The belated Russian passport

THE С ALIFORNIAN TALE

And

OTHER STORIES

По рассказам Марка Твена

Учебно-методическое пособие для студентов филологического факультета

 

Mark Twain

 

Biography

 

 

Mark Twain, pseudonym of Samuel Clemens (1835 – 1910), is an American writer and humorist, whose best work is characterized by broad humor or biting social satire. Twain’s writing is also known for realism of place and language, memorable characters, and hatred of hypocrisy and oppression.

Mark Twain was born in Florida, Missouri. The family moved to Hannibal, Missouri, a port on the Mississippi River, when he was four years old. There he received a public school education. After the death of his father in 1847, Clemens was apprenticed to two Hannibal printers, and in 1851 he began writing sketches for home journals. Subsequently he worked as a printer in New York City, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, and other cities. Later Clemens was a steamboat pilot on the Mississippi River until the American Civil War (1961 – 1865) brought an end to travel on the river. In 1861 Clemens served briefly as a volunteer soldier in the Confederate cavalry. Later that year he tried his hand at silver mining in the newly created Nevada Territory. In 1862 he became a reporter in Virginia City, Nevada, and in 1863 he began signing his articles with pseudonym “Mark Twain”, a Mississippi River phrase meaning “two fathoms deep”. After moving to San Francisco, California, in 1864, M. Twain reworked a tale he had heard in the California gold fields, and within months the author and the story, “The celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County”, had become national sensation.

In 1867 M. Twain lectured in New York City, and in the same year he visited Europe and Palestine. He wrote of these travels in “The Innocents Abroad” (1869), a book exaggerating those aspects of European culture that impress American tourists. In 1870 he married and the couple moved to Harford, Connecticut. Much of Twain’s best work was written in the 1870s and 1880s in Hartford or during the summers at Quarry Farm, near Elmira, New York. There he wrote “The Adventures of Tom Sawyer”, which celebrates boyhood in a town on the Mississippi River, “The Prince and the Pauper”, a children’s book, which focuses on switched identities in Tudor England.

“The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn”, the sequel to Tom Sawyer, is considered Twain’s masterpiece. The book is the story of the little character, known as Huck, a boy who flees his father by rafting down the Mississippi River with a runaway slave, Jim. The pair’s adventures show Huck (and the readers) the cruelty of which men and women are capable. Another theme of the novel is the conflict between Huck’s feelings of friendship with Jim, who is one of the few people he can trust, and his knowledge that he is breaking the laws of the time by helping Jim escape. “Huckleberry Finn”, which is almost entirely narrated from Huck’s point of view, is noted for its authentic language and for its deep commitment to freedom. Huck’s adventures also provide the reader with a panorama of American life along the Mississippi before the Civil War. Twain’s skill in capturing the rhythms of that life helps make the book one of the masterpieces of American literature.

In 1884 Twain formed the firm Charles L.Webster and Company to publish his and other writers’ works, notably “Personal Memoirs” (1885 – 1886) by American general and president Ulysses S. Grant. A disastrous investment in an automatic typesetting machine led to the firm’s bankruptcy in 1894. A successful worldwide lecture tour and the book based on those travels, “Following the Equator”, paid off Twain’s debts.

Twain’s work during the 1890s and the 1900s is marked by growing pessimism and bitterness – the result of his business reverse and, later, the death of his wife and two daughters. Twain’s later writings include short stories, philosophical, social, and political essays; the manuscript of “The Mysterious Stranger”, an uncompleted piece that was published posthumously in 1916, and autobiographical dictations.

Twain’s work was inspired by the unconventional West, and the popularity of his work marked the end of the domination of American Literature by New England writers. He is justly renowned as a humorist but was not always appreciated by the writers of his time as anything more than that. Successive generations of writers, however, recognized the role that Twain played in creating a truly American literature. He portrayed uniquely American subjects in a humorous and colloquial, yet poetic, language. His success in creating this plain but evocative language precipitated the end of American reverence for British and European culture and for the more formal language associated with those traditions. His adherence to American themes, settings, and language set him apart from many other novelists of the day and had a powerful effect on such later American writers as Ernest Hemingway and William Faulkner, both of whom pointed to Twain as an inspiration for their own writing.

In Twain’s later years he wrote less, but he became a celebrity, frequently speaking out on public issues. He also came to be known for the white linen suit he always wore when making public appearances. Twain received an honorary doctorate from the University of Oxford in 1907. He died in 1910.

 

Part one

A great beer-saloon in the Friedrichchstrasse, Berlin, toward mid-afternoon. At a hundred round tables gentlemen sat smoking and drinking; flitting here and there and everywhere were white-aproned waiters bearing foaming mugs to the thirsty, at a table near the main entrance were grouped half a dozen lively young fellows – American students – drinking good-bye to a visiting Yale youth on his travels, who had been spending a few days in the German capital.

“But why do you cut your tour short in the middle, Parrish?” asked one of the students. “I wish I had your chance. What do you want to go home for?”

“Yes,” said another, “What is the idea? You want to explain, you know, because it looks like insanity. Homesick?”

A girlish blush rose in Parrish’s fresh young face, and after a little hesitation he confessed that that was his trouble.

“I was never away from home before,” he said, “and every day I get more and more lonesome. I have not seen a friend for weeks, and it’s been horrible. I meant to stick the trip through, for pride’s sake, but seeing you boys have finished me. It’s been heaven to me, and I can’t take up that companionless dreariness again. If I had company – but I haven’t, you know, so it’s no use. They used to call me Miss Nancy when I was a small chap and I think I’m that yet – girlish and timorous, and all that. I ought to have been a girl. I can’t stand it; I’m going home.”

The boys rallied him good-naturedly, and said he was making the mistake of his life; and one of them added that he ought at least to see St. Petersburg before running back.

“Don’t!” said Parrish appealingly. “It was my dearest dream, and I’m throwing it away. Don’t say a word more on that head, for I’m made of water, I can’t stand out against anybody’s persuasion. I can’t go alone; I think I should die.” He slapped his breast pocket, and added: “Here is my protection against a change of mind; I’ve bought ticket and sleeper for Paris, and I leave to-night. Drink, now – this is on me – bumpers – this is for home!”

