MARK TWAIN’S
NOTEBOOK

PREPARED FOR PUBLICATION
WITH COMMENTS

BY

ALBERT BIGELOW PAINE

HARPER <2!?* BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
MCMXXXV

MARK TWAIN’S NOTHliOOK

Copyright, X93S> by The Mark Twain Company
Printed in the United States of Amor tea
All rights in this hook are reserved.

No part of the book may bo reproduced in any
manner whatsoever without written permission.
For information address
Harper & Brothers

SBCONI) K I) I T f C) N
t K

CONTENTS

Page

Foreword ix

Chapter

I. The River and the Mines i

II. The Sandwich Islands 9

III. Honolulu 15

IV. Honolulu to San Francisco 24

V. A Grim Voyage to New York 32

VI. Beginning a Literary Epoch 55

VII. Athens, Constantinople, Ephesus 69

VIII. Syria and the Holy Land 83

IX. Supplementary Holy Land Notes 102

X. Egypt and Home iii

XI. Notes, San Francisco to New York 118

XII. A Trip to Bermuda 123

XIII. Notes, Literary and Otherwise 129

XIV. Notes for a New Book 133

XV. America Again 158

XVI. Mississippi River, 1882 161

XVII. Notes, 1883 167

XVIII. The Grant Book 174

XIX. Turbulent Years 187

XX. Writing “The Yankee” 195

XXI. European Residence 215

v

CONTENTS

Chapter

XXII. The Way to the Coast
XXIII. Australia and New Zealand

XXIV. Ceylon and India

XXV. Leaving India

XXVI. In South Africa
XXVII. England
XXVIII. Susy
XXIX. London Days
XXX. On the Continent
XXXI. In Vienna
XXXII. England Again
XXXIII. Back in America
XXXIV. Italy Again
XXXV. Closing Years
Index

Page

244

354
269
282
292
304
3'4

330
339
37 '
374
3«3
39 1
403

ILLUSTRATIONS

Mark Twain Dictating, 1906;

21 Fifth Avenue, New York Frontispiece

Notebook Invented by Mark Twain Facing page 98

Examples of Mark Twain’s Notebook
Entries “ “ 256

Specimen Page of Mark Twain’s Notes “ “ 257

Vll

FOREWORD

A SUPERSTITION, nursed and nourished by a number
of persons—most of them too young to have known
Mark Twain, too perverse to accept the simple and the
obvious, is that because of restrictions laid upon him by
his wife, by W. D. Howells, and later by those to whose
care he trusted his manuscripts, he has not been permit¬
ted to have his say.

Now this is a good way from the truth. Mark Twain
had his say; as much as any author could have it, thirty,
forty, fifty years ago. When restricted at all it was chiefly
through his own expressed wish to observe the conven¬
tions and convictions of that more orthodox, more timid
and delicate (possibly more immaculate), day.

It is true, as I have elsewhere freely set down, that
Howells, and especially Mrs. Clemens, usually “edited”
his manuscripts, and it is also true that the manuscripts
profited, and never, I believe, suffered through their sug¬
gestions. His own taste was unreliable—as unreliable as
that of any genius: he was likely to mistake cheap banali¬
ties for choice bits of humor, llis advisers prevailed upon
him to eliminate, on occasion, and knowing this, a sus¬
picious minority, hankering for revelations, call for Mark
Twain, unsuppressed, unexpurgated, unedited. The re¬
sult of such a procedure would be rather dismal: the
eliminations would disturb nobody’s refined sensibilities:
they would do worse: they would sadden, disenchant,
and bore the reader. Some of those that got by his editors
might better have been spared.

Mark Twain never wrote for publication anything sa¬
lacious or suggestive or bordering on the indecent. He

ix

FOREWORD

never wrote anything suggestive at all. What he said was
straight from the shoulder. He had been a printer, a pilot,
a California miner. He had fed on strong meat, lie had a
robust imagination and a better command of Anglo-Saxon
English than any other man of his time, but when he u let
himself go,” as he did two or three times, it was for
strictly private consumption. The now famous “1601”
was written for the amusement of no other person than
the Reverend Joseph Twichcll, of Hartford. Twichell
sent it to John Hay, who had it put in type and a few
copies struck off. Other editions followed. Mark 'Twain's
statement that he once submitted it to an editor was
one of his jokes. He had not the least desire lo present
publicly anything of the sort. He had a kind of chivalry
which prevented his offering to the readers of another
family that which he would not wish offered to his own,
A speech which he delivered to the Stomach Club in
Paris, another of his excursions into the fojbidden land,
was never put into type and is not likely to be. A few
squibs and verses complete the tale of his tiam.gressions,
if that is the word.

The manuscripts printed by Mark Twain after his
wife's death —What Is Man and Captain Storm field's
Visit to Heaven —were neither very important nor veiy
offending to the orthodox mind, though they could have
been, say, twenty-five years earlier. The Mwterhms
Stranger , published by Mark Twain's literary executors—
his daughter and the writer of these lines.was not com¬

pleted in Mrs. Clemens' lifetime. That she would have
recognized its great literary value is certain, but it con¬
tained the sort of thing which in an earlier day she had
found objectionable.

A good while ago I wrote a biography of Made 'Twain,
In that book I drew briefly here and there upon the set
of journals, diaries, or commonplace books which through
a period of nearly fifty years he had kept ami, what is

x

FOREWORD

still more remarkable, preserved. These little books are
now offered in full. A man in his diary, if anywhere, can
have his say. He is talking to himself—his thought and
his language are strictly his own. Some of the things that
Mark Twain set down in that privacy were hardly suited
to the unadorned cheek of polite society in that purer
pre-war day. Now all is changed. How tolerant the world
has grown in a few years. A spade is no longer just a
garden implement: the utterance that twenty years ago
was regarded as too highly seasoned for the “general” has
become its daily nourriture.

In his journal, Mark Twain recorded in random phrase
and fashion whatever seemed to him worth noting. Those
expecting the salacious are likely to be disappointed.
Those hoping for furtive indecencies are certain to be. As
already suggested, Mark Twain was nothing if not frank,
and he was a master of Anglo-Saxon word and phrase.
He had little taste for the refinements of suggestion. In
the pages that follow he pauses here and there to free his
mind: politics, religion, the divine right of kings, person¬
alities, he has something to say of these. He is not always
consistent—only the dull-minded are that—inconsistency
being one of the chief attributes of gods. He doesn’t al¬
ways agree with the world as he finds it—its conventions
and its faiths—he doesn’t always agree with himself.
Tragedy, comedy, heresy—his notebooks make up the
record. The entries, whatever their interest, or lack of it
—are as he left them, and they bring us about as near as
we shall ever get to this remarkable man, easily the most
remarkable of his time.

Albert Bigelow Paine

xi

CHAPTER I

The River and the Mines

In one of the final chapters of The Innocents Abroad,
Mark Twain tells of a diary he once began with the new
year: “When I was a boy and a confiding and a willing
prey to those impossible schemes of reform which well-
meaning old maids and grandmothers set for the feet of
unwary youths at that season of the year. . . . Please ac¬
cept an extract:”

Monday —Got up, washed, went to bed.

Tuesday —Got up, washed, went to bed.

The diary continued this line through the week or at
least until Friday, then skipped to the next Friday, and
finally to the Friday of the following month. It seems to
have been abandoned then. He was discouraged, he says.
“Startling events appeared to be too rare, in my career,
to render a diary necessary. I still reflect with pride,
however, that even at that early age I washed when I got
up. That journal finished me. I never had the nerve to
keep one since.”

That final statement is true so far as any formal and
regular diary is concerned. Mark Twain never kept a con¬
sistent, orderly journal. He was not as prosaic as that.
But he was always making notes, capturing the moment
—the occurrence, the theme, the purpose, the fancy that
flitted through his mind: whatever came and went, if he
could get hold of a notebook and pencil quickly enough,
he fixed it to his page; when he couldn’t he forgot, and

I

MARK TWAIN

was profane. It is a long record, for it covers, intermit¬
tently, about forty years. The only thing uniform about
it is the form—the books he kept it in. There are between
thirty and forty of them, filled with his neat, beautiful
writing, smooth and graceful in the beginning, becoming
angular and uncertain with age. Except for the two little
black-bound river logs all are nearly of the same size and
style—books to fit the pocket—buff-leather-covered dur¬
ing the early years—limp morocco later, evidently made
to order, with a projecting ear or flange on each leaf, to
be tom off when used, so that he might always, and
quickly, find his place. This was his own idea, and my
recollection is that it was patented—he was always pat¬
enting things. Sometimes he lost a notebook, but for the
most part he preserved them. One wonders how he man¬
aged it—he had a gift for mislaying his belongings. 1

In writing Mark Twain—A Biography I made some
use of the little river notebooks, and quoted from his own
record the circumstance that led to their purchase. These
things are too important, however, to be ignored here.

1 He never really lost more than two or three of them. Two were
left by mistake at the Hotel Metropole, in Vienna, and turned up
nineteen years later, in a New York auction-room. Charles T. Lark,
attorney for the S. L. Clemens estate, saw the announcement, and
obtained a catalogue of the sale. In it the statement was made that
the books had been left behind when Mark Twain gave up his
apartment at the Metropole, in 1898. Visiting the auction-room,
Mr, Lark was shown the notebooks, with the information that a
private bid of fifteen thousand dollars had been received for one of
them. He also learned that the books were now claimed by a butler
on a Long Island estate, nephew of the former Metropole proprietor.

Mr. Lark promptly filed a claim for the two books, as property
of the S. L. Clemens estate and got out a writ of replevin for them.
They were seized by the sheriff just before the sale started. There
followed a good deal of parleying back and forth, the nephew’s
lawyer finally agreeing to compromise on payment to his client of
one thousand dollars, to which Mr. Lark assented, thus obtaining
the precious notebooks for their rightful owners.

2

NOTEBOOK

Those little books led the long procession that would
follow.

He had engaged himself to learn piloting—to familiarize
himself with twelve hundred miles of the Mississippi
River, “cub” of the great Horace Bixby. In Life on the
Mississippi he writes: “I entered upon the small enter¬
prise of learning 12 or 13 hundred miles of the great
Mississippi River with the easy confidence of my time of
life. If I had really known what I was about to require
of my faculties I should not have had the courage to
begin. I supposed that all a pilot had to do was to keep
his boat in the river and I did not consider that that
could be much of a trick, since it was so wide.”

A day or two later the easy confidence was all gone.
Bixby, asking him to repeat some of the instruction we
had furnished him, found that he could remember none
of it. His head was a mere jumble of “points” and “bends”
and “bars” and “crossings.”

“My boy,” said Mr. Bixby, “you must get a little
memorandum-book and every time I tell you a thing, put
it down, right away. There’s only one way to be a pilot
and that is to get this entire river by heart. You have to
know it just like A B C.”

He probably bought the little memorandum-book at
the next landing-place where such things were to be had
—at Cairo, most likely, for there his first entry appears to
have been made. He began with great diligence and en¬
thusiasm. The first three or four pages are crowded with
confused entries, microscopic lead-pencil abbreviations,
today all but illegible. Later his enthusiasm waned, or he
recognized the futility of such a confusion. He systema¬
tized his entries under blue pencil headings, and wrote
more legibly:

Delta to head 62 [small pencil sketch of steamboat with
the word “Bar,” and picture of same]. Coming up, when
all the Bar is covered there is % less 2 in chute of

3

MARK TWAIN

Montezuma. Shape Bar till head of towhead & main point
open—then hold open to right of high trees on towhead
till get close enough to go up shore of towhead. Channel
out past head of towhead.

Outside of Montezuma—use 6 or 8 feet more water.
Shape Bar till high timber on tow head gets nearly even
with low willows do. do. then hold a little open on right
of low willow—run ’em close if you want to, but come
out ioo yards when you get nearly to head of T. H.

It means nothing definite to us—it meant little
enough to him, a day after he had written it.

Yet he had to store that lesson and thousands
more like it safely away in his head and keep
them there. That a man of Mark Twain’s tem¬
perament and easy-going nature should have
persisted through all the months required to con¬
quer that great, mysterious, eternally changing
river is one of the wonders of human achieve¬
ment.

The next book bears date of i860—four years
later, when he had been for more than two years
a full-fledged pilot, with all the intricate knowl¬
edge which that fact connotes assembled in or¬
derly arrangement in his unaccountable mind.

It is not a lesson that he gives us now, but a
record of fact—the story of a day or a night.

Of a night he writes:

4 to 6 feet bank on point below foot of Buck. Could have

run Buck Island to tow head. Night—didn’t.

4 & 5 ft. bank up shore opp. Dark Corner.

Had less 3 in foot of Cat I, tow-head. . . .

Hove lead at head of 55—no bottom—ran no channel in

4

NOTEBOOK

it. 8 ft. bank on point opp. Densford’s—or rather up
shore at head of timber. ...

Fall’s City came up behind us. Ran Bayou Goule—no
lead. Had 3 fathoms in Glasscock’s—ran no channel—
ran Diamond chute. When any water at all in lower
chute, below Diamond good.

All of which has but little interest today, but
when one remembers the scene amid which these
cryptographic memoranda were made, the rush¬
ing black river, the blind channels behind
islands, often half choked with logs and un¬
certain of passage (yet one must chance them)
the lonely pilot-house with its single watcher on
whom the fate of the steamboat with its cargo
of human lives and merchandise depended, there
is a kind of tense fascination in the brief, terse,
entries.

Mark Twain left the river a year after that
last entry was made, and after a brief, unbrilliant
war experience found himself in Virginia City,
Nevada, a reporter on the Territorial Enter¬
prise , the paper owned by Joseph T. Goodman.
Probably it was here that he formed the habit
of keeping regular notebooks, though the first to
be preserved does not begin until the end of
1864, when he had followed his Virginia City
experience with some months of newspaper work
in San Francisco, and following some complica¬
tions there, had retired to the remoteness of
James Gillis’s cabin on Jackass Hill near Tuttle-
town, California. This was at the end of the
year, and on New-Year’s night he makes this
entry.

New Year’s nieht i86<;, at Vallecito, magnificent lunar

5

MARK TWAIN

rainbow—first appearing at 8 P. M.—moon at first quar¬
ter—very light drizzling rain.

It was about this time that he went to Angel’s
Camp, to follow pocket mining. It was not cold in
January, but it rained a great deal which made
mining difficult. The hotel at Angel’s Camp was
not much more inviting. The food was unsatis¬
factory.

Beans and coffee only for breakfast and dinner every
day at the French Restaurant at Angels—bad, weak
coffee. J. [Jim Gillis] told waiter he must have made a
mistake—he asked for “cafe ”—this was day-before-yes¬
terday’s dish-water.

Narrow escape, Jan. 25, 1865. Dark rainy night—
walked to extreme edge of a cut in solid rock 30 ft. deep
and while standing upon the verge for half a dozen sec¬
onds, meditating whether to proceed or not, heard a
stream of water falling into the cut, and then my eyes
becoming more accustomed to the darkness saw that if
the last step taken had been a handbreadth longer I must
have plunged into it.

January 23, 1865, Angels. Rainy, stormy, beans and
dish-water, for breakfast at the Frenchman’s; dish-water
and beans for dinner, and both articles warmed over for
supper.

24th. Rained all day—meals as before.

25th. Same as above.

26th. Rain, beans and dish-water—beefsteak for a
change—no use, couldn’t bite it.

27th. Same old diet—same old weather—went out to
the “pocket” claim, had to rush back.

28th. Rain and wind all day and all night. Chili-beans
and dish-water three times today as usual and some kind
of “slum” which the Frenchman called “hash.” Hash be
damned!

6

NOTEBOOK

29th. The old, old thing. We shall have to stand the
weather, but as J. says we won't stand the dish-water and
beans any longer, by God.

30th. Jan.—moved to the new hotel, just opened—good
fare and coffee that a Christian may drink without jeop¬
ardizing his eternal soul. Dick Stoker came over today
from Tuttletown, Tuolumne Co.

It was just at this time at Angel’s Camp that
Mark Twain heard the story of the jumping
frog and missed a big pocket of gold. The pocket
mentioned the 27th. This incident has been re¬
lated elsewhere 1 but the memorandum which
became the basis of the frog story belongs here.

Coleman with his jumping frog—bet a stranger $50.—
Stranger had no frog and C. got him one:—In the mean¬
time stranger filled C’s frog full of shot and he couldn’t
jump. The stranger’s frog won.

Across this pencil note he added later, in ink:

Wrote this story for Artemus [Ward]—his idiot pub¬
lisher Carleton, gave it to Clapp’s Saturday Press.

There is also in this book a memorandum of
a story written many years later, “The Cali¬
fornian’s Tale.” The note reads:

Baden, crazy, asking after his wife who had been dead
13 years—first knowledge of his being deranged.

Feb. 3. Dined at the Frenchman’s in order to let Dick
see how he does things. Had “Hell-fire” soup and the old
regular beans and dish-water. The Frenchman has 4
kinds of soup which he furnishes to customers only on
great occasions. They are popularly known among the
boarders as “Hell-fire,” “General Debility,” “Insanity”

1 Mark Twain—A Biography, pp. 272-273.

7

MARK TWAIN

and “Sudden Death,” but it is not possible to describe

them. . . , , , ,

Feb. 6. Man in San Francisco jumped lot and built

house on it; propped on low pins. Hogs used to congre¬
gate under it and grunt all night. Man bored holes in the
floor and his wife poured hot water through—hogs strug¬
gling to get out hauled the house down the hill on their
backs and the lot was rejumped by its proper owner early
in the morning.

Feb. 25, 1865. Left Angels with Jim and Dick and
walked over the mountain to Jack-ass in a snowstorm, the
first I ever saw in California. The view from the moun¬
tain tops was beautiful.

8

CHAPTER-II

The Sandwich Islands

It was about this time that a new passenger
steamer, the Ajax, built for the San Francisco-
Sandwich Island trade, made its initial trip.
Mark Twain was invited to go, as guest of the
line, but, because of the daily letter which he
contributed to his old paper, the Enterprise , of
Virginia City, declined. By the time the Ajax
was ready to sail again lie had arranged to go
on it, as special correspondent for the Union , of
Sacramento, “to ransack the islands, the cata¬
racts and volcanoes completely, and write twenty
or thirty letters,” as he joyously announced in a
letter to his mother, then in St. Louis. He began
a new notebook and wrote in it:

From San Francisco to the Hawaiian Islands
per Steamer Ajax, Nov. 7th 1866.

At sea, Mar. 9,

Just read letters from home which should have been
read before leaving San Francisco. Accounts of oil on the
Tenn. land, and that brother of mine [Orion Clemens]
with his eternal cant about law and religion getting ready,
in his slow stupid way, to go to Excelsior instead of
the States; he sent me some prayers as usual.

Mar. 10. We are making about 200 miles a day. Got
some sail on, yesterday morning, for first time, and in
afternoon crowded everything on. Sea gulls chase, but no
catch.

9

MARK TWAIN

Three or four of the seasick passengers came to lunch
at noon and several of the ladies are able to dress and
sit up. Capt. reports 325 miles made in past 24 hours.

Found an old acquaintance today; never been any¬
where yet that I didn’t find an acquaintance.

Nearly everybody out to breakfast this morning; there’s
not more than half dozen sick now.

He began to pick up some information con¬
cerning the Islands.

S. Islanders never intended to work. Worse ofl* now
with all the religions than ever before. Dying off fast.
First white landed there was a curse to them.

Whalers like Kanakas better than any other sailors—
temperate, strong, faithful, peaceable and orderly.

King always refused to sign constitution—lie altered
one clause of it from universal suffrage to property quali¬
fication, and when they tried to force him and threatened
the straits would run blood he bade them good morning,
and conference was ended.

House of Nobles appointed by King, and Lower House
elective. Under universal suffrage missionaries used to
vote their flocks for certain man and then sit at home and
control him. One member (missionary’s son) said out
loud in open House he controlled n votes (a majority) in
the House.

King not married, well educated and a gentleman. Has
a father and sister living, and will appoint successor.

Country will eventually pass into hands of foreigners,
probably French.

nth. Fine day, good N.E. breeze. Fore spencer—fore
topsail—fore to’-gallant sail—lower stu’nsail and fore-top
stun’sail—jib and flying jib—main spencer—gaff top-sail
—all canvas set.

But it was just at this point that he lost his
10

NOTEBOOK

notebook. We know that this is so, for he began
another, setting down whatever he could re¬
member of the vanished record. It requires no
gift to imagine him clawing over his stateroom,
looking for the missing memoranda, swearing
fervently meanwhile—settling down at last to a
grim acceptance of his loss, scowling and fuming
as with more or less success he recalled his orig¬
inal entries. A memory of the weather and sea¬
sickness was about all that remained. Very likely
he suspected that his notes had been appropri¬
ated, for in the new book he writes on the inner
cover, in a bold defiant hand MARK TWAIN.

12th. Monday. Very rough and rainy all forenoon—
foresail shredded last night.

Rough weather on this route 7 to 8 months of year—
Spring, Fall and Winter—Other 4 months beautiful
weather.

Grown white men and women, handsome and well edu¬
cated born in Hawaii.

Lauai has Mormon establishment—claim 5000 converts
—King won’t let them practice polygamy, though.

Missionary denominations are four—American, Epis¬
copalian, Catholic and Mormon.

He was a long way from the islands, yet, but
was in daily association with a passenger named
Brown, who made his home there. There is no
mention in the diary of “the Old Admiral” a
retired whaleman—a “roaring terrific combina¬
tion of wind and lightning and thunder,” de¬
scribed in the Sandwich Island chapters of
Roughing It, so we may assume that he was a
figment of Mark Twain’s rough and ready—his
roughest and readiest—imagination, but in the
quiet passenger “Williams,” who routed the Ad-
11

MARK TWAIN

miral in argument, destroyed him with his own
guns, it is easy to recognize Brown.

We can imagine him sitting with Brown
through long afternoons, smoking and drowsily
talking, looking out over stretches of sea that be¬
come more inviting and mysterious as the storms
of the northern latitudes are left behind. The
captain and others would join them, no doubt.
Mark Twain was a name already well known
along the Pacific slope, and known or not, his
personality was a magnet that never failed to
attract company. As the notes continue it is easy
to see that he was falling in love with Hawaii a
good while before he reached it.

Hawaiians indolent and no tenacity of life—no vitality.
On the least possible excuse will lie down and die.

Tremendous solitudes of the Pacific—a lonely sea—
no land in sight for io days, and never a solitary ship in
sight.

He seems to have begun to make maxims
about this time, a habit that would grow on him
in later years.

Never refuse to do a kindness unless the act would
work great injury to yourself, and never refuse to take
a drink—under any circumstances.

Rise early. It is the early bird that catches the worm.
Don’t be fooled by this absurd saw; I once knew a man
who tried it. He got up at sunrise and a horse bit him.

But the rough weather was not all gone.

March 12, Monday. Roughest night of the voyage, last
night—ship rolled heavily. Still rougher this morning till
11 o’clock when course was altered to west, which eased

12

NOTEBOOK

her up considerably. Settee fetched away at breakfast and
precipitated four heavy men on their backs.

Next day old travelers were telling yarns of
the force of the water, one or two of which he
sets down. Then adds, on his own account.

Water taken in moderation cannot hurt anybody.

Mar. 13, Tuesday. Very rough again all night—had
head winds and had to take in all sails—made poor run
-.-weather fine this morning, but still head winds and
there being not a rag of canvas on to steady the ship she
rolls disagreeably, though the sea is not rough.

14th,- Wednesday. Good weather. I have suffered from
something like mumps for past 2 days.

15th, Thursday. Dress by the latitude and longitude
—Capt. and chief eng. came out in full summer rig today
because by the sextant we are in lat. 26 though the
weather doesn’t justify.

15th, Thursday. Mumps—mumps—mumps—it was so
decided today—a damned disease that children have. I
suppose I am to take a new disease to the Islands and
depopulate them, as all white men have done, heretofore.

In Honolulu you can treat a Kanaka as much as you
please, but he cannot treat you. No one is allowed to sell
liquor to the natives and an infraction of this law is visited
with a heavy penalty. It is evaded by using back doors,
as is the custom in civilized countries.

It is not lawful to hire out a horse or vehicle on Sun¬
day —all such preparations must be made the day before.
This and the liquor law show where Hawaii’s system of
laws originated (with missionaries) and how firm they
hold and how powerful a supremacy these people have
gained by their 46 years of breeding and training voters,
and clannish law-makers, among their own ever increas¬
ing descendants.

