by Mark Twain
“I get the idea,” said 44, breaking lightly in upon my thought, “it will be a Firm, with its headquarters up there and its hindquarters down here. There’s a duplicate of it in every congregation—in every family, in fact. Wherever you find a warty little devotee who isn’t in partnership with God—as he thinks—on a speculation to save some little warty soul that’s no more worth saving than his own, stuff him and put him in the museum, it is where he belongs.”
“Oh, don’t say such things, I beseech you! They are so shocking, and so awful. And so unjust; for in the sight of God all souls are precious, there is no soul that is not worth saving.”
But the words had no effect. He was in one of his frivolous moods, and when these were upon him one could not interest him in serious things. For all answer to what I had been saying, he said in a kindly but quite unconcerned way that we would discuss this trifle at another time, but not now. That was the very word he used; and plainly he used it without any sense of its gross impropriety. Then he added this strange remark—
“For the moment, I am not living in the present century, but in one which interests me more, for the time being. You pray, if you like—never mind me, I will amuse myself with a curious toy if it won’t disturb you.”
He got a little steel thing out of his pocket and set it between his teeth, remarking “it’s a jew’s-harp—the niggers use it”—and began to buffet out of it a most urgent and strenuous and vibrant and exceedingly gay and inspiriting kind of music, and at the same time he went violently springing and capering and swooping and swirling all up and down the room in a way to banish prayer and make a person dizzy to look at him; and now and then he would utter the excess of his joy in a wild whoop, and at other times he would leap into the air and spin there head over heels for as much as a minute like a wheel, and so frightfully fast that he was all webbed together and you could hear him buzz. And he kept perfect time to his music all the while. It was a most extravagant and stirring and heathen performance.
Instead of being fatigued by it he was only refreshed. He came and sat down by me and rested his hand on my knee in his winning way, and smiled his beautiful smile, and asked me how I liked it. It was so evident that he was expecting a compliment, that I was obliged to furnish it. I had not the heart to hurt him, and he so innocently proud of his insane exhibition. I could not expose to him how undignified it was, and how degrading, and how difficult it had been for me to stand it through; I forced myself to say it was “ideal—more than ideal;” which was of course a perfectly meaningless phrase, but he was just hungry enough for a compliment to make him think this was one, and also make him overlook what was going on in my mind; so his face was fairly radiant with thanks and happiness, and he impulsively hugged me and said—
“It’s lovely of you to like it so. I’ll do it again!”
And at it he went, God assoil him, like a tempest. I couldn’t say anything, it was my own fault. Yet I was not really to blame, for I could not foresee that he would take that uninflamed compliment for an invitation to do the fiendish orgy over again. He kept it up and kept it up until my heart was broken and all my body and spirit so worn and tired and desperate that I could not hold in any longer, I had to speak out and beg him to stop, and not tire himself so. It was another mistake; damnation, he thought I was suffering on his account! so he piped out cheerily, as he whizzed by—
“Don’t worry about me; sit right where you are and enjoy it, I can do it all night.”
I thought I would go out and find a good place to die, and was starting, when he called out in a grieved and disappointed tone—
“Ah, you are not going, are you?”
“Yes.”
“What for? Don’t go—please don’t.”
“Are you going to keep still? Because I am not going to stay here and see you tire yourself to death.”
“Oh, it doesn’t tire me in the least, I give you my word. Do stay.”
Of course I wanted to stay, but not unless he would sit down and act civilized, and give me a rest. For a time he could not seem to get the situation through his head—for he certainly could be the dullest animal that ever was, at times—but at last he looked up with a wounded expression in his big soft eyes, and said—
“August, I believe you do not want any more.”
Of course that broke me all down and made me ashamed of myself, and in my anxiety to heal the hurt I had given and see him happy again I came within a hair’s breadth of throwing all judgment and discretion to the winds and saying I did want more. But I did not do it; the dread and terror of what would certainly follow, tied my tongue and saved my life. I adroitly avoided a direct answer to what he had said, by suddenly crying “ouch!” and grabbing at an imaginary spider inside my collar, whereupon he forgot his troubles at once in his concern for me. He plunged his hand in and raked it around my neck and fetched out three spiders—real ones, whereas I had supposed there was none there but imaginary ones. It was quite unusual for any but imaginary ones to be around at that time of the year, which was February.
