 | Mark Twain's sketches, new and old |  |
THE SIAMESE TWINS.
I DO not wish to write of the personal habits of these strange creatures solely,
but also of certain curious details of various kinds concerning them, which
belonging only to their private life, have never crept into print. Knowing
the Twins intimately, I feel that I am peculiarly well qualified for the task I
have taken upon myself.
The Siamese Twins are naturally tender and affectionate in disposition, and
have clung to each other with singular fidelity throughout a long and eventful
life. Even as children they were inseparable companions; and it was noticed
They nearly always played together; and, so accustomed was their
mother to this peculiarity, that, whenever both of them chanced to be lost, she
usually only hunted for one of them—satisfied that when she found that one she
would find his brother somewhere in the immediate neighborhood. And yet
these creatures were ignorant and unlettered—barbarians themselves and the
offspring of barbarians, who knew not the light of philosophy and science.
What a withering rebuke is this to our boasted civilization, with its quarrelings,
its wranglings, and its separations of brothers!
As men, the Twins have not always lived in perfect accord; but still there
has always been a bond between them which made them unwilling to go away
from each other and dwell apart. They have even occupied the same house, as a
general thing, and it is believed that they have never failed to even sleep together on
any night since they were born. How surely do the habits of a lifetime become
second nature to us! The Twins always go to bed at the same time; but Chang
usually gets up about an hour before his brother. By an understanding
between themselves, Chang does all the in-door work and Eng runs all the
errands. This is because Eng likes to go out; Chang's habits are sedentary.
However, Chang always goes along. Eng is a Baptist, but Chang is a Roman
Catholic; still, to please his brother, Chang consented to be baptized at the same
time that Eng was, on condition that it should not “count.” During the War
they were strong partizans, and both fought gallantly all through the great struggle—Eng
on the Union side and Chang on the Confederate. They took each
other prisoners at Seven Oaks, but the proofs of capture were so evenly balanced
in favor of each, that a general army court had to be assembled to determine
which one was properly the captor, and which the captive. The jury was
unable to agree for a long time; but the vexed question was finally decided by
agreeing to consider them both prisoners, and then exchanging them. At one
time Chang was convicted of disobedience of orders, and sentenced to ten days
in the guard-house, but Eng, in spite of all arguments, felt obliged to share his
imprisonment, notwithstanding he himself was entirely innocent; and so, to save
the blameless brother from suffering, they had to discharge both from custody—
the just reward of faithfulness.
Upon one occasion the brothers fell out about something, and Chang knocked
Eng down, and then tripped and fell on him, whereupon both clinched and
began to beat and gouge each other without mercy. The bystanders interferred,
and tried to separate them, but they could not do it, and so allowed them to
fight it out. In the end both were disabled, and were carried to the hospital on
one and the same shutter.
Their ancient habit of going always together had its drawbacks when they
reached man's estate, and entered upon the luxury of courting. Both fell in
love with the same girl. Each tried to steal clandestine interviews with her,
but at the critical moment the other would always turn up. By and by Eng
saw, with distraction, that Chang had won the girl's affections; and, from that
day forth, he had to bear with the agony of being a witness to all their dainty
billing and cooing. But with a magnanimity that did him infinite credit, he
succumbed to his fate, and gave countenance and encouragement to a state of
things that bade fair to sunder his generous heart-strings. He sat from seven
every evening until two in the morning, listening to the fond foolishness of the
two lovers, and to the concussion of hundreds of squandered kisses—for the
privilege of sharing only one of which he would have given his right hand.
But he sat patiently, and waited, and gaped, and yawned, and stretched, and
longed for two o'clock to come. And he took long walks with the lovers on
moonlight evenings—sometimes traversing ten miles, notwithstanding he was
usually suffering from rheumatism. He is an inveterate smoker; but he could
not smoke on these occasions, because the young lady was painfully sensitive to the
smell of tobacco. Eng cordially wanted them married, and done with it; but
although Chang often asked the momentous question, the young lady could not
gather sufficient courage to answer it while Eng was by. However, on one
occasion, after having walked some sixteen miles, and sat up till nearly daylight,
Eng dropped asleep, from sheer exhaustion, and then the question was asked
and answered. The lovers were married. All acquainted with the circumstance
applauded the noble brother-in-law. His unwavering faithfulness was the theme
of every tongue. He had stayed by them all through their long and arduous
courtship; and when at last they were married, he lifted his hands above
never desert ye!” and he kept his word. Fidelity like this is all too rare in this
cold world.
By and by Eng fell in love with his sister-in-law's sister, and married her, and
since that day they have all lived together, night and day, in an exceeding
sociability which is touching and beautiful to behold, and is a scathing rebuke
to our boasted civilization.
The sympathy existing between these two brothers is so close and so refined
that the feelings, the impulses, the emotions of the one are instantly experienced
by the other. When one is sick, the other is sick; when one feels pain, the
other feels it; when one is angered, the other's temper takes fire. We have
already seen with what happy facility they both fell in love with the same girl.
Now, Chang is bitterly opposed to all forms of intemperance, on principle; but
Eng is the reverse—for, while these men's feelings and emotion are so closely
wedded, their reasoning faculties are unfettered; their thoughts are free. Chang
belongs to the Good Templars, and is a hard working, enthusiastic supporter of all
temperance reforms. But, to his bitter distress, every now and then Eng gets drunk,
and, of course, that makes Chang drunk too. This unfortunate thing has been a
great sorrow to Chang, for it almost destroys his usefulness in his favorite field of
effort. As sure as he is to head a great temperance procession Eng ranges up
alongside of him, prompt to the minute, and drunk as a lord; but yet no more
dismally and hopelessly drunk than his brother, who has not tasted a drop.
And so the two begin to hoot and yell, and throw mud and bricks at the Good
Templars; and of course they break up the procession. It would be manifestly
wrong to punish Chang for what Eng does, and, therefore, the Good Templars
accept the untoward situation, and suffer in silence and sorrow. They have
officially and deliberately examined into the matter, and find Chang blameless.
They have taken the two brothers and filled Chang full of warm water and
sugar and Eng full of whisky, and in twenty-five minutes it was not possible to
tell which was the drunkest. Both were as drunk as loons—and on hot whisky
punches, by the smell of their breath. Yet all the while Chang's moral principles
were unsullied, his conscience clear; and so all just men were forced to
and by every moral evidence the man was strictly sober; and, therefore, it
caused his friends all the more anguish to see him shake hands with the pump,
and try to wind his watch with his night-key.
There is a moral in these solemn warnings—or, at least, a warning in these
solemn morals; one or the other. No matter, it is somehow. Let us heed it;
let us profit by it.
I could say more of an instructive nature about these interesting beings, but
let what I have written suffice.
Having forgotton to mention it sooner, I will remark in conclusion, that the
ages of the Siamese Twins are respectively fifty-one and fifty-three years.
| Mark Twain's sketches, new and old | |