MARK TWAIN'S AMERICA - Act 1(Charles E.J. Moulton) Mark Twain’s America
An Entertainment by Samuel L. Clemens
Herbert Moulton and Jack Babb


Act 1

Narrator-- Ladies and Gentlemen! I know only two things about the man I am introducing tonight. The first is that he’s never been in jail and the second is, I don’t know why.

Narrator-- It was with just such typical western gusto that Mark Twain’s first public lecture was introduced in San Francisco in 1867. The public got its money’s worth, though the Lord only knows what the advance advertising had led them to expect.

Narrator-- Mark Twain, Honolulu correspondent of the “Sacramento Union”, Will deliver a lecture on the Sandwich Islands On Tuesday evening, October second. A Splendid Orchestra---

Narrator ---is in town, but has not been engaged.

Narrator-- Also, A den of ferocious beasts---

Narrator ---will be on exhibition in the next block.

Narrator-- Magnificent Fireworks---

Narrator ---were in contemplation for this occasion, but the idea has been abandoned.

Narrator-- A Grand Torchlight Procession---

Narrator ---may be expected. In fact the public are privileged to expect whatever they please.

Narrator-- Doors open at 7 o’clock

Narrator-- The trouble to begin at 8!

Narrator-- It was an age of exaggeration and Mark Twain’s brand of humor was made to order for it.

Narrator-- He was born Samuel Langhorne Clemens in 1835 and he grew up in Hannibal, Missouri- on the banks of the Mississippi River- the same “Great Brown God” of a river that would dominate all his life and works.

Narrator-- He was 12 when his father died, and that was the end of his
formal schooling. He went to work as a printer and helped his brother
edit the local newspaper.

Narrator-- But he was born with the wanderlust. At the age of 18 he left for St. Louis, then on to Philadelphia, New York, Washington, and Cincinnati- having first promised his mother not to throw a card or drink a drop of liquor.

Narrator-- At the age of 22 he set out for South America, but got no further than New Orleans, for on the way he decided to become a riverboat pilot.

Narrator-- Then the Civil War came and closed the river. It wasn’t Sam Clemen’s
War. As a Confederate soldier he lasted just two weeks.

Narrator-- Then he moved to Nevada and the gold rush center of Virginia City to try prospecting for gold.

Narrator-- When that fell through, he went to work for the local newspaper- the
“Territorial Enterprise”. As a young newspaper man Twain’s creed was:
“Get your facts first--- then you can distort them as much as you please.”

Narrator-- That was his formula from the start. And in his day, you had to- just to
get a hearing.

Narrator-- It was the age of the Tall Tale, the Lampoon, and the Whopper. It was only the tall tale that people would stop and listen to.

Narrator-- Twain was suddenly so popular that he could write in a letter home,
“I am proud to say I am the most conceited ass in the territory.”

Narrator-- It was as Sam Clemens that he had arrived in Nevada. It was as Mark
Twain that he left two years later for San Francisco.

Narrator-- In those two years Sam Clemens, Ex printer…

Narrator-- Ex Riverboat pilot…

Narrator-- Ex soldier…

Narrator-- Ex prospector…

Narrator-- Had found his true vocation: “Exciting the laughter of God’s creatures”--- as he put it. And he would become one of America’s best loved humorists. For a pen name he had gone back to his earliest days on the Mississippi…

Narrator-- (Calling) Mark…Twain! Mark…Twain!

Narrator-- Mark Twain. A boatman’s call meaning two fathoms or twelve feet- a safe enough depth for any boat on the river. It would become one of the most famous pen name’s in literature.

Narrator-- At one point Twain exposed so much corruption among the local
police that, for fear of his life, he had to leave town for a while.
The place he retreated to was a mining center named Angels Camp.
There he heard a tale which he was soon to make world famous, and
which would make him world famous in turn. “The Celebrated Jumping
Frog of Calaveras County”

Narrator -- There was a feller here once by the name of Jim Smiley, in the winter of `49 -- or maybe it was the spring of `50 -- I don’t recollect exactly, but any way, he was the always betting on any thing that turned up, if he could get anybody to bet on the other side. And if he couldn’t, he’d change sides. Any way that suited the other man would suit him -- just so’s he got a bet. But still he was lucky, uncommon lucky; he most always come out winner. He ketched a frog one day, and took him home, and said he cal`klated to edercate him; and so he never done nothing for three months but learn that frog to jump. He’d give him a little punch behind, and the next minute you’d see that frog whirling in the air like a doughnut -- And when it come to fair and square jumping on a dead level, Why Daniel Webster—that was the frog’s name, Daniel Webster--- he could get over more ground at one straddle than any animal of his breed you ever see. Smiley was monstrous proud of his frog. Well, Smiley kept the beast in a little lattice box. One day a feller -- a stranger in the camp, he was -- come across him with his box, and says:

Stranger-- What might it be that you’ve got in the box?

