A Tramp Abroad

M >> Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens) >> A Tramp Abroad


Having pointed out, in detail, the several vices of this language, I
now come to the brief and pleasant task of pointing out its virtues. The
capitalizing of the nouns I have already mentioned. But far before this
virtue stands another--that of spelling a word according to the sound of
it. After one short lesson in the alphabet, the student can tell how any
German word is pronounced without having to ask; whereas in our language
if a student should inquire of us, "What does B, O, W, spell?" we should
be obliged to reply, "Nobody can tell what it spells when you set if off
by itself; you can only tell by referring to the context and finding out
what it signifies--whether it is a thing to shoot arrows with, or a nod
of one's head, or the forward end of a boat."

There are some German words which are singularly and powerfully
effective. For instance, those which describe lowly, peaceful, and
affectionate home life; those which deal with love, in any and all
forms, from mere kindly feeling and honest good will toward the passing
stranger, clear up to courtship; those which deal with outdoor Nature,
in its softest and loveliest aspects--with meadows and forests, and
birds and flowers, the fragrance and sunshine of summer, and the
moonlight of peaceful winter nights; in a word, those which deal with
any and all forms of rest, repose, and peace; those also which deal with
the creatures and marvels of fairyland; and lastly and chiefly, in
those words which express pathos, is the language surpassingly rich
and affective. There are German songs which can make a stranger to the
language cry. That shows that the SOUND of the words is correct--it
interprets the meanings with truth and with exactness; and so the ear is
informed, and through the ear, the heart.

The Germans do not seem to be afraid to repeat a word when it is the
right one. They repeat it several times, if they choose. That is
wise. But in English, when we have used a word a couple of times in a
paragraph, we imagine we are growing tautological, and so we are weak
enough to exchange it for some other word which only approximates
exactness, to escape what we wrongly fancy is a greater blemish.
Repetition may be bad, but surely inexactness is worse.

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There are people in the world who will take a great deal of trouble to
point out the faults in a religion or a language, and then go blandly
about their business without suggesting any remedy. I am not that kind
of person. I have shown that the German language needs reforming. Very
well, I am ready to reform it. At least I am ready to make the proper
suggestions. Such a course as this might be immodest in another; but I
have devoted upward of nine full weeks, first and last, to a careful and
critical study of this tongue, and thus have acquired a confidence in
my ability to reform it which no mere superficial culture could have
conferred upon me.

In the first place, I would leave out the Dative case. It confuses the
plurals; and, besides, nobody ever knows when he is in the Dative case,
except he discover it by accident--and then he does not know when or
where it was that he got into it, or how long he has been in it, or how
he is going to get out of it again. The Dative case is but an ornamental
folly--it is better to discard it.

In the next place, I would move the Verb further up to the front. You
may load up with ever so good a Verb, but I notice that you never really
bring down a subject with it at the present German range--you only
cripple it. So I insist that this important part of speech should be
brought forward to a position where it may be easily seen with the naked
eye.

Thirdly, I would import some strong words from the English tongue--to
swear with, and also to use in describing all sorts of vigorous things
in a vigorous ways. [4]

4. "Verdammt," and its variations and enlargements,
are words which have plenty of meaning, but the SOUNDS
are so mild and ineffectual that German ladies can use
them without sin. German ladies who could not be induced
to commit a sin by any persuasion or compulsion, promptly rip
out one of these harmless little words when they tear their
dresses or don't like the soup. It sounds about as wicked
as our "My gracious." German ladies are constantly saying,
"Ach! Gott!" "Mein Gott!" "Gott in Himmel!" "Herr Gott"
"Der Herr Jesus!" etc. They think our ladies have the
same custom, perhaps; for I once heard a gentle and lovely
old German lady say to a sweet young American girl:
"The two languages are so alike--how pleasant that is;
we say 'Ach! Gott!' you say 'Goddamn.'"

Fourthly, I would reorganizes the sexes, and distribute them accordingly
to the will of the creator. This as a tribute of respect, if nothing
else.

Fifthly, I would do away with those great long compounded words; or
require the speaker to deliver them in sections, with intermissions for
refreshments. To wholly do away with them would be best, for ideas are
more easily received and digested when they come one at a time than when
they come in bulk. Intellectual food is like any other; it is pleasanter
and more beneficial to take it with a spoon than with a shovel.

Sixthly, I would require a speaker to stop when he is done, and not
hang a string of those useless "haven sind gewesen gehabt haben geworden
seins" to the end of his oration. This sort of gewgaws undignify a
speech, instead of adding a grace. They are, therefore, an offense, and
should be discarded.