We had a pleasant time together, but no religious conversation, for whenever I began to frame a remark of that color he saw it in my mind and squelched it with that curious power of his whereby he barred from utterance any thought of mine it happened to suit him to bar. It was an interesting time, of course, for it was the nature of 44 to be interesting. Pretty soon I noticed that we were not in my room, but in his. The change had taken place without my knowing when it happened. It was beautiful magic, but it made me feel uneasy. Forty-Four said—
“It is because you think I am traveling toward temptation.”
“I am sure you are, 44. Indeed you are already arrived there, for you are doing things of a sort which the magician has prohibited.”
“Oh, that’s nothing! I don’t obey him except when it suits me. I mean to use his enchantments whenever I can get any entertainment out of them, and whenever I can annoy him. I know every trick he knows, and some that he doesn’t know. Tricks of my own—for I bought them; bought them from a bigger expert than he is. When I play my own, he is a puzzled man, for he thinks I do it by his inspiration and command, and inasmuch as he can’t remember furnishing either the order or the inspiration, he is puzzled and bothered, and thinks there is something the matter with his head. He has to father everything I do, because he has begun it and can’t get out of it now, and so between working his magic and my own I mean to build him up a reputation that will leave all other second-class magicians in the shade.”
“It’s a curious idea. Why don’t you build it up for yourself?”
“I don’t want it. At home we don’t care for a small vanity like that, and I shouldn’t value it here.”
“Where is your ho—”
It got barred before I could finish. I wished in my heart I could have that gorgeous reputation which he so despised! But he paid no attention to the thought; so I sighed, and did not pursue it. Presently I got to worrying again, and said—
“Forty-Four, I foresee that before you get far with the magician’s reputation you will bring a tragedy upon yourself. And you are so unprepared. You ought to prepare, 44, you ought indeed; every moment is precious. I do wish you would become a Christian; won’t you try?”
He shook his head, and said—
“I should be too lonesome.”
“Lonesome? How?”
“I should be the only one.”
I thought it an ill jest, and said so. But he said it was not a jest—some time he would go into the matter and prove that he had spoken the truth; at present he was busy with a thing of “importance”—and added, placidly, “I must jack-up the magician’s reputation, first.” Then he said in his kindest manner—
“You have a quality which I do not possess—fear. You are afraid of Katzenyammer and his pals, and it keeps you from being with me as much as you would like and as I would like. That can be remedied, in a quite simple way. I will teach you how to become invisible, whenever
you please. I will give you a magic word. Utter it in your mind, for you can’t do it with your tongue, though I can. Say it when you wish to disappear, and say it again when you wish to be visible again.”
He uttered the word, and vanished. I was so startled and so pleased and so grateful that I did not know where I was, for a moment, nor which end of me was up; then I perceived that I was sitting by the fire in my own room, but I did not know how I got there.
Being a boy, I did what another boy would have done: as long as I could keep awake I did nothing but appear and disappear, and enjoy myself. I was very proud, and considered myself the superior of any boy in the land; and that was foolish, for I did not invent the art, it was a gift, and no merit to me that I could exercise it. Another boy with the same luck would be just as superior as I was. But these were not my thoughts, I got them later, and at second hand—where all thoughts are acquired, 44 used to say. Finally I disappeared and went to sleep happy and content, without saying one prayer for 44, and he in such danger. I never thought of it.