Smiley-- It might be a parrot, or it might be a canary, but it ain`t -- it’s only just a frog.

Stranger-- H`m -- so `tis. Well, what’s he good for?

Smiley-- Well, he’s good enough for one thing, I should judge -- he can out jump any frog in Calaveras county.

Stranger-- Well, I don’t see no points about that frog that’s any better`n any other frog.

Smiley-- Maybe you don’t. Maybe you understand frogs, and may be you don’t understand `em. Maybe you’ve had experience, and maybe you ain`t only a amateur, as it were. Anyways, I’ve got my opinion, and I’ll risk forty dollars that he can out jump any frog in Calaveras County.

Narrator-- And the feller studied a minute, and then says, kinder sad like:

Stranger-- Well, I’m only a stranger here, and I ain`t got no frog; but if I had a frog, I’d bet you.

Narrator-- And then Smiley says:

Smiley-- That’s all right -- that’s all right -- if you’ll hold my box a minute, I’ll go and get you a frog.

Narrator-- And so the feller took the box, and put up his forty dollars along with Smiley`s, and set down to wait. So he set there a good while thinking and thinking to hisself, and then he got the frog out and prized his mouth open and took a teaspoon and filled him full of quail shot -- filled him pretty near up to his chin -- and set him on the floor. Smiley he went to the swamp and slopped around in the mud for a long time, and finally he ketched a frog, and fetched him in, and give him to this feller, and says:

Smiley-- Now, if you’re ready, set him alongside of Dan`l, with his fore-paws just even with Dan`l, and I’ll give the word.

Narrator-- Then he says:

Smiley-- One -- two -- three -- jump!

Narrator-- And him and the feller touched up the frogs from behind, and the new frog hopped off.
But Dan`l give a heave, and hysted up his shoulders -- so -- like a Frenchman, but it wan`t no use -- he couldn’t budge; he was planted as solid as an anvil. Smiley was a good deal surprised, and he was disgusted too, but he didn’t have no idea what the matter was, of course. The feller took the money and started away; and when he was going out at the door, he says again,

Stranger-- Well, I don’t see no points about that frog that’s any better`n any other frog.

Narrator-- Smiley stood scratching his head and looking down at Dan`l a long time, and at last he says:

Smiley-- I wonder if there ain`t something the matter with him -- he `pears to look mighty baggy, somehow.

Narrator-- And he ketched Dan`l by the nap of the neck, and lifted him up and says:

Smiley-- Why, blame my cats, if he don’t weigh five pound!

Narrator-- And turned him upside down, and he belched out a double handful of shot. And then he see how it was, and he was the maddest man -- he set the frog down and took out after that feller, but he never ketched him.

Narrator-- This story has become so much a part of American folklore that if you’re ever in Angels Camp, California, in the month of May- and have your frog with you- you can enter him in a contest in the annual jumping frog jubilee.

Narrator-- Evidently, they don’t have much to do in Angels Camp, California.

Narrator-- Mark Twain liked to be the first in everything. At one time or another he claimed to be the first author in America to use a typewriter,
The first to use a dictating machine, and the first private user of a telephone.

Narrator-- He was also the first to go on a chartered pleasure cruise, which gave him five months in Europe and the Holy Land, and his first
bestseller, “The Innocents Abroad”. It is still a model of the American’s
irreverent view of the old world. The famous Missouri attitude of
“Show Me”. In Rome he observed:

Narrator-- We saw some drawings of Michael Angelo--- the Italians call him
Mickel Angelo. And Leonard Da Vinci. They spell it Vinci, but
pronounce it Vinchy. Foreigners always spell better than they
pronounce.

Narrator-- In Florence, the River Arno:

Narrator-- It is popular to admire the Arno. It would be a very plausible river
if they would pump some water into it.

Narrator-- A personal view of Venice:

Narrator-- Looks as if in a few weeks its flooded alleys will dry up and restore
the city to normal.

Narrator-- He spread confusion in the Holy Land too. Some of his comments
are now legend--- when a boatman charged eight dollars to take
him sailing on the Sea of Galilee:

Narrator-- Do you wonder that Christ walked.

