Chapter IV: Front Matter (4)

“Forgot it! It may cost you your life. If you had a feather bed, now, and could spread it in the middle of the room and lie on it, you would be perfectly safe. Come in here,—come quick, before you have a chance to commit any more frantic indiscretions.”

I tried, but the little closet would not hold us both with the door shut, unless we could be content to smother. I gasped awhile, then forced my way out. My wife called out,—

“Mortimer, something _must_ be done for your preservation. Give me that German book that is on the end of the mantel-piece, and a candle; but don’t light it; give me a match; I will light it in here. That book has some directions in it.”

I got the book,—at cost of a vase and some other brittle things; and the madam shut herself up with her candle. I had a moment’s peace; then she called out,—

“Mortimer, what was that?”

“Nothing but the cat.”

“The cat! Oh, destruction! Catch her, and shut her up in the wash-stand. Do be quick, love; cats are _full_ of electricity. I just know my hair will turn white with this night’s awful perils.”

I heard the muffled sobbings again. But for that, I should not have moved hand or foot in such a wild enterprise in the dark.

However, I went at my task,—over chairs, and against all sorts of obstructions, all of them hard ones, too, and most of them with sharp edges,—and at last I got kitty cooped up in the commode, at an expense of over four hundred dollars in broken furniture and shins. Then these muffled words came from the closet:—

“It says the safest thing is to stand on a chair in the middle of the room, Mortimer; and the legs of the chair must be insulated, with non-conductors. That is, you must set the legs of the chair in glass tumblers. [_Fzt!—boom—bang!—smash!_] Oh, hear that! Do hurry, Mortimer, before you are struck.”

I managed to find and secure the tumblers. I got the last four,—broke all the rest. I insulated the chair legs, and called for further instructions.

“Mortimer, it says, ‘Während eines Gewitters entferne man Metalle, wie z. B., Ringe, Uhren, Schlüssel, etc., von sich und halte sich auch nicht an solchen Stellen auf, wo viele Metalle bei einander liegen, oder mit andern Körpern verbunden sind, wie an Herden, Oefen, Eisengittern u. dgl.’ What does that mean, Mortimer? Does it mean that you must keep metals _about_ you, or keep them _away_ from you?”

“Well, I hardly know. It appears to be a little mixed. All German advice is more or less mixed. However, I think that that sentence is mostly in the dative case, with a little genitive and accusative sifted in, here and there, for luck; so I reckon it means that you must keep some metals _about_ you.”

“Yes, that must be it. It stands to reason that it is. They are in the nature of lightning-rods, you know. Put on your fireman’s helmet, Mortimer; that is mostly metal.”

I got it and put it on,—a very heavy and clumsy and uncomfortable thing on a hot night in a close room. Even my night-dress seemed to be more clothing than I strictly needed.

“Mortimer, I think your middle ought to be protected. Won’t you buckle on your militia sabre, please?”

I complied.

“Now, Mortimer, you ought to have some way to protect your feet. Do please put on your spurs.”

I did it,—in silence,—and kept my temper as well as I could.

“Mortimer, it says, ‘Das Gewitter läuten ist sehr gefährlich, weil die Glocke selbst, sowie der durch das Läuten veranlasste Luftzug und die Höhe des Thurmes den Blitz anziehen könnten.’ Mortimer, does that mean that it is dangerous not to ring the church bells during a thunder-storm?”

“Yes, it seems to mean that,—if that is the past participle of the nominative case singular, and I reckon it is. Yes, I think it means that on account of the height of the church tower and the absence of _Luftzug_ it would be very dangerous (_sehr gefährlich_) not to ring the bells in time of a storm; and moreover, don’t you see, the very wording—”

“Never mind that, Mortimer; don’t waste the precious time in talk. Get the large dinner-bell; it is right there in the hall. Quick, Mortimer dear; we are almost safe. Oh, dear, I do believe we are going to be saved, at last!”

Our little summer establishment stands on top of a high range of hills, overlooking a valley. Several farm-houses are in our neighborhood,—the nearest some three or four hundred yards away.

When I, mounted on the chair, had been clanging that dreadful bell a matter of seven or eight minutes, our shutters were suddenly torn open from without, and a brilliant bull’s-eye lantern was thrust in at the window, followed by a hoarse inquiry:—

“What in the nation is the matter here?”

The window was full of men’s heads, and the heads were full of eyes that stared wildly at my night-dress and my warlike accoutrements.

I dropped the bell, skipped down from the chair in confusion, and said,—

“There is nothing the matter, friends,—only a little discomfort on account of the thunder-storm. I was trying to keep off the lightning.”

“Thunder-storm? Lightning? Why, Mr. McWilliams, have you lost your mind? It is a beautiful starlight night; there has been no storm.”

I looked out, and I was so astonished I could hardly speak for a while. Then I said,—

“I do not understand this. We distinctly saw the glow of the flashes through the curtains and shutters, and heard the thunder.”

One after another of those people lay down on the ground to laugh,—and two of them died. One of the survivors remarked,—

“Pity you didn’t think to open your blinds and look over to the top of the high hill yonder. What you heard was cannon; what you saw was the flash. You see, the telegraph brought some news, just at midnight: Garfield’s nominated,—and that’s what’s the matter!”

Yes, Mr. Twain, as I was saying in the beginning (said Mr. McWilliams), the rules for preserving people against lightning are so excellent and so innumerable that the most incomprehensible thing in the world to me is how anybody ever manages to get struck.

So saying, he gathered up his satchel and umbrella, and departed; for the train had reached his town.

[EXPLANATORY. I regard the idea of this play as a valuable invention. I call it the Patent Universally-Applicable Automatically-Adjustable Language Drama. This indicates that it is adjustable to any tongue, and performable in any tongue. The English portions of the play are to remain just as they are, permanently; but you change the foreign portions to any language you please, at will. Do you see? You at once have the same old play in a new tongue. And you can keep on changing it from language to language, until your private theatrical pupils have become glib and at home in the speech of all nations. _Zum Beispiel_, suppose we wish to adjust the play to the French tongue. First, we give Mrs. Blumenthal and Gretchen French names. Next, we knock the German Meisterschaft sentences out of the first scene, and replace them with sentences from the French Meisterschaft-like this, for instance; “Je voudrais faire des emplettes ce matin; voulez-vous avoir l’obligeance de venir avec moi chez le tailleur français?” And so on. Wherever you find German, replace it with French, leaving the English parts undisturbed. When you come to the long conversation in the second act, turn to any pamphlet of your French Meisterschaft, and shovel in as much French talk on _any_ subject as will fill up the gaps left by the expunged German. Example—page 423 French Meisterschaft:

On dirait qu’il va faire chaud.
J’ai chaud.
J’ai extrêmement chaud.
Ah! qu’il fait chaud!
Il fait une chaleur étouffante!
L’air est brûlant.
Je meurs de chaleur.
Il est presque impossible de supporter la chaleur.
Cela vous fait transpirer.
Mettons nous à l’ombre.
Il fait du vent.
Il fait un vent froid.
Il fait un temps très-agréable pour se promener aujourd’hui.

And so on, all the way through. It is very easy to adjust the play to any desired language. Anybody can do it.]

MEISTERSCHAFT: IN THREE ACTS.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ:

MR. STEPHENSON.
MARGARET STEPHENSON.
GEORGE FRANKLIN.
ANNIE STEPHENSON.
WILLIAM JACKSON.
MRS. BLUMENTHAL, the Wirthin.
GRETCHEN,
Kellnerin.