Geneva is filled with pretty shops, and the shops are filled with the most enticing2 gimcrackery, but if one enters one of these places he is at once pounced3 upon, and followed up, and so persecuted4 to buy this, that, and the other thing, that he is very grateful to get out again, and is not at all apt to repeat his experiment. The shopkeepers of the smaller sort, in Geneva, are as troublesome and persistent5 as are the salesmen of that monster hive in Paris, the Grands Magasins du Louvre—an establishment where ill-mannered pestering6, pursuing, and insistence7 have been reduced to a science.
In Geneva, prices in the smaller shops are very elastic—that is another bad feature. I was looking in at a window at a very pretty string of beads8, suitable for a child. I was only admiring them; I had no use for them; I hardly ever wear beads. The shopwoman came out and offered them to me for thirty-five francs. I said it was cheap, but I did not need them.
“Ah, but monsieur, they are so beautiful!”
I confessed it, but said they were not suitable for one of my age and simplicity9 of character. She darted10 in and brought them out and tried to force them into my hands, saying:
“Ah, but only see how lovely they are! Surely monsieur will take them; monsieur shall have them for thirty francs. There, I have said it—it is a loss, but one must live.”
I dropped my hands, and tried to move her to respect my unprotected situation. But no, she dangled11 the beads in the sun before my face, exclaiming, “Ah, monsieur cannot resist them!” She hung them on my coat button, folded her hand resignedly, and said: “Gone,—and for thirty francs, the lovely things—it is incredible!—but the good God will sanctify the sacrifice to me.”
I removed them gently, returned them, and walked away, shaking my head and smiling a smile of silly embarrassment13 while the passers-by halted to observe. The woman leaned out of her door, shook the beads, and screamed after me:
“Monsieur shall have them for twenty-eight!”
I shook my head.
“Twenty-seven! It is a cruel loss, it is ruin—but take them, only take them.”
I still retreated, still wagging my head.
“Mon Dieu, they shall even go for twenty-six! There, I have said it. Come!”
I wagged another negative. A nurse and a little English girl had been near me, and were following me, now. The shopwoman ran to the nurse, thrust the beads into her hands, and said:
“Monsieur shall have them for twenty-five! Take them to the hotel—he shall send me the money tomorrow—next day—when he likes.” Then to the child: “When thy father sends me the money, come thou also, my angel, and thou shall have something oh so pretty!”
I was thus providentially saved. The nurse refused the beads squarely and firmly, and that ended the matter.
The “sights” of Geneva are not numerous. I made one attempt to hunt up the houses once inhabited by those two disagreeable people, Rousseau and Calvin, but I had no success. Then I concluded to go home. I found it was easier to propose to do that than to do it; for that town is a bewildering place. I got lost in a tangle14 of narrow and crooked15 streets, and stayed lost for an hour or two. Finally I found a street which looked somewhat familiar, and said to myself, “Now I am at home, I judge.” But I was wrong; this was “Hell street.” Presently I found another place which had a familiar look, and said to myself, “Now I am at home, sure.” It was another error. This was “Purgatory street.” After a little I said, “now I’ve got the right place, anyway ... no, this is ‘Paradise street’; I’m further from home than I was in the beginning.” Those were queer names—Calvin was the author of them, likely. “Hell” and “Purgatory” fitted those two streets like a glove, but the “Paradise” appeared to be sarcastic16.
I came out on the lake-front, at last, and then I knew where I was. I was walking along before the glittering jewelry17 shops when I saw a curious performance. A lady passed by, and a trim dandy lounged across the walk in such an apparently18 carefully timed way as to bring himself exactly in front of her when she got to him; he made no offer to step out of the way; he did not apologize; he did not even notice her. She had to stop still and let him lounge by. I wondered if he had done that piece of brutality19 purposely. He strolled to a chair and seated himself at a small table; two or three other males were sitting at similar tables sipping21 sweetened water. I waited; presently a youth came by, and this fellow got up and served him the same trick. Still, it did not seem possible that any one could do such a thing deliberately22. To satisfy my curiosity I went around the block, and, sure enough, as I approached, at a good round speed, he got up and lounged lazily across my path, fouling23 my course exactly at the right moment to receive all my weight. This proved that his previous performances had not been accidental, but intentional24.
