Page 52 of A Tramp Abroad

  CHAPTER L

  [Titian Bad and Titian Good]

  I wonder why some things are? For instance, Art is allowed as muchindecent license today as in earlier times--but the privileges ofLiterature in this respect have been sharply curtailed within thepast eighty or ninety years. Fielding and Smollett could portray thebeastliness of their day in the beastliest language; we have plentyof foul subjects to deal with in our day, but we are not allowed toapproach them very near, even with nice and guarded forms of speech.But not so with Art. The brush may still deal freely with any subject,however revolting or indelicate. It makes a body ooze sarcasm at everypore, to go about Rome and Florence and see what this last generationhas been doing with the statues. These works, which had stood ininnocent nakedness for ages, are all fig-leaved now. Yes, every one ofthem. Nobody noticed their nakedness before, perhaps; nobody can helpnoticing it now, the fig-leaf makes it so conspicuous. But the comicalthing about it all, is, that the fig-leaf is confined to cold and pallidmarble, which would be still cold and unsuggestive without this sham andostentatious symbol of modesty, whereas warm-blood paintings which doreally need it have in no case been furnished with it.

  At the door of the Uffizzi, in Florence, one is confronted by statuesof a man and a woman, noseless, battered, black with accumulatedgrime--they hardly suggest human beings--yet these ridiculous creatureshave been thoughtfully and conscientiously fig-leaved by this fastidiousgeneration. You enter, and proceed to that most-visited little gallerythat exists in the world--the Tribune--and there, against the wall,without obstructing rag or leaf, you may look your fill upon thefoulest, the vilest, the obscenest picture the world possesses--Titian'sVenus. It isn't that she is naked and stretched out on a bed--no, it isthe attitude of one of her arms and hand. If I ventured to describethat attitude, there would be a fine howl--but there the Venus lies, foranybody to gloat over that wants to--and there she has a right to lie,for she is a work of art, and Art has its privileges. I saw younggirls stealing furtive glances at her; I saw young men gaze long andabsorbedly at her; I saw aged, infirm men hang upon her charms with apathetic interest. How I should like to describe her--just to see whata holy indignation I could stir up in the world--just to hear theunreflecting average man deliver himself about my grossness andcoarseness, and all that. The world says that no worded description ofa moving spectacle is a hundredth part as moving as the same spectacleseen with one's own eyes--yet the world is willing to let its sonand its daughter and itself look at Titian's beast, but won't standa description of it in words. Which shows that the world is not asconsistent as it might be.

  There are pictures of nude women which suggest no impure thought--Iam well aware of that. I am not railing at such. What I am trying toemphasize is the fact that Titian's Venus is very far from being one ofthat sort. Without any question it was painted for a bagnio and it wasprobably refused because it was a trifle too strong. In truth, it is toostrong for any place but a public Art Gallery. Titian has two Venuses inthe Tribune; persons who have seen them will easily remember which one Iam referring to.

  In every gallery in Europe there are hideous pictures of blood,carnage, oozing brains, putrefaction--pictures portraying intolerablesuffering--pictures alive with every conceivable horror, wrought out indreadful detail--and similar pictures are being put on the canvas everyday and publicly exhibited--without a growl from anybody--for theyare innocent, they are inoffensive, being works of art. But supposea literary artist ventured to go into a painstaking and elaboratedescription of one of these grisly things--the critics would skin himalive. Well, let it go, it cannot be helped; Art retains her privileges,Literature has lost hers. Somebody else may cipher out the whys and thewherefores and the consistencies of it--I haven't got time.

  Titian's Venus defiles and disgraces the Tribune, there is no softeningthat fact, but his "Moses" glorifies it. The simple truthfulness ofits noble work wins the heart and the applause of every visitor, be helearned or ignorant. After wearying one's self with the acres of stuffy,sappy, expressionless babies that populate the canvases of the OldMasters of Italy, it is refreshing to stand before this peerless childand feel that thrill which tells you you are at last in the presence ofthe real thing. This is a human child, this is genuine. You have seenhim a thousand times--you have seen him just as he is here--and youconfess, without reserve, that Titian _was_ a Master. The doll-faces ofother painted babes may mean one thing, they may mean another, butwith the "Moses" the case is different. The most famous of all theart-critics has said, "There is no room for doubt, here--plainly thischild is in trouble."

  I consider that the "Moses" has no equal among the works of the OldMasters, except it be the divine Hair Trunk of Bassano. I feel sure thatif all the other Old Masters were lost and only these two preserved, theworld 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 preparingto remove it to a more private and better-protected place because afashion of robbing the great galleries was prevailing in Europe at thetime.

  I got a capable artist to copy the picture; Pannemaker, the engraver ofDor?'s books, engraved it for me, and I have the pleasure of laying itbefore the reader in this volume.

  We took a turn to Rome and some other Italian cities--then to Munich,and thence to Paris--partly for exercise, but mainly because thesethings were in our projected program, and it was only right that weshould be faithful to it.

  From Paris I branched out and walked through Holland and Belgium,procuring an occasional lift by rail or canal when tired, and I hada tolerably good time of it "by and large." I worked Spain and otherregions through agents to save time and shoe-leather.

  We crossed to England, and then made the homeward passage inthe Cunarder _Gallia_, a very fine ship. I was glad to gethome--immeasurably glad; so glad, in fact, that it did not seem possiblethat anything could ever get me out of the country again. I had notenjoyed a pleasure abroad which seemed to me to compare with thepleasure I felt in seeing New York harbor again. Europe has manyadvantages which we have not, but they do not compensate for a good manystill more valuable ones which exist nowhere but in our own country.Then we are such a homeless lot when we are over there! So areEuropeans themselves, for that matter. They live in dark and chilly vasttombs--costly enough, maybe, but without conveniences. To be condemnedto live as the average European family lives would make life a prettyheavy burden to the average American family.

  On the whole, I think that short visits to Europe are better for us thanlong ones. The former preserve us from becoming Europeanized; they keepour pride of country intact, and at the same time they intensify ouraffection for our country and our people; whereas long visits have theeffect of dulling those feelings--at least in the majority of cases. Ithink that one who mixes much with Americans long resident abroad mustarrive at this conclusion.

  APPENDIX

  Nothing gives such weight and dignity to a book as an Appendix.HERODOTUS

  APPENDIX A.

  The Portier

  Omar Khay'am, the poet-prophet of Persia, writing more than eighthundred years ago, has said:

  "In the four parts of the earth are many that are able to write learnedbooks, many that are able to lead armies, and many also that are able togovern kingdoms and empires; but few there be that can keep a hotel."

  A word about the European hotel _Portier_. He is a most admirableinvention, a most valuable convenience. He always wears a conspicuousuniform; he can always be found when he is wanted, for he sticks closelyto his post at the front door; he is as polite as a duke; he speaksfrom four to ten languages; he is your surest help and refuge in time oftrouble or perplexity. He is not the clerk, he is not the landlord; heranks above the clerk, and represents the landlord, who is seldom seen.Instead of going to the clerk for information, as we do at home, yougo to the portier. It is the pride of our average hotel clerk to knownothing whatever; it is the pride of the portier to know everything.
Youask the portier at what hours the trains leave--he tells you instantly;or you ask him who is the best physician in town; or what is the hacktariff; or how many children the mayor has; or what days the galleriesare open, and whether a permit is required, and where you are to get it,and what you must pay for it; or when the theaters open and close, whatthe plays are to be, and the price of seats; or what is the newest thingin hats; or how the bills of mortality average; or "who struck BillyPatterson." It does not matter what you ask him: in nine cases out often he knows, and in the tenth case he will find out for you before youcan turn around three times. There is nothing he will not put his handto. Suppose you tell him you wish to go from Hamburg to Peking by theway of Jericho, and are ignorant of routes and prices--the next morninghe will hand you a piece of paper with the whole thing worked out on itto the last detail. Before you have been long on European soil, you findyourself still _saying_ you are relying on Providence, but when youcome to look closer you will see that in reality you are relying on theportier. He discovers what is puzzling you, or what is troubling you,or what your need is, before you can get the half of it out, and hepromptly says, "Leave that to me." Consequently, you easily drift intothe habit of leaving everything to him. There is a certain embarrassmentabout applying to the average American hotel clerk, a certain hesitancy,a sense of insecurity against rebuff; but you feel no embarrassment inyour intercourse with the portier; he receives your propositions with anenthusiasm which cheers, and plunges into their accomplishment with analacrity which almost inebriates. The more requirements you can pileupon him, the better he likes it. Of course the result is that you ceasefrom doing anything for yourself. He calls a hack when you want one;puts you into it; tells the driver whither to take you; receives youlike a long-lost child when you return; sends you about your business,does all the quarreling with the hackman himself, and pays him his moneyout of his own pocket. He sends for your theater tickets, and pays forthem; he sends for any possible article you can require, be it a doctor,an elephant, or a postage stamp; and when you leave, at last, you willfind a subordinate seated with the cab-driver who will put you in yourrailway compartment, buy your tickets, have your baggage weighed, bringyou the printed tags, and tell you everything is in your bill and paidfor. At home you get such elaborate, excellent, and willing service asthis only in the best hotels of our large cities; but in Europe you getit in the mere back country-towns just as well.

  What is the secret of the portier's devotion? It is very simple: he gets_fees, and no salary_. His fee is pretty closely regulated, too. If youstay a week, you give him five marks--a dollar and a quarter, or abouteighteen cents a day. If you stay a month, you reduce this averagesomewhat. If you stay two or three months or longer, you cut it downhalf, or even more than half. If you stay only one day, you give theportier a mark.

  The head waiter's fee is a shade less than the portier's; the Boots, whonot only blacks your boots and brushes your clothes, but is usually theporter and handles your baggage, gets a somewhat smaller fee than thehead waiter; the chambermaid's fee ranks below that of the Boots. Youfee only these four, and no one else. A German gentleman told me thatwhen he remained a week in a hotel, he gave the portier five marks, thehead waiter four, the Boots three, and the chambermaid two; and if hestayed three months he divided ninety marks among them, in about theabove proportions. Ninety marks make $22.50.

  None of these fees are ever paid until you leave the hotel, though itbe a year--except one of these four servants should go away in the meantime; in that case he will be sure to come and bid you good-by andgive you the opportunity to pay him what is fairly coming to him. Itis considered very bad policy to fee a servant while you are still toremain longer in the hotel, because if you gave him too little he mightneglect you afterward, and if you gave him too much he might neglectsomebody else to attend to you. It is considered best to keep hisexpectations "on a string" until your stay is concluded.

  I do not know whether hotel servants in New York get any wages or not,but I do know that in some of the hotels there the feeing system invogue is a heavy burden. The waiter expects a quarter at breakfast--andgets it. You have a different waiter at luncheon, and so he gets aquarter. Your waiter at dinner is another stranger--consequently he getsa quarter. The boy who carries your satchel to your room and lights yourgas fumbles around and hangs around significantly, and you fee him toget rid of him. Now you may ring for ice-water; and ten minutes laterfor a lemonade; and ten minutes afterward, for a cigar; and by and byfor a newspaper--and what is the result? Why, a new boy has appearedevery time and fooled and fumbled around until you have paid himsomething. Suppose you boldly put your foot down, and say it is thehotel's business to pay its servants? You will have to ring your bellten or fifteen times before you get a servant there; and when he goesoff to fill your order you will grow old and infirm before you see himagain. You may struggle nobly for twenty-four hours, maybe, if you arean adamantine sort of person, but in the mean time you will have beenso wretchedly served, and so insolently, that you will haul down yourcolors, and go to impoverishing yourself with fees.

