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diff --git a/3175-h/3175-h.htm b/3175-h/3175-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9906fea --- /dev/null +++ b/3175-h/3175-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1144 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + A BURLESQUE AUTOBIOGRAPHY and, FIRST ROMANCE by Mark Twain + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd7; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Project Gutenberg's A Burlesque Autobiography, by Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens) + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Burlesque Autobiography + +Author: Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens) + +Release Date: April, 2002 [Etext #3175] +Last Updated: February 24, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A BURLESQUE AUTOBIOGRAPHY *** + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <h1> + A BURLESQUE AUTOBIOGRAPHY<br /><br /> and, FIRST ROMANCE + </h1> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + by Mark Twain + </h2> + <h3> + 1871 <br /> <br /> + </h3> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + Contents + </h2> + <table summary="” style=" cellpadding="4” border="> + <tr> + <td> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>BURLESQUE AUTOBIOGRAPHY</b> </a> + </p> + <br /> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> <b>AWFUL, TERRIBLE MEDIEVAL ROMANCE</b> + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. THE SECRET REVEALED. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. FESTIVITY AND TEARS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. THE PLOT THICKENS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. THE AWFUL REVELATION. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. THE FRIGHTFUL CATASTROPHE. </a> + </p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + BURLESQUE AUTOBIOGRAPHY. + </h1> + <p> + Two or three persons having at different times intimated that if I would + write an autobiography they would read it, when they got leisure, I yield + at last to this frenzied public demand, and herewith tender my history: + </p> + <p> + Ours is a noble old house, and stretches a long way back into antiquity. + The earliest ancestor the Twains have any record of was a friend of the + family by the name of Higgins. This was in the eleventh century, when our + people were living in Aberdeen, county of Cork, England. Why it is that + our long line has ever since borne the maternal name (except when one of + them now and then took a playful refuge in an alias to avert foolishness), + instead of Higgins, is a mystery which none of us has ever felt much + desire to stir. It is a kind of vague, pretty romance, and we leave it + alone. All the old families do that way. + </p> + <p> + Arthour Twain was a man of considerable note—a solicitor on the + highway in William Rufus' time. At about the age of thirty he went + to one of those fine old English places of resort called Newgate, to see + about something, and never returned again. While there he died suddenly. + </p> + <p> + Augustus Twain, seems to have made something of a stir about the year + 1160. He was as full of fun as he could be, and used to take his old sabre + and sharpen it up, and get in a convenient place on a dark night, and + stick it through people as they went by, to see them jump. He was a born + humorist. But he got to going too far with it; and the first time he was + found stripping one of these parties, the authorities removed one end of + him, and put it up on a nice high place on Temple Bar, where it could + contemplate the people and have a good time. He never liked any situation + so much or stuck to it so long. + </p> + <p> + Then for the next two hundred years the family tree shows a succession of + soldiers—noble, high-spirited fellows, who always went into battle + singing; right behind the army, and always went out a-whooping, right + ahead of it. + </p> + <p> + This is a scathing rebuke to old dead Froissart's poor witticism + that our family tree never had but one limb to it, and that that one stuck + out at right angles, and bore fruit winter, and summer. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ||=======|==== + || | + || | + || O + || / || \ + || || + || || + || + || + || + OUR FAMILY TREE +</pre> + <p> + Early in the fifteenth century we have Beau Twain, called “the + Scholar.” He wrote a beautiful, beautiful hand. And he could imitate + anybody's hand so closely that it was enough to make a person laugh + his head off to see it. He had infinite sport with his talent. But by and + by he took a contract to break stone for a road, and the roughness of the + work spoiled his hand. Still, he enjoyed life all the time he was in the + stone business, which, with inconsiderable intervals, was some forty-two + years. In fact, he died in harness. During all those long years he gave + such satisfaction that he never was through with one contract a week till + government gave him another. He was a perfect pet. And he was always a + favorite with his fellow-artists, and was a conspicuous member of their + benevolent secret society, called the