Delaware gazette. [volume] (Delaware, Ohio) 1855-1886, 1868-03-27
NO. /.
Marx Twain at Pompeii.


But no, the sun shines as brightly
down on old Pompeii to-day as it did
when Christ was born in Bethlehem,
and its streets are cleaners hundred
times than ever POmpeiiau saw them
in her prime. know whereofI speak
for in the great thOrOughfare Merchant
street and the Street OF FOrtune) have I
not seen with my own eyes how for two
hundred years aG least the pavementH &
were not repaved 2-hoW ruts five and
seven inches deep we're worn into th e
thick hag-stones by the chariot wheels
Of generations of sWindled Taxpayers 2
And don't know by these signs that
the Street Commissioners of Pompeii
never attended to their business, and
that if they never mended the pave
ments, they never cleaned them2 And
besides, isn't it the Unborn nature Oi
Street Commissioners to shirk their du-
ty whenever they get a chance2 1 only
wish that I knew the name Of the Last
one that held that office in POmpen SO
that could give him blast. I speak
with feeling on this subject, because
caught my foot in one OfJhOse ruts, and
the sadness that came over me when
saw the first skeleton, with ashes and
lava sticking to il, was tempered by the
reflection that may be that party was
the Street Commissioner, NO--POmpeii
is no longer a buried city. It is a city
of hundreds of roOfiess houses, and a
tangled maze of streets, where one
could easily get lost, without a guide,
and have to sleep in some ghOstly place
that had known no living tenant since
that awful November night of eighteen
centuries ago.
Fverywhere YOU see things that
make you wonder how old these old
houses were before the night Of destruc-
ton came-things, too, which bring
back those dead Inhabitants and place
the living before your eyes. For in
stance: The steps, (lava blOcks) that
lead up ont of the school, and the same
kind of steps that lead up into the dress
circle of the principal theatre, and al
most worn through! For ages the boys
hurried out of that school, and for ages
their parents hurried into the theatre,
and the nervous feet that have been
dust and ashes for eighteen centuries
have left their record for us to read to-
day. I imagined could see crowds Of
gentlemen and ladies thrOnging into
the theatre, with tickets for secured
seats in their hands, and on the wall,
as plainly as ever I read anything in
my life, l read the imaginary placard,
in infamous grammar, positively No
Free Lists except members of the
Press 2" And hanging about the door
way were slOuchy POmpeiian street
boys, uttering slang and profanity, and
keeping an eye out for checks. 1 enter
the theatre and sat down in one of the
long rows of stone benches in the dress
circle and looked at the place for the
orchestra and the ruined stage, and
round at the wide sweep of empty box
es, and thought to myself: "This house
won't pay" 1 tried to imagine music
in full blast, the leader of the orchestra
beating time, and the versatile" So
aud-so, who 'just returned from q most
successful tour in the provinces, to play
his last and farewell engagement Of
positively six nights only, in Pompeii,
previous to his departure for Herculan-
cum" cavorting around the stage and
pilinR the agony mountains high-but
couldn't do it with such a "hOuse" as
that those empty benches tied my fan
cy down to dull reality. I said, those
people that ought TO be here, have been
dead, and mouldering to dust for ages
and ages, and will never care for the
trifies and follies of life any more for
ever-"Owing to circumstances, ect.,
ect., there will not be any performance
tonight"