourth all were able to sit up.

I consider that, more than to any-

por €Dy 1

Tt

thing else, I owe the success of our great undertaking to arnica

and paregoric.

ot o

My men being restored to health and strength, my main per-

pan b

(6

of some €

plexity now was how to get them down the mountain again.

I

was not willing to expose the brave fellows to the perils, fatigues,

)

4

pointme

et

and hardships of that fearful route again if it could be helped.

First I thought of balloons; but of course I had to give that

fiing 1

idea up, for balloons were not procurable.

I thought of several

soon Tl

’r\ﬁd hh [

other expedients, but upon consideration discarded them for

cause.

But at last T hif if.

I was aware that the movement

along

of glaciers is an established fact, for I had read it in Baedeker;

ad e

(T

so I resolved to take passage for Zermatt on the great Gorner

Glacier.

mm

y}

1o

e

1

Very good. The next thing was, how to get down to the

glacier comfortably—for the mule-road to it was long, and wind-

for enl

ing, and wearisome.

I set my mind at work, and soon thought

It

‘I

out a plan.

One looks straight down upon the vast frozen river

called the Gorner Glacier from the Gorner Grat—a sheer preci-

reqreh

pice 1,200 fect high. We had 154 umbrellas—and what is an

You

umbrella but a parachute ?

ive—

I mentioned this noble idea to Harris with enthusiasm, and

I

But

was about to order the expedition to form on the Gorner Grat,

with their umbrellas, and prepare for flicht by platoons, each

tot

he

platoon in command of a guide, when Harris stopped me and

!

urged me not to be too hasty. He asked me if this method of

€XCUS

descending the Alps had ever been tried before.

I said, ¢ No, I

had not heard of an instance.’

Then, in his opinion, it was a

than !

U

matter of considerable gravity; in his opinion it would not be

he o

well to send the whole command over the cliff at once; a better

Was1

he fared.

way would be to send down a single individual first, and see how

in a

stren

I saw the wisdom of this idea instantly.

I said as much,

Wits

and thanked my agent cordially, and told him to take his um-

I

brella and try the thing right away, and wave his hat when he

G

got down, if he struck in a soft place, and then I would ship the

What

rest right along.

b

Harris was greatly touched with this mark of coufidence, and

jump

235

A TRAMP ABROAD.

said so in a voice that had a perceptible tremble in it ; but at the

same time he said he did not feel himself worthy of so con-

mﬁel’inn 0

lllch, D?lhnn

spicuous a favour ; that it might cause jealousy in the command,

for there were plenty who would not hesitate to say he had used

0t gy [,

4l :

underhand means to get the appointment, whereas his con-

science would bear him witness that he had not sought it at all,

‘e.than oy

S1g to gy

nor even, in his secret heart, desired it.

I said these words did him extreme credit, but that he must

Y iy ey

not throw away the imperishable distinction of being the first

man to descend an Alp per parachute, simply to save the feelings

tm

“ﬂg‘ai:n. I

of some envious underlings.

No, I said, he must accept the

TLS, fafio

i

appointment—it was no longer an invitation, it was a command.

He thanked me with effusion, and said that putting the

0 g thy

bt of sye]

thing in this form removed every objection. He retired, and

soon returned with his umbrella, his eyes flaming with gratitude

ed them £

and his cheeks pallid with joy. Just then the head guide passed

§1e oy

along. Harris's expression changed to one of infinite tenderness,

In

Aty

and he said—

great Gore

¢That man did me a cruel injury four days ago, and I said

in my heart he should live to perceive and confess that the only

down to f

ncble revenge a man can take upon his enemy is to return good

g and vizd

for evil.

I resign in his favour.

Appoint him.’

001 {houg

I threw my arms around the generous fellow and said—

- frooen it

¢ Harris, you are the noblest soul that lives. You shall not

sheet i

regret this sublime act, neither shall the world fail to know of it.

d wht 151

You shall have opportunities far transcending this one, too, if I

live—remember that.’

hustasm,

I called the head guide to me and appointed him on the spot.

He did not take

(Gormer G"M

But the thing aroused no enthusiasm in him.

atn

to the idea at all.

He said—

me

¢ Tie myself to an umbrella and jump over the Gorner Grat;

excuse me, there are a great many pleasanter roads to the devil

than that.’

‘ﬂxd, \D‘I

)i

i

f

Upon a discussion of the subject with him, it appeared that

(]

dr" e

he considered the project distinctly and decidedly dangerous. I

oo 8 betlt

was not convinced, yet I was not willing to try the experiment

in any risky way

that is, in a way that might cripple the

e BT

I was about at my

strength and efliciency of the Expedition.

wits’ end when it occurred to me to try it on the Latinist.

15 mith

He was calied in.

But he declined, on the plea of inexperi-

ko hisult

ence, diffidence in public, lack of curiosity, and I don’t know

i

what all.

Another man declined on account of a cold in the

Haip

Another could not

head ; thought he ought to avoid exposure.

jump well—never could jump well—did not believe he could

Jenth ol

236

A TRAMP ABROAD.

oﬂ‘eq“ent !

jump so far without long and patient practice.

Another was

B

afraid it was going to rain, and his umbrella had a hole in it.

1t

it

The result was what the reader has

fho "

o

Everybody had an excuse.

Preselt

by this time guessed : the most magnificent idea that was ever

conceived had to be abandoned from sheer lack of a person with

for fh

o fime

gl

qier a8

enterprise enough to carry it out.

Yes, I actually had to give

that thing up—whilst, doubtless, I should live to see somebody

\pne 00!

use it and take all the credit from me.

1558

et

Well, I had to go overland—there was no other way. I

Jash

marched the Expedition down the steep and tedious mule-path

the seelét

qa10! nd

U

and took up as good a position as I could upon the middle of the

glacier, because Baedeker said the middle part travels the fastest.

A0S

As a measure of economy, however, I put some of the heavier

found a2

Jtsd,

baggage on the shoreward parts, to go as slow freight.

I waited and waited, but the glacier did not move.

Night

Jess fhan

was coming on, the darkness began to gather—still we did not

Jave e

budge.

It occurred to me then that there might be a time-table

asmal¢

in Baedeker, it would be well to find out the hours of starting.

Jistance

I called for the book—it could not be found. Bradshaw would

glacier, |

certainly contain a time-table, but no Bradshaw could be found.

walb 1t

Very well, I must make the best of the situation.

So I

Iwild

Wi

pitched the tents, picketed the animals, milked the cows, had

supper, paregoricked the men, established the watch, and went

fhis gl

to bed—with orders to call me as soon as we came in sight of

Zermatt.

speaky—

that

I awoke about half-past ten next morning and looked around.

ntil

At first I could not understand it :

il

We hadn’t budged a peg!

then it occurred to me that the old thing must be aground. So

think

I cut down some trees and rigged a spar on the starboard and

mile

another on the port side, and fooled away upwards of three hours

Youc

trying to spar her off. But it was no use, she was half a mile

wide and fifteen or twenty miles long, and there was no telling

ina(

just whereabouts she was aground. The men began to show

)

uneasiness too, and presently they came flying to me with ashy

al b

faces, saying she had sprung a leak.

(4

Nothing but my cool behaviour at this critical time saved us

{hi

from another panic.

I ordered them to show me the place.

Jol

They led me to a spot where a huge boulder lay in a deep pool

gei b

of clear and brilliant water.

It did look like a pretty bad leak,

diffe

but I kept that to myself.

I made a pump and set the men to

I

work to pump out the glacier.

We made a success of it.

e

perceived then that it was not a leak at all.

This boulder had

‘

descended from a precipice and stopped on the ice in the middle

breer

of the glacier, and the sun had warmed it up every day, and

Iy

A TRAMP ABROAD.

237

Amﬂ‘er Wﬂi

hoem

consequently it had melted its way deeper and deeper into the

le Icader hﬂ!

ice, until it-Tast it reposed, as we had found it, in a deep pool of

the clearest and coldest water

D’\L Wag e

Lpr

Presently Baedeker was found again, and I hunted eagerly

by

for the time-tab

There was none

) dt‘) ”UE

The book simply said the

i ‘Omwuu

glacier was moving all the time

This was satisfactory, so I shut

up the book and chose a good position to view the scenery as we

h & W‘W I

passed along.

I stood there some time enjoying the trip, but at

last it occurred to me that we did not seem to be gaining any on

1§ n'hl& il

]'\]z”

of {he

the scenery. I said to myself, ¢ This confounded old thing’s

aground again, sure’—and opened Baedeker to see if I could

[t

1

un across any remedy for these annoying interruptions.

I soon

found a sentence which threw a dazzling light upon the matter.

ohf

It said, ¢ The Gorner Glacier travels at an average rate of a little

less than an inch a day

I have seldom felt so outraged. I

|

10f

I made

at

have seldom had my confidence so wantonly betrayed

a small calculation

1 inch a day, say 30 feet a year; estimated

distance to Zermatt.

o

[>}

1-18 miles

W

Time required to go by

glacier, a little over five hundred years !

I said to myself, ‘I can

(06 onr

dl

tion, %

walk it quicker, and before I will patronise such a fraud as this,

I will do it.

£ 0

JT

When I revealed to Harris the fact that the passenger-part of

this glacier—the central part—the lightning-express part, so to

1n §le

i

[

speak—was not due in Zermatt till the summer of 2,378, and

that the baggage, coming along the slow edge, would not arrive

(110

until scme generations later, he burst out with—

¢ That is European management all over !

An inch a day—

think of that!

Five hundred years to go a trifle over three

miles !

But I am not a bit surprised

It’s a Catholic glacier.

il

IR

You can tell by the look of it

And the management !’

i

dil &

I said no, I believed nothing but the extreme end of it was

8 00 (8

in a Catholic canton

7S

al

¢ Well, then, i’'s a Government glacier,’ said Harris.

o Wb

all the same

Over here the Government runs everything—so

everything’s slow ; slow and ill-managed. But with us, every-

o sired

thing’s done by private enterprise, and then there ain’t much

I wish Tom Scott could

the pmw

lolling around, you can depend on if

get his hands on this torpid old slab once—you’d see it take a

deep pf”

bud ]u.\y

e

different gait from this

jo men ¥

I said I was sure he would increase the speed, if there was

of 1

trade enough to justify it

der bl

‘He’d make trade,” said Harris

¢ That’s the difference be-

tween Governments and individuals,

Governments don’t care,

o mild

individuals do.

Tom Scott would take all the trade; in two

dﬂ) Al

238

A TRAMP ABROAD.

s

fa

lah hO

years Gorner stock would go to 200, and inside of two more yon

gl

p 0

would see all the other glaciers under the hammer for taxes.’

e

al s

After a reflective pause, Harris added, ¢ A little less than an inch

s 1

(0

a day; a little less than an inch, mind you. Well, T am losing

-

my reverence for glaciers.’,

W

ol

I was feeling much the same way myself. I have travelled

by canal boat, ox-wagon, raft, and by the Ephesus and Smyrna

railway, but when it comes down to good solid honest slow

motion, I bet my money on the glacier.

As a means of pas-

S |, N

senger transportation I consider the glacier a failure; but as a

In the matter

vehicle for slow freight, I think she fills the bill.

I A ﬂ(]t £

of putting the fine shades on that line of business, I judge she

T took S

could teach the Germans something.

T qm 4

I ordered the men to break camp and prepare for the land

it 57

journey to Zermatt.

At this moment a most interesting find

was made; a dark object, bedded in the glacial ice, was cut out

4 day, il

other A

with the ice-axes, and it proved to be a piece of the undressed

Qe vt

skin of some animal—a hair trunk, perhaps; but a close inspec-

ond the f

tion disabled the hair trunk theory, and further discussion and

Wha

examination exploded it entirely—that is, in the opinion of all

piver Wl

the scientists except the one who had advanced it.

This one

mountal

clung to his theory with the affectionate fidelity characteristic of

sometin

originators of scientific theories, and afterwards won many of the

00 feet

firs scientists of the age to his view, by a very able pamphlet

50 feet

which he wrote, entitled, ¢ Evidences going to show that the hair

an e

trunk, in a wild state, belonged to the early glacial period, and

The

roamed the wastes of chaos in company with the cave bear, prim-

swales

eval man, and the other Oolitics of the Old Silurian family.’

Lach of our scientists had a theory of his own, and put for-

fossing

ward an animal of his own as a candidate for the skin.

I sided

Instant

a flawle

with the geologist of the Expedition in the belief that this patch

of skin had once helped to cover a Siberian elephant in some old

TAITON,

A i8¢

forgotten age—but we divided there, the geologist believing that

Men b

this discovery proved that Siberia had formerly been located

did o

where Switzerland is now, whereas I held the opinion that it

merely proved that the primeval Swiss was not the dull savage

(uickl

he is represented to have been, but was a being of high intellec-

eracks

0t

tual development, who liked to go to the menagerie.

We arrived that evening, after many hardships and adven-

appear

tures, in some fields close to the great ice-arch where the mad

‘ ad g

1nstang

Visp boils and surges out from under the foot of the great

Gorner Glacier, and here we camped, our perils over, and our

In

magnificent undertaking successfully completed. We marched

Wil

into Zermatt the next day, and were received with the most

oy 1

A TRAMP ABROAD.

239

Wo Tory Jou

lavish honours and applause.

A document, signed and scaled

Il

T fop mm.]

by all the authorities, was given to me which established and

|

i an iﬁ Eh

endorsed the fact that I had made the ascent of the Riffelberg.

14 Icsir.:g

This I wear around my neck, and it will be buried with me

when I am no more,

v tm"EEEfl

" ﬁnd Sﬂl

g

00egt S‘w

20 f

s

fe»BUtH

CHAPTER XL,

n fh

B Maftey

I

L judge g

1 AM not so ignorant about glacial movement now as I was when

I took passage on the Gorner Glacier.

I have ‘read up’ since.

fr thy g

I am aware that these vast bodies of ice do not travel at the same

f

rate of speed: whilst the Gorner Glacier makes less than an inch

W

a day, the Unter-Aar Glacier makes as much as eight; and still

0‘»1'!

other glaciers are said to go 12, 16, and even 20 inches a day.

One writer says that the slowest glacier travels 25 feet a year,

al

and the fastest 400.

pibion of

I

What is a glacier?

It is easy to say it looks like a frozen

f, Thi

river which occupies the bed of a winding gorge or gully between

mountains,

But that gives no notion of its vastness, for it is

any

sometimes 600 feet thick, and we are not accustomed to rivers

I

600 feet deep; no, our rivers are 6 feet, 20 feet, and sometimes

& pa)

50 feet deep; we are not quite able to grasp so large a fact as

that the b

an ice-river 600 feet deep.

| perﬁicd, i

The glacier’s surface is not smooth and level, but has deep

I, I

swales and swelling elevations, and sometimes has the look of a

tossing sea whose turbulent billows were frozen hard in the

and

ut o

instant of their most violent motion; the glacier’s surface is not

i

it h

a flawless mass, but is a river with cracks or crevasses, some

narrow, some gaping wide.

Many a man, the victim of a slip or

1

0l

a mis-step, has plunged down one of these and met his death.

Men have been fished out of them alive, but it was when they

een ol

did not go to a great depth; the cold of the great depths would

yion {hat

These

;

{[

quickly stupefy a man, whether he was hurt or unhurt.

du

cracks do not go straight down; one can seldom see more than

oh o

(74

20 to 40 feet down them; consequently men who have dis-

appeared in them have been sought for, in the hope that they

pd adir

had stopped within helping distance, whereas their case, in most

the DA

i

instances, had really been hopeless from the beginning.

the gl’ffl!

In 1864 a party of tourists was descending Mont Blane, and

and

while picking- their way over one of the mighty glaciers of that

pardhé

lofty region, roped together, as was proper, a young porter dis-

fhe 1%

240

A TRAMP ABROAD.

i

e gt i

engaged himself from the line, and started across an ice-bridge

il

ey s

which spanned a crevasse.

It broke under him with a crash and

206

he disappeared. The others could not see how deep he had

doves &,

il

mens P

gone, so it might be worth while to try and rescue him.

A

brave young guide named Michel Payot volunteered.

{ T

Two ropes were made fast to his leather belt, and he bore

{he 10

gt iED

the end of the third one in his hand to tie to the victim in case

he found him. He was lowered into the crevasse, he descended

piles 0% &

|

e Fundr?d

deeper and deeper between the clear blue walls of solid ice, he

approached a bend in the crack and disappeared under it.

ferminal 1

gltiers o

Down, and still down, he went into this profound grave; when

he had reached a depth of 80 feet he passed under another bend

Atthe mou!

in the crack, and thence descended 80 feet lower, as between

1

Jacier TSt

perpendicular precipices.

Arrived at this stage of 160 feet

af ot JATS,

below the surface of the glacier, he peered through the twilight

Tt 18 0ot

fhat, Tfo

dimness and perceived that the chasm took another turn and

stretched away at a steep slant to unknown deeps, for its course

oblong bl

was lost in darkness.

and 2000

What a place that was to be in—espe-

cially if that leather belt should break !

The compression of

York und

the belt threatened to suffocate the intrepid fellow; he called to

elatively

of a Sara

his friends to draw him up, but could not make them hear.

They still lowered him deeper and deeper.

Then he jerked his

*The

assure U

third cord as vigorously as he could; his friends understood,

and dragged him out of those icy jaws of death.

prodigion

Then they attached a bottle to a cord and sent it down 200

from whi

feet, but it found no bottom.

It came up covered with con-

assume

gelations—evidence enough that even if the poor porter reached

their jou

the bottom with unbroken bones, a swift death from cold was

Inall pr

sure anyway.

Glaci

A glacier is a stupendous, ever progressing, resistless plough.

stal:pac

It pushes ahead of it masses of boulders which are packed

Whympe

together, and they stretch across the gorge, right in front of it,

17—

This is called a moraine.

like a long grave or a long, sharp roof.

Tt

It also shoves out a moraine along each side of its course.

Kotlug

Imposing as the modern glaciers are, they are not so huge

the gh

as were some that once existed.

For instance, Mr. Whymper

or from

Says i—

——

forethe

¢ At some very remote period the valley or Aosta was occu-

OVer eyg

pied by a vast glacier, which flowed down its entire length from

thus by

Mont Blanc to the plain of Piedmont, remained stationary, or

8ace of

nearly so, at its mouth for many centuries, and deposited there

tovere]

enormous masses of débris.

The length of this glacier exceeded

8gtonng

eighty mules, and it drained a basin twenty-five to thirty-five

miles across, bounded by the highest mountains in the Alps.

Upon 4 4

Mmy, a

4 TRAMP ABROAD,

241

Wleey

&

13 Ql‘a\h aq

The great peaks rose several thousand feet above the glaciers,

and then, as now, shattered by sun and frost, poured down their

i dEep he by

showers of rocks and stones, in witness of which there are the

£0g h]m

e,

immense piles of angular fragments that constitute the moraines

-

of Ivria.

1 ang he

L)

Wity

¢ The moraines around Ivria are of extraordinary dimensions.

& he

That which was on the left bank of the glacier is about thirteen

vy

of gl

1

b

miles long, and in some places rises to a height of two thousand

el

one hundred and thirty feet above the floor of the valley | The

terminal moraines (those which are pushed in front of the

d v

Waey

ity g

glaciers) cover something like twenty square miles of country.

At the mouth of the Valley of the Aosta the thickness of the

e, 3 bety

e of 16)

glacier must have been at least two thousand feet, and its width

at that part five miles and a quarter.

oh the

i

It is not easy to get at a comprehension of a mass of ice like

other fumy inﬂ}

that. If one could cleave off the butt end of such a glacier—an

3 (0

oblong block two or three miles wide by five and a quarter long

0]

(1)

and 2,000 feet thick—he could completely hide the city of New

York under it, and Trinity steeple would only stick up into it

73 b el

i)

11\:9 I

e

he

relatively as far as a shingle nail would stick up into the bottom

of a Saratoga trunk.

¢ The boulders from Mont Blanc, upon the plain below Ivria

1'1‘.9 je‘rkei

assure us that the glacier which transported them existed for a

prodigious length of time.

Their present distance from the cliffs

it o

]

from which they were derived is about 420,000 feet, and if we

vered

assume that they travelled at the rate of 400 feet per annum,

their journey must have occupied them no less than 1,055 years !

from

In all probability they did not travel so fast.’

Glaciers are sometimes hurried out of their characteristic

snail<pace.

A marvellous spectacle is presented then.

Mr.

Whymper refers to a case which occurred in Iceland in

1721 :—

I

4 0T

‘It seems that in the neighbourhood of the mountain

Ol

Kotlugja, large bodies of water formed underneath, or within

106 0

the glaciers (either on account of the interior heat of the earth

I

YD

o

=

=

or from other causes), and at length acquired irresistible power,

tore the glaciers from their mooring on the land, and swept them

oSt

f]

over every obstacle into the sea.

Prodigious masses of ice were

thus borne for a distance of about ten miles over land in the

[0

o lengt

sla

"

space of a few hours; and their bulk was so enormous, that they

covered the sea for seven miles from the shore, and remained

Jor 6567

i

aground in 600 feet of water !

The denudation of the land wus

upon a grand scale.

All superficial accumulations were swept

o A"

fhirf

i the 5P

away, and the bed-rock was exposed.

It was described, in

R

212

A TRAMP ABROAD.

& Ti\u

graphié language, how all irregularities and depressions were

obliterated, and a smooth surface of several miles area laid bare,

s gt

.o

and that this area had the appearance of having been planed by

a plane.

{ ‘L\I()“t

he

The account translated from the Icelandic says that the

dispu el {l

I

mountain-like ruing of this majestic glacier so covered the sea

it

st V2

that as far as the eye could reach no open water was discover-

o the g

able, even from the highest peaks.

A monster wall or barrier

utte1ed i

of ice was built across a considerable stretch of land, too, by this

at the foot

strange irruption :—

i

o Al

¢ One can form some idea of the altitude of this barrier of ice

when it is mentioned that from Hofdabrekka farm, which lies

e

high up on a fjeld, one could not see Hjorleifshofdi opposite,

\ias

1]

ou

which is a fell 640 feet in height ; but in order to do so had to

fhe lft

clamber up a mountain slope east of Hofdabrekka 1,200 feet

in the val

|

high.’

The

These things will help the reader to understand why it is

cars

that a man who keeps company .with glacicrs comes to feel

of the gl

tolerably insignificant by and by. The Alps and the glaciers

I find

together are able to take every bit of conceit out of a man and

Mont Bl

reduce his self-importance to zero if he will only remain within

fullows:

the intluence of their sublime presence long enough to give it a

‘On

fair and reasonable chance to do its work.

i, 8

The Alpine glaciers move—that is granted now by every-

and beat

body. But there was a time when people scoffed at the idea;

asck

they said you might as well expect leagues of solid rock to crawl

the o

along the ground as expect solid leagues of ice to do it.

But

jectured

proof after proof was furnished, and finally the world had to

strophe

believe.

the loc

The wise men not only said the glacier moved, but they

timed its movement.

s

supposi

They ciphered out a glacier’s gait, and

table, a

then said confidently that it would travel just so far in so many

o

‘B

years.

There is record of a striking and curious example of the

blonde

accuracy which may be attained in these reckonings.

fore-an

In 1820 the ascent of Mont Blanc was attéempted by a Russian

Was wh

and two Englishmen, with seven guides.

They had reached a

prodigious altitude, and were approaching the summit, when an

degree \

avalanche swept several of the party down a sharp slope of two

T}

of the

hundred feet and hurled five of them (all guides) into one of

the crevasses of a glacier.

The life of one of the five was saved

ears

‘Al‘

by a long barometer which was strapped to his back—it bridged

hob-p

the crevasse and suspended him until help came. The alpen-

stock or baton of another saved its owner in a similar way.

lack f

It )4

Three men were lost—Pierre Balmat, Pierre Carrier, and

tat

e

A TRAMP ABROAD.

243

Nl

Ter

iy b

Auguste Tairraz.

They had been hurled down into the fathom-

1 N(WI]

/]

less great deeps of the crevasse.

Dr. Forbes, the English geologist, had made frequent visits

fu f

to the Mont Blanc region, and had given much attention to the

e

disputed question of the movement of glaciers. During one of

Tag

these visits he completed his estimates of the rate of movement

I

[

of the glacier which had swallowed up the three guides, and

oo, by

uttered the prediction that the glacier would deliver up its dead

at the foot of the mountain thirty-five years from the time of

ha

altler

i

the accident, or possibly forty.

l,

A dull, slow journey—a movement imperceptible to any eye

—Dbut it was proceeding, nevertheless, and without cessation.

It

00 g

was a journey which a rolling stone would make in a few seconds

a |

—the lofty point of departure was visible from the village below

in the valley.

The prediction cut curiously close to the truth; forty-one

years after the catastrophe the remains were cast forth at the foot

o o

of the glacier.

I & i

I find an interesting account of the matter in the ¢ Histoire du

Mont Blanc,” by Stephen d’Arve.

I will condense this account as

eman W

follows : —

i

00

¢On the 12th of August, 1861, at the hour of the close of

mass, a guide arrived out of breath at the mairie of Chamonix,

O b

It was

o

th

and bearing on his shoulders a very lugubrious burden.

a sack filled with human remains which he had gathered from

100

the orifice of a crevasse in the Glacier des Bossons.

He con-

) 10

jectured that these were remains of the victims of the cata-

or

strophe of 1820, and a minute inquest, immediately instituted by

the local authorities, soon demonstrated the correctness of his

el

supposition.

The contents of the sack were spread upon a long

m

table, and officially inventoried as follows :—

¢Portions of three human skulls.

Several tufts of black and

panp?

blonde hair.

A human jaw, furnished with fine white teeth. A

fore-arm and hand, all the fingers of the latter intact.

The flesh

by

was white and fresh, and both the arm and hand preserved a

ﬂd peached

degree of flexibility in the articulations.

g, WL

‘The ring finger had suffered a slight abrasion, and the stain

lope ¢

fm

»

of the blood was still visible and unchanged after forty-one

i &

years.

A left foot, the flesh white and fresh.

oS

|

¢ Along with these fragments were portions of waistcoats, hats,

.

i gt

hob-nailed shoes, and other clothing

H

a wing of a pigeon, with

black feathers; a fragment of an alpenstock ; a tin lantern; and

Ted® ¢~

il ¥

lastly, a boiled leg of mutton, the only flesh among all the remains

it

[

that exhaled an unpleasant odour. The guide said that the mutton

B2

244

A TRAMP ABROAD.

e fh

had no odour when he took it from the glacier ; an hour’s expo-

y

supy

olted

sure to the sun had already begun the work of decomposition

Qo

100

upon it.

Nope

¢Persons were called for to identify these poor pathetic relics,

enb oAl

and a touching scene ensued.

Two men were still living who

L

had witnessed the grim catastrophe of nearly balf a century

it

g

before—Marie Couttet (saved by his baton) and Julien Davouas-

wer

soux (saved by the barometer). These aged men entered and

approached the table.

Davouassoux, more than 80 years old,

plood 88

(ne

contemplated the mournful remains mutely and with a vacant

no 11

eye, for his intelligence and his memory were torpid with age;

e I

£ Olle

but Couttet’s faculties were still perfect at 72, and he exhibited

bl

;

He said—

o, B0

strong emotion.

¢ ¢ Pierre Balmat was fair ; he wore a straw hat. This bit of

gt

The

skull, with the tuft of blonde hair, was his; this is his hat.

being

Pierre Carrier was very dark; this skull was his, and this felt

hat.

This is Balmat’s hand, I remember it so well ! ”” and the

the

tl

pird 7

old man bent down and kissed it reverently, then closed his

aocoun

fingers upon it in an affectionate grasp, crying ous, “ I could

never have dared to believe that before quitting this world it

Dr

made

would be granted me to press once more the hand of one of those

brave comrades, the hand of my good friend Balmat.”

(hame

and as

¢There is something weirdly pathetic about the picture of

and o

that white-haired veteran greeting with his loving hand-shake

this friend who had been dead forty years.

When these hands

arpha

O

had met last, they were alike in the softness and freshness of

3 Cha

youth; now, one was brown, and wrinkled and horny with age,

while the other was still as young, and fair, and blemishless as if

men-

a1l

those forty years had come and gone in a single moment, leaving

no mark of their passage.

Time had gone on in the one case ; it

{

had stood still in the other.

A man who has not seen a friend

Dalm

for a generation keeps him in mind always as he saw him last,

and is somehow surprised, and is also shocked, to see the ageing

Marie

!

change the years have wrought when he sees him again.

Couttet’s experience, in finding his friend’s hand unaltered from

the image of it which he had carried in his memory for forty

years, is an experience which stands alone in the history of man

perhaps.

fhe

¢ Couttet identified other relics ¢

unfo

¢¢ This hat belonged to Auguste Tairraz.

He carried the

cage of pigeons which we proposed to set free upon the summit.

And here is the

fhin

Here is the wing of one of those pigeons.

g

fragment of my broken baton ; it was by grace of that baton that

my life was saved. Who could have told e that I should one

R

A TRAMP ABROAD.

24

oy gy

day have the satisfaction to look again upon this bit of wood that

100mpogit

n

cemse———

supported me above the grave that swallowed up my unfortunate

3

companions !’’’

ﬂllEt'}g N

Iy

No portions of the body of Tairraz had been found. A dili-

g iy

gent search was made, but without result. However, another

: A ety

search was instituted a year later, and this had better success.

160 Davop

Many fragments of clothing which had belonged to the lost guides

V) v

~

were discovered; also part of a lantern, and a green veil, with

a8

blood stains on it.

But the interesting feature was this:

an

One of the searchers came suddenly upon a sleeved arm pro-

I}

jecting from a crevice in the ice-wall, with the hand outstretche

d

e exty

¢ The nails of this white hand were still

as if offering greeting !

rosy, and the pose of the extended fingers seem to express an

T'V.

eloquent welcome to the long lost light of day.’

A fter

The hand and arm were alone; there was no trunk.

being removed from the ice the flesh tints quickly faded out and

the rosy nails took on the alabaster hue of death. This was the

third right hand found ; therefore all three of the lost men were

accounted for beyond cavil or question.

13 Worl

Dr. Hamel was the Russian gentleman of the party which

U0y

made the ascent at the time of the famous disaster.

He left

Chamonix as soon as he conveniently could after the descent ;

¢

»

and as he had shown a chilly indifference about the calamity,

hand

and offered neither sympathy nor assistance to the widows and

?

o

orphans, he carried with him the cordial execrations of the whole

Four months before the first remains were found,

I

community.

a Chamonix guide named Balmat—a relative of one of the lost

men—was in London, and one day encountered a hale old gentle-

man in the British Museum, who said,—

¢ I overheard your name. Are you from Chamonix, Monsicur

g o

DBalmat?’

s [y

¢ Haven’t they found the bodies of my three guides yet? I

am Dr. Hamel.

¢ Alas, no, monsieur.’

¢ Well, yowll find them sooner or later.’

¢ Yes, it is the opinion of Dr. Forbes and Mr. Tyndal that

the glacier will sooner or later restore to us the remains of the

unfortunate victims.’

the

¢ Without a doubt, without a doubt.

And it will be a great

6

;,

thing for Chamonix, in the matter of attracting tourists. You

{

can get up a museum with those remains that will draw !’

here B

1o

This savage idea has not improved the odour of Dr. Hamel’s

j ot

name in Chamonix by any means.

But, after all, the man was

[eholﬂd ot

246

A TRAMP ABRQOAD.

sound on human nature.

His idea was conveyed to the public

(uibe

bt

A

officials of Chamonix, and they gravely discussed it around the offi-

¥e

cial council table. They were only prevented from carrying it into

ok

execution by the determined opposition of the friends and

g0 e

Joskizg !

descendants of the lost guides, who insisted on giving the remains

Christian burial, and succeeded in their purpose.

Hudson 2

A close watch had to be kept upon all the poor remnants

s lnke

Ve

and fragments, to prevent embezzlement.

A few accessory odds

and ends were sold. Rags and scraps of the coarse clothing

el

\\'ﬂldél‘i !

were parted with at a rate equal to about twenty dollars a yard ;

a piece of a lantern and one or two other trifles brought nearly

b Wi

their weight in gold; and an Englishman offered a pound sterling

ot lt

yigne for

for a single breeches-button.

yere 0L

proughb

gfruetion

right or

CHAPTER XLI.

10 0602

.

sometim

ONE of the most memorable of all the Alpine catastrophes was

fegt,

that of July 1865, on the Matterhorn—already slightly referred

without

to a few pages back.

The details of it are scarcely known in

a beigh

America.

To the vast majority of readers they are not known

We

at all.

Mr. Whymper’s account is the only authentic one.

I

the R

will import the chief portion of it into this book, partly because

10 long

of its intrinsic interest, and partly because it gives such a vivid

astend

This was

idea of what the perilous pastime of Alp-climbing is.

over 1«

Mr. Whymper's ninth attempt during a series of years to van-

and e

quish that steep and stubborn pillar of rock ; it succeeded, the

the ge

other eight were failures.

No man had ever accomplished the

aceumi

ascent before, though the attempts had been numerous.

Jeaving

These

MR. WHYMPER'S NARRATIVE.

lacey

a\\'ay |

We started from Zermatt on July 13, at half-past five, on a

diref

brilliant and perfectly cloudless morning.

We were eight in

to the

number:

Croz (guide), old Peter Taugwalder (guide), and his

Tound.

two sons; Lord F. Douglas, Mr. Hadow, Rev. Mr. Hudson, and

The a

I

To ensure steady motion, one tourist and one native walked

bt 9)

The

together.

The youngest Taugwalder fell to my share.

Th

wine-bags also fell to my lot to carry, and throughout the day

Theg

after each drink I replenished them secretly with water, so that

This was

T daghi

at the next halt they were found fuller than before !

e,

considered a good omen, and little short of miraculous,

0m

A TRAMP ABROAD.

247

Olhe publie

e

On the first day we did not intend to ascend to any great

height, and we mounted accordingly very leisurely. = Before 12

Mgy

o’clock we had found a good position for the tent at a height of

Tiends a

Wsteyy,

11,000 feet.

We passed the remaining hours of daylight—some

basking in the sunshine, some skectching, some collecting;

Hudson made tea, I coffee, and at length we retired, each one to

0 Yy

his blanket-bag.

esory ol

We assembled together before dawn on the 14th and started

% (ofipy

s gy,

|

e

directly it was light enough to move.

One of the young Taug-

walders returned to Zermatt.

In a few minutes we_turned the

QT

rib which had intercepted the view of the eastern face from our

ound ey

tent platform.

The whole of this great slope was now revealed,

rising for 8,000 feet like a huge natural staircase.

Some parts

were more, and others were less easy, but we were not once

brought to a halt by any serious impediment, for when an ob-

struction was met in front it could always be turned to the

For the greater part of the way there was

right or to the left.

-

no occasion, indeed, for the rope, and sometimes Hudson led,

sometimes myself.

At 6.20 we had attained a height of 12,800

stophes v

htly el

feet, and halted for half an hour; we then continued the ascent

without a break until 9.55, when we stopped for fifty minutes, at

ly knom

a height of 14,000 feet.

16 10f knom

entio ot |

We had now arrived at the foot of that part which, seen from

the Riffelberg, seems perpendicular or overhanging.

We could

arly beest

no longer continue on the eastern side.

For a little distance we

gucha vl

ascended by snow upon the aréte—that is, the ridge—then turned

i, Thisms

over to the right, or northern side.

The work became difficult,

jears o van

and required caution.

In some places there was little to hold ;

oeeedel

0

the general slope of the mountain was less than 40°, and snow had

accumulated in, and had filled up, the interstices of the rock-face,

?mplished th

0US

leaving only occasional fragments projecting here and there

These were at times covered with a thin film of ice.

It was a

place which any fair mountaineer might pass in safety. We bore

away nearly horizontally for about 400 feet, then ascended

st fre m

dircctly towards the summit for about 60 feet, then doubled back

to the ridge which descends towards Zermatt.

A long stride

(o1 eig}]t I

de)

round a rather awkward corner brought us to snow once more.

The last doubt vanished !

The Matterhorn was ours !

Nothing

Judson, @

five T

buat 200 feet of easy snow remained to be surmounted.

8

e, 1

The higher we rose, the more intense became the excitement.

The slope eased off, at length we could be detached, and Croz and

ot {ho iy

afery )

I, dashing away, ran a neck-and-neck race, which ended in a dead

heat.

At 1.40 par. the world was at our feet, and the Matter-

| This

horn was conquered.

5

248

A TRAMP ABROAD.

The others arrived.

Croz now took the tent-pole and planted

Hadov g

l g

it in the highest snow. ¢Yes, we said, ‘ there is the flag-staff,

but where is the flag ?’

¢ Here it is,” he answered, pulling off his

furos] o

blouse and fixing it to the stick.

Fil it

It made a poor flag, and there

pidden X

was no wind to float it out, yet it was seen all around.

They

eﬁefl

saw it at Zermatt—at the Riffel—in the Val Tournanche.

oy b

*

*

*

*

*

*

*

paing &

dovn a8t

We remained on the summit for one hour—

One crowded hour of glorious life.

gl gl

exclﬁmﬁ“‘

descent.

It passed away too quickly, and we began to prepare for the

down\var{

Hudson and I consulted as to the best and safest arrangement

steps, 0

york o

of the party. We agreed that it was best for Croz to go first, and

Hadow second ; Hudson, who was almost equal to a guide in

old Pete

sureness of foot, wished to be third; Lord Douglas was placed

permit'-

Dothase

next, and old Peter, the strongest of the remainder, after him. I

suggested to Hudson that we should attach a rope to the rockson

Tﬁug\\'ﬂ

Qw ou

our arrival at the difficult bit, and hold it as we descended, as an

additional protection.

He approved the idea, but it was not

;‘\

backs,

definitely decided that it should be done.

The party was being

gelves.

arranged in the above order whilst I was sketching the summit,

by one

and they had finished and were waiting for me to be tied in line,

gler

when some one remembered that our names had not been left in

<

the mo

a bottle.

They requested me to write them down, and moved

perishg

off while it was being done.

