[Dan De Quille, Die Gruene Ganse No. 2, Salt Lake Tribune, April 12, 1885]

 

THE DAILY TRIBUNE: SALT LAKE CITY.  SUNDAY MORNING, APRIL 12, 1885.

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"DIE GRUENE GANSE."

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Hans Tuegendspiegel in His Element—The Ranchman's Story.

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A Man of Magnetic Impulses—The Argonaut's Dream.

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A Modern Wholesale Reformer—Good Night to All.

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[Notes taken at the Green Goose Saloon, For THE TRIBUNE, by Dan De Quille.]

            Last evening there was no lack of customers at the Green Goose Saloon, and its rotund proprietor, Hans Tuegendspiegel, was in an excellent humor.  As I entered his place and took a seat at a vacant table, he was roaring out :

                                    "Kenns du ist wohl? Dahin, dahin,

                                    Mocht' teh mit dir, O mein Geliebter, ziehn!"

            At this Captain Jim threw back his head and in not unmelodious voice thus delivered himself :

                                    "Hark, hark, my soul! angelic voices are swelling,

                                    O'er earth's green fields and ocean's wave-beat shore."

            "Ach, mein Lieber!" and clearing his pipes, Hans sang :

                                    "Die Kirschen sind schwartz und roth,

                                    Ich lieb mein Schatz bis in den Tod!"

            "Hold on now, and I'll give you that in English," cried Captain Jim, and he sung :

                                    "The cherries be they black and red,

                                    And I love my love till I be dead."

            "Ach Gott!" cried Hans, "Ich bin in Himmel! So muessen die Angel in Himmel machen!" — (I am in Heaven! The angels in Heaven must make such music!)

            This little musical contest between Hans and Captain Jim is given for the reason that it serves to show that all started off very agreeably last evening at the Green Goose.  The lion in Hans was in a state of repose — was lying with his tail curled round his haunches.

            Two or three ranchmen from up the country were seated near my table, and presently one of them was reminded by something one of the others said, of the following little story, which may be called

"A BULL IN A CHINA SHOP."

            Last fall a family from the East purchased and settled upon a small ranch in Honey Lake Valley. In the family were two daughters, respectively sixteen and eighteen years of age, both bouncing and handsome girls. In outdoor costume they were conspicuous in the settlement for "style" and a dashing appearance, they having brought with them from the Atlantic States the latest fashions in dress.

            The advent in the neighborhood of the "new girls" did not pass unnoticed by the young ranchmen of that region. In fact, there was among them a good deal of "sprucing up," and eyes hungry with love in the incipient stage were daily turned upon the ranch of the new arrivals, but the hearts of the majority failed them when thoughts of calling upon the family occurred to them.

            One young ranchman, however, whose broad possessions and great wealth gave him a vast deal of spinal rigidity, felt no tremors of diffidence. He was all business, and in looking for a wife his notions were purely practical. He had seen the young ladies and observing them to be robust as well as pretty, was favorably impressed.  The amount of muscle they displayed promised good service on a farm. This being the case, John Bovine, the young cattle king, called at the ranch of the strangers, his neighbors, to 'prospect' further.

            He found the father of the young ladies in front of his house and introduced himself and his belongings, giving a sweeping and comprehensive wave of the hand in the direction of his "much land and many cattle."

            The young man was invited into the house and introduced to the wife and daughters.  They had evidently heard of John Bovine, as was to be seen by the meaning glances they covertly exchanged, and soon they made him feel "quite at home."

            There was a piano in the room, and the mother presently asked the elder daughter to play.  John Bovine listened with some show of interest, the sound of the instrument being almost as agreeable to his ears as the lowing of cattle or the bleating of sheep.

            "What was that she played?" asked John Bovine, at the end of the first piece.

            "'The Attack Gallop,' by Zikoff," answered the mother, who was seated near the young man at the opposite end of the room from that occupied by the piano.

            "A gallop," said the man of land and cattle — "a very nice gait."

            Again the young lady played, and John Bovine asked the name of the piece.

            "'Confidence,' by Mendelssohn," said the mother.

            "A good thing to have," remarked John.

            Another piece was played.

            "What did she give us then?"

            "The 'Go Ahead Gallop,'" said the mother.

            "Go ahead is good," said John, "but first make sure that you are right."

            Again the young lady labored with the instrument, and again John asked what she was giving him.

            "'The Bridal March,' from Wagner's 'Lohengrin,'" said the mother; "you have doubtless heard of Richard Wagner, his 'Tannheuser' and other great successes?"

