A TRAMP ABROAD By Mark Twain

old ICH HAVE GEHABT, DU HAST GEHABT, ER HAT GEHABT,

WIR HABEN GEHABT, IHR HABEN GEHABT, SIE HABEN GEHABT

–kind of ‘Now-I-lay-me-down-to-sleep’ fashion, you know,

and after that, maybe I don’t buckle to it for three days.

It’s awful undermining to the intellect, German is;

you want to take it in small doses, or first you know

your brains all run together, and you feel them sloshing

around in your head same as so much drawn butter.

But French is different; FRENCH ain’t anything. I ain’t

any more afraid of French than a tramp’s afraid of pie; I can

rattle off my little J’AI, TU AS, IL A, and the rest of it,

just as easy as a-b-c. I get along pretty well in Paris,

or anywhere where they speak French. What hotel are you

stopping at?”

“The Schweitzerhof.”

“No! is that so? I never see you in the big reception-room.

I go in there a good deal of the time, because there’s

so many Americans there. I make lots of acquaintances.

You been up the Rigi yet?”

“No.”

“Going?”

“We think of it.”

“What hotel you going to stop at?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, then you stop at the Schreiber–it’s full of Americans.

What ship did you come over in?”

“CITY OF CHESTER.”

“Oh, yes, I remember I asked you that before. But I

always ask everybody what ship they came over in, and so

sometimes I forget and ask again. You going to Geneva?”

“Yes.”

“What hotel you going to stop at?”

“We expect to stop in a pension.”

“I don’t hardly believe you’ll like that; there’s very few

Americans in the pensions. What hotel are you stopping

at here?”

“The Schweitzerhof.”

“Oh, yes. I asked you that before, too. But I always

ask everybody what hotel they’re stopping at, and so I’ve

got my head all mixed up with hotels. But it makes talk,

and I love to talk. It refreshes me up so–don’t it

you–on a trip like this?”

“Yes–sometimes.”

“Well, it does me, too. As long as I’m talking I never

feel bored–ain’t that the way with you?”

“Yes–generally. But there are exception to the rule.”

“Oh, of course. _I_ don’t care to talk to everybody, MYSELF.

If a person starts in to jabber-jabber-jabber about scenery,

and history, and pictures, and all sorts of tiresome things,

I get the fan-tods mighty soon. I say ‘Well, I must be going

now–hope I’ll see you again’–and then I take a walk. Where you

from?”

“New Jersey.”

“Why, bother it all, I asked you THAT before, too.

Have you seen the Lion of Lucerne?”

“Not yet.”

“Nor I, either. But the man who told me about

Mount Pilatus says it’s one of the things to see.

It’s twenty-eight feet long. It don’t seem reasonable,

but he said so, anyway. He saw it yesterday; said it

was dying, then, so I reckon it’s dead by this time.

But that ain’t any matter, of course they’ll stuff it.

Did you say the children are yours–or HERS?”

“Mine.”

“Oh, so you did. Are you going up the … no, I asked

you that. What ship … no, I asked you that, too.

What hotel are you … no, you told me that.

Let me see … um …. Oh, what kind of voy … no,

we’ve been over that ground, too. Um … um … well,

I believe that is all. BONJOUR–I am very glad to have

made your acquaintance, ladies. GUTEN TAG.”

CHAPTER XXVIII

[The Jodel and Its Native Wilds]

The Rigi-Kulm is an imposing Alpine mass, six thousand

feet high, which stands by itself, and commands a mighty

prospect of blue lakes, green valleys, and snowy mountains–

a compact and magnificent picture three hundred miles

in circumference. The ascent is made by rail, or horseback,

or on foot, as one may prefer. I and my agent panoplied

ourselves in walking-costume, one bright morning,

and started down the lake on the steamboat; we got ashore

at the village of Wa”ggis; three-quarters of an hour distant

from Lucerne. This village is at the foot of the mountain.

We were soon tramping leisurely up the leafy mule-path,

and then the talk began to flow, as usual. It was