“We were all very much interested in the story which our countryman told us, and we were extremely sorry that he did not wait to see the end of the affair. We hoped, however, that in a few weeks some traveler from your city would come among us and bring us further news, but up to that day when we left our country no such traveler had arrived. At last it was determined that the only thing to be done was to send a deputation to this country, and to ask the question: ‘Which came out of the open door, the lady, or the tiger?’”
When the high officer had heard the mission of this most respectable deputation, he led the five strangers into an inner room, where they were seated upon soft cushions, and where he ordered coffee, pipes, sherbet, and other semi-barbaric refreshments to be served to them. Then, taking his seat before them, he thus addressed the visitors:
“Most noble strangers, before answering the question you have come so far to ask, I will relate to you an incident which occurred not very long after that to which you have referred. It is well known in all regions hereabout that our great king is very fond of the presence of beautiful women about his court. All the ladies-in-waiting upon the queen and royal family are most lovely maidens, brought here from every part of the kingdom. The fame of this concourse of beauty, unequaled in any other royal court, has spread far and wide, and had it not been for the equally wide-spread fame of the systems of impetuous justice adopted by our king, many foreigners would doubtless have visited our court.
“But not very long ago there arrived here from a distant land a prince of distinguished appearance and undoubted rank. To such a one, of course, a royal audience was granted, and our king met him very graciously, and begged him to make known the object of his visit. Thereupon the prince informed his Royal Highness that, having heard of the superior beauty of the ladies of his court, he had come to ask permission to make one of them his wife.
“When our king heard this bold announcement, his face reddened, he turned uneasily on his throne, and we were all in dread lest some quick words of furious condemnation should leap from out his quivering lips. But by a mighty effort he controlled himself, and after a moment’s silence he turned to the prince and said: ‘Your request is granted. Tomorrow at noon you shall wed one of the fairest damsels of our court.’ Then turning to his officers, he said: ‘Give orders that everything be prepared for a wedding in the palace at high noon tomorrow. Convey this royal prince to suitable apartments. Send to him tailors, bootmakers, hatters, jewelers, armorers, men of every craft whose services he may need. Whatever he asks, provide. And let all be ready for the ceremony tomorrow.’”
“‘But, Your Majesty,’ exclaimed the prince, ‘before we make these preparations, I would like—’
“‘Say no more!’ roared the king. ‘My royal orders have been given, and nothing more is needed to be said. You asked a boon. I granted it, and I will hear no more on the subject. Farewell, my prince, until tomorrow noon.’
“At this the king arose and left the audience chamber, while the prince was hurried away to the apartments selected for him. Here came to him tailors, hatters, jewelers, and everyone who was needed to fit him out in grand attire for the wedding. But the mind of the prince was much troubled and perplexed.
“‘I do not understand,’ he said to his attendants, ‘this precipitancy of action. When am I to see the ladies, that I may choose among them? I wish opportunity, not only to gaze upon their forms and faces, but to become acquainted with their relative intellectual development.’
“‘We can tell you nothing,’ was the answer. ‘What our king thinks right, that will he do. More than this we know not.’
“‘His Majesty’s notions seem to be very peculiar,’ said the prince, ‘and, so far as I can see, they do not at all agree with mine.’
“At that moment an attendant whom the prince had not noticed came and stood beside him. This was a broad-shouldered man of cheery aspect, who carried, its hilt in his right hand, and its broad back resting on his broad arm, an enormous scimitar, the upturned edge of which was keen and bright as any razor. Holding this formidable weapon as tenderly as though it had been a sleeping infant, this man drew closer to the prince and bowed.
“‘Who are you?’ exclaimed His Highness, starting back at the sight of the frightful weapon.
“‘I,’ said the other, with a courteous smile, ‘am the Discourager of Hesitancy. When the king makes known his wishes to anyone, a subject or visitor, whose disposition in some little points may be supposed not wholly to coincide with that of His Majesty, I am appointed to attend him closely, that, should he think of pausing in the path of obedience to the royal will, he may look at me, and proceed.’
“The prince looked at him, and proceeded to be measured for a coat.
“The tailors and shoemakers and hatters worked all night, and the next morning, when everything was ready, and the hour of noon was drawing nigh, the prince again anxiously inquired of his attendants when he might expect to be introduced to the ladies.
“‘The king will attend to that,’ they said. ‘We know nothing of the matter.’
“‘Your Highness,’ said the Discourager of Hesitancy, approaching with a courtly bow, ‘will observe the excellent quality of this edge.’ And drawing a hair from his head, he dropped it upon the upturned edge of his scimitar, upon which it was cut in two at the moment of touching.
“The prince glanced, and turned upon his heel.
“Now came officers to conduct him to the grand hall of the palace, in which the ceremony was to be performed. Here the prince found the king seated on the throne, with his nobles, his courtiers, and his officers standing about him in magnificent array. The prince was led to a position in front of the king, to whom he made obeisance, and then said:
“‘Your Majesty, before I proceed further—’
“At this moment an attendant, who had approached with a long scarf of delicate silk, wound it about the lower part of the prince’s face so quickly and adroitly that he was obliged to cease speaking. Then, with wonderful dexterity, the rest of the scarf was wound around the prince’s head, so that he was completely blindfolded. Thereupon the attendant quickly made openings in the scarf over the mouth and ears, so that the prince might breathe and hear, and fastening the ends of the scarf securely, he retired.