            "Well, I like anything about bridals, saddles and the like, but I don't recollect Richard Wagner and his tan-house, though I once knowed old Sam Wagner, who run a tan-yard.  But I say, how is she on a Washboard Solo?"

            "Washboard Solo?" cried the mother.  "I don't know what you mean, sir!" 

            "I mean, does she ever happen to hit the washboard a lick?"

            The young lady left the piano and waltzed out of the room.

            "Sir!" cried the mother, rising from her seat and assuming a [? type illegible] attitude.

            The young man also arose, and it appearing to him that for some reason things were becoming slightly frigid, he hastily took his departure, saying to himself: "It must have been the washboard that brought them all up standing. I ought to have waited a while before getting down to solid business."

THE MAGNETIC HEALER.

            Just here the lion in Hans Tuegendspiegel arose from his chair and began to roar, "Vot is dot; vot is dot you told me?" cried he.

            "I'm a magnetic healer, sir," said a seedy-looking fellow with lanky hair that reached down to the greasy collar of a long, stained and faded coat, the tail of which in turn reached down to the tops of his dilapidated boots.  "I do things by the laying on of hands."

            "Der Teufel!" cried Hans, "you don't got a pottle of schlops you vant to schwap off for a pottle of beer, is it?"

            "You've probably heard of healers — of men with the gift of laying on of hands?"

            "Don'd you lay hands on dat pottles or anydings else about dis Greune Ganse!"

            "You don't understand me.  I heal the sick and do all kinds of wonders by the laying on of hands.  Now, in less than three weeks I could bring your head up from between your shoulders; give you about six inches of neck and a full head of hair.  I'm a man of magnetic impulses!" and the fellow reached over the bar and tried to get his bony right hand upon the top of Hans's head, where sixteen good, healthy hairs were still trying to "occupy the land."

                Hans Tuegendspiegel drew back in disgust, then rolling round from behind his bar with face aflame he cried : "Man of magnetic impulses, git!  You lay on der hand but I lay on der boot of size No. 11!  Take you dot now!" and Hans caused the dust to fly out of the fellow's coat-tail.

            As the healer waltzed out of the door of the Green Goose, Hans mopped the top of his head and turning to the body of the house cried : "Es geht nichts ueber Gesundheit, but bei meiner Soele, Ich wolte lieber sterben als haf der Scherke mein Kopf touch!"  Which outburst may be translated as follows : There is nothing like good health, but upon my soul I would rather die than have the rascal touch my head.

            "Evidently a fellow who is on hell's pay-roll!" said Captain Jim, then looking admiringly upon Hans, he cried:

                                    "From the bleak coast that hears

                                    The German Ocean roar, deep blooming, strong,

                                    And yellow-haired, the blue-eyed Saxon came!"

            Hans retired behind his bar where, after a spell of sullen roaring, the lion within him lashed itself into quiet.  Presently he arose from the chair where he had seated himself to blow and recuperate after his little episode with the magnetic healer, poured out a glass of wine and marching to the table occupied by Captain Jim placed the beverage before him with : "Keste 'mal das!" — taste that.

            "Ah, ha! Ah, ha!" cried the Captain, holding the glass to the light, and clearing his throat he chanted forth :

                                    "If tipple you must in beer, spirit or wine,

                                    There are wholesome vintages hail from the Rhine.

                                    Take the advice of a fellow who knows,

                                    Hocheimer's as gentle as any that goes."

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THE LAST PROCESSION OF THE ARGONAUTS.

            During the foregoing conversations and passages at arms, there entered the Green Goose three old-timers of the Pacific Coast.  They were men in whose visages "the inaudible and noiseless foot of Time" had left its imprint, and upon whose cheeks and noses the waning Autumn of Life had not only painted the "sere and yellow," but also the ruddy leaf.  They called for a frugal repast, of which beer constituted the maximum and bread and sausage the minimum. 

            When they had cleared their plates, one of them returned thanks as follows:

                                    "Bellies full and dishes bare,

                                    Just enough and none to spare."

            One of the men, who had been glancing at a newspaper as he munched his lunch, here cried : "Ah! This reminds me of a dream I had last night," and he read aloud the following paragraph :

            We are again called upon to chronicle the death of another of the old pioneers of this coast, and also one of the old citizens of Butte, Danville Augustus Arnold. Deceased was well known in this section, where he has lived for over twenty-five years. — Chico Enterprise.

            "Alas, poor Gus! I knew him well," said one of the party. "Hardly a week now passes that a pioneer does not take his departure. But what was your dream?"

            "Give us the dream," said another.   

