Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1930-04-14
An American Specimen.
BY MARK TWAIN.

Leaving the expedition outside to rest,
quartered myself. in the chalet, with
Harris, purposing to correct my journals
and scientific observations before con-
tinuing the ascent of the Riffelberg. ]
had hardly begun my work when tall,
slender, vigorous American youth OF
about %, who was on his way down the
mountain, entered and came toward me
with the breezy self-complacency which
is the adolescent's idea of the we'll
bred ease of the man of the world. His
hair was short and parted accurately in
the middle, and he had all the look of
an American person who would be likely
to begin his signature with an initial,
and spell his middle name out. He m
troduced himself, smiling q smirky
smile borrowed from the courtiers of the
stage, extended air-skinned talon, and
whilst he gripped my hand in it, he
bent his body forward three times at the
hips, as a stage courtier does, and said
in the ARREST and most condeScending
and patronizing way-1 quote his exact
language
VERY glad to make your acquaint-
ance, I'm sure; very glad indeed, assure
you. I've read all your little efforts and
greatly admired them, and when heard
you were here, I"
I indicated chair, and he sat down.
This grandee was the grandson of an
American of considerable note in his
day, and not wholly forgotten yet-a
man who came so near being a great
man that he was quite generally &C.
counted one while he lived.
slowly paced the floor, bordering
scientific problems, and heard this con-
versation:
Grandson-First visit to Europe?"
karlsruhe? Yes.
Grandson with a soft reminiscent
sigh suggestive of bygone joys that may
be tasted in their freshness but once.)-
All, know what it is to you. A first
visit-ah, the romance of it! wish I
could feel it again.
Harris-Yes, I find it exceeds all my
dreams. 1t is enchantment. 1 60
Grandson. with a dainty gesture of
the hand signifying, Spare me your
callow enthusiasts, good friend. y
Yes know; you go to cathedrals, and
exclaim; and you drag through league
long picture galleries and exclaim; and
you stand here, and there and yonder,
upon historic ground, and continue to
exclaim; and you are permeated with
your first crude conception of art and
are proud and happy. All, yes, proud
and happy-that expresses it. Yes-yes,
enjoy tit Is right-it is an innocent
revel.
. Harris-And you? Don't you do these
things now?
Grandson-I! Oh, that is very good!
My dear sir, when you are as old trav-
eler as am, you will not ask such a
question as that. visit the regulation
gallery, moon around the regulation ca
thedral do the worn round of the legu-
lation sights yet? Excuse me!
Harris-Well, what do you do, then?
Grandson-Do? 1 f1it-and 11it-for I
on 6n Hryip7 IlyYt he
herd. Today am in Paris, tomorrow in
Berlin, anon in Rome; but ycu would
look for me in vain in the galleries of
the Louvre or he common resorts of the
gazers in these other capitals. If you
would find me. you must look in the I'M
visited hooks and corners where Others
never think of going. One day you
will find me making myself at home in
some obscure PEASANTS cabin, tnotker
day you will find me in some forgotten
castle Worshiping some little gem of art.
which the careless eye has overlooked
and which the inexperienced would de-
spise; again you will find me a guest in
the inner sanctuaries of palaces, while
the herd is content to get hurried
glimpse of the Unused chambers by
feeling a servant
Harris-You are a guest in such
places?
Grandson-And a welcome one.
Harris-It is surprising. How does it
come?
Grandson-My grandfather's rame is
q passport to all the courts in Europe.
I have only to utter that name and
every door is open to me. I fit from
court to court at my own free will and
pleasure, and am always welcome. I am
as much at home in the palaces of Eu-
rope as you ere among your relatives
know every titled person in Europe,
think. have my pockets full of invi-
tations all the time. am Under prom
Use now to 60 to Italy, where am to be
the guest of succession of the noblest
houses in the land. In Berlin my life is
a continued round of gayety in the
Imperial Palace. It is the same wher-
ever go.
Harris-It must be very pleasant. But
1t must make Boston seem little slow
when you are at home.
Grandson-Yes, of course it does But
don't go home much There's no life
there-little to feed a mans higher ma
ture Bostons very narrow, you know
She doesn't know it, and you couldn't
convince her of it-so I say nothing
when I'm there; where's the use? Yes,
Boston is very narrow; but she has such
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