Narrator-- In one curt sentence he summed up his impressions:

Narrator-- No Second advent--- Christ been here once, will never come again.

Narrator-- One positive thing came out of this voyage, besides “The Innocents
Abroad”: His marriage to Olivia Langdon. He fell in love with an ivory miniature of her on the trip, then went back home to win her as a wife.
Theirs was to be one of the longest and happiest of marriages in literary history.

Narrator-- Twain wrote five travel books and spent over a dozen years of his
life in Europe. He never quite came to grips with speaking German
as he illustrates in “The Awful German Language”.

Narrator-- A person who has not studied German can form no idea of what a perplexing language it is. Surely there is not another language that is so elusive to the grasp. There are ten parts of speech, and they are all troublesome.

Narrator-- An average sentence, in German, contains all the ten parts of speech and is built mainly of compound words constructed by the writer on the spot, and not to be found in any dictionary --AFTER WHICH COMES THE VERB, and you find out for the first time what the person has been talking about.

Narrator-- And after the verb the writer shoves in "HANARRATOR SIND GEWESEN GEHABT HAVEN GEWORDEN SEIN," or words to that effect, and the sentence is finally finished.

Narrator-- In a German newspaper they put their verb way over on the next page.

Narrator-- and I have heard that sometimes they get in a hurry and have to go to press without getting to the verb at all.

Narrator-- The Germans love speaking and writing in parentheses. Take for example this sentence:

Narrator-- Wenn er aber auf der Strasse der in Sammt und Seide gehu"llten jetz sehr ungenirt nach der neusten mode gekleideten Regierungsrathin begegnet.

Narrator-- Which translates as:

Narrator-- But when he, upon the street, the

Narrator-- In Parentheses: (in-satin-and-silk-covered- now-very-unconstrained- after-the-newest-fashioned-dressed)

Narrator-- government counselor’s wife MET

Narrator-- And notice that the verb is, again, at the end of the sentence.

Narrator-- A writer’s ideas must be a good deal confused, when he starts out to say that a man met a counselor’s wife in the street,

Narrator-- and then right in the midst of this so simple undertaking halts these approaching people and makes them stand still until he jots down an inventory of the woman’s dress.

Narrator-- The Germans also have the “separable verb” which they make by splitting a verb in two and putting half of it at the beginning of an exciting chapter and the OTHER HALF at the end of it.

Narrator-- A favorite one is REISTE AB--which means departed. Here is an example translated into English:

Narrator-- The trunks being now ready, he DE-

Narrator-- after kissing his mother and sisters, and once more pressing to his bosom his adored Gretchen, who, dressed in simple white muslin, had tottered feebly down the stairs, still pale from the terror and excitement of the past evening, but longing to lay her poor aching head yet once again upon the breast of him whom she loved more dearly than life itself,

Narrator-- PARTED.

Narrator-- Personal pronouns and adjectives are a nuisance in this language, and should have been left out. For instance, the same sound, SIE, means YOU, and it means SHE, and it means HER, and it means IT, and it means THEY, and it means THEM. Think of the ragged poverty of a language which has to make one word do the work of six.

Narrator-- But mainly, think of the exasperation of never knowing which of these meanings the speaker is trying to convey. This explains why, whenever a person says SIE to me, I generally try to kill him, if a stranger.

Narrator-- Now observe the Adjective. When a German gets his hands on an adjective, he declines it, and keeps on declining it until the common sense is all declined out of it.

Narrator-- I would rather decline two drinks than one German adjective.

Narrator-- Every noun has a gender, and there is no sense or system. A tree is male.

Narrator-- Its buds are female,

Narrator-- Its leaves are neuter.

Narrator-- Horses are sexless

Narrator-- Dogs are male

Narrator-- Cats are female—

Narrator-- tomcats included, of course.

Narrator-- Die Frau

Narrator-- Aber, Das Weib. Which is unfortunate. One’s wife shouldn’t be sexless.

Narrator-- Die Steckrübe

Narrator-- Aber, Das Fräuline.

Narrator-- So, in German, a young lady has no sex, while a turnip has.

Narrator-- And when at last one thinks he has captured a rule which offers firm ground to take a rest on he turns over the page and reads, "Let the pupil make careful note of the following EXCEPTIONS." He runs his eye down and finds that there are more exceptions to the rule than instances of the rule.