Seventhly, I would discard the Parenthesis. Also the reparenthesis, the
re-reparenthesis, and the re-re-re-re-re-reparentheses, and likewise
the final wide-reaching all-enclosing king-parenthesis. I would require
every individual, be he high or low, to unfold a plain straightforward
tale, or else coil it and sit on it and hold his peace. Infractions of
this law should be punishable with death.

And eighthly, and last, I would retain ZUG and SCHLAG, with their
pendants, and discard the rest of the vocabulary. This would simplify
the language.

I have now named what I regard as the most necessary and important
changes. These are perhaps all I could be expected to name for nothing;
but there are other suggestions which I can and will make in case my
proposed application shall result in my being formally employed by the
government in the work of reforming the language.

My philological studies have satisfied me that a gifted person ought to
learn English (barring spelling and pronouncing) in thirty hours, French
in thirty days, and German in thirty years. It seems manifest, then,
that the latter tongue ought to be trimmed down and repaired. If it is
to remain as it is, it ought to be gently and reverently set aside among
the dead languages, for only the dead have time to learn it.

A FOURTH OF JULY ORATION IN THE GERMAN TONGUE, DELIVERED AT A BANQUET OF
THE ANGLO-AMERICAN CLUB OF STUDENTS BY THE AUTHOR OF THIS BOOK.

Gentlemen: Since I arrived, a month ago, in this old wonderland, this
vast garden of Germany, my English tongue has so often proved a useless
piece of baggage to me, and so troublesome to carry around, in a country
where they haven't the checking system for luggage, that I finally set
to work, and learned the German language. Also! Es freut mich dass dies
so ist, denn es muss, in ein hauptsaechlich degree, hoeflich sein, dass
man auf ein occasion like this, sein Rede in die Sprache des Landes
worin he boards, aussprechen soll. Dafuer habe ich, aus reinische
Verlegenheit--no, Vergangenheit--no, I mean Hoflichkeit--aus reinishe
Hoflichkeit habe ich resolved to tackle this business in the German
language, um Gottes willen! Also! Sie muessen so freundlich sein, und
verzeih mich die interlarding von ein oder zwei Englischer Worte, hie
und da, denn ich finde dass die deutsche is not a very copious language,
and so when you've really got anything to say, you've got to draw on a
language that can stand the strain.

Wenn haber man kann nicht meinem Rede Verstehen, so werde ich ihm
spaeter dasselbe uebersetz, wenn er solche Dienst verlangen wollen haben
werden sollen sein haette. (I don't know what wollen haben werden sollen
sein haette means, but I notice they always put it at the end of a
German sentence--merely for general literary gorgeousness, I suppose.)

This is a great and justly honored day--a day which is worthy of the
veneration in which it is held by the true patriots of all climes and
nationalities--a day which offers a fruitful theme for thought and
speech; und meinem Freunde--no, meinEN FreundEN--meinES FreundES--well,
take your choice, they're all the same price; I don't know which one is
right--also! ich habe gehabt haben worden gewesen sein, as Goethe says
in his Paradise Lost--ich--ich--that is to say--ich--but let us change
cars.

Also! Die Anblich so viele Grossbrittanischer und Amerikanischer
hier zusammengetroffen in Bruderliche concord, ist zwar a welcome and
inspiriting spectacle. And what has moved you to it? Can the
terse German tongue rise to the expression of this impulse? Is
it Freundschaftsbezeigungenstadtverordneten-
versammlungenfamilieneigenthuemlichkeiten? Nein, o nein! This is a crisp
and noble word, but it fails to pierce the marrow of the impulse which
has gathered this friendly meeting and produced diese Anblick--eine
Anblich welche ist gut zu sehen--gut fuer die Augen in a foreign
land and a far country--eine Anblick solche als in die gewoehnliche
Heidelberger phrase nennt man ein "schoenes Aussicht!" Ja, freilich
natuerlich wahrscheinlich ebensowohl! Also! Die Aussicht auf dem
Koenigsstuhl mehr groesser ist, aber geistlische sprechend nicht
so schoen, lob' Gott! Because sie sind hier zusammengetroffen, in
Bruderlichem concord, ein grossen Tag zu feirn, whose high benefits were
not for one land and one locality, but have conferred a measure of
good upon all lands that know liberty today, and love it. Hundert Jahre
vorueber, waren die Englaender und die Amerikaner Feinde; aber heut sind
sie herzlichen Freunde, Gott sei Dank! May this good-fellowship endure;
may these banners here blended in amity so remain; may they never
any more wave over opposing hosts, or be stained with blood which was
kindred, is kindred, and always will be kindred, until a line drawn upon
a map shall be able to say: "THIS bars the ancestral blood from flowing
in the veins of the descendant!"



