I received the following letterⒶapparatus note some days ago, from Mrs. Laura K. Hudson:
287Ⓐapparatus note Quincy St.Ⓐapparatus note
Jan 3d 06.Ⓐapparatus note
Mr. Samuel L. Clemens.
My Dear Sir.Ⓐapparatus note
Some twenty years ago we were in the first years of our married life; the first two small instalments of a growing family kept us severely domestic and my husband and I used to spend our happy evenings togetherⒶapparatus note he reading aloud from magazine or book and I meanwhile sewing and listening. One evening he read from one of the New York papers the report of some function—I have a hazy idea it was a Press Club dinner or other jamboree—during which “Mark Twain”Ⓐapparatus note read aloud a paper which to me seemed the best and funniest thing our great favorite had ever written. And now that the growing family has gotten its growth and has grown very fond of “Mark Twain”Ⓐapparatus note I have searched high and low in every collection of his works for this delightful bit of funⒶapparatus note but always in vain. May I therefore apply to Mr. Clemens for some help?
It was about a miner in his mountain-hut; to whom come three men for food and a night’s shelter. They give their names as Longfellow, Holmes and WhittierⒶapparatus note and the way they are described—the last-mentioned with “double-chins way down to his stomach”Ⓐapparatus note—by the miner who tells the storyⒶapparatus note and the highflownⒶapparatus note quotations from their own writings which they give in answer to the miner’s veryⒶapparatus note gruff and to-the-point questions are fun of the funniest kind. The miner stands it until in answer to some self-satisfied remark of his in reference to his comfortable cabin the Pseudo-Holmes retorts:
“BuildⒶapparatus note thee more stately mansions, ohⒶapparatus note my soul!”Ⓐapparatus note and so on through the entire stanza. Then he rises in his wrath and puts the three poets out.
Any light you can throw on the name and possible whereabouts of this delightful child of your muse will be most gratefully received by my husband, my three sonsⒶapparatus note and their “Mark-Twain”-loving MotherⒶapparatus note; who begs leave to call herself
Yours Most CordiallyⒶapparatus note
Laura K. Hudson.Ⓐapparatus note
This morning I dictated an answer to my secretary, Miss Lyon, as follows:
Dear Mrs. Hudson:
IⒶapparatus note am forever your debtor for reminding me of that curious passage in my life. During the first year or two after it happened,Ⓐapparatus note I could not bear to think of it. MyⒶapparatus note pain and shame [begin page 261] were so intense, and my sense of having been an imbecileⒶapparatus note so settled, established and confirmed, thatⒶapparatus note I drove the episode entirely from my mind—Ⓐapparatus noteand so all these twenty-eight or twenty-nine years I have lived in the conviction that my performance of that time was coarse, vulgarⒶapparatus note and destituteⒶapparatus note of humor. But your suggestion that you and your family found humor in it twenty-eight years agoⒶapparatus note moved me to look into the matter. SoⒶapparatus note I commissioned a Boston typewriter to delve amongⒶapparatus note the Boston papersⒶapparatus note of that bygone time,Ⓐapparatus note and send me a copy of it.
ItⒶapparatus note came this morning, and if there is any vulgarity about it I am not ableⒶapparatus note to discover it. IfⒶapparatus note it isn’t innocently and ridiculously funny,Ⓐapparatus note I am no judge. IⒶapparatus note will see to it that you get a copy.Ⓐapparatus note
AddressⒶapparatus note of Samuel L. Clemens (“Mark Twain”Ⓐapparatus note)
From a report of the dinner given by the Publishers of the Atlantic
Monthly in honor of the Seventieth Anniversary of
the Birth of John
Greenleaf Whittier, at the Hotel Brunswick, Boston, December 17,
1877Ⓐapparatus note, as published in the
BOSTON EVENING TRANSCRIPT, December 18, 1877
Ⓔexplanatory note
Mr.Ⓐapparatus note Chairman—Ⓔexplanatory noteThis is an occasion peculiarly meet for the digging up of pleasant reminiscences concerning literary folk; therefore I will drop lightly into history myself. Standing here on the shore of the Atlantic and contemplating certain of its largestⒶapparatus note literary billowsⒶapparatus note, I am reminded of a thing which happened to me thirteenⒶapparatus note years ago, when I had just succeeded in stirring up a little Nevadian literary puddleⒶapparatus note myself, whose spume-flakes were beginning to blow thinly CaliforniawardsⒶapparatus note. I started an inspection trampⒶapparatus note through the southernⒶapparatus note mines of CaliforniaⒺexplanatory note. I was callow and conceited, and I resolved to try the virtue of my nom de guerreⒶapparatus note. I very soon had an opportunity. I knocked at a miner’s lonely log cabin in the foot hillsⒶapparatus note of the Sierras just at night-fallⒶapparatus note. It was snowing at the time. A jaded, melancholy man of fifty, barefootedⒶapparatus note, opened to meⒶapparatus note. When he heard my nom de guerre,Ⓐapparatus note he looked more dejected than before. He let me in—pretty reluctantly, I thought—and after the customary bacon and beans, black coffee and a hot whiskeyⒶapparatus note, I took a pipe. This sorrowful man had not said three words up to this time. Now he spoke up and saidⒶapparatus note in the voice of one who is secretly suffering, “You’re the fourth—I’m a-goingⒶapparatus note to moveⒶapparatus note.” “TheⒶapparatus note fourth what?” said I. “The fourth litteryⒶapparatus note man that’sⒶapparatus note been here in twenty-four hours—I’m a-goingⒶapparatus note to move.” “You don’t tell me!” said I; “whoⒶapparatus note were the others?” “Mr. Longfellow, Mr. Emerson,Ⓐapparatus note and Mr. Oliver Wendell Holmes—consoundⒶapparatus note the lot!”Ⓐapparatus note
You can easily believe I was interested. I supplicated—three hot whiskeysⒶapparatus note did the rest—and finally the melancholy miner began. Said he—
“TheyⒶapparatus note came here just at dark yesterday evening, and I let them in of course. Said they were going to YosemiteⒶapparatus note. They were a rough lot, but that’s nothing;Ⓐapparatus note everybody looks rough that travels afoot. Mr. Emerson was a seedy little bit of a chap, red-headedⒶapparatus note. Mr. Holmes was as fat as a balloon; he weighed as much as three hundred, and had double chins all the way down to his stomach. Mr. Longfellow was built like a prize fighterⒶapparatus note. His head was cropped and bristly,Ⓐapparatus note like as if he had a wig made of hair-brushesⒶapparatus note. His nose lay straight down his face, like a fingerⒶapparatus note with the end jointⒶapparatus note tilted up. They had been drinking;Ⓐapparatus note I could see that. And what queer talk they used! Mr. Holmes inspected this cabin, then he took me by the buttonholeⒶapparatus note, and says he—
[begin page 262]“ ‘ThroughⒶapparatus note the deep caves of thought
I hear a voice that sings;Ⓐapparatus note
Build thee more stately mansions,
O my soul!’Ⓐapparatus note Ⓔexplanatory note
“SaysⒶapparatus note I, ‘I can’t afford it, Mr. Holmes, and moreover I don’t want to.’ Blamed if I liked it pretty well, either, coming from a stranger, that way. However, I started to get out my bacon and beans, when Mr. Emerson came and looked on a whileⒶapparatus note, and then he takes me aside by the buttonholeⒶapparatus note and says—
“ ‘GiveⒶapparatus note me agates for my meat;
Give me cantharids to eat;
From air and ocean bringⒶapparatus note me foods,
From all zones and altitudes.’Ⓔexplanatory note
“SaysⒶapparatus note I, ‘Mr. Emerson, if you’ll excuse me, this ain’t no hotel.’ You see it sort of riled me—I warn’t used to the ways of littery swells. But I went on a-sweating over my work, and next comes Mr. Longfellow and buttonholesⒶapparatus note me, and interrupts me. Says he,
“ ‘HonorⒶapparatus note be to Mudjekeewis!