Chain Gang. He always wore his hair + short, had a preference for striped clothes, and died lamented by the + government. He was a sore loss to his country. For he was so regular. + </p> + <p> + Some years later we have the illustrious John Morgan Twain. He came over + to this country with Columbus in 1492, as a passenger. He appears to have + been of a crusty, uncomfortable disposition. He complained of the food all + the way over, and was always threatening to go ashore unless there was a + change. He wanted fresh shad. Hardly a day passed over his head that he + did not go idling about the ship with his nose in the air, sneering about + the commander, and saying he did not believe Columbus knew where he was + going to or had ever been there before. The memorable cry of “Land + ho!” thrilled every heart in the ship but his. He gazed a while + through a piece of smoked glass at the penciled line lying on the distant + water, and then said: “Land be hanged,—it's a raft!” + </p> + <p> + When this questionable passenger came on board the ship, he brought + nothing with him but an old newspaper containing a handkerchief marked + “B. G.,” one cotton sock marked “L. W. C.” one + woollen one marked “D. F.” and a night-shirt marked “O. + M. R.” And yet during the voyage he worried more about his “trunk,” + and gave himself more airs about it, than all the rest of the passengers + put together. + </p> + <p> + If the ship was “down by the head,” and would not steer, he + would go and move his “trunk” farther aft, and then watch the + effect. If the ship was “by the stern,” he would suggest to + Columbus to detail some men to “shift that baggage.” In storms + he had to be gagged, because his wailings about his “trunk” + made it impossible for the men to hear the orders. The man does not appear + to have been openly charged with any gravely unbecoming thing, but it is + noted in the ship's log as a “curious circumstance” that + albeit he brought his baggage on board the ship in a newspaper, he took it + ashore in four trunks, a queensware crate, and a couple of champagne + baskets. But when he came back insinuating in an insolent, swaggering way, + that some of his things were missing, and was going to search the other + passengers' baggage, it was too much, and they threw him overboard. + They watched long and wonderingly for him to come up, but not even a + bubble rose on the quietly ebbing tide. But while every one was most + absorbed in gazing over the side, and the interest was momentarily + increasing, it was observed with consternation that the vessel was adrift + and the anchor cable hanging limp from the bow. Then in the ship's + dimmed and ancient log we find this quaint note: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “In time it was discouvered yt ye troblesome passenger hadde + gonne downe and got ye anchor, and toke ye same and solde it to + ye dam sauvages from ye interior, saying yt he hadde founde it, + ye sonne of a ghun!” + </pre> + <p> + Yet this ancestor had good and noble instincts, and it is with pride that + we call to mind the fact that he was the first white person who ever + interested himself in the work of elevating and civilizing our Indians. He + built a commodious jail and put up a gallows, and to his dying day he + claimed with satisfaction that he had had a more restraining and elevating + influence on the Indians than any other reformer that ever labored among + them. At this point the chronicle becomes less frank and chatty, and + closes abruptly by saying that the old voyager went to see his gallows + perform on the first white man ever hanged in America, and while there + received injuries which terminated in his death. + </p> + <p> + The great grandson of the “Reformer” flourished in sixteen + hundred and something, and was known in our annals as, “the old + Admiral,” though in history he had other titles. He was long in + command of fleets of swift vessels, well armed and manned, and did great + service in hurrying up merchantmen. Vessels which he followed and kept his + eagle eye on, always made good fair time across the ocean. But if a ship + still loitered in spite of all he could do, his indignation would grow + till he could contain himself no longer—and then he would take that + ship home where he lived and, keep it there carefully, expecting the + owners to come for it, but they never did. And he would try to get the + idleness and sloth out of the sailors of that ship by compelling them to + take invigorating exercise and a bath. He called it “walking a + plank.” All the pupils liked it. At any rate, they never found any + fault with it after trying it. When the owners were late coming for their + ships, the Admiral always burned them, so that the insurance money should + not be lost. At last this fine old tar was cut down in the fulness of his + years and honors. And to her dying day, his poor heart-broken widow + believed that if he had been cut down fifteen minutes sooner he might have + been resuscitated. + </p> + <p> + Charles Henry Twain lived during the latter part of the seventeenth + century, and was a zealous and distinguished missionary. He converted + sixteen thousand