Dictated FebruaryⒶtextual note 14, 1908
The many wonderful inventions that have had their birth since Mr. Clemens was born; the newest the autochrome—Mr. Clemens’s picture is taken in Bermuda, with Margaret, by the LumièreⒶtextual note process.
One’s first contact with a fresh, new, thrilling novelty is for him a memorable event. I still remember quite clearly the wonder and delight that swept through me the first time I ever saw a daguerreotype; and along with it was the sense that there wasn’t any reality about this miracle; that it was a dream, a product of enchantment—beautiful, astonishing, but impermanent. I still remember my first contact with the electric telegraphⒺexplanatory note, and with the phonographⒺexplanatory note, and with the wireless, and with the telephoneⒺexplanatory note, and with the Hoe press—which with my own eyes I saw print twenty thousand newspapers on one side in an hour, and couldn’t quite believe it although I was actually seeing it. Oh, compare that wee marvel with to-day’s pressⒺexplanatory note!Ⓐtextual note In Bermuda an addition was made to the list of these great first contacts, these splendid impossibles: it was the autochrome. I had never seen a sample of that lovely miracle before. A gentleman amateur there had half a dozenⒶtextual note pictures,Ⓐtextual note made by himselfⒶtextual note by the LumièreⒶtextual note processⒺexplanatory note , of Bermudian scenery, and a picture of his little girl reposing in the midst of tapestries and vases and rugs, and flowers, and other things distinguished for variety and beauty of coloring, and I was carried away with them. I was glad to have lived to see at last that old, old dream of the photographer come true—the colored photograph painted by the master, the sun.
How many wonderful inventions have had their birth since I was born! Broadly speaking, it is an interminable list. I was born in the same year that the lucifer matchⒶtextual note was bornⒺexplanatory note, and the latest link in this great chain is the dainty and bewitching LumièreⒶtextual note.
[begin page 206] The amateur whom I have spoken of was preparing an article about the LumièreⒶtextual note process for one of the great magazines, and he wanted a picture of me for use as one of the illustrations. I was quite willing to sit, but said Margaret must be put into the picture with meⒺexplanatory note. The picture was notably successful. I was in white, and so was Margaret. Her frock was a very white white, and her white jacket had broad lapels of an intense red; also she wore a red leather belt. My white clothes were of three slightly differing shades of white, and in the picture those shades were exactly reproduced—the coat one shade of white, the shirt-front a slightly whiter white, the necktie a slightly whiter white than the shirt-front. The LumièreⒶtextual note had a sharper eye than myself; I had not detected those differences until it revealed them to me. . . . .Ⓐtextual note
One dayⒶtextual note Miss W. betrayed to me one of Margaret’s sweet little confidences. Margaret said to her,
“Is Mr. Clemens married?”
“No.”
Margaret,Ⓐtextual note after a little pause,Ⓐtextual note said, with a dear and darling earnestness, and much as if she were soliloquizing aloud,
“If I were his wife I would never leave his side for a moment; I would stay by him and watch him, and take care of him all the time.”
It was the mother instinct speaking from the child of twelve; it took no note of the disparity of age; it took no note of my seventy-two years; it noticed only that I was careless, and it was affectionately prepared to protect me from my defect.
I have already spoken at some length of a couple of other gems of my collection: Francesca and Dorothy—my New Jersey Dorothy, Dorothy Quick. I have two other Dorothies besides—anⒶtextual note American one and an English oneⒺexplanatory note.
The collection of gems continued—Dorothy Quick—Her April Fools’ Day anecdote, and ColonelⒶtextual note Harvey’s story of Naughty Mabel at the races—Dorothy’s methods of playing games.
Dorothy Quick is eleven and a half years old now, and as tirelessly active, vivacious, energetic, bright, interesting, good, obedient,Ⓐtextual note and sweetⒶtextual note and companionable and charmingⒶtextual note as ever. When we were shipmatesⒶtextual note last summer, coming home from England, I discovered her the second day out, and took possession, leaving her mother, her grandfatherⒶtextual note and her grandmotherⒶtextual note to get along the best they could without her during the most of each day, for we were nearly inseparable. When the time for that ancient function, the “concert,” approached—a paid show in aid of the sailor hospitals of England and America—the elected manager came to me and asked if I would take part in the performance and make a speech. I said, with asperity,
“It is strange that you should come to me Ⓐtextual note with such an errand. I am a slave; I have no authority in the matter. Go to the source of power—go to the master. I will perform if the master permits.”
“If I may ask, who is the master?”
[begin page 207] “Dorothy.”
