From Susy’s BiographyⒶtextual note: Mr. Clemens thinks he will write no more books—Mr. Clemens’s inability to remember faces of friends—The exquisite faces and landscapes which his mind draws and paints when he is half asleep—He has not yet written himself out; prefers dictating—Mrs. Riggs recalls the episode of F. Hopkinson Smith selling the original manuscriptsⒶtextual note at auction—The artists’Ⓐtextual note dinner for Hopkinson Smith.
From Susy’s Biography. Ⓐtextual note
Feb. 12, ’86.Ⓐtextual note
Mamma and I have both been very much troubled of late because papa since he has been publishing Gen. Grant’s bookⒺexplanatory note has seemed to forget his own books and work entirely, and the other evening as papa and I were promonadingⒶtextual note up and down the library he told me that he didn’t expect to write but one more book, and then he was ready to give up work altogether, die, or do anything, he said that he had written more than he had ever expected to, and the only book that he had been pertickularly anxious to write was one locked up in the safe down stairs, not yet published.*
But this intended future of course will never do, and although papa usually
*It isn’t yet. Title of it, “Captain Stormfield’s Visit to Heaven.” S.L.C.Ⓐtextual note [begin page 270] holds to his own opinions and intents with outsiders, when mamma realy desires anything and says that it must be, papa allways gives up his plans (at least so far) and does as she says is right (and she is usually right, if she dissagrees with him at all). It was because he knew his great tendency to being convinced by her, that he published without her knowledge that article in the “Christian Union”Ⓔexplanatory note concerning the government of children. So judging by the proofs of past years, I think that we will be able to persuade papa to go back to work as before, and not leave off writing with the end of his next story. Mamma says that she sometimes feels, and I do too, that she would rather have papa depend on his writing for a living than to have him think of giving it up.
I haveⒶtextual note a defect of a sort which I think is not common; certainly I hope it isn’t: itⒶtextual note is rare that I can call before my mind’s eye the form and face of either friend or enemy. If I should make a list, now, of persons whom I know in America and abroad—say to the number of even an entire thousand—Ⓐtextual noteit is quite unlikely that I could reproduce five of them in my mind’s eye. Of my dearest and most intimate friends, I could name eight whom I have seen and talked with four days ago, but when I try to call them before me they are formless shadows. Jean has been absent, this past eight or ten days, at a SanatoriumⒶtextual note in the countryⒺexplanatory note, and I wish I could reproduce her in the mirror of my mind, but I can’t do it. There was a dinner party here last night, all old friends of ours. I recall how Mrs. Kate Douglas Wiggin Riggs looked; also how Dorothea Gilder looked; but I can get only blurred and scarcely recognizable glimpses of Norman Hapgood and Mrs. Hapgood, Mr. RiggsⒺexplanatory note, and Clara Clemens.Ⓐtextual note
It may be that this defect is not constitutional, but a result of life-longⒶtextual note absence of mind and indolent and inadequate observation. Once or twice in my life it has been an embarrassment to me. Twenty years ago, in the days of Susy’s BiographyⒶtextual note, there was a dispute one morning at the breakfast tableⒶtextual note about the color of a neighbor’s eyes. I was asked for a verdict, but had to confess that if that valued neighbor and old friend had eyes I was not sure that I had ever seen them. It was then mockingly suggested that perhaps I didn’t even know the color of the eyes of my own family, and I was required to shut my own at once and testify. I was able to name the color of Mrs. Clemens’s eyes, but was not able to even suggest a color for Jean’s, or Clara’s, or Susy’s.
This defect seems to be out of place with me. It would seem to indicate that I have no sense of form and proportion or I would have memory of them, since each faculty has a memory of its own. I think I ought to be able to recall forms and faces, because, although I can neither draw nor paint, my mind oftenⒶtextual note draws and paints the most exquisite and the most faultless faces—faces of strangers always—whenⒶtextual note I am almost asleep but yet dimly conscious of my surroundings. These faces are very small. In size and quality they are like the old-fashioned ivory miniatures; like, but not just like, for they are much more dainty and charming and beautiful than any ivory miniatures that I have ever seen; by contrast with them the ivory miniature is coarse and unspiritual.Ⓐtextual note
I may not have a monopoly in this kind of art, but I have an idea that more people lack it than possess it. My half-asleep mind has drawn and painted for me thousands upon [begin page 271] thousands of these lovely faces, but I think I can say with certainty that not once has the face of a friend or an acquaintance appeared among them. It is a pity, for if my dead could come back in that gracious form,Ⓐtextual note that weird art would have a priceless value for me.