  It seems to me that it would be a happy idea to import the Europeanfeeing system into America. I believe it would result in getting eventhe bells of the Philadelphia hotels answered, and cheerful servicerendered.

  The greatest American hotels keep a number of clerks and a cashier, andpay them salaries which mount up to a considerable total in the courseof a year. The great continental hotels keep a cashier on a triflingsalary, and a portier _who pays the hotel a salary_. By the lattersystem both the hotel and the public save money and are better servedthan by our system. One of our consuls told me that a portier of a greatBerlin hotel paid five thousand dollars a year for his position, and yetcleared six thousand dollars for himself. The position of portier in thechief hotels of Saratoga, Long Branch, New York, and similar centers ofresort, would be one which the holder could afford to pay even more thanfive thousand dollars for, perhaps.

  When we borrowed the feeing fashion from Europe a dozen years ago, thesalary system ought to have been discontinued, of course. We might makethis correction now, I should think. And we might add the portier, too.Since I first began to study the portier, I have had opportunities toobserve him in the chief cities of Germany, Switzerland, and Italy;and the more I have seen of him the more I have wished that he might beadopted in America, and become there, as he is in Europe, the stranger'sguardian angel.

  Yes, what was true eight hundred years ago, is just as true today: "Fewthere be that can keep a hotel." Perhaps it is because the landlords andtheir subordinates have in too many cases taken up their trade withoutfirst learning it. In Europe the trade of hotel-keeper is taught. Theapprentice begins at the bottom of the ladder and masters the severalgrades one after the other. Just as in our country printing-offices theapprentice first learns how to sweep out and bring water; then learnsto "roll"; then to sort "pi"; then to set type; and finally roundsand completes his education with job-work and press-work; so thelandlord-apprentice serves as call-boy; then as under-waiter; then asa parlor waiter; then as head waiter, in which position he often has tomake out all the bills; then as clerk or cashier; then as portier. Histrade is learned now, and by and by he will assume the style and dignityof landlord, and be found conducting a hotel of his own.

  Now in Europe, the same as in America, when a man has kept a hotelso thoroughly well during a number of years as to give it a greatreputation, he has his reward. He can live prosperously on thatreputation. He can let his hotel run down to the last degree ofshabbiness and yet have it full of people all the time. For instance,there is the Hotel de Ville, in Milan. It swarms with mice and fleas,and if the rest of the world were destroyed it could furnish dirt enoughto start another one with. The food would create an insurrection in apoorhouse; and yet if you go outside to get your meals that hotel makesup its loss by overcharging you on all sorts of trifles--and withoutmaking any denials or excuses about it, either. But the Hotel de Ville'sold excellent
reputation still keeps its dreary rooms crowded withtravelers who would be elsewhere if they had only some wise friend towarn them.

  APPENDIX B.

  Heidelberg Castle

  Heidelberg Castle must have been very beautiful before the Frenchbattered and bruised and scorched it two hundred years ago. The stoneis brown, with a pinkish tint, and does not seem to stain easily. Thedainty and elaborate ornamentation upon its two chief fronts is asdelicately carved as if it had been intended for the interior of adrawing-room rather than for the outside of a house. Many fruit andflower clusters, human heads and grim projecting lions' heads are stillas perfect in every detail as if they were new. But the statues whichare ranked between the windows have suffered. These are life-sizestatues of old-time emperors, electors, and similar grandees, clad inmail and bearing ponderous swords. Some have lost an arm, some a head,and one poor fellow is chopped off at the middle. There is a saying thatif a stranger will pass over the drawbridge and walk across the court tothe castle front without saying anything, he can make a wish and it willbe fulfilled. But they say that the truth of this thing has never hada chance to be proved, for the reason that before any stranger can walkfrom the drawbridge to the appointed place, the beauty of the palacefront will extort an exclamation of delight from him.

  A ruin must be rightly situated, to be effective. This one could nothave been better placed. It stands upon a commanding elevation, it isburied in green woods, there is no level ground about it, but, on thecontrary, there are wooded terraces upon terraces, and one looks downthrough shining leaves into profound chasms and abysses where twilightreigns and the sun cannot intrude. Nature knows how to garnish a ruin toget the best effect. One of these old towers is split down the middle,and one half has tumbled aside. It tumbled in such a way as to establishitself in a picturesque attitude. Then all it lacked was a fittingdrapery, and Nature has furnished that; she has robed the rugged mass inflowers and verdure, and made it a charm to the eye. The standing halfexposes its arched and cavernous rooms to you, like open, toothlessmouths; there, too, the vines and flowers have done their work of grace.The rear portion of the tower has not been neglected, either, but isclothed with a clinging garment of polished ivy which hides the woundsand stains of time. Even the top is not left bare, but is crowned with aflourishing group of trees and shrubs. Misfortune has done for this oldtower what it has done for the human character sometimes--improved it.

  A gentleman remarked, one day, that it might have been fine to live inthe castle in the day of its prime, but that we had one advantage whichits vanished inhabitants lacked--the advantage of having a charming ruinto visit and muse over. But that was a hasty idea. Those people had theadvantage of _us_. They had the fine castle to live in, and theycould cross the Rhine valley and muse over the stately ruin of Trifelsbesides. The Trifels people, in their day, five hundred years ago, couldgo and muse over majestic ruins that have vanished, now, to the laststone. There have always been ruins, no doubt; and there have alwaysbeen pensive people to sigh over them, and asses to scratch upon themtheir names and the important date of their visit. Within a hundredyears after Adam left Eden, the guide probably gave the usual generalflourish with his hand and said: "Place where the animals were named,ladies and gentlemen; place where the tree of the forbidden fruit stood;exact spot where Adam and Eve first met; and here, ladies and gentlemen,adorned and hallowed by the names and addresses of three generations oftourists, we have the crumbling remains of Cain's altar--fine old ruin!"Then, no doubt, he taxed them a shekel apiece and let them go.

  An illumination of Heidelberg Castle is one of the sights of Europe.The Castle's picturesque shape; its commanding situation, midway up thesteep and wooded mountainside; its vast size--these features combine tomake an illumination a most effective spectacle. It is necessarily anexpensive show, and consequently rather infrequent. Therefore wheneverone of these exhibitions is to take place, the news goes about in thepapers and Heidelberg is sure to be full of people on that night. I andmy agent had one of these opportunities, and improved it.

  About half past seven on the appointed evening we crossed the lowerbridge, with some American students, in a pouring rain, and started upthe road which borders the Neunheim side of the river. This roadway wasdensely packed with carriages and foot-passengers; the former of allages, and the latter of all ages and both sexes. This black and solidmass was struggling painfully onward, through the slop, the darkness,and the deluge. We waded along for three-quarters of a mile, and finallytook up a position in an unsheltered beer-garden directly oppositethe Castle. We could not _see_ the Castle--or anything else, for thatmatter--but we could dimly discern the outlines of the mountain over theway, through the pervading blackness, and knew whereabouts the Castlewas located. We stood on one of the hundred benches in the garden, underour umbrellas; the other ninety-nine were occupied by standing men andwomen, and they also had umbrellas. All the region round about, and upand down the river-road, was a dense wilderness of humanity hiddenunder an unbroken pavement of carriage tops and umbrellas. Thus we stoodduring two drenching hours. No rain fell on my head, but the convergingwhalebone points of a dozen neighboring umbrellas poured little coolingsteams of water down my neck, and sometimes into my ears, and thus keptme from getting hot and impatient. I had the rheumatism, too, andhad heard that this was good for it. Afterward, however, I was led tobelieve that the water treatment is _not_ good for rheumatism. Therewere even little girls in that dreadful place. A man held one inhis arms, just in front of me, for as much as an hour, withumbrella-drippings soaking into her clothing all the time.

  In the circumstances, two hours was a good while for us to have to wait,but when the illumination did at last come, we felt repaid. It cameunexpectedly, of course--things always do, that have been long lookedand longed for. With a perfectly breath-taking suddenness several mastsheaves of varicolored rockets were vomited skyward out of the blackthroats of the Castle towers, accompanied by a thundering crash ofsound, and instantly every detail of the prodigious ruin stood revealedagainst the mountainside and glowing with an almost intolerable splendorof fire and color. For some little time the whole building was ablinding crimson mass, the towers continued to spout thick columns ofrockets aloft, and overhead the sky was radiant with arrowy bolts whichclove their way to the zenith, paused, curved gracefully downward, thenburst into brilliant fountain-sprays of richly colored sparks. The redfires died slowly down, within the Castle, and presently the shell grewnearly black outside; the angry glare that shone out through the brokenarches and innumerable sashless windows, now, reproduced the aspectwhich the Castle must have borne in the old time when the Frenchspoilers saw the monster bonfire which they had made there fading andspoiling toward extinction.

  While we still gazed and enjoyed, the ruin was suddenly enveloped inrolling and rumbling volumes of vaporous green fire; then in dazzlingpurple ones; then a mixture of many colors followed, then drowned thegreat fabric in its blended splendors. Meantime the nearest bridge hadbeen illuminated, and from several rafts anchored in the river, meteorshowers of rockets, Roman candles, bombs, serpents, and Catharine wheelswere being discharged in wasteful profusion into the sky--a marveloussight indeed to a person as little used to such spectacles as I was. Fora while the whole region about us seemed as bright as day, and yet therain was falling in torrents all the time. The evening's entertainmentpresently closed, and we joined the innumerable caravan of half-drownedstrangers, and waded home again.

  The Castle grounds are very ample and very beautiful; and as they joinedthe Hotel grounds, with no fences to climb, but only some nobly shadedstone stairways to descend, we spent a part of nearly every day inidling through their smooth walks and leafy groves. There was anattractive spot among the trees where were a great many wooden tablesand benches; and there one could sit in the shade and pretend to sip athis foamy beaker of beer while he inspected the crowd. I say pretend,because I only pretended to sip, without really sipping. That is thepolite way; but when you are ready to
go, you empty the beaker at adraught. There was a brass band, and it furnished excellent music everyafternoon. Sometimes so many people came that every seat was occupied,every table filled. And never a rough in the assemblage--all nicelydressed fathers and mothers, young gentlemen and ladies and children;and plenty of university students and glittering officers; with here andthere a gray professor, or a peaceful old lady with her knitting; andalways a sprinkling of gawky foreigners. Everybody had his glass ofbeer before him, or his cup of coffee, or his bottle of wine, or hishot cutlet and potatoes; young ladies chatted, or fanned themselves, orwrought at their crocheting or embroidering; the students fed sugar totheir dogs, or discussed duels, or illustrated new fencing trickswith their little canes; and everywhere was comfort and enjoyment, andeverywhere peace and good-will to men. The trees were jubilant withbirds, and the paths with rollicking children. One could have a seat inthat place and plenty of music, any afternoon, for about eight cents, ora family ticket for the season for two dollars.

  For a change, when you wanted one, you could stroll to the Castle, andburrow among its dungeons, or climb about its ruined towers, or visitits interior shows--the great Heidelberg Tun, for instance. Everybodyhas heard of the great Heidelberg Tun, and most people have seen it, nodoubt. It is a wine-cask as big as a cottage, and some traditions sayit holds eighteen thousand bottles, and other traditions say it holdseighteen hundred million barrels. I think it likely that one of thesestatements is a mistake, and the other is a lie. However, the merematter of capacity is a thing of no sort of consequence, since the caskis empty, and indeed has always been empty, history says. An empty caskthe size of a cathedral could excite but little emotion in me.