The good-byes were said, and Alfred Parrish was left to his thoughts and his loneliness. But for a moment only. A sturdy middle-aged man with a brisk and businesslike bearing, and an air of decision and confidence suggestive of military training, came bustling from the next table, and seated himself at Parrish’s side, and began to speak, with concentrated interest and earnestness. His eyes, his face, his person, his whole system, seemed to exude energy. He extended a frank hand, shook Parrish’s cordially, and said, with a most convicting air of strenuous conviction:

“Ah, but you mustn’t; really you mustn’t; it would be the greatest mistake; you would always regret it. Be persuaded, I beg you; don’t do it – don’t!”

There was such a friendly note in it, and such a seeming of genuineness, that it brought a sort of uplift to the youth’s despondent spirits, and a tell-tale moisture betrayed itself in his eyes, an unintentional confession that he was touched and grateful. The alert stranger noted that sign, was quite content with that response, and followed up his advantage without waiting for a spoken one.

“No, don’t do it; it would be a mistake. I have heard everything that was said – you will pardon that – I was so closed by that I couldn’t help it. And it troubled me to think that you would cut your travels short when you really want to see St. Petersburg, and are right here almost in sight of it. Reconsider it – ah, you must reconsider it. It is such a short distance – it is very soon done and very soon over – and think what a memory it will be!”

Then he went on and made a picture of the Russian capital and its wonders, which made Alfred Parrish’s mouth water and his roused spirits cry out with longing. Then –

“Of course you must see St. Petersburg – you must! Why, it will be a joy to you – a joy! I know, because I know the place as familiarly as I know my own birthplace in America. Ten years – I’ve known it ten years. Ask anybody there; they’ll tell you; they all know me. Do go; oh, you must go; you must, indeed.”

Alfred Parrish was quivering with eagerness now. He would go. His face said it as plainly as his tongue could have done it. Then – the old shadow fell and he said, sorrowfully: “Oh, no – no, it’s no use; I can’t. I should die of the loneliness.”

The Major said, with astonishment: “The – loneliness! Why, I’m going with you!”

It was startlingly unexpected. And not quite pleasant. Things were moving too rapidly. Was this a trap? Was this stranger a sharper? Whence all this gratuitous interest in a wandering and unknown lad? Then he glanced at the Major’s frank and winning, and beaming face, and was ashamed; and wished he knew how to get out of this scrape without hurting his feelings. But he was not handy in matters of diplomacy, and went at the difficulty with conscious awkwardness and small confidence. He said, with a quite overdone show of unselfishness:

“Oh, no, no, you are too kind; I couldn’t – I couldn’t allow you to put yourself to such an inconvenience on my –

“Inconvenience? None in the world, my boy; I was going tonight, anyway; I leave in the express at nine. Come! We’ll go together. You shan’t be lonely a single minute. Come along – say the word!”

So that excuse had failed. What to do now? Parrish was disheartened; it seemed to him that no subterfuge, which his poor invention could contrive, would ever rescue him from these toils. Still, he must make another effort, and he did; and before he had finished his new excuse he thought he recognized that it was unanswerable:

“Ah, but most unfortunately luck is against me, and it is impossible. Look at these” – and he took out his tickets and laid them on the table. “I am booked through to Paris; and I couldn’t get these tickets and baggage coupons changed for St. Petersburg, of course, and would have to lose the money. And if I could afford to lose the money I should be rather short after I bought the new tickets – for there all the cash I’ve got about me,” – and he laid a five-hundred-mark bank note on the table.

In a moment the Major had the tickets and coupons and was on his feet, and saying, with enthusiasm:

“Good! It’s all right, and everything safe. They’ll change the tickets and baggage coupons for me; they all know me – everybody knows me. Sit right where you are; I’ll be back right away.” Then he reached for the bank note, and added, “I’ll take this along, for there will be a little extra pay on the new tickets, may be,” – and the next moment he was flying out at the door.

 

Phonetic exercises

 

1. Practise the pronunciation of the words from the chapter. When in doubt refer to the English-Russian dictionary.

White-aproned; dreariness; timorous; persuasion; earnestness; exude; strenuous; genuineness; moisture; unintentional; quivering; tongue; gratuitous; conscious; awkwardness; inconvenience; disheartened; subterfuge; contrive; rescue;

 

Part two

Alfred Parrish was paralyzed. It was also so sudden. So sudden, so daring, so incredible, so impossible. His mouth was open, but his tongue wouldn’t work; he tried to shout “Stop him”. But his lungs were empty; he wanted to pursue, but his legs refused to do anything but tremble; then they gave way under him and let him down into his chair. His throat was dry, he was gasping and swallowing with dismay, his head was in a whirl. What must he do? He did not know. One thing seemed plain, however – he must pull himself together, and try to overtake that man. Of course the man could not get back the ticket-money, but would he throw the tickets away on that account? No; he would certainly go to the station and sell them to someone at half-price; and today, too, for they would be worthless tomorrow, by German custom. These reflections gave him hope and strength, and he rose and started. But he took only a couple of steps, then felt a sudden sickness, and tottered back to his chair again, weak with a dread that his movement had been noticed – for the last round of beer was at his expense; it had not been paid for, and he hadn’t a pfennig. He was a prisoner – Heaven only could know what might happen if he tried to leave the place. He was timid, scared, crushed; and he hadn’t German enough to state his case and beg for help and indulgence.

Then his thoughts began to persecute him. How could he have been such a fool? What possessed him to listen to such a manifest adventurer? And here comes the waiter! He buried himself in the newspaper – trembling. The waiter passed by. It filled him with thankfulness. The hands of the clock seemed to stand still, yet he could not keep his eyes from them.

Ten minutes dragged by. The waiter again! Again he hid behind the paper. The waiter paused – apparently a week – then passed on.

Another ten minutes of misery – once more the waiter; this time he wiped off the table, and seemed to be a month at it; then paused two months, and went away.