To

A few minutes afterwards I tied myself to young Peter, ran

down after the others, and caught them just as they were com-

1Ol

mencing the descent of the difficult part. Great care was being

ufterl

taken.

but ¥

Only one man was moving at a time; when he was

firmly planted the next advanced, and so on.

They had not,

from ¢

however, attached the additional rope to rocks, and nothing was

which

said about it. The suggestion was not made for my own sake,

in ad

and I am not sure that it even occurred to me again. For some

time ¢

the m

little distance we two followed the others, detached from them,

and should have continued so had not Lord Douglas asked me,

tume

about 3 P.., to tie on to old Peter, as he feared, he said, that

emph

occurred.

Taugwalder would not be able to hold his ground if a slip

A

towar

A few minutes later a sharp-eyed lad ran into the Monte

but

=

1

Rosa Hotel at Zermatt, saying that he had seen an avalanche fall

over

from the summit of the Matterhorn on to the Matterhorn glacier.

¥inge]

The boy was reproved for tellin

g idle stories; he was right,

——

e ceg

nevertheless, and this was what he saw,

Michel Croz had laid aside his axe, and in order to give Mr.

filen I

Were

i

A TRAMP ABROAD

249

ang

Pantey

Iadow greater security was absolutely taking hold of his legs,

B 1l

faff

As

Al

and putting his feet, one by one, into their proper positions

far as I know, no one was actually descending

I cannot speak

)8 gy

f

with certainty, because the two leading men were partially

g 1)

lche,

hidden from my sight by an intervening mass of rock, but it 1s

my belief, from the movements of their shoulders, that Croz,

having done as I have said, was in the act of turning round to go

down a step or two himself; at this moment Mr. Hadow slipped

fell against him, and knocked him over

I heard one startled

DTS fpfy

exclamation from Croz, then saw him and Mr. Hadow flying

downwards; in another moment Hudson was dragged from his

ATangemen

All this was the

0g0

steps, and Lerd Douglas immediately after him.

iy aug

work of a moment

Immediately we heard Croz’s exclamation,

hag

0g 1

old Peter and I planted ourselves as firmly as the rocks would

8 Wig p {

permit :

the rope was taut between us, and the jerk came on us

aft tr b, |

erv

both as on oneman. We held; but the rope broke midway between

Taugwalder and Lord I'lanc1s Douglas.

For a few seconds we

seend

saw our unfortunate companions shdmg downwards on their

Ii |

i 2

backs, and spreading out their hands, endeavouring to save them-

1Y s Deng

selves.

They passed from our sight uninjured, disappeared one

6 8l

by one, and fell from precipice to precipice on to the Matterhorn

e tl

glacier below, a distance of nearly 4,000 feet in height.

From

|1

been

the moment the rope broke it was impossible to help them.

So

0, and moed

perished our comrades !

*

*

*

*

*

*

Peter, ma

For more than two hours afterwards I thought almost every

ere (O

moment that the next would be my last, for the Taugwalders,

as

assistance,

utterly unnerved, were not only incapable of givin

e Wi

but were in such a state that a slip might have been expected

il

from them at any moment

After a time we were able to do that

| D0iaI

which should have been done at first, and fixed rope to firm rocks,

il

(il

I 88

in addition to being tied together

These ropes were cut from

i or st

time to time, and were left behind. Even with their assurance

cd fl‘uﬂl

the men were afraid to proceed, and several times old Peter

turned, with ashy face and faltering limbs, and said, with terrible

e sul

emphasis, ¢ [ cannot !’

About 6 p.M. we arrived at the snow upon the ridge descending

nd 28

towards Zermatt, and all peril was over.

We frequently looked

(Ut

e

but in vain, for traces of our unfortunate companions; we bent

0 i

fhe

over the ridge and cried to them, but no sound returned. Con-

et

inced at last that they were neither within sight nor hearin

ot ool

we ceased from our useless efforts; and, too cast down for speech,

) 178 g™

silently gathered up our things, and the little effects of those who

were lost, and then completed the descent,

fogire l

250

A TEAMP ABROAD

Such is Mr. Whymper's graphic and thrilling narrative,

I fors {0

)

e

Zermatt gossip darkly hints that the elder Taugwalder cut the

s

4erope when the accident occurred in order to preserve himself

el

)

from being dragged into the abyss; but Mr. Whymper says that

1egloR

i hat

the ends of the rope showed no evidence of cutting but only of

breaking.

He adds that if Taugwalder had had the disposition

olnce bt

to cut the rope, he would not have had time to do it, the accident

ffect

th

10 (athe

was so sudden and unexpected.

<

{

Lord Douglas’s body has never been found.

It probably

yonder

lodged upon some inaccessible shelf in the face of the mighty

Spain

The three other

This

precipice.

Lord Douglas was a youth of 19.

victims fell nearly 4,000 feet, and their bodies lay together upon

Talasit

the glacier when found by M Whymper and the other searchers

determiD

the next morning. Their graves are beside the little church in

il

Zermatt,

—doom

i

o, Nic

CHAPTER XLIL

hetwee!

dwelln

SWITZERLAND is simply a large, humpy, solid rock, with a thin

twelve

skin of grass stretched over it.

Consequently they do not dig

imagit

graves, they blast them out with powder and fuse.Z-They cannot

on the

afford to have large graveyards, the grass skin is too circum-

commesp

scribed and too valuable.

It is all required for the support of

In|

the living.

apes

The graveyard in Zermatt occupies only about one-eighth of

—md

an acre.

The graves are sunk in the living rock, and are very

8t Nic

permanent; but occupation of them is only temporary; the

plough

occupant can only stay till his grave is needed by a later subject,

patt of

he is removed then, for they do not bury one body on top of

~

front ¢

another.

As I understand it, a family owns a grave just as it

owns a house.

A man dies and leaves his house to his son, and

absent:

il VY Nikse

hands

at the same time this dead father succeeds to his own father’s

farm |

grave.

He moves out of the house and into the grave, and his

predecessor moves out of the grave and into the cellar of the

he st

atound

chapel.

I saw a black box lying in the churchyard, with skull

anger

and cross-bones painted on it, and was told that this was used in

transferring remains to the cellar.

log

K10g

In that cellar the bones and skulls of several hundreds of

“ela\

Fro

former citizens were compactly corded up.

They made a pile

18 feet long, 7 feet high, and 8 feet wide. I wastold that in some

4

{oot,

and yg

of the receptacles of this kind in the Swiss villages the skulls

were all marked, and if a man wishes to find the skulls of his

(amg {

aud ply

A TRAMP ABROAD

251

o Bty

ancestors for several generations back, he could do it by these

MWW&

¥y h m\eu

§ ———

marks, preserved in the family records.

An English gentleman who had lived some years in thisu

ey s g

But he

b g i

region said it was the cradle of compulsory education.

said that the English idea that compulsory education would

‘ed Wiy

reduce bastardy and intemperance was an error—it has not that

06 g0 i

effect

He said there was more seduction in Protestant than in

the Catholic cantons, because the confessional protected the girls.

i I'(bm,

m

I wonder why it doesn’t protect married women in France and

of [fly ikt

Spain?

6 tire by

toge

U8 I

This gentleman said that among the poorer peasants in the

Valais it was common for the brothers in a family to cast lots to

Searcaeny

determine which of them should have the coveted privilege of

fl chugh

marrying. Then the lucky one got married, and his brethren

—doomed bachelors—heroically banded themselves together to

vi

help support the new family.,

We left Zermatt in a wagon—and in a rain storm, too—for

St. Nicholas about ten o’clock one morning

Again we passed

between those grass-clad prodigious cliffs, specked with wee

dwellings peeping over at us from velvety-green walls ten and

A\whm

do

twelve hundred feet high

It did not seem possible that the

»

imaginary chamois even could climb those precipices.

Lovers

The (ol

5 too s

on the opposite cliffs probably kiss through a spy—ﬁhss and

i

correspond with a rifle.

the suppor

In Switzerland the farmer’s plough is a Wlde shovel, which

scrapes up and turns over the thin earthy skin of his native rock

f ong-¢1%

1

—and there the man of the plough isa hero.

Now here, by our

m

all

d are e

St. Nicholas road, was a grave, and it had a tragic story. A

oraly

ploughman was sklnmn(r hxs farm one momnm—not the steepest

a

Iy

part of it, but still a steep part—that is, he was not skinning the

oﬁ (U

front of his farm, but the roof of it, near the eaves—when he

Fare Jus & 2

absent-mindedly let go of the plough-handles to moisten his

0

0 i

hands in the usual way

he lost his balance and fell out of his

§ oW fatoers

farm backwards

Poor fellow, he never touched anything till

il

he struck bottom 1,500 feet below. We throw a halo of heroism

nr[n (]

) (el Jlar

around the life of the soldier and the sailor, because of the deadly

But we are not used to

rd, il

dangers they are facing all the time

I Vl:dd

looking upon farming as an heroic occupation

This is because

we have not lived in Switzerland

fi

o

From St. Nicholas we struck out for Visp—or Vispach—on

ot 8

i

foot

The rain storms had been at work during several days,

P!

We

it ha“ﬂﬂ)ﬂlv

and had done a deal of damage in Switzerland and Savoy.

i e il

came to one place where a stream had changed its course

and plunged down the mountain in a new place, sweeping

J\UJIH o Illi

252

A TRAMP ABROAD.

3 “‘ould f

everything before it.

Two poor but precious farms by the

sulfﬁce' o

roadside were ruined.

One was washed clear away, and the

Jpist

bed-rock exposed ; the other was buried out of sight under a

tumbled chaos of rocks, gravel, mud, and rubbish.

The resist-

shad

ffen

less might of water was well exemplified. Some saplings which

olg, who!

had stood in the way were bent to the ground, stripped clean of

i mel

their bark,and buried under rocky débris. The road had been

stopped 1

swept away too.

In another place, where the road was high up on the moun-~

etopped

pext D

tain’s face, and its outside edge protected by flimsy masonry, we

patle f

frequently came across spots where this masonry had caved off

fellow &

and left dangerous gaps for mules to get over; and with still

re

more frequency we found the masonry slightly crumbled, and

What c1

marked by mule hoofs, thus showing that there had been danger

When at last we came to a badly

Th

of an accident to somebody.

ruptured bit of masonry, with hoof-prints evidencing a desperate

ae sl}itf

Nex

struggle to regain the lost foothold, I looked quite hopefully over

door

fo

the dizzy precipice.

But there was nobody down there.

in A

They take exceedingly good care of their rivers in Switzer-

land and other portions of Europe.

They wall up both banks

of

i ho

down,

with slanting solid stone masonry—so that from end to end of

said, ‘]

these rivers the banks look like the wharves at St. Louis and

the sif

other towns on the Mississippi River.

Yet he

It was during this walk from St. Nicholas, in the shadow ot

the majestic Alps, that we came across some little children

*Por

amusing themselves in what seemed, at first, a most odd and

o

original way—but it wasn’t, it was simply a natural and charac-

him;

teristic way.

They wereroped together with a string, they had

This ¢

ATOUI

mimic alpenstocks and ice-axes, and were climbing a meek and

lowly manure pile with a most blood-curdling amount of care and

inac

that 1

caution. The guide’ at the head of the line cut imaginary steps

Think

in a laborious and painstaking way, and not a monkey budged

i

till the step above him was vacated. If we had waited we should

W

from §

have witnessed an imaginary accident, no doubt ; and we should

have heard the intrepid band hurrah when they made the

half

summit and looked around upon the ¢ magnificent view,” and seen

that,

1t becg

them throw themselves down in exhaustive attitudes for a restin

that commanding situation.

bermy

In Nevada I used to see the children play at silver mining.

neat gy

Of course, the great thing was an accident in a mine, and there

Joug

were two ‘star’ parts: that of the man who fell down the mimic

dangl

:

shaft, and that of the daring hero who was lowered into the

8 i

depths to bring him up.

I knew one small chap who always

Vi“age

insisted on playing both of these parts—and he carried his points

|

UI'Ope

A TRAMP ABROAD.

253

il by fhy

He would tumble into the shaft and die, and then come to the

"“‘,Vu ang fhy

surface and go back after his own remains.

B wnder

It is the smartest boy that gets the hero-part everywhere : he

A6 ey,

is head guide in Switzerland, head miner in Nevada, head bull-

B v

DL ey f

fighter in Spain, &c., but I knew a preacher’s son, seven years

old, who once selected a part for himself compared to which those

oty

just mentioned are tame and unimpressive.

Jimmy’s father

stopped him from driving imaginary horse-cars one Sunday—

I ‘he o

stopped him from playing captain of an imaginary steamboat

asonyy.

o))

next Sunday—stopped him from leading an imaginary army to

1

battle the following Sunday—and so on.

Tinally the little

fellow said—

o

l,and

I

i

‘I've tried everything, and they won’t any of them do.

What can I play ?’

g aiiﬁ‘.

F

¢I hardly know, Jimmy; but you must play only things that

are suitable to the Sabbath day.’

Next Sunday the preacher stepped softly to a back room

door to see if the children were rightly employed.

Ie peeped

in.

A chair occupied the middle of the room, and on the back

'PL

ot

of it hung Jimmy’s cap; one of the little sisters took the cap

ei {

down, nibbled at it, then passed it to another small sister and

said, ¢ Bat of this fruit, for it is good.’

The Reverend took in

the situation—alas, they were playing the Expulsion from Eden!

Yet he found one little crumb of eomfort.

the

He said to himself,

‘For once Jimmy has yielded the chief 7dle—I have been

wronging him, I did not believe there was so much modesty in

rﬂl. andv

him ; I should have expected him to be either Adam or Eve.’

This crumb of comfort lasted but a very little while ; he glanced

4 DK

around and discovered Jimmy standing in an imposing attitude

Ao

in a corner, with a dark and deadly frown on his face.

What

that meant was very plain—he was personating the Deity !

K6

Think of the guileless'sublimity of that idea.

0l ted

T

We reached Vispach at 8 p.ar, only about seven hours out

from St. Nicholas.

So we must have made fully a mile and a

and e

i

half an hour, and it was all down hill too, and very muddy at

that,.

We stayed all night at the Hotel du Soleil ; I remember

‘ \'iewv’

Jesfira®®

i >

it because the landlady, the portier, the waitress, and the cham-

bermaid were not separate persons, but were all contained in one

neat and chipper suit of spotless muslin, and she was the prettiest

gllver

She was the landlord’s

pingy ﬂn

young creature I saw in all that region.

Jpn

daughter.

And I remember that the only native match to her I

o !

p

saw in all Europe was the young daughter of the landlord of a

el 1

fo

I

village inn in the Black Forest.

Why don’t more people in

py

Europe marry and keep hotel ?

1ie

Jisp

A TRAMP ABROAD.

254

i

i

o fhe

Next morning we left with a family of English friends and

sw‘\fms

went by train to Brevet, and thence by boat across the lake to

paring 88

Ouchy (Lausanne).

Tave heen

Ouchy is memorable to me, not on account of its beautiful

Nexty

situation and lovely surroundings—although these would make

Nant Bl

it stick long in one’s memory—but as the place where I caught

oot 1

the Londen ¢ Times’ dropping into humour.

It was not aware

It did not do it on purpose.

An English friend

and mule

of it, though.

of trve

called my attention to this lapse, and cut out the reprehensible

sntermil

paragraph for me. Think of encountering a grin like this on the

Plistering

facg of that grim journal :—

creeping

ErraTUM.— We are requested by Reuter’s Telegram Company to

1, a8

correct an erroneous announcement made in their Brishane telegram

ushe

of the 2nd inst., published in our impression of the 5th inst., stating

They &

that ¢ Lady Kennedy had given birth to twins, the eldest being a son’

Tole

The Company explain that the message they received contained the

e

words ¢ Governor of Queensland, ¢wins first son.’ Being, however,

subsequently informed that Sir Arthur Kennedy was unmarried, and

ground

that there must be some mistalke, a telegraphic repetition was at once

as fun

demanded. It has been received to-day (11th inst.), and shows that

ane 0o

the words really telegraphed by Reuter'’s agent were, ¢Governor

oD €xe!

Queensland turns first sod,’ alluding to the Maryborough-Gympic

wooded

Railway in course of construction.

The words in italics were muti-

falls o

lated by the telegraph in transmission from Australia, and reaching

Aby

the company in the form mentioned above gave rise to the mistalke,

tiere a

T had always had a deep and reverent compassion for the

into Vi

sufferings of the * prisoner of Chillon,” whose story Byron has

mount:

told in such moving verse; so I took the steamer and made

Al

pilgrimage to the dungeons.of the Castle of Chillon, to see the

and hi

place where poor Bonivard endured his dreary captivity 300

zenith

years ago. I'am glad I did that, for it took away some of the

o

pain I was feeling on the prisoner’s account.

His dungeon was

like 1o

048

sl

a nice, cool, roomy place, and I cannot see why he should have

been so dissatisfied with it.

If he had been imprisoned in a

ﬁnm

St. Nicholas private dwelling, where the fertilizer prevails, and

t00 ste

the goat sleeps with the guest, and the chickens roost on him,

W

and the cow comes in and bothers him when he wants to muse,

desgent

it would have been another matter altogether; but he surely

bouring

could not have had a very cheerless time of it in that pretty

ing gl

dungeon.

It has romantic window-slits that let in generous bars

Tesenh

of light, and it has tall, noble columns, carved apparently from

Peaaliy

the living rock; and, what is more, they are written all over

theJg

with thousands of names, some of them—Ilike Byron’s and Victor

£t dop,

Hugo's—of the first celebrity, Why didn’t he amuse himself

Yltaing

}

|

A TRAMP ABROAD.

255

iy

!ty 131{8 t

reading these names? Then there are the couriers and tourists

—swarms of them every day—what was to hinder him from

having a good time with them? T think Bonivard’s sufferings

15 by

have been overrated.

oul

Next, we took train and went to Martigny, on the way to

ere | gy

Mont Blane.

8 20t gy

Next morning we started, about eight o’clock, on

o]

foot.

We had plenty of company in the way of wagon-loads

and mule-loads of tourists

and dust. This scattering procession

Tepishe

of travellers was perhaps a mile long. The road was up-hill—

e s o

interminably up-hill—and tolerably steep. The weather was

blistering hot, and the man or woman who had to sit on a

creeping mule or in a crawling wagon, and broil in the beating

(o

iuka'ne elem

sun, was an object to be pitied.

We could dodge among the

fhins,

bushes, and have the relief of shade, but those people could not.

lemg

They paid for a conveyance, and to get their money’s worth they

rode.

Bein

We went by the way of Téte Noir, and after we reached high

it

100 WA

ground there was no lack of fine scenery.

In one place the road

was tunnelled through a shoulder of the mountain ; from there

and sh

I

one looked down into a gorge with a rushing torrent in it, and

gk

on every hand was a charming view of rocky butfresses and

wooded heights.

There was a liberal allowance of pretty water-

MICS WEI

p, and

fallg, too, on the Téte Noir route.

01

e 1

About half an hour before we reached the village of Argen-

tiere a vast dome of snow, with the sun blazing on it, drifted

into view and framed itself in a strong V-shaped gateway of the

mountaing, and we recognised Mont Blanc, the ¢ monarch of the

mer A

Il

Alps.

With every step after that this stately dome rose higher

illon, fo

and higher into the blue sky, and at last seemed to occupy the

zenith.

()

ome 0f

Some of Mont Blanc’s neighbours—bare, light-brown, steeple-

like rocks—were very peculiarly shaped.

Some were whittled

houl

\V

|

to a sharp point, and slightly bent at the upper end, like a lady’s

dins

upl‘l

finger ; one monster sugar-loaf resembled a bishop’s hat: it was

p rev

too steep to hold snow on its sides, but had some in the division.

o5t (0

While we were still on very high ground, and before the

100

‘LL

yants 0

g

descent toward Argentiere began, we looked up toward a neigh-

bu e

Qe

bouring mountain-top, and saw exquisite prismatic colours play-

ing about some white clouds which were so delicate as to almost

i {7

ener0lé

s

resemble gossamer webs.

The faint pinks and greens were

peculiarly beautiful ; none of the colours were deep, they were

rend)’ o

We

nuz”

e

the lightest shades.

They were bewitchingly commingled.

i

sat down to study and enjoy this singular spectacle. The tints

ol T

st

i

remained during several minutes—{litting, changing, melting

A TRAMP ABROAD.

into each other; paling almost away for a moment, then reflush-

for:

o n,nf

.

1

ng—a shifting, restless, unstable succession of soft opaline gleams,

profhe V8

shimmering over that airy film of white cloud, and turning it

()

Obcef\'e

o

fl

p e

into a fabric dainty enough to clothe an angel with.

ne &

(%

e

By and by we perceived what those super-delicate colours,

il

ocession ©

and their continuous play and movement, reminded us of: it is

what one sees in a soap-bubble that is drifting along, catching

el s

changes of tint from the object it passes.

A soap-bubble is the

{han & si\()ﬂ

most beautiful thing, and the most exquisite, in natire? that

lovely phantom fabric in the sky was suggestive of a soap-bubble

It

e

split open and spread out in the sun. I wonder how much it

would take to buy a soap-bubble if there was only one in the

world ?

One could buy a hatfull of Koh-i-Noors with the same

money, no doubt.

We made the tramp from Martigny to Argentiere in eight

Fveroot §

hours.

We beat all the mules and wagons; we didn’t usually

stregh of th

do that.

We hired a sort of open baggage-wagon for the

sfreet; 6\'8'?

trip down the valley to Chamonix, and then devoted an hour to

expecmm, 1

dining.

This gave the driver time to get drunk.

He had a

friend with him, and this friend also had had time to get drunk.

was dilige

amiving fo

When we drove off, the driver said all the tourists had

arrived and gone by while we were at dinner; ¢ but,’ said he,

ways, in o

of folk they

impressively, ¢ be not disturbed by that—remain tranquil—give

we had sea

yourselves no uneasiness—their dust rises far before us, you

The hot

shall sce it fade and disappear far behind us. Rest you tranquil,

was lond an

leave all to me—I am the king of drivers.

Behold !’

Down came his whip, and away we clattered.

I never had

dark now, |

large encls

such a shaking up in my life.

The recent flooding rains had

washed the road clear away in places, but we never stopped,

groups of v

themselyes

we never slowed down, for anything.

We tore right along, over

rocks, rubbish, gullies, open fields—sometimes with one or two

in the yard

Every now

evening st

wheels on the ground, but generally with none.

tourists,

and then that calm, good-natured madman would bend a majestic

look over his shoulder at us and say, ¢ Ah, you perceive? Itis as

ing bulk of

Never ¢

I have said—I am the king of drivers.

Every time we just

missed going to destruction he would say, with tranquil happi-

ne’s ey

slendep

ness, ‘Enjoy it, gentlemen, it is very rare, it is very unusual—

it is given to few to ride with the king of drivers—and observe

OTer onely |

it is as I have said, 7 am he.

skl

His

T0Untgpg

He spoke in French, and punctuated with hiccups.

friend was French too, but spoke in German—using the same

Stmngey HC]

The friend called himself the

system of punctuation, however.

1oy 0m,

<Captain of Mont Blanc,’ and wanted us to make the ascent with

ard While

Tdigngg s

him. He said he had made more ascents than any other man—

I}’ Eoff' al

A TRAMP ABROAD.

they g

His

g Sl

forcy-seven—and his brother had made thirty-seven.

brother was the best guide in the world, except himself—but he,

g

es, observe him well—he was the ¢Captain of Mont Blanc’'—

that title belonged to none other.

(afy QO‘IOW.I'IT,

|

I

i

The ‘king’ was as good as his word—he overtook that long

alono.

procession of tourists and went by it like a hurricane,

The

result was that we got choicer rooms at the hotel in Chamonix

1

than we should have done if his majesty had been a slower artist

—or, rather, if he hadn’t most providentially got drunk before he

0

b

e bow gy '

left Argentiere.

1

e

0Ig In

3 Wl

CIIAPTER XLIII.

1

Everyeopy was out of doors; everybody was in the principal

street of the village—not on the side-walks, but all over the

street; everybody was lounging, loafing, chatting, waiting, alert,

expectant, interested—for it was train-time.

That is to say, it

was diligence-time—the half-dozen big diligences would soon be

arriving from Geneva, and the village was interested, in many

ways, in knowing how many people were coming and what sort

of folk they might be.

It was altogether the livest-looking street

we bad seen in any village on the continent.

The hotel was by the side of a booming torrent, whose music

was loud and strong; we could not see this torrent, for it was

I1

dark now, but one could locate it without a light. There was a

lazge enclosed yard in front of the hotel, and this was filled with

groups of villagers waiting to see the diligences arrive, or to hire

themselves to excursionists for the morrow.

A telescope stood

in the yard, with its huge barrel canted up towards the lustrous

evening star,

The long porch of the hotel was populous with

By

tourists, who sat in shawls and wraps under the vast overshadow-

ing bulk of Mont Blanc, and gossiped or meditated.

Never did a mountain seem so close; its big sides seemed at

one’s very elbow, and its majestic dome, and the lofty cluster of

7 Ul

slender minarets that were its neighbours, seemed to be almost

over one’s head. It was night in the streets, and the lamps were

ypg—dl

sparkling everywhere; the broad bases and shoulders of the

mountains were in deep gloom, but their summits swam in a

. iccopé

oile e

strange, rich glow which was really daylight, and yet had a

-l

1

mellow something about it which was very different from the

J

himse!

hard white glare of the kind of daylight I was used to. Its

the ascen!

radiance was strong and clear, but at the same time it was singu-

g

larly soft, and spiritual, and benignant. No, it was not our

]y Oﬂlt’f

S

258

A TRAMP ABROAD.

harsh, aggressive, realistic daylight—it secemed propercr to an

d o i

fr b

js 10

enchanted land—or to heaven.

knoWe

I had seen moonlight and daylight together before, but I

had not seen daylight and black night elbow to elbow before.

arage 10

W chas e

At least I had not scen the daylight resting upon an object suf-

Teto

0

ficiently close ab hand before to make the contrast startling and

at war with nature.

A

gre ot

found

e !

The daylight passed away. Presently the moon rose up

yas toe

behind some of those sky-piercing fingers or pinnacles of bare

{hi

s O

rock of which I have spoken—they were a little to the left of the

16 O

fii

crest of Mont Blanc, and right over our heads—but she couldn’t

manag

o to climb high enough toward heaven to get entirely

(hamenix U

She would ghow the glittering arch of her upper

o0

L)

)

above them.

I

third occasionally, and scrape it along behind the comb-like row;

sometimes a pinnacle stood straight up, like a statuette of ebony,

e made 8

hureat

against that

glittering white shield, then seemed to glide out of

it by its own volition and power, and become

a dim spectre,

Jsne

jou alove

whilst the next pinnacle glided into its place and blotted the

spotless disk with the black

exclamation point of its presence.

are to pay.

The top of one pinnacle took the shapely, clean-cut form of a

man o

worstn f

rabbit’s head, in the inkiest silhouette, while it rested against

the moon.

The unillumined peaks and minarets, hovering

~

Api

antom-like above us while the others were pain-

some tnf

vague and ph

fully white and strong wit

h snow and moonlight, made a peculiar

ing to the

effect.

guides fe

But when the moon, having passed the line of pinnacles, was

back 15

hidden behind the stupend

ous white swell of Mont Blanc, the

ustally t

masterpiece of the evening w

ras flung on the canvas.

A rich

aman f

man hag

greenish radiance sprang into the sky from behind the mountain,

and in this some airy shreds and ribbons of vapour floated about,

dollars,

and being flushed with th

at strange tint, went waving to and fro

together,

like pale green flames.

After a while, radiating bars—vast

i only o

broadening fan-shaped shadows—grew up and stretched away to

sexena] g

the zenith from behind the mountain.

1t was a spectacle to take

sy,

one’s breath, for the wonder of it and the sublimity.

Wey

Indeed, those mighty bars of alternate light and shadow

taing gp.

streaming up from behind that dark and prodigious form, and

fuides oy

occupying the h

alf of the dull and opaque heavens, was the most

imposing and impressive marvel I had ever 1

ooked upon.

There

I glﬂ

If a child had asked

batong

is no simile for it, for nothing is like it.

fies op )

me what it was, I should have said, ¢ Humble yourself in this

Whih by

presence, it is the glory flowing from the hidden head of the

those of J

Creator.

One falls shorter of the truth than that, sometimes,

vith N,

in trying to explain mysteries to the little people. I could have

Efﬂndfng b

=

A TRAMP ABROAD.

259

Mg a0

found out the cause of this awe-compelling miracle by enquiring,

i by

00t |

for it is not infrequent at Mont Blanc—but I did not wish to

know.

We have not the reverent feeling for the rainbow that a

10 ey

savage has, because we know how it is made.

We have lost as

20 ohj,

much as we gained by prying into that matter.

frst Sarly

We took a walk down street, a block or two, and at a place

e 100n 1y

where four streets met and the principal shops were clustered,

Plnnace

found the groups of men in the roadway thicker than ever—for

this was the Exchange of Chamonix.

These men were in the

10 the o o,

costumes of guides and porters, and were there to be hired.

~but e el

The office of that great personage, the Guide-in-Chief of the

o g

1

.

il (f

Chamonix Guild of Guides, was near by. This guild is a close

corporation, and is governed by strict laws.

There are many

8 0t

excursion routes, some dangerous and some not, some that can

be made safely without a guide, and some that cannot.

The

tedto g

bureau determines these things.

me & dm g

Where it decides that a guide

e and

is necessary, you are forbidden to go without one.

Neither are

you allowed to be a victim of extortion; the law states what you

i of it

i

|

Jean-cnt fom

are to pay. The guides serve in rotation; you cannot select the

man who is to take your life into his hands, you must take the

1

TSt

worst in the lot if it is his turn.

TInare

A guide’s fee ranges all the way up from a half dollar (for

others wer

some trifling excursion of a few rods) to twenty dollars, accord-

b, mada

ing to the distance traversed and the nature of the ground. A

guide’s fee for taking a person to the summit of Mont Blanc and

16 Of I

back is twenty dollars—and he earns it.

The time employed is

o I

(i

usually three days, and there is enough early rising in it to make

the cant

a man far more ‘healthy and wealthy and wise’ than any one

man has any right to be.

The porter’s fee for the same trip is ten

japour .

ghind them

ap/

dollars.

Several fools—no, I mean several tourists—usually go

i waril

together, and divide up the expense, and thus make it light ; for

i

if only one f—tourist, I mean—went, he would have to have

1¢i0

fel

{0

several guides and porters, and that would make the matter

5 45

costly.

We went into the Chief’s office.

;-lfqli;y'

There were maps of moun-

ful

A

tains on the walls, also one or two lithographs of celebrated

guides and a portrait of the scientist De Saussure.

wa‘j:gioua fr

e T

i

]

In glass cases were somé labelled fragments of boots and

1p0ﬂ.

1

batons, and other suggestive relics and remembrances of casnal-

ok el

d

ties on Mont Blanc.

In a book was a record of all the ascents

gail

jour®

which have ever been made, beginning with Nos. 1 and 2—being

those of Jacques Balmat and De Saussure, in 1787, and ending

dden b

) thly

meﬂm

with No. 685, which wasn’t cold yet. In fact No. 685 was

it

standing by the official table waiting to receive the precious

s 2

260

A TRAMP ABROAD.

ehaia g0

of

by

official diploma which should prove to his German houschold

o1l ous

and to his descendants that he had once been indiscreet enough

hose

to climb to the top of Mont Blanc.

He looked very happy

ind !

e

when he got his document; in fact, he spoke up and said he was

qnotber 0

happy.

o 00 fhe

I tried to buy a diploma for an invalid friend at home who

of b

f 40

Gus

had never travelled, and whose desire all his life has been to

and D8

ascend Mont Blanc, but the Guide-in-Chief rather insolently

yas S

ih

refused to sell me one.

I was very much offended. I said I did

Dlackuond

not propose to be discriminated against on account of my nation.

it and mace]

ality; that he had just sold a diploma to this German gentleman,

Agwest

and my money was as good as his; I would see to it that he

eigml iighf ¢

couldn’t keep shop for Germans and deny his produce to Ameri-

soqmed 1

cans; I would have his licence taken away from him at the

of ten mint

dropping of a handkerchief ; if France refused to break him, I

concluded &

would make an international matter of it and bring on a war;

Jipes from

the soil should be drenched with blood; and not only that, but I

ge’g 4 1’g])f.

would set up an opposition shop and sell diplomas at half price.

Jantemn Was

TFor two cents I would have done these things, too; but

valley! 11

nobody offered me the two cents. I tried to move that German’s

taken s,

feelings, but it could not be done; he would not give me his

10t smoke

diploma, neither would he sell it to me.

I told him my friend

Even

was sick and could not come himself, but he said he did not care

tain's close

a verdammtes pfennig, he wanted his diploma for himself—did E

one sees W

suppose he was going to risk his neck for that thing and then

and a littl

give it to a sick stranger ?

Indeed he wouldn’t, so he wouldn’t.

light was |

I resolved, then, that I would do all I could to injure Moné

Blanc.

one plce

tween the

In the record book was a list or all the fatal accidents which

possible

had happened on the mountain.

It began with the one in 1820,

theless,

when the Russian Dr. Hamel's three guides were lost in a crevasse

TWhile

of the glacier, and it recorded the delivery of the remains in the

time, aud

valley by the slow-moving glacier 41 years later.

The latest

bote port

catastrophe bore date 1877.

being s

We stepped out and roved about the village a while.

In

front of the little church was a monument to the memory of

of the eaf

great moy

the bold guide Jacques Balmat, the first man who ever stood

Jich the

upon the summit of Mont Blanc.

He made that wild trip soli-

&1 preye

tary and alone.

He accomplished the ascent a number of times

8 loye),

afterwards. A stretch of nearly half a century lay between his

first ascent and his last one.

At the ripe old age of 72 he was

S0 by g

by others,

climbing around a corner of a lofty precipice of the Pic du Midi

—nobody with him—when he slipped and fell.

So he died in

l Ao

the harness.

A lent

A TRAMP ABROAD.

261

He had grown very avaricious in his old age, and used to go

1 by, thi)

lnm\met u

0

off stealthily to hunt for non-existent and impossible gold among

those perilous peaks and precipices.

He was on a quest of that

e Very han

D ind i e

kind when he lost his life.

There was a statue to him, and

another to De Saussure, in the hall of our hotel, and a metal

dat hopgy

plate on the door of a room upstairs bore an inscription to the

116 hag |

q

effect that that room had been occupied by Albert Smith. Balmat

and De Saussure discovered Mont Blanc—so to speak—but it

His articles in

d, T

was Smith who made it a paying property.

o myy

Blackwood and his lectures on Mont Blanc in London advertised

it and made people as anxious to see it as if it owed them money.

1t

As we strolled along the road we locked up and saw a red

It

0]

signal light glowing in the darkness of the mountain side.

from ~him

seemed but a trifling way up—perhaps a hundred yards, a climb

of ten minutes.

It was a lucky piece of sagacity in us that we

0 0 bredk b

concluded to stop a man whom we met and get a light for our

d bring o

pipes from him instead of continuing the climb to that lantern to

10§

The man said that that

get a light, as had been our purpose.

lantern was on the Grands Mulets, some 6,500 feet above the

) thin

valley ! Iknow by our Riffelberg experience that it would have

ove that

I would sooner

I

taken us a good part of a week to go up there.

not smoke at all than take all that trouble for a light.

:

Even in the daytime the foreshortening effect of the moun-

tain’s close proximity creates curious deceptions.

For instance,

for hi

one sees with the naked eye a cabin up there beside the glacier,

and a little above and beyond he sees the spot where that red

light was located; he thinks he could throw a stone from the

1\1\01

one place to the other.

But he couldn’t, for the difference be-

tween the two altitudes is more than 38,000 feet.

It looks im-

possible, from below, that this can be true, but it is true, never-

theless.

While strolling about, we kept the run of the moon all the

I

(!

time, and we still kept an eye on her after we got back to the

3;

6

hotel portico.

I had a theory that the gravitation of refraction

being subsidiary to atmospheric compensation, the refrangibility

XA

I

of the earth’s surface would emphasize this effect in regions where

fy the

great mountain ranges occur, and possibly so even-handedly im-

pact the odic and idyllic forces together, the one upon the other,

n o €

as to prevent the moon from rising higher than 12,200 feet above

tha

t e

sea level.

4 I‘.llﬂ]bﬂr0

This daring theory had been received with frantic

scorn by some of my fellow-scientists, and with an eager silence

P

I lay bet

by others.

2847

] age 0t 1%

Among the former I may mention Prof. H

)

and among the latter Prof. T

£2], Such is professional jealousy ;

ofthe !

p b

, &

a scientist will never show any kindness for a theory which he

262

A TRAMP ABROAD.

ience ]

b

did not start himself. There is no feeling of bfotherhood among

for

these people.

Indeed, they always resent it when I call them

accmmt

brother.

To show how far their ungenerosity can carry them, I

el

will state that I offered to let Prof. H

fill

i 150U

y publish my great

(Al

theory as his own discovery; I even begged him to do it;

20 Sﬂllm |

.

T even proposed to print it myself as his theory.

Instead

and enall®

in

of thanking me, he said that if I tried to fasten that theory

fening 0

on him he would sue me for slander.

I was going to offer

T b S0

-

glways!

jsfeL

it to Mr. Darwin, whom I understood to be a man without

prejudices, but it occurred to me that perhaps he would not be

sprtable 1

interested in it since it did not concern heraldry.

{hings. VA

But I am glad now that I was forced to father my intrepid

slesping &

theory myself, for on the night of which I am writing it was

those persé

triumphantly justified and established.

o |

Mont Blanc is nearly

16,000 feet high; he hid the moon utterly; near him is a peak

qoon a8 e

which is 12,216 feet high ; the moon slid along behind the pin-

oreral ol

imaginaﬁor

nacles, and when she approached that one I watched her with

intense interest, for my reputation as a scientist must stand or

TWhen e

fall by its decision. I cannot describe the emotions which surged

is 5o ively

like tidal waves through my breast when I saw the moon glide

placable fo

behind that lofty needle and pass it by without exposing more

Hight

than two feet four inches of her upper rim above it!