  I do not see any wisdom in building a monster cask to hoard up emptinessin, when you can get a better quality, outside, any day, free ofexpense. What could this cask have been built for? The more one studiesover that, the more uncertain and unhappy he becomes. Some historianssay that thirty couples, some say thirty thousand couples, can dance onthe head of this cask at the same time. Even this does not seem to meto account for the building of it. It does not even throw light on it. Aprofound and scholarly Englishman--a specialist--who had made the greatHeidelberg Tun his sole study for fifteen years, told me he had at lastsatisfied himself that the ancients built it to make German cream in.He said that the average German cow yielded from one to two and halfteaspoons of milk, when she was not worked in the plow or the hay-wagonmore than eighteen or nineteen hours a day. This milk was very sweet andgood, and a beautiful transparent bluish tint; but in order to get creamfrom it in the most economical way, a peculiar process was necessary.Now he believed that the habit of the ancients was to collect severalmilkings 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 GermanEmpire demanded.

  This began to look reasonable. It certainly began to account for theGerman cream which I had encountered and marveled over in so many hotelsand restaurants. But a thought struck me--

  "Why did not each ancient dairyman take his own teacup of milk and hisown cask of water, and mix them, without making a government matter ofit?'

  "Where could he get a cask large enough to contain the right proportionof water?"

  Very true. It was plain that the Englishman had studied the matter fromall sides. Still I thought I might catch him on one point; so I askedhim why the modern empire did not make the nation's cream in theHeidelberg Tun, instead of leaving it to rot away unused. But heanswered as one prepared--

  "A patient and diligent examination of the modern German cream hadsatisfied me that they do not use the Great Tun now, because they havegot a _bigger_ one hid away somewhere. Either that is the case or theyempty the spring milkings into the mountain torrents and then skim theRhine all summer."

  There is a museum of antiquities in the Castle, and among its mosttreasured relics are ancient manuscripts connected with German history.There are hundreds of these, and their dates stretch back through manycenturies. One of them is a decree signed and sealed by the hand of asuccessor of Charlemagne, in the year 896. A signature made by a handwhich vanished out of this life near a thousand years ago, is a moreimpressive thing than even a ruined castle. Luther's wedding-ring wasshown me; also a fork belonging to a time anterior to our era, and anearly bootjack. And there was a plaster cast of the head of a man whowas assassinated about sixty years ago. The stab-wounds in the facewere duplicated with unpleasant fidelity. One or two real hairs stillremained sticking in the eyebrows of the cast. That trifle seemed toalmost change the counterfeit into a corpse.

  There are many aged portraits--some valuable, some worthless; some ofgreat interest, some of none at all. I bought a couple--one a gorgeousduke of the olden time, and the other a comely blue-eyed damsel,a princess, maybe. I bought them to start a portrait-gallery of myancestors with. I paid a dollar and a half for the duke and a half forthe princess. One can lay in ancestors at even cheaper rates than these,in Europe, if he will mouse among old picture shops and look out forchances.

  APPENDIX C.

  The College Prison

  It seems that the student may break a good many of the public lawswithout having to answer to the public authorities. His case must comebefore the University for trial and punishment. If a policeman catcheshim in an unlawful act and proceeds to arrest him, the offenderproclaims that he is a student, and perhaps shows his matriculationcard, whereupon the officer asks for his address, then goes his way, andreports the matter at headquarters. If the offense is one over which thecity has no jurisdiction, the authorities report the case officiallyto the University, and give themselves no further concern about it.The University court send for the student, listen to the evidence, andpronounce judgment. The punishment usually inflicted is imprisonmentin the University prison. As I understand it, a student's case isoften tried without his being present at all. Then something likethis happens: A constable in the service of the University visits thelodgings of the said student, knocks, is invited to come in, does so,and says politely--

  "If you please, I am here to conduct you to prison."

  "Ah," says the student, "I was not expecting it. What have I beendoing?"

  "Two weeks ago the public peace had the honor to be disturbed by you."

  "It is true; I had forgotten it. Very well: I have been complained of,tried, and found guilty--is that it?"

  "Exactly. You are sentenced to two days' solitary confinement in theCollege prison, and I am sent to fetch you."

  STUDENT. "O, I can't go today."

  OFFICER. "If you please--why?"

  STUDENT. "Because I've got an engagement."

  OFFICER. "Tomorrow, then, perhaps?"

  STUDENT. "No, I am going to the opera, tomorrow."

  OFFICER. "Could you come Friday?"

  STUDENT. (Reflectively.) "Let me see--Friday--Friday. I don't seem tohave anything on hand Friday."

  OFFICER. "Then, if you please, I will expect you on Friday."

  STUDENT. "All right, I'll come around Friday."

  OFFICER. "Thank you. Good day, sir."

  STUDENT. "Good day."

  So on Friday the student goes to the prison of his own accord, and isadmitted.

  It is questionable if the world's criminal history can show a custommore odd than this. Nobody knows, now, how it originated. There havealways been many noblemen among the students, and it is presumed thatall students are gentlemen; in the old times it was usual to mar theconvenience of such folk as little as possible; perhaps this indulgentcustom owes its origin to this.

  One day I was listening to some conversation upon this subject when anAmerican student said that for some time he had been under sentencefor a slight breach of the peace and had promised the constable that hewould presently find an unoccupied day and betake himself to prison. Iasked the young gentleman to do me the kindness to go to jail as soonas he conveniently could, so that I might try to get in there and visithim, and see what college captivity was like. He
said he would appointthe very first day he could spare.

  His confinement was to endure twenty-four hours. He shortly chosehis day, and sent me word. I started immediately. When I reached theUniversity Place, I saw two gentlemen talking together, and, as theyhad portfolios under their arms, I judged they were tutors or elderlystudents; so I asked them in English to show me the college jail. Ihad learned to take it for granted that anybody in Germany who knowsanything, knows English, so I had stopped afflicting people with myGerman. These gentlemen seemed a trifle amused--and a trifle confused,too--but one of them said he would walk around the corner with me andshow me the place. He asked me why I wanted to get in there, and I saidto see a friend--and for curiosity. He doubted if I would be admitted,but volunteered to put in a word or two for me with the custodian.

  He rang the bell, a door opened, and we stepped into a paved way andthen up into a small living-room, where we were received by a heartyand good-natured German woman of fifty. She threw up her hands with asurprised "_ach Gott, Herr Professor!_" and exhibited a mighty deferencefor my new acquaintance. By the sparkle in her eye I judged she was agood deal amused, too. The "Herr Professor" talked to her in German, andI understood enough of it to know that he was bringing very plausiblereasons to bear for admitting me. They were successful. So the HerrProfessor received my earnest thanks and departed. The old dame got herkeys, took me up two or three flights of stairs, unlocked a door, andwe stood in the presence of the criminal. Then she went into a jolly andeager description of all that had occurred downstairs, and what the HerrProfessor had said, and so forth and so on. Plainly, she regarded it asquite a superior joke that I had waylaid a Professor and employed himin so odd a service. But I wouldn't have done it if I had known he was aProfessor; therefore my conscience was not disturbed.

  Now the dame left us to ourselves. The cell was not a roomy one; stillit was a little larger than an ordinary prison cell. It had a windowof good size, iron-grated; a small stove; two wooden chairs; two oakentables, very old and most elaborately carved with names, mottoes, faces,armorial bearings, etc.--the work of several generations of imprisonedstudents; and a narrow wooden bedstead with a villainous straw mattress,but no sheets, pillows, blankets, or coverlets--for these the studentmust furnish at his own cost if he wants them. There was no carpet, ofcourse.

  The ceiling was completely covered with names, dates, and monograms,done with candle-smoke. The walls were thickly covered with pictures andportraits (in profile), some done with ink, some with soot, some with apencil, and some with red, blue, and green chalks; and whenever an inchor two of space had remained between the pictures, the captives hadwritten plaintive verses, or names and dates. I do not think I was everin a more elaborately frescoed apartment.

  Against the wall hung a placard containing the prison laws. I made anote of one or two of these. For instance: The prisoner must pay, forthe "privilege" of entering, a sum equivalent to 20 cents of our money;for the privilege of leaving, when his term had expired, 20 cents; forevery day spent in the prison, 12 cents; for fire and light, 12 cents aday. The jailer furnishes coffee, mornings, for a small sum; dinners andsuppers may be ordered from outside if the prisoner chooses--and he isallowed to pay for them, too.

  Here and there, on the walls, appeared the names of American students,and in one place the American arms and motto were displayed in coloredchalks.

  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 afew specimens:

  "In my tenth semester (my best one), I am cast here through thecomplaints of others. Let those who follow me take warning."

  "_III Tage Ohne Grund Angeblich Aus Neugierde_." Which is to say, he hada curiosity to know what prison life was like; so he made a breach insome law and got three days for it. It is more than likely that he neverhad the same curiosity again.

  (_Translation._) "E. Glinicke, four days for being too eager a spectatorof a row."

  "F. Graf Bismarck--27-29, II, '74." Which means that Count Bismarck, sonof the great statesman, was a prisoner two days in 1874.

  (_Translation_.) "R. Diergandt--for Love--4 days." Many people in thisworld have caught it heavier than for the same indiscretion.

  This one is terse. I translate:

  "Four weeks for _misinterpreted gallantry_." I wish the sufferer hadexplained a little more fully. A four-week term is a rather seriousmatter.

  There were many uncomplimentary references, on the walls, to a certainunpopular dignitary. One sufferer had got three days for not salutinghim. Another had "here two days slept and three nights lain awake,"on account of this same "Dr. K." In one place was a picture of Dr. K.hanging on a gallows.

  Here and there, lonesome prisoners had eased the heavy time by alteringthe records left by predecessors. Leaving the name standing, and thedate and length of the captivity, they had erased the description of themisdemeanor, and written in its place, in staring capitals, "FOR THEFT!"or "FOR MURDER!" or some other gaudy crime. In one place, all by itself,stood this blood-curdling word:

  "Rache!" [1]

  1. "Revenge!"

  There was no name signed, and no date. It was an inscription wellcalculated to pique curiosity. One would greatly like to know the natureof the wrong that had been done, and what sort of vengeance was wanted,and whether the prisoner ever achieved it or not. But there was no wayof finding out these things.

  Occasionally, a name was followed simply by the remark, "II days, fordisturbing the peace," and without comment upon the justice or injusticeof the sentence.

  In one place was a hilarious picture of a student of the green capcorps with a bottle of champagne in each hand; and below was the legend:"These make an evil fate endurable."

  There were two prison cells, and neither had space left on walls orceiling for another name or portrait or picture. The inside surfaces ofthe two doors were completely covered with _Cartes De Visite_ of formerprisoners, ingeniously let into the wood and protected from dirt andinjury by glass.

  I very much wanted one of the sorry old tables which the prisoners hadspent so many years in ornamenting with their pocket-knives, but redtape was in the way. The custodian could not sell one without an orderfrom a superior; and that superior would have to get it from _his_superior; and this one would have to get it from a higher one--and so onup and up until the faculty should sit on the matter and deliver finaljudgment. The system was right, and nobody could find fault with it; butit did not seem justifiable to bother so many people, so I proceeded nofurther. It might have cost me more than I could afford, anyway; forone of those prison tables, which was at the time in a private museumin Heidelberg, was afterward sold at auction for two hundred and fiftydollars. It was not worth more than a dollar, or possibly a dollar andhalf, before the captive students began their work on it. Persons whosaw it at the auction said it was so curiously and wonderfully carvedthat it was worth the money that was paid for it.