“The first impulse of the prince was to snatch the silken folds from his head and face, but, as he raised his hands to do so, he heard beside him the voice of the Discourager of Hesitancy, who gently whispered: ‘I am here, Your Highness.’ And, with a shudder, the arms of the prince fell down by his side.
“Now before him he heard the voice of a priest, who had begun the marriage service in use in that semi-barbaric country. At his side he could hear a delicate rustle, which seemed to proceed from fabrics of soft silk. Gently putting forth his hand, he felt folds of such silk close behind him. Then came the voice of the priest requesting him to take the hand of the lady by his side; and reaching forth his right hand, the prince received within it another hand, so small, so soft, so delicately fashioned, and so delightful to the touch, that a thrill went through his being. Then, as was the custom of the country, the priest first asked the lady would she have this man to be her husband; to which the answer gently came, in the sweetest voice he had ever heard: ‘I will.’
“Then ran raptures rampant through the prince’s blood. The touch, the tone, enchanted him. All the ladies of that court were beautiful, the Discourager was behind him, and through his parted scarf he boldly answered: ‘Yes, I will.’
“Whereupon the priest pronounced them man and wife.
“Now the prince heard a little bustle about him; the long scarf was rapidly unrolled from his head, and he turned, with a start, to gaze upon his bride. To his utter amazement, there was no one there. He stood alone. Unable on the instant to ask a question or say a word, he gazed blankly about him.
“Then the king arose from his throne, and came down, and took him by the hand.”
“‘Where is m
y wife?’ gasped the prince.
“‘She is here,’ said the king, leading him to a curtained doorway at the side of the hall.
“The curtains were drawn aside, and the prince, entering, found himself in a long apartment, near the opposite wall of which stood a line of forty ladies, all dressed in rich attire, and each one apparently more beautiful than the rest.
“Waving his hand toward the line, the king said to the prince: ‘There is your bride! Approach, and lead her forth! But remember this: that if you attempt to take away one of the unmarried damsels of our court, your execution will be instantaneous. Now, delay no longer. Step up and take your bride.’
“The prince, as in a dream, walked slowly along the line of ladies, and then walked slowly back again. Nothing could he see about any one of them to indicate that she was more of a bride than the others. Their dresses were all similar; they all blushed; they all looked up and then looked down. They all had charming little hands. Not one spoke a word. Not one lifted a finger to make a sign. It was evident that the orders given them had been very strict.
“‘Why this delay?’ roared the king. ‘If I had been married this day to one so fair as the lady who wedded you, I should not wait one second to claim her.’
“The bewildered prince walked again up and down the line. And this time there was a slight change in the countenances of two of the ladies. One of the fairest gently smiled as he passed her. Another, just as beautiful, slightly frowned.
“‘Now,’ said the prince to himself, ‘I am sure that it is one of those two ladies whom I have married. But which? One smiled. And would not any woman smile when she saw, in such a case, her husband coming towards her? Then again, on the other hand, would not any woman frown when she saw her husband come towards her and fail to claim her? Would she not knit her lovely brows? And would she not inwardly say, “It is I! Don’t you know it? Don’t you feel it? Come!” But if this woman had not been married, would she not frown when she saw the man looking at her? Would she not say inwardly, “Don’t stop at me! It is the next but one. It is two ladies above. Go on!” Then again, the one who married me did not see my face. Would she not smile if she thought me comely? While if I wedded the one who frowned, could she restrain her disapprobation if she did not like me? Smiles invite the approach of true love. A frown is a reproach to a tardy advance. A smile—’
“‘Now, hear me!’ loudly cried the king. ‘In ten seconds, if you do not take the lady we have given you, she who has just been made your bride shall be made your widow.’
“And, as the last word was uttered, the Discourager of Hesitancy stepped close behind the prince and whispered: ‘I am here!’
“Now the prince could not hesitate an instant; he stepped forward and took one of the two ladies by the hand.
“Loud rang the bells, loud cheered the people, and the king came forward to congratulate the prince. He had taken his lawful bride.
“‘Now, then,” said the high officer to the deputation of five strangers from a far country, “when you can decide among yourselves which lady the prince chose, the one who smiled or the one who frowned, then will I tell you which came out of the open door, the lady or the tiger!”
At the latest accounts the five strangers had not yet decided.
1883
MARK TWAIN
A Thumb-Print and What Came of It
Generally regarded as America’s greatest humorist, and possibly its greatest writer, SAMUEL LANGHORNE CLEMENS (1835–1910) took the pseudonym Mark Twain, a term used to describe the water’s depth that he heard while working as a pilot on the Mississippi River. Although he described and commented on serious events of the day in his work, he generally employed humor to soften his often controversial positions.