16th March, Friday. They say we shall be in sight of

13

MARK TWAIN

land tomorrow, at noon. Good weather and a smooth sea
for the past two days. Dennis the hog was killed yester¬
day and served up for breakfast this morning.

The water begins to taste of the casks.

Brown’s boots are all one-sided with bracing to the
lurching of the ship, and his nose is skinned. Thinks he
will have cause of action against the company yet. Pas¬
sengers all venir pour me voir.

160 miles from Honolulu at noon.

He steadily picks up statistics about the Island
which would be useful in his articles later; also
some political and social phases of the life there.

King strongly favors English, on account of attention
shown him in England and the reverse shown him in the
U. S. (Virginia planter said wouldn’t sit at table with a
nigger) and favors all foreigners much more than Ameri¬
cans—so, Americans are at a discount in Honolulu, and
possess small influence—on which account, and to curry
favor, no foreigner will buy anything of an American
which he can get of an Englishman. All money in hands
of foreigners circulates among foreigners, pretty exclu¬
sively, and on the other hand Americans who have any
spirit retaliate by dealing with Americans, pretty exclu¬
sively. The American Hotel is kept by a Dutchman. Ten
Americans there to one foreigner, but the influence plays
the devil, nevertheless. All English men-of-war foster this
partiality of the King by flattering him and showing him
royal honors and attention.

14

CHAPTER III

Honolulu

Arrived at noon Sunday—fired gun—19 days and 6
hrs. out—Could have got in last night, just after dark.

Channel very narrow but straight—well buoyed—not
wide enough for 2 ships at once—hardly. Custom House
boat came off with flag.

McIntyre, pilot, old burly, gray-headed scout.

King sat in 2-horse buggy alone on wharf—big whisk¬
ers—old leather complexion—broad gold band on plug
hat—band of gold around lapels of coat. No —King’s
driver—speculation wrong.

Crowd 4 or 500.

Sunday’s stillness—natives sitting in shade of houses on
the ground.

People here smoke Manila cigars and drink everything.

Long street, darkest in the world, down to the Esplanade
—width 3 buggies abreast—couldn’t get out of it, and so
found my way.

Found Rev. Mr. Rising there. [An old San Francisco
friend.]

Hotels gouge Californians—charge sailing passengers
$8 a week for board, but steamer passengers ten.

Charley Richards keeps a tremendous spider and two
lizards for pets. I would like to sleep with him if he .would
get a couple of snakes or so.

Honolulu hospitality. Richards said: “Come in—sit
down—take off your coat and boots—take a drink. Here
is a pass-key to the liquor and cigar cupboard—put it in

*5

MARK TWAIN

your pocket—” 2 doors to his house—stand wide open
night and day from Jan. till Jan.—no locks on them—
march in whenever you feel like it—take as many drinks
and cigars as you want and make yourself at home.

13 letters in Hawaiian alphabet—each a distinct sound
—3 vowels together sometimes, but each an independent
sound—no trouble to learn to pronounce. Have a large
lexicon and a small phrase book.

King sitting on barrel on wharf fishing.

King showed Asa Nudd greater attention than he ever
showed foreign civilian before—in return for his hospi¬
tality in California.

Couldn’t understand the bear-skin mats on floors—
whalers bring them.

French got possession of the Society [Islands] and
more recently the Marquesas, by means of Romish clergy.
They sent priests here—King said his people had been
rescued from idolatry—wouldn’t have any more of it—
sent them away. Man-of-war brought another priest, dis¬
guised as merchant—found out—ordered away—ships
threatened to burn the town—allowed to remain under
protest—ship brought back the banished priests from
Mexico—one is now bishop here and lives in palace. We
all know how France would regard treaty if she could
once get possession.

Mark Twain immediately fell in love with
Hawaii and remained in love with it his life long.

It becomes evident in his notes.

“No careworn or eager, anxious faces in the land of
happy contentment—God, what a contrast with Cali¬
fornia and Washoe. Everybody walks at a moderate gait
but, to speak strictly, they mostly ride.

“O, islands there are on the face of the deep,

Where the leaves never fade and the skies never weep.”

NOTEBOOK

In Roughing It he says:

In place of the grand mud-colored brown fronts of San Fran¬
cisco, I saw dwellings built of straw, adobes, and cream-colored
pebble-and-shell-conglomerated coral, cut into oblong blocks and
laid in cement; also a great number of neat white cottages, with
green window-shutters; in place of front yards like billiard-
tables with iron fences around them, I saw these homes sur¬
rounded by ample yards, thickly clad with green grass, and
shaded by tall trees, through whose dense foliage the sun could
scarcely penetrate; in place of the customary geranium, calla lily,
&c., languishing in dust and general debility, I saw luxurious
banks and thickets of flowers, as fresh as a meadow after a rain,
glowing with the richest dyes; ... in place of the Golden
City’s skirting sandhills and placid bay, I saw on the one side a
framework of tall precipitous mountains close at hand, clad in
refreshing green, and cleft by deep, cool chasm-like valleys; and
in front the grand sweep of the ocean: a brilliant, transparent
green near the shore, bound and bordered by a long white line
of foamy spray dashing along the reef, and farther out the dead
blue water of the deep sea, flecked with white-caps, and in the
far horizon a single lonely sail—a mere accent mark to empha¬
size a slumberous calm and a solitude that were without sound or
limit. When the sunk sank down—the one intruder from other
realms and persistent in suggestions of them—it was tranced
luxury to sit in the perfumed air and forget that there was any
world but these enchanted islands.

Went home with Mr. Damon, to his cool, vine-shaded
home —you bet.

This house and chapel where he preaches were built by
Seamen’s Friends Society of New York 1833—Rev. John
Diell here till ’40—died of consumption on way home, off
Cape Horn, ’41. Damon arrived Fall of ’42, been here
ever since, except visit home, of a year, and to California
in ’49. He and Gwynn made their debut in California at
the same time and both officiated at 4th of July in Sacra-

17

MARK TWAIN

mento that year—he made prayer and G. spoke while
they were cutting down trees to build the town—only half
a dozen houses then. He preached first sermon ever
preached in Stockton—“Whatsoever a man sowctli that
shall he also reap.” A man cleared out his bar for him—
only 2 houses there. One of them Weber's—balance tents.

A Mrs. McFarlanc tells him some marvelous
things of her residence in the Islands:

Mrs. McFarlanc: “Volcanoes on Toahi—30 miles from
the house—eruption began slowly at dusk—at 4 A.M.
was shooting rocks and lava 400 ft. high which would
then descend in a grand shower of fire to the earth—
crater overflowed and molten waves and billows went
boiling and surging down mountain side, just for the
world like the sea—stream from l />- to mile-and-a-half
wide and hundreds of feet deep, perhaps. Over cattle-
houses and across streams to the sea 63 miles distant (7
years ago) ran into sea 3 miles and boiled the fish for 20
miles around—vessels found scores of boiled fish 20 miles
out—natives cooked their food there. Every evening for
7 weeks sat on the veranda half the night, gazing upon
the splendid spectacle—the wonderful pyrotechnic display.
The house windows were always of a bloody hue. Read
newspapers every night by no other light than was af¬
forded by this mighty torch, 30 miles away. Crowds of
visitors came from the other islands.”

Present King is penetrating—sound judgment—dignity
—accomplished—has good sense and courage and decision
—became acquainted with business by long acquaintance¬
ship as Minister of Interior. Prince Bill is very able man
and accomplished gentleman—they have always been a
wonderful family and the ablest in the land.

Sea Island cotton picked every day in the year—stalks
cut off every Jan.—no frost—sure crop, worth #1 a pound

18

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n Liverpool or Havre—worth any price—adulterate silk
£oods with it. 1000 acres this land in bend of head of this
sland worth $2 to $20 an acre. Raised 30000 lbs. last
fear—will raise 50000 this. All that is needed is labor—
ndustry—natives won’t pick it every day—lazy and shift-
ess.

Girls here have good home faces.

Found the purser looking at naked women fishing,
:hrough spyglass.

He became too busy, apparently, to make
elaborate notes; 1 or 2 lines was the best he
could do. Just a word, or a line, trusting to God
and his memory when the time came to write
about it.

Boys and girls in swimming.

Eating raw fish and poi.

Hoola hoola dance.

Heated term.

$65 income entitles to vote.

Old battleground.

The Salt Lake.

Fish ponds.

Coral reefs.

Another old battleground.

It is a modernistic poem.

Evidences of remote antiquity.

Fondness for tobacco but not whiskey—laws against it.
Church law against smoking.

And Sharon waves in silent praise
Her sacred groves of palms.

Wailing for the sick.

Hawaii a half-way house on the Pacific highway.
Natives pay to get their poetry printed.

19

MARK TWAIN

Heated term but there arc few flics in my room or
hotel.

Mosquitoes. 2 kinds—day and night.

Have to take out a license (#10) to have the Hula
Hula dance performed, and then if the girls dress for it in
the usual manner—that is, with no clothing worth men¬
tioning—it must be conducted in strict privacy.

A larkspur planted alongside any shrub here will pro¬
tect the same from the prevailing blight.

The King ought to be grateful to the missionaries be¬
cause during all the years that the English and French
were making trouble and creating complications and try¬
ing to get an excuse to seize the islands the wise councils
of these men saved ICamchamehas II, III, and perhaps
V from making any false step.

Mrs. McFarlane thought I was drunk because I talked
so long.

No word to express gratitude—can but lamely express
virtue of any kind—prolific in epithets to express every
degree of and shade of vice and crime. No word to ex¬
press farewell or good-bye.

Wail for joy and for sorrow with the same noise.

Wash clothes well, but beat them all to pieces.

Takes one a good while to cramp and crowd and screw
and diminish himself down to a conception of the small¬
ness of this island—this kingdom. One rides 6 or 8 miles
in any direction and here is the ocean bursting upon his
view—seems as if he never will get the damned island
trimmed down as small as it really is.

Soft voice of native girls—liquid, free, joyous laughter.

Kanakas will have horses and saddles and the women
will fornicate—two strong characteristics of this people.

He seems to have been attacked by the general
indolence of the islands, a condition which they
call there the “boo-hoo” fever. He defines it:

20

NOTEBOOK

Boohoo—feebleness, lassitude, indifference, no appe¬
tite, slight nausea, head and neck-ache, achy all over. [It
sounds like malaria.]

Kammy’s bones hidden at his own request to keep
them from making fish hooks of them—a superstition that
hooks made of bones of a great chief would concentrate
the fish.

Singing of natives very rich and soft—has no sound of
S in it.

Well enough for old folks to rise early, because they
have done so many mean things all their lives they can’t
sleep anyhow.

No native beggars.

More missionaries and more row made about saving
these 60000 people than would take to convert hell itself.

Americans have given religious freedom, education,
written language and Bible—England and France have
given insults.

Here he finds the lost notebook and starts in
anew.

July 3, 1866. Saw star tonight on which counted 12
distinct and flaming points—very large star—shone with
such a pure, rich, diamond lustre—lustrous on a field of
dead solid black—no stars very close—where I sat saw
no other. Moonlight here is fine but nowhere so fine as
Washoe.

All stars shine pure and bright here.

July 4, 1866, Honolulu. Went to ball 8:30 P.M.—
danced till 12:30—went home with M.C.—stopped at
Gen. Van Valkenbergh’s room and talked with him and
Mr. Burlingame, Col. Rumsey and Ed. Burlingame, until
3 A.M.

That is to say, Anson Burlingame, Minister to
China, General Van Valkenburg, Minister to
21

MARK TWAIN

Japan, Colonel Rumsey, attache and Edward L.
Burlingame, later for many years editor of Scrib¬
ner’s Magazine , then a charming boy of eighteen.
Anson Burlingame definitely influenced Mark
Twain’s future. His example, and his advice to
associate with persons of superior intellect were
timed to the exact moment when they would do
the most good. But the story of all this has been
told elsewhere. 1

Brown calls his horse Halcakala—extinct volcano, be¬
cause if ever been any fire in him all gone out before he
came across him.

If a man ask thee to go with him a mile, go with him,
Twain—(Honolulu joke by Kd. Burlingame).

Which entry refers to a morning when young
Burlingame called and proposed a walk. When
Mark Twain objected the young man declared
there was a Scriptural command covering the
case. Clemens answered that if he could quote
one he’d obey it, which the other promptly did,
as above. This joke, often attributed to other
sources, had its origin here.

D’n Kanakas ride along with you—walk when you
walk, gallop when you gallop—trot when you trot—
never say a word—perfect shadows.

If you cut a shark in two you die—a man who was to
fish on shares had to cut a shark in 2—said that 20 years
ago he would have been afraid—would have died—now
believes in “hoola” doctrine. Still he got a little sick, and
all the natives came and said: It’s because you cut the
shark? At last he said it was , and died.

“Honolulu, July 18, ’66. I got my passport from the
Royal damned Hawaiian collector of customs and paid a

1 Mark Twain—a Biography , chapter LIIT, pp. 2#5-288.

22

NOTEBOOK

dollar for it, and tomorrow we sail for America in good
ship Smyrniote ; we love it, Master,—and I have got a
devilish saddle boil to sit on for the first 2 weeks at sea.”

The Smyrniote was a sailing-vessel altogether
at the mercy of the winds. M. T. had been in
the Islands exactly four months, an experience
that all his life he loved to remember and
hoped to repeat.

All small villages are gossipy, but Honolulu heads them
a little. They let me off comparatively easy, though I
don’t thank them for it because it argues that I wasn’t
worth the trouble of blackguarding. They only accused
me of murder, arson, highway robbery and some other
little eccentricities, but I knew nothing of it till the day
I started. The missionary (I should say preacher) feature
of insincerity and hypocrisy makes the atmosphere of the
place.

A woman who keeps a dog won’t do, as a general
thing.

2 3

CHAPTER IV

Honolulu to San Francisco

Honolulu, July 19, 1866; the Comet, with Howard
and Mrs. Spencer and Nellie and Katie on board, left at
2 P.M. with a great firing of cannon and went to wind¬
ward (unusual)—we left peaceably in the Smyrniote at
4:30 P.M. (Comet out of sight) and went in same direc¬
tion. Now we shall see who beats to San Francisco.

Made no miles up to noon of Friday 20th, but were
then only 10 miles from Oahu, having gone dear around
the island.

On 21st made 179 miles.

Tuesday, July 24, had calm several times. Are we never
to make any longitude, the Trades arc weakening—it is
time we struck the China winds about midnight—say
in lat. 36.

Wednesday, 25th, 3 P.M. We are abreast of San Fran¬
cisco, but 1700 miles at sea. When will the wind change.

25th July, lat. 29 N. I was genuinely glad this evening
to welcome the first twilight I have seen in 6 years. No
twilight in the Islands, California or Washoe.

Minister to ship captain who is complaining of desert¬
ing sailors: “Don’t swear captain, that won’t mend the
matter.” Captain: “Brother Damon, it’s all very well for
you to say, don’t swear, and it’s all right too—I don’t say
anything against it—-but don’t you know that if you
should ship a crew of sailors for Heaven and were to stop
at Hell 2)4 hrs. for provisions, some damned son-of-a-
gun would run away.”

24

NOTEBOOK

Friday, 27. “Caught 2 goneys.—They are all the same
size—they measure 7 ft- 1 in. from tip to tip of wings—
They made a wooden clog fast to one and let him go—
a pitiful advantage for ‘Godlike’ man to take of a helpless
bird. The bird looked reproachfully upon them with his
great human eyes while they did him this wrong.”

Across the years one’s heart aches for that
tortured bird.

King of S. I. is a heathen—an old sorceress has him
under her thumb—picks out the fish he may eat—tells
him in what house he may sleep, etc., accompanies him
in all his excursions. He was educated in a Christian
school but has never submitted himself to Christianity—
discovered his predilection for heathenism in youth.

The next entry refers to the great marine dis¬
aster, the burning of the ship Hornet “on the
line” early in May of that year. Fifteen sur¬
vivors in an open boat had managed to reach
Hawaii, and Mark Twain, ill at the moment,
with the assistance of Anson Burlingame and
party, had interviewed them, written his report
carrying the first news of the disaster to the out¬
side world—there being in that day no cable. It
was a great news-beat. Later he turned it into an
article “Forty-three Days in an Open Boat”
for Harper’s Magazine . Rewritten, it appears to¬
day in his collected works under the title of
“My Debut as a Literary Person.”

In a single voyage they grew old—in a mariner’s stormy
experience. In this little voyage of 7 months of these 2
fresh young college students, were crowded the sorrows,
the bitter hardships and the thrilling adventures of a
whole long lifetime before the mast.

25

MARK TWAIN

Samuel Ferguson is about 28, a graduate of Trinity
College, Hartford. B. Henry is 18—a student of same col¬
lege—Capt. says the boys were good grit—Henry's under¬
lip never quivered but once and that was when he was
told that there was hardly the shadow of a chance for
their rescue, and then the feeling he showed was chiefly
at the thought that he was never to sec his college mates
any more.

Think of this prayer uttered in an open boat, before
uncovered famishing men, in the midst of the Pacific
Ocean and in the midst of the sea lashed to fury by the
anger of a storm:

“ 0 , most powerful and glorious Lord God, at whose
command the winds blow and lift up the waves of the
sea and who stillest the rage thereof; we thy creatures,
but miserable sinners, do in this hour of our great dis¬
tress cry unto Thee for help. Save, Lord, or we perish.”

5 o’clock, evening before they made land, most mag¬
nificent rainbow they ever saw, and spanned the widest
space. Capt. sang out “Saved! there is the bow of prom¬
ise, boys!” When such a thing is seen at sea it is nearly
always accompanied by the signs of coming squalls and
tempests, but in this instance the sky was marvelously
clear and entirely free from such signs.

Conversation between the carpenters of Noah’s Ark,
laughing at him for an old visionary.

While most men have a manner of speaking peculiar
to themselves no arbitrary system of punctuation can
apply. Every man should know best how to punctuate
his own manuscript.

Monday, July 30. This is the fifth day of dead, almost
motionless, calm—a man can walk a crack on the deck
the ship lies so still. I enjoy it and believe all hands do,

26

NOTEBOOK

except the baby. I write 2 hrs. a day and loaf the balance.
At this rate it will take me a good while to finish Fergu¬
son’s log.

I don’t think much of Hawaiian royalty. Years ago
when the late King and the present King were only
Princes—youths—they traveled in U. S. with the premier
of the kingdom, Dr. Judd, an American. On one occa¬
sion, on board a southern steamer they did not go in
to dinner as soon as the bell rang, and then there was
no room for them. They were offended. The captain,
however, as soon as he knew their national character,
had a table set in a private room for himself and the
three and entertained them in a manner befitting their
high rank. That is Dr. Judd’s story, and no doubt the
true one. Other accounts say they went in to dinner,
but observing their black faces, and uninformed of their
rank, the steward enforced the rule of the boat excluding
colored persons from the cabin table. They were naturally
incensed and all that could afterwards be done failed to
wipe from their minds the memory of the affront. Yet, at
its worst, it was one which was offered to them as un¬
known and merely private individuals, and being entirely
unofficial could not affect them as Princes or their coun¬
try through them, and should have been so received and
so valued. The men only were insulted, not the Princes,
and thus their country was no more insulted than if the
affront had been offered to the commonest Kanaka in the
realm. The King has never forgotten or forgiven that
trifling stab at his little vanity.

But Great Britain officially seized the Islands in 1843,
abused, humiliated and insulted their King, K. Ill in a
bullying and overbearing manner. Threatened the de¬
struction of the little helpless capital town when it was
utterly at the mercy of his heavy guns; and finally forced

27

MARK TWAIN

the acceptance of terms of so degrading a nature that in
the hearts of the spirited people the memory of them
would rankle till the end of time. K. V has been caressed
and flattered by British men-of-warsmen and so he has
forgiven that deadly insult and fawns upon the nation
that gave it.

So also with his dear friends the French, who treated
his ancestor K. Ill like a dog—who, through their ad¬
miral, marched gallantly upon his thoroughly harmless
and entirely ornamental fort, and, unresisted, demolished
it and spiked its guns—and then made the poor King
sign an agreement the nature of which may best be
expressed by saying that through it, metaphorically,
the French nation spit in the face of Hawaii. But
dusky Queen Emma had been flattered and feted at
the French court and lo, K. V is mollified and the atro¬
cious acts of the admiral arc forgotten. This is Hawaiian
royalty.

Missionaries have made honest men out of the nation
of thieves; instituted marriage; created homes; lifted
woman to same rights and privileges enjoyed elsewhere;
abolished infanticide; abolished intemperance; diminished
licentiousness; given equal laws, whereby chiefs power
of life and death over his subjects is taken away; in a
great measure abolished idolatry; have well educated the
people.

Capt. says sailors (of the Hornet) like great stupid
children hadn’t been an hour ashore till they were
growling about the grub and smuggling great slabs of
pork through natives to add to their rations of tea and
biscuit. One man nearly killed himself first day, eating
fruit—came near dying that night. Cox sat beside Capt.
on shore and was eating a cocoanut—Capt. confiscated
it and threw it away—Cox thought it hard treatment of
a poor devil who had been starving 43 days.

28

NOTEBOOK

Sparkling and Bright

Floating away like a fountain spray
O’er the snow-white bloom of a maiden,

The smoke-wreaths rise to the scarlet skies
With blissful fragrance laden.

Then smoke away till golden ray

Lights o’er the dawn of the morrow

For a cheerful cigar like a shield will bar

The heart from care and sorrow.

Aug. 3. The calm continues—magnificent weather. Men
all turned boys. Play boyish games on the poop and
quarter-deck. Lay small object on fife-rail of mainmast—
shut one eye, walk 3 steps and strike at it with forefinger.
Lay small object on deck, walk 7 steps blindfold and try
to find it. Kneel, elbows against knees, hands extended
along deck—place object against ends of fingers then
clasp hands behind back and try to pick it up with
teeth, and rise up from knees.

Sunday, Aug. 5, 1866. Everybody cheerful—at day¬
light saw the Comet on our lee—it is pleasant in this
tremendous solitude to have company.

Aug. 13. San Francisco. Home again. No not home
again—in prison again and all the wide sense of freedom
gone. The city seems so cramped and so dreary with toil
and care and business anxiety. God help me, I wish I
were at sea again.

D’n it—when you go to sea, take some cans of con¬
densed milk with you.

I never was cheerfully and cordially received but at
3 or 4 places on the Islands. I think they must have heard
of me before—and yet in nearly every case I was treated
with such kind and considerate politeness that I seldom

29

MARK TWAIN

had cause to feel uncomfortable. Most Americans who
have lived any considerable time there all seem to have
lost whatever of impulsiveness, frank openness and
warmth of feeling they may have possessed before, and
become calculating, suspicious, reserved, cold and dis¬
tant. They have cased themselves in a shell—don’t be¬
lieve they would welcome anybody and if by chance
they are betrayed into coming out of it and displaying
their old-time vivacity and naturalness for an hour they
will draw into it again as soon as they cool down. There
is little sociability and genuine friendship existing among
the families of foreigners living in the Islands, though
there is some show of it by way of keeping up appear¬
ances. One would expect the opposite from a class shut
out as they are from the rest of the world. They live within
themselves—within their shell and are not, if I may be
allowed to suggest it—not happy. I thought differently,
at first. I thought they were the happiest people 1 had
ever seen. They do look serene and contented, but they
are not. Their hearts arc not dead, but far away—at
home. They think often of home, and this absence
of man’s life—essence—his feelings, his affections, his in¬
terests has much to do with their seeming so indifferent
and reserved, no doubt.

A man never reaches that dizzy height of wisdom when
he can no longer be led by the nose.

Hornet’s Sailors

These boys have been mourned as dead for nearly 4
months. Think of the thrill of the first telegram to that
home circle—“Crew and passengers of Hornet arrived
safe.”

Capt. knew for days that murderous discontent was
brewing, by the distraught air of some of the men, and

30

NOTEBOOK

he stayed on guard. Slept no more—kept his hatchet hid
and close at hand.

Notes on Henry Ferguson’s Log

From day after the ship burnt till the 12th he put
simply the (to him) eloquent word “doldrums.”

The storms during the first fortnight he called the
awfulest wind squalls, the most terrific thunder and blind¬
ing lightning he ever saw, and black as ink in absence
of lightning—caused to steer in all directions—Rained
5 times as hard as in the States.