You shall hear how Pau-Puk-KeewisⒶapparatus note—’Ⓔexplanatory note
“ButⒶapparatus note I broke in, and says I, ‘BeggingⒶapparatus note your pardon, Mr. Longfellow, if you’ll be so kind as to hold your yawp for about five minutesⒶapparatus note and let me get this grub ready, you’ll do me proud.’ Well, sir, after they’d filled upⒶapparatus note I set out the jug. Mr. Holmes looks at itⒶapparatus note and then he fires up all of a sudden and yells—
“ ‘FlashⒶapparatus note out a stream of blood-red wine!
For I would drink to other days.’Ⓔexplanatory note
“ByⒶapparatus note George, I was getting kind of worked up. I don’t deny it, I was getting kind of worked up. I turns to Mr. Holmes, and says I, ‘Looky hereⒶapparatus note, my fat friend, I’m a-running this shanty, and if the court knowsⒶapparatus note herself, you’ll take whiskey-straightⒶapparatus note or you’ll go dry.’Ⓐapparatus note Them’s the very words I said to him. Now I didn’tⒶapparatus note want to sass such famous littery people, but you see they kind of forced me. There ain’t nothing onreasonable ’bout me; I don’t mind a passel of guests a-tread’nⒶapparatus note on my tailⒶapparatus note three or four times, but when it comes to standing on itⒶapparatus note it’s different, ‘and if the court knows herself,’ I says, ‘you’llⒶapparatus note take whiskey-straightⒶapparatus note or you’ll go dry.’Ⓐapparatus note Well, between drinks they’d swell around the cabin and strike attitudes and spout.Ⓐapparatus note Says Mr. Longfellow—
“ ‘ThisⒶapparatus note is the forest primeval.’Ⓔexplanatory note
“SaysⒶapparatus note Mr. Emerson—
“ ‘HereⒶapparatus note once the embattled farmers stood,
And fired the shot heard round the world.’Ⓔexplanatory note
“SaysⒶapparatus note I, ‘O, blackguard the premises as much as you want to—it don’t costⒶapparatus note a cent.’ Well, they went on drinking,Ⓐapparatus note and pretty soon they got out a greasy old deck and went to playing euchreⒶapparatus note at ten cents a corner—on trust. I begunⒶapparatus note to notice some pretty suspicious things. Mr. Emerson dealt, looked at his hand, shook his head, says—
“ ‘IⒶapparatus note am the doubter and the doubt—’
and ca’mlyⒶapparatus note bunched the hands and went to shuffling for a new lay outⒶapparatus note. Says he—
[begin page 263]“ ‘TheyⒶapparatus note reckon ill who leave me out;
They know not well the subtle ways
I keep. I pass,Ⓐapparatus note and deal again!’Ⓔexplanatory note
“Hang’dⒶapparatus note if he didn’t go ahead and do it, too! O, he was a cool one! Well, in about a minute, things were running pretty tight, but all of a suddenⒶapparatus note I see by Mr. Emerson’s eye thatⒶapparatus note he judged he had ’em. He had already corralled two tricksⒶapparatus note and each of the others one. So now he kind of lifts a little in his chairⒶapparatus note and says—
“ ‘IⒶapparatus note tire of globes and aces!—
Too long theⒶapparatus note game is played!’Ⓔexplanatory note
—andⒶapparatus note down he fetched a right bower. Mr. Longfellow smiles as sweet as pieⒶapparatus note and says—
“ ‘ThanksⒶapparatus note, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,
For the lesson thou hastⒶapparatus note taught’;Ⓐapparatus note Ⓔexplanatory note
—and blamedⒶapparatus note if he didn’t down with another right bowerⒺexplanatory note! Well, sir, up jumps Holmes, a-war-whoopingⒶapparatus note as usual, and says—
“ ‘GodⒶapparatus note help them if the tempest swings
The pine against the palm!’Ⓐapparatus note Ⓔexplanatory note
—andⒶapparatus note I wish I may go to grass if he didn’t swoop down with another right bower!Ⓐapparatus note Emerson claps his hand on his bowie, Longfellow claps his on his revolver, and I went under a bunk. There was going to be trouble; but that monstrous Holmes rose up, wobbling his double chins, and says he, ‘Order, gentlemen; the first man that draws, I’ll lay down on him and smother him!’ All quiet on the PotomacⒺexplanatory note, you betⒶapparatus note!
