The $30,000 Bequest, Mark Twain [best book club books for discussion TXT] 📗

put them in there; stopping his narrative a good

while in order to try to recall the name of the soldier that was hurt,

and finally remembering that the soldier’s name was not mentioned,

and remarking placidly that the name is of no real importance, anyway—

better, of course, if one knew it, but not essential, after all—

and so on, and so on, and so on.

 

The teller is innocent and happy and pleased with himself,

and has to stop every little while to hold himself in and keep

from laughing outright; and does hold in, but his body quakes

in a jelly-like way with interior chuckles; and at the end of the

ten minutes the audience have laughed until they are exhausted,

and the tears are running down their faces.

 

The simplicity and innocence and sincerity and unconsciousness

of the old farmer are perfectly simulated, and the result

is a performance which is thoroughly charming and delicious.

This is art—and fine and beautiful, and only a master can compass it;

but a machine could tell the other story.

 

To string incongruities and absurdities together in a wandering

and sometimes purposeless way, and seem innocently unaware that they

are absurdities, is the basis of the American art, if my position

is correct. Another feature is the slurring of the point. A third

is the dropping of a studied remark apparently without knowing it,

as if one where thinking aloud. The fourth and last is the pause.

 

Artemus Ward dealt in numbers three and four a good deal. He would

begin to tell with great animation something which he seemed to

think was wonderful; then lose confidence, and after an apparently

absent-minded pause add an incongruous remark in a soliloquizing way;

and that was the remark intended to explode the mine—and it did.

 

For instance, he would say eagerly, excitedly, “I once knew a man

in New Zealand who hadn’t a tooth in his head”—here his animation

would die out; a silent, reflective pause would follow, then he

would say dreamily, and as if to himself, “and yet that man could

beat a drum better than any man I ever saw.”

 

The pause is an exceedingly important feature in any kind of story,

and a frequently recurring feature, too. It is a dainty thing,

and delicate, and also uncertain and treacherous; for it must

be exactly the right length—no more and no less—or it fails

of its purpose and makes trouble. If the pause is too short the

impressive point is passed, and the audience have had time to divine

that a surprise is intended—and then you can’t surprise them,

of course.

 

On the platform I used to tell a negro ghost story that had a pause

in front of the snapper on the end, and that pause was the most important

thing in the whole story. If I got it the right length precisely,

I could spring the finishing ejaculation with effect enough to make

some impressible girl deliver a startled little yelp and jump out

of her seat—and that was what I was after. This story was called

“The Golden Arm,” and was told in this fashion. You can practice

with it yourself—and mind you look out for the pause and get it right.

 

THE GOLDEN ARM

 

Once ‘pon a time dey wuz a momsus mean man, en he live ‘way out in de

prairie all ‘lone by hisself, ‘cep’n he had a wife. En bimeby she died,

en he tuck en toted her way out dah in de prairie en buried her.

Well, she had a golden arm—all solid gold, fum de shoulder down.

He wuz pow’ful mean—pow’ful; en dat night he couldn’t sleep,

caze he want dat golden arm so bad.

 

When it come midnight he couldn’t stan’ it no mo’; so he git up,

he did, en tuck his lantern en shoved out thoo de storm en dug her

up en got de golden arm; en he bent his head down ‘gin de ‘win, en

plowed en plowed en plowed thoo de snow. Den all on a sudden he

stop (make a considerable pause here, and look startled, and take

a listening attitude) en say: “My LAN’, what’s dat?”

 

En he listen—en listen—en de win’ say (set your teeth together

and imitate the wailing and wheezing singsong of the wind),

“Bzzz-z-zzz”—en den, way back yonder whah de grave is, he hear

a VOICE!—he hear a voice all mix’ up in de win’—can’t hardly

tell ‘em ‘part—“Bzzz—zzz—W-h-o—g-o-t—m-y—g-o-l-d-e-n ARM?”

(You must begin to shiver violently now.)

 

En he begin to shiver en shake, en say, “Oh, my! OH, my lan’!” en de win’

blow de lantern out, en de snow en sleet blow in his face en mos’

choke him, en he start a-plowin’ knee-deep toward home mos’ dead,

he so sk’yerd—en pooty soon he hear de voice agin, en (pause) it ‘us

comin AFTER him! “Bzzz—zzz—zzz W-h-o—g-o-t—m-y—g-o-l-d-e-n—ARM?”

 

When he git to de pasture he hear it agin—closter now,

en A-COMIN’!—a-comin’ back dah in de dark en de storm—(repeat

the wind and the voice). When he git to de house he rush upstairs

en jump in de bed en kiver up, head and years, en lay da shiverin’

en shakin’—en den way out dah he hear it AGIN!—en a-COMIN’! En

bimeby he hear (pause—awed, listening attitude)—pat—pat—pat HIT’S

A-COMIN’ UPSTAIRS! Den he hear de latch, en he KNOW it’s in de room!

 

Den pooty soon he know it’s a-STANNIN’ BY DE BED! (Pause.) Den—

he know it’s a-BENDIN’ DOWN OVER HIM—en he cain’t skasely git

his breath! Den—den—he seem to feel someth’n’ C-O-L-D, right down

‘most agin his head! (Pause.)

 

Den de voice say, RIGHT AT HIS YEAR—“W-h-o—g-o-t—m-y g-o-l-d-e-n ARM?”