Saw waterspout on 17th. Thinks it might be a pleasant
sight from a ship—Mentions the star mistaken for ship’s
light.

From the Log

“Distressed by swordfish cavorting around the boat for
some time. Immense one—Passed some seaweed and
something that looked like trunk of old tree, but no birds
—beginning to be afraid Islands not there. Today it was
said to the Capt., and in the hearing of all, that some of
the men would not shrink, when a man was dead, from
using the flesh, though they would not kill. Horrible! God
give us all full use of our reason and spare us from such
things! . .

3i

CHAPTER V

A Grim Voyage to Ncto York

Mark Twain found himself more at sea in
San Francisco than during those ocean days of
drifting calm. He was uncertain which way to
turn. His literary ventures were neither satis¬
factory nor profitable. A lecture on the islands
which his friends urged him to deliver was much
more successful and he toured the coast with it
that winter. With considerable ready money in
hand, he decided now to return home-after an
absence of five and a half years. In the back of
his head was a plan for a trip around the world,
including a visit to Anson Burlingame, who had
invited him to Peking. He would begin his travels
by sailing for New York, via the Isthmus of
Nicaragua. He bought a new notebook which he
labeled:

From San Francisco to New York by way of
San Juan and Grey Town-Isthmus.

Sailed from San Francisco in Opposition steamer
America, Capt. Wakcman, at noon 15th Dec. 1866.

Pleasant sunny day, hills brightly clad with green grass
and shrubbery.

Runaway match—boarded by irate father and bogus
policeman—Repulsed by passengers—Love victorious.

First night a tempest—-the greatest seen on this coast
for many years—though occupying an outside berth on
upper deck it yet did not seem so rough to us as it did

32

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to those below and we remained in bed all night, while
the other passengers realizing the great danger all got up
and dressed.

The ship was down too much by the head, and just
doggedly fought the seas, instead of climbing over them.

Nearly everybody seasick. Happily I escaped—Had
something worse—lay in bed and received passengers’
reports.

A sea that broke over the ship about midnight carried
away 20 ft. of the bulwarks forward. The forward cabin
was drenched with water and the steerage fairly flooded—
a case of claret floated into a stateroom in the forward
cabin. The water must have been 6 in. deep if a case of
claret float, or wash, at all. A man’s boots were washed
to farther end of the room. Various things were afloat.

They prepared the boats for emergency.

Old ship captain of 28 years’ experience said he had
never seen the equal of this storm. He instructed a friend
to stay by him till all but the ship’s officers were adrift
and he and they would make a raft —“Curst the boats in
such a sea and such a lot of passengers.” Men were pray¬
ing all about the cabin on their knees. Brown went to one
and said: “What’s the matter?” and he said: “ 0 , don’t
talk to me. Oh my I” Passenger said he had served 14
years at sea, but considered his time had come now, but
added: “If anybody can save her it’s old Wakeman.” 1
I perceive by these things that we might have gone to
the bottom unaware that we were in danger—why the
Ajax cut up worse in a dead calm.

Sunday 16th. This is a long, long night. I occupy lower
berth and read and smoke by ship’s lantern, borrowed
from the steward. I won the middle berth, but gave it

1 Captain Ned Wakeman, later to figure in Roughing It as ^“Cap¬
tain Ned Oakley,” and as “Captain Stormfield” in the Visit to
Heaven. Capt. Wakeman also appears as Capt. Hurricane Jones, in
“Rambling Notes of an Idle Excursion.”

33

MARK TWAIN

to Smith because he is seasick and we have piled our
wines, books and small traps in the upper one.

I don’t know what time it is—my watch is run down—
I think it is 7 bells in the 3rd watch but I am not certain,
the wind may have blown away one tap of the bell—
we hear it very faintly away up here, anyway.

Thursday 20th. At noon, 5 days out from San Fran¬
cisco abreast a high stretch of land at foot of Magdalena
Bay. Capt. came and said: “Come out here” (we had
just got into warm weather and covered the whole after
part of the vessel with awnings, making it extremely cool
and shady). “I want to show you something”—Took the
marine glass—Whalcship at anchor under the bluffs—
one listed and hoisting vast mass of blubber aboard. Capt.
said: “Now tonight they’ll try it out on deck and it will
look like a whole ship on fire. The first time 1 ever saw
it was in ’50s—I came along here just after dark—saw a
ship on fire, apparently—I didn’t know the country—
didn’t dare to go in there with the ship, so I sent a boat
crew and said, Tull for your lives, d’n you, and tell the
captain I’ll lay here for a week and send him all the
assistance I can and then carry his people to San Fran¬
cisco.’ Well, wc laid to, and waited and waited—all the
passengers on deck and anxious for boat to come back
and report,—but 10 o’clock no boat,—11 o’clock no boat—
passengers began to get tired and sidle off to bed ,—12
o’clock no boat—every passenger gave up and went below
except one old woman, she stuck it out and never took her
eyes off the fire.

“By and by, at 12:30, back the boat come, and I and
the old woman crowded to the lee rail to see and hear it
all—couldn’t see any extra men. The officer of the boat
stepped on deck and lifted his hat and says: The captain
of the ship sends great gratification—great obligations
and thanks you for your trouble and good intention, but

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he ain’t in trouble, but quite the reverse—is full of oil
and ready to up anchor tomorrow and is giving his crew
a big blow-out on deck and is illuminating. Sends his good
wishes for success, and hopes you will accept this boat¬
load of A-i sea turtles.’ The old woman leaned over the
rail and shaded her eyes from the lantern, and she saw
them varmints flapping their flippers about in the boat
and she says ‘For the land’s sake, I sot here and sot here
all this blessed night calculating to see a whole boatload
of sorrowful roasted corpses and now it ain’t nothin’ after
all but a lot of nasty turtles.’ ”

22nd December midnight. Smooth sea—or rather just

rippled with a pleasant breeze—perfectly fair wind_

yards squared—splendid full moon—ship riding along
placidly in full view of Mexican shore—all in bed but
me—night is magnificent—temperature, too, soft—balmy,
delicious.

From the next entry it is clear that Captain
Ned Wakeman was beginning to take shape in
Mark Twain’s imagination as literary material.

I’d rather travel with that old portly, hearty, jolly,
boisterous, good-natured sailor, Capt. Ned Wakeman,
than with any other man I ever came across. He never
drinks and never plays cards; he never swears except in
the privacy of his own quarters, with a friend or so, and
then his feats of fancy blasphemy are calculated to fill the
hearer with awe and admiration. His yams—just as I got
that far Capt. W. came in, sweating and puffing, for
we are off the far southern coast of Mexico and the
weather is a little sultry, and he said:

“Speaking of rats, once in Honolulu me and old
Josephus—he was a Jew, and got rich as Croesus in San
F. afterwards—we were going home as passengers from
the S. I. in a brand-new brig on her 3rd voyage—and our

35

MARK TWAIN

trunks were down below. He went with me—laid over
one vessel to do it—because he warn't no sailor and he
liked to be with a man that was—and the brig was sliding
out between the buoys and her head-line was paying out
ashore. There was a wood-pile right where the line was
made fast to the pier, and up come the damndest biggest
rat—as big as an ordinary cat he was—and darted out
on that line and cantered for the shore—and up came
another—and another—and another—and away they
galloped over that hawser—each one treading on t’othcr’s
tail till they were so thick that you couldn't sec a thread
of the cable, and there was a procession of 'em 200 yards
long over the levee like a streak of ants—and the Kanakas,
some throwing sticks from that wood-pile and chunks of
lava and coral at 'em and knocking 'em endways and
every which way. But do you s’posc it made any difference
to them rats? Not a particle—not a particle, bless your
soul—they never let up till the last rat was ashore out of
that brand-new beautiful brig. I called a Kanaka with
his boat, and he hove alongside and shinned up a rope
and says I: ‘Do you see that trunk down there?' ‘Ai.'
‘Clatter it ashore as quick as Cod'll let you.’

“Josephus, the Jew, says: ‘What are you doing, Cap¬
tain?' and I says: ‘Doing? Why I'm a-taking my trunk
ashore, that's what I’m a-doing!'

“‘Taking your trunk ashore? Why bless us what is
that for?'

“‘What is it for?’ says I—‘Do you see them rats? Do
you notice them rats a-leaving this ship? She's doomed,
Sir—she’s doomed! Burnt brandy wouldn't save her, Sir!
She'll never finish this voyage. She’ll never be heard of
again, Sir.’

“Josephus says: ‘Boy, take that other trunk ashore too.’

“And don’t you know, Sir, that brig sailed out of
Honolulu without a rat aboard and was never seen
again by mortal man, Sir. We went in an old tub, so

36

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rotten that you had to walk easy on the main deck to
keep from going through—so crazy that in our berths
when there was sea on, the timbers over our heads worked
backwards and forwards n inches in their sockets—just
like an old basket, Sir—and the rats were as big as grey¬
hounds and as lean, Sir, and they bit the buttons off of
our overcoats and there were so many of them that in a
gale once they all scampered to the starboard side when
we were going about and put her down the wrong way,
so that she’d come monstrous near foundering! But she
went through safe, I tell you, because she had rats
aboard.”

Christmas Eve—9 P.M. Myself, the Captain and King-
man out forward. Capt. said—“Don’t like the looks of
that point, with the mist outside of it.” Quartermaster,
touching his cap: “The child is dead, Sir.” [Had been sick
2 days] “What are your orders?”

Capt.: “Tell Ben to send the Dr. for the Parson to
speak to the grandmother, and the Mate to speak to the
young mother—bury at sea at daylight.”

It was the first death of that tragic journey.

On the San Juan River

In that day eastern-bound passengers landed,
crossed the Nicaragua Isthmus by river, lake,
and overland, to Grey Town, to take the Atlan¬
tic-bound steamer. The next entry is made on
the river steamer.

While gazing up a little narrow avenue, carpeted with
greenest grass and walled with the thickest growth of
bright ferns and quaint broad-leaved trees whose verdant
sprays sprang upward and outward like the curving sprays
of a fountain—an avenue that is fit for the royal road to
Fairyland that is closed with a gate of trellised vines

37

MARK TWAIN

stretching their charming maze of festoons bright with
their beautiful blossoms, some scoundrel interrupts with:

“You’d oughter gone ashore, there where we wooded—
bananner trees till you couldn’t rest—leaves 7 ft. long
and V/2 ft. wide, and natives doing something or other
with coffee trees—what is it—and what were they doing
it for?”

I got up and left.

San Juan Bay—Neat little semicircle shut in by wooded
hills. Fine breeze. Must remain this afternoon and leave
early in A.M. on account of cholera—brought by San¬
tiago—300 soldiers and several hundred passengers—
26 deaths among former and 9 of latter and 40 of natives
—all in past II days—all subsided now.

Dec. 28. Left San Juan in carriages—native drivers
armed with long knives—native soldiers barefooted, with
muskets. Threatened war between 2 candidates for Presi¬
dency of Republic of Nicaragua—case of a contested elec¬
tion—present President going to hold his posish and whip
both parties.

Long procession of horsemen and hacks—beautiful
road and cool, rainy atmosphere. All on lookout for wild
monkeys.

Orange, banana, aguardiente, coffee, hot corn, carved
cups—stands, pretty native women, ruffles around bot¬
tom of dress.

Snake cactus clasping trees. Calabash trees. One hack
broke down. Threatened bloodshed between passengers
and drivers.

Beautiful breezy lake—2 circus tent mountains—cloud-

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capped—wooded densely to summits, save where lava

passed—One 4200 ft.—other 5400 ft. look higher_very-

beautiful with their solid crown of clouds and rising

abruptly from water—coffee, cattle, tobacco, corn_all

sorts of ranches on them—raise everything with no
trouble—splendid temperature.

Changed boats and started down lovely San Juan
River, at 4 A.M. saluting old Fort San Carlos with 3

whistles—Bank full—spots of grass—trees like cypress_

blossoming trees—trees so festooned with vines that they
look like vine-clad towers of ancient fortresses—great
tree-ferns and tall graceful clumps of bamboo—all man¬
ner of trees and bushes and all so woven together with a
charming lacework of vines that a monkey can’t climb
through.

On first San Juan River steamer man at companion-
way said: “None but first cabin allowed up here—you
first cabin?” with a most offensive emphasis—and let a
whole sluice of steerage pass unchallenged—quite a
compliment to my personal appearance.

On the second river boat challenged me faithfully and
passed the other first cabin unchallenged.

Mark Twain had been ranked as a “dresser”
on the River, but apparently did not consider
it worth while to array himself for travel.

Town of Castillo where we walked 300 yards and
changed boats below rapids—old romantic doby castle
of a fort on top of steep grass dome, 200 ft. high—14
houses under hill and dense vine-clad foliage appearing
beyond.

Native thatched houses—coffee, eggs, bread, cigars, and

39

MARK TWAIN

fruit for sale—delicious—ioc buys pretty much anything
and in great quantity. Californians can’t understand how
io or 25c can buy a sumptuous lunch of coffee, eggs
and bread.

Vine-festooned terrace concealed hills like a web—
couldn’t believe they were hills, except that upper trees
towered too high to be on the bank level.

Dark grottos, fairy harbors—tunnels, temples—
columns, pillars, towers, pilasters, terraces, pyramids,
mounds, domes, walls in endless confusion of vine-work—
no shape, no architecture, unimitated—and all so webbed
together with vines that short distances within arc only
gained by glimpses—monkeys here and there—birds
warbling—gorgeous-plumaged birds on the wing—para¬
dise itself—the imperial realm of beauty, nothing to wish
for to make it perfect.

The changing vistas of the river—corners and points
folding backward, retreating and unveiling new wonders
beyond, of towering walls of verdure, gleaming cataracts
of vines—wonderful waterfalls of glittering leaves as
deftly overlapping each other as the scales of a fish—
a vast green wall—solid a moment, then as we advance
changing and opening into Gothic windows, colonnades—
all manner of quaint and charming shapes (damn the
blackguard with the damaged plug hat on who is looking
over my shoulder as I make these notes on the boiler
deck).

“Mrs. Grundy” (all in brown) damned old meddling,
moralizing fool—said I was no better than I ought
to be.

“The choir sang the damnedest, oldest, vilest songs, such
as ‘Marching through Georgia,’ ‘When Johnnie comes
Marching Home,’ ‘Old Dog Tray,’ ‘Just before the Battle
Mother,’ etc. When they sang hymns they did well and

40

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made good music but damn their other efforts—and be¬
sides they never invited me to sing, anyhow.”

Many great lazy alligators on bank, sleeping in the
su n—bright-plumaged parrots flying above the trees—
birds with gay plumage and great hooked villainous bills
such as we see in the menagerie—long-legged, long¬
necked birds that rise awkwardly from the edge of the
jungle, crook their necks like an S, shove their long bills
forward and throw their long legs out behind like a steer¬
ing oar when they are flying—and monkeys capering
among the trees—these are the signs of the tropics.

At first everybody apologized for coming this way and
said it must be done merely to see the country and get it
off his mind—a sort of compulsory sense of duty—never
should come this way again, of course—but now on the
San Juan River with all this enchantment around us and
after coming over what we have passed through and de¬
cided that it has been nothing but a comfortable, cheerful,
satisfactory, pleasure trip, we all begin to confess that if
we were already through our business in the States and
ready to return we should be uncommonly apt to come
this way after all.

New Year’s Eve 1866. Slept on the floor and hammocks
at Woodyard first night out from Castillo. Started at
2 A.M. and got to Grey Town at daylight. Found vessel
San Francisco there—took them all day to transfer bag¬
gage and to remove the 2 sets of steerage passengers.
Kingman told them in joke uptown our steerage and sec¬
ond cabin had small-pox and they anchored ’em out.
Much crowded all night and wouldn’t let any come ashore
during day. We stayed aboard most of the day, anchored
out and slept uptown—had to come to boat at 6 A.M.
At 7 Capt. Merrey sent us in surf boats in rainstorm—
our' boat had to go to the Nicaragua and finish her com-

41

MARK TWAIN

plcmcnt with second-cabin passengers—a dozen—and
came near being swamped by them. 'look 3 hrs. to dis¬
embark the New York passengers and then we got un¬
der way.

Everlasting curses on the man who invented the
villainous little lamp they put in a man’s stateroom on
shipboard. That is as honest a prayer as I ever uttered.

Jan. 2. All right now on this ship, got plenty of ice
and ice-water, no more melting here in the tropics.

That infernal monkey is having a perfect carnival all to
himself. Smith and Kingman gave him a good square
drink of brandy and now he feds it—one moment he is
in the quarter boat abreast my room and the next he is
at the top-gallant crosstrees and scampering wildly from
rope to rope, capering out on the yards like a lunatic—
the dizzy height, the blowing of the gale and the plunging
of the ship have no terrors for him.

A sailor seared the monkey awhile ago and he jumped
from the top-gallant yard arm and caught a back stay or
something away down 20 or 30 ft,, below.

The next note is brief, but ominous:

Jan. 2, 1867. Two cases of cholera reported in the
steerage today.

Kingman's report of small-pox kept the steerage from
getting ashore at Grey Town, and now I don’t more than
half believe his report that there are 2 cases yellow fever
(cholera!) belowdecks.

Got captain’s permission to have a safety lantern in
my room.

4 P.M. Jan. 2. The surgeon of the ship has just re¬
ported to the captain in my hearing that 2 of the cases
are “mighty bad” and the third “awful bad.”

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This is neither cholera nor yellow fever, I suspect—
these men have been eating green tropical fruit and wash¬
ing it down with villainous aguardiente.

A ship is precisely a little village where gossips abound
and where every man’s business is his neighbor’s.

The prospect of going into quarantine for 30 days is
worrying the passengers like everything.

7 P.M. Neither of the sick men quite dead yet—the
ship has stopped her wheels.

Passengers growl less this trip than any I ever saw,
but they will growl some on all trips, no matter how
favorable everything is.

Custom-house list must be made up by purser, who
makes it up according to his own notion, thus:

“Miss Smith, 45, milliner, Ireland (and she young and
wealthy)

Mark Twain, barkeeper,—Terra del Fucgo.”

One of the sick men is bad. This calls for Rev. Fackler
again (10 P.M.).

It was cholera of a malignant type.

The man was buried overboard at a little past 10 P.M.

Jan. 2, Midnight, another patient at the point of death.
They are filling him up with brandy.

2 bells—the man is dead. 4 bells—he is cast over¬
board—expedition is the word in these crowded steerages.

Jan. 3. Our tropic drink:

lb. of sugar, 1lbs. of ice, r doz. limes, 1 lemon,
1 orange, half a bottle of brandy. Put in a ^-gallon ice
pitcher and fill up with water.

Jan. 3, 9:30 P.M. Astonished to hear 3 bells—been
sitting here reading so long I never thought of its mean¬
ing anything else than half past one—went to get ship

MARK TWAIN

time—find it is only 3 bells in the first watch. It is so
stormy tonight that most of the passengers have gone
to bed seasick, long ago.

We are to be off the coast of Cuba tomorrow, they
say—I cannot believe it.

Folded his hands after his stormy life and slept in
screncst repose under the peaceful sighing of the summer
wind among the grasses over his grave.

A captain who came aboard at Grey Town, where in
3 years he had worn out his constitution and destroyed
his health, lingered until 10 this morning and then died
and was shoved overboard half an hour afterward, sewed
up in a blanket with 6 lbs. of iron. He leaves a wife at
Rochester, N. Y. This makes the 4th death on shipboard
since we left San Francisco.

Mrs. Grundy seems to be still on his mind.

He even composes some poetry about her:

She talkcth scandal all day long
With false malicious tongue.

She’d blast the brightest character
That ever poet sung.

Jan. 5. We are to put in at Key West, Florida, today
for coal, for ballast—so they say—but rather for medi¬
cines, perhaps—the physic locker is about pumped dry.

7 cases sickness yesterday—didn’t amount to anything.

Col. Kinney pretty sick all night with cholera or
cholera morbus.

Shape is said to be dying of cholera, this morning.

There are half a dozen on the sick list today. The
cussed fools let the diarrhea run 2 or 3 days, and then

44

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getting scared they run to the surgeon and hope to be
cured. And they lie like blazes—swear they have just been
taken and the doctor of course knows better. He asked a
patient the other day if he had any money to get some
brandy with—said no—the ship had to furnish it—when
the man died they found a 20-dollar piece in his pocket.

Shape has been walking the deck in stocking feet get¬
ting wet—exposing himself—is going to die.

The disease has gotten into the second cabin at last
and one case in first cabin. Tint consternation is so great
that several arc going to get off at Key West, if cpiaran-
tine regulations permit it, and go North, overland.

The captain visits every corner of the ship daily lo sec
that it is kept in a state of perfect cleanliness.

Jan. S, continued. 10 A.M. The Episcopal clergyman,
Rev. Mr. Fackler is taken— bad dianhea and gtiping.

All hands looking anxiously forward to the cool weather
we shall strike, 24 hrs. hence, and diive away the sickness.

Shape dead—fifth death- Shape, barber, only sick
about 12 hrs., usually ate rations for 4.

Rev. Fackler has made himself sick with sorrow for
the poor fellows that died.

12:30 P.M. The minister has got a fit, convulsion of
some kind—so they are burying poor Shape without, bene¬
fit of clergy. They don’t wait many minutes after breath
is out of the body.

There is no use in discussing it.I really believe the

ship is out of medicines—we have a good surgeon but
nothing to work with.

Just heard the captain say: “Purser, pm up an im-

45

MARK TWAIN

mouse sign that all can read: no charge for medical at¬
tendance whatever—put it so all can read it.”

I told the captain this morning that the fear of doc¬
tor’s bills was one chief reason why the steerage passen¬
gers were concealing their illness till the last moment.

Jan, 5, 2 P.M. As the boys come to my room, one after
another (I am abed), I observe a marked change in their
demeanor during the last half hour—they report that the
minister, only sick an hour, or maybe two, is already very
low—that a hospital has been fitted up in the steerage
and he has been removed thither.

Verily the ship is fast becoming a floating hospital her¬
self—not an hour passes but brings its fresh sensation,
its new disaster—its melancholy tidings.

When I think of poor Shape and the preacher, both so
well when I saw them yesterday evening, 1 realize that I
myself may be dead tomorrow.

Since the last two hours all laughter, all levity, has
ceased in the ship—a settled gloom is upon the faces of
the passengers.

Jan. 5, 4 P.M. The unfortunate minister is dying—he
has bidden us all good-bye and now lies barely breathing.
His name is Rev. J. ( 5 . Faekler, and he was on his way
to the States to get his wife and family.

The passengers are fearfully exercised, and well they
may be, poor devils, for we are about to see our fifth
death in five days, and the sixth of the voyage. The
surgeon, a most excellent young man, a Mason and a
first-rate physician and one of considerable practice, has
done all he could to allay their fear by telling them he has
all the medicines he wants, that the disease is only a
virulent sort of diarrhea, cholera morbus, etc.

Discovering that he was a Mason, I took him aside and
asked him a plain statement for myself alone , and told

46

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him I thought I was man enough to stand the truth, in
its worst form.

He then said the disease was cholera and of the most
virulent type—that he had done all a man could do, but
he had no medicines to work with—that he shipped the
first time this trip and found the locker empty, and no
time to make a requisition for more medicines.

To add to the gloom of the situation there
occurred now a break-down in the engine-room.

Jan. 5> 5 P.M. That bolt-head broke day before yes¬
terday and we lost 2 hours. It broke again yesterday and
we lost 3 or 4 hours. It broke again this afternoon, and
again we lay like a log on the water (head wind) for
3 or 4 hours more.

These things distress the passengers beyond meas¬
ure. They are scared about the epidemic, and so im¬
patient to get along—and now they have lost confidence
in the ship and fear she may break again in the rough
weather that is to come. I did not take any interest in the
matter until just now I found the cursed little bolt was
a sort of king-pin and that the engine must stop without it.

The passengers say that, we are out of luck and that
it is a doomed voyage.

It appears, though it is kept from the passengers, that
there are seven or eight patients in the hospital down
below.

Mem. Get names of the dead from the F. 0 . [First
Officer], to telegraph.

Some misgivings, some distress as to whether the au¬
thorities of Key West will let our pestilence-stricken ship
land there—but the captain says we arc in sore distress,
in desperate straits, and wc must land; we will land in

47

MARK TWAIN

spite of orders, cannon or anything else—we cannot go
on in this way.