South Sea islanders, and taught them that a dog-tooth + necklace and a pair of spectacles was not enough clothing to come to + divine service in. His poor flock loved him very, very dearly; and when + his funeral was over, they got up in a body (and came out of the + restaurant) with tears in their eyes, and saying, one to another, that he + was a good tender missionary, and they wished they had some more of him. + </p> + <p> + PAH-GO-TO-WAH-WAH-PUKKETEKEEWIS (Mighty-Hunter-with-a-Hog-Eye) TWAIN + adorned the middle of the eighteenth century, and aided Gen. Braddock with + all his heart to resist the oppressor Washington. It was this ancestor who + fired seventeen times at our Washington from behind a tree. So far the + beautiful romantic narrative in the moral story-books is correct; but when + that narrative goes on to say that at the seventeenth round the + awe-stricken savage said solemnly that that man was being reserved by the + Great Spirit for some mighty mission, and he dared not lift his + sacrilegious rifle against him again, the narrative seriously impairs the + integrity of history. What he did say was: + </p> + <p> + “It ain't no (hic!) no use. 'At man's so drunk he + can't stan' still long enough for a man to hit him. I (hic!) I + can't 'ford to fool away any more am'nition on him!” + </p> + <p> + That was why he stopped at the seventeenth round, and it was, a good plain + matter-of-fact reason, too, and one that easily commends itself to us by + the eloquent, persuasive flavor of probability there is about it. + </p> + <p> + I always enjoyed the story-book narrative, but I felt a marring misgiving + that every Indian at Braddock's Defeat who fired at a soldier a + couple of times (two easily grows to seventeen in a century), and missed + him, jumped to the conclusion that the Great Spirit was reserving that + soldier for some grand mission; and so I somehow feared that the only + reason why Washington's case is remembered and the others forgotten + is, that in his the prophecy came true, and in that of the others it didn't. + There are not books enough on earth to contain the record of the + prophecies Indians and other unauthorized parties have made; but one may + carry in his overcoat pockets the record of all the prophecies that have + been fulfilled. + </p> + <p> + I will remark here, in passing, that certain ancestors of mine are so + thoroughly well known in history by their aliases, that I have not felt it + to be worth while to dwell upon them, or even mention them in the order of + their birth. Among these may be mentioned RICHARD BRINSLEY TWAIN, alias + Guy Fawkes; JOHN WENTWORTH TWAIN, alias Sixteen-String Jack; WILLIAM + HOGARTH TWAIN, alias Jack Sheppard; ANANIAS TWAIN, alias Baron Munchausen; + JOHN GEORGE TWAIN, alias Capt. Kydd; and then there are George Francis + Train, Tom Pepper, Nebuchadnezzar and Baalam's Ass—they all + belong to our family, but to a branch of it somewhat distantly removed + from the honorable direct line—in fact, a collateral branch, whose + members chiefly differ from the ancient stock in that, in order to acquire + the notoriety we have always yearned and hungered for, they have got into + a low way of going to jail instead of getting hanged. + </p> + <p> + It is not well, when writing an autobiography, to follow your ancestry + down too close to your own time—it is safest to speak only vaguely + of your great-grandfather, and then skip from there to yourself, which I + now do. + </p> + <p> + I was born without teeth—and there Richard III had the advantage of + me; but I was born without a humpback, likewise, and there I had the + advantage of him. My parents were neither very poor nor conspicuously + honest. + </p> + <p> + But now a thought occurs to me. My own history would really seem so tame + contrasted with that of my ancestors, that it is simply wisdom to leave it + unwritten until I am hanged. If some other biographies I have read had + stopped with the ancestry until a like event occurred, it would have been + a felicitous thing, for the reading public. How does it strike you? + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + AWFUL, TERRIBLE MEDIEVAL ROMANCE + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. THE SECRET REVEALED. + </h2> + <p> + It was night. Stillness reigned in the grand old feudal castle of + Klugenstein. The year 1222 was drawing to a close. Far away up in the + tallest of the castle's towers a single light glimmered. A secret + council was being held there. The stern old lord of Klugenstein sat in a + chair of state meditating. Presently he said, with a tender accent: + </p> + <p> + “My daughter!” + </p> + <p> + A young man of noble presence, clad from head to heel in knightly mail, + answered: + </p> + <p> + “Speak, father!” + </p> + <p> + “My daughter, the time is come for the revealing of the mystery that + hath puzzled all your young life. Know, then, that it had its birth in the + matters which I shall now unfold. My brother Ulrich is the great Duke of + Brandenburgh. Our father, on his deathbed, decreed that if no son were + born to Ulrich, the succession should pass to my house, provided a son + were born to me. And