A TRAMP ABROAD By Mark Twain

I was accustomed to squandering large sums in that way–

it was the kind of person I was. Then I retired 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 ashore,

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 horrified misgiving, 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 nefarious 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 aisle.

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 smote 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.

CHAPTER XLVIII

[Beauty of Women–and of Old Masters]

In Milan we spent most of our time in the vast and

beautiful Arcade or Gallery, or whatever it is called.

Blocks of tall new buildings of the most sumptuous sort,

rich with decoration and graced with statues, the streets

between these blocks roofed over with glass at a great height,

the pavements all of smooth and variegated marble,

arranged in tasteful patterns–little tables all over these

marble streets, people sitting at them, eating, drinking,

or smoking–crowds of other people strolling by–such

is the Arcade. I should like to live in it all the time.

The windows of the sumptuous restaurants stand open,