The manager hunted Dorothy up and gravely laid the proposition before her, and was as gravely answered. The result appeared in the printed program, an hour later—thus:
“Mark Twain, speech. (By permission of Dorothy QuickⒺexplanatory note)”
One day last September when Dorothy spent a week with us in TuxedoⒺexplanatory note, she sat at luncheon looking radiantly sweet and lovely in her bright summer costume, and I said,
“Dorothy, I am holding in—I am holding in all I can—but I don’t think I can hold in much longer—I want to eat you!Ⓐtextual note”
She responded promptly,
“Don’t do it, Mr. Clemens, I should miss you so.”
We fell to telling anecdotes, and Dorothy furnished one or two. One of hers was to this effect:
It was April Fools’ Day, and little Johnny burst into the parlor,Ⓐtextual note where a dozen ladies were taking a cup of five o’clock tea, and exclaimed excitedly,
“Mamma, there’s a stranger up stairsⒶtextual note kissing the governess!Ⓐtextual note”
Mamma started indignantly toward the stairs,Ⓐtextual note with battle in her eye, thenⒶtextual note Johnny cried out in triumphant delight,
“April fool! It ain’t a stranger at all—it’s only papa!Ⓐtextual note”
Next day ColonelⒶtextual note Harvey came down to spend the day. That charming man, that gifted man, has a certain peculiarity:Ⓐtextual note sometimes a humorous thing carries him off his feet; at another time the same thing would merely set him to thinking, and there would be no indication that he had even heard it. We were used to this peculiarity, but it was new to Dorothy. The Colonel was in a happy mood, and he told several anecdotes. One of them was to this effect, an incident which had fallen under his personal observation:
Scene, the grand stand; occasion, a great horse-raceⒶtextual note; present, in their rich attire, ladies of high society; a little apart, a pretty creature, unattended, overdressed;Ⓐtextual note under-bred, also,Ⓐtextual note by the look of her. She was painstakinglyⒶtextual note looking the lady of culture and high degree, and she quite successfully kept up the calm dignity proper to the part until the flying horses began to draw near; then she forgot herself and began to get excited. Her excitement grew, and she further forgot herself and stood up—which made those other ladies transfer their attention from the race to her, though she was unaware of it. She craned her neck; her eager eyes began to flame with excitement; next she began, unconsciously, to soliloquize aloud. She uttered her thought in gasps:
“I’mⒶtextual note going to win!——I’m going to win sure! . . . . . . Go on—whip up—whip up! . . . . . . . he’s half a nose ahead! . . . . . . . . he’sⒶtextual note three-quarters of a nose ahead! . . . . . . . . . . Oh he’s dropping back! back, and back, and back! . . . . . . . . . Damn his soul he’s lost the race!”Ⓐtextual note
Then she turned on a Vesuvian irruptionⒶtextual note of profanities and indelicacies that turned the air blue, and made those staring ladies gasp!Ⓐtextual note There was a pause, then the soliloquizer [begin page 208] came to herself, took one pathetic glance—one self-reproachful glance—at those horrified people, and ejaculated,
“Naughty Mabel!”
We thought it was about time to show off our Dorothy, so I asked her to tell us the April Fool story. She told it in her dearest and sweetest and most winningly simple and matter-of-fact fashion—and there was no result; that is,Ⓐtextual note from the Colonel. His reflecting-mill was at work; he probably had not heard Dorothy’s effort. The child looked mortified, but didn’t say anything. The cut was deep—as appeared after a long, long interval; an interval of twenty-four whole hours, during which Dorothy had not mentioned the episode—but that it had been rankling all that time was evidenced in the fact that now at last when she came to comment upon it there was no subject at all before the house, yet she dropped her comment right into the midst of that vacancy without any word of introduction, and didn’t even couple the Colonel’s name with it, but said “he”—
“He laughs at his own jokes, but he doesn’t care for other people’s.”
Dorothy came last Saturday and stayedⒶtextual note over SundayⒺexplanatory note, and she was her same old dear self all the time. We occupied the billiard roomⒶtextual note all day; again Dorothy read ShakspeareⒶtextual note aloud, always selecting from each play her favorite passages and skipping the rest of it—which is her fashion. Now and then, between billiard games, she browsed among the books, making selection after selection, and always good selections; she would read aloud about twenty minutes, then require me to read aloud for about twenty; then she would inaugurate a game of “500”Ⓐtextual note Ⓔexplanatory note and discard it in twenty minutes; next she would play euchre twenty minutes; next it would be a game of verbarium, and so on all the day long—twenty minutes to each fleeting interest, with twenty minutes of billiards sandwiched between every two of them. And all the day long, from nine in the morning till her bedtime—nine at night—she was an immeasurable delight.