Narrator-- I have heard of a student who was asked how he was getting along with
his German, who answered promptly:

Narrator-- I am not getting along at all. I have worked at it hard for three months, and all I have got to show for it is one solitary German phrase--`ZWEI GLAS Bier. But I’ve got that SOLID!

Narrator-- And finally: a fourth of july oration in the German tongue, delivered at a banquet of the Anglo-American club of students by the author of this book:

Narrator-- Gentlemen: Since I arrived, a month ago my English tongue has so often proved a useless piece of baggage to me, that I finally set to work, and learned the German language. Es freut mich dass dies so ist, dass man auf ein occasion like this, sein Rede in die Sprache des Landes worin he boards, aussprechen soll. Dafur habe ich, aus reinische Verlegenheit-- no, Vergangenheit--no, I mean Hoflichkeit--aus reinishe Hoflichkeit habe ich resolved to tackle this business in the German language, um Gottes willen! Sie mussen so freundlich sein, und verzeih mich die interlarding von ein oder zwei Englischer Worte, denn ich finde dass die deutsche is not a very copious language, and so when you`ve really got anything to say, you`ve got to draw on a language that can stand the strain. This is a great and justly honored day--und meinem Freunde--no, meinEN FreundEN--meinES FreundES--well, take your choice, they’re all the same price; I don’t know which one is right. Also! ich habe gehabt worden gewesen sein

Narrator-- Mark Twain and children.

Narrator-- Twain's world, the best of it, anyway, was primarily a world of children, and for children — of all ages.

Narrator-- His childhood in the small river town of Hannibal is the scene or starting-point of much of his best writing.

Narrator-- That ideal childhood before America’s civil war, where the frontier has passed by and the industrial revolution hasn't yet begun.

Narrator-- The childhood of drowsy, barefoot summer days, rafts on the wide river, caves and islands for exploring, and touring circuses.

Narrator-- Mark Twain represents the universal childhood that all of us are trying to get back to, and that some of us, like Twain himself, have never really left.

Narrator-- He never grew up. The respectable small town Sam Clemens
masqueraded all his adult life as the world traveling Mark Twain.

Narrator-- But when, in his old age, he appeared in a pure white linen suit
with the scarlet robes of Oxford University, he was a boy again.

Narrator-- He was the pauper boy changing places with the prince.

Narrator-- He was Tom Sawyer, Buccaneer.

Narrator-- Tom Sawyer. Mark Twain’s most famous book. Not his greatest-
nor his most interesting or profound- but certainly his most popular.

Narrator-- Who that has ever read Tom Sawyer could forget such
scenes as Tom giving painkiller to the cat…

Narrator-- …or the murder in the graveyard…

Narrator-- …or Tom and Becky trapped in the cave with his mortal
enemy, Injun Joe…

Narrator-- … or the way Tom proposes to Becky

Tom-- Becky, do you like rats?

Becky -- No Tom! I hate them!

Tom-- Well, I hate them too. Live ones. But I mean do you like dead ones,
To swing around your head with a string?

Becky-- No, I don't care for rats much, anyway. What I like is chewing gum.

Tom-- Oh, I should say so! I wish I had some now!

Becky-- Do you? I've got some. I'll let you chew it awhile, but you must
give it back to me. (She passes him her gum, he chews it for awhile, and during the next, they exchange it every now and then.)

Tom-- Was you ever at a circus?

Becky-- Yes, and my pa's going to take me again sometime, if I'm good.

Tom-- I been to the circus three or four times — lots of times. Church ain't nothing to a circus. There's things going on at a circus, all
the time. I'm going to be a clown in a circus when I grow up.

Becky-- Are you? That will be nice. They're so lovely all spotted up.

Tom-- That's so. And they get lots of money — most a dollar a day,
Ben Rogers says. Say, Becky, was you ever engaged?

Becky-- What’s that?

Tom-- Why, engaged to be married.

Becky-- No.

Tom-- Would you like to?

Becky-- I don't know. What is it like?

Tom-- Like? Why it ain't like anything. You only just tell a boy you won't ever have anybody but him- ever, ever, ever- and then you kiss, and that’s all. Anybody can do it.

Becky-- Kiss? What do you kiss for?

Tom-- Why that- you know, is to — well, they always do that.

Becky-- Everybody?

Tom-- Why, yes-- everybody' that's in love with each other. Do you remember what I wrote on the slate today in school?

Becky-- Ye—Yes

Tom-- What was it?

Becky-- I shan’t tell you

Tom-- Shall I tell you?

Becky-- Ye—Yes. But some other time.

Tom-- No. Now.