APPENDIX E Legend of the Castles

Called the "Swallow's Nest" and "The Brothers," as Condensed from the
Captain's Tale

In the neighborhood of three hundred years ago the Swallow's Nest and
the larger castle between it and Neckarsteinach were owned and occupied
by two old knights who were twin brothers, and bachelors. They had no
relatives. They were very rich. They had fought through the wars and
retired to private life--covered with honorable scars. They were honest,
honorable men in their dealings, but the people had given them a couple
of nicknames which were very suggestive--Herr Givenaught and Herr
Heartless. The old knights were so proud of these names that if a
burgher called them by their right ones they would correct them.

The most renowned scholar in Europe, at the time, was the Herr Doctor
Franz Reikmann, who lived in Heidelberg. All Germany was proud of the
venerable scholar, who lived in the simplest way, for great scholars are
always poor. He was poor, as to money, but very rich in his sweet young
daughter Hildegarde and his library. He had been all his life collecting
his library, book and book, and he lived it as a miser loves his hoarded
gold. He said the two strings of his heart were rooted, the one in his
daughter, the other in his books; and that if either were severed he
must die. Now in an evil hour, hoping to win a marriage portion for his
child, this simple old man had entrusted his small savings to a sharper
to be ventured in a glittering speculation. But that was not the worst
of it: he signed a paper--without reading it. That is the way with poets
and scholars; they always sign without reading. This cunning paper made
him responsible for heaps of things. The rest was that one night he
found himself in debt to the sharper eight thousand pieces of gold!--an
amount so prodigious that it simply stupefied him to think of it. It was
a night of woe in that house.

"I must part with my library--I have nothing else. So perishes one
heartstring," said the old man.

"What will it bring, father?" asked the girl.

"Nothing! It is worth seven hundred pieces of gold; but by auction it
will go for little or nothing."

"Then you will have parted with the half of your heart and the joy of
your life to no purpose, since so mighty of burden of debt will remain
behind."

"There is no help for it, my child. Our darlings must pass under the
hammer. We must pay what we can."

"My father, I have a feeling that the dear Virgin will come to our help.
Let us not lose heart."

"She cannot devise a miracle that will turn NOTHING into eight thousand
gold pieces, and lesser help will bring us little peace."

"She can do even greater things, my father. She will save us, I know she
will."

Toward morning, while the old man sat exhausted and asleep in his chair
where he had been sitting before his books as one who watches by his
beloved dead and prints the features on his memory for a solace in the
aftertime of empty desolation, his daughter sprang into the room and
gently woke him, saying--

"My presentiment was true! She will save us. Three times has she
appeared to me in my dreams, and said, 'Go to the Herr Givenaught, go to
the Herr Heartless, ask them to come and bid.' There, did I not tell you
she would save us, the thrice blessed Virgin!"

Sad as the old man was, he was obliged to laugh.

"Thou mightest as well appeal to the rocks their castles stand upon as
to the harder ones that lie in those men's breasts, my child. THEY bid
on books writ in the learned tongues!--they can scarce read their own."

But Hildegarde's faith was in no wise shaken. Bright and early she was
on her way up the Neckar road, as joyous as a bird.

Meantime Herr Givenaught and Herr Heartless were having an early
breakfast in the former's castle--the Sparrow's Nest--and flavoring
it with a quarrel; for although these twins bore a love for each other
which almost amounted to worship, there was one subject upon which they
could not touch without calling each other hard names--and yet it was
the subject which they oftenest touched upon.

"I tell you," said Givenaught, "you will beggar yourself yet with your
insane squanderings of money upon what you choose to consider poor and
worthy objects. All these years I have implored you to stop this foolish
custom and husband your means, but all in vain. You are always lying
to me about these secret benevolences, but you never have managed to
deceive me yet. Every time a poor devil has been set upon his feet I
have detected your hand in it--incorrigible ass!"

