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some small money to bestow upon him; I casually directed my eyes to

the face of his superior officer; and in him beheld the Face…Maker!

Though it was not the way to Algeria; but quite the reverse; the

military poodle's Colonel was the Face…Maker in a dark blouse; with

a small bundle dangling over his shoulder at the end of an

umbrella; and taking a pipe from his breast to smoke as he and the

poodle went their mysterious way。







CHAPTER XXVIII … MEDICINE MEN OF CIVILISATION







My voyages (in paper boats) among savages often yield me matter for

reflection at home。  It is curious to trace the savage in the

civilised man; and to detect the hold of some savage customs on

conditions of society rather boastful of being high above them。



I wonder; is the Medicine Man of the North American Indians never

to be got rid of; out of the North American country?  He comes into

my Wigwam on all manner of occasions; and with the absurdest

'Medicine。'  I always find it extremely difficult; and I often find

it simply impossible; to keep him out of my Wigwam。  For his legal

'Medicine' he sticks upon his head the hair of quadrupeds; and

plasters the same with fat; and dirty white powder; and talks a

gibberish quite unknown to the men and squaws of his tribe。  For

his religious 'Medicine' he puts on puffy white sleeves; little

black aprons; large black waistcoats of a peculiar cut; collarless

coats with Medicine button…holes; Medicine stockings and gaiters

and shoes; and tops the whole with a highly grotesque Medicinal

hat。  In one respect; to be sure; I am quite free from him。  On

occasions when the Medicine Men in general; together with a large

number of the miscellaneous inhabitants of his village; both male

and female; are presented to the principal Chief; his native

'Medicine' is a comical mixture of old odds and ends (hired of

traders) and new things in antiquated shapes; and pieces of red

cloth (of which he is particularly fond); and white and red and

blue paint for the face。  The irrationality of this particular

Medicine culminates in a mock battle…rush; from which many of the

squaws are borne out; much dilapidated。  I need not observe how

unlike this is to a Drawing Room at St。 James's Palace。



The African magician I find it very difficult to exclude from my

Wigwam too。  This creature takes cases of death and mourning under

his supervision; and will frequently impoverish a whole family by

his preposterous enchantments。  He is a great eater and drinker;

and always conceals a rejoicing stomach under a grieving exterior。

His charms consist of an infinite quantity of worthless scraps; for

which he charges very high。  He impresses on the poor bereaved

natives; that the more of his followers they pay to exhibit such

scraps on their persons for an hour or two (though they never saw

the deceased in their lives; and are put in high spirits by his

decease); the more honourably and piously they grieve for the dead。

The poor people submitting themselves to this conjurer; an

expensive procession is formed; in which bits of stick; feathers of

birds; and a quantity of other unmeaning objects besmeared with

black paint; are carried in a certain ghastly order of which no one

understands the meaning; if it ever had any; to the brink of the

grave; and are then brought back again。



In the Tonga Islands everything is supposed to have a soul; so that

when a hatchet is irreparably broken; they say; 'His immortal part

has departed; he is gone to the happy hunting…plains。'  This belief

leads to the logical sequence that when a man is buried; some of

his eating and drinking vessels; and some of his warlike

implements; must be broken and buried with him。  Superstitious and

wrong; but surely a more respectable superstition than the hire of

antic scraps for a show that has no meaning based on any sincere

belief。



Let me halt on my Uncommercial road; to throw a passing glance on

some funeral solemnities that I have seen where North American

Indians; African Magicians; and Tonga Islanders; are supposed not

to be。



Once; I dwelt in an Italian city; where there dwelt with me for a

while; an Englishman of an amiable nature; great enthusiasm; and no

discretion。  This friend discovered a desolate stranger; mourning

over the unexpected death of one very dear to him; in a solitary

cottage among the vineyards of an outlying village。  The

circumstances of the bereavement were unusually distressing; and

the survivor; new to the peasants and the country; sorely needed

help; being alone with the remains。  With some difficulty; but with

the strong influence of a purpose at once gentle; disinterested;

and determined; my friend … Mr。 Kindheart … obtained access to the

mourner; and undertook to arrange the burial。



There was a small Protestant cemetery near the city walls; and as

Mr。 Kindheart came back to me; he turned into it and chose the

spot。  He was always highly flushed when rendering a service

unaided; and I knew that to make him happy I must keep aloof from

his ministration。  But when at dinner he warmed with the good

action of the day; and conceived the brilliant idea of comforting

the mourner with 'an English funeral;' I ventured to intimate that

I thought that institution; which was not absolutely sublime at

home; might prove a failure in Italian hands。  However; Mr。

Kindheart was so enraptured with his conception; that he presently

wrote down into the town requesting the attendance with to…morrow's

earliest light of a certain little upholsterer。  This upholsterer

was famous for speaking the unintelligible local dialect (his own)

in a far more unintelligible manner than any other man alive。



When from my bath next morning I overheard Mr。 Kindheart and the

upholsterer in conference on the top of an echoing staircase; and

when I overheard Mr。 Kindheart rendering English Undertaking

phrases into very choice Italian; and the upholsterer replying in

the unknown Tongues; and when I furthermore remembered that the

local funerals had no resemblance to English funerals; I became in

my secret bosom apprehensive。  But Mr。 Kindheart informed me at

breakfast that measures had been taken to ensure a signal success。



As the funeral was to take place at sunset; and as I knew to which

of the city gates it must tend; I went out at that gate as the sun

descended; and walked along the dusty; dusty road。  I had not

walked far; when I encountered this procession:



1。  Mr。 Kindheart; much abashed; on an immense grey horse。



2。  A bright yellow coach and pair; driven by a coachman in bright

red velvet knee…breeches and waistcoat。  (This was the established

local idea of State。)  Both coach doors kept open by the coffin;

which was on its side within; and sticking out at each。



3。  Behind the coach; the mourner; for whom the coach was intended;

walking in the dust。



4。 Concealed behind a roadside well for the irrigation of a garden;

the unintelligible Upholsterer; admiring。



It matters little now。  Coaches of all colours are alike to poor

Kindheart; and he rests far North of the little cemetery with the

cypress…trees; by the city walls where the Mediterranean is so

beautiful。



My first funeral; a fair representative funeral after its kind; was

that of the husband of a married servant; once my nurse。  She

married for money。  Sally Flanders; after a year or two of

matrimony; became the relict of Flanders; a small master builder;

and either she or Flanders had done me the honour to express a

desire that I should 'follow。'  I may have been seven or eight

years old; … young enough; certainly; to feel rather alarmed by the

expression; as not knowing where the invitation was held to

terminate; and how far I was expected to follow the deceased

Flanders。  Consent being given by the heads of houses; I was jobbed

up into what was pronounced at home decent mourning (comprehending

somebody else's shirt; unless my memory deceives me); and was

admonished that if; when the funeral was in action; I put my hands

in my pockets; or took my eyes out of my pocket…handkerchief; I was

personally lost; and my family disgraced。  On the eventful day;

having tried to get myself into a disastrous frame of mind; and

having formed a very poor opinion of myself because I couldn't cry;

I repaired to Sally's。  Sally was an excellent creature; and had

been a good wife to old Flanders; but the moment I saw her I knew

that she was not in her own real natural state。  She formed a sort

of Coat of Arms; grouped with a smelling…bottle; a handkerchief; an

orange; a bottle of vinegar; Flanders's sister; her own sister;

Flanders's brother's wife; and two neighbouring gossips … all in

mourning; and all ready to hold her whenever she fainted。  At sight

of poor little me she became much agitated (agitating me much

more); and having exclaimed; 'O here's dear Master Uncommercial!'

bec

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