We went out to the Spithead and sailed up and down there for four hours
through four long ranks of stately men-of-war--formidable ironclads they
were--the most insignificant of which would make a breakfast of a whole
fleet of Nelson’s prodigious ships and still be hungry. The show was
very fine, for there were forty-nine of the finest ironclads the world
can show, and many gunboats besides. Indeed, here in its full strength
was the finest navy in the world, and this the only time in history that
just such a spectacle has been seen, and none who saw it that day is
likely to live long enough to see its like again. The vessels were all
dressed out with flags, and all about them frolicked a bewildering host
of bannered yachts, steamers, and every imaginable sort of craft. It
would be hard to contrive a gayer scene. One of the royal yachts came
flying along presently and put the Shah on board one of the ironclads,
and then the yards of the whole fleet were manned simultaneously, and
such another booming and bellowing of great guns ensued as I cannot
possibly describe. Within two minutes the huge fleet was swallowed up in
smoke, with angry red tongues of fire darting through it here and there.
It was wonderful to look upon. Every time the _Devastation_ let off one
of her thirty-five-ton guns it seemed as if an entire London fog issued
from her side, and the report was so long coming that if she were to
shoot a man he would be dead before he heard it, and would probably go
around wondering through all eternity what it was that happened to him.
I returned to London in a great hurry by a train that was in no way
excited by it, but failed in the end and object I had in view after all,
which was to go to the grand concert at Albert Hall in honor of the
Shah. I had a strong desire to see that building filled with people
once. Albert Hall is one of the many monuments erected to the memory of
the late Prince Albert. It is a huge and costly edifice, but the
architectural design is old, not to say in some sense a plagiarism; for
there is but little originality in putting a dome on a gasometer. It is
said to seat 13,000 people, and surely that is a thing worth seeing--at
least to a man who was not at the Boston Jubilee. But no tickets were to
be had--every seat was full, they said. It was no particular matter, but
what made me mad was to come so extremely close and then miss. Indeed, I
was madder than I can express, to think that if the architect had only
planned the place to hold 13,001 I could have got in. But, after all, I
was not the only person who had occasion to feel vexed. Colonel X, a
noted man in America, bought a seat some days ago for $10 and a little
afterward met a knowing person who said the Shah would be physically
worn out before that concert night and would not be there, and
consequently nobody else; so the seat was immediately sold for $5. Then
came another knowing one, who said the Shah would unquestionably be at
the concert, so the colonel went straight and bought his ticket back
again. The temporary holder of it only charged him $250 for carrying it
around for him during the interval! The colonel was at the concert, and
took the Shah’s head clerk for the Shah all the evening. Vexation could
go no further than that.
V
MARK TWAIN GIVES THE ROYAL PERSIAN
A “SEND-OFF”
LONDON, _June 30, 1873_.
For the present we are done with the Shah in London. He is gone to the
country to be further “impressed.” After all, it would seem that he was
more moved and more genuinely entertained by the military day at Windsor
than by even the naval show at Portsmouth. It is not to be wondered at,
since he is a good deal of a soldier himself and not much of a sailor.
It has been estimated that there were 300,000 people assembled at
Windsor--some say 500,000. That was a show in itself. The Queen of
England was there; so was Windsor Castle; also an imposing array of
cavalry, artillery, and infantry. And the accessories to these several
shows were the matchless rural charms of England--a vast expanse of
green sward, walled in by venerable forest trees, and beyond them
glimpses of hills clothed in Summer vegetation. Upon such a theater a
bloodless battle was fought and an honorable victory won by trained
soldiers who have not always been carpet knights, but whose banners bear
the names of many historic fights.
England is now practically done with the Shah. True, his engagement is
not yet completed, for he is still billed to perform at one or two
places; but curiosity is becoming sated, and he will hardly draw as good
houses as heretofore. Whenever a star has to go to the provinces it is a
bad sign. The poor man is well nigh worn out with hard work. The other
day he was to have performed before the Duke of Buccleuch and was
obliged to send an excuse. Since then he failed of his engagement at the
Bank of England. He does not take rest even when he might. He has a
telegraphic apparatus in his apartments in Buckingham Palace, and it is
said that he sits up late, talking with his capital of Persia by
telegraph. He is so fascinated with the wonderful contrivance that he
cannot keep away from it. No doubt it is the only homelike thing the
exile finds in the hard, practical West, for it is the next of kin to
the enchanted carpets that figure in the romance and traditions of his
own land, and which carry the wanderer whither he will about the earth,
circumscribing the globe in the twinkling of an eye, propelled by only
the force of an unspoken wish.