If you don’t know what verbarium is I will explain. You write a great long word at the top of a sheet of paper; then you begin with the first letter of that word and build words out of the letters of the long word with that letter as a beginner; and the contestant who builds the most words in a given length of time is the winner. Then you take the second letter, and continue the process. Dorothy would laboriously harvest six or seven words; then she would discover that the text-word needed another vowel or another consonant to make it really effective, and she would suggest that we add the letter which she needed. I never objected; I always said it would be a fortunate addition—and as I never smiled, I never fell under suspicion. But there was opportunity to smile, for usually by the time Dorothy was tired of the game the text-word which originally contained only seventeen letters, had, in the course of the game, accumulated the rest of the alphabet. She’s a darling little billiard player; and when she plays the gameⒶtextual note you can recognize that it is Dorothy, and not another, because under her sway all rules failⒶtextual note and new ones are introduced—Ⓐtextual noteon her sole and sufficient authority and without any vote—Ⓐtextual notewhich improve that game beyond imagination. When the balls do not lie favorably she makes no remark, [begin page 209] but groups them in a better position and goes on with her performance without any comments.
Dorothy Quick, continued—copy of letter recently received from herⒺexplanatory note.
A letter has come from Dorothy, and I will insert it here to show how much she hasn’t improved in punctuation and in slowing her swift pen down, and in curbing and taming her dear headlong eagerness.
MyⒶtextual note Dear Mr Clemens
Thank you so much for your lovely valentine I had thirty-one when yours came so now I have thirty-two and they were all lovely every one has admired my belt that you brought me from Bermuda very much it is really beautiful I read in the paper all about Miss Clara’s musicalⒺexplanatory note it must have been lovely I love Miss Clara she is so beautiful Will you write me soon I always rush for the mails they are delivered here three times a day always hoping I will get a letter from you but I know you are busy and cant write so often I suppose you went outⒶtextual note for a walk today it was so lovely out here today I went to a party yesterday had a lovely played lots of silly games but it was great fun I didn’t get one prize what do you think of that lots and lots of love and kisses
your loving
Dorothy
P.S. Please give my love to Miss Lyon
Her letter exposes another small defect or two, but they are like all her defects—for they go to make up Dorothy, and anything that goes to the making up of Dorothy is precious, and cannot be discarded without loss. What would a letter from Dorothy be if its express-train pace were obstructed and retarded at every milestoneⒶtextual note by commas, and semicolons, and periods; and if it didn’t revel in tautologies; and if the rushing floods from the child’s golden heart were tamed by cold literary calculation and made to flow in an orderly stream between the banks and never overflow them? I couldn’t have it, it wouldn’t be Dorothy. Dorothy is perfect, just as she is; Dorothy the child cannot be improved; let Dorothy the woman wait till the proper time comes.
Last summer I thoughtlessly gave Dorothy an instructive hint, and afterwards mourned about it; but the mourning was premature—the hint went wide of the mark and produced no result, achieved no damage. That hint was to this effect: I told her there was a wide difference between repetition and tautology; that she must never be afraid to repeat a word where the repetition could help to uncloud her meaning and make it clear, bright, distinct, and unmistakable, but that she must be cautious about repeating a word when it would not have that effect, for then the repetition would be tautological, and, by consequence, commonplace and slovenly in the result. This letter is evidence to me, with its prodigal repetitions of “love” and “lovely,” that even to this happy day the difference between helpful repetition and tautology has no existence for Dorothy.
the electric telegraph] See the Autobiographical Dictation of 18 October 1907 and the note at 173.32–34.
the phonograph] In 1877 Thomas Edison invented the first phonograph, which used metal cylinders to record sound and play it back; ten years later he began using wax cylinders. In 1888 Clemens considered using a phonograph to dictate A Connecticut Yankee, and in June of that year he visited Edison in his New Jersey laboratory. Edison later recalled that he “told a number of funny stories, some of which I recorded on the phonograph records. Unfortunately, these records were lost in the big fire which we had at this plant in 1914” (Edison to Cyril Clemens, 10 Jan 1927, photocopy in CU-MARK). In 1891 Clemens experimented with dictating The American Claimant, but was dissatisfied with the result and presumably discarded the four dozen cylinders he had filled (Library of Congress 2013; N&J3, 386–87 nn. 289, 292; MTHL , 2:637–42). In 1908–9 representatives of the Edison Manufacturing Company asked Clemens to make a recording for commercial distribution. Lyon noted his response on one of the letters: “This is a business matter. Very fond of Mr. Edison but do not want business mixed up with friendship” (note on Martin to Dyer, 10 Aug 1908, CU-MARK). In 1909, however, Clemens did allow the company to produce a moving picture version of The Prince and the Pauper (Plimpton to Ashcroft, 1 June 1909, CU-MARK). The film is not known to survive; it was probably lost in the 1914 fire. A moving picture of Clemens at Stormfield, made as part of the project, is now at the Mark Twain Home Foundation, in Hannibal, Missouri.