I was

departed

secure, then.

I knew she could rise no higher, and I was right.

hrought i

She sailed behind all the peaks and never succeeded in hoisting

hotel to

and T wa

her disk above a single one of them.

While the moon was behind one of those sharp fingers, its

sound, |

shadow was flung athwart the vacant heavens—a long, slanting,

dancinga

wait for |

clean-cut, dark ray, with a streaming and energetic suggestion of

force about it, such as the ascending jet of water from a power-

he smoof

ful fire engine affords.

It was curious to see a good strong

fell with

shadow of an earthly object cast upon so intangible a field as

he s pul

the atmosphere,

slight pa

We went to bed at last, and went quickly to sleep, but I

he fryin

woke up, after about three hours, with throbbing temples, and a

Presently

head which was physically sore, outside and in.

I was dazed,

Tsid, /G

dreamy, wretched, seedy, unrefreshed. I recognised the occasion

But be y

of all this; it was that torrent.

In the mountain villages of

S&ld, ‘(o

torrent in his ears.

Switzerland, and along the roads, one has always the roar of the

Camg thy

He imagines it is music, and he thinks

00r ong

poetic things, about it; he lies in his comfortable bed and is

Doots !

lulled to sleep by it.

But by-and-by he begins to notice that

il o

his head is very sore—he cannot account for it; in solitudes

anq [ g

where the profoundest silence reigns, he notices a sullen, distant,

stole

continuous roar in his ears, which is like what he would expe-

Sprawling

A TRAMP ABROAD.

263

ey

oy

g g

ey

rience if he had sea-shells pressed against them—he cannot

account for it; he is drowsy and absent minded ; there is no

N Gy

L)

th

0]

LY

iy

tenacity to his mind, he cannot keep hold of a thought and

1:1

follow 1t out ; if he sits down to write, his vocabulary is empty,

Im ty d)‘

no suitable words will come, he forgets what he started to do,

)

tha ¢

160

and remains there, pen in hand, head tilted up, eyes closed, lis-

tening painfully to the muffled roar of a distant train in his ears.

0 (fer

In his soundest sleep the strain continues, he goes on listening,

.

always listening, intently, anxiously, and wakes at last, harassed,

‘Zf’xe would

i

irritable, unrefreshed. He cannot manage to account for these

0 ey

things.

Day after day he feels as if he had spent his nights in a

sleeping car.

It actually takes him weeks to find out that it is

0 Writy

those persecuting torrents..that have been making all the mis-

Blane

chief. It is time for him to get out of Switzerland then, for as

soon as he has discovered the cause, the misery is magnified

g be‘r:ind

{he

several fold. The roar of the torrent is maddening then, for his

T

imagination is assisting ; the physical pain it inflicts is exquisite.

musk

‘When he finds he is approaching one of those streams, his dread

il

th iy

is so lively that he is disposed to fly the track and avoid the im=

v the mon

placable foe.

1 €xpo

I

il

Eight or nine months after the distress of the torrents had

ghove 1t

-

departed from me, the roar and thunder of the streets of Paris

and Tvas

brought it all back again.

I moved to the sixth storey of the

cemd 1040

hotel to hunt for peace.

About midnight the noises dulled away,

and I was sinking to sleep, when I heard a new and curious

fnoen

sound.

I listened: evidently some joyous lunatic was softly

-

I had to

dancing a ¢ double shuffle’ in the room over my head.

bt

wait for him to get through, of course.

Five long, long minutes

i(oi

he smoothly shuffled away—a pause followed, then something

%0 b "Oﬂd

]’

fell with a heavy thump on the floor. Isaid to myself, ¢ There—

4 I

he is pulling off his boots—thank heavens he is done.’

Another

slight pause—he went to shuffling again !

I said to myself, ‘Is

7 1o 8 bl |

he trying to see what he can do with only one boot on?’

fon

i

Presently came another pause and another thump on the floor.

g temp

I said, ¢ Good, he has pulled off his other boot—now he is done.

10,

But he wasn’t.

I

nl €d[

The next moment he was shuffling again.

said, ¢ Confound him, he is at it in his slippers !’

After a little

A ¥

the 1ir

came that same old pause, and right after it that thump on the

floor once more.

I said, ¢ Hang him, he had on {wo pair of

ad e

boots !’

For an hour that magician went on shuffling and

{t

able b

fo I

pulling off boots till he had shed as many as twenty-five pair,

and I was hovering on the verge of lunacy.

I got my gun and

stole up there. The fellow was in the midst of an acre of

3 SUHeﬂl o

ol

e

sprawling boots, and he had a boot in his hand, shuffling it—no,

o 1OV

264

A TRAMP ABROAD.

I mean polishing it.

The mystery was explained.

He hadn’t

3sk€d h.‘m

been dancing.

He was the ¢ Boots’ of the hotel, and was attend-

tog&ﬂ!?r W

ing to business,

Ho s

o Vet

unﬂeceﬁm

telestop®s

CHAPTER XLI1V,

id thab t

most difie

AFTER breakfast, that next morning in Chamonix, we went out in

the yard and watched the gangs of excursionising tourists arriv-

yifhin &2

o their &

ing and departing with their mules and guides and porters; then

we took a look through the telescope at the snowy hump of

expense !

Mont Blanc.

It was brilliant with sunshine, and the vast smooth

Ith

17

i}

bulge seemed hardly five hundred yards away. With the naked

el h

eye we could dimly make out the house at the Pierre Pointue,

nien o

which is located by the side of the great glacier, and is more than

g

3,000 feet above the level of the valley, but with the telescope

said that

we could see all its details.

would o8

While I looked, a woman rode by

the house on a mule, and I saw her with sharp distinctness; I

fo sant !

could have described her dress.

I saw her nod to the people of

Hom

the house, and rein up her mule, and put her hand up to shield

up and

her eyes from the sun.

I was not used to telescopes; in fact, I

consent,

never had looked through a good one before; it seemed in-

patheto

credible to me that this woman could be so far away. I was

boldly p

satisfied that I could see all these details with my naked eye; but

grim gl

when I tried it, that mule and those vivid people had wholly

e

vanished, and the house itself -had become small and vague.

I

(lacier

tried the telescope again, and again everything was vivid. The

amongst

strong black shadows of the mule and the woman were flung

with 16

against the side of the house, and I saw the mule’s silhouctte wave

stretohe

its ears.

Qeserpt

The telescopulist—or the telescopulariat—I do not know

times [

which is right—said a party were making the grand ascent, and

gethera

would come in sight on the remote upper heights, presently; so

e

|

we waited to observe this performance.

beyond

Presently I had a superb idea.

I wanted to stand with a

from ¢

he

party on the summit of Mont Blanc, merely to be able to say I

took 1l

had done it, and I believed the telescope could set me within

S0V g

seven feet of the uppermost man.

The telescoper assured me

that it could.

I then asked him how much I owed him for as

that

to me

far asI had got ?

He said, one franc.

I asked him how much it

would cost me to make the entire ascent ?

Three francs.

1L &

Was smg)

l

61

once determined to make the entire ascent. But first I enquired if

fr

there was any danger? Hesaid no—not by telescope; said he had

Withiy

f

taken a great many parties to the summit, and never lost a man.

ang stopp

ddﬂtmg bi

), )

A TRAMP ABROAD.,

205

B Tl

L Vit

3

I agked him what he would charge to let my agent go with me,

together with such guides and porters as might be necessary ?

He said he would let Harris go for two francs; and that unless

we were unusually timid, he should consider guides and porters

unnecessary ; it was not customary to take them when going by

telescope, for they were rather an incumbrance than a help.

He

e

said that the party now on the mountain were approaching the

toun

most difficult part, and if we hurried we should overtake themn

within ten minutes, and could then join them and have the benefit

ang

0t

i

of their guides and porters without their knowledge, and withoust

‘l:mp (i

expense to us.

A\

i}

I then said we would start immediately. I believe I said it

calmly, though I was conscious of a shudder and of a paling cheek,

R

in view of the nature of the exploit I was so unreflectingly en-

gaging in.

But the old dare-devil spirit was upon me, and I

said that as I had committed myself, I would not back down; I

2

would ascend Mont Blanc if it cost me my life.

I told the man

to slant his machine in the proper direction, and let us be off.

Harris was afraid and did not want to go, but I heartened him

fo

up and said I would hold his hand all the way; so he gave his

consent, though he trembled a little at first.

I took a last

Y

pathetic look upon the pleasant summer scene about me, then

boldly put my eye to the glass and prepared to mount among the

grim glaciers and the everlasting snows.

We took our way carefully and cautiously across the great

Glacier des Bossons, over yawning and terrific crevasses and

A

amongst imposing crags and buttresses of ice, which were fringed

Iere

with icicles of gigantic proportions.

The desert of ice that

stretched far and wide about us was wild and desolate bayond

description, and the perils which beset us were so great that at

times I was minded to turn back.

_Ido

But I pulled my pluck to-

nd

gether and pushed on.

We passed the glacier safely and began to mount the steeps

beyond, with great celerity. When we were seven minutes out

from the starting point, we reached an altitude where the scene

| 0

b

Jofo

took a new aspect ; an apparently limitless continent of gleaming

e

snow was tilted heavenward before our faces.

As my eye followed

g

‘bﬁfr

sl il &

that awful acclivity far away up into the remote skies, it seemed

iy

to me that all I had ever seen before of sublimity and magnitude

on

o 18

hi

o 2E

was small and insignificant compared with this.

We rested a moment, and then began to mount with speed.

rep 106

Within three minutes we caught sight of the party ahead of us,

frtle

nqlllf

jd et

and stopped to observe them. They were toiling up a long,

Pe

slanting ridge of snow—twelve persons, roped together some

rer

a2

266

A TRAMP ABROAD.

ack 10 e

fifteen feet apart, marching in single file, and strongly mazked

home

if W

against the clear blue sky. One was a woman. We could see

I

dge

ahen thet

them lift their feet and put them down; we saw them swing their

alpenstocks forward in unison, like o many pendulums, and then

anoﬂ

e, 00

bear their weight upon them; we saw the lady wave her hand-

anded Dy

gt 0

kerchief. They dragged themselves upwards in a worn and weary

o make !

way, for they had been climbing steadily from the Grand Mulets,

on the Glacier des Bossons, since three in the morning, and it

grel SN{ ]

was eleven now. We saw them sink down in the snow and rest,

(hamontX

and drink something from a bottle.

After a while they moved

goig 10

on, and as they approached the final short dash of the home-

ok of

stretch we closed up on them and joined them.

I

Presently we all stood together on the summit!

What a

09 fo asC

view was spread out below !

Away off under the north-western

fimid, he

horizon rolled the silent billows of the Farnese Oberland, their

Bardships

snowy crests glinting softly in the subdued lights of distance;

good et

in the north rose the giant form of the Wobblehorn, draped

Tis il

from peak to shoulder in sable thunder-clouds; beyond him, to

he would

the right, stretched the grand processional summits of the

from the

Cisalpine Cordillera, drowned in a sensuous haze; to the east

with ext

loomed the colossal masses of the Yodelhorn, the Fuddlehorn,

Wil

and the Dinnerhorn, their cloudless summits flashing white and

donota

cold in the sun; beyond them shimmered the faint far line of

him be1

the Ghauts of Jubbelpore and the Aiguilles des Alleghenies; in

and do 1

the south towered the smoking peak of Popocatapetl and the

stories ¢

unapproachable altitudes of the peerless Scrabblehorn; in the

west-south-west the stately range of the Himalayas lay dreaming

lwving}

Afr

in a purple gloom; gnd thence all around the curving horizon

Itclescops

the eye roved over a troubled sea of sunkissed Alps, and noted

Inques

lest

here and there, the noble proportions and soaring domes of the

Clr

Bottlehorn, and the Saddlehorn, and the Shovelhorn, and the

Wit

Powderhorn, all bathed in the glory of noon, and mottled with

(.

softly-gliding blots, the shadows flung from drifting clouds.

.

Overcome by the scene, we all raised a triumphant tremen-

dous shout, in unison.

A startled man at my elbow said—

0.1

I

the street ?’

¢ Confound you, what do you yell like that for, right here in

.

I,

That brought me down to Chamonix like a flirt.

I gave

that man some spiritual advice and disposed of him, and then

This

disstey

paid the telescope man his full fee, and said that we were

Tep L of

charmed with the (rip, and would remain down, and not

re-ascend and require him to fetch us down by telescope. This

lind f

pleascd him very much, for of course we could have stepped

1

A TRAMP ABROAD.

267

oy

iy

back to the summit and put him to the trouble of bringing us

LT

'

Il

home if we had wanted to.

d

i

'

I judged we could get diplomas, now anyhow ; so we went

i

:

“m" L

I

;

after them, but the Chief Guide put us off, with one pretext or

Warg hmw

another, during all the time we stayed in Chamonix, and we

\Womm,

ended by never getting them at all.

So much for his prejudice

Weary

against people’s nationality.

However, we worried him enough

b

to make him remember us and our ascent for some time.

He

dng

Chamonix.

even said, once, that he wished there was a lunatic asylum in

This shows that he really had fears that we were

80 o

going to drive him mad.

It was what we intended to do, but

lack of time defeated it.

by

I cannot venture to advise the reader one way or the other,

as to ascending Mont Blanc.

I say only this: if he is at all

0

timid, the enjoyments of the trip will hardly make up for the

hardships and sufferings he will have to endure.

But if he has

good nerve, youth, health, and a bold, firm will, and could leave

his family comfortably provided for in case the worst happened,

he would find the ascent a wonderful experience, and the view

Summits of

aze; to

from the top a vision to dream about, and tell about, and recall

the P

with exultation all the days of his life.

While I do not advise such a person to attempt the ascent, I

do not advise him against it.

But if he elects to attempt it, let

him be warily careful of two things: choose a calm clear day;

and do not pay the telescope man in advance.

There are dark

stories of his getting advance-payers on the summit, and then

0y 10

leaving them there to rot.

[

A frightful tragedy was once witnessed through the Chamonix

telescopes.

Think of questions and answers like these, on an

|

i

al

inquest :—

om

Coroner. You saw deceased lose his life ?

.;

VELL

Witness. I did.

ﬂwd o

C. Where was he at the time ?

g

W. Close to the summit of Mont Blanc.

g

. Where were you?

ﬂm 'Irr’lllEi‘

sl

V. In the main street of Chamonix.

[how

for, 1™

1R

C. What was the distance between you?

W. A Uitle over five miles, as the bird flies.

[ilid

g firh I

This accident occurred in 1866, a year and a month after the

f b

Ji, 00

disaster on the Matterhorn.

Three adventurous English gentle-

AL

] that !

men ! of great experience in mountain climbing, made up their

o, &

i

minds to ascend Mont Blanc without guides or porters, All

B

telesiope

"

.’ Sir George Young and his brothers James and Albert.

4 bare 881 |

\

268

A TRAMP ADROAD.

endeavours to dissuade them from their project failed. Powerful

o 8

telescopes are numerous in Chamonix. These huge brass tubes,

st g

mounted on their scaffoldings and pointing skyward from ever

el

Yeb fho

choice vantage-ground, have the formidable look of artillery,

and give the town the general aspect of getting ready to repel a

Malets in 5

charge of angels.

The reader may easily believe that the

qustane

telescopes had plenty of custom on that August morning in 1866,

Courage

Mor everybody knew of the dangerous undertaking which was on

foot, and all had fears that misfortune would result.

All the

were (‘ur'ER

closng I

morning the tubes remained directed towards the mountain

because &

heights, each with its anxious group around it; but the white

deserts were vacant.

Miletsab

the scene

At last, towards eleven o’clock, the people who were looking

Young,

through the telescopes cried out, ¢ There they are ! —and sure

After

enough, far up on the loftiest terraces of the Grand Plateau, the

exhaus

three pygmies appeared, climbing with remarkable vigour and

reasent

spirit.

They disappeared in the ¢Corridor, and were lost to

cover

sight during an hour. Then they reappeared, and were pre-

imprude

sently seen standing together upon the extreme summit of Mont

Anotber

Blanc.

So far, all was well.

They remained a few minutes on

\ul

CL

that highest point of land in Europe, a target for all the tele-

hours af

scopes, and were then seen to begin the descent.

Suddenly all

velief w

three vanished. An instant after, they appeared again, two

thelr o

thousand feet below !

the leve

Evidently they had tripped and been shot down an almost

a glimps

perpendicular slope of ice to a point where it joined the border

Thi

of the upper glacier. Naturally the distant witnesses supposed

then,

they were now looking upon three corpses; so they could hardly

his gui

believe their eyes when they presently saw two of the men rise

to their feet and bend over the third. During two hours and a

appear,

passed

half they watched the two busying themselves over the extended

form of their brother, who seemed entirely inert. Chamonix’s

sisting

tied fog

affairs stood still; everybody was in the street, all interest was

centred upon what was going on upon that lofty and isolated

they to

make m

stage five miles away. Finally the two—one of them walking

At

with great difficulty—were seen to begin the descent, abandoning

the third, who was no doubt lifeless.

Their movements were

aseenf

underty

followed, step by step, until they reached the ¢ Corridor ’ and dis~

appeared behind its ridge.

Before they had had time to traverse

Teinfoy

axioyg

the ‘ Corridor ’ and reappear, twilight was come, and the power

of the telescopes was at an end.

V2§ beg

80uingt

The survivors had a most perilous journey before them in

the gathering darkness, for they must get down to the Grands

thesg

Mulets before they would find a safe stopping-place—a long and

i by

6 by

A TRAMP ABROAD.

i PUWerf

269

I

i

{4 bl'a\g o

&y

tedious descent, and perilous enough even in good daylight. The

ity

Ty

oldest guides expressed the opinion that they could not succeed ;

00§ o ]

that all the chances were that they would lose their lives.

Tady

Yet those brave men did succeed.

They reached the Grands

lley {

Mulets in safety. Iiven the fearful shock which their nerves had

org

sustained was not sufficient to overcome their coolness and

courage. It would appear from the official account that they

were threading their way down through those dangers from the

8 th

closing in of twilight until two o’clock in the morning, or later;

y Ol 06

because the rescuing party from Chamonix reached the Grands

Mulets about three in the morning, and moved thence towards

Tere fo

the scene of the disaster under the leadership of Sir George

Young, ‘who had only just arrived.”

nd P‘

After having been on his feet twenty-four hours in the

exhausting work of mountain-climbing, Sir George began the

re-ascent at the head of the relief party of six guides, to re-

nd

This was considered a new

d

cover the corpse of his brother.

imprudence, as the number was too few for the service required.

T

I

Another relief party presently arrived at the cabin on the Grands

Mulets, and quartered themselves there to await events.

Ten

t, St

hours after Sir George’s departure towards the summit, this new

relief were still scanning the snowy altitudes above them from

red ama, §

their own high perch among the ice-deserts 10,000 feet above

the level of the sea; but the whole forenoon was passed without

W

a

the

a glimpse of any living thing appearing up there.

This was alarming

Half a dozen of their number set out,

then, early in the afternoon, to seek and succour Sir George and

o

00

his guides.

The persons remaining at the cabin saw these dis-

appear, and then ensued another distressing wait.

Four hours

{170 how

passed without tidings.

Then at five o’clock another relief, con-

over 1

sisting of three guides, set forward from the cabin.

They car-

ert, 0

ried food and cordials for the refreshment of their predecessors;

il

1§

they took lanterns with them, too. Night was coming on; and to

make matters worse, a fine, cold rain had begun to fall.

them ¥

At the same hour that these three began their dangerous

D!

ascent the official Guide-in-Chief of the Mont Blanc region

movemel

el

undertook the dangerous descent to Chamonix, all alone, to get

ih

reinforcements.

oridr '8

However, a couple of hours later, at 7 p.M., the

e fo

anxious solicitude came to an end, and happily. A bugle note

al i fhe }\M

was heard, and a cluster of black specks was distinguishable

against the snows of the upper heights.

The watchers counted

l

dhre 18 l;ﬂ

these specks eagerly—fourteen. Nobody was missing. An hour

and a half later they were all safe under the roof of the cabin.

| o6

o4 %8

They had brought the corpse with them. Sir George Young

270

A TRAMP ADBROAD.

tarried there but a few minutes, and then began the long and

troublesome descent from the cabin to Chamonix.

He probably

reached there about two or three o’clock in the morning, after

)

having been afoot among the rocks and glaciers during two days

and two nights.

His endurance was equal to his daring.

0 S

The cause of the unaccountable delay of Sir George and the

from Chat

relief parties among the heights where the disaster had happened

.

the parf !

was a thick fog

)

or partly that, and partly the slow and difficult

work of conveying the dead body down the perilous steeps.

and M1 ¢

e

The corpse, upon being viewed at the inquest, showed no

ag reac

by

(

bruises, and it was some time before the surgeons discovered that

the neck was broken.

mOrHiﬂga |

One of the surviving brothers had sus-

movem!

tained some unimportant injuries, but the other had suffered

(hamomx

no hurt at all.

How these men could fall 2,000 feet almost per-

1eac

pendicularly, and live afterwards, is a most strange and un-

fhe frs

accountable thing.

A great many women have made the ascent of Mont Blanc.

and hid £

Tight

An English girl, Miss Stratton, conceived the daring idea, two or

one had 1

three years ago, of attempting the ascent in the middle of winter.

of the cl

She tried it, and she succeeded. Moreover, she froze two of

valley fo

her fingers on the way up; she fell in love with her guide on

the summit, and she married him when she got to the bottom

time the

5

Taging

again. There is nothing in romance, in the way of a striking

¢ situation,” which can beat this love scene in mid-heaven on an

attempie

isolated ice-crest with the thermometer at zero and an Arctic

The

but on

gale blowing.

suceeede

The first woman who ascended Mount Blanc was a girl aged

twenty-two, Mdlle. Maria Paradis—1809.

summit

Nobody was with

reposefl

her but her sweetheart, and he was not a guide. The sex then

took a rest for about thirty years, when a Mdlle. d’Angeville

asleep,

made the ascent—1838.

henumb

In Chamonix I picked up a rude old

them, |

lithograph of that day which pictured her ‘in the act.” How-

more by

ever, I value it less as a work of art than as a fashion-plate.

found, g

Miss d’Angeville put on a pair of men’s pantaloons to climb in,

which was wise; but she cramped their utility by adding her

In}

petticoat, which was idiotic.

8 Note-h

One of the mournfullest calamities which men’s disposition

admit

to climb dangerous mountains has resulted in, happened on Mont

1en dp

Blanc in September, 1870. Mr. d’Arve tells the stor

Whichth

y briefly in

his ¢ Histoire du Mont Blanc.’

In the next chapter I will copy

1ess oo}

its chief features.

Tieg]

£l persoy

Teached f

W6 werg ¢

A TRAMP ABROAD,

271

Bty [

|

£ oy

g Mo

CHAPTER XLV.

30y

0

I

Ly

A CATASTROPHE WHICH COST ELEVEN LLVES.

Ay,

It

() ‘md il

ON September 5, 1870, a caravan of eleven persons departed

bad

from Chamonix to make the ascent of Mont Blanc.

Three of

e

L

the party were tourists: Messrs. Randall and Bean, Americans,

and Mr. George Corkindale, a Scotch gentleman; there were

l

hO i

three guides and five porters.

The cabin on the Grands Mulets

i

was reached that day; the ascent was resumed early the next

morning, September 6.

The day was fine and clear, and the

movements of the party were observed through the telescopes of

Chamonix; at two o’clock in the afternoon they were seen to

i

reach the summit.

A few minutes later they were seen making

the first steps of the descent; then a cloud closed around them

and hid them from view.

Eight hours passed, the cloud still remained, night came, no

one had returned to the Grands Mulets.

Iadle of

Sylvain Couttet, keeper

1026

tmo

of the cabin there, suspected a misfortune, and sent down to the

valley for help.

A detachment of guides went up, and by the

h hern

1]

b ot

v

time they had made the tedious trip and reached the cabin, a

raging storm had set in.

They had to wait; nothing could be

ay of 8 §

Tid-neave

A

attempted in such a tempest.

o and an A

{

The wild storm lasted more than a week, without ceasing ;

but on the 17th, Couttet, with several guides, left the cabin and

w

L

n

10 Was

succeeded in making the ascent.

In the snowy wastes near the

summit they came upon five bodies, lying upon their sides in a

OV

reposeful attitude, which suggested that possibly they had fallen

i

asleep, there, while exhausted with fatigue and hunger, and

M

benumbed with cold, and never knew when death stole upon

a1l

them.

Couttet moved a few steps farther and discovered five

n i

more bodies.

The eleventh corpse—that of a porter—was not

8 4 I

found, although diligent search was made for it.

a0

0Ll

ons

dan

In the pocket of Mr. Bean, one of the Americans, was found

1l

fy by

a note-book in which had been pencilled some sentences which

admit us, in flesh and spirit, as it were, to the presence of these

i

e’ G

men during their last hours of life, and to the grisly horrors

happeﬂe

juld

which their fading vision looked upon and their failing conscious-

br;fﬂ"" 1

ness took cognizance of :—

Jo 0]

il |

buper]

Tuesday, Spt. 6.—I have made the ascent of Mont Blanc, with

4

4

ten persons—eight guides, and Mr. Corkindale and Mr. Randall. 'We

reached the summit at half-past two.

Immediately after quitting it,

we were enveloped in clouds of snow.

‘We passed the night in a

272

A TRAMP ABROAD.

grotto hollowed in the snow, which

e 82 St‘

afforded but poor shelter, and T

i o0 lhe glﬂcie

was ill all night,

Sept. 7, Morning.—The cold is excessive.

The snow falls h

eavily

e Ca"f

and without interruption. The guides take no rest.

10 ﬁe{OTO

Eveniig.—My Dear Hessie, we have been two days on Mont

s ®

Blanc, in the midst of a terrible hurricane of snow, we have lost our

o P

ure 400

way, and are in a hole scooped in the

snow, at an altitude of 15,000

ducedd 19‘

o

feet.

I have no lorger any hope of descending.

qriof ¢ '*Pg;

aterng Q0%

N

They had wandered around, and around, in that blinding

snow storm, hopelessly lost, in a space only a hundred yards

joture of 08

{he funel 1

square; and when cold and fatigue vanquished them

at last, they

scooped their cave and lay down there to die by inches, unaware

pelsatmosp

The care

that five steps more would have brought them into the true path.

They were so near to life and safety as th

at, and did not suspect

reached 1

it !

The thought of this gives the shar

nel with bis

story conveys.

pest pang that the tragic

glacier, a0

The author of the ¢ Histoire du Mont Blanc’ introduces the

urder and

to sell our

closing sentences of Mr. Bean’s pathetic record thus:—

if the wonst

‘ Here the characters are large and unsteady ; the hand

which traces them is become chilled and tor

man ad ke

pid; but the spirit

dious voice,

survives, and the faith and resignation of

the dying man are

expressed with a sublime simplicity.’

by be came

ebind the

Perhaps this note-boolk will be found and

sent to you.

We have

nothing to eat, my feet are already

Thus ot

frozen, and I am exhausted ; I

the exercis

have strength to write only a few w

ords more.

I have left means for

saved 13 80

C.’s education ; I know you will em

ploy them wisely. I die with

faith in God, and with loving thought

s of you. Farewell toall. We

The tourist

well worth

shall meet again, in Heaven. , , . I think of you always.

4 strong an

y

It is the way of the Alps to deliver death to their victims

with a merciful swiftness, but here the rule failed,

These men

sary, yet 1t

venient,

suffered the bitterest death that has been recorded in tl

1e history

anda half ¢

of those mountains, freighte

d as that history is with grisly

tragedies.

less than 4

pressed for

the Alps b

v

d;\ys’ W0

=

k-

CIIAPTER XLVI,

the exploj

00 run, t

Me. ITarers and T took some guides and porters, and ascevded to

them fop {

the Hétel des Pyramides, which is

perched on the high moraine

which borders the Glacier des Bo

Ssons.

e Loyt

The road led sharply

01

18,

up hill, all the way, through gr

ass and flowers and woods, and

was a pleasant walk, barring th

e Loy

e fatigue of the climb.

Suadrp of

From the hotel we could view the hu

ge glacier at very close

range.

After a rest w

e followed down a path which had been

s idiﬂt g‘)d

A TRAMP ABROAD

273

T“ur 8]

iy il

made in the steep inner frontage of the moraine, and stepped

8w

upon the glacier itself. One of the shows of the place was a

il l

tunnel-like cavern, which had been hewn in the glacier. The

\w

M

T 0

proprietor of this tunnel took candles, and conducted us into it.

It was three or four feet wide and about six feet high. Its walla

W)

of pure and solid ice emitted a soft and rich blue Light that pro-

duced a lovely effect, and suggested enchanted caves, and that

sort of thing. When we had proceeded some yards and were

1', in tat

entering darkness, we turned about and had a dainty sun-lit

picture of distant woods and heights framed in the strong arch of

iy

the tunnel and seen through the tender blue radiance of the tun-

nel’s atmosphere.

ot

The cavern was nearly a hundred yards long, and when we

reached its inner limit the proprietor stepped into a branch tun-

gt

nel with his candles, and left us buried in the bowels of the

glacier, and in pitch darkness. We judged his purpose was

0 10

murder and robbery ; so we got out our matches and prepared

to sell our lives as dearly as possible by setting the glacier on fire

i

]

)

if the worst came to the worst—but we soon perceived that this

+ oub

man had changed his mind ; he began to sing, in a deep melo-

he ying e

dious voice, and woke some curiousand pleasing echoes. By-and-

by he came back and pretended that that was what he had gone

behind there for.

We believed as much of that as we wanted to.

4o oo, Wb

Thus our lives had been once more in imminent peril, but by

[ au

I

it

the exercise of the swift sagacity and cool courage which had

saved us so often, we had added another escape to the long list.

'\\

The tourist should visit that ice-cavern, by all means, for it is

\}‘0

well worth the trouble; but I would advise him to go only with

a strong and well armed force.

I do not consider artillery neces-

ath

[

sary, yet it would not be unadvisable to take it along if con-

Ty

venient.

The journey, going and coming, is about three miles

and a half, three of which are on level ground. We made it in

Jl)

1§

less than a day, but I would counsel the unpractised, if not

pressed for time, to allow themselves two.

Nothing is gained in

the Alps by over-exertion; nothing is gained by crowding two

days’ work into one for the poor sake of being able to boast of

the exploits afterwards.

It will be found much better, in the

long run, to do the thing in two days, and then subtract one of

them from the narrative.

This saves fatigue, and does not injure

.

the narrative.

All the more thoughtful among the Alpine tourists

ﬂﬂ'e L

do this,

roﬂd Ied

:

i

We now called upon the Guide-in-Chief, and asked for a

18 ad e

squadron of guides and porters for the ascent of the Montanvert.

) Chﬂlb

e

This idiot glared at us, and said—

gcier

il

T

y yhied &

274

A TRAMP ABROAD.

gt

o oSt

¢You don’t need guides and porters to go to the Montan-

vert.’

o e 12

g o

(What do we need, then?’

o for it

¢Such as you >—an ambulance !’

chould o

I was so stung by this brutal remark that I took my custom

{hree hundre

elsewhere.

Betimes, next morning, we had reached an altitude of 5,000

ipangh

oot mat]

feet above the level of the sea. Here we camped and breakfasted.

-

bridge 048

There was a cabin there—the spot is called the Caillet—and a

On the door of the cabin was a sign

That s

spring of ice-cold water.

2

ufig 0

h

in French, to the effect that ¢ One may here see a living chamois

o slak

for 50 .centimes.’

We did not invest ; what we wanted was to

luier! Do

see a dead one.

pills n guitens

A little after noon we ended the ascent, and arrived at the

new hotel on the Montanvert, and had a view of six miles, right

qer ok 1o

oot white

up the famous Mer de Glace.

At this point it is like a sea whose

deep swales and long rolling swells have been caught in mid-

mig ith

movement and frozen solid; but farther up it is broken up into

observer would

>

wildly-tossing billows of ice.

gy, Th

F

/ . !We descended a ticklish path in the steep side of the mo-

siethed my

There were tourists of both

in and

a0 ol

raine, and invaded the glacier.

TIOUIEADS e

sexes scattered far and wide over it everywhere, and it had the

festive look of a skating rink.

Europs, e

She ascended

The Empress Josephine came this far once.

fhirs, Bray

the Montanvert in 1810—but not alone ; a small army of men

of exqisly

aud 1y oy

preceded her to clear the path—and carpet it, perhaps,—and she

followed, under the protection of siwty-eight guides.

ing o g

Her successor visited Chamonix later, but in far different

But in §

It was seven weeks after the first fall of the Empire, and

Wt s it

style.

poor Marie Louise, Ex-Empress, was a fugitive.

She came at

s somef

night, and in a storm, with only two attendants, and stood before

1tis incurabl,\,

a peasant’s hut, tived, bedraggled, soaked with rain, ¢the red

Vith Ty

print of her lost crown still girdling her brow, and implored

ittt |

admittance—and was refused ! A few days before, the adulations

dl‘iﬂki Tater

and applauses of a nation were sounding in her ears, and now

e, Ty

she was come to this?

prohihitory "

We crossed the Mer de Glace in safety, but we had misgiv-

&, ‘DOHVt (i)

ings. The crevasses in the ice yawned deep and blue and

Bithey A

mysterious, and it made one nervous to traverse them.

The

ey ¢ daqdly' l

huge round waves of ice were slippery and difficult to climb, and

T of gy

il

the chances of tripping and sliding down them and darting into

a crevasse were too many to be comfortable.

ieep 0 the P

2% bl |

In the bottom of a deep swale between two of the biggest

gy

Sovery

of the ice-waves, we found a fraud who pretended to be cutting

Pllblisbes

1

A TRAMP ABROAD.

275

"l Yy,

steps to insure the safety of tourists.

He was ¢ soldiering * when

we came upon him, but he hopped up and chipped out

a couple

of steps about big enough for a cat

» and charged us a franc or

two for it. Then he sat down again

t Lo Y gy

» to doze till the next party

fi

should come along.

He had collected black mail from two or

three hundred people already, that day, but had not chipped out

L il

et and bt

ice enough to impair the glacier perceptibly. I have heard of a

good many soft sinecures, but it seems to me th

at keeping toll-

the Ul

‘;l

bridge on a glacier is the softest one I have enc

ountered yet.

8 bl wag g gy

That was a blazing hot day, and it brought a persist

ing and

88 g iy

persecuting thirst with it.

What an unspeakable luxury it was

e Wanted s

to slake that thirst with the pure and limpid ice-water of the

glacier! Down the sides of every great rib of ice poured limpid

b

i grrived it

f o

1

rills in gutters carved by their own attrition; better still, where-

il

1615 ke & wa vh

ever arock had lain, there was now a bowl-shaped hole, with

smooth white sides and bottom of ice, and this bowl was brim-

0 et o

ming with water of such absolute clearness that the carcless

it 19 broken wp i

observer would not see it at all, but would think the bowl was

empty. These fountains had such an alluring look that I often

o e of te m

stretched myself out when I was not thirsty and dipped my face

et fOUTtS

in and drank till my teeth ached. Everywhere among the Swiss

hete, and it

mountains we had at hand the blessing—not to be found in

Kurope,

ewcept in the mountains,—of water capable of quenching

once. Ste

thirst. Everywhere in the Swiss highlands brilliant little rills

o small arm

of exquisitely cold water went dancing along by the roadsides,

i, perhap

and my comrade and I were always drinking and always deliver-

o

ing our deep gratitude.

i 1

n fr

But in Europe everywhere, except in the mountains, the

all 0

o Eoy

water is flat and insipid beyond the power of words to describe.

e

)l

It is served lukewarm; but no matter, ice could not help it;

it is incurably flat, incurably insipid. It is only good to wash

with; I wonder it doesn’t occur to th

q with

e average inhabitant to try

it for that.

In Europe the people say contemptuously,

¢ Nobody

e prow, &5

drinks water here.’

Indeed they have a sound and sufficient

] efore, U6

pl o1

reason. In many places they even have what may be called

in her e

prohibitory reasons. In Paris and Munich, for instance, they

folid 2%

say, ‘ Don't drink the water, it is simply poison.’

j

Either America is healthier than Europe, notwithstanding

| dep

her ¢ deadly’ indulgence in ice water,

or she does not keep the

raversé

|

I think we do

o

i)

run of her death-rate as sharply

as Europe does.

i altfoc

keep up the death-

statistics accurately; and if we do, our cities

hem 8%

% |

are healthier than the cities of Europe. Every month the

erman government tabulates the death-rate of the world and

0

el

0 {0

patt

I

publishes it. I scrap-booked these reports during several

et

T 2

276

A TRAMP ABROAD.

eudless gra"e

months, and it was curious to see how regular and persistently

jut s s

each city repeated its same death-rate month after month. The

Jl Si2e 0

tables might as well have been stereotyped, they varied so little.

e

These tables were based upon weekly reports showing the

e

average of deaths in each 1,000 of population for a year. Munich

ot reci!

was always present with her 33 deaths in each 1,000 of her

population (yearly average), Chicago was as constant with her

but ome !

‘\'

7

coufor

'P

15 or 17, Dublin with her 48—and so on.

riea e

Only a few American cities appear in these tables, but they

are scattered so widely over the country, that they furnish a

oz

OJS?

or

good general average of city health in the United States; and I

exoursoniae

think it will be granted that our towns and villages are healthier

a body

than our cities.

Here is the average of the only American cities reported in

i

upon our @

the German tables:—

Chicago, deaths in 1,000 of population annually, 16; Phila-

Lk/ﬂ(]'x

or

delphia, 18; St. Louis, 18; San Francisco, 19; New York (the

ad

Dublin of America), 23.