If wc do land, some of our people arc going to leave—
among them the doctor, who is afraid of the crazy ma¬
chinery.

Sea in storm—caps crawling and squirming like white
worms in the midst of ink.

The Dead

(1) (Baby) Harlan, Sacramento, baptized day it died—
died 24th, buried 25th.

(2) Jerome Shields, aged about 34, buried at sea Jan. 2.
His friend Patrick Burns took charge of his effects,
consisting of #55 in coin, a carpet bag containing
clothing, letters, a navy pistol and other small articles,
photographs, etc. His friends reside in Waverly, la.
His brother-in-law, John Clark, lives at Pine Grove,
Sierra Co., Calif.

(3) Martin Sherlock, of Irish descent, aged about 30, died
and was buried at sea, Jan. 3. He had no friends or
acquaintances on board ship. His effects, consisting of
carpet sack of clothing, $20 piece and letters from
Mary Ann Sherlock, his mother, residing at Port
Byron, Ill., are in possession of first officer.

(4) Capt. Chas. Mahoney, aged 40, late employee of
Central American Transit Co. Died Jan. 4 and was
buried at sea. Has a family somewhere about
Rochester, N. Y.

(5) Andrew Nolan, about 20 or 21 (Shape), barber by
trade, died Jan. 5 and was buried at sea. Funds $77.
He belonged in Jersey City.

(6) At 2:20 A.M. (this morning, Jan. 6) Rev. J. G.
Fackler, Episcopal clergyman of San Francisco. At
2:30 we anchored at Key West, Florida—and he will

48

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be buried on shore. Was bound for the States to get
his family.

Sunday, Jan. 6, 1867. We are out 22 days from San
Francisco.

This Key West looks like a mere open roadstead, but
they call it one of the best harbors in the world—they
say that the 100 little keys scattered all around keep off
the sea and storm. It seems to be a very pretty little
tropical-looking town with plenty of handsome shade
trees. It is very cool and pleasant. The great frowning
fortification is Fort Taylor, and is very strong.

We don’t calculate to find any Key West folks in
Heaven.

Sunday, Jan. 6 continued. Rev. J. G. Fackler was
buried here at Key West at noon by Episcopal minister.

Our doctor told me it was Asiatic cholera, but they
must have deceived the port surgeon, else they wouldn’t
have let us land.

I attended Episcopal service—heap of style—fash¬
ionably dressed women—350 of them, and children, and
25 men.

Don’t see where so much dress comes from in a town
made altogether of 1 and 2 story frame houses, some
crazy, unpainted and with only thick board shutters for
windows—no carpet, no mats—bare floors—cheap prints
on walls.

Only about 10 or 12 houses with any pretension of
style and one-half of these are military officers’ quarters.

The contribution box fooled me—I heard no money
dropping in it, and the paper currency never occurred
to me.

Men stylishly dressed with yellow ribbon cravats.

49

MARK TWAIN

Townful of cocoanut trees of the many-leaved low-
branching pattern, very pretty.

Girls singing in most houses.

Got up a dinner party in town—our own claret and
champagne good, and there was nothing else good about
the dinner except the fried eggs—and they didn’t hold out.

This is really a big town, big enough to hold over 2000,
though many houses seem deserted. Business mostly
gin-mills—that is for soldiers.

Brandy here (good article) costs £15 a quart—#40 a
gallon.

Key West, 7th. 21 passengers left the ship here, scared.
Some of them gave dinner and berth tickets to remain¬
ing friends in the steerage. I am glad they are gone,
d’n them.

Jan. 7th. Capt. Bclim has just poked his head in at
the window to say how lucky we were not to be quaran¬
tined at Key West (we arc off—have just turned the pilot
boat adrift). Lucky! Damnation! If I have got Key West
sized up right they would receive War, Famine, Pestilence
and Death without a question—call them all by some
fancy name, and then rope in the survivors and sell them
good cigars and brandies at easy prices and horrible din¬
ners at infamous rates. They wouldn’t quarantine any¬
body; they’d say “come,” and say it gladly if you brought
destruction and hell in your wake. They rely upon the
salubrity of their climate and its famous healthfulness, for
immunity from disease.

More cheerfulness at tabic this morning than ever
before.

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Key West prices: putting coal aboard $2 a ton—in
N. Y. 25c. Pilotage #108. Making a bolt $50. They say
it was the first Cal. steamer that has touched there in
2 years, so they scorched us.

Oliver tried to get the captain, for $100, to contract not
to bury him at sea in case he died—Capt. refused, so
Oliver went ashore Key West at 9 P.M.—the last man.

Sewing society for the monkey.

18 invalids yesterday and 13 today—only 2 really dan¬
gerous—one of them was getting along handsomely, but
got drunk and took a relapse.

The noblest cigars in the world at Key West for $6 per
hundred—smuggled from Havana.

The sewing society have dressed the monkey up in
black pants and vest and a roundabout and cuffs of bright
red and yellow, curtain-calico pattern, and paper collar—
and he looks gay scampering around among the rigging.

Oliver had 380 cholera articles cut out.

Kingman found his long girl sitting by the taffrail alone.
He is in love with her.

Belmayne died Jan. 8 and was buried at sea abreast
of Florida.

The temperature of the Gulf Stream here (they try it
every 2 hrs. for information for Navy Dept.) is 76—
atmosphere 72. We are comfortable enough now while we
are in this fluid stove, but when we leave it at Cape Hat-
teras, Lord, it will be cold.

5 1

MARK TWAIN

The speed of the stream varies from 1/3 to 3 y 2 knots
an hour. We have been making 200, 210, 220 miles a day,
but now in this current we can turn off 250 to 275.

Soaked banana and plantain in brandy, and got the
monkey tight.

Jan. 10, 1867. 26 days out from San Francisco today—
at noon we shall be off Cape Hatteras and less than 400
miles south of N. Y.—a day and a half’s run.

We shall be leaving this warming-pan of a Gulf Stream
today, and then it will cease to be genial summer weather
and become wintry cold. We already see the signs. They
have put feather mattresses and blankets on our berths
this morning.

It is raining—warm.

Jan. 10. Rainy. At n A.M. 18 miles from Cape Hat-
tcras. Distance to N. Y. 320 miles.

8 sick, s diarrhea, 3 convalescent—2 better.

Jan. 10. Passing out of the Gulf Stream rapidly. At
2 P.M. the temperature of the water had fallen 7 degrees
in half an hour. Already the day is turning cold and over¬
coats coming into vogue.

Jan. 10, 11:30 P.M. Dark and stormy, and the ship
plunging considerably. It is villainously cold. Have just
come forward from the purser’s room and felt some¬
thing blow in my face like snow. Think it was, but too
dark to tell.

Jan. 11, 7 P.M. Been in bed all day to keep warm—
fearfully cold.

We are off Barnegat—passed a pilot boat a while ago.
We shall get to N. Y. before morning.

The d’d crowd in the smoking-room are as wildly sing¬
ing now as they were capering childishly about the deck

W

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day before yesterday when we first struck the cold
weather.

Friday night nth, 2 bells. P. Peterson has just died,
“dropsy”—the Highland light, the lightship and several
other lights at entrance to N. Y. harbor in full view.
This is the 8th death this voyage. Bury him ashore, as
we are now on soundings.

N. Y. Jan. 12. Arrived today, 27J4 days out.

There is no mention of quarantine at New
York, so we can only assume that there was
none. Imagine a “cholera ship” docking in New
York today 1 But then, of course, the last man
died of “dropsy.”

That Whining Puppy

Scared at the storm that first night out from San Fran¬
cisco—his little wife out observing the signs of the
weather.

He whined all the way down and was nursed by her.

He’d lay and whine on the lake boat and she sat up all
night and fanned him. The sofa in the social hall was
coolest place and she wanted it—he wouldn’t give it up.
She tried the stateroom—too hot—came back and fanned
him all night. On the last boat on the San Juan she slept
in a grass hammock without blankets and he lay on the
deck on the blankets and whined as usual.

At Grey Town he went ashore and wouldn’t let her go.

In the Gulf he was scared to death about the cholera—
she sat by his bedside and fanned him two whole days
and he whining with a headache which he feared was the
cholera—yet he went to his meals regularly.

Took % share in the $40 worth of brandy at Key
West and has not paid his $5.

S 3

MARK TWAIN

Gives his waiter old clothes instead of money.

Where arc all those people today? Where is
the little doctor who had to work without medi¬
cines? Where is the whining man? The family
that was waiting for the Rev. Mr. Fackler? Ah,
but that was far back in another century. Few
if any remain of that shipload, or of those who
waited for them, and with the single exception
of Mark Twain himself, have left little trace
behind.

54

CHAPTER VI

Beginning a "Literary Epoch

IIe seems to have made no notes in New York,
but we know that he found there an old Cali¬
fornia friend, Charles Henry Webb, who had
collected a number of Mark Twain sketches, in¬
cluding the “Jumping Frog’ 11 story, with the idea
of making a book of them. When a publisher,
Carlcton, rejected the book, Webb decided to
bring it out on his own account.

After a trip to St. Louis, to see his mother
and sister, and to Hannibal, where he lectured,
Mark Twain returned to New York, watched
his book through the press, lectured at the
Cooper Institute, and as correspondent for the
Alta California, of San Francisco, and the New
York Tribune, joined the Quaker City Holy
Land Excursion, which had replaced his earlier
dream of a trip around the world.

The notes of that first Mediterranean pleas¬
ure cruise, begun before the ship left the harbor,
were set down in the very midst of the pic¬
turesque band of “innocents” and “pilgrims”
that gypsied through France and Italy and trod
the arid hills of Palestine. Solid little volumes
stiffly bound in tan sheep—the pencilings some¬
times hurried, sometimes deliberate, and nearly
all legible—how close they seem to bring us to

55

MARK TWAIN

“Dan” and “Jack” and “the Doctor” in that far
day before they became immortal as “innocents
abroad.”

The first entry, recording as it docs the begin¬
ning of this historic voyage, is perhaps as notable
as any memorandum in literary history.

Holy Land Pleasure Excursion
Steamer Quaker City
Capt. C. C. Duncan
Left N. Y. at 2 P.M., June 8, ’67.

Rough weather—anchored within the harbor to
lay all night.

Lying in the harbor he lias a chance to look
over the passengers and make a few comments,
such as:

The Frenchy-looking woman with a dog—small
mongrel, black-and-tan brute, with long sharp cars that
stick up like a donkey’s and give him an exceedingly
wild and excited expression, even in his mildest moods.
When he is skirmishing about the cabin she follows him
anxiously about and interrupts his enterprises, and
meanwhile keeps up an interminable biography of him,
to the passengers, embellished with anecdotes illustrative
of his general disposition and with stories of some of his
most remarkable performances. The dog is noisy and in
the way.

The long-legged, simple, green, wide-mouthed horse¬
laughing young fellow who once made a sea voyage to

56

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Fortress Monroe in the Oceanica and quotes eternally
from his experiences upon that voyage. I am satisfied that
we shall never hear the last of that voyage. He will harp
on it from here to Palestine and back again. He wears a
monstrous compass slung to his watch-guard, and con¬
sults it from time to time, keeping a wary eye on the
binnacle compass to see that it docs not vary from his
and so endanger the ship. He says the most witless things
and then laughs uproariously at them and he has a vile
notion that everything everybody else says is meant for a
witticism, and so laughs loudly when very often the
speaker had spoken seriously or even had meant to say
something full of pathos. But this fellow doesn’t know.
He laughs dreadfully at everything and swears it’s good,
dam’ good, by George. I wish he would fall in the harbor.

The innocent young man—who is good, accommodat¬
ing, pleasant and well-meaning, but fearfully green and
is fearfully slow. He wished to know how long seasick¬
ness lasted. He is the other extreme from “Legs”—
doesn’t know anything at all. Came confidentially to me
in a private place and seemed almost bursting with an
idea—a new and dangerous guest to have about his prem¬
ises. He said:

“If you had a panorama—any kind of a panorama—
one of them old ones would do—why, by gracious you
could pay your way on the ship—any old panorama you
know—but I don’t think likely you could without a lec¬
ture—because them Italians and A-rabs wouldn’t go
much, maybe, except for the novelty, because they
wouldn’t understand. But if you had an old panorama
I should think likely you’d fetch ’em.”

The “Interrogation Point” of the Innocents
Abroad would seem to be a combination of these
two young men.

57

MARK TWAIN

Sunday morning, June 9. Still lying at anchor in N. Y.

harbor—rained all night and all morning like the devil_

some sea on—lady had to leave church in the cabin_

seasick.

Tableau—in the midst of sermon Capt. Duncan rushed
madly out with one of those damned dogs, but didn't
throw him overboard.

But speaking of seasickness, there certainly are more
seasick people on the ship than there ought to be. I am
more than ever satisfied now that we ought to have
put to sea in the storm of Saturday. The ship is strong
and could have weathered it easily and everybody would
have had a fearful 4 hours siege of seasickness and then
been over and done with it.

Diaries

Most of the passengers being unaccustomed to voyaging
are diligently keeping diaries.

He furnishes a supposed example.

Of a Lady

First Day—the ships rolls and pitches, and O, I am so
sick.

Second Day—We met an immigrant ship today, full of
Irish people. From Ireland, doubtless. Our captain got
on the paddle-box and shouted: “Ship wo'haw!” or some¬
thing like that, and the other captain shouted back
through a horn and said he had been out 30 days. Then
we started away and gave the immigrants 3 cheers and
waved our handkerchiefs and they gave us 3 cheers also,
but did not wave their handkerchiefs, but wc thought
nothing of it, because as they had been out 30 days their
handkerchiefs were all dirty, likely. Still, I am so seasick.

Third Day—Mrs. S. who has got her face so sunburned
since we left N. Y. made a conundrum on the promenade

58

NOTEBOOK

deck last night. She said: “Why is my face like a bird
that is just about to fly?” Ans. “Because both are to
soar.” Ah me I am so sick.

Fourth Day—I am tired being at sea, and tired keep¬
ing journal, and very tired of being seasick. I do wonder
where those Azores Islands are hidden away in this
boundless expanse of heaving water? I do so want to see
the land and the green trees again.

Fifth Day—Chicken soup for dinner, but my heart
is not in chicken soup. I care not for poetry, or for things
to eat or for dress. I have taken off hoops and put away
my waterfall, and all I take an interest in is being
squalmish and getting to shore again. It is funny, but
somehow I don’t seem to care how I look.

Sixth Day—At last I am over it! I am not a bit sick
any more. And how different everything looks today.
Why, the sea is beautiful, actually beautiful! The soft
south wind is balmy and gentle, and I almost imagine
it has lost its nauseous odor of salt. I am like a new per¬
son. I take an interest in everything now. Ah, yonder is
that scrimp-nosed little doll trying to make herself so

agreeable to Mr. -. I will just happen along there

as if I were not noticing and see if I don’t spoil your
schemes, Miss.

Here we are introduced to the now immortal
“Poet Lariat.”

Bloodgood H . Cutter

He is 50 years old, and small of his age. He dresses
in homespun, and is a simple-minded, honest, old-
fashioned [Long Island] farmer with a strange procliv¬
ity for writing rhymes. He writes them on all possible
subjects and gets them printed on slips of paper with his
portrait at the head. These he will give to any man that
comes along, whether he has anything against him or

59

MARK TWAIN

not. He has already written interminable poems on “The
Good Ship Quaker City” and an “Ode to the Ocean” and
“Recollections of the Pleasant Time on Deck Last Night,”
which pleasant time consisting in his reciting some 75
stanzas of his poetry to a large party of passengers con¬
vened on the upper deck.

Dan said to him in a private conversation:

“It must be a great happiness to you to be able to sit
down at the close of the day and put its events all down
in rhymes and poetry, like a Byron and a Shakespeare
and those fellows.”

“O, yes, it is—it is. There is no pleasure like it in the
world,”

“Yes—and I should think that when a man was gifted
in that way, more would be expected of him than from
common people—from people who ain’t poets. You’d be
expected, you know, to keep that talent going at all rea¬
sonable times, and never lose an opportunity. It’s a duty
you owe to your countrymen and your race, you know.”

“I know. I appreciate it. I do keep it a-going. Why,
bless your soul, many and many a time when everybody
else is asleep you’ll find me writing poetry. And when I
feel it coming on, there’s no let-up to me.”

“That’s it! That’s it! Often, no doubt, when you’re
talking to people or looking at anything, or eating dinner,
it comes on you, and every thought that clatters through
your head fetches up with a rhyme at the end of it—
pure, honest, natural-born poetry—ain’t it so!”

“Bless your soul, yes. Many’s the time I’ve had to leave
my dinner and many’s the time I’ve had to get up in
the night when it came on me. At such times as that, I
can’t any more talk without rhyming than you could put
fire to powder and it not go off. Why bless me, this ship
may go to the bottom any moment and drown us all but
what of that?

60

NOTEBOOK

Whether we’re on the sea or the land
We’ve all got to go at the word of command—

Hey!—how’s that?”

Thursday, June 13, 1867. On board steamer Quaker
City at sea. 12 N.—lat. 40, long. 62—560 miles from
N. Y., J 4 of the way to the Azores—just 3 days out—
in last 24 hrs. made 205 miles. Will make more in next
24, because the wind is fair and we are under sail and
steam both, burning 30 tons of coal a day and fast light¬
ening up the ship.

Friday. Shipped a sea through the open dead-light;
damaged cigars, books and etc.—comes of being careless
when room is on the weather side of the ship.

Prayer-meetings every night.

The Quaker City Mirror is not issued very regularly.

Heavy gale down among Azores; threw Capt. Duncan
across cabin from dinner table, swept dishes away and
fetched away iron water-cooler, which smashed seat just
vacated by Mr. Church. Most folks in bed sick—tre¬
mendous sea running all afternoon—fierce gale. Shall I
never see lightning and thunder any more?

June 21 st, Azores. Daylight. Arrived at the port of
Horta, Island of Fayal—Island of Pico, where the fruits
are, is opposite and looks beautiful, with its green slopes
and snow white houses.

Rode jackass, on mattress, with sawbuck for a saddle,
10 miles among the hills, caverns and beautiful scenery
of the suburbs, with a troop of barefooted, noisy, young
patched-and-ragged devils following with gads. Paid 30c
an hour for the jack.

61

MARK TWAIN

Everything calculated by reys—takes about a million
of them to make 6 bits—a thousand reys make one dollar.

Brown having heard that prices were very moderate
here, opened his heart and ordered dinner for 8 of us.
Here is the bill. It knocked him senseless.

dinner for 8 at 3000 equal 24,000
wine, io bottles, at 1200 equal 12,000
cigars 2,000

38,000

That is, $38. This is the dinner accredited to
“Blucher” in the Innocents .

Fayal, June 22, ’67.

Mules and family live all together in one small room—
five in center—no escape for smoke save through small
passages built in walls. Hardly a chimney in the city.

Saw no graveyards. They say they do not reverence
their dead very highly; only a few graves arc well
cared for.

Wheat is threshed by oxen in the old Scriptural way—
“Ye shall not muzzle the ox that treadeth out the grain.”
Wheat is worth 70c a bushel, but flour $12 a barrel be¬
cause of their slow methods of threshing and grinding.
Corn is ground in private houses with a stone mortar, and
in a windmill. Near by they have a mule-mill to go, when
the wind doesn’t blow.

Their plow is a wooden board shod with iron. Their
harrow is drawn by hand and has teeth as small as a
finger. Their cart is a basket hauled by cows, and the
axle and the wooden slab of a wheel both turn.

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Friday, June 27. Sat up all night, playing dominoes
in the smoking-room with the purser, and saw the sun
rise—woke up Dan and the Doctor and called everybody
to see it. Don’t feel very bright.

Sailing along through the Straits with Africa (bold,
sand-spotted hills) and Spain, a good deal like it, on either
hand, 13 miles apart. Water green, not blue—splendid
morning, spring like.

Passed close to the little heavily walled town of Tarifa,
Spain; houses with pink-tiled roofs.

Those who read The Innocents Abroad will
remember the character the Oracle who was
always overflowing with doubtful information.

We come to a note here that identifies his origin.

Dr. Andrews at breakfast said: “Which side was the
pillars of Hercules on?”

“Both.”

“Some think different—Gibbon does. (The old fool had
been smelling in a guide-book, and was trying to play it
for old information that had been festering in his brain.)
He said: “I suppose them old ancients really believed
the Goddess Hercules lived there some time or other.”

T angier

Going through Spain or not going through Spain? What
is the time to Paris? Sixty hours? Can we visit the Al¬
hambra, Seville, Valladolid and 50 other places? Damned
glad when I knew it was too late and we couldn’t go.

Now as to Tangier there should be no pulling and haul¬
ing— we will go, I shall answer no questions and not
listen to any damn fears, surmizes or anything else.

Buying gloves of the seductive Spanish wench in the
main street who said / knew how to put a glove on and
few did—when I was tearing the worthless thing to pieces

63

MARK TWAIN

with my awkwardness and taking this fearful sarcasm for
a compliment. I paid the price (50c) for a torn pair of
Spanish kid gloves.

Faithfully recorded in his book—Chapter VII
of The Innocents Abroad .

Kings Arms and Club House. Hotels keep no registers
and never know who is in the house—send me to find my
friends, instead of a servant.

Dan told to gather all manner of statistics, reports
that brandy is 8c a drink and cigars 3c apiece.

More barber shops here than shoe shops in Fayal.

Many beautiful English and Spanish girls.

In Morocco for theft of cattle they cut off right hand
and left foot—cut round the joint and break it off.

When a poor Moor sees one of the scarce silver dollars
he asks permission to kiss it.

Governor of Tangier used to have salary of 5 or 6
pounds a month—keeps 25 or 30 wives.

Koran allows 4 wives and many concubines. In the
interior Jews marry several wives.

Snatched Major Barry out of the Moorish mosque—
would have been sacrilege. Couldn’t pray in there for a
long time till it was purified. Would have got a shoe over
his head—years ago would have got a knife—they are
very fanatical.

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English officer stepped in and the Moors chased him
out and upstreet, with shoes.

Clock in mosque out of order. No Moroccan clock-
mender so they engaged a Portuguese. They said:

“You know we permit donkeys when building to enter
—we let the Portuguese take off his shoes and go in and
come out as a donkey.”

Moorish women cover their faces with their coarse
white robes—to cover their inhuman damned ugliness,
no doubt.

Emperor doesn’t know how many wives he has—
thinks it is 500.

Many of the blacks are slaves to the Moors:—when
they can read first chapter of Koran, can no longer be
slaves;—would have been well to adopt educational test
for nigger vote in America.

Relation of master with female slave frees her.

Hercules is the representative of a real character;—
that man landed at Cadiz with his lion skin on his
shoulders and big club in his hand and founded it—
came here and conquered Anitus—king of this country,
who lived also at the Garden of Hesperides, 70 miles down
coast from here—Hercules met and killed him in these
streets. These were savages who lived in little huts and
ate only the natural fruits of the land. Canaanites came
here when driven out by Joshua and set up a pillar on
which they inscribed:

We are the Canaanites, driven out of the
Holy Land by the Jewish robber Joshua

This inscription was seen by Roman historians within
2000 years, in these streets.

6S

MARK TWAIN

Cape Spartel near here—cave of Hercules—full of in¬
scriptions—Hercules took refuge in that cave.

Game of checkers in ancient Treasury of Moorish
Emperor’s palace—turbans and hoods, and a negro with
shaven head and a topknot—lost their temper.

Moorish woman who knows she is handsome will
glance around, and if no Moor in sight unconsciously un¬
cover the face.

Moor won’t look a woman in the face, nor she him.
Marriage is contracted by parents—man never sees her
before he is married.

Consul McMeth has no society—keeps plenty of games
—first week, his wife and her sister cried all the time.

Mrs. McMcth’s little 4-ycar-old Katie, born in Tangier,
fluently speaks Spanish and Arabic but knows no English
—when very earnest talks broken English and uses figura¬
tive language of the Arabs and says “By the beard of my
father—by the good health of my mamma,” etc.

Questions for Debate

Is or is not Capt. Duncan responsible for the head
winds? Is a tail absolutely necessary to the comfort and
convenience of a dog? And if so would not a multiplicity
of tails augment the dog’s comfort and convenience?

Found a nation who refused to take a drink—wonderful
—wonderful—will wonders never cease?

Got back to Quaker City Monday evening, July i,
1867.