(You must wail it out very plaintively and accusingly; then you stare

steadily and impressively into the face of the farthest-gone auditor—

a girl, preferably—and let that awe-inspiring pause begin to build

itself in the deep hush. When it has reached exactly the right length,

jump suddenly at that girl and yell, “YOU’VE got it!”)

 

If you’ve got the PAUSE right, she’ll fetch a dear little yelp and

spring right out of her shoes. But you MUST get the pause right;

and you will find it the most troublesome and aggravating and

uncertain thing you ever undertook.

***

GENERAL WASHINGTON’S NEGRO BODY-SERVANT

 

A Biographical Sketch

 

The stirring part of this celebrated colored man’s life properly began

with his death—that is to say, the notable features of his biography

began with the first time he died. He had been little heard of up

to that time, but since then we have never ceased to hear of him;

we have never ceased to hear of him at stated, unfailing intervals.

His was a most remarkable career, and I have thought that its history

would make a valuable addition to our biographical literature.

Therefore, I have carefully collated the materials for such a work,

from authentic sources, and here present them to the public. I have

rigidly excluded from these pages everything of a doubtful character,

with the object in view of introducing my work into the schools

for the instruction of the youth of my country.

 

The name of the famous body-servant of General Washington was George.

After serving his illustrious master faithfully for half a century,

and enjoying throughout his long term his high regard and confidence,

it became his sorrowful duty at last to lay that beloved master

to rest in his peaceful grave by the Potomac. Ten years afterward—

in 1809—full of years and honors, he died himself, mourned by all

who knew him. The Boston GAZETTE of that date thus refers to

the event:

 

George, the favorite body-servant of the lamented Washington,

died in Richmond, Va., last Tuesday, at the ripe age of 95 years.

His intellect was unimpaired, and his memory tenacious, up to

within a few minutes of his decease. He was present at the second

installation of Washington as President, and also at his funeral,

and distinctly remembered all the prominent incidents connected with

those noted events.

 

From this period we hear no more of the favorite body-servant of

General Washington until May, 1825, at which time he died again.

A Philadelphia paper thus speaks of the sad occurrence:

 

At Macon, Ga., last week, a colored man named George, who was the

favorite body-servant of General Washington, died at the advanced

age of 95 years. Up to within a few hours of his dissolution he

was in full possession of all his faculties, and could distinctly

recollect the second installation of Washington, his death

and burial, the surrender of Cornwallis, the battle of Trenton,

the griefs and hardships of Valley Forge, etc. Deceased was

followed to the grave by the entire population of Macon.

 

On the Fourth of July, 1830, and also of 1834 and 1836, the subject

of this sketch was exhibited in great state upon the rostrum

of the orator of the day, and in November of 1840 he died again.

The St. Louis REPUBLICAN of the 25th of that month spoke as follows:

 

“ANOTHER RELIC OF THE REVOLUTION GONE.

 

“George, once the favorite body-servant of General Washington,

died yesterday at the house of Mr. John Leavenworth in this city,

at the venerable age of 95 years. He was in the full possession

of his faculties up to the hour of his death, and distinctly

recollected the first and second installations and death of

President Washington, the surrender of Cornwallis, the battles

of Trenton and Monmouth, the sufferings of the patriot army at

Valley Forge, the proclamation of the Declaration of Independence,

the speech of Patrick Henry in the Virginia House of Delegates,

and many other old-time reminiscences of stirring interest.

Few white men die lamented as was this aged negro. The funeral

was very largely attended.”

 

During the next ten or eleven years the subject of this sketch

appeared at intervals at Fourth-of-July celebrations in various

parts of the country, and was exhibited upon the rostrum with

flattering success. But in the fall of 1855 he died again.

The California papers thus speak of the event:

 

ANOTHER OLD HERO GONE

 

Died, at Dutch Flat, on the 7th of March, George (once the confidential

body-servant of General Washington), at the great age of 95 years.

His memory, which did not fail him till the last, was a wonderful

storehouse of interesting reminiscences. He could distinctly recollect

the first and second installations and death of President Washington,

the surrender of Cornwallis, the battles of Trenton and Monmouth,

and Bunker Hill, the proclamation of the Declaration of Independence,

and Braddock’s defeat. George was greatly respected in Dutch Flat,

and it is estimated that there were 10,000 people present at

his funeral.

 

The last time the subject of this sketch died was in June, 1864; and until

we learn the contrary, it is just to presume that he died permanently

this time. The Michigan papers thus refer to the sorrowful event:

 

ANOTHER CHERISHED REMNANT OF THE REVOLUTION GONE

 

George, a colored man, and once the favorite body-servant of

George Washington, died in Detroit last week, at the patriarchal age

of 95 years. To the moment of his death his intellect was unclouded,

and he could distinctly remember the first and second installations

and death of Washington, the surrender of Cornwallis, the battles

of Trenton and Monmouth, and Bunker Hill, the proclamation of the

Declaration of Independence, Braddock’s defeat, the throwing over

of the tea in Boston harbor, and the landing of the Pilgrims.

He died greatly respected, and was followed to the grave by a vast

concourse of people.

 

The faithful old servant is gone! We shall never see him more until

he turns up again. He has closed his long and splendid career

of dissolution, for the present, and sleeps