10 §

Wt

See how the figures jump up, as soon as one arrives at the

transatlantic list :—

before,

e reah

Paris, 27 ; Glasgow, 27; London, 28; Vienna, 28; Augs-

at four n

berg, 28; Braunchweig, 28 ; Konisberg, 29 ; Cologne, 29 ; Dres-

den, 29; Hamburg, 29; Berlin, 30; DBombay, 30; Warsaw,

stock was la

cutter to e

81; Breslau, 31; Odessa, 32; Munich, 33; Strasburg, 83;

Pesth, 85; Cassel, 85 ; Lisbon, 36 ; Liverpool, 36 ; Prague, 37 ;

Manvais D

\

?i:‘

Madras, 87 ; Bucharest, 89; St. Petersburg, 40; Trieste, 40;

160 Ve (i

tied toy

Alexandria (Egypt), 48; Dublin, 48 ; Calcutta, 55.

Edinburgh is as healthy as New York—=23; but there is no

10es

il

city in the entire list which is healthier, except Frankfort-on

Ve re;::

lef for G

the Main—20. But Frankfort is not as healthy as Chicago,

San Francisco, St. Louis, or Philadelphia.

amming, |

]

Perhaps a strict average of the world might develop the fact

People

that where 1 in 1,000 of America’s population dies, 2 in 1,000 of

ladder, 1)

the other populations of the earth succumb.

Bive ot

I do not like to make insinuations, but I do think the above

e ony ¢

statistics darkly suggest that these people over here drink this

Tegilafioy

detestable water ¢on the sly.’

Vere g,

We climbed the moraine on the opposite side of the glacier,

Some of fh

and then crept along its sharp ridge a hundred yards or so, in

SHOVS g 4

pretty constant danger of a tumble to the glacier below. The

$eaks by 1

fall would nearly have been 100 feet, but it would have closed me

ayeley,

out as effectually as 1,000 feet, therefore, I respected the distance

: e Deyey

accordingly, and was glad when the trip was done.

A moraine i8

an ugly thing to assault head-first. At a distance it looks like an

mlles awﬂ“,,

ity ﬂ.Uyn

ol gy

A TRAMP ABROAD.

217

" e

]

endless grave of fine sand, accurately shaped and nicely smoothed ;

A g,

g

but close by, it is found to be made mainly of rough boulders of

16 Vated I,

all sizes, from that of a man’s hand to that of a cottage. By-and-

1T sy, {ls

by we came to the Mauvais Pas, or, the Villainous Road, to

frayy Vi

translate it feelingly. It was a break-neck path around the face

a1l g,

of a precipice forty or fifty feet high, and nothing to hang on to

§ OOt i

but some iron railings.

I got along, slowly, safely, and un-

comfortably, and finally reached the middle.

My hopes began to

58 tah]

{046 the

rise a little, but they were quickly blighted ; for there I met a

hog—a long-nosed bristly fellow, that held up his snout and

OIIE

worked his nostrils at me enquiringly. A hog on a pleasure

068 4] el\

excursion in Switzerland—think of it.

It is striking and unusual ;

a body might write a poem about it.

He could not retreat, if he

0 cies rpore]

had been disposed to do it.

It would have been foolish to stand

upon our dignity in a place where there was hardly room to stand

m'ﬂ:y, lw

o

upon our feet, so we did nothing of the sort.

There were twenty

1)

New York (

or thirty ladies and gentlemen behind us; we all turned about

and went back, and the hog followed behind. The creature did

5 006 amivesai

not seem set up by what he had done; he had probably done it

before.

We reached the restaurant on the height called the Chéteau

Yifnna, phf

at four in the afternoon.

0

0o

90+ D

It was a memento factory, and the

stock was large, cheap and varied.

I bought the usual paper-

cutter to remember the place by, and had Mont Blanc, the

Mauvais Pas, and the rest of the region branded on my alpenstock ;

then we descended to the valley, and walked home without being

40: T

tied together.

This was not dangerous, for the valley was five

W

miles wide, and quite level.

T

We reached the hotel before nine o’clock.

Next morning we

eX

left for Geneva on top of the diligence, under shelter of a gay

bea

ALY

awning.

If I remember rightly, there were more than twenty

people up there.

It was so high that the ascent was made by

'»dE\ 1?*3

ladder.

The huge vehicle was full everywhere, inside and out.

Jon (g% 4

‘We had en-

Five other diligences left at the same time, all full.

gaged our seat two days beforehand, to make sure, and paid the

o think®

regulation price, five dollars each ; but the rest of the company

orer bee

were wiser ; they had trusted Baedeker, and waited ; consequently,

some of them got their seats for one or two dollars.

Baedeker

ol

ixi{f\

ol

knows all about hotels, railways and diligence companies, and

o

dred yor%

T:

speaks his mind freely. He is a trustworthy friend of the

gl

it

traveller.

0!

ldhar

Y

We never saw Mont Blanc at his best until we were many

re‘PECWd

i

miles away ; then he lifted his majestic proportions high into the

sdones

¥

heavens, all white and cold and solemn, and made the rest of the

qnce

ol

world seem little and plebeian, and cheap and trivial.

278

A TRAMP ABROAD.

opset

As he passed out of sight at last, an old Englishman settled

Tshook

himself in his seat and said—

¢ Well, I am satisfied, I have seen the principal features of

ivent]

oy e

Swiss scenery—DMont Blanc and the goitre—now for home!’

T stll

CHAPTER XLVIL

D

gl

1, (o

WE spent a few pleasant restful days at Geneva, that delightful

wagge

city where accurate time-pieces are made for all the rest of the

gl Jad e

world, but whose own clocks never

give the correct time of day

shopyronal

by any accident.

aud sid=

Geneva is filled with pretty little shops, and the shops are

onsien

{ie hotel—le

filled with the most enticing gimcrackery ; but if one enters one

of these places he is at once pounced upon, and followed up, and

yhen be ikes

so persecuted to buy this, that, and the other thing, that he is

{he monef, C0

very grateful to get out again, and is not at all apt to repeat his

{ing, 0b 0

experiment. ‘The shopkeepers of the smaller sort, in Geneva,

was thu

are as troublesome and persistent as are the salesmen of that

Yeuds suarely

monster hive in Paris, the Grands Magasins du Louvre—an

The il

establishment where ill-mannered p

estering, pursuing and ipsist-

affeng o b

ence have been reduced to a science.

aeatle pe

is another bad feature.

In Geneva, prices in the smaller shops are very elastic-—that

Then T gonel

I was looking in at a window at a

very

t0 do fhat the

pretty string of beads, suitable for a child.

I was only admiring

Tgotlstn

them; I had no use for them; I hardly ever wear beads. The

Lostfor am b

shopwoman came out and offered them to me for thi

rty-five

somewhat f

francs. I said it was cheap, but I did not need them.

¢ Ah, but, monsieur, they are so beautiful!’

judge! Bu

found anothy

I confessed it, but said the

y were not suitable for one of my

self No |

age and simplicity of character.

She darted in and brought

s Py

them out, and tried to force them into my hands, saying—

the ight l

¢ Ah, but only see how lovely they are!

Surely monsieur

I ey

will take them :

)

monsieur shall have them for thirty francs.

There, I have said it—it is a loss, but one must live’! ’

queer name

ang (Purgat

I dropped my h

ands and tried to move her to respect my

‘P g

unprotected situation.

But no, she dangled the beads in the sun

before my face, exclaiming, ¢ Ah, monsieur cannot resist them 1’

ICﬂmEO

Ivg, [y,

She hung them on my coat button, folded her h

ands resignedly,

and said, ¢ Gone—and for thirty francs,

the lovely things, it is

Vhen [ g

incredible ! but the good God will s

I gy

anctify the sacrifice to me.’

Uly-tg

I removed them gently,

returned them, and walked away,

shaking my head and smilin

g a sm

ile of silly embarrassment,

Sty

while the passers-by halted to obsery

€.

The woman leaned ous

0f gy

Blzg

ang ]

of her door, shook the beads, and screamed after me—

Tty

t hiy |

"

A TRAMP ABROAD.

I

279

Mgy i)

¢ Monsieur shall have them for twenty-eight ! *

I shook my hcad.

incipal M g

0

0

O fop home! )

¢ Twenty-seven ! It is a cruel loss, it is ruin—but take thein,

only take them.’

I still retreated, still wagging my head.

¢ Mon Dieu, they shall even go for twenty-six! There, I have

said it.

Come !’

T g

I wagged another negative.

al thy g

A nurse and a little English

girl had been near me, and were following me, now.

The

e i da

shopwoman ran to the nurse, thrust the beads into her hands

and said—

aud the dopg g

¢ Monsieur shall have them for twenty-five !

Take them to

00€ enfers

0

the hotel—he shall send me the money to-morrow—next day—

Gl

) dll

when he likes.’

Then to the child: ¢ When thy father sends me

06

the money, come thou also, my angel, and thou shalt have some-

0 18

)

thing, oh so pretty.’

14

I was thus providentially saved. The nurse refused the

0 &

AT0EN 0 {

beads squarely and firmly, and that ended the matter.

UTE~t

I made one

i Ld Lo

4

The ¢sights’ of Geneva are not numerous.

uing and

attempt to hunt up the houses once inhabited by those two dis-

agreeable people, Rousseau and Calvin, but had no success.

Yery el

Then I concluded to go home.

I found it was easier to propose

d window &t

=

to do that than to do it; for that town is a bewildering place.

8 ouly adniy

I got lost in a tangle of narrow and crooked streets, and stayed

Deals,

|

[

lost for an hour or two.

Finally I found a street which looked

.rJg\‘for e

somewhat familiar, and said to myself, ‘ Now I am at home, I

fh

I,

judge.’

But I was wrong ; this was ¢ Hell Street.’

Presently I

found another place which had a familiar look, and said to my-

self, *Now I am at home, sure.’

It was another error.

This

b fr et

d

was ¢ Purgatory Street.”

After a little I said, ¢ Now I've got to

nd

i npdﬁmu;l;

the right place, anyway . .

. . no, this is ¢ Paradise Street;”

I'm farther from home than I was in the beginning.” Those were

' \Sur'ely [

queer names—CQCalvin was the auther of them, likely.

¢ Hell?

fr thigW fus

and ¢ Purgatory’ fitted those two streets like a glove, but the

[

i

\(4

o her B0

¢ Paradise’ appeared to be sarcastic.

1

I came out on the lake front, at last, and then I knew where

he

1l

I was.

I was walking along before the glittering jewellery shops

ot T

when I saw a curious performance. A lady passed by, and a

T Jands rf‘SI I

trim dandy lounged across the walk in such an apparently care-

Jovely t085°

)p §40

rifoet)

fully-timed way as to bring himself exactly in front of her when

ﬂﬂ;?d iy

she got to him; he made no effort to step out of the way ; he did

and W

not apologize ; he did not even notice her.

She had to stop still

risIe

]y b

| I]Ed ]

and let him lounge by. I wondered if he had done that piece of

brutality purposely. He strolled to a chair and seated himself

o e~

280

A TRAMP ABROAD.

plote 10

at a small table; two or three other males were sitting at similar

tables sipping sweetened water. I waited ; presently a youth

ons A%

alne

Jave hang?

came by, and this fellow got up and served him the same ‘trick,

Still, it did not seem possible that anyone could do such a

fst, but €

thing deliberately. To satisfy my curiosity I went around the

Fren the

block, and sure enou

gh, as I approached, at a good round speed,

olsted et

he got up and lounged lazily across my path, fouling my course

fion, Ste

word, but g

exactly at the right moment to receive all my weight. This

—

proved that his previous performances had not been accidental,

firtt

but intentional,

Th mu

I saw that dandy’s curious game played afterwards in Paris,

mme

but not for amusement ; not with a motive of any sort, indeed, but

bt the ead

simply from & selfish indifference to other people’s comfort and

dealoftime by

rights. One does not see it asfrequently in Paris ashe might ex-

Te wereo

pect to, for there the law says, in effect, ‘It is the business of

the weak to get out of the way of the strong.” We fine a cabman

gale

up}vards of th

if he runs over a citizen ; Paris fines the citizen for being run

Th

ach

over. At least so everybody says—but I saw something which

sl

caused me to doubt; I saw a horseman run over an old woman

&

i

phich

one day—the police arrested him and took him away. That looked

Almost

ALl

as if they meant to punish him.

o

1t 16g

1

It will not do for me to find merit in American manners—for

annqu

are they not thestanding butt for the jests of critical and polished

(al

0 a

Europe? Still I must venture to claim one little matter of supe-

‘i

Windo

riority in our manners—a lady may traverse our streets all day,

over f

b

going and coming as she chooses, and she will never be molested

of a ot~

by any man; but if a lady unattended walks abroad in the

things visil

streets of London, even at noonday, she will be pretty likely to

be accosted and insulted ; and not by drunken sailors,

stillness e

but by

dreamy S

men who carry the look and we

ar the dress of gentlemen.

It is

Was. diferpt

maintained that these people are not gentlemen, but are a lower

gort disguised as gentlemen.

The case of Colonel Valentine

80lders o]

thinty op

Baker obstructs that argrment, for a man cannot become an

officer in the British arm ;, except he hold the rank of gentleman.

Plezsa e

le I

This person, finding himself alone in a railway compartment

Which g .

with an unprotected girl—but it is an atro

cious story, and

doubtless the reader remembers it well enough

.

London must

8 bt

have been more or less accustomed to B

5

COmpartyeys

akers, and the ways of

Bakers, else London wou

ld have been offended and excited.

Wao Tutoy I

Baker was ¢ imprisoned >—in a parlour; and he could not have

“’ashiug

ling

Aty mm the

been more visited, or more overwhelmed with

attentions, if he

had committed six murders, and then—w

hile the gallows was

MUy

preparin

Bl o,

Peace,

g—*¢ got religion ’—after the manner of the holy Charles

of saintly memory. Arkansaw—it seems a little indeli=

oty )

i e

A TRAMP ABROAD.

281

i

tmw

i

D]

iy

tate to be trumpeting forth our own superiorities, and compari-

T8 yon

0 the gy

A

sons are always odious, but still—Arkansaw would certainly

ooul

g

have hanged Baker.

I do not say she would have tried him

first, but she would have hanged him, any way.

Went gpom1 0

2o vy

Even the most degraded woman can walk our streets un-

molested, her sex and her weakness being her suflicient protec-

Touly

07 1y

tion.

I weh 1

She will encounter less polish than she would in the old

world, but she will run across enough humanity to make up

it bey a@»ﬁ?.’i

for it.

The music of a donkey awoke us early in the morning, and we

i

ermar

by

1

rose up and made ready for a pretty formidable walk—to Italy;

st iy

11

but the road was so level that we took the train.

We lost a good

i)

(]

af

deal of time by this, but it was no matter, we were not in a hurry.

A8 a8 e oy

0 18 te

We were four hours going to Chambery. The Swiss trains go

upwards of three miles an hour, in places, but they are quite

"

safe.

1260 for be

We nine ati

That aged French town of Chambery was as quaint and crooked

W Som

as Heilbronn. A drowsy reposeful quiet reigned in the back streets

o

Yol

an ol

which made strolling through them very pleasant, barring the

amay, Tha

100860

almost unbearable heat of the sun. In one of these streets, which

was eight feet wide, gracefully curved, and built up with small

rican mane-

antiquated houses, I saw three fat hogs lying asleep, and a boy

ritieal and

From queer old-fashioned

(also asleep), taking care of them.

i

6 matter

windows along the curve, projected boxes of bright flowers, and

) Our reets

over the edge of one of these boxes hung the head and shoulders

I never be

of a cat—asleep. The five sleeping creatures were the only living

I

3 ab

things visible in that street.

There was not a sound; absolute

] be ety

stillness prevailed.

It was Sunday; one is not used to such

tken salor

dreamy Sundays on the Continent.

In our part of the town it

was different that night.

A regiment of brown and battered

of galoes, 12

I

nen, but are & !

soldiers had arrived home from Algiers, and I judged they got

thirsty on the way. They sang and drank till dawn, in the

i Colonel

pleasant open air.

1 (‘AH?’O

4‘6

We left for Turin at 10 the next morning by a railway,

6 I

LIy

(omp

P

which was profusely decorated with tunnels. We forgot to take

I,

a lantern along, consequently we missed all the scenery. Our

grocions

compartment was full.

A ponderous tow-headed Swiss woman,

ugh

Jond 8

and fhe

who put on many fine-lady airs, but was evidently more used to

washing linen than wearing it, sat in a corner seat and put her legs

n0e a

bl

id

il

"

across into the opposite one, propping them intermediately with

| hecot

her up-ended valise.

In the seat thus pirated sat two Americans,

ith

) aftest

greatly incommoded by that woman’s majestic coffin-clad feet.

il

¢

i

One of them begged her, politely, to remove them.

She opened

o

eh()y

e

er wide eyes and gave him a stare, but answered nothing. By-

s 611

ol

282

A TRAMP ABROAD,

and-by he preferred his request again, with great respectful-

e S

eyl O

ness. She said, in good English, and in a deeply offended tone,

sight % :

that she had paid her passage and was not going to be bullied out

deas O

of her ‘rights’ by ill-bred foreigners, even if she was alone and

@

unprotected.

Jonbleareac®

mlks from 01

¢ But I have rights also, madam. My ticket entitles me to a

seat, but you are occupying half of it.’

sheleral the

of shopsand

to me?

‘I will not talk with you, sir. What right have you to speak

There 15

I do not know you.

One would know you came from a

land where there are no gentlemen.

No gentleman would treat

ikedy et

a lady as you have treated me.’

over hmd, al |

)

a

‘I come from a region where a lady would hardly giveme the

firue

same provocation.’

Populo

¢You have insulted me, sir !

You have intimated that I am

of lesir

Eveything

not a lady—and I hope I am not one, after the pattern of your

country.’

ganee—and th

The b square

‘I beg that you will give yourself no alarm on that head,

madam; but at the same time I must insist—always respectfully

Botel tey gure

—that you let me have my seat.’

Joueto mateh,

'

Here the fragile laundress burst into tears and sobs.

o for ]

=

—

=

‘I never was so insulted before! Never,never! It is shame-

The lse

ful, it is brutal, it is base, to bully and abuse an unprotected lady

Window e

covered with

who has lost the use of her limbs and cannot put her feet to the

sofa

floor without agony !’

¢ Good heavens, madam, why didn’t you say that at first! I

chander i

We did not

offer a thousand pardons. And I offer them most sincerely. Idid

not know—I could not know—that anything was the matter. You

the o bedre

are most welcome to the seat, and would have been from the first

s 10 ¢ogf g

Turin my

if I bad only known. I am truly sorry it all happened, I do assure

you.’

stores o the

But he couldn’t get a word of forgiveness out of her. She

itbasitg oy

simply sobbed and snuffled in a subdued but wholly unappeas-

OIS gpg v

able way for two long hours, meantime crowding the man more

ad gy gene

than ever with her undertaker-furniture, and paying no sort of

Chothes, T

aftention to his frequent and humble little efforts to do something

et

for her comfort. Then the train halted at the Italian line, and

Or Seyery

she hopped up and marched out of the car with as firm a leg as

Ol ghoy

any washerwoman of all her tribe !

And how sick I was to see

how she had fooled me!

Upan gpg

i

L

aliang

Turin is a very fine city. In the matter of roominess it

Sligyeg

Cimg Ay ¥

transcends anything that was ever dreamed of before, I fancy.

TWEJ

It sits in the midst of a vast dead-level, and one is ob

liged to

13 Immature

imagine that land may be had for the aski

ng, and no taxes to pay,

£0 lavishly do they use it.

0l g g

The streets are extravagantly wide,

e, ;

A TRAMP ABROAD.

283

iy

R g

i

il

the paved squares are prodigious, the houses are huge and hand-

DY ol

some, and compacted into uniform blocks that stretch away as

Gmf'm be b\l]ll E(‘Quo

straight as an arrow, into the distance.

The sidewalks are about

ey

Ang Ed

u

as wide as ordinary European streets, and are covered over with a

One

ikt

double arcade, supported on great stone piers or columns.

il g by

walks from one end to the other of these spacious streets, under

shelter all the time, and all his course is lined with the prettiest

bt g

of shops and the most inviting dining-houses.

OV Y0 iy

There is a wide and lengthy court, glittering with the most

Jen

A ol

wickedly enticing shops, which is roofed with glass, high aloft

over head, and paved with soft-toned marbles laid in graceful

ud ha:dly sty

figures; and at night, when this place is brilliant with gas and

populous with a sauntering and chatting and laughing multitude

himated it

of pleasure-seekers, it is a spectacle worth seeing.

Everything is on a large scale; the public buildings, for in-

tthe e o g

stance—and they are architecturally imposing too, as wellas large.

0 alam on fha b

The big squares have big bronze monuments in them. At the

alvaps el

hotel they gave us rooms that were alarming for size, and a par-

lour to match.

It was well the weather required no fire in the

ars and sobs,

parlour, for I think one might as well have tried to warm a park.

noever] T s

The place would have a warm look though in any weather, for the

window curtains were of red silk damask, and the walls were

INH unproterte

covered with the same fire-hued goods—so, also, were the four

ok put e fe

sofas and the brigade of chairs.

The furniture, the ornaments, the

chandeliers, the carpets were all new and bright and costly.

u ay hat ot i

nmost el

Ii

We did not need a parlour at all, but they said it belonged to

A

sthe matt

the two bedrooms and we might use itif we chose.

Since it

was to cost nothing, we were not averse to using it, of course.

are been fon

Turin must surely read a good deal, for it has more book

il appne [

stores to the square rod than any other town I know of. And

otf of B

it has its own share of military folk. The Italian officers’ uni-

forms are very much the most beautiful I have ever seen;

put wholly

and as a general thing the men in them were as handsome as the

ovding e

clothes.

They were not large men, but they had fine forms,

ﬂﬂd Pm g 10

fine features, rich olive complexions, and lustrous black eyes.

efforts 10

()

o son

For several weeks I had been culling all the information I

gf the

2

85"

could about Italy, from tourists.

The tourists were all agreed

yith

upon one thing—one must expect to be cheated at every turn by

o &6

[ t*

the Ttalians.

I took an evening walk in Turin, and presently

came agross a little Punch and Judy show in one of the great

patte 0

miﬁf§ ]

squares. Twelve or fifteen people constituted the audience.

o

-

ed 0f efore

3 0

ot

his miniature theatre was not much bigger than a man’s coffin

od

stood on end ; the upper part was open and displayed a tinselled

ol fa

Xej TOPVI’

parlour—a good-sized handkerchief would have answered for a

%)

i i

o xS

284

A TRAMP ABRUAD.

drop-curtain; the footlights consisted of a couple of candle-ends

il

an inch long; various manikins the size of dolls appeared on the

lein®

rpreter

ke

stage and made long speeches at each other, gesticulating a good

e

deal, and they generally had a fight before they got through.

il

g SO0°

They were worked by strings from above, and the illusion was

Tﬁen J refire

not perfect, for one saw, not only the strings, but the brawny

connected ‘."”

hand that manipulated them—and the actors and actresses all

The epste

talked in the same voice too. The audience stood in front of the

nm b

isorf.

theatre, and seemed to enjoy the performance heartily.

offour Qo

When the play was done, a youth in his shirt-sleeves started

TS out Wil

around with a small copper saucer to make a collection.

I did

Russan port

20

not know how much to put in, but thought I would be guided

the o

by my predecessors. Unluckily I only had two of these, and they

o, Lt

did not help me much because they did not put in anything. I

et

had no Italian money, so I put in a small Swiss coin worth about

o rnkled o

ten cents.

The youth finished his collection trip and emptied the

inner wall, 0ea

result on the stage; he had some very animated talk with the

rirealns

concealed manager, then he came working his way through

] bud gone iy

:

the crowd—seeking me, I thought.

I had a mind to slip away,

st rem o0

but concluded I wouldn’t; I'would stand my ground, and confront

busines would

the villainy, whatever it was. The youth stood before me and held

] morng,

up that Swiss coin, sure enough, and said something.

I did

with oy o

not understand him, but I judged he was requiring Italian

I was irri-

iffeng T

money of me.

The crowd gathered close to listen.

four doly

tated, and said—in English of course—

b, Wiba

‘I know it’s Swiss, but youw’ll take that or none. I haven’t

in my putke,

any other.’

peny |

He tried to put the coin in my hand, and spoke again. I

Here as:

drew my hand away, and said—

I must gl

¢ No, sir. I know all about you people.

You can't play any

suspicous o

of your fraudful tricks on me.

If there is a discount on that

Clll[y-l flow

coin, I am sorry, but I am not going to make it good.

I noticed

stood the ol

that some of the audience didn’t pay you anything at all. You

by my ol

let them go without a word, but you come after me because you

Speekably g

think I'm a stranger and will put up with an extortion rather

tending e

than have a scene. But you are mistaken this time—yow’ll take

ard g oo

that Swiss money or none.’

wese), g

The youth stood there with the coin in his fingers nonplussed

and bewildered ; of course he had not understood a word. An

Passed Upthe

Was hey

Lnglish-speaking Italian spoke up now, and said—

‘ You are misunderstanding the boy. He does not mean any

Semeg Yer

e Worgh

g

harm. He did not suppose you gave him so much money pur-

I the Chugh

posely, so he hurried back to return you the coin lest you might

get away before you discovered your mistake. Take it, and give

fing t

0

him a penny—that will make every thing smooth again.’

\ fart?d ot

A TRAMP ABRJUAD.

285

Ul g,

1 probably blushed then, for there was occasion. Through

" Y th:

the interpreter I begged the boy’s pardon, but I nobly refused to

3551101ﬂating Aol

0

take back the ten cents.

I said I was accustomed to squander-

gy o

'llmi‘;hj,

ing large sums in that way—it was the kind of person I was.

{le 1}

uim W

Then I retired to make a note to the effect that in Italy persons

:

, O the Iy

"

connected with the drama do not cheat.

ad gy

The episode with the showman reminds me of a dark chapter

ul it}'fmnt n‘

in my history. I once robbed an aged and blind beggar-woman

11,

of four dollars—in a church. It happened in this way. When

(A

I was out with the Innocents Abroad, the ship stopped in the

4 coll;

ttin, |

Russian port of Odessa, and I went ashore with others to view

L would

the town. I got separated from the rest, and wandered about,

0 cI"th

anyt

alone, until late in the afternoon, when I entered a Greek church

to see what it was like.

When I was ready to leave, I observed

Ol

L)

two wrinkled old women standing stiffly upright, against the

panden

inner wall, near the door, with their brown palms open to

fed

receive alms.

T contributed to the nearer one, and passed out.

I had gone fifty yards, perhaps, when it occurred to me that I

|4 mind

must remain on shore all night, as I had heard that the ship’s

yund, and e

business would carry her away at four o’clock and keep her away

ol befo:éme al

until morning. It was a little after four now. I had come ashore

id some

with only two pieces of money, both about the same size, but

differing largely in value—one was a French gold piece worth

i

o |

0 1

four dollars, the other a Turkish coin worth two cents and a

half. With a sudden and horrified misgiving, I put my hand

il

AT

in my pocket, now, and sure enough I fetched out that Turkish

or 1006

penny !

Here was a situation. A hotel would require pay in advance

and okt gl

—1T must walk the streets all night, and perhaps be arrested as a

, Yo

1 ¢

suspicious character.

There was but one way out of the diffi-

culty—I flew back to the church, and softly entered. There

) 4 count 0

ke 1b

ool |

i

stood the old women yet, and in the palm of the nearest one still

lay my gold piece.

I was grateful.

I crept close, feeling un-

an

)mmﬂ gf dl

speakably mean ; I got my Turkish penny ready, and was ex-

)

or 6

qn est0r

tending a trembling hand to make the nefarious exchange, when

i

ol

I heard a cough behind me.

I jumped back as if I had been

this fime-]

accused, and stood quaking while a worshipper entered and

passed up the aisle.

pis gt

I was there a year trying to steal that money; that is, it

erstnd8 7

seemed a year, though of course it must have been much less.

g s

The worshippers went and came ; there were hardly ever three

pedies

ilhe

“Tv

;

in the church at once, but there was always one or more. Every

) much

uE”‘

time I tried to commit my crime somebody came in or somebody

et B

aft

started out, and I was prevented; but at last my opportunity

0

fh anﬂw‘

286

A TRAMP ABROAD.

s I

one sﬂlt

came, for one moment there was nobody in the church but the

i

<cPPed

I e

juot

two beggar-women and me. I whipped the gold piece out of the

L

poor old pauper’s palm and

dropped my Turkish penny in its

b

ol :[IJPPe

place. Poor old thing,

jledd

it e

she murmured her thanks—they smote

[

me to the heart. Then I sped away in a guilty hurry, and even

anu o

when I was a mile from the church I was still

glancing back,

every moment, to see if I was being pursued.

7 quat

That experience has been of priceless value and benefit to

{

T“t'f (an

me ; for Iresolved then, that as long as Ilived I would never

again

thelr A

il

t

L4

rob a blind beggar-woman in a church; and I have always

kept

my word. The most permanent lessons in morals are those w

hich

2]

come not of booky teaching, but of experience.

CHAPTER XLVIIL

;

i

)

IN Milan we spent most of our time in the vast and beautiful

W

Note 1

Arcade or Gallery, or whatever it is called. Blocks of tall new

buildings of the most sumptuous sort, rich with decoration and

bhad

graced with statues, the streets between these blocks roofed over

1

with glass at a great height, the pavements all of smooth and

adl

variegated marble, arranged in tasteful patterns—Ilittle tables all

lJ

W

over these marble streets,

people sitting at them, eating, drink-

ing, or smokin

g—crowds of other people strolling by—such is

i be would e

the Arcade.

I should like to live in it all the time.

v

04

6 ¢

The win-

{n

1 W

dows of the sumptuous restaurants stand open, and one breakfasts

there and enjoys the passing show.

We wandered all over the town, e

njoying whatever was going

on in the streets.

We took one omnibus ride, and as I did not

i

il

speak Italian and could not ask the price,

o

14

I held out some copper

coins to the conductor,

and he took two.

Then he went and

a Ly

got his tariff-card and showed me that he had t

alen only the

Decam

right sum.

So I made a note—Italian omnibus

not cheat.

conductors do

‘I

) g

L

000t

h

Near the cathedral I saw another

Mo

ns

instance of probity. An

EI

T

old man was peddling dolls and toy fa

Two small American

ol ag

children bought fans, and one gave the old

man a franc and three

o [

copper coins, and both started away ;

f

g

Iy g

but they. were called back,

It fhg i

and the franc and one of the coppe

s were restored to them.

g

Ry

Hence it is plain that in Ttaly parties connected with the drama,

g

e

and with the omnibus and toy interests do not cheat,

thﬁ {1

Uil

i) ay

The stocks of goods in the shops w

ere not extensive, gene-

g

61

rally.

In the vestibule of what seeme

oy

we saw eight or ten wooden dummies

d to be a clothing store,

by b

by

grouped together, clothed

it

W

i

in woollen business-suits,

and each suit marked with its price.

L Frag ay

A TRAMP ABROAD.

287

Harris

he “h\lrch b

ol

One suit was marked forty-five francs—nine dollars.

Mgy

stepped in, and said he wanted a suit like that.® Nothing easier ;

k

'

ﬁ

the old merchant dragged in the dummy, brushed him off with

ank

I iy

1§

hE? i

a broom, stripped him, and shipped the clothes to the hotel. He

)ty o

said he did not keep two suits of the same kind in stock, but

ol

St

I

£

manufactured a second when it was needed to re-clothe the

nv'c

f’lancmo

g

)

dummy.

In another quarter we found six Italians engaged in a violent

alle and ‘D’CnEST #

I v gy

quarrel.

They danced fiercely about, gesticulating with their

aY6 alyay

heads, their arms, their legs, their whole bodies; they would

il

g tng

rush forward occasionally in a sudden access of passion and shake

8,

0 W

)

their fists in each other’s very faces. We lost half an hour there,

waiting to help cord up the dead, but they finally embraced each

other affectionately, and the trouble was all over.

The episode

was interesting, but we could not have afforded all that time to

it if we had known nothing was going to come of it but a re-

o st and bt

Blag

XS

of

conciliation. Note made—in Italy, people who quarrel cheat the

with decory

spectator.

We had another disappointment, afterwards.

We approached

2 blocks mooted e

| of suog

il

n

a deeply interested crowd, and in the midst of it found a fellow

[T1S==L1i}

el T

wildly chattering and gesticulating over a box on the ground,

flp

which was covered with a piece of old blanket.

Bvery little

hen

Al

while he would bend down and take hold of the edge of the

blanket with the extreme tips of his fingers, as if to show

bo e, Ths

, and one bre

there was no deception—chattering away all the while—but

always, just as I was expecting to see a wonderful feat of

legerdemain, he would let go the blanket and rise to explain

whaterer v

further.

and as [

|

3

However, at last he uncovered the box and got out a

spoon with a liquid in it, and held it fair and frankly around, for

OUt SO

people to see that it was all right and he was taking no advantage

en be ¥

;

—his chatter became more excited than ever.

I supposed he

had t

60

was going to set fire to the liquid and swallow it, so I was

nihs mndm ()

greatly wrought up and interested.

I got a cent ready in one

hand and a florin in the other, intending to give him the former

nce of Ju

i

gy 4

if he survived and the latter if he killed himself—for his loss

ki) Sn]ﬂH A

would be my gain in a literary way, and I was willing to pay a

ané frane

fair price for the item—but this impostor ended his intensely

moving performance by simply adding some powder to the liquid

oy ere (4

, pesore !

and polishing the spoon !

Then he held it aloft, and he could

e L

not have shown a wilder exultation if he had achieved an immortal

miracle.

ob chen

The crowd applauded in a gratified way, and it seemed

o st

to me that history speaks the truth when it says these children

i

of the South are easily entertained.

o o i

i

d

d 10f

hery d

i

We spent an impressive hour in the noble cathedral, where

ol 1

iy 16 P

288

A TRAMP ABROAD,

The ﬂ{f{bt

il-

long shafts of tinted light were cleaving through the solemn dim-

0l

‘Y"SJ fhe

ness from the lofty windows, and falling on a pillar here, a pic-

il

ot 4

ture there, and a kneeling worshipper yonder.

The organ was

bad dra¥

muttering, censers were swinging, candles were glinting on the

peied

| g™

distant altar, and the robed priests were filing silently past them.

The scene was one to sweep all frivolous thoughts away, and

{rep pund

e “h‘(’h s 0

steep the soul in a holy calm. A trim young American lady

fipartof a0y

paused a yard or two from me, fixed her eyes on the mellow

ol Uf an

sparks flecking the far-off altar, bent her head reverently a

ni al herelo

!

moment, then straightened up, kicked her train into the air with

her heel, caught it deftly in her hand, and marched briskly out.

| 06

i f o0lf b‘?

sy el b

We visited the picture galleries and the other regulation

¢sights’ of Milan—not because I wanted to write about them

b

I

put e

again, but to see if I had learned anything in twelve years,

Il

e

afterwards visited the great galleries of Rome and Florence for

It

the same purpose.

I found I had learned one thing.

When T

wrote about the Old Masters before, I said the copies wera

better than the originals.

That was a mistake of large dimen-

sions, The Old Masters were still unpleasing to me, but they

were truly divine contrasted with the copies.

The copy is to

0}

\

al

the original as the pallid, smart, inane new waxwork group is to

the vigorous, earnest, dignified group of living men and women

whom it professes to duplicate.

There is a mellow richness, a

0 {

subdued colour, in the old pictures, which is to the eye what

muflled and mellowed sound is to the ear.

That is the merit

which is most Joudly praised in the old picture, and is the one

away

which the copy most conspicuously lacks, and which the copyist

la

must not hope to compass. It was generally conceded by ‘the

i

tf

artists with whom I talked, that that subdued splendour, that

i

I

mellow richness, is imparted to the picture by age. Then why

anld

Ty

should we worship the Old Master for it, who didn’t impart it,

Vo

instead of worshipping Old Time, who did?

Perhaps the pic-

18

ture was a clanging bell until Time muffled it and sweetened it.

14

W [gh oy

iy

In conversation with an artist in Venice, I asked—

: :pécti\'s

¢ What is it that people see in the Old Masters?

I have

06 Womgy

been in the Doges’ Palace, and I saw several acres of very bad

a uy

drawing, very bad perspective, and very incorrect proportions,

s,

Uty

ol

"k"le i1

Paul Veronese’s dogs do not resemble dogs; all the horses look

like bladders on legs; one man had a right leg on the left side of

y “}HCh (V)

his body ; in the large picture, where the Emperor (Barbarossa ?)

is prostrate before the Pope, there are three men in the fore-

e

]more

&

ground who are over thirty feet high, if one may judge by the

L)

g

@ yh,

size of a kneeling little boy in the centre of the foreground ; and

I

U ply

according to the same scale, the Pop

e is seven feet high, and the

Tia

Wi iy

Doge is a shrivelled dwarf of four fe

et.’

Yigh

e

(o3¢

A TRAMP ABROAD,

Qthg E()kmnd

The artist said—

Pl

o

Tv

Qo

14

¢ Yes, the Old Masters often drew badl

y; they did not care

(e ol

much for truth and exactness in minor de

tails.

But, after all,

in spite of bad drawing, bad perspective, bad prop

ortions, and a

choice of subjects which no longer appeal

i

y dl

to people as strongly as

’\M 0 [y

they did three hundred years ago,

there is a something about their

g

pictures which is divine—a something which is above and be-

yond the art of any epoch since —a something which would be

the despair of artists, but that they never ho

pe or expect to

attain it, and therefore do not worry about it.’

That is what he said—and hLe said what he beli

eved; and

not only believed, but felt.

1

va)

—must be put aside in cases of this kind.

Reasoning—especially reasoning without technical knowledge

It cannot assist the

inquirer. 1t will lead him, in the most logical progression, to

what, in the eyes of artists, would be a most illogical conclusion.

Thus, bad drawing, bad proportion, bad perspective, indiffer-

ence to truthful detail, colour which gets its merit from time, and

10 g, oo

not from the artist—these things constitute the Old Master ; con-

clusion, the Old Master was a bad painter, the Old Master was

f(

Tk m

IL o

not an Old Master at all, but an Old Apprentice. Your friend

N 4

the artist will grant your premises, but deny your conclusion ;

am

he will maintain that notwithstanding this™ formidable list of

efe

confessed defects, there is still a something that is divine and

unapproachable about the Old Master, and that there is no

18, and

arguing the fact away by any system of reasoning whatever.