Parrish felt that he could not endure another visit; he must take the chance: he must escape. But the waiter stayed around about the neighborhood for five minutes – months and months seemingly; Parrish was watching him with a despairing eye, and feeling the infirmities of age creeping upon him and his hair gradually turning gray.

At last the waiter wandered away – stopped at a table, collected a bill. Wandered farther, collected another bill, wandered farther – Parrish’s praying eye riveted on him all the time, his heart thumping, his breath coming and going in quick little gasps of anxiety mixed with hope.

The waiter stopped again to collect, and Parrish said to himself, it is now or never! And started for the door. One step – two steps – three – four – he was nearing the door – five – his legs shaking under him – was that a swift step behind him? The thought shriveled his heart – six steps – seven and he was out! – eight – nine – ten – eleven – twelve – there is a pursuing step! – he turned the corner, and picked up his heels to fly – a heavy hand fell on his shoulder, and the strength went out of his body.

It was the Major. He asked not a question, he showed no surprise. He said, in his breezy and exhilarating fashion:

“Confound those people[1]! They delayed me; that’s why I was gone so long. New man in the ticket-office, and he didn’t know me, and wouldn’t make the exchange because it was irregular; so I had to turn up my old friend, the great mogul[2] - the station-master, you know – hi, there, cab! Cab! – jump in, Parrish! – Russian consulate, cabby, and let them fly! – so, as I say, that all cost time. But it’s all right now, and everything straight; your luggage reweighed, rechecked, fare-ticket and sleeper changed, and I’ve got the documents for it in my pocket; also the change – I’ll keep it for you. Whoop along, cabby, whoop along; don’t let them go to sleep!”

Poor Parrish was trying his best to get in a word edgeways, as the cab flew farther and farther from the bilked beer-hall, and now at last he succeeded, and wanted to return at once and pay his little bill.

“Oh, never mind about that,” said the Major, placidly; “that’s all right, they know me, everybody knows me – I’ll square it next time I’m in Berlin – push along, cabby, push along – no great lot of time to spare, now.”

They arrived at the Russian consulate, a moment after-hours, and hurried in. No one there but a clerk. The Major laid his card on the desk, and said, in the Russian tongue, “Now, then, if you’ll vise this young man’s passport for Petersburg as quickly as – “

“But, dear sir, I’m not authorized, and the consul has just gone,”

“Gone where?”

“Out in the country, where he lives.”

“And he’ll be back – “

“Not till morning.”

“Thunder! Oh, well, look here, I’m Major Jackson – he knows me, everybody knows me. You vise it yourself; tell him Major Jackson asked you; it’ll be all right.”

But it would be desperately and fatally irregular; the clerk could not be persuaded; he almost fainted at the idea.

“Well, then, I’ll tell you what to do,” said the Major. “Here are stamps and fee – vise it in the morning, and start it along by mail.”

The clerk, said dubiously, “He – well, he may perhaps do it, and so – “

“May? He will! He knows me – everybody knows me.”

“Very well,” said the clerk, “I’ll tell him what you say.” He looked bewildered, and in a measure subjugated; and added, timidly: “But – but – you know you will beat it to the frontier twenty-four hours. There are no accommodations there for so long a wait.”

“Who is going to wait? Not I, if the court knows herself.”

The clerk was temporarily paralyzed, and said, “Surely, sir, you don’t wish it sent to Petersburg.”

“And why not?”

“And the owner of it tarrying at the frontier, twenty-five miles away? It couldn’t do him any good, in those circumstances.”

“Tarry – the mischief! Who said he was going to do any tarrying?”

“Why, you know, of course, they’ll stop him at the frontier if he has no passport.”

“Indeed they won’t! The chief inspector knows me – everybody does. I’ll be responsible for the young man. You send it straight through to Petersburg – Hotel de Europe, care Major Jackson[3]: tell the consul not to worry, I’m taking all the risks myself.”

The clerk hesitated, then chanced once more appeal:

“You must bear in mind, sir, that the risks are peculiarly serious, just now. The new edict is in force.”

“What is it?”

“Ten years in Siberia for being in Russia without a passport.”

“Mm – damnation!”[4] He said it in English, for the Russian tongue is a poor stand-by in spiritual emergencies. He mused a moment, then brisked up and resumed in Russian:

“Oh, it’s all right – label her St. Petersburg and her sail! I’ll fix it. They all know me there – all the authorities – everybody.”

 

Phonetic exercises

 

1. Practise the pronunciation of the words from the chapter. When in doubt refer to the English-Russian dictionary.

Paralyzed, daring, tongue, pursue, whirl, pfennig, mogul;  indulgence, buried, endure, infirmities, riveted, exhilarating, edgeways, authorized, persuaded, dubiously, bewildered, subjugated, frontier, edict, mischief, circumstances, Siberia, spiritual, emergencies.

 

Alfred.

Describe your desperate condition.

Major Jackson.

Say a) how you settled the matter with the station-master.

       b) what expected you at the Russian consulate.

 

The clerk.

Tell us about the Major’s visit.

 

1. What do you think?

Have you changed your mind about the Major? Why? Why not?

 

Part three

The Major turned out to be an adorable traveling-companion, and young Parrish was charmed with him. His talk was sunshine and rainbows, and lit up the whole region around, and kept it gay and happy and cheerful; and he was full of accommodating ways, and knew all about how to do things, and when to do them, and the best way. So the long journey was a fairy dream for that young lad who had been so lonely and friendless for so many homesick weeks. At last, when the two travelers were approaching the frontier, Parrish said something about passports; then started, as if recollecting something, and added:

“Why, come to think, I don’t remember your bringing my passport away from the consulate. But you did, didn’t you?”

“No; it’s coming by mail,” said the Major, comfortably.

“C – coming – by – mail!” gasped the lad; and all the dreadful things he had heard about the terrors and disasters of passportless visitors to Russia rose in his frightened mind and turned him white to the lips. “Oh, major – oh, my goodness, what will become of me? How could you do such a thing?”

