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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:20:43 -0700 |
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diff --git a/3195-h/3195-h.htm b/3195-h/3195-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..269563d --- /dev/null +++ b/3195-h/3195-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,9431 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Mark Twain's Letters 1876-1885, by Mark Twain + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd7; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Letters Of Mark Twain, Volume 3, +1876-1885, by Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens) + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Letters Of Mark Twain, Volume 3, 1876-1885 + +Author: Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens) + +Release Date: August 21, 2006 [EBook #3195] +Last Updated: February 24, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TWAIN LETTERS, VOL. 3 *** + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + MARK TWAIN'S LETTERS 1876-1885 + </h1> + <h2> + VOLUME III. + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Mark Twain + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h3> + ARRANGED WITH COMMENT <br /> BY ALBERT BIGELOW PAINE + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + Contents + </h2> + <table summary=""> + <tr> + <td> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>XVI.</b><br /> LETTERS, 1876, CHIEFLY TO + W. D. HOWELLS. LITERATURE AND POLITICS. PLANNING A PLAY WITH BRET + HARTE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> <b>XVII.</b><br /> LETTERS, 1877. TO + BERMUDA WITH TWICHELL. PROPOSITION TO TH. NAST. THE WHITTIER DINNER. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> <b>XVIII.</b><br /> LETTERS FROM EUROPE, + 1878-79. TRAMPING WITH TWICHELL. WRITING A NEW TRAVEL BOOK. LIFE IN + MUNICH. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> <b>XIX.</b><br /> LETTERS 1879. RETURN TO + AMERICA. THE GREAT GRANT REUNION </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> <b>XX.</b><br /> LETTERS OF 1880, CHIEFLY + TO HOWELLS. “THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER.” MARK TWAIN + MUGWUMP SOCIETY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> <b>XXI.</b><br /> LETTERS 1881, TO HOWELLS + AND OTHERS. ASSISTING A YOUNG SCULPTOR. LITERARY PLANS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> <b>XXII.</b><br /> LETTERS, 1882, MAINLY TO + HOWELLS. WASTED FURY. OLD SCENES REVISITED. THE MISSISSIPPI BOOK. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> <b>XXIII.</b><br /> LETTERS, 1883, TO + HOWELLS AND OTHERS. A GUEST OF THE MARQUIS OF LORNE. THE HISTORY + GAME. A PLAY BY HOWELLS AND MARK TWAIN. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> <b>XXIV.</b><br /> LETTERS, 1884, TO + HOWELLS AND OTHERS. CABLE'S GREAT APRIL FOOL. “HUCK FINN” + IN PRESS. MARK TWAIN FOR CLEVELAND. CLEMENS AND CABLE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> <b>XXV.</b><br /> THE GREAT YEAR OF 1885. + CLEMENS AND CABLE. PUBLICATION OF “HUCK </a> + </p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + XVI. LETTERS, 1876, CHIEFLY TO W. D. HOWELLS. LITERATURE AND POLITICS. + PLANNING A PLAY WITH BRET HARTE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The Monday Evening Club of Hartford was an association of most of + the literary talent of that city, and it included a number of very + distinguished members. The writers, the editors, the lawyers, and + the ministers of the gospel who composed it were more often than not + men of national or international distinction. There was but one + paper at each meeting, and it was likely to be a paper that would + later find its way into some magazine. + + Naturally Mark Twain was one of its favorite members, and his + contributions never failed to arouse interest and discussion. A + “Mark Twain night” brought out every member. In the next letter we + find the first mention of one of his most memorable contributions—a + story of one of life's moral aspects. The tale, now included in his + collected works, is, for some reason, little read to-day; yet the + curious allegory, so vivid in its seeming reality, is well worth + consideration. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To W. D. Howells, in Boston: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + HARTFORD, Jan. 11, '76. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR HOWELLS,—Indeed we haven't forgotten the Howellses, + nor scored up a grudge of any kind against them; but the fact is I was + under the doctor's hands for four weeks on a stretch and have been + disabled from working for a week or so beside. I thought I was well, about + ten days ago, so I sent for a short-hand writer and dictated answers to a + bushel or so of letters that had been accumulating during my illness. + Getting everything shipshape and cleared up, I went to work next day upon + an Atlantic article, which ought to be worth $20 per page (which is the + price they usually pay for my work, I believe) for although it is only 70 + pages MS (less than two days work, counting by bulk,) I have spent 3 more + days trimming, altering and working at it. I shall put in one more day's + polishing on it, and then read it before our Club, which is to meet at our + house Monday evening, the 24th inst. I think it will bring out + considerable discussion among the gentlemen of the Club—though the + title of the article will not give them much notion of what is to follow,—this + title being “The Facts Concerning the Recent Carnival of Crime in + Connecticut”—which reminds me that today's Tribune says + there will be a startling article in the current Atlantic, in which a + being which is tangible bud invisible will figure-exactly the case with + the sketch of mine which I am talking about! However, mine can lie + unpublished a year or two as well as not—though I wish that + contributor of yours had not interfered with his coincidence of heroes. + </p> + <p> + But what I am coming at, is this: won't you and Mrs. Howells come + down Saturday the 22nd and remain to the Club on Monday night? We always + have a rattling good time at the Club and we do want you to come, ever so + much. Will you? Now say you will. Mrs. Clemens and I are persuading + ourselves that you twain will come. + </p> + <p> + My volume of sketches is doing very well, considering the times; received + my quarterly statement today from Bliss, by which I perceive that 20,000 + copies have been sold—or rather, 20,000 had been sold 3 weeks ago; a + lot more, by this time, no doubt. + </p> + <p> + I am on the sick list again—and was, day before yesterday—but + on the whole I am getting along. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Yrs ever + MARK +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Howells wrote that he could not come down to the club meeting, + adding that sickness was “quite out of character” for Mark Twain, + and hardly fair on a man who had made so many other people feel + well. He closed by urging that Bliss “hurry out” 'Tom Sawyer.' + “That boy is going to make a prodigious hit.” Clemens answered: +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To W. D. Howells, in Boston. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + HARTFORD, Jan. 18, '76. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR HOWELLS,—Thanks, and ever so many, for the good opinion of + 'Tom Sawyer.' Williams has made about 300 rattling pictures + for it—some of them very dainty. Poor devil, what a genius he has + and how he does murder it with rum. He takes a book of mine, and without + suggestion from anybody builds no end of pictures just from his reading of + it. + </p> + <p> + There was never a man in the world so grateful to another as I was to you + day before yesterday, when I sat down (in still rather wretched health) to + set myself to the dreary and hateful task of making final revision of Tom + Sawyer, and discovered, upon opening the package of MS that your pencil + marks were scattered all along. This was splendid, and swept away all + labor. Instead of reading the MS, I simply hunted out the pencil marks and + made the emendations which they suggested. I reduced the boy battle to a + curt paragraph; I finally concluded to cut the Sunday school speech down + to the first two sentences, leaving no suggestion of satire, since the + book is to be for boys and girls; I tamed the various obscenities until I + judged that they no longer carried offense. So, at a single sitting I + began and finished a revision which I had supposed would occupy 3 or 4. + days and leave me mentally and physically fagged out at the end. I was + careful not to inflict the MS upon you until I had thoroughly and + painstakingly revised it. Therefore, the only faults left were those that + would discover themselves to others, not me—and these you had + pointed out. + </p> + <p> + There was one expression which perhaps you overlooked. When Huck is + complaining to Tom of the rigorous system in vogue at the widow's, + he says the servants harass him with all manner of compulsory decencies, + and he winds up by saying: “and they comb me all to hell.” (No + exclamation point.) Long ago, when I read that to Mrs. Clemens, she made + no comment; another time I created occasion to read that chapter to her + aunt and her mother (both sensitive and loyal subjects of the kingdom of + heaven, so to speak) and they let it pass. I was glad, for it was the most + natural remark in the world for that boy to make (and he had been allowed + few privileges of speech in the book;) when I saw that you, too, had let + it go without protest, I was glad, and afraid; too—afraid you hadn't + observed it. Did you? And did you question the propriety of it? Since the + book is now professedly and confessedly a boy's and girl's + hook, that darn word bothers me some, nights, but it never did until I had + ceased to regard the volume as being for adults. + </p> + <p> + Don't bother to answer now, (for you've writing enough to do + without allowing me to add to the burden,) but tell me when you see me + again! + </p> + <p> + Which we do hope will be next Saturday or Sunday or Monday. Couldn't + you come now and mull over the alterations which you are going to make in + your MS, and make them after you go back? Wouldn't it assist the + work if you dropped out of harness and routine for a day or two and have + that sort of revivification which comes of a holiday-forgetfulness of the + work-shop? I can always work after I've been to your house; and if + you will come to mine, now, and hear the club toot their various horns + over the exasperating metaphysical question which I mean to lay before + them in the disguise of a literary extravaganza, it would just brace you + up like a cordial. + </p> + <p> + (I feel sort of mean trying to persuade a man to put down a critical piece + of work at a critical time, but yet I am honest in thinking it would not + hurt the work nor impair your interest in it to come under the + circumstances.) Mrs. Clemens says, “Maybe the Howellses could come + Monday if they cannot come Saturday; ask them; it is worth trying.” + Well, how's that? Could you? It would be splendid if you could. Drop + me a postal card—I should have a twinge of conscience if I forced + you to write a letter, (I am honest about that,)—and if you find you + can't make out to come, tell me that you bodies will come the next + Saturday if the thing is possible, and stay over Sunday. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Yrs ever + MARK. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Howells, however, did not come to the club meeting, but promised to + come soon when they could have a quiet time to themselves together. + As to Huck's language, he declared: + + “I'd have that swearing out in an instant. I suppose I didn't + notice it because the locution was so familiar to my Western sense, + and so exactly the thing that Huck would say.” Clemens changed the + phrase to, “They comb me all to thunder,” and so it stands to-day. + + The “Carnival of Crime,” having served its purpose at the club, + found quick acceptance by Howells for the Atlantic. He was so + pleased with it, in fact, that somewhat later he wrote, urging that + its author allow it to be printed in a dainty book, by Osgood, who + made a specialty of fine publishing. Meantime Howells had written + his Atlantic notice of Tom Sawyer, and now inclosed Clemens a proof + of it. We may judge from the reply that it was satisfactory. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To W. D. Howells, in Boston: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Apl 3, '76. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR HOWELLS,—It is a splendid notice and will embolden + weak-kneed journalistic admirers to speak out, and will modify or shut up + the unfriendly. To “fear God and dread the Sunday school” + exactly described that old feeling which I used to have, but I couldn't + have formulated it. I want to enclose one of the illustrations in this + letter, if I do not forget it. Of course the book is to be elaborately + illustrated, and I think that many of the pictures are considerably above + the American average, in conception if not in execution. + </p> + <p> + I do not re-enclose your review to you, for you have evidently read and + corrected it, and so I judge you do not need it. About two days after the + Atlantic issues I mean to begin to send books to principal journals and + magazines. + </p> + <p> + I read the “Carnival of Crime” proof in New York when worn and + witless and so left some things unamended which I might possibly have + altered had I been at home. For instance, “I shall always address + you in your own S-n-i-v-e-l-i-n-g d-r-a-w-l, baby.” I saw that you + objected to something there, but I did not understand what! Was it that it + was too personal? Should the language be altered?—or the hyphens + taken out? Won't you please fix it the way it ought to be, altering + the language as you choose, only making it bitter and contemptuous? + </p> + <p> + “Deuced” was not strong enough; so I met you halfway with + “devilish.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Clemens has returned from New York with dreadful sore throat, and + bones racked with rheumatism. She keeps her bed. “Aloha nui!” + as the Kanakas say. MARK. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Henry Irving once said to Mark Twain: “You made a mistake by not + adopting the stage as a profession. You would have made even a + greater actor than a writer.” + + Mark Twain would have made an actor, certainly, but not a very + tractable one. His appearance in Hartford in “The Loan of a Lover” + was a distinguished event, and his success complete, though he made + so many extemporaneous improvements on the lines of thick-headed + Peter Spuyk, that he kept the other actors guessing as to their + cues, and nearly broke up the performance. It was, of course, an + amateur benefit, though Augustin Daly promptly wrote, offering to + put it on for a long run. + + The “skeleton novelette” mentioned in the next letter refers to a + plan concocted by Howells and Clemens, by which each of twelve + authors was to write a story, using the same plot, “blindfolded” as + to what the others had written. It was a regular “Mark Twain” + notion, and it is hard to-day to imagine Howells's continued + enthusiasm in it. Neither he nor Clemens gave up the idea for a + long time. It appears in their letters again and again, though + perhaps it was just as well for literature that it was never carried + out. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To W. D. Howells, in Boston: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Apl. 22, 1876. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR HOWELLS, You'll see per enclosed slip that I appear for the + first time on the stage next Wednesday. You and Mrs. H. come down and you + shall skip in free. + </p> + <p> + I wrote my skeleton novelette yesterday and today. It will make a little + under 12 pages. + </p> + <p> + Please tell Aldrich I've got a photographer engaged, and tri-weekly + issue is about to begin. Show him the canvassing specimens and beseech him + to subscribe. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Ever yours, + S. L. C. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In his next letter Mark Twain explains why Tom Sawyer is not to + appear as soon as planned. The reference to “The Literary + Nightmare” refers to the “Punch, Conductor, Punch with Care” sketch, + which had recently appeared in the Atlantic. Many other versifiers + had had their turn at horse-car poetry, and now a publisher was + anxious to collect it in a book, provided he could use the Atlantic + sketch. Clemens does not tell us here the nature of Carlton's + insult, forgiveness of which he was not yet qualified to grant, but + there are at least two stories about it, or two halves of the same + incident, as related afterward by Clemens and Canton. Clemens said + that when he took the Jumping Frog book to Carlton, in 1867, the + latter, pointing to his stock, said, rather scornfully: “Books? + I don't want your book; my shelves are full of books now,” though + the reader may remember that it was Carlton himself who had given + the frog story to the Saturday Press and had seen it become famous. + Carlton's half of the story was that he did not accept Mark Twain's + book because the author looked so disreputable. Long afterward, + when the two men met in Europe, the publisher said to the now rich + and famous author: “Mr. Clemens, my one claim on immortality is that + I declined your first book.” + </pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To W. D. Howells, in Boston: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + HARTFORD, Apl. 25, 1876 +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR HOWELLS,—Thanks for giving me the place of honor. + </p> + <p> + Bliss made a failure in the matter of getting Tom Sawyer ready on time—the + engravers assisting, as usual. I went down to see how much of a delay + there was going to be, and found that the man had not even put a canvasser + on, or issued an advertisement yet—in fact, that the electrotypes + would not all be done for a month! But of course the main fact was that no + canvassing had been done—because a subscription harvest is before + publication, (not after, when people have discovered how bad one's + book is.) + </p> + <p> + Well, yesterday I put in the Courant an editorial paragraph stating that + Tam Sawyer is “ready to issue, but publication is put off in order + to secure English copyright by simultaneous publication there and here. + The English edition is unavoidably delayed.” + </p> + <p> + You see, part of that is true. Very well. When I observed that my “Sketches” + had dropped from a sale of 6 or 7000 a month down to 1200 a month, I said + “this ain't no time to be publishing books; therefore, let Tom + lie still till Autumn, Mr. Bliss, and make a holiday book of him to + beguile the young people withal.” + </p> + <p> + I shall print items occasionally, still further delaying Tom, till I ease + him down to Autumn without shock to the waiting world. + </p> + <p> + As to that “Literary Nightmare” proposition. I'm obliged + to withhold consent, for what seems a good reason—to wit: A single + page of horse-car poetry is all that the average reader can stand, without + nausea; now, to stack together all of it that has been written, and then + add it to my article would be to enrage and disgust each and every reader + and win the deathless enmity of the lot. + </p> + <p> + Even if that reason were insufficient, there would still be a sufficient + reason left, in the fact that Mr. Carlton seems to be the publisher of the + magazine in which it is proposed to publish this horse-car matter. Carlton + insulted me in Feb. 1867, and so when the day arrives that sees me doing + him a civility I shall feel that I am ready for Paradise, since my list of + possible and impossible forgivenesses will then be complete. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Clemens says my version of the blindfold novelette “A Murder + and A Marriage” is “good.” Pretty strong language—for + her. + </p> + <p> + The Fieldses are coming down to the play tomorrow, and they promise to get + you and Mrs. Howells to come too, but I hope you'll do nothing of + the kind if it will inconvenience you, for I'm not going to play + either strikingly bad enough or well enough to make the journey pay you. + </p> + <p> + My wife and I think of going to Boston May 7th to see Anna Dickinson's + debut on the 8th. If I find we can go, I'll try to get a stage box + and then you and Mrs. Howells must come to Parker's and go with us + to the crucifixion. + </p> + <p> + (Is that spelt right?—somehow it doesn't look right.) + </p> + <p> + With our very kindest regards to the whole family. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Yrs ever, + MARK. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The mention of Anna Dickinson, at the end of this letter, recalls a + prominent reformer and lecturer of the Civil War period. She had + begun her crusades against temperance and slavery in 1857, when she + was but fifteen years old, when her success as a speaker had been + immediate and extraordinary. Now, in this later period, at the age + of thirty-four, she aspired to the stage—unfortunately for her, as + her gifts lay elsewhere. Clemens and Howells knew Miss Dickinson, + and were anxious for the success which they hardly dared hope for. + Clemens arranged a box party. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To W. D. Howells, in Boston: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + May 4, '76. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR HOWELLS,—I shall reach Boston on Monday the 8th, either at + 4:30 p.m. or 6 p.m. (Which is best?) and go straight to Parker's. If + you and Mrs. Howells cannot be there by half past 4, I'll not plan + to arrive till the later train-time (6,) because I don't want to be + there alone—even a minute. Still, Joe Twichell will doubtless go + with me (forgot that,) he is going to try hard to. Mrs. Clemens has given + up going, because Susy is just recovering from about the savagest assault + of diphtheria a child ever did recover from, and therefore will not be + entirely her healthy self again by the 8th. + </p> + <p> + Would you and Mrs. Howells like to invite Mr. and Mrs. Aldrich? I have a + large proscenium box—plenty of room. Use your own pleasure about it—I + mainly (that is honest,) suggest it because I am seeking to make matters + pleasant for you and Mrs. Howells. I invited Twichell because I thought I + knew you'd like that. I want you to fix it so that you and the Madam + can remain in Boston all night; for I leave next day and we can't + have a talk, otherwise. I am going to get two rooms and a parlor; and + would like to know what you decide about the Aldriches, so as to know + whether to apply for an additional bedroom or not. + </p> + <p> + Don't dine that evening, for I shall arrive dinnerless and need your + help. + </p> + <p> + I'll bring my Blindfold Novelette, but shan't exhibit it + unless you exhibit yours. You would simply go to work and write a + novelette that would make mine sick. Because you would know all about + where my weak points lay. No, Sir, I'm one of these old wary birds! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Don't bother to write a letter—3 lines on a postal card is all that I +can permit from a busy man. Yrs ever + MARK. +</pre> + <p> + P. S. Good! You'll not have to feel any call to mention that debut + in the Atlantic—they've made me pay the grand cash for my box!—a + thing which most managers would be too worldly-wise to do, with + journalistic folks. But I'm most honestly glad, for I'd rather + pay three prices, any time, than to have my tongue half paralyzed with a + dead-head ticket. + </p> + <p> + Hang that Anna Dickinson, a body can never depend upon her debuts! She has + made five or six false starts already. If she fails to debut this time, I + will never bet on her again. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In his book, My Mark Twain, Howells refers to the “tragedy” of Miss + Dickinson's appearance. She was the author of numerous plays, some + of which were successful, but her career as an actress was never + brilliant. + + At Elmira that summer the Clemenses heard from their good friend + Doctor Brown, of Edinburgh, and sent eager replies. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To Dr. John Brown, in Edinburgh: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ELMIRA, NEW YORK, U. S. June 22, 1876. +</pre> + <p> + DEAR FRIEND THE DOCTOR,—It was a perfect delight to see the + well-known handwriting again! But we so grieve to know that you are + feeling miserable. It must not last—it cannot last. The regal summer + is come and it will smile you into high good cheer; it will charm away + your pains, it will banish your distresses. I wish you were here, to spend + the summer with us. We are perched on a hill-top that overlooks a little + world of green valleys, shining rivers, sumptuous forests and billowy + uplands veiled in the haze of distance. We have no neighbors. It is the + quietest of all quiet places, and we are hermits that eschew caves and + live in the sun. Doctor, if you'd only come! + </p> + <p> + I will carry your letter to Mrs. C. now, and there will be a glad woman, I + tell you! And she shall find one of those pictures to put in this for Mrs. + Barclays and if there isn't one here we'll send right away to + Hartford and get one. Come over, Doctor John, and bring the Barclays, the + Nicolsons and the Browns, one and all! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Affectionately, + SAML. L. CLEMENS. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + From May until August no letters appear to have passed between + Clemens and Howells; the latter finally wrote, complaining of the + lack of news. He was in the midst of campaign activities, he said, + writing a life of Hayes, and gaily added: “You know I wrote the life + of Lincoln, which elected him.” He further reported a comedy he had + completed, and gave Clemens a general stirring up as to his own + work. + + Mark Twain, in his hillside study, was busy enough. Summer was his + time for work, and he had tried his hand in various directions. His + mention of Huck Finn in his reply to Howells is interesting, in that + it shows the measure of his enthusiasm, or lack of it, as a gauge of + his ultimate achievement +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To W. D. Howells, in Boston: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ELMIRA, Aug. 9, 1876. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR HOWELLS,—I was just about to write you when your letter came—and + not one of those obscene postal cards, either, but reverently, upon paper. + </p> + <p> + I shall read that biography, though the letter of acceptance was amply + sufficient to corral my vote without any further knowledge of the man. + Which reminds me that a campaign club in Jersey City wrote a few days ago + and invited me to be present at the raising of a Tilden and Hendricks flag + there, and to take the stand and give them some “counsel.” + Well, I could not go, but gave them counsel and advice by letter, and in + the kindliest terms as to the raising of the flag—advised them + “not to raise it.” + </p> + <p> + Get your book out quick, for this is a momentous time. If Tilden is + elected I think the entire country will go pretty straight to—Mrs. + Howells's bad place. + </p> + <p> + I am infringing on your patent—I started a record of our children's + sayings, last night. Which reminds me that last week I sent down and got + Susie a vast pair of shoes of a most villainous pattern, for I discovered + that her feet were being twisted and cramped out of shape by a smaller and + prettier article. She did not complain, but looked degraded and injured. + At night her mamma gave her the usual admonition when she was about to say + her prayers—to wit: + </p> + <p> + “Now, Susie—think about God.” + </p> + <p> + “Mamma, I can't, with those shoes.” + </p> + <p> + The farm is perfectly delightful this season. It is as quiet and peaceful + as a South Sea Island. Some of the sunsets which we have witnessed from + this commanding eminence were marvelous. One evening a rainbow spanned an + entire range of hills with its mighty arch, and from a black hub resting + upon the hill-top in the exact centre, black rays diverged upward in + perfect regularity to the rainbow's arch and created a very strongly + defined and altogether the most majestic, magnificent and startling + half-sunk wagon wheel you can imagine. After that, a world of tumbling and + prodigious clouds came drifting up out of the West and took to themselves + a wonderfully rich and brilliant green color—the decided green of + new spring foliage. Close by them we saw the intense blue of the skies, + through rents in the cloud-rack, and away off in another quarter were + drifting clouds of a delicate pink color. In one place hung a pall of + dense black clouds, like compacted pitch-smoke. And the stupendous wagon + wheel was still in the supremacy of its unspeakable grandeur. So you see, + the colors present in the sky at once and the same time were blue, green, + pink, black, and the vari-colored splendors of the rainbow. All strong and + decided colors, too. I don't know whether this weird and astounding + spectacle most suggested heaven, or hell. The wonder, with its constant, + stately, and always surprising changes, lasted upwards of two hours, and + we all stood on the top of the hill by my study till the final miracle was + complete and the greatest day ended that we ever saw. + </p> + <p> + Our farmer, who is a grave man, watched that spectacle to the end, and + then observed that it was “dam funny.” + </p> + <p> + The double-barreled novel lies torpid. I found I could not go on with it. + The chapters I had written were still too new and familiar to me. I may + take it up next winter, but cannot tell yet; I waited and waited to see if + my interest in it would not revive, but gave it up a month ago and began + another boys' book—more to be at work than anything else. I + have written 400 pages on it—therefore it is very nearly half done. + It is Huck Finn's Autobiography. I like it only tolerably well, as + far as I have got, and may possibly pigeonhole or burn the MS when it is + done. + </p> + <p> + So the comedy is done, and with a “fair degree of satisfaction.” + That rejoices me, and makes me mad, too—for I can't plan a + comedy, and what have you done that God should be so good to you? I have + racked myself baldheaded trying to plan a comedy harness for some + promising characters of mine to work in, and had to give it up. It is a + noble lot of blooded stock and worth no end of money, but they must stand + in the stable and be profitless. I want to be present when the comedy is + produced and help enjoy the success. + </p> + <p> + Warner's book is mighty readable, I think. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Love to yez. + Yrs ever + MARK +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Howells promptly wrote again, urging him to enter the campaign for + Hayes. “There is not another man in this country,” he said, “who + could help him so much as you.” The “farce” which Clemens refers to + in his reply, was “The Parlor Car,” which seems to have been about + the first venture of Howells in that field. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To W. D. Howells, in Boston: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ELMIRA, August 23, 1876. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR HOWELLS,—I am glad you think I could do Hayes any good, for + I have been wanting to write a letter or make a speech to that end. I'll + be careful not to do either, however, until the opportunity comes in a + natural, justifiable and unlugged way; and shall not then do anything + unless I've got it all digested and worded just right. In which case + I might do some good—in any other I should do harm. When a humorist + ventures upon the grave concerns of life he must do his job better than + another man or he works harm to his cause. + </p> + <p> + The farce is wonderfully bright and delicious, and must make a hit. You + read it to me, and it was mighty good; I read it last night and it was + better; I read it aloud to the household this morning and it was better + than ever. So it would be worth going a long way to see it well played; + for without any question an actor of genius always adds a subtle something + to any man's work that none but the writer knew was there before. + Even if he knew it. I have heard of readers convulsing audiences with my + “Aurelia's Unfortunate Young Man.” If there is anything + really funny in the piece, the author is not aware of it. + </p> + <p> + All right—advertise me for the new volume. I send you herewith a + sketch which will make 3 pages of the Atlantic. If you like it and accept + it, you should get it into the December No. because I shall read it in + public in Boston the 13th and 14th of Nov. If it went in a month earlier + it would be too old for me to read except as old matter; and if it went in + a month later it would be too old for the Atlantic—do you see? And + if you wish to use it, will you set it up now, and send me three proofs?—one + to correct for Atlantic, one to send to Temple Bar (shall I tell them to + use it not earlier than their November No.) and one to use in practising + for my Boston readings. + </p> + <p> + We must get up a less elaborate and a much better skeleton-plan for the + Blindfold Novels and make a success of that idea. David Gray spent Sunday + here and said we could but little comprehend what a rattling stir that + thing would make in the country. He thought it would make a mighty strike. + So do I. But with only 8 pages to tell the tale in, the plot must be less + elaborate, doubtless. What do you think? + </p> + <p> + When we exchange visits I'll show you an unfinished sketch of + Elizabeth's time which shook David Gray's system up pretty + exhaustively. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Yrs ever, + MARK. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The MS. sketch mentioned in the foregoing letter was “The + Canvasser's Tale,” later included in the volume, Tom Sawyer Abroad, + and Other Stories. It is far from being Mark Twain's best work, but + was accepted and printed in the Atlantic. David Gray was an able + journalist and editor whom Mark Twain had known in Buffalo. + + The “sketch of Elizabeth's time” is a brilliant piece of writing + —an imaginary record of conversation and court manners in the good + old days of free speech and performance, phrased in the language of + the period. Gray, John Hay, Twichell, and others who had a chance + to see it thought highly of it, and Hay had it set in type and a few + proofs taken for private circulation. Some years afterward a West + Point officer had a special font of antique type made for it, and + printed a hundred copies. But the present-day reader would hardly + be willing to include “Fireside Conversation in the Time of Queen + Elizabeth” in Mark Twain's collected works. + + Clemens was a strong Republican in those days, as his letters of + this period show. His mention of the “caves” in the next is another + reference to “The Canvasser's Tale.” + </pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To W. D. Howells, in Boston: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Sept. 14, 1876. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR HOWELLS,—Yes, the collection of caves was the origin of it. + I changed it to echoes because these being invisible and intangible, + constituted a still more absurd species of property, and yet a man could + really own an echo, and sell it, too, for a high figure—such an echo + as that at the Villa Siminetti, two miles from Milan, for instance. My + first purpose was to have the man make a collection of caves and + afterwards of echoes; but perceived that the element of absurdity and + impracticability was so nearly identical as to amount to a repetition of + an idea..... + </p> + <p> + I will not, and do not, believe that there is a possibility of Hayes's + defeat, but I want the victory to be sweeping..... + </p> + <p> + It seems odd to find myself interested in an election. I never was before. + And I can't seem to get over my repugnance to reading or thinking + about politics, yet. But in truth I care little about any party's + politics—the man behind it is the important thing. + </p> + <p> + You may well know that Mrs. Clemens liked the Parlor Car—enjoyed it + ever so much, and was indignant at you all through, and kept exploding + into rages at you for pretending that such a woman ever existed—closing + each and every explosion with “But it is just what such a woman + would do.”—“It is just what such a woman would say.” + They all voted the Parlor Car perfection—except me. I said they + wouldn't have been allowed to court and quarrel there so long, + uninterrupted; but at each critical moment the odious train-boy would come + in and pile foul literature all over them four or five inches deep, and + the lover would turn his head aside and curse—and presently that + train-boy would be back again (as on all those Western roads) to take up + the literature and leave prize candy. + </p> + <p> + Of course the thing is perfect, in the magazine, without the train-boy; + but I was thinking of the stage and the groundlings. If the dainty touches + went over their heads, the train-boy and other possible interruptions + would fetch them every time. Would it mar the flow of the thing too much + to insert that devil? I thought it over a couple of hours and concluded it + wouldn't, and that he ought to be in for the sake of the groundlings + (and to get new copyright on the piece.) + </p> + <p> + And it seemed to me that now that the fourth act is so successfully + written, why not go ahead and write the 3 preceding acts? And then after + it is finished, let me put into it a low-comedy character (the girl's + or the lover's father or uncle) and gobble a big pecuniary interest + in your work for myself. Do not let this generous proposition disturb your + rest—but do write the other 3 acts, and then it will be valuable to + managers. And don't go and sell it to anybody, like Harte, but keep + it for yourself. + </p> + <p> + Harte's play can be doctored till it will be entirely acceptable and + then it will clear a great sum every year. I am out of all patience with + Harte for selling it. The play entertained me hugely, even in its present + crude state. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Love to you all. + Yrs ever, + MARK +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Following the Sellers success, Clemens had made many attempts at + dramatic writing. Such undertakings had uniformly failed, but he + had always been willing to try again. In the next letter we get the + beginning of what proved his first and last direct literary + association, that is to say, collaboration, with Bret Harte. + Clemens had great admiration for Harte's ability and believed that + between them they could turn out a successful play. Whether or not + this belief was justified will appear later. Howells's biography of + Hayes, meanwhile, had not gone well. He reported that only two + thousand copies had been sold in what was now the height of the + campaign. “There's success for you,” he said; “it makes me despair + of the Republic.” + + Clemens, on his part, had made a speech for Hayes that Howells + declared had put civil-service reform in a nutshell; he added: “You + are the only Republican orator, quoted without distinction of party + by all the newspapers.” + </pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To W. D. Howells, in Boston: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + HARTFORD, Oct. 11, 1876. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR HOWELLS, This is a secret, to be known to nobody but you (of + course I comprehend that Mrs. Howells is part of you) that Bret Harte came + up here the other day and asked me to help him write a play and divide the + swag, and I agreed. I am to put in Scotty Briggs (See Buck Fanshaw's + Funeral, in “Roughing It.”) and he is to put in a Chinaman (a + wonderfully funny creature, as Bret presents him—for 5 minutes—in + his Sandy Bar play.) This Chinaman is to be the character of the play, and + both of us will work on him and develop him. Bret is to draw a plot, and I + am to do the same; we shall use the best of the two, or gouge from both + and build a third. My plot is built—finished it yesterday—six + days' work, 8 or 9 hours a day, and has nearly killed me. + </p> + <p> + Now the favor I ask of you is that you will have the words “Ah Sin, + a Drama,” printed in the middle of a note-paper page and send the + same to me, with Bill. We don't want anybody to know that we are + building this play. I can't get this title page printed here without + having to lie so much that the thought of it is disagreeable to one reared + as I have been. And yet the title of the play must be printed—the + rest of the application for copyright is allowable in penmanship. + </p> + <p> + We have got the very best gang of servants in America, now. When George + first came he was one of the most religious of men. He had but one fault—young + George Washington's. But I have trained him; and now it fairly + breaks Mrs. Clemens's heart to hear George stand at that front door + and lie to the unwelcome visitor. But your time is valuable; I must not + dwell upon these things.....I'll ask Warner and Harte if they'll + do Blindfold Novelettes. Some time I'll simplify that plot. All it + needs is that the hanging and the marriage shall not be appointed for the + same day. I got over that difficulty, but it required too much MS to + reconcile the thing—so the movement of the story was clogged. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I came near agreeing to make political speeches with our candidate for +Governor the 16th and 23 inst., but I had to give up the idea, for Harte +and I will be here at work then. Yrs ever, + MARK +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Mark Twain was writing few letters these days to any one but + Howells, yet in November he sent one to an old friend of his youth, + Burrough, the literary chair-maker who had roomed with him in the + days when he had been setting type for the St. Louis Evening News. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To Mr. Burrough, of St. Louis: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + HARTFORD, Nov. 1, 1876. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR BURROUGHS,—As you describe me I can picture myself as I was + 20 years ago. The portrait is correct. You think I have grown some; upon + my word there was room for it. You have described a callow fool, a + self-sufficient ass, a mere human tumble-bug.... imagining that he is + remodeling the world and is entirely capable of doing it right. Ignorance, + intolerance, egotism, self-assertion, opaque perception, dense and pitiful + chuckle-headedness—and an almost pathetic unconsciousness of it all. + That is what I was at 19 and 20; and that is what the average Southerner + is at 60 today. Northerners, too, of a certain grade. It is of children + like this that voters are made. And such is the primal source of our + government! A man hardly knows whether to swear or cry over it. + </p> + <p> + I think I comprehend the position there—perfect freedom to vote just + as you choose, provided you choose to vote as other people think—social + ostracism, otherwise. The same thing exists here, among the Irish. An + Irish Republican is a pariah among his people. Yet that race find fault + with the same spirit in Know-Nothingism. + </p> + <p> + Fortunately a good deal of experience of men enabled me to choose my + residence wisely. I live in the freest corner of the country. There are no + social disabilities between me and my Democratic personal friends. We + break the bread and eat the salt of hospitality freely together and never + dream of such a thing as offering impertinent interference in each other's + political opinions. + </p> + <p> + Don't you ever come to New York again and not run up here to see me. + I Suppose we were away for the summer when you were East; but no matter, + you could have telegraphed and found out. We were at Elmira N. Y. and + right on your road, and could have given you a good time if you had + allowed us the chance. + </p> + <p> + Yes, Will Bowen and I have exchanged letters now and then for several + years, but I suspect that I made him mad with my last—shortly after + you saw him in St. Louis, I judge. There is one thing which I can't + stand and won't stand, from many people. That is sham sentimentality—the + kind a school-girl puts into her graduating composition; the sort that + makes up the Original Poetry column of a country newspaper; the rot that + deals in the “happy days of yore,” the “sweet yet + melancholy past,” with its “blighted hopes” and its + “vanished dreams” and all that sort of drivel. Will's + were always of this stamp. I stood it years. When I get a letter like that + from a grown man and he a widower with a family, it gives me the stomach + ache. And I just told Will Bowen so, last summer. I told him to stop being + 16 at 40; told him to stop drooling about the sweet yet melancholy past, + and take a pill. I said there was but one solitary thing about the past + worth remembering, and that was the fact that it is the past—can't + be restored. Well, I exaggerated some of these truths a little—but + only a little—but my idea was to kill his sham sentimentality once + and forever, and so make a good fellow of him again. I went to the + unheard-of trouble of re-writing the letter and saying the same harsh + things softly, so as to sugarcoat the anguish and make it a little more + endurable and I asked him to write and thank me honestly for doing him the + best and kindliest favor that any friend ever had done him—but he + hasn't done it yet. Maybe he will, sometime. I am grateful to God + that I got that letter off before he was married (I get that news from + you) else he would just have slobbered all over me and drowned me when + that event happened. + </p> + <p> + I enclose photograph for the young ladies. I will remark that I do not + wear seal-skin for grandeur, but because I found, when I used to lecture + in the winter, that nothing else was able to keep a man warm sometimes, in + these high latitudes. I wish you had sent pictures of yourself and family—I'll + trade picture for picture with you, straight through, if you are + commercially inclined. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Your old friend, + SAML L. CLEMENS. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVII. LETTERS, 1877. TO BERMUDA WITH TWICHELL. PROPOSITION TO TH. NAST. + THE WHITTIER DINNER. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Mark Twain must have been too busy to write letters that winter. + Those that have survived are few and unimportant. As a matter of + fact, he was writing the play, “Ah Sin,” with Bret Harte, and + getting it ready for production. Harte was a guest in the Clemens + home while the play was being written, and not always a pleasant + one. He was full of requirements, critical as to the 'menage,' to + the point of sarcasm. The long friendship between Clemens and Harte + weakened under the strain of collaboration and intimate daily + intercourse, never to renew its old fiber. It was an unhappy + outcome of an enterprise which in itself was to prove of little + profit. The play, “Ah Sin,” had many good features, and with + Charles T. Parsloe in an amusing Chinese part might have been made a + success, if the two authors could have harmoniously undertaken the + needed repairs. It opened in Washington in May, and a letter from + Parsloe, written at the moment, gives a hint of the situation. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + From Charles T. Parsloe to S. L. Clemens: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + WASHINGTON, D. C. May 11th, 1877. +</pre> + <p> + MR. CLEMENS,—I forgot whether I acknowledged receipt of check by + telegram. Harte has been here since Monday last and done little or nothing + yet, but promises to have something fixed by tomorrow morning. We have + been making some improvements among ourselves. The last act is weak at the + end, and I do hope Mr. Harte will have something for a good finish to the + piece. The other acts I think are all right, now. + </p> + <p> + Hope you have entirely recovered. I am not very well myself, the + excitement of a first night is bad enough, but to have the annoyance with + Harte that I have is too much for a beginner. I ain't used to it. + The houses have been picking up since Tuesday Mr. Ford has worked well and + hard for us. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Yours in, haste, + CHAS. THOS. PARSLOE. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The play drew some good houses in Washington, but it could not hold + them for a run. Never mind what was the matter with it; perhaps a + very small change at the right point would have turned it into a + fine success. We have seen in a former letter the obligation which + Mark Twain confessed to Harte—a debt he had tried in many ways to + repay—obtaining for him a liberal book contract with Bliss; + advancing him frequent and large sums of money which Harte could + not, or did not, repay; seeking to advance his fortunes in many + directions. The mistake came when he introduced another genius into + the intricacies of his daily life. Clemens went down to Washington + during the early rehearsals of “Ah Sin.” + + Meantime, Rutherford B. Hayes had been elected President, and + Clemens one day called with a letter of introduction from Howells, + thinking to meet the Chief Executive. His own letter to Howells, + later, probably does not give the real reason of his failure, but it + will be amusing to those who recall the erratic personality of + George Francis Train. Train and Twain were sometimes confused by + the very unlettered; or pretendedly, by Mark Twain's friends. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To W. D. Howells, in Boston: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + BALTIMORE, May 1, '77. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR HOWELLS,—Found I was not absolutely needed in Washington so + I only staid 24 hours, and am on my way home, now. I called at the White + House, and got admission to Col. Rodgers, because I wanted to inquire what + was the right hour to go and infest the President. It was my luck to + strike the place in the dead waste and middle of the day, the very busiest + time. I perceived that Mr. Rodgers took me for George Francis Train and + had made up his mind not to let me get at the President; so at the end of + half an hour I took my letter of introduction from the table and went + away. It was a great pity all round, and a great loss to the nation, for I + was brim full of the Eastern question. I didn't get to see the + President or the Chief Magistrate either, though I had sort of a glimpse + of a lady at a window who resembled her portraits. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Yrs ever, + MARK. + + Howells condoled with him on his failure to see the President, + “but,” he added, “if you and I had both been there, our combined + skill would have no doubt procured us to be expelled from the White + House by Fred Douglass. But the thing seems to be a complete + failure as it was.” Douglass at this time being the Marshal of + Columbia, gives special point to Howells's suggestion. + + Later, in May, Clemens took Twichell for an excursion to Bermuda. + He had begged Howells to go with them, but Howells, as usual, was + full of literary affairs. Twichell and Clemens spent four glorious + days tramping the length and breadth of the beautiful island, and + remembered it always as one of their happiest adventures. “Put it + down as an Oasis!” wrote Twichell on his return, “I'm afraid I shall + not see as green a spot again soon. And it was your invention and + your gift. And your company was the best of it. Indeed, I never + took more comfort in being with you than on this journey, which, my + boy, is saying a great deal.” + </pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + To Howells, Clemens triumphantly reported the success of the + excursion. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To W. D. Howells, in Boston: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + FARMINGTON AVENUE, HARTFORD, May 29, 1877. +</pre> + <p> + Confound you, Joe Twichell and I roamed about Bermuda day and night and + never ceased to gabble and enjoy. About half the talk was—“It + is a burning shame that Howells isn't here.” “Nobody + could get at the very meat and marrow of this pervading charm and + deliciousness like Howells;” “How Howells would revel in the + quaintness, and the simplicity of this people and the Sabbath repose of + this land.” “What an imperishable sketch Howells would make of + Capt. West the whaler, and Capt. Hope with the patient, pathetic face, + wanderer in all the oceans for 42 years, lucky in none; coming home + defeated once more, now, minus his ship—resigned, uncomplaining, + being used to this.” “What a rattling chapter Howells would + make out of the small boy Alfred, with his alert eye and military brevity + and exactness of speech; and out of the old landlady; and her sacred + onions; and her daughter; and the visiting clergyman; and the ancient + pianos of Hamilton and the venerable music in vogue there—and forty + other things which we shall leave untouched or touched but lightly upon, + we not being worthy.” “Dam Howells for not being here!” + (this usually from me, not Twichell.) + </p> + <p> + O, your insufferable pride, which will have a fall some day! If you had + gone with us and let me pay the $50 which the trip and the board and the + various nicknacks and mementoes would cost, I would have picked up enough + droppings from your conversation to pay me 500 per cent profit in the way + of the several magazine articles which I could have written, whereas I can + now write only one or two and am therefore largely out of pocket by your + proud ways. Ponder these things. Lord, what a perfectly bewitching + excursion it was! I traveled under an assumed name and was never molested + with a polite attention from anybody. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Love to you all. + Yrs ever + MARK +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Aldrich, meantime, had invited the Clemenses to Ponkapog during the + Bermuda absence, and Clemens hastened to send him a line expressing + regrets. At the close he said: +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To T. B. Aldrich, in Ponkapog, Mass.: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + FARMINGTON AVENUE, HARTFORD, June 3, 1877. +</pre> + <p> + Day after tomorrow we leave for the hills beyond Elmira, N. Y. for the + summer, when I shall hope to write a book of some sort or other to beat + the people with. A work similar to your new one in the Atlantic is what I + mean, though I have not heard what the nature of that one is. Immoral, I + suppose. Well, you are right. Such books sell best, Howells says. Howells + says he is going to make his next book indelicate. He says he thinks there + is money in it. He says there is a large class of the young, in schools + and seminaries who—But you let him tell you. He has ciphered it all + down to a demonstration. + </p> + <p> + With the warmest remembrances to the pair of you + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Ever Yours + SAMUEL L. CLEMENS. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Clemens would naturally write something about Bermuda, and began at + once, “Random Notes of an Idle Excursion,” and presently completed + four papers, which Howells eagerly accepted for the Atlantic. Then + we find him plunging into another play, this time alone. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To W. D. Howells, in Boston: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ELMIRA, June 27, 1877. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR HOWELLS,—If you should not like the first 2 chapters, send + them to me and begin with Chapter 3—or Part 3, I believe you call + these things in the magazine. I have finished No. 4., which closes the + series, and will mail it tomorrow if I think of it. I like this one, I + liked the preceding one (already mailed to you some time ago) but I had my + doubts about 1 and 2. Do not hesitate to squelch them, even with derision + and insult. + </p> + <p> + Today I am deep in a comedy which I began this morning—principal + character, that old detective—I skeletoned the first act and wrote + the second, today; and am dog-tired, now. Fifty-four close pages of MS in + 7 hours. Once I wrote 55 pages at a sitting—that was on the opening + chapters of the “Gilded Age” novel. When I cool down, an hour + from now, I shall go to zero, I judge. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Yrs ever, + MARK. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Clemens had doubts as to the quality of the Bermuda papers, and with + some reason. They did not represent him at his best. Nevertheless, + they were pleasantly entertaining, and Howells expressed full + approval of them for Atlantic use. The author remained troubled. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To W. D. Howells, in Boston: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ELMIRA, July 4,1877. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR HOWELLS,—It is splendid of you to say those pleasant things. + But I am still plagued with doubts about Parts 1 and 2. If you have any, + don't print. If otherwise, please make some cold villain like + Lathrop read and pass sentence on them. Mind, I thought they were good, at + first—it was the second reading that accomplished its hellish + purpose on me. Put them up for a new verdict. Part 4 has lain in my + pigeon-hole a good while, and when I put it there I had a Christian's + confidence in 4 aces in it; and you can be sure it will skip toward + Connecticut tomorrow before any fatal fresh reading makes me draw my bet. + </p> + <p> + I've piled up 151 MS pages on my comedy. The first, second and + fourth acts are done, and done to my satisfaction, too. Tomorrow and next + day will finish the 3rd act and the play. I have not written less than 30 + pages any day since I began. Never had so much fun over anything in my + life-never such consuming interest and delight. (But Lord bless you the + second reading will fetch it!) And just think!—I had Sol Smith + Russell in my mind's eye for the old detective's part, and + hang it he has gone off pottering with Oliver Optic, or else the papers + lie. + </p> + <p> + I read everything about the President's doings there with + exultation. + </p> + <p> + I wish that old ass of a private secretary hadn't taken me for + George Francis Train. If ignorance were a means of grace I wouldn't + trade that gorilla's chances for the Archbishop of Canterbury's. + </p> + <p> + I shall call on the President again, by and by. I shall go in my war + paint; and if I am obstructed the nation will have the unusual spectacle + of a private secretary with a pen over one ear a tomahawk over the other. + </p> + <p> + I read the entire Atlantic this time. Wonderful number. Mrs. Rose Terry + Cooke's story was a ten-strike. I wish she would write 12 old-time + New England tales a year. + </p> + <p> + Good times to you all! Mind if you don't run here for a few days you + will go to hence without having had a fore-glimpse of heaven. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + MARK. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The play, “Ah Sin,” that had done little enough in Washington, was + that summer given another trial by Augustin Daly, at the Fifth + Avenue Theater, New York, with a fine company. Clemens had + undertaken to doctor the play, and it would seem to have had an + enthusiastic reception on the opening night. But it was a summer + audience, unspoiled by many attractions. “Ah Sin” was never a + success in the New York season—never a money-maker on the road. + + The reference in the first paragraph of the letter that follows is + to the Bermuda chapters which Mark Twain was publishing + simultaneously in England and America. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ELMIRA, Aug 3,1877. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR HOWELLS,—I have mailed one set of the slips to London, and + told Bentley you would print Sept. 15, in October Atlantic, and he must + not print earlier in Temple Bar. Have I got the dates and things right? + </p> + <p> + I am powerful glad to see that No. 1 reads a nation sight better in print + than it did in MS. I told Bentley we'd send him the slips, each + time, 6 weeks before day of publication. We can do that can't we? + Two months ahead would be still better I suppose, but I don't know. + </p> + <p> + “Ah Sin” went a-booming at the Fifth Avenue. The reception of + Col. Sellers was calm compared to it. + </p> + <p> + The criticisms were just; the criticisms of the great New York dailies are + always just, intelligent, and square and honest—notwithstanding, by + a blunder which nobody was seriously to blame for, I was made to say + exactly the opposite of this in a newspaper some time ago. Never said it + at all, and moreover I never thought it. I could not publicly correct it + before the play appeared in New York, because that would look as if I had + really said that thing and then was moved by fears for my pocket and my + reputation to take it back. But I can correct it now, and shall do it; for + now my motives cannot be impugned. When I began this letter, it had not + occurred to me to use you in this connection, but it occurs to me now. + Your opinion and mine, uttered a year ago, and repeated more than once + since, that the candor and ability of the New York critics were beyond + question, is a matter which makes it proper enough that I should speak + through you at this time. Therefore if you will print this paragraph + somewhere, it may remove the impression that I say unjust things which I + do not think, merely for the pleasure of talking. + </p> + <p> + There, now, Can't you say— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “In a letter to Mr. Howells of the Atlantic Monthly, Mark + Twain describes the reception of the new comedy 'Ali Sin,' + and then goes on to say:” etc. +</pre> + <p> + Beginning at the star with the words, “The criticisms were just.” + Mrs. Clemens says, “Don't ask that of Mr. Howells—it + will be disagreeable to him.” I hadn't thought of it, but I + will bet two to one on the correctness of her instinct. We shall see. + </p> + <p> + Will you cut that paragraph out of this letter and precede it with the + remarks suggested (or with better ones,) and send it to the Globe or some + other paper? You can't do me a bigger favor; and yet if it is in the + least disagreeable, you mustn't think of it. But let me know, right + away, for I want to correct this thing before it grows stale again. I + explained myself to only one critic (the World)—the consequence was + a noble notice of the play. This one called on me, else I shouldn't + have explained myself to him. + </p> + <p> + I have been putting in a deal of hard work on that play in New York, but + it is full of incurable defects. + </p> + <p> + My old Plunkett family seemed wonderfully coarse and vulgar on the stage, + but it was because they were played in such an outrageously and + inexcusably coarse way. The Chinaman is killingly funny. I don't + know when I have enjoyed anything as much as I did him. The people say + there isn't enough of him in the piece. That's a triumph—there'll + never be any more of him in it. + </p> + <p> + John Brougham said, “Read the list of things which the critics have + condemned in the piece, and you have unassailable proofs that the play + contains all the requirements of success and a long life.” + </p> + <p> + That is true. Nearly every time the audience roared I knew it was over + something that would be condemned in the morning (justly, too) but must be + left in—for low comedies are written for the drawing-room, the + kitchen and the stable, and if you cut out the kitchen and the stable the + drawing-room can't support the play by itself. + </p> + <p> + There was as much money in the house the first two nights as in the first + ten of Sellers. Haven't heard from the third—I came away. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Yrs ever, + MARK. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In a former letter we have seen how Mark Twain, working on a story + that was to stand as an example of his best work, and become one of + his surest claims to immortality (The Adventures of Huckleberry + Finn), displayed little enthusiasm in his undertaking. In the + following letter, which relates the conclusion of his detective + comedy, we find him at the other extreme, on very tiptoe with + enthusiasm over something wholly without literary value or dramatic + possibility. One of the hall-marks of genius is the inability to + discriminate as to the value of its output. “Simon Wheeler, Amateur + Detective” was a dreary, absurd, impossible performance, as wild and + unconvincing in incident and dialogue as anything out of an asylum + could well be. The title which he first chose for it, “Balaam's + Ass,” was properly in keeping with the general scheme. Yet Mark + Twain, still warm with the creative fever, had the fullest faith in + it as a work of art and a winner of fortune. It would never see the + light of production, of course. We shall see presently that the + distinguished playwright, Dion Boucicault, good-naturedly + complimented it as being better than “Ahi Sin.” One must wonder + what that skilled artist really thought, and how he could do even + this violence to his conscience. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To W. D. Howells, in Boston: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ELMIRA, Wednesday P.M. (1877) +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR HOWELLS,—It's finished. I was misled by hurried + mis-paging. There were ten pages of notes, and over 300 pages of MS when + the play was done. Did it in 42 hours, by the clock; 40 pages of the + Atlantic—but then of course it's very “fat.” Those + are the figures, but I don't believe them myself, because the thing's + impossible. + </p> + <p> + But let that pass. All day long, and every day, since I finished (in the + rough) I have been diligently altering, amending, re-writing, cutting + down. I finished finally today. Can't think of anything else in the + way of an improvement. I thought I would stick to it while the interest + was hot—and I am mighty glad I did. A week from now it will be + frozen—then revising would be drudgery. (You see I learned something + from the fatal blunder of putting “Ah Sin” aside before it was + finished.) + </p> + <p> + She's all right, now. She reads in two hours and 20 minutes and will + play not longer than 2 3/4 hours. Nineteen characters; 3 acts; (I bunched + 2 into 1.) + </p> + <p> + Tomorrow I will draw up an exhaustive synopsis to insert in the printed + title-page for copyrighting, and then on Friday or Saturday I go to New + York to remain a week or ten days and lay for an actor. Wish you could run + down there and have a holiday. 'Twould be fun. + </p> + <p> + My wife won't have “Balaam's Ass”; therefore I + call the piece “Cap'n Simon Wheeler, The Amateur Detective.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Yrs + MARK. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To W. D. Howells, in Boston: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ELMIRA, Aug. 29, 1877. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR HOWELLS,—Just got your letter last night. No, dern that + article,—[One of the Bermuda chapters.]—it made me cry when I + read it in proof, it was so oppressively and ostentatiously poor. Skim + your eye over it again and you will think as I do. If Isaac and the + prophets of Baal can be doctored gently and made permissible, it will + redeem the thing: but if it can't, let's burn all of the + articles except the tail-end of it and use that as an introduction to the + next article—as I suggested in my letter to you of day before + yesterday. (I had this proof from Cambridge before yours came.) + </p> + <p> + Boucicault says my new play is ever so much better than “Ah Sin;” + says the Amateur detective is a bully character, too. An actor is chawing + over the play in New York, to see if the old Detective is suited to his + abilities. Haven't heard from him yet. + </p> + <p> + If you've got that paragraph by you yet, and if in your judgment it + would be good to publish it, and if you absolutely would not mind doing + it, then I think I'd like to have you do it—or else put some + other words in my mouth that will be properer, and publish them. But mind, + don't think of it for a moment if it is distasteful—and + doubtless it is. I value your judgment more than my own, as to the wisdom + of saying anything at all in this matter. To say nothing leaves me in an + injurious position—and yet maybe I might do better to speak to the + men themselves when I go to New York. This was my latest idea, and it + looked wise. + </p> + <p> + We expect to leave here for home Sept. 4, reaching there the 8th—but + we may be delayed a week. + </p> + <p> + Curious thing. I read passages from my play, and a full synopsis, to + Boucicault, who was re-writing a play, which he wrote and laid aside 3 or + 4 years ago. (My detective is about that age, you know.) Then he read a + passage from his play, where a real detective does some things that are as + idiotic as some of my old Wheeler's performances. Showed me the + passages, and behold, his man's name is Wheeler! However, his + Wheeler is not a prominent character, so we'll not alter the names. + My Wheeler's name is taken from the old jumping Frog sketch. + </p> + <p> + I am re-reading Ticknor's diary, and am charmed with it, though I + still say he refers to too many good things when he could just as well + have told them. Think of the man traveling 8 days in convoy and familiar + intercourse with a band of outlaws through the mountain fastnesses of + Spain—he the fourth stranger they had encountered in thirty years—and + compressing this priceless experience into a single colorless paragraph of + his diary! They spun yarns to this unworthy devil, too. + </p> + <p> + I wrote you a very long letter a day or two ago, but Susy Crane wanted to + make a copy of it to keep, so it has not gone yet. It may go today, + possibly. + </p> + <p> + We unite in warm regards to you and yours. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Yrs ever, + MARK. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The Ticknor referred to in a former letter was Professor George + Ticknor, of Harvard College, a history-writer of distinction. On + the margin of the “Diary” Mark Twain once wrote, “Ticknor is a + Millet, who makes all men fall in love with him.” And adds: “Millet + was the cause of lovable qualities in people, and then he admired + and loved those persons for the very qualities which he (without + knowing it) had created in them. Perhaps it would be strictly truer + of these two men to say that they bore within them the divine + something in whose presence the evil in people fled away and hid + itself, while all that was good in them came spontaneously forward + out of the forgotten walls and comers in their systems where it was + accustomed to hide.” + + It is Frank Millet, the artist, he is speaking of—a knightly soul + whom all the Clemens household loved, and who would one day meet his + knightly end with those other brave men that found death together + when the Titanic went down. + + The Clemens family was still at Quarry Farm at the end of August, + and one afternoon there occurred a startling incident which Mark + Twain thought worth setting down in practically duplicate letters to + Howells and to Dr. John Brown. It may be of interest to the reader + to know that John T. Lewis, the colored man mentioned, lived to a + good old age—a pensioner of the Clemens family and, in the course + of time, of H. H. Rogers. Howells's letter follows. It is the + “very long letter” referred to in the foregoing. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To W. D. Howells and wife, in Boston: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ELMIRA, Aug. 25 '77. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR HOWELLSES,—I thought I ought to make a sort of record of it + for further reference; the pleasantest way to do that would be to write it + to somebody; but that somebody would let it leak into print and that we + wish to avoid. The Howellses would be safe—so let us tell the + Howellses about it. + </p> + <p> + Day before yesterday was a fine summer day away up here on the summit. + Aunt Marsh and Cousin May Marsh were here visiting Susie Crane and Livy at + our farmhouse. By and by mother Langdon came up the hill in the “high + carriage” with Nora the nurse and little Jervis (Charley Langdon's + little boy)—Timothy the coachman driving. Behind these came Charley's + wife and little girl in the buggy, with the new, young, spry, gray horse—a + high-stepper. Theodore Crane arrived a little later. + </p> + <p> + The Bay and Susy were on hand with their nurse, Rosa. I was on hand, too. + Susy Crane's trio of colored servants ditto—these being Josie, + house-maid; Aunty Cord, cook, aged 62, turbaned, very tall, very broad, + very fine every way (see her portrait in “A True Story just as I + Heard It” in my Sketches;) Chocklate (the laundress) (as the Bay + calls her—she can't say Charlotte,) still taller, still more + majestic of proportions, turbaned, very black, straight as an Indian—age + 24. Then there was the farmer's wife (colored) and her little girl, + Susy. + </p> + <p> + Wasn't it a good audience to get up an excitement before? Good + excitable, inflammable material? + </p> + <p> + Lewis was still down town, three miles away, with his two-horse wagon, to + get a load of manure. Lewis is the farmer (colored). He is of mighty frame + and muscle, stocky, stooping, ungainly, has a good manly face and a clear + eye. Age about 45—and the most picturesque of men, when he sits in + his fluttering work-day rags, humped forward into a bunch, with his aged + slouch hat mashed down over his ears and neck. It is a spectacle to make + the broken-hearted smile. Lewis has worked mighty hard and remained mighty + poor. At the end of each whole year's toil he can't show a + gain of fifty dollars. He had borrowed money of the Cranes till he owed + them $700 and he being conscientious and honest, imagine what it was to + him to have to carry this stubborn, helpless load year in and year out. + </p> + <p> + Well, sunset came, and Ida the young and comely (Charley Langdon's + wife) and her little Julia and the nurse Nora, drove out at the gate + behind the new gray horse and started down the long hill—the high + carriage receiving its load under the porte cochere. Ida was seen to turn + her face toward us across the fence and intervening lawn—Theodore + waved good-bye to her, for he did not know that her sign was a speechless + appeal for help. + </p> + <p> + The next moment Livy said, “Ida's driving too fast down hill!” + She followed it with a sort of scream, “Her horse is running away!” + </p> + <p> + We could see two hundred yards down that descent. The buggy seemed to fly. + It would strike obstructions and apparently spring the height of a man + from the ground. + </p> + <p> + Theodore and I left the shrieking crowd behind and ran down the hill + bare-headed and shouting. A neighbor appeared at his gate—a tenth of + a second too late! the buggy vanished past him like a thought. My last + glimpse showed it for one instant, far down the descent, springing high in + the air out of a cloud of dust, and then it disappeared. As I flew down + the road my impulse was to shut my eyes as I turned them to the right or + left, and so delay for a moment the ghastly spectacle of mutilation and + death I was expecting. + </p> + <p> + I ran on and on, still spared this spectacle, but saying to myself: + “I shall see it at the turn of the road; they never can pass that + turn alive.” When I came in sight of that turn I saw two wagons + there bunched together—one of them full of people. I said, “Just + so—they are staring petrified at the remains.” + </p> + <p> + But when I got amongst that bunch, there sat Ida in her buggy and nobody + hurt, not even the horse or the vehicle. Ida was pale but serene. As I + came tearing down, she smiled back over her shoulder at me and said, + “Well, we're alive yet, aren't we?” A miracle had + been performed—nothing else. + </p> + <p> + You see Lewis, the prodigious, humped upon his front seat, had been + toiling up, on his load of manure; he saw the frantic horse plunging down + the hill toward him, on a full gallop, throwing his heels as high as a man's + head at every jump. So Lewis turned his team diagonally across the road + just at the “turn,” thus making a V with the fence—the + running horse could not escape that, but must enter it. Then Lewis sprang + to the ground and stood in this V. He gathered his vast strength, and with + a perfect Creedmoor aim he seized the gray horse's bit as he plunged + by and fetched him up standing! + </p> + <p> + It was down hill, mind you. Ten feet further down hill neither Lewis nor + any other man could have saved them, for they would have been on the + abrupt “turn,” then. But how this miracle was ever + accomplished at all, by human strength, generalship and accuracy, is clean + beyond my comprehension—and grows more so the more I go and examine + the ground and try to believe it was actually done. I know one thing, + well; if Lewis had missed his aim he would have been killed on the spot in + the trap he had made for himself, and we should have found the rest of the + remains away down at the bottom of the steep ravine. + </p> + <p> + Ten minutes later Theodore and I arrived opposite the house, with the + servants straggling after us, and shouted to the distracted group on the + porch, “Everybody safe!” + </p> + <p> + Believe it? Why how could they? They knew the road perfectly. We might as + well have said it to people who had seen their friends go over Niagara. + </p> + <p> + However, we convinced them; and then, instead of saying something, or + going on crying, they grew very still—words could not express it, I + suppose. + </p> + <p> + Nobody could do anything that night, or sleep, either; but there was a + deal of moving talk, with long pauses between pictures of that flying + carriage, these pauses represented—this picture intruded itself all + the time and disjointed the talk. + </p> + <p> + But yesterday evening late, when Lewis arrived from down town he found his + supper spread, and some presents of books there, with very complimentary + writings on the fly-leaves, and certain very complimentary letters, and + more or less greenbacks of dignified denomination pinned to these letters + and fly-leaves,—and one said, among other things, (signed by the + Cranes) “We cancel $400 of your indebtedness to us,” &c. + &c. + </p> + <p> + (The end thereof is not yet, of course, for Charley Langdon is West and + will arrive ignorant of all these things, today.) + </p> + <p> + The supper-room had been kept locked and imposingly secret and mysterious + until Lewis should arrive; but around that part of the house were gathered + Lewis's wife and child, Chocklate, Josie, Aunty Cord and our Rosa, + canvassing things and waiting impatiently. They were all on hand when the + curtain rose. + </p> + <p> + Now, Aunty Cord is a violent Methodist and Lewis an implacable Dunker—Baptist. + Those two are inveterate religious disputants. The revealments having been + made Aunty Cord said with effusion— + </p> + <p> + “Now, let folks go on saying there ain't no God! Lewis, the + Lord sent you there to stop that horse.” + </p> + <p> + Says Lewis: + </p> + <p> + “Then who sent the horse there in sich a shape?” + </p> + <p> + But I want to call your attention to one thing. When Lewis arrived the + other evening, after saving those lives by a feat which I think is the + most marvelous of any I can call to mind—when he arrived, hunched up + on his manure wagon and as grotesquely picturesque as usual, everybody + wanted to go and see how he looked. They came back and said he was + beautiful. It was so, too—and yet he would have photographed exactly + as he would have done any day these past 7 years that he has occupied this + farm. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Aug. 27. +</pre> + <p> + P. S. Our little romance in real life is happily and satisfactorily + completed. Charley has come, listened, acted—and now John T. Lewis + has ceased to consider himself as belonging to that class called “the + poor.” + </p> + <p> + It has been known, during some years, that it was Lewis's purpose to + buy a thirty dollar silver watch some day, if he ever got where he could + afford it. Today Ida has given him a new, sumptuous gold Swiss + stem-winding stop-watch; and if any scoffer shall say, “Behold this + thing is out of character,” there is an inscription within, which + will silence him; for it will teach him that this wearer aggrandizes the + watch, not the watch the wearer. + </p> + <p> + I was asked beforehand, if this would be a wise gift, and I said “Yes, + the very wisest of all;” I know the colored race, and I know that in + Lewis's eyes this fine toy will throw the other more valuable + testimonials far away into the shade. If he lived in England the Humane + Society would give him a gold medal as costly as this watch, and nobody + would say: “It is out of character.” If Lewis chose to wear a + town clock, who would become it better? + </p> + <p> + Lewis has sound common sense, and is not going to be spoiled. The instant + he found himself possessed of money, he forgot himself in a plan to make + his old father comfortable, who is wretchedly poor and lives down in + Maryland. His next act, on the spot, was the proffer to the Cranes of the + $300 of his remaining indebtedness to them. This was put off by them to + the indefinite future, for he is not going to be allowed to pay that at + all, though he doesn't know it. + </p> + <p> + A letter of acknowledgment from Lewis contains a sentence which raises it + to the dignity of literature: + </p> + <p> + “But I beg to say, humbly, that inasmuch as divine providence saw + fit to use me as a instrument for the saving of those presshious lives, + the honner conferd upon me was greater than the feat performed.” + </p> + <p> + That is well said. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Yrs ever + MARK. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Howells was moved to use the story in the “Contributors' Club,” + and warned Clemens against letting it get into the newspapers. He + declared he thought it one of the most impressive things he had ever + read. But Clemens seems never to have allowed it to be used in any + form. In its entirety, therefore, it is quite new matter. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To W. D. Howells, in Boston: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + HARTFORD, Sept. 19, 1877. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR HOWELLS,—I don't really see how the story of the + runaway horse could read well with the little details of names and places + and things left out. They are the true life of all narrative. It wouldn't + quite do to print them at this time. We'll talk about it when you + come. Delicacy—a sad, sad false delicacy—robs literature of + the best two things among its belongings. Family-circle narrative and + obscene stories. But no matter; in that better world which I trust we are + all going to I have the hope and belief that they will not be denied us. + </p> + <p> + Say—Twichell and I had an adventure at sea, 4 months ago, which I + did not put in my Bermuda articles, because there was not enough to it. + But the press dispatches bring the sequel today, and now there's + plenty to it. A sailless, wasteless, chartless, compassless, grubless old + condemned tub that has been drifting helpless about the ocean for 4 months + and a half, begging bread and water like any other tramp, flying a signal + of distress permanently, and with 13 innocent, marveling chuckleheaded + Bermuda niggers on board, taking a Pleasure Excursion! Our ship fed the + poor devils on the 25th of last May, far out at sea and left them to + bullyrag their way to New York—and now they ain't as near New + York as they were then by 250 miles! They have drifted 750 miles and are + still drifting in the relentless Gulf Stream! What a delicious magazine + chapter it would make—but I had to deny myself. I had to come right + out in the papers at once, with my details, so as to try to raise the + government's sympathy sufficiently to have better succor sent them + than the cutter Colfax, which went a little way in search of them the + other day and then struck a fog and gave it up. + </p> + <p> + If the President were in Washington I would telegraph him. + </p> + <p> + When I hear that the “Jonas Smith” has been found again, I + mean to send for one of those darkies, to come to Hartford and give me his + adventures for an Atlantic article. + </p> + <p> + Likely you will see my today's article in the newspapers. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Yrs ever, + MARK. +</pre> + <p> + The revenue cutter Colfax went after the Jonas Smith, thinking there was + mutiny or other crime on board. It occurs to me now that, since there is + only mere suffering and misery and nobody to punish, it ceases to be a + matter which (a republican form of) government will feel authorized to + interfere in further. Dam a republican form of government. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Clemens thought he had given up lecturing for good; he was + prosperous and he had no love for the platform. But one day an idea + popped into his head: Thomas Nast, the “father of the American + cartoon,” had delivered a successful series of illustrated lectures + —talks for which he made the drawings as he went along. Mark + Twain's idea was to make a combination with Nast. His letter gives + us the plan in full. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To Thomas Nast, Morristown, N. J.: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + HARTFORD, CONN. 1877. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR NAST,—I did not think I should ever stand on a platform + again until the time was come for me to say “I die innocent.” + But the same old offers keep arriving. I have declined them all, just as + usual, though sorely tempted, as usual. + </p> + <p> + Now, I do not decline because I mind talking to an audience, but because + (1) traveling alone is so heartbreakingly dreary, and (2) shouldering the + whole show is such a cheer-killing responsibility. + </p> + <p> + Therefore, I now propose to you what you proposed to me in 1867, ten years + ago (when I was unknown) viz., that you stand on the platform and make + pictures, and I stand by you and blackguard the audience. I should + enormously enjoy meandering around (to big towns—don't want to + go to the little ones) with you for company. + </p> + <p> + My idea is not to fatten the lecture agents and lyceums on the spoils, but + put all the ducats religiously into two equal piles, and say to the artist + and lecturer, “Absorb these.” + </p> + <p> + For instance—[Here follows a plan and a possible list of cities to + be visited. The letter continues] + </p> + <p> + Call the gross receipts $100,000 for four months and a half, and the + profit from $60,000 to $75,000 (I try to make the figures large enough, + and leave it to the public to reduce them.) + </p> + <p> + I did not put in Philadelphia because Pugh owns that town, and last winter + when I made a little reading-trip he only paid me $300 and pretended his + concert (I read fifteen minutes in the midst of a concert) cost him a vast + sum, and so he couldn't afford any more. I could get up a better + concert with a barrel of cats. + </p> + <p> + I have imagined two or three pictures and concocted the accompanying + remarks to see how the thing would go. I was charmed. + </p> + <p> + Well, you think it over, Nast, and drop me a line. We should have some + fun. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Yours truly, + SAMUEL L. CLEMENS. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The plan came to nothing. Nast, like Clemens, had no special taste + for platforming, and while undoubtedly there would have been large + profits in the combination, the promise of the venture did not + compel his acceptance. + + In spite of his distaste for the platform Mark Twain was always + giving readings and lectures, without charge, for some worthy + Hartford cause. He was ready to do what he could to help an + entertainment along, if he could do it in his own way—an original + way, sometimes, and not always gratifying to the committee, whose + plans were likely to be prearranged. + + For one thing, Clemens, supersensitive in the matter of putting + himself forward in his own town, often objected to any special + exploitation of his name. This always distressed the committee, who + saw a large profit to their venture in the prestige of his fame. + The following characteristic letter was written in self-defense + when, on one such occasion, a committee had become sufficiently + peevish to abandon a worthy enterprise. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To an Entertainment Committee, in Hartford: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Nov. 9. +E. S. SYKES, Esq: +</pre> + <p> + Dr. SIR,—Mr. Burton's note puts upon me all the blame of the + destruction of an enterprise which had for its object the succor of the + Hartford poor. That is to say, this enterprise has been dropped because of + the “dissatisfaction with Mr. Clemens's stipulations.” + Therefore I must be allowed to say a word in my defense. + </p> + <p> + There were two “stipulations”—exactly two. I made one of + them; if the other was made at all, it was a joint one, from the choir and + me. + </p> + <p> + My individual stipulation was, that my name should be kept out of the + newspapers. The joint one was that sufficient tickets to insure a good sum + should be sold before the date of the performance should be set. + (Understand, we wanted a good sum—I do not think any of us bothered + about a good house; it was money we were after) + </p> + <p> + Now you perceive that my concern is simply with my individual stipulation. + Did that break up the enterprise? + </p> + <p> + Eugene Burton said he would sell $300 worth of the tickets himself.—Mr. + Smith said he would sell $200 or $300 worth himself. My plan for Asylum + Hill Church would have ensured $150 from that quarter.—All this in + the face of my “Stipulation.” It was proposed to raise $1000; + did my stipulation render the raising of $400 or $500 in a dozen churches + impossible? + </p> + <p> + My stipulation is easily defensible. When a mere reader or lecturer has + appeared 3 or 4 times in a town of Hartford's size, he is a good + deal more than likely to get a very unpleasant snub if he shoves himself + forward about once or twice more. Therefore I long ago made up my mind + that whenever I again appeared here, it should be only in a minor capacity + and not as a chief attraction. + </p> + <p> + Now, I placed that harmless and very justifiable stipulation before the + committee the other day; they carried it to headquarters and it was + accepted there. I am not informed that any objection was made to it, or + that it was regarded as an offense. It seems late in the day, now, after a + good deal of trouble has been taken and a good deal of thankless work done + by the committees, to, suddenly tear up the contract and then turn and + bowl me down from long range as being the destroyer of it. + </p> + <p> + If the enterprise has failed because of my individual stipulation, here + you have my proper and reasonable reasons for making that stipulation. + </p> + <p> + If it has failed because of the joint stipulation, put the blame there, + and let us share it collectively. + </p> + <p> + I think our plan was a good one. I do not doubt that Mr. Burton still + approves of it, too. I believe the objections come from other quarters, + and not from him. Mr. Twichell used the following words in last Sunday's + sermon, (if I remember correctly): + </p> + <p> + “My hearers, the prophet Deuteronomy says this wise thing: 'Though + ye plan a goodly house for the poor, and plan it with wisdom, and do take + off your coats and set to to build it, with high courage, yet shall the + croaker presently come, and lift up his voice, (having his coat on,) and + say, Verily this plan is not well planned—and he will go his way; + and the obstructionist will come, and lift up his voice, (having his coat + on,) and say, Behold, this is but a sick plan—and he will go his + way; and the man that knows it all will come, and lift up his voice, + (having his coat on,) and say, Lo, call they this a plan? then will he go + his way; and the places which knew him once shall know him no more + forever, because he was not, for God took him. Now therefore I say unto + you, Verily that house will not be budded. And I say this also: He that + waiteth for all men to be satisfied with his plan, let him seek eternal + life, for he shall need it.'” + </p> + <p> + This portion of Mr. Twichell's sermon made a great impression upon + me, and I was grieved that some one had not wakened me earlier so that I + might have heard what went before. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + S. L. CLEMENS. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Mr. Sykes (of the firm of Sykes & Newton, the Allen House Pharmacy) + replied that he had read the letter to the committee and that it had + set those gentlemen right who had not before understood the + situation. “If others were as ready to do their part as yourself + our poor would not want assistance,” he said, in closing. + + We come now to an incident which assumes the proportions of an + episode-even of a catastrophe—in Mark Twain's career. The disaster + was due to a condition noted a few pages earlier—the inability of + genius to judge its own efforts. The story has now become history + —printed history—it having been sympathetically told by Howells in + My Mark Twain, and more exhaustively, with a report of the speech + that invited the lightning, in a former work by the present writer. + + The speech was made at John Greenleaf Whittier's seventieth birthday + dinner, given by the Atlantic staff on the evening of December 17, + 1877. It was intended as a huge joke—a joke that would shake the + sides of these venerable Boston deities, Longfellow, Emerson, + Holmes, and the rest of that venerated group. Clemens had been a + favorite at the Atlantic lunches and dinners—a speech by him always + an event. This time he decided to outdo himself. + + He did that, but not in the way he had intended. To use one of his + own metaphors, he stepped out to meet the rainbow and got struck by + lightning. His joke was not of the Boston kind or size. When its + full nature burst upon the company—when the ears of the assembled + diners heard the sacred names of Longfellow, Emerson, and Holmes + lightly associated with human aspects removed—oh, very far removed + —from Cambridge and Concord, a chill fell upon the diners that + presently became amazement, and then creeping paralysis. Nobody + knew afterward whether the great speech that he had so gaily planned + ever came to a natural end or not. Somebody—the next on the + program—attempted to follow him, but presently the company melted + out of the doors and crept away into the night. + + It seemed to Mark Twain that his career had come to an end. Back in + Hartford, sweating and suffering through sleepless nights, he wrote + Howells his anguish. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To W. D. Howells, in Boston: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Sunday Night. 1877. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR HOWELLS,—My sense of disgrace does not abate. It grows. I + see that it is going to add itself to my list of permanencies—a list + of humiliations that extends back to when I was seven years old, and which + keep on persecuting me regardless of my repentancies. + </p> + <p> + I feel that my misfortune has injured me all over the country; therefore + it will be best that I retire from before the public at present. It will + hurt the Atlantic for me to appear in its pages, now. So it is my opinion + and my wife's that the telephone story had better be suppressed. + Will you return those proofs or revises to me, so that I can use the same + on some future occasion? + </p> + <p> + It seems as if I must have been insane when I wrote that speech and saw no + harm in it, no disrespect toward those men whom I reverenced so much. And + what shame I brought upon you, after what you said in introducing me! It + burns me like fire to think of it. + </p> + <p> + The whole matter is a dreadful subject—let me drop it here—at + least on paper. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Penitently yrs, + MARK. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Howells sent back a comforting letter. “I have no idea of dropping + you out of the Atlantic,” he wrote; “and Mr. Houghton has still + less, if possible. You are going to help and not hurt us many a + year yet, if you will.... You are not going to be floored by it; + there is more justice than that, even in this world.” + + Howells added that Charles Elliot Norton had expressed just the + right feeling concerning the whole affair, and that many who had not + heard the speech, but read the newspaper reports of it, had found it + without offense. + + Clemens wrote contrite letters to Holmes, Emerson, and Longfellow, + and received most gracious acknowledgments. Emerson, indeed, had + not heard the speech: His faculties were already blurred by the + mental mists that would eventually shut him in. Clemens wrote again + to Howells, this time with less anguish. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To W. D. Howells, in Boston: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + HARTFORD, Friday, 1877. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR HOWELLS,—Your letter was a godsend; and perhaps the + welcomest part of it was your consent that I write to those gentlemen; for + you discouraged my hints in that direction that morning in Boston—rightly, + too, for my offense was yet too new, then. Warner has tried to hold up our + hands like the good fellow he is, but poor Twichell could not say a word, + and confessed that he would rather take nearly any punishment than face + Livy and me. He hasn't been here since. + </p> + <p> + It is curious, but I pitched early upon Mr. Norton as the very man who + would think some generous thing about that matter, whether he said it or + not. It is splendid to be a man like that—but it is given to few to + be. + </p> + <p> + I wrote a letter yesterday, and sent a copy to each of the three. I wanted + to send a copy to Mr. Whittier also, since the offense was done also + against him, being committed in his presence and he the guest of the + occasion, besides holding the well-nigh sacred place he does in his people's + estimation; but I didn't know whether to venture or not, and so + ended by doing nothing. It seemed an intrusion to approach him, and even + Livy seemed to have her doubts as to the best and properest way to do in + the case. I do not reverence Mr. Emerson less, but somehow I could + approach him easier. + </p> + <p> + Send me those proofs, if you have got them handy; I want to submit them to + Wylie; he won't show them to anybody. + </p> + <p> + Had a very pleasant and considerate letter from Mr. Houghton, today, and + was very glad to receive it. + </p> + <p> + You can't imagine how brilliant and beautiful that new brass fender + is, and how perfectly naturally it takes its place under the carved oak. + How they did scour it up before they sent it! I lied a good deal about it + when I came home—so for once I kept a secret and surprised Livy on a + Christmas morning! + </p> + <p> + I haven't done a stroke of work since the Atlantic dinner; have only + moped around. But I'm going to try tomorrow. How could I ever have. + </p> + <p> + Ah, well, I am a great and sublime fool. But then I am God's fool, + and all His works must be contemplated with respect. + </p> + <p> + Livy and I join in the warmest regards to you and yours, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Yrs ever, + MARK. + + Longfellow, in his reply, said: “I do not believe anybody + was much hurt. Certainly I was not, and Holmes tells me he + was not. So I think you may dismiss the matter from your + mind without further remorse.” + + Holmes wrote: “It never occurred to me for a moment to take + offense, or feel wounded by your playful use of my name.” + + Miss Ellen Emerson replied for her father (in a letter to + Mrs. Clemens) that the speech had made no impression upon + him, giving at considerable length the impression it had + made on herself and other members of the family. + + Clearly, it was not the principals who were hurt, but only those who + held them in awe, though one can realize that this would not make it + much easier for Mark Twain. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVIII. LETTERS FROM EUROPE, 1878-79. TRAMPING WITH TWICHELL. WRITING A NEW + TRAVEL BOOK. LIFE IN MUNICH. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Whether the unhappy occurrence at the Whittier dinner had anything + to do with Mark Twain's resolve to spend a year or two in Europe + cannot be known now. There were other good reasons for going, one + in particular being a demand for another book of travel. It was + also true, as he explains in a letter to his mother, that his days + were full of annoyances, making it difficult for him to work. He + had a tendency to invest money in almost any glittering enterprise + that came along, and at this time he was involved in the promotion + of a variety of patent rights that brought him no return other than + assessment and vexation. + + Clemens's mother was by this time living with her son Onion and his + wife, in Iowa. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To Mrs. Jane Clemens, in Keokuk, Iowa: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + HARTFORD, Feb. 17, 1878 +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR MOTHER,—I suppose I am the worst correspondent in the whole + world; and yet I grow worse and worse all the time. My conscience blisters + me for not writing you, but it has ceased to abuse me for not writing + other folks. + </p> + <p> + Life has come to be a very serious matter with me. I have a badgered, + harassed feeling, a good part of my time. It comes mainly of business + responsibilities and annoyances, and the persecution of kindly letters + from well meaning strangers—to whom I must be rudely silent or else + put in the biggest half of my time bothering over answers. There are other + things also that help to consume my time and defeat my projects. Well, the + consequence is, I cannot write a book at home. This cuts my income down. + Therefore, I have about made up my mind to take my tribe and fly to some + little corner of Europe and budge no more until I shall have completed one + of the half dozen books that lie begun, up stairs. Please say nothing + about this at present. + </p> + <p> + We propose to sail the 11th of April. I shall go to Fredonia to meet you, + but it will not be well for Livy to make that trip I am afraid. However, + we shall see. I will hope she can go. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Twichell has just come in, so I must go to him. We are all well, and + send love to you all. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Affly, + SAM. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + He was writing few letters at this time, and doing but little work. + There were always many social events during the winter, and what + with his European plans and a diligent study of the German language, + which the entire family undertook, his days and evenings were full + enough. Howells wrote protesting against the European travel and + berating him for his silence: + + “I never was in Berlin and don't know any family hotel there. + I should be glad I didn't, if it would keep you from going. You + deserve to put up at the Sign of the Savage in Vienna. Really, it's + a great blow to me to hear of that prospected sojourn. It's a + shame. I must see you, somehow, before you go. I'm in dreadfully + low spirits about it. + + “I was afraid your silence meant something wicked.” + + Clemens replied promptly, urging a visit to Hartford, adding a + postscript for Mrs. Howells, characteristic enough to warrant + preservation. +</pre> + <p> + P. S. to Mrs. Howells, in Boston: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Feb. '78. +DEAR MRS. HOWELLS. Mrs. Clemens wrote you a letter, and handed it to me +half an hour ago, while I was folding mine to Mr. Howells. I laid that +letter on this table before me while I added the paragraph about R,'s +application. Since then I have been hunting and swearing, and swearing +and hunting, but I can't find a sign of that letter. It is the most +astonishing disappearance I ever heard of. Mrs. Clemens has gone off +driving—so I will have to try and give you an idea of her communication +from memory. Mainly it consisted of an urgent desire that you come to +see us next week, if you can possibly manage it, for that will be a +reposeful time, the turmoil of breaking up beginning the week after. She +wants you to tell her about Italy, and advise her in that connection, if +you will. Then she spoke of her plans—hers, mind you, for I never have +anything quite so definite as a plan. She proposes to stop a fortnight +in (confound the place, I've forgotten what it was,) then go and live in +Dresden till sometime in the summer; then retire to Switzerland for the +hottest season, then stay a while in Venice and put in the winter +in Munich. This program subject to modifications according to +circumstances. She said something about some little by-trips here and +there, but they didn't stick in my memory because the idea didn't charm +me. +</pre> + <p> + (They have just telephoned me from the Courant office that Bayard Taylor + and family have taken rooms in our ship, the Holsatia, for the 11th + April.) + </p> + <p> + Do come, if you possibly can!—and remember and don't forget to + avoid letting Mrs. Clemens find out I lost her letter. Just answer her the + same as if you had got it. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Sincerely yours + S. L. CLEMENS. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The Howellses came, as invited, for a final reunion before the + breaking up. This was in the early half of March; the Clemenses + were to sail on the 11th of the following month. + + Orion Clemens, meantime, had conceived a new literary idea and was + piling in his MS. as fast as possible to get his brother's judgment + on it before the sailing-date. It was not a very good time to send + MS., but Mark Twain seems to have read it and given it some + consideration. “The Journey in Heaven,” of his own, which he + mentions, was the story published so many years later under the + title of “Captain Stormfield's Visit to Heaven.” He had began it in + 1868, on his voyage to San Francisco, it having been suggested by + conversations with Capt. Ned Wakeman, of one of the Pacific + steamers. Wakeman also appears in 'Roughing It,' Chap. L, as Capt. + Ned Blakely, and again in one of the “Rambling Notes of an Idle + Excursion,” as “Captain Hurricane Jones.” + </pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To Orion Clemens, in Keokuk: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + HARTFORD, Mch. 23, 1878. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR BRO.,—Every man must learn his trade—not pick it up. + God requires that he learn it by slow and painful processes. The + apprentice-hand, in black-smithing, in medicine, in literature, in + everything, is a thing that can't be hidden. It always shows. + </p> + <p> + But happily there is a market for apprentice work, else the “Innocents + Abroad” would have had no sale. Happily, too, there's a wider + market for some sorts of apprentice literature than there is for the very + best of journey-work. This work of yours is exceedingly crude, but I am + free to say it is less crude than I expected it to be, and considerably + better work than I believed you could do, it is too crude to offer to any + prominent periodical, so I shall speak to the N. Y. Weekly people. To + publish it there will be to bury it. Why could not same good genius have + sent me to the N. Y. Weekly with my apprentice sketches? + </p> + <p> + You should not publish it in book form at all—for this reason: it is + only an imitation of Verne—it is not a burlesque. But I think it may + be regarded as proof that Verne cannot be burlesqued. + </p> + <p> + In accompanying notes I have suggested that you vastly modify the first + visit to hell, and leave out the second visit altogether. Nobody would, or + ought to print those things. You are not advanced enough in literature to + venture upon a matter requiring so much practice. Let me show you what a + man has got to go through: + </p> + <p> + Nine years ago I mapped out my “Journey in Heaven.” I + discussed it with literary friends whom I could trust to keep it to + themselves. + </p> + <p> + I gave it a deal of thought, from time to time. After a year or more I + wrote it up. It was not a success. Five years ago I wrote it again, + altering the plan. That MS is at my elbow now. It was a considerable + improvement on the first attempt, but still it wouldn't do—last + year and year before I talked frequently with Howells about the subject, + and he kept urging me to do it again. + </p> + <p> + So I thought and thought, at odd moments and at last I struck what I + considered to be the right plan! Mind I have never altered the ideas, from + the first—the plan was the difficulty. When Howells was here last, I + laid before him the whole story without referring to my MS and he said: + “You have got it sure this time. But drop the idea of making mere + magazine stuff of it. Don't waste it. Print it by itself—publish + it first in England—ask Dean Stanley to endorse it, which will draw + some of the teeth of the religious press, and then reprint in America.” + I doubt my ability to get Dean Stanley to do anything of the sort, but I + shall do the rest—and this is all a secret which you must not + divulge. + </p> + <p> + Now look here—I have tried, all these years, to think of some way of + “doing” hell too—and have always had to give it up. + Hell, in my book, will not occupy five pages of MS I judge—it will + be only covert hints, I suppose, and quickly dropped, I may end by not + even referring to it. + </p> + <p> + And mind you, in my opinion you will find that you can't write up + hell so it will stand printing. Neither Howells nor I believe in hell or + the divinity of the Savior, but no matter, the Savior is none the less a + sacred Personage, and a man should have no desire or disposition to refer + to him lightly, profanely, or otherwise than with the profoundest + reverence. + </p> + <p> + The only safe thing is not to introduce him, or refer to him at all, I + suspect. I have entirely rewritten one book 3 (perhaps 4.) times, changing + the plan every time—1200 pages of MS. wasted and burned—and + shall tackle it again, one of these years and maybe succeed at last. + Therefore you need not expect to get your book right the first time. Go to + work and revamp or rewrite it. God only exhibits his thunder and lightning + at intervals, and so they always command attention. These are God's + adjectives. You thunder and lightning too much; the reader ceases to get + under the bed, by and by. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Perkins will send you and Ma your checks when we are gone. But don't + write him, ever, except a single line in case he forgets the checks—for + the man is driven to death with work. + </p> + <p> + I see you are half promising yourself a monthly return for your book. In + my experience, previously counted chickens never do hatch. How many of + mine I have counted! and never a one of them but failed! It is much better + to hedge disappointment by not counting.—Unexpected money is a + delight. The same sum is a bitterness when you expected more. + </p> + <p> + My time in America is growing mighty short. Perhaps we can manage in this + way: Imprimis, if the N. Y. Weekly people know that you are my brother, + they will turn that fact into an advertisement—a thing of value to + them, but not to you and me. This must be prevented. I will write them a + note to say you have a friend near Keokuk, Charles S. Miller, who has a MS + for sale which you think is a pretty clever travesty on Verne; and if they + want it they might write to him in your care. Then if any correspondence + ensues between you and them, let Mollie write for you and sign your name—your + own hand writing representing Miller's. Keep yourself out of sight + till you make a strike on your own merits there is no other way to get a + fair verdict upon your merits. + </p> + <p> + Later-I've written the note to Smith, and with nothing in it which + he can use as an advertisement. I'm called—Good bye-love to + you both. + </p> + <p> + We leave here next Wednesday for Elmira: we leave there Apl. 9 or 10—and + sail 11th + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Yr Bro. + SAM. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In the letter that follows the mention of Annie and Sam refers, of + course, to the children of Mrs. Moffett, who had been, Pamela + Clemens. They were grown now, and Annie Moffett was married to + Charles L. Webster, who later was to become Mark Twain's business + partner. The Moffetts and Websters were living in Fredonia at this + time, and Clemens had been to pay them a good-by visit. The Taylor + dinner mentioned was a farewell banquet given to Bayard Taylor, who + had been appointed Minister to Germany, and was to sail on the ship + with Mark Twain. Mark Twain's mother was visiting in Fredonia when + this letter was written. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To Mrs. Jane Clemens, in Fredonia: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Apr. 7, '78. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR MOTHER,—I have told Livy all about Annie's beautiful + house, and about Sam and Charley, and about Charley's ingenious + manufactures and his strong manhood and good promise, and how glad I am + that he and Annie married. And I have told her about Annie's + excellent house-keeping, also about the great Bacon conflict; (I told you + it was a hundred to one that neither Livy nor the European powers had + heard of that desolating struggle.) + </p> + <p> + And I have told her how beautiful you are in your age and how bright your + mind is with its old-time brightness, and how she and the children would + enjoy you. And I have told her how singularly young Pamela is looking, and + what a fine large fellow Sam is, and how ill the lingering syllable + “my” to his name fits his port and figure. + </p> + <p> + Well, Pamela, after thinking it over for a day or so, I came near + inquiring about a state-room in our ship for Sam, to please you, but my + wiser former resolution came back to me. It is not for his good that he + have friends in the ship. His conduct in the Bacon business shows that he + will develop rapidly into a manly man as soon as he is cast loose from + your apron strings. + </p> + <p> + You don't teach him to push ahead and do and dare things for + himself, but you do just the reverse. You are assisted in your damaging + work by the tyrannous ways of a village—villagers watch each other + and so make cowards of each other. After Sam shall have voyaged to Europe + by himself, and rubbed against the world and taken and returned its cuffs, + do you think he will hesitate to escort a guest into any whisky-mill in + Fredonia when he himself has no sinful business to transact there? No, he + will smile at the idea. If he avoids this courtesy now from principle, of + course I find no fault with it at all—only if he thinks it is + principle he may be mistaken; a close examination may show it is only a + bowing to the tyranny of public opinion. + </p> + <p> + I only say it may—I cannot venture to say it will. Hartford is not a + large place, but it is broader than to have ways of that sort. Three or + four weeks ago, at a Moody and Sankey meeting, the preacher read a letter + from somebody “exposing” the fact that a prominent clergyman + had gone from one of those meetings, bought a bottle of lager beer and + drank it on the premises (a drug store.) + </p> + <p> + A tempest of indignation swept the town. Our clergymen and everybody else + said the “culprit” had not only done an innocent thing, but + had done it in an open, manly way, and it was nobody's right or + business to find fault with it. Perhaps this dangerous latitude comes of + the fact that we never have any temperance “rot” going on in + Hartford. + </p> + <p> + I find here a letter from Orion, submitting some new matter in his story + for criticism. When you write him, please tell him to do the best he can + and bang away. I can do nothing further in this matter, for I have but 3 + days left in which to settle a deal of important business and answer a + bushel and a half of letters. I am very nearly tired to death. + </p> + <p> + I was so jaded and worn, at the Taylor dinner, that I found I could not + remember 3 sentences of the speech I had memorized, and therefore got up + and said so and excused myself from speaking. I arrived here at 3 o'clock + this morning. I think the next 3 days will finish me. The idea of sitting + down to a job of literary criticism is simply ludicrous. + </p> + <p> + A young lady passenger in our ship has been placed under Livy's + charge. Livy couldn't easily get out of it, and did not want to, on + her own account, but fully expected I would make trouble when I heard of + it. But I didn't. A girl can't well travel alone, so I offered + no objection. She leaves us at Hamburg. So I've got 6 people in my + care, now—which is just 6 too many for a man of my unexecutive + capacity. I expect nothing else but to lose some of them overboard. + </p> + <p> + We send our loving good-byes to all the household and hope to see you + again after a spell. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Affly Yrs. + SAM. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + There are no other American letters of this period. The Clemens + party, which included Miss Clara Spaulding, of Elmira, sailed as + planned, on the Holsatia, April 11, 1878. As before stated, Bayard + Taylor was on the ship; also Murat Halstead and family. On the eve + of departure, Clemens sent to Howells this farewell word: + + “And that reminds me, ungrateful dog that I am, that I owe as much + to your training as the rude country job-printer owes to the city + boss who takes him in hand and teaches him the right way to handle + his art. I was talking to Mrs. Clemens about this the other day, + and grieving because I never mentioned it to you, thereby seeming to + ignore it, or to be unaware of it. Nothing that has passed under + your eye needs any revision before going into a volume, while all my + other stuff does need so much.” + + A characteristic tribute, and from the heart. + + The first European letter came from Frankfort, a rest on their way + to Heidelberg. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To W. D. Howells, in Boston: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + FRANKFORT ON THE MAIN, May 4, 1878. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR HOWELLS,—I only propose to write a single line to say we are + still around. Ah, I have such a deep, grateful, unutterable sense of being + “out of it all.” I think I foretaste some of the advantages of + being dead. Some of the joy of it. I don't read any newspapers or + care for them. When people tell me England has declared war, I drop the + subject, feeling that it is none of my business; when they tell me Mrs. + Tilton has confessed and Mr. B. denied, I say both of them have done that + before, therefore let the worn stub of the Plymouth white-wash brush be + brought out once more, and let the faithful spit on their hands and get to + work again regardless of me—for I am out of it all. + </p> + <p> + We had 2 almost devilish weeks at sea (and I tell you Bayard Taylor is a + really lovable man—which you already knew) then we staid a week in + the beautiful, the very beautiful city of Hamburg; and since then we have + been fooling along, 4 hours per day by rail, with a courier, spending the + other 20 in hotels whose enormous bedchambers and private parlors are an + overpowering marvel to me: Day before yesterday, in Cassel, we had a love + of a bedroom, 31 feet long, and a parlor with 2 sofas, 12 chairs, a + writing desk and 4 tables scattered around, here and there in it. Made of + red silk, too, by George. + </p> + <p> + The times and times I wish you were along! You could throw some fun into + the journey; whereas I go on, day by day, in a smileless state of solemn + admiration. + </p> + <p> + What a paradise this is! What clean clothes, what good faces, what + tranquil contentment, what prosperity, what genuine freedom, what superb + government. And I am so happy, for I am responsible for none of it. I am + only here to enjoy. How charmed I am when I overhear a German word which I + understand. With love from us 2 to you 2. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + MARK. +</pre> + <p> + P. S. We are not taking six days to go from Hamburg to Heidelberg because + we prefer it. Quite on the contrary. Mrs. Clemens picked up a dreadful + cold and sore throat on board ship and still keeps them in stock—so + she could only travel 4 hours a day. She wanted to dive straight through, + but I had different notions about the wisdom of it. I found that 4 hours a + day was the best she could do. Before I forget it, our permanent address + is Care Messrs. Koester & Co., Backers, Heidelberg. We go there + tomorrow. + </p> + <p> + Poor Susy! From the day we reached German soil, we have required Rosa to + speak German to the children—which they hate with all their souls. + The other morning in Hanover, Susy came to us (from Rosa, in the nursery) + and said, in halting syllables, “Papa, vie viel uhr ist es?”—then + turned with pathos in her big eyes, and said, “Mamma, I wish Rosa + was made in English.” + </p> + <p> + (Unfinished) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Frankfort was a brief halting-place, their destination being + Heidelberg. They were presently located there in the beautiful + Schloss hotel, which overlooks the old castle with its forest + setting, the flowing Neckar, and the distant valley of the Rhine. + Clemens, who had discovered the location, and loved it, toward the + end of May reported to Howells his felicities. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + Fragment of a letter to W. D. Howells, in Boston: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SCHLOSS-HOTEL HEIDELBERG, + + Sunday, a. m., May 26, 1878. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR HOWELLS,—....divinely located. From this airy porch among + the shining groves we look down upon Heidelberg Castle, and upon the swift + Neckar, and the town, and out over the wide green level of the Rhine + valley—a marvelous prospect. We are in a Cul-de-sac formed of + hill-ranges and river; we are on the side of a steep mountain; the river + at our feet is walled, on its other side, (yes, on both sides,) by a steep + and wooded mountain-range which rises abruptly aloft from the water's + edge; portions of these mountains are densely wooded; the plain of the + Rhine, seen through the mouth of this pocket, has many and peculiar charms + for the eye. + </p> + <p> + Our bedroom has two great glass bird-cages (enclosed balconies) one + looking toward the Rhine valley and sunset, the other looking up the + Neckar cul-de-sac, and naturally we spend nearly all our time in these—when + one is sunny the other is shady. We have tables and chairs in them; we do + our reading, writing, studying, smoking and suppering in them. + </p> + <p> + The view from these bird-cages is my despair. The pictures change from one + enchanting aspect to another in ceaseless procession, never keeping one + form half an hour, and never taking on an unlovely one. + </p> + <p> + And then Heidelberg on a dark night! It is massed, away down there, almost + right under us, you know, and stretches off toward the valley. Its curved + and interlacing streets are a cobweb, beaded thick with lights—a + wonderful thing to see; then the rows of lights on the arched bridges, and + their glinting reflections in the water; and away at the far end, the + Eisenbahnhof, with its twenty solid acres of glittering gas-jets, a huge + garden, as one may say, whose every plant is a flame. + </p> + <p> + These balconies are the darlingest things. I have spent all the morning in + this north one. Counting big and little, it has 256 panes of glass in it; + so one is in effect right out in the free sunshine, and yet sheltered from + wind and rain—and likewise doored and curtained from whatever may be + going on in the bedroom. It must have been a noble genius who devised this + hotel. Lord, how blessed is the repose, the tranquillity of this place! + Only two sounds; the happy clamor of the birds in the groves, and the + muffled music of the Neckar, tumbling over the opposing dykes. It is no + hardship to lie awake awhile, nights, for this subdued roar has exactly + the sound of a steady rain beating upon a roof. It is so healing to the + spirit; and it bears up the thread of one's imaginings as the + accompaniment bears up a song. + </p> + <p> + While Livy and Miss Spaulding have been writing at this table, I have sat + tilted back, near by, with a pipe and the last Atlantic, and read Charley + Warner's article with prodigious enjoyment. I think it is exquisite. + I think it must be the roundest and broadest and completest short essay he + has ever written. It is clear, and compact, and charmingly done. + </p> + <p> + The hotel grounds join and communicate with the Castle grounds; so we and + the children loaf in the winding paths of those leafy vastnesses a great + deal, and drink beer and listen to excellent music. + </p> + <p> + When we first came to this hotel, a couple of weeks ago, I pointed to a + house across the river, and said I meant to rent the centre room on the 3d + floor for a work-room. Jokingly we got to speaking of it as my office; and + amused ourselves with watching “my people” daily in their + small grounds and trying to make out what we could of their dress, &c., + without a glass. Well, I loafed along there one day and found on that + house the only sign of the kind on that side of the river: “Moblirte + Wohnung zu Vermiethen!” I went in and rented that very room which I + had long ago selected. There was only one other room in the whole + double-house unrented. + </p> + <p> + (It occurs to me that I made a great mistake in not thinking to deliver a + very bad German speech, every other sentence pieced out with English, at + the Bayard Taylor banquet in New York. I think I could have made it one of + the features of the occasion.)—[He used this plan at a gathering of + the American students in Heidelberg, on July 4th, with great effect; so + his idea was not wasted.] + </p> + <p> + We left Hartford before the end of March, and I have been idle ever since. + I have waited for a call to go to work—I knew it would come. Well, + it began to come a week ago; my note-book comes out more and more + frequently every day since; 3 days ago I concluded to move my manuscript + over to my den. Now the call is loud and decided at last. So tomorrow I + shall begin regular, steady work, and stick to it till middle of July or + 1st August, when I look for Twichell; we will then walk about Germany 2 or + 3 weeks, and then I'll go to work again—(perhaps in Munich.) + </p> + <p> + We both send a power of love to the Howellses, and we do wish you were + here. Are you in the new house? Tell us about it. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Yrs Ever + MARK. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + There has been no former mention in the letters of the coming of + Twichell; yet this had been a part of the European plan. Mark Twain + had invited his walking companion to make a tramp with him through + Europe, as his guest. Material for the new book would grow faster + with Twichell as a companion; and these two in spite of their widely + opposed views concerning Providence and the general scheme of + creation, were wholly congenial comrades. Twichell, in Hartford, + expecting to receive the final summons to start, wrote: “Oh, my! do + you realize, Mark, what a symposium it is to be? I do. To begin + with, I am thoroughly tired, and the rest will be worth everything. + To walk with you and talk with you for weeks together—why, it's my + dream of luxury.” + + August 1st brought Twichell, and the friends set out without delay + on a tramp through the Black Forest, making short excursions at + first, but presently extending them in the direction of Switzerland. + Mrs. Clemens and the others remained in Heidelberg, to follow at + their leisure. To Mrs. Clemens her husband sent frequent reports of + their wanderings. It will be seen that their tramp did not confine + itself to pedestrianism, though they did, in fact, walk a great + deal, and Mark Twain in a note to his mother declared, “I loathe all + travel, except on foot.” The reports to Mrs. Clemens follow: +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + Letters to Mrs. Clemens, in Heidelberg: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ALLERHEILIGEN Aug. 5, 1878 8:30 p.m. +</pre> + <p> + Livy darling, we had a rattling good time to-day, but we came very near + being left at Baden-Baden, for instead of waiting in the waiting-room, we + sat down on the platform to wait where the trains come in from the other + direction. We sat there full ten minutes—and then all of a sudden it + occurred to me that that was not the right place. + </p> + <p> + On the train the principal of the big English school at Nauheim (of which + Mr. Scheiding was a teacher), introduced himself to me, and then he mapped + out our day for us (for today and tomorrow) and also drew a map and gave + us directions how to proceed through Switzerland. He had his entire school + with him, taking them on a prodigious trip through Switzerland—tickets + for the round trip ten dollars apiece. He has done this annually for 10 + years. We took a post carriage from Aachen to Otterhofen for 7 marks—stopped + at the “Pflug” to drink beer, and saw that pretty girl again + at a distance. Her father, mother, and two brothers received me like an + ancient customer and sat down and talked as long as I had any German left. + The big room was full of red-vested farmers (the Gemeindrath of the + district, with the Burgermeister at the head,) drinking beer and talking + public business. They had held an election and chosen a new member and had + been drinking beer at his expense for several hours. (It was intensely + Black-foresty.) + </p> + <p> + There was an Australian there (a student from Stuttgart or somewhere,) and + Joe told him who I was and he laid himself out to make our course plain, + for us—so I am certain we can't get lost between here and + Heidelberg. + </p> + <p> + We walked the carriage road till we came to that place where one sees the + foot path on the other side of the ravine, then we crossed over and took + that. For a good while we were in a dense forest and judged we were lost, + but met a native women who said we were all right. We fooled along and got + there at 6 p.m.—ate supper, then followed down the ravine to the + foot of the falls, then struck into a blind path to see where it would go, + and just about dark we fetched up at the Devil's Pulpit on top of + the hills. Then home. And now to bed, pretty sleepy. Joe sends love and I + send a thousand times as much, my darling. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + S. L. C. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + HOTEL GENNIN. +</pre> + <p> + Livy darling, we had a lovely day jogged right along, with a good horse + and sensible driver—the last two hours right behind an open carriage + filled with a pleasant German family—old gentleman and 3 pretty + daughters. At table d'hote tonight, 3 dishes were enough for me, and + then I bored along tediously through the bill of fare, with a back-ache, + not daring to get up and bow to the German family and leave. I meant to + sit it through and make them get up and do the bowing; but at last Joe + took pity on me and said he would get up and drop them a curtsy and put me + out of my misery. I was grateful. He got up and delivered a succession of + frank and hearty bows, accompanying them with an atmosphere of + good-fellowship which would have made even an English family surrender. Of + course the Germans responded—then I got right up and they had to + respond to my salaams, too. So “that was done.” + </p> + <p> + We walked up a gorge and saw a tumbling waterfall which was nothing to + Giessbach, but it made me resolve to drop you a line and urge you to go + and see Giessbach illuminated. Don't fail—but take a long day's + rest, first. I love you, sweetheart. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SAML. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + OVER THE GEMMI PASS. + + 4.30 p.m. Saturday, Aug. 24, 1878. +</pre> + <p> + Livy darling, Joe and I have had a most noble day. Started to climb (on + foot) at 8.30 this morning among the grandest peaks! Every half hour + carried us back a month in the season. We left them harvesting 2d crop of + hay. At 9 we were in July and found ripe strawberries; at 9.30 we were in + June and gathered flowers belonging to that month; at 10 we were in May + and gathered a flower which appeared in Heidelberg the 17th of that month; + also forget-me-nots, which disappeared from Heidelberg about mid-May; at + 11.30 we were in April (by the flowers;) at noon we had rain and hail + mixed, and wind and enveloping fogs, and considered it March; at 12.30 we + had snowbanks above us and snowbanks below us, and considered it February. + Not good February, though, because in the midst of the wild desolation the + forget-me-not still bloomed, lovely as ever. + </p> + <p> + What a flower garden the Gemmi Pass is! After I had got my hands full Joe + made me a paper bag, which I pinned to my lapel and filled with choice + specimens. I gathered no flowers which I had ever gathered before except 4 + or 5 kinds. We took it leisurely and I picked all I wanted to. I mailed my + harvest to you a while ago. Don't send it to Mrs. Brooks until you + have looked it over, flower by flower. It will pay. + </p> + <p> + Among the clouds and everlasting snows I found a brave and bright little + forget-me-not growing in the very midst of a smashed and tumbled + stone-debris, just as cheerful as if the barren and awful domes and + ramparts that towered around were the blessed walls of heaven. I thought + how Lilly Warner would be touched by such a gracious surprise, if she, + instead of I, had seen it. So I plucked it, and have mailed it to her with + a note. + </p> + <p> + Our walk was 7 hours—the last 2 down a path as steep as a ladder, + almost, cut in the face of a mighty precipice. People are not allowed to + ride down it. This part of the day's work taxed our knees, I tell + you. We have been loafing about this village (Leukerbad) for an hour, now + we stay here over Sunday. Not tired at all. (Joe's hat fell over the + precipice—so he came here bareheaded.) I love you, my darling. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SAML. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ST. NICHOLAS, Aug. 26th, '78. +</pre> + <p> + Livy darling, we came through a-whooping today, 6 hours tramp up steep + hills and down steep hills, in mud and water shoe-deep, and in a steady + pouring rain which never moderated a moment. I was as chipper and fresh as + a lark all the way and arrived without the slightest sense of fatigue. But + we were soaked and my shoes full of water, so we ate at once, stripped and + went to bed for 2 1/2 hours while our traps were thoroughly dried, and our + boots greased in addition. Then we put our clothes on hot and went to + table d'hote. + </p> + <p> + Made some nice English friends and shall see them at Zermatt tomorrow. + </p> + <p> + Gathered a small bouquet of new flowers, but they got spoiled. I sent you + a safety-match box full of flowers last night from Leukerbad. + </p> + <p> + I have just telegraphed you to wire the family news to me at Riffel + tomorrow. I do hope you are all well and having as jolly a time as we are, + for I love you, sweetheart, and also, in a measure, the Bays.—[Little + Susy's word for “babies.”]—Give my love to Clara + Spaulding and also to the cubs. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SAML. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + This, as far as it goes, is a truer and better account of the + excursion than Mark Twain gave in the book that he wrote later. A + Tramp Abroad has a quality of burlesque in it, which did not belong + to the journey at all, but was invented to satisfy the craving for + what the public conceived to be Mark Twain's humor. The serious + portions of the book are much more pleasing—more like himself. + The entire journey, as will be seen, lasted one week more than a + month. + + Twichell also made his reports home, some of which give us + interesting pictures of his walking partner. In one place he wrote: + “Mark is a queer fellow. There is nothing he so delights in as a + swift, strong stream. You can hardly get him to leave one when once + he is within the influence of its fascinations.” + + Twichell tells how at Kandersteg they were out together one evening + where a brook comes plunging down from Gasternthal and how he pushed + in a drift to see it go racing along the current. “When I got back + to the path Mark was running down stream after it as hard as he + could go, throwing up his hands and shouting in the wildest ecstasy, + and when a piece went over a fall and emerged to view in the foam + below he would jump up and down and yell. He said afterward that he + had not been so excited in three months.” + + In other places Twichell refers to his companion's consideration for + the feeling of others, and for animals. “When we are driving, his + concern is all about the horse. He can't bear to see the whip used, + or to see a horse pull hard.” + </pre> + <p> + After the walk over Gemmi Pass he wrote: “Mark to-day was immensely + absorbed in flowers. He scrambled around and gathered a great variety, and + manifested the intensest pleasure in them. He crowded a pocket of his + note-book with his specimens, and wanted more room.” + </p> + <p> + Whereupon Twichell got out his needle and thread and some stiff paper he + had and contrived the little paper bag to hang to the front of his vest. + </p> + <p> + The tramp really ended at Lausanne, where Clemens joined his party, but a + short excursion to Chillon and Chamonix followed, the travelers finally + separating at Geneva, Twichell to set out for home by way of England, + Clemens to remain and try to write the story of their travels. He hurried + a good-by letter after his comrade: + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To Rev. J. H. Twichell: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + (No date) +</pre> + <p> + DEAR OLD JOE,—It is actually all over! I was so low-spirited at the + station yesterday, and this morning, when I woke, I couldn't seem to + accept the dismal truth that you were really gone, and the pleasant + tramping and talking at an end. Ah, my boy! it has been such a rich + holiday to me, and I feel under such deep and honest obligations to you + for coming. I am putting out of my mind all memory of the times when I + misbehaved toward you and hurt you: I am resolved to consider it forgiven, + and to store up and remember only the charming hours of the journeys and + the times when I was not unworthy to be with you and share a companionship + which to me stands first after Livy's. It is justifiable to do this; + for why should I let my small infirmities of disposition live and grovel + among my mental pictures of the eternal sublimities of the Alps? + </p> + <p> + Livy can't accept or endure the fact that you are gone. But you are, + and we cannot get around it. So take our love with you, and bear it also + over the sea to Harmony, and God bless you both. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + MARK. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + From Switzerland the Clemens party worked down into Italy, + sight-seeing, a diversion in which Mark Twain found little enough of + interest. He had seen most of the sights ten years before, when his + mind was fresh. He unburdened himself to Twichell and to Howells, + after a period of suffering. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To J. H. Twichell, in Hartford: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ROME, Nov. 3, '78. +</pre> + <p> + DEAR JOE,—.....I have received your several letters, and we have + prodigiously enjoyed them. How I do admire a man who can sit down and + whale away with a pen just the same as if it was fishing—or + something else as full of pleasure and as void of labor. I can't do + it; else, in common decency, I would when I write to you. Joe, if I can + make a book out of the matter gathered in your company over here, the book + is safe; but I don't think I have gathered any matter before or + since your visit worth writing up. I do wish you were in Rome to do my + sightseeing for me. Rome interests me as much as East Hartford could, and + no more. That is, the Rome which the average tourist feels an interest in; + but there are other things here which stir me enough to make life worth + living. Livy and Clara Spaulding are having a royal time worshiping the + old Masters, and I as good a time gritting my ineffectual teeth over them. + </p> + <p> + A friend waits for me. A power of love to you all. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Amen. + + MARK. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In his letter to Howells he said: “I wish I could give those sharp + satires on European life which you mention, but of course a man + can't write successful satire except he be in a calm, judicial + good-humor; whereas I hate travel, and I hate hotels, and I hate the + opera, and I hate the old masters. In truth, I don't ever seem to + be in a good-enough humor with anything to satirize it. No, I want + to stand up before it and curse it and foam at the mouth, or take a + club and pound it to rags and pulp. I have got in two or three + chapters about Wagner's operas, and managed to do it without showing + temper, but the strain of another such effort would burst me!” + + From Italy the Clemens party went to Munich, where they had arranged + in advance for winter quarters. Clemens claims, in his report of + the matter to Howells, that he took the party through without the + aid of a courier, though thirty years later, in some comment which + he set down on being shown the letter, he wrote concerning this + paragraph: “Probably a lie.” He wrote, also, that they acquired a + great affection for Fraulein Dahlweiner: “Acquired it at once and it + outlasted the winter we spent in her house.” + </pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To W. D. Howells, in Boston: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + No 1a, Karlstrasse, 2e Stock. + + Care Fraulein Dahlweiner. + + MUNICH, Nov. 17, 1878. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR HOWELLS,—We arrived here night before last, pretty well + fagged: an 8-hour pull from Rome to Florence; a rest there of a day and + two nights; then 5 1/2 hours to Bologna; one night's rest; then from + noon to 10:30 p.m. carried us to Trent, in the Austrian Tyrol, where the + confounded hotel had not received our message, and so at that miserable + hour, in that snowy region, the tribe had to shiver together in fireless + rooms while beds were prepared and warmed, then up at 6 in the morning and + a noble view of snow-peaks glittering in the rich light of a full moon + while the hotel-devils lazily deranged a breakfast for us in the dreary + gloom of blinking candles; then a solid 12 hours pull through the + loveliest snow ranges and snow-draped forest—and at 7 p.m. we hauled + up, in drizzle and fog, at the domicile which had been engaged for us ten + months before. Munich did seem the horriblest place, the most desolate + place, the most unendurable place!—and the rooms were so small, the + conveniences so meagre, and the porcelain stoves so grim, ghastly, dismal, + intolerable! So Livy and Clara (Spaulding) sat down forlorn, and cried, + and I retired to a private, place to pray. By and by we all retired to our + narrow German beds; and when Livy and I finished talking across the room, + it was all decided that we would rest 24 hours then pay whatever damages + were required, and straightway fly to the south of France. + </p> + <p> + But you see, that was simply fatigue. Next morning the tribe fell in love + with the rooms, with the weather, with Munich, and head over heels in love + with Fraulein Dahlweiner. We got a larger parlor—an ample one—threw + two communicating bedrooms into one, for the children, and now we are + entirely comfortable. The only apprehension, at present, is that the + climate may not be just right for the children, in which case we shall + have to go to France, but it will be with the sincerest regret. + </p> + <p> + Now I brought the tribe through from Rome, myself. We never had so little + trouble before. The next time anybody has a courier to put out to nurse, I + shall not be in the market. + </p> + <p> + Last night the forlornities had all disappeared; so we gathered around the + lamp, after supper, with our beer and my pipe, and in a condition of + grateful snugness tackled the new magazines. I read your new story aloud, + amid thunders of applause, and we all agreed that Captain Jenness and the + old man with the accordion-hat are lovely people and most skillfully drawn—and + that cabin-boy, too, we like. Of course we are all glad the girl is gone + to Venice—for there is no place like Venice. Now I easily understand + that the old man couldn't go, because you have a purpose in sending + Lyddy by herself: but you could send the old man over in another ship, and + we particularly want him along. Suppose you don't need him there? + What of that? Can't you let him feed the doves? Can't you let + him fall in the canal occasionally? Can't you let his good-natured + purse be a daily prey to guides and beggar-boys? Can't you let him + find peace and rest and fellowship under Pere Jacopo's kindly wing? + (However, you are writing the book, not I—still, I am one of the + people you are writing it for, you understand.) I only want to insist, in + a friendly way, that the old man shall shed his sweet influence frequently + upon the page—that is all. + </p> + <p> + The first time we called at the convent, Pere Jacopo was absent; the next + (Just at this moment Miss Spaulding spoke up and said something about Pere + Jacopo—there is more in this acting of one mind upon another than + people think) time, he was there, and gave us preserved rose-leaves to + eat, and talked about you, and Mrs. Howells, and Winnie, and brought out + his photographs, and showed us a picture of “the library of your new + house,” but not so—it was the study in your Cambridge house. + He was very sweet and good. He called on us next day; the day after that + we left Venice, after a pleasant sojourn Of 3 or 4 weeks. He expects to + spend this winter in Munich and will see us often, he said. + </p> + <p> + Pretty soon, I am going to write something, and when I finish it I shall + know whether to put it to itself or in the “Contributors' + Club.” That “Contributors' Club” was a most happy + idea. By the way, I think that the man who wrote the paragraph beginning + at the bottom of page 643 has said a mighty sound and sensible thing. I + wish his suggestion could be adopted. + </p> + <p> + It is lovely of you to keep that old pipe in such a place of honor. + </p> + <p> + While it occurs to me, I must tell you Susie's last. She is sorely + badgered with dreams; and her stock dream is that she is being eaten up by + bears. She is a grave and thoughtful child, as you will remember. Last + night she had the usual dream. This morning she stood apart (after telling + it,) for some time, looking vacantly at the floor, and absorbed in + meditation. At last she looked up, and with the pathos of one who feels he + has not been dealt by with even-handed fairness, said “But Mamma, + the trouble is, that I am never the bear, but always the person.” + </p> + <p> + It would not have occurred to me that there might be an advantage, even in + a dream, in occasionally being the eater, instead of always the party + eaten, but I easily perceived that her point was well taken. + </p> + <p> + I'm sending to Heidelberg for your letter and Winnie's, and I + do hope they haven't been lost. + </p> + <p> + My wife and I send love to you all. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Yrs ever, + + MARK. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The Howells story, running at this time in the Atlantic, and so much + enjoyed by the Clemens party, was “The Lady of the Aroostook.” The + suggestions made for enlarging the part of the “old man” are + eminently characteristic. + + Mark Twain's forty-third birthday came in Munich, and in his letter + conveying this fact to his mother we get a brief added outline of + the daily life in that old Bavarian city. Certainly, it would seem + to have been a quieter and more profitable existence than he had + known amid the confusion of things left behind in, America. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To Mrs. Jane Clemens and Mrs. Moffett, in America: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + No. 1a Karlstrasse, + + Dec. 1, MUNICH. 1878. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR MOTHER AND SISTER,—I broke the back of life yesterday and + started down-hill toward old age. This fact has not produced any effect + upon me that I can detect. + </p> + <p> + I suppose we are located here for the winter. I have a pleasant work-room + a mile from here where I do my writing. The walk to and from that place + gives me what exercise I need, and all I take. We staid three weeks in + Venice, a week in Florence, a fortnight in Rome, and arrived here a couple + of weeks ago. Livy and Miss Spaulding are studying drawing and German, and + the children have a German day-governess. I cannot see but that the + children speak German as well as they do English. + </p> + <p> + Susie often translates Livy's orders to the servants. I cannot work + and study German at the same time: so I have dropped the latter, and do + not even read the language, except in the morning paper to get the news. + </p> + <p> + We have all pretty good health, latterly, and have seldom had to call the + doctor. The children have been in the open air pretty constantly for + months now. In Venice they were on the water in the gondola most of the + time, and were great friends with our gondolier; and in Rome and Florence + they had long daily tramps, for Rosa is a famous hand to smell out the + sights of a strange place. Here they wander less extensively. + </p> + <p> + The family all join in love to you all and to Orion and Mollie. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Affly + Your son + SAM. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIX. LETTERS 1879. RETURN TO AMERICA. THE GREAT GRANT REUNION + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Life went on very well in Munich. Each day the family fell + more in love with Fraulein Dahlweiner and her house. + + Mark Twain, however, did not settle down to his work + readily. His “pleasant work-room” provided exercise, but no + inspiration. When he discovered he could not find his Swiss + note-book he was ready to give up his travel-writing + altogether. In the letter that follows we find him much + less enthusiastic concerning his own performances than over + the story by Howells, which he was following in the + Atlantic. + + The “detective” chapter mentioned in this letter was not + included in 'A Tramp Abroad.' It was published separately, + as 'The Stolen White Elephant' in a volume bearing that + title. The play, which he had now found “dreadfully witless + and flat,” was no other than “Simon Wheeler, Detective,” + which he had once regarded so highly. The “Stewart” + referred to was the millionaire merchant, A. T. Stewart, + whose body was stolen in the expectation of reward. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To W. D. Howells, in Boston: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + MUNICH, Jan. 21, (1879) +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR HOWELLS,—It's no use, your letter miscarried in some + way and is lost. The consul has made a thorough search and says he has not + been able to trace it. It is unaccountable, for all the letters I did not + want arrived without a single grateful failure. Well, I have read-up, now, + as far as you have got, that is, to where there's a storm at sea + approaching,—and we three think you are clear, out-Howellsing + Howells. If your literature has not struck perfection now we are not able + to see what is lacking. It is all such truth—truth to the life; + every where your pen falls it leaves a photograph. I did imagine that + everything had been said about life at sea that could be said, but no + matter, it was all a failure and lies, nothing but lies with a thin + varnish of fact,—only you have stated it as it absolutely is. And + only you see people and their ways, and their insides and outsides as they + are, and make them talk as they do talk. I think you are the very greatest + artist in these tremendous mysteries that ever lived. There doesn't + seem to be anything that can be concealed from your awful all-seeing eye. + It must be a cheerful thing for one to live with you and be aware that you + are going up and down in him like another conscience all the time. + Possibly you will not be a fully accepted classic until you have been dead + a hundred years,—it is the fate of the Shakespeares and of all + genuine prophets,—but then your books will be as common as Bibles, I + believe. You're not a weed, but an oak; not a summer-house, but a + cathedral. In that day I shall still be in the Cyclopedias, too, thus: + “Mark Twain; history and occupation unknown—but he was + personally acquainted with Howells.” There—I could sing your + praises all day, and feel and believe every bit of it. + </p> + <p> + My book is half finished; I wish to heaven it was done. I have given up + writing a detective novel—can't write a novel, for I lack the + faculty; but when the detectives were nosing around after Stewart's + loud remains, I threw a chapter into my present book in which I have very + extravagantly burlesqued the detective business—if it is possible to + burlesque that business extravagantly. You know I was going to send you + that detective play, so that you could re-write it. Well I didn't do + it because I couldn't find a single idea in it that could be useful + to you. It was dreadfully witless and flat. I knew it would sadden you and + unfit you for work. + </p> + <p> + I have always been sorry we threw up that play embodying Orion which you + began. It was a mistake to do that. Do keep that MS and tackle it again. + It will work out all right; you will see. I don't believe that that + character exists in literature in so well-developed a condition as it + exists in Orion's person. Now won't you put Orion in a story? + Then he will go handsomely into a play afterwards. How deliciously you + could paint him—it would make fascinating reading—the sort + that makes a reader laugh and cry at the same time, for Orion is as good + and ridiculous a soul as ever was. + </p> + <p> + Ah, to think of Bayard Taylor! It is too sad to talk about. I was so glad + there was not a single sting and so many good praiseful words in the + Atlantic's criticism of Deukalion. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Love to you all + Yrs Ever + MARK +</pre> + <p> + We remain here till middle of March. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In 'A Tramp Abroad' there is an incident in which the author + describes himself as hunting for a lost sock in the dark, in a vast + hotel bedroom at Heilbronn. The account of the real incident, as + written to Twichell, seems even more amusing. + + The “Yarn About the Limburger Cheese and the Box of Guns,” like “The + Stolen White Elephant,” did not find place in the travel-book, but + was published in the same volume with the elephant story, added to + the rambling notes of “An Idle Excursion.” + + With the discovery of the Swiss note-book, work with Mark Twain was + going better. His letter reflects his enthusiasm. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To Rev. J. H. Twichell, in Hartford: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + MUNICH, Jan 26 '79. +</pre> + <p> + DEAR OLD JOE,—Sunday. Your delicious letter arrived exactly at the + right time. It was laid by my plate as I was finishing breakfast at 12 + noon. Livy and Clara, (Spaulding) arrived from church 5 minutes later; I + took a pipe and spread myself out on the sofa, and Livy sat by and read, + and I warmed to that butcher the moment he began to swear. There is more + than one way of praying, and I like the butcher's way because the + petitioner is so apt to be in earnest. I was peculiarly alive to his + performance just at this time, for another reason, to wit: Last night I + awoke at 3 this morning, and after raging to my self for 2 interminable + hours, I gave it up. I rose, assumed a catlike stealthiness, to keep from + waking Livy, and proceeded to dress in the pitch dark. Slowly but surely I + got on garment after garment—all down to one sock; I had one slipper + on and the other in my hand. Well, on my hands and knees I crept softly + around, pawing and feeling and scooping along the carpet, and among + chair-legs for that missing sock; I kept that up; and still kept it up and + kept it up. At first I only said to myself, “Blame that sock,” + but that soon ceased to answer; my expletives grew steadily stronger and + stronger,—and at last, when I found I was lost, I had to sit flat + down on the floor and take hold of something to keep from lifting the roof + off with the profane explosion that was trying to get out of me. I could + see the dim blur of the window, but of course it was in the wrong place + and could give me no information as to where I was. But I had one comfort—I + had not waked Livy; I believed I could find that sock in silence if the + night lasted long enough. So I started again and softly pawed all over the + place,—and sure enough at the end of half an hour I laid my hand on + the missing article. I rose joyfully up and butted the wash-bowl and + pitcher off the stand and simply raised——so to speak. Livy + screamed, then said, “Who is that? what is the matter?” I said + “There ain't anything the matter—I'm hunting for + my sock.” She said, “Are you hunting for it with a club?” + </p> + <p> + I went in the parlor and lit the lamp, and gradually the fury subsided and + the ridiculous features of the thing began to suggest themselves. So I lay + on the sofa, with note-book and pencil, and transferred the adventure to + our big room in the hotel at Heilbronn, and got it on paper a good deal to + my satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + I found the Swiss note-book, some time ago. When it was first lost I was + glad of it, for I was getting an idea that I had lost my faculty of + writing sketches of travel; therefore the loss of that note-book would + render the writing of this one simply impossible, and let me gracefully + out; I was about to write to Bliss and propose some other book, when the + confounded thing turned up, and down went my heart into my boots. But + there was now no excuse, so I went solidly to work—tore up a great + part of the MS written in Heidelberg,—wrote and tore up,—continued + to write and tear up,—and at last, reward of patient and noble + persistence, my pen got the old swing again! + </p> + <p> + Since then I'm glad Providence knew better what to do with the Swiss + note-book than I did, for I like my work, now, exceedingly, and often turn + out over 30 MS pages a day and then quit sorry that Heaven makes the days + so short. + </p> + <p> + One of my discouragements had been the belief that my interest in this + tour had been so slender that I couldn't gouge matter enough out of + it to make a book. What a mistake. I've got 900 pages written (not a + word in it about the sea voyage) yet I stepped my foot out of Heidelberg + for the first time yesterday,—and then only to take our party of + four on our first pedestrian tour—to Heilbronn. I've got them + dressed elaborately in walking costume—knapsacks, canteens, + field-glasses, leather leggings, patent walking shoes, muslin folds around + their hats, with long tails hanging down behind, sun umbrellas, and + Alpenstocks. They go all the way to Wimpfen by rail-thence to Heilbronn in + a chance vegetable cart drawn by a donkey and a cow; I shall fetch them + home on a raft; and if other people shall perceive that that was no + pedestrian excursion, they themselves shall not be conscious of it.—This + trip will take 100 pages or more,—oh, goodness knows how many! for + the mood is everything, not the material, and I already seem to see 300 + pages rising before me on that trip. Then, I propose to leave Heidelberg + for good. Don't you see, the book (1800 MS pages,) may really be + finished before I ever get to Switzerland? + </p> + <p> + But there's one thing; I want to tell Frank Bliss and his father to + be charitable toward me in,—that is, let me tear up all the MS I + want to, and give me time to write more. I shan't waste the time—I + haven't the slightest desire to loaf, but a consuming desire to + work, ever since I got back my swing. And you see this book is either + going to be compared with the Innocents Abroad, or contrasted with it, to + my disadvantage. I think I can make a book that will be no dead corpse of + a thing and I mean to do my level best to accomplish that. + </p> + <p> + My crude plans are crystalizing. As the thing stands now, I went to Europe + for three purposes. The first you know, and must keep secret, even from + the Blisses; the second is to study Art; and the third to acquire a + critical knowledge of the German language. My MS already shows that the + two latter objects are accomplished. It shows that I am moving about as an + Artist and a Philologist, and unaware that there is any immodesty in + assuming these titles. Having three definite objects has had the effect of + seeming to enlarge my domain and give me the freedom of a loose costume. + It is three strings to my bow, too. + </p> + <p> + Well, your butcher is magnificent. He won't stay out of my mind.—I + keep trying to think of some way of getting your account of him into my + book without his being offended—and yet confound him there isn't + anything you have said which he would see any offense in,—I'm + only thinking of his friends—they are the parties who busy + themselves with seeing things for people. But I'm bound to have him + in. I'm putting in the yarn about the Limburger cheese and the box + of guns, too—mighty glad Howells declined it. It seems to gather + richness and flavor with age. I have very nearly killed several companies + with that narrative,—the American Artists Club, here, for instance, + and Smith and wife and Miss Griffith (they were here in this house a week + or two.) I've got other chapters that pretty nearly destroyed the + same parties, too. + </p> + <p> + O, Switzerland! the further it recedes into the enriching haze of time, + the more intolerably delicious the charm of it and the cheer of it and the + glory and majesty and solemnity and pathos of it grow. Those mountains had + a soul; they thought; they spoke,—one couldn't hear it with + the ears of the body, but what a voice it was!—and how real. Deep + down in my memory it is sounding yet. Alp calleth unto Alp!—that + stately old Scriptural wording is the right one for God's Alps and + God's ocean. How puny we were in that awful presence—and how + painless it was to be so; how fitting and right it seemed, and how + stingless was the sense of our unspeakable insignificance. And Lord how + pervading were the repose and peace and blessedness that poured out of the + heart of the invisible Great Spirit of the Mountains. + </p> + <p> + Now what is it? There are mountains and mountains and mountains in this + world—but only these take you by the heart-strings. I wonder what + the secret of it is. Well, time and time again it has seemed to me that I + must drop everything and flee to Switzerland once more. It is a longing—a + deep, strong, tugging longing—that is the word. We must go again, + Joe.—October days, let us get up at dawn and breakfast at the tower. + I should like that first rate. + </p> + <p> + Livy and all of us send deluges of love to you and Harmony and all the + children. I dreamed last night that I woke up in the library at home and + your children were frolicing around me and Julia was sitting in my lap; + you and Harmony and both families of Warners had finished their welcomes + and were filing out through the conservatory door, wrecking Patrick's + flower pots with their dress skirts as they went. Peace and plenty abide + with you all! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + MARK. +</pre> + <p> + I want the Blisses to know their part of this letter, if possible. They + will see that my delay was not from choice. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Following the life of Mark Twain, whether through his letters or + along the sequence of detailed occurrence, we are never more than a + little while, or a little distance, from his brother Orion. In one + form or another Orion is ever present, his inquiries, his proposals, + his suggestions, his plans for improving his own fortunes, command + our attention. He was one of the most human creatures that ever + lived; indeed, his humanity excluded every form of artificiality + —everything that needs to be acquired. Talented, trusting, + child-like, carried away by the impulse of the moment, despite a + keen sense of humor he was never able to see that his latest plan + or project was not bound to succeed. Mark Twain loved him, pitied + him—also enjoyed him, especially with Howells. Orion's new plan + to lecture in the interest of religion found its way to Munich, + with the following result: +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To W. D. Howells, in Boston: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + MUNICH, Feb. 9. (1879) +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR HOWELLS,—I have just received this letter from Orion—take + care of it, for it is worth preserving. I got as far as 9 pages in my + answer to it, when Mrs. Clemens shut down on it, and said it was cruel, + and made me send the money and simply wish his lecture success. I said I + couldn't lose my 9 pages—so she said send them to you. But I + will acknowledge that I thought I was writing a very kind letter. + </p> + <p> + Now just look at this letter of Orion's. Did you ever see the + grotesquely absurd and the heart-breakingly pathetic more closely joined + together? Mrs. Clemens said “Raise his monthly pension.” So I + wrote to Perkins to raise it a trifle. + </p> + <p> + Now only think of it! He still has 100 pages to write on his lecture, yet + in one inking of his pen he has already swooped around the United States + and invested the result! + </p> + <p> + You must put him in a book or a play right away. You are the only man + capable of doing it. You might die at any moment, and your very greatest + work would be lost to the world. I could write Orion's simple + biography, and make it effective, too, by merely stating the bald facts—and + this I will do if he dies before I do; but you must put him into romance. + This was the understanding you and I had the day I sailed. + </p> + <p> + Observe Orion's career—that is, a little of it: (1) He has + belonged to as many as five different religious denominations; last March + he withdrew from the deaconship in a Congregational Church and the + Superintendency of its Sunday School, in a speech in which he said that + for many months (it runs in my mind that he said 13 years,) he had been a + confirmed infidel, and so felt it to be his duty to retire from the flock. + </p> + <p> + 2. After being a republican for years, he wanted me to buy him a + democratic newspaper. A few days before the Presidential election, he came + out in a speech and publicly went over to the democrats; he prudently + “hedged” by voting for 6 state republicans, also. + </p> + <p> + The new convert was made one of the secretaries of the democratic meeting, + and placed in the list of speakers. He wrote me jubilantly of what a + ten-strike he was going to make with that speech. All right—but + think of his innocent and pathetic candor in writing me something like + this, a week later: + </p> + <p> + “I was more diffident than I had expected to be, and this was + increased by the silence with which I was received when I came forward; so + I seemed unable to get the fire into my speech which I had calculated + upon, and presently they began to get up and go out; and in a few minutes + they all rose up and went away.” + </p> + <p> + How could a man uncover such a sore as that and show it to another? Not a + word of complaint, you see—only a patient, sad surprise. + </p> + <p> + 3. His next project was to write a burlesque upon Paradise Lost. + </p> + <p> + 4. Then, learning that the Times was paying Harte $100 a column for + stories, he concluded to write some for the same price. I read his first + one and persuaded him not to write any more. + </p> + <p> + 5. Then he read proof on the N. Y. Eve. Post at $10 a week and meekly + observed that the foreman swore at him and ordered him around “like + a steamboat mate.” + </p> + <p> + 6. Being discharged from that post, he wanted to try agriculture—was + sure he could make a fortune out of a chicken farm. I gave him $900 and he + went to a ten-house village a miles above Keokuk on the river bank—this + place was a railway station. He soon asked for money to buy a horse and + light wagon,—because the trains did not run at church time on Sunday + and his wife found it rather far to walk. + </p> + <p> + For a long time I answered demands for “loans” and by next + mail always received his check for the interest due me to date. In the + most guileless way he let it leak out that he did not underestimate the + value of his custom to me, since it was not likely that any other customer + of mine paid his interest quarterly, and this enabled me to use my capital + twice in 6 months instead of only once. But alas, when the debt at last + reached $1800 or $2500 (I have forgotten which) the interest ate too + formidably into his borrowings, and so he quietly ceased to pay it or + speak of it. At the end of two years I found that the chicken farm had + long ago been abandoned, and he had moved into Keokuk. Later in one of his + casual moments, he observed that there was no money in fattening a chicken + on 65 cents worth of corn and then selling it for 50. + </p> + <p> + 7. Finally, if I would lend him $500 a year for two years, (this was 4 or + 5 years ago,) he knew he could make a success as a lawyer, and would prove + it. This is the pension which we have just increased to $600. The first + year his legal business brought him $5. It also brought him an + unremunerative case where some villains were trying to chouse some negro + orphans out of $700. He still has this case. He has waggled it around + through various courts and made some booming speeches on it. The negro + children have grown up and married off, now, I believe, and their + litigated town-lot has been dug up and carted off by somebody—but + Orion still infests the courts with his documents and makes the welkin + ring with his venerable case. The second year, he didn't make + anything. The third he made $6, and I made Bliss put a case in his hands—about + half an hour's work. Orion charged $50 for it—Bliss paid him + $15. Thus four or five years of slaving has brought him $26, but this will + doubtless be increased when he gets done lecturing and buys that “law + library.” Meantime his office rent has been $60 a year, and he has + stuck to that lair day by day as patiently as a spider. + </p> + <p> + 8. Then he by and by conceived the idea of lecturing around America as + “Mark Twain's Brother”—that to be on the bills. + Subject of proposed lecture, “On the Formation of Character.” + </p> + <p> + 9. I protested, and he got on his warpaint, couched his lance, and ran a + bold tilt against total abstinence and the Red Ribbon fanatics. It raised + a fine row among the virtuous Keokukians. + </p> + <p> + 10. I wrote to encourage him in his good work, but I had let a mail + intervene; so by the time my letter reached him he was already winning + laurels as a Red Ribbon Howler. + </p> + <p> + 11. Afterward he took a rabid part in a prayer-meeting epidemic; dropped + that to travesty Jules Verne; dropped that, in the middle of the last + chapter, last March, to digest the matter of an infidel book which he + proposed to write; and now he comes to the surface to rescue our “noble + and beautiful religion” from the sacrilegious talons of Bob + Ingersoll. + </p> + <p> + Now come! Don't fool away this treasure which Providence has laid at + your feet, but take it up and use it. One can let his imagination run riot + in portraying Orion, for there is nothing so extravagant as to be out of + character with him. + </p> + <p> + Well-good-bye, and a short life and a merry one be yours. Poor old + Methusaleh, how did he manage to stand it so long? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Yrs ever, + MARK. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To Orion Clemens Unsent and inclosed with the foregoing, to W. D. Howells: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + MUNICH, Feb. 9, (1879) +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR BRO.,—Yours has just arrived. I enclose a draft on Hartford + for $25. You will have abandoned the project you wanted it for, by the + time it arrives,—but no matter, apply it to your newer and present + project, whatever it is. You see I have an ineradicable faith in your + unsteadfastness,—but mind you, I didn't invent that faith, you + conferred it on me yourself. But fire away, fire away! I don't see + why a changeable man shouldn't get as much enjoyment out of his + changes, and transformations and transfigurations as a steadfast man gets + out of standing still and pegging at the same old monotonous thing all the + time. That is to say, I don't see why a kaleidoscope shouldn't + enjoy itself as much as a telescope, nor a grindstone have as good a time + as a whetstone, nor a barometer as good a time as a yardstick. I don't + feel like girding at you any more about fickleness of purpose, because I + recognize and realize at last that it is incurable; but before I learned + to accept this truth, each new weekly project of yours possessed the power + of throwing me into the most exhausting and helpless convulsions of + profanity. But fire away, now! Your magic has lost its might. I am able to + view your inspirations dispassionately and judicially, now, and say + “This one or that one or the other one is not up to your average + flight, or is above it, or below it.” + </p> + <p> + And so, without passion, or prejudice, or bias of any kind, I sit in + judgment upon your lecture project, and say it was up to your average, it + was indeed above it, for it had possibilities in it, and even practical + ones. While I was not sorry you abandoned it, I should not be sorry if you + had stuck to it and given it a trial. But on the whole you did the wise + thing to lay it aside, I think, because a lecture is a most easy thing to + fail in; and at your time of life, and in your own town, such a failure + would make a deep and cruel wound in your heart and in your pride. It was + decidedly unwise in you to think for a moment of coming before a community + who knew you, with such a course of lectures; because Keokuk is not + unaware that you have been a Swedenborgian, a Presbyterian, a + Congregationalist, and a Methodist (on probation), and that just a year + ago you were an infidel. If Keokuk had gone to your lecture course, it + would have gone to be amused, not instructed, for when a man is known to + have no settled convictions of his own he can't convince other + people. They would have gone to be amused and that would have been a deep + humiliation to you. It could have been safe for you to appear only where + you were unknown—then many of your hearers would think you were in + earnest. And they would be right. You are in earnest while your + convictions are new. But taking it by and large, you probably did best to + discard that project altogether. But I leave you to judge of that, for you + are the worst judge I know of. + </p> + <p> + (Unfinished.) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + That Mark Twain in many ways was hardly less child-like than his + brother is now and again revealed in his letters. He was of + steadfast purpose, and he possessed the driving power which Orion + Clemens lacked; but the importance to him of some of the smaller + matters of life, as shown in a letter like the following, bespeaks a + certain simplicity of nature which he never outgrew: +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To Rev. J. H. Twichell, in Hartford: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + MUNICH, Feb. 24. (1879) +</pre> + <p> + DEAR OLD JOE,—It was a mighty good letter, Joe—and that idea + of yours is a rattling good one. But I have not sot down here to answer + your letter,—for it is down at my study,—but only to impart + some information. + </p> + <p> + For a months I had not shaved without crying. I'd spend 3/4 of an + hour whetting away on my hand—no use, couldn't get an edge. + Tried a razor strop-same result. So I sat down and put in an hour thinking + out the mystery. Then it seemed plain—to wit: my hand can't + give a razor an edge, it can only smooth and refine an edge that has + already been given. I judge that a razor fresh from the hone is this shape + V—the long point being the continuation of the edge—and that + after much use the shape is this V—the attenuated edge all worn off + and gone. By George I knew that was the explanation. And I knew that a + freshly honed and freshly strapped razor won't cut, but after + strapping on the hand as a final operation, it will cut.—So I sent + out for an oil-stone; none to be had, but messenger brought back a little + piece of rock the size of a Safety-match box—(it was bought in a + shoemaker's shop) bad flaw in middle of it, too, but I put 4 drops + of fine Olive oil on it, picked out the razor marked “Thursday” + because it was never any account and would be no loss if I spoiled it—gave + it a brisk and reckless honing for 10 minutes, then tried it on a hair—it + wouldn't cut. Then I trotted it through a vigorous 20-minute course + on a razor-strap and tried it on a hair-it wouldn't cut—tried + it on my face—it made me cry—gave it a 5-minute stropping on + my hand, and my land, what an edge she had! We thought we knew what sharp + razors were when we were tramping in Switzerland, but it was a mistake—they + were dull beside this old Thursday razor of mine—which I mean to + name Thursday October Christian, in gratitude. I took my whetstone, and in + 20 minutes I put two more of my razors in splendid condition—but I + leave them in the box—I never use any but Thursday O. C., and shan't + till its edge is gone—and then I'll know how to restore it + without any delay. + </p> + <p> + We all go to Paris next Thursday—address, Monroe & Co., Bankers. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + With love + Ys Ever + MARK. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In Paris they found pleasant quarters at the Hotel Normandy, but it + was a chilly, rainy spring, and the travelers gained a rather poor + impression of the French capital. Mark Twain's work did not go + well, at first, because of the noises of the street. But then he + found a quieter corner in the hotel and made better progress. In a + brief note to Aldrich he said: “I sleep like a lamb and write like a + lion—I mean the kind of a lion that writes—if any such.” He + expected to finish the book in six weeks; that is to say, before + returning to America. He was looking after its illustrations + himself, and a letter to Frank Bliss, of The American Publishing + Company, refers to the frontpiece, which, from time to time, has + caused question as to its origin. To Bliss he says: “It is a thing + which I manufactured by pasting a popular comic picture into the + middle of a celebrated Biblical one—shall attribute it to Titian. + It needs to be engraved by a master.” + + The weather continued bad in France and they left there in July to + find it little better in England. They had planned a journey to + Scotland to visit Doctor Brown, whose health was not very good. In + after years Mark Twain blamed himself harshly for not making the + trip, which he declared would have meant so much to Mrs. Clemens. + He had forgotten by that time the real reasons for not going—the + continued storms and uncertainty of trains (which made it barely + possible for them to reach Liverpool in time for their + sailing-date), and with characteristic self-reproach vowed that + only perversity and obstinacy on his part had prevented the journey + to Scotland. From Liverpool, on the eve of sailing, he sent Doctor + Brown a good-by word. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To Dr. John Brown, in Edinburgh: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + WASHINGTON HOTEL, LIME STREET, LIVERPOOL. + + Aug. (1879) +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR MR. BROWN,—During all the 15 months we have been spending on + the continent, we have been promising ourselves a sight of you as our + latest and most prized delight in a foreign land—but our hope has + failed, our plan has miscarried. One obstruction after another intruded + itself, and our short sojourn of three or four weeks on English soil was + thus frittered gradually away, and we were at last obliged to give up the + idea of seeing you at all. It is a great disappointment, for we wanted to + show you how much “Megalopis” has grown (she is 7 now) and + what a fine creature her sister is, and how prettily they both speak + German. There are six persons in my party, and they are as difficult to + cart around as nearly any other menagerie would be. My wife and Miss + Spaulding are along, and you may imagine how they take to heart this + failure of our long promised Edinburgh trip. We never even wrote you, + because we were always so sure, from day to day, that our affairs would + finally so shape themselves as to let us get to Scotland. But no,—everything + went wrong we had only flying trips here and there in place of the + leisurely ones which we had planned. + </p> + <p> + We arrived in Liverpool an hour ago very tired, and have halted at this + hotel (by the advice of misguided friends)—and if my instinct and + experience are worth anything, it is the very worst hotel on earth, + without any exception. We shall move to another hotel early in the morning + to spend to-morrow. We sail for America next day in the “Gallic.” + </p> + <p> + We all join in the sincerest love to you, and in the kindest remembrance + to “Jock”—[Son of Doctor Brown.]—and your sister. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Truly yours, + S. L. CLEMENS. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + It was September 3, 1879, that Mark Twain returned to America by the + steamer Gallic. In the seventeen months of his absence he had taken + on a “traveled look” and had added gray hairs. A New York paper + said of his arrival that he looked older than when he went to + Germany, and that his hair had turned quite gray. + + Mark Twain had not finished his book of travel in Paris—in fact, + it seemed to him far from complete—and he settled down rather + grimly to work on it at Quarry Farm. When, after a few days no word + of greeting came from Howells, Clemens wrote to ask if he were dead + or only sleeping. Howells hastily sent a line to say that he had + been sleeping “The sleep of a torpid conscience. I will feign that + I did not know where to write you; but I love you and all of yours, + and I am tremendously glad that you are home again. When and where + shall we meet? Have you come home with your pockets full of + Atlantic papers?” Clemens, toiling away at his book, was, as usual, + not without the prospect of other plans. Orion, as literary + material, never failed to excite him. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To W. D. Howells, in Boston: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ELMIRA, Sept. 15, 1879. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR HOWELLS,—When and where? Here on the farm would be an + elegant place to meet, but of course you cannot come so far. So we will + say Hartford or Belmont, about the beginning of November. The date of our + return to Hartford is uncertain, but will be three or four weeks hence, I + judge. I hope to finish my book here before migrating. + </p> + <p> + I think maybe I've got some Atlantic stuff in my head, but there's + none in MS, I believe. + </p> + <p> + Say—a friend of mine wants to write a play with me, I to furnish the + broad-comedy cuss. I don't know anything about his ability, but his + letter serves to remind me of our old projects. If you haven't used + Orion or Old Wakeman, don't you think you and I can get together and + grind out a play with one of those fellows in it? Orion is a field which + grows richer and richer the more he mulches it with each new top-dressing + of religion or other guano. Drop me an immediate line about this, won't + you? I imagine I see Orion on the stage, always gentle, always melancholy, + always changing his politics and religion, and trying to reform the world, + always inventing something, and losing a limb by a new kind of explosion + at the end of each of the four acts. Poor old chap, he is good material. I + can imagine his wife or his sweetheart reluctantly adopting each of his + new religious in turn, just in time to see him waltz into the next one and + leave her isolated once more. + </p> + <p> + (Mem. Orion's wife has followed him into the outer darkness, after + 30 years' rabid membership in the Presbyterian Church.) + </p> + <p> + Well, with the sincerest and most abounding love to you and yours, from + all this family, I am, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Yrs ever + MARK. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The idea of the play interested Howells, but he had twinges of + conscience in the matter of using Orion as material. He wrote: + “More than once I have taken the skeleton of that comedy of ours and + viewed it with tears..... I really have a compunction or two about + helping to put your brother into drama. You can say that he is your + brother, to do what you like with him, but the alien hand might + inflict an incurable hurt on his tender heart.” + + As a matter of fact, Orion Clemens had a keen appreciation of his + own shortcomings, and would have enjoyed himself in a play as much + as any observer of it. Indeed, it is more than likely that he would + have been pleased at the thought of such distinguished + dramatization. From the next letter one might almost conclude that + he had received a hint of this plan, and was bent upon supplying + rich material. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To W. D. Howells, in Boston: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ELMIRA, Oct. 9 '79. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR HOWELLS,—Since my return, the mail facilities have enabled + Orion to keep me informed as to his intentions. Twenty-eight days ago it + was his purpose to complete a work aimed at religion, the preface to which + he had already written. Afterward he began to sell off his furniture, with + the idea of hurrying to Leadville and tackling silver-mining—threw + up his law den and took in his sign. Then he wrote to Chicago and St. + Louis newspapers asking for a situation as “paragrapher”—enclosing + a taste of his quality in the shape of two stanzas of “humorous + rhymes.” By a later mail on the same day he applied to New York and + Hartford insurance companies for copying to do. + </p> + <p> + However, it would take too long to detail all his projects. They comprise + a removal to south-west Missouri; application for a reporter's berth + on a Keokuk paper; application for a compositor's berth on a St. + Louis paper; a re-hanging of his attorney's sign, “though it + only creaks and catches no flies;” but last night's letter + informs me that he has retackled the religious question, hired a distant + den to write in, applied to my mother for $50 to re-buy his furniture, + which has advanced in value since the sale—purposes buying $25 worth + of books necessary to his labors which he had previously been borrowing, + and his first chapter is already on its way to me for my decision as to + whether it has enough ungodliness in it or not. Poor Orion! + </p> + <p> + Your letter struck me while I was meditating a project to beguile you, and + John Hay and Joe Twichell, into a descent upon Chicago which I dream of + making, to witness the re-union of the great Commanders of the Western + Army Corps on the 9th of next month. My sluggish soul needs a fierce + upstirring, and if it would not get it when Grant enters the meeting place + I must doubtless “lay” for the final resurrection. Can you and + Hay go? At the same time, confound it, I doubt if I can go myself, for + this book isn't done yet. But I would give a heap to be there. I + mean to heave some holiness into the Hartford primaries when I go back; + and if there was a solitary office in the land which majestic ignorance + and incapacity, coupled with purity of heart, could fill, I would run for + it. This naturally reminds me of Bret Harte—but let him pass. + </p> + <p> + We propose to leave here for New York Oct. 21, reaching Hartford 24th or + 25th. If, upon reflection, you Howellses find, you can stop over here on + your way, I wish you would do it, and telegraph me. Getting pretty hungry + to see you. I had an idea that this was your shortest way home, but like + as not my geography is crippled again—it usually is. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Yrs ever + MARK. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The “Reunion of the Great Commanders,” mentioned in the foregoing, + was a welcome to General Grant after his journey around the world. + Grant's trip had been one continuous ovation—a triumphal march. + In '79 most of his old commanders were still alive, and they had + planned to assemble in Chicago to do him honor. A Presidential year + was coming on, but if there was anything political in the project + there were no surface indications. Mark Twain, once a Confederate + soldier, had long since been completely “desouthernized”—at least + to the point where he felt that the sight of old comrades paying + tribute to the Union commander would stir his blood as perhaps it + had not been stirred, even in that earlier time, when that same + commander had chased him through the Missouri swamps. Grant, + indeed, had long since become a hero to Mark Twain, though it is + highly unlikely that Clemens favored the idea of a third term. Some + days following the preceding letter an invitation came for him to be + present at the Chicago reunion; but by this time he had decided not + to go. The letter he wrote has been preserved. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To Gen. William E. Strong, in Chicago: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + FARMINGTON AVENUE, HARTFORD. + + Oct. 28, 1879. +</pre> + <p> + GEN. WM. E. STRONG, CH'M, AND GENTLEMEN OF THE COMMITTEE: + </p> + <p> + I have been hoping during several weeks that it might be my good fortune + to receive an invitation to be present on that great occasion in Chicago; + but now that my desire is accomplished my business matters have so shaped + themselves as to bar me from being so far from home in the first half of + November. It is with supreme regret that I lost this chance, for I have + not had a thorough stirring up for some years, and I judged that if I + could be in the banqueting hall and see and hear the veterans of the Army + of the Tennessee at the moment that their old commander entered the room, + or rose in his place to speak, my system would get the kind of upheaval it + needs. General Grant's progress across the continent is of the + marvelous nature of the returning Napoleon's progress from Grenoble + to Paris; and as the crowning spectacle in the one case was the meeting + with the Old Guard, so, likewise, the crowning spectacle in the other will + be our great captain's meeting with his Old Guard—and that is + the very climax which I wanted to witness. + </p> + <p> + Besides, I wanted to see the General again, any way, and renew the + acquaintance. He would remember me, because I was the person who did not + ask him for an office. However, I consume your time, and also wander from + the point—which is, to thank you for the courtesy of your + invitation, and yield up my seat at the table to some other guest who may + possibly grace it better, but will certainly not appreciate its privileges + more, than I should. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + With great respect, + + I am, Gentlemen, + + Very truly yours, + + S. L. CLEMENS. +</pre> + <p> + Private:—I beg to apologize for my delay, gentlemen, but the card of + invitation went to Elmira, N. Y. and hence has only just now reached me. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + This letter was not sent. He reconsidered and sent an acceptance, + agreeing to speak, as the committee had requested. Certainly there + was something picturesque in the idea of the Missouri private who + had been chased for a rainy fortnight through the swamps of Ralls + County being selected now to join in welcome to his ancient enemy. + + The great reunion was to be something more than a mere banquet. It + would continue for several days, with processions, great + assemblages, and much oratory. + + Mark Twain arrived in Chicago in good season to see it all. Three + letters to Mrs. Clemens intimately present his experiences: his + enthusiastic enjoyment and his own personal triumph. + + The first was probably written after the morning of his arrival. + The Doctor Jackson in it was Dr. A. Reeves Jackson, the + guide-dismaying “Doctor” of Innocents Abroad. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To Mrs. Clemens, in Hartford: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + PALMER HOUSE, CHICAGO, Nov. 11. +</pre> + <p> + Livy darling, I am getting a trifle leg-weary. Dr. Jackson called and + dragged me out of bed at noon, yesterday, and then went off. I went down + stairs and was introduced to some scores of people, and among them an + elderly German gentleman named Raster, who said his wife owed her life to + me—hurt in Chicago fire and lay menaced with death a long time, but + the Innocents Abroad kept her mind in a cheerful attitude, and so, with + the doctor's help for the body she pulled through.... They drove me + to Dr. Jackson's and I had an hour's visit with Mrs. Jackson. + Started to walk down Michigan Avenue, got a few steps on my way and met an + erect, soldierly looking young gentleman who offered his hand; said, + “Mr. Clemens, I believe—I wish to introduce myself—you + were pointed out to me yesterday as I was driving down street—my + name is Grant.” + </p> + <p> + “Col. Fred Grant?