  Among them many who have tasted the college prison's dreary hospitalitywas a lively young fellow from one of the Southern states of America,whose first year's experience of German university life was ratherpeculiar. The day he arrived in Heidelberg he enrolled his name on thecollege books, and was so elated with the fact that his dearest hopehad found fruition and he was actually a student of the old and renowneduniversity, that he set to work that very night to celebrate the eventby a grand lark in company with some other students. In the course ofhis lark he managed to make a wide breach in one of the university'smost stringent laws. Sequel: before noon, next day, he was in thecollege prison--booked for three months. The twelve long weeks draggedslowly by, and the day of deliverance came at last. A great crowd ofsympathizing fellow-students received him with a rousing demonstrationas he came forth, and of course there was another grand lark--in thecourse of which he managed to make a wide breach of the _city's_ moststringent laws. Sequel: before noon, next day, he was safe in the citylockup--booked for three months. Thi
s second tedious captivity drew toan end in the course of time, and again a great crowd of sympathizingfellow students gave him a rousing reception as he came forth; buthis delight in his freedom was so boundless that he could not proceedsoberly and calmly, but must go hopping and skipping and jumping downthe sleety street from sheer excess of joy. Sequel: he slipped and brokehis leg, and actually lay in the hospital during the next three months!

  When he at last became a free man again, he said he believed he wouldhunt up a brisker seat of learning; the Heidelberg lectures mightbe good, but the opportunities of attending them were too rare, theeducational process too slow; he said he had come to Europe with theidea that the acquirement of an education was only a matter of time,but if he had averaged the Heidelberg system correctly, it was rather amatter of eternity.

  APPENDIX D.

  The Awful German Language

  A little learning makes the whole world kin. --Proverbs xxxii, 7.

  I went often to look at the collection of curiosities in HeidelbergCastle, and one day I surprised the keeper of it with my German. I spokeentirely in that language. He was greatly interested; and after I hadtalked a while he said my German was very rare, possibly a "unique"; andwanted to add it to his museum.

  If he had known what it had cost me to acquire my art, he would alsohave known that it would break any collector to buy it. Harris and I hadbeen hard at work on our German during several weeks at that time, andalthough we had made good progress, it had been accomplished under greatdifficulty and annoyance, for three of our teachers had died in the meantime. A person who has not studied German can form no idea of what aperplexing language it is.

  Surely there is not another language that is so slipshod and systemless,and so slippery and elusive to the grasp. One is washed about in it,hither and thither, in the most helpless way; and when at last he thinkshe has captured a rule which offers firm ground to take a rest on amidthe general rage and turmoil of the ten parts of speech, he turns overthe page and reads, "Let the pupil make careful note of the following_Exceptions_." He runs his eye down and finds that there are moreexceptions to the rule than instances of it. So overboard he goes again,to hunt for another Ararat and find another quicksand. Such has been,and continues to be, my experience. Every time I think I have got oneof these four confusing "cases" where I am master of it, a seeminglyinsignificant preposition intrudes itself into my sentence, clothed withan awful and unsuspected power, and crumbles the ground from underme. For instance, my book inquires after a certain bird--(it is alwaysinquiring after things which are of no sort of consequence to anybody):"Where is the bird?" Now the answer to this question--according to thebook--is that the bird is waiting in the blacksmith shop on account ofthe rain. Of course no bird would do that, but then you must stick tothe book. Very well, I begin to cipher out the German for that answer. Ibegin at the wrong end, necessarily, for that is the German idea. I sayto myself, "_regen_ (rain) is masculine--or maybe it is feminine--orpossibly neuter--it is too much trouble to look now. Therefore, it iseither _der_ (the) Regen, or _die_ (the) Regen, or _das_ (the) Regen,according to which gender it may turn out to be when I look. In theinterest of science, I will cipher it out on the hypothesis that it ismasculine. Very well--then _the_ rain is _der_ Regen, if it is simplyin the quiescent state of being _mentioned_, without enlargement ordiscussion--Nominative case; but if this rain is lying around, in a kindof a general way on the ground, it is then definitely located, itis _doing something_--that is, _resting_ (which is one of the Germangrammar's ideas of doing something), and this throws the rain intothe Dative case, and makes it _dem_ Regen. However, this rain is notresting, but is doing something _actively_,--it is falling--to interferewith the bird, likely--and this indicates _movement_, which has theeffect of sliding it into the Accusative case and changing _dem_ Regeninto _den_ Regen." Having completed the grammatical horoscope of thismatter, I answer up confidently and state in German that the bird isstaying in the blacksmith shop "wegen (on account of) _den_ Regen." Thenthe teacher lets me softly down with the remark that whenever the word"wegen" drops into a sentence, it _always_ throws that subject into the_genitive_ case, regardless of consequences--and therefore this birdstayed in the blacksmith shop "wegen _des_ Regens."

  N.B.--I was informed, later, by a higher authority, that there was an"exception" which permits one to say "wegen _den_ Regen" in certainpeculiar and complex circumstances, but that this exception is notextended to anything _but_ rain.

  There are ten parts of speech, and they are all troublesome. An averagesentence, in a German newspaper, is a sublime and impressive curiosity;it occupies a quarter of a column; it contains all the ten parts ofspeech--not in regular order, but mixed; it is built mainly of compoundwords constructed by the writer on the spot, and not to be found inany dictionary--six or seven words compacted into one, without jointor seam--that is, without hyphens; it treats of fourteen or fifteendifferent subjects, each enclosed in a parenthesis of its own, with hereand there extra parentheses, making pens within pens: finally, all theparentheses and reparentheses are massed together between a coupleof king-parentheses, one of which is placed in the first line of themajestic sentence and the other in the middle of the last line ofit--_after which comes the verb_, and you find out for the first timewhat the man has been talking about; and after the verb--merely by wayof ornament, as far as I can make out--the writer shovels in "_habensind gewesen gehabt haven geworden sein_," or words to that effect, andthe monument is finished. I suppose that this closing hurrah is in thenature of the flourish to a man's signature--not necessary, but pretty.German books are easy enough to read when you hold them beforethe looking-glass or stand on your head--so as to reverse theconstruction--but I think that to learn to read and understand a Germannewspaper is a thing which must always remain an impossibility to aforeigner.

  Yet even the German books are not entirely free from attacks of theParenthesis distemper--though they are usually so mild as to cover onlya few lines, and therefore when you at last get down to the verb itcarries some meaning to your mind because you are able to remember agood deal of what has gone before. Now here is a sentence from a popularand excellent German novel--with a slight parenthesis in it. I will makea perfectly literal translation, and throw in the parenthesis-marks andsome hyphens for the assistance of the reader--though in the originalthere are no parenthesis-marks or hyphens, and the reader is left toflounder through to the remote verb the best way he can:

  "But when he, upon the street, the (in-satin-and-silk-covered-now-very-unconstrained-after-the-newest-fashioned-dressed)government counselor'swife _met_," etc., etc. [1]

  1. Wenn er aber auf der Strasse der in Sammt und Seide gehuelltenjetz sehr ungenirt nach der neusten mode gekleideten Regierungsrathinbegegnet.

  That is from _The Old Mamselle's Secret_, by Mrs. Marlitt. And thatsentence is constructed upon the most approved German model. You observehow far that verb is from the reader's base of operations; well, in aGerman newspaper they put their verb away over on the next page; andI have heard that sometimes after stringing along the excitingpreliminaries and parentheses for a column or two, they get in a hurryand have to go to press without getting to the verb at all. Of course,then, the reader is left in a very exhausted and ignorant state.

  We have the Parenthesis disease in our literature, too; and one may seecases of it every day in our books and newspapers: but with us it is themark and sign of an unpracticed writer or a cloudy intellect, whereaswith the Germans it is doubtless the mark and sign of a practiced penand of the presence of that sort of luminous intellectual fog whichstands for clearness among these people. For surely it is _not_clearness--it necessarily can't be clearness. Even a jury would havepenetration enough to discover that. A writer's ideas must be a gooddeal confused, a good deal out of line and sequence, when he starts outto say that a man met a counselor's wife in the street, and then rightin the midst of this so simple undertaking halts these approachingpeople and makes them stand still until he jots down an
inventory of thewoman's dress. That is manifestly absurd. It reminds a person of thosedentists who secure your instant and breathless interest in a tooth bytaking a grip on it with the forceps, and then stand there anddrawl through a tedious anecdote before they give the dreaded jerk.Parentheses in literature and dentistry are in bad taste.

  The Germans have another kind of parenthesis, which they make bysplitting a verb in two and putting half of it at the beginning of anexciting chapter and the _other half_ at the end of it. Can any oneconceive of anything more confusing than that? These things are called"separable verbs." The German grammar is blistered all over withseparable verbs; and the wider the two portions of one of them arespread apart, the better the author of the crime is pleased with hisperformance. A favorite one is _reiste ab_--which means departed. Hereis an example which I culled from a novel and reduced to English:

  "The trunks being now ready, he _de-_ after kissing his mother andsisters, and once more pressing to his bosom his adored Gretchen, who,dressed in simple white muslin, with a single tuberose in the amplefolds of her rich brown hair, had tottered feebly down the stairs, stillpale from the terror and excitement of the past evening, but longing tolay her poor aching head yet once again upon the breast of him whom sheloved more dearly than life itself, _parted_."

  However, it is not well to dwell too much on the separable verbs. One issure to lose his temper early; and if he sticks to the subject, and willnot be warned, it will at last either soften his brain or petrifyit. Personal pronouns and adjectives are a fruitful nuisance in thislanguage, and should have been left out. For instance, the same sound,_sie_, means _you_, and it means _she_, and it means _her_, and it means_it_, and it means _they_, and it means _them_. Think of the raggedpoverty of a language which has to make one word do the work of six--anda poor little weak thing of only three letters at that. But mainly,think of the exasperation of never knowing which of these meanings thespeaker is trying to convey. This explains why, whenever a person says_sie_ to me, I generally try to kill him, if a stranger.

  Now observe the Adjective. Here was a case where simplicity would havebeen an advantage; therefore, for no other reason, the inventor of thislanguage complicated it all he could. When we wish to speak of our "goodfriend or friends," in our enlightened tongue, we stick to the one formand have no trouble or hard feeling about it; but with the Germantongue it is different. When a German gets his hands on an adjective,he declines it, and keeps on declining it until the common sense is alldeclined out of it. It is as bad as Latin. He says, for instance:

  SINGULAR

  Nominative--Mein gut_er_ Freund, my good friend. Genitives--Mein_es_Gut_en_ Freund_es_, of my good friend. Dative--Mein_em_ gut_en_ Freund,to my good friend. Accusative--Mein_en_ gut_en_ Freund, my good friend.

  PLURAL

  N.--Mein_e_ gut_en_ Freund_e_, my good friends. G.--Mein_er_ gut_en_Freund_e_, of my good friends. D.--Mein_en_ gut_en_ Freund_en_, to mygood friends. A.--Mein_e_ gut_en_ Freund_e_, my good friends.

  Now let the candidate for the asylum try to memorize those variations,and see how soon he will be elected. One might better go without friendsin Germany than take all this trouble about them. I have shown what abother it is to decline a good (male) friend; well this is only a thirdof the work, for there is a variety of new distortions of the adjectiveto be learned when the object is feminine, and still another when theobject is neuter. Now there are more adjectives in this language thanthere are black cats in Switzerland, and they must all be aselaborately declined as the examples above suggested.Difficult?--troublesome?--these words cannot describe it. I heard aCalifornian student in Heidelberg say, in one of his calmest moods, thathe would rather decline two drinks than one German adjective.

