“The Man That Corrupted Hadleyburg” is written in a snarky and satirical tone: as the citizens of Hadleyburg double down on their reputation for honesty, Twain (and the world around Hadleyburg, in the story) takes considerable delight in watching it all fall apart. At times, the tone becomes more blatantly scathing, as when Jack Halliday remarks on the state of the town:
When Halliday found the duplicate ecstasy in the face of “Shadbelly” Billson (village nickname), he was sure some neighbor of Billson’s had broken his leg, but inquiry showed that this had not happened. The subdued ecstasy in Gregory Yates’s face could mean but one thing—he was a mother-in-law short: it was another mistake. “And Pinkerton—Pinkerton—he has collected ten cents that he thought he was going to lose.” And so on, and so on…
Halliday's observations gloss over the moral decrepitude of Hadleyburg's citizens with humor—the ridiculously skewed moral compasses of the Nineteen are a source of tremendous irony and entertainment, even as they disgrace themselves in the vain hope of claiming the town's mysterious sack of gold.
By the end of the story, however, Twain's tone shifts toward a grim sincerity. After the eighteen of the Nineteen have been ruined by the scandal with the sack, Edward Richards—the sole member of the Nineteen to emerge unscathed, after Reverend Burgess refuses to reveal him before the assembly—dies from the stress of living under constant threat of being discovered as a fraud. As Richard dies, he unwittingly reveals the role he had played years earlier in protecting Burgess from the town:
Burgess's impassioned protestations fell upon deaf ears; the dying man passed away without knowing that once more he had done poor Burgess a wrong. The old wife died that night.
The last of the sacred Nineteen had fallen a prey to the fiendish sack; the town was stripped of the last rag of its ancient glory. Its mourning was not showy, but it was deep.
In the closing moments of Twain's tale, the author no longer winks at Hadleyburg's fate, and the reader may appreciate the deadly toll that a true moral reckoning can take. The town may have won back its honesty through dramatic discrediting of its prominent Nineteen, but nineteen lives have still been ruined in the process—and Hadleyburg must change its name to protect itself.
“The Man That Corrupted Hadleyburg” is written in a snarky and satirical tone: as the citizens of Hadleyburg double down on their reputation for honesty, Twain (and the world around Hadleyburg, in the story) takes considerable delight in watching it all fall apart. At times, the tone becomes more blatantly scathing, as when Jack Halliday remarks on the state of the town:
When Halliday found the duplicate ecstasy in the face of “Shadbelly” Billson (village nickname), he was sure some neighbor of Billson’s had broken his leg, but inquiry showed that this had not happened. The subdued ecstasy in Gregory Yates’s face could mean but one thing—he was a mother-in-law short: it was another mistake. “And Pinkerton—Pinkerton—he has collected ten cents that he thought he was going to lose.” And so on, and so on…
Halliday's observations gloss over the moral decrepitude of Hadleyburg's citizens with humor—the ridiculously skewed moral compasses of the Nineteen are a source of tremendous irony and entertainment, even as they disgrace themselves in the vain hope of claiming the town's mysterious sack of gold.
By the end of the story, however, Twain's tone shifts toward a grim sincerity. After the eighteen of the Nineteen have been ruined by the scandal with the sack, Edward Richards—the sole member of the Nineteen to emerge unscathed, after Reverend Burgess refuses to reveal him before the assembly—dies from the stress of living under constant threat of being discovered as a fraud. As Richard dies, he unwittingly reveals the role he had played years earlier in protecting Burgess from the town:
Burgess's impassioned protestations fell upon deaf ears; the dying man passed away without knowing that once more he had done poor Burgess a wrong. The old wife died that night.
The last of the sacred Nineteen had fallen a prey to the fiendish sack; the town was stripped of the last rag of its ancient glory. Its mourning was not showy, but it was deep.
In the closing moments of Twain's tale, the author no longer winks at Hadleyburg's fate, and the reader may appreciate the deadly toll that a true moral reckoning can take. The town may have won back its honesty through dramatic discrediting of its prominent Nineteen, but nineteen lives have still been ruined in the process—and Hadleyburg must change its name to protect itself.