“TheyⒶapparatus note were pretty how-come-you-soⒺexplanatory note, by nowⒶapparatus note, and they begun to blow. Emerson says, ‘The nobbiestⒶapparatus note thing I ever wroteⒶapparatus note was Barbara Frietchie.’Ⓐapparatus note Says Longfellow, ‘It don’t begin with my Biglow Papers.’Ⓐapparatus note Says Holmes,Ⓐapparatus note ‘My ThanatopsisⒶapparatus note Ⓔexplanatory note lays over ’em both.’Ⓐapparatus note They mighty near ended in a fight. Then they wished they had some more company—and Mr. Emerson pointed atⒶapparatus note me and says—
“ ‘IsⒶapparatus note yonder squalid peasant all
That this proud nursery could breed?’Ⓔexplanatory note
“HeⒶapparatus note was a-whetting his bowie on his boot—so I let it pass. Well, sir, next they took it into their heads that they would like some music; so they made me stand up and sing ‘When Johnny Comes Marching Home’Ⓐapparatus note Ⓔexplanatory note till I dropped—at thirteen minutes past four this morning. That’s what I’veⒶapparatus note been through, my friend. When I woke at seven, they were leaving, thank goodness, and Mr. Longfellow had my only boots on, and his’nⒶapparatus note under his arm. Says I, ‘Hold on, there, Evangeline, what are youⒶapparatus note going to do with them?’ He says,Ⓐapparatus note ‘Going to make tracks with ’em; because—
“ ‘LivesⒶapparatus note of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime;
And,Ⓐapparatus note departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of Time.’Ⓐapparatus note Ⓔexplanatory note
“As I said, Mr. Twain, you are the fourth in twenty-four hours—and I’m a-goingⒶapparatus note to moveⒶapparatus note; I ain’t suited toⒶapparatus note a littery atmosphere.”
I said to the miner, “Why,Ⓐapparatus note my dear sir, these were not the gracious singers to whom we and the world pay loving reverence and homage;Ⓐapparatus note these were impostors.”
[begin page 264] The miner investigated me with a calm eye for a while; then said he, “Ah! impostorsⒶapparatus note, were they? are youⒶapparatus note?”
IⒶapparatus note did not pursue the subject,Ⓐapparatus note and since then I haven’t travelledⒶapparatus note on my nom de guerreⒶapparatus note enough to hurt. Such wasⒶapparatus note the reminiscenceⒶapparatus note I was moved to contribute, Mr. Chairman. In my enthusiasm I may have exaggerated the details a little, but you will easily forgive me that fault,Ⓐapparatus note since I believe it is the first time I have ever deflected from perpendicular fact on an occasion like this.
What I have said to Mrs. HudsonⒶapparatus note is true. I did suffer during a year or two from the deep humiliations of that episode. But at last, in 1878Ⓐapparatus note, in Venice, my wife and I came across Mr. and Mrs. A. P. ChamberlaineⒶapparatus note, of Concord, MassachusettsⒶapparatus note, and a friendship began then of the sort which nothing but death terminates. The ChamberlainesⒶapparatus note were very bright people and in every way charming and companionable. We were together a month or two in Venice and several months in Rome, afterwards, and one day that lamentedⒶapparatus note break of mine was mentioned. And when I was on the point of lathering those people for bringing it to my mind when I had gotten the memory of it almost squelched, I perceived with joy that the ChamberlainesⒶapparatus note were indignant about the way that my performance had been received in Boston. They poured out their opinions most freely and franklyⒶapparatus note about the frosty attitudeⒶapparatus note of the people who were present at that performance, and about the Boston newspapers for the positionⒶapparatus note they had taken in regard to the matter. That position was that I had been irreverent beyond belief, beyond imaginationⒺexplanatory note. Very well, I had accepted that as a fact for a year or two, and had been thoroughly miserable about it whenever I thought of it—which was not frequently, if I could help it. Whenever I thought of it I wondered how I ever could have been inspired to do so unholy a thing. Well, theⒶapparatus note ChamberlainesⒶapparatus note comforted me, but they did not persuade me to continue to think about theⒶapparatus note unhappyⒶapparatus note episode. I resisted that. I tried to get it out of my mind, and let it die, and I succeeded. Until Mrs. Hudson’sⒶapparatus note letter came the other day,Ⓐapparatus note it had been a good twenty-five years since I had thought of that matter;Ⓐapparatus note and when she said that the thing was funny I wondered if possibly she mightⒶapparatus note be right. At any rate, my curiosity was aroused, and I wrote to Boston and got the whole thing copied, as above set forth.
I vaguely remember some of the details of that gathering—dimly I can see aⒶapparatus note hundred people—no, perhaps fifty—shadowy figures sitting at tables feeding, ghosts now to me, and nameless forever moreⒶapparatus note. I don’t know who they were, but I can very distinctly seeⒶapparatus note seated at the grand table and facing the rest of us, Mr. Emerson, supernaturally grave, unsmiling; Mr. Whittier, grave, lovely, his beautiful spirit shining out of his face—a Quaker, but smiley and sweet;Ⓐapparatus note Mr. Longfellow, with his silken white hair and his benignant face; Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes, flashing smiles and affection and all good-fellowshipⒶapparatus note everywhere like a rose-diamond whose facets are being turned toward the light first one way and then another—a charming man, and always fascinating, whether he was talking or whether he was sitting still (what he would call still, but what would be more or less motion to other people). I can see those figures with entire distinctness across this abyss of timeⒺexplanatory note.
OneⒶapparatus note other feature is clear—Willie WinterⒶapparatus note (for these past thousand years dramatic editor of the New York Tribune,Ⓐapparatus note and still occupying that high post in his old age) was there. He was much younger then than he is now, and he showed it. It was always a pleasure to me toⒶapparatus note see [begin page 265] Willie Winter at a banquet. During a matter of twenty yearsⒶapparatus note I was seldom at a banquet where Willie Winter was not also present, and where he did not read a charming poem written for the occasion. He did it this time, and itⒶapparatus note was up to standard. There was never any vigor in his poetry, but it was always smooth, wavy, andⒶapparatus note dainty, happy,Ⓐapparatus note choicely phrased,Ⓐapparatus note and as good to listen to as music—and he did love to recite those occasional poemsⒺexplanatory note, with a love that is beyond understanding. There was no doubt of his joy in the performance. His delight in it was absolutely innocent; his unoffending admiration of his poems; his perfect manner of reading them—it was all beautiful to see. He recited from memory, sometimes, a very long speech, exquisitely phrased, faultlessly modeled, yet soundingⒶapparatus note exactly as if it was pouring unprepared out of heart and brain. He was a perfect reciter of both his poetry and his prose, and in both instances they were music. But if he was well down in the list of performers, then his performance was worth two or three times as much as it was when he was appointed to enter the field earlier, because if he was down a little way in the list it gave him a chance to drink a thimblefulⒶapparatus note of champagne, and that was all that was necessary for Willie Winter. I can see him so clearly:Ⓐapparatus note his small figure bent persuasively forward, his face glowing with inspiration—part of it from his poetry, the rest from his thimblefulⒶapparatus note of champagne. He would throw out a dainty line or two and then glance up this way, that way, the other way, collecting appreciation; and in the meantime he would be, not spitting—that is vulgar—but doing what any man properly charged with champagne does when he feels that he has got his mouth full of raw cotton and must rid himself of it. He did that all the way through, while he was reciting, and he was the happiest man in the world. And on this particular occasion that I am speaking of he was charming. It was a beautiful thing to see, and I wished he was drunker. He got such effects out of that thimblefulⒶapparatus note of champagne I wondered what would happen if he had had a tubfull.