Chapter 16
Forty-four, by grace of his right to wear a sword, was legally a gentleman. It suited his whim, now, to come out dressed as one. He was clever, but ill balanced; and whenever he saw a particularly good chance to be a fool, pie couldn’t persuade him to let it go by; he had to sample it, he couldn’t seem to help it. He was as unpopular as he could be, but the hostile feeling, the intense bitterness, had been softening little by little for twenty-four hours, on account of the awful danger his life was in, so of course he must go and choose this time of all times, to flaunt in the faces of the comps the offensive fact that he was their social equal. And not only did he appear in the dress of a gentleman, but the quality and splendor of it surpassed even Doangivadam’s best, and as for the others they were mere lilies of the valley to his Solomon. Embroidered buskins, with red heels; pink silk tights; pale blue satin trunks; cloth of gold doublet; short satin cape, of a blinding red; lace collar fit for a queen; the cunningest little blue velvet cap, with a slender long feather standing up out of a fastening of clustered diamonds; dress sword in a gold sheath, jeweled hilt. That was his outfit; and he carried himself like a princeling “doing a cake-walk,” as he described it. He was as beautiful as a picture, and as satisfied with himself as if he owned the earth. He had a lace handkerchief in his hand, and now and then he would give his nose a dainty little dab or two with it, the way a duchess does. It was evident that he thought he was going to be admired, and it was pitiful to see his disappointment when the men broke out on him with insults and ridicule and called him offensive names, and asked him where he had stolen his clothes.
He defended himself the best he could, but he was so near to crying that he could hardly control his voice. He said he had come by the clothes honestly, through the generosity of his teacher the good magician, who created them instantly out of nothing just by uttering a single magic word; and said the magician was a far mightier enchanter than they supposed; that he hadn’t shown the world the half of the wonders he could do, and he wished he was here now, he would not like it to have his humble servant abused so when he wasn’t doing any harm; said he believed if he was here he would do Katzenyammer a hurt for calling his servant a thief and threatening to slap his face.
“He would, would he? Well, there he comes—let’s see if he loves his poor dear servant so much,” said Katzenyammer, and gave the boy a cruel slap that you could have heard a hundred yards.
The slap spun Forty-Four around, and as soon as he saw the magician he cried out eagerly and supplicatingly—
“Oh, noble master, oh greatest and sublimest of magicians, I read your command in your eyes, and I must obey if it is your will, but I pray you, I beseech you spare me the office, do it yourself with your own just hand!”
The magician stood still and looked steadily and mutely at Forty-Four as much as half a minute, we waiting and gazing and holding our breath; then at last 44 made a reverent bow, saying, “You are master, your will is law, and I obey,” and turned to Katzenyammer and said—
“In not very many hours you will discover what you have brought upon yourself and the others. You will see that it is not well to offend the master.”
You have seen a cloud-shadow sweep along and sober a sunlit field; just so, that darkling vague threat was a cloud-shadow to those faces there. There is nothing that is more depressing and demoralizing than the promise of an indefinite calamity when one is dealing with a powerful and malicious necromancer. It starts large, plenty large enough, but it does not stop there, the imagination goes on spreading it, till at last it covers all the space you’ve got, and takes away your appetite, and fills you with dreads and miseries, and you start at every noise and are afraid of your own shadow.
Old Katrina was sent by the women to beg 44 to tell what was going to happen so that they could get relieved of a part of the crushing burden of suspense, but she could not find him, nor the magician either. Neither of them was seen, the rest of the day. At supper there was but little talk, and no mention of the subject. In the chess-room after supper there was some private and unsociable drinking, and much deep sighing, and much getting up and walking the floor unconsciously and nervously a little while, then sitting down again unconsciously; and now and then a tortured ejaculation broke out involuntarily. At ten o’clock nobody moved to go to bed; apparently each troubled spirit found a sort of help and solace in the near presence of its kind, and dreaded to separate itself from companionship. At half past ten no one had stirred. At eleven the same. It was most melancholy to be there like this, in the dim light of unquiet and flickering candles and in a stillness that was broken by but few sounds and was all the more impressive because of the moaning of the wintry wind about the towers and battlements.