Left Gibraltar just as the sun was setting. The sunset
was soft and rich and beautiful beyond description. I

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shall never forget what a dreamy haze hung about the
silver-striped dome of the African pillar—the city and
headland of Sudah and the hills beyond the neutral
ground, and how the noble precipice of Gibraltar stood
out with every point and edge cut sharply against the
mellow sky. Nor how like a child’s toy the full canvased
ship looked that sailed in under the tremendous wall and
was lost to sight in the shadows.

Beautiful starlit night on the Mediterranean.

All we left behind (on the ship) are in snowy Gibraltar
shoes, and our African party are gorgeous with yellow
Moorish slippers.

Midnight July i.

After all this racing and bustling and rollicking excite¬
ment in Africa it seems good to get back to the old ship
once more. It is so like home. After all our weary time
we shall sleep peacefully tonight.

“Sleep makes us all pashas.” (Moorish proverb.)

“Sleep joins the parted lovers’ hands.”

Following this is a memorandum of a hotel
bill in Morocco on which food for 8 is set down
at $12.50 and liquors $18.50, by which one may
suppose that the Tangier stay ended pleasantly.

July 2, 1867. The Mediterranean this morning is a
paler blue than any other sea, perhaps, but the richest
and most lustrous and beautiful color imaginable. 20 ships
in sight all the time.

What a good thing Adam had—when he said a good
thing he knew nobody had said it before.

Chapters VIII and IX of The Innocents
67

MARK TWAIN

Abroad , expanded from his Tangier notes, re¬
veal a remarkable and rather sudden develop¬
ment in Mark Twain’s literary style. Cultured
association on the ship had something to do with
it, and then his imagination responded readily
to the picturesque, and to the poetic association
that clings to crumbling historic landmarks.

68

CHAPTER VII

Athens , Constantinople) Ephesus

Readers of The Innocents Abroad may recall that the
Quaker City landed at Marseilles and that Mark Twain
and his special little group went to Paris, later to Genoa,
then by rail through Italy to Milan, Venice, Florence and
the rest, joining the ship again at Naples. Unhappily, the
notes of this period are lost. We shall never know just
what memoranda he made on the spot of the doings of
Dan and Jack, and of the guide-baiting “Doctor” whose
eternal and devastating inquiry, “Is—is he dead?” made
eager guides lose heart and shrivel, and caused him to be
remembered the length of the Peninsula during many
years.

The next existing notebook begins with Seba Smith’s
stately “Burial of Moses,” a poem whose lofty wording
and majestic imagery had no small influence on Mark
Twain’s work. He frequently recited two stanzas from it,
and now in view of the coming Holy Land trip set them
down in full.

By Nebo’s lonely mountain,

On this side Jordan’s wave,

In a vale in the land of Moab,

There lies a lonely grave.

And no man knows that sepulchre,

And no man saw it e’er,

For the angels of God upturned the sod
And laid the dead man there.

69

MARK TWAIN

And had he not high honor—

'I’he hillside for a pall,

To lie in state while angels wait,

With stars for tapers tall;

And the dark rock-pines, like tossing plumes,

Over his bier to wave,

And God's own hand in that lonely land
To lay him in his grave?

From Naples

Sailed from Naples Aug. ix, at 6 A.M.

7 P.M., with the western horizon all golden from the
sunken sun and specked with the distant ships the bright
full moon shining like a silver shield high overhead, the
deep, dark blue of the Mediterranean underfoot and a
strange sort of twilight affected by all these different
lights and colors all around us and about us.

Sighted old Stromboli. How grand it looms up out of
the lonely sea, and how symmetrical. It is beautiful now
with its dark blue just veiled under a pearly mist that
half conceals and half discloses.

The two jets of smoke have turned into one, 100 feet
broad—can’t sec how high—can’t see it after it gets above
the black background of the farther rim of the crater.

In Rome saw Peter’s footprints.

Peter’s Prison (Mamertine)—Print of face—miraculous
spring he made to baptize the soldiers—hole where he
broke through.

Man on this ship as hard a case as Paul—got to knock
him endwise with a streak of lightning before he could
get religion.

Aug. 14. Approaching Athens. The town extends most

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of the way around the deep circular basin, and has the
cleanest, neatest two- and three-story square cream-
colored buildings we have seen. [Sketch of small sailing-
craft.]

Boats are not pretty but how they fly, and how ex¬
quisitely skillful these Greeks are in handling them. I
would like to stay with them a while.

Bad news. They had touched at infected ports
—all ports were likely to be that—and were not
allowed to land.

Athens

Thursday Aug. 15, ’67.

We were put into quarantine at once, yesterday, and
rather than be cooped up at anchor remote from shore
for 11 days the captain decided to lie still 24 hrs., then
sail direct for Constantinople.

It was remarked by the Commandant of the port (at
Piraeus) that guards would be set, and a watch kept upon
us, and anyone found breaking the quarantine by stealing
ashore would be severely dealt with—and quarantine
laws in these countries are usually harsh, and even un¬
necessarily cruel, sometimes.

It was a bitter disappointment to the whole ship’s com¬
pany, to be so near to famous Athens and not be per¬
mitted to visit it. We could see the city vaguely defined
in the distant valley, with the glass. With the naked eye
we could see the grand ruins on the Acropolis, and with
the telescope could count the columns of the Parthenon.

We imagined we could trace out Mars Hill (the
Areopagus where Paul preached, where the highest court
was held 3 days in a year, and where Demosthenes thun¬
dered his Philippics into the ears of the disheartened
Athenians); we believed we could see the Museum Hill

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and the Pnyx. We cared little for Hymettus and Pen-
telicus.

At ii o’clock at night Dr. Jackson, Col. Denny, Dr.
Birch and I left the ship in a boat and got set on shore
outside the quarantine lines—then straggled over the hills,
serenaded by ioo dogs, skirted the town under a clouded
moon, and in half an hour were safe beyond any chance
of capture and fairly away for Athens. We could not find
a road that seemed to lead in the right direction, and so,
taking the tall steep mountain to the left of the Acropolis
for a mark, we steered at it industriously over hills
through valleys, over stony, desert places, plowed fields
and vineyards, and walked fast, too, for there was little
time to spare if we would get back to the ship before the
treacherous day should dawn.

We made the trip (stopped occasionally by savages
armed with guns who rose mysteriously up out of shadows
and darkness and said “Ha!” when we happened casually
to be stealing grapes, and stood under the towering mas¬
sive walls of the ancient citadel of Athens—walls that had
loomed above the heads of better men than we 1000
years before the Son of God was born in Bethlehem.

It was between i and 2 o’clock—the place was silent—
the gates were shut—the devil to pay. Denny tried to
climb over a ruined wall—knocked down a stone—some¬
body shouted from within and Denny dropped! We soon
roused that fellow out (the guard) and entered the ma¬
jestic ruin.

The Propylasa, gateway to the temples of the Acropolis,
is of lovely fluted columns, of white marble.

All about us fragments, marble-armed chairs, bas-relief
and tablaturcs, statues, etc.

Grim marble faces, glancing up so suddenly out of the
grass at our feet.

Temple of Minerva small.

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Temple of Hercules with the 6 noble Caryatides sup¬
porting the portico.

Old ruined arches in the valley below on the right.

The narrow rocky ridge and flights of steps and square
rostrum on the Areopagus or Mars Hill, sacred to the
memories of St. Paul and Demosthenes, Aristides,
Themistocles, etc.

But Athens by moonlight from the bastions! The King’s
white palace and shrubberied garden flecked with mellow
gaslights! The sharply defined windows, chimneys, shin¬
gles, of almost every single house in Athens, in the splen¬
did lustre that was pouring out of the heavens, even
paling the scattering gaslights. Athens spread out right
underneath our feet, 200 ft. below us, and the grand white
ruin of the Parthenon towering over our heads. Athens
by moonlight! When I forget it I shall be dead—not
before.

Upon these notes he built that wonderful
chapter in The Innocents —a prose poem, though
hardly more vivid than these hasty jottings.

We made the trip, undisturbed save by the armed
grape-guards and 17,000,000 dogs that followed us
through Piraeus, and reached the ship at 4:30, this morn¬
ing just as the day was dawning. I sat up an hour or two
and saw a very beautiful sunrise, a rich flush that suffused
all the heavens behind the Acropolis like a blush.

At 6:30, after I had gone to bed, Mr. Griswold came
and got my Moorish fez and he and James and Crocker
went ashore, intending to steal away to Athens, but the
guards discovered them before they went 1000 yards and
chased them—they say it was a close race but they won
the boat and escaped to the ship.

Aug. 16. Troy.

We are now—11 A.M.—right abreast the plains of Troy

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MARK TWAIN

—a little rock 200 yards long with a light on it was the
anchorage of the Greek vessels. The plain of Troy is wide
and low—8 or 10 miles back is a range of undulating
hills. Half the plain is covered with what seems to be
green underbrush, and the other half is sand. We are
making a straight break for Dardanelles and shall enter
in an hour—Mt. Ida in the distance.

Noon, Passed abreast of ancient Troy and not long
afterward entered the Dardanelles (or Hellespont) and
after this passed the harbor whence Agamemnon’s fleet
sailed to the siege of Troy.

Farther along the tomb of Hecuba on one side and
Ajax on the other.

First architects of Xerxes’ bridge of boats over the
Hellespont were beheaded because the bridge broke away
—the hint was not lost on the second lot—Xerxes’ host
2,600,000 men and 2,500,000 camp-followers crossed it.

Just entering the Hellespont 3 or 4 miles wide—guarded
on either side by Turkish castles, flying the crescent flag.
We are gaining fast on a French steamer since we have
hoisted main and main-top sails and jib—we’ll catch him
in an hour. See a camel train on shore with the glass.
[Sketches and crude drawings of maps—entrance to the
Hellespont, etc.]

Aug. 16. Entered the Sea of Marmora at 5 in the after¬
noon, if I remember rightly.

The Viceroy of Egypt passed us in his lightning yacht
as if we were standing still, waved his hand to us. He
looks a good deal like his uncle (or his brother—which?)
the Sultan of Turkey.

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Night—Rev. Mr. Bullard lectured on Athens, and I
said a few words—same subject.

Constantinople

Aug. 17 reached Constantinople at daylight and an¬
chored in the mouth of the Golden Horn.

Visited the celebrated mosque of St. Sophia near the
Grand Seraglio Gardens, but found nothing there to go
into ecstasies over. It is an immense structure and its
dome is very peculiar, being as great in diameter as St.
Peter’s, perhaps, but enough flatter to be remarkable.

It seemed curious to see these Eastern devotees going
through their extravagant ceremonies in a church that was
built for Christian worship; this strikes one more than
anything else.

The painted bronze open-work of the capitols of the
columns and the filigree inlaying above them are curious
but not fascinating. The numerous pillars in one piece,
precious marbles, are not lovely because they are so
chipped and dented and rusty and unattractive.

The gaudy mosaics in the dome and their grotesque
Turkish writing are not pretty.

The vast gilt circular wooden signs at the corners are
not handsome.

Neither are the numberless coarse oil-mugs for tapers,
suspended everywhere. I had to enter in stocking feet,
and caught cold and got my feet stuck up with the abom¬
inations that besmeared the paved floors everywhere.

It was not bewitching to see a number of dirty varlets
in all manner of absurd costume, sitting tailor-fashion on
the floor, reciting their lessons.

I don’t think much of St. Sophia.

iooo columns underground—curious—nothing more.

The fact that he caught cold there had some-

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thing to do with the temper of these notes, of
course, but in the book written months later he
still had little good to say of St. Sophia. Other
aspects of the city he found more pleasing:

Women rather pretty with their veiled faces and flow¬
ing Oriental robes—but flitting about in the magnificent
distances of the dim arches of the great bazaars, look
horribly like the shrouded dead abroad in the earth.

The bazaars of Stamboul—wonderful.

The dogs of Constantinople more so.

Embroidered jackets of gold and purple, blue and crim¬
son—splendid. Persian shawls and fabrics—and Turkish
—gorgeous.

Turkish Father Recommends His Son

“Can recommend my son as a smart boy and terrific
liar—can cheat deftly.”

New palace on the Asiatic side of the beautiful Bos¬
phorus (3 miles wide) is built on spot where Constantine
erected a gold cross to commemorate his conversion.
When Turks took the place and began to build, many
thought he would declare himself Christian when fin¬
ished, and waited to baptize their children then. They are
waiting yet.

Russia

Spent a day at Sebastopol. Melancholy place—wilder¬
ness of battered down houses—look like forest of broken
chimneys. Not 3 dozen habitable dwellings —they all
new.

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Visited Redan, Malakoff, etc. and picked up cannon
balls and other light relics.

Russia claimed exclusive right to put a new dome on
the Church of the Holy Sepulcher at Jerusalem, and
France claimed the same—England wanted a chance at
Russia—hence, the war. Sounds as absurd as the cru¬
sades.

A large number of handsome young English and Rus¬
sian young ladies visited the ship and spent the afternoon.
They were delighted at her fine appointments and great
size. 1 If we could have brought them back we might have
taken them to Odessa. It was pleasant to hear our own
language again.

Several gentlemen insisted on our visiting the Emperor
with the ship—said they would insure us a superb recep¬
tion by him and would not only telegraph but send a
courier to notify him we were coming. He is spending the
heated months at a little watering-place 30 miles from
here.

For certain reasons we declined, and everybody was
sorry enough, very naturally.

This has been the pleasantest afternoon we have had
for a good while.

Everywhere the prints of cannon balls are in the stone
walls—some as neat as if cut. Some balls still stick in the
walls, and from them iron stains run.

It (Sebastopol) is a completely destroyed town—not
one of its old houses was left standing in that fearful 18
months’ siege. 2

1 She had a register of eighteen hundred tons!

8 Surrendered Sept. 9, 1855. The Russian loss (defenders) 102,670.

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MARK TWAIN

They sell Circassian girls yet in Constantinople, but
the markets are private.

Aug. 25.—On our way back to Yalta to call on the
Emperor of Russia, who has telegraphed the Governor
General of Odessa concerning the matter, and the thing
is all right.

O, geeminy, what a stir there is! What a calling of
meetings! What an appointing of committees! What a
furbishing up of swallow-tail coats!

A committee was appointed to draft an address
to the Emperor. Mark Twain was elected chair¬
man and instructed to prepare the address; which
here follows, as originally set down in his note¬
book.

Your Imperial Majesty:

Wo are a handful of private citizens of America, travelling
simply for recreation, & unostentatiously, as becomes our un¬
official state, & therefore we have no excuse to tender for pre¬
senting ourselves before your Majesty, save the desire of offering
our grateful acknowledgments to the lord of a realm which,
through good & through evil report has been the fast friend of
the land we love so well.

We could not presume to take a step like this did we not
know well that the words we speak here, & sentiments wherewith
they are freighted, arc but the reflex of the thoughts & the feel¬
ings of all our countrymen, from the green hills of New Eng¬
land to the shores of the far Pacific. We are few in number, but
we utter the voice of a nation!

One of the brightest pages that has graced the world’s history
since written history had birth, was recorded by your Majesty’s
hand when it loosed the bonds of twenty million serfs; and

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Americans can but esteem it a privilege to do honor to a ruler
who has wrought so great a deed. The lesson that was taught us
then, we have profited by, & are free in truth, to-day, even as
we were before in name. America owes much to Russia—is in¬
debted to her in many ways—and chiefly for her unwavering
friendship in seasons of our greatest need. That that friendship
may still be hers in time to come, we confidently pray; that she
is & will be grateful to Russia & to her Sovereign for it, we
know full well; that she will ever forfeit it by any premeditated,
unjust act, or unfair course, it were treason to believe.

(Signed) Sam. L. Clemens, Ch’n

D. Crocker )

A. N. Sandford )

Col. Kinney )

Wm. Gibson )

Committee

On behalf of the passengers of the U. S. Steamer Quaker City,
C. C. Duncan commanding.

Yalta, Russia—Aug. 25, 1867

That job is over. Writing addresses to Emperors is not
my strong suit. However, if it is not as good as it might
be, it doesn’t signify—the other committeemen ought to
have helped write it—they had nothing else to do, and I
had my hands full. But for bothering with this matter I
would have caught up entirely with my N. Y. Tribune
correspondence, and nearly with the San Francisco cor.

The reception of our party by the Emperor is to come
off at the summer palace at noon to-morrow.

Aug. 26. The imperial carriages were in waiting at 11,
and at 12 we were at the palace.

In 5 minutes the Emperor and Empress, the Grand
Duchess Marie and the little Grand Duke appeared and
welcomed the party pleasantly.

The consul for Odessa read the address and the Czar

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MARK TWAIN

said frequently, “Good, very good indeed” and at the
close, “I am very, very grateful.”

After talking half an hour the Imperial party conducted
us all through the palace and then all through the young
crown prince’s beautiful palace.

By this time it was after i, and an invitation came
from the Grand Duke Michael to visit his gardens, park
and palace and breakfast with him, which we did.

Prince Dalgorouki went along, and so did that jolly
Count Festetics who is to marry the Governor-General’s
daughter. So also the Lord High Admiral of Russia and
a number of the nobility of both sexes connected with the
Emperor’s household.

But the Grand Duke Michael is a rare brick!—and his
wife is one of the very pleasantest of all these pleasant
people, and both are sociable.

What happened in the park—and again in the court of
the palace, where the fountain was, and the flowers—and
above all the occurrence under the porch which has the
Caryatides in imitation of the Temple of Erechtheus at
Athens—these were rich—they must never be trusted to
treacherous paper—memory will do—I guess no one in
the world who could appreciate a joke would be likely to
forget them.

What really happened in the park was that
one of the Quaker City “pilgrims” said to the
Grand Duke, in a voice subdued in quality, but
not in carrying power,

“Say, Dook, where’s the water-closet?”

The “under the porch” joke was, as he con¬
fessed years afterward, on himself. He had no¬
ticed that a number of the foreign guests had a
bit of red ribbon in their buttonholes—an orna¬
ment, as he supposed. He thought it attractive,
and discovering a bit of red ribbon—from a cigar,

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perhaps—tied it in his own buttonhole. Pres¬
ently Count Festetics, Grand Master of Cere¬
monies, inquired as to his Legion of Honor
decoration. He realized then, and was embar¬
rassed, but not entirely floored. He said hastily
that his ribbon was merely a symbol of a dub of
journalists to which he belonged.

We had not been at the Grand Duke’s long when the
Empress and the Grand Duchess Marie came, and shortly
afterward the Emperor himself. He looked much nobler
than the Emperor Napoleon, and a hundred times more
so than the Sultan of Turkey. Remained half a day,
nearly.

Aug. 27. Carpets were spread over the pier and the
Governor-General and family came on board the ship (we
saluted with 9 guns) and afterward [here follows a list
of dignitaries, including Gen. Todtleben, the honored de¬
fender of Sebastopol all during the siege. And a large
number of army and navy officers and titled and untitled
ladies and gentlemen].

Champagne blow-out.

Aug. 28. Sailed for Constantinople last night, saluting
as we left—and fireworks. That beautiful little devil I
danced with at the ball in that impossible Russian dance
still runs in my head. Ah, me! if I had only known how
to talk Russian! However, she must have known I was
saying some thing with all that absurd English which she
couldn’t understand.

All day ladies bathe naked in full view of the ship. They
don’t consider it any harm, I suppose. At Odessa all ages
and sexes bathe together.

Aug. 29. Passed through the beautiful Bosphorus just

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MARK TWAIN

after daylight and anchored away up in the Golden Horn,
nearly to the lower bridge. Been on shore and found Dan
and Foster, Jack Van Nostrand and Col. Haldeman.

The American minister (Mr. Morris) is to drink wine
on board tonight.

Our imperial visit has had a good effect. It worries the
Sublime Porte a good deal. It is well, for the offensive
resolutions of Congress concerning the Cretan insurrection
have just been received and it may prevent an offensive
reply—may even avert a war—who knows.

Sept. 2. Went over to Scutari—took horse and went on
top of mountain back of city—beautiful view of Con.—
Bosphorus Islands in sea of Marmora—saw most of Black
Sea, etc.

Found a gold mine—good live quartz—the gold in snuff
colored sulphurettes—ought to be very valuable here,
where the labor is so cheap. Its presence is unsuspected.

This is an interesting item, but we hear no
more of it. Perhaps the mine still waits for an
active discoverer.

Sea of Marmora

Sept. 3. Tried to leave Constantinople at 7 P.M., but in
dodging a schooner, whose mainsail we tore with our bow¬
sprit, we fouled a buoy just abreast of the Grand Seraglio
(but within the Golden Horn) and drifted down on the
bowsprit of a Beuctra boat—which cut our starboard
quarter boat clear in two. We got clear at n o’clock, and
in a few moments we saw nothing but 5 miles of lights,
elevated in pyramids, lines and semicircles—arches—the
last of Constantinople.

82

CHAPTER VIII

Syria and the Holy Land

Smyrna

Field —villages of scattered houses or tents that look
like sugar-loaves through the glasses.

Smyrna Bay is very deep—Country low hills and
rolling.

Afternoon—officers of gunboat Swatora came aboard.

Ascended Citadel Hill (Mt. Pagus of Scripture). Went
to Caravan Bridge to see the camel-trains come in.

Ephesus

Sept. 6. All hands took train and went to ruins of an¬
cient Ephesus, 45 miles hence.

Another of the 7 churches of Asia was here.

Apollo and Diana were bom here. Here the god Pan
lurked in the Coressus and the Prion hills; here Bacchus
and Hercules fought against the Amazons; here Hanni¬
bal, Scipio, Lysander, Alexander the Great and many an¬
other man great in ancient history tarried. Here Homer
was born; here Brutus and Cassius lay in refuge in the
temple, and Anthony and Cleopatra held their gorgeous
revels. Here stood the splendid temple of Diana of
Ephesus, one of the Seven Wonders of the World.

Here Paul and John preached; here the Virgin Mary
lived with John, and here both died and were buried.
Here is the tomb of St. Luke the Disciple. Here Mary

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MARK TWAIN

Magdalene lies buried. Here John the Baptist labored.
From these noble ruins many a church in Christendom
and many a mosque has been supplied with its grandest,
its costliest and most enduring columns.

Syria

Sept. ii. Left Beyrut for Jerusalem at 3 P.M.

Our company is composed of 8 persons:

Church, of Ohio
W. R. Denny, Va.

Jack Van Nostrand, N. J.

Davis, Staten Island
Dan Slote, N. Y.

Moulton, Missouri

Dr. Birch

Sam Clemens, Cal.

all mounted on horses. Abraham of Malta is chief drago¬
man, and Mohammed of Alexandria, Egypt, is first assist¬
ant.

Camp equipage: 3 sleeping-tents; 1 kitchen tent, and 1
eating-tent all large, finely furnished and handsome.

Our caravan numbers 24 mules and horses and 14
serving-men—28 men all told.

Camped that night on high ground of the Lebanon foot¬
hills 10 or 12 miles from Beyrut.

They were off on “the long trip” through Syria
and the entire length of Palestine, in summer¬
time. Three or four weeks later those who sur¬
vived would join the ship at Joppa. In the
Innocents we read,

. . . terms five dollars a day apiece, in gold,
and everything to be furnished by the dragoman.

They said we would live as well as at a hotel. I
had read something like that before, and did not

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shame my judgment by believing a word of it, I
said nothing, however, but packed up a blanket
and a shawl to sleep in, pipes and tobacco, two or
three woolen shirts, a portfolio, a guide-book, and
a Bible. I also took along a towel and a cake of
soap, to inspire respect in the Arabs, who would
take me for a king in disguise.

But it all turned out as promised. If their live¬
stock was not very sightly, the comforts were
beyond belief. The finishing touch that night was
when their serving-men spread carpets in their
tents.

I simply said: “If you call this camping out, all
right—but it isn’t the style 1 am used to; my
little baggage that I brought along is at a dis¬
count.”