further, in case no son were born to either, but only + daughters, then the succession should pass to Ulrich's daughter, if + she proved stainless; if she did not, my daughter should succeed, if she + retained a blameless name. And so I, and my old wife here, prayed + fervently for the good boon of a son, but the prayer was vain. You were + born to us. I was in despair. I saw the mighty prize slipping from my + grasp, the splendid dream vanishing away. And I had been so hopeful! Five + years had Ulrich lived in wedlock, and yet his wife had borne no heir of + either sex. + </p> + <p> + “'But hold,' I said, 'all is not lost.' A + saving scheme had shot athwart my brain. You were born at midnight. Only + the leech, the nurse, and six waiting-women knew your sex. I hanged them + every one before an hour had sped. Next morning all the barony went mad + with rejoicing over the proclamation that a son was born to Klugenstein, + an heir to mighty Brandenburgh! And well the secret has been kept. Your + mother's own sister nursed your infancy, and from that time forward + we feared nothing. + </p> + <p> + “When you were ten years old, a daughter was born to Ulrich. We + grieved, but hoped for good results from measles, or physicians, or other + natural enemies of infancy, but were always disappointed. She lived, she + throve—Heaven's malison upon her! But it is nothing. We are + safe. For, Ha-ha! have we not a son? And is not our son the future Duke? + Our well-beloved Conrad, is it not so?—for, woman of + eight-and-twenty years—as you are, my child, none other name than + that hath ever fallen to you! + </p> + <p> + “Now it hath come to pass that age hath laid its hand upon my + brother, and he waxes feeble. The cares of state do tax him sore. + Therefore he wills that you shall come to him and be already Duke—in + act, though not yet in name. Your servitors are ready—you journey + forth to-night. + </p> + <p> + “Now listen well. Remember every word I say. There is a law as old + as Germany that if any woman sit for a single instant in the great ducal + chair before she hath been absolutely crowned in presence of the people, + SHE SHALL DIE! So heed my words. Pretend humility. Pronounce your + judgments from the Premier's chair, which stands at the foot of the + throne. Do this until you are crowned and safe. It is not likely that your + sex will ever be discovered; but still it is the part of wisdom to make + all things as safe as may be in this treacherous earthly life.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh; my father, is it for this my life hath been a lie! Was it that + I might cheat my unoffending cousin of her rights? Spare me, father, spare + your child!” + </p> + <p> + “What, huzzy! Is this my reward for the august fortune my brain has + wrought for thee? By the bones of my father, this puling sentiment of + thine but ill accords with my humor. + </p> + <p> + “Betake thee to the Duke, instantly! And beware how thou meddlest + with my purpose!” + </p> + <p> + Let this suffice, of the conversation. It is enough for us to know that + the prayers, the entreaties and the tears of the gentle-natured girl + availed nothing. They nor anything could move the stout old lord of + Klugenstein. And so, at last, with a heavy heart, the daughter saw the + castle gates close behind her, and found herself riding away in the + darkness surrounded by a knightly array of armed vassals and a brave + following of servants. + </p> + <p> + The old baron sat silent for many minutes after his daughter's + departure, and then he turned to his sad wife and said: + </p> + <p> + “Dame, our matters seem speeding fairly. It is full three months + since I sent the shrewd and handsome Count Detzin on his devilish mission + to my brother's daughter Constance. If he fail, we are not wholly + safe; but if he do succeed, no power can bar our girl from being Duchess e'en + though ill-fortune should decree she never should be Duke!” + </p> + <p> + “My heart is full of bodings, yet all may still be well.” + </p> + <p> + “Tush, woman! Leave the owls to croak. To bed with ye, and dream of + Brandenburgh and grandeur!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. FESTIVITY AND TEARS + </h2> + <p> + Six days after the occurrences related in the above chapter, the brilliant + capital of the Duchy of Brandenburgh was resplendent with military + pageantry, and noisy with the rejoicings of loyal multitudes; for Conrad, + the young heir to the crown, was come. The old Duke's heart was full + of happiness, for Conrad's handsome person and graceful bearing had + won his love at once. The great halls of the palace were thronged with + nobles, who welcomed Conrad bravely; and so bright and happy did all + things seem, that he felt his fears and sorrows passing away and giving + place to a comforting contentment. + </p> + <p> + But in a remote apartment of the palace a scene of a different nature was + transpiring. By a window stood the Duke's only child, the Lady + Constance. Her eyes were red and swollen, and full of tears. She was + alone. Presently she fell to weeping anew, and said aloud: + </p> + <p> + “The villain Detzin is gone—has fled the dukedom! I could not + believe it at first, but alas! it is too true. And I loved him so. I dared + to love him though I knew the Duke my father would never let me wed him. I + loved him—but now I hate him! With all my soul I hate him! Oh, what + is to become of me! I am lost, lost, lost! I shall go mad!