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. My house is not ten steps away, and I would like you to come + and have a talk and a pipe, and let me introduce my wife.” + </p> + <p> + So we turned back and entered the house next to Jackson's and talked + something more than an hour and smoked many pipes and had a sociable good + time. His wife is very gentle and intelligent and pretty, and they have a + cunning little girl nearly as big as Bay but only three years old. They + wanted me to come in and spend an evening, after the banquet, with them + and Gen. Grant, after this grand pow-wow is over, but I said I was going + home Friday. Then they asked me to come Friday afternoon, when they and + the general will receive a few friends, and I said I would. Col. Grant + said he and Gen. Sherman used the Innocents Abroad as their guide book + when they were on their travels. + </p> + <p> + I stepped in next door and took Dr. Jackson to the hotel and we played + billiards from 7 to 11.30 P.M. and then went to a beer-mill to meet some + twenty Chicago journalists—talked, sang songs and made speeches till + 6 o'clock this morning. Nobody got in the least degree “under + the influence,” and we had a pleasant time. Read awhile in bed, + slept till 11, shaved, went to breakfast at noon, and by mistake got into + the servants' hall. I remained there and breakfasted with twenty or + thirty male and female servants, though I had a table to myself. + </p> + <p> + A temporary structure, clothed and canopied with flags, has been erected + at the hotel front, and connected with the second-story windows of a + drawing-room. It was for Gen. Grant to stand on and review the procession. + Sixteen persons, besides reporters, had tickets for this place, and a + seventeenth was issued for me. I was there, looking down on the packed and + struggling crowd when Gen. Grant came forward and was saluted by the + cheers of the multitude and the waving of ladies' handkerchiefs—for + the windows and roofs of all neighboring buildings were massed full of + life. Gen. Grant bowed to the people two or three times, then approached + my side of the platform and the mayor pulled me forward and introduced me. + It was dreadfully conspicuous. The General said a word or so—I + replied, and then said, “But I'll step back, General, I don't + want to interrupt your speech.” + </p> + <p> + “But I'm not going to make any—stay where you are—I'll + get you to make it for me.” + </p> + <p> + General Sherman came on the platform wearing the uniform of a full + General, and you should have heard the cheers. Gen. Logan was going to + introduce me, but I didn't want any more conspicuousness. + </p> + <p> + When the head of the procession passed it was grand to see Sheridan, in + his military cloak and his plumed chapeau, sitting as erect and rigid as a + statue on his immense black horse—by far the most martial figure I + ever saw. And the crowd roared again. + </p> + <p> + It was chilly, and Gen. Deems lent me his overcoat until night. He came a + few minutes ago—5.45 P.M., and got it, but brought Gen. Willard, who + lent me his for the rest of my stay, and will get another for himself when + he goes home to dinner. Mine is much too heavy for this warm weather. + </p> + <p> + I have a seat on the stage at Haverley's Theatre, tonight, where the + Army of the Tennessee will receive Gen. Grant, and where Gen. Sherman will + make a speech. At midnight I am to attend a meeting of the Owl Club. + </p> + <p> + I love you ever so much, my darling, and am hoping to get a word from you + yet. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SAML. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Following the procession, which he describes, came the grand + ceremonies of welcome at Haverley's Theatre. The next letter is + written the following morning, or at least soiree time the following + day, after a night of ratification. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To Mrs. Clemens, in Hartford: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + CHICAGO, Nov. 12, '79. +</pre> + <p> + Livy darling, it was a great time. There were perhaps thirty people on the + stage of the theatre, and I think I never sat elbow-to-elbow with so many + historic names before. Grant, Sherman, Sheridan, Schofield, Pope, Logan, + Augur, and so on. What an iron man Grant is! He sat facing the house, with + his right leg crossed over his left and his right boot-sole tilted up at + an angle, and his left hand and arm reposing on the arm of his chair—you + note that position? Well, when glowing references were made to other + grandees on the stage, those grandees always showed a trifle of nervous + consciousness—and as these references came frequently, the nervous + change of position and attitude were also frequent. But Grant!—he + was under a tremendous and ceaseless bombardment of praise and + gratulation, but as true as I'm sitting here he never moved a muscle + of his body for a single instant, during 30 minutes! You could have played + him on a stranger for an effigy. Perhaps he never would have moved, but at + last a speaker made such a particularly ripping and blood-stirring remark + about him that the audience rose and roared and yelled and stamped and + clapped an entire minute—Grant sitting as serene as ever—when + Gen. Sherman stepped to him, laid his hand affectionately on his shoulder, + bent respectfully down and whispered in his ear. Gen. Grant got up and + bowed, and the storm of applause swelled into a hurricane. He sat down, + took about the same position and froze to it till by and by there was + another of those deafening and protracted roars, when Sherman made him get + up and bow again. He broke up his attitude once more—the extent of + something more than a hair's breadth—to indicate me to Sherman + when the house was keeping up a determined and persistent call for me, and + poor bewildered Sherman, (who did not know me), was peering abroad over + the packed audience for me, not knowing I was only three feet from him and + most conspicuously located, (Gen. Sherman was Chairman.) + </p> + <p> + One of the most illustrious individuals on that stage was “Ole Abe,” + the historic war eagle. He stood on his perch—the old savage-eyed + rascal—three or four feet behind Gen. Sherman, and as he had been in + nearly every battle that was mentioned by the orators his soul was + probably stirred pretty often, though he was too proud to let on. + </p> + <p> + Read Logan's bosh, and try to imagine a burly and magnificent + Indian, in General's uniform, striking a heroic attitude and getting + that stuff off in the style of a declaiming school-boy. + </p> + <p> + Please put the enclosed scraps in the drawer and I will scrap-book them. + </p> + <p> + I only staid at the Owl Club till 3 this morning and drank little or + nothing. Went to sleep without whisky. Ich liebe dish. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SAML. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + But it is in the third letter that we get the climax. On the same + day he wrote a letter to Howells, which, in part, is very similar in + substance and need not be included here. + + A paragraph, however, must not be omitted. + + “Imagine what it was like to see a bullet-shredded old battle-flag + reverently unfolded to the gaze of a thousand middle-aged soldiers, + most of whom hadn't seen it since they saw it advancing over + victorious fields, when they were in their prime. And imagine what + it was like when Grant, their first commander, stepped into view + while they were still going mad over the flag, and then right in the + midst of it all somebody struck up, 'When we were marching through + Georgia.' Well, you should have heard the thousand voices lift that + chorus and seen the tears stream down. If I live a hundred years I + shan't ever forget these things, nor be able to talk about them.... + Grand times, my boy, grand times!” + + At the great banquet Mark Twain's speech had been put last on the + program, to hold the house. He had been invited to respond to the + toast of “The Ladies,” but had replied that he had already responded + to that toast more than once. There was one class of the community, + he said, commonly overlooked on these occasions—the babies—he + would respond to that toast. In his letter to Howells he had not + been willing to speak freely of his personal triumph, but to Mrs. + Clemens he must tell it all, and with that child-like ingenuousness + which never failed him to his last day. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To Mrs. Clemens, in Hartford: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + CHICAGO, Nov. 14 '79. +</pre> + <p> + A little after 5 in the morning. + </p> + <p> + I've just come to my room, Livy darling, I guess this was the + memorable night of my life. By George, I never was so stirred since I was + born. I heard four speeches which I can never forget. One by Emory Storrs, + one by Gen. Vilas (O, wasn't it wonderful!) one by Gen. Logan + (mighty stirring), one by somebody whose name escapes me, and one by that + splendid old soul, Col. Bob Ingersoll,—oh, it was just the supremest + combination of English words that was ever put together since the world + began. My soul, how handsome he looked, as he stood on that table, in the + midst of those 500 shouting men, and poured the molten silver from his + lips! Lord, what an organ is human speech when it is played by a master! + All these speeches may look dull in print, but how the lightning glared + around them when they were uttered, and how the crowd roared in response! + It was a great night, a memorable night. I am so richly repaid for my + journey—and how I did wish with all my whole heart that you were + there to be lifted into the very seventh heaven of enthusiasm, as I was. + The army songs, the military music, the crashing applause—Lord bless + me, it was unspeakable. + </p> + <p> + Out of compliment they placed me last in the list—No. 15—I was + to “hold the crowd”—and bless my life I was in awful + terror when No. 14. rose, at a o'clock this morning and killed all + the enthusiasm by delivering the flattest, insipidest, silliest of all + responses to “Woman” that ever a weary multitude listened to. + Then Gen. Sherman (Chairman) announced my toast, and the crowd gave me a + good round of applause as I mounted on top of the dinner table, but it was + only on account of my name, nothing more—they were all tired and + wretched. They let my first sentence go in silence, till I paused and + added “we stand on common ground”—then they burst forth + like a hurricane and I saw that I had them! From that time on, I stopped + at the end of each sentence, and let the tornado of applause and laughter + sweep around me—and when I closed with “And if the child is + but the prophecy of the man, there are mighty few who will doubt that he + succeeded,” I say it who oughtn't to say it, the house came + down with a crash. For two hours and a half, now, I've been shaking + hands and listening to congratulations. Gen. Sherman said, “Lord + bless you, my boy, I don't know how you do it—it's a + secret that's beyond me—but it was great—give me your + hand again.” + </p> + <p> + And do you know, Gen. Grant sat through fourteen speeches like a graven + image, but I fetched him! I broke him up, utterly! He told me he laughed + till the tears came and every bone in his body ached. (And do you know, + the biggest part of the success of the speech lay in the fact that the + audience saw that for once in his life he had been knocked out of his iron + serenity.) + </p> + <p> + Bless your soul, 'twas immense. I never was so proud in my life. + Lots and lots of people—hundreds I might say—told me my speech + was the triumph of the evening—which was a lie. Ladies, Tom, Dick + and Harry—even the policemen—captured me in the halls and + shook hands, and scores of army officers said “We shall always be + grateful to you for coming.” General Pope came to bunt me up—I + was afraid to speak to him on that theatre stage last night, thinking it + might be presumptuous to tackle a man so high up in military history. Gen. + Schofield, and other historic men, paid their compliments. Sheridan was + ill and could not come, but I'm to go with a General of his staff + and see him before I go to Col. Grant's. Gen. Augur—well, I've + talked with them all, received invitations from them all—from people + living everywhere—and as I said before, it's a memorable + night. I wouldn't have missed it for anything in the world. + </p> + <p> + But my sakes, you should have heard Ingersoll's speech on that + table! Half an hour ago he ran across me in the crowded halls and put his + arms about me and said “Mark, if I live a hundred years, I'll + always be grateful for your speech—Lord what a supreme thing it was.” + But I told him it wasn't any use to talk, he had walked off with the + honors of that occasion by something of a majority. Bully boy is Ingersoll—traveled + with him in the cars the other day, and you can make up your mind we had a + good time. + </p> + <p> + Of course I forgot to go and pay for my hotel car and so secure it, but + the army officers told me an hour ago to rest easy, they would go at once, + at this unholy hour of the night and compel the railways to do their duty + by me, and said “You don't need to request the Army of the + Tennessee to do your desires—you can command its services.” + </p> + <p> + Well, I bummed around that banquet hall from 8 in the evening till 2 in + the morning, talking with people and listening to speeches, and I never + ate a single bite or took a sup of anything but ice water, so if I seem + excited now, it is the intoxication of supreme enthusiasm. By George, it + was a grand night, a historical night. + </p> + <p> + And now it is a quarter past 6 A.M.—so good bye and God bless you + and the Bays,—[Family word for babies]—my darlings + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SAML. +</pre> + <p> + Show it to Joe if you want to—I saw some of his friends here. + </p> + <p> + Mark Twain's admiration for Robert Ingersoll was very great, and we + may believe that he was deeply impressed by the Chicago speech, when we + find him, a few days later, writing to Ingersoll for a perfect copy to + read to a young girls' club in Hartford. Ingersoll sent the speech, + also some of his books, and the next letter is Mark Twain's + acknowledgment. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To Col. Robert G. Ingersoll: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + HARTFORD, Dec. 14. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR INGERSOLL,—Thank you most heartily for the books—I am + devouring them—they have found a hungry place, and they content it + and satisfy it to a miracle. I wish I could hear you speak these splendid + chapters before a great audience—to read them by myself and hear the + boom of the applause only in the ear of my imagination, leaves a something + wanting—and there is also a still greater lack, your manner, and + voice, and presence. + </p> + <p> + The Chicago speech arrived an hour too late, but I was all right anyway, + for I found that my memory had been able to correct all the errors. I read + it to the Saturday Club (of young girls) and told them to remember that it + was doubtful if its superior existed in our language. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Truly Yours, + S. L. CLEMENS. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The reader may remember Mark Twain's Whittier dinner speech of 1877, + and its disastrous effects. Now, in 1879, there was to be another + Atlantic gathering: a breakfast to Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes, to + which Clemens was invited. He was not eager to accept; it would + naturally recall memories of two years before, but being urged by + both Howells and Warner, he agreed to attend if they would permit + him to speak. Mark Twain never lacked courage and he wanted to + redeem himself. To Howells he wrote: +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To W. D. Howells, in Boston: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + HARTFORD, Nov. 28, 1879. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR HOWELLS,—If anybody talks, there, I shall claim the right to + say a word myself, and be heard among the very earliest—else it + would be confoundedly awkward for me—and for the rest, too. But you + may read what I say, beforehand, and strike out whatever you choose. + </p> + <p> + Of course I thought it wisest not to be there at all; but Warner took the + opposite view, and most strenuously. + </p> + <p> + Speaking of Johnny's conclusion to become an outlaw, reminds me of + Susie's newest and very earnest longing—to have crooked teeth + and glasses—“like Mamma.” + </p> + <p> + I would like to look into a child's head, once, and see what its + processes are. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Yrs ever, + S. L. CLEMENS. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The matter turned out well. Clemens, once more introduced by + Howells—this time conservatively, it may be said—delivered a + delicate and fitting tribute to Doctor Holmes, full of graceful + humor and grateful acknowledgment, the kind of speech he should have + given at the Whittier dinner of two years before. No reference was + made to his former disaster, and this time he came away covered with + glory, and fully restored in his self-respect. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XX. LETTERS OF 1880, CHIEFLY TO HOWELLS. “THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER.” + MARK TWAIN MUGWUMP SOCIETY. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The book of travel,—[A Tramp Abroad.]—which Mark Twain had + hoped to finish in Paris, and later in Elmira, for some + reason would not come to an end. In December, in Hartford, + he was still working on it, and he would seem to have + finished it, at last, rather by a decree than by any natural + process of authorship. This was early in January, 1880. To + Howells he reports his difficulties, and his drastic method + of ending them. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To W. D. Howells, in Boston: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + HARTFORD, Jan. 8, '80. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR HOWELLS,—Am waiting for Patrick to come with the carriage. + Mrs. Clemens and I are starting (without the children) to stay + indefinitely in Elmira. The wear and tear of settling the house broke her + down, and she has been growing weaker and weaker for a fortnight. All that + time—in fact ever since I saw you—I have been fighting a + life-and-death battle with this infernal book and hoping to get done some + day. I required 300 pages of MS, and I have written near 600 since I saw + you—and tore it all up except 288. This I was about to tear up + yesterday and begin again, when Mrs. Perkins came up to the billiard room + and said, “You will never get any woman to do the thing necessary to + save her life by mere persuasion; you see you have wasted your words for + three weeks; it is time to use force; she must have a change; take her + home and leave the children here.” + </p> + <p> + I said, “If there is one death that is painfuller than another, may + I get it if I don't do that thing.” + </p> + <p> + So I took the 288 pages to Bliss and told him that was the very last line + I should ever write on this book. (A book which required 2600 pages of MS, + and I have written nearer four thousand, first and last.) + </p> + <p> + I am as soary (and flighty) as a rocket, to-day, with the unutterable joy + of getting that Old Man of the Sea off my back, where he has been roosting + for more than a year and a half. Next time I make a contract before + writing the book, may I suffer the righteous penalty and be burnt, like + the injudicious believer. + </p> + <p> + I am mighty glad you are done your book (this is from a man who, above all + others, feels how much that sentence means) and am also mighty glad you + have begun the next (this is also from a man who knows the felicity of + that, and means straightway to enjoy it.) The Undiscovered starts off + delightfully—I have read it aloud to Mrs. C. and we vastly enjoyed + it. + </p> + <p> + Well, time's about up—must drop a line to Aldrich. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Yrs ever, + MARK. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In a letter which Mark Twain wrote to his brother Orion at this + period we get the first hint of a venture which was to play an + increasingly important part in the Hartford home and fortunes during + the next ten or a dozen years. This was the type-setting machine + investment, which, in the end, all but wrecked Mark Twain's + finances. There is but a brief mention of it in the letter to + Orion, and the letter itself is not worth preserving, but as + references to the “machine” appear with increasing frequency, it + seems proper to record here its first mention. In the same letter + he suggests to his brother that he undertake an absolutely truthful + autobiography, a confession in which nothing is to be withheld. He + cites the value of Casanova's memories, and the confessions of + Rousseau. Of course, any literary suggestion from “Brother Sam” was + gospel to Orion, who began at once piling up manuscript at a great + rate. + + Meantime, Mark Twain himself, having got 'A Tramp Abroad' on the + presses, was at work with enthusiasm on a story begun nearly three + years before at Quarry Farm-a story for children-its name, as he + called it then, “The Little Prince and The Little Pauper.” He was + presently writing to Howells his delight in the new work. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To W. D. Howells, in Boston: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + HARTFORD, Mch. 11, '80. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR HOWELLS,—... I take so much pleasure in my story that I am + loth to hurry, not wanting to get it done. Did I ever tell you the plot of + it? It begins at 9 a.m., Jan. 27, 1547, seventeen and a half hours before + Henry VIII's death, by the swapping of clothes and place, between + the prince of Wales and a pauper boy of the same age and countenance (and + half as much learning and still more genius and imagination) and after + that, the rightful small King has a rough time among tramps and ruffians + in the country parts of Kent, whilst the small bogus King has a gilded and + worshipped and dreary and restrained and cussed time of it on the throne—and + this all goes on for three weeks—till the midst of the coronation + grandeurs in Westminster Abbey, Feb. 20, when the ragged true King forces + his way in but cannot prove his genuineness—until the bogus King, by + a remembered incident of the first day is able to prove it for him—whereupon + clothes are changed and the coronation proceeds under the new and rightful + conditions. + </p> + <p> + My idea is to afford a realizing sense of the exceeding severity of the + laws of that day by inflicting some of their penalties upon the King + himself and allowing him a chance to see the rest of them applied to + others—all of which is to account for certain mildnesses which + distinguished Edward VI's reign from those that preceded and + followed it. + </p> + <p> + Imagine this fact—I have even fascinated Mrs. Clemens with this yarn + for youth. My stuff generally gets considerable damning with faint praise + out of her, but this time it is all the other way. She is become the + horseleech's daughter and my mill doesn't grind fast enough to + suit her. This is no mean triumph, my dear sir. + </p> + <p> + Last night, for the first time in ages, we went to the theatre—to + see Yorick's Love. The magnificence of it is beyond praise. The + language is so beautiful, the passion so fine, the plot so ingenious, the + whole thing so stirring, so charming, so pathetic! But I will clip from + the Courant—it says it right. + </p> + <p> + And what a good company it is, and how like live people they all acted! + The “thee's” and the “thou's” had a + pleasant sound, since it is the language of the Prince and the Pauper. You've + done the country a service in that admirable work.... + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Yrs Ever, + MARK. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The play, “Yorick's Love,” mentioned in this letter, was one which + Howells had done for Lawrence Barrett. + + Onion Clemens, meantime, was forwarding his manuscript, and for once + seems to have won his brother's approval, so much so that Mark Twain + was willing, indeed anxious, that Howells should run the + “autobiography” in the Atlantic. We may imagine how Onion prized + the words of commendation which follow: +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To Orion Clemens: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + May 6, '80. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR BROTHER,—It is a model autobiography. + </p> + <p> + Continue to develop your character in the same gradual inconspicuous and + apparently unconscious way. The reader, up to this time, may have his + doubts, perhaps, but he can't say decidedly, “This writer is + not such a simpleton as he has been letting on to be.” Keep him in + that state of mind. If, when you shall have finished, the reader shall + say, “The man is an ass, but I really don't know whether he + knows it or not,” your work will be a triumph. + </p> + <p> + Stop re-writing. I saw places in your last batch where re-writing had done + formidable injury. Do not try to find those places, else you will mar them + further by trying to better them. It is perilous to revise a book while it + is under way. All of us have injured our books in that foolish way. + </p> + <p> + Keep in mind what I told you—when you recollect something which + belonged in an earlier chapter, do not go back, but jam it in where you + are. Discursiveness does not hurt an autobiography in the least. + </p> + <p> + I have penciled the MS here and there, but have not needed to make any + criticisms or to knock out anything. + </p> + <p> + The elder Bliss has heart disease badly, and thenceforth his life hangs + upon a thread. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Yr Bro + SAM. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + But Howells could not bring himself to print so frank a confession + as Orion had been willing to make. “It wrung my heart,” he said, + “and I felt haggard after I had finished it. The writer's soul is + laid bare; it is shocking.” Howells added that the best touches in + it were those which made one acquainted with the writer's brother; + that is to say, Mark Twain, and that these would prove valuable + material hereafter—a true prophecy, for Mark Twain's early + biography would have lacked most of its vital incident, and at least + half of its background, without those faithful chapters, fortunately + preserved. Had Onion continued, as he began, the work might have + proved an important contribution to literature, but he went trailing + off into by-paths of theology and discussion where the interest was + lost. There were, perhaps, as many as two thousand pages of it, + which few could undertake to read. + + Mark Twain's mind was always busy with plans and inventions, many of + them of serious intent, some semi-serious, others of a purely + whimsical character. Once he proposed a “Modest Club,” of which the + first and main qualification for membership was modesty. “At + present,” he wrote, “I am the only member; and as the modesty + required must be of a quite aggravated type, the enterprise did seem + for a time doomed to stop dead still with myself, for lack of + further material; but upon reflection I have come to the conclusion + that you are eligible. Therefore, I have held a meeting and voted + to offer you the distinction of membership. I do not know that we + can find any others, though I have had some thought of Hay, Warner, + Twichell, Aldrich, Osgood, Fields, Higginson, and a few more + —together with Mrs. Howells, Mrs. Clemens, and certain others + of the sex.” + + Howells replied that the only reason he had for not joining the + Modest Club was that he was too modest—too modest to confess his + modesty. “If I could get over this difficulty I should like to + join, for I approve highly of the Club and its object.... It ought + to be given an annual dinner at the public expense. If you think I + am not too modest you may put my name down and I will try to think + the same of you. Mrs. Howells applauded the notion of the club from + the very first. She said that she knew one thing: that she was + modest enough, anyway. Her manner of saying it implied that the + other persons you had named were not, and created a painful + impression in my mind. I have sent your letter and the rules to + Hay, but I doubt his modesty. He will think he has a right to + belong to it as much as you or I; whereas, other people ought only + to be admitted on sufferance.” + + Our next letter to Howells is, in the main, pure foolery, but we get + in it a hint what was to become in time one of Mask Twain's + strongest interests, the matter of copyright. He had both a + personal and general interest in the subject. His own books were + constantly pirated in Canada, and the rights of foreign authors were + not respected in America. We have already seen how he had drawn a + petition which Holmes, Lowell, Longfellow, and others were to sign, + and while nothing had come of this plan he had never ceased to + formulate others. Yet he hesitated when he found that the proposed + protection was likely to work a hardship to readers of the poorer + class. Once he wrote: “My notions have mightily changed lately.... + I can buy a lot of the copyright classics, in paper, at from three + to thirty cents apiece. These things must find their way into the + very kitchens and hovels of the country..... And even if the treaty + will kill Canadian piracy, and thus save me an average of $5,000 a + year, I am down on it anyway, and I'd like cussed well to write an + article opposing the treaty.” + </pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To W. D. Howells, in Belmont, Mass.: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Thursday, June 6th, 1880. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR HOWELLS,—There you stick, at Belmont, and now I'm + going to Washington for a few days; and of course, between you and + Providence that visit is going to get mixed, and you'll have been + here and gone again just about the time I get back. Bother it all, I + wanted to astonish you with a chapter or two from Orion's latest + book—not the seventeen which he has begun in the last four months, + but the one which he began last week. + </p> + <p> + Last night, when I went to bed, Mrs. Clemens said, “George didn't + take the cat down to the cellar—Rosa says he has left it shut up in + the conservatory.” So I went down to attend to Abner (the cat.) + About 3 in the morning Mrs. C. woke me and said, “I do believe I + hear that cat in the drawing-room—what did you do with him?” I + answered up with the confidence of a man who has managed to do the right + thing for once, and said “I opened the conservatory doors, took the + library off the alarm, and spread everything open, so that there wasn't + any obstruction between him and the cellar.” Language wasn't + capable of conveying this woman's disgust. But the sense of what she + said, was, “He couldn't have done any harm in the conservatory—so + you must go and make the entire house free to him and the burglars, + imagining that he will prefer the coal-bins to the drawing-room. If you + had had Mr. Howells to help you, I should have admired but not been + astonished, because I should know that together you would be equal to it; + but how you managed to contrive such a stately blunder all by yourself, is + what I cannot understand.” + </p> + <p> + So, you see, even she knows how to appreciate our gifts. + </p> + <p> + Brisk times here.—Saturday, these things happened: Our neighbor + Chas. Smith was stricken with heart disease, and came near joining the + majority; my publisher, Bliss, ditto, ditto; a neighbor's child + died; neighbor Whitmore's sixth child added to his five other cases + of measles; neighbor Niles sent for, and responded; Susie Warner down, + abed; Mrs. George Warner threatened with death during several hours; her + son Frank, whilst imitating the marvels in Barnum's circus bills, + thrown from his aged horse and brought home insensible: Warner's + friend Max Yortzburgh, shot in the back by a locomotive and broken into 32 + distinct pieces and his life threatened; and Mrs. Clemens, after writing + all these cheerful things to Clara Spaulding, taken at midnight, and if + the doctor had not been pretty prompt the contemplated Clemens would have + called before his apartments were ready. + </p> + <p> + However, everybody is all right, now, except Yortzburg, and he is mending—that + is, he is being mended. I knocked off, during these stirring times, and + don't intend to go to work again till we go away for the Summer, 3 + or 6 weeks hence. So I am writing to you not because I have anything to + say, but because you don't have to answer and I need something to do + this afternoon..... + </p> + <p> + I have a letter from a Congressman this morning, and he says Congress + couldn't be persuaded to bother about Canadian pirates at a time + like this when all legislation must have a political and Presidential + bearing, else Congress won't look at it. So have changed my mind and + my course; I go north, to kill a pirate. I must procure repose some way, + else I cannot get down to work again. + </p> + <p> + Pray offer my most sincere and respectful approval to the President—is + approval the proper word? I find it is the one I most value here in the + household and seldomest get. + </p> + <p> + With our affection to you both. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Yrs ever + MARK. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + It was always dangerous to send strangers with letters of + introduction to Mark Twain. They were so apt to arrive at the wrong + time, or to find him in the wrong mood. Howells was willing to risk + it, and that the result was only amusing instead of tragic is the + best proof of their friendship. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To W. D. Howells, in Belmont, Mass.: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + June 9, '80. +</pre> + <p> + Well, old practical joker, the corpse of Mr. X——has been here, + and I have bedded it and fed it, and put down my work during 24 hours and + tried my level best to make it do something, or say something, or + appreciate something—but no, it was worse than Lazarus. A + kind-hearted, well-meaning corpse was the Boston young man, but lawsy + bless me, horribly dull company. Now, old man, unless you have great + confidence in Mr. X's judgment, you ought to make him submit his + article to you before he prints it. For only think how true I was to you: + Every hour that he was here I was saying, gloatingly, “O G— d—- + you, when you are in bed and your light out, I will fix you” + (meaning to kill him)...., but then the thought would follow—“No, + Howells sent him—he shall be spared, he shall be respected he shall + travel hell-wards by his own route.” + </p> + <p> + Breakfast is frozen by this time, and Mrs. Clemens correspondingly hot. + Good bye. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Yrs ever, + MARK. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “I did not expect you to ask that man to live with you,” Howells + answered. “What I was afraid of was that you would turn him out of + doors, on sight, and so I tried to put in a good word for him. + After this when I want you to board people, I'll ask you. I am + sorry for your suffering. I suppose I have mostly lost my smell for + bores; but yours is preternaturally keen. I shall begin to be + afraid I bore you. (How does that make you feel?)” + + In a letter to Twichell—a remarkable letter—when baby Jean Clemens + was about a month old, we get a happy hint of conditions at Quarry + Farm, and in the background a glimpse of Mark Twain's unfailing + tragic reflection. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To Rev. Twichell, in Hartford: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + QUARRY FARM, Aug. 29 ['80]. +</pre> + <p> + DEAR OLD JOE,—Concerning Jean Clemens, if anybody said he “didn't + see no pints about that frog that's any better'n any other + frog,” I should think he was convicting himself of being a pretty + poor sort of observer.... I will not go into details; it is not necessary; + you will soon be in Hartford, where I have already hired a hall; the + admission fee will be but a trifle. + </p> + <p> + It is curious to note the change in the stock-quotation of the Affection + Board brought about by throwing this new security on the market. Four + weeks ago the children still put Mamma at the head of the list right + along, where she had always been. But now: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Jean + Mamma + Motley [a cat] + Fraulein [another] + Papa +</pre> + <p> + That is the way it stands, now Mamma is become No. 2; I have dropped from + No. 4., and am become No. 5. Some time ago it used to be nip and tuck + between me and the cats, but after the cats “developed” I didn't + stand any more show. + </p> + <p> + I've got a swollen ear; so I take advantage of it to lie abed most + of the day, and read and smoke and scribble and have a good time. Last + evening Livy said with deep concern, “O dear, I believe an abscess + is forming in your ear.” + </p> + <p> + I responded as the poet would have done if he had had a cold in the head— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Tis said that abscess conquers love, + But O believe it not.” + </pre> + <p> + This made a coolness. + </p> + <p> + Been reading Daniel Webster's Private Correspondence. Have read a + hundred of his diffuse, conceited, “eloquent,” bathotic (or + bathostic) letters written in that dim (no, vanished) Past when he was a + student; and Lord, to think that this boy who is so real to me now, and so + booming with fresh young blood and bountiful life, and sappy cynicisms + about girls, has since climbed the Alps of fame and stood against the sun + one brief tremendous moment with the world's eyes upon him, and then—f-z-t-! + where is he? Why the only long thing, the only real thing about the whole + shadowy business is the sense of the lagging dull and hoary lapse of time + that has drifted by since then; a vast empty level, it seems, with a + formless spectre glimpsed fitfully through the smoke and mist that lie + along its remote verge. + </p> + <p> + Well, we are all getting along here first-rate; Livy gains strength daily, + and sits up a deal; the baby is five weeks old and—but no more of + this; somebody may be reading this letter 80 years hence. And so, my + friend (you pitying snob, I mean, who are holding this yellow paper in + your hand in 1960,) save yourself the trouble of looking further; I know + how pathetically trivial our small concerns will seem to you, and I will + not let your eye profane them. No, I keep my news; you keep your + compassion. Suffice it you to know, scoffer and ribald, that the little + child is old and blind, now, and once more toothless; and the rest of us + are shadows, these many, many years. Yes, and your time cometh! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + MARK. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + At the Farm that year Mark Twain was working on The Prince and the + Pauper, and, according to a letter to Aldrich, brought it to an end + September 19th. It is a pleasant letter, worth preserving. The + book by Aldrich here mentioned was 'The Stillwater Tragedy.' +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To T. B. Aldrich, in Ponkapog, Mass.: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ELMIRA, Sept. 15, '80. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR ALDRICH,—Thank you ever so much for the book—I had + already finished it, and prodigiously enjoyed it, in the periodical of the + notorious Howells, but it hits Mrs. Clemens just right, for she is having + a reading holiday, now, for the first time in same months; so + between-times, when the new baby is asleep and strengthening up for + another attempt to take possession of this place, she is going to read it. + Her strong friendship for you makes her think she is going to like it. + </p> + <p> + I finished a story yesterday, myself. I counted up and found it between + sixty and eighty thousand words—about the size of your book. It is + for boys and girls—been at work at it several years, off and on. + </p> + <p> + I hope Howells is enjoying his journey to the Pacific. He wrote me that + you and Osgood were going, also, but I doubted it, believing he was in + liquor when he wrote it. In my opinion, this universal applause over his + book is going to land that man in a Retreat inside of two months. I notice + the papers say mighty fine things about your book, too. You ought to try + to get into the same establishment with Howells. But applause does not + affect me—I am always calm—this is because I am used to it. + </p> + <p> + Well, good-bye, my boy, and good luck to you. Mrs. Clemens asks me to send + her warmest regards to you and Mrs. Aldrich—which I do, and add + those of + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Yrs ever + MARK. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + While Mark Twain was a journalist in San Francisco, there was a + middle-aged man named Soule, who had a desk near him on the Morning + Call. Soule was in those days highly considered as a poet by his + associates, most of whom were younger and less gracefully poetic. + But Soule's gift had never been an important one. Now, in his old + age, he found his fame still local, and he yearned for wider + recognition. He wished to have a volume of poems issued by a + publisher of recognized standing. Because Mark Twain had been one + of Soule's admirers and a warm friend in the old days, it was + natural that Soule should turn to him now, and equally natural that + Clemens should turn to Howells. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To W. D. Howells, in Boston: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Sunday, Oct. 2 '80. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR HOWELLS,—Here's a letter which I wrote you to San + Francisco the second time you didn't go there.... I told Soule he + needn't write you, but simply send the MS. to you. O dear, dear, it + is dreadful to be an unrecognized poet. How wise it was in Charles Warren + Stoddard to take in his sign and go for some other calling while still + young. + </p> + <p> + I'm laying for that Encyclopedical Scotchman—and he'll + need to lock the door behind him, when he comes in; otherwise when he + hears my proposed tariff his skin will probably crawl away with him. He is + accustomed to seeing the publisher impoverish the author—that + spectacle must be getting stale to him—if he contracts with the + undersigned he will experience a change in that programme that will make + the enamel peel off his teeth for very surprise—and joy. No, that + last is what Mrs. Clemens thinks—but it's not so. The proposed + work is growing, mightily, in my estimation, day by day; and I'm not + going to throw it away for any mere trifle. If I make a contract with the + canny Scot, I will then tell him the plan which you and I have devised + (that of taking in the humor of all countries)—otherwise I'll + keep it to myself, I think. Why should we assist our fellowman for mere + love of God? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Yrs ever + MARK. + + One wishes that Howells might have found value enough in the verses + of Frank Soule to recommend them to Osgood. To Clemens he wrote: + “You have touched me in regard to him, and I will deal gently with + his poetry. Poor old fellow! I can imagine him, and how he must + have to struggle not to be hard or sour.” + + The verdict, however, was inevitable. Soule's graceful verses + proved to be not poetry at all. No publisher of standing could + afford to give them his imprint. + + The “Encyclopedical Scotchman” mentioned in the preceding letter was + the publisher Gebbie, who had a plan to engage Howells and Clemens + to prepare some sort of anthology of the world's literature. The + idea came to nothing, though the other plan mentioned—for a library + of humor—in time grew into a book. + + Mark Twain's contracts with Bliss for the publication of his books + on the subscription plan had been made on a royalty basis, beginning + with 5 per cent. on 'The Innocents Abroad' increasing to 7 per + cent. on 'Roughing It,' and to 10 per cent. on later books. Bliss + had held that these later percentages fairly represented one half + the profits. Clemens, however, had never been fully satisfied, and + his brother Onion had more than once urged him to demand a specific + contract on the half-profit basis. The agreement for the + publication of 'A Tramp Abroad' was made on these terms. Bliss died + before Clemens received his first statement of sales. Whatever may + have been the facts under earlier conditions, the statement proved + to Mark Twain's satisfaction; at least, that the half-profit + arrangement was to his advantage. It produced another result; it + gave Samuel Clemens an excuse to place his brother Onion in a + position of independence. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To Onion Clemens, in Keokuk, Iowa: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Sunday, Oct 24 '80. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR BRO.,—Bliss is dead. The aspect of the balance-sheet is + enlightening. It reveals the fact, through my present contract, (which is + for half the profits on the book above actual cost of paper, printing and + binding,) that I have lost considerably by all this nonsense—sixty + thousand dollars, I should say—and if Bliss were alive I would stay + with the concern and get it all back; for on each new book I would require + a portion of that back pay; but as it is (this in the very strictest + confidence,) I shall probably go to a new publisher 6 or 8 months hence, + for I am afraid Frank, with his poor health, will lack push and drive. + </p> + <p> + Out of the suspicions you bred in me years ago, has grown this result,—to + wit, that I shall within the twelvemonth get $40,000 out of this “Tramp” + instead Of $20,000. Twenty thousand dollars, after taxes and other + expenses are stripped away, is worth to the investor about $75 a month—so + I shall tell Mr. Perkins to make your check that amount per month, + hereafter, while our income is able to afford it. This ends the loan + business; and hereafter you can reflect that you are living not on + borrowed money but on money which you have squarely earned, and which has + no taint or savor of charity about it—and you can also reflect that + the money you have been receiving of me all these years is interest + charged against the heavy bill which the next publisher will have to stand + who gets a book of mine. + </p> + <p> + Jean got the stockings and is much obliged; Mollie wants to know whom she + most resembles, but I can't tell; she has blue eyes and brown hair, + and three chins, and is very fat and happy; and at one time or another she + has resembled all the different Clemenses and Langdons, in turn, that have + ever lived. + </p> + <p> + Livy is too much beaten out with the baby, nights, to write, these times; + and I don't know of anything urgent to say, except that a basket + full of letters has accumulated in the 7 days that I have been whooping + and cursing over a cold in the head—and I must attack the pile this + very minute. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + With love from us + Y aff + SAM +$25 enclosed. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + On the completion of The Prince and Pauper story, Clemens had + naturally sent it to Howells for consideration. Howells wrote: + “I have read the two P's and I like it immensely, it begins well and + it ends well.” He pointed out some things that might be changed or + omitted, and added: “It is such a book as I would expect from you, + knowing what a bottom of fury there is to your fun.” Clemens had + thought somewhat of publishing the story anonymously, in the fear + that it would not be accepted seriously over his own signature. + + The “bull story” referred to in the next letter is the one later + used in the Joan of Arc book, the story told Joan by “Uncle Laxart,” + how he rode a bull to a funeral. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To W. D. Howells, in Boston: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Xmas Eve, 1880. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR HOWELLS,—I was prodigiously delighted with what you said + about the book—so, on the whole, I've concluded to publish + intrepidly, instead of concealing the authorship. I shall leave out that + bull story. + </p> + <p> + I wish you had gone to New York. The company was small, and we had a + first-rate time. Smith's an enjoyable fellow. I liked Barrett, too. + And the oysters were as good as the rest of the company. It was worth + going there to learn how to cook them. + </p> + <p> + Next day I attended to business—which was, to introduce Twichell to + Gen. Grant and procure a private talk in the interest of the Chinese + Educational Mission here in the U. S. Well, it was very funny. Joe had + been sitting up nights building facts and arguments together into a mighty + and unassailable array and had studied them out and got them by heart—all + with the trembling half-hearted hope of getting Grant to add his signature + to a sort of petition to the Viceroy of China; but Grant took in the whole + situation in a jiffy, and before Joe had more than fairly got started, the + old man said: “I'll write the Viceroy a Letter—a + separate letter—and bring strong reasons to bear upon him; I know + him well, and what I say will have weight with him; I will attend to it + right away. No, no thanks—I shall be glad to do it—it will be + a labor of love.” + </p> + <p> + So all Joe's laborious hours were for naught! It was as if he had + come to borrow a dollar, and been offered a thousand before he could + unfold his case.... + </p> + <p> + But it's getting dark. Merry Christmas to all of you. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Yrs Ever, + MARK. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The Chinese Educational Mission, mentioned in the foregoing, was a + thriving Hartford institution, projected eight years before by a + Yale graduate named Yung Wing. The mission was now threatened, and + Yung Wing, knowing the high honor in which General Grant was held in + China, believed that through him it might be saved. Twichell, of + course, was deeply concerned and naturally overjoyed at Grant's + interest. A day or two following the return to Hartford, Clemens + received a letter from General Grant, in which he wrote: “Li Hung + Chang is the most powerful and most influential Chinaman in his + country. He professed great friendship for me when I was there, and + I have had assurances of the same thing since. I hope, if he is + strong enough with his government, that the decision to withdraw the + Chinese students from this country may be changed.” + + But perhaps Li Hung Chang was experiencing one of his partial + eclipses just then, or possibly he was not interested, for the + Hartford Mission did not survive. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXI. LETTERS 1881, TO HOWELLS AND OTHERS. ASSISTING A YOUNG SCULPTOR. + LITERARY PLANS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + With all of Mark Twain's admiration for Grant, he had + opposed him as a third-term President and approved of the + nomination of Garfield. He had made speeches for Garfield + during the campaign just ended, and had been otherwise + active in his support. Upon Garfield's election, however, + he felt himself entitled to no special favor, and the single + request which he preferred at length could hardly be classed + as, personal, though made for a “personal friend.” + </pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To President-elect James A. Garfield, in Washington: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + HARTFORD, Jany. 12, '81. +</pre> + <p> + GEN. GARFIELD + </p> + <p> + DEAR SIR,—Several times since your election persons wanting office + have asked me “to use my influence” with you in their behalf. + </p> + <p> + To word it in that way was such a pleasant compliment to me that I never + complied. I could not without exposing the fact that I hadn't any + influence with you and that was a thing I had no mind to do. + </p> + <p> + It seems to me that it is better to have a good man's flattering + estimate of my influence—and to keep it—than to fool it away + with trying to get him an office. But when my brother—on my wife's + side—Mr. Charles J. Langdon—late of the Chicago Convention—desires + me to speak a word for Mr. Fred Douglass, I am not asked “to use my + influence” consequently I am not risking anything. So I am writing + this as a simple citizen. I am not drawing on my fund of influence at all. + A simple citizen may express a desire with all propriety, in the matter of + a recommendation to office, and so I beg permission to hope that you will + retain Mr. Douglass in his present office of Marshall of the District of + Columbia, if such a course will not clash with your own preferences or + with the expediencies and interest of your administration. I offer this + petition with peculiar pleasure and strong desire, because I so honor this + man's high and blemishless character and so admire his brave, long + crusade for the liberties and elevation of his race. + </p> + <p> + He is a personal friend of mine, but that is nothing to the point, his + history would move me to say these things without that, and I feel them + too. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + With great respect + I am, General, + Yours truly, + S. L. CLEMENS. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Clemens would go out of his way any time to grant favor to the + colored race. His childhood associations were partly accountable + for this, but he also felt that the white man owed the negro a debt + for generations of enforced bondage. He would lecture any time in a + colored church, when he would as likely as not refuse point-blank to + speak for a white congregation. Once, in Elmira, he received a + request, poorly and none too politely phrased, to speak for one of + the churches. He was annoyed and about to send a brief refusal, + when Mrs. Clemens, who was present, said: + + “I think I know that church, and if so this preacher is a colored + man; he does not know how to write a polished letter—how should + he?” Her husband's manner changed so suddenly that she added: + “I will give you a motto, and it will be useful to you if you will + adopt it: Consider every man colored until he is proved white.” + </pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To W. D. Howells, in Boston: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + HARTFORD, Feb. 27, 1881. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR HOWELLS,—I go to West Point with Twichell tomorrow, but + shall be back Tuesday or Wednesday; and then just as soon thereafter as + you and Mrs. Howells and Winny can come you will find us ready and most + glad to see you—and the longer you can stay the gladder we shall be. + I am not going to have a thing to do, but you shall work if you want to. + On the evening of March 10th, I am going to read to the colored folk in + the African Church here (no whites admitted except such as I bring with + me), and a choir of colored folk will sing jubilee songs. I count on a + good time, and shall hope to have you folks there, and Livy. I read in + Twichell's chapel Friday night and had a most rattling high time—but + the thing that went best of all was Uncle Remus's Tar Baby. I mean + to try that on my dusky audience. They've all heard that tale from + childhood—at least the older members have. + </p> + <p> + I arrived home in time to make a most noble blunder—invited Charley + Warner here (in Livy's name) to dinner with the Gerhardts, and told + him Livy had invited his wife by letter and by word of mouth also. I don't + know where I got these impressions, but I came home feeling as one does + who realizes that he has done a neat thing for once and left no flaws or + loop-holes. Well, Livy said she had never told me to invite Charley and + she hadn't dreamed of inviting Susy, and moreover there wasn't + any dinner, but just one lean duck. But Susy Warner's intuitions + were correct—so she choked off Charley, and staid home herself—we + waited dinner an hour and you ought to have seen that duck when he was + done drying in the oven. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + MARK. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Clemens and his wife were always privately assisting worthy and + ambitious young people along the way of achievement. Young actors + were helped through dramatic schools; young men and women were + assisted through college and to travel abroad. Among others Clemens + paid the way of two colored students, one through a Southern + institution and another through the Yale law school. + + The mention of the name of Gerhardt in the preceding letter + introduces the most important, or at least the most extensive, of + these benefactions. The following letter gives the beginning of the + story: +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To W. D. Howells, in Boston: + </p> + <p> + Private and Confidential. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + HARTFORD, Feb. 21, 1881. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR HOWELLS,—Well, here is our romance. + </p> + <p> + It happened in this way. One morning, a month ago—no, three weeks—Livy, + and Clara Spaulding and I were at breakfast, at 10 A.M., and I was in an + irritable mood, for the barber was up stairs waiting and his hot water + getting cold, when the colored George returned from answering the bell and + said: “There's a lady in the drawing-room wants to see you.” + “A book agent!” says I, with heat. “I won't see + her; I will die in my tracks, first.” + </p> + <p> + Then I got up with a soul full of rage, and went in there and bent + scowling over that person, and began a succession of rude and raspy + questions—and without even offering to sit down. + </p> + <p> + Not even the defendant's youth and beauty and (seeming) timidity + were able to modify my savagery, for a time—and meantime question + and answer were going on. She had risen to her feet with the first + question; and there she stood, with her pretty face bent floorward whilst + I inquired, but always with her honest eyes looking me in the face when it + came her turn to answer. + </p> + <p> + And this was her tale, and her plea-diffidently stated, but + straight-forwardly; and bravely, and most winningly simply and earnestly: + I put it in my own fashion, for I do not remember her words: + </p> + <p> + Mr. Karl Gerhardt, who works in Pratt & Whitney's machine shops, + has made a statue in clay, and would I be so kind as to come and look at + it, and tell him if there is any promise in it? He has none to go to, and + he would be so glad. + </p> + <p> + “O, dear me,” I said, “I don't know anything about + art—there's nothing I could tell him.” + </p> + <p> + But she went on, just as earnestly and as simply as before, with her plea—and + so she did after repeated rebuffs; and dull as I am, even I began by and + by to admire this brave and gentle persistence, and to perceive how her + heart of hearts was in this thing, and how she couldn't give it up, + but must carry her point. So at last I wavered, and promised in general + terms that I would come down the first day that fell idle—and as I + conducted her to the door, I tamed more and more, and said I would come + during the very next week—“We shall be so glad—but—but, + would you please come early in the week?—the statue is just finished + and we are so anxious—and—and—we did hope you could come + this week—and”—well, I came down another peg, and said I + would come Monday, as sure as death; and before I got to the dining room + remorse was doing its work and I was saying to myself, “Damnation, + how can a man be such a hound? why didn't I go with her now?” + Yes, and how mean I should have felt if I had known that out of her + poverty she had hired a hack and brought it along to convey me. But + luckily for what was left of my peace of mind, I didn't know that. + </p> + <p> + Well, it appears that from here she went to Charley Warner's. There + was a better light, there, and the eloquence of her face had a better + chance to do its office. Warner fought, as I had done; and he was in the + midst of an article and very busy; but no matter, she won him completely. + He laid aside his MS and said, “Come, let us go and see your father's + statue. That is—is he your father?” “No, he is my + husband.” So this child was married, you see. + </p> + <p> + This was a Saturday. Next day Warner came to dinner and said “Go!—go + tomorrow—don't fail.” He was in love with the girl, and + with her husband too, and said he believed there was merit in the statue. + Pretty crude work, maybe, but merit in it. + </p> + <p> + Patrick and I hunted up the place, next day; the girl saw us driving up, + and flew down the stairs and received me. Her quarters were the second + story of a little wooden house—another family on the ground floor. + The husband was at the machine shop, the wife kept no servant, she was + there alone. She had a little parlor, with a chair or two and a sofa; and + the artist-husband's hand was visible in a couple of plaster busts, + one of the wife, and another of a neighbor's child; visible also in + a couple of water colors of flowers and birds; an ambitious unfinished + portrait of his wife in oils: some paint decorations on the pine mantel; + and an excellent human ear, done in some plastic material at 16. + </p> + <p> + Then we went into the kitchen, and the girl flew around, with enthusiasm, + and snatched rag after rag from a tall something in the corner, and + presently there stood the clay statue, life size—a graceful girlish + creature, nude to the waist, and holding up a single garment with one hand + the expression attempted being a modified scare—she was interrupted + when about to enter the bath. + </p> + <p> + Then this young wife posed herself alongside the image and so remained—a + thing I didn't understand. But presently I did—then I said: + </p> + <p> + “O, it's you!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said, “I was the model. He has no model but + me. I have stood for this many and many an hour—and you can't + think how it does tire one! But I don't mind it. He works all day at + the shop; and then, nights and Sundays he works on his statue as long as I + can keep up.” + </p> + <p> + She got a big chisel, to use as a lever, and between us we managed to + twist the pedestal round and round, so as to afford a view of the statue + from all points. Well, sir, it was perfectly charming, this girl's + innocence and purity—-exhibiting her naked self, as it were, to a + stranger and alone, and never once dreaming that there was the slightest + indelicacy about the matter. And so there wasn't; but it will be + many along day before I run across another woman who can do the like and + show no trace of self-consciousness. + </p> + <p> + Well, then we sat down, and I took a smoke, and she told me all about her + people in Massachusetts—her father is a physician and it is an old + and respectable family—(I am able to believe anything she says.) And + she told me how “Karl” is 26 years old; and how he has had + passionate longings all his life toward art, but has always been poor and + obliged to struggle for his daily bread; and how he felt sure that if he + could only have one or two lessons in— + </p> + <p> + “Lessons? Hasn't he had any lessons?” + </p> + <p> + No. He had never had a lesson. + </p> + <p> + And presently it was dinner time and “Karl” arrived—a + slender young fellow with a marvelous head and a noble eye—and he + was as simple and natural, and as beautiful in spirit as his wife was. But + she had to do the talking—mainly—there was too much thought + behind his cavernous eyes for glib speech. + </p> + <p> + I went home enchanted. Told Livy and Clara Spaulding all about the + paradise down yonder where those two enthusiasts are happy with a yearly + expense of $350. Livy and Clara went there next day and came away + enchanted. A few nights later the Gerhardts kept their promise and came + here for the evening. It was billiard night and I had company and so was + not down; but Livy and Clara became more charmed with these children than + ever. + </p> + <p> + Warner and I planned to get somebody to criticise the statue whose + judgment would be worth something. So I laid for Champney, and after two + failures I captured him and took him around, and he said “this + statue is full of faults—but it has merits enough in it to make up + for them”—whereat the young wife danced around as delighted as + a child. When we came away, Champney said, “I did not want to say + too much there, but the truth is, it seems to me an extraordinary + performance for an untrained hand. You ask if there is promise enough + there to justify the Hartford folk in going to an expense of training this + young man. I should say, yes, decidedly; but still, to make everything + safe, you had better get the judgment of a sculptor.” + </p> + <p> + Warner was in New York. I wrote him, and he said he would fetch up Ward—which + he did. Yesterday they went to the Gerhardts and spent two hours, and Ward + came away bewitched with those people and marveling at the winning + innocence of the young wife, who dropped naturally into model-attitude + beside the statue (which is stark naked from head to heel, now—G. + had removed the drapery, fearing Ward would think he was afraid to try + legs and hips) just as she has always done before. + </p> + <p> + Livy and I had two long talks with Ward yesterday evening. He spoke + strongly. He said, “if any stranger had told me that this apprentice + did not model that thing from plaster casts, I would not have believed it.” + He said “it is full of crudities, but it is full of genius, too. It + is such a statue as the man of average talent would achieve after two + years training in the schools. And the boldness of the fellow, in going + straight to nature! He is an apprentice—his work shows that, all + over; but the stuff is in him, sure. Hartford must send him to Paris—two + years; then if the promise holds good, keep him there three more—and + warn him to study, study, work, work, and keep his name out of the papers, + and neither ask for orders nor accept them when offered.” + </p> + <p> + Well, you see, that's all we wanted. After Ward was gone Livy came + out with the thing that was in her mind. She said, “Go privately and + start the Gerhardts off to Paris, and say nothing about it to any one + else.” + </p> + <p> + So I tramped down this morning in the snow-storm—and there was a + stirring time. They will sail a week or ten days from now. + </p> + <p> + As I was starting out at the front door, with Gerhardt beside me and the + young wife dancing and jubilating behind, this latter cried out + impulsively, “Tell Mrs. Clemens I want to hug her—I want to + hug you both!” + </p> + <p> + I gave them my old French book and they were going to tackle the language, + straight off. + </p> + <p> + Now this letter is a secret—keep it quiet—I don't think + Livy would mind my telling you these things, but then she might, you know, + for she is a queer girl. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Yrs ever, + MARK. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Champney was J. Wells Champney, a portrait-painter of distinction; + Ward was the sculptor, J. Q. A. Ward. + + The Gerhardts were presently off to Paris, well provided with means + to make their dreams reality; in due time the letters will report + them again. + + The Uncle Remus tales of Joel Chandler Harris gave Mark Twain great + pleasure. He frequently read them aloud, not only at home but in + public. Finally, he wrote Harris, expressing his warm appreciation, + and mentioning one of the negro stories of his own childhood, “The + Golden Arm,” which he urged Harris to look up and add to his + collection. + + “You have pinned a proud feather in Uncle-Remus's cap,” replied + Harris. “I do not know what higher honor he could have than to + appear before the Hartford public arm in arm with Mark Twain.” + + He disclaimed any originality for the stories, adding, “I understand + that my relations toward Uncle Remus are similar to those that exist + between an almanac maker and the calendar.” He had not heard the + “Golden Arm” story and asked for the outlines; also for some + publishing advice, out of Mark Twain's long experience. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To Joel Chandler Harris, in Atlanta: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ELMIRA, N.Y., Aug. 10. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR MR. HARRIS,—You can argue yourself into the delusion that + the principle of life is in the stories themselves and not in their + setting; but you will save labor by stopping with that solitary convert, + for he is the only intelligent one you will bag. In reality the stories + are only alligator pears—one merely eats them for the sake of the + salad-dressing. Uncle Remus is most deftly drawn, and is a lovable and + delightful creation; he, and the little boy, and their relations with each + other, are high and fine literature, and worthy to live, for their own + sakes; and certainly the stories are not to be credited with them. But + enough of this; I seem to be proving to the man that made the + multiplication table that twice one are two. + </p> + <p> + I have been thinking, yesterday and to-day (plenty of chance to think, as + I am abed with lumbago at our little summering farm among the solitudes of + the Mountaintops,) and I have concluded that I can answer one of your + questions with full confidence—thus: Make it a subscription book. + Mighty few books that come strictly under the head of literature will sell + by subscription; but if Uncle Remus won't, the gift of prophecy has + departed out of me. When a book will sell by subscription, it will sell + two or three times as many copies as it would in the trade; and the profit + is bulkier because the retail price is greater..... + </p> + <p> + You didn't ask me for a subscription-publisher. If you had, I should + have recommended Osgood to you. He inaugurates his subscription department + with my new book in the fall..... + </p> + <p> + Now the doctor has been here and tried to interrupt my yarn about “The + Golden Arm,” but I've got through, anyway. + </p> + <p> + Of course I tell it in the negro dialect—that is necessary; but I + have not written it so, for I can't spell it in your matchless way. + It is marvelous the way you and Cable spell the negro and creole dialects. + </p> + <p> + Two grand features are lost in print: the weird wailing, the rising and + falling cadences of the wind, so easily mimicked with one's mouth; + and the impressive pauses and eloquent silences, and subdued utterances, + toward the end of the yarn (which chain the attention of the children hand + and foot, and they sit with parted lips and breathless, to be wrenched + limb from limb with the sudden and appalling “You got it”). + </p> + <p> + Old Uncle Dan'l, a slave of my uncle's' aged 60, used to + tell us children yarns every night by the kitchen fire (no other light;) + and the last yarn demanded, every night, was this one. By this time there + was but a ghastly blaze or two flickering about the back-log. We would + huddle close about the old man, and begin to shudder with the first + familiar words; and under the spell of his impressive delivery we always + fell a prey to that climax at the end when the rigid black shape in the + twilight sprang at us with a shout. + </p> + <p> + When you come to glance at the tale you will recollect it—it is as + common and familiar as the Tar Baby. Work up the atmosphere with your + customary skill and it will “go” in print. + </p> + <p> + Lumbago seems to make a body garrulous—but you'll forgive it. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Truly yours + S. L. CLEMENS +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The “Golden Arm” story was one that Clemens often used in his public + readings, and was very effective as he gave it. + + In his sketch, “How to Tell a Story,” it appears about as he used to + tell it. Harris, receiving the outlines of the old Missouri tale, + presently announced that he had dug up its Georgia relative, an + interesting variant, as we gather from Mark Twain's reply. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To Joel Chandler Harris, in Atlanta: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + HARTFORD, '81. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR MR. HARRIS,—I was very sure you would run across that Story + somewhere, and am glad you have. A Drummond light—no, I mean a Brush + light—is thrown upon the negro estimate of values by his willingness + to risk his soul and his mighty peace forever for the sake of a silver sev'm-punce. + And this form of the story seems rather nearer the true field-hand + standard than that achieved by my Florida, Mo., negroes with their + sumptuous arm of solid gold. + </p> + <p> + I judge you haven't received my new book yet—however, you will + in a day or two. Meantime you must not take it ill if I drop Osgood a hint + about your proposed story of slave life..... + </p> + <p> + When you come north I wish you would drop me a line and then follow it in + person and give me a day or two at our house in Hartford. If you will, I + will snatch Osgood down from Boston, and you won't have to go there + at all unless you want to. Please to bear this strictly in mind, and don't + forget it. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Sincerely yours + S. L. CLEMENS. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Charles Warren Stoddard, to whom the next letter is written, was one + of the old California literary crowd, a graceful writer of verse and + prose, never quite arriving at the success believed by his friends + to be his due. He was a gentle, irresponsible soul, well loved by + all who knew him, and always, by one or another, provided against + want. The reader may remember that during Mark Twain's great + lecture engagement in London, winter of 1873-74, Stoddard lived with + him, acting as his secretary. At a later period in his life he + lived for several years with the great telephone magnate, Theodore + N. Vail. At the time of this letter, Stoddard had decided that in + the warm light and comfort of the Sandwich Islands he could survive + on his literary earnings. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To Charles Warren Stoddard, in the Sandwich Islands: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + HARTFORD, Oct. 26 '81. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR CHARLIE,—Now what have I ever done to you that you should + not only slide off to Heaven before you have earned a right to go, but + must add the gratuitous villainy of informing me of it?... + </p> + <p> + The house is full of carpenters and decorators; whereas, what we really + need here, is an incendiary. If the house would only burn down, we would + pack up the cubs and fly to the isles of the blest, and shut ourselves up + in the healing solitudes of the crater of Haleakala and get a good rest; + for the mails do not intrude there, nor yet the telephone and the + telegraph. And after resting, we would come down the mountain a piece and + board with a godly, breech-clouted native, and eat poi and dirt and give + thanks to whom all thanks belong, for these privileges, and never + house-keep any more. + </p> + <p> + I think my wife would be twice as strong as she is, but for this wearing + and wearying slavery of house-keeping. However, she thinks she must submit + to it for the sake of the children; whereas, I have always had a + tenderness for parents too, so, for her sake and mine, I sigh for the + incendiary. When the evening comes and the gas is lit and the wear and + tear of life ceases, we want to keep house always; but next morning we + wish, once more, that we were free and irresponsible boarders. + </p> + <p> + Work?—one can't you know, to any purpose. I don't really + get anything done worth speaking of, except during the three or four + months that we are away in the Summer. I wish the Summer were seven years + long. I keep three or four books on the stocks all the time, but I seldom + add a satisfactory chapter to one of them at home. Yes, and it is all + because my time is taken up with answering the letters of strangers. It + can't be done through a short hand amanuensis—I've tried + that—it wouldn't work—I couldn't learn to dictate. + What does possess strangers to write so many letters? I never could find + that out. However, I suppose I did it myself when I was a stranger. But I + will never do it again. + </p> + <p> + Maybe you think I am not happy? the very thing that gravels me is that I + am. I don't want to be happy when I can't work; I am resolved + that hereafter I won't be. What I have always longed for, was the + privilege of living forever away up on one of those mountains in the + Sandwich Islands overlooking the sea. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Yours ever + MARK. +</pre> + <p> + That magazine article of yours was mighty good: up to your very best I + think. I enclose a book review written by Howells. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To W. D. Howells, in Boston: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + HARTFORD, Oct. 26 '81. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR HOWELLS,—I am delighted with your review, and so is Mrs. + Clemens. What you have said, there, will convince anybody that reads it; a + body cannot help being convinced by it. That is the kind of a review to + have; the doubtful man; even the prejudiced man, is persuaded and + succumbs. + </p> + <p> + What a queer blunder that was, about the baronet. I can't quite see + how I ever made it. There was an opulent abundance of things I didn't + know; and consequently no need to trench upon the vest-pocketful of things + I did know, to get material for a blunder. + </p> + <p> + Charley Warren Stoddard has gone to the Sandwich Islands permanently. + Lucky devil. It is the only supremely delightful place on earth. It does + seem that the more advantage a body doesn't earn, here, the more of + them God throws at his head. This fellow's postal card has set the + vision of those gracious islands before my mind, again, with not a leaf + withered, nor a rainbow vanished, nor a sun-flash missing from the waves, + and now it will be months, I reckon, before I can drive it away again. It + is beautiful company, but it makes one restless and dissatisfied. + </p> + <p> + With love and thanks, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Yrs ever, + MARK. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The review mentioned in this letter was of The Prince and the + Pauper. What the queer “blunder” about the baronet was, the present + writer confesses he does not know; but perhaps a careful reader + could find it, at least in the early edition; very likely it was + corrected without loss of time. + + Clemens now and then found it necessary to pay a visit to Canada in + the effort to protect his copyright. He usually had a grand time on + these trips, being lavishly entertained by the Canadian literary + fraternity. In November, 1881, he made one of these journeys in the + interest of The Prince and the Pauper, this time with Osgood, who + was now his publisher. In letters written home we get a hint of his + diversions. The Monsieur Frechette mentioned was a Canadian poet of + considerable distinction. “Clara” was Miss Clara Spaulding, of + Elmira, who had accompanied Mr. and Mrs. Clemens to Europe in 1873, + and again in 1878. Later she became Mrs. John B. Staachfield, of + New York City. Her name has already appeared in these letters many + times. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To Mrs. Clemens, in Hartford: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + MONTREAL, Nov. 28 '81. +</pre> + <p> + Livy darling, you and Clara ought to have been at breakfast in the great + dining room this morning. English female faces, distinctive English + costumes, strange and marvelous English gaits—and yet such honest, + honorable, clean-souled countenances, just as these English women almost + always have, you know. Right away— + </p> + <p> + But they've come to take me to the top of Mount Royal, it being a + cold, dry, sunny, magnificent day. Going in a sleigh. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Yours lovingly, + SAML. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To Mrs. Clemens, in Hartford: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + MONTREAL, Sunday, November 27, 1881. +</pre> + <p> + Livy dear, a mouse kept me awake last night till 3 or 4 o'clock—so + I am lying abed this morning. I would not give sixpence to be out yonder + in the storm, although it is only snow. + </p> + <p> + [The above paragraph is written in the form of a rebus illustrated with + various sketches.] + </p> + <p> + There—that's for the children—was not sure that they + could read writing; especially jean, who is strangely ignorant in some + things. + </p> + <p> + I can not only look out upon the beautiful snow-storm, past the vigorous + blaze of my fire; and upon the snow-veiled buildings which I have + sketched; and upon the churchward drifting umbrellas; and upon the + buffalo-clad cabmen stamping their feet and thrashing their arms on the + corner yonder: but I also look out upon the spot where the first white men + stood, in the neighborhood of four hundred years ago, admiring the mighty + stretch of leafy solitudes, and being admired and marveled at by an eager + multitude of naked savages. The discoverer of this region, and namer of + it, Jacques Cartier, has a square named for him in the city. I wish you + were here; you would enjoy your birthday, I think. + </p> + <p> + I hoped for a letter, and thought I had one when the mail was handed in, a + minute ago, but it was only that note from Sylvester Baxter. You must + write—do you hear?—or I will be remiss myself. + </p> + <p> + Give my love and a kiss to the children, and ask them to give you my love + and a kiss from + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SAML. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To Mrs. Clemens, in Hartford: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + QUEBEC, Sunday. '81. +</pre> + <p> + Livy darling, I received a letter from Monsieur Frechette this morning, in + which certain citizens of Montreal tendered me a public dinner next + Thursday, and by Osgood's advice I accepted it. I would have + accepted anyway, and very cheerfully but for the delay of two days—for + I was purposing to go to Boston Tuesday and home Wednesday; whereas, now I + go to Boston Friday and home Saturday. I have to go by Boston on account + of business. + </p> + <p> + We drove about the steep hills and narrow, crooked streets of this old + town during three hours, yesterday, in a sleigh, in a driving snow-storm. + The people here don't mind snow; they were all out, plodding around + on their affairs—especially the children, who were wallowing around + everywhere, like snow images, and having a mighty good time. I wish I + could describe the winter costume of the young girls, but I can't. + It is grave and simple, but graceful and pretty—the top of it is a + brimless fur cap. Maybe it is the costume that makes pretty girls seem so + monotonously plenty here. It was a kind of relief to strike a homely face + occasionally. + </p> + <p> + You descend into some of the streets by long, deep stairways; and in the + strong moonlight, last night, these were very picturesque. I did wish you + were here to see these things. You couldn't by any possibility sleep + in these beds, though, or enjoy the food. + </p> + <p> + Good night, sweetheart, and give my respects to the cubs. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SAML. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + It had been hoped that W. D. Howells would join the Canadian + excursion, but Howells was not very well that autumn. He wrote that + he had been in bed five weeks, “most of the time recovering; so you + see how bad I must have been to begin with. But now I am out of any + first-class pain; I have a good appetite, and I am as abusive and + peremptory as Guiteau.” Clemens, returning to Hartford, wrote him a + letter that explains itself. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To W. D. Howells, in Boston: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + HARTFORD, Dec. 16 '81. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR HOWELLS,—It was a sharp disappointment—your inability + to connect, on the Canadian raid. What a gaudy good time we should have + had! + </p> + <p> + Disappointed, again, when I got back to Boston; for I was promising myself + half an hour's look at you, in Belmont; but your note to Osgood + showed that that could not be allowed out yet. + </p> + <p> + The Atlantic arrived an hour ago, and your faultless and delicious Police + Report brought that blamed Joe Twichell powerfully before me. There's + a man who can tell such things himself (by word of mouth,) and has as sure + an eye for detecting a thing that is before his eyes, as any man in the + world, perhaps—then why in the nation doesn't he report + himself with a pen? + </p> + <p> + One of those drenching days last week, he slopped down town with his cubs, + and visited a poor little beggarly shed where were a dwarf, a fat woman, + and a giant of honest eight feet, on exhibition behind tawdry + show-canvases, but with nobody to exhibit to. The giant had a broom, and + was cleaning up and fixing around, diligently. Joe conceived the idea of + getting some talk out of him. Now that never would have occurred to me. So + he dropped in under the man's elbow, dogged him patiently around, + prodding him with questions and getting irritated snarls in return which + would have finished me early—but at last one of Joe's random + shafts drove the centre of that giant's sympathies somehow, and + fetched him. The fountains of his great deep were broken up, and he rained + a flood of personal history that was unspeakably entertaining. + </p> + <p> + Among other things it turned out that he had been a Turkish (native) + colonel, and had fought all through the Crimean war—and so, for the + first time, Joe got a picture of the Charge of the Six Hundred that made + him see the living spectacle, the flash of flag and tongue-flame, the + rolling smoke, and hear the booming of the guns; and for the first time + also, he heard the reasons for that wild charge delivered from the mouth + of a master, and realized that nobody had “blundered,” but + that a cold, logical, military brain had perceived this one and sole way + to win an already lost battle, and so gave the command and did achieve the + victory. + </p> + <p> + And mind you Joe was able to come up here, days afterwards, and reproduce + that giant's picturesque and admirable history. But dern him, he can't + write it—which is all wrong, and not as it should be. + </p> + <p> + And he has gone and raked up the MS autobiography (written in 1848,) of + Mrs. Phebe Brown, (author of “I Love to Steal a While Away,”) + who educated Yung Wing in her family when he was a little boy; and I came + near not getting to bed at all, last night, on account of the lurid + fascinations of it. Why in the nation it has never got into print, I can't + understand. + </p> + <p> + But, by jings! the postman will be here in a minute; so, congratulations + upon your mending health, and gratitude that it is mending; and love to + you all. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Yrs Ever + MARK. +</pre> + <p> + Don't answer—I spare the sick. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXII. LETTERS, 1882, MAINLY TO HOWELLS. WASTED FURY. OLD SCENES REVISITED. + THE MISSISSIPPI BOOK. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A man of Mark Twain's profession and prominence must necessarily be + the subject of much newspaper comment. Jest, compliment, criticism + —none of these things disturbed him, as a rule. He was pleased + that his books should receive favorable notices by men whose opinion + he respected, but he was not grieved by adverse expressions. Jests + at his expense, if well written, usually amused him; cheap jokes + only made him sad; but sarcasms and innuendoes were likely to enrage + him, particularly if he believed them prompted by malice. Perhaps + among all the letters he ever wrote, there is none more + characteristic than this confession of violence and eagerness for + reprisal, followed by his acknowledgment of error and a manifest + appreciation of his own weakness. It should be said that Mark Twain + and Whitelaw Reid were generally very good friends, and perhaps for + the moment this fact seemed to magnify the offense. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To W. D. Howells, in Boston: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + HARTFORD, Jan. 28 '82. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR HOWELLS,—Nobody knows better than I, that there are times + when swearing cannot meet the emergency. How sharply I feel that, at this + moment. Not a single profane word has issued from my lips this mornin—I + have not even had the impulse to swear, so wholly ineffectual would + swearing have manifestly been, in the circumstances. But I will tell you + about it. + </p> + <p> + About three weeks ago, a sensitive friend, approaching his revelation + cautiously, intimated that the N. Y. Tribune was engaged in a kind of + crusade against me. This seemed a higher compliment than I deserved; but + no matter, it made me very angry. I asked many questions, and gathered, in + substance, this: Since Reid's return from Europe, the Tribune had + been flinging sneers and brutalities at me with such persistent frequency + “as to attract general remark.” I was an angered—which + is just as good an expression, I take it, as an hungered. Next, I learned + that Osgood, among the rest of the “general,” was worrying + over these constant and pitiless attacks. Next came the testimony of + another friend, that the attacks were not merely “frequent,” + but “almost daily.” Reflect upon that: “Almost daily” + insults, for two months on a stretch. What would you have done? + </p> + <p> + As for me, I did the thing which was the natural thing for me to do, that + is, I set about contriving a plan to accomplish one or the other of two + things: 1. Force a peace; or 2. Get revenge. When I got my plan finished, + it pleased me marvelously. It was in six or seven sections, each section + to be used in its turn and by itself; the assault to begin at once with + No. 1, and the rest to follow, one after the other, to keep the + communication open while I wrote my biography of Reid. I meant to wind up + with this latter great work, and then dismiss the subject for good. + </p> + <p> + Well, ever since then I have worked day and night making notes and + collecting and classifying material. I've got collectors at work in + England. I went to New York and sat three hours taking evidence while a + stenographer set it down. As my labors grew, so also grew my fascination. + Malice and malignity faded out of me—or maybe I drove them out of + me, knowing that a malignant book would hurt nobody but the fool who wrote + it. I got thoroughly in love with this work; for I saw that I was going to + write a book which the very devils and angels themselves would delight to + read, and which would draw disapproval from nobody but the hero of it, + (and Mrs. Clemens, who was bitter against the whole thing.) One part of my + plan was so delicious that I had to try my hand on it right away, just for + the luxury of it. I set about it, and sure enough it panned out to + admiration. I wrote that chapter most carefully, and I couldn't find + a fault with it. (It was not for the biography—no, it belonged to an + immediate and deadlier project.) + </p> + <p> + Well, five days ago, this thought came into my mind (from Mrs. Clemens's): + “Wouldn't it be well to make sure that the attacks have been + 'almost daily'?—and to also make sure that their number + and character will justify me in doing what I am proposing to do?” + </p> + <p> + I at once set a man to work in New York to seek out and copy every + unpleasant reference which had been made to me in the Tribune from Nov. + 1st to date. On my own part I began to watch the current numbers, for I + had subscribed for the paper. + </p> + <p> + The result arrived from my New York man this morning. O, what a pitiable + wreck of high hopes! The “almost daily” assaults, for two + months, consist of—1. Adverse criticism of P. & P. from an + enraged idiot in the London Atheneum; 2. Paragraph from some indignant + Englishman in the Pall Mall Gazette who pays me the vast compliment of + gravely rebuking some imaginary ass who has set me up in the neighborhood + of Rabelais; 3. A remark of the Tribune's about the Montreal dinner, + touched with an almost invisible satire; 4. A remark of the Tribune's + about refusal of Canadian copyright, not complimentary, but not + necessarily malicious—and of course adverse criticism which is not + malicious is a thing which none but fools irritate themselves about. + </p> + <p> + There—that is the prodigious bugaboo, in its entirety! Can you + conceive of a man's getting himself into a sweat over so diminutive + a provocation? I am sure I can't. What the devil can those friends + of mine have been thinking about, to spread these 3 or 4 harmless things + out into two months of daily sneers and affronts? The whole offense, + boiled down, amounts to just this: one uncourteous remark of the Tribune + about my book—not me between Nov. 1 and Dec. 20; and a couple of + foreign criticisms (of my writings, not me,) between Nov. 1 and Jan. 26! + If I can't stand that amount of friction, I certainly need + reconstruction. Further boiled down, this vast outpouring of malice + amounts to simply this: one jest from the Tribune (one can make nothing + more serious than that out of it.) One jest—and that is all; for the + foreign criticisms do not count, they being matters of news, and proper + for publication in anybody's newspaper. + </p> + <p> + And to offset that one jest, the Tribune paid me one compliment Dec. 23, + by publishing my note declining the New York New England dinner, while + merely (in the same breath,) mentioning that similar letters were read + from General Sherman and other men whom we all know to be persons of real + consequence. + </p> + <p> + Well, my mountain has brought forth its mouse, and a sufficiently small + mouse it is, God knows. And my three weeks' hard work have got to go + into the ignominious pigeon-hole. Confound it, I could have earned ten + thousand dollars with infinitely less trouble. However, I shouldn't + have done it, for I am too lazy, now, in my sere and yellow leaf, to be + willing to work for anything but love..... I kind of envy you people who + are permitted for your righteousness' sake to dwell in a boarding + house; not that I should always want to live in one, but I should like the + change occasionally from this housekeeping slavery to that wild + independence. A life of don't-care-a-damn in a boarding house is + what I have asked for in many a secret prayer. I shall come by and by and + require of you what you have offered me there. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Yours ever, + MARK. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Howells, who had already known something of the gathering storm, + replied: “Your letter was an immense relief to me, for although I + had an abiding faith that you would get sick of your enterprise, + I wasn't easy until I knew that you had given it up.” + + Joel Chandler Harris appears again in the letters of this period. + Twichell, during a trip South about this time, had called on Harris + with some sort of proposition or suggestion from Clemens that Harris + appear with him in public, and tell, or read, the Remus stories from + the platform. But Harris was abnormally diffident. Clemens later + pronounced him “the shyest full-grown man” he had ever met, and the + word which Twichell brought home evidently did not encourage the + platform idea. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To Joel Chandler Harris, in Atlanta: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + HARTFORD, Apl. 2, '82. +</pre> + <p> + Private. + </p> + <p> + MY DEAR MR. HARRIS,—Jo Twichell brought me your note and told me of + his talk with you. He said you didn't believe you would ever be able + to muster a sufficiency of reckless daring to make you comfortable and at + ease before an audience. Well, I have thought out a device whereby I + believe we can get around that difficulty. I will explain when I see you. + </p> + <p> + Jo says you want to go to Canada within a month or six weeks—I + forget just exactly what he did say; but he intimated the trip could be + delayed a while, if necessary. If this is so, suppose you meet Osgood and + me in New Orleans early in May—say somewhere between the 1st and + 6th? + </p> + <p> + It will be well worth your while to do this, because the author who goes + to Canada unposted, will not know what course to pursue [to secure + copyright] when he gets there; he will find himself in a hopeless + confusion as to what is the correct thing to do. Now Osgood is the only + man in America, who can lay out your course for you and tell you exactly + what to do. Therefore, you just come to New Orleans and have a talk with + him. + </p> + <p> + Our idea is to strike across lots and reach St. Louis the 20th of April—thence + we propose to drift southward, stopping at some town a few hours or a + night, every day, and making notes. + </p> + <p> + To escape the interviewers, I shall follow my usual course and use a + fictitious name (C. L. Samuel, of New York.) I don't know what + Osgood's name will be, but he can't use his own. + </p> + <p> + If you see your way to meet us in New Orleans, drop me a line, now, and as + we approach that city I will telegraph you what day we shall arrive there. + </p> + <p> + I would go to Atlanta if I could, but shan't be able. We shall go + back up the river to St. Paul, and thence by rail X-lots home. + </p> + <p> + (I am making this letter so dreadfully private and confidential because my + movements must be kept secret, else I shan't be able to pick up the + kind of book-material I want.) + </p> + <p> + If you are diffident, I suspect that you ought to let Osgood be your + magazine-agent. He makes those people pay three or four times as much as + an article is worth, whereas I never had the cheek to make them pay more + than double. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Yrs Sincerely + S. L. CLEMENS. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “My backwardness is an affliction,” wrote Harris..... “The ordeal + of appearing on the stage would be a terrible one, but my experience + is that when a diffident man does become familiar with his + surroundings he has more impudence than his neighbors. Extremes + meet.” + + He was sorely tempted, but his courage became as water at the + thought of footlights and assembled listeners. Once in New York he + appears to have been caught unawares at a Tile Club dinner and made + to tell a story, but his agony was such that at the prospect of a + similar ordeal in Boston he avoided that city and headed straight + for Georgia and safety. + + The New Orleans excursion with Osgood, as planned by Clemens, proved + a great success. The little party took the steamer Gold Dust from + St. Louis down river toward New Orleans. Clemens was quickly + recognized, of course, and his assumed name laid aside. The author + of “Uncle Remus” made the trip to New Orleans. George W. Cable was + there at the time, and we may believe that in the company of Mark + Twain and Osgood those Southern authors passed two or three + delightful days. Clemens also met his old teacher Bixby in New + Orleans, and came back up the river with him, spending most of his + time in the pilot-house, as in the old days. It was a glorious + trip, and, reaching St. Louis, he continued it northward, stopping + off at Hannibal and Quincy.' +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To Mrs. Clemens, in Hartford: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + QUINCY, ILL. May 17, '82. +</pre> + <p> + Livy darling, I am desperately homesick. But I have promised Osgood, and + must stick it out; otherwise I would take the train at once and break for + home. + </p> + <p> + I have spent three delightful days in Hannibal, loitering around all day + long, examining the old localities and talking with the grey-heads who + were boys and girls with me 30 or 40 years ago. It has been a moving time. + I spent my nights with John and Helen Garth, three miles from town, in + their spacious and beautiful house. They were children with me, and + afterwards schoolmates. Now they have a daughter 19 or 20 years old. Spent + an hour, yesterday, with A. W. Lamb, who was not married when I saw him + last. He married a young lady whom I knew. And now I have been talking + with their grown-up sons and daughters. Lieutenant Hickman, the spruce + young handsomely-uniformed volunteer of 1846, called on me—a grisly + elephantine patriarch of 65 now, his grace all vanished. + </p> + <p> + That world which I knew in its blossoming youth is old and bowed and + melancholy, now; its soft cheeks are leathery and wrinkled, the fire is + gone out in its eyes, and the spring from its step. It will be dust and + ashes when I come again. I have been clasping hands with the moribund—and + usually they said, “It is for the last time.” + </p> + <p> + Now I am under way again, upon this hideous trip to St. Paul, with a heart + brimming full of thoughts and images of you and Susie and Bay and the + peerless Jean. And so good night, my love. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SAML. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Clemens's trip had been saddened by learning, in New Orleans, the + news of the death of Dr. John Brown, of Edinburgh. To Doctor + Brown's son, whom he had known as “Jock,” he wrote immediately on + his return to Hartford. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To Mr. John Brown, in Edinburgh + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + HARTFORD, June 1, 1882. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR MR. BROWN,—I was three thousand miles from home, at + breakfast in New Orleans, when the damp morning paper revealed the + sorrowful news among the cable dispatches. There was no place in America, + however remote, or however rich, or poor or high or humble where words of + mourning for your father were not uttered that morning, for his works had + made him known and loved all over the land. To Mrs. Clemens and me, the + loss is personal; and our grief the grief one feels for one who was + peculiarly near and dear. Mrs. Clemens has never ceased to express regret + that we came away from England the last time without going to see him, and + often we have since projected a voyage across the Atlantic for the sole + purpose of taking him by the hand and looking into his kind eyes once more + before he should be called to his rest. + </p> + <p> + We both thank you greatly for the Edinburgh papers which you sent. My wife + and I join in affectionate remembrances and greetings to yourself and your + aunt, and in the sincere tender of our sympathies. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Faithfully yours, + S. L. CLEMENS. +</pre> + <p> + Our Susie is still “Megalops.” He gave her that name: + </p> + <p> + Can you spare a photograph of your father? We have none but the one taken + in a group with ourselves. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + William Dean Howells, at the age of forty-five, reached what many + still regard his highest point of achievement in American realism. + His novel, The Rise of Silas Lapham, which was running as a Century + serial during the summer of 1882, attracted wide attention, and upon + its issue in book form took first place among his published novels. + Mark Twain, to the end of his life, loved all that Howells wrote. + Once, long afterward, he said: “Most authors give us glimpses of a + radiant moon, but Howells's moon shines and sails all night long.” + When the instalments of The Rise of Silas Lapham began to appear, he + overflowed in adjectives, the sincerity of which we need not doubt, + in view of his quite open criticisms of the author's reading + delivery. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To W. D. Howells, in Belmont, Mass.: + </p> + <p> + MY DEAR HOWELLS,—I am in a state of wild enthusiasm over this July + instalment of your story. It's perfectly dazzling—it's + masterly—incomparable. Yet I heard you read it—without losing + my balance. Well, the difference between your reading and your writing + is-remarkable. I mean, in the effects produced and the impression left + behind. Why, the one is to the other as is one of Joe Twichell's + yarns repeated by a somnambulist. Goodness gracious, you read me a + chapter, and it is a gentle, pearly dawn, with a sprinkle of faint stars + in it; but by and by I strike it in print, and shout to myself, “God + bless us, how has that pallid former spectacle been turned into these + gorgeous sunset splendors!” + </p> + <p> + Well, I don't care how much you read your truck to me, you can't + permanently damage it for me that way. It is always perfectly fresh and + dazzling when I come on it in the magazine. Of course I recognize the form + of it as being familiar—but that is all. That is, I remember it as + pyrotechnic figures which you set up before me, dead and cold, but ready + for the match—and now I see them touched off and all ablaze with + blinding fires. You can read, if you want to, but you don't read + worth a damn. I know you can read, because your readings of Cable and your + repeatings of the German doctor's remarks prove that. + </p> + <p> + That's the best drunk scene—because the truest—that I + ever read. There are touches in it that I never saw any writer take note + of before. And they are set before the reader with amazing accuracy. How + very drunk, and how recently drunk, and how altogether admirably drunk you + must have been to enable you to contrive that masterpiece! + </p> + <p> + Why I didn't notice that that religious interview between Marcia and + Mrs. Halleck was so deliciously humorous when you read it to me—but + dear me, it's just too lovely for anything. (Wrote Clark to collar + it for the “Library.”) + </p> + <p> + Hang it, I know where the mystery is, now; when you are reading, you glide + right along, and I don't get a chance to let the things soak home; + but when I catch it in the magazine, I give a page 20 or 30 minutes in + which to gently and thoroughly filter into me. Your humor is so very + subtle, and elusive—(well, often it's just a vanishing breath + of perfume which a body isn't certain he smelt till he stops and + takes another smell) whereas you can smell other... + </p> + <p> + (Remainder obliterated.) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Among Mark Twain's old schoolmates in Hannibal was little Helen + Kercheval, for whom in those early days he had a very tender spot + indeed. But she married another schoolmate, John Garth, who in time + became a banker, highly respected and a great influence. John and + Helen Garth have already been mentioned in the letter of May 17th. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To John Garth, in Hannibal: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + HARTFORD, July 3 '82. +</pre> + <p> + DEAR JOHN,—Your letter of June 19 arrived just one day after we + ought to have been in Elmira, N. Y. for the summer: but at the last moment + the baby was seized with scarlet fever. I had to telegraph and countermand + the order for special sleeping car; and in fact we all had to fly around + in a lively way and undo the patient preparations of weeks—rehabilitate + the dismantled house, unpack the trunks, and so on. A couple of days + later, the eldest child was taken down with so fierce a fever that she was + soon delirious—not scarlet fever, however. Next, I myself was + stretched on the bed with three diseases at once, and all of them fatal. + But I never did care for fatal diseases if I could only have privacy and + room to express myself concerning them. + </p> + <p> + We gave early warning, and of course nobody has entered the house in all + this time but one or two reckless old bachelors—and they probably + wanted to carry the disease to the children of former flames of theirs. + The house is still in quarantine and must remain so for a week or two yet—at + which time we are hoping to leave for Elmira. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Always your friend + S. L. CLEMENS. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + By the end of summer Howells was in Europe, and Clemens, in Elmira, + was trying to finish his Mississippi book, which was giving him a + great deal of trouble. It was usually so with his non-fiction + books; his interest in them was not cumulative; he was prone to grow + weary of them, while the menace of his publisher's contract was + maddening. Howells's letters, meant to be comforting, or at least + entertaining, did not always contribute to his peace of mind. The + Library of American Humor which they had planned was an added + burden. Before sailing, Howells had written: “Do you suppose you + can do your share of the reading at Elmira, while you are writing at + the Mississippi book?” + + In a letter from London, Howells writes of the good times he is + having over there with Osgood, Hutton, John Hay, Aldrich, and Alma + Tadema, excursioning to Oxford, feasting, especially “at the Mitre + Tavern, where they let you choose your dinner from the joints + hanging from the rafter, and have passages that you lose yourself in + every time you try to go to your room.... Couldn't you and Mrs. + Clemens step over for a little while?... We have seen lots of + nice people and have been most pleasantly made of; but I would + rather have you smoke in my face, and talk for half a day just for + pleasure, than to go to the best house or club in London.” The + reader will gather that this could not be entirely soothing to a man + shackled by a contract and a book that refused to come to an end. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To W. D. Howells, in London: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + HARTFORD, CONN. Oct 30, 1882. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR HOWELLS,—I do not expect to find you, so I shan't + spend many words on you to wind up in the perdition of some European + dead-letter office. I only just want to say that the closing installments + of the story are prodigious. All along I was afraid it would be impossible + for you to keep up so splendidly to the end; but you were only, I see now, + striking eleven. It is in these last chapters that you struck twelve. Go + on and write; you can write good books yet, but you can never match this + one. And speaking of the book, I inclose something which has been + happening here lately. + </p> + <p> + We have only just arrived at home, and I have not seen Clark on our + matters. I cannot see him or any one else, until I get my book finished. + The weather turned cold, and we had to rush home, while I still lacked + thirty thousand words. I had been sick and got delayed. I am going to + write all day and two thirds of the night, until the thing is done, or + break down at it. The spur and burden of the contract are intolerable to + me. I can endure the irritation of it no longer. I went to work at nine o'clock + yesterday morning, and went to bed an hour after midnight. Result of the + day, (mainly stolen from books, tho' credit given,) 9500 words, so I + reduced my burden by one third in one day. It was five days work in one. I + have nothing more to borrow or steal; the rest must all be written. It is + ten days work, and unless something breaks, it will be finished in five. + We all send love to you and Mrs. Howells, and all the family. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Yours as ever, + MARK. +</pre> + <p> + Again, from Villeneuve, on lake Geneva, Howells wrote urging him this time + to spend the winter with them in Florence, where they would write their + great American Comedy of 'Orme's Motor,' “which is + to enrich us beyond the dreams of avarice.... We could have a lot of fun + writing it, and you could go home with some of the good old Etruscan + malaria in your bones, instead of the wretched pinch-beck Hartford article + that you are suffering from now.... it's a great opportunity for + you. Besides, nobody over there likes you half as well as I do.” + </p> + <p> + It should be added that 'Orme's Motor' was the + provisional title that Clemens and Howells had selected for their comedy, + which was to be built, in some measure, at least, around the character, or + rather from the peculiarities, of Orion Clemens. The Cable mentioned in + Mark Twain's reply is, of course, George W. Cable, who only a little + while before had come up from New Orleans to conquer the North with his + wonderful tales and readings. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To W. D. Howells, in Switzerland: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + HARTFORD, Nov. 4th, 1882. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR HOWELLS,—Yes, it would be profitable for me to do that, + because with your society to help me, I should swiftly finish this now + apparently interminable book. But I cannot come, because I am not Boss + here, and nothing but dynamite can move Mrs. Clemens away from home in the + winter season. + </p> + <p> + I never had such a fight over a book in my life before. And the foolishest + part of the whole business is, that I started Osgood to editing it before + I had finished writing it. As a consequence, large areas of it are + condemned here and there and yonder, and I have the burden of these + unfilled gaps harassing me and the thought of the broken continuity of the + work, while I am at the same time trying to build the last quarter of the + book. However, at last I have said with sufficient positiveness that I + will finish the book at no particular date; that I will not hurry it; that + I will not hurry myself; that I will take things easy and comfortably, + write when I choose to write, leave it alone when I so prefer. The + printers must wait, the artists, the canvassers, and all the rest. I have + got everything at a dead standstill, and that is where it ought to be, and + that is where it must remain; to follow any other policy would be to make + the book worse than it already is. I ought to have finished it before + showing to anybody, and then sent it across the ocean to you to be edited, + as usual; for you seem to be a great many shades happier than you deserve + to be, and if I had thought of this thing earlier, I would have acted upon + it and taken the tuck somewhat out of your joyousness. + </p> + <p> + In the same mail with your letter, arrived the enclosed from Orme the + motor man. You will observe that he has an office. I will explain that + this is a law office and I think it probably does him as much good to have + a law office without anything to do in it, as it would another man to have + one with an active business attached. You see he is on the electric light + lay now. Going to light the city and allow me to take all the stock if I + want to. And he will manage it free of charge. It never would occur to + this simple soul how much less costly it would be to me, to hire him on a + good salary not to manage it. Do you observe the same old eagerness, the + same old hurry, springing from the fear that if he does not move with the + utmost swiftness, that colossal opportunity will escape him? Now just + fancy this same frantic plunging after vast opportunities, going on week + after week with this same man, during fifty entire years, and he has not + yet learned, in the slightest degree, that there isn't any occasion + to hurry; that his vast opportunity will always wait; and that whether it + waits or flies, he certainly will never catch it. This immortal + hopefulness, fortified by its immortal and unteachable misjudgment, is the + immortal feature of this character, for a play; and we will write that + play. We should be fools else. That staccato postscript reads as if some + new and mighty business were imminent, for it is slung on the paper + telegraphically, all the small words left out. I am afraid something newer + and bigger than the electric light is swinging across his orbit. Save this + letter for an inspiration. I have got a hundred more. + </p> + <p> + Cable has been here, creating worshipers on all hands. He is a marvelous + talker on a deep subject. I do not see how even Spencer could unwind a + thought more smoothly or orderly, and do it in a cleaner, clearer, crisper + English. He astounded Twichell with his faculty. You know when it comes + down to moral honesty, limpid innocence, and utterly blemishless piety, + the Apostles were mere policemen to Cable; so with this in mind you must + imagine him at a midnight dinner in Boston the other night, where we + gathered around the board of the Summerset Club; Osgood, full, Boyle O'Reilly, + full, Fairchild responsively loaded, and Aldrich and myself possessing the + floor, and properly fortified. Cable told Mrs. Clemens when he returned + here, that he seemed to have been entertaining himself with horses, and + had a dreamy idea that he must have gone to Boston in a cattle-car. It was + a very large time. He called it an orgy. And no doubt it was, viewed from + his standpoint. + </p> + <p> + I wish I were in Switzerland, and I wish we could go to Florence; but we + have to leave these delights to you; there is no helping it. We all join + in love to you and all the family. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Yours as ever + MARK. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXIII. LETTERS, 1883, TO HOWELLS AND OTHERS. A GUEST OF THE MARQUIS OF + LORNE. THE HISTORY GAME. A PLAY BY HOWELLS AND MARK TWAIN. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Mark Twain, in due season, finished the Mississippi book and placed + it in Osgood's hands for publication. It was a sort of partnership + arrangement in which Clemens was to furnish the money to make the + book, and pay Osgood a percentage for handling it. It was, in fact, + the beginning of Mark Twain's adventures as a publisher. + + Howells was not as happy in Florence as he had hoped to be. The + social life there overwhelmed him. In February he wrote: “Our two + months in Florence have been the most ridiculous time that ever even + half-witted people passed. We have spent them in chasing round + after people for whom we cared nothing, and being chased by them. + My story isn't finished yet, and what part of it is done bears the + fatal marks of haste and distraction. Of course, I haven't put pen + to paper yet on the play. I wring my hands and beat my breast when + I think of how these weeks have been wasted; and how I have been + forced to waste them by the infernal social circumstances from which + I couldn't escape.” + + Clemens, now free from the burden of his own book, was light of + heart and full of ideas and news; also of sympathy and appreciation. + Howells's story of this time was “A Woman's Reason.” Governor + Jewell, of this letter, was Marshall Jewell, Governor of Connecticut + from 1871 to 1873. Later, he was Minister to Russia, and in 1874 + was United States Postmaster-General. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To W. D. Howells, in Florence: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + HARTFORD, March 1st, 1883. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR HOWELLS,—We got ourselves ground up in that same mill, once, + in London, and another time in Paris. It is a kind of foretaste of hell. + There is no way to avoid it except by the method which you have now + chosen. One must live secretly and cut himself utterly off from the human + race, or life in Europe becomes an unbearable burden and work an + impossibility. I learned something last night, and maybe it may reconcile + me to go to Europe again sometime. I attended one of the astonishingly + popular lectures of a man by the name of Stoddard, who exhibits + interesting stereopticon pictures and then knocks the interest all out of + them with his comments upon them. But all the world go there to look and + listen, and are apparently well satisfied. And they ought to be fully + satisfied, if the lecturer would only keep still, or die in the first act. + But he described how retired tradesmen and farmers in Holland load a lazy + scow with the family and the household effects, and then loaf along the + waterways of the low countries all the summer long, paying no visits, + receiving none, and just lazying a heavenly life out in their own private + unpestered society, and doing their literary work, if they have any, + wholly uninterrupted. If you had hired such a boat and sent for us we + should have a couple of satisfactory books ready for the press now with no + marks of interruption, vexatious wearinesses, and other hellishnesses + visible upon them anywhere. We shall have to do this another time. We have + lost an opportunity for the present. Do you forget that Heaven is packed + with a multitude of all nations and that these people are all on the most + familiar how-the-hell-are-you footing with Talmage swinging around the + circle to all eternity hugging the saints and patriarchs and archangels, + and forcing you to do the same unless you choose to make yourself an + object of remark if you refrain? Then why do you try to get to Heaven? Be + warned in time. + </p> + <p> + We have all read your two opening numbers in the Century, and consider + them almost beyond praise. I hear no dissent from this verdict. I did not + know there was an untouched personage in American life, but I had + forgotten the auctioneer. You have photographed him accurately. + </p> + <p> + I have been an utterly free person for a month or two; and I do not + believe I ever so greatly appreciated and enjoyed—and realized the + absence of the chains of slavery as I do this time. Usually my first + waking thought in the morning is, “I have nothing to do to-day, I + belong to nobody, I have ceased from being a slave.” Of course the + highest pleasure to be got out of freedom, and having nothing to do, is + labor. Therefore I labor. But I take my time about it. I work one hour or + four as happens to suit my mind, and quit when I please. And so these days + are days of entire enjoyment. I told Clark the other day, to jog along + comfortable and not get in a sweat. I said I believed you would not be + able to enjoy editing that library over there, where you have your own + legitimate work to do and be pestered to death by society besides; + therefore I thought if he got it ready for you against your return, that + that would be best and pleasantest. + </p> + <p> + You remember Governor Jewell, and the night he told about Russia, down in + the library. He was taken with a cold about three weeks ago, and I stepped + over one evening, proposing to beguile an idle hour for him with a yarn or + two, but was received at the door with whispers, and the information that + he was dying. His case had been dangerous during that day only and he died + that night, two hours after I left. His taking off was a prodigious + surprise, and his death has been most widely and sincerely regretted. Win. + E. Dodge, the father-in-law of one of Jewell's daughters, dropped + suddenly dead the day before Jewell died, but Jewell died without knowing + that. Jewell's widow went down to New York, to Dodge's house, + the day after Jewell's funeral, and was to return here day before + yesterday, and she did—in a coffin. She fell dead, of heart disease, + while her trunks were being packed for her return home. Florence Strong, + one of Jewell's daughters, who lives in Detroit, started East on an + urgent telegram, but missed a connection somewhere, and did not arrive + here in time to see her father alive. She was his favorite child, and they + had always been like lovers together. He always sent her a box of fresh + flowers once a week to the day of his death; a custom which he never + suspended even when he was in Russia. Mrs. Strong had only just reached + her Western home again when she was summoned to Hartford to attend her + mother's funeral. + </p> + <p> + I have had the impulse to write you several times. I shall try to remember + better henceforth. + </p> + <p> + With sincerest regards to all of you, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Yours as ever, + MARK. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Mark Twain made another trip to Canada in the interest of copyright + —this time to protect the Mississippi book. When his journey was + announced by the press, the Marquis of Lorne telegraphed an + invitation inviting him to be his guest at Rideau Hall, in Ottawa. + Clemens accepted, of course, and was handsomely entertained by the + daughter of Queen Victoria and her husband, then Governor-General of + Canada. + + On his return to Hartford he found that Osgood had issued a curious + little book, for which Clemens had prepared an introduction. It was + an absurd volume, though originally issued with serious intent, its + title being The New Guide of the Conversation in Portuguese and + English.'—[The New Guide of the Conversation in Portuguese and + English, by Pedro Caxolino, with an introduction by Mark Twain. + Osgood, Boston, 1883. ]—Evidently the “New Guide” was prepared by + some simple Portuguese soul with but slight knowledge of English + beyond that which could be obtained from a dictionary, and his + literal translation of English idioms are often startling, as, for + instance, this one, taken at random: + + “A little learneds are happies enough for to may to satisfy their + fancies on the literature.” + + Mark Twain thought this quaint book might amuse his royal hostess, + and forwarded a copy in what he considered to be the safe and proper + form. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To Col. De Winton, in Ottawa, Canada: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + HARTFORD, June 4, '83. +</pre> + <p> + DEAR COLONEL DE WINTON,—I very much want to send a little book to + her Royal Highness—the famous Portuguese phrase book; but I do not + know the etiquette of the matter, and I would not wittingly infringe any + rule of propriety. It is a book which I perfectly well know will amuse her + “some at most” if she has not seen it before, and will still + amuse her “some at least,” even if she has inspected it a + hundred times already. So I will send the book to you, and you who know + all about the proper observances will protect me from indiscretion, in + case of need, by putting the said book in the fire, and remaining as dumb + as I generally was when I was up there. I do not rebind the thing, because + that would look as if I thought it worth keeping, whereas it is only worth + glancing at and casting aside. + </p> + <p> + Will you please present my compliments to Mrs. De Winton and Mrs. + Mackenzie?—and I beg to make my sincere compliments to you, also, + for your infinite kindnesses to me. I did have a delightful time up there, + most certainly. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Truly yours + S. L. CLEMENS. +</pre> + <p> + P. S. Although the introduction dates a year back, the book is only just + now issued. A good long delay. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + S. L. C. + + Howells, writing from Venice, in April, manifested special interest + in the play project: “Something that would run like Scheherazade, + for a thousand and one nights,” so perhaps his book was going + better. He proposed that they devote the month of October to the + work, and inclosed a letter from Mallory, who owned not only a + religious paper, The Churchman, but also the Madison Square Theater, + and was anxious for a Howells play. Twenty years before Howells had + been Consul to Venice, and he wrote, now: “The idea of my being here + is benumbing and silencing. I feel like the Wandering Jew, or the + ghost of the Cardiff giant.” + + He returned to America in July. Clemens sent him word of welcome, + with glowing reports of his own undertakings. The story on which he + was piling up MS. was The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, begun + seven years before at Quarry Farm. He had no great faith in it + then, and though he had taken it up again in 1880, his interest had + not lasted to its conclusion. This time, however, he was in the + proper spirit, and the story would be finished. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To W. D. Howells, in Boston: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ELMIRA, July 20, '83. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR HOWELLS,—We are desperately glad you and your gang are home + again—may you never travel again, till you go aloft or alow. Charley + Clark has gone to the other side for a run—will be back in August. + He has been sick, and needed the trip very much. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Clemens had a long and wasting spell of sickness last Spring, but she + is pulling up, now. The children are booming, and my health is ridiculous, + it's so robust, notwithstanding the newspaper misreports. + </p> + <p> + I haven't piled up MS so in years as I have done since we came here + to the farm three weeks and a half ago. Why, it's like old times, to + step right into the study, damp from the breakfast table, and sail right + in and sail right on, the whole day long, without thought of running short + of stuff or words. + </p> + <p> + I wrote 4000 words to-day and I touch 3000 and upwards pretty often, and + don't fall below 1600 any working day. And when I get fagged out, I + lie abed a couple of days and read and smoke, and then go it again for 6 + or 7 days. I have finished one small book, and am away along in a big 433 + one that I half-finished two or three years ago. I expect to complete it + in a month or six weeks or two months more. And I shall like it, whether + anybody else does or not. + </p> + <p> + It's a kind of companion to Tom Sawyer. There's a raft episode + from it in second or third chapter of life on the Mississippi..... + </p> + <p> + I'm booming, these days—got health and spirits to waste—got + an overplus; and if I were at home, we would write a play. But we must do + it anyhow by and by. + </p> + <p> + We stay here till Sep. 10; then maybe a week at Indian Neck for sea air, + then home. + </p> + <p> + We are powerful glad you are all back; and send love according. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Yrs Ever + MARK +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To Onion Clemens and family, in Keokuk, Id.: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ELMIRA, July 22, '83. +Private. +</pre> + <p> + DEAR MA AND ORION AND MOLLIE,—I don't know that I have + anything new to report, except that Livy is still gaining, and all the + rest of us flourishing. I haven't had such booming working-days for + many years. I am piling up manuscript in a really astonishing way. I + believe I shall complete, in two months, a book which I have been fooling + over for 7 years. This summer it is no more trouble to me to write than it + is to lie. + </p> + <p> + Day before yesterday I felt slightly warned to knock off work for one day. + So I did it, and took the open air. Then I struck an idea for the + instruction of the children, and went to work and carried it out. It took + me all day. I measured off 817 feet of the road-way in our farm grounds, + with a foot-rule, and then divided it up among the English reigns, from + the Conqueror down to 1883, allowing one foot to the year. I whittled out + a basket of little pegs and drove one in the ground at the beginning of + each reign, and gave it that King's name—thus: + </p> + <p> + I measured all the reigns exactly as many feet to the reign as there were + years in it. You can look out over the grounds and see the little pegs + from the front door—some of them close together, like Richard II, + Richard Cromwell, James II, &c., and some prodigiously wide apart, + like Henry III, Edward III, George III, &c. It gives the children a + realizing sense of the length or brevity of a reign. Shall invent a + violent game to go with it. + </p> + <p> + And in bed, last night, I invented a way to play it indoors—in a far + more voluminous way, as to multiplicity of dates and events—on a + cribbage board. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Hello, supper's ready. + Love to all. + Good bye. + SAML. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Onion Clemens would naturally get excited over the idea of the game + and its commercial possibilities. Not more so than his brother, + however, who presently employed him to arrange a quantity of + historical data which the game was to teach. For a season, indeed, + interest in the game became a sort of midsummer madness which + pervaded the two households, at Keokuk and at Quarry Farm. Howells + wrote his approval of the idea of “learning history by the running + foot,” which was a pun, even if unintentional, for in its out-door + form it was a game of speed as well as knowledge. + + Howells adds that he has noticed that the newspapers are exploiting + Mark Twain's new invention of a history game, and we shall presently + see how this happened. + + Also, in this letter, Howells speaks of an English nobleman to whom + he has given a letter of introduction. “He seemed a simple, quiet, + gentlemanly man, with a good taste in literature, which he evinced + by going about with my books in his pockets, and talking of yours.” + </pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To W. D. Howells, in Boston: + </p> + <p> + MY DEAR HOWELLS,—How odd it seems, to sit down to write a letter + with the feeling that you've got time to do it. But I'm done + work, for this season, and so have got time. I've done two seasons' + work in one, and haven't anything left to do, now, but revise. I've + written eight or nine hundred MS pages in such a brief space of time that + I mustn't name the number of days; I shouldn't believe it + myself, and of course couldn't expect you to. I used to restrict + myself to 4 or 5 hours a day and 5 days in the week, but this time I've + wrought from breakfast till 5.15 p.m. six days in the week; and once or + twice I smouched a Sunday when the boss wasn't looking. Nothing is + half so good as literature hooked on Sunday, on the sly. + </p> + <p> + I wrote you and Twichell on the same night, about the game, and was + appalled to get a note from him saying he was going to print part of my + letter, and was going to do it before I could get a chance to forbid it. I + telegraphed him, but was of course too late. + </p> + <p> + If you haven't ever tried to invent an indoor historical game, don't. + I've got the thing at last so it will work, I guess, but I don't + want any more tasks of that kind. When I wrote you, I thought I had it; + whereas I was only merely entering upon the initiatory difficulties of it. + I might have known it wouldn't be an easy job, or somebody would + have invented a decent historical game long ago—a thing which nobody + had done. I think I've got it in pretty fair shape—so I have + caveated it. + </p> + <p> + Earl of Onston—is that it? All right, we shall be very glad to + receive them and get acquainted with them. And much obliged to you, too. + There's plenty of worse people than the nobilities. I went up and + spent a week with the Marquis and the Princess Louise, and had as good a + time as I want. + </p> + <p> + I'm powerful glad you are all back again; and we will come up there + if our little tribe will give us the necessary furlough; and if we can't + get it, you folks must come to us and give us an extension of time. We get + home Sept. 11. + </p> + <p> + Hello, I think I see Waring coming! + </p> + <p> + Good-by-letter from Clark, which explains for him. + </p> + <p> + Love to you all from the + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + CLEMENSES. +</pre> + <p> + No—it wasn't Waring. I wonder what the devil has become of + that man. He was to spend to-day with us, and the day's most gone, + now. + </p> + <p> + We are enjoying your story with our usual unspeakableness; and I'm + right glad you threw in the shipwreck and the mystery—I like it. + Mrs. Crane thinks it's the best story you've written yet. We—but + we always think the last one is the best. And why shouldn't it be? + Practice helps. + </p> + <p> + P. S. I thought I had sent all our loves to all of you, but Mrs. Clemens + says I haven't. Damn it, a body can't think of everything; but + a woman thinks you can. I better seal this, now—else there'll + be more criticism. + </p> + <p> + I perceive I haven't got the love in, yet. Well, we do send the love + of all the family to all the Howellses. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + S. L. C. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + There had been some delay and postponement in the matter of + the play which Howells and Clemens agreed to write. They + did not put in the entire month of October as they had + planned, but they did put in a portion of that month, the + latter half, working out their old idea. In the end it + became a revival of Colonel Sellers, or rather a caricature + of that gentle hearted old visionary. Clemens had always + complained that the actor Raymond had never brought out the + finer shades of Colonel Sellers's character, but Raymond in + his worst performance never belied his original as did + Howells and Clemens in his dramatic revival. These two, + working together, let their imaginations run riot with + disastrous results. The reader can judge something of this + himself, from The American Claimant the book which Mark + Twain would later build from the play. + + But at this time they thought it a great triumph. They had + “cracked their sides” laughing over its construction, as + Howells once said, and they thought the world would do the + same over its performance. They decided to offer it to + Raymond, but rather haughtily, indifferently, because any + number of other actors would be waiting for it. + + But this was a miscalculation. Raymond now turned the + tables. Though favorable to the idea of a new play, he + declared this one did not present his old Sellers at all, + but a lunatic. In the end he returned the MS. with a brief + note. Attempts had already been made to interest other + actors, and would continue for some time. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXIV. LETTERS, 1884, TO HOWELLS AND OTHERS. CABLE'S GREAT APRIL + FOOL. “HUCK FINN” IN PRESS. MARK TWAIN FOR CLEVELAND. CLEMENS + AND CABLE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Mark Twain had a lingering attack of the dramatic fever that + winter. He made a play of the Prince and Pauper, which + Howells pronounced “too thin and slight and not half long + enough.” He made another of Tom Sawyer, and probably + destroyed it, for no trace of the MS. exists to-day. Howells + could not join in these ventures, for he was otherwise + occupied and had sickness in his household. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To W. D. Howells, in Boston: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Jan. 7, '84. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR HOWELLS,—“O my goodn's”, as Jean says. You + have now encountered at last the heaviest calamity that can befall an + author. The scarlet fever, once domesticated, is a permanent member of the + family. Money may desert you, friends forsake you, enemies grow + indifferent to you, but the scarlet fever will be true to you, through + thick and thin, till you be all saved or damned, down to the last one. I + say these things to cheer you. + </p> + <p> + The bare suggestion of scarlet fever in the family makes me shudder; I + believe I would almost rather have Osgood publish a book for me. + </p> + <p> + You folks have our most sincere sympathy. Oh, the intrusion of this + hideous disease is an unspeakable disaster. + </p> + <p> + My billiard table is stacked up with books relating to the Sandwich + Islands: the walls axe upholstered with scraps of paper penciled with + notes drawn from them. I have saturated myself with knowledge of that + unimaginably beautiful land and that most strange and fascinating people. + And I have begun a story. Its hidden motive will illustrate a but-little + considered fact in human nature; that the religious folly you are born in + you will die in, no matter what apparently reasonabler religious folly may + seem to have taken its place meanwhile, and abolished and obliterated it. + I start Bill Ragsdale at 12 years of age, and the heroine at 4, in the + midst of the ancient idolatrous system, with its picturesque and amazing + customs and superstitions, 3 months before the arrival of the missionaries + and the erection of a shallow Christianity upon the ruins of the old + paganism. Then these two will become educated Christians, and highly + civilized. + </p> + <p> + And then I will jump 15 years, and do Ragsdale's leper business. + When we came to dramatize, we can draw a deal of matter from the story, + all ready to our hand. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Yrs Ever + MARK. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + He never finished the Sandwich Islands story which he and Howells + were to dramatize later. His head filled up with other projects, + such as publishing plans, reading-tours, and the like. The + type-setting machine does not appear in the letters of this period, + but it was an important factor, nevertheless. It was costing + several thousand dollars a month for construction and becoming + a heavy drain on Mark Twain's finances. It was necessary to + recuperate, and the anxiety for a profitable play, or some other + adventure that would bring a quick and generous return, grew out + of this need. + + Clemens had established Charles L. Webster, his nephew by marriage, + in a New York office, as selling agent for the Mississippi book and + for his plays. He was also planning to let Webster publish the new + book, Huck Finn. + + George W. Cable had proven his ability as a reader, and Clemens saw + possibilities in a reading combination, which was first planned to + include Aldrich, and Howells, and a private car. + + But Aldrich and Howells did not warm to the idea, and the car was + eliminated from the plan. Cable came to visit Clemens in Hartford, + and was taken with the mumps, so that the reading-trip was + postponed. + + The fortunes of the Sellers play were most uncertain and becoming + daily more doubtful. In February, Howells wrote: “If you have got + any comfort in regard to our play I wish you would heave it into my + bosom.” + + Cable recovered in time, and out of gratitude planned a great + April-fool surprise for his host. He was a systematic man, and did + it in his usual thorough way. He sent a “private and confidential” + suggestion to a hundred and fifty of Mark Twain's friends and + admirers, nearly all distinguished literary men. The suggestion + was that each one of them should send a request for Mark Twain's + autograph, timing it so that it would arrive on the 1st of April. + All seemed to have responded. Mark Twain's writing-table on April + Fool morning was heaped with letters, asking in every ridiculous + fashion for his “valuable autograph.” The one from Aldrich was a + fair sample. He wrote: “I am making a collection of autographs of + our distinguished writers, and having read one of your works, + Gabriel Convoy, I would like to add your name to the list.” + + Of course, the joke in this was that Gabriel Convoy was by Bret + Harte, who by this time was thoroughly detested by Mark Twain. The + first one or two of the letters puzzled the victim; then he + comprehended the size and character of the joke and entered into it + thoroughly. One of the letters was from Bloodgood H. Cutter, the + “Poet Lariat” of Innocents Abroad. Cutter, of course, wrote in + “poetry,” that is to say, doggerel. Mark Twain's April Fool was a + most pleasant one. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + Rhymed letter by Bloodgood H. Cutter to Mark Twain: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + LITTLE NECK, LONG ISLAND. + + LONG ISLAND FARMER, TO HIS FRIEND AND PILGRIM BROTHER, + + SAMUEL L. CLEMENS, ESQ. + + Friends, suggest in each one's behalf + To write, and ask your autograph. + To refuse that, I will not do, + After the long voyage had with you. + That was a memorable time You wrote in prose, I wrote in Rhyme To + describe the wonders of each place, And the queer customs of each race. + + That is in my memory yet + For while I live I'll not forget. + I often think of that affair + And the many that were with us there. + + As your friends think it for the best + I ask your Autograph with the rest, + Hoping you will it to me send + 'Twill please and cheer your dear old friend: + + Yours truly, + + BLOODGOOD H. CUTTER. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To W. D. Howells, in Boston: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + HARTFORD, Apl 8, '84. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR HOWELLS, It took my breath away, and I haven't recovered it + yet, entirely—I mean the generosity of your proposal to read the + proofs of Huck Finn. + </p> + <p> + Now if you mean it, old man—if you are in earnest—proceed, in + God's name, and be by me forever blest. I cannot conceive of a + rational man deliberately piling such an atrocious job upon himself; but + if there is such a man and you be that man, why then pile it on. It will + cost me a pang every time I think of it, but this anguish will be + eingebusst to me in the joy and comfort I shall get out of the not having + to read the verfluchtete proofs myself. But if you have repented of your + augenblichlicher Tobsucht and got back to calm cold reason again, I won't + hold you to it unless I find I have got you down in writing somewhere. + Herr, I would not read the proof of one of my books for any fair and + reasonable sum whatever, if I could get out of it. + </p> + <p> + The proof-reading on the P & P cost me the last rags of my religion. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + M. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Howells had written that he would be glad to help out in the + reading of the proofs of Huck Finn, which book Webster by + this time had in hand. Replying to Clemens's eager and + grateful acceptance now, he wrote: “It is all perfectly true + about the generosity, unless I am going to read your proofs + from one of the shabby motives which I always find at the + bottom of my soul if I examine it.” A characteristic + utterance, though we may be permitted to believe that his + shabby motives were fewer and less shabby than those of + mankind in general. + + The proofs which Howells was reading pleased him mightily. + Once, during the summer, he wrote: “if I had written half as + good a book as Huck Finn I shouldn't ask anything better + than to read the proofs; even as it is, I don't, so send + them on; they will always find me somewhere.” + + This was the summer of the Blaine-Cleveland campaign. Mark + Twain, in company with many other leading men, had + mugwumped, and was supporting Cleveland. From the next + letter we gather something of the aspects of that memorable + campaign, which was one of scandal and vituperation. We + learn, too, that the young sculptor, Karl Gerhardt, having + completed a three years' study in Paris, had returned to + America a qualified artist. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To W. D. Howells, in Boston: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ELMIRA, Aug. 21, '84. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR HOWELLS,—This presidential campaign is too delicious for + anything. Isn't human nature the most consummate sham and lie that + was ever invented? Isn't man a creature to be ashamed of in pretty + much all his aspects? Man, “know thyself “—and then thou + wilt despise thyself, to a dead moral certainty. Take three quite good + specimens—Hawley, Warner, and Charley Clark. Even I do not loathe + Blaine more than they do; yet Hawley is howling for Blaine, Warner and + Clark are eating their daily crow in the paper for him, and all three will + vote for him. O Stultification, where is thy sting, O slave where is thy + hickory! + </p> + <p> + I suppose you heard how a marble monument for which St. Gaudens was + pecuniarily responsible, burned down in Hartford the other day, uninsured—for + who in the world would ever think of insuring a marble shaft in a cemetery + against a fire?—and left St. Gauden out of pocket $15,000. + </p> + <p> + It was a bad day for artists. Gerhardt finished my bust that day, and the + work was pronounced admirable by all the kin and friends; but in putting + it in plaster (or rather taking it out) next day it got ruined. It was + four or five weeks hard work gone to the dogs. The news flew, and + everybody on the farm flocked to the arbor and grouped themselves about + the wreck in a profound and moving silence—the farm-help, the + colored servants, the German nurse, the children, everybody—a + silence interrupted at wide intervals by absent-minded ejaculations wising + from unconscious breasts as the whole size of the disaster gradually + worked its way home to the realization of one spirit after another. + </p> + <p> + Some burst out with one thing, some another; the German nurse put up her + hands and said, “Oh, Schade! oh, schrecklich!” But Gerhardt + said nothing; or almost that. He couldn't word it, I suppose. But he + went to work, and by dark had everything thoroughly well under way for a + fresh start in the morning; and in three days' time had built a new + bust which was a trifle better than the old one—and to-morrow we + shall put the finishing touches on it, and it will be about as good a one + as nearly anybody can make. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Yrs Ever + MARK. +</pre> + <p> + If you run across anybody who wants a bust, be sure and recommend Gerhardt + on my say-so. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + But Howells was determinedly for Blaine. “I shall vote for + Blaine,” he replied. “I do not believe he is guilty of the + things they accuse him of, and I know they are not proved + against him. As for Cleveland, his private life may be no + worse than that of most men, but as an enemy of that + contemptible, hypocritical, lop-sided morality which says a + woman shall suffer all the shame of unchastity and man none, + I want to see him destroyed politically by his past. The + men who defend him would take their wives to the White House + if he were president, but if he married his concubine—'made + her an honest woman' they would not go near him. I can't + stand that.” + + Certainly this was sound logic, in that day, at least. But + it left Clemens far from satisfied. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To W. D. Howells, in Boston: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ELMIRA, Sept. 17, '84. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR HOWELLS,—Somehow I can't seem to rest quiet under the + idea of your voting for Blaine. I believe you said something about the + country and the party. Certainly allegiance to these is well; but as + certainly a man's first duty is to his own conscience and honor—the + party or the country come second to that, and never first. I don't + ask you to vote at all—I only urge you to not soil yourself by + voting for Blaine. + </p> + <p> + When you wrote before, you were able to say the charges against him were + not proven. But you know now that they are proven, and it seems to me that + that bars you and all other honest and honorable men (who are + independently situated) from voting for him. + </p> + <p> + It is not necessary to vote for Cleveland; the only necessary thing to do, + as I understand it, is that a man shall keep himself clean, (by + withholding his vote for an improper man) even though the party and the + country go to destruction in consequence. It is not parties that make or + save countries or that build them to greatness—it is clean men, + clean ordinary citizens, rank and file, the masses. Clean masses are not + made by individuals standing back till the rest become clean. + </p> + <p> + As I said before, I think a man's first duty is to his own honor; + not to his country and not to his party. Don't be offended; I mean + no offence. I am not so concerned about the rest of the nation, but—well, + good-bye. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Ys Ever + MARK. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + There does not appear to be any further discussion of the matter + between Howells and Clemens. Their letters for a time contained no + suggestion of politics. + + Perhaps Mark Twain's own political conscience was not entirely clear + in his repudiation of his party; at least we may believe from his + next letter that his Cleveland enthusiasm was qualified by a + willingness to support a Republican who would command his admiration + and honor. The idea of an eleventh-hour nomination was rather + startling, whatever its motive. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To Mr. Pierce, in Boston: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + HARTFORD, Oct. 22, '84. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR MR. PIERCE,—You know, as well as I do, that the reason the + majority of republicans are going to vote for Blaine is because they feel + that they cannot help themselves. Do not you believe that if Mr. Edmunds + would consent to run for President, on the Independent ticket—even + at this late day—he might be elected? + </p> + <p> + Well, if he wouldn't consent, but should even strenuously protest + and say he wouldn't serve if elected, isn't it still wise and + fair to nominate him and vote for him? since his protest would relieve him + from all responsibility; and he couldn't surely find fault with + people for forcing a compliment upon him. And do not you believe that his + name thus compulsorily placed at the head of the Independent column would + work absolutely certain defeat to Blain and save the country's + honor? + </p> + <p> + Politicians often carry a victory by springing some disgraceful and + rascally mine under the feet of the adversary at the eleventh hour; would + it not be wholesome to vary this thing for once and spring as formidable a + mine of a better sort under the enemy's works? + </p> + <p> + If Edmunds's name were put up, I would vote for him in the teeth of + all the protesting and blaspheming he could do in a month; and there are + lots of others who would do likewise. + </p> + <p> + If this notion is not a foolish and wicked one, won't you just + consult with some chief Independents, and see if they won't call a + sudden convention and whoop the thing through? To nominate Edmunds the 1st + of November, would be soon enough, wouldn't it? + </p> + <p> + With kindest regards to you and the Aldriches, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Yr Truly + S. L. CLEMENS. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Clemens and Cable set out on their reading-tour in November. + They were a curiously-assorted pair: Cable was of orthodox + religion, exact as to habits, neat, prim, all that Clemens + was not. In the beginning Cable undertook to read the Bible + aloud to Clemens each evening, but this part of the day's + program was presently omitted by request. If they spent + Sunday in a town, Cable was up bright and early visiting the + various churches and Sunday-schools, while Mark Twain + remained at the hotel, in bed, reading or asleep. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXV. THE GREAT YEAR OF 1885. CLEMENS AND CABLE. PUBLICATION OF “HUCK + FINN.” THE GRANT MEMOIRS. MARK TWAIN AT FIFTY. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The year 1885 was in some respects the most important, certainly the + most pleasantly exciting, in Mark Twain's life. It was the year in + which he entered fully into the publishing business and launched one + of the most spectacular of all publishing adventures, The Personal + Memoirs of General U. S. Grant. Clemens had not intended to do + general publishing when he arranged with Webster to become + sales-agent for the Mississippi book, and later general agent for + Huck Finn's adventures; he had intended only to handle his own + books, because he was pretty thoroughly dissatisfied with other + publishing arrangements. Even the Library of Humor, which Howells, + with Clark, of the Courant, had put together for him, he left with + Osgood until that publisher failed, during the spring of 1885. + Certainly he never dreamed of undertaking anything of the + proportions of the Grant book. + + He had always believed that Grant could make a book. More than + once, when they had met, he had urged the General to prepare his + memoirs for publication. Howells, in his 'My Mark Twain', tells of + going with Clemens to see Grant, then a member of the ill-fated firm + of Grant and Ward, and how they lunched on beans, bacon and coffee + brought in from a near-by restaurant. It was while they were eating + this soldier fare that Clemens—very likely abetted by Howells + —especially urged the great commander to prepare his memoirs. But + Grant had become a financier, as he believed, and the prospect of + literary earnings, however large, did not appeal to him. + Furthermore, he was convinced that he was without literary ability + and that a book by him would prove a failure. + + But then, by and by, came a failure more disastrous than anything he + had foreseen—the downfall of his firm through the Napoleonic + rascality of Ward. General Grant was utterly ruined; he was left + without income and apparently without the means of earning one. It + was the period when the great War Series was appeasing in the + Century Magazine. General Grant, hard-pressed, was induced by the + editors to prepare one or more articles, and, finding that he could + write them, became interested in the idea of a book. It is + unnecessary to repeat here the story of how the publication of this + important work passed into the hands of Mark Twain; that is to say, + the firm of Charles L. Webster & Co., the details having been fully + given elsewhere.—[See Mark Twain: A Biography, chap. cliv.]— + + We will now return for the moment to other matters, as reported in + order by the letters. Clemens and Cable had continued their + reading-tour into Canada, and in February found themselves in + Montreal. Here they were invited by the Toque Bleue Snow-shoe Club + to join in one of their weekly excursions across Mt. Royal. They + could not go, and the reasons given by Mark Twain are not without + interest. The letter is to Mr. George Iles, author of Flame, + Electricity, and the Camera, and many other useful works. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To George Iles, far the Toque Blew Snow-shoe Club, Montreal: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + DETROIT, February 12, 1885. + + Midnight, P.S. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR ILES,—I got your other telegram a while ago, and answered + it, explaining that I get only a couple of hours in the middle of the day + for social life. I know it doesn't seem rational that a man should + have to lie abed all day in order to be rested and equipped for talking an + hour at night, and yet in my case and Cable's it is so. Unless I get + a great deal of rest, a ghastly dulness settles down upon me on the + platform, and turns my performance into work, and hard work, whereas it + ought always to be pastime, recreation, solid enjoyment. Usually it is + just this latter, but that is because I take my rest faithfully, and + prepare myself to do my duty by my audience. + </p> + <p> + I am the obliged and appreciative servant of my brethren of the Snow-shoe + Club, and nothing in the world would delight me more than to come to their + house without naming time or terms on my own part—but you see how it + is. My cast iron duty is to my audience—it leaves me no liberty and + no option. + </p> + <p> + With kindest regards to the Club, and to you, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I am Sincerely yours + + S. L. CLEMENS. + + In the next letter we reach the end of the Clemens-Cable venture and + get a characteristic summing up of Mark Twain's general attitude + toward the companion of his travels. It must be read only in the + clear realization of Mark Twain's attitude toward orthodoxy, and his + habit of humor. Cable was as rigidly orthodox as Mark Twain was + revolutionary. The two were never anything but the best of friends. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To W. D. Howells, in Boston: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + PHILADA. Feb. 27, '85. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR HOWELLS,—To-night in Baltimore, to-morrow afternoon and + night in Washington, and my four-months platform campaign is ended at + last. It has been a curious experience. It has taught me that Cable's + gifts of mind are greater and higher than I had suspected. But— + </p> + <p> + That “But” is pointing toward his religion. You will never, + never know, never divine, guess, imagine, how loathsome a thing the + Christian religion can be made until you come to know and study Cable + daily and hourly. Mind you, I like him; he is pleasant company; I rage and + swear at him sometimes, but we do not quarrel; we get along mighty happily + together; but in him and his person I have learned to hate all religions. + He has taught me to abhor and detest the Sabbath-day and hunt up new and + troublesome ways to dishonor it. + </p> + <p> + Nat Goodwin was on the train yesterday. He plays in Washington all the + coming week. He is very anxious to get our Sellers play and play it under + changed names. I said the only thing I could do would be to write to you. + Well, I've done it. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Ys Ever + MARK. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Clemens and Webster were often at the house of General Grant during + these early days of 1885, and it must have been Webster who was + present with Clemens on the great occasion described in the + following telegram. It was on the last day and hour of President + Arthur's administration that the bill was passed which placed + Ulysses S. Grant as full General with full pay on the retired list, + and it is said that the congressional clock was set back in order + that this enactment might become a law before the administration + changed. General Grant had by this time developed cancer and was + already in feeble health. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + Telegram to Mrs. Clemens, in Hartford: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + NEW YORK, Mar. 4, 1885. +</pre> + <p> + To MRS. S. L. CLEMENS, We were at General Grant's at noon and a + telegram arrived that the last act of the expiring congress late this + morning retired him with full General's rank and accompanying + emoluments. The effect upon him was like raising the dead. We were present + when the telegram was put in his hand. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + S. L. CLEMENS. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Something has been mentioned before of Mark Twain's investments and + the generally unprofitable habit of them. He had a trusting nature, + and was usually willing to invest money on any plausible + recommendation. He was one of thousands such, and being a person of + distinction he now and then received letters of inquiry, complaint, + or condolence. A minister wrote him that he had bought some stocks + recommended by a Hartford banker and advertised in a religious + paper. He added, “After I made that purchase they wrote me that you + had just bought a hundred shares and that you were a 'shrewd' man.” + The writer closed by asking for further information. He received + it, as follows: +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To the Rev. J——, in Baltimore: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + WASHINGTON, Mch. 2,'85. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR SIR,—I take my earliest opportunity to answer your favor of + Feb. B—— was premature in calling me a “shrewd man.” + I wasn't one at that time, but am one now—that is, I am at + least too shrewd to ever again invest in anything put on the market by B——. + I know nothing whatever about the Bank Note Co., and never did know + anything about it. B—— sold me about $4,000 or $5,000 worth of + the stock at $110, and I own it yet. He sold me $10,000 worth of another + rose-tinted stock about the same time. I have got that yet, also. I judge + that a peculiarity of B——'s stocks is that they are of + the staying kind. I think you should have asked somebody else whether I + was a shrewd man or not for two reasons: the stock was advertised in a + religious paper, a circumstance which was very suspicious; and the + compliment came to you from a man who was interested to make a purchaser + of you. I am afraid you deserve your loss. A financial scheme advertised + in any religious paper is a thing which any living person ought to know + enough to avoid; and when the factor is added that M. runs that religious + paper, a dead person ought to know enough to avoid it. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Very Truly Yours + S. L. CLEMENS. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The story of Huck Finn was having a wide success. Webster handled + it skillfully, and the sales were large. In almost every quarter + its welcome was enthusiastic. Here and there, however, could be + found an exception; Huck's morals were not always approved of by + library reading-committees. The first instance of this kind was + reported from Concord; and would seem not to have depressed the + author-publisher. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To Chas. L. Webster, in New York: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Mch 18, '85. +</pre> + <p> + DEAR CHARLEY,—The Committee of the Public Library of Concord, Mass, + have given us a rattling tip-top puff which will go into every paper in + the country. They have expelled Huck from their library as “trash + and suitable only for the slums.” That will sell 25,000 copies for + us sure. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + S. L. C. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Perhaps the Concord Free Trade Club had some idea of making amends + to Mark Twain for the slight put upon his book by their librarians, + for immediately after the Huck Finn incident they notified him of + his election to honorary membership. + + Those were the days of “authors' readings,” and Clemens and Howells + not infrequently assisted at these functions, usually given as + benefits of one kind or another. From the next letter, written + following an entertainment given for the Longfellow memorial, we + gather that Mark Twain's opinion of Howells's reading was steadily + improving. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To W. D. Howells, in Boston: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + HARTFORD, May 5, '85. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR HOWELLS,—.... Who taught you to read? Observation and + thought, I guess. And practice at the Tavern Club?—yes; and that was + the best teaching of all: + </p> + <p> + Well, you sent even your daintiest and most delicate and fleeting points + home to that audience—absolute proof of good reading. But you couldn't + read worth a damn a few years ago. I do not say this to flatter. It is + true I looked around for you when I was leaving, but you had already gone. + </p> + <p> + Alas, Osgood has failed at last. It was easy to see that he was on the + very verge of it a year ago, and it was also easy to see that he was still + on the verge of it a month or two ago; but I continued to hope—but + not expect that he would pull through. The Library of Humor is at his + dwelling house, and he will hand it to you whenever you want it. + </p> + <p> + To save it from any possibility of getting mixed up in the failure, + perhaps you had better send down and get it. I told him, the other day, + that an order of any kind from you would be his sufficient warrant for its + delivery to you. + </p> + <p> + In two days General Grant has dictated 50 pages of foolscap, and thus the + Wilderness and Appomattox stand for all time in his own words. This makes + the second volume of his book as valuable as the first. + </p> + <p> + He looks mighty well, these latter days. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Yrs Ever + MARK. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “I am exceedingly glad,” wrote Howells, “that you approve of my + reading, for it gives me some hope that I may do something on the + platform next winter.... but I would never read within a hundred + miles of you, if I could help it. You simply straddled down to the + footlights and took that house up in the hollow of your hand and + tickled it.” + </pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To W. D. Howells, in Boston: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ELMIRA, July 21, 1885. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR HOWELLS,—You are really my only author; I am restricted to + you, I wouldn't give a damn for the rest. + </p> + <p> + I bored through Middlemarch during the past week, with its labored and + tedious analyses of feelings and motives, its paltry and tiresome people, + its unexciting and uninteresting story, and its frequent blinding flashes + of single-sentence poetry, philosophy, wit, and what not, and nearly died + from the overwork. I wouldn't read another of those books for a + farm. I did try to read one other—Daniel Deronda. I dragged through + three chapters, losing flesh all the time, and then was honest enough to + quit, and confess to myself that I haven't any romance literature + appetite, as far as I can see, except for your books. + </p> + <p> + But what I started to say, was, that I have just read Part II of Indian + Summer, and to my mind there isn't a waste line in it, or one that + could be improved. I read it yesterday, ending with that opinion; and read + it again to-day, ending with the same opinion emphasized. I haven't + read Part I yet, because that number must have reached Hartford after we + left; but we are going to send down town for a copy, and when it comes I + am to read both parts aloud to the family. It is a beautiful story, and + makes a body laugh all the time, and cry inside, and feel so old and so + forlorn; and gives him gracious glimpses of his lost youth that fill him + with a measureless regret, and build up in him a cloudy sense of his + having been a prince, once, in some enchanted far-off land, and of being + an exile now, and desolate—and Lord, no chance ever to get back + there again! That is the thing that hurts. Well, you have done it with + marvelous facility and you make all the motives and feelings perfectly + clear without analyzing the guts out of them, the way George Eliot does. I + can't stand George Eliot and Hawthorne and those people; I see what + they are at a hundred years before they get to it and they just tire me to + death. And as for “The Bostonians,” I would rather be damned + to John Bunyan's heaven than read that. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Yrs Ever + MARK +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + It is as easy to understand Mark Twain's enjoyment of Indian Summer + as his revolt against Daniel Deronda and The Bostonians. He cared + little for writing that did not convey its purpose in the simplest + and most direct terms. It is interesting to note that in thanking + Clemens for his compliment Howells wrote: “What people cannot see is + that I analyze as little as possible; they go on talking about the + analytical school, which I am supposed to belong to, and I want to + thank you for using your eyes..... Did you ever read De Foe's + 'Roxana'? If not, then read it, not merely for some of the deepest + insights into the lying, suffering, sinning, well-meaning human + soul, but for the best and most natural English that a book was ever + written in.” + + General Grant worked steadily on his book, dictating when he could, + making brief notes on slips of paper when he could no longer speak. + Clemens visited him at Mt. McGregor and brought the dying soldier + the comforting news that enough of his books were already sold to + provide generously for his family, and that the sales would + aggregate at least twice as much by the end of the year. + + This was some time in July. On the 23d of that month General Grant + died. Immediately there was a newspaper discussion as to the most + suitable place for the great chieftain to lie. Mark Twain's + contribution to this debate, though in the form of an open letter, + seems worthy of preservation here. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To the New York “Sun,” on the proper place for Grant's + Tomb: + </p> + <p> + To THE EDITOR OP' THE SUN:—SIR,—The newspaper atmosphere + is charged with objections to New York as a place of sepulchre for General + Grant, and the objectors are strenuous that Washington is the right place. + They offer good reasons—good temporary reasons—for both of + these positions. + </p> + <p> + But it seems to me that temporary reasons are not mete for the occasion. + We need to consider posterity rather than our own generation. We should + select a grave which will not merely be in the right place now, but will + still be in the right place 500 years from now. + </p> + <p> + How does Washington promise as to that? You have only to hit it in one + place to kill it. Some day the west will be numerically strong enough to + move the seat of government; her past attempts are a fair warning that + when the day comes she will do it. Then the city of Washington will lose + its consequence and pass out of the public view and public talk. It is + quite within the possibilities that, a century hence, people would wonder + and say, “How did your predecessors come to bury their great dead in + this deserted place?” + </p> + <p> + But as long as American civilisation lasts New York will last. I cannot + but think she has been well and wisely chosen as the guardian of a grave + which is destined to become almost the most conspicuous in the world's + history. Twenty centuries from now New York will still be New York, still + a vast city, and the most notable object in it will still be the tomb and + monument of General Grant. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I observe that the common and strongest objection to New York is that +she is not “national ground.” Let us give ourselves no uneasiness about +that. Wherever General Grant's body lies, that is national ground. + + S. L. CLEMENS. +ELMIRA, July 27. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The letter that follows is very long, but it seems too important and + too interesting to be omitted in any part. General Grant's early + indulgence in liquors had long been a matter of wide, though not + very definite, knowledge. Every one had heard how Lincoln, on being + told that Grant drank, remarked something to the effect that he + would like to know what kind of whisky Grant used so that he might + get some of it for his other generals. Henry Ward Beecher, selected + to deliver a eulogy on the dead soldier, and doubtless wishing + neither to ignore the matter nor to make too much of it, naturally + turned for information to the publisher of Grant's own memoirs, + hoping from an advance copy to obtain light. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To Henry Ward Beecher, Brooklyn: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ELMIRA, N. Y. Sept. 11, '85. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR MR. BEECHER,—My nephew Webster is in Europe making contracts + for the Memoirs. Before he sailed he came to me with a writing, directed + to the printers and binders, to this effect: + </p> + <p> + “Honor no order for a sight or copy of the Memoirs while I am + absent, even though it be signed by Mr. Clemens himself.” + </p> + <p> + I gave my permission. There were weighty reasons why I should not only + give my permission, but hold it a matter of honor to not dissolve the + order or modify it at any time. So I did all of that—said the order + should stand undisturbed to the end. If a principal could dissolve his + promise as innocently as he can dissolve his written order unguarded by + his promise, I would send you a copy of the Memoirs instantly. I did not + foresee you, or I would have made an exception. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ........................... +</pre> + <p> + My idea gained from army men, is that the drunkenness (and sometimes + pretty reckless spreeing, nights,) ceased before he came East to be Lt. + General. (Refer especially to Gen. Wm. B. Franklin—[If you could see + Franklin and talk with him—then he would unbosom,]) It was while + Grant was still in the West that Mr. Lincoln said he wished he could find + out what brand of whisky that fellow used, so he could furnish it to some + of the other generals. Franklin saw Grant tumble from his horse drunk, + while reviewing troops in New Orleans. The fall gave him a good deal of a + hurt. He was then on the point of leaving for the Chattanooga region. I + naturally put “that and that together” when I read Gen. O. O. + Howards's article in the Christian Union, three or four weeks ago—where + he mentions that the new General arrived lame from a recent accident. (See + that article.) And why not write Howard? + </p> + <p> + Franklin spoke positively of the frequent spreeing. In camp—in time + of war. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ......................... +</pre> + <p> + Captain Grant was frequently threatened by the Commandant of his Oregon + post with a report to the War Department of his conduct unless he modified + his intemperance. The report would mean dismissal from the service. At + last the report had to be made out; and then, so greatly was the captain + beloved, that he was privately informed, and was thus enabled to rush his + resignation to Washington ahead of the report. Did the report go, + nevertheless? I don't know. If it did, it is in the War Department + now, possibly, and seeable. I got all this from a regular army man, but I + can't name him to save me. + </p> + <p> + The only time General Grant ever mentioned liquor to me was about last + April or possibly May. He said: + </p> + <p> + “If I could only build up my strength! The doctors urge whisky and + champagne; but I can't take them; I can't abide the taste of + any kind of liquor.” + </p> + <p> + Had he made a conquest so complete that even the taste of liquor was + become an offense? Or was he so sore over what had been said about his + habit that he wanted to persuade others and likewise himself that he hadn't + even ever had any taste for it? It sounded like the latter, but that's + no evidence. + </p> + <p> + He told me in the fall of '84 that there was something the matter + with his throat, and that at the suggestion of his physicians he had + reduced his smoking to one cigar a day. Then he added, in a casual + fashion, that he didn't care for that one, and seldom smoked it. + </p> + <p> + I could understand that feeling. He had set out to conquer not the habit + but the inclination—the desire. He had gone at the root, not the + trunk. It's the perfect way and the only true way (I speak from + experience.) How I do hate those enemies of the human race who go around + enslaving God's free people with pledges—to quit drinking + instead of to quit wanting to drink. + </p> + <p> + But Sherman and Van Vliet know everything concerning Grant; and if you + tell them how you want to use the facts, both of them will testify. + Regular army men have no concealments about each other; and yet they make + their awful statements without shade or color or malice with a frankness + and a child-like naivety, indeed, which is enchanting-and stupefying. West + Point seems to teach them that, among other priceless things not to be got + in any other college in this world. If we talked about our guild-mates as + I have heard Sherman, Grant, Van Vliet and others talk about theirs—mates + with whom they were on the best possible terms—we could never expect + them to speak to us again. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ....................... +</pre> + <p> + I am reminded, now, of another matter. The day of the funeral I sat an + hour over a single drink and several cigars with Van Vliet and Sherman and + Senator Sherman; and among other things Gen. Sherman said, with impatient + scorn: + </p> + <p> + “The idea of all this nonsense about Grant not being able to stand + rude language and indelicate stories! Why Grant was full of humor, and + full of the appreciation of it. I have sat with him by the hour listening + to Jim Nye's yarns, and I reckon you know the style of Jim Nye's + histories, Clemens. It makes me sick—that newspaper nonsense. Grant + was no namby-pamby fool, he was a man—all over—rounded and + complete.” + </p> + <p> + I wish I had thought of it! I would have said to General Grant: “Put + the drunkenness in the Memoirs—and the repentance and reform. Trust + the people.” + </p> + <p> + But I will wager there is not a hint in the book. He was sore, there. As + much of the book as I have read gives no hint, as far as I recollect. + </p> + <p> + The sick-room brought out the points of Gen. Grant's character—some + of them particularly, to wit: + </p> + <p> + His patience; his indestructible equability of temper; his exceeding + gentleness, kindness, forbearance, lovingness, charity; his loyalty: to + friends, to convictions, to promises, half-promises, infinitesimal + fractions and shadows of promises; (There was a requirement of him which I + considered an atrocity, an injustice, an outrage; I wanted to implore him + to repudiate it; Fred Grant said, “Save your labor, I know him; he + is in doubt as to whether he made that half-promise or not—and, he + will give the thing the benefit of the doubt; he will fulfill that + half-promise or kill himself trying;” Fred Grant was right—he + did fulfill it;) his aggravatingly trustful nature; his genuineness, + simplicity, modesty, diffidence, self-depreciation, poverty in the quality + of vanity-and, in no contradiction of this last, his simple pleasure in + the flowers and general ruck sent to him by Tom, Dick and Harry from + everywhere—a pleasure that suggested a perennial surprise that he + should be the object of so much fine attention—he was the most + lovable great child in the world; (I mentioned his loyalty: you remember + Harrison, the colored body-servant? the whole family hated him, but that + did not make any difference, the General always stood at his back, wouldn't + allow him to be scolded; always excused his failures and deficiencies with + the one unvarying formula, “We are responsible for these things in + his race—it is not fair to visit our fault upon them—let him + alone;” so they did let him alone, under compulsion, until the great + heart that was his shield was taken away; then—well they simply + couldn't stand him, and so they were excusable for determining to + discharge him—a thing which they mortally hated to do, and by lucky + accident were saved from the necessity of doing;) his toughness as a + bargainer when doing business for other people or for his country (witness + his “terms” at Donelson, Vicksburg, etc.; Fred Grant told me + his father wound up an estate for the widow and orphans of a friend in St. + Louis—it took several years; at the end every complication had been + straightened out, and the property put upon a prosperous basis; great sums + had passed through his hands, and when he handed over the papers there + were vouchers to show what had been done with every penny) and his + trusting, easy, unexacting fashion when doing business for himself (at + that same time he was paying out money in driblets to a man who was + running his farm for him—and in his first Presidency he paid every + one of those driblets again (total, $3,000 F. said,) for he hadn't a + scrap of paper to show that he had ever paid them before; in his dealings + with me he would not listen to terms which would place my money at risk + and leave him protected—the thought plainly gave him pain, and he + put it from him, waved it off with his hands, as one does accounts of + crushings and mutilations—wouldn't listen, changed the + subject;) and his fortitude! He was under, sentence of death last spring; + he sat thinking, musing, several days—nobody knows what about; then + he pulled himself together and set to work to finish that book, a colossal + task for a dying man. Presently his hand gave out; fate seemed to have got + him checkmated. Dictation was suggested. No, he never could do that; had + never tried it; too old to learn, now. By and by—if he could only do + Appomattox-well. So he sent for a stenographer, and dictated 9,000 words + at a single sitting!—never pausing, never hesitating for a word, + never repeating—and in the written-out copy he made hardly a + correction. He dictated again, every two or three days—the intervals + were intervals of exhaustion and slow recuperation—and at last he + was able to tell me that he had written more matter than could be got into + the book. I then enlarged the book—had to. Then he lost his voice. + He was not quite done yet, however:—there was no end of little plums + and spices to be stuck in, here and there; and this work he patiently + continued, a few lines a day, with pad and pencil, till far into July, at + Mt. McGregor. One day he put his pencil aside, and said he was done—there + was nothing more to do. If I had been there I could have foretold the + shock that struck the world three days later. + </p> + <p> + Well, I've written all this, and it doesn't seem to amount to + anything. But I do want to help, if I only could. I will enclose some + scraps from my Autobiography—scraps about General Grant—they + may be of some trifle of use, and they may not—they at least verify + known traits of his character. My Autobiography is pretty freely dictated, + but my idea is to jack-plane it a little before I die, some day or other; + I mean the rude construction and rotten grammar. It is the only dictating + I ever did, and it was most troublesome and awkward work. You may return + it to Hartford. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Sincerely Yours + S. L. CLEMENS. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The old long-deferred Library of Humor came up again for discussion, + when in the fall of 1885 Howells associated himself with Harper & + Brothers. Howells's contract provided that his name was not to + appear on any book not published by the Harper firm. He wrote, + therefore, offering to sell out his interest in the enterprise for + two thousand dollars, in addition to the five hundred which he had + already received—an amount considered to be less than he was to + have received as joint author and compiler. Mark Twain's answer + pretty fully covers the details of this undertaking. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To W. D. Howells, in Boston: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + HARTFORD, Oct. 18, 1885. +</pre> + <p> + Private. + </p> + <p> + MY DEAR HOWELLS,—I reckon it would ruin the book that is, make it + necessary to pigeon-hole it and leave it unpublished. I couldn't + publish it without a very responsible name to support my own on the title + page, because it has so much of my own matter in it. I bought Osgood's + rights for $3,000 cash, I have paid Clark $800 and owe him $700 more, + which must of course be paid whether I publish or not. Yet I fully + recognize that I have no sort of moral right to let that ancient and + procrastinated contract hamper you in any way, and I most certainly won't. + So, it is my decision,—after thinking over and rejecting the idea of + trying to buy permission of the Harpers for $2,500 to use your name, (a + proposition which they would hate to refuse to a man in a perplexed + position, and yet would naturally have to refuse it,) to pigeon-hole the + “Library”: not destroy it, but merely pigeon-hole it and wait + a few years and see what new notion Providence will take concerning it. He + will not desert us now, after putting in four licks to our one on this + book all this time. It really seems in a sense discourteous not to call it + “Providence's Library of Humor.” + </p> + <p> + Now that deal is all settled, the next question is, do you need and must + you require that $2,000 now? Since last March, you know, I am carrying a + mighty load, solitary and alone—General Grant's book—and + must carry it till the first volume is 30 days old (Jan. 1st) before the + relief money will begin to flow in. From now till the first of January + every dollar is as valuable to me as it could be to a famishing tramp. If + you can wait till then—I mean without discomfort, without + inconvenience—it will be a large accommodation to me; but I will not + allow you to do this favor if it will discommode you. So, speak right out, + frankly, and if you need the money I will go out on the highway and get + it, using violence, if necessary. + </p> + <p> + Mind, I am not in financial difficulties, and am not going to be. I am + merely a starving beggar standing outside the door of plenty—obstructed + by a Yale time-lock which is set for Jan. 1st. I can stand it, and stand + it perfectly well; but the days do seem to fool along considerable slower + than they used to. + </p> + <p> + I am mighty glad you are with the Harpers. I have noticed that good men in + their employ go there to stay. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Yours ever, + MARK. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In the next letter we begin to get some idea of the size of Mark + Twain's first publishing venture, and a brief summary of results may + not be out of place here. + + The Grant Life was issued in two volumes. In the early months of + the year when the agents' canvass was just beginning, Mark Twain, + with what seems now almost clairvoyant vision, prophesied a sale of + three hundred thousand sets. The actual sales ran somewhat more + than this number. On February 27, 1886, Charles L. Webster & Co. + paid to Mrs. Grant the largest single royalty check in the history + of book-publishing. The amount of it was two hundred thousand + dollars. Subsequent checks increased the aggregate return to + considerably more than double this figure. In a memorandum made by + Clemens in the midst of the canvass he wrote. + + “During 100 consecutive days the sales (i. e., subscriptions) of + General Grant's book averaged 3,000 sets (6,000 single volumes) per + day: Roughly stated, Mrs. Grant's income during all that time was + $5,000 a day.” + </pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To W. D. Howells, in Boston: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + HOTEL NORMANDIE + + NEW YORK, Dec. 2, '85. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR HOWELLS,—I told Webster, this afternoon, to send you that + $2,000; but he is in such a rush, these first days of publication, that he + may possibly forget it; so I write lest I forget it too. Remind me, if he + should forget. When I postponed you lately, I did it because I thought I + should be cramped for money until January, but that has turned out to be + an error, so I hasten to cut short the postponement. + </p> + <p> + I judge by the newspapers that you are in Auburndale, but I don't + know it officially. + </p> + <p> + I've got the first volume launched safely; consequently, half of the + suspense is over, and I am that much nearer the goal. We've bound + and shipped 200,000 books; and by the 10th shall finish and ship the + remaining 125,000 of the first edition. I got nervous and came down to + help hump-up the binderies; and I mean to stay here pretty much all the + time till the first days of March, when the second volume will issue. Shan't + have so much trouble, this time, though, if we get to press pretty soon, + because we can get more binderies then than are to be had in front of the + holidays. One lives and learns. I find it takes 7 binderies four months to + bind 325,000 books. + </p> + <p> + This is a good book to publish. I heard a canvasser say, yesterday, that + while delivering eleven books he took 7 new subscriptions. But we shall be + in a hell of a fix if that goes on—it will “ball up” the + binderies again. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Yrs ever + MARK. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + November 30th that year was Mark Twain's fiftieth birthday, an event + noticed by the newspapers generally, and especially observed by many + of his friends. Warner, Stockton and many others sent letters; + Andrew Lang contributed a fine poem; also Oliver Wendell. Holmes + —the latter by special request of Miss Gilder—for the Critic. + These attentions came as a sort of crowning happiness at the end of + a golden year. At no time in his life were Mark Twain's fortunes + and prospects brighter; he had a beautiful family and a perfect + home. Also, he had great prosperity. The reading-tour with Cable + had been a fine success. His latest book, The Adventures of + Huckleberry Finn, had added largely to his fame and income. + The publication of the Grant Memoirs had been a dazzling triumph. + Mark Twain had become recognized, not only as America's most + distinguished author, but as its most envied publisher. And now, + with his fiftieth birthday, had come this laurel from Holmes, last + of the Brahmins, to add a touch of glory to all the rest. We feel + his exaltation in his note of acknowledgment. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes, in Boston: + </p> + <p> + DEAR MR. HOLMES,—I shall never be able to tell you the half of how + proud you have made me. If I could you would say you were nearly paid for + the trouble you took. And then the family: If I can convey the electrical + surprise and gratitude and exaltation of the wife and the children last + night, when they happened upon that Critic where I had, with artful + artlessness, spread it open and retired out of view to see what would + happen—well, it was great and fine and beautiful to see, and made me + feel as the victor feels when the shouting hosts march by; and if you also + could have seen it you would have said the account was squared. For I have + brought them up in your company, as in the company of a warm and friendly + and beneficent but far-distant sun; and so, for you to do this thing was + for the sun to send down out of the skies the miracle of a special ray and + transfigure me before their faces. I knew what that poem would be to them; + I knew it would raise me up to remote and shining heights in their eyes, + to very fellowship with the chambered Nautilus itself, and that from that + fellowship they could never more dissociate me while they should live; and + so I made sure to be by when the surprise should come. + </p> + <p> + Charles Dudley Warner is charmed with the poem for its own felicitous + sake; and so indeed am I, but more because it has drawn the sting of my + fiftieth year; taken away the pain of it, the grief of it, the somehow + shame of it, and made me glad and proud it happened. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + With reverence and affection, + Sincerely yours, + S. L. CLEMENS. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Holmes wrote with his own hand: “Did Miss Gilder tell you I had + twenty-three letters spread out for answer when her suggestion came + about your anniversary? I stopped my correspondence and made my + letters wait until the lines were done.” + </pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Letters Of Mark Twain, Volume 3, +1876-1885, by Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens) + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TWAIN LETTERS, VOL. 3 *** + +***** This file should be named 3195-h.htm or 3195-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/1/9/3195/ + +Produced by David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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