The Major laid a soothing hand upon the youth’s shoulder and said:

“Now, don’t worry, my boy, don’t worry a bit. I’m taking care of you, and I’m not going to let any harm come to you. The Chief Inspector knows me, and I’ll explain to him, and it’ll be all right – you’ll see. Now don’t you give yourself the least discomfort – I’ll fix it all up, easy as nothing.”

Alfred trembled, and felt a great sinking inside, but he did what he could to conceal his misery, and to respond with some show of heart to the Major’s kindly pettings and reassurings.

At the frontier he got out and stood on the edge of the great crowd, and waited in deep anxiety while the Major plowed his way through the mass to “explain to the Chief Inspector”. It seemed a cruelly long wait, but at last the Major reappeared. He said, cheerfully. “Damnation, it’s a new inspector, and I don’t know him!”

Alfred fell up against a pile of trunks, with a despairing, “Oh, dear, dear. I might have known it!’ and was slumping limp and helpless to the ground, but the Major gathered him up and seated him on a box, and sat down by him, with a supporting arm around him, and whispered in his ear: “Don’t worry, laddie, don’t – it’s going to be all right; you just trust to me. The sub-inspector’s as near-sighted as a shad[5]. Now I’ll tell you how to do. I’ll go and get my passport chalked, and then I’ll stop right there inside the grille where you see those peasants with their packs. You be there, and I’ll back up against the grille, and slip my passport to you through the bars, then you tag along after the crowd and hand it in, and trust to Providence and that shad. Mainly the shad. You’ll pull through all right – now don’t you be afraid.”

“But, oh, dear, dear, your description and mine don’t tally any more than – ”

“Oh, that’s all right – difference between fifty-one and nineteen – just entirely imperceptible to that shad – don’t you fret, it’s going to come out as right as nails.”[6]

Ten minutes later Alfred was tottering toward the train, pale, and in a collapse, but he had played the shad successfully, and was as grateful as an untaxed dog that has evaded the police.

Between the frontier and Petersburg the Major laid himself out to restore his young comrade’s life, and work up his circulation, and pull him out of his despondency, and make him feel again that life was a joy and worth living. And so, as a consequence, the young fellow entered the city in high feather[7] and marched into the hotel in fine form, and registered his name. But instead of naming a room, the clerk glanced at him inquiringly, and waited. The Major came promptly to the rescue, and said, cordially:

“It’s all right – you know me – set him down, I’m responsible.” The clerk looked grave, and shook his head. The Major added: “It’s all right, it’ll be here in twenty-four hours – it’s coming by mail. Here’s mine, and his is coming, right along.”

The clerk was full of politeness, full of deference, but he was firm. He said, in English:

“Indeed, I wish I could accommodate you, Major, and certainly I would if I could; but I have no choice, I must ask him to go; I cannot allow him to remain in the house a moment.”

Parrish began to totter, and emitted a moan; the Major caught him and stayed him with an arm, and said to the clerk, appealingly:

“Come, you know me – everybody does – just let him stay here the one night, and I give you my word –”

The clerk shook his head, and said:

“But, Major, you are endangering me, you are endangering the house. I – I hate to do such a thing, but I – I must call the police.”

“Hold on, don’t do that. Come along, my boy, and don’t you fret – it’s going to come out all right. Hi, there, cabby! Jump in, Parrish. Palace of the General of the Secret Police – turn them loose, cabby! Let them go! Make them whiz! Now we’re off, and you give yourself any uneasiness. Prince Bossloffsky knows me, knows me like a book; he’ll soon fix things all right for us.”

They tore through the gay streets and arrived at the palace, which was brilliantly lighted. But it was half past eight; the Prince was about going in to dinner, the sentinel said, and couldn’t receive any one.

“But he’ll receive me, ” said the Major, robustly and handed his card. “I’m Major Jackson. Send it in; it’ll be all right.”

The card was sent in, under protest, and the Major and his waif waited in a reception-room for some time. At last they were sent for, and conducted to a sumptuous private office and confronted with the Prince, who stood there gorgeously arrayed and frowning like a thundercloud. The Major stated his case, and begged for a twenty-four-hour stay of proceeding until the passport should be forthcoming.

“Oh, it’s impossible!” said the Prince, in faultless English. “I marvel that you should have done so insane a thing as to bring the lad into the country without passport. Major, I marvel at it. Why, it’s ten years in Siberia and no help for it. – Catch him! Support him!” for poor Parrish was making another trip to the floor. “Here – quick, give him this. There – take another draught; brandy’s the thing, don’t you find it so, lad? Now you feel better, poor fellow. Lie down on the sofa. How stupid it was of you, Major, to get him into such a horrible scrape.” The Major eased the boy down with his strong arms, put a cushion under his head, and whispered in his ear:

“Look as damned sick as you can! Play it for all it’s worth; he’s touched, you see; got a tender heart under there somewhere; fetch a groan, and say, “Oh, mamma, mamma; it will knock him out, sure as guns.”

Parrish was going to do these things anyway, from native impulse, so they came from him promptly, with great and moving sincerity, and the Major whispered: “Splendid! Do it again; Bernardt couldn’t beat it.”

With the Major’s eloquence and the boy’s misery, the point was gained at last; the Prince struck his colours,[8] and said:

“Have it your way; though you deserve a sharp lesson and you ought to get it. I give you exactly twenty-four hours. If the passport is not here then, don’t come near me; it’s Siberia without hope of pardon”.

While the Major and the lad poured out their thanks, the Prince rang in a couple of soldiers and in their own language, he ordered them to go with these two people, and not lose sight of the younger one a moment for the next twenty-four hours; and if, at the end of that term, the boy could not show a passport, impound him in the dungeons of St. Peter and St. Paul and report.

The unfortunates arrived at the hotel with their guards, dined under their eyes, remained in Parrish’s room until the Major went off to bed, after cheering up the sad Parrish, then one of the soldiers locked himself and Parrish in, and the other one stretched himself across the door outside and soon went off to sleep.