It grew dark and they put candles on the tables
—candles set in bright, new, brazen candlesticks.
And soon the bell—a genuine, simon-pure bell—
rang, and we were invited to “the saloon.” I had
thought before that we had a tent or so too many,
but now here was one, at least, provided for; it
was to be used for nothing but an “eating-saloon.”
Like the others, it was high enough for a family
of giraffes to live in, and was very handsome and
clean and bright-colored within. It was a gem of
a place. A table for eight, and eight canvas chairs;
a tablecloth and napkins whose whiteness and
whose fineness laughed to scorn the things we
were used to in the great excursion steamer;
knives and forks, soup plates, dinner plates—
everything in the handsomest kind of style. It
was wonderful! And they call this camping out.
Those stately fellows in baggy trousers and tur-
baned fezes brought in a dinner which consisted

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MARK TWAIN

of roast mutton, roast chicken, roast goose, pota¬
toes, bread, tea, pudding, apples, and delicious
grapes5 the viands were better cooked than any
we had eaten for weeks and the table made a finer
appearance, with its large German-silver candle¬
sticks and other finery than any table we had sat
down to for a good while, and yet that polite
dragoman, Abraham, came bowing in and apol¬
ogizing for the whole affair, on account of the
unavoidable confusion of getting under way for a
very long trip, and promising to do a great deal
better in future!

It is midnight now, and we break camp at six
in the morning!

They call this camping out. At this rate it is
a glorious privilege to be a pilgrim to the Holy
Land.

It would not all be a “glorious privilege,” but
not many things in this world could be more
inspiring than their start. To be young (he was
not yet 32), starting with boon companions on a
trip into historic Syria and the Holy Land—days
of it, weeks of it, no hurry—and then, next
morning:

The saloon tent had been stripped of its sides,
and had nothing left but its roof; so when we
sat down to table we could look out over a noble
panorama of mountain, sea, and hazy valley. And
sitting thus, the sun rose slowly up and suffused
the picture with a world of rich coloring.

Sept. 12. Broke camp at 7 A.M. just as Col. Foster and
Col. Hyde went by in the diligence bound for Damascus.
We passed the Leary party and the Bond party during
the day.

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Came down into the great Lebanon valley at noon and
rested and lunched at an old kahn. Far away on the right
the snow-spotted peak of Mt. Hermon.

Passed up the valley and camped on the lower side
under the dews of Hermon—first passing through a dirty
Arab village and visiting the tomb of Noah, of Deluge
notoriety.

Ruins of Baalbec

Broke camp at 6:30 A.M., crossed the valley and at 11
reached the magnificent ruins of Baalbec. Marched about
the ruined temples and the quarries 3 or 4 hours. Found
Bullard, Mrs. Fairbanks, James, and Beach and daughter
there; met Jackson and party, and the Leary and Bond
parties arrived afterward, fagged out—then departed.

One of the fine chapters of The Innocents
is the one describing Baalbec, yet these, ap¬
parently, are his only notes of the ancient city.
Very likely he carried the picture in his head
and set it forth that night in an Alta letter. He
was writing an average of three letters a week
for the Alta and the New York Tribune —long
letters. When did he find the time? In later life
he classified himself as “lazy”; the earlier facts
do not bear him out.

Rode seven hours, partly through wild, rocky scenery
and camped at ten-thirty on the banks of a pretty stream,
near a Syrian village. Two horses lame, and the others
worn out.

Sept. 14. Broke camp at 7 A.M. and made a fearful
trip through the Zeb Dana valley and the rough moun¬
tains (temples carved in them) and finally along a beau¬
tiful stream in a chasm, lined thick with pomegranate,
fig, olive and quince orchards, and nooned an hour at 1

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P.M. at the celebrated fountain of Figia, second in size in
Syria, and the coldest water in the world. Bathed in it. It
is the principle source of the Abana River and is only
half mile long to where it joins.

Beautiful place, giant trees all around—vast stream
gushes from under the mountain in a torrent. Over it is
a very ancient ruin, with no known history—supposed to
have been for the worship of the fountain.

Where Baalam’s ass lived, holy ground.

Damascus

Left the fountain at I P.M. and reached Mohammed’s
lookout place over the wonderful garden and plain of
Damascus and the beautiful city in time to get a good
long look and descend into the city before the gates were
closed.

Sept. 15. Taken very sick at 4 A.M.

Sept. 16. Abed all day yesterday—got enough of Da¬
mascus. Don’t want to see any more of it. Took a jackass
and an Arab to drive it and visited the “Street called
Straight.” Judas’s house where St. Paul lay blind after
his adventure—house and well of Ananias (these are gen¬
uine, at any rate) the disciple who went and invested
Paul with the sacred office as commanded by the Saviour
—the house of Naaman the leper, whom the prophet
Elijah (or Elisha) ordered to wash 7 times in Jordan and
so cured him—the place in the city wall (evidently old
Roman wall) where Paul was let down in the basket and
made his escape toward Jerusalem when a Jew sought his
life—outside the wall the tomb (red chicken-coop) of St.
George, a gate-keeper beheaded for conniving at Paul’s
escape. Further out the hole (genuine and ancient) where
Paul lay hid till he got a chance to get away—and the

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great tomb of the 5000 Christians massacred in Damascus
7 years ago.

Enough of Damascus.

Sept. 16. Left Damascus about 10 or n—4 hours out
saw the spot where Paul was miraculously converted.

Nimrod’s tomb. 4000 years old. The first king.

Camped at an Arab village where Nimrod, the mighty
hunter, the builder of Babylon and the Tower of Babel,
lies buried. He was a fine old sport and a great linguist.

In his book Mark Twain writes:

The last twenty-four hours we stayed in
Damascus I lay prostrate with a violent attack of
the cholera, or cholera morbus, and therefore had
a good chance and a good excuse to lie there on
that wide divan and take an honest rest.

He was better next day, able to go on, but at
a village a few days later Dan was taken vio¬
lently. He might never go any farther. The pil¬
grims were anxious to get on; they might miss
the boat. Besides, it was very uncomfortable
there—a hot, infected, squalid place. The pil¬
grims passed resolutions: they would make Dan
as comfortable as possible, and leave him. Mark
Twain said:

“Gentlemen, I understand that you are going
to leave Dan Slote here alone. I’ll be God¬
damned if I do.”

With a few attendants he remained behind,
with Dan, who presently recovered. They over¬
took the others without much delay. Neither in
his book nor in his notes does Mark Twain men¬
tion anything of this. It was told later by Deacon

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MARK TWAIN

William F. Church, a member of the party—a
man of orthodox views, who did not approve of
Mark Twain, his language, or his habits.

“He was the worst man I ever knew/’ Church
said; then added, “And the best” 1

Holy Land

Sept. 17. Edged into the Holy Land proper, today.

After noonday lunch, climbed a great cone 1000 ft.
high which overlooks the ancient ruined city of Caesarea
Phillippi, Dan, and the great plain wherein are visible
some little streams—sources of the Jordan.

This place where we are encamped is beautiful with
olive groves and the fountain which is the main source of
the Jordan—we washed in it and drank of its waters. The
fountain comes from a great grotto, where the Greeks
(and the Romans afterward) worshiped the God Pan
(hence the name, Panias) and niches are carved in the
rocks still, and the Greek inscriptions. At the same place
Herod the Great erected a marble temple to commemorate
the visit of Caesar Augustus to the city and changed the
city’s name to Caesarea Phillippi also.

C css are a Phillippi

A great massive ruined citadel of 4 acres. Ruined
arches, waterways, bridges, columns, capitols etc. every¬
where. Hoofprints deep in old rocks.

This is the first place we have ever seen whose pave¬
ments were trodden by Jesus Christ. Here he asked the
disciples who the people took him to be, and asked Peter
who he took him to be and Peter’s confident answer
elicited that famous sentence upon which all the vast
power and importance the Church of Rome arrogates to
itself is founded: “Thou art Peter and upon this rock

1 Letter from George H. Warner (brother of Charles Dudley
Warner) to the writer, March 14, 1911.

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etc.—and what thou shalt bind upon the earth shall be
bound in Heaven” etc.

Here Christ cured a woman who had had an issue of
blood for years (nowadays there would have been an
affidavit published) and near here, possibly on the castle
hill, some claim that the Saviour’s ascension took place.

Dan

Sept. 18.

It was first, ages ago the Phoenician Laish—a lot of
Danites from Sodom, 600, came over like a pack of ad¬
venturers, as they were, and captured the place and lived
there, as sort of luxurious agriculturists, till Abraham
hazed them in after times.

We traveled a long stretch (4 miles) of miserable rocky
road, overrun by water, and finally turned and followed
down the other side of the valley, over a half-green, half-
rusty country full of fine sheep, bulls of Bashan and
Bedouin shepherds. The Bedouins are descended from
Esau, and scorn to live in houses. Saw their tents. Then
through several large Arab villages made of coarse mat¬
ting houses, shaped like an omnibus, and finally after
nooning and riding 2 hrs. along a vast green swamp that
occupies the whole width of the valley we camped at last
at a fountain and mill well down abreast of Lake Hula,
or the Waters of Merom, of Bible fame.

Sept. 19. Left our camp by the Waters of Merom, at
7 A.M.

The Arabs threw stones into the camp last night and
tried to stampede the horses.

Rode 2 hrs. over tolerably arable land (fast) and came
in sight of the Sea of Galilee—shortly came to an old
kahn, and in it examined the arched pit called Joseph’s
well, where his brethren threw him. Then over a horrible,
rocky, barren desert (like Nevada) with scattering goats
and shepherds (with pipes) and passed Safed, and close

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to that Bethsaida, from which Christ sent his disciples in
a boat, after the miracle of 5 loaves and 2 fishes per¬
formed at the other Bethsaida, which is above the mouth
of the Jordan 2 miles and a little to the eastward, where
Andrew and several other disciples hailed from. One mile
from Bethsaida we descended to the Sea at Capurnaum,
Christ’s dwelling-place, where he performed a great many
miracles. Some old crumbling ruins there, a ruined kahn
and a fig tree and fountain, Arabs and camels.

Near here was the marvelous draught of fishes.

Tried to get a boat, and didn’t.

This is the brief note that Mark Twain en¬
larged later in Chapter XLVII of The Innocents
Abroad . The pilgrims, he says, had been in a
semi-rhapsody ever since they had arrived near
the Sea of Galilee. The thought of actually sail¬
ing on the waters that had borne the Saviour
and the Apostles almost overcame them. As to
the cost in money of this precious privilege it
was not even considered. Then they heard the
price and lost enthusiasm.

Something of the sort happened. As related, it
may be mixed with imagination a little, but at
any rate the pilgrims did not get the boat.

A brief note follows:

“Took a bath”—(to cool themselves off, per¬
haps).

Crossed a long, rich, oleander plain along the sea to
Magdala, the birthplace of Mary Magdalene—the ratti¬
est, rustiest, dirtiest little collection of mud hovels, tat¬
tooed women and sore-eyed children in Palestine.

Thence along the edge of a mountain, to Tiberius,
another nasty mud-hovel village, full of Arabs, Jews and
Negroes.

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It was built by Herod Antipas, the murderer of John
the Baptist, and named after his friend, the Emperor
Tiberius, so it is only mentioned in the New Testament.

The Sanhedrim met here last, and for 300 years it was
the metropolis of the Jews in Palestine. It has been the
abiding-place of many famous and learned Jewish rabbis.
They are here buried.

Opposite Tiberius on the east side of the lake the swine
ran down to the sea.

We have seen no country between here and Damascus
capable of supporting any such population as one gathers
from the Bible.

The people of this region in the Bible were just as they
are now—ignorant, depraved, superstitious, dirty, lousy,
thieving vagabonds.

Sept. 20. Bathed in Galilee before breakfast. Passed
through the strange old town (beautiful porphyry col¬
umns with paintings almost worn away.) Had a wretched-
looking scalliwag imposed upon us as a guard by the
sheik—a beat with a long harmless silver-mounted gun
and 2 pistols.

Mount Tabor

Transfiguration.

It is mentioned all through, the Bible. New convent,
and ruins of an old one built by the crusaders. Also ruins
of Joshua’s time.

Saw from its summit, Galilee, Hermon, Little Hermon,
Gilboa, where Saul and Jonathan fell, Nain, Endor, Foun¬
tain of Jezreel, the Plain of Ezbraelon, where Napoleon,
the Crusaders, the ancient Jews and all the nations of the
earth have fought at different times.

Then came to Nazareth where Christ lived and car¬
pentered till 30 years of age (not allowed by Jewish law
to teach sooner).

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Imagine Christ’s 30 years of life in the slow village of
Nazareth.

If Mark Twain had not been previously fa¬
miliar with Bible history he was to become rea¬
sonably familiar with it now. He had bought a
little Bible at Constantinople, and he read it
diligently. That he was deeply impressed is cer¬
tain—his writing shows that, and in a way which
perhaps he did not at the moment realize. Some¬
thing of the stately simplicity of the King James
version crept into his style, and remained there.

If, as has been said, Mark Twain “wrote the
purest English of any modern writer,” the rea¬
son for it, in some measure at least, is to be found
here.

Sept. 21. Left Nazareth and its chalk hills at 7.30 and
galloped across the Plain of Esdraelon to Endor, the
rustiest of all of them, almost—a few nasty mud cabins—
many caves and holes in the hill from which the fierce,
ragged, dirty inhabitants swarmed. Pop. 250.

The Witch’s Cave

Has a fig tree before it and a spring within. Endor is a
fit place for a witch. Camel dung on the roofs and caked
against the houses to dry.

Nain

An hour further—still small towns. Little moss over
spot once occupied by the widow’s house. Graveyard—
very old and ratty—exists yet, and place shown where
corpse was passing through city wall when Christ resur¬
rected it.

City of Jezreel

On the hill where Ahab, King of Judah, lived in splen-

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dor with his awful heifer, Jezebel, who swore away a
fellow’s life who would not sell his valley vineyard to
her, and then took possession—on account of which she
fell under a curse. Jehu, the mighty rider, “rode furi¬
ously” (couldn’t have done it anywhere but in this plain)
captured the city, threw Jez. over the walls and she was
eaten by the dogs.

Fountain of Jezreel

Where Gideon slipped up on the Midianites and
Amalekites with his 300 who lapped like dogs and with
candles, pitchers and trumpets made a great host slay
themselves.

Here Saul camped, while the Philistines lay at Shunam
(big advantage of slope all the way). In the night he
passed over left shoulder of Little Hermon to Endor
where witch called up Samuel who prophesied Saul’s
defeat. Next day he and Jonathan and 2 other sons fled
over Mount Gilboa (over our heads) and the 3 were killed
and Saul fell on his sword thus making the throne to David.
Esdraelon is what stands for the Armageddon of Scrip¬
ture—Megiddo.

This Esdraelon is called the battlefield of the nations.
11 separate and distinct nations have fought in it. Think
of all these marshaled at once in this great level plain,
25 miles long and 8 broad—the Assyrians and Persians,
the Jews and Gentiles, Crusaders and Saracens, Egyp¬
tians, Turks, Arabs and Franks, in divers costumes, a
splendid array. Call up the shadowy warriors and deploy
them again on the great plain under the moon! 5,000,000!

Next to El Genin, where we are camped. Dr. Jackson
and Payne are here and the Pasha of Akka with a great
retinue of many camels. Crocker party have gone to
Shechem.

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MARK TWAIN

Sept. 22. Left Genin at I A.M. Some time before day¬
light passed near another place where Joseph’s brethren
pitted him.

Samaria

About noon, after passing over a succession of moun¬
tain tops (saw the Mediterranean Sea 40 miles distant)
and many biblical cities in which the inhabitants looked
savage and would have liked to throw stones (women and
babies with elaborate coin head-dresses).

We came to the singularly terraced hills which showed
that we were out of Galilee and into Samaria.

Climbed a hill to visit the ruin of the city where the
woman of Samaria conversed with Christ and gave him
to drink—where the good Samaritan (the only one that
ever lived there) dwelt, and where Elisha brought
Naaman to be cured of his leprosy.

It is rough stone mud hovels and camel dung as usual
—and a hundred limestone columns 2 ft. in diameter, 20
ft. high and no Capitols or bases—lowest grade of archi¬
tecture—and I suppose that this is all that remains of
Herod’s boasted beautifying of the city.

Ruins of a Christian church of the Crusades and the
tomb of St. John the Evangelist—remains transferred to
the Church of the Annunciation, Genoa.

The Arabs stoned Mr. James here, and 2 stones hit
Miss Brown—our party was not molested except that a
small boy threw a stone at the doctor.

Nablus or Shechem. Luncheon there at 3 P.M. The
Crocker and Beach party on the hill. Ebal on the left
(hill of cursing) and Gerezim on the right (hill of bless¬
ing). Ebal is cultivated with grapes—scattering olives on
the other—disproves the enthusiasts who say the accursed
mountain is barren and the other blooming.

On the hill is the oldest manuscript in existence—Jew-

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ish law. 1 Here Jacob (and I believe Abraham, Isaac,
Joseph etc.) lived, and here Joshua gave the people his
dying injunctions.

Camped at 7 P.M. at an Arab village Lubia (Libonia
of the Bible) tents behind. Slept on the ground in front
of an Arab house. Lice, fleas, horses, jackasses, chickens
and, worse than all, Arabs for company all night.

Sept. 22. Broke camp at 2.30 A.M. and passed the
Severance party in the foot of the valley—lights burning
in their tents.

After daylight passed somewhere in the neighborhood
of Shiloh, where the Ark of Covenant rested 300 years—
Ark taken to battle and lost—Eli fell and broke his neck.

Jerusalem

Loafed all the afternoon at the Mediterranean Hotel.
We entered by the Damascus Gate, part of which is very
old and part was repaired by the Crusaders.

Sept. 23. Visited the Mosque of Omar.

Footprint of Abraham, I suppose when he was going to
sacrifice Isaac. Great rock of Abraham’s sacrifice (au¬
thentic).

Down below is a place where Mohammed shoved rock
up with his head. The rock is suspended between Heaven
and earth. Hole in middle which leads down to Moham¬
medan Hell. Souls stand there and Mohammed lifts them
up by the hair of the head, so they leave a scalplock—if
they lose it they will go to Hell sure.

1 ‘Written on vellum and is some four or five thousand years old”
{The Innocents ,).

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MARK TWAIN

Calvary

Church of the Holy Sepulcher.

Organ and chanting of the monks.

Dim cathedral lights of many smoking tapers.

Place where Helena found the cross and her chapel
where she sat.

Pillar of Flagellation.

Place where soldier was beheaded who said, “Truly this
was the son of God.”

Place where John and Mary stood looking at Christ oa
the cross when he said “Woman, behold thy son.”

Place where Jesus appeared to Mary in the Garden.

Place where the women came at early dawn and saw
the angel at the sepulcher.

The rent rock and the holes where the 3 crosses stood.

Navel of the world in the Greek chapel, where Adam’s
dust came from. Sword and spurs of Godfrey of Bouillon,
first King of Jerusalem (genuine).

Adam’s grave.

Crown of thorns.

The fact that he notes parenthetically that the
sword and spurs of Godfrey of Bouillon are
“genuine” casts a doubt on the other relics and
landmarks. His chapter on the Church of the
Holy Sepulcher, including his reflections at
Adam’s grave, is one of the best in the book.

With Jerusalem as their headquarters, they
now made excursions to near-by localities of
sacred interest.

Sept. 24. Left Jerusalem at 8 A.M. Passed out at St.
Stephen’s Gate, along base of Olivet in Valley of Je-
hosaphat by Jewish graveyard and tomb of Absalom—
Jews throw stones at it to this day.

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mark twain,

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Village of Bethany. It is fearfully ratty—some houses—
mud—6 ft. square, and others holes in the ground—all
windowless.

House and tomb of Lazarus and his 2 sisters.

Ancient Jericho

Where Joshua marched around 7 times and blew down
the walls. Many ruins still there—arches, of course, and
mosaics in the brook. Precipice perforated with holes.

This is the Plain of Jericho, noted as the most fertile
spot in Palestine—they used to irrigate it.

Camped near old square tower (Middle Ages, no
doubt) and modern mud Jericho—garrisoned by 12 men
—Bedouin war.

Priest only entered Holy of Holies once a year, and
then sent scapegoat through Golden Gate to the wilder¬
ness—some rascal gobbled him up, sins and all, before he
got a hundred yards.

No Second Advent—Christ been here once, will never
come again.

Dead Sea

Sept. 25. Visited ancient Jericho and the Fountain of
Elisha. Found mosaics in the pool.

Abraham had a row with the Arabs about pitching
tents in a hot valley among the fig trees.

As usual, got up 2 hrs. too soon (at 2 A.M.) and at 4
had traversed the Plain of Jericho and arrived at the
River Jordan—the ford where the 12 stones were taken
out.

Lay down in the bushes and slept 2 hours and caught
cold. Got up and crossed the Jordan. Then rode 2 hours
to the Dead Sea, and took a long bath. Face blistered and
hair filled with crystallized salt.

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After providing so many sheiks and guides, never saw
a Bedouin.

Sept. 26. Got up at 3 A.M. and traveled 2J 4 hours over
mountains and got to the enclosure of olive trees in a
plain where the angels announced the birth of the Saviour
to the shepherds. Then x /i hour to Bethlehem and to the
Milk Grotto. Then to the Convent of the Nativity built
by St. Helena in 326.

Place where 20,000 children beheaded by Herod were
buried.

Lunched there and left—2 hours to Jerusalem. On the
way visited Rachel’s tomb (authentic).

In Jerusalem breakfasted at noon at the Mediterranean
Hotel and then went to the Hill of Offense where Solomon
built a temple for his Egyptian wife. Tree there that
Judas Iscariot hanged himself from.

Went to the Jews’ wailing-place along the old wall of
Solomon’s Temple—Cyclopean masonry—many Pharisees
with a curl forward of the ear.

Another part of the Temple Wall where Dr. Robinson
discovered the spring of the arch which Solomon built to
connect Zion Hill with the temple. The prophecy that 2
stones should not remain 1 upon the other not strictly
fulfilled.

The ravens could hardly make their own living, let
alone board Elijah.

Jerusalem , cont .

Sept. 27. Left camp outside the city walls between the
Damascus and Jaffa gates (in head of Hinnom valley
which carried the waters of Gihon) and passed Jaffa Gate
on west of the city and crossed Hinnom valley, between
upper and lower Gihon pools where an aqueduct built by
Solomon crosses. Then went south and climbed the Hill
of Evil Council and stood on the house of Caiaphas where

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the priests conspired against Christ, and where Judas
went to receive his 30 pieces of silver—and sat under the
tree whereon he hanged himself. To the south was the
Plain of Ephraim and the Hill.

Proceeded to the Garden of Gethsemane with its Gar¬
den of Flowers and 8 holy olive trees.

Outside saw little lane where Judas betrayed Christ
and, just above, the rock on which the disciples slept.

Turned up to the left, passed St. Agnes’ and Virgin
Mary’s tombs and ascended to top of Mount of Olives, by
road which David ascended when Absalom drove him out
and members of the house of Saul threw stones at him.
By convent where Catholics say Jesus ascended to
Heaven.

To the southwest saw another hill between Olivet and
Bethany where Bible says he ascended.

Sept. 28. Went all through the Holy Sepulcher again.

Saw the rock faces in a wall on Via Dolorosa that cried
“Hosanna” when Jesus passed.

Visited the Fountain of Hezekiah where David saw the
mother of Solomon bathing.

Went to the Pool of Bethesda again for water.

Got a branch from the Cedar of Lebanon planted by
Godfrey de Bouillon, first King of Jerusalem, about 1085
to 1099.

Went out by the Damascus Gate, and 3 P.M. left for
Ramleh—reached there at 8 P.M. or 9. Tall, handsome
Crusaders’ Tower. This is the Valley of Ajalon where the
moon stood still.

Next morning, Sept. 30, rode 3 hours in a gallop to
Joppa—where timbers for Solomon’s Temple were landed.
Jonah sailed from here on his mission. Visited house of
Simon the Tanner where Peter had the vision of unclean
beasts. Napoleon took this place once.

October 1st, 1867. Sailed for Egypt.

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CHAPTER IX

Supplementary Holy Land Notes

Apparently Made on the Vessel, En Route for Egypt

Nazareth

Joseph of Arimathea, carpenter.

The synagogue where Christ read the Scriptures now a
Christian church.

The hill where the multitude intended to cut him down.

The hill in the rear of the town whence an extensive
view can be had—Tabor—Hermon—Carmel—Esdraelon
—he saw all these—one’s thoughts run on the boyhood of
Christ so connected with these scenes. Here his mother
marked the sayings of the Christ and pondered them in
her heart.

Mount Tabor

Tabor is in the distance—an isolated town in the Plain
of Esdraelon—on top, ruins since Joshua and Crusades.
Here Deborah, by direction of God, gathered ioooo men
under command of Barak (Judges V).