I saw that dandy’s curious game played afterward25, in Paris, but not for amusement; not with a motive26 of any sort, indeed, but simply from a selfish indifference27 to other people’s comfort and rights. One does not see it as frequently in Paris as he might expect to, for there the law says, in effect, “It is the business of the weak to get out of the way of the strong.” We fine a cabman if he runs over a citizen; Paris fines the citizen for being run over. At least so everybody says—but I saw something which caused me to doubt; I saw a horseman run over an old woman one day—the police arrested him and took him away. That looked as if they meant to punish him.
It will not do for me to find merit in American manners—for are they not the standing28 butt12 for the jests of critical and polished Europe? Still, I must venture to claim one little matter of superiority in our manners; a lady may traverse our streets all day, going and coming as she chooses, and she will never be molested30 by any man; but if a lady, unattended, walks abroad in the streets of London, even at noonday, she will be pretty likely to be accosted31 and insulted—and not by drunken sailors, but by men who carry the look and wear the dress of gentlemen. It is maintained that these people are not gentlemen, but are a lower sort, disguised as gentlemen. The case of Colonel Valentine Baker32 obstructs33 that argument, for a man cannot become an officer in the British army except he hold the rank of gentleman. This person, finding himself alone in a railway compartment34 with an unprotected girl—but it is an atrocious story, and doubtless the reader remembers it well enough. London must have been more or less accustomed to Bakers35, and the ways of Bakers, else London would have been offended and excited. Baker was “imprisoned”—in a parlor36; and he could not have been more visited, or more overwhelmed with attentions, if he had committed six murders and then—while the gallows37 was preparing—“got religion”—after the manner of the holy Charles Peace, of saintly memory. Arkansaw—it seems a little indelicate to be trumpeting38 forth39 our own superiorities, and comparisons are always odious40, but still—Arkansaw would certainly have hanged Baker. I do not say she would have tried him first, but she would have hanged him, anyway.
Even the most degraded woman can walk our streets unmolested, her sex and her weakness being her sufficient protection. She will encounter less polish than she would in the old world, but she will run across enough humanity to make up for it.
The music of a donkey awoke us early in the morning, and we rose up and made ready for a pretty formidable walk—to Italy; but the road was so level that we took the train.. We lost a good deal of time by this, but it was no matter, we were not in a hurry. We were four hours going to Chamb`ery. The Swiss trains go upward of three miles an hour, in places, but they are quite safe.
That aged41 French town of Chambèry was as quaint42 and crooked as Heilbronn. A drowsy43 reposeful44 quiet reigned45 in the back streets which made strolling through them very pleasant, barring the almost unbearable46 heat of the sun. In one of these streets, which was eight feet wide, gracefully47 curved, and built up with small antiquated49 houses, I saw three fat hogs50 lying asleep, and a boy (also asleep) taking care of them.
From queer old-fashioned windows along the curve projected boxes of bright flowers, and over the edge of one of these boxes hung the head and shoulders of a cat—asleep. The five sleeping creatures were the only living things visible in that street. There was not a sound; absolute stillness prevailed. It was Sunday; one is not used to such dreamy Sundays on the continent. In our part of the town it was different that night. A regiment51 of brown and battered52 soldiers had arrived home from Algiers, and I judged they got thirsty on the way. They sang and drank till dawn, in the pleasant open air.
We left for Turin at ten the next morning by a railway which was profusely53 decorated with tunnels. We forgot to take a lantern along, consequently we missed all the scenery. Our compartment was full. A ponderous54 tow-headed Swiss woman, who put on many fine-lady airs, but was evidently more used to washing linen55 than wearing it, sat in a corner seat and put her legs across into the opposite one, propping56 them intermediately with her up-ended valise. In the seat thus pirated, sat two Americans, greatly incommoded by that woman’s majestic57 coffin58-clad feet. One of them begged, politely, to remove them. She opened her wide eyes and gave him a stare, but answered nothing. By and by he proferred his request again, with great respectfulness. She said, in good English, and in a deeply offended tone, that she had paid her passage and was not going to be bullied59 out of her “rights” by ill-bred foreigners, even if she was alone and unprotected.
“But I have rights, also, madam. My ticket entitles me to a seat, but you are occupying half of it.”
“I will not talk with you, sir. What right have you to speak to me? I do not know you. One would know you came from a land where there are no gentlemen. No gentleman would treat a lady as you have treated me.”