Becky-- No, not now. Tomorrow.

Tom-- Oh no, now. Please, Becky. I'll whisper it, I'll whisper it
ever so easy. (He whispers “I love you” into her ear.)
Now, you whisper it to me — just the same.

Becky-- You turn your face away, so you can't see, and then i will.
But you mustn't ever tell anybody — will you, Tom? Now you won't — will you?

Tom-- Indeed I won't. Now, Becky. (She whispers into his ear)

Becky-- I love you.

Tom-- It's all over — all over but the kiss. Don't you be afraid of that, it ain’t
anything at all. (They kiss.) Now it’s all done, Becky. And always after this, you know, you ain’t ever to love anybody but me, and you ain't ever to marry anybody but me. Never, never, and forever. Will you?

Becky-- No, I’ll never love anybody but you, Tom, and I'll never marry anybody but you, and you ain't to ever marry anybody but me, either.

Tom-- Certainly, of course that's part of it. And always, coming to school,
or when we're going home, you're to walk with me, when there ain’t anybody looking — and you choose me and I choose you at parties Because that's the way you do when you're engaged.

Becky-- It’s nice. I never heard of it before.

Tom-- Oh, it’s ever so jolly! Why me and Amy Lawrence---

Becky-- Amy Lawrence!! Oh, Tom, then I ain't the first you've ever been engaged to! (She bursts into tears.)

Tom-- Oh, don’t cry Becky. I don’t care for her anymore.

Becky -- Yes you do Tom. You know you do. (Runs out)

Tom-- Becky, I don't care for anybody but you. Honest! (Runs after her.)

Narrator-- As Twain once said: The course of free love never runs smoothly, but
we all try one time or another. Perhaps the most beloved writing that
Mark Twain ever produced is the second chapter of “Tom Sawyer”.
“Tom Whitewashes the Fence.”

Narrator-- SATURDAY morning was come, and all the summer world was bright and fresh, and brimming with life. There was a song in every heart; and if the heart was young the music issued at the lips. There was cheer in every face and a spring in every step. Tom appeared on the sidewalk with a bucket of whitewash and a long-handled brush. He surveyed
the fence, and all gladness left him. Thirty yards of board fence nine feet high. Life to him seemed hollow, and existence but a burden. Sighing, he dipped his brush and passed it along a plank. He compared the insignificant whitewashed streak with the far-reaching continent of unwhitewashed fence, and sat down on a tree-box discouraged. He began to think of the fun he had planned for this day, and his sorrows
multiplied. Soon the free boys would come along and they would make fun of him for having to work. He got out his worldly wealth and examined it -- bits of toys and marbles; enough to buy an exchange of some WORK, maybe, but not enough to buy so much as half an hour of pure freedom. So he returned his straitened means to his pocket, and gave up the idea of trying to buy the boys. At this dark and hopeless moment an inspiration burst upon him! Nothing less than a
great, magnificent inspiration. He took up his brush and went tranquilly to work. Ben Rogers came in sight presently. He was eating an apple.

Ben Rogers-- Stop her, sir! Ting-a-ling-ling!

Narrator-- And he was impersonating a steamboat.

Ben Rogers-- Ship up to back! Ting-a-ling-ling!

Narrator-- His right hand, meantime, describing stately circles -- for it was representing a forty-foot wheel.

Ben Rogers-- Chow! ch-chow-wow! Chow! Ting-a-ling-ling! Chow-ch-chow-chow!
Stop the stabboard! Ting-a-ling-ling! Stop the labboard! Let your outside turn over slow! Ting-a-ling-ling! Chow-ow-ow! Get out that head-line! LIVELY now! Done with the engines, sir! Ting-a-ling-ling! SH'T! S'H'T!

Narrator-- Tom went on whitewashing and paid no attention to the steamboat. Ben stared a moment and then said:

Ben Rogers-- What’ cha doin’?

Narrator-- No answer. Tom surveyed his last touch with the eye of an artist, then he gave his brush another gentle sweep and surveyed the result.

Ben Rogers-- You got to work, huh?

Tom-- Why, it's you, Ben I warn't noticing.

Ben Rogers-- Say -- I'm going in a-swimming, I am. Don't you wish you could? But of course you'd druther WORK -- wouldn't you? Course you would!

Tom-- What do you call work?

Ben Rogers-- Why, ain't THAT work?

Tom-- Well, maybe it is, and maybe it ain't. All I know, is, it suits Tom Sawyer.

Ben Rogers-- Oh come, now, you don't mean to let on that you LIKE it?