I can believe that.

There are women who have an indefin-

able charm in their faces which makes them beautiful to their

intimates; buta cold stranger who tried to reason the matter out

and find this beauty would fail. He would say of one of these

women : ‘This chin is too short, this nose is too long, this fore-

head is too high, this hair is too red, this complexion is too

110

pallid, the perspective of the entire composition is incorrect;

conclusion, the woman is not beautiful.’

But her nearest friend

11

ld

might say, and say truly, ¢ Your premises are right, your logic

is faultless, but your conclusion is wrong, nevertheless ; she isan

Old Master—she is beautiful, but only to such as know her; it

COITEC

al t

same.’

is a beauty which cannot be formulated, but it is there just the

Je 0D

I found more pleasure in contemplating the Old Masters this

Aneror

nt

time than I did when I was in Turope in former years, but still

p el

.

it was a calm

pleasure ; there was nothing over-heated about

o WAJ )

udse Q": i

it. When I was in Venice before, I think I found no picture

he for

{

0,

b

il r;dﬁ

Whi“f}} stirred me much ; but this time there were two which

) foet

bt

LY

A TRAMP ABROAD.

290

o Noj

gt

enticed me to the Doge’s palace day after day, and kept me there

ot

3

hours at a time.

One of these was Tintoretto’s three-acre picture

il 1Ty

in the Great Council Chamber.

When I saw it twelve yearsago

e 08

feh

ol

T was not strongly attracted to it—the guide told me it was an

fkel

insurrection in heaven—but this was an error.

BASS

3%

—

i 80

g supelf

The movement of this great work is very fine.

There are

ny

ten thousand figures, and they are all doing something. There

Ong i Jost 1

Some of the

h‘nameplanuingn

is a wonderful ‘go’ to the whole composition.

perer SIS

figures are diving headlong down, with clasped hands, others are

it

ok B

nob €

swimming through the cloud-shoals—some on their faces, some

At

andel

on their backs—great processions of bishops, martyrs, and angels

E" et LT

are pouring swiftly centrewards from various outlying directions

1!

—everywhere is enthusiastic joy, there is rushing movement

everywhere.

There are fifteen or twenty figures scattered here

[if¢

and there with books, but they cannot keep their attention on

118, Al

their reading—they offer the books to others, but no one wishes

to read now.

The Lion of St. Mark is there, with his book;

01

St. Mark is there, with his pen uplifted ; he and the Lion are

At

looking each other earnestly in the face, disputing about the way

O

Y

to spell a word—the Lion looks up in wrapt admiration while

St. Mark spells.

This is wonderfully interpreted by the artist.

It

It is the master-stroke of this incomparable painting.

I visited the place daily and never grew tired of looking at

, DAl

that grand picture. AsI have intimated, the movement is almost

\em

unimaginably vigorous ; the figures are singing, hosannahing, and

au

7l

j

many are blowing trumpets.

So vividly is noise suggested, that

fotle

spectators who become absorbed in the picture almost always

o

fall to shouting comments in each other’s ears, making ear-

f»l 0

I

I8

trumpets of their curved hands, fearing they may not otherwise

o

be heard.

One often sees a tourist, with the eloquent tears pour-

ing down his cheels, funnel his hands at his wife’s ear, and hears

e

A

him roar through them, ¢ O to be there and at rest !’

h

al

None but the supremely great in art can produce effects like

these with the silent brush.

g

0 tum

18 0

Twelve years ago I could not have appreciated this picture.

One year ago I could not have appreciated it.

1h 2w |

My study of art

I Ll he the il

in Heidelberg has been a noble education to me.

All that T am

to-day in art I owe to that.

Vet g 5

fle tr@able B dhoy

The other great work which fascinated me was Bassano’s

immortal Hair Trunk.

This is in the Chamber of the Council

e oy

bend

of Ten.

i

fltt(

It is in one of the three forty-foot pictures which

decorate the walls of the room.

The composition of this picture

ey upon fi

is beyond praise.

The Hair Trunk is not hurled at the stranger’s

Bl gy

8

ey

head—so to speak—as the chief feature of an immortal work so

My

10 ofhey

' Vg o

A TRAMP ABROAD.

291

d

P the

S‘three.

often is.

Noj it is carefully guarded from prominence, it is

e pimm

subordinated, it is restrained, it is most deftly and cleverly held

1

e e

g

e lt Waﬂél

in reserve, it is most cautiously and ingeniously led up to, by

\

the master, and consequently when the spectator reaches it at

last, he is taken unawares, he is unprepared, and it bursts upon

7 e, Ty,

him with a stupefying surprise.

:son‘.»ethéng. Thw

One is lost in wonder at all the thought and care which this

e i fy

"d Lﬂ“C 0

e

elaborate planning must have cost. A general glance at the picture

could never suggest that there was a hair trunk in it; the Hair

0D ther fag

Trunk is not mentioned in the title even, which is, ¢Pope

| umrgﬁ, wdz

Alexander III. and the Doge Ziani, the Conqueror of the

ity

¢ dis

Emperor Frederick Barbarossa.” You see the title is actually

Oveme;

utilised to help divert attention from the trunk; thus, as I say,

il

foe b

nothing suggests the presence of the trunk by any hint, yet

¢

Let us ex-

everything studiedly leads up to it, step by step.

1001

amine into this, and observe the exquisite artful artlessness of

W

the plan.

At the extreme left end of the picture are a couple of women,

one of them with a child looking over her shoulder at a wounded

ad

man sitting with bandaged head on the ground. These people

oreted by ¢

seem needless; bub no, they are there for a purpose. One cannot

1l

P

look at them without seeing the gorgeous procession of gran-

W U

réd 0f

dees, bishops, halberdiers, and banner-bearers which is passing

€ I

along behind them. One cannot see the procession without feeling

a curiosity to follow it and learn whither it is going. It leads him

to the Pope in the centre of the picture, who is talking with the

bonnetless Doge—talking tranquilly, too, although within twelve

it

feet of them a man is beating a drum, and not far from the

il

ay 00

drummer two persons are blowing horns, and many horsemen

e e

enf

are plunging and rioting about—indeed, twenty-two feet of this

ar

great work 1s all a deep and happy holiday serenity and Sunday-

g WUE

% ot rest?

school procession, and then we come suddenly upon eleven and a

gl

half feet of turmoil, and racket, and insubordination.

This

p pofuce

But

latter state of things is not an accident, it has its purpose.

for it, one would linger upon the Pope and the Doge, thinking

nrecia

fed

i

them to be the motive and supreme feature of the picture;

it Ny

S

whereas one is drawn along, almost unconsciously, to see what

16 4

the trouble is about.

Now at the very end of this riot, within

four feet of the end of the picture, and full thirty-six feet from the

4 me M

beginning of it, the Hair Trunk bursts with an electrifying sud-

amOex of

denness upon the spectator, in all its matchless perfection, and

foob

PIML

the great master’s triumph is sweeping and complete. From that

qton i

moment no other thing in those forty feet of canvas has any

ol 0

it

i

e |

charm.

One sees the Hair Trunk and the Hair Trunk only—

nl

e

U2

292

A IRAMP ABROAD.

a

and to see it is to worship it.

Bassano even placed objects in the

e st

immediate vicinity of the supreme feature whose pretended pur-

Luhdfﬂi’ﬂu

pose was to divert attention from it yet a little longer, and thus

o fnt

$10K

J el

ne

delay and augment the surprise; for instance, to the right of

it he has placed a stooping man, with a cap so red that it is sure

! mpﬂﬂ?m‘

to hold the eye for a moment—to the left of it, some six feet

1l

Jory o

106S]

1o ¢

away, he has placed a red-coated man on an inflated horse, and

he Harr

that coat plucks your eye to that locality the next moment.

ppoact

Then, between the trunk and the red horseman, he has intruded

liy

o B

a man, naked to his waist, who is carrying a fancy flour-sack

I

on the middle of his back, instead of on his shoulder—this

have

jttmo’

admirable feat interests you, of course—keeps you at bay a little

he

longer, like a sock or a jacket thrown to the pursuing wolf—but

6 W

at last, in spite of all distractions and detentions, the eye of even

097!

du

the most dull and heedless spectator is sure to fall upon the

world’s masterpiece, and in that moment he totters to his chair

IDeI]

or leans upon his guide for support.

19|

Descriptions of such a work as this must necessarily be im-

perfect, yet they are of value.

The top of the Trunk is arched ;

the arch is a perfect half-circle, in the Roman style of archi-

tecture, for in the then rapid decadence of Greek art the rising

influence of Rome was already beginning to be felt in the art of

The Trunk is bound or bordered with leather all

4

the Republic.

1§ |

around where the lid joins the main body. Many critics consider

I

all

this leather too cold in tone; but I consider this its highest

I

I b

}]43

i

!

:

merit, since it was evidently made so to emphasise by contrast

bul

A

{

ir.;; '”ajl of

0

the impassioned fervour of the hasp. The high lights in this

bl

s Jin)

;

part of the work are cleverly managed, the motif is admirably

confug

I

subordinated to the ground tints, and the technique is very fine.

(ISt

Q

The brass nail-heads are in the purest style of the early Renais-

‘E

sance.

, 01

The strokes here are very firm and bold—every nail-

[

the ¢

head is a portrait.

The handle on the end of the trunk has

evidently been retouched—I think, with a piece of chalk—but

I

G reg

one can still see the inspiration of the Old Master in the tranquil,

almost too tranquil, hang of it.

The hair of this trunk is real

g, trangy

hair—so to speak—white in patches, brown in patches.

The

My i

{ ls‘fgt

i Srest g

details are finely worked out; the repose proper to hair in a

recumbent and inactive attitude is charmingly expressed. There

f

1 Ty

is a feeling about this part of the work which lifts it to the

hat i Wi Glfﬁc

highest altitudes of art; the sense of sordid realism vanishes

181 g ity

away—one recognises that there is soul here.

View this Trunk

ot o

In

Some of

as you will, it is a gem, it is a marvel, it is a miracle.

i haVe

the effects are very daring, approaching even to the boldest

Dat

L

of}

flights of the rococo, the sirocco, and the Byzantine schools—yet

g

l

Mty |y

th gy

L

g

i

A TRAMP ABROAD.

293

e oy oo

|

I

eﬂded e

the master’s hand never falters—it moves on, calm, majestic,

b long

h and

L

confident—and with that art which conceals art, it finally casts

y 1 ELHH[

[

over the fout ensemble, by mysterious methods of its own, a

0

b

subtle something which refines, subdues, etherealises the arid

components, and endues them with the deep charm and gracious

it s i fee;

Infted o g

witchery of poesy.

16 eyt g

Among the art-treasures of Europe there are pictures which

0, b b

Il

approach the Hair Trunk—there are two which may be said to

equal it, possibly—but there is none that surpasses it.

So

4 f”ancy fl

bis shoul

perfect is the Hair Trunk that it moves even persons who

ordinarily have no feeling for art.

When an Erie baggage-

Joust by

master saw it two years ago, he could hardly keep from checking

Usting

)

1 e ey of a{

it; and once when a customs inspector was brought into its

presence, he gazed upon it in silent rapture for some moments,

6 10 bll won

fottes o

then slowly and unconsciously placed one hand behind him with

the palm uppermost, and got out his chalk with the other,

These facts speak for themselves.

necessaily b

e T

style o

art ¢

CHAPTER XLIX.

e felt n thean

red ith l

There

OnE lingers about the Cathedral a good deal, in Venice.

any Cr

I

is a strong fascination about it—partly because it is so old, and

e fis if

g

i

partly because it is so ugly. Two many of the world’s famous

DASL

by o

buildings fail of one chief virtue—harmony; they are made up

il

of a methodless mixture of the ugly and the beautiful; this is

One has a sense of {in-

bad ; it is confusing, it is unrestful.

15 Vel

T

easiness, of distress, without knowing why. But one is calm

!

before St. Mark, one is calm within it, one would be calm on top

d

of it, calm in the cellar; for its details are masterfully ugly, no

L.i'l_eV'Er‘V‘ i

i

misplaced and impertinent beauties are intruded anywhere ; and

d of the ¥

e OF (AN

the consequent result is a grand harmonious whole, of soothing,

e

entrancing, tranquillising, soul-satisfying ugliness.

One’s ad-

71

[ this mlﬂL

miration ot a perfect thing always grows, never declines; and

this is the surest evidence to him that it zs perfect.

St. Mark is

1 in i

perfect.

mper 10

To me it soon grew to be so nobly, so augustly ugly,

that it was difficult to stay away from it, even for a little while.

7 6] eSS

Every time its squat domes disappeared from my view, I had a

fl

ioh It

g i 0

despondent feeling

whenever they reappeared, I felt an honest

] el

l)

rapture—I have not known any happier hours than those I daily

Tiew B

spent in front of Florian’s, looking across the Great Square at it.

il

Propped on its long row of low thick-legged columns, its back

en !

i

knobbed with domes, it seemed like a vast warty bug taking a

pfie

g

meditative walk.

294

A TRAMP ABROAD.

St. Mark is not the oldest building in the world, of course;

s

dﬂdl‘ﬂna

but it seems the oldest, and looks the oldest—especially inside.

When the ancient mosaics in its walls become damaged they are

17l sl

s

(pe conf

repaired, but not altered; the grotesque old pattern is preserved.

f mdﬂﬂ

el

Antiquity has a charm of its own, and to smarten it up would

only damage it. One day I was sitting on a red marble bench in

If

td Oﬁﬂ a0

jrogh 1

the vestibule, looking up at an ancient piece of apprentice-work

yhich 08

in mosaic, illustrative of the command to ¢ multiply and replenish

[0S

i

the earth.

The cathedral itself had seemed very old: but this

fpsfore U

i

of n0ve

1,

picture was illustrating a period in history which made the build-

ing seem young by comparison. But I presently found an antique

(onieD

which was older than either the battered cathedral or the date

e e T

p ould

assigned to that piece of history: it was a spiral-shaped fossil as

large as the crown of a hat.

It was embedded in the marble

e Wa

bench, and had been sat upon by tourists until it was worn

76 SOIE

smooth.

Contrasted with the inconceivable antiquity of this

modest fossil, those other things were flippantly modern, jejune,

110

y dl

mere matters of day-before-yesterday. The sense of the oldness

of the cathedral vanished away under the influence of this truly

venerable presence.

St. Mark’s is monumental. Itisan imperishable remembrancer

of the profound and simple piety of the Middle Ages. Whoever

oy

could ravish a column from a Pagan temple did it, and contributed

(rioni

his swag to this Christian one. So this fane is upheld by several

=i

Touncle

hundred acquisitions procured in that peculiar way. In our day

il

it would be immoral to go on the highway to get bricks for a

(E101

2

06 (]

church, but it was no sin in the old times.

St. Mark’s was itself

EF;&E{CE.

the victim of a curious robbery once. The thing is set down

tiomg Ve

in the history of Venice; but it might be smuggled into the

0 gt ol

¢ Arabian Nights,” and not seem out of place there.

P g

Nearly four hundred and fifty years ago, a Candian named

ataf’: vl

Stammato, in the suite of a Prince of the House of Este, was

allowed to view the riches of St. Mark.

1 etgg o

His sinful eye was

e gy,

dazzled, and he hid himself behind an altar with an evil purpose

gy

in his heart; but a priest discovered him, and turned him out.

Tl by Cha

Afterwards he got in again, by false keys this time. He went

ot ay

there night after night, and worked hard and patiently all alone,

111 t bl

overcoming difficulty after difficulty with his toil, and at last

aCCllga)medm A

Uty

succeeded in removing a great block of the marble panelling

Tiegy

which walled the lower part of the treasury. This block he fixed

i

so that he could take it out and put it in at will. After that, for

gy

ey

weeks he spent all his midnights in his magnificent mine, inspect-

ey

ing it in_security, gloating over its marvels at his leisure, and

oy, g

shay

Hmlld da h

always slipping back to his obscure lodgings before dawn with a

O

g

A

TRAMP ABROAD.

29.

o, of

)0

()

duke’s ransom under his cloak.

ety gy

He did not need to grab hap-

A6

hazard, and run; there was no hurry. He could make deliberate

tm iy

ity

and well-considered selections.

He could consult his esthetic

v

Peseryl,

Ien |

g

tastes. One comprehends how undisturbed he was, and how safe

|

from any danger of interruption, when it is stated that he even

‘

Dartl ey

n

carried off a unicorn’s horn—a mere curiosity—which would not

S1Dtents

pass through the egress entire, but had to be sawn in two—a bit

lyand Tl

of work which cost him hours of tedious labour.

He continued

1y old:

to store up his treasures at home until his occupation lost the

hﬂmade {hehul,

charm of novelty, and became monotonous; then he ceased from

g alipy

it, contented. Well he might be; for his collection, raised to

€t orthg

aped ol

modern values, represented nearly 50,000,000 dols. !

'

He could have gone home much the richest citizen of his

I the marf

country, and it might have been years before the plunder was

It 1 was o

missed, but he was human : he could not enjoy his delight alone,

afiquy of

he must have somebody to talk about it with. So he exacted a

solemn oath from a Candian noble named Crioni, then led him

ense of the g

Iy noden, je;une.

to his lodgings, and nearly took his breath away with a sight

e of thi

of his glittering hoard. He detected a look in his friend’s face

which excited his suspicion, and was about to slip a stiletto into

e

bl

o remembra

him, when Crioni saved himself by explaining that that look was

Aggs, |

only an expression of supreme and happy astonishment.

Stam-

i and

mato made Crioni a present of one of the State’s principal jewels

el

/

KT

—a huge carbuncle, which afterwards figured in the ducal cap of

state; and the pair parted. Crioni went at once to the palace,

way. Dowdy

=

'

o et rick

0

“,

denounced the criminal, and handed over the carbuncle as

, Mark's wasied

evidence.

Stammato was arrested, tried, and condemned, with

the old-time Venetian promptness.

He was hanged between the

fing i 4 6

gl 0

two great columns in the Piazza with a gilded rope, out of com-

pliment to his love of gold perhaps. He got no good of his booty

1616

at all; it was all recovered.

Jouse 0

4 Cand‘ian nﬂ!ﬂfl

In Venice we had a luxury which very seldom fell to our lot

on the Continent—a home dinner with a private family. If one

i o ™

if

hanerd

i

could always stop with private families when travelling, Europe

o

would have a charm which it now lacks.

As it is, one must live

d fur

16l 1

—

in the hotels of course, and that is a sorrowful business.

A man

1§ L

i

06

o

enfly a8

accustomed to American food and American domestic cookery would

atl

not starve to death suddenly in Europe, but I think he would gradu-

g fol, @

pantle 22

ally waste and eventually die. He would have to do without his

fo1s

accustomed morning meal.

That is too formidable a change al-

hig b

together, he would necessarily suffer from it.

He could get the

i )

shadow, the sham, the base counterfeit of that meal; but that

i

it ¢

y

would do him no good, and money could not buy the reality.

f s

Ju

To particularise: the average American’s simplest and com=

g™

'efbfe

296

A TRAMP ABROAD.

fere 5

n 10

monest form of breakfast consists of coffee and beefsteak ; well,

pethe!

in Europe, coffee is an unknown beverage.

You can get what

i om0

the European hotel keeper thinks is coffee, but it resembles the

et d] h )l

pel‘ g

st

real thing as hypocrisy resembles holiness. It is a feeble, charac-

f and 8

s

terless, uninspiring sort of stuff, and almost as undrinkable as if

o

it had been made in an American hotel.

The milk used for it is

(

hich

L

Iy 06

what the French call ¢Christian’ milk—milk which has been

ut 0

baptised.

el

he bOY

After a few months’ acquaintance with European ¢coffee,

pronsy WS

one’s mind weakens, and his faith with it, and he begins to won-

=

il

ad

a

g

1

‘Y

.There i

b

der if the rich beverage of home, with its clotted layer of yellow

i3

cream on top of it, is not a mere dream after all, and a thing

I ¢!

et

which never existed.

i

3

Next comes the Kuropean bread—fair enough, good enough,

il

16 U

I

I 0

after a fashion, but cold; cold and tough, and unsympathetic;

and never any change, never any variety—always the same tire-

yarl

some thing.

Next, the butter—the sham and tasteless butter ; no salt in

of

it, and made of goodness knows what.

{

ab

Then, there is the beefsteak.

They have it in Europe, but

1

il

)

they don’t know how to cook it.

Neither will they cut it right.

00 toey qon't

b

It comes on the table in a small round pewter platter. It lies in

(l

the centre of this platter, in a bordering bed of grease-scaked

et Nowava

potatoes ; it is the size, shape, and thickness of a man’s hand with

b

the thumb and fingers cut off. It is a little overdone, is rather

dry, it tastes pretty insipidly, it rouses no enthusiasm.

10

0 10

Imagine a poor exile contemplating that inert thing; and

(&

imagine an angel suddenly sweeping down out of a better land

‘aad A

and setting before him a mighty porter-house steak an inch and

D {eharacter

a half thick, hot and spluttering from the griddle; dusted

with fragrant pepper; enriched with little melting bits of butter

R

Toution

of the most unimpeachable freshness and genuineness; the pre-

i

5,

cious juices of the meat trickling out and joining the gravy,

archipelagoed with mushrooms; a township or two of tender

4y

g, 0 g

(e

yellow fat gracing an outlying district of this ample county of

beefsteak ; the long white bone which divides the sirloin from

o

il

08 chl

the tender loin still in its place; and imagine that the angel also

)

adds a great cup of American home-made coffee, with the cream

s

At tn‘ad

eae]

a-froth on top, some real butter, firm and yellow and fresh, some

Sray]

smoking hot biscuits, a plate of hot buckwheat cakes, with trans-

O0gfyeg {

it

parent syrup—would words describe the gratitude of this exile ?

deamage

T

8 thw

The European dinner is better than the European breakfast,

fape

Y g

but it has its faults and inferiorities, it does not satisfy. e

lolerably

B e

comes to the table eager and hungry

he swallows his soup—

By

oy

Ugh

A

(ng im‘, !

A TRAMP ABROAD.

297

_buefgteak

el

Mey y

there is an undefinable lack about it somewhere ; thinks the fish

vyt

is going to be the thing he wants—eats it and isn’t sure; thinks the

1 e ty

4 foo

It

next dish is perhaps the one that will hit the hungry place—tries

ng

it, and is conscious that there was a something wanting about it

also.

Wl fr

And thus he goes on, from dish to dish, like a boy after a

butterfly which just misses getting caught every time it alights,

Whigh I .

but somehow doesn’t get caught after all; and at the end the

u\‘PEﬁﬂ ‘y

exile and the boy have fared about alike: the one is full, but

Deoing fy

grievously unsatisfied, the other has had plenty of exercise, plenty

of interest, and a fine lot of hopes, but he hasn’t got any butter-

‘:

et o

I yelop

2

fly. There is here and there an American who will say he can

[, iy i

remember rising from an European table d’h6te perfectly satis-

fied; but we must not overlook the fact, that there is also here

ey

M

o

and thers an American who will lie.

Al

The number of dishes is sufficient; but then it is such a

478 Ihh!ﬂu i)

It is an inane dead

monotonous variety of wunstriking dishes.

;

level of ¢ fair-to-middling.

There is nothing to accent it.

Per-

Dutters

1) 10

M

haps if the roast of mutton or of beef—a big generous one—were

brought on the table and carved in full view of the client, that

f 1n Buropg

E

might give the right sense of earnestness and reality to the thing;

ey cub i

=

but they don’t do that, they pass the sliced meat around on a

m';t'er. I

i

P

dish, and so you are perfectly calm, it does not stir you in the

] of grease

least.

Now a vast roast turkey, stretched on the broad of his

aman's han

back, with his heels in the air, and the rich juices oozing from

or?:‘don

his fat sides

. . but I may as well as stop there, for they would

s

not know how to cook him. They can’t even cook a chicken

o

respectably ; and as for carving it, they do that with a hatchet.

fa

This is about the customary table d’hote bill in summer :—

A bl

Soup (characterless).

iddle

Tish—sole, salmon, or whiting—usually tolerably good.

pbi

Roast—mutton or Leef—tasteless—and some last year’s po-

tatoes.

A phte, or some other made-dish—usually good ¢ considering.’

J ning {he

g0 0

One vegetable—brought on in state, and all alone—usually

or

y ample 0

insipid lentils, or string beans, or indifferent asparagus.

g the 8

Roast chicken, as tasteless as paper.

Lettuce-salad—tolerably good.

that 8

3 e

L

Decayed strawberries or cherries.

Sometimes the apricots and figs are fresh, but this is no

W and

advantage, as these fruits are of no account anyway.

aky ™

The grapes are generally good, and sometimes there is a

et 058

it

;

""""

tolerably good peach, by mistake.

ropeAl

The variations of the ahove bill are trifling. After a fort-

b gl

4 B

night one discovers that the variations are only apparent, not

s Jis &

298

A TRAMP ABROAD.

e

real; in the third week you get what you had the first, and in

Jore)

Three or

p (21

0}' th

the fourth week you get what you had the second.

[

il

four months of this weary sameness will kill the robustest

fhe S0t

appetite.

fler i

four

Man

It has now been many months, at the present writing, since I

7)

have had a nourishing meal, but Ishall soon have one—a modest,

Jil

1) neab

private affair, all to myself.

I have selected a few dishes, and

s mef Wl

il

made out a little bill of fare, which will go home in the steamer

I

that precedes me, and be hot when I arrive—as follows :—

Pl

Tucn

Radishes. Bakedapples, with cream.

Prairie hens, from Illinois.

Fried oysters; stewed oysters. I'rogs.

Missouri partridges, broiled.

(f

bui &

American coffee, with real cream.

’Possum. Coon.

i

110 06

U

American butter.

Boston bacon and beans.

i

Fried chicken, Southern style.

Bacon and greens, Southern style.

Porter-house steak.

Hominy. Boiled onions.

Turnips.

Saratago potatoes.

Pumpkin.

Squash.

Asparagus.

i

ool

of o1 |

Broiled chicken, American style.

Butter beans.

Sweet potatoes.

4 quAIte

Lettuce.

Succotash.

Hot biscuits, Southern style.

String beans.

i {06

(]

Hot wheat-bread, Southern style.

Mashed potatoes.

Catsup.

4

Hot buckwheat cakes.

Boiled potatoes, in their skins.

American toast. Clear maple syrup.

New potatoes, minus their skins.

(3

Virginia bacon, broiled.

Early rose potatoes roasted in the

1

(one,

Blue points, on the half shell.

ashes, Southern style, served hot.

4y

I

Cherry-stone clams.

Sliced tomatoes, with sugar or vine-

; I

)

B \o by

San Francisco mussels, steamed.

gar,

Stewed tomatoes.

Oyster soup. Clam soup.

Green corn, cut from the ear, and

It bas been notce

Philadelphia Terapin soup.

served with butter and pepper.

ke,

Oysters roasted in shell—Northern

Green corn, on the ear.

shad.

Hot

with

i

Soft-shelled

style.

corn-pone,

chitlings,

i

crabs.

Connecticut

Southern styles

K¢

Baltimore perch.

Hot hoe-cake, Southern style.

it

(

Brook trout, from Sierra Nevadas.

Hot egg-bread, Southern style.

Lake trout, from Tahoe.

Hot light-bread, Southern style.

Sheep-head and croakers, from New

Buttermilk. Iced sweet milk,

i

1

Orleans.

Apple dumplings, with real cream.

il i

14 ¢

Black bass from the Mississippi.

Apple pie.

Apple fritters,

T, Congty

American roast beef,

Apple puffs, Southern style.

Roast turkey, Thanksgiving style.

Peach cobbler, Southern style.

if g 1

Cranberry sauce.

Celery.

Peach pie.

American mince pie.

e

ia_:ewi:h thveg |

Roast wild turkey. Woodcock.

Pumpkin pie.

Squash pie.

W Orle

Canvas-back-duck, from Baltimore.

All gorts of American pastry.

Place

Al it

Fresh American fruits of all sorts, including strawberries, which are

2 ey

not to be doled out as if they were jewellery, but in a more liberal way.

Tce-water—not prepared in the ineffectual goblet, but in the sincere and

capable refrigerator,

Take A bﬂnel

Americans intending to spend a year or so in European

Ty

ang Y

hotels will do well to copy this bill and carry it along. They

of

" Gy

will find it an excellent thing to get up an appetite with, in the

gy

dispiriting presence of the squalid table d’hote.

Ui 4

t

e the 1

sy

A TRAMP ABROAD.

299

e fy

)

ajj

nd, 1

Iy

Foreigners cannot enjoy our food, I suppose, any more than

we can enjoy theirs.

It 1s not strange ; for tastes are made, not

Wby

born.

I might glorify my bill of fare until T was tired ; but

: \\'riting’ ]

after all, the Scotchman would shake his head and say, ¢ Where’s

our haggis ?” and the Fijian would sigh and say, ¢ Where's your

W

‘ f&W dl:h&\ aud

missionary ?’

It

I have a neat talent in matters pertaining to nourishment.

L

'%e Sty

This has met with professional recognition.

I have often fur-

Here are some designs for pies

n[l

nished recipes for cook-books.

and things which I recently prepared for a friend’s projected

cook-book, but as T forgot to furnish diagrams and perspectives,

they had to be left out, of course:—

Recipe for an Ash-cake.

Take a lot of water and add to it a lot of coarse Indian meal

and about a quarter of a lot of salt.

Mix well together, knead

ALk,

into the form of a ¢ pone,” and let the pone stand awhile—not on

its edge, but the other way. Rake away a place among the

embers, lay it there, and cover it an inch deep with hot ashes.

When it is done, remove it; blow off all the ashes but one

fil,

layer ; butter that one and eat.

N.B. No household should ever be without this talisman.

tor

i

Tt has been noticed that tramps never return for another ash-

cake.

¢ and e

{0 ¢ar,

Recipe of New England Pie.

g with b

s}

To make this excellent breakfast dish, proceed as follows:—

Take a sufficiency of water and a sufficiency of flour, and con-

U

e

struct a bullet-proof dough. Work this into the form of a disk,

g, Sonthe

o

o

with the edges turned up some three-fourths of an inch. Toughen

I

ot

and kiln-dry it a couple of days in a mild but unvarying tempe-

Dfu

b

1l (s

rature.

Construct a cover for this redoubt in the same way and

ppl frers

g

of the same material.

Fill with stewed dried apples; aggra-

vate with cloves, lemon peel, and slabs of citron; add two por-

, e ;t.;lfv,

e B

tions of New Orleans sugar, then solder on the lid and set in a

quas

i

I

safe place till it petrifies.

Serve cold at breakfast and invite

s o

your enemy.

fo

e

Recipe for German Coffee.

el

1

ol

ubint

o™

Take a barrel of water and bring it to a boil ; rub a chicory

berry against a coffee berry, then convey the former into the

water. Continue the boiling and evaporation until the intensity

g 10

]

«

of the flavour and aroma of the coffee and chicory has been

ylt

o

diminished to a proper degree; then set aside to cool. Now

AL

8

unharness the remains of a once cow from the plough, insert

them ir: a hydraulic press, and when you shall have acquired a

300

A TRAMP ABROAD.

el 19

teaspoonful of that pale blue juice which a German superstition

is

regards as milk, modify the malignity of its strength in a bucket

g

n o8 :

of tepid water and ring up the breakfast.

Mix the beverage in

iuﬁrﬂl’mEu b3

a cold cup, partake with moderation, and keep a wet rag around

your head to guard against over-excitement.

]l fe 10

ufon

] eoul il

To Carve Fowls in the German Fashion.

A

Al

Use a club, and avoid the joints.

W

CHAPTER L,

1 4 068

I woxpEr why some things are?

For instance, Art is allowed

as much indecent license to-day as in earlier times; but the

|

are

privileges of Literature in this respect have been sharply curtailed

within the past eighty or ninety years.

Fielding and Smollett

could portray the beastliness of their day in the beastliest

D

language ; we have plenty of foul subjects to deal with in our

day, but we are not allowed to approach them very near, even

100

with nice and guarded forms of speech. But not so with Art.

1t Gl

I

The brush may still deal freely with any subject, however

4l

revolting or indelicate.

ave

It makes a body ooze sarcasm at every

&0 TERITIng 10,

pore, to go about Rome and Florence and see what this last

generation has been doing with the statues.

These works,

g

e

(Amg

0r

which had stood in innocent nakedness for ages, are all fig-leaved

now. Yes, every one of them.

Nobody noticed their nakedness

)

e

before, perhaps; nobody can help noticing it now, the fig-leaf

Ll

{

gt out g

U O

makes it so conspicuous.

But the comical thing about it all is,

(nva

that the fig-leaf is confined to cold and pallid marble, which

m

il fon

would be still cold and unsuggestive without this sham and

or

ostentatious symbol of modesty, whereas warm-blooded paintings

which do really need it have in no case been furnished with it.

At the door of the Ufizzi, in Florence, one is confronted by

statues of a man and a woman, noseless, battered, black with

5§l

00X

accumulated grime—they hardly suggest human beings—yet

tﬂf&? ﬂ{’i

{le,

these ridiculous creatures have been thoughtfully and consci-

RALIE

entiously fig-leaved by this fastidious generation. You enter,

L]

4% fag

and proceed to that most-visited little gallery that exists in the

N0f th

]

world—the Tribune—and there, against the wall, without ob-

L gy

Visitoy

[

structing rag or leaf, you may look your fill upon the foulest,

Uley

Wiy tAke

;

the vilest, the obscenest picture the world possesses—Titian’s

[ty

e gy

Venus, Itisn't that she is naked and stretched out on a bed ;

no, it is the attitude of one of her arms and hand. If I ventured

-

o

% by, {

Mg )

to describe that attitude, there would be a fine howl ; but there

l

.

gy

the Venus lies, for anybody to gloat over that wants to; and

il

thld] )

10U gy

With()“

! WSEI'VQ

A TRAMP ABROAD,.

301

Tty

there she has a right to lie, for she is a work of art, and Art has

th

02 gy

ety

its privileges.

I saw young girls stealing furtive glances at her;

i

I saw young men gaze long and absorbedly at her; I saw aged,

Ve oy

it

infirm men hang upon her charms with a pathetic interest. How

I should like to describe her—just to see what a holy indig-

him,

nation I could stir up in the world—just to hear the unreflecting

average man deliver himself about my grossness and coarseness,

and all that.

The world says that no worded description of a

moving spectacle is a hundredth part as moving as the same

spectacle seen with one’s own eyes; yet the world is willing to

let its son and its daughter and itself look at Titian’s beast, but

It

dll

0

won’t stand a description of it in words.

‘Which shows that the

0l

world is not as consistent as it might be.

iy ent]

There are pictures of nude women which suggest no impure

ng aud Sl

.....

thought ; I am well aware of that.

I am not railing at such.

in fte b

What I am trying to emphasise is the fact that Titian’s Venus is

dal with i o

very far from being one of that sort.

Without any question it

| VEry near, e

was painted for a bagnio, and it was probably refused because it

10t $0 with A,

was a trifle too strong. In truth it is too strong for any place but

i

i1

a public Art Gallery. Titian had two Venuses in the Tribune;

subject, how

Sarcas at even

persons who have seen them will easily remember which one I

68

am referring to.

~a®

5, Thes

In every gallery in Europe there are hideous pictures of blood,

X!

ol

carnage, oozing brains, putrefaction—pictures portraying intoler-

o their e

hel

able suffering—pictures alive with every conceivable horror,

wrought out in dreadful detail—and similar pictures are being

1o, the

put on the canvas every day and publicly exhibited—without a

yp gbott i

Jid marbl

growl from anybody, for they are innocent, they are inoffensive,

being works of art.

But suppose a literary artist ventured to go

i fhis shm

Hooded

|

into a painstaking and elaborate description of one of these grisly

things, the critics would skin him alive.

Well, let it go, it can-

IS

It

not be helped; Art retains her privileges, Literature has lost

ois il

¥

hers.

Somebody else may cipher out the whys and the where-

ﬁel?dv

fores and the consistencies of it—1I haven’t got time.

m

an beng

Titian’s Venus defiles and disgraces the Tribune, there is no

tolly and ¢

softening that fact, but his ¢ Moses’ glorifies it.

The simple

fon, Tou &5

truthfulness of this noble work wins the heart and the applause

{ha

f exists e

{iId

of every visitor, be he learned or ignorant.

After wearying

yal

|, wihov

oneself with the acres of stuffy, sappy, expressionless babies that

o

fhe Jk

i

populate the canvases of the Old Masters in Italy, it is refreshing

N

to stand before this peerless child and feel that thrill which tells

onf 00

you you are at last in the presence of the real thing. This is a

d

T

human child, this is genuine.

You have seen him a thousand

f e

times—you have seen him just as he is here—and you confess,

porl; D

gl

The doll-faces of

¢ s

without reserve, that Titian was a Master.

302

A TRAMP ABROAD.

other painted babes may mean one thing, they may mean another,

but with the ¢ Moses’ the case is different.

The most famous of

all the art critics has said, ¢ There is no room for doubt here—

plainly this child is in trouble.’

I consider that the ¢ Moses’ has no equal among the works of

the Old Masters, except it be the divine Hair Trunk of Bassano.

Nothing

I feel sure that if all the other Old Masters were lost and only

these two preserved, the world would be the gainer by it.

My sole purpose in going to Florence was to see this immortal

¢ Moses,” and by good fortune I was just in time, for they were

already preparing to remove it to a more private and better-pro-

tected place, because a fashion of robbing the great galleries was

prevailing in Europe at the time.

I got a capable artist to copy the picture; Pannemaker, the

Quip K

engraver of Doré’s books, engraved it for me.

el

Hfm {

We took a turn to Rome and some other Italian cities; then

!

e

)i

;»wfs, m

to Munich, and thence to Paris, partly for exercise, but mainly

Joed

because these things were in our projected programme, and if

aeablefogorerm

bl

was only right that we should be faithful to it.

