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Mark Twain "No Rest for the Louis"
June 15, 2004

In Mark Twain's classic The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, he writes at length about a pair of drifting con artists, both with claims to royalty. In this scene, Huckleberry Finn and Jim spot the con men running from the law: "One of these fellows was about seventy, or upwards, and had a bald head and very gray whiskers...The other fellow was about thirty and dressed about as ornery."

The two explain their scrape with the law:

"What got you into trouble?" says the baldhead to t'other chap.
"Well, I'd been selling an article to take the tartar off the teeth--and it does take it off, too, and generally the enamel along with it."

The bald man then unfolds his troubles:

"Well I'd ben a-runnin' a little temperance revival thar, 'bout a week, and was the pet of the women-folks, big and little, for I was makin' it mighty warm for the rummies, I tell you, and takin' as much as five or six dollars a night."

As the men drift down the Mississippi with Huck and Jim on the raft, they to talk of their problems again, through this time the problems are their supposed births. First, the younger man gives his story:

"Ah, you would not believe me; the world never believes--let it pass--'tis no matter. The secret of my birth--"
"The secret of your birth? Do you mean to say--"
"Gentlemen," says the young man, very solemn, "I will to reveal it to you, for I feel I may have confidence in you. By rights I am a duke!"
Jim's eyes bugged out when he heard that; and I reckon mine did, too. Then the baldhead says: "No! you can't mean it?"
"Yes. My great-grandfather, eldest son of the Duke of Bridgewater, fled to this country about the end of the last century, to breathe the pure air of freedom; married here, and died, leaving a son, his own father dying about the same time. The second son of the late duke seized the title and estates--the infant real duke was ignored. I am the lineal descendent of that infant-I am the rightful Duke of Bridgewater; and here am I, forlorn, torn from my ragged, worn heart-broken, and degraded to the companionship of felons on a raft!'"

A bit later, the older man, "baldhead", announces he too has a secret about his birth:

"Looky here, Bilgewater," he says, 'I'm nation sorry for you, but you ain't the only person that's had troubles like that."
"No?"
"No, you ain't. You ain't the only person that's ben snaked down wrongfully out'n a high place."
"Alas!"
"No, you ain't the only person that's had a secret of his birth."
And by jings, he begins to cry.
"Hold! What do you mean?"
"Bilgewater, kin I trust you?" says the old man, still sort of sobbing.
"To the bitter death!" He took the old man by the hand and squeezed it, and says, "The secret of your being: speak!"
"Bilgewater, I am the late Dauphin!"
You bet you Jim and me stared, this time. Then the duke says:
"You are what?"
"Yes, my friend, it is too true-your eyes is lookin' at this very moment on the pore disappeared Dauphin, Looy the Seventeen, son of Looy the Sixteen and Marry Antonette."
"You! At your age! No! You mean you're the late Charlemagne; you must be six or seven hundred years old, at the very least."
"Trouble has done it, Bilgewater, trouble has done it; trouble has brun there gray hairs and this premature balditude. Yes, gentlemen, you see before you, in blue jeans and misery, the wander', exiled, trampled-on and sufferin' rightful King of France."

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© 2004 by the Archaeological Institute of America
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