A TRAMP ABROAD By Mark Twain

in the manner of Sassoferrato.”

“A Larder with greens and dead game animated by a cook-maid

and two kitchen-boys.”

However, the English of this catalogue is at least

as happy as that which distinguishes an inscription

upon a certain picture in Rome–to wit:

“Revelations-View. St. John in Patterson’s Island.”

But meanwhile the raft is moving on.

CHAPTER XVII

[Why Germans Wear Spectacles]

A mile or two above Eberbach we saw a peculiar ruin projecting

above the foliage which clothed the peak of a high and

very steep hill. This ruin consisted of merely a couple

of crumbling masses of masonry which bore a rude resemblance

to human faces; they leaned forward and touched foreheads,

and had the look of being absorbed in conversation. This ruin

had nothing very imposing or picturesque about it, and there

was no great deal of it, yet it was called the “Spectacular

Ruin.”

LEGEND OF THE “SPECTACULAR RUIN”

The captain of the raft, who was as full of history as he

could stick, said that in the Middle Ages a most prodigious

fire-breathing dragon used to live in that region,

and made more trouble than a tax-collector. He was as long

as a railway-train, and had the customary impenetrable

green scales all over him. His breath bred pestilence

and conflagration, and his appetite bred famine. He ate

men and cattle impartially, and was exceedingly unpopular.

The German emperor of that day made the usual offer:

he would grant to the destroyer of the dragon, any one

solitary thing he might ask for; for he had a surplusage

of daughters, and it was customary for dragon-killers

to take a daughter for pay.

So the most renowned knights came from the four corners

of the earth and retired down the dragon’s throat one after

the other. A panic arose and spread. Heroes grew cautious.

The procession ceased. The dragon became more destructive

than ever. The people lost all hope of succor, and fled

to the mountains for refuge.

At last Sir Wissenschaft, a poor and obscure knight,

out of a far country, arrived to do battle with the monster.

A pitiable object he was, with his armor hanging in rags

about him, and his strange-shaped knapsack strapped

upon his back. Everybody turned up their noses at him,

and some openly jeered him. But he was calm. He simply

inquired if the emperor’s offer was still in force.

The emperor said it was–but charitably advised him to go

and hunt hares and not endanger so precious a life as his

in an attempt which had brought death to so many of the

world’s most illustrious heroes.

But this tramp only asked–“Were any of these heroes

men of science?” This raised a laugh, of course,

for science was despised in those days. But the tramp

was not in the least ruffled. He said he might be a

little in advance of his age, but no matter–science

would come to be honored, some time or other. He said

he would march against the dragon in the morning.

Out of compassion, then, a decent spear was offered him,

but he declined, and said, “spears were useless to men

of science.” They allowed him to sup in the servants’

hall, and gave him a bed in the stables.

When he started forth in the morning, thousands were

gathered to see. The emperor said:

“Do not be rash, take a spear, and leave off your knapsack.”

But the tramp said:

“It is not a knapsack,” and moved straight on.

The dragon was waiting and ready. He was breathing forth

vast volumes of sulphurous smoke and lurid blasts of flame.

The ragged knight stole warily to a good position,

then he unslung his cylindrical knapsack–which was simply

the common fire-extinguisher known to modern times–

and the first chance he got he turned on his hose and shot

the dragon square in the center of his cavernous mouth.

Out went the fires in an instant, and the dragon curled up

and died.

This man had brought brains to his aid. He had reared

dragons from the egg, in his laboratory, he had watched

over them like a mother, and patiently studied them

and experimented upon them while they grew. Thus he had