  The inventor of the language seems to have taken pleasure incomplicating it in every way he could think of. For instance, if one iscasually referring to a house, _haus_, or a horse, _pferd_, or adog, _hund_, he spells these words as I have indicated; but if heis referring to them in the Dative case, he sticks on a foolish andunnecessary E and spells them _hause, pferde, hunde_. So, as an addedE often signifies the plural, as the S does with us, the new student islikely to go on for a month making twins out of a Dative dog before hediscovers his mistake; and on the other hand, many a new student whocould ill afford loss, has bought and paid for two dogs and only got oneof them, because he ignorantly bought that dog in the Dative singularwhen he really supposed he was talking plural--which left the law on theseller's side, of course, by the strict rules of grammar, and thereforea suit for recovery could not lie.

  In German, all the Nouns begin with a capital letter. Now that is a goodidea; and a good idea, in this language, is necessarily conspicuous fromits lonesomeness. I consider this capitalizing of nouns a good idea,because by reason of it you are almost always able to tell a noun theminute you see it. You fall into error occasionally, because you mistakethe name of a person for the name of a thing, and waste a good deal oftime trying to dig a meaning out of it. German names almost always domean something, and this helps to deceive the student. I translated apassage one day, which said that "the infuriated tigress broke looseand utterly ate up the unfortunate fir forest" (Tannenwald). When I wasgirding up my loins to doubt this, I found out that Tannenwald in thisinstance was a man's name.

  Every noun has a gender, and there is no sense or system in thedistribution; so the gender of each must be learned separately and byheart. There is no other way. To do this one has to have a memory like amemorandum-book. In German, a young lady has no sex, while a turnip has.Think what overwrought reverence that shows for the turnip, and whatcallous disrespect for the girl. See how it looks in print--I translatethis from a conversation in one of the best of the German Sunday-schoolbooks:

  "Gretchen. Wilhelm, where is the turnip?

  "Wilhelm. She has gone to the kitchen.

  "Gretchen. Where is the accomplished and beautiful English maiden?

  "Wilhelm. It has gone to the opera."

  To continue with the German genders: a tree is male, its buds arefemale, its leaves are neuter; horses are sexless, dogs are male, catsare female--tomcats included, of course; a person's mouth, neck, bosom,elbows, fingers, nails, feet, and body are of the male sex, and hishead is male or neuter according to the word selected to signify it,and _not_ according to the sex of the individual who wears it--for inGermany all the women wear either male heads or sexless ones; a person'snose, lips, shoulders, breast, hands, and toes are of the female sex;and his hair, ears, eyes, chin, legs, knees, heart, and consciencehaven't any sex at all. The inventor of the language probably got whathe knew about a conscience from hearsay.

  Now, by the above dissection, the reader will see that in Germany aman may _think_ he is a man, but when he comes to look into the matterclosely, he is bound to have his doubts; he finds that in sober truthhe is a most ridiculous mixture; and if he ends by trying to comforthimself with the thought that he can at least depend on a third of thismess as being manly and masculine, the humiliating second thought willquickly remind him that in this respect he is no better off than anywoman or cow in the land.

  In the German it is true that by some oversight of the inventor ofthe language, a Woman is a female; but a Wife (Weib) is not--which isunfortunate. A Wife, here, has no sex; she is neuter; so, according tothe grammar, a fish is _he_, his scales are _she_, but a fishwife isneither. To describe a wife as sexless may be called under-description;that is bad enough, but over-description is surely worse. A Germanspeaks of an Englishman as the _Engl?nnder_; to change the sex, headds INN, and that stands for Englishwoman--_Engl?nderinn_. That seemsdescriptive enough, but still it is not exact enough for a German; so heprecedes the word with that article which indicates that the creature tofollow is feminine, and writes it down thus: "die Engl?nderinn,"--whichmeans "the she-Englishwoman." I consider that that person isover-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 impossibl
e to persuadehis tongue to refer to things as "he" and "she," and "him" and "her,"which it has been always accustomed to refer to as "it." When he evenframes a German sentence in his mind, with the hims and hers in theright places, and then works up his courage to the utterance-point, itis no use--the moment he begins to speak his tongue flies the track andall those labored males and females come out as "its." And even when heis reading German to himself, he always calls those things "it," whereashe ought to read in this way:

  TALE OF THE FISHWIFE AND ITS SAD FATE [2]

  2. I capitalize the nouns, in the German (and ancient English) fashion.

  It is a bleak Day. Hear the Rain, how he pours, and the Hail, how herattles; and see the Snow, how he drifts along, and of the Mud, howdeep he is! Ah the poor Fishwife, it is stuck fast in the Mire; it hasdropped its Basket of Fishes; and its Hands have been cut by the Scalesas it seized some of the falling Creatures; and one Scale has even gotinto its Eye, and it cannot get her out. It opens its Mouth to cryfor Help; but if any Sound comes out of him, alas he is drowned by theraging of the Storm. And now a Tomcat has got one of the Fishes and shewill surely escape with him. No, she bites off a Fin, she holds her inher Mouth--will she swallow her? No, the Fishwife's brave Mother-dogdeserts his Puppies and rescues the Fin--which he eats, himself, as hisReward. O, horror, the Lightning has struck the Fish-basket; he sets himon Fire; see the Flame, how she licks the doomed Utensil with her redand angry Tongue; now she attacks the helpless Fishwife's Foot--sheburns him up, all but the big Toe, and even _She_ is partly consumed;and still she spreads, still she waves her fiery Tongues; she attacksthe Fishwife's Leg and destroys _it_; she attacks its Hand and destroys_Her_ also; she attacks the Fishwife's Leg and destroys _Her_ also;she attacks its Body and consumes _Him_; she wreathes herself about itsHeart and _it_ is consumed; next about its Breast, and in a Moment _She_is a Cinder; now she reaches its Neck--He goes; now its Chin--_it_goes; now its Nose--_She_ goes. In another Moment, except Help come,the Fishwife will be no more. Time presses--is there none to succor andsave? Yes! Joy, joy, with flying Feet the she-Englishwoman comes!But alas, the generous she-Female is too late: where now is the fatedFishwife? It has ceased from its Sufferings, it has gone to a betterLand; all that is left of it for its loved Ones to lament over, is thispoor smoldering Ash-heap. Ah, woeful, woeful Ash-heap! Let us take himup tenderly, reverently, upon the lowly Shovel, and bear him to his longRest, with the Prayer that when he rises again it will be a Realmwhere he will have one good square responsible Sex, and have it all tohimself, instead of having a mangy lot of assorted Sexes scattered allover him in Spots.

  There, now, the reader can see for himself that this pronoun business isa very awkward thing for the unaccustomed tongue. I suppose that in alllanguages the similarities of look and sound between words which haveno similarity in meaning are a fruitful source of perplexity to theforeigner. It is so in our tongue, and it is notably the case in theGerman. Now there is that troublesome word _verm?hlt_: to me it hasso close a resemblance--either real or fancied--to three or four otherwords, that I never know whether it means despised, painted, suspected,or married; until I look in the dictionary, and then I find it means thelatter. There are lots of such words and they are a great torment. Toincrease the difficulty there are words which _seem_ to resemble eachother, and yet do not; but they make just as much trouble as if theydid. For instance, there is the word _vermiethen_ (to let, to lease, tohire); and the word _verheirathen_ (another way of saying to marry).I heard of an Englishman who knocked at a man's door in Heidelberg andproposed, in the best German he could command, to "verheirathen" thathouse. Then there are some words which mean one thing when you emphasizethe first syllable, but mean something very different if you throw theemphasis on the last syllable. For instance, there is a word whichmeans a runaway, or the act of glancing through a book, according to theplacing of the emphasis; and another word which signifies to _associate_with a man, or to _avoid_ him, according to where you put theemphasis--and you can generally depend on putting it in the wrong placeand getting into trouble.

  There are some exceedingly useful words in this language. _Schlag_, forexample; and _zug_. There are three-quarters of a column of _schlags_in the dictonary, and a column and a half of _zugs_. The word _schlag_means Blow, Stroke, Dash, Hit, Shock, Clap, Slap, Time, Bar, Coin,Stamp, Kind, Sort, Manner, Way, Apoplexy, Wood-cutting, Enclosure,Field, Forest-clearing. This is its simple and _exact_ meaning--thatis to say, its restricted, its fettered meaning; but there are ways bywhich you can set it free, so that it can soar away, as on the wings ofthe morning, and never be at rest. You can hang any word you pleaseto its tail, and make it mean anything you want to. You can beginwith _schlag-ader_, which means artery, and you can hang on the wholedictionary, word by word, clear through the alphabet to _schlag-wasser_,which means bilge-water--and including _schlag-mutte_R, which meansmother-in-law.

  Just the same with _zug_. Strictly speaking, _zug_ means Pull, Tug,Draught, Procession, March, Progress, Flight, Direction, Expedition,Train, Caravan, Passage, Stroke, Touch, Line, Flourish, Trait ofCharacter, Feature, Lineament, Chess-move, Organ-stop, Team, Whiff,Bias, Drawer, Propensity, Inhalation, Disposition: but that thing whichit does _not_ mean--when all its legitimate pennants have been hung on,has not been discovered yet.

  One cannot overestimate the usefulness of _schlag_ and _zug_. Armed justwith these two, and the word _also_, what cannot the foreigner on Germansoil accomplish? The German word _also_ is the equivalent of the Englishphrase "You know," and does not mean anything at all--in _talk_, thoughit sometimes does in print. Every time a German opens his mouth an_also_ falls out; and every time he shuts it he bites one in two thatwas trying to _get_ out.

  Now, the foreigner, equipped with these three noble words, is master ofthe situation. Let him talk right along, fearlessly; let him pour hisindifferent German forth, and when he lacks for a word, let him heavea _schlag_ into the vacuum; all the chances are that it fits it like aplug, but if it doesn't let him promptly heave a _zug_ after it; the twotogether 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 amoment's chance to think of the needful word. In Germany, when you loadyour conversational gun it is always best to throw in a _schlag_ or twoand a _zug_ or two, because it doesn't make any difference how muchthe rest of the charge may scatter, you are bound to bag something with_them_. Then you blandly say _also_, and load up again. Nothing givessuch an air of grace and elegance and unconstraint to a German or anEnglish 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 wassuccessfully removed from a patient--a North German from near Hamburg;but as most unfortunately the surgeons had opened him in the wrongplace, under the impression that he contained a panorama, he died. Thesad event has cast a gloom over the whole community.

  That paragraph furnishes a text for a few remarks about one of the mostcurious and notable features of my subject--the length of German words.Some German words are so long that they have a perspective. Observethese examples:

  Freundschaftsbezeigungen.

  Dilettantenaufdringlichkeiten.

  Stadtverordnetenversammlungen.

  These things are not words, they are alphabetical processions. And theyare not rare; one can open a German newspaper at any time and see themmarching majestically across the page--and if he has any imaginationhe can see the banners and hear the music, too. They impart a martialthrill to the meekest subject. I take a great interest in thesecuriosities. Whenever I come across a good one, I stuff it and put it inmy museum. In this way I have made quite a valuable collection. When Iget duplicates, I exchange with other collectors, and thus increase thevariety of my stock. Here are some specimens which I lately bought at anauction sale of the effects of a bankrupt bric-a-brac hunter:

  Generalstaatsverordnetenversammlungen.

  Alterthumsw
issenschaften.

  Kinderbewahrungsanstalten.

  Unabh?ngigkeitserkl?rungen.

  Wiedererstellungbestrebungen.

  Waffenstillstandsunterhandlungen.