It is seldom acknowledged, but Mark Twain played a major role in the development of detective fiction. His first published book, The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County and Other Sketches (1867), tells the story of a slick stranger who filled Jim Smiley’s frog with quail shot to win a bet—an early and outstanding tale of a confidence game. More important is Twain’s Life on the Mississippi (1883), in which Chapter 31 is a complete, self-contained story, “A Thumb-print and What Came of It,” which is the first time in fiction that fingerprints are used as a form of identification. Twain used the same device in The Tragedy of Pudd’nhead Wilson (1894), in which the entire plot revolves around Wilson’s courtroom explanation of the uniqueness of a person’s print.
Unlike the present story, which is extremely dark, most of Twain’s contributions to the mystery genre are humorous. “The Stolen White Elephant, Etc.” (1882) is an out-and-out parody, as is “A Double-Barrelled Detective Story” (1902), which has Sherlock Holmes in its crosshairs. “Tom Sawyer, Detective” (1896; also in this book) is a classic tale of the humorous consequences of leaping to conclusions. Less successful are A Murder, a Mystery, and a Marriage (1945), unpublished at the time of Twain’s death and issued in an unauthorized sixteen-copy edition, and Simon Wheeler, Detective (1963), an unfinished novel published more than a half century after the author’s death by the New York Public Library.
“A Thumb-print and What Came of It” was first published in Life on the Mississippi (Boston: James R. Osgood, 1883).
***
WE WERE APPROACHING Napoleon, Arkansas. So I began to think about my errand there. Time, noonday; and bright and sunny. This was bad—not best, anyway; for mine was not (preferably) a noonday kind of errand. The more I thought, the more that fact pushed itself upon me—now in one form, now in another. Finally, it took the form of a distinct question: is it good common sense to do the errand in daytime, when, by a little sacrifice of comfort and inclination, you can have night for it, and no inquisitive eyes around? This settled it. Plain question and plain answer make the shortest road out of most perplexities.
I got my friends into my stateroom, and said I was sorry to create annoyance and disappointment, but that upon reflection it really seemed best that we put our luggage ashore and stop over at Napoleon. Their disapproval was prompt and loud; their language mutinous. Their main argument was one which has always been the first to come to the surface, in such cases, since the beginning of time: “But you decided and agreed to stick to this boat,” etc.; as if, having determined to do an unwise thing, one is thereby bound to go ahead and make two unwise things of it, by carrying out that determination.
I tried various mollifying tactics upon them, with reasonably good success: under which encouragement, I increased my efforts; and, to show them that I had not created this annoying errand, and was in no way to blame for it, I presently drifted into its history—substantially as follows:
Toward the end of last year, I spent a few months in Munich, Bavaria. In November I was living in Fräulein Dahlweiner’s pension, 1a, Karlstrasse; but my working quarters were a mile from there, in the house of a widow who supported herself by taking lodgers. She and her two young children used to drop in every morning and talk German to me—by request. One day, during a ramble about the city, I visited one of the two establishments where the Government keeps and watches corpses until the doctors decide that they are permanently dead, and not in a trance state. It was a grisly place, that spacious room. There were thirty-six corpses of adults in sight, stretched on their backs on slightly slanted boards, in three long rows—all of them with wax-white, rigid faces, and all of them wrapped in white shrouds. Along the sides of the room were deep alcoves, like bay windows; and in each of these lay several marble-visaged babes, utterly hidden and buried under banks of fresh flowers, all but their faces and crossed hands. Around a finger of each of these fifty still forms, both great and small, was a ring; and from the ring a wire led to the ceiling, and thence to a bell in a watch-room yonder, where, day and night, a watchman sits always alert and ready to spring to the aid of any of that pallid company who, waking out of death, shall make a movement—for any, even the slightest, movement will twitch the wire and ring that fearful bell. I imagi
ned myself a death-sentinel drowsing there alone, far in the dragging watches of some wailing, gusty night, and having in a twinkling all my body stricken to quivering jelly by the sudden clamor of that awful summons! So I inquired about this thing; asked what resulted usually? if the watchman died, and the restored corpse came and did what it could to make his last moments easy? But I was rebuked for trying to feed an idle and frivolous curiosity in so solemn and so mournful a place; and went my way with a humbled crest.
Next morning I was telling the widow my adventure when she exclaimed: “Come with me! I have a lodger who shall tell you all you want to know. He has been a night watchman there.”
He was a living man, but he did not look it. He was abed, and had his head propped high on pillows; his face was wasted and colorless, his deep-sunken eyes were shut; his hand, lying on his breast, was talon-like, it was so bony and long-fingered. The widow began her introduction of me. The man’s eyes opened slowly, and glittered wickedly out from the twilight of their caverns; he frowned a black frown; he lifted his lean hand and waved us peremptorily away. But the widow kept straight on, till she had got out the fact that I was a stranger and an American. The man’s face changed at once, brightened, became even eager—and the next moment he and I were alone together.
I opened up in cast-iron German; he responded in quite flexible English; thereafter we gave the German language a permanent rest.
The Best American Mystery Stories of the Nineteenth Century Page 27
