A Tramp Abroad

by Mark Twain

  CHAPTER XXVII

  [I Spare an Awful Bore]

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

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

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

  The mountains were a never-ceasing marvel. Sometimes they rose straightup out of the lake, and towered aloft and overshadowed our pygmy steamerwith their prodigious bulk in the most impressive way. Not snow-cladmountains, these, yet they climbed high enough toward the sky to meetthe clouds and veil their foreheads in them. They were not barren andrepulsive, but clothed in green, and restful and pleasant to the eye.And they were so almost straight-up-and-down, sometimes, that one couldnot imagine a man being able to keep his footing upon such a surface,yet there are paths, and the Swiss people go up and down them every day.

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

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

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

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

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

  "Yes--I am an American."

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

  "_Holsatia_."

  "We came in the _Batavia_--Cunard, you know. What kind of passage didyou have?"

  "Tolerably rough."

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

  "New England."

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

  "Yes--a friend."

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

  "Rather slow."

  "Ever been over here before?"

  "Yes."

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

  "Schweitzerhof."

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

  "Lord, yes!"

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

  "Passionately."

  "Have you felt bored, on this trip?"

  "Not all the time, part of it."

  "That's it!--you see you ought to go around and get acquainted, andtalk. That's my way. That's the way I always do--I just go 'round,'round, 'round and talk, talk, talk--I never get bored. You been up theRigi yet?"

  "No."

  "Going?"

  "I think so."

  "What hotel you going to stop at?"

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

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

  "_City of Antwerp_."

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

  "Yes."

  "What hotel you going to stop at?"

  "H?tel de l'Ecu de G?n?ve."

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

  "But I want to practice my Arabic."

  "Good gracious, do you speak Arabic?"

  "Yes--well enough to get along."

  "Why, hang it, you won't get along in Geneva--_they_ don't speak Arabic,they speak French. What hotel are you stopping at here?"

  "Hotel Pension-Beaurivage."

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

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

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

  "Arkansaw."

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

  "Divine."

  "That's what I call it. I like this knocking around, loose and easy, andmaking acquaintances and talking. I know an American, soon as I see him;so I go and speak to him and make his acquaintance. I ain't ever bored,on a trip like this, if I can make new acquaintances and talk. I'm awfulfond of talking when I can get hold of the right kind of a person, ain'tyou?"

  "I prefer it to any other dissipation."

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

  "Yes."

  "What hotel did you stop at?"

  "Schreiber."

  "That's the place!--I stopped there too, _full_ of Americans, _wasn't_it? It always is--always is. That's what they say. Everybody says that.What ship did you come over in?"

  "_Ville De Paris_."

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

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

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

  "Try Sozodont;" "Buy Sun Stove Polish;" "Helmbold's Buchu;" "TryBenzaline for the Blood."

  He was captured and it turned out that he was an American. Upon histrial the judge said to him:

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

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

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

  "Yes--we are Americans."

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

  "_City of Chester_."

  "Oh, yes--Inman line. We came in the _Batavia_--Cunard you know. Whatkind of a passage did you have?"

  "Pretty fair."

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

  "New Jersey."

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

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

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

  "No--my husband is with us."

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

  "I suppose it must be."

  "Hi, there's Mount Pilatus coming in sight again. Named after PontiusPilate, you know, that shot the apple off of William Tell's head.Guide-book tells all about it, they say. I didn't read it--an Americantold me. I don't read when I'm knocking around like this, having a goodtime. Did you ever see the chapel where William Tell used to preach?"

  "I did not know he ever preached there."

  "Oh, yes, he did. That American told me so. He don't ever shut uphis guide-book. He knows more about this lake than the fishes in it.Besides, they _call_ it 'Tell's Chapel'--you know that yourself. Youever been over here before?"

  "Yes."

  "I haven't. It's my first trip. But we've been all around--Paris andeverywhere. I'm to enter Harvard next year. Studying German all the timenow. Can't enter till I know German. This book's Otto's grammar. It'sa mighty good book to get the _ich habe gehabt haben_'s out of. ButI don't really study when I'm knocking around this way. If the notiontakes me, I just run over my little old _ich habe gehabt, du hastgehabt, er hat gehabt, wir haben gehabt, ihr haben gehabt, sie habengehabt_--kind of 'Now-I-lay-me-down-to-sleep' fashion, you know, andafter that, maybe I don't buckle to it for three days. It's awfulundermining to the intellect, German is; you want to take it in smalldoses, or first you know your brains all run together, and you feel themsloshing around in your head same as so much drawn butter. But Frenchis different; _French_ ain't anything. I ain't any more afraid of Frenchthan a tramp's afraid of pie; I can rattle off my little _j'ai, tu as,il a_, and the rest of it, just as easy as a-b-c. I get along prettywell in Paris, or anywhere where they speak French. What hotel are youstopping at?"

  "The Schweitzerhof."

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

  "No."

  "Going?"

  "We think of it."

  "What hotel you going to stop at?"

  "I don't know."

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

  "_City of Chester_."

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

  "Yes."

  "What hotel you going to stop at?"

  "We expect to stop in a pension."

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

  "The Schweitzerhof."

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

  "Yes--sometimes."

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

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

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

  "New Jersey."

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

  "Not yet."

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

  "Mine."

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