I

From Paris I branched out and walked through Holland and

Ayr‘ri ahout

Belgium, procuring an occasional lift by rail or canal when tired,

Invention, & IO

I worked

iy

and I had a tolerably good time of it ‘by and large.’

Spain and otherregionsthrough agents, to save time and shoeleather.

lts

(i

We crossed to England, and then made the homeward passage

infimg of trouble

in the Cunarder °Gallia,’ a very fine ship.

I was glad to get

budlrd e

home—immeasurably glad ; so glad, in fact, that it did not seem

isseldom;

possible that anything could ever get me out of the country

doathome, you ¢

again. I had not enjoyed a pleasure abroad which secemed to me

el etk

to compare with the pleasure I felt in seeing New York harbour

olnow ¢

lare=Be

again.

Europe has many advantages which we have not, but

they do not compensate for a good many still more valuable

sn o v 0

ones which exist nowhere but in our own country. Then we are

46 mayor bgg

Jem

such a homeless lot when we are over there!

So are Europeans

0

themselves, for that matter.

They live in dark and chilly vast

inis or gl

To be

h the ]:T'L' \

n

tombs, costly enough, may be, but without conveniences.

O tg )

i

L

i3

I

8 qf

condemned to live as the average European family lives would

gt

make life a pretty heavy burden to the average American family.

0%, aud iy

On the whole, I think that short visits to Hurope are better

U 8y

for us than long ones.

The former preserve us from becoming

Sl vy

Europeanised ; they keep our pride of country intact, and at

by

h& Ty of

the same time they intensify our affection for our country and

Lext mﬂmlnv

our people; whereas long visits have the effect of dulling those

Vo]

0

feelings, at least in the majority of cases.

I think that one who

Wean g

(eneg by

mixes much with Americans long resident abroad must arrive at

W

this conclusion.

Uiy e]ill]a

L1 frp)

\l

ety

b,

AT fam

i f

08 o

il

APPENDIX.

g ey

il

AN

! a

il

Nothing gives such weight and

dignity to a book as an Appendix.

i)

Herodotus.

g, for IhE’V "yﬁé

e and bty

NPT A

T allre vy

THE PORTIER.

Punemaly

OmAR KHAYAM, the poet-prophet of Persia, writing more than eight

a1 (]

hundred years ago, has said :

In the four parts of the earth are many that are able to write

¢, bif

learned books, many that are able to lead armies, and many also that

are able to govern kingdoms and empires; but few there be that can

e, ad

keep hotel.

A word about the European hotel portier. He is a most admirable

ough Holandul

canal when

invention, a most valuable convenience. He always wears a con-

spicuou

s uniform; he can always be found when he is wanted, for he

Lo’ 1

sticks cl

osely to his post at the front door; he is as polite as a duke;

neandshoel

s from four to ten languages ; he is your surest help and refuge

homerard

he speak

in time o

f trouble or perplexity. He is not the clerk, he is not the

Tms g

landlord ; he ranks above the clerk, and represents the landlord, who

is seldom seen. Imstead of going to the clerk for information, as we

do at home, you go to the portier. It is the pride of our average

1 00

10

emd

hotel clerk to know nothing whatever; it is the pride of the portier

B

I

to know everything. You ask the portier at what hours the trains

S’e\v Yok

leave—he tells you instantly ; or you ask him who is the best phy-

e hare 1

sician in town or what is the hack tariff; or how many children

more T8

the mayo

r has; or what days the galleries are open, and whether a

Then

permit is required, and whe:

re you are to get it, and what you must

e For

ay for it; or when the the

atres open and close, what the plays are to

) di

or what is the newest thing in hats; or

1k and

be, and the price of seats;

how the bills of mortality average; or ¢ who struck Billy Patterson.’

el

1t does not matter what you ask him: in nine cases out of ten he

fam |

knows, and in the tenth case he will find out for you before you can

turn around three times.

There is nothing he will not put his hand

, Ame

Fanope

to.

Suppose you t

ell him you wish to go from Hamburg to Peking

g

by the way of Jericho, and are ignorant of routes and

prices—the

i o

i

next morning he will hand you a piece of paper with the whole thing

ff ntach

0

worked out on it to the last detail.

Before you have been long on

our o

Turopean soil, you find yourself still saying you are relying on Provi-

=

{l

dence, but when you come to look closer you will see that in reality

ik th

f

i (v}]i.’m“

.

you are relying on the portier. He discovers what is puzzling you, or

hink

st

il

g

What is troubling you, or what your need is, before you can get the

304

A TRAMP ABROAD.

half of it out, and he promptly says, ¢ Leave that to me.” Conse-

1ot n

anth but

quently you easily drift into the habit of leaving everything to him,

gl

o 0 Y050

There is a certain embarrassment about applying to the average

American hotel clerk, a certain hesitancy, a sense of insecurity against

i

rebuff; but you feel no embarrassment in your intercourse with the

pheget 4

portier; he receives your propositions with an enthusiasm which

comsequenty

cheers, and plunges into their accomplishment with an alacrity which

our Toom &0

almost inebriates. The more requirements you can pile upon him,

il

the better he likes it. Of course the result is that you cease from

for Joe- BT

aftermards

doing anything for yourself. He calls a hack when you want one;

3

{lT

puts you into it ; tells the driver whither to take you; receives you

thee

like a long-lost child when you return ; sends you about your business,

and fum~

does all the quarrelling with the hackman himself, and pays him his

Boldly p

.‘

o

money out of his own pocket.

He sends for your theatre tickets, and

gervants

pays for them ; he sends for any possible article you can require, be it

|filJ

Lare o

a doctor, an elephant, or a postage-stamp; and when you leave, at

1 WAL

last, you will find a subordinate seated with the cab-driver, who will

mle

put you in your railway compartment, buy your tickets, have your

fone how

i

baggage weighed, bring you the printed tags, and tell you everything

he meantime

is in your bill and paid for.

At home you get such elaborate, excel-

Jonf

7

lent, and willing service as this only in the best hotels of our large

ouself

cities ; but in Europe you get it in the mere back country towns just

I

as well.

i

‘What is the secret of the portier’s devotion ?

It is very simple s

renthe

he gets fees, and no salary.

His fee is pretty closely regulated, too.

iog end

If you stay a weel in the house, you give him five marks—a dollar

Tt

and a quarter, or about eighteen cents a day. If youstay a month,

I

i pay

you reduce this average somewhat.

If you stay two or three months

or longer, you cut it down half, or even more than half,

Ukt

158 of

If you stay

(LR

(it

only one day, you give the portier a mark.

om bo

The head waiter’s fee is a shade less than the portier’s; the Boots,

who not only blacks your boots and brushes your clothes, but is

i

ban by

£ ¢

usually the porter and handles your baggage, gets a somewhat smaller

fee than the head waiter ; the chambermaid’s fee ranks below that of

}.\‘Jte

the Boots.

You fee only these four, and no one else.

A German

et wd hs

gentleman told me that when he remained a weel in an hotel, he gave

than 50

{5

fo

the portier five marks, the head waiter four, the Boots three, and the

chambermaid two; and if he stayed three months he divided ninety

a0

When e

marks among them, in about the above proportions. N

inety marks

the g

make $22.50.

\e Iiht

None of these fees are ever paid until you leave the hotel, though

0l th g

I¢

it be a year—except one of these four servants should go away in the

A0 appory

meantime ; in that case he will be sure to come and bid you good-bye

Dl

478 ighe

and give you the opportunity to pay him what is fairly coming to him.

Ut

It is considered very bad policy to fee a servant while you are still to

Bloisip

remain longer in the hotel, because if you gave him too little he

&, “’h(\t

might neglect you afterwards, and if

you gave him too much he might

day

‘B

ou

It is considered best to kee

th

neglect somebody else to attend to .

P

gl

and t

his expectations ‘ on a string ’ until your stay is concluded.

S Withoyg

18ty

it

UUh Jﬁ

-

APPENDIX A.

305

! g

Iy

Tiking

ki

I do not know whether hotel servants in New York

get any wages

0 fhy ey

oy

)

or not, but I do know that in some of the hotels there ths feeing

system in vogue is a heavy burden. The waiter expects a quarter at

oy

iy

i

brealdfast-—and gets it. You have a different waiter at luncheon, and

&

I

80 he gets a quarter. Your waiter at dinner is another stranger—

Llaerty Wi

"

|

consequently he gets a quarter. The boy who carries your satchel to

He ey

your room and lights your gas, fumbles around and hangs around

significantly, and you fee him to get rid of him, Now you may ring

Jou

B

for ice-water; and ten minutes later for a lemonade ; and ten minutes

afterwards, for a cigar; and by-and-by for a newspaper—and what is

t your by

the result?

Why, a new boy has appeared every time, and fooled

U s iy

and fumbled around until you have paid him something. Suppose you

boldly put your foot down, and say it is the hotel's business to pay its

il

lipy

servants P—and suppose you stand your ground and stop feeing ? Yow

will have to ring your bell ten or fifteen times before you get a servant

wyil

there ; and when he goes off to fill your order you will grow old and

infirm before you see him again, You may struggle nobly for twenty-

four hours, may be, if you are an adamantine sort of person, but in

the meantime you will have been so wretchedly served, and so insn-

oo

lently, that you will haul down your colours, and go to impoverishing

youself with fees.

niry o

It seems to me that it would be a happy idea to import the Euro-

pean feeing system into America. I believe it would result in getting

18 Very

even the bells of the Philadelphia hotels answered, and cheerful ser-

a1l

vice rendered.

The greatest American hotels keep a number of clerks and a

cashier, and pay them salaries which mount up to a considerable total

in the course of a year. The great Continental hotels keep a cashier

on a trifling salary, and a portier who pays the hotel a salary. By the

latter system both the hotel and the public save money and are better

served than by our system.

One of our consuls told me that the

dl

portier of a great Berlin hotel paid 5,000 a year for his position, and

yet cleared $6,000 for himself.

The position of portier in the chief

below

hotels of Saratoga, Long Branch, New York, and similar centres of

resort would be one which the holder could afford to pay even more

a0l

than $5,000 for, perhaps.

When we borrowed the feeing fashion from Europe a dozen years

g di

ago, the salary system ought to have been discontinued, of course.

Nine

‘We might make this correction now, I should think.

And we might

add the portier too.

Since I first began to study the portier, I have

bo

had opportunitiss to observe him in the chief cities of Germany,

TRl

PO

Switzerland, and Ttaly ; and the more I have seen of him the more I

id yog

T

have wished that he might be adopted in America, and become there,

e

0o

as he is in Europe, the stranger’s guardian angel.

you i

Yes, what was true eight hundred years ago is just as true to-

day: ‘Few there be that can keep hotel” Perhaps it is because the

landlords and their subordinates have in too many cases taken up their

kb

edhgﬂ“?

trade without first learning it. In Europe the trade of hotel-keeper

is taught. The apprentice begins at the bottom of the ladder and

Il

X

806

A TRAMP ABRUAD.

lacey fhe be?

masters the several grades one after the ot™er, Just as in our country

printing-offices the apprentice first learns how to sweep out and hring

Jisht from A

water; then learns to ‘roll’; then to sort ‘pi’; then to set type;

~ Aninm

ot e B

and finally rounds and completes his education with job-work and

press-work: so the landlord-apprentice serves as call-boy; then as

t'

it hied 1

under-waiter ; then as a parlour-waiter ; then as head-waiter, in which

{he contrary

position he often has to make out all the bills; then as clerk or

own throug

His trade is learned now, and by-and-by he

tilight

cashier; then as portier,

will assume the style and dignity of landlord, and be found conduct-

(il

ing an hotel of his own.

ﬁo(m; fhem

Now in Europe, the same as in Arerica, when a man bas kept an

b oy

hotel so thoroughly well during a number of years as to give it a

1

great reputation, he has his reward. He can live prosperously on that

reputation.

He can let his hotel run down to the last degree of

[0

(U}

shabbiness and yet have it full of people all the time.

For instance,

Tel

there is the Hotel de Ville, in Milan,

It sswvarms with mice and fleas,

and if the rest of the world were destroyed it could furnish dirt

enough to start another one with., The food would create an insurrec-

tion in a poorhouse ; and yet if you go outside to get your meals that

hotel makes up its loss by overcharging you on all sorts of trifles—

and without making any denials or excuses about it either.

But the

Hotel de Ville’s old excellent reputation still keeps its dreary rooms

Ao

crowded with travellers who would be elsewhere if they had only had

i

09

some wise friend to warn them,

Wi

¢

These

i

1l

un of

APPENDIX. B,

Jears ag,eonl

1o

10F, tw;

ITEIDELBERG CASTLE.

ii;ubt: and th

L)

ITrrpELBERG CASTLE must have been very beautiful before the French

K

battered and bruised and scorched it two hundred years ago.

The

{he

prohabir oy

stone is brown, with a pinkish tint, and does not seem to stain easily.

The dainty and elaborate ornamentation upon its two chief fronts is

ey

as delicately carved as if it had been intended for the interior of a

Wiete the

drawing-room rather than for the outside of a house.

and By

Many fruit

‘and flower-clusters,human heads, and grim projecting lion’s heads are

il

%

still as perfect in every detail as if they were new. But the statues

e hayo

B

which are ranked between the windows have suffered. These are

1o d}llb

.tr 1]'

&Il ill I

life-size statues of old-time emperors, electors, and similar grandees,

clad in mail and bearing ponderous swords.

Some have lost an arm,

l‘Ope Thﬂ |

some a head, and one poor fellow is chopped off at the middle. There

YllldWa

\'up

4

is a saying that if a stranger will pass over the drawbridge and walk

feat

ey Com}

across the court to the Castle front without saying anything, he can

Bl

malke a wish and it will be fulfilled. But they say that the truth of

815l

this thing has never had a chance to be proved, for the reason that

§ogs ahﬂut i

00 thet

before any stranger can walk from the drawbridge to the appointed

llpy

proeg

1f

APPENDIX B.

307

gy oy

Pt}

ly

place, the beauty of the palace front will extort an exclamation of do-

£ {y

light from him,

¥ty

Ui

1k

A ruin must be rightly situated, to be effective. This one could

oy,

e g

not have been better placed.

It stands upon a commanding elevation,

0 iy

then

®

0

it is buried in green woods, there is no level ground about it, but on

the contrary there are wooded terraces upon terraces, and one looks

|

down through shining leaves into profound chasms and abysses where

g o

.....

twilight reigns and the sun cannot intrude.

Nature knows how to

garnish a ruin to get the best effect.

One of these ol

1040 bag

d towers is split

down the middle, and one half has tumbled aside.

It tumbled in

Y

such way as to establish itself in a picturesque attitude. Then all

Jon{

it lacked was a fitting drapery, and Nature has furnished that; she

0 Lo

has robed the rugged mass in flowers and verdure, and made it a

e, o

charm to the eye. The standing half exposes its arched and ca-

vernous rooms to you, like open, toothless mouths; there, too, the

vines and flowers have done their work of grace. The rear portion of

the tower has not been neglected, either, but is clothed with a cling-

1

ing garment of polished ivy which hides the wounds and stains of

time. Even the top is not left bare

, but is crowned with a flourishing

group of trees and shrubs.

Misfortune has done for this old tower

what it has done for the human character sometimes—improved it.

A gentleman remarked, one day, that it might have been fine to

live in the Castle in the da

y of its prime, but we had one advantage

4

which its vanished inhabitants lacked—the advantage of having a

charming ruin to visit and muse over.

But that was a hasty idea.

Those people had the advantage of us. They had the fine Castle to

live in,and they could cross the Rhine valley

and muse over the stately

ruin of Trifels besides. The Trifels people, in their day, five hundred

years ago, could g and muse over majestic ruins which have van-

ished, now, to the last stone.

There have always been ruins, no

doubt ; and there have always been pensive people to sigh over them,

and asses to scratch upon them their names and the important date of

their visit. "Within a hundred years after Adam left Eden, the guide

probably gave the usual general flowrish with his hand and said:

¢ Place where the animals were named, ladies and gentlemen ; place

where the tree of the forhidden fruit stood; exact spot where Adam

e

!

and Eve first met; and here, ladies and gentlemen, adornsd and

Il

hallowed by the names and addresses of thres genera~ons of tourists,

we have the crumbling remains of Cain’s altar—fine 0ld ruin !’ Then,

no doubt, he taxed them a shekel apiece and let them go.

il

An illumination of Heidelberg Castle is one of the sights of Fu-

il

rope.

The Castle’s picturesque shape; its commanding situation,

1]

midway up the steep and wooded mountain side ; its vast size—these

Jare A5

features combine to make an illumin

il

Tt is necessaril

ation a most effective spectacle.

i

it

¥y an expensive show, and consequently rather infrequent.

oy

Therefore,

whenever one of these exhibi

tions is to take place, the news

goes about in the papers,

Hﬂl

i

Bt

on that night,

and Heidelberg is sure to be full of people

fio %

gl

I and my agent had one of these opportunitien, and

ytie 41

improved it.

X2

308

A TRAMP ABROAD.

g

P‘“Ple

About half-past seven on the appointed evening we crossed the

drovi

o

o e

ome American students, in a pouring rain, and

1 hridg

lower bridge, with s

which borders the Neunheim side of the river.

Deares

started up the road

in tho !

This roadway

was de

nsely packed with carriages and foot passen

gers ;

nents, a0 |

the former o

fall ages, and the latter of all ages and both sexes.

This

sion dnfo t4¢

Plack and solid mass was struggling painfully onward, through the

We waded along for three-

o such 8pec

slop,

the darkmess, and the deluge.

soomed a8

quarters of a mile,

and finally took up a position in an unsheltered

fime, 106

beer-garden directly opposite

the Castle.

We could not see the

1at matter—but we could dimly discern

the innumer

(Oastle—or anything else, for tl

gl

the outlines of the mountain over the way, through the pervading

" Thea

Dblackness, and knew whereabouts the Castle was located. We stood

on one of the hundred benches in the garden, under our umbrellas;

joined the

ol

nobly

the other ninety-nine were occupied by standing men and women,

every

1

and they also had umbrellas. All the region round about, and up and

T

down the river-road, was a dense wilderness of humanity hidden

under an unbroken pavement of carriage tops and umbrellas. Thus

Tuny

Lt

and

we stood during two drenching hours. No rain fell on my head, but

Spected 1

the converging whalebone points of a dozen neighbouring umbrellas

poured little co

oling streams of water down my neck, and sometimes

into my ears,

and thus kept me from getting hot and impatient. I

ealy

and

jand, and 1t

had the rheumatism,

too, and had heard that this was good for it.

treatment is

) J0A1!

Afterward, however, I was led to believe that the water

not good for rtheumatism. There were even little girls in that dreadful

Au

Ii

A man held one in his arms, just in front of me, for as much

0

place.

T

i

as an hour,

with umbrella-drippings soaking into her clothing all the

time.

n

8

In the circumstances, two hours was a good while for us to have

o

il

to wait, but when the illumination did at last come, we felt repaid.

org i, or |

Al

Tt came unexpectedly, of course—things always do that have been

d

long looked and longed for.

With a perfectly breath-taking sudden-

ness several vast sheaves of vari-coloured rockets were vomited sky-

[

ward out of the black throats of the Castle towers, accompanied by a

i 6 ¢

il

Where

thundering crash of sound, and instantly every detail of the prodigious

i)

ruin stood revealed against the mountain side and glowing with an

T, “Ld il

almost intolerable splendour of fire and colour. For some little time

i fgf

the whole building was a blinding crimson mass, the towers continued

s orgfy

to spout thick columns of rockets aloft, and overhead the sky was

ora

radiant with arrowy bolts which clove their way to the zenith,

paused, curved gracefully downw

ard, then burst into brilliant foun-

VISiG

i by

1

tain sprays of richly coloured sparks. The red fires died slowly down

Ereylogy ]

k

within the Castle, and presently the shell grew nearly black outside ;

Y8 seg 1t

the angry glare that shone out through the broken arches and innu-

0mg fry i

merable sashless windows now reproduced the aspect which the

Castle must have borne in the old time when the French spoilexs saw

iy

)

15 ik

the monster bonfire which they had made there fading-and smouldering

06 4 Jja I

toward extinction.

‘While we still gazed and enjoyed, the ruin was suddenly enveloped

of Uiy

-He[

ity ligt

in rolling and tumbling volumes of vaporous green fire: then in daz-

Gl g L

APPENDIX B.

309

By g

19 1y

Ll

zling purple ones; then a mixture of many colours followed, and

of g

drowned the great fabric in its blended splendours. Meantime the

W+

nearest bridge had been illuminated, and from several rafts anchored

D

T

in the river meteor showers of rockets, Roman candles, bombs, ser=

’h‘uuv

pents, and Catherine wheels were being discharged in wasteful profu-

g

sion into the sky—a marvellous sight indeed to a person as little used

i

to such spectacles as I was. For a while the whole region about us

i

seemed as bright as day, and yet the rain was fallingin torrents all the

time. The evening’s entertainment presently closed, and we joined

the innumerable caraven of half-drowned spectators, and waded home

W

again.

i)

The Castle grounds are very ample and very beautiful ; and as they

joined the hotel grounds, with no fences to climb, but only some

nobly shaded stone stairways to descend, we spent a part of nearly

every day in idling through their smooth walks and leafy groves.

There was an attractive spot among the trees where were a greatl

many wooden tables and benches; and there one could sit in the

00 Iy I

shade and pretend to sip at his foamy beaker of beer while he in-

spected the crowd.

I say pretend, because I only pretended to sip,

without really sipping.

That is the polite way; but when you are

i

ready to go, you empty the beaker at a draught.

There was a brass

band, and it furnished excellent music every afternoon.

Sometimes

1ty

go many people came that every seat was occupied, every table filled.

And never a rough in the assemblage—all nicely dressed fathers and

mothers, young gentlemen and ladies and children ; and plenty of uni-

versity students and glittering officers; with here and there a grey

professor, or a peaceful old lady with her knitting ; and always a

b fo

{%

sprinkling of gawky foreigners.

Everybody had his glass of beer be-

fore him, or his cup of coffee, or his bottle of wine, or his hot cutlet

and potatoes; young ladies chatted, or fanned themselves, or wrought

at their crocheting or embroidering ; the students fed sugar to their

dogs, or discussed duels, or illustrated new fencing-tricks with their

little canes ; and everywhere was comfort and enjoyment, and every-

where peace and goodwill to men.

The trees were jubilant with

birds, and the paths with rollicking children.

One could have a seat

in that place and plenty of music, any afternoon, for about eight

cents or a family ticket for the season for two dollars.

{be

‘l

For a change, when you wanted one, you could stroll to the Castle,

and burrow among its dungeons, or climb about its ruined towers, or

0

visit its interior shows—the great Heidelberg Tun, for instance.

Liverybody has heard of the great Heidelberg Tun, and most people

have seen it, no doubt.

o5 ¢

It is a wine-cask as big as a cottage, and

some traditions say it holds eighteen hundred thousand hottles, and

other traditions say it holds eighteen hundred million barrels. I

ff

think it likely that one of these statements is a mistake, and the other

o

ool

one a lie. Howeyer, the mere matter of capacity is a thing of no sort

i

of consequence, since the cask is empty, and indeed has always been

empty, history says.

An empty cask the size of a cathedral could ex-~

ol ot

cite but little emotion in me,

I do not see any wisdom in building a

tbeﬂ il

A

310

A TRAMP ABROAD.

o

P

V

.

monster cask to hoard up emptiness in, when you can get a bettes

coutte?

fol

fi

quality, outside, any day, free of expense. What could this cask have

There &t

been built for ?

The more one studies over that, the more uncertain

§ome of g

and unhappy he becomes.

Some historians say that thirty couples,

4 gorg@(}lls

some say thirty thousand couples, can dance on the head of this cask

Jamsel 8 P

at the same time.

Even this does not seem to me to account for the

It does not even throw light on it.

A profound and

of my oL

building of it.

o aud 8

scholarly Englishman—a specialist—who had made the great Heidel-

cheaper 1t

berg Tun his sole study for fifteen years, told me he had at last satis-

fied himself that the ancients built it to make German cream in.

He

pictue Gl

said that the average German cow yielded from one to two and a

half teaspoonfuls of milk, when she was not worked in the plough or

the hay waggon more than eighteen or nineteen hours a day. This

milk was very sweet and good, and of a beautiful transparent bluish

tint ; but in order to get cream from it in the most economical way, a

peculiar process was necessary. Now he believed that the habit of

the ancients was to collect several milkings in a teacup, pour it into

the Great Tun, fill up with water, and then skim off the cream from

time to time as the needs of the German Empire demanded.

I seems th

This began to look reasonable.

It certainly began to account for

the German cream which I had encountered and marvelled over in so

without hay

many hotels and restaurants.

But a thought struck me—

comg beone

atches bim

¢Why did not each ancient dairyman take his own teacup of milk

and his own cask of water, and mix them, without making a govern-

offnder o

ment matter of it?’

calition e

¢ Where could he get a cask large enough to contain the right

iy, and 1p

proportion of water ?’

over which |

¢ Very true.” It was plain that the Englishman had studied the

aspofiily

matter from all sides.

Still T thought I might catch him on one

e ghout i,

point; so I asked him why the modern empire did not malke the

eniene, i

nation’s cream in the Ieidelberg Tun, instead of leaving it to rot

1 inpisomn

away unused. But he answered as one prepared—

student’ g

¢ A patient and diligent examination of the modern German cream

sneting [}

has satisfied me that they do not use the Great Tun now, because they

Versity 1§

have got a bigger one hidden away somewhere.

FEither that is the

g n, do;

case, or they empty the spring milkings into the mountain torrents,

Ty

and then skim the Rhine all summer.

)

OUT

) §

:)

There is a museum of antiquities in the Castle, and among its

)| dou]o ;

most treasured relics are ancient manuscripts connected with German

TWO W

history, There are hundreds of these, and their dates stretch back

J you!

through many centuries. One of them is a decree signed and sealed

Ttis ¢

by the hand of a successor of Charlemagne in the year 896. A sig-

i

Le] of

nature made by a hand which vanished out of this life near a

thousand years ago is a more impressive thing than even a ruined

‘Bxae)

the Collerre

castle. Luther’s wedding-ring was shown me; also a fork belonging

B

Ulent,

to a time anterior to our era, and an early bootjack. And there was

Ufiy,

a plaster cast of the head of a man who was assassinated about sixty

years ago. The stab-wounds in the face were duplicated with un-

Sty

O,

pleasant fidelity, One or two real hairg still remained sticking in the

APPENDIX C.

311

‘Anvgm

i

et

eycbrows of the cast. That trifle seemed to almost change the

g

counterfeit into a corpse.

mﬂeuL

Iy

There are many aged portraits—some valuable, some worthless

‘Ulum

U]

some of great interest, some of none at all.

I bought a couple—one

a gorgeous dulke of the olden time, and the other a comely blue-eyed

)

damsel, a princess, may be. I bought them to start a portrait gallery

|

of my ancestors with. I paid a dollar and a half for the duke and

L3

two and a half for the princess.

One can lay in ancestors at even

cheaper rates than these, in Europe, if he will mouse among old

L, f

|

picture shops, and look out for chances.

a

(ay

el

10}

APRENDIX C,

THE COLLEGE PRISON.

o

It seems that the student may break a good many of the public laws

£0.0

without having to answer to the public authorities,

His case must

come before the University for trial and punishment. If a policeman

201D

catches him in an unlawful act and proceeds to arrest him, the

makin

090

o Ut

offender proclaims that he is a student, and perhaps shows his matri-

culation card, whereupon the officer asks for his address, then goes his

If the oflence is one

Viial

0

U

way, and reports the matter at headquarters.

over which the city has no jurisdiction, the authorities report the

bad

case officially to the University, and give themselves no further con-

feh bim

cern ahout it.

The University court send for the student, listen to the

evidence, and pronounce judgment.

i

The punishment usnally inflicted

Jearing 1t 1

is imprisonment in the University prison. As I understand it, a

student’s case is often tried without his being present at all. Then

something like this happens: A constable in the service of the Uni-

(e

versity visits the lodgings of the said student, knocks, is invited to

T, (6

th

ik

e

come in, does so, and says politely—

it

¢If you please, I am here to conduct you to prison.’

¢Ah; says the student, ‘I was not expecting it. What have I

been doing ?’

) aod am0%

|

itk

¢ T'wo weeks ago the public peace had the honour to be disturbed

by you.

|(o]

‘It is true; I had forgotten it. Very well; I have been com-

{10

¢

plained of, tried, and found guilty—is that it ?’

‘Exactly. You are sentenced to two days’ solitary confinement in

his i

the college prison, and I am sent to fetch you.’

) gred

1

Student. ‘Oh, T can’t go to-day !’

g 1018 2

Officer. ¢1f you please—why ?’

A2

Student. ¢ Because I've got an engagement,’

it sl

Officer. ¢ To-morrow, then, perhaps ?’

el ™

Student. ¢ No, I am going to the opera to-morrow.

s

o8

312

A TRAMP ABROAD.

forth al ¥

Officer. ¢ Could you come Friday ?’

Student. (Reflectively.)

¢ Let me see—Friday—Friday. I don’t

T had W7

seem to have anything on hand Friday.’

Put Lwou

fherefore 1)

Officer. “Then, if you please, I will expect you on Friday.’

Now the

Student. ¢ All right, I'll come around Friday.’

Officer. ¢ Thank you.

Good day, sir”

gl it WS

Student. ¢ Good day.

window 01

fy70 oaken

So on Friday the student goes to the prison of his own accord,

and is admitted.

motoes

It is questionable if the world’s criminal history can show a

tions of i)

custom more odd than this. Nobody knows, now, how it originated.

villainous 0

There have always been many noblemen among the students, and it is

Jots—fr

fhem, The

presumed that all students are gentlemen; in the old times it was

corered it

usual to mar the convenience of such follt as little as possible; per-

haps this indulgent custom owes its origin to this.

The wallsw

One day I was listening to some conversation upon this subject

somp doze

when an American student said that for some time he had heen under

1o, blug B

remained be

sentence for a slight breach of the peace and had promised the con-

stable that he would presently find an unoccupied day and betake him-

O NAIMe

self to prison. I asked the young gentleman to do me the kindness

to go to jail as soon as he conveniently could, so that I might try to get

fresAcoed

A

)

He

midsan

in there and visit him, and see what college-captivity was like.

said he would appoint the very first day he could spare.

Ay

His confinement was to endure twenty-four hours.

He shortly

QUL IO

chose his day, and sent me word. I started immediately. When I

Ne

o

reached the University Place, I saw two gentlemen talking together,

light, 12

ot

i

and as they had portfolios under their arms I judged they were tutors

§I3

or elderly students; so I asked them in English to show me the

prson

college jail.

I had learned to take it for granted that anybody in

ﬁere

and

Germany who knows anything knows English, so I had stopped

sfudents, and

afflicting people with my German.

These gentlemen seemed a trifle

Dlaye

amused—and a trifle confused, too—but one of them said he would

Wi

lh

walk around the corner with me and show me the place.

He asked

q

Soms

f the

me why I wanted to get in there, and I said to see a friend—and for

curiosity. He doubted if I would be admitted, but volunteered to

Teadsr g foy

ut in a word or two for me with the custodian.

o 1yt

Comphinty g

He rang the bell, a door opened, and we stepped into a paved way

Iy

and then into a small living-room, where we were received by a hearty

and good-natured German woman of fifty, She threw up her hands

Y, b g

8 bl

with a surprised ¢ Ach Gott, Herr Professor !’ and exhibited a mighty

ily fht

deference for my new acquaintance.

By the sparkle in her eye I

(Tran

A

judged she was a good deal amused, too.

The ¢ Herr Professor’

talked to her in German, and I understood enough of it to know that

Aot of g

he was bringing very plausible reasons to bear for admitting me. They

‘B, Gy

were successful.

Bltmar

tk §

So the Herr Professor received my earnest thanks

and departed. The old dame got her keys, took me up two or three

Trapy)

flights of stairs, unlocked a door, and we stood in the presence of the

Jeopl

criminal. Then she went into a jolly and eager description of all that

[ JSCI‘EHOD

had occurred downstairs, and what the Herr Professor had said, and so

by g

(1] I

APPENDIX C.

313

f

by,

(i}

forth and so on. Plainly she regarded it as quite a superior joke that

I had waylaid a Professor and employed him in so odd a service.

But I wouldn't have done it if I had known he was a Professor;

therefore my conscience was not disturbed.

Now the dameleft us to ourselves. The cell was not a roomy one;

still it was a little larger than an ordinary prison cell.

It had a

=

5

8 0 g

o

window of good size, iron-grated ; a small stove ; two wooden chairs ;

two oaken tables, very old and most elaborately carved with names,

]t 07 4

b

mottoes, faces, armorial bearings, etc.—the work of several genera-

Vil

tions of imprisoned students; and a narrow wooden bedstead with a

villainous old straw mattress, but no sheets, pillows, blankets or cover-

l

lets—for these the student must furnish at his own cost if he wants

them. There was no carpet, of course. The ceiling was completely

covered with names, dates, and monograms, done with candle-smoke.

The walls were thickly covered with pictures and portraits (in profile),

some done with ink, some with soot, some with a pencil, and some with

red, blue, and green chalks; and wherever an inch or two of space had

remained between the pictures, the captives had written plaintive verses,

or names and dates. I do not think I was ever in a more elaborately

frescoed apartment.

Against the wall hung a placard containing the prison laws. I

s ke, [y

made a note of one or two of these. For instance: The prisoner must

Jif)

pay, for the ¢ privilege’ of entering, a sum equivalent to 20 cents of

our money; for the privilege of leaving, when his term has expired,

20 cents; for every day spent in the prison, 12 cents; for fire and

light, 12 cents a day. The jailor furnishes coffee, mornings, for a

Tier

small sum; dinners and suppers may be ordered from outside if the

0

prisoner chooses—and he is allowed to pay for them, too.

a0yl

Here and there, on the walls, appeared the names of American

students, and in one place the American arms and motto were dis-

played in coloured chalks.

With the help of my friend I translated many of the inscriptions.

Some of them were cheerful, others the reverse,

I will give the

reader a few specimens:

(]

D>

¢In my tenth semestre (my best one), I am cast here through the

complaints of others,

Let those who follow me take warning.’

¢IIT Tage ohne Grund angeblich aus Neugierde.” Which is to

s piﬂéﬁ )}

say, he had a curiosity to know what prison-life was like ; so he made

il

78

a breach in some law and got three days for it.

It is more thap

8

likely that he never had the same curiosity again.

(Translation.) ¢ E. Glinicke, four days for being too eager a spec-

o n b

o

tator of a row.’

1 }’roff:x?

E‘{e

it fo o

.

i

‘F. Graf Bismarck—27-29, [T, ’74” Which means that Count

Bismarck, son of the great statesman, was a prisoner two days in 1874,

g 0%

i

(Translation.)

‘R. Diergandt—for Love—four days.’

Many

P

eople in this world have caught it heavier than that for the same

0 ﬂl'u\‘l

indiscretion.

a0

PIL’

s i}

This one is terse.

T translate:

fiond

¢ Faur weeks for misinterpreted gallantry.

§00,

{2

814

4 TRAMP ABROAD.

I wish the sufferer had explained a little more fully,

A four

puong 8

weeks’ term is a rather serious matter.

hosP‘lmhty W

? Ameﬂ%y :

There were many uncomplimentary references, on the walls, to a

certain unpopular college dignitary. One sufferer had got three days

s fher ¥

for not saluting him. Amnother had ¢here two days slept and three

pis e 02

nights lain awake,” on account of this same ¢Dr. K. In one place

i deares

fho old g

was a picture of Dr. K. hanging on a gallows.

Here and there, lonesome prisoners had eased the heavy time by

fo celebrate

altering the records left by predecessors. Leaving the name standing,

students

and the date and length of the captivity, they had erased the de-

breachin ol

oot 1eEt

.\

scription of the misdemeanour, and written in its place, in staring

capitals, ‘FOR THEFT!’ or ‘FOR MURDER !’ or some other gaudy crime,

months, 1!

In one place, all by itself, stood this blood-curdling word :

delivenance

students rec

‘RACHE!’!

qnd of cours

There was no name signed, and no date. It was an inscription

he manag

well calculated to pique curiosity.

One would greatly like to know

Jas. Sequ

ooked fo

the nature of the wrong that had been done, and what sort of vengeance

mendinth

was wanted, and whether the prisoner ever achieved it or not.

But

there was no way of finding out these things.

ing fllowt

Pt s de

Occasionally a name was followed simply by the remark, ¢ IT days,

roceed sobe

for disturbing the peace,’ and without comment upon the justice or

injustice of the sentence.

Jupg dor

In one place was a hilarious picture of a student of the green-cap

e sipped

corps with a bottle of champagne in each hand ; and below was the

the next thre

legend: ‘These male an evil fate endurable.’

TWhen be:

would butt

There were two prison cells, and neither had space left on walls

or ceiling for another name or portrait or picture. The inside sur-

might b goo

faces of the two doors were completely covered with cartes de visite

ate e e

of former prisoners, ingeniously let into the wood and protected from

ith the ide

dirt and injury by glass.

matterof tim

I very much wanted one of the sorry old tables which the

el it

prisoners had spent so many years in ornamenting with their pocket

Inives, but red tape was in the way. The custodian could not sell

one without an order from a superior; and that superior would have

to get it from /s superior; and this one would have to get it from a

higher one—and so on up and up until the faculty should sit on the

matter and deliver final judgment. The system was right, and

nobody could find fault with it; but it did not seem justifiable to

bother so many people, so I proceeded no further. It might have cost

me more than I could afford, anyway ; for one of those prison tables,

1

4 lltﬂe ]

which was at that time in a private museum

at Heidelberg, was

afterwards sold at auction for two hundred

and fifty dollars.

It was

Iy oft

Cag

captive students began their work on it.

ot worth more than a dollar, or possibly a dollar and a half, before the

tle) g

Persons who saw it at the

05 gty

auction said it was so curiously and wonderfully carved that it was

a[e”hadt

worth the money that was paid for it.

