by Mark Twain
THE CANVASSER'S TALE
Poor, sad-eyed stranger! There was that about his humble mien, his tiredlook, his decayed-gentility clothes, that almost reached themustard-seed of charity that still remained, remote and lonely, in theempty vastness of my heart, notwithstanding I observed a portfolio underhis arm, and said to myself, Behold, Providence hath delivered hisservant into the hands of another canvasser.
Well, these people always get one interested. Before I well knew how itcame about, this one was telling me his history, and I was all attentionand sympathy. He told it something like this:--
My parents died, alas, when I was a little, sinless child. My uncleIthuriel took me to his heart and reared me as his own. He was my onlyrelative in the wide world; but he was good and rich and generous. Hereared me in the lap of luxury. I knew no want that money could satisfy.
In the fullness of time I was graduated, and went with two of myservants--my chamberlain and my valet--to travel in foreign countries.During four years I flitted upon careless wing amid the beauteousgardens of the distant strand, if you will permit this form of speech inone whose tongue was ever attuned to poesy; and indeed I so speak withconfidence, as one unto his kind, for I perceive by your eyes that youtoo, sir, are gifted with the divine inflation. In those far lands Ireveled in the ambrosial food that fructifies the soul, the mind, theheart. But of all things, that which most appealed to my inborn esthetictaste was the prevailing custom there, among the rich, of makingcollections of elegant and costly rarities, dainty objets de vertu,and in an evil hour I tried to uplift my uncle Ithuriel to a plane ofsympathy with this exquisite employment.
I wrote and told him of one gentleman's vast collection of shells;another's noble collection of meerschaum pipes; another's elevating andrefining collection of undecipherable autographs; another'spriceless collection of old china; another's enchanting collection ofpostage-stamps--and so forth and so on. Soon my letters yielded fruit.My uncle began to look about for something to make a collection of.You may know, perhaps, how fleetly a taste like this dilates. His soonbecame a raging fever, though I knew it not. He began to neglect hisgreat pork business; presently he wholly retired and turned an elegantleisure into a rabid search for curious things. His wealth was vast, andhe spared it not. First he tried cow-bells. He made a collection whichfilled five large salons, and comprehended all the different sorts ofcow-bells that ever had been contrived, save one. That one--an antique,and the only specimen extant--was possessed by another collector. Myuncle offered enormous sums for it, but the gentleman would not sell.Doubtless you know what necessarily resulted. A true collector attachesno value to a collection that is not complete. His great heartbreaks, he sells his hoard, he turns his mind to some field that seemsunoccupied.
Thus did my uncle. He next tried brickbats. After piling up a vast andintensely interesting collection, the former difficulty supervened;his great heart broke again; he sold out his soul's idol to the retiredbrewer who possessed the missing brick. Then he tried flint hatchetsand other implements of Primeval Man, but by and by discovered that thefactory where they were made was supplying other collectors as wellas himself. He tried Aztec inscriptions and stuffed whales--anotherfailure, after incredible labor and expense. When his collection seemedat last perfect, a stuffed whale arrived from Greenland and an Aztecinscription from the Cundurango regions of Central America that made allformer specimens insignificant. My uncle hastened to secure thesenoble gems. He got the stuffed whale, but another collector got theinscription. A real Cundurango, as possibly you know, is a possession ofsuch supreme value that, when once a collector gets it, he will ratherpart with his family than with it. So my uncle sold out, and saw hisdarlings go forth, never more to return; and his coal-black hair turnedwhite as snow in a single night.
Now he waited, and thought. He knew another disappointment might killhim. He was resolved that he would choose things next time that no otherman was collecting. He carefully made up his mind, and once more enteredthe field-this time to make a collection of echoes.
"Of what?" said I.
Echoes, sir. His first purchase was an echo in Georgia that repeatedfour times; his next was a six-repeater in Maryland; his next was athirteen-repeater in Maine; his next was a nine-repeater in Kansas;his next was a twelve-repeater in Tennessee, which he got cheap, soto speak, because it was out of repair, a portion of the crag whichreflected it having tumbled down. He believed he could repair it at acost of a few thousand dollars, and, by increasing the elevation withmasonry, treble the repeating capacity; but the architect who undertookthe job had never built an echo before, and so he utterly spoiledthis one. Before he meddled with it, it used to talk back like amother-in-law, but now it was only fit for the deaf-and-dumb asylum.Well, next he bought a lot of cheap little double-barreled echoes,scattered around over various states and territories; he got themat twenty per cent. off by taking the lot. Next he bought a perfectGatling-gun of an echo in Oregon, and it cost a fortune, I can tellyou. You may know, sir, that in the echo market the scale of pricesis cumulative, like the carat-scale in diamonds; in fact, the samephraseology is used. A single-carat echo is worth but ten dollars overand above the value of the land it is on; a two-carat or double-barreledecho is worth thirty dollars; a five-carat is worth nine hundred andfifty; a ten-carat is worth thirteen thousand. My uncle's Oregon-echo,which he called the Great Pitt Echo, was a twenty-two carat gem, andcost two hundred and sixteen thousand dollars--they threw the land in,for it was four hundred miles from a settlement.
Well, in the mean time my path was a path of roses. I was the acceptedsuitor of the only and lovely daughter of an English earl, and wasbeloved to distraction. In that dear presence I swam in seas of bliss.The family were content, for it was known that I was sole heir to anuncle held to be worth five millions of dollars. However, none of usknew that my uncle had become a collector, at least in anything morethan a small way, for esthetic amusement.