So also did not Alfred Parrish. The moment he was alone with the solemn soldier and the voiceless silence his machine-made cheerfulness began to waste away, his medicated courage began to give off its supporting gases and shrink toward normal, and his poor little heart to shrivel like a raisin. Within thirty minutes he struck bottom[9]; grief, misery, fright, despair, could go no lower. Bed? Bed was not for such as he; bed was not for the doomed, the lost! He could only walk the floor. And not only could, but must. And did, by the hour. And mourned, and wept, and shuddered, and prayed.

Then all-sorrowfully he made his last dispositions, and prepared himself, as well as in him lay, to meet his fate. As a final act, he wrote a letter:

“MY DARLING MOTHER, - When these sad lines shall have reached you your poor Alfred will be no more. No; worse than that, far worse! Through my own fault and foolishness I have fallen into the hands of a sharper or a lunatic; I do not know which, but in either case I feel that I am lost. Sometimes I think he is a sharper; but most of the time I think he is only mad, for he has a kind, good heart, I know, and he certainly seems to try the hardest that ever a person tried to get me out of the fatal difficulties he has gotten me into.

In a few hours I shall be one of the nameless horde plodding the snowy solitude of Russia, under the lash, and bound for that land of mystery and misery and termless oblivion, Siberia! I shall not live to see it; my heart is broken and I shall die. Give my picture to her, and ask her to keep it in memory of me, and so that in the appointed time she may join me in that better world where there is no marriage and no separations, and troubles never come. Give my yellow dog to Archy Hale, and the other one to Henry Taylor; my blazer I give to brother Will, and my fishing-things and Bible.

“There is no hope for me. I cannot escape; the soldier stands there with his gun and never takes his eyes off me, just blinks; there is no other movement, any more than if he was dead. I cannot bribe him; the maniac has my money. My letter of credit is in my trunk, and may never come – will never come, I know. Oh, what is to become of me! Pray for me, darling mother, pray for your poor Alfred. But it will do no good.”

 

Phonetic exercises

 

1. Practise the pronunciation of the words from the chapter. When in doubt refer to the English-Russian dictionary.

Adorable; disasters, reassurings; imperceptible; despondency; consequence; inquiringly; rescue; robustly; sumptuous; gorgeously; faultless; draught; cushion; sincerity; eloquence; solemn; lunatic;

 

Part four

In the morning Alfred came out looking scraggy and worn when the Major summoned him to an early breakfast. They fed their guards, they lit cigars, the Major loosened his tongue and set it going, and under its magic influence Alfred gradually became hopeful, measurably cheerful, and almost happy once more.

But he would not leave the house. Siberia hung over him, black and threatening; his appetite for sights was all gone, he could not have borne the shame of inspecting streets and galleries and churches with a soldier at each elbow and all the world stopping and staring and commenting – no, he would stay within and wait for the Berlin mail and his fate. So, all day long the Major stood gallantly by him in his room, with one soldier standing stiff and motionless against the door with his musket at his shoulder, and the other one drowsing in a chair outside; all day long the faithful veteran spun campaign stories, describing battles, reeled off explosive anecdotes, with unconquerable energy and sparkle and resolution, and kept the scared student alive and his pulse functioning. The long day wore to a close, and the pair followed by their guards, went down to the great dining room and took their seats.

“The suspense will be over before long, now,” sighed poor Alfred. Just then a pair of Englishmen passed by, and one of them said, “So we’ll get no letters from Berlin to-night.”

Parrish’s breath began to fail him. The Englishmen seated themselves at a nearby table, and the other one said:

“No, it isn’t as bad as that.” Parrish’s breathing improved. “There is later telegraphic news. The accident did detain the train formidably, but that is all. It will arrive here three hours late to-night.”

Parrish did not get to the floor this time, for the Major jumped for him in time. He had been listening, and foresaw what would happen. He patted Parrish on the back, hoisted him out on the chair, and said cheerfully:

“Come along, my boy, cheer up, there’s absolutely nothing to worry about. I know a way out. Bother the passport! Let it lag a week if it wants to, we can do without it.

Parrish was too sick to hear him; hope was gone, Siberia present; he moved off on legs of lead, upheld by the Major, who walked him to the American legation, heartening him on the way with assurance that on his recommendation the minister wouldn’t hesitate a moment to grant him a new passport.

“I had that card up my sleeve all the time,” he said. “The minister knows me – knows me familiarly – chummed together hours and hours under a pile of other wounded at Cold Harbour; have been chummies ever since, in spirit, though we haven’t met much in the body. Cheer up, laddie, everything’s looking splendid! Be gracious! I feel as cocky as a buck angel does.[10] Here we are, and our troubles are at the end! If we ever really had any.”

There, alongside the door, was the trade-mark of the richest and freest and mightiest republic of all the ages: the pine disk, with the planked eagle spread upon it, his head and shoulders among the stars, and his claws full of out-of-date war material; and at that sight the tears came into Alfred’s eyes. The pride of country rose in his heart. Hail Columbia[11]boomed up in his breast and all his fears and sorrows vanished away; for here he was safe, safe! Not all the powers of the earth would venture to cross that threshold to lay a hand upon him!

For economy’s sake the mightiest republic’s legations in Europe consist of a room and a half on the ninth floor, when the tenth is occupied, and the legation furniture consists of a minister or an ambassador with a brakeman’s salary, a secretary of legation who sells matches and mends crockery for a living, a hired girl for interpreter and general utility, pictures of the American liners, a portrait of the reigning President, a desk, three chairs, kerosene-lamp, a cat, a clock, and a cuspidor with the motto, “In God We Trust.”

The party climbed up there, followed by the escort. A man sat at the desk writing official things on wrapping- paper with a nail. He rose and faced about; the cat climbed down and got under the desk; the hired girl squeezed herself up into the corner by the vodka-jug to make room; the soldiers squeezed themselves up against the wall alongside of her, with muskets at shoulder arms. Alfred was radiant with happiness and the sense of rescue.

The Major cordially shook hands with the official, rattled off his case in easy and fluent style, and asked for the desired passport.

The official seated his guests, then said: “Well, I am only the secretary of legation, you know, and I wouldn’t like to grant a passport while the minister is on Russian soil. There is far too much responsibility.”

“All right, send for him.”