“I come from a region where a lady would hardly give me the same provocation60.”
“You have insulted me, sir! You have intimated that I am not a lady—and I hope I am not one, after the pattern of your country.”
“I beg that you will give yourself no alarm on that head, madam; but at the same time I must insist—always respectfully—that you let me have my seat.”
“I never was so insulted before! Never, never! It is shameful62, it is brutal20, it is base, to bully63 and abuse an unprotected lady who has lost the use of her limbs and cannot put her feet to the floor without agony!”
“Good heavens, madam, why didn’t you say that at first! I offer a thousand pardons. And I offer them most sincerely. I did not know—I could not know—anything was the matter. You are most welcome to the seat, and would have been from the first if I had only known. I am truly sorry it all happened, I do assure you.”
But he couldn’t get a word of forgiveness out of her. She simply sobbed64 and sniffed65 in a subdued66 but wholly unappeasable way for two long hours, meantime crowding the man more than ever with her undertaker-furniture and paying no sort of attention to his frequent and humble67 little efforts to do something for her comfort. Then the train halted at the Italian line and she hopped68 up and marched out of the car with as firm a leg as any washerwoman of all her tribe! And how sick I was, to see how she had fooled me.
Turin is a very fine city. In the matter of roominess it transcends69 anything that was ever dreamed of before, I fancy. It sits in the midst of a vast dead-level, and one is obliged to imagine that land may be had for the asking, and no taxes to pay, so lavishly70 do they use it. The streets are extravagantly71 wide, the paved squares are prodigious72, the houses are huge and handsome, and compacted into uniform blocks that stretch away as straight as an arrow, into the distance. The sidewalks are about as wide as ordinary European streets, and are covered over with a double arcade73 supported on great stone piers74 or columns. One walks from one end to the other of these spacious75 streets, under shelter all the time, and all his course is lined with the prettiest of shops and the most inviting76 dining-houses.
There is a wide and lengthy77 court, glittering with the most wickedly enticing shops, which is roofed with glass, high aloft overhead, and paved with soft-toned marbles laid in graceful48 figures; and at night when the place is brilliant with gas and populous78 with a sauntering and chatting and laughing multitude of pleasure-seekers, it is a spectacle worth seeing.
Everything is on a large scale; the public buildings, for instance—and they are architecturally imposing79, too, as well as large. The big squares have big bronze monuments in them. At the hotel they gave us rooms that were alarming, for size, and parlor to match. It was well the weather required no fire in the parlor, for I think one might as well have tried to warm a park. The place would have a warm look, though, in any weather, for the window-curtains were of red silk damask, and the walls were covered with the same fire-hued goods—so, also, were the four sofas and the brigade of chairs. The furniture, the ornaments80, the chandeliers, the carpets, were all new and bright and costly81. We did not need a parlor at all, but they said it belonged to the two bedrooms and we might use it if we chose. Since it was to cost nothing, we were not averse29 to using it, of course.
Turin must surely read a good deal, for it has more book-stores to the square rod than any other town I know of. And it has its own share of military folk. The Italian officers’ uniforms are very much the most beautiful I have ever seen; and, as a general thing, the men in them were as handsome as the clothes. They were not large men, but they had fine forms, fine features, rich olive complexions82, and lustrous83 black eyes.
For several weeks I had been culling84 all the information I could about Italy, from tourists. The tourists were all agreed upon one thing—one must expect to be cheated at every turn by the Italians. I took an evening walk in Turin, and presently came across a little Punch and Judy show in one of the great squares. Twelve or fifteen people constituted the audience. This miniature theater was not much bigger than a man’s coffin stood on end; the upper part was open and displayed a tinseled parlor—a good-sized handkerchief would have answered for a drop-curtain; the footlights consisted of a couple of candle-ends an inch long; various manikins the size of dolls appeared on the stage and made long speeches at each other, gesticulating a good deal, and they generally had a fight before they got through. They were worked by strings85 from above, and the illusion was not perfect, for one saw not only the strings but the brawny86 hand that manipulated them—and the actors and actresses all talked in the same voice, too. The audience stood in front of the theater, and seemed to enjoy the performance heartily87.