L) umque )

! ¢Revenge.’

he haA

ol gy }

APPENDIX D.

315

Iy,

oy

N

Among the many who have tasted the college prison’s dreary

By

iy

hospitality was a lively young fellow from one of the Southern States

DUt

fy)

of America, whose first year's experience of German university life

‘ut

i

was rather peculiar. The day he arrived in Heidelberg he enrolled

0 (;

his name on the college books, and was so elated with the fact that

16 Digy

his dearest hope had found fruition and he was actually a student of

he

ATY tiny

Iy

the old and renowned university, that he set to work that very night

Ui

to celebrate the event by a grand lark iz company with some other

students. - In the course of his lark he managed to make a wide

breach in one of the university’s most stringent laws. Sequel: before

0y

1 i,

U0y (g

noon, next day,

he was in the college prison—booled for three

0}

months.

The twelve lo

ng weeks dragged slowly by, and the day of

deliverance came at last. A great crowd of sympathising fellow-

students received him with a rousing demonstration as he came forth,

and of course there was another grand lark—in the course of which

he managed to malke a wide breach in one of the cify’s most stringent

i

ko

laws. Sequel : before noon, next day, he was safe in the city lock-up

—booked for three months,

This second tedious captivity drew to

an end in the course of time, and again a great crowd of sympathis-

.

1

ng fellow-students gave him a rousing reception as he came forth ;

but his delight in his freedom was so boundless that he could not

113

proceed soberly

and calmly, but must go hopping and skipping and

the sleety street from sheer excess of joy. Sequel:

Jumping down

he slipped and broke his leg, and actually lay in the hospital during

I

the next three months !

When he at last became a free man again, he said he believed he

would hunt up a brisker seat of learning ; the Heidelberg lectures

9 1o

0!

IR

Thg

might be good, but the opportunities of attending them were too

rare, the educational process too slow ; he said he had come to Europé

with the idea that the acquirement of an education was only a

0l

matter of time, but if he had averaged the Heidelberg system cor-

rectly, it was rather a matter of eternity.

10

APPENDIX D.

THE AWFUL GERMAN LANGUAGE.

A little learning makes the whole world kin.—Proverbs xxxii. 7.

‘i

I wENT often to look at the collection of curiosities in Heidelberg

il

Castle, and one day I surprised the keeper of it with my German. I

el &

spoke entirely in that language. Ie was greatly interested; and

iy

after I had talked awhile he said my German was very rare, possibly

g i

j i

a ‘unique ’; and wanted to add it to his museum.

fat 7

If he had Imown what it had cost me to acquire my art, he

would also have lmown that it would break any collector to buy it.

316

A TRAMP ABROAD.

y3-T

Harris and I had been hard at work on our Germ:

an during several

ol peeptl

weeks at that time, and although we had made go

od progress, it had

pecniar a0

been accomplished under great difficulty and anno

yance, for three of

fonded 0001

our teachers had died in the meantime.

A person who has not

There o7

studied German can form no idea of what a perplexing language it is.

|

grenige &2

.

Surely there is not another language that is so slipshod and

cuiosify 2

systemless, and so slippery and elusive to the grasp. One is washed

marts of 87

about in it, hither and hither, in the most helpless w:

ay; and when at

last he thinks he has ¢

aptured a rule which offers firm ground to take

of compoL

i

a rest on amid the general rage and turmoil of

be fo

the ten parts of

without

speech, he turns over the page and reads,

¢ Let the pupil make careful

note of the following exceptions.’

He runs his eye down and finds

Wi L

that there are more exceptions to the rule th

an instances of it.

So

0

overboard he goes again, to hunt for another Ararat and find another

f

t

‘h‘e‘pnren“thj

quicksand. Such has been, and continues to be

, Iy experience.

f'

Every time I think I have got one of thes

e four confusing ¢cases’

conplo

where I am master of it, a seemingly insi

<

gnific

ant preposition in-

them

trudes itself into my sentence, clothed with an

—after1

awful and unsuspected

fho man

ower, and crumbles the ground from under

me,

For instance, my

ook inquires after a certain bird—(it is alw

ays inquiring after things

of omamen

which are of no sort of consequence to

anybody) : ¢ Where is the bird ?’

sind e

Now the answer to this question—

the monume

according to the book—is that the

he nafue 0

bird is waiting in the blacksmith-

shop on account of the rain.

Of

course no bird would do that, but then you must stick to the hook,

retty, G

th

Very well, I begin to cipher out the German for that answer, I

A

01

begin at the wrong end, necessarily, for that is the German idea.

I say to myself, ¢ Regen (rain) is masculine—or maybe it is feminine

man 1

A

—or possibly neuter—it is too much trouble to 1

ook, now. There-

a1

Elee]

fore, it is either der (the) Regen, or die

1 Vevven

Regen,

(the) Regen,

or das (the)

according to which gender it may turn out to be

when I look.

the Parenth

In the interest of science, I will ci

pher it out on the hypothesis that

%)

lfa‘

it is masculine. Very well—then #

CO\;'

[9

fJH

in the quiescent state of bein

/e rain i3 der Regen, if it is simply

0 temg

g mentioned, without enlargement or

mh»:

discussion—Nominative case ;

but if this rain is lying around, in a

Now b

kind of a general way on the g

round, it is then definitely located, it

107yt

is doing something—that i

8, resting (which is one of the German

translatiop,

the Dative case

grammar’s ideas of doing something), and this throws the rain into

for the

, and malkes it dem Regen, However, this rain is not

Daenthe

resting,

, but is doing something actively—i

t is falling—to interfere

trough ¢

with the bird, likely—and this indicates

movement—which has the

effect of sliding it into the Accus

ative case an

Bty

d changing dem Regen

Very-unegy

into den Regen.

Having completed the gr

amim

atical horoscope of

Counseoy'

this matter,

I answer up confidently and state i

n German that the

bird is staying in the blacksmith sho

That 1y

Regen.” Then the teacher lets

p ¢ wegen (on account of) den

i iy Sty

whenever the word ¢

me softly down with the remark that

0l ohygyy

wegen’ drops into a sentence,

it always throws

that subject into the

Genitive

case,

regardless of consequences—and

that therefore this bird staid

lﬂve‘

Regens.

in the blacksmith—shop ¢ wegen det;i

Jetz sely

8tgg

t )

0

APPENDIX D.

317

liryy

¥l

N.B.—T was informed, later, by a higher authority, that there was

2

o

1ty

an ¢ exception’ which permits one to say ‘wegen den L

u

egen’in certain

Wy

peculiar and complex circumstances, but that this exception is not ex-

tended to anything but rain.

There are ten parts of speech, and they are all troublesome. An

1

average sentence in a German newspaper 1s a sublime and impressive

curiosity ; it occupies a quarter of a column; it contains all the ten

il

parts of speech—not in regular order, but mixed ; it is built mainly

of compound words constructed by the writer on the spot, and not to

be found in any dictionary—six or seven words compacted into one,

without joint or seam—that is, without hyphens; it treats of four-

teen or fifteen different subjects, each enclosed in a parenthesis of its

own, with here and there extra parentheses which re-enclose three or

four of the minor parentheses, making pens within pens; finally, all

the parentheses and re-parentheses are massed together between a

couple of king-parentheses, one of which is placed in the first line of

the majestic sentence and the other in the middle of the last line of it

—after which comes the VERB, and you find out for the first time what

the man has been talking about ; and after the verb—merely by way

of ornament, as far as I can make out—the writer shovels in ¢ Zaben

sind gewesen gehabt haben geworden sein, or words to that effect, and

the monument is finished. I suppose that this closing hurrah is in

the nature of the flourish to a man’s signature—not necessary, but

retty. German books are easy enough to read when you hold them

b

efore the looking-glass or stand on your head—so as to reverse the

i

construction—but I think that to learn to read and understand a Ger-

man newspaper is a thing which must always remain an impossibility

to a foreigner.

Yet even the German hooks are not entirely free from attacks of

the Parenthesis distemper—though they are usually so mild as to

cover only a few lines, and therefore when you at last get down to

the verb it carries some meaning to your mind because you are able

to remember a good deal of what has gone before.

Now here is a sentence from a popular and excellent German

novel—with a slight parenthesis in it.

I will make a perfectly literal

translation, and throw in the parenthesis-marks and some hyphens

for the assistance of the reader

though in the original there are no

parenthesis-marks or hyphens, and the reader is left to flounder

through to the remote verb the best way he can:—

¢ But when he, upon the street, the (in-satin-and-silk-covered-now-

very-unconstrainedly-after-the-newest-fashion-dressed)

government

el

counsellor’s wife met, etc., ete.?

And

That is from ¢ The Old Mamselle’s Secret,” by Mrs. Marlitt.

e

i

that sentence is constructed upon the most approved Gterman model.

il

o

You observe how far that verb is from the reader’s base of operations;

i 1o 2

1L

I

'

1 Wenn er aber auf der Strasse der in Sammt und Seide gehiillten

i

gquemk"’

[

jetz sehr ungenirt nach der neusten mode gekleideten Regierungsrathin

fael

begegnet.’

318

A TRAMP ABROAD.

b

well, in a German newspaper they put their verb away over on the

fiafs DU

next page; and I have heard that sometimes after springingalong

of (eso

on exciting preliminaries and parentheses for a column or two, they

iy, ne

get in a hurry and have to go to press without getting to the verb

if shrng®

at all, Of course, then, the reader is left in a very exhausted and

Now 00

ignorant state.

‘We have the Parenthesis disease in our literature, too; and one

yould hare

inventor 0

may see cases of it every day in our books and newspapers ; but with

fospetk 0

us it is the mark and sign of an unpractised writer or a cloudy

intellect, whereas with the Germans it is doubtless the mark and

o sfick 0

sign of a practised pen and of the presence of that sort of luminous

it bug

s s

intellectual fog which stands for clearness among these people. For

it untl the

surely it is not clearness—it necessarily can’t be clearness.” Even a

0

jury would have penetration enough to discover that. A writer’s

{afin

ideas must be a good deal confused, a good deal out of line and

sequence, when he starts out to say that a man met a counsellor’s

wife in the street, and then right in the midst of this so simple under-

taking halts these approaching people and makes them stand still

That is

until he jots down an inventory of the woman’s dress.

manifestly absurd, It reminds a person of those dentists who secure

Aee

your instant and breathless interest in a tooth by taking a grip on it

with the forceps, and then stand there and drawl through a tedious

anecdote before they give the dreaded jerk. Parentheses in literature

NN

and dentistry are in bad taste.

G-

[y

The Germans have another kind of parenthesis, which they make

<

-1

by splitting a verb in two and putting half of it at the b

eginning of

A=)

an exciting chapter and the otker zalf at the end of it. Can any one

conceive of anything more confusing than that? These things are

li

called ‘separable verbs.” The German grammar is blistered all over

fithoat

with separable verbs ; and the wider the two portions of one of them

are spread apart, the better the author of the crime is pleased with

his performance. A favourite one is refste ab, which means departed.

thisis only

Here is an example which I culled from a novel and reduced to

tions of e

English.

still anothe

‘The trunks being now ready, he DE- after kissing his mother

{ives fn thy

and sisters, and once more pressing to his bosom his adored Gretchen,

they mug

who, dressed in simple white muslin,

with a single tuberose in the

ample folds of her rich brown hair

gsted,

, had tottered feebly down the

heand g

stairs, still pale from the terror and

excitement of the past evening,

oods,thy

.

but longing to lay her poor aching

head yet once again upon the

Jectivg,

breast of him whom she loved more d

However, it is not well to dwell

early than life itself, PARTED.

The

too much on the separable verbs.

pﬁcating i

One is sure to lose his temper early ;

and if he sticks to the subject,

and will not be warned,

it will at last either soften his brain or

sl

petrify it,

el

in this lang

Personal pronouns and adjectives are a fruitful nuisance

them fy ¢

uage, and should have been left out,

For instance, the

8l th

same sound, sie, means you,

and it means ske, and it means Aer, and

it means ¢, and it means #

hey, and it means them. Think of the

el

ragged poverty of a langua

ge which has to make one word do the

Bmonth I

Bl

APPENDIX D.

319

iy Oy 0 th

work of six—and a poor little weal thing of only three letters at

g

e

that. But mainly, think of the exasperation of never knowing which

of these meanings the speaker is trying to convey. This explains

e §

why, whenever a person says sie to me, I generally try to Iill him,

if a stranger.

Now observe the Adjective.

Here was a case where simplicity

B by

would have been an advantage ; therefore, for no other reason, the

[}

inventor of this language complicated it all he could. When we wish

to speak of our ‘good fiiend or friends,’ in our enlightened tongue,

we stick to the one form and have no trouble or hard feeling about

It ¢

it; but with the German tongue it is differe

nt.

When a German

)

f

and keeps on declining

gets his hands on an adjective, he declines it,

It is as bad as

Tt until the common sense is all declined out of it.

Latin, He says, for instance :—

SINGULAR.

Nominative—Mein guter Freund, my good friend.

Genitive—Meines guten Freundes, of my good friend.

Dative—Meinem guten Freundfto my good {riend.

Wi

JJ

Accusative—Meinen guten Freund, my good friend.

PLURAL.

n

1ol

N.—DMeine guten Freunde, my good friends.

G.

Meiner guten Freunde, of my good friends.

ht

D.—Meinen guten Freunden, to my good friends.

9

A.—DMeine guten Freunde, my good friends.

Now let the candidate for the asylum try to memorise those

variations, and

see how soon he will be'elected. One might better go

wit

)

i

hout friends in Germany than take

all this trouble about them. I

e

have shown what a bother it is to decline a good (male) friend ; well,

Bp

this is only a third of the worlk, for there is a variety of new distor-

tions of the adjective to be learned when the object is feminine, and

d 1

(ot

still another when the object is neuter.

Now there are more adjec-

tives in this language than there are black cats in Switzerland, and

they must

all be as elaborately declined as the examples above sug-

] G

gested.

Difficul

t 2—troublesome P—these words cannot describe it. I

0% I

heard a Californian student in Heidelberg say,

in one of his calmest

elly

moods, that he would rather decline two drinks than one German ad-

i

jective.

p!

The 1

nventor of the language seems to have talen pleasure in com-

«AI,P lRT

plicating it in every way he

could think of.

For instance, if one is

Haus, or a horse, Pferd, or a dog, Hund,

gt

casually referring to a house,

fo e

he spells these words as I hav

e indicated ; but if he is referring to

his

i

them in the Dative case, he sticks on a foolish and unnecessary

e and

Pferde, Hunde. So, as an added e often signifies

il 2

spells them Hause,

the new student is likely to go on for

i

the plural, as the s does with us,

3l

il

a month making twins out of a D

ative dog before he discovers his

Jigk 0

mistake : and on the other

hand, many a new student who could ill

]

i

320

A TRAMP ABROAD.

afford loss, has bought and paid for two dogs and only got one of them,

1o e G

because he ignorantly hought that dog in the Dative singular when he

o gt

jynforunate

really supposed he was talking plural—which left the law on the

seller’s side, of course, by the strict rules of grammar, and therefore a

i the g

suit for recovery could not lie.

piher, 10 d

In German, all the Nouns begin with a capitel letter. Now that

fion; that 18

isa good idea; and a good idea in this language is necessarily con-

Genan et

spicuous from its lonesomeness. I consider this capitalising of nouns

o addstn, 8

wamsdeserip

a good idea, because by reason of it you are almost always able to

tell a noun the minute you see it.

You fall into error occasionally,

50 he preed

because you mistale the name of a person for the name of a thing, and

creature f010

waste a good deal of time trying to dig a meaning out of it. German

Tinderiun=T

names almost always do mean something

,and this helps to deceive the

{hat persn 8

student. T translated a passage one day, which said that ¢ the in-

el afer

furiated tigress broke loose and utterly ate up the unfortunate fir-

o be

forest’ (Zannenwald). When I was girding up my loins to doubt

sade s ton

this, T found out that Tannenwald, in this instance, was a man’s name.

er) which i

Every noun has a gender, and there is no sense or system in the

e gven frome

distribution ; so the gender of each must be le

arned separately and by

in the rightpl

heart. Thereis no other way.

To do this one has to have a memory

point it 18 10

like a memorandum book.

In German a young lady has no sex, while

frack, aud al

a turnip has. Think what overwrought reverence that shows for the

even hen b

turnip, and what callous disrespect for the gixl,

See how it looks in

thi

i W

print. I translate this from a conversation in one of the best of the

German Sunday-school books : —

Tur

Gretchen. ¢ Wilhelm, where is the turnip ?’

Ttisa bk

Wilkelm. ¢She has gone to the kitchen,’

how e mttle

Gretchen. ¢ Where is the accom

maiden ?’

plished and beautiful English

M, o g

Nire it g

ar

Wilkelm. ‘It has gone to the opera.’

To continue with the German genders: a tree is m

cat by the Sl

ale, its buds are

Seele s ey,

female, its leaves are neuter; horses are sexle

ss, dogs are male, cats

is Noh o g

are female—Tom-cats included

, of course; a person’s mouth, neck,

bosom, elbows, fingers, nails

Lo o |

his head is male or neuter

, feet, and body are of the male sex, and

f0toneof thy

according to th

e word selected to signify it,

it off 4 iy

and not according to the sex of the indiv

idual who wears it—for in

Germany all the women wear either m

ale heads or sexless ones; a

o the iy

person’s nose, lips, shoulders, hre

thle

i v

ast, hands, hips, and toes are of the

ight

1Dy g

female sex; and his hair, ears,

eyes, chin, legs, knees, heart, and con-

science haven’t any sex

at all. The inventor of the language probably

b, by

got what he knew aho

ut a conscience from hearsay.

0y

! N

all

Now, by the above dissection, tl

he reader will see that in Germany

i “P» ]

a man may ¢/nk he is a man,

but when he comes to look into the

802 Spr

matter closely he is bound to h

ave his doubts ; he finds that in sober

WS

I

dttacks 1&

truth he is a most ridiculous mixture ; and if he

ends by trying to com-

fort himself with the thought that he ¢

an at least depend on a third

My and g

of this mess as heing manly and m

B Consipyeq

thought will quiclkly remind him that

asculine, the humiliating second

in this respect he is no better off

than any woman or cow in the land.

ity

&)

ki

AURIZIGIIIE I9),

321

gy

0y

{

In the German it is true that, by some oversight of the inventor of

5 lyy

the language, a Woman is a female, but a Wife ( We:d) is not—which

’AI‘} ag f

is unfortunate.

A Wife here has no sex ; she is neuter ; so, according

to the grammar, a fish is Ze, his scales are she, but a fish-wife is

neither. To describe a wife as sexless may be called under-descrip-

tion; that is bad enough, but over-desciition is surely worse.

A

German speaks of an Englishman as the Englinder ; to change the sex

it 4

he adds wnn, and that stands for Englishwoman—Englinderinn. That

9

seems descriptive enough, but still it is not exact enough for a German ;

80 he precedes the word with that article which indicates that the

creature to follow is feminine, and writes it down thus: ‘die Eng-

10 (

linderinn ’—which means ‘the ske-Englishwoman,’

I consider that

that person is over-described.

‘Well, after the student has learned the sex of a great number of

nouns he is still in a difficulty, because he finds it impossible to per-

i

suade his tongue to refer to things as “ ke’ and ¢ ske, and ¢ /Zim’ and

¢ her, which it has been always accustomed to refer to as ¢st.’

‘When

he even frames a German sentence in his mind, with the hims and hers

in the right places, and then works up his courage to the utterance-

point, it is no use—the moment he begins to speak his tongue flies the

track, and all those laboured males and females come out as ‘s¢s.” And

even when he is reading German to himself he always calls those

L

things ¢ ¢¢,” whereas he ought to read in this way :—

L

TarLe oF THE FrsowIrE AND Irs Sap FaATe.!

It is a bleak Day. Hear the Rain, how he pours, and the Hail,

how he rattles; and see the Snow, how he drifts along, and oh, the

&

iful

1Al

Mud, how deep he is!

Ah, the poor Fishwife, it is stuck fast in the

Mire ; it has dropped its Basket ot Fishes; and its Iands have been

cut by the Scales as it seized some of the falling Creatures ; and one

Scale has even got into its Eye, and it cannot get her out.

It opens

its Mouth to cry for Help, but if any Sound comes out of him, alas!

he is drowned by the raging of the Storm. And now a Tomcat has

got one of the Fishes, and she will surely escape with him. Noj; she

bites off a Fin, she holds her in her Mouth—will she swallow her?

No ; the Fishwife’s brave Mother-Dog deserts his Puppies and rescues

the Fin; which he eats himself as his Reward. O horror; the

u

l

Lightning has struck the Fishbasket ! he sets him on Fire!

See the

Flame, how she licks the doomed Utensil with her red and angry

Tongue!

Now she attacks the helpless Fishwife's Foot—she burns

him up, all but the big Toe, and even ske is partly consumed ; and still

she spreads, still she waves her fiery tongues!

She attacks the Fish-

b <

wife’s Leg and destroys ¢ ; she attacks its Hand and destroys Aer ; she

)

10

08

s fhaf 08

attacks its poor worn Garment and destroys %er also ; she attacks its

Body and consumes %zm ; she wreathes herself about its Heart and st

g o

is consumed ; next about its Breast and in a Moment ske is & Cinder;

ald

I

i

! T capitalise the ncuns, in the German (and ancient English}

s ¢

£ashion,

iYs

322

A TRAMP ABROAD.

n b?‘.’.m W'ﬁh‘

now she reaches its N

eck—he goes ; now its Chin—¢t goes; now its

her moment, except Ilelp come, the Fishwife

o Wbl

Nose—she goes. In anot

esses—is there none to succour and save?

g

will be no more!

Time pr

ich meas

Yes! Joy, joy ! with flying

Teet the she-Englishwoman comes! But

ate !

Where now is the fated

Just the s

alas ! the generous she-Female is t0o 1

¢ ; it has gone to a better

Draght 250

Fishwife ?

T; has ceased from its Suffering

Land; all that is lef

t of it for its loved Ones to lament over is this

Tyain, Conavd

h-heap. Ah, woful, woful Ash-heap! Let us

(haracter, &

poor smouldering As

Diss, Drawet,

take him up tenderly,

reverently, upon the lowly Shovel, and bear him

which it 008

to his long Rest, with the Prayer tha

t when he rises again it will be

in a Realm where he will h

ave one 2o

od square responsible Sex, and

hugg 0

having a mangy lot of assorted Sexes

(Jne

have it all to himself, instead of

Amed

scattered all over him in Spots.

G

o€l

qil

There,

now, tho reader can see for himself that this pronoun-busi-

ness is a very awkward thing

for the unaccustomed tongue.

thing at

I suppose that in all langu

ages the similarities of look and sound

4 Gernan o

are a fruitful

it he i

between words which have no similarity in meaning

Now, t

source of perplexity to the foreigner.”

It is so in our tongue, and it is

notably the case in the German. Now tl

rere is that troublesome word

master

verméhlt s to me it has so close a resembl

ance—either real or fancied

Limp

i

Jef him

b

'lh’

(%

—_to three or four other words, that I never know whether it means

;

despised, p

ainted, suspected, or married, until I look in the dictionary,

fits1t

i

)

and then I find it means the latter.

There arve lots of such words,

afterits the

To increase the difficulty there are

4 10t

acl, thi

and they are a great torment.

h

words which seem to resemble each other,

and yet do not; but they

e

10 § I

did. For instance, there is the

malke just as much trouble as if they

When yon oad

word vermiethen (to let, to lease, to

hire), and the word verkeirathen

8 8lla or

(another way of sa

ying to marry).

I heard of an Englishman who

fonence

knocked at a man’s

door in Heidelberg and proposed, in the best Ger-

fo

e 80

man he could command, to ¢verheirathen’ that house. Then there

L

are some words which mean one thing when you emphasise the first

ungo

bub mean something very different if you throw the emphasis

full (U§

gyllable,

there is a word which means a run-

on the last syllable. For instance,

Ty pote

away, or the act of glanc

ing through a boolk,

according to the placing

i

of the emphasis; and another

.

word which signifies to associate with a

) L-In

4 him, according to where you put the emphasis—

and

Was s

1

man, or to avoy

Han

00

you can generally depend on putting it in the wrong

place and getting

the wry

into trouble.

There are some exceedingly useful words in this language: Scklag,

died, 1

he sy

@

for example,

and Zug. There are three-quarters of a colum

The

That

i

Schlags in the dictionary, and a column and a h

alf of Zugs.

6 Mogt oy

word Schlag means Blow, St

oke, Dash, Hit, Shock, Clap, Slap, Time,

€A oy d

Bar, Coin, Stamp, Kind, Sort,

Manner, Way, Apoplexy, Wood-cutting,

Perspectiye

Enclosure, Field, Forest-clearing.

This is its simple and exvact mean-

ing—that is to say, its restricted, i

ts fettered meaning; but there are

ey

so that it can soar away, as on the

Dily,

ways by which you can set it free,

tﬂdtverm

wings of the morning, and never be at rest.

You can hang any word

you please to its tail, and make it mean anything you want to.

You

65 thim

{

they

ity

o

APPENDIX D.

823

r\ﬁ W

e,

e b

1)

![‘e

can begin with Sc/lzg-ader, which means artery, and you can hang

(0

e

on the whole dictionary, word by word, clear through the alphabet to

O

Scllag-wasser, which means bilge-water, and including Scklag-mutter,

U D]Wh

6 Bfw

which means mother-in-law.

3 s

Just the same with Zug.

Strictly speaking, Zug means Pull, Tug,

e, gyey

Draught, Procession, March, Progress, Flight, Direction, Expedition,

Train, Caravan, Passage, Stroke, Touch, Line, Flourish, Trait of

il

Character, Feature, Lineament, Chess-move, Organ-stop, Team, Whiff,

Bias, Drawer, Propensity, Inhalation, Disposition; but that thing

which it does mot mean, when all its legitimate pendants have been

hune on, has not been discovered yet.

One cannot over-estimate the usefulness of Schlag and Zug.

Armed just with these two, and the word Aiso, what cannot the

000

foreigner on Grerman soil accomplish? The German word 4lso is the

00

1t

equivalent of the Iinglsh phrase ¢ You know,” and does not mean any-

thing at all—in zalk, though it sometimes does in print. Every tine

a German opens his mouth an Also falls out; and every time he shuts

it he bites one in two that was trying to get out.

Now, the foreigner, equipped with these three noble words, is

master of the situation.

Let him talk right along, fearlessly; let

him pour his indifferent German forth, and when he lacks for a word,

let him heave a Scilag into the vacuum: all the chances are, that it

fits it like a plug! but if it doesn’t, let him promptly heave a Zug

after it; the two together can hardly fail to bung the hole; but if, by

a miracle, they should fail, let him simply say Also! and this will

give him a moment’s chance to think of the needful word. In Germany

8,

i

when you load your conversational gun it is always best to throw in

a Schlag or two and a Zug or two; because it doesn’t make any dif-

ference how much the rest of the charge may scatter, you are bound

to bag something with ¢kens.

Then you blandly say 4lso, and load

Nothing gives such an air of grace and elegance and

up again.

unconstraint to a German or an English conversation as to scatter it

full of ¢ Also’s’ or ¢ You knows.’

In my note-book I find this entry:

July 1.—In the hospital, yesterday, a word of thirteen syllables

was successfully removed from a patient—a North-German from near

emp

Hamburg ; but as most unfortunately the surgeonshad opened him in

g

the wrong place, under the impression that he contained a panorama, he

died. The sad event has cast a gloom over the whole community.

i

That paragraph furnishes a text for a few remarks about one of

ol

the most curious and notable features of my subject—the length of

il

German words.

Some German words are so long that they have a

)y

(l

perspective.

Observe these examples :

xfy 11

Freundschaftsbezeigungen.

Wemt’l

——

Dilletantenaufdringlichkeiten.

u

Stadtverordnetenversammlungen.

These things are not words, they are alphabetical processions. And

gy

pbug?

fu

—

they are not rare; one can open a German newspaper any time and

I ot f

Y2

324

4

IRAMP ABROAD.

o 28

see them marching majestically across the page—and if he has any

imagination he can see the banners and hear the musie, too.

They

s Asisant

jmpart a martial thrill to the meekest subject. I take a great interest

feaee yestendd

in these curiosities.

‘Whenever I come across a good one, I stuff it

[}

upoundl

and put it in my museum.

In this way I have made quite a valuable

firsa titleon

collection.

‘When I get duplicates, I exchange with other collectors,

Jitlo nstances

and thus increase the variety of my stock. Here are some specimens

dismal Gema

which I lately bought at an auction sale of the effects of a bankrupt

{0 subit the

bric-a-brac hunter:

of llustraion

GENERALSTAATSYERORDXETENVIZI/’.

SAMML’CIT'GE)T.

2+

(o the

ALTERTHUMSWISSENSCHAFTEN.

Y

inthistomnstan

KINDERBEWAHRUNGSANSTALTEN.

UNABHAENGIGKEITSERKLAERUNGEN.

Vhen the £

reached, e 1

‘WIEDERHERSTELLUNGSBESTREBUNGEN,

/

e

firg surmounds

VW AFFENSTILLSTANDSUNTERHANDLUNGEN.

o

quickreturning

Of course when one of these grand mountain rangés goes ;tretching

orer ber young

across the printed page, it adorns and ennobles that literary landscape

Tventhe ¢

-—hut at the same time it is a great distress to the new student, for it

pethosout of

blocks up his way; he cannot crawl under it, or climb over it, or

it Thisitem

tunnel through it. So he resorts to the dictionary for help; but there

used it sooner,

is no help there.

The dictionary must draw the line somewhere—sn

am still waif

it leaves this sort of words out. And it is right, because these long

! 1]

things are hardly legitimate words, but are rather combinations of

qurze, Lhare

words, and the inventor of them ought to have been killed. They

student who wa

are compound words, with the hyphens le’t out.

The various words

and who answe

used in building them are in the dictionary, but in a very scattered

worked at ity

condition; so you can hunt the materials out, one by one, and get at

the meaning at last, but it is a tedious and harassing business. I

foritisong gl

be), e

have tried this process upon some of the above examples. ¢ Freund-

schaftsbezeigungen’ seems to be ¢ Friendship demonstrations,’ which is

‘But Iy o

only a foolish and clumsy way of saying ¢ demonstrations of friendship.’

Aud i gy

ﬁm‘ating study,

¢ Unabhaengigkeitserklaerungen’ seems to be ‘Independencedeclara-

tions,” which is no improvement upon ¢ Declarations of Independence,’

Theard Ity

as far as I can see. ¢ Generalsmatsverordnetenversammhmgen ’ seems

00 g gy

der biy gy

to be ¢ Generalstatesrepresentativesmeetings,’ as nearly as 1 can get at

it—a mere rhythmical, gushy euphuism for ‘meetings of the legisla-

e Whog

ture, I judge.

‘We used to have a good deal of this sort of crime in

S it

our literature, but it has gone out now.

We used to speak of a thing

0t g

as a ‘ never-to-be-forgotten’ circumstance, instead of cramping it into

IR {hyt )

the simple and sufficient word ¢ memorable,” and then going calmly

al supp‘m W

about our business as if nothing had happened. In those days we

Itmkth

were not content to embalm the thing and bury it decently, we wanted

st by

thi)

to build a monument over it.

S gy

Moty

But in our newspapers the compounding disease lingers a little to

gy

the present day, but with the hyphens left out, in the German fashion.

I, Cragh,

shoyg

1

This is the shape it takes: instead of saying ¢Mr. Simmons, clerk of

) Vel], 21

the county and district courts, was in town yesterday, the new form

€4 fopy

£ 4]

puts it thus: ‘Clerk of the County and District Court Simmons was

0s

ribg

in town yesterday.’ This saves neither time ror ink, and has an awks

b kil

Ity

aa

ity b

APPENDIX D.

b

\Du\m’ f

“I

0 Ty

ward sound besides,

One often sees

a remark lile this in our papers:

64 o

it

¢ Mrs Assistant District Attorney Jo

hnson returned to her

0 o |

dence yesterday for the season.’

That is a ¢

city resi-

(e

(it gy,

ase of really unjustifiable

compounding ; because it not only s

aves no time or trouble, but con-

Wl Other gq)

fers a title on Mrs. Johnson wh

ich she has no right to. But these

% oy

little instances are trifles indeed, contr

U 0f g by

asted with the ponderous and

il

i

dismal German system of piling jumble

d compounds together.

I wish

to submit the following local item, from

of illustration :

a Mannheim journal, by way

‘In the daybeforeyesterdayshortlyaftereley

eno’clock Night, the

inthistownstandingtavern called “The Wago

ner ” was downburnt,

‘When the fire to the onthedownburninghouseresti

ng Stork’s Nest

reached, flew the parent Storks away.

But when t

he bytheraging,

fire surrounded Nest ¢fself caught Fire, straightw

ay plunged the

quickreturning Mother-Stork into the F

lames and died, her Wings

7l

over her young ones outspread.’

Lven the cumbersome German construction is not able to take the

(12

pathos out of that picture—indeed it some

how seems to strengthen

it. This item is dated away back yonder r

months ago.

I could have

used it sooner, but I was waiting to hear from the Father-Stork, I

because (e

am still waiting.

¢ Also!’ If I have not shown that the German is a difficult lan-

guoge, I have at least intended to do it.

T have heard of an A merican

student who was asked how he

was getting along with his German,

108 ¥

and who answered promptly : ¢I am not getting along at all. I have

worked at it hard for three level months, and all I h

ave got to show

for it is one solitary German phrase—

“ Zwer glus

"’ (two glasses of

beer).

He paused a moment, reflectivel

¢ But I have got that solid !’

y, then added with feeling,

And if I bave not also shown tha

t German is a harassing and in-

furiating study, my execution has be

en at fault

I

o

, and not my intent.

I heard lately of & worn and sorely tried Ameri

can student who used

to fly to a certain German word for relief when he could bear u

under his aggravations no longer—the cnly word in the whole lan-

Jen

guage whose sound was sweet and

precious to his ear and healing to

his lacerated spirit.

This was the word Damit.

It was only the

sound that helped him not the meaning;

! and so, at last, when he

i

learned that the emphasis

of CraD

and su

was not on the first syllable,

his only stay

pport was gone, and he faded away and died.

I think that a descri

ption of any loud, stirring, tumultuous episode

Iﬂ fhoe 0

must be tamer in Germ

4

this character have suc

an than in Inglish. Our descriptive words of

eent

h a deep, strong,

resonant sound, while their

German equivalents do seem so th

in and mild and energyless. Boom,

g lngers J

burst, crash, roar, storm,

bellow, blow,

shout, yell, groan’; battle, hell.

thunder, explosion ; howl, cry,

o Germat

have a force and m

These are magnificent words ; they

Sinmor

agnitude of sound befitting the things which they

oy, ¢

1

il

describe.

But their German equivalents would be ever so nice to sing

[

the childre

! gl

f

n to sleep with, or else my awe-inspiring ears were made

]

1 It merely means, in its general sense, ¢ kerensith,’

328

A TRAMP ABROAD.

foutle 0 i

for display and not for superior usefulness in analysing sounds.

Handly 307

Would any man want to die in a battle which was called by so tame

nob thiat kin _(

a term as a Schlacht ?

Or would not a consumptive feel too much

bundled up, who was about to go out, in a shirt collar and a seal ring,

peedsneformt.

into a storm which the bird-song word Gewitter was employed to

pendy to 185

o 0

describe? And observe the strongest of the several German equiva-

yetls, frst 8

lents for explosion—Ausbruch. Our word Toothbrush is more power-

ful than that.

It seems to me that the Germans could do worse than

thus have &1

mere S0

import it into their language to describe particularly tremendous ex-

Jo thedn

losions with. The German word for hell—Holle—sounds more like

helly than anything else ; therefore, how necessarily chipper, frivolous,

fho plurl; ¢

and unimpressive it is.

If a man were told in German to go there,

(lase except

whenor ¥

JI

e

could he really rise to the dignity of feeling insulted ?

Having now pointed out, in detail, the several vices of this lan-

it orbow be i

guage, I now come to the brief and pleasant task of pointing out its

Tt 40 Oroae

virtues. The capitalising of the nouns I have already mentioned.

Tou

In the‘r?xt

5

But far before this virtue stands another—that of spelling a word

br

according to the sound of it.

After one short lesson in the alphabet,

TEYel

the student can tell how any German word is pronounced, without

—yon ouly en

8l

Tl

having to ask; whereas in our language if a student should inquire of

i

el

us ¢ What does B, O, W, spell?’ we should be obliged to reply,

¢ Nobody can tell what it spells, when you set it off by itself—you can

=)

only tell by referring to the context and finding out what it signifies

W

—whether it is a thing to shoot arrows with, or a nod of one's head,

or the forward end of a boat.”

ourl

There are some German words which are singularly and power-

a0

{l

fully effective.

For instance, those which describe lowly, peaceful,

Lithing

and affectionate home life ; those which deal with love, in any and al

forms, from mere kindly feeling and honest good will toward the

word

i

Gl

assing stranger, clear up to courtship; those which deal with out-

I

oor Nature, in its softest and loveliest aspects—with meadows and

A

forests, and birds and flowers, the fragrance and sunshine of summer,

B

and the moonlight of peaceful winter nights; in a word, those which

OZE"?.

Iy

yaf\i

1y 1t

deal with any and all forms of rest, repose, and peace; those also

{han

which deal with the creatures and marvels of fairyland ; and lastly

a8

and chiefly, in those words which express pathos, is the language sur=

i

Sij\\h‘,_v,’ ]

094

passingly rich and effective.

There are German songs which can

gewoidey

malte a stranger to the language cry. That shows that the sound of

the words is correct—it interprets the meanings with truth and with

! Terdy

exactness ; and so the ear is informed, and through the ear, the heart.

have Dlenty

The Germans do not seem to be afraid to repeat a word when it is

Germag

lag

the right one. . They repeat it several times, if they choose.