Now at that point ends all that was pleasurable about that notable celebration of Mr. Whittier’s seventieth birthday—because I got up at that point and followed Winter, with what I have no doubt I supposed would be the gem of the evening—the gay oration above quoted from the Boston paper.Ⓐapparatus note I had written it all out the day before,Ⓐapparatus note and had perfectly memorized it, and I stood up there at my genial and happy and self-satisfied ease, and began to deliver it. Those majestic guests, that row of venerable and still active volcanoes, listened, as did everybody else in the house, with attentive interest. Well, I delivered myself of—we’ll say the first two hundred words of my speech. I was expecting no returns from that part of the speech, but this was not the case as regarded the rest of it. I arrived now at the dialogue: “TheⒶapparatus note old miner said ‘YouⒶapparatus note are the fourth, I’m going to move.’ ‘TheⒶapparatus note fourth what?’Ⓐapparatus note said I. He answered, ‘TheⒶapparatus note fourth littery man that has been here in twenty-four hours. I am going to move.’ ‘Why, you don’tⒶapparatus note tell me,’Ⓐapparatus note said I. ‘WhoⒶapparatus note were the others?’ ‘Mr.Ⓐapparatus note Longfellow, Mr. Emerson, Mr. Oliver Wendell Holmes, consound the lot’ ”—Ⓐapparatus note
NowⒶapparatus note then the house’s attentionⒶapparatus note continued, but the expression of interest in the faces turned to a sort of black frost. I wondered what the trouble was. I didn’t know. I went on, but with difficulty—I struggled along, and entered upon that miner’s fearful description of the bogus Emerson, the bogus Holmes, the bogus Longfellow, always hoping—but with a gradually perishing hope—that somebody would laugh, or that somebody would at least smile, but nobody did. I didn’t know enough to give it up and sit down, I was too new to public speaking, [begin page 266] and so I went on with this awful performance, and carried it clear through to the end, in front of a body of people who seemed turned to stone with horror. It was the sort of expression their faces would have worn if I had been making these remarks about the Deity and the rest of the Trinity; there is no milder way in which to describe the petrified condition and the ghastly expression of those people.
When I sat down it was with a heart which had long ceased to beat. I shall never be as dead again as I was then. I shall never be as miserable again as I was then. I speak now as one who doesn’t know what the condition of things may be in the next world, but in this one I shall never be as wretched again as I was then. Howells,Ⓐapparatus note who was near me, tried to say a comforting word, but couldn’t get beyond a gaspⒺexplanatory note. There was no use—he understood the whole size of the disaster. He had good intentions, but the words froze before they could get out. It was an atmosphere that would freeze anything. If Benvenuto Cellini’s salamander had been in that place he would not have survived to be put into Cellini’s autobiographyⒺexplanatory note. There was a frightful pause. There was an awful silence, a desolating silence. Then the next man on the list had to get up—there was no help for it. That was Bishop—Bishop, now forgotten, hadⒶapparatus note just burst handsomely upon the world with a most acceptable novel, which had appeared in the Atlantic MonthlyⒺexplanatory note,Ⓐapparatus note a place which would make any novel respectable and any author noteworthy. In this case the novel itself was recognized as being, without extraneous help, respectable. Bishop was away up in the public favor, and he was an object of high interest, consequently there was a sort of national expectancy in the air; we may say our American millions were standing, from Maine to Texas and from Alaska to Florida, holding their breath, their lips parted, their hands ready to applaud when Bishop should get up on that occasion, and for the first time in his life speak in public. It was under these damaging conditions that heⒶapparatus note got up to “make good,” as the vulgar say. I had spoken severalⒶapparatus note times before, and that is the reason why I was able to go on without dying in my tracks, as I ought to have done—but Bishop had had no experience. He was up facing those awful deities—facing those other people, those strangers—facing human beings for the first time in his life, with a speech to utter. No doubt it was well packed away in his memory, no doubt it was fresh and usable, until I had been heard from. I suppose that after that, and under the smothering pall of that dreary silenceⒶapparatus note, it began to waste away and disappear out of his head like the rags breaking from the edge of a fog, and presently there wasn’t any fog left. He didn’t go on—he didn’t last long. It was not many sentences after his first,Ⓐapparatus note before he began to hesitate, and break, and lose his grip, and totter, and wobble, and at last he slumped down in a limp and mushy pileⒺexplanatory note.
Well, the programⒶapparatus note for the occasion was probably not more than one-third finished, but it ended thereⒺexplanatory note. Nobody rose. The next man hadn’t strength enough to get up, and everybody looked so dazed, so stupefied, paralysedⒶapparatus note, it was impossible for anybody to do anything, or even try. Nothing could go on in that strange atmosphere. Howells mournfully, and without words, hitched himself to Bishop and me and supported us out of the room. It was very kind—he was most generous. He towed us tottering away into some room in that building, and we sat down there. I don’t know what my remark was now, but I know the nature of it. It was the kind of remark you make when you know that nothing in the world can help your case. But Howells was honest—he hadⒶapparatus note to say the heart-breaking things he did say: that there was no help for this [begin page 267] calamity, this shipwreck, this cataclysm; that this was the most disastrous thing that had ever happened in anybody’s history—and then he added, “That is, for you—and consider what you have done for Bishop. It is bad enough in your case, you deserve to suffer. You have committed this crime, and you deserve to have all you are going to get. But here is an innocent man. Bishop had never done you any harm, and see what you have done to him. He can never hold his head up again. The world can never look upon Bishop as being a live person. He is a corpse.”
