My hearers, we have sad cause to remember
the man of the 13th January. The results
of the vast crime of the 13th January have been
in just proportion to the magnitude of the set itself.
But for it there had been no 30 November—sorrowful
spectacle! The grisly deed of the 16th
June had not been done but for it, nor had the man
of the 16th June known existence; to it alone
the 3d September was due, also the fatal 12th
October. Shall we, then, be grateful for the
13th January, with its freight of death for you and
me and all that breathe? Yes, my friends,
for it gave us also that which had never come
but for it, and it atone—the blessed 25th
December.
It may be well enough to explain, though in the case
of many of my readers this will hardly be necessary.
The man of the 13th January is Adam; the crime of
that date was the eating of the apple; the sorrowful
spectacle of the 30th November was the expulsion from
Eden; the grisly deed of the 16th June was the murder
of Abel; the act of the 3d September was the beginning
of the journey to the land of Nod; the 12th day of
October, the last mountain-tops disappeared under the
flood. When you go to church in France, you
want to take your almanac with you—annotated.
—[Left out of “A Tramp Abroad”
because its authenticity seemed doubtful, and could
not at that time be proved.—M. T.]
More than a thousand years ago this small district
was a kingdom —a little bit of a kingdom,
a sort of dainty little toy kingdom, as one might
say. It was far removed from the jealousies,
strifes, and turmoils of that old warlike day, and
so its life was a simple life, its people a gentle
and guileless race; it lay always in a deep dream of
peace, a soft Sabbath tranquillity; there was no malice,
there was no envy, there was no ambition, consequently
there were no heart-burnings, there was no unhappiness
in the land.
In the course of time the old king died and his little
son Hubert came to the throne. The people’s
love for him grew daily; he was so good and so pure
and so noble, that by and by his love became a passion,
almost a worship. Now at his birth the soothsayers
had diligently studied the stars and found something
written in that shining book to this effect:
In Hubert’s fourteenth year a
pregnant event will happen; the animal whose
singing shall sound sweetest in Hubert’s ear
shall save Hubert’s life. So long
as the king and the nation shall honor this animal’s
race for this good deed, the ancient dynasty shall
not fail of an heir, nor the nation know war
or pestilence or poverty. But beware an
erring choice!
All through the king’s thirteenth year but one
thing was talked of by the soothsayers, the statesmen,
the little parliament, and the general people.
That one thing was this: How is the last sentence
of the prophecy to be understood? What goes
before seems to mean that the saving animal will choose
itself at the proper time; but the closing sentence
seems to mean that the king must choose beforehand,
and say what singer among the animals pleases him
best, and that if he choose wisely the chosen animal
will save his life, his dynasty, his people, but that
if he should make “an erring choice”—beware!