The secretary smiled, and said: “That’s easier said than done. He’s away up in the wilds, somewhere, on his vacation.”

“Great Scott!” ejaculated the Major.

Alfred groaned; the colour went out of his face, and he began to slowly collapse in his clothes. The secretary said wonderingly:

“Why, what are you Great-Scotting about, Major? The prince gave you twenty-four hours. Look at the clock; you’re all right; you’ve half an hour left; the train is just due; the passport will arrive in time.”

“Man, there’s news! The train is three hours behind time! This boy’s life and liberty are wasting away by minutes and only thirty of them left! In half an hour he’s the same as dead and damned to all eternity[12]! By God, we must have the passport!”

“Oh, I am dying. I know it!” wailed the lad, and buried his face in his arms on the desk. A quick change came over secretary, his placidity vanished away, excitement flamed up in his face and eyes, and he exclaimed:

“I see the whole ghastliness of the situation, but, Lord helps us, what can I do? What can you suggest?”

“Why, hang it[13], give him the passport!”

“Impossible! Totally impossible! You know nothing about him; three days ago you had never heard of him; there’s no way in the world to identify him. He is lost, lost - there’s no possibility of saving him!”

The boy groaned again, and sobbed out, “Lord, Lord, it’s the last of earth for Alfred Parrish!”

Another change came over the secretary.

In the midst of a passionate outburst of pity, vexation, and hopelessness, he stopped short, his manner calmed down, and he asked, in the indifferent voice which one use in introducing the subject of the weather when there is nothing to talk about, “Is that your name?”

The youth sobbed out a yes.

“Where are you from?”

“Bridgeport.”

The secretary shook his head – shook it again – and muttered to himself. After a moment:

“Born there?”

“No; New Haven.”

“Ah-h.” The secretary glanced at the Major, who was listening intently, with blank and unenlightened face, and indicated rather than said, “There is vodka there, in case the soldiers are thirsty.” The Major sprang up, poured for them, and received their gratitude. The questioning went on.

“How long did you live in New Haven?”

“Till I was fourteen. Came back two years ago to enter Yale.”

“When you lived there, what street did you live on?”

“Parker Street.”

With a vague half-light of comprehension dawning in his eyes, the Major glanced an inquiry at the secretary. The secretary nodded; the Major poured vodka again.

“What number?”

“It hadn’t any.”

The boy sat up and gave the secretary a pathetic look, which said, “Why do you want to torture me with these foolish things, when I am miserable enough without it?”

The secretary went on, unheeding: “What kind of a house was it?”

“Brick – two-story.”

“Flush with the sidewalk?”

“No, small yard in front.”

“Iron fence?”

“No, palings.”

The Major poured vodka again – without instructions – poured brimmers this time; and his face cleared and was alive now.

“What do you see when you enter the door?”

“A narrow hall; door at the end of it, and a door at your right.”

“Anything else?”

“Hat-rack.”

“Room at the right?”

“Parlor.”

“Carpet?”

“Yes.”

“Kind of carpet?”

“Old-fashioned Wilton.”

“Figures?”

“Yes – hawking-party, horseback.”

The Major cast an eye at the clock – only six minutes left! He faced about with the jug, and as he poured he glanced at the secretary, then at the clock – inquiringly. The secretary nodded; the Major covered the clock from view with his body a moment, and set the hands back half an hour; then he refreshed the men – double rations.

“Room beyond the hall and hat-rack?”

“Dining-room.”

“Stove?”

“Grate.”

“Did your people own the house?”

“Yes.”

“Do they own it yet?”

“No, sold it when we moved to Bridgeport.”

The secretary paused a little, then said, “Did you have a nickname among your playmates?”

The colour slowly rose in the youth’s pale cheeks, and he dropped his eyes. He seemed to struggle with himself a moment or two, then he said plaintively, “They called me Miss Nancy.”

The secretary mused awhile, and then he dug up another question:

“Any ornaments in the dining-room?”

“Well, y-no.”

“ None? None at all?

“No.”

“The mischief! Isn’t it a little odd? Think!”

The youth thought and thought; the secretary waited, panting. At last the imperiled waif looked up sadly and shook his head.

“Think – think!” cried the Major, in anxious solicitude; and poured again.

“Come!” said the secretary, “not even a picture?”

“Oh, certainly! But you said ornament.”

“Ah! What did your father think of it?”

The colour rose again. The boy was silent.

“Speak,” said the secretary.

“Speak,” cried the Major, and his trembling hand poured vodka outside the glasses than inside.

“I – I can’t tell you what he said,” murmured the boy. “Quick! Quick!” said the secretary; “out with it; there is no time to lose – home and liberty or Siberia and death depend upon the answer.”

“Oh, have pity! He is a clergyman, and – “

“No matter, out with it, or – “

“He said it was the hell-firedest nightmare[14] he ever struck!”

“Saved!” shouted the secretary, and seized his nail and a blank passport. “I identify you: I’ve lived in the house, and I painted the picture myself!”

“Oh, come to my arms, my poor rescued boy!” cried the Major. “We will always be grateful to God that He made this artist! – If He did.”

Phonetic exercises

 

Review

 

1. Give the idea of each part of the story in one sentence.
2. Write a summary of the story of 200-250 words.
3. Alfred is writing another letter to his mother after receiving a new passport. Do it for him.
4. The delayed train arrives. Do you think Alfred’s passport with a visa arrives too? Write your end to this story.

MY WATCH

An instructive little tale

 

My beautiful new watch had run eighteen months without losing or gaining, and without breaking any part of its machinery or stopping. But at last, one night, I let it run down[15]. I grieved about it as if it were a messenger of bad luck. But by and by I cheered up, set the watch by guess, and commanded my superstitions to depart.