Bonaparte, Kleber with 3000 men engaged 27000. Na¬
poleon from Tabor drove them back upon Murat’s cav¬
alry. Jesus took Peter, James and John—while praying
his garment became white and shining, and there ap¬
peared Moses and Elisha, talking with him.

Joseph’s Tomb

Joseph came to this field where is his tomb, in search
of his brother.

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Josh . 24-32

Joseph when closing his eyes in death said “God will
assuredly visit you and bring you out of this land, unto
the land which he sweared to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob.
There and then he exacted of them an oath that they
would carry up his bones with them when they went out
of Egypt.

“And the bones of Joseph which the children of Israel
brought up out of Egypt buried they in Shechem in a
parcel of ground which Jacob bought of the sons of Hamor
the Father of Shechem for 100 pieces of silver.”

At the base of Ebal is a little square area enclosed by
light stone wall neatly whitewashed—across one end of
this enclosure is a Moslem tomb, the Tomb of Joseph.

Samaritan and Jew, Moslem and Christian alike, revere
it, and honor it with their visits. The Tomb of Joseph,
the dutiful son, the affectionate forgiving brother, the
virtuous man, the wise prince and ruler. Egypt felt his
influence—the world knows his history.

Jacob's Well

How many historic associations cluster around it! Here
patriarchs watered their flocks—here Jesus rested and re¬
freshed himself. It is just at the opening of the valley
between Gerizim and Ebal—it is 9 by 90 ft.—an excava¬
tion in the solid limestone rock—it is hewn smooth and
regular. An excavation 10 by 10 deep has been made
about the mouth, walled up and arched over, making a
vault or chamber over the mouth of the well. Here Christ
talked with the woman (John iv-10). This renowned
parcel of ground was bought by Jacob of the children of
Hamor near 800 years before Christ, for a hundred pieces
of money. It has 'lately been bought by the Greeks (had
its value increased—had real estate advanced?) and they
have begun to make improvements around it.

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This is an interesting spot. Jesus rested here on his
journey from Jerusalem to Galilee while his disciples went
to the city to buy meat. 2000 years have not changed the
scenery and the customs of the inhabitants remain the
same—women with water-pots on their heads. This well,
these mountains, yonder city were looked upon by the
Saviour.

The old manuscript of the Samaritan in the synagogue
here done up in the form of a scroll, kept in an elegant
silver case and rolled in cloth of blue, purple and scarlet
interwoven with threads of gold. The transcriber’s im¬
print is wrought in one portion of the scroll into the text
in the form of an acrostic and reads, “Written by Abishua
son of Phineas, son of Eleazar, son of Aaron.”

Bethel

House of God—so called by Jacob—visited yearly by
Saul. Here Jeroboam set up his idol calf.

It is a long low ridge, covered with great piles of stone
—about 3 or 4 acres of ground are covered with ruins. A
few miserable huts—20 in all—constructed from frag¬
ments of the ruins constitute the village.

In the valley, a little west, is a huge cistern, built of
massive stone—one side in good preservation, the other
much dilapidated by the ravages of time. Its bottom is
now a beautiful grass plot. Near by are 2 small fountains
of pure clear water from which this great tank was orig¬
inally supplied.

Originally it was called Luz. Abraham, in his first jour¬
ney through the land, built an altar and worshiped God.
On his return from Egypt he could not forget the rich
pastures and their refreshing springs of water. Rich in
cattle, in silver and gold, he returned to this altar and
again called on the name of the Lord. Here his flocks

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roamed, here the maidens of Sarah came to fill their,
pitchers. \

Here in these pasture grounds began the strife between '
Abraham and Lot’s herdsmen and here the old patriarch
made that munificent offer to Lot.

“Let there be no strife, I pray thee, between thee and
me, and between my herdsmen and thy herdsmen, for we
be brethren. Is not the whole land before thee? Separate
thyself, I pray thee, from me. If thou wilt take to the left
hand I will take to the right, or if thou wilt depart to the
right hand I will go to the left.”

Lot looked down upon the beautiful plain of the Jordan
and chose himself a residence among those cities which
now lie buried in the bitter waters of the Dead Sea.

Here the Lord promised this land: “Lift up now thine
eyes, and look from the place where thou art, northward,
and southward, and eastward, and westward: for all the
land which thou seest, to thee will I give it and to thy
seed forever.” So the old man went in and preempted a
county or two.

Time passed on—Abe rested in the cave Machpelah,
and Isaac saw his sons growing up around him. A lone
traveler is seen passing along this valley, his staff in his
hand. (There was no style about Jacob.) He has made a
long journey from Beersheba, 40 miles, and was neces¬
sarily pretty well fagged out. Night gathers around him—
he takes a stone for a pillow (Jacob was not particular)—
the hard earth for his bed, hard but roomy and the broad
canopy of the heavens for his covering, with a good deal
of wind under it for comfort on a cold night. Why was he
traveling in that sort of style, and his grandfather so rich?
He had a long journey of nearly 500 miles before him. He
was in the vigor of life and though his fare was scanty,
and his pillow hard, he had a stout heart and was favored
with pleasant dreams. He saw a ladder set upon the earth,
and the top of it reached to heaven! And behold the angels

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MARK TWAIN

of God ascending and descending upon it! Above that
ladder he saw the vision of the Holy One and heard a
voice: “I am the Lord God of Abraham, thy father, and
the God of Isaac; the land wherein thou liest, to thee will
I give it, and to thy seed.” And here the promise was
made him that he should be kept in all his ways, and
brought again in safety to this land. He awoke from this
strange vision. “Surely,” said he, “the Lord is in this
place, and I knew it not. . . . How dreadful is this place!
This is none other but the house of God and the gate of
heaven.”

Early in the morning Jacob rose up, took a stone he
had used for his pillow, set it up for a memorial and
dedicated it to the Lord,—and he called the name of that
place Bethel, house of God.

Time passed on—Jacob returned with his wife, chil¬
dren, servants, flocks and herds. Again the Lord appeared
unto him: “Arise, go up to Bethel and make there an altar
unto God.” Again Jacob and all his household dwelt upon
this ground—again he built an altar and worshiped God.

And he called the place El Bethel—God, the house of
God.

So when Jacob wanted a farm he only had to dream.

Here Deborah, Rebecca’s nurse, died and they buried
her beneath Bethel, under an oak.

What a history this place has! How strange to stand
here on the camping-grounds of the patriarchs.

Bethel in Joshua’s time was a royal city, governed by
a king. Here Samuel held one of his circuit courts (was he
a circuit judge?) when he traveled the circuit and judged
Israel. The Ark (of the Covenant, not Noah’s) seems to
have been kept here at one time.

In the separation of the kingdom, after the death of
Solomon, Jeroboam, fearing to have the people go up to
Jerusalem to worship, lest they should go back to their old
allegiance, established idolatrous worship, made ^ golden

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calves, set one up in Dan, the other in Bethel. Here he
built a magnificent temple after an Egyptian model, in¬
tending to rival the one at Jerusalem . Such was the idola¬
trous worship that the name was changed to Bethavan,
House of Idols.

It was at one of these idolatrous festivals that Jero¬
boam attempted to lay hold of the prophet of God who
rebuked his abominable worship, and his arm was para¬
lyzed and withered. These iniquities drew down the wrath
of God upon the place, and 2500 years ago the prophet
Amos was inspired to say: “Seek not Bethel, nor enter
into Gilgal, for Gilgal shall surely go into captivity and
Bethel shall come to naught.”

Look upon these heaps of ruins, these broken cisterns,
these neglected valleys—has the prophecy been fulfilled?
Whose handwriting is here?

And with the same propriety you might point to the
site of any city of that day and say the very same—only
Jerusalem and Damascus have survived—and even the
Jerusalem and Damascus of that day are desolate enough,
for they lie 30 ft. under the ground! All the other cities
are gone! There is a good deal of humbug about proving
prophecies by this sort of evidence.

It is easy to prove a prophecy that promised destruc¬
tion to a city—and it is impossible to prove one that prom¬
ised anything else—more particularly life and prosperity.
It seems to me that the prophets fooled away their time
when they prophesied the destruction of the cities—old
Time would have fixed that, easy enough. Solomon’s Tem¬
ple was not to have one stone resting upon another, but
infatuated travelers of the present day are determined to
believe in spite of prophets, Holy Writ and everything
else, that they have found the foundations of Solomon’s
doomed temple! Possibly they can reconcile this with the
prophecy by saying it is only the ground there they have
found.

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MARK TWAIN

I can go as far as the next man in genuine reverence of
holy things, but this thing of stretching the narrow gar¬
ment of belief to fit the broad shoulders of a wish, ’tis too
much for me.

Gibeon or El Gib

This place is spoken of in the Old Testament as a great
city—“one of the royal cities.” Here lived the people
when the Israelites invaded the land, gathered their old
tattered garments and worn out shoes, packed their sacks
with musty bread, and came with their jaded hungry ani¬
mals and beguiled Joshua and the others into a treaty of
peace. It is a small village now, but great in historic
interest. In the plain below the 5 kings of the Amorites
assembled together to punish Gibeon. Toward Gilgal east¬
ward Joshua and his host encamped. The Amorites are
defeated, the day is not long enough for Israel to con¬
tinue the conquest, and Joshua gives the cver-memorable
command: “Sun, stand thou still over Gibeon, and thou
moon in the valley of Ajalon.” And the sun stood still and
the moon also until Israel was avenged.

On the cast side is a pool or spring. There is first a nat¬
ural cavity or grotto in the rock—then an inner chamber
has been excavated which is entered by a long narrow
opening down several steps of stone. Here a copious foun¬
tain gushes apparently from the rock—a little below it on
the hillside arc the ruins of a large reservoir. It was here
that a remarkable meeting took place between Abner and
Joab—they were generals of the armies of Israel and
Judah—12 men of Judah were charged to fight 12 men of
Israel. The whole 24 were slain. “For they caught every
one his fellow by the head (got him in chancery) and
thrust his sword in his fellow’s side, so that they fell down
together.” And on that plain the subsequent battle took
place. Abner was defeated and the swift-footed Usahel
slain.

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At this city also David’s nephew, Amasa, was slain by
his cousin Joab.

Here too on Gibeon Solomon offered up his 1000 funeral
offerings and here the Lord appeared to him and gave
him the desire of his heart—“Wisdom and Understand-

* _ 33

mg.

Some idea of the care which Mark Twain took
in the matter of Biblical references and reading
is shown in this notebook by his having set down
no less than 20 pages of reference—specifications
of chapter and verse.

It is so long now that I do not remember what we did
after the morning that Dr. Birch and I went to the Pool
of Bethsaida to get a flask of the water. We visited the
Baths of Hezekiah where David fell in love with Uriah’s
wife while she was bathing—also, occasionally, the church
of the Holy Sepulcher and around about the traditional
houses of Pilate, Caiaphas, Dives and Lazarus, and poked
through the Via Dolorosa etc. and so on—and got a most
infernal Turkish bath one night—nothing to the baths of
Damascus and Constantinople. These thieves don’t like
to wash Christians, I think. X took his wife to dinner at
the Mediterranean Hotel one night when we were there
(they still lived in their tents outside the Damascus Gate)
and came in himself after all the courses were served but
dessert and coffee and tried to get off from paying because
he hadn’t eaten a full meal. The old Dutchman made him
pay,though.

Major Barry, Griswold and party have been down to
Jericho, the ford of the Jordan and the Dead Sea, and
were attacked by a gang of Bedouins. A shot or two was
fired—nobody hurt, but Griswold scared a good deal.

Leary’s party was threatened with raid one night, some¬
where down there by the Fountain where the ravens fed

109

MARK TWAIN

Elisha, and had to decamp. We are the crowd, so far, that
have gone to these localities unmolested—weren’t worth
robbing, maybe.

Curse their accursed carelessness to leave that deadlight
open; spoiled the cushions and everything—all the cigars
in the water and tobacco. It never seems to occur to them
that ours is the weather side of the ship, sometimes!

no

CHAPTER X

Egypt and Home

Mark Twain’s Egyptian notes were few and
brief. The ship remained less than a week at
Alexandria, which gave them hardly more than
enough time for Cairo, with the Sphinx and
Pyramids.

Oct. 3. Landed at Alexandria. Fine streets and dwell¬
ings. Fine shade-tree avenues.

Oct. 4. To Cairo, by rail—7 hours—arrived after night.
Oct. 5. Donkeys to Pyramids of Ghizeh—passed old
Cairo, Island of Rhodes.

Crossed the Nile from old Cairo to Ghizeh. Splendid
atmosphere. Beautiful Oriental scenery. Naked girls in the
streets.

Ascent of Pyramid of Cheops.

The Sphinx.

Went into the Pyramid.

Newly opened tomb behind the Sphinx.

Theater of old red granite open near it.

The whole place round about is rich in art—under the
sand.

Dr. Gibson at the Sphinx.

Citadel and lofty wall where the last Mameluke Bey
jumped down.

View of Cairo and Memphis.

Heliopolis and the petrified forest.

Projecting lattices.

Shepheard’s infamous hotel.

hi

MARK TWAIN

Splendid avenue of sycamores and acacias, 3 or 4 miles
to the Pasha’s great garden.

Oct. 7. Returned to Alexandria—Pyramids in the dis¬
tance.

Cultivation—vast oceans of corn etc.

Queer villages.

Soft scenery.

No more than that, yet the Egyptian chapter
with its lofty prose poem of the Sphinx, begin¬
ning, “After years of waiting it was before me at
last,” is probably the high spot of his book. That
and the one of Palestine, beginning: “Palestine
sits in sackcloth and ashes.” Readers who have
been wont to think of Mark Twain chiefly as a
funmaker will do well to turn to Chapters
LVI and LVIII of The Innocents and con¬
sider those particular extracts.

After Egypt the notebook contains just five
items.

Oct. 7. Left Dan, and sailed for Africa.

Oct. 11. At sea somewhere in the neighborhood of
Malta. Very stormy.

Terrible death to be talked to death.

The storm has blown 2 small land birds and a hawk to
sea and they came on board.

Sea full of flying fish.

That is all. The ship put in at Gibraltar for
coal, and with three others Mark Twain spent a
delightful week through Andalusia, “the garden
of old Spain.” But he did not try to write about
it. How could he? After Palestine and Egypt,
even Andalusia must have been tame enough—
restful, but tepid. His book really ends with the
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Egyptian chapter, and it is easy to see that he
could not take up Spain after writing of the land

. . . that built temples which mock at destroy¬
ing time and smile grimly upon our lauded little
prodigies of architecture; that old land that knew
all which we know now, perchance, and more;
that walked in the broad highway of civilization
in the gray dawn of creation, ages and ages be¬
fore we were born; that left the impress of ex¬
alted, cultivated Mind upon the eternal front of
the Sphinx, to confound all scoffers who, when
all the other proofs had passed away, might seek
to persuade the world that imperial Egypt, in the
days of her high renown, had groped in dark¬
ness.

Washington

Mark Twain returned to America to find him¬
self scarcely less than famous. His Alta and
Tribune letters had been widely copied and were
universally known. Not many Americans had
traveled in those days, and they eagerly read
about ancient lands. They had even read the
sanctimonious drivel of certain doctors of theol¬
ogy who had been sent abroad by their “flocks”
to see and report—what they carried with them,
rather than what they found in fact. Mark
Twain’s letters had struck a new note. They had
the ring of sincerity, truth. They destroyed sham
where they found it, and they were sinfully read¬
able. A big Hartford publisher wanted to make
a subscription book of them—the book which
would be named The Innocents Abroad , or the
New Pilgrim’s Progress, and make his fame
secure.

113

MARK TWAIN

He went to Washington, ostensibly as Secre¬
tary to Senator Stewart, really to write Wash¬
ington letters for New York papers. His next
notebook begins:

Fame is a vapor; popularity an accident; the only
earthly certainty is oblivion.

Didn’t drink much on that ship—was like Congress—
prohibit it save in committee rooms—carry it in demi¬
johns and carry it out in demagogues.

Acquainted with General Grant—said I was glad to see
him—he said I had the advantage of him.

Brief Impressions of Washington , Senators
and Congressmen

Washburn of Ill.—gray, unshaved, fleshy a little.

Fernando Wood—iron-gray hair—white moustache.

Jas. Brooks—gray and spectacles.

Woodward (Dem.) of Pa.—bald, specs, unshaved.

Eldridge of Wis.—leading and malignant copperhead.

Alison of Iowa—sack-coat, light-blue pants—looks like
a village law student—plays for handsome looks—30—
hands in pockets—excessively ordinary-looking man—
large flat foot—light handsome brown hair—youngest-
looking member—essentially ornamental—stands around
where women can see him.

John Buckland ( 0 .)—large bald, never says anything
—clothes ungainly on his shapeless body.

Thad. Stevens—very deep eyes, sunken unshaven

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cheeks, thin lips, long and strong mouth, long, large, sharp
nose—whole face sunken and sharp, full of inequalities—
dark wavy hair—Indian—club-footed—ablest man.

Logan—black eyebrows—long black implacable
straight hair, without a merciful curve in it—big black
moustache—pleasant-looking eye often—even makes bad
jokes sometimes, but tigers play in a ponderous sort of
way. Splendid war record—15th army corps and Army
of Tenn.—1 of Sherman’s generals—better suited to war
than making jokes.

Thomas of Md.—belongs to another age—Whig—old
style—hermit in every way—woman-hater—lives up in
mountains alone in N.W. Maryland—one of the oldest
Reps.—is a radical—white hair laid in folds—hair comes
washing forward over his forehead in 2 white converging
waves over a bare worn rock.

Judge Shellabarger—able.

Bingham, Ohio—nervous, severe and ready debater.

Garfield—young, able and scholarly—was chief of
Rosencranz staff—preacher.

Carey of Ohio (8 hour) witty speech—large face—a
little full—Indian—long iron-gray hair tuned back and
not parted—heavy, large, portly man—shaven—long,
thin, strong mouth—slow of movement—ponderous every
way—his strong suit his persistence, no doubt.

Bingham, Conn.—eloquent—commands attention of
House—silky very light hair, just touched with gray—
kinky or rather curvy—turned back loosely so as to sug¬
gest, apparently, with a harrow—large, high, broad fore-

115

MARK TWAIN

head, slightly wrinkled—little gray side whiskers—eyes
that have a drawn appearance of having been strained to
the focus of glasses—a sharp beak of a nose—chews nerv¬
ously, and when gets fagged out poking around, sits down
—is generally around elsewhere than in his seat.

Horace Maynard, Tenn.—one of purest men in Con¬
gress—Union from first—very gentlemanly, talented and
fine speaker. Remarkable-looking man—very tall and
very slim—long black hair, combed flat and behind ears
gives him a trim, shrewd, “cleared for action” old-style
look. Indian. Pleasant look in face. Very little black
moustache.

John D. Baldwin (of Mass.)—Prop. Worcester Spy—
unblemished character—one of the best read men—very
large—specs gold—light gray hair—dark goatee and
moustache—patriarchal look.

Ben Butler—forward part of his bald skull looks raised
like a water-blister—its boundaries at the sides and at its
base in front is marked by deep creases—fat face—small
dark moustache—considerable hair behind and on the
sides—one reliable eye. Is short and pursy—fond of
standing up with hands in pants pockets and looking
around to each speaker with the air of a man who has
half a mind to crush them and yet is rather too indiffer¬
ent. Butler is dismally and drearily homely, and when he
smiles it is like the breaking up of a hard winter.

Robinson, Brooklyn—hair kinky, thick, pretty long—
in odd stripes of rich brown and silver—glossy.

One wishes these notes might continue—
thumb-nail sketches—vivid likenesses. They
break off short. Complications over the Alta let-
116

NOTEBOOK

ters (their book use) seemed to make it advisa¬
ble for their author to return to San Francisco.
He decided to do his book there. If he made any
notes of the outward voyage they are lost. He
left early in 1868, arranged all matters with the
Alta , finished his book, at top speed, lectured in
San Francisco on the Quaker City trip, covered
his old Nevada circuit and returned trium¬
phantly with his manuscript by midsummer.

CHAPTER XI

Notes San Francisco to Nemo York

Left San Fran, for N. Y. in P.M. S.S. Co.’s Steamer,
Montana, July 6, 1868.

July 13. Arrived at Acapulco.

Only 150 passengers on board.

Montana fine ship—stateroom ought to have craft over
berths.

In Aspinwall, all it is necessary to do is to cry Viva
Revolucion! at head of street, and instantly it is in com¬
motion. Doors slam to, 50 soldiers march forth and crip¬
ple half a dozen niggers in their shirt-tails, a new Presi¬
dent is elevated, and then for 6 months (till next rev.)
the proud and happy survivors inquire eagerly of new¬
comers what was said about it in America and Europe.

Trip of a man in a balloon from Paris over India,
China, Pacific Ocean, the plains to a prairie in Illinois.

This was a preliminary memorandum of a
story he had in mind to write. Some pages far¬
ther along the story is begun, but by the time he
was well started he learned that Jules Verne had
published a story with a similar idea which
brought his own to a sudden end. His final
memorandum reads:

While this was being written, Jules Verne’s “Five
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Weeks in a Balloon” came out and consequently this
sketch wasn’t finished.

It seems too bad now that it should have been
dropped. Its resemblance to Verne’s tale would
probably not have been striking, and the interest
and atmosphere of the beginning makes us wish
to see more.

The reader may consider a few paragraphs:

John L. Morgan of Ill., a farmer and a man of good
reputation, told me the following a few weeks ago while
I was visiting at his house. I give it as he gave it to me.
He said:

“In January, 3 winters ago, we had a heavy snow¬
storm. It lasted the best part of 3 days, and at the end
of that time it lay on the ground 15 inches deep. The
prairie in front of my house, as far as the eye could
reach, was a level plain of snow. The roads were covered
up. There was no sign of hoof or track or road. About
noon 2 days after the snow had ceased falling, I walked
out, intending to go to a grove of large timber which
stood, a solitary landmark on the prairie, some 400 or 500
yards from my house. When I had proceeded halfway, I
suddenly came upon a man lying on the snow. He was
insensible. The snow was broken as if he had fallen there
and then rolled over once. He had on heavy brogan shoes,
somewhat worn, a sort of gray striped knit nightcap, on
his head, and wore a shirt and pantaloons of grayish
striped stuff. He did not look like an American. He
seemed to be an invalid, for he was very much emaciated.
This is a runaway scrape, I thought. He was too weak to
hold his horse and has been thrown from a wagon or from
a saddle. I knelt down and placed my hand on his heart
to see if it were still beating, and very naturally glanced
around, half expecting my eye to fall upon the horse or

119

MARK TWAIN

the wagon, but neither was in sight. His body was warm
and his heart still throbbed faintly.

“I rose up to run for assistance, when an odd circum¬
stance attracted my attention: he could not have lain
there the last two cold days and nights, in his feeble con¬
dition, without dying—no snow had fallen during that
time to obliterate the tracks and yet there was no sign of
wheel, hoof or boot anywhere around, except my own
clearly marked footprints, winding away toward my
house! Here was a living man, lying on the snow in the
open prairie, with the smoothness of the snow around him,
totally unmarred except where he had turned over in it.
How did he get there without making a track? That was
the question. It was as startling as it was unaccountable.”

The man is carried to the farmer’s house and
restored to consciousness. The neighbors assem¬
ble with many surmises as to how he came there
—among them the suggestion that he had been
brought there by spirits. When the waif is able
to speak they eagerly assemble to hear his story,
but then it is found that he speaks only in a for¬
eign tongue. The schoolmaster, known to be fa¬
miliar with some of the modern languages, was
sent for and in due time arrived. He at once
pronounced the man to be French.

“Can you understand him?”

“Perfectly,” said the schoolmaster, who was now lion
number two.

“Then ask him how in the mischief he got there where
he was in the snow.”

The Frenchman said that he would explain that cheer¬
fully, but he said that the explanation would necessitate
another, and maybe he had better begin at the beginning
and tell the whole story, and let the schoolmaster trans-

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late as he went along. Everybody said that would answer
and the stranger began.

“I am Jean Pierre Marteau, aged 34. I was born in the
little village of Sous-Saone in the south of France. My
parents cultivated a little patch of ground on the estates of
the Marquis La Bordonnais. Our good priest taught me
to read and write and my parents looked upon me with
much pride for they thought I was going to amount to
something, some day.”

But he read books of adventure and grew up
with a restless longing to go to sea. At sixteen
he ran away and at Marseilles went as ship’s boy
on a coasting vessel. He was a good sailor and
in time became first officer, but his habit of going
on a spree at the end of a voyage got him into
trouble. One night in a row a sailor was shot and
killed.