the wireless, and with the telephone] For Marconi’s development of wireless telegraphy see the Autobiographical Dictation of 18 October 1907, note at 172.30–32. Clemens discusses the attempts to market a “wireless telephone” in the Autobiographical Dictation of 27 March 1907. The most practical application of wireless technology was the radio, which Marconi patented in 1904. For the telephone see the note on that dictation at 17.15–17.
the Hoe press . . . compare that wee marvel with to-day’s press] Clemens recalls his 1854 visit to a Washington newspaper office, where he saw for the first time a rotary press, the invention of Richard M. Hoe (see 17 and 18 Feb 1854 to the Muscatine Journal, L1 , 40–44). In 1908, state-of-the-art newspaper presses, such as the Hoe Double Octuple Rotary Machine, could produce two hundred thousand copies per hour, cut and folded, of a two-sided eight-page paper.
the autochrome . . . the Lumière process] A complex color photography process invented, and patented in 1904 and 1906, by the brothers Auguste and Louis Lumière, who with their father, Antoine, had a famous photographic firm in Lyons, France (Jones 1912, 46–47, 344–45).
I was born in the same year that the lucifer match was born] Phosphorus friction matches, sometimes called “lucifer” matches, were patented in the United States in 1836, the year after Clemens’s birth ( HF 2003 , 393).
he wanted a picture of me for use as one of the illustrations . . . Margaret must be put into the picture with me] No article by the “amateur” has been found, and no copy of the color photograph is known to be extant. Lyon, however, took several photographs of Clemens with Margaret in the donkey cart (see the photographs following page 300).
Francesca and Dorothy . . . two other Dorothies besides—an American one and an English one] For Frances Nunnally see the Autobiographical Dictation of 25 July 1907 and the note at 74.15–21; for Dorothy Quick see the Autobiographical Dictation of 5 October 1907 and the note at 156.2–3. The American was Dorothy Harvey (1894–1937), the only child of George Harvey and his wife, Alma (Schmidt 2009). The English girl was Margaret Dorothy Butes: see the Autobiographical Dictation of 17 April 1908 and the note at 219.24–28.
Mark Twain, speech . . . Dorothy Quick] In her 1961 memoir of her friendship with Clemens, Quick confirmed his account of this incident, and included a text of the concert program that billed him as “Mark Twain (By courtesy of Miss Dorothy Quick).” She recalled that he explained his delegation of authority to her by saying: “You’re my business manager for this trip, anyway, and I’m strongly considering giving you the job for life.” At the concert, “He talked about the improvement of the conditions of the adult blind and repeated the story he had told in A Tramp Abroad of having been caught with a companion in Berlin in the dark for an hour or more, enlarging on his horror at not being able to see for even so short a time” (Quick 1961, 26–30). The episode in the dark is in chapter 13 of A Tramp Abroad, where it occurs in Heilbronn, not Berlin.
last September when Dorothy spent a week with us in Tuxedo] See the Autobiographical Dictation of 5 October 1907 and the note at 156.2–3.
Dorothy came last Saturday and stayed over Sunday] Lyon arranged this visit, Quick’s first to 21 Fifth Avenue, by telephone on Friday, 7 February 1908. On 8 February she noted in her journal: “Dorothy arrived today & the King was so impatient, pacing up & down the big rooms & going to the front door when ever the bell rang & standing there in his white clothes in an icy blast of wind.” After Dorothy’s departure two days later Lyon wrote, “All day the King has been playing with Dorothy, & when she left this afternoon, he went up stairs quite lonely, but tired too & so he slept” (Lyon 1908, entries for 7, 8, and 10 Feb). Quick made only a brief mention of this visit in her memoir (Quick 1961, 109).
a game of “500”] A popular card game combining features of euchre and bridge.
Dorothy Quick, continued . . . letter recently received from her] This portion of the dictation was added no earlier than 19 February. Quick dated her letter “Feb 18th 1908,” which Clemens canceled before Hobby transcribed it.
Miss Clara’s musical] See the Autobiographical Dictation of 19 February 1908 and the note at 210.8–9.
Source documents.
Quick to SLC MS letter, Dorothy Quick to SLC, 18 February 1908: ‘My Dear . . . Miss Lyon’ (209.8–21).TS1 Typescript, leaves numbered 2454–67, made from Hobby’s notes and Quick to SLC and revised; pages 2454–57 are a carbon copy (the ribbon copy is lost), pages 2458–67 are a ribbon copy.
TS1, as revised by Clemens, is the only authoritative source for the dictated portion of the text. It is made up of several leaves of a carbon copy and several of a ribbon copy. The dictation is in two sections, representing stints of two hours and one hour, respectively. For Quick’s letter, we follow her manuscript; the trivial variants that Hobby inadvertently introduced when transcribing the letter have not been reported.