Tom-- Like it? Well, I don't see why I oughtn't to like it. Does a boy get a chance to whitewash a fence every day?

Narrator-- That put the thing in a new light. Ben stopped nibbling his apple. Tom swept his brush daintily back and forth -- stepped back to note the effect and added a touch here and there -- Ben watched every move and got more and more interested, and more and more absorbed.

Ben Rogers-- Say, Tom, let ME whitewash a little.

Tom-- No -- no -- I reckon it wouldn't hardly do, Ben. You see, Aunt Polly's awful particular about this fence -- right here on the street, you know -- but if it was the back fence I wouldn't mind and SHE wouldn't.
Yes, she's awful particular about this fence; it's got to be done very careful; I reckon there ain't one boy in a thousand, maybe two thousand, that can do it the way it's got to be done.

Ben Rogers-- No -- is that so? Oh come, now -- lemme just try. Only just a little -- I'd let YOU, if you was me, Tom.

Tom-- Ben, I'd like to, honest injun; but Aunt Polly-- well, don't you see how I'm fixed? If you was to tackle this fence and anything was to happen to it --

Ben Rogers-- Oh, shucks, I'll be just as careful as you. Now lemme try. Say -- I'll give you the core of my apple.

Tom -- Well, here -- No, Ben, now don't. I'm afeard --

Ben Rogers-- I'll give you ALL of it!

Narrator-- Tom gave up the brush with reluctance in his face, but alacrity in his heart. And while the late steam boat worked and sweated in the sun, the
retired artist sat on a barrel in the shade close by,munched his apple, and planned the slaughter of more innocents. There was no lack
of material; boys happened along every little while; they came to jeer, but remained to whitewash. Tom had traded Billy Fisher for a kite, in good repair; and Johnny Miller bought in for a dead rat and a string to swing it with -- and so on, and so on, hour after hour. And when the middle of the afternoon came, from being a poor poverty-stricken
boy in the morning, Tom was literally rolling in wealth. He had besides the things before mentioned, A tin soldier, a key that wouldn't unlock anything, a fragment of chalk, a kitten with only one eye, a dog- collar -- but no dog -- the handle of a knife, and a brass door knob.
(The rest of the cast has entered one by one and mimed giving Tom
something, and gone to whitewashing. They all continue until the end.)

He had had a nice, good, idle time all the while -- plenty of company -- and the fence had three coats of whitewash on it! If he hadn't run out of whitewash he would have bankrupted every boy in the village.

Tom had discovered a great law of human action, without knowing it -- namely, that in order to make a man or a boy covet a thing, it is only necessary to make the thing difficult to attain. Work consists of whatever a body is OBLIGED to do, and Play consists of whatever a body is not obliged to do.


Narrator-- Tom Sawyer was written in the Centennial summer of 1876, to try as the
author said “To remind adults of what they once were themselves, and of how they thought and felt, and what queer enterprises they once engaged in. It was a kind of Hymn, put into prose to give it a worldly air. Twain once said of his early life on the Mississippi that he was the only man alive that could scribble about the piloting of that day. And scribble he did. “Life on the Mississippi”, “Tom Sawyer”, and “Huck Finn” form a kind of epic about the Mississippi River in the times before the Civil War. Huck Finn has been called the finest canvas that any American has ever
painted, and its author the Lincoln of our literature. Ernest Hemingway said that all American literature comes from this one book, and that it is the best we’ve had. It’s Author, however, took a different view…

Narrator-- Persons attempting to find a motive in this narrative will be prosecuted,
Persons attempting to find a moral in it will be banished.
Persons attempting to find a plot in it will be shot.

Narrator-- Huck Finn almost didn’t get published. It caused a lot of trouble during and after its writing. It still does today.

Narrators-- (Entering, Angry voices overlapping) Vulgar! Subversive! Unworthy! Degenerate! Suited to the slums! Trash! Subversive!

Narrator-- A book that has for its real hero a runaway slave!

Narrator-- While the hero of its title is a natural born liar, and the biggest little con
man of them all!

Narrator-- A book for young people which has at least thirteen murders and violent
deaths?

Narrator-- And in which the most respected citizens are shown to be bigoted,
Inhumane, and hypocritical?

Narrator-- A book which glorifies breaking the law and knocking over the
conventions of the time?

Narrator-- A “Classic” full of deliberate grammatical and spelling errors!