When the play was done, a youth in his shirt-sleeves started around with a small copper88 saucer to make a collection. I did not know how much to put in, but thought I would be guided by my predecessors89. Unluckily, I only had two of these, and they did not help me much because they did not put in anything. I had no Italian money, so I put in a small Swiss coin worth about ten cents. The youth finished his collection trip and emptied the result on the stage; he had some very animated90 talk with the concealed91 manager, then he came working his way through the little crowd—seeking me, I thought. I had a mind to slip away, but concluded I wouldn’t; I would stand my ground, and confront the villainy, whatever it was. The youth stood before me and held up that Swiss coin, sure enough, and said something. I did not understand him, but I judged he was requiring Italian money of me. The crowd gathered close, to listen. I was irritated, and said—in English, of course:
“I know it’s Swiss, but you’ll take that or none. I haven’t any other."
“No, sir. I know all about you people. You can’t play any of your fraudful tricks on me. If there is a discount on that coin, I am sorry, but I am not going to make it good. I noticed that some of the audience didn’t pay you anything at all. You let them go, without a word, but you come after me because you think I’m a stranger and will put up with an extortion rather than have a scene. But you are mistaken this time—you’ll take that Swiss money or none.”
The youth stood there with the coin in his fingers, nonplused and bewildered; of course he had not understood a word. An English-speaking Italian spoke up, now, and said:
“You are misunderstanding the boy. He does not mean any harm. He did not suppose you gave him so much money purposely, so he hurried back to return you the coin lest you might get away before you discovered your mistake. Take it, and give him a penny—that will make everything smooth again.”
I probably blushed, then, for there was occasion. Through the interpreter I begged the boy’s pardon, but I nobly refused to take back the ten cents. I said I was accustomed to squandering93 large sums in that way—it was the kind of person I was. Then I retired94 to make a note to the effect that in Italy persons connected with the drama do not cheat.
The episode with the showman reminds me of a dark chapter in my history. I once robbed an aged and blind beggar-woman of four dollars—in a church. It happened this way. When I was out with the Innocents Abroad, the ship stopped in the Russian port of Odessa and I went ashore95, with others, to view the town. I got separated from the rest, and wandered about alone, until late in the afternoon, when I entered a Greek church to see what it was like. When I was ready to leave, I observed two wrinkled old women standing stiffly upright against the inner wall, near the door, with their brown palms open to receive alms. I contributed to the nearer one, and passed out. I had gone fifty yards, perhaps, when it occurred to me that I must remain ashore all night, as I had heard that the ship’s business would carry her away at four o’clock and keep her away until morning. It was a little after four now. I had come ashore with only two pieces of money, both about the same size, but differing largely in value—one was a French gold piece worth four dollars, the other a Turkish coin worth two cents and a half. With a sudden and horrified96 misgiving97, I put my hand in my pocket, now, and sure enough, I fetched out that Turkish penny!
Here was a situation. A hotel would require pay in advance—I must walk the street all night, and perhaps be arrested as a suspicious character. There was but one way out of the difficulty—I flew back to the church, and softly entered. There stood the old woman yet, and in the palm of the nearest one still lay my gold piece. I was grateful. I crept close, feeling unspeakably mean; I got my Turkish penny ready, and was extending a trembling hand to make the nefarious98 exchange, when I heard a cough behind me. I jumped back as if I had been accused, and stood quaking while a worshiper entered and passed up the aisle99.
I was there a year trying to steal that money; that is, it seemed a year, though, of course, it must have been much less. The worshipers went and came; there were hardly ever three in the church at once, but there was always one or more. Every time I tried to commit my crime somebody came in or somebody started out, and I was prevented; but at last my opportunity came; for one moment there was nobody in the church but the two beggar-women and me. I whipped the gold piece out of the poor old pauper’s palm and dropped my Turkish penny in its place. Poor old thing, she murmured her thanks—they smote100 me to the heart. Then I sped away in a guilty hurry, and even when I was a mile from the church I was still glancing back, every moment, to see if I was being pursued.
That experience has been of priceless value and benefit to me; for I resolved then, that as long as I lived I would never again rob a blind beggar-woman in a church; and I have always kept my word. The most permanent lessons in morals are those which come, not of booky teaching, but of experience.