That is the history of that episode of twenty-eight years ago, which pretty nearly killed me with shame during that first year or two whenever it forced its way into my mind.
NowⒶapparatus note then, I take that speech up and examine it. As I said, it arrived this morning, from Boston. I have read it twice, and unless I am an idiot, it hasn’t a single defect in it from the first word to the last. It is just as good as good can be. It is smart; it is saturated with humor. There isn’t a suggestion of coarseness or vulgarity in it anywhere. What could have been the matter with that house? It is amazing, it is incredible, that they didn’t shout with laughter, and those deities the loudest of them all. Could the fault have been with me? Did I lose courage when I saw those great men up there whom I was going to describe in such a strange fashion? If that happened, if I showed doubt, that can account for it, for you can’t be successfully funny if you show that you are afraid of it. Well, I can’t account for it,Ⓐapparatus note but if I had those beloved and revered old literary immortals back here now on the platform at Carnegie Hall I would take that same old speech, deliver it, word for word, and melt them till they’d run all over that stage. Oh, the fault must have been with me, it is not in the speech at all.
All Boston shuddered for several days. All gaieties ceased, all festivities; even the funerals were without animation. There has never been so awful a time in Boston. Even the Massacre did not produce a like effect, nor the Anthony Burns episodeⒺexplanatory note, nor any other solemnity in Boston’s history. But I am glad that that lady mentioned this speech, which I should never have thought of again I suppose, for now I am going to apply the test, and I am going to find out whether it was Boston or whether it was myself that was in fault at that sad time of Mr. Bishop’s obsequies; for next summer I will drop down from the New Hampshire hillsⒺexplanatory note with that typewritten ancient speech in my hand, and I will go before the massed intellect of Boston—the Twentieth Century ClubⒺexplanatory note—and without revealing what it is that I am asking permission to talk about, I will lay those ancient facts before that unprejudiced jury and read that speech to them and see what the result will be. If they do not laugh and admire I shall commit suicide there. I would just as soon do it there as any place; and one time is as good as another to me.Ⓐapparatus note
title January 11, 1906] The first page of this dictation is reproduced in facsimile in the Introduction (figure 14).
Address of Samuel L. Clemens . . . as published in the BOSTON EVENING TRANSCRIPT, December 18, 1877] This heading was not in the Boston Evening Transcript’s lengthy account of the dinner and speeches (“The Atlantic Dinner,” 1, 3). It must have been supplied by the unidentified “Boston typewriter” (i.e., typist) who transcribed the speech from the newspaper. The Transcript text was based (probably indirectly) on Clemens’s own manuscript. On 19 December, the Boston Globe reported, “At the Atlantic dinner, Monday night, a reporter sent a note to Mr. Samuel L. Clemens asking him for the manuscript of his speech. In reply ‘Mark’ wrote: ‘Yes, if you will put in the applause in the right places, especially if there isn’t any’ ” (“Table Gossip,” 4). Several newspapers printed the text on the morning after the speech, any one of which could have been the source of the Transcript’s version in the evening edition (see the Textual Commentary, MTPO ).
Mr. Chairman—] Henry O. Houghton (1823–95), publisher of the Atlantic Monthly and the “chief host” of the dinner, gave the opening address. He introduced William Dean Howells, editor of the magazine and Clemens’s close friend, as the man who would “take charge of the proceedings” (see “A Call with W. D. Howells on General Grant,” note at 70.19). Howells spoke and then introduced each of the other speakers (“The Atlantic Dinner,” Boston Evening Transcript, 18 Dec 1877, 1, 3).
I am reminded of a thing which happened . . . California] In May of 1864, having achieved fame and notoriety during twenty months as local reporter and editor for the Virginia City Territorial Enterprise, Clemens left Nevada for San Francisco, where he worked as local reporter for the San Francisco Morning Call and also contributed to the Californian, a literary weekly. In early December 1864 (“thirteen years ago,” in 1877) Clemens accepted an invitation from his friend Steve Gillis to leave San Francisco and join his brother James Gillis and Dick Stoker at their cabin at Jackass Hill, Tuolumne County. Steve had recently been jailed for fighting, and Clemens signed a $500 bond for his bail; when Steve decided to return to Virginia City rather than face trial, Clemens became liable for the whole amount. Clemens, out of work save for a few articles in the Californian, was short of funds himself, having lost or cashed in his valuable shares of the Hale and Norcross Silver Mining Company. It was this trip to Jackass Hill and nearby Angels Camp (in Calaveras County) that he refers to here as an “inspection tramp of the southern mines.” The visit turned into a twelve-week retreat during which he stayed with Gillis and Stoker, helped them “pocket-mine,” and listened to tales like the “Jumping Frog” and the blue-jay yarn. Clemens returned to San Francisco in late February 1865. The notebook he kept during the trip is in the Mark Twain Papers ( L1: link note following 28 May 1864 to Cutler, 302–3; 18 Oct 1864 to OC, 317; link note following 11 Nov 1864 to OC, 320–21; N&J1, 63–82).
“ ‘Through . . . soul!’] From Holmes’s “The Chambered Nautilus” (1858).
“ ‘Give me . . . altitudes.’] From Emerson’s “Mithridates” (1847).
“ ‘Honor . . . Pau-Puk-Keewis—’] From Longfellow’s “The Song of Hiawatha” (1855). The verses are not consecutive: the first is the opening line of book 2; the second is the opening line of book 16.
“ ‘Flash . . . days.’] From Holmes’s “Mare Rubrum” (1858).
“ ‘This . . . primeval.’] The opening line of Longfellow’s “Evangeline: A Tale of Acadie” (1847).
“ ‘Here . . . world.’] From Emerson’s “Concord Hymn” (1837).
“ ‘I am . . . again!’] Rearranged and adapted lines from Emerson’s “Brahma” (1857).
“ ‘I tire . . . played!’] Adapted from Emerson’s “Song of Nature” (1859), where the first line actually reads “I tire of globes and races.”
“ ‘Thanks . . . taught’] From Longfellow’s “The Village Blacksmith” (1841).
and blamed if he didn’t down with another right bower] A “right bower” was the jack of trumps, the highest card in the game of euchre, and therefore unique in each deck of cards.