  Of course when one of these grand mountain ranges goes stretching acrossthe printed page, it adorns and ennobles that literary landscape--but atthe same time it is a great distress to the new student, for it blocksup his way; he cannot crawl under it, or climb over it, or tunnelthrough it. So he resorts to the dictionary for help, but there is nohelp there. The dictionary must draw the line somewhere--so it leavesthis sort of words out. And it is right, because these long things arehardly legitimate words, but are rather combinations of words, and theinventor of them ought to have been killed. They are compound words withthe hyphens left out. The various words used in building them are inthe dictionary, but in a very scattered condition; so you can hunt thematerials out, one by one, and get at the meaning at last, but it is atedious and harassing business. I have tried this process upon some ofthe above examples. "Freundshaftsbezeigungen" seems to be "Friendshipdemonstrations," which is only a foolish and clumsy way of saying"demonstrations of friendship." "Unabh?ngigkeitserkl?rungen" seems to be"Independencedeclarations," which is no improvement upon"Declarations of Independence," so far as I can see."Generalstaatsverordnetenversammlungen" seems to be"General-statesrepresentativesmeetings," as nearly as I can get at it--amere rhythmical, gushy euphemism for "meetings of the legislature,"I judge. We used to have a good deal of this sort of crime in ourliterature, but it has gone out now. We used to speak of a thing as a"never-to-be-forgotten" circumstance, instead of cramping it into thesimple and sufficient word "memorable" and then going calmly about ourbusiness as if nothing had happened. In those days we were not contentto embalm the thing and bury it decently, we wanted to build a monumentover it.

  But in our newspapers the compounding-disease lingers a little to thepresent day, but with the hyphens left out, in the German fashion. Thisis the shape it takes: instead of saying "Mr. Simmons, clerk of thecounty and district courts, was in town yesterday," the new form putsit thus: "Clerk of the County and District Courts Simmons was in townyesterday." This saves neither time nor ink, and has an awkward soundbesides. One often sees a remark like this in our papers: "_Mrs_.Assistant District Attorney Johnson returned to her city residenceyesterday for the season." That is a case of really unjustifiablecompounding; because it not only saves no time or trouble, but confersa title on Mrs. Johnson which she has no right to. But these littleinstances are trifles indeed, contrasted with the ponderous and dismalGerman system of piling jumbled compounds together. I wish to submit thefollowing local item, from a Mannheim journal, by way of illustration:

  "In the daybeforeyesterdayshortlyaftereleveno'clock Night, theinthistownstandingtavern called 'The Wagoner' was downburnt. When thefire to the onthedownburninghouseresting Stork's Nest reached, flewthe parent Storks away. But when the bytheraging, firesurroundedNest _itself_ caught Fire, straightway plunged the quickreturningMother-Stork into the Flames and died, her Wings over her young onesoutspread."

  Even the cumbersome German construction is not able to take the pathosout of that picture--indeed, it somehow seems to strengthen it. Thisitem is dated away back yonder months ago. I could have used it sooner,but I was waiting to hear from the Father-stork. I am still waiting.

  "_Also_!" If I had not shown that the German is a difficult language, Ihave at least intended to do so. I have heard of an American studentwho was asked how he was getting along with his German, and who answeredpromptly: "I am not getting along at all. I have worked at it hard forthree level months, and all I have got to show for it is one solitaryGerman phrase--'_zwei glas_'" (two glasses of beer). He paused fora moment, reflectively; then added with feeling: "But I've got that_solid_!"

  And if I have not also shown that German is a harassing and infuriatingstudy, my execution has been at fault, and not my intent. I heard latelyof a worn and sorely tried American student who used to fly to a certainGerman word for relief when he could bear up under his aggravations nolonger--the only word whose sound was sweet and precious to his ear andhealing to his lacerated spirit. This was the word _damit_. It was onlythe _sound_ that helped him, not the meaning; [3] and so, at last, whenhe learned that the emphasis was not on the first syllable, his onlystay and support was gone, and he faded away and died.

  3. It merely means, in its general sense, "herewith."

  I think that a description of any loud, stirring, tumultuous episodemust be tamer in German than in English. Our descriptive words of thischaracter have such a deep, strong, resonant sound, while their Germanequivalents do seem so thin and mild and energyless. Boom, burst, crash,roar, storm, bellow, blow, thunder, explosion; howl, cry, shout, yell,groan; battle, hell. These are magnificent words; the have a force andmagnitude of sound befitting the things which they describe. But theirGerman equivalents would be ever so nice to sing the children to sleepwith, or else my awe-inspiring ears were made for display and not forsuperior usefulness in analyzing sounds. Would any man want to die in abattle which was called by so tame a term as a _schlacht_? Or would nota comsumptive feel too much bundled up, who was about to go out, ina shirt-collar and a seal-ring, into a storm which the bird-song word_gewitter_ was employed to describe? And observe the strongest ofthe several German equivalents for explosion--_ausbruch_. Our wordToothbrush is more powerful than that. It seems to me that theGermans could do worse than import it into their language todescribe particularly tremendous explosions with. The German word forhell--Hoelle--sounds more like _helly_ than anything else; therefore,how necessarily chipper, frivolous, and unimpressive it is. If a manwere told in German to go there, could he really rise to thee dignity offeeling insulted?

  Having pointed out, in detail, the several vices of this language, Inow come to the brief and pleasant task of pointing out its virtues. Thecapitalizing of the nouns I have already mentioned. But far before thisvirtue stands another--that of spelling a word according to the sound ofit. After one short lesson in the alphabet, the student can tell how anyGerman word is pronounced without having to ask; whereas in our languageif a student should inquire of us, "What does B, O, W, spell?" we shouldbe obliged to reply, "Nobody can tell what it spells when you set if offby itself; you can only tell by referring to the context and finding outwhat it signifies--whether it is a thing to shoot arrows with, or a nodof one's head, or the forward end of a boat."

  There are some German words which are singularly and powerfullyeffective. For instance, those which describe lowly, peaceful, andaffectionate home life; those which deal with love, in any and allforms, from mere kindly feeling and honest good will toward the passingstranger, clear up to courtship; those which deal with outdoor Nature,in its softest and loveliest aspects--with meadows and forests, andbirds and flowers, the fragrance and sunshine of summer, and themoonlight of peaceful winter nights; in a word, those which deal withany and all forms of rest, repose, and peace; those also which deal withthe creatures and marvels of fairyland; and lastly and chiefly, inthose words which express pathos, is the language surpassingly richand affective. There are German songs which can make a stranger to thelanguage cry. That shows that the _sound_ of the words is correct--itinterprets the meanings with truth and with exactness; and so the ear isinformed, and through the ear, the heart.

  The Germans do not seem to be afraid to repeat a word when it is theright one. They repeat it several times, if they choose. That iswise. But in English, when we have used a word a couple of times in aparagraph, we imagine we are growing tautological, and so we are weakenough to exchange it for some other word which only approximatesexactness, to escape what we wrongly fancy is a greater blemish.Repetition may be bad, but surely inexactness is worse.

  There are people in the world who will take a great deal of trouble topoint out the faults in a religion or a language, and then go blandlyabout their business without suggesting any remedy. I am not that kindof person. I have shown that the German l
anguage needs reforming. Verywell, I am ready to reform it. At least I am ready to make the propersuggestions. Such a course as this might be immodest in another; but Ihave devoted upward of nine full weeks, first and last, to a careful andcritical study of this tongue, and thus have acquired a confidence inmy ability to reform it which no mere superficial culture could haveconferred upon me.

  In the first place, I would leave out the Dative case. It confuses theplurals; and, besides, nobody ever knows when he is in the Dative case,except he discover it by accident--and then he does not know when orwhere it was that he got into it, or how long he has been in it, orhow he is ever going to get out of it again. The Dative case is but anornamental folly--it is better to discard it.

  In the next place, I would move the Verb further up to the front. Youmay load up with ever so good a Verb, but I notice that you never reallybring down a subject with it at the present German range--you onlycripple it. So I insist that this important part of speech should bebrought forward to a position where it may be easily seen with the nakedeye.

  Thirdly, I would import some strong words from the English tongue--toswear with, and also to use in describing all sorts of vigorous thingsin a vigorous way. [4]

  1. "Verdammt," and its variations and enlargements, are words which haveplenty of meaning, but the _sounds_ are so mild and ineffectual thatGerman ladies can use them without sin. German ladies who could not beinduced to commit a sin by any persuasion or compulsion, promptly ripout one of these harmless little words when they tear their dresses ordon't like the soup. It sounds about as wicked as our "My gracious."German ladies are constantly saying, "Ach! Gott!" "Mein Gott!" "Gott inHimmel!" "Herr Gott" "Der Herr Jesus!" etc. They think our ladies havethe same custom, perhaps; for I once heard a gentle and lovely oldGerman lady say to a sweet young American girl: "The two languages areso alike--how pleasant that is; we say 'Ach! Gott!' you say 'Goddamn.'"

  Fourthly, I would reorganizes the sexes, and distribute them accordinglyto the will of the creator. This as a tribute of respect, if nothingelse.

  Fifthly, I would do away with those great long compounded words; orrequire the speaker to deliver them in sections, with intermissions forrefreshments. To wholly do away with them would be best, for ideas aremore easily received and digested when they come one at a time than whenthey come in bulk. Intellectual food is like any other; it is pleasanterand more beneficial to take it with a spoon than with a shovel.

  Sixthly, I would require a speaker to stop when he is done, and nothang a string of those useless "haven sind gewesen gehabt haben gewordenseins" to the end of his oration. This sort of gewgaws undignify aspeech, instead of adding a grace. They are, therefore, an offense, andshould be discarded.

  Seventhly, I would discard the Parenthesis. Also the reparenthesis, there-reparenthesis, and the re-re-re-re-re-reparentheses, and likewisethe final wide-reaching all-enclosing king-parenthesis. I would requireevery individual, be he high or low, to unfold a plain straightforwardtale, or else coil it and sit on it and hold his peace. Infractions ofthis law should be punishable with death.

  And eighthly, and last, I would retain _zug_ and _schlag_, with theirpendants, and discard the rest of the vocabulary. This would simplifythe language.

  I have now named what I regard as the most necessary and importantchanges. These are perhaps all I could be expected to name for nothing;but there are other suggestions which I can and will make in case myproposed application shall result in my being formally employed by thegovernment in the work of reforming the language.

  My philological studies have satisfied me that a gifted person ought tolearn English (barring spelling and pronouncing) in thirty hours, Frenchin thirty days, and German in thirty years. It seems manifest, then,that the latter tongue ought to be trimmed down and repaired. If it isto remain as it is, it ought to be gently and reverently set aside amongthe dead languages, for only the dead have time to learn it.

  A FOURTH OF JULY ORATION IN THE GERMAN TONGUE, DELIVERED AT A BANQUET OFTHE ANGLO-AMERICAN CLUB OF STUDENTS BY THE AUTHOR OF THIS BOOK

  Gentlemen: Since I arrived, a month ago, in this old wonderland, thisvast garden of Germany, my English tongue has so often proved a uselesspiece of baggage to me, and so troublesome to carry around, in a countrywhere they haven't the checking system for luggage, that I finally setto work, and learned the German language. Also! Es freut mich dass diesso ist, denn es muss, in ein haupts?chlich degree, h?flich sein, dassman auf ein occasion like this, sein Rede in die Sprache des Landesworin he boards, aussprechen soll. Dafuer habe ich, aus reinischeVerlegenheit--no, Vergangenheit--no, I mean H?flichkeit--aus reinisheH?flichkeit habe ich resolved to tackle this business in the Germanlanguage, um Gottes willen! Also! Sie muessen so freundlich sein, undverzeih mich die interlarding von ein oder zwei Englischer Worte, hieund da, denn ich finde dass die deutsche is not a very copious language,and so when you've really got anything to say, you've got to draw on alanguage that can stand the strain.

