On the Ocean Shore. (Cont.)

After bathing one feels refreshed, and a glass of sherry is not out of place, and then you will have energy enough to examine the varied attractions here. You will see a carousel off to one side, and a capering “Punch,” and self-moving swings. There, under a fantastic rotunda on a pedestal, stands a colossal cow with golden horns. People crowd around it, and young women constantly kneel down before it. From a distance you might think that the Yankees are worshipping Apis, but coming closer you learn that the cow is actually an enormous milk reservoir, and the young women are milking milk from artificial teats for those who wish. Nearby is an American folk museum, with an admission fee of 10 cents. I have more than once been to cheap museums in America intended for the common people, and I was always especially struck by how the first thing you always see is a large wax group of the “fathers of the republic” deliberating during the signing of the “Declaration of Independence.” Perhaps this was why the names of these great and courageous patriots of the country, or, as the people usually call them, the “signers” (signers), are memorized by every street urchin. And here too stood silently these great signers of the charter of freedom, which from that time has become the goddess of the country. Among the mechanical automata I noted there the figure of Dr. Tanner. The mechanical double of the fasting doctor precisely depicts his living original on the fortieth day of his fast. Pale and emaciated, he lies on a couch and weakly fans himself with a Chinese fan. Then there are numerous curiosities which, however, can be seen in any similar museum. More curious than other things seemed to me a notebook in which visitors are invited to write their names and also give their opinion of the museum’s merits. Knowing from experience the ticklish vanity of the Yankees, I could not resist, for fun, touching this weak string and wrote that the museum had “many curious things never seen by me in my native Russia.” Without doubt, the Yankee will more than once smile smugly reading this opinion. Next to the museum various other purveyors of popular amusements have set up. For five cents you can give a heavy hammer blow to an anvil, and it will show the force of your strike. Here too is rifle shooting at a target, and to the side a Native American Indian stands and offers for a cent the chance to test your accuracy with a Native bow, and he himself, by way of attraction, constantly pierces with an arrow the figure of a hated “white man” serving as the target. Further, an entire row of figures depicting various nationalities, and you can, depending on your antipathy, knock the head off a Chinese man, a Turk, a German, etc., and for every accurate hit receive a ticket for a free bottle of beer at a neighboring restaurant.

Americans are extraordinarily fond of all kinds of exercises where one can show strength or dexterity. In one place there was particularly lively ball-throwing at a target. Expecting to find something especially interesting there, I came closer, but at first glance there was nothing special. A stout Yankee in a straw hat with very broad brim stood shouting, “Three balls for five cents! A cigar for an accurate hit!” and fellow Yankees kept taking balls and throwing them at a target. The target was a Negro’s head sticking out through white cloth. Thinking it was a mechanical head, I was already about to leave when I suddenly noticed with astonishment that after one particularly accurate hit the eyes of the head blinked strongly and the lips showed a row of white teeth. I looked more closely and could not believe my eyes. It was the unfortunate head of a living Negro! I went around back and saw that behind the cloth a small chair was arranged, on which the unfortunate Negro sat and thrust his head out through the hole in the cloth to his shame and suffering. Never before had I witnessed such humiliation of human dignity. And this in the celebrated land of freedom, in the land of the Declaration of Human Rights! O Freedom! Bitter irony—yours is the true name! And the Yankee keeps shouting, his cruel, inhuman fellow countrymen keep throwing balls at the unfortunate head, and the wretched head only keeps blinking and spitting tobacco juice. Revolting spectacle!

Soon, however, night fell and doubtless put an end to the shame and suffering of the unfortunate “colored gentleman,” but of course only until tomorrow. On the deep dark sky stars began to sparkle, and from the mysterious depths of the ocean emerged the fiery orb of the moon. The shore was enveloped in night’s darkness—but only for a few moments. As soon as the moon rose above the water, immediately the entire shore was illuminated by the light of electric suns and gas stars. Day broke again, but a fantastic day—with an entire constellation of suns, and before them the moon paled and the stars in the sky went out. Three suns blazed directly over the bathing place, and under their magical rays continued to swarm, shout, and splash fantastic figures of male and female bathing enthusiasts.

The ocean train transported me again to the iron pier and the centennial tower. The tower rose as a column of fire toward the sky, while the iron pier vanished in the ocean like a blazing broom. The paddle steamer, decorated with multicolored lights, gave its whistle to depart, and I hurried to take my place. The steamer rushed into the dark depths of the ocean, while behind us the entire shore merged into a solid blazing glow. On deck, meanwhile, among the mass of cheerful passengers, songs were heard. On the left side the Yankees grouped together and struck up their song about the “deep blue sea”; while on the right a group of Frenchmen pressed to the rail and sang some native song, which elicited applause from the public. The Yankees took offense and started competing, choosing a more energetic melody. Then the Frenchmen rose from their seats and, forming a circle, thundered out the Marseillaise, whose courageous melody fortunately coincided with strong and resonant voices and completely drowned out the Yankee’s bleating chorus. In opposition to the Marseillaise the Yankees once more struck up the most national of American hymns, “Yankee Doodle rode into town on a little pony”; but the Frenchmen had completely won the public’s attention, and the Yankee chorus retreated, to the great pleasure of the Frenchmen, who could not refrain from shouting “Vive la republique francaise!” Then the victors fell into complete rapture and for the whole journey entertained the public with selected songs from their native repertoire. And in the sky again the stars shone brightly and the magnificent golden moon floated serenely, and in the distance the lights on the waterfront of the sleeping capital were already visible.

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