Next day I stepped into the chief jeweler’s to set it by the exact time. The head of the establishment took it out of my hand to set it for me. Then he said,”She is four minutes slow[16] - regulator needs pushing up”. I tried to stop him – tried to make him understand that the watch kept perfect time. But no; all this human cabbage could see[17] was that the watch was four minutes slow, and the regulator must be pushed up a little. And so, while I danced around him in anguish, and begged him to let the watch alone, he calmly and cruelly did the shameful deed[18]. My watch began to gain. It gained faster and faster day by day. Within the week it sickened to a raging fever, and at the end of two months it had left all the timepieces of the town far in the rear and was a fraction over thirteen days ahead of the calendar. It was away into November enjoying the snow, while the October leaves were still turning. It made me hurry up with house rent, paying bills, and such things in such a ruinous way that I could not stand any longer.

I took it to the watchmaker to have it regulated. He asked me if I had ever had it repaired. I said no, it had never needed any repairing. He looked a look of vicious happiness and eagerly opened the watch, and then put a small dice-box into his eye and peered into its machinery. He said it needed cleaning and oiling, besides regulating – come in a week. After being cleaned and oiled, and regulated, my watch slowed down to that degree that it ticked like a tolling bell. I began to be late for all appointments, missed the trains and my dinner. I gradually drifted back into yesterday, then day before, then into last week, and by and by the comprehension came upon me that the world was out of sight.

I went to a watchmaker again. He took the watch all to pieces while I waited, and then said the barrel was “swelled”[19]. He said he could reduce it in three days. After this the watch averaged well, but nothing more. For half a day it would go like a mischief, and keep up such a barking and wheezing and whooping and sneezing and snorting, that I could not hear myself for the disturbance. And as long as it held out there was not a watch in the land that stood any chance against it[20]. But the rest of the day it would keep on slowing down until all the clocks it had left behind caught up again. So at last, at the end of twenty-four hours, it would come up all right and just in time. It would show a fair and square average[21], and no man could say it had done more or less than its duty. But a correct average is only a mild virtue in a watch, and I took this instrument to another watchmaker.

He said the kingbolt was broken. I was glad it was nothing more serious. To tell the plain truth, I had no idea what the kingbolt was, but I did not want to appear ignorant to a stranger. He repaired the kingbolt, but what the watch gained in one way it lost in another. It would run awhile and stop awhile, and then run awhile again and then so on, using its own discretion about the intervals. And every time it went off it kicked back like a musket. I padded my breast for a few days, but finally took the watch to another watchmaker.

He picked it all to pieces, turned the ruin over and over under his glass; and then said there appeared to be something the matter with the hair-trigger. He fixed it, and gave it a fresh start. It did well now, except that always at ten minutes to ten the hands would shut together like a pair of scissors, and from that time they would travel together. The oldest man in the world could not make head or tail of the time of the day by such a watch, and so I went again to have the thing repaired.

This person said that the crystal had got bent, and that the mainspring was not straight. He made these things all right, then my watch performed not badly, only now and then, after working along quietly for nearly eight hours, everything inside would go all of a sudden and begin to buzz like a bee, and the hands would begin to spin round and round so fast that their individuality was lost completely. They would reel off the twenty-four hours in six or seven minutes, and then stop with a bang.

I went with a heavy heart to one more watchmaker, and looked on while he took her to pieces. Then I prepared to cross-question him rigidly, for this thing was getting serious. The watch had cost two hundred dollars originally, and I seemed to have paid out two or three thousand for repairers. While I waited and looked on I presently recognized in this watchmaker an old acquaintance – a steamboat engineer of other days, and not a good engineer, either. He examined all the parts carefully, just as the other watchmakers had done, and then delivered his verdict with the same confidence of manner.

He said:

“She makes too much steam – you need to hang the monkey-wrench on the safety-valve[22]!”

I brained him on the spot, and had him buried at my own expense.

My uncle William (now deceased, alas) used to say that a good horse was a good horse until it ran away once, and that a good watch was a good watch until the repairers got a chance at it. And he used to wonder what became of all the unsuccessful tinkers and gunsmiths, and shoemakers, and engineers, and blacksmiths; but nobody could tell him.

 

Phonetic exercises

 

1. Practise the pronunciation of the words from the chapter. When in doubt refer to the English-Russian dictionary.

Superstitions, jeweler, fever, vicious, comprehension, disturbance, virtue, ignorant, discretion, scissors, rigid, acquaintance, bury.

 

He said his final decision.

 

 

 3. Match English and Russian phrases. Use them in the situations from the text:

 

1. I can’t stand it                                      a) сильно переживать

2. there appears to be some-                    b) thing the matter with                                 

thing the matter with                          c) плохая примета

3. to take something to pieces                 d) поставить часы наугад

4. to recognize in somebody                    e) поставить часы по точному времени

an old acquaintance                              f) он снова завёл часы

5. at my own expense                               g) часы идут очень правильно

6. to grieve about                                      h) я отогнал от себя дурные предчувствия

7. to set the watch by guess                      i) часы отстают

8. the watch keeps perfect time                j) оставить ч-л., к-л. в покое

9. the watch slows down                          k) я не могу этого вынести (терпеть)

10. bad luck                                              l) по правде говоря

11. to set the watch by the exact              m) за свой счёт

time                                                     n) кажется, что-то не ладно с

12. I commanded my superstitions           o) произнести приговор

to depart                                              p) я не могу разобрать (понять)

13. to leave something (smb) alone          q) разбирать ч-л. на части

14. to tell the plain truth                            r) подвергнуть к-л. строгому пере-

15. I can’t make head or tail of it             s) крёстному допросу

16. to cross-question smb. rigidly             t) узнавать в к-л. старого знакомого

17. to deliver the verdict 

18. he gave the watch a fresh start 

 

1. Make the two parts of the sentence:

 

a)

1. A jeweler                     a) makes or mends shoes

2. A tinker                        b) is an expert in the art of practical application of physics, 

                                             chemistry, etc

3. A gunsmith                   c) is a person who shoes horses

4. A shoemaker                d) makes rifles, pistols and other guns

5. An engineer                   e) is a mender of pots, kettles, pans, etc

6. A blacksmith                 f) works with precious stones, gems

 

 

b)

1. A bee                                                                     a) snorts

2. A dog                                                                     b) whoops

3. A horse                                                                   c) wheeze

4. A person who has a cold                                        d) buzzes

5. If someone is ill with whooping cough someone   e) barks

6. If someone whistles in breathing someone             f) sneezes

 

c)