  Wenn haber man kann nicht meinem Rede Verstehen, so werde ich ihm sp?terdasselbe uebersetz, wenn er solche Dienst verlangen wollen haben werdensollen sein h?tte. (I don't know what wollen haben werden sollen seinh?tte means, but I notice they always put it at the end of a Germansentence--merely for general literary gorgeousness, I suppose.)

  This is a great and justly honored day--a day which is worthy of theveneration in which it is held by the true patriots of all climes andnationalities--a day which offers a fruitful theme for thoughtand speech; und meinem Freunde--no, mein_en_ Freund_en_--mein_es_Freund_es_--well, take your choice, they're all the same price; I don'tknow which one is right--also! ich habe gehabt haben worden gewesensein, as Goethe says in his Paradise Lost--ich--ich--that is tosay--ich--but let us change cars.

  Also! Die Anblich so viele Grossbrittanischer und Amerikanischerhier zusammengetroffen in Bruderliche concord, ist zwar a welcome andinspiriting spectacle. And what has moved you to it? Can theterse German tongue rise to the expression of this impulse? Is itFreundschaftsbezeigungenstadtverordnetenversammlungenfamilieneigenth?mlichkeiten?Nein, O nein! This is a crisp and noble word, but it fails to piercethe marrow of the impulse which has gathered this friendly meeting andproduced diese Anblick--eine Anblich welche ist gut zu sehen--gut fuerdie Augen in a foreign land and a far country--eine Anblick solche alsin die gew?hnliche Heidelberger phrase nennt man ein "sch?nes Aussicht!"Ja, freilich nat?rlich wahrscheinlich ebensowohl! Also! Die Aussicht aufdem Koenigsstuhl mehr gr?sser ist, aber geistlische sprechend nichtso sch?n, lob' Gott! Because sie sind hier zusammengetroffen, inBruderlichem concord, ein grossen Tag zu feirn, whose high benefits werenot for one land and one locality, but have conferred a measure ofgood upon all lands that know liberty today, and love it. Hundert Jahrevorueber, waren die Engl?nder und die Amerikaner Feinde; aber heut sindsie herzlichen Freunde, Gott sei Dank! May this good-fellowship endure;may these banners here blended in amity so remain; may they neverany more wave over opposing hosts, or be stained with blood which waskindred, is kindred, and always will be kindred, until a line drawnupon a map shall be able to say: "_This_ bars the ancestral blood fromflowing in the veins of the descendant!"

  APPENDIX E.

  LEGEND OF THE CASTLES

  Called the "Swallow's Nest" and "The Brothers," as Condensed from theCaptain's Tale

  In the neighborhood of three hundred years ago the Swallow's Nest andthe larger castle between it and Neckarsteinach were owned and occupiedby two old knights who were twin brothers, and bachelors. They had norelatives. They were very rich. They had fought through the wars andretired to private life--covered with honorable scars. They were honest,honorable men in their dealings, but the people had given them a coupleof nicknames which were very suggestive--Herr Givenaught and HerrHeartless. The old knights were so proud of these names that if aburgher called them by their right ones they would correct them.

  The most renowned scholar in Europe, at the time, was the Herr DoctorFranz Reikmann, who lived in Heidelberg. All German
y was proud of thevenerable scholar, who lived in the simplest way, for great scholars arealways poor. He was poor, as to money, but very rich in his sweet youngdaughter Hildegarde and his library. He had been all his life collectinghis library, book and book, and he lived it as a miser loves his hoardedgold. He said the two strings of his heart were rooted, the one in hisdaughter, the other in his books; and that if either were severed hemust die. Now in an evil hour, hoping to win a marriage portion for hischild, this simple old man had intrusted his small savings to a sharperto be ventured in a glittering speculation. But that was not the worstof it: he signed a paper--without reading it. That is the way with poetsand scholars; they always sign without reading. This cunning paper madehim responsible for heaps of things. The rest was that one night hefound himself in debt to the sharper eight thousand pieces of gold!--anamount so prodigious that it simply stupefied him to think of it. It wasa night of woe in that house.

  "I must part with my library--I have nothing else. So perishes oneheartstring," said the old man.

  "What will it bring, father?" asked the girl.

  "Nothing! It is worth seven hundred pieces of gold; but by auction itwill go for little or nothing."

  "Then you will have parted with the half of your heart and the joy ofyour life to no purpose, since so mighty a burden of debt will remainbehind."

  "There is no help for it, my child. Our darlings must pass under thehammer. We must pay what we can."

  "My father, I have a feeling that the dear Virgin will come to our help.Let us not lose heart."

  "She cannot devise a miracle that will turn _nothing_ into eightthousand gold pieces, and lesser help will bring us little peace."

  "She can do even greater things, my father. She will save us, I know shewill."

  Toward morning, while the old man sat exhausted and asleep in his chairwhere he had been sitting before his books as one who watches by hisbeloved dead and prints the features on his memory for a solace in theaftertime of empty desolation, his daughter sprang into the room andgently woke him, saying--

  "My presentiment was true! She will save us. Three times has sheappeared to me in my dreams, and said, 'Go to the Herr Givenaught, go tothe Herr Heartless, ask them to come and bid.' There, did I not tell youshe would save us, the thrice blessed Virgin!"

  Sad as the old man was, he was obliged to laugh.

  "Thou mightest as well appeal to the rocks their castles stand upon asto the harder ones that lie in those men's breasts, my child. _They_ bidon books writ in the learned tongues!--they can scarce read their own."

  But Hildegarde's faith was in no wise shaken. Bright and early she wason her way up the Neckar road, as joyous as a bird.

  Meantime Herr Givenaught and Herr Heartless were having an earlybreakfast in the former's castle--the Sparrow's Nest--and flavoringit with a quarrel; for although these twins bore a love for each otherwhich almost amounted to worship, there was one subject upon which theycould not touch without calling each other hard names--and yet it wasthe subject which they oftenest touched upon.

  "I tell you," said Givenaught, "you will beggar yourself yet with yourinsane squanderings of money upon what you choose to consider poor andworthy objects. All these years I have implored you to stop this foolishcustom and husband your means, but all in vain. You are always lyingto me about these secret benevolences, but you never have managed todeceive me yet. Every time a poor devil has been set upon his feet Ihave detected your hand in it--incorrigible ass!"

  "Every time you didn't set him on his feet yourself, you mean. Where Igive one unfortunate a little private lift, you do the same for a dozen.The idea of _your_ swelling around the country and petting yourself withthe nickname of Givenaught--intolerable humbug! Before I would be sucha fraud as that, I would cut my right hand off. Your life is a continuallie. But go on, I have tried _my_ best to save you from beggaringyourself by your riotous charities--now for the thousandth time I washmy hands of the consequences. A maundering old fool! that's what youare."

  "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 tocall me such names. Mannerless swine!"

  So saying, Herr Heartless sprang up in a passion. But some luckyaccident intervened, as usual, to change the subject, and the dailyquarrel ended in the customary daily living reconciliation. Thegray-headed old eccentrics parted, and Herr Heartless walked off to hisown castle.

  Half an hour later, Hildegarde was standing in the presence of HerrGivenaught. He heard her story, and said--

  "I am sorry for you, my child, but I am very poor, I care nothing forbookish rubbish, I shall not be there."

  He said the hard words kindly, but they nearly broke poor Hildegarde'sheart, nevertheless. When she was gone the old heartbreaker muttered,rubbing his hands--

  "It was a good stroke. I have saved my brother's pocket this time,in spite of him. Nothing else would have prevented his rushing off torescue the old scholar, the pride of Germany, from his trouble. The poorchild won't venture near _him_ after the rebuff she has received fromhis brother the Givenaught."

  But he was mistaken. The Virgin had commanded, and Hildegarde wouldobey. She went to Herr Heartless and told her story. But he saidcoldly--

  "I am very poor, my child, and books are nothing to me. I wish you well,but I shall not come."

  When Hildegarde was gone, he chuckled and said--

  "How my fool of a soft-headed soft-hearted brother would rage if he knewhow cunningly I have saved his pocket. How he would have flown to theold man's rescue! But the girl won't venture near him now."

  When Hildegarde reached home, her father asked her how she hadprospered. She said--

  "The Virgin has promised, and she will keep her word; but not in the wayI thought. She knows her own ways, and they are best."

  The old man patted her on the head, and smiled a doubting smile, but hehonored her for her brave faith, nevertheless.

  II

  Next day the people assembled in the great hall of the Ritter tavern,to witness the auction--for the proprietor had said the treasure ofGermany's most honored son should be bartered away in no meaner place.Hildegarde and her father sat close to the books, silent and sorrowful,and holding each other's hands. There was a great crowd of peoplepresent. The bidding began--

  "How much for this precious library, just as it stands, all complete?"called the auctioneer.

  "Fifty pieces of gold!"

  "A hundred!"

  "Two hundred."

  "Three!"

  "Four!"

  "Five hundred!"

  "Five twenty-five."

  A brief pause.

  "Five forty!"

  A longer pause, while the auctioneer redoubled his persuasions.

  "Five-forty-five!"

  A heavy drag--the auctioneer persuaded, pleaded, implored--it wasuseless, everybody remained silent--

  "Well, then--going, going--one--two--"

  "Five hundred and fifty!"

  This in a shrill voice, from a bent old man, all hung with rags, andwith a green patch over his left eye. Everybody in his vicinityturned and gazed at him. It was Givenaught in disguise. He was using adisguised voice, too.

  "Good!" cried the auctioneer. "Going, going--one--two--"

  "Five hundred and sixty!"

  This, in a deep, harsh voice, from the midst of the crowd at the otherend of the room. The people near by turned, and saw an old man, in astrange costume, supporting himself on crutches. He wore a long whitebeard, and blue spectacles. It was Herr Heartless, in disguise, andusing a disguised voice.

  "Good again! Going, going--one--"

  "Six hundred!"

  Sensation. The crowd raised a cheer, and some one cried out, "Go it,Green-patch!" This tickled the audience and a score of voices shouted,"Go it, Green-patch!"

  "Going--going--going--third and last call--one--two--"

  "Seven hundred!"

  "Huzzah!--well done, Crutches!
" cried a voice. The crowd took it up, andshouted altogether, "Well done, Crutches!"

  "Splendid, gentlemen! you are doing magnificently. Going, going--"

  "A thousand!"

  "Three cheers for Green-patch! Up and at him, Crutches!"

  "Going--going--"

  "Two thousand!"

  And while the people cheered and shouted, "Crutches" muttered, "Who canthis devil be that is fighting so to get these useless books?--But nomatter, he sha'n't have them. The pride of Germany shall have his booksif it beggars me to buy them for him."

  "Going, going, going--"

  "Three thousand!"

  "Come, everybody--give a rouser for Green-patch!"

  And while they did it, "Green-patch" muttered, "This cripple is plainlya lunatic; but the old scholar shall have his books, nevertheless,though my pocket sweat for it."

  "Going--going--"

  "Four thousand!"

  "Huzza!"

  "Five thousand!"

  "Huzza!"

  "Six thousand!"

  "Huzza!"

  "Seven thousand!"

  "Huzza!"

  "_Eight_ thousand!"

  "We are saved, father! I told you the Holy Virgin would keep her word!""Blessed be her sacred name!" said the old scholar, with emotion. Thecrowd roared, "Huzza, huzza, huzza--at him again, Green-patch!"