Narrator-- Twain had many critics.Miss Louisa May Alcott, author of “Little Women”

Narrator-- If Mr. Clemens cannot find anything better to tell our pure minded lads and lasses, he had better stop writing for them. (Exits)

Narrator-- And the Scottish critic, John Nichol, neither the first, nor the last to object to Twain’s characters talking like real people.

Narrator-- He has done more than any other writer to lower the tone of the English
speaking people. (Exits)

Narrator-- And last, but not least, Mark Twain himself, when his best book was
banned from the library at Concord…

Narrator-- They have expelled Huck from their library as “trash” and “suitable only
for the slums. That will sell 25,000 copies for sure.

Narrator-- And “Huck Finn” is still being banned in some communities today. There
are people who accuse Twain, and his writing, of being racist. While he
was growing up, Twain’s family did own a slave- and he wrote about the
South before the Civil War. And he uses the “N” word quite often in “Huck Finn”. Which raises the question: Was Twain a racist, and is “Huck Finn” a racist book? We’ll let you judge for yourselves. “The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn”

Huck:
We went drifting down into a big bend, and the night clouded up and got hot.
The river was very wide, and you couldn't see a break in it, hardly ever.
We talked about Cairo, where the two big rivers met, and wondered whether we would know it when we got to it. Jim said he'd be mighty sure to see it, because he'd be a free man the minute he seen it, but if he missed it, he'd be in slave country again. Every little while he jumps up and says:

"Dah she is?"

But it warn't. It was Jack-o'-lanterns, or lightning bugs; so he set down again, and went to watching, same as before. Jim said it made him all over trembly and feverish to be so close to freedom. Well, I can tell you it made me all over trembly and feverish, too, to hear him, because I begun to get it through my head that he WAS most free -- and who was to blame for it? Why, ME. I couldn't get that out of my conscience, no how nor no way. I tried to make out to myself that I warn't to blame, because I didn't run Jim off from his rightful owner; but it warn't no use, conscience up and says, every time, "But you knowed he was running for his freedom, and you could a paddled ashore and told somebody." That was so -- I couldn't get around that, noway. My conscience got to stirring me up hotter than ever, until at last I says to my conscience, "Let up on me --it ain't too late yet -- I'll paddle ashore at the first light and tell." I felt easy and happy and light as a feather right off. By and by a light showed up and Jim says:

"We's safe, Huck, we's safe! Dat's de good ole Cairo at las', I jis knows”

I says: "I'll take the canoe and go and see, Jim. It mightn't be, you know."

He jumped up and got the canoe ready, and put his old coat in the bottom for me to set on, and give me the paddle; and as I shoved off, he says:

"Pooty soon I'll be a-shout'n' for joy, en I'll say, it's all on accounts o' Huck; I's a free man, en I couldn't ever Narrator free ef it hadn' Narrator for Huck; Huck done it. Jim won't ever forgit you, Huck; you's de bes' fren' Jim's ever had; en you's de ONLY fren' ole Jim's got now."

I was paddling off, all in a sweat to tell on him; but when he says this, it seemed to kind of take the tuck all out of me. When I was fifty yards off, Jim says:

"Dah you goes, de ole true Huck; de on'y white genlman dat ever kep his promise to ole Jim."

Well, I just felt sick. But I says, I GOT to do it – I can't get OUT of it. Right then along comes a skiff with two men in it with guns, and they stopped and I stopped. One of them says:

Man 1-- What's that yonder?

Huck-- A piece of a raft.

Man 1-- Do you belong on it?

Huck-- Yes, sir.

Man 1-- Any men on it?

Huck-- Only one, sir.

Man 1-- Well, there's five niggers run off to-night up yonder, above the head of the bend. Is your man white or black?

Huck-- I didn't answer up prompt. I tried to, but the words wouldn't come. I see I was weakening; so I just give up trying, and up and says:

He's white.

Man 2-- I reckon we'll go and see for ourselves.

Huck-- I wish you would because it's pap and maybe you'd help me tow the raft
ashore where the light is. He's sick -- and so is mam and Mary Ann. Everybody goes away when I want them to help me tow the raft ashore,
and I can't do it by myself.

Man 1-- Well, that's infernal mean.

Man 2-- Odd, too. Say, boy, what's the matter with your father?

Huck-- It's the -- a -- the -- well, it ain't anything much.

Man 2-- Set her back, John, set her back! Keep away, boy.

Man 1-- Confound it, I just expect the wind has blowed it to us. Your pap's got the small-pox, and you know it. Why didn't you come out and say so? Do you want to spread it all over?