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. THE PLOT THICKENS. + </h2> + <p> + A few months drifted by. All men published the praises of the young Conrad's + government and extolled the wisdom of his judgments, the mercifulness of + his sentences, and the modesty with which he bore himself in his great + office. The old Duke soon gave everything into his hands, and sat apart + and listened with proud satisfaction while his heir delivered the decrees + of the crown from the seat of the premier. It seemed plain that one so + loved and praised and honored of all men as Conrad was, could not be + otherwise than happy. But strange enough, he was not. For he saw with + dismay that the Princess Constance had begun to love him! The love of the + rest of the world was happy fortune for him, but this was freighted with + danger! And he saw, moreover, that the delighted Duke had discovered his + daughter's passion likewise, and was already dreaming of a marriage. + Every day somewhat of the deep sadness that had been in the princess' + face faded away; every day hope and animation beamed brighter from her + eye; and by and by even vagrant smiles visited the face that had been so + troubled. + </p> + <p> + Conrad was appalled. He bitterly cursed himself for having yielded to the + instinct that had made him seek the companionship of one of his own sex + when he was new and a stranger in the palace—when he was sorrowful + and yearned for a sympathy such as only women can give or feel. He now + began to avoid, his cousin. But this only made matters worse, for, + naturally enough, the more he avoided her, the more she cast herself in + his way. He marvelled at this at first; and next it startled him. The girl + haunted him; she hunted him; she happened upon him at all times and in all + places, in the night as well as in the day. She seemed singularly anxious. + There was surely a mystery somewhere. + </p> + <p> + This could not go on forever. All the world was talking about it. The Duke + was beginning to look perplexed. Poor Conrad was becoming a very ghost + through dread and dire distress. One day as he was emerging from a private + ante-room attached to the picture gallery, Constance confronted him, and + seizing both his hands, in hers, exclaimed: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, why, do you avoid me? What have I done—what have I said, + to lose your kind opinion of me—for, surely I had it once? Conrad, + do not despise me, but pity a tortured heart? I cannot—cannot hold + the words unspoken longer, lest they kill me—I LOVE you, CONRAD! + There, despise me if you must, but they would be uttered!” + </p> + <p> + Conrad was speechless. Constance hesitated a moment, and then, + misinterpreting his silence, a wild gladness flamed in her eyes, and she + flung her arms about his neck and said: + </p> + <p> + “You relent! you relent! You can love me—you will love me! Oh, + say you will, my own, my worshipped Conrad!” + </p> + <p> + Conrad groaned aloud. A sickly pallor overspread his countenance, and he + trembled like an aspen. Presently, in desperation, he thrust the poor girl + from him, and cried: + </p> + <p> + “You know not what you ask! It is forever and ever impossible!” + And then he fled like a criminal and left the princess stupefied with + amazement. A minute afterward she was crying and sobbing there, and Conrad + was crying and sobbing in his chamber. Both were in despair. Both saw ruin + staring them in the face. + </p> + <p> + By and by Constance rose slowly to her feet and moved away, saying: + </p> + <p> + “To think that he was despising my love at the very moment that I + thought it was melting his cruel heart! I hate him! He spurned me—did + this man—he spurned me from him like a dog!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. THE AWFUL REVELATION. + </h2> + <p> + Time passed on. A settled sadness rested once more upon the countenance of + the good Duke's daughter. She and Conrad were seen together no more + now. The Duke grieved at this. But as the weeks wore away, Conrad's + color came back to his cheeks and his old-time vivacity to his eye, and he + administered the government with a clear and steadily ripening wisdom. + </p> + <p> + Presently a strange whisper began to be heard about the palace. It grew + louder; it spread farther. The gossips of the city got hold of it. It + swept the dukedom. And this is what the whisper said: + </p> + <p> + “The Lady Constance hath given birth to a child!” + </p> + <p> + When the lord of Klugenstein heard it, he swung his plumed helmet thrice + around his head and shouted: + </p> + <p> + “Long live Duke Conrad!—for lo, his crown is sure, from this + day forward! Detzin has done his errand well, and the good scoundrel shall + be rewarded!” + </p> + <p> + And he spread the tidings far and wide, and for eight-and-forty hours no + soul in all the barony but did dance and sing, carouse and illuminate, to + celebrate the great event, and all at proud and happy old Klugenstein's + expense. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. THE FRIGHTFUL CATASTROPHE. + </h2> + <p> + The trial was at hand. All the great lords and barons of Brandenburgh were + assembled in the Hall of Justice in the ducal palace. No space was left + unoccupied where there was room for a spectator to stand or sit. Conrad, + clad in purple and ermine, sat in the premier's chair, and on either + side sat the great judges of the realm. The old Duke had sternly commanded + that the trial of his daughter should proceed, without favor, and then had + taken to his bed broken-hearted. His days were numbered. Poor Conrad had + begged, as for his very life, that he might be spared the misery of + sitting in judgment upon his cousin's crime, but it did not avail. + </p> + <p> + The saddest heart in all that great assemblage was in Conrad's + breast. + </p> + <p> + The gladdest was in his father's. For, unknown to his daughter + “Conrad,” the old Baron Klugenstein was come, and was among + the crowd of nobles, triumphant in the swelling fortunes of his house. + </p> + <p> + After the heralds had made due proclamation and the other preliminaries + had followed, the venerable Lord Chief justice said: + </p> + <p> + “Prisoner, stand forth!” + </p> + <p> + The unhappy princess rose and stood unveiled before the vast multitude. + The Lord Chief Justice continued: + </p> + <p> + “Most noble lady, before the great judges of this realm it hath been + charged and proven that out of holy wedlock your Grace hath given birth + unto a child; and by our ancient law the penalty is death, excepting in + one sole contingency, whereof his Grace the acting Duke, our good Lord + Conrad, will advertise you in his solemn sentence now; wherefore, give + heed.” + </p> + <p> + Conrad stretched forth the reluctant sceptre, and in the self-same moment + the womanly heart beneath his robe yearned pityingly toward the doomed + prisoner, and the tears came into his eyes. He opened his lips to speak, + but the Lord Chief Justice said quickly: + </p> + <p> + “Not there, your Grace, not there! It is not lawful to pronounce + judgment upon any of the ducal line SAVE FROM THE DUCAL THRONE!” + </p> + <p> + A shudder went to the heart of poor Conrad, and a tremor shook the iron + frame of his old father likewise. CONRAD HAD NOT BEEN CROWNED—dared + he profane the throne? He hesitated and turned pale with fear. But it must + be done. Wondering eyes were already upon him. They would be suspicious + eyes if he hesitated longer. He ascended the throne. Presently he + stretched forth the sceptre again, and said: + </p> + <p> + “Prisoner, in the name of our sovereign lord, Ulrich, Duke of + Brandenburgh, I proceed to the solemn duty that hath devolved upon me. + Give heed to my words. By the ancient law of the land, except you produce + the partner of your guilt and deliver him up to the executioner, you must + surely die. Embrace this opportunity—save yourself while yet you + may. Name the father of your child!” + </p> + <p> + A solemn hush fell upon the great court—a silence so profound that + men could hear their own hearts beat. Then the princess slowly turned, + with eyes gleaming with hate, and pointing her finger straight at Conrad, + said: + </p> + <p> + “Thou art the man!” + </p> + <p> + An appalling conviction of his helpless, hopeless peril struck a chill to + Conrad's heart like the chill of death itself. What power on earth + could save him! To disprove the charge, he must reveal that he was a + woman; and for an uncrowned woman to sit in the ducal chair was death! At + one and the same moment, he and his grim old father swooned and fell to, + the ground. + </p> + <p> + [The remainder of this thrilling and eventful story will NOT be found in + this or any other publication, either now or at any future time.] + </p> + <p> + The truth is, I have got my hero (or heroine) into such a particularly + close place, that I do not see how I am ever going to get him (or her) out + of it again—and therefore I will wash my hands of the whole + business, and leave that person to get out the best way that offers—or + else stay there. I thought it was going to be easy enough to straighten + out that little difficulty, but it looks different now. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +[If Harper's Weekly or the New York Tribune desire to copy these initial +chapters into the reading columns of their valuable journals, just as +they do the opening chapters of Ledger and New York Weekly novels, they +are at liberty to do so at the usual rates, provided they “trust.”] + +MARK TWAIN +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Burlesque Autobiography +by Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens) + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A BURLESQUE AUTOBIOGRAPHY *** + +***** This file should be named 3175-h.htm or 3175-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/1/7/3175/ + +Produced by David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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