“ ‘God help . . . palm!’] From Holmes’s “A Voice of the Loyal North” (1861).
All quiet on the Potomac] The famous Civil War song “All Quiet Along the Potomac Tonight” was from a poem by Ethel Lynn Beers (1827–79) entitled “The Picket-Guard,” which had first appeared in Harper’s Weekly in 1861. In 1863 it was set to music by John Hill Hewitt (1801–90).
how-come-you-so] Drunk.
Barbara Frietchie . . . Biglow Papers . . . Thanatopsis] “Barbara Frietchie” (1863) was actually by John Greenleaf Whittier. “The Biglow Papers” (1846–67) were by James Russell Lowell. “Thanatopsis” (1817, revised 1821) was by William Cullen Bryant. Neither Lowell nor Bryant attended the dinner.
“ ‘Is yonder . . . breed?’] From Emerson’s “Monadnoc” (1847).
‘When Johnny Comes Marching Home’] This popular Civil War song was by bandmaster and composer Patrick Sarsfield Gilmore (1829–92), who published it in 1863 under the pseudonym “Louis Lambert” (Library of Congress 2008).
“ ‘Lives . . . Time.’] From Longfellow’s “Psalm of Life” (1838).
Mr. and Mrs. A. P. Chamberlaine . . . I had been irreverent beyond belief, beyond imagination] The Clemenses had met Augustus P. Chamberlaine and his wife in Venice in October 1878. The Chamberlaines’ acquaintance with Emerson permitted them to assure Clemens then that his Whittier dinner speech had not given offense to the venerable poets (see N&J2, 220–21). There had in fact been some negative comments in the press in the days following the dinner. The Boston Transcript, for example, noted that the speech “was in bad taste and entirely out of place” (19 Dec 1877, 4); and the Worcester Gazette opined that “Mark’s sense of propriety needs development, and it is not his first offense” (reprinted in the Boston Evening Traveller, 26 Dec 1877, 1). Several other newspapers, however, gave Clemens positive reviews. The Boston Advertiser noted that “the amusement was intense, while the subjects of the wit, Longfellow, Emerson and Holmes, enjoyed it as much as any” (“Whittier’s Birthday,” 18 Dec 1877, 1). The Boston Globe reported that the speech “produced the most violent bursts of hilarity” and that “Mr. Emerson seemed a little puzzled about it, but Mr. Longfellow laughed and shook, and Mr. Whittier seemed to enjoy it keenly” (“The Whittier Dinner,” 18 Dec 1877, 8). The Boston Journal observed that Clemens’s speech “soon aroused uproarious merriment” (“Whittier’s Birthday,” 18 Dec 1877, unknown page), and the Evening Traveller noted that Clemens “served up a characteristic series of parodies on Longfellow, Emerson, and Holmes, ‘setting the table in a roar’ as is his wont” (“A Bard’s Birthday Banquet,” 18 Dec 1877, 1). Nevertheless, on 27 December 1877, in the depths of his remorse, and with Howells’s encouragement, he wrote letters of apology addressed to Holmes, Emerson, and Longfellow. On 29 December Holmes replied that “it grieves me to see that you are seriously troubled about what seems to me a trifling matter. It never occurred to me for a moment to take offence, or to feel wounded by your playful use of my name” (CU-MARK). On 31 December Ellen Emerson replied for her father—not to Clemens himself, but to Olivia—saying that although the family was “disappointed” in Clemens’s speech, “no shadow of indignation has ever been in any of our minds. The night of the dinner, my Father says, he did not hear Mr Clemens’s speech he was so far off, and my Mother says that when she read it to him the next day it amused him” (CU-MARK). And on 6 January 1878 Longfellow wrote Clemens that the incident was “a matter of such slight importance. The newspapers have made all the mischief. A bit of humor at a dinner table is one thing; a report of it in the morning papers is another” (CU-MARK). By 5 February 1878 Clemens had rebounded sufficiently from his initial embarrassment to write his Quaker City mentor, Mary Mason Fairbanks:
I am pretty dull in some things, & very likely the Atlantic speech was in ill taste; but that is the worst that can be said of it. I am sincerely sorry if it in any wise hurt those great poets’ feelings—I never wanted to do that. But nobody has ever convinced me that that speech was not a good one——for me; above my average, considerably. ( Letters 1876–1880 )
(For an extended discussion of the Whittier dinner speech and its aftermath, including texts of Clemens’s letter of apology and the responses to it, see Smith 1955; see also AD, 23 Jan 1906, for additional comments on the speech.)
I can see those figures with entire distinctness across this abyss of time] There were sixty Atlantic contributors and associates at the dinner. Whittier, Emerson, Holmes, Longfellow, Houghton, and Howells were at the head of the table. Clemens’s good friend James R. Osgood was seated on one side of him, and on the other was their mutual friend Charles Fairchild, a Boston paper manufacturer. Elsewhere were seated Charles Dudley Warner and James Hammond Trumbull (see AD, 12 Jan 1906, note at 272.31–32). Other more casual acquaintances of Clemens’s were present, including agriculturist and sanitary engineer George E. Waring (1833–98), Unitarian minister Thomas W. Higginson (1823–1911), and poet and fiction writer John T. Trowbridge (1827–1916). Many of the guests, including Clemens, had also attended the Atlantic’s 15 December 1874 dinner for its contributors (see the link note following 14 Dec 1874 to Howells, L6, 317–20).
Willie Winter . . . did love to recite those occasional poems] William Winter (1836–1917) was dramatic critic of the New York Tribune from 1865 to 1909 and also the author of several biographies of actors. He did not attend the Whittier birthday dinner. The occasion Clemens recalled was the 3 December 1879 Atlantic Monthly breakfast for Oliver Wendell Holmes. In a well-received speech intended to redeem his 1877 performance, Clemens described how he had committed “unconscious plagiarism” by echoing Holmes’s dedication to “Songs in Many Keys” in The Innocents Abroad (see “Notes on ‘Innocents Abroad,’ ” note at 225.17–19). Winter appeared later in the roster of speakers and read his thirteen-stanza tribute, “Hearts and Holmes” (“The Holmes Breakfast,” Boston Advertiser, 4 Dec 1879, 1), which concluded:
Ah, lightly on that reverend head
Ye snows of wintry age descend,
Ye shades of mortal night be shed!
Peace guide and guard him to the end,
And God defend!