Huck-- Well, I've told every-body before, and they just went away and left us.

Man 1-- We are right down sorry for you, but we -- well, hang it, we
don't want the small-pox, you see. Look here, I'll tell you what to do.
You float along down about twenty miles, and you'll come to a
town on the left-hand side of the river. When you ask for help
you tell them your folks are all down with chills and fever. Don't be a fool again, and let people guess what is the matter. Now we're trying to do you a kindness; so you just put twenty miles between us. It won't do to fool with small-pox, don't you see?

Man 2-- And if you see any runaway niggers you get help and nab them,
and you can make some money by it."

Huck-- Good-bye, sir, I won't let no runaway niggers get by me if I can help it.

They went off and I was feeling bad and low, because I knowed very well I had done wrong, and I see it warn't no use for me to try to learn to do right. Then I thought a minute, and says to myself, hold on; s'pose you'd a done right and give Jim up, would you felt better than what you do now? No, says I, I'd feel bad -- I'd feel just the same way I do now. Well, then, says I, what's the use you learning to do right when it's troublesome to do right and ain't no trouble to do wrong, and the wages is just the same? Well, I couldn't answer that. So I reckoned I wouldn't bother no more about it, but after this always do whichever come handiest at the time.

I paddled back to the raft, but Jim warn't there. I looked all around; he warn't anywhere. I says: "Jim!"

"Here I is, Huck. Is dey out o' sight yit?"

He was in the river under the stern oar, with just his nose out. I told him they were out of sight, so he come aboard. He says:

"I was a-listenin' to all de talk, en I slips into de river en was gwyne to shove for sho' if dey come aboard. Den I was gwyne to swim to de raf' agin when dey was gone. But lawsy, how you did foo 'em, Huck! Dat WUZ de smartes' dodge! I tell you, chil, I'spec it save' ole Jim -- ole Jim ain't going to forgit you for dat, honey." (Lights. Sound.)

Narrator-- Throughout the book, Huck continues to struggle with the fact that he is helping a runaway slave. His mind and his whole upbringing tell him that Jim is really the property of his owner, Miss Watson, and should by rights be returned to her. But his soul, and every impulse of his being, tell him just the opposite. It’s the age-old dilemma, what Twain calls the struggle between a sound heart, and a deformed conscience. The great turning point in “Huck Finn” comes near the end of the book.

Huck:
The more I studied about this the more my conscience went to grinding me,
and the more wicked and low-down and ornery I got to feeling. I tried the
best I could to kinder soften it up somehow for myself by saying I was brung up wicked, and so I warn't so much to blame; but something inside of me kept saying, "There was the Sunday-school, you could a gone to it; and if you'd a done it they'd a learnt you there that people that acts as I'd been acting about that nigger goes to everlasting fire."
It made me shiver. And I made up my mind to pray, so I kneeled down.
But the words wouldn't come. Why wouldn't they? It warn't no use to try and
hide it from Him. Nor from ME, neither. I knowed very well why they
wouldn't come. It was because my heart warn't right; deep down in me I knowed
it was a lie, and He knowed it. You can't pray a lie -- I found that out.
At last I had an idea; and I says, I'll go and write a letter to Miss Watson, telling
her where Jim is-- and then see if I can pray. So I got a piece of paper and a pencil and wrote:

Miss Watson, your runaway nigger Jim is down here two mile below Pikesville, and Mr. Phelps has got him and he will give him up for the reward if you send. HUCK FINN

I felt good and all washed clean of sin for the first time and I knowed I could pray now. But I didn't do it straight off, I laid the paper down and set there thinking how near I come to being lost and going to hell. And went on thinking. And got to thinking over our trip down the river; and I see Jim before me all the time: in the day and in the night time, sometimes moonlight, sometimes storms, and we a-floating along, talking and
singing and laughing. But somehow I couldn't seem to strike no places to harden me against him, but only the other kind. I'd see Jim standing my watch on top of his'n, 'stead of calling me, so I could go on sleeping. And how he would always do everything he could think of for me, and how good he always was; and at last I struck the time I saved him by telling the men we had small-pox aboard, and he was so grateful, and said I was the best friend old Jim ever had in the world, and the ONLY one he's got now; and then I happened to look around and see that paper. I took it up, and held it in my hand. I was a-trembling, because I'd got to decide, forever, betwixt two things, and I knowed it. I studied a minute, sort of holding my breath, and then says to myself:

"All right, then, I'll GO to hell" -- and tore it up.

End of Act 1
(See Act 2...)

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