1. A messenger is                            a) it is carried by the wind or current

2. If you are superstitious                b) freedom of choice

3. If your watch gains                      c) if you lack knowledge

4. If your watch loses                       d) someone who like to tease others

5. If something drifts                       e) you are afraid of unknown or mysterious things

6. A mischief is                                 f) someone who brings news

7. When there is much disturbance   g) it is ahead of time

on the radio                                  h) it is behind the time

8. You are an ignorant person           i) you can’t hear anything clearly or distinctly

9. A virtue is                                      j) an excellent or good quality

10. Discretion is                                 k) a hand gun of early days

11. A musket

                                       

1. Answer the following questions using make someone do something (заставить к -л. делать ч -л.). Give complete answers:

1. Why did the author try to make the watchmaker understand that the watch kept perfect time?

2. What made the author hurry up with house rent, bills, and such things?

3. What made the author go from one watch maker to another?

 

1. Ask each other questions like this: “What makes you do something?”

Example: What makes you get up so early?

 

1. Below are sentences from the text in which would and used to are used for repeated and habitual actions in the past. Translate them into Russian:

 

1. For half a day it would go like a mischief.

2. For the rest of the day it would keep on slowing down and at the end of twenty-four hours it would come up all right and just in time.

3. It would show a fair and square average.

4. It would run awhile and then stop awhile.

5. The hands would shut together like a pair of scissors, and from that time forth they would travel together.

6. Everything inside would go all of a sudden.

7. The hands would begin to spin round and round.

8. The watch would reel off the next twenty-four hours in six or seven minutes.

9. My uncle William used to say ….

10. He used to wonder ….

 

1. Talk about yourself:

 

a) Use would do or used to do.

Example:

I used to have a lot of toys. – Раньше у меня было много игрушек.

We would go fishing every weekend. - Мы бывало ходили на рыбалку каждый выходной.

 

b) Use to have something done.

 

In the text:

“I had him buried at my own expense”. – Его похоронили за мой счёт.

 

Now say honestly about yourself.

 

1. Do you make breakfast yourself or do you have it made?
2. Do you do your bed yourself or do you have it done?
3. Do you do your homework yourself or do you have it done?
4. Do you wash your clothes yourself or do you have it washed?
5. Do you repair your shoes yourself or do you have it repaired?

 

         (Go on asking each other similar questions).

 

1. Speak about your watch:

 

1. What’s the time by your watch?
2. Do you think it is slow or fast?
3. Does it often lose or gain? How well does it go?
4. What’s the difference in meaning: The watch is 5 minutes slow (fast) and The watch loses (gains) 5 minutes?
5. Have you ever repaired it or had it repaired? If yes, what was wrong with it?
6. How well was the repair done? What do you think of the watchmaker who did the repair?
7. Have you ever had any experience with an inefficient watchmaker? If yes, what were the circumstances?
8. Do you think it is important to have a good watch? Give your reasons.

 

What do you think?

 

1. Which watchmaker caused the worst injury to the watch? Give your reasons.
2. Do you think the end of the story is true?
3. If you think the end is not true, then think of a true end of the story and tell it to your classmates.
4. What do you think you would do in the author’s place?
5. Do you think Mark Twain told this story:

a) just to fun;

b) because he had had such an experience;

c) because he wanted to say how inefficient all the watchmakers were;

d) because he believed it was useless to repair a watch

 

Do you have your own idea on this subject? If so, say what it is.

 

 

Phonetic exercises

 

What do you think?

 

1. Edward and George were very different. Why? What do you think about it?
2. Who do you sympathize with? Explain why.
3. If they were contemporaries, do you think their lives might be different from those described by Mark Twain? Why do you think so?
4. What do you think of those moral organizations which tried to reform George? Are there any similar organizations in your country, town, neighborhood? If yes, what do you think of them?
5. Who do you think is able to reform a person: public organizations a family, friends, nobody? Give your reasons.
6. How would you complete the inscription on Edward’s headstone? Why do you think this way?
7. Do you think there is a moral in this tale? If yes, what it is.

 

 

THE CALIFORNIAN TALE

Thirty five years ago I was out prospecting on the Stanislaus[28], tramping all day long with pick and pan and horn, and washing a hatful of dirt here and there, always expecting to make a rich strike, and never doing it. It was a lovely region, woodsy, balmy, delicious. Once it had been populous, long years before, but now the people had vanished and the charming paradise was solitude. They went away when the surface diggings gave out. In one place, where a busy little city with banks and newspapers and fire companies and a mayor and aldermen had been, was nothing but a wide expanse of emerald turf, with not even the faintest sign that human life had ever been present there. At intervals, along the dusty roads, one could find the prettiest little cottage homes, so cobwebbed with vines and roses that the doors and the windows were wholly hidden from sight – sign that these were deserted homes, forsaken years ago by defeated and disappointed families who could neither sell them nor give them away.

Now and then, half an hour apart, one could come across solitary log cabins of the earliest mining days, built by the first gold-miners, the predecessors of the cottage-builders. In some few cases these cabins were still occupied. When this was so, you could depend upon it that the occupant was the very pioneer who had built the cabin. And you could depend on another thing, too – that he was there because he had once had his opportunity to go home to the States rich, and had not done it; had rather lost his wealth, and had resolved to server all communication with his home relatives and friends, and be to them ever since as one dead. Round about California in those days there were scattered a host of these living dead men – pride-smitten poor fellows, grizzled and old at forty whose secret thoughts were made all of regrets and longings – regrets for their wasted lives, and longings to be through with it all.

It was a lonesome land! Not a sound in all those peaceful expanses of grass and woods but the drowsy hum of insects; no glimpse of man or beast; nothing to keep up your spirits and make you glad to be alive. And so, at last, in the early part of the afternoon, when I caught sight of a human creature, I felt a most grateful uplift. This person was about forty-five years old, and he was standing at the gate of one of those cozy little cottages already referred to. However, this one hadn’t a deserted look. It had the look of being lived in and petted and cared for and looked after; and so had its front yard, which