Howells, who was near me . . . couldn’t get beyond a gasp] Howells was seated at the head table, not close to Clemens. Nevertheless, given that newspaper reports do not confirm that Clemens’s speech was generally perceived to be a “disaster,” it is likely that it was chiefly Howells’s reaction that persuaded Clemens that it was.
If Benvenuto Cellini’s salamander . . . autobiography] See “My Autobiography [Random Extracts from It],” note at 209.41.
Bishop . . . a most acceptable novel . . . in the Atlantic Monthly] William Henry Bishop (1847–1928) was the author of Detmold: A Romance, serialized in the Atlantic Monthly from December 1877 through June 1878 and published in book form in 1879 (Bishop 1877–78; Bishop 1879).
at last he slumped down in a limp and mushy pile] Bishop’s speech did not follow Clemens’s. According to press reports, several speakers intervened, including poet Richard H. Stoddard and Charles Dudley Warner. Bishop spoke “last on the regular list,” well past midnight, and after Whittier, Emerson, Holmes, and Longfellow had all left (“Whittier’s Birthday,” Boston Advertiser, 18 Dec 1877, 1; Boston Evening Transcript, “The Atlantic Dinner,” 18 Dec 1877, 3). No account of Bishop’s speech is known to survive, other than the Boston Journal’s observation that he was one of those who talked “briefly and suitably” (“Whittier’s Birthday,” 18 Dec 1877, unknown page) and the Boston Evening Traveller’s remark that he “closed very gracefully the list of regular speakers” (“A Bard’s Birthday Banquet,” 18 Dec 1877, 1).
the program . . . ended there] The program did not conclude prematurely, as Clemens implied. By most newspaper accounts, following Bishop’s satisfactory delivery of the last “regular” speech, there was just one additional speaker before the festivities ended around 1 a.m. on 18 December.
Even the Massacre did not produce a like effect, nor the Anthony Burns episode] The Boston Massacre occurred on 5 March 1770, when British troops opened fire on a rioting crowd and killed five colonists. Anthony Burns (1834–62) was a slave who fled from Richmond, Virginia, to Boston in 1854. That same year he was arrested and convicted under the Fugitive Slave Act of 1850, occasioning mass protests on a scale unknown since the days of the Revolution. After his forced return to Virginia, Boston supporters purchased his freedom and paid for his education at Oberlin College; he later became a Baptist minister.
the New Hampshire hills] Clemens spent the summer of 1906 at Upton Farm, near Dublin, New Hampshire, dictating his autobiography.
I will go before . . . Twentieth Century Club] The Twentieth Century Club (since 1934 the Twentieth Century Association for the Promotion of a Finer Public Spirit and a Better Social Order) was begun in Boston in January 1894. Membership was open to
men and women over the age of 21 who had “rendered some service in the fields of science, art, religion, government, education or social service; and those who in their business, home life, or civic relations have made some contribution to the life of the community, state or nation, worthy of recognition. . . .” Club activities centered around Saturday Luncheons. Begun as men-only affairs, they were opened to women by 1895. . . . Speakers were told to expect vigorous questioning. . . . Speakers included: newspaper editors, reformers, missionaries, socialists, educators, authors, labor leaders, economists and others. (Massachusetts Historical Society 2008)
Clemens had appeared before the club on 4 November 1905, speaking satirically on peace, missionaries, and statesmanship (SLC 1905f). He is not known to have resurrected the Whittier dinner speech before the club. For his additional remarks on that speech, see the Autobiographical Dictation of 23 January 1906.
Autobiographical Dictation, 11 January 1906 ❉ Textual Commentary
Source documents.
MS (incomplete) MS of 14 leaves of Clemens’s Whittier dinner speech, delivered 17 December 1877, CtY-BR: ‘Mr. Chairman . . . Time.’ (261.18–263.39); ‘littery . . . like this.’ (263.41–264.7).Unidentified newspaper Unidentified Boston newspaper of 18 December 1877, which typeset the Whittier dinner speech directly from the MS; there is no actual document of this source.
Transcript Boston Evening Transcript, 18 December 1877 (1, 3), made from the unidentified Boston newspaper of the same day: ‘Address of . . . like this.’ (261.11–264.7).
1906 transcript (lost) Typed transcript of the Transcript made in 1906 by a Boston typist at Clemens’s request; now lost.
Hudson to SLC MS letter, Laura K. Hudson to SLC, 3 January 1906: ‘287 Quincy . . . Hudson.’ (260.8–35).
Lyon draft Isabel Lyon’s 11? January 1906 handwritten draft of Clemens’s dictated reply to Hudson: ‘Dear . . . a copy.’ (260.37–261.10).
SLC to Hudson (lost) Letter of 12 January 1906 that was actually sent to Hudson, possibly revised; now lost.
Lyon MS Isabel Lyon’s handwritten fair copy of SLC to Hudson.
TS1 (lost) Typescript, leaves numbered 36–56, made from Hobby’s notes, the 1906 transcript, Hudson to SLC, and SLC to Hudson, and revised; now lost.
TS2 Typescript, leaves numbered 178–98, made from the revised TS1 and further revised. (Page 178 is reproduced in facsimile in the Introduction, figure 14, p. 47.)
TS4 Typescript, leaves numbered 439–59, made from the revised TS1.
NAR 25pf Galley proofs of NAR 25, typeset from the revised TS2 and further revised, ViU (the same extent as NAR 25).
NAR 25 North American Review 186 (December 1907), 481–89: ‘Dear Mrs. . . . and brain.’ (260.37–265.10); ‘Now at . . . at all.’ (265.24–267.20).
Since TS2 and TS4 derive independently from the lost TS1, either typescript may incorporate authorial readings not present in the other. All of their variants are therefore reported. In nearly all instances the TS2 reading is deemed the more accurate and adopted. When TS2 and TS4 agree, they confirm the reading of the missing TS1. TS1 also must have included transcriptions of three texts that Hobby inserted at Clemens’s behest. The first, a letter that Clemens received from Laura K. Hudson, was transcribed from her original manuscript letter. There is no evidence that he revised the letter, and therefore all variants between the original letter and TS2 are rejected as transmissional errors created by Hobby in TS1 (or possibly TS2, when TS2 and TS4 disagree). The second inserted text is Clemens’s reply to Hudson, for which Hobby’s source is unclear. We have a penciled draft that Isabel Lyon made from Clemens’s dictation, but the letter that she wrote for his signature and that was sent to Hudson has been found only in Lyon’s fair copy of it, kept as a record. Collation suggests, however, that Hobby transcribed the letter sent, and that Clemens revised that document and/or TS1. The readings of TS2/TS4 which are judged to reflect his revisions are adopted; the variants in Lyon MS are reported for the evidence they provide about possible authorial revision.