There is another form of picture-making which my mind, when I am but half conscious, shares with the rest of the world, I suppose; that is the production of faces of about half normal size in black and whiteⒶtextual note, never in color; faces that laugh, faces that grin, faces that swiftly undergo all sorts of pleasant and unpleasant contortions; faces that continuously dissolve away and vanish, but instantly reappear with new features and with new “stunts”Ⓐtextual note to exhibit, to use the slang phrase. With me, these faces, like the miniature faces, are always new to me; they never favor me with a countenance which I have ever seen before.
The landscapes which rise upon my drowsingⒶtextual note mind properly belong with the miniatures, for they are projected on a very small scale. They seem close by, but they look as they would look to a Gulliver in LilliputⒺexplanatory note. There will be a lake; there will be a rim of delicate mountainsⒶtextual note steeped in soft sunlight; there will be little bays with miniature white sand beaches; there will be capes and headlands projecting into the dimpling blue water; and the whole landscape—lake, mountains and all—will be so little that it will look as if it might be framed and hung upon the wall.
All this talk is suggested by Susy’s remark: “The other evening as papa and I were promonading up and down the library”—— Thank GodⒶtextual note I can see that Ⓐtextual note picture!Ⓐtextual note andⒶtextual note it is not dim, but stands out clear in the unfaded light of twenty-oneⒶtextual note years ago. In those days Susy and I used to “promonade” daily up and down the library, with our arms about each other’s waists, and deal in intimate communion concerning affairs of State, or the deep questions of human life, or our small personal affairs.
It was quite natural that I should think I had written myself out when I was only fifty years old, for everybody who has ever written has been smitten with that superstition at about that age. Not even yet have I really written myself out. I have merely stopped writing because dictating is pleasanter work, and because dictating has given me a strong aversion to the pen, and because two hours of talking per day is enough, and because— ButⒶtextual note I am only damaging my mind with this digging around in it for pretexts where no pretext is needed, and where the simple truth is for this one time better than any invention, in this small emergency. I shall never finish my five or six unfinished booksⒺexplanatory note, for the reason that by forty years of slavery to the pen I have earned my freedom. I detest the pen,Ⓐtextual note and I wouldn’t use it again toⒶtextual note sign the death-warrantⒶtextual note of my dearest enemy.
Fifteen years ago. . . . However I am reminded of something that occurred here at dinner last night; in fact I am reminded of several things that occurred here at dinner last night. Mrs. Riggs seemed to me to be almost as young and beautiful as she was a quarter of a century ago, and certainly she was as bright and charming as ever she was in her life. I couldn’t look at her without thinking of F. Hopkinson Smith, successfulⒶtextual note novelist, acceptable public reader, acceptable after-dinner talker,Ⓐtextual note acceptable water-color artist, acceptable architect, and of high repute as a builder of lighthouses and great iron bridges. I couldn’t possibly ever look at Mrs. Riggs and not instantly think of F. [begin page 272] Hopkinson Smith. About a dozen years ago there was a great gathering one night at Sherry’s, in aid of one of those charities where a crowd gets together at anⒶtextual note expensive place like that and spends four thousand dollars for things to eat and collects thirty-seven dollars and a half for the charity—usually by an auction sale of things which nobody values and nobody wants. The auction this time was of original manuscriptsⒺexplanatory note, presumably in autograph form. F. Hopkinson Smith was the auctioneer. In those days his reputation as a writer was just barely budding; he was hardly known, but he probably didn’t know it. He certainly is a man of many talents, and good ones, too, but several of them are not as good as he thinks they are. He began the auction with a literary production of his own, a short story. It was a typewritten manuscript; it was merely autographed at the end. He made proclamation, and, to encourage the house, he started the bidding himself—at fifty dollars for the property. He auctioned away very energetically, and with good staying power, and finally succeeded in selling the asset at an advance upon his own bid.Ⓐtextual note Then he put up an original manuscript of Mrs. Riggs’s, all in her own handwriting; but as he didn’t start the bidding this time there was an embarrassed pause, heⒶtextual note barking away vigorously all through it but not raising a bid, for the people had been discouraged by the pace heⒶtextual note had set. By and by somebody had the courage to start a bid—two dollars and a half—and Smith worked and sweated over it most manfully, because he had by this time realizedⒶtextual note what a mistake he had made in the beginning and what a particularly unpleasant mistake it was for all concerned—Ⓐtextual noteand everybody in the house was concerned.