That is

1ot be in

i

wise

But in English when we have used a word a couple of times in

promp

A0

a paragraph, we imagine we are growing tautological, and so we are

esses d

weak enough to exchange it for some other word which only approxi=

£aciogg |

mates exactness, to escape what we wrongly fancy is a greater blemish.

Goty | «

Repetition may be bad, but surely inexactness is worse.

They thi,

4 gentle ang

There are people in the world who will take a great deai of

EHJ, ‘Thety

A G

APPENDIX D.

327

mﬂ{gi“g n

nh,

trouble to point nut the faults in a religion or a language, and then

Y6 gy

o blandly about their business without suzgesting any remedy. I am

(1) gy

not that kind of a person.

I have shown that the German language

Mﬂiwq,

i emﬂmd {

W

needs reforming, Very well, I am ready to reform it. Atleast I am

il

ready to male the proper suggestions. Such a course as this might

.Hméﬂ E'quira..

be immodest in another; but I have devoted upwards of nire full

Wl 13y

)i} W

o

¥

weeks, first and last, to a careful and critical study of this tongue, and

\.J".‘.'d d.o

1y tray

thus have acquired a confidence in my ability to reform it which no

mere superficial culture could have conferred upon me.

g

y el

i

In the first place, I would leave out the Dative Case. It confuses

)

the plurals ; and besides, nobody ever knows when he is in the Dative

020 {en

Case, except he discover it by accident—and then he does not know

f

when or where it was that he got into it, or how long he has heen in

{hs

it, or how he is ever going to get out of il again. - The Dative Case is

fing oty

but an ornamental folly—it is better to discard it.

e,

In the next place, I would move the Verb further up to the front.

Ine § won

You may load up with ever so good a Verb, but I notice that you

10 taedlp

i

never really bring down a subject with it at the present German range,

lneed,

—you only cripple it.

So I insist that this important part of speech

shiould be brought forward to a position where it may be easily seen

3 obliced ¢

with the nalked eye.

Ji-

Thirdly, I would import some strong words from the English

Ik woa

tongue—to swear with, and also to use in describing all sorts of

1od of one

vigorous things in a vigorous way.!

4

Fourthly, I would reorganise the sexes, and distribute them

mlaly and

according to the will of the Creator. This as a tribute of respect, if

0 'Lo'\\xy, !

nothing else.

Jove, 1n 80y L1

Fifthly, I would do away with those great long compounded

o il

words ; or require the speaker to deliver them in sections, with inter-

dal w

missions for refreshments. To wholly do away with them would be

]]l“/ldv

best, for ideas are more easily received and digested when they come

b

Intellectual food is like

i3

il

one at a {ime than when they come in bulk.

T

any other ; it is pleasanter and more beneficial to take it with a spoon

nrﬂd

than with a shovel.

P

Sixthly, I would require a speaker to stop when he is done, and

not hang a string of those useless ‘haben sind gewesen gehabt haben

o Jangt

s

geworden seins’ to the end of his oration. This sort of gew-gaws

o

il

1 ¢ Verdammt,’ and its variations and enlargements, are words which

il

uthod

have plenty of meaning, but the sounds are so mild and ineffectual that

o edly fe?

German ladies can use them without sin.

German ladies who could

T ol e i}

not be induced to commit a sin by any persuasion or compulsion,

!

Tt

promptly rip out one of these harmless little words when they tear their

!

dresses or don’t like the soup. It sounds about as wicked as our ¢ My

4 000

pleof

gracious | > German ladies are constantly saying, ¢Ach ! Gott [ siMein

108l

<

Gott!’ ¢Gott in Himmel !’ ¢Herr Gott!’ ¢Der Herr Jesus!’ etc.

oo

(i

P

They think our ladies have the same custom, perhaps, for I once heard

s

a gentle and lovely old German lady say to a sweet young American

1%

girl, The two languages are so alike—how pleasant that is

we say,

%

%

.

“ Ach! Gott |” you say, “ Goddam.”’

‘”«MCM

d i\\

A TRAMP ADROAD.

undignify a speech, instead of adding a grace.

They are therefore an

s i 6

i e snei

oftence, and should be discarded.

E

Seventhly, I would discard the Parenthesis.

Also the re-Paren-

ol nal'll)l} I

thesis, the re-re-parenthesis, and the re-re-re-re-re-re-parentheses, and

pach; U

i

e

IR

likewise the final wide-reaching all-enclosing King-parenthesis.

which 0!

would require every individual, be he high or low, to unfold a plain

oW

straightforward tale, or else coil it and sit on it and hold his peace.

ge1D, &

) Goeth\

ioh—-ut Jetu

Infractions of this law should be punishable with death.

Also

And eighthly and lastly, I would retain Zug and Scklag, with

their pendants, and discard the rest of the vocabulary.

This would

st bt

simplity the language.

welcome and

('an the terse

I have now named what I regard as the most necessary and im-

portant changes.

These are perbaps all I could be expected to name

[y it Fres

for nothing; but there are other suggestions which I can and will

epeieathin

make in case my proposed application shall result in my being for-

o bt it 1

mally employed by the government in the work of reforming the

fhered this |

language.

205}

Anbik weleh

My philological studies Lave satisfied me that a gifted person

Jud gud 8 far

ought to learn English (barring spelling and pronouncing) in 30 hours,

Heilberger p

French in 30 days, and German in 30 years. It seems manifest, then,

afirich wabrs

Hinizstubl me

that the latter tongue ought to be trimmed down and repaired. = If it

is to remain as it is, it ought to be gently and reverently set aside

sehin b Got

among the dead languages, for only the dead have time to learn it.

Qerlchem eone

A FourtH OF JULY ORATION IN THE GERMAN TONGUE, DELIVERED

wete ot for o

measurs of oy

AT A BANQUET OF THE ANGLO-AMERICAN CLUB OF STUDENTS BY

Hindert s

THE AUTHOR OF THIS BOOK.

Feinde; aber b

GENTLEMEN : Since I arrived, a month azo, in this old wonder-

thisgood ellow

land, this vast garden of Germany, my English tongue has so often

0 164D may

proved a useless piece of baggage to me, and so troublesome to carry

staited it b

around, in a country where they haven’t the checking system for

bindre, uat]

luggage, that I finally set to work, last week, and learned the German

3 e angest

language. Also! Iis freuit mich dass dies so ist, denn es muss, in ein

sein

hauptsichlich degree, hiflich sein, dass man aiif ein occasion like this,

2

Rede in dic Sprache des Landes worin he boards, aiissprechen

soll. Dafiir habe ich, aiis reinische Verlegenheit—no, Vercangenheit

—no, I mean Hoflichkeit—als reinische Hoflichkeit habe ich resolved

to tackle this business in the German language, im Gottes willen !

Also! Sie miissen so freiindlich sein, tind verzeih ‘mich’die inter-

larding von ein oder zwei Englischer' Worte) hie iind da, denn ich

finde dass die deiitche is not a very copious language, and so when

you've really

got anything to say, you've got to draw on a language

LI 1y

that can stand the strain.

Wenn aber man kann nicht meinent Rede verstehen, so werde ich

Iy the gy

ihm spiiter dasselbe iibersetz, wenn ‘er solche Dienst verlangen wollen

haben werden sollen sein hitte.

(I don’t know what wollen haben

U e Ly

Ueuged

werden sollen sein hiitte means, but I notice they always put it at the

ey Iy

end of a German sentence—merely for general literary gorgeousness, I

81ppose.)

thoygh g,

] They

329

APPENDIX E.

T

Ry

This is a great and justly honoured day—a day which is worthy

Iy

of the veneration in which it is held by the true patriots of all climes

b1y oS

and nationalities—a day which offers a fruitful theme for thought and

Wl

Rl

speech ; ind meinem Freiitnde—no, meinen Fretnden—meines Fre-

b ufoly

tindes—well, take your choice, theyre all the same price; I don't

Wiy

know which one is right—also ! ich habe gehabt haben worden gewesen

bl

e,

e,

sein, as Goethe says, in his P/aradise‘Lcst——,ich——ich—that is to say—

ich—but let us change cars.

By

Also!

Die Anblick so v

iele\'VGroésb‘rittanischevr ind Amerika-

4, Thywy

nischer hier zusammengetroffen 1n Bruderliche concord, ist zwar a

0y g,

welcome and inspiriting spectacle. And what has moved you to it?

Can the terse German tongue rise to the expression of this impulse ?

; '9! (ol 14y

Is it Freiindschaftsbezeigtingenstadtverordnetenversammlungenfami-

0 L e gnd v

b1y ey fy,

lieneigenthiimlichkeitem ? Nein, o nein! This is a erisp and noble

word, but it fails to pierce the marrow of the impulse which has

o refor:gniné fy

gathered this friendly meeting and produced diese Anblick—eine

Anblick welche ist giit zu sehem—git fiir die Afigen in a foreizn

04 gl

i

land and a far country—eine Anblick solche als in die gewdnliche

e,

b

man

Heidelberger phrase nennt man ein ¢ schines Aussicht!” Ja, freilich

natiirlich wabrscheinlich ebensowonl! Also!

Die Aussicht auf dem

d e

li

Konigstuhl mehr grosserer ist, aber geistlische sprechend nicht so

ererently il

timg t0 leam i

schon, lob’ Gott! Because sie sind hier zusammengetroffen,in Bru-

derlichem concord, ein grossen Tag zu feiern, whose high benefits

were not for one land and one locality only, but have conferred a

(0NGUE, DELIEED

measure of good upon all lands that know liberty to-day, and love it.

3 O STUDENIS 31

=2

&

Hiindert Jahre “voriiber, waren die Englinder und die Amerikaner

Feinde ; aber heiite sind sie herzlichen Freiinde, Gott sei Dank! May

fhis ol wond

this good fellowship endure ; may these banners here blended in amity,

gt bas & ofe

S0 remain ; may they never any more wave over opposing hosts, or be

oublesne L-LT

stained with blood which was kindred, is kindred, and always will be

prking 5

fem 1

kindred, until a line drawn upon a map shall be able to say, ¢ This

parDe

bars the ancestral blood from flowing in the veins of the descendant!’

.% it

Il

b s

] 00K

10y

t babe

APPENDIX E.

i it

LEGEND OF THE CASTLES.

i ik 08

ind 0,02

e, 0

g 7

CALLED THE ‘SWALLOW'S NEST’ AND ‘ THE BROTHERS, AS CONDENSED

>

FROM THE CAPTAIN’S TALE.

00 8 B

IN the neighbourhood of three hundred years ago the Swallow’s Nest

o, 07 i

and the larger castle between it and Neckarsteinach were owned and

\n‘

erzg?

il

cccupied by two old knights who were twin brothers, and bachelors.

gt mli2

They had no relatives. They were very rich. They had fought

s pu!

fifide

-

through the wars and retired to private life—covered with honourable

g

)

scars, They were honest, honourable men in their dealings, but the

330

A TRAMP ABROAD.

sl

[

fho o

gestive—IHerr Givenaught and Herr Heartless.

people had given them a couple of nicknames which were very sug-

ook

The old knights

i

1id i

were so proud of these names that if a burgher called them by their

right ones they would correct him.

e

The most renowned scholar in Furope, at that time, was the Herr

sho Was 0

nhEIW

Vel

e J

Doctor Franz Reikmann, who lived in Heidelberg. = All Germany

was proud of the venerable scholar, who lived in the simplest way,

al

\ bl‘%m‘t ,

|

for great scholars are always poor. He was poor, as to money, but

farouiag

f

very rich in his sweet young daughter Hildegarde and his library.

éﬂCh OthET

i

He had been all his life collecting his library, book by book, and he

:

UPU’J \VhiCh

loved it as a miser loves his hoarded gold. He said the two strings

panes—A0d)

of his heart were rooted, the one in his daughter, the other in his

tITgH 'TJUV §

books ; and that if either were severed he must die.

Now in an evil

vour fnsae 10

bour, hoping to win a marriage portion for his child, this simple old

ruornd ot

man had entrusted his small savings to a sharper to be ventured in a

siop i o

glittering speculation. But that was not the worst of it : he signed a

Touarelm

paper—without reading it. That is the way with poets and scholars,

peyer have mua

they always sign without reading. This cunning paper made him

eensef upon i

responsible for heaps of things. The result was, that one night he

!’

found himself in debt to the sharper eight thousand pieces of gold !—

ey time

an amount so prodigious that it simply stupefied him to think of it.

Whers L e 0

It was a night of woe in that house.

fir o donen, T

‘I must part with my library—I have nothing else. So perishes

02 YOUrSe:

one heartstring,’ said the old man.

pE‘I

bue

¢ What will it bring, father ?’ asked the girl.

hand of

You

‘Nothing ! It is worth seven hundred pieces of gold; but by

b

ave you

auction it will go for little or nothing.’

m;v fr the he

¢Then you will have parted with the half of your heart and the

A mgndering

Jjoy of your life to no purpose, since so mighty a burden of debt will

remain behind.’

“Audyoua

Tt

‘There is no help for it, my child. Our darlings must pass under

han o call me

the hammer.

We must pay what we can.

¢ My father, I have a feeling that the dear Virgin will come to our

$0 saying

help. Let us not lose heart.’

ueky aeiden

iy quan)

¢She cannot devise a miracle that will turn nothing into eight

thousand gold pieces, and lesser help will bring us little peace.’

grley-headed {

¢She can do even greater things, my father. She will save us, I

I8 0V ]

know she will.

alf n.

e (iveng

Toward morning, while the old man sat exhausted and asleep in

his chair where he had been sitting before his books as one who

‘Lam g

watches by-his beloved dead and prints the features on his memory

for boligy

for a solace in the aftertime of empty desolation, his daughter sprang

b

into the room and gently woke him, saying—

gand's by

She will =ave us.

Three times has

¢ My presentiment was true !

Tuttered,

she appeared to me in my dreams, and said, ¢ Go to the Herr Give-

It g

naught, go to the Herr Heartless, ask them to come and bid.” There,

fimgip it

did I not tell you she would save us, the thrice blesséd Virgin !’

Tegoy

The

Sad as the old man was, he was obliged to laugh.

Poorh

¢Thou mightest as well appeal to the rocks their castles stand

il hlS bl'(

i hey

APPENDIX E.

331

: Yo ¥,

e

UR

gy

unon as to the harder ones that lie in those men’s breasts, my child.

iy

i

They bid on books writ in the learned tongues !—they can scarce read

their own.

hm%W%(

But Hildegarde's faith was in no wise shaken. Bright and early

o

heH

Al g,

she was on her way up the Neckar road, as joyous as a bird.

1 Sy

3y

Meantime Herr Givenaught and Herr Heartless were having an

)

early b

.

reakfast in the former’s castle—the Sparrow’s Nest—and

U8 4y

h5 I

I

flavouri

ng it with a quarrel; for although these twins bore a love for

k by by

each other which almost amounted to worship, there was one subject

4 Qg

oy

g

e g

o —————

upon whi

ch they could not touch without calling each other hard

names—and yet it was the subject which they oftenest touched upon.

‘,‘r,

&,

thAe‘

0[!1]81‘ i]] h\,

¢TI tell you,’ said Givenaught, ¢ you will beggar yourself yet, with

Wilaney)

money upon what you choose to consider

Simply

your insane squanderings of

hbe

oor and worthy objects. All these years I have implored you to

{l

stop this

foolish custom and husband your means, but all in vain.

You are a

lways lying to me about these secret benevolences, but you

et

f

never have managed to deceive me yet. KEvery time a poor devil has

et e

b

been set upon his feet I have detected your hand in it—incorrigible

Ly

£ one ‘Li.“

ass!’

¢ Every time you didn’t set him on his feet yourself, you mean.

m fo ¢

W

Where I give one unfortunate a little private lift, you do the same

for a dozen. The idea of your swelliny around the country and

el Soper

urself with the nickname of Givenaught—intolerable hum=

etting yo

b

ug !

Be

fore I would be such a fraud as that, I would cut my right

PTG —

hand off. Your life is a continual lie.

But go on, I have tried my

g of oll; ut by

best to save you from beggaring yourself by your riotous charities—

now for the thousandth time I wash my hands of the consequences.

yourbert od

A maundering old fool ! that's what you are.’

urdenf det

¢ And you a blethering old idiot ! ” roared Givenaught, springing up.

¢I won't stay in the presence of a man who has no more delicacy

than to call me such names.

Mannerless swine !’

vt ult

So saying, Herr He

artless sprang up, in a passion. But some

inwill el

lucky accident intervened,

as usual, to change the subject, and the

daily quarrel ended in the customary daily lovi

ng reconciliation. The

toiatng

grey-headed old eccentrics parted, and Herr Heartless wallked off to

i

his own castle.

g il !

Half an hour later, Hildegarde was standing in the presence of

Herr Givenaught.

He heard her story, and said :—

o ool 11

‘I am sorry for you, my ¢

hild, but I am very poor, I care nothing

N

for bookish rubbish, I shall not be there.”

[

but they nearly broke poor Hilde-

)

o0 bis

He said the hard words kindly,

i:‘

dughter S

garde's heart, nevertheless. ‘When she w

—

ag gone the old heart-breaker

muttered, rubbing his hands,

‘It was a good strole.

I have saved by brother’s pocket this

i 2

Nothing else would h

ave prevented his rushing

fofhe

it V;I,*

time in spite of him.

i’

|Tnfffx

off to rescue the old scholar,

the pride of Germany, from his troubles.

he rebuff she has received

i

|

The poor child won’t venture near /im after t

o Tt

from his brother, the Givenaught.’

ol

But he .was mistaken,

The V:

irgin had cémmanded, and Tilde-

o

332

A TRAMP ABROAD,

ylong i

p bes

garde would obey, She wen

d usin

But he said coldly,—

t to Herr Heartless and told her story,

gty

(food

!

‘I am very

poor, my child, and books are nothing to me, T wish

1§y huodr®

you well, but I shall not come.’

Gopsafion

When Hildegarde was

gone, he chuckled and said,-—

i i, GreenP?

f

‘ How my fo

ol of a soft-headed soft-he

e, 6038

6

if he knew how cunningly I have saved hi

arted brother would rage

have flown to the old man’s rescue !

s pocket.

ITow he would

‘Gﬂlﬂo’mm

him now.

But the girl won't venture near

igen hndre

(s e

‘When Hildegarde reached

home, her father asked her how she

o i chouted

had prospered. She said,—

¢ The Virgin has promised,

‘bp‘?ﬂdld; gél

the way I thought. ~ She kno

and she will keep her word ; but not in

ws her own ways, and they are best.

gﬂl%ihousﬂ.nd!’

The old man patted her o

n the head

» and smiled a doubting smile,

VThoe cheets

but he honourcd her for her braye faith,

nevertheless.

{Geig—gpiog

VMo thousen

II

Next day the people assembled i

Aud while the

tavern, to witness the auction

n the great hall of the Ritter

ko ca this de

of Germany’s most honoure

—for the proprietor had said the treasure

Bit o mafe ]

d son should be bartered away in no

i

books 1

f

meaner place. Hildegarde an

d her father sat close to the books, silent

and sorrowful, and holding

each other’s hands.

crowd of people present.

The bidding began:—

There was a great

‘TU'

‘How much for this

Come,

, er\er:vb

plete ? 7 called the

auctioneer,

precious library,

just as it stands, all com-

A il h

Iimatie

¢ Fifty pieces of gold !’

¢A hundred !’

ghmy

¢ Two hundred |’

!

01D,

¢Three !’

Four thousan

¢ Four!’

'Huzza !

¢ Five hundred !’

Five thougay

¢ Five twenty-five !’

Huza !

A brief pause.

“Six thousan

¢ Five forty !’

Huza !

A longer pause, while t

Seren thogg

¢ Five forty-five !’

he auctionser redoubled his persuasions,

g !

A heavy drag—the auctioneer persuaded

, pleaded, implored—it

“E{ght thoug

was useless, everybody remained silent:—

€18 s

¢ Well, then—going, going—one

—two—’

v

¢ Five hundred and fifty !”

£Motiy, The

This in a shrill voice, from a bent old m

and with a

an, all hung with rags,

Tie‘n.yemh l. )

green patch over his left eye.

Everybody in his vicinity

O'mg\g()

turned and gazed at him. It was Givenau

(=}

r

ht in disguise, He was

Ty {i

using a disguised voice, too.

Wes

feat 4

¢Good !” eried the auctioneer,

brothg

T Ty

¢ Five hundred and sixty !’

¢ Going, going—one—two,’

Chega,

y

This in a dee

other end of the

P harsh voice, from the midst of the crowd at the

‘Al

h Jou

room. The pe

ople near by turned, and saw an old

Ty

What

man, in a strange costume,

supporting Limself on crutches. e wore

% saying,

APPENDIX E.

833

W,

2y

a Tong white beard, and blue spectacles, It was Herr Heartless, in

disguise, and using a disguised voice.

Iy f

O, |

¢ Good again !

Going, going—one—’

Wi

¢ Six hundred !’

Sensation.

Iy

The crowd raised a cheer, and some one cried out,

0.]‘\1 N

¢Go it, Green-patch !’ This tickled the audience and a score of voices

I)wh

shouted, ¢ Go it, Green-patch !’

Won't Yo

;W“ll

¢ Going—going—going—third and last call—one, two—’

g

¢Seven hundred !’

el by )

0F gy

?

¢Huzzah !—well done, Crutches!’ eried a voice.

The crowd took

it up, and shouted altogether, ¢ Well done, Crutches !’

Ewn,

¢ Splendid, gentlemen! you are doing magnificently. Going,

Ut ot

T i

b

going—’

€A thousand !’

ddmn §

¢ Three cheers for Green-patch !

Up and at him, Crutches!’

¢ Going—going—’

¢ Two thousand !’

’"fl ft

()

And while the people cheered and shouted, ¢ Crutches’ muttered,

A §

¢ Who can this devil be, that is fighting 8o to get these useless bools ?

ol away

—But no matter, he shan’t have them. The pide of Germany shall

have his books if it beggars me to buy them for him.’

e by

)

Thers s

¢ Three thousand !’

¢ Going, going, going—

¢ Come, everybody—give a ruser for Green-patch !’

it stand ol e

And while they did it, Green-patch muttered, ¢ This eripple is

o —

plainly a lunatic ; but the old scholar shall have his books, neverthe-

less, though my pocket sweat for it,

¢ Going—going—’

¢ Four thousand !’

“Huzza 1’

¢ Five thousand !’

¢ Huzza !’

¢ Six thousand !’

¢ Huzza !’

¢ Seven thousand !’

‘Huzza !’

s prssins

¢ Eight thousand !’

i imlnd-1

¢We are saved, father! I told you the Holy Virgin would keep

her word !’

¢ Bleszed be her sacred name !’ said the old scholar, with

emotion,

The crowd roared, ¢ Huzza, huzza, huzza—at him again

N T ———

Green-patch !’

| bung WD

¢ Going—going—’

‘TEN thousand !’ As Givenaught shouted this, his excitement

iy inbis vicim'f{

(AL

was so great that he forgot himself and used his natural voice. His

i

brother recognised it, and muttered, under cover of the storm of

cheers—

4T

¢ Aha, you are there, are you, besotted old fool ? Talke the books,

1 know what youll do with them.’

ecmwdﬂf(‘

So saying, he slipped out of the place, and the auction was at an

and Wuul

1t o Tt

834

A TRAMP ABROAD.

end. Givenaught shouldered his way to Hildegarde, whispered-a

ries

word in her ear, and then he, also, vanished. The old scholar and his

hich CA!

g et

daughter embraced, and the former said, ¢ Truly the Holy Mother has

hen JOU

done more than she promised, child, for she has given you a splendid

aylight 018

Jight

marriage portion—think of it, two thousand pieces of gold !’

pookeriesn

¢ And more still cried Hildegarde, ‘for she has given you back

Qouefimes 2

your books ; the stranger whispered me that he would none of them

hat it 0

—¢ the honoured son of Germany must keep them,” so he said. I

fyperl 15102

would I might have asked his name and kissed his hand and begged

qn o 708

his blessing ; but he was Our Lady’s angel, and it is not meet that we

Tefurethe 00

of earth should venture speech with them that dwell above,’

gubjets

1 theyd

gihs—1otL

Ho soon con¥

Ay t0 ol

5T o

APPENDIX F.

nspoudence-

Trery panagn

GERMAN JOURNALS.

ther town, &

]

9

Tre daily journals of IHamburg, Frankfort, Baden, Munich, and

isplaeed &

that the au

i

Augsburg, are all constructed on the same general plan.

I spealk of

i

these because I am more familiar with them than with any other

the

German papers. They contain no ‘editorials’ whatever; no ¢per-

sonals’—and this is rather a merit than a demerit, perhaps; no

Some of

stanee, ny e

funny-paragraph column ; no police court reports; no reports of pro-

it amived at{

ceedings of higher courts ; no information about prize fights or sther

dog fights, horse races, walking-matches, yachting contests, rifle-

0 come a full

matches, or other sporting matters of any sort; no reports of banquet-

Some of

continued sto

speeches; no department of curious odds and ends of floating fact

in the Fren

and gossip; no ‘rumours’ about anything or anybody ; no prognosti-

cations or prophecies about anything or anybody ; no lists of patents

judge that s

granted or sought, or any reference to such things; no abuse of

i

story,

o

public officials, big or little, or complaints against them, or praises

.

I youg

of them ; no religious column Saturdays, no re-hash of cold sermons

’

Journal, he

Mondays; no ¢weather indications;

no ‘local item’ unveilings of

daily, and 1

what is happening in town—mnothing of a local nature, indeed, is

Ttis like o

mentioned, beyond the movements of some prince or the proposed

out in Ney

meeting of some deliberative body.

Zeitg iy

After so formidableta list of what one can’t find in a German

mind whey

daily, the question may well be asked, What can be found in it ? It

entire pape

is easily answered: A child’s handful of telegrams, mainly about

New York

European national and international political movements; letter-

Such oy

correspondence about the same things; market reports. There you

have it.

70, upon

That is what a German daily is made of. A German daily

100 gnop

0

is the slowest and saddest and dreariest of the inventions of man.

Portion oft

Our own dailies infuriate the reader pretty often; the German daily

Such I

only stupefies him. Once a week the German daily of the highest

Y

class lightens up its heavy columns-—that is, it thinks it lightens

isthe by

them up—with a profound, an abysmal, book criticism ; a criticism

. 11? i & 00

Wik

P g

: APPENDIX F.

335

o

) Whv}

¥

Jhr il

li

which carries you down, down, down, i

nto the scientific bowels of

b Hiy

it

S no

thing if not scientific—and

e vy

by

the subject—for the Geerman critic i

st and scent the fresh air

and see the bonny

ML ol

N

when you come up at la

daylight once more, yo

u resolve without a dissenting voice that a

. [:'IUEH Tn hi(“i

book-criticism is a mis

taken way to lighten up a German daily.

\\fnx‘lld 0y

Sometimes, in place of the criticism, the first-class daily gives you

Ay §) by [

|

what it thinks is a gay and chipper essay—about ancient Grecian

h?lld Al

i

funeral customs, or the ancient Egyptian method of tarring a mummy,

| o

or the reasons for believing that some of the peoples who existed

e

4800,

before the flood did not approve of cats. These are not unpleasant

subjects; the

v are not uninteresting subjects; they are even exciting

1 one ef these massive scientists gets hold of them.

subjects—unti

He soon convinces you that ev

en these matters can be handled insuch

a way as to male a person low-

spirited.

As I have said, the average

German daily is made up solely of

of it by telegraph, the rest of it by mail.

eorrespondence—a trifle

Every paragraph has t

he side-head, ¢ London,” ¢ Vienna,” or some

other town, and a date.

And always, before the name of the town,

is pl

aced a letter or a sign,

to indicate who the correspondent is, so

that t

he authorities can find him when they want to hang him.

i)

Stars, crosses, triangles, squares, half-moons, suns—such are some of

the signs used by correspondents.

Some of the dailies move too fast, others too slo

wly. For in-

0

stance, my Heidelberg daily was always twenty-

four hours old when

papers used

it arrived at the hotel ; but one of my Munich evening

to come a full twenty-four hours before it was due.

Some of the less important dailies give one a table-spoonful of a

continued story every day ; it is strung across the bottom of the pag

€,

in the French fashion. By subscribing for the paper for five years I

judge that a man might succeed in getting pretty much all of the

story.

If you asl

< a citizen of Munich which is the best Munich daily

1, he will always tell you that ther

e is only one good Munich

journa

daily,

and that it is published in Augsburg, forty or fifty miles away.

!

It is like saying th

at the best daily paper in New York is published

out in New Jersey somewhere.

Yes, the Augsburg ¢Allgemeine

Zeitung ’ is ¢ the best Munich paper,’ and it is the one I had in my

mind when I was describing a ¢first-class German daily > above. The

.

=

!

lﬂd il GE_TYJ

entire paper,

opened out, is not quite as large as a single page of the

New York ¢

Herald” It is printed on both sides of course; but in

such large type that its entire conte

nts could be put, in ¢ Herald’

type, upon a single page of the ¢Her

ald >—and there would still be

room enough on the page for the ¢ Zeitung’s’ Supplement and some

;po‘

08

AGe

portion of the

¢ Zeitung’s’ next day’s contents.

jovent

1008

Jiidg

Such is the first-class daily.

The dailies actually printed in

Munich are all called second-class by the public. If you ask which

{hy (e

is the best of these second-class papers they say there is no difference,

jlyot

y 0!

i

one is as good as another. I have preserved a copy of one of them ;

s

g (e

it is called the ¢ Miinchener Tages-Anzeiger, and bears date January

336

A TRAMP ABROAD.

25,1879, Comparisons are odious

oty o

and without any malice I wish to c

, but they need not be malicious ;

sothe repoﬁe

a German city of 170,000 inhabitan

ompare this journal, published in

ts, with journals of other countries,

Fuaclly 0

I kmow of no other way to enable

the reader to ‘size’ the thing.

criﬁc‘lsmuh.t‘

A column of an average d

aily paper in America contains from

i Death Noti

1,800 to 2,500 words ;

the reading matter in

The othel

from 25,000 to 50,000 words.

a single issue consists of

Munich journal consists of a

The reading matter in my copy of the

ander fhe e

total of 1,654 words—for I counted

tells about

them. That would be nearly

a column of one of our dailies.

A

t\VBﬂ:_V-OEE 8

single issue of the bulkiest daily

newspaper in the world—the London

Jestruction 0

¢ Times '—often contains 100,00

0 words of reading matter. Consider-

ing that the ¢ Daily Anzeiger’

isstes the usu

of thetfofal

al twenty-six numbers

(Consider

per month, the reading matter in a single

number of the London

Qally pape

¢ Times’ would keep it in copy ’ two months

and a half!

what a 14

The ¢ Anzeiger’ is an eight-

page paper; its page is one inch wider

and one inch longer th

amaysuch a]

sions of its page are so

an a foolscap page; that is to say, the dimen-

tofind it A

1

mewhere between those of a schoo

lboy’s slate

transat {

fikd

i

and a lady’s pocket-handkerchief. One fourth of the fi

st page is

realising sem

taken up with the heading of the journs

a

21

1; this gives it a rather top-

heavy appearance ; the rest of th

Munich dal

of the second page is reading matt

e first page is reading matter; all

efei—

to advertisements,

er; the other six pages are devoted

" Py}

The reading matter is com

pressed into two hundred and five small

Jong aceoun

pica lines, and is lichted u

p with eight pica head-lines.

The bill of

tuach, o vill

fare is as follow.

s: First, under a pica head-line to enforce attention

two children

and respect, is

befors the m

a four-line sermon urging mankind to remember thag

Tocenstach b

although they

are pilgrims here bel

ow, they are yet heirs of heaven;

and that ¢ When they depart from

earth they soar to heaven.” Per-

heartless fof

haps a four-line sermon in

a Saturday paper is the sufficient German

-

determined ¢

equivalent of the eight or

Proceeded to

Yorkers get in their Monda

ten columns of sermons which the New

y morning papers. The latest news (two

treating bim

days old) follows the four-

line sermon, under the pica head-line ¢ Tele-

Inte. Tholy

grams’—these are

‘telegraphed’ with a pair of scissors out of the

cried, and i

¢ Augsburger Zeitun

g’ of the day before.

tures ang dg

fourteen and two-thirds lines from

These telegrams consist of

he suddey

]

Berlin, fifteen lines from Vienna,

and two and five-eighths lines fror

m Calcutta.

Thirty-three small

2 the body

pica lines of telegra

phic news in a daily journal

in a King’s Capital

1'0?97 Ihe C.OI‘(

of 170,000 inhabita

nts, is surely not an overdose.

Next, we have the

at a piif

pica heading, ¢ News of the Day,

under which the following facts

Tl sy

are set forth: Prince Leopold is goi

ng on a visit to Vienna, six lines;

1187 confyipg

Prince Arnulph is coming back fror

n Russia,

two lines; the Landtag

28 thi gy

will meet at 10 o’clock in the morning and

consider an election lav,

of Hogg,

three lines and one word over ;

a city government item, five and one

0N tha

half lines; prices of tickets t

bloog

Wholy

twenty-three lines—for this on

o the proposed grand Charity Ball,

, ey

the entire firs

e item occupies almost one fourth of

6 Crug] N

t page ; there is to be a wonder

ful Wagner concert in

€1 ob)

Iged

Frankfurt-on-the-Main, with an ochestra of

benc A

instruments, seven and one half lines.

one hundred and eight

Y

1] by

That concludes the first page.

e gy

Eighty-five lines altogether, on that pa

ge, including three head-lizes.

W

% thgy

APPENDIX F.

337

ty Uy

b iy

About fifty of those lines, as one perceives, deal with local matters;

My

so the reporters are not overworked.

‘ m ‘\‘[wm:l

Exactly one half of the second page is occupied with an opera-

A Oty

o

criticism, fifty-three lines (three of them being head-lines), and

} g g

Y

tyf

¢ Death Notices,’ ten lines.

Wiy,

The other half of the second page is made up of two paragraphs

under the head of ¢Miscellaneous News.” One of these paragraphs

U0 L

[ o0 i

tells about a quarrel between the Czar of Russia and his eldest son

i~k In.tdrm

twenty-one and a half lines; and the other tells about the atrocious

atter, ()

destruction of a peasant child by its parents, forty lines, or one-fifth

I7SIY gy

of the total of the reading matter contained in the paper.

by

raf’ tle Ly

Consider what a fifth part of the reading matter of an American

daily paper issued in a city of 170,000 inhabitants amounts to ; think

(h wi

what a mass it is. Would anyone suppose I could so snugly tuck

it

away such a mass in a chapter of this book that it would be difficult

1 Gimege

Dl

tlats

to find it again if the reader lost his place? Surely not. I will

08 1y

translate that child-murder word for word, to give the reader a

realising sense of what a fifth part of the reading matter of a

anafher top

Munich daily actually is when it comes under measurement of the

atter

il

W& 6=

Qe

¢ From Oberkreuzberg, January 21, the “ Donau Zeituﬁg ” receives

a long account of a crime, which we shorten as follows: In Rame-

ed and five small

The bl of

tuach, a village near Eppenschlag, lived a young married couple with

1o

il

fentin

two children, one of which, a boy aged five, was born three years

before the marriage.

Tor this reason, and also because a relative at

{9 remember that

Tggensbach had bequeathed 400 marks (100 dollars) to the hoy, the

tbeirs of heaven;

o beaven, Pere

heartless father considered him in the way; so the unnatural parents

eI

determined to sacrifice him in the cruellest possible manner. The

proceeded to starve him slowly to death, meantime frightfully mal-

chthe New

treating him—as the village people now make known, when it is too

e

(w0

late. The boy was shut up in a hole, and when people passed by he

ta beat

£l

cried, and implored them to give him bread. His long continued tor-

ot

u

1y

tures and deprivations destroyed him at last, on the $rd of January.

s Conss

The sudden (sic) death of the child created suspicion, the more so

m Vi

l

as the body was immediately clothed and laid upon the bier. There-

frfhnes sl

|

fore, the coroner gave notice, and an inquest was held on the Gth,

s

g gt

What a pitiful spectacle was disclosed then !

The body was a com-

e, o o

plete skeleton. The stomach and intestines were utterly empty—

bl 4

they contained nothing whatever.

The flesh on the corpse was not

Vieona, S 159

as thick as the back of a knifo, and incisions in it brought not a drop

es; 10 Taodth

of blood. There was not a piece of sound skin the size of a dollar

on the whole body; wounds, scars, bruises, discoloured extravasated

r ar; elefin %

i fire 80 e

blood, everywhere—even on the soles of the feet there were wounds.

Chanty 2%

The cruel parents asserted that the boy had been so bad that they had

i

been obliged to use severe punishments, and that he finally fell over a

ot e

et

gpoert !

bench and broke his neck. However, they were arrested two weeks

ed 0

after the inquest, and put in the prison at Dsggendorf.’

{

Yes, they were arrested ¢ two weeks after the inquest.” What a

i

S o

z

three

el

838

A TRAMP ABROAD.

home-sound that has.

That kind of police briskness rather more re=

minds me of my native land than German journalism does.

I think a German daily journal doesn’t do any good to speak of,

but, at the same time, it doesn’t do any harm,

That is a very large

merit, and should not be lightly weighed, nor lightly thought of,

The German humorous papers are beautifully printed upon fine

paper, and the illustrations are finely drawn, finely engraved, and are

not vapidly funny, but deliciously so.

So, also, generally speaking,

are the two or three terse sentences which accompany the pictures.

I remember one of these pictures—a most dilapidated tramp is rue-

fully contemplating some coins which lie in his open palm ; he says,

¢ Well, begging is getting played out.

Only about & marks (1:25 dol-

lars) for the whole day ; many an official makes more !’

And I call to

mind a picture of a commercial traveller, who is about to unroll

his samples :— ~

THE (]

¢ Merchant (pettishly). No, don’t.

I don’t want to buy any-

thing,

Drummer,

If you please, I was only going to show you—

THE 4

Meychant.

But I don’t wish to see them !

Drummer (after a pause, pleadingly).

But do you miné letting

me look at them? I haven't seen them for three weeks )’

AN ID]

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Number Seventeen.

Valentina.

Son oy

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