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Mark Twain > Those Extraordinary Twins > Chapter III

Those Extraordinary Twins

Chapter III


[After breakfast the whole village crowded in, and there was a grand
reception in honor of the twins; and at the close of it the gifted
"freak" captured everybody's admiration by sitting down at the piano and
knocking out a classic four-handed piece in great style. Then the judge
took it--or them--driving in his buggy and showed off his village.]

All along the streets the people crowded the windows and stared at the
amazing twins. Troops of small boys flocked after the buggy, excited and
yelling. At first the dogs showed no interest. They thought they merely
saw three men in a buggy--a matter of no consequence; but when they found
out the facts of the case, they altered their opinion pretty radically,
and joined the boys, expressing their minds as they came. Other dogs got
interested; indeed, all the dogs. It was a spirited sight to see them
come leaping fences, tearing around corners, swarming out of every
bystreet and alley. The noise they made was something beyond belief--
or praise. They did not seem to be moved by malice but only by
prejudice, the common human prejudice against lack of conformity. If the
twins turned their heads, they broke and fled in every direction, but
stopped at a safe distance and faced about; and then formed and came on
again as soon as the strangers showed them their back. Negroes and
farmers' wives took to the woods when the buggy came upon them suddenly,
and altogether the drive was pleasant and animated, and a refreshment all

     [It was a long and lively drive. Angelo was a Methodist, Luigi was
     a Free-thinker. The judge was very proud of his Freethinkers'
     Society, which was flourishing along in a most prosperous way and
     already had two members--himself and the obscure and neglected
     Pudd'nhead Wilson. It was to meet that evening, and he invited
     Luigi to join; a thing which Luigi was glad to do, partly because it
     would please himself, and partly because it would gravel Angelo.]

They had now arrived at the widow's gate, and the excursion was ended.
The twins politely expressed their obligations for the pleasant outing
which had been afforded them; to which the judge bowed his thanks,
and then said he would now go and arrange for the Free-thinkers' meeting,
and would call for Count Luigi in the evening.

"For you also, dear sir," he added hastily, turning to Angelo and bowing.
"In addressing myself particularly to your brother, I was not meaning to
leave you out. It was an unintentional rudeness, I assure you, and due
wholly to accident--accident and preoccupation. I beg you to forgive

His quick eye had seen the sensitive blood mount into Angelo's face,
betraying the wound that had been inflicted. The sting of the slight had
gone deep, but the apology was so prompt, and so evidently sincere, that
the hurt was almost immediately healed, and a forgiving smile testified
to the kindly judge that all was well again.

Concealed behind Angelo's modest and unassuming exterior, and unsuspected
by any but his intimates, was a lofty pride, a pride of almost abnormal
proportions, indeed, and this rendered him ever the prey of slights; and
although they were almost always imaginary ones, they hurt none the less
on that account. By ill fortune judge Driscoll had happened to touch his
sorest point, i.e., his conviction that his brother's presence was
welcomer everywhere than his own; that he was often invited, out of mere
courtesy, where only his brother was wanted, and that in a majority of
cases he would not be included in an invitation if he could be left out
without offense. A sensitive nature like this is necessarily subject to
moods; moods which traverse the whole gamut of feeling; moods which know
all the climes of emotion, from the sunny heights of joy to the black
abysses of despair. At times, in his seasons of deepest depressions,
Angelo almost wished that he and his brother might become segregated from
each other and be separate individuals, like other men. But of course as
soon as his mind cleared and these diseased imaginings passed away, he
shuddered at the repulsive thought, and earnestly prayed that it might
visit him no more. To be separate, and as other men are! How awkward it
would seem; how unendurable. What would he do with his hands, his arms?
How would his legs feel? How odd, and strange, and grotesque every
action, attitude, movement, gesture would be. To sleep by himself, eat
by himself, walk by himself--how lonely, how unspeakably lonely! No, no,
any fate but that. In every way and from every point, the idea was

This was of course natural; to have felt otherwise would have been
unnatural. He had known no life but a combined one; he had been familiar
with it from his birth; he was not able to conceive of any other as being
agreeable, or even bearable. To him, in the privacy of his secret
thoughts, all other men were monsters, deformities: and during
three-fourths of his life their aspect had filled him with what promised
to be an unconquerable aversion. But at eighteen his eye began to take
note of female beauty; and little by little, undefined longings grew up
in his heart, under whose softening influences the old stubborn aversion
gradually diminished, and finally disappeared. Men were still
monstrosities to him, still deformities, and in his sober moments he had
no desire to be like them, but their strange and unsocial and uncanny
construction was no longer offensive to him.

This had been a hard day for him, physically and mentally. He had been
called in the morning before he had quite slept off the effects of the
liquor which Luigi had drunk; and so, for the first half-hour had had the
seedy feeling, and languor, the brooding depression, the cobwebby mouth
and druggy taste that come of dissipation and are so ill a preparation
for bodily or intellectual activities; the long violent strain of the
reception had followed; and this had been followed, in turn, by the
dreary sight-seeing, the judge's wearying explanations and laudations of
the sights, and the stupefying clamor of the dogs. As a congruous
conclusion, a fitting end, his feelings had been hurt, a slight had been
put upon him. He would have been glad to forego dinner and betake
himself to rest and sleep, but he held his peace and said no word, for he
knew his brother, Luigi, was fresh, unweary, full of life, spirit,
energy; he would have scoffed at the idea of wasting valuable time on a
bed or a sofa, and would have refused permission.

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