It was at half past eleven that it happened. Everybody was sitting steeped in musings, absorbed in thought, listening to that dirge the wind was chanting—Katzenyammer like the rest. A heavy step was heard, all glanced up nervously, and yonder in the door appeared a duplicate Katzenyammer! There was one general gasping intake of breath that nearly sucked the candles out, then the house sat paralyzed and gazing. This creature was in shop-costume, and had a “take” in its hand. It was the exact reproduction of the other Katzenyammer to the last shade and detail, a mirror couldn’t have told them apart. It came marching up the room with the only gait that could be proper to it—aggressive, decided, insolent—and held out the “take” to its twin and said—
“Here! how do you want that set, leaded, or solid?”
For about a moment the original Katzenyammer was surprised out of himself; but the next moment he was all there, and jumped up shouting—
“You bastard of black magic, I’ll”—he finished with his fist, delivering a blow on the twin’s jaw that would have broken anybody else’s, but this jaw stood it uncrushed; then the pair danced about the place hammering, banging, ramming each other like battering machines, everybody looking on with wonder and awe and admiration, and hoping neither of them would survive. They fought half an hour, then sat down panting, exhausted, and streaming with blood—they hadn’t strength to go on.
The pair sat glaring at each other a while, then the original said—
“Look here, my man, who are you, anyway? Answer up!”
“I’m Katzenyammer, foreman of the shop. That’s who I am, if you want to know.”
“It’s a lie. Have you been setting type in there?”
“Yes, I have.”
“The hell you have! who told you you could?”
“I told myself. That’s sufficient.”
“Not on your life! Do you belong to the union?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Then you’re a scab. Boys, up and at him!”
Which they did, with a will, fuming and cursing and swearing in a way which it was an education to listen to. In another minute there would not have been anything left of that Duplicate, I reckon, but he promptly set up a ringing shout of �
�Help, boys, help!” and in the same moment perfect Duplicates of all the rest of us came swarming in and plunged into the battle!
But it was another draw. It had to be, for each Duplicate fought his own mate and was his exact match, and neither could whip the other. Then they tried the issue with swords, but it was a draw once more. The parties drew apart, now, and acrimoniously discussed the situation. The Duplicates refused to join the union, neither would they throw up their job; they were stubbornly deaf to both threats and persuasion. So there it was—just a deadlock! If the Duplicates remained, the Originals were without a living—why, they couldn’t even collect their waiting-time, now! Their impregnable position, which they had been so proud of and so arrogant about had turned to air and vacancy. These were very grave and serious facts, cold and clammy ones; and the deeper they sank down into the consciousness of the ousted men the colder and clammier they became.
It was a hard situation, and pitiful. A person may say that the men had only gotten what they deserved, but when that is said is all said? I think not. They were only human beings, they had been foolish, they deserved some punishment, but to take their very bread was surely a punishment beyond the measure of their fault. But there it was—the disaster was come, the calamity had fallen, and no man could see a way out of the difficulty. The more one examined it the more perplexing and baffling and irremediable it seemed. And all so unjust, so unfair; for in the talk it came out that the Duplicates did not need to eat or drink or sleep, so long as the Originals did those things—there was enough for both; but when a Duplicate did them, by George, his Original got no benefit out of it! Then look at that other thing: the Originals were out of work and wageless, yet they would be supporting these intruding scabs, out of their food and drink, and by gracious not even a thank-you for it! It came out that the scabs got no pay for their work in the shop, and didn’t care for it and wouldn’t ask for it. Doangivadam finally hit upon a fair and honorable compromise, as he thought, and the boys came up a little out of their droop to listen. Doangivadam’s idea was, for the Duplicates to do the work, and for the Originals to take the pay, and fairly and honorably eat and sleep enough for both. It looked bright and hopeful for a moment, but then the clouds settled down again: the plan wouldn’t answer; it would not be lawful for unions and scabs to have dealings together. So that idea had to be given up, and everybody was gloomier than ever. Meantime Katzenyammer had been drinking hard, to drown his exasperations, but it was not effective, he couldn’t seem to hold enough, and yet he was full. He was only half drunk; the trouble was, that his Duplicate had gotten the other half of the dividend, and was just as drunk, and as insufficiently drunk, as he was. When he realized this he was deeply hurt, and said reproachfully to his Duplicate, who sat there blinking and suffused with a divine contentment—