Well, never mind what the final result was—it is gone from my memory, and was never important anyway. At the end of the evening Mrs. Riggs and Mrs. Mary Mapes Dodge met in the dressing-room, and Mrs. Dodge said with immense enthusiasm,
“Kate Douglas Wiggin, there aren’t any words that can express the admiration I feel for you. It was wonderful that you could hold your temper, in the circumstances; it was marvelous that you didn’t break outⒶtextual note and tell that man what you thought of him.”
Mrs. Riggs said,
“Oh yes, yes, I wanted to, but you know I am a lady, and I have to be so damned particular!Ⓐtextual note”
And I can’t ever think of Smith without thinking of a luncheon party of artists which gathered itself together in Chase’s spacious and sumptuous studioⒺexplanatory note years and years ago when Hopkinson Smith’s large fame as an artist had just begun to flicker and spitⒶtextual note and make itself vaguely visible in the twilight of public observation. He was at the luncheon, and,Ⓐtextual note being new, the artists were very kind to him, very complimentary, and did everything they could to make him feel at home. It may be that in trying so hard to be sufficiently kind they overdid it. At any rate, when the speeches had been going on for a good while,Ⓐtextual note an artist who had been unconsciously and unintentionallyⒶtextual note qualifying himself to take a chance in the debate, rose up and stood with roving and genial eye, and supporting his general unsteadiness by leaning his forefinger on the table;Ⓐtextual note he licked his lips several times,Ⓐtextual note and then said,
“I’ve (hic)Ⓐtextual note been hearing a tiresome complimentary lot about this Mr. Hop-skip-and-jumpkinson Smith;Ⓐtextual note and if he Ⓐtextual note ain’t too tiredⒶtextual note I (hic)Ⓐtextual note want to see him get up and do Ⓐtextual note it!Ⓐtextual note”
he has been publishing Gen. Grant’s book] See the Autobiographical Dictation of 28 May 1906.
he published without her knowledge that article in the “Christian Union”] See the Autobiographical Dictation of 21 December 1906.
Jean has been absent . . . at a Sanatorium in the country] Clemens had arranged for Jean to stay at the private sanatorium operated by her doctor, Frederick Peterson, at Katonah, New York. She left on 25 October 1906; for the next three years, her life would be spent in sanatoriums, rented lodgings, and clinics, until Clemens brought her to Stormfield in April 1909 (Lystra 2004, 83–85).
Mrs. Kate Douglas Wiggin Riggs . . . Mr. Riggs] Author and educator Kate Douglas Wiggin (1856–1923), whose best-known book is Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm (1903), had married businessman George Christopher Riggs in 1895. Dorothea Gilder (1882–1920) was the eldest daughter of Richard Watson Gilder, and a friend of Clara’s. For Norman Hapgood and his wife see AutoMT1 598 n. 375.2, and the Autobiographical Dictation of 7 June 1906, note at 101.31.
Gulliver in Lilliput] From Jonathan Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels (1726).
my five or six unfinished books] See the Autobiographical Dictation of 30 August 1906, notes at 196.39–42 and 197.4–7.
F. Hopkinson Smith . . . auction this time was of original manuscripts] Clemens had told this story some twelve years earlier in a letter to Olivia written on 12 February 1894, two weeks after the event it describes (CU-MARK):
And did I tell you about Mrs. Kate Douglas Wiggin & the sale of manuscripts? You see they had a great gathering at Sherry’s in aid of the kindergartens, & they had music, & then it was announced that Hopkinson Smith & Mrs. Wiggin would read unpublished articles & each sell the other’s MS. at auction.
Smith ran Mrs. Wiggin’s up to $85—a nice good figure. Of course Mrs. W. wanted to do as well; but when she mounted the auctioneering rostrum she found that Smith’s was nothing but a type-written MS. But she wrought brightly & well, & scattered wit in all directions; & although she had a formidable job she stuck bravely to it till she captured the same sum secured for her own genuine MS.
Mary Mapes Dodge, talking with her, said—
“It was shabby of him to put off a type-written MS on you to sell. It would have been perfectly fair for you to resent it. Of course you were angry?”