"Every time you didn't set him on his feet yourself, you mean. Where I
give one unfortunate a little private lift, you do the same for a dozen.
The idea of YOUR swelling around the country and petting yourself with
the nickname of Givenaught--intolerable humbug! Before I would be such
a fraud as that, I would cut my right hand off. Your life is a continual
lie. But go on, I have tried MY best to save you from beggaring yourself
by your riotous charities--now for the thousandth time I wash my hands
of the consequences. A maundering old fool! that's what you are."

"And you a blethering old idiot!" roared Givenaught, springing up.

"I won't stay in the presence of a man who has no more delicacy than to
call me such names. Mannerless swine!"

So saying, Herr Heartless sprang up in a passion. But some lucky
accident intervened, as usual, to change the subject, and the daily
quarrel ended in the customary daily living reconciliation. The
gray-headed old eccentrics parted, and Herr Heartless walked off to his
own castle.

Half an hour later, Hildegarde was standing in the presence of Herr
Givenaught. He heard her story, and said--

"I am sorry for you, my child, but I am very poor, I care nothing for
bookish rubbish, I shall not be there."

He said the hard words kindly, but they nearly broke poor Hildegarde's
heart, nevertheless. When she was gone the old heartbreaker muttered,
rubbing his hands--

"It was a good stroke. I have saved my brother's pocket this time,
in spite of him. Nothing else would have prevented his rushing off to
rescue the old scholar, the pride of Germany, from his trouble. The poor
child won't venture near HIM after the rebuff she has received from his
brother the Givenaught."

But he was mistaken. The Virgin had commanded, and Hildegarde would
obey. She went to Herr Heartless and told her story. But he said
coldly--

"I am very poor, my child, and books are nothing to me. I wish you well,
but I shall not come."

When Hildegarde was gone, he chuckled and said--

"How my fool of a soft-headed soft-hearted brother would rage if he knew
how cunningly I have saved his pocket. How he would have flown to the
old man's rescue! But the girl won't venture near him now."

When Hildegarde reached home, her father asked her how she had
prospered. She said--

"The Virgin has promised, and she will keep her word; but not in the way
I thought. She knows her own ways, and they are best."

The old man patted her on the head, and smiled a doubting smile, but he
honored her for her brave faith, nevertheless.

II

Next day the people assembled in the great hall of the Ritter tavern,
to witness the auction--for the proprietor had said the treasure of
Germany's most honored son should be bartered away in no meaner place.
Hildegarde and her father sat close to the books, silent and sorrowful,
and holding each other's hands. There was a great crowd of people
present. The bidding began--

"How much for this precious library, just as it stands, all complete?"
called the auctioneer.

"Fifty pieces of gold!"

"A hundred!"

"Two hundred."

"Three!"

"Four!"

"Five hundred!"

"Five twenty-five."

A brief pause.

"Five forty!"

A longer pause, while the auctioneer redoubled his persuasions.

"Five-forty-five!"

A heavy drag--the auctioneer persuaded, pleaded, implored--it was
useless, everybody remained silent--

"Well, then--going, going--one--two--"

"Five hundred and fifty!"

This in a shrill voice, from a bent old man, all hung with rags, and
with a green patch over his left eye. Everybody in his vicinity
turned and gazed at him. It was Givenaught in disguise. He was using a
disguised voice, too.

"Good!" cried the auctioneer. "Going, going--one--two--"

"Five hundred and sixty!"

This, in a deep, harsh voice, from the midst of the crowd at the other
end of the room. The people near by turned, and saw an old man, in a
strange costume, supporting himself on crutches. He wore a long white
beard, and blue spectacles. It was Herr Heartless, in disguise, and
using a disguised voice.

"Good again! Going, going--one--"

"Six hundred!"

Sensation. The crowd raised a cheer, and some one cried out, "Go it,
Green-patch!" This tickled the audience and a score of voices shouted,
"Go it, Green-patch!"

"Going--going--going--third and last call--one--two--"

"Seven hundred!"

"Huzzah!--well done, Crutches!" cried a voice. The crowd took it up, and
shouted altogether, "Well done, Crutches!"

"Splendid, gentlemen! you are doing magnificently. Going, going--"

"A thousand!"

"Three cheers for Green-patch! Up and at him, Crutches!"

"Going--going--"

"Two thousand!"

And while the people cheered and shouted, "Crutches" muttered, "Who can
this devil be that is fighting so to get these useless books?--But no
matter, he sha'n't have them. The pride of Germany shall have his books
if it beggars me to buy them for him."

"Going, going, going--"

"Three thousand!"

"Come, everybody--give a rouser for Green-patch!"