            "My dream was of the Pioneers of the Pacific Coast and of their departure for the shores of another land : "And the gold of that land is good ; there is bdellium and the onyx stone."  In my dream I saw many persons coming Indian file along a well-beaten trail that led down the slope of a great mountain range which I supposed to be the Sierra Nevada.  I could see far in the distance snowy peaks that stood sharp and glittering against a deep-blue sky. Below were dark belts that I knew to be forests of pine, while nearer were hills, ragged and red. Those descending the trail formed a long, straggling procession. Seldom were two seen together. Alone and with earnest and thoughtful faces they walked the winding path.  All were well advanced in years, and the gait of many was feeble and slow. But slow as was their steps, their advance was uniform with that of the others.  The ground seemed to glide beneath their feet and bring them on.

            As far as my eyes could reach along up the meandering trail toward the dark pines and snowy peaks the procession extended away, away, till the perspective, lineal and aerial, reduced them to pigmies and to shadows. What could be the meaning of this strange pilgrimage from the mountains  down toward the sea? It was an exodus solemn and awful. Who were all these sedate venerables, and whither were they so steadily plodding?

            At first all the faces I saw were unknown to me, yet had a singularly familiar look. It occurred to me that if I had not before met them, I had seen and known their brothers and all their kinsmen. As I stood and wondering gazed, I presently saw approaching a pilgrim that I knew. I had lived with him in the same mining town in the olden times; had loved him as a brother and honored him as a man. Though I called him by name, he now passed me without turning his head. No change was seen in his countenance, and he seemed not to have heard my voice. His gaze was fixed and forward.

            While I thus stood, others appeared that I well knew.  All were old-time miners, and one had been my partner in the mountains.  Far up behind banks of everlasting snow we had watched by the same camp-fire and slept under the same blankets. Him I called by name, feeling sure that he would halt and tell me whither he was journeying — would tell me the meaning of this unusual migration towards the great ocean and the setting sun. But he, too, passed in silence and without any change of expression that told of my voice having reached his ears. "Can it be possible," said I to myself, "that some now and wonderful golden region has been discovered, the fame of which has set in motion all these gold diggers of the olden days?"

            As I thus soliloquized, I became aware that I had imperceptibly moved downward in the direction in which the procession was winding along, although I had not taken a step, it was as if the ground on which I stood had gently glided forward.

            Lifting my eyes and looking in the direction in which the gaze of all in the procession seemed fixed, I found myself standing beside a great precipice. At the brink of this abruptly ended the path along which moved the silent, straggling train.  All below was dark as night, and darkness as a mist rolled up against the precipice, often surging over and hiding its brink. Thus it happened that not a few pilgrim pioneers, unaware of what was before them, without change of gait or alteration of mien, strode onward and were suddenly engulphed in the rolling billows of darkness.  Their forms dissolved and mingled with the mist.  Others apparently saw at the last moment where another step would convey them and drew back in alarm, but soon composing their features to their former placidity, they boldly moved on and in an instant had taken the plunge into the dark, undiscoverable profound.

            Such as were still moving forward on the path appeared to neither observe nor heed the sudden disappearance of those who had a moment before walked in advance; composedly they continued on their way until they in turn dropped out of sight. Looking backward toward the now dimly discernible mountains, I saw that some in the ranks of the pilgrims occasionally made little excursions from the path, but always came back to it at a lower point. All their steps, move as they might, ever tended downward to the point of final departure into the gloom. I observed that some very aged and feeble men carried with them bundles of blankets and mining tools, which did not fall from their hands until they took their last stop and became of the mist.

            Turning my face in the direction in which all were gazing, and looking long and searchingly over a vast expanse which seemed a sea — yet more a sea of air and a gray and silvery haze than of water — I was presently able to make out, dimly and at a great distance, a golden shore that seemed to lift and shift as do objects seen in a mirage. In a wavering and quivering light that hung above the far-away shore, I caught a glimpse of domes, spires and a glittering world beyond all; but the whole was so veiled by the gray intervening haze that I could only see these wonders transiently and dimly. It was much as at sea are seen the sails and masts of vessels over and through banks of rolling vapors.

            Turning again toward the path leading down from the mountains, I saw approaching the precipice a figure that seemed strangely familiar to me. I said to myself : "Here marches down another old acquaintance to take the final plunge." Great was my awe as the pilgrim drew near to see in him myself. It was just as if I had been standing before a tall mirror. Even as I gazed I saw myself step by step moving down toward the dark gulf. I struck my clenched hand against my breast and cried aloud:  "My God! I shall soon go over!"  With this cry I awoke.

A MIGHTY PHILANTHROPIST AND REFORMER.