Now gathered the clouds above my unconscious head. That divine echo,since known throughout the world as the Great Koh-i-noor, or Mountainof Repetitions, was discovered. It was a sixty-five carat gem. You couldutter a word and it would talk back at you for fifteen minutes, when theday was otherwise quiet. But behold, another fact came to light at thesame time: another echo-collector was in the field. The two rushed tomake the peerless purchase. The property consisted of a couple ofsmall hills with a shallow swale between, out yonder among the backsettlements of New York State. Both men arrived on the ground at thesame time, and neither knew the other was there. The echo was not allowned by one man; a person by the name of Williamson Bolivar Jarvisowned the east hill, and a person by the name of Harbison J. Bledsoowned the west hill; the swale between was the dividing-line. So whilemy uncle was buying Jarvis's hill for three million two hundred andeighty-five thousand dollars, the other party was buying Bledso's hillfor a shade over three million.
Now, do you perceive the natural result? Why, the noblest collection ofechoes on earth was forever and ever incomplete, since it possessed butthe one-half of the king echo of the universe. Neither man was contentwith this divided ownership, yet neither would sell to the other.There were jawings, bickerings, heart-burnings. And at last that othercollector, with a malignity which only a collector can ever feel towarda man and a brother, proceeded to cut down his hill!
You see, as long as he could not have the echo, he was resolved thatnobody should have it. He would remove his hill, and then there would benothing to reflect my uncle's echo. My uncle remonstrated with him, butthe man said, "I own one end of this echo; I choose to kill my end; youmust take care of your own end yourself."
Well, my uncle got an injunction put on him. The other man appealed andfought it in a higher court. They carried it on up, clear to the SupremeCourt of the United States. It made no end of trouble there. Two ofthe judges believed that an echo was personal property, because it wasimpalpable to sight and touch, and yet was purchasable, salable, andconsequently taxable; two others believed that
an echo was real estate,because it was manifestly attached to the land, and was not removablefrom place to place; other of the judges contended that an echo was notproperty at all.
It was finally decided that the echo was property; that the hills wereproperty; that the two men were separate and independent owners of thetwo hills, but tenants in common in the echo; therefore defendant was atfull liberty to cut down his hill, since it belonged solely to him, butmust give bonds in three million dollars as indemnity for damages whichmight result to my uncle's half of the echo. This decision also debarredmy uncle from using defendant's hill to reflect his part of the echo,without defendant's consent; he must use only his own hill; if his partof the echo would not go, under these circumstances, it was sad, ofcourse, but the court could find no remedy. The court also debarreddefendant from using my uncle's hill to reflect his end of the echo,without consent. You see the grand result! Neither man would giveconsent, and so that astonishing and most noble echo had to cease fromits great powers; and since that day that magnificent property is tiedup and unsalable.
A week before my wedding-day, while I was still swimming in bliss andthe nobility were gathering from far and near to honor our espousals,came news of my uncle's death, and also a copy of his will, making mehis sole heir. He was gone; alas, my dear benefactor was no more. Thethought surcharges my heart even at this remote day. I handed the willto the earl; I could not read it for the blinding tears. The earl readit; then he sternly said, "Sir, do you call this wealth?--but doubtlessyou do in your inflated country. Sir, you are left sole heir to a vastcollection of echoes--if a thing can be called a collection that isscattered far and wide over the huge length and breadth of the Americancontinent; sir, this is not all; you are head and ears in debt; thereis not an echo in the lot but has a mortgage on it; sir, I am not a hardman, but I must look to my child's interest; if you had but one echowhich you could honestly call your own, if you had but one echo whichwas free from incumbrance, so that you could retire to it with my child,and by humble, painstaking industry cultivate and improve it, and thuswrest from it a maintenance, I would not say you nay; but I cannot marrymy child to a beggar. Leave his side, my darling; go, sir, take yourmortgage-ridden echoes and quit my sight forever."
My noble Celestine clung to me in tears, with loving arms, and swore shewould willingly, nay gladly, marry me, though I had not an echo in theworld. But it could not be. We were torn asunder, she to pine and diewithin the twelvemonth, I to toil life's long journey sad and alone,praying daily, hourly, for that release which shall join us togetheragain in that dear realm where the wicked cease from troubling and theweary are at rest. Now, sir, if you will be so kind as to look at thesemaps and plans in my portfolio, I am sure I can sell you an echo forless money than any man in the trade. Now this one, which cost my uncleten dollars, thirty years ago, and is one of the sweetest things inTexas, I will let you have for--
"Let me interrupt you," I said. "My friend, I have not had a moment'srespite from canvassers this day. I have bought a sewing-machine which Idid not want; I have bought a map which is mistaken in all its details;I have bought a clock which will not go; I have bought a moth poisonwhich the moths prefer to any other beverage; I have bought no end ofuseless inventions, and now I have had enough of this foolishness. Iwould not have one of your echoes if you were even to give it to me. Iwould not let it stay on the place. I always hate a man that tries tosell me echoes. You see this gun? Now take your collection and move on;let us not have bloodshed."
But he only smiled a sad, sweet smile, and got out some more diagrams.You know the result perfectly well, because you know that when you haveonce opened the door to a canvasser, the trouble is done and you havegot to suffer defeat.
I compromised with this man at the end of an intolerable hour. I boughttwo double-barreled echoes in good condition, and he threw in another,which he said was not salable because it only spoke German. He said,"She was a perfect polyglot once, but somehow her palate got down."