  "Going--going--"

  "_Ten_ thousand!" As Givenaught shouted this, his excitement was sogreat that he forgot himself and used his natural voice. His brotherrecognized it, and muttered, under cover of the storm of cheers--

  "Aha, you are there, are you, besotted old fool? Take the books, I knowwhat you'll do with them!"

  So saying, he slipped out of the place and the auction was at an end.Givenaught shouldered his way to Hildegarde, whispered a word inher ear, and then he also vanished. The old scholar and his daughterembraced, and the former said, "Truly the Holy Mother has done morethan she promised, child, for she has given you a splendid marriageportion--think of it, two thousand pieces of gold!"

  "And more still," cried Hildegarde, "for she has given you back yourbooks; the stranger whispered me that he would none of them--'thehonored son of Germany must keep them,' so he said. I would I might haveasked his name and kissed his hand and begged his blessing; but he wasOur Lady's angel, and it is not meet that we of earth should venturespeech with them that dwell above."

  APPENDIX F.

  GERMAN JOURNALS

  The daily journals of Hamburg, Frankfort, Baden, Munich, and Augsburgare all constructed on the same general plan. I speak of these becauseI am more familiar with them than with any other German papers. Theycontain no "editorials" whatever; no "personals"--and this is rathera merit than a demerit, perhaps; no funny-paragraph column; nopolice-court reports; no reports of proceedings of higher courts;no information about prize-fights or other dog-fights, horse-races,walking-machines, yachting-contents, rifle-matches, or other sportingmatters of any sort; no reports of banquet speeches; no department ofcurious odds and ends of floating fact and gossip; no "rumors" aboutanything or anybody; no prognostications or prophecies about anything oranybody; no lists of patents granted or sought, or any reference tosuch things; no abuse of public officials, big or little, or complaintsagainst them, or praises of them; no religious columns Saturdays, norehash of cold sermons Mondays; no "weather indications"; no "localitem" unveiling of what is happening in town--nothing of a local nature,indeed, is mentioned, beyond the movements of some prince, or theproposed meeting of some deliberative body.

  After so formidable a list of what one can't find in a German daily,the question may well be asked, What _can_ be found in it? It is easilyanswered: A child's handful of telegrams, mainly about European nationaland international political movements; letter-correspondence about thesame things; market reports. There you have it. That is what a Germandaily is made of. A German daily is the slowest and saddest anddreariest of the inventions of man. Our own dailies infuriate thereader, pretty often; the German daily only stupefies him. Once aweek the German daily of the highest class lightens up its heavycolumns--that is, it thinks it lightens them up--with a profound, anabysmal, book criticism; a criticism which carries you down, down, downinto the scientific bowels of the subject--for the German critic isnothing if not scientific--and when you come up at last and scent thefresh air and see the bonny daylight once more, you resolve without adissenting voice that a book criticism is a mistaken way to lighten upa German daily. Sometimes, in place of the criticism, the first-classdaily gives you what it thinks is a gay and chipper essay--about ancientGrecian funeral customs, or the ancient Egyptian method of tarring amummy, or the reasons for believing that some of the peoples who existedbefore the flood did not approve of cats. These are not unpleasantsubjects; they are not uninteresting subjects; they are even excitingsubjects--until one of these massive scientists gets hold of them. Hesoon convinces you that even these matters can be handled in such a wayas to make a person low-spirited.

  As I have said, the average German daily is made up solely ofcorrespondences--a trifle of it by telegraph, the rest of it by mail.Every paragraph has the side-head, "London," "Vienna," or some othertown, and a date. And always, before the name of the town, is placeda letter or a sign, to indicate who the correspondent is, so that theauthorities can find him when they want to hang him. Stars, crosses,triangles, squares, half-moons, suns--such are some of the signs used bycorrespondents.

  Some of the dailies move too fast, others too slowly. For instance, myHeidelberg daily was always twenty-four hours old when it arrived atthe hotel; but one of my Munich evening papers used to come a fulltwenty-four hours before it was due.

  Some of the less important dailies give one a tablespoonful of acontinued story every day; it is strung across the bottom of the page,in the French fashion. By subscribing for the paper for five years Ijudge that a man might succeed in getting pretty much all of the story.

  If you ask a citizen of Munich which is the best Munich daily journal,he will always tell you that there is only one good Munich daily, andthat it is published in Augsburg, forty or fifty miles away. It is likesaying that the best daily paper in New York is published out in NewJersey somewhere. Yes, the Augsburg _Allgemeine Zeitung_ is "the bestMunich paper," and it is the one I had in my mind when I was describinga "first-class German daily" above. The entire paper, opened out, is notquite as large as a single page of the New York _Herald_. It is printedon both sides, of course; but in such large type that its entirecontents could be put, in _Herald_ type, upon a single page of the_Herald_--and there would still be room enough on the page for the_Zeitung_'s "supplement" and some portion of the _Zeitung_'s next day'scontents.

  Such is the first-class daily. The dailies actually printed in Munichare all called second-class by the public. If you ask which is the bestof these second-class papers they say there is no difference; one is asgood as another. I have preserved a copy of one of them; it is calledthe _M?nchener Tages-Anzeiger_, and bears date January 25, 1879.Comparisons are odious, but they need not be malicious; and without anymalice I wish to compare this journal, published in a German city of170,000 inhabitants, with journals of other countries. I know of noother way to enable the reader to "size" the thing.

  A column of an average daily paper in America contains from 1,800 to2,500 words; the reading-matter in a single issue consists of from25,000 to 50,000 words. The reading-matter in my copy of the Munichjournal consists of a total of 1,654 words --for I counted them. Thatwould be nearly a column of one of our dailies. A single issue ofthe bulkiest daily newspaper in the world--the London _Times_--oftencontains 100,000 words of reading-matter. Considering that the _DailyAnzeiger_ issues the usual twenty-six numbers per month, the readingmatter in a single number of the London _Times_ would keep it in "copy"two months and a half.

  The _Anzeiger_ is an eight-page paper; its page is one inch wider andone inch longer than a foolscap page; that is to say, the dimensions ofits page are somewhere between those of a s
choolboy's slate and a lady'spocket handkerchief. One-fourth of the first page is taken up with theheading of the journal; this gives it a rather top-heavy appearance;the rest of the first page is reading-matter; all of the second page isreading-matter; the other six pages are devoted to advertisements.

  The reading-matter is compressed into two hundred and five small-picalines, and is lighted up with eight pica headlines. The bill of fareis as follows: First, under a pica headline, to enforce attention andrespect, is a four-line sermon urging mankind to remember that, althoughthey are pilgrims here below, they are yet heirs of heaven; and that"When they depart from earth they soar to heaven." Perhaps a four-linesermon in a Saturday paper is the sufficient German equivalent of theeight or ten columns of sermons which the New-Yorkers get in theirMonday morning papers. The latest news (two days old) follows thefour-line sermon, under the pica headline "Telegrams"--these are"telegraphed" with a pair of scissors out of the _Augsburger Zeitung_ ofthe day before. These telegrams consist of fourteen and two-thirds linesfrom Berlin, fifteen lines from Vienna, and two and five-eights linesfrom Calcutta. Thirty-three small-pica lines of telegraphic news in adaily journal in a King's Capital of one hundred and seventy thousandinhabitants is surely not an overdose. Next we have the pica heading,"News of the Day," under which the following facts are set forth: PrinceLeopold is going on a visit to Vienna, six lines; Prince Arnulph iscoming back from Russia, two lines; the Landtag will meet at ten o'clockin the morning and consider an election law, three lines and one wordover; a city government item, five and one-half lines; prices of ticketsto the proposed grand Charity Ball, twenty-three lines--for this oneitem occupies almost one-fourth of the entire first page; there is to bea wonderful Wagner concert in Frankfurt-on-the-Main, with an orchestraof one hundred and eight instruments, seven and one-half lines. Thatconcludes the first page. Eighty-five lines, altogether, on that page,including three headlines. About fifty of those lines, as one perceives,deal with local matters; so the reporters are not overworked.

  Exactly one-half of the second page is occupied with an opera criticism,fifty-three lines (three of them being headlines), and "Death Notices,"ten lines.

  The other half of the second page is made up of two paragraphs underthe head of "Miscellaneous News." One of these paragraphs tells about aquarrel between the Czar of Russia and his eldest son, twenty-one anda half lines; and the other tells about the atrocious destruction of apeasant child by its parents, forty lines, or one-fifth of the total ofthe reading-matter contained in the paper.

  Consider what a fifth part of the reading-matter of an American dailypaper issued in a city of one hundred and seventy thousand inhabitantsamounts to! Think what a mass it is. Would any one suppose I could sosnugly tuck away such a mass in a chapter of this book that it would bedifficult to find it again if the reader lost his place? Surely not.I will translate that child-murder word for word, to give the reader arealizing sense of what a fifth part of the reading-matter of a Munichdaily actually is when it comes under measurement of the eye:

  "From Oberkreuzberg, January 21st, the _Donau Zeitung_ receives a longaccount of a crime, which we shortened as follows: In Rametuach,a village near Eppenschlag, lived a young married couple with twochildren, one of which, a boy aged five, was born three years before themarriage. For this reason, and also because a relative at Iggensbach hadbequeathed M400 ($100) to the boy, the heartless father considered himin the way; so the unnatural parents determined to sacrifice him in thecruelest possible manner. They proceeded to starve him slowly to death,meantime frightfully maltreating him--as the village people now makeknown, when it is too late. The boy was shut in a hole, and whenpeople passed by he cried, and implored them to give him bread. Hislong-continued tortures and deprivations destroyed him at last, on thethird of January. The sudden (sic) death of the child created suspicion,the more so as the body was immediately clothed and laid upon the bier.Therefore the coroner gave notice, and an inquest was held on the 6th.What a pitiful spectacle was disclosed then! The body was a completeskeleton. The stomach and intestines were utterly empty; they containednothing whatsoever. The flesh on the corpse was not as thick as the backof a knife, and incisions in it brought not one drop of blood. Therewas not a piece of sound skin the size of a dollar on the whole body;wounds, scars, bruises, discolored extravasated blood, everywhere--evenon the soles of the feet there were wounds. The cruel parents assertedthat the boy had been so bad that they had been obliged to use severepunishments, and that he finally fell over a bench and broke his neck.However, they were arrested two weeks after the inquest and put in theprison at Deggendorf."

  Yes, they were arrested "two weeks after the inquest." What a home soundthat has. That kind of police briskness rather more reminds me of mynative land than German journalism does.

  I think a German daily journal doesn't do any good to speak of, but atthe same time it doesn't do any harm. That is a very large merit, andshould not be lightly weighted nor lightly thought of.

  The German humorous papers are beautifully printed upon fine paper, andthe illustrations are finely drawn, finely engraved, and are not vapidlyfunny, but deliciously so. So also, generally speaking, are the two orthree terse sentences which accompany the pictures. I remember one ofthese pictures: A most dilapidated tramp is ruefully contemplating somecoins which lie in his open palm. He says: "Well, begging is gettingplayed out. Only about five marks ($1.25) for the whole day; many anofficial makes more!" And I call to mind a picture of a commercialtraveler who is about to unroll his samples:

  MERCHANT (pettishly).--_No_, don't. I don't want to buy anything!

  DRUMMER.--If you please, I was only going to show you--

  MERCHANT.--But I don't wish to see them!

  DRUMMER (after a pause, pleadingly).--But do you you mind letting _me_look at them! I haven't seen them for three weeks!

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