And while they did it, "Green-patch" muttered, "This cripple is plainly
a lunatic; but the old scholar shall have his books, nevertheless,
though my pocket sweat for it."

"Going--going--"

"Four thousand!"

"Huzza!"

"Five thousand!"

"Huzza!"

"Six thousand!"

"Huzza!"

"Seven thousand!"

"Huzza!"

"EIGHT thousand!"

"We are saved, father! I told you the Holy Virgin would keep her word!"
"Blessed be her sacred name!" said the old scholar, with emotion. The
crowd roared, "Huzza, huzza, huzza--at him again, Green-patch!"

"Going--going--"

"TEN thousand!" As Givenaught shouted this, his excitement was so great
that he forgot himself and used his natural voice. He brother recognized
it, and muttered, under cover of the storm of cheers--

"Aha, you are there, are you, besotted old fool? Take the books, I know
what you'll do with them!"

So saying, he slipped out of the place and the auction was at an end.
Givenaught shouldered his way to Hildegarde, whispered a word in
her ear, and then he also vanished. The old scholar and his daughter
embraced, and the former said, "Truly the Holy Mother has done more than
she promised, child, for she has give you a splendid marriage portion
--think of it, two thousand pieces of gold!"

"And more still," cried Hildegarde, "for she has give you back your
books; the stranger whispered me that he would none of them--'the
honored son of Germany must keep them,' so he said. I would I might have
asked his name and kissed his hand and begged his blessing; but he was
Our Lady's angel, and it is not meet that we of earth should venture
speech with them that dwell above."



APPENDIX F German Journals

The daily journals of Hamburg, Frankfort, Baden, Munich, and Augsburg
are all constructed on the same general plan. I speak of these because
I am more familiar with them than with any other German papers. They
contain no "editorials" whatever; no "personals"--and this is rather
a merit than a demerit, perhaps; no funny-paragraph column; no
police-court reports; no reports of proceedings of higher courts;
no information about prize-fights or other dog-fights, horse-races,
walking-machines, yachting-contents, rifle-matches, or other sporting
matters of any sort; no reports of banquet speeches; no department of
curious odds and ends of floating fact and gossip; no "rumors" about
anything or anybody; no prognostications or prophecies about anything or
anybody; no lists of patents granted or sought, or any reference to
such things; no abuse of public officials, big or little, or complaints
against them, or praises of them; no religious columns Saturdays, no
rehash of cold sermons Mondays; no "weather indications"; no "local
item" unveiling of what is happening in town--nothing of a local nature,
indeed, is mentioned, beyond the movements of some prince, or the
proposed meeting of some deliberative body.

After so formidable a list of what one can't find in a German daily,
the question may well be asked, What CAN be found in it? It is easily
answered: A child's handful of telegrams, mainly about European national
and international political movements; letter-correspondence about the
same things; market reports. There you have it. That is what a German
daily is made of. A German daily is the slowest and saddest and
dreariest of the inventions of man. Our own dailies infuriate the
reader, pretty often; the German daily only stupefies him. Once a
week the German daily of the highest class lightens up its heavy
columns--that is, it thinks it lightens them up--with a profound, an
abysmal, book criticism; a criticism which carries you down, down, down
into the scientific bowels of the subject--for the German critic is
nothing if not scientific--and when you come up at last and scent the
fresh air and see the bonny daylight once more, you resolve without a
dissenting voice that a book criticism is a mistaken way to lighten up
a German daily. Sometimes, in place of the criticism, the first-class
daily gives you what it thinks is a gay and chipper essay--about ancient
Grecian funeral customs, or the ancient Egyptian method of tarring a
mummy, or the reasons for believing that some of the peoples who existed
before the flood did not approve of cats. These are not unpleasant
subjects; they are not uninteresting subjects; they are even exciting
subjects--until one of these massive scientists gets hold of them. He
soon convinces you that even these matters can be handled in such a way
as to make a person low-spirited.

As I have said, the average German daily is made up solely of
correspondences--a trifle of it by telegraph, the rest of it by mail.
Every paragraph has the side-head, "London," "Vienna," or some other
town, and a date. And always, before the name of the town, is placed
a letter or a sign, to indicate who the correspondent is, so that the
authorities can find him when they want to hang him. Stars, crosses,
triangles, squares, half-moons, suns--such are some of the signs used
by correspondents.

Some of the dailies move too fast, others too slowly. For instance, my
Heidelberg daily was always twenty-four hours old when it arrived at
the hotel; but one of my Munich evening papers used to come a full
twenty-four hours before it was due.