            Professor Holzkopf had arrived during the time the Argonaut was relating his dream.  He was now about taking a glass of Hocheimer with Captain Jim, and in view of the surprise he was going to give his stomach thought the occasion worthy of being dignified by the giving of a toast.  "I gif you," said he, "the toast of mein oldt freund, Professor Teufelsdroeckle of Weisenichtwe, in my native land. 'Die sache der Armen in Gottes' und Teufel's Namen.'  (The cause of the poor, in God's name and the devil's.) 

            "I'll drown my liver and wine-log my lungs in drinking to that.  It not only hits the nail on the head, but drives it home," and Captain Jim elevated his glass and poured his libation.  "But Professor," added he as he replaced his glass, "but, Professor, we should also include the weak, wounded and afflicted of every class."

            "Dot is so, Captain.  The wealthy often suffer from tortures of vich de poor —"

            "Quite correct, Professor.  The majority of our professional philanthropists, however, are so much enamored of their pet theories, that in the elaboration and promulgation of them, they never descend to a practical application of any of their schemes.  They die and no work of theirs has seen the light, nothing has been put forth but the catarrhal drivelings of their sappy brains.

            "Now a case in point : Not long since, when East on business connected with my pension for services rendered during the war of 1812, I visited New York. On Broadway I saw a man lying wounded on the street — a dairyman, I think. One of your long-haired professional philanthropists who soar above the world on the wings of their egotism came up. He was asked to assist in caring for the injured man. It was thought to be a case of the kind for which his soul was searching. No; to take care of the man was a thing on altogether too small a scale for him. Any one standing by could take care of the man — could attend to a case like that. He was one of those who only work on great masses —wholesale philanthropists; men who never descend to do anything in the retail way in their line. So the giant, the Jupiter of philanthropy, strode away — perhaps to some lecture-room to fire his philanthropy at whole platoons and regiments of his race."

            "Dot vos remind me, Captain, of de man dot gone down from Jerusalem to Jerico und falled among theifs; und dot priest look on him und pass on; und dot Levide look on him und pass on; but der good Samari —"

            Yes, we know. Don't interrupt me, Professor — we know all about that. They also had some giant philanthropists in those days — men "who only put forth their powers on great masses and in the sight of many people."

            More in sorrow than in anger at the rebuff he had received, Professor Holzkopf arose and took his departure.

            At once beckoning me over to his table, Captain Jim waved his right thumb in the direction taken by the Professor and said. "Senility overhauling the mouldy lumber in his upper story."

            "You do not treat the Professor as considerately as you should, Captain, He is a genial and kind-hearted old gentleman and is not unlearned."

            "Bah! A whole continent of ignorance hanging onto the social world by a mere isthmus of knowledge."

            "He does not seek to display what he knows or he might cut a more considerable figure in the world."

            "Just what I blame him for. Why don't he take Time and the Fates by their forelocks, twist the tail of Cerberus and wrench off the hinges of Hades ?"

            "His is a more sober gait."       

            "And as likely to win in any known kind of race as that of a snail. Ask him even the simplest question, and he considers and shakes his head till the three or four ideas contained in it are tumbled all in a heap. It is true, however, that he has some little sense.  He even has some sporadic passages of brilliancy, in which he says "yes" and "no" with as much eclat as could be commanded by a Webster or a Choate."

            Here Hans made his approach, wine bottle in hand, piping forth — 

                                    "Die Kirschen sind schwartz und roth,

                                    Ich lieb mein Schatz bis in den Tod!"

            "Ah, ha!" cried Captain Jim — "Ah, ha! — 'deep blooming, strong and yellow-haired, the blue-eyed Saxon came!' and 'Hocheimer's as gentle as any that goes!'" 

            When Hans Tuegendspiegel again retired behind his bar he rubbed the top of his head for a time, as if to make sure that the sixteen hairs were still intact, and then repeated to himself in a low, chuckling voice — "Man of magnedig imbulses!"

            From another part of the room was now heard the following bit of sage counsel, given by a Teuton to a pilgrim from over the plains, who probably had fourteen dollars that he thought of putting into stocks:

                                    "Buy ven at de bottom;

                                    At the top prices,

                                    Take mein advices

                                    And don't you got 'em."

            It was now near the "witching hour," and Hans was beginning to "speed" his departing guests "mid a night-cap" and a "gute nacht."

            Captain Jim took his leaving singing —

                                    "'Good night,' says Harry;

                                    'Good night,' says Mary;

                                    'Good night,' says Dolly to John;

                                    'Good night,' says Sue

                                    To her sweetheart Hugh;

                                    'Good night,' says every one.”