The third inserted text is Clemens’s speech at the Whittier birthday dinner, which he commissioned a ‘Boston typewriter’ to find and copy by delving ‘among the Boston papers’ of 1877 (3.10–11). The Boston typist transcribed the speech as it had appeared in the Boston Evening Transcript of 18 December 1877; that text derived ultimately from Clemens’s original MS (from which two lines of text have been cut away), and proximally from one of four other Boston papers that published the speech earlier in the day (Smith 1955, p. 156 n. 31). The text of the speech presents an intricate problem because both the original manuscript and the newspaper printing derived from it survive, but the 1906 transcription of the Transcript made by the Boston typewriter, and TS1 made by Hobby’s copying of that transcription, are both lost. Our intention is to identify and adopt authorial TS1 readings (including those Clemens supplied while revising it) as these are recorded in TS2 and TS4, and likewise to identify but reject nonauthorial TS1 readings—i.e., those arising from the errors made by the Boston typist or by Hobby herself in creating TS1 and recopying it into TS2. TS2 and TS4 derive independently from the lost TS1 and therefore allow a more reliable reconstruction of its text than would be possible without them.
There is no reason to suppose that Clemens was particularly enamored of the Transcript text: it was the Boston typist, not he, who chose that paper’s version of the speech. But Clemens nevertheless undertook in 1906 to reproduce the speech from the typed copy of the Transcript, so there is reason to accept the Transcript’s few departures from the MS, even though he could not have intended those changes in 1877. It is clear that in 1906 he was not intent on preserving every word of the newspaper text, for a comparison with TS2/TS4 shows that in a dozen places he revised the wording on TS1, and in doing so he actively adapted the Transcript text to his immediate purposes. (All authorial revisions on TS1 that have been detected by collation have been adopted in the present text.) For example, ‘biggest’, ‘nom de plume’, ‘dad fetch’, and ‘dog my cats’ became in TS1 (as witnessed by TS2/TS4) ‘largest’, ‘nom de guerre’, ‘consound’, and ‘blamed’ (261.20, 261.25, 261.34). Clemens also reproduced the Boston typist’s heading, specifically identifying the source as the Transcript (‘Address of . . . 1877’ [261.11–16]) and in the rest of the dictation he made two additional references to the way he had obtained the text of the speech (see 264.27–28 and 267.9–10). He also said that he had ‘read it twice’ after receiving it that morning (267.10), indicating that he was far from indifferent about how the text read. In fact, one particular revision he made on TS1 makes especially clear the extent to which he embraced this slightly corrupt copy of the MS. The Boston Transcript compositor misread the MS in 1877, for he included a passage of some thirteen words (at the top of MS page 8) which Clemens clearly intended to cancel, but had neglected actually to strike out before turning the MS over to the newspapers. The passage repeated verbatim part of a speech by the miner which Clemens had just moved toward the beginning of the paragraph. Even though its repetition was not intended, it appeared in the Transcript and in every text of the speech derived from it, including the Boston typist’s copy, TS1, TS2, TS4, and NAR. The inadvertent repetition of these words nevertheless made a kind of sense, for the miner in his perplexity repeats other phrases as well: ‘ “By George, I was getting kind of worked up. I don’t deny it, I was getting kind of worked up’ (262.24–25). And it is doubtless for this reason that the inadvertently repeated words did not strike anyone, including their author, as an error. It is apparent that in revising TS1, Clemens smoothed over what must have struck him as an imperfect rendering of this piece of the text by adding single quotation marks around the repeated words and by inserting ‘I says’ to make it clearer that the miner was quoting himself (262.30). So while the repetition was clearly not initiated by Clemens, he took deliberate steps to incorporate it in the text he reproduced here, and the error must therefore be left uncorrected.
The Transcript’s relatively few failures to reproduce the words of the MS and its slightly more frequent departure from its spelling and punctuation were, for the most part, not corrected by Clemens and so they have not been corrected here. The Transcript read ‘cost’ instead of ‘cost you’ at 262.37, ‘you bet’ instead of ‘you bet you’ at 263.21, and ‘Such was’ instead of ‘Such is’ at 264.4. Clemens did correct ‘a game’ to ‘the game’ at 263.9, and he probably corrected some of the punctuation as well. The Transcript omitted the manuscript’s serial comma after ‘Emerson’ at 261.34, but since the MS agrees with TS2/TS4 in restoring it, the author probably made the correction on TS1. And even though both the Transcript and the MS read ‘calmly’ at 262.42, the reading ‘ca’mly’ in TS2/TS4 is another sign of authorial tinkering (no typist would have supplied the abbreviated version of this word). The chief source of error in TS1 was doubtless the Boston typist’s copy, and since his (or her) errors cannot have been intended by Clemens, they are corrected here to conform to the Transcript reading. The most glaring example is an eye-skip at 263.13–17 that inadvertently dropped some forty words. The chance that Clemens struck out these words on TS1 seems remote, and so they are restored here. But Clemens overlooked some minor errors: for example, MS and Transcript both read ‘I’ve’ at 263.32, but TS2/TS4 reads simply ‘I’ve’, which, since there is no sign of wholesale revision of emphasis, is here deemed an error and corrected.
Paine helped Clemens select two excerpts for publication. Clemens revised TS2 to serve as printer’s copy for NAR 25, and he both corrected and slightly revised his text on NAR 25pf. Those revisions are adopted here, except where they seem designed to shorten, soften, or otherwise adapt the text for the NAR editors and audience. Because this speech is a work of great interest, we have treated it as a special instance and reported all the variants in the MS and the Boston Transcript, in addition to those in TS2, TS4, NAR 25pf, and NAR 25.
Clemens added to TS2 several notes to the editors and typesetters at the NAR, suggesting that the Whittier dinner be the first part of the installment, followed by the “$3-Dog” story from the AD of 3 October 1907—as NAR 25 was ultimately published.
Marginal Notes on TS2 Concerning Publication in the NAR