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1
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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enticing
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| adj.迷人的；诱人的 | |
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pounced
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| v.突然袭击( pounce的过去式和过去分词 )；猛扑；一眼看出；抓住机会（进行抨击） | |
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persecuted
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| （尤指宗教或政治信仰的）迫害(~sb. for sth.)( persecute的过去式和过去分词 )； 烦扰，困扰或骚扰某人 | |
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persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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pestering
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| 使烦恼，纠缠( pester的现在分词 ) | |
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insistence
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| n.坚持；强调；坚决主张 | |
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beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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dangled
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| 悬吊着( dangle的过去式和过去分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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sarcastic
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| adj.讥讽的，讽刺的，嘲弄的 | |
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jewelry
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| n.（jewllery）（总称）珠宝 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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brutality
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| n.野蛮的行为，残忍，野蛮 | |
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brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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sipping
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的现在分词 ) | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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fouling
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| n.（水管、枪筒等中的）污垢v.使污秽( foul的现在分词 )；弄脏；击球出界；（通常用废物）弄脏 | |
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intentional
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| adj.故意的，有意（识）的 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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averse
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| adj.厌恶的；反对的，不乐意的 | |
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molested
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| v.骚扰( molest的过去式和过去分词 )；干扰；调戏；猥亵 | |
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accosted
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| v.走过去跟…讲话( accost的过去式和过去分词 )；跟…搭讪；（乞丐等）上前向…乞讨；（妓女等）勾搭 | |
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baker
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| n.面包师 | |
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obstructs
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| 阻塞( obstruct的第三人称单数 )； 堵塞； 阻碍； 阻止 | |
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compartment
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| n.卧车包房，隔间；分隔的空间 | |
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bakers
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| n.面包师( baker的名词复数 )；面包店；面包店店主；十三 | |
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parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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gallows
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| n.绞刑架，绞台 | |
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trumpeting
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| 大声说出或宣告（trumpet的现在分词形式） | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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odious
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| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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reposeful
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| adj.平稳的，沉着的 | |
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reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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unbearable
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| adj.不能容忍的；忍受不住的 | |
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gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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antiquated
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| adj.陈旧的，过时的 | |
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hogs
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| n.（尤指喂肥供食用的）猪( hog的名词复数 )；（供食用的）阉公猪；彻底地做某事；自私的或贪婪的人 | |
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regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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profusely
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| ad.abundantly | |
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ponderous
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| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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propping
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| 支撑 | |
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majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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coffin
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| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
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bullied
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| adj.被欺负了v.恐吓，威逼( bully的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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provocation
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| n.激怒，刺激，挑拨，挑衅的事物，激怒的原因 | |
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sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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shameful
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| adj.可耻的，不道德的 | |
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bully
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| n.恃强欺弱者，小流氓；vt.威胁，欺侮 | |
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sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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sniffed
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| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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hopped
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| 跳上[下]( hop的过去式和过去分词 )； 单足蹦跳； 齐足（或双足）跳行； 摘葎草花 | |
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transcends
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| 超出或超越（经验、信念、描写能力等）的范围( transcend的第三人称单数 )； 优于或胜过… | |
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lavishly
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| adv.慷慨地，大方地 | |
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extravagantly
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| adv.挥霍无度地 | |
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prodigious
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| adj.惊人的，奇妙的；异常的；巨大的；庞大的 | |
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arcade
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| n.拱廊；(一侧或两侧有商店的)通道 | |
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piers
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| n.水上平台( pier的名词复数 )；（常设有娱乐场所的）突堤；柱子；墙墩 | |
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spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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lengthy
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| adj.漫长的，冗长的 | |
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populous
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| adj.人口稠密的，人口众多的 | |
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imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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complexions
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| 肤色( complexion的名词复数 )； 面色； 局面； 性质 | |
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lustrous
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| adj.有光泽的；光辉的 | |
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culling
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| n.选择，大批物品中剔出劣质货v.挑选，剔除( cull的现在分词 ) | |
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strings
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| n.弦 | |
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brawny
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| adj.强壮的 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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predecessors
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| n.前任( predecessor的名词复数 )；前辈；（被取代的）原有事物；前身 | |
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animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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squandering
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| v.（指钱，财产等）浪费，乱花( squander的现在分词 ) | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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misgiving
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕 | |
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nefarious
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| adj.恶毒的，极坏的 | |
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aisle
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| n.（教堂、教室、戏院等里的）过道，通道 | |
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smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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