“Inside—yes. Boiling, in fact. Oh, I wanted to resent it, badly enough.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
“Oh, well, I am a lady, & I have to be so damned polite!”
The auction was held at Sherry’s Restaurant on 29 January 1894 for the New York Kindergarten Association, a project of Wiggin’s. F. Hopkinson Smith (1838–1915) was an author, painter, and engineer, and may be best remembered for having built the foundation for the pedestal of the Statue of Liberty. Clemens first met him at a Tile Club dinner in New York on 20 December 1880. Eight years later he characterized him as “a well known water-color artist, civil engineer, architect, designer of railway bridges, magazine writer, after-dinner speaker, public reader, jack-of-all-trades & master of them all, & he is moreover an old & special friend of mine” (27 Dec 1888 to Gripenberg, FiH2; 11, 12, 13 Feb 1894 to OLC, CU-MARK; “Notes,” The Critic, 3 Feb 1894, 84; N&J2, 360 n. 14).
Chase’s spacious and sumptuous studio] The Tenth Street studio in New York of painter William Merritt Chase (1849–1916) was described by art critic Arthur Hoeber as “the sanctum sanctorum of the Aesthetic fraternity” (Gallati 1995, 39–42).
Source documents.
TS1 ribbon Typescript, leaves numbered 1370–71 (corrected by Hobby to 1379–80) and 1381–88, made from Hobby’s notes and revised.TS1 carbon Typescript carbon, leaves numbered 1370–71 (corrected by Hobby to 1879–80) and 1381–88, revised.
NAR 21pf Galley proofs of NAR 21, typeset from the revised TS1 carbon (the same extent as NAR 21), ViU.
NAR 21 North American Review 185 (2 August 1907), 689–91: ‘Thursday . . . 1906’ (269 title); ‘From Susy’s . . . or Susy’s.’ (269.26–270.31); ‘All this . . . dearest enemy.’ (271.19–34).
As the typescripts’ original readings make clear, this dictation was really made on 31 October 1906. Both TS1 ribbon and TS1 carbon bear Clemens’s revisions. The revisions of TS1 carbon largely reduplicate those of TS1 ribbon, but the carbon bears many revisions that were made by Clemens in the course of an unusually vexed process of adaptation for publication in NAR.
There are four kinds of places where revised TS1 ribbon differs from revised TS1 carbon:
1. Places where the carbon revision is a “softening” for NAR. We’ll exclude these from consideration here as being relatively unproblematical.
2. Places where the carbon copy lacks a revision that was made on the ribbon copy.
3. Places where the ribbon copy lacks a revision that was made on the carbon copy.
4. Places where Clemens revised both copies, in two different ways (two instances, one of them insignificant).
For the most part, revisions which appear on TS1 ribbon are made identically on TS1 carbon; and Clemens’s intention to produce two documents which do not differ, save in the matter of magazine “softenings,” seems clear. The overall picture is consonant with Clemens performing an initial round of revision on TS1 ribbon, and then taking TS1 carbon in hand, transferring his ribbon revisions as best he can while also making specific revisions for NAR. This is the textual history we have assumed in establishing the text of the present dictation. We reject Clemens’s “softenings”; we assume that a ribbon revision not appearing on the carbon copy was overlooked accidentally (it seems especially clear that Clemens’s attention flagged in this regard as he worked on the final two pages); we assume that a carbon revision not appearing on the ribbon copy occurred in a later round of revision than the first, but that Clemens failed to “back-transfer” it to the ribbon copy; and finally, where the same passage is differently revised on the two typescripts, we follow TS1 carbon, as being the later revision.
In the typescripts of this dictation is an extract from Susy’s biography that is duplicated in the AD of 19 November 1906 (‘Ever since . . . mamma did.’, at 273.3–13 in the latter dictation). In that dictation, which was published in NAR 19, it is also commented upon. When reviewing TS1 carbon, Munro evidently recalled that this passage had already appeared in an earlier NAR installment and deleted it. The paragraph is omitted from the present text on the assumption that Clemens did not want it to appear twice in the Autobiography and that his failure to cancel it is an oversight.
The NAR proofs were set up from TS1 carbon as revised by Clemens and Munro; the proofs bear no revisions. The excerpts were combined with material from the AD of 8 March 1906 and the entire AD of 6 January 1907.
Marginal Notes on TS1 ribbon and TS1 carbon Concerning Publication in NAR