“There were several circumstances which cast strong
suspicion upon me, and I was arrested. I was tried and
condemned to the galleys for 12 years.”

He made several attempts to escape but each
time was captured.

“At last one day when I was at work in Paris, a week
ago—a week before you found me-”

“How? In Paris a week ago?”

“It is incredible—it is impossible!”

“Let me tell my story, messieurs. I shall not falsify—
we were in Paris, I and many of my fellow galley slaves.
We had been taken there to labor on some government
work. It was 10 in the morning. An officer was sent for
some tools of various kinds—some chisels, files, augers
and a hatchet. I was sent with the officer to bring the
things. I had them all in my arms except the hatchet. The
officer had that. In a great open space we saw a crowd of

121

MARK TWAIN

people gathered together. The officer locked his arm in
mine and pres.scd through the crowd to see what the mat¬
ter was. We could sec an immense balloon swaying about,
above the people’s heads. We elbowed our way through
and stood beside the car. It was made fast to the ground
by a rope. A man was making a little speech. He begged
the multitude to be patient. He said he was only waiting
a minute or two for his assistant to come and make a
line fast to something—a valve, I think he said, and then
he would be off. The balloon was distended with gas and
struggling to get away. An idea flashed like lightning
through my brain. I tore loose from the guard, snatched
the hatchet from his hand, threw my tools into the car,
jumped in and cut the anchoring rope with a single stroke!

“Whiz! I was a thousand feet in the air in an instant.”

That is all. We shall never know the rest of
that story. We should like to, for it has move¬
ment and possibilities.

122

CHAPTER XII

A Trip to Bermuda

Now comes a long break, during which Mark
Twain either kept no notes or they have disap¬
peared. He was so busy, now, perhaps he had
little time for notes. Following success of The
Innocents Abroad he married Olivia Langdon,
of Elmira, New York; took up residence in Buf¬
falo, where he had become one of the owners
and editors of the Buffalo Express’, wrote Rough¬
ing It’, lectured; sold out in Buffalo and re¬
moved to Hartford; wrote (with Charles Dudley
Warner) The Gilded Age’, wrote a play (“Colonel
Sellers”), based on that book; wrote and pub¬
lished The Adventures of Tom. Sawyer; began
the Adventures of Huckleberry Finn; built a
house; made trips to London and lectured an
entire season there, besides doing a quantity of
short stories, articles, etc., the story of all of
which has been elsewhere set down. 1

It was not until the spring of 1877 a new
notebook begins—a record of a trip he made
with his dear Hartford friend, Joseph H.
Twichell, a minister who had helped to marry
him to “Livy” Langdon seven years before. The
book is labeled:

Trip to Bermuda with Twichell
May 16 (1877). Gobbled a youth’s place in the line—
1 In Mark Tvxiin—a Biography, chapters LXVII to CX.

123

MARK TWAIN

(for seats in the dining-saloon) and was proud of my
manly assertion of my rights. When he yielded and looked
so meek and abashed, I felt infinitely ashamed of my¬
self. Did not get through blushing for an hour.

In a Bermuda Boarding House

Read self to sleep with the Ladies Book of 44 years
ago—such pieces as the “Broken Vow” (Mrs. Norton),
“The Lone Indian,” etc. They were a sad and sentimental
lot in those days. Then I woke Joe up with my snoring,
and he came in and after a world of row and trouble got
me awake. I apologized.

Drove alongshore—one horse and intelligent young
colored man. The seaview always enchanting—light green
water striped here and there with brown where rocks
lying near surface. Sailboats flying over the rippled water,
distant glimpses of brilliant green water through narrow
gaps between many little islands.

Here and there his notebook is illustrated with
sketches—palm tree, bamboo, etc.

The whitest, loveliest chimneys with soft shade on the
shady side. They don’t look like marble but something
whiter, daintier, richer—white sugar is the nearest to it.
No sign of mortar joints or any joints of any kind in house
or chimney—just solid seamless white sugar, carved out of
a single cake—then the windows sawed out and the green
Venetian blinds put on.

There is a painful and constant sense of a great unde-
finable lack here—at last it burst upon us what it was—
Tramps!

Living is very cheap and there are potatoes and onions
for all. Nobody can starve. Plenty of schools—everybody
can read.

Rent a cottage for $5 a month; heavy farm work wages

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5 shillings per day—lighter work 4 shillings per day-
pretty high wages—don’t see how living can be so cheap.
Yet we were shown a lovely new house, white as the
driven snow, situated on a lovely rocky point running
out into the sea—said the house and grounds only cost
$900, which was probably a lie. In New England or New
York that house would cost $10,000, without the ground,
that is, if the inside work is at all in keeping with the
outside. There are not twelve houses in Hartford as pic¬
turesque and as beautiful and captivating to the eye as
this $900 affair.

A good deal of change during the half-century
or so since then.

Hamilton is the place for pretty outsides.

Saw one outcrop of hard limestone—all the rest of the
island is coral. By the queer and abrupt dip it has in a
thousand places, suppose it was hove up from below sur¬
face by earthquake.

Our darky said that here everybody knows everybody.
Presently (away on a country road) Twichell said,
“There’s a little dog—seems lost and is worn out.”

“He belongs to an old man named Yokes.” So the
driver is acquainted with all the dogs too.

Well, he doesn’t need to know many, for dogs are very
scarce. However, they make it up in cats.

Cedar is a pretty enough tree except when it is the
prevailing tree, then it is not so pleasant. In fact the cedar
is so everywhere that you almost get the impression that
it is the only tree here.

Pretty little bird on wall—had to stir him up with
whip handle to make him move—so he moved a foot and
grumbled about it—and we left him there.

A country cottage here with its cozy comfort bedded in
among a wealth of brilliant scarlet geraniums and other

MARK TWAIN

flowers, and the pink oleander, is a might pretty thing.
In other countries you’d know the cottage was worm
eaten and rotten—here you know it is as sound as if
brand new.

Started with basket of lunch to go yachting—turned
back to get soft hats—took a back street to avoid passing
a second time the negro man who is building the fence
and to whom we talked yesterday. What might he think—
though he said nothing. We were not brave enough to
have his secret and depreciatory thoughts about us. Got
the hats and took another back street.

Couldn’t get a yacht so returned home with the basket,
and this time boldly passed the negro—arguing inwardly:
“There has been time enough now for him to imagine we
have done the thing we set out to do.”

That is it. You are a coward when you even seem to
have backed down from a thing you openly set out to do.

Saw a tree wholly naked of leaves, but with brilliant
red flowers, of a shape that rather more suggested a star
than anything else—the flowers were wide apart so the
tree was a sort of constellation.

Cat-poisoning case, where chickens got some of the
poison (after warning) and one whose cat got some, egged
on the negro woman to bring suit. Magistrate gets half
the fines—decides against the client who is ablest to pay
the fine. That’s the dimensions of the country.

One can’t imagine where the poor live in these be¬
witching cottages.

We said to our driver, referring to a man in front of us,
“Drive ahead of him.”

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NOTEBOOK

“He’ll turn out in a minute.”

I wondered how the driver knew. But he did know, be¬
cause he knew the man and where he lived. He knows
everybody. The man did turn out.

The houses and roofs are like the white frosting or
icing on a cake.

At Sea

Went to sea at 4 P.M. A doctor aboard has an in¬
fallible remedy for seasickness—is going from lady to
lady on upper deck administering it and saying it never
fails. This as we go out over a reef.

7 P.M. All the ladies are seasick and gone to bed, ex¬
cept a Scotchman’s wife.

7:30. The Scotchman’s wife has “caved.”

8 P.M. The doctor is emptying himself over the side.
So much for infallible preventives of seasickness.

Mark Twain went to Bermuda, as he declared
later, purely for pleasure, but he wrote three
articles about it: “Rambling Notes of an Idle
Excursion,” published in the Atlantic, and today
in his collected works. He always loved Bermuda,
and during his later years made frequent trips
there, his final visit ending a little more than a
week before his death in 1910.

Indians at dinner with whites. One ate spoonful of
mustard; another one said: “What crying about?”

“Thinking about the good old chief that died.”

Number two ate a spoonful of mustard—number one
asked:

“What you crying about?”

“Thinking what a pity you didn’t die when the old
chief did.”

Political parties who accuse the one in power of gob-

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MARK TWAIN

bling the spoils etc. are like the wolf who looked in at
the door and saw the shepherds eating mutton, and said:

“Oh, certainly—it’s all right as long as it’s you—but
there’d be hell to pay if I was to do that.”

Adam was the author of sin, and I wish he had taken
out an international copyright on it. For international
copyright could have won, then. But when there came
to be two men, it was too late, because there was one to
oppose it, and experience shows that that fellow would
have had the most influence.

The old man said: “When I think of the suffering which
I see around me, and how it wrings my heart; and then
remember what a drop in the ocean this is, compared
with the measureless Atlantics of misery which God has
to see every day, my resentment is roused against those
thoughtless people who are so glib to glorify God, yet
never have a word of pity for him.”

128

CHAPTER XIII

Notes, Literary and Otherwise

Nov. 23,1877. First note made of The Prince and the
Pauper.

Edward VI and a little pauper exchange places by
accident a day or so before Henry VIII’s death. The
Prince wanders in rags and hardships and the pauper
suffers the (to him) horrible miseries of princedom, up
to the moment of crowning in Westminster Abbey, when
proof is brought and the mistake rectified.

A man sent to superintend a private madhouse takes
charge of a sane household by mistake. It is in England
and when they call him the “keeper” they do so because
they think he is the new gamekeeper, who by mistake is
now in charge of the maniacs in the other house, and
vastly perplexed too.

Dion Boucicualt, the dramatist, gave me this idea and
told me to use it.

Publish scraps from my autobiography occasionally.

March 20, Twichell, at the farewell Pentecost meeting
yesterday, urged people to keep on going to church—
“We can’t give you such preaching, but you can come,
nevertheless, and take what God can give you through us
(the local preachers), remembering that half a loaf is
better than no bread. You know that the ravens brought
food to Elijah, and when he got it, it was as nutritious
as if it had been brought by a finer bird.”

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MARK TWAIN

He was preparing at this time to rewrite Cap¬
tain Ned Wakeman’s Visit to Heaven , based, as
he always said, on a dream told him by Capt.
Wakeman, whom he had first met on the ship
on which he sailed from San Francisco to Nica¬
ragua in 1866. He had met Wakeman again in
1868, on the way to San Francisco, and had
written then a rough draught of story.

Have all sorts of heavens—have a gate for each sort.

One gate where they receive a barkeeper with artillery
salutes, swarms of angels in the sky and a noble torch¬
light procession. He thinks he is the lion of Heaven. Pro¬
cession over, he drops at once into awful obscurity, but
the roughest part of it is that he has to do 3 weeks
penance—day and night he must carry a torch and shout
himself hoarse, to do honor to some poor scrub that he
wishes had gone to hell.

Wakeman is years and years in darkness between solar
systems.

Noble system, truly, where a man like R. H. Dana
can’t be confirmed, and where a person like Jones, whose
proper place is shyster in a Tombs court, is sent to the
U. S. Senate; where it is impossible to reward the most
illustrious and fittest citizens with the presidency.

Look at the list:

Polk, Tyler, Pierce, etc. and almost Tilden, with the
suit pending for swindling the revenue. Half the nation
voted for him.

This beggarly congress of ignorance and frauds. The
back-pay gang of thieves.

Congregational singing reminds one of nothing but the
dental chair.

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As sure to do you ultimate insult and injury as a suppli¬
cating sufferer whom you have helped out of his distress.

The Congregational graveyard at Washington—stones
even for ex-members of Congress buried elsewhere.
Chuckle-headed vanity of brief grandeur can no further
go. Congressman is the trivialest distinction for full-
grown man.

To go abroad has something of the same sense that
death brings. I am no longer of ye—what ye say of me is
now of no consequence—but of how much consequence
when I am with ye and of ye. I know you will refrain
from saying harsh things because they can’t hurt me,
since I am out of reach and cannot hear them. This is
why we say no harsh things of the dead.

Going abroad we let up on the weight and wear and
responsibility of housekeeping—we go and board with
somebody, who is suffering it but it troubles us not. Here
we are helping the nation keep house—we go abroad and
become another nation’s guests—we don’t have to feel
any responsibility about his housekeeping, nor about our
nation’s that we’ve left behind. So, to go abroad is the
true rest—you cease wholly to keep house, then, both
national and domestic.

How insignificant a Senator or an M. C. is in N. Y.—
and how great a personage he is in Washington!

We should have a much better sort of legislation if we
had these swollen country jakes in N. Y. as their capital.
Congress ought to sit in a big city.

I remember how those pigmy Congressmen used to
come into the Arlington breakfast room with a bundle of
papers and letters—you could see by their affection for
it and their delight in this sort of display that out in the

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MARK TWAIN

woods where they came from they weren’t used to much
mail matter.

They always occupied their seats at table a level hour
after breakfast, to be looked at, though they wore a weak
pretense of settling the affairs of empires, over their mail
—contracting brows, etc.

How N. Y. would squeeze the conceit out of those
poor little Congressmen.

There’s a cherk and natty something about N. Y.
dress and carriage male and female which can’t be imi¬
tated by the outsider. On a railway, steamboat or else¬
where there can always be a question as to where a
lady or gentleman hails from, unless from N. Y.—then
there is no question. Getting your millinery made by the
N. Y. milliner doesn’t help—you can’t fool anybody—
you’re a provincial in disguise and any blind man can
see it.

132

CHAPTER XIV

Notes for a New Book

11 A Tramp Abroad”

Mark Twain and his family—Mrs. Clemens,
and their two little girls, Clara and Susy—accom¬
panied by Miss Clara Spaulding of Elmira, N. Y.
(later Mrs. John B. Stanchfield) sailed on the
Holsatia for Hamburg, April n, 1878.

An exceedingly steady ship in an ordinary sea is the
Holsatia —rolls very little.

The ship, however, did not prove entirely sat¬
isfactory. In one of his notes, partly in German,
he writes:

Noisy cabin—shrieking children—the ceaseless metallic
clatter of that old cracked kettle of a piano and the
thunder and pounding of the screw, with an occasional
avalanche of crashing crockery as the ship lurches, this
is the afternoon hell in this ship daily. But the piano is
the special hell—how it racks one’s head.

Until it stops—then you think the scream-voiced boy
is it.

There goes the B’s crying baby. Now a guffaw of beastly
laughter. Now the little Spanish boy is hurled headlong
down into our gangway by a lurch of the ship and fetches
up with a heavy bang and pile of books and rubbish
tumble down.

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MARK TWAIN

20th April. Three days of heavy sea now and the above
is my first attempt to get an afternoon nap.

It is a marvel that never loses its surprise by repetition,
this aiming a ship at a mark 3000 miles away and hitting
the bull’s-eye in a fog—as we did. When the fog fell on
us the captain said we ought to be at such and such a
spot (it had been 18 hours since an observation was
taken) with the Scilly Islands bearing so and so, and
about so many miles away. Hove the lead and got 48
fathoms—looked on the chart and sure enough this depth
of water showed that we were right where the captain
said we were. Another idea. For ages man probably did
not know why God carpeted the ocean bottom with sand
in one place, shells in another etc. But we see, now; the
kind of bottom the lead brings up shows where a ship
is when the soundings don’t—and also it confirms the
soundings.

Lying story books which make boys fall in love with
the sea. Capt. Brandt’s experience and that of young
Cooper in the English paper and a million other instances
show 2 things (Dana’s and that of the young Canadian
of the Astor expedition)—that a common sailor’s life is
often a hell, and that there are probably more brutes in
command of little ships than in any other occupation
of life.

Hamburg

Church St. Nicholai very beautiful, openwork stone
spire (said to be next highest in the world) set upon a
huge brick edifice. One account says this spire is the high¬
est in the world. Well, no matter, the church can claim
one preeminence I think which cannot successfully be
disputed—that the inside of it is the dismalest, barrenest,
ugliest barn that exists in the boundless universe of God.

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200 people present (forenoon) commoners of the com¬
moners, not a gentleman or lady—what they seem to need
at St. N. is more congregation and not quite so much
steeple.

The German Stove

“Who is buried here?”

“Nobody.”

“Then why the monument?”

“It is not a monument. It is a stove.”

We had reverently removed our hats. We now put
them on again. Stove 8 ft. high—female bust in a circle
in the side midway—3 Y% ft. by z 1 /^—very ornamental,
around the top.

Huge parlor and bedroom. Silk quilts and top beds.
Parlor vast—looks out on great paved space before the
stately railroad station. Two red silk sofas; 4 tables;
writing desk; 12 chairs. Polished floor with rugs.

Three large windows; 2 large mirrors; 2 candelabra
with 3 candles each against the walls; 2 with 4 each be¬
fore the mirrors.

In Europe they use safety matches and then entrust
candles to drunken men, children, idiots, etc., and yet
suffer little from fires, apparently. The idea of an open
light in one of our houses makes us shudder.

Heard cuckoo in woods at W. May 2. Heinrich said:
“How long shall I live?” The cuckoo went on cuckooing
for the next 20 minutes—wherefore H. is a Methuselah,
each yell meaning a year. First cuckoo I ever heard out¬
side of a clock. Was surprised how closely it imitated the
clock—and yet of course it could never have heard a
clock. The hatefulest thing in the world is a cuckoo clock.

German cleanliness reaches an altitude to which we
may not aspire. These peasants are as cleanly in their

I3S

MARK TWAIN

houses as the Yankee of romance, and more cleanly than
the reality.

Even in the narrow crooked lanes of the old parts of
the cities where the poor dwell, the children are neat and
clean—much white stockings on the little girls.

Legend that Charlemagne arrived at the Main with his
army, chasing the Saxons, or chased by them—early in
the morning—fog and could not see well—saw a deer
taking her young along, judged she would seek a ford.
So she did—C. crossed there and resolved to build a city
which he named the ford of the Franks—Frankfort—
there’s an old bridge there with Cs statue on it.

In Frankfort, hotel chandelier with 9 burners but you
had to light 8 of them in order to see the other 1. Bad
gas has no nationality.

Students in Gottingen with dreadfully scarred faces.
Here you can’t tell whether a man is a Franco-Prussian
war hero or merely has a university education.

Street-car conductor wears bright new uniform and is
as polite as—but there is nobody at home to compare
his politeness with—and politeness costs so little. Our
national impoliteness is not natural but acquired. It would
be a curious study, how and from whom we acquired it.

The bank in Hamburg was up a stable yard, apparently.
If ours were as modest, they wouldn’t fail so often,
maybe.

Bought good cigar for 2c, though my friends say I
don’t know a good cigar when I see one.

’ The lower-class women, however nicely dressed, wear
nothing on the head in this hot sunshine.

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They look surprised here when I order a second armful
of wood for the monument. Proper enough, for I find that
one small armful, if it be good brisk burning wood, heats
the entire monument, and it stays hot for 6 hours—a more
economical stove than exists elsewhere in the world, per¬
haps. No wonder it has held its own for several hundred
years.

A fire was made in our monument at 11:30 this morn¬
ing. It is now 7 P.M. and I cannot bear my hand on the
lower part of it. The room has been uncomfortably warm
all the time, and is yet. It is not cold weather, but with
no fire the room is quite uncomfortable—chilly.

A little later, however, he was out of sym¬
pathy with the monument, and wrote,

How we miss our big wood fires, these raw cold days
in the end of May. In all this region, I suppose they’ve
nothing but their close stoves, which warm gradually
and then stink and swelter for hours. It is the same vile
atmosphere which a furnace has which has no cold air
box and so heats and reheats the same air.

John Hay, attempting German with a stranger all day,
on a diligence—finally stranger, after trying for 20 min¬
utes to form a sentence, said, “Oh, God damn the
language!” Hay—embracing him, “Bless my soul you
speak English!”

Some of the German words are so long that they have
a perspective. When one casts his glance along down one
of these it gradually tapers to a point, like the receding
lines of a railway track.

Clara (Spaulding) reading in the sun in the castle
grounds:—fine old gentleman hesitated, passed on, came
back and said he must tell her she was injuring her eyes.

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MARK TWAIN

Students send 2 to Berlin and 2 come here from Berlin
to flight. ’

This morning Man \j y 8 couples fought— 2 spectators
fainted. One student had a piece of his scalp taken. The
others’ faces so gashed up and floor all covered with
blood. They only wear protecting spectacles.

Mr. PfafT had a 6-inch piece of sword that had been
broken in the fight. It was two edged and wonderfully
whetted up and sharp.

They fight twice a week—in a Wirtschaft up a little
road, opposite hotel on the other side of river.

Told z German gentlemen tlie way to the Wolfsbrunen,
in elaborate German—one put up his hands and solemnly
said, "Gutt im Himmel.”

Dreamed all bad foreigners went to German heaven,
couldn’t speak the language, and wished they’d gone to
the other place,

To make a German sentence complete and beautiful
you have only to add: “Wollen haben sollen werden,”
after you have got through with what you wanted to say.

May 24, theater, Mannheim* King Lear—performance
began at 6 sharp. Never understood a word—by and by
a terrific and perfectly natural peal of thunder and vivid
lightning. G. said. “Thank heaven it thunders in English
anyway.” Afterwards, at home, said, “Sat three hours—
never understood a word but the thunder and lightning.”

May 25. Not a star tonight—consequently the display
of lights is particularly plentiful and vivid—strong reflec¬
tions in water from the lights on both bridges.

And the Bahnhof! What to liken it to!

But nothing in the world so overpowcringly beautiful
as a tree in an ice-storm, in sun and gentle wind. It is
worth crossing three oceans to see,

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The Grand Duchess of Baden passed through today—
streets and Bahnhof decked with bunting, and cannon
fired. She is the Emperor’s daughter and was in the car¬
riage with him last week when that communist fired
on him.

A coin, sleeve-button or a collar-button dropped in a
bedroom will hide itself and be hard to find. A handker¬
chief in bed can’t be found.

A dog is “der Hund”; a woman is “die Frau”; a horse
is “das Pferd”; now you put that dog in the genitive case,
and is he the same dog he was before? No, sir; he is “des
Hundes”; put him in the dative case and what is he?
Why, he is “dem Hund.” Now you snatch him into the
accusative case and how is it with him? Why, he is “den
Hunden.” But suppose he happened to be twins and you
have to pluralize him—what then? Why, they’ll swat that
twin dog around through the 4 cases until he’ll tnink
he’s an entire inter-national dog-show all in his own per¬
son. I don’t like dogs, but I wouldn’t treat a dog like
that—I wouldn’t even treat a borrowed dog that way.
Well, it’s just the same with a cat. They start her in at
the nominative singular in good health and fair to look
upon, and they sweat her through all the 4 cases and the
16 the’s and when she limps out through the accusative
plural you wouldn’t recognize her for the same being.
Yes, sir, once the German language gets hold of a cat it’s
good-bye cat. That’s about the amount of it.

May 28. Bought a couple of gorgeously dressed horrors
in castle museum to start a portrait gallery of my ances¬
tors with. Paid $1.25 for the male portrait and $2.50 for
the lady. The gentleman has a most self-satisfied smirk,
but if he had known he would be sold to a base untitled

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MARK TWAIN

Republican a hundred years later for $1.25 would it have
taken some of the tuck out of that smirk?

And this fair young creature with her lavish finery and
her hair in a druggist's mortar shape with a bed of roses
on top—what has become of her graces in these hundred
years? Very likely the gallants praised this picture and
said it was destined to grow in value and fame with the
century like the works of the old masters, and by and
by be within the purse-reach of none but kings and suc¬
cessful brewers. And now she goes for #2.50.

June 2, '78, ten days ago a socialist fired 4 shots at the
emperor, in Berlin, without effect. He was captured. The
emperor was driving out with his daughter, the Grand
Duchess of Baden.

Today he was fired upon again, this time by an under
officer of the government, it was said. Wounded in cheek
and arm he lost a good deal of blood. He is so old the
shock may kill him. A crowd rushed at the house and were
received with a shot from the assassin which hit a land¬
lord. The assassin wounded himself, but not fatally.

June 10, Emperor to leave his bed again—this is won¬
derful. 8 days after receiving such lacerating wounds in
arm, shoulder and side—with buckshot—and at his age. 1

The best English characteristic is its plucky and per¬
sistent and individual standing up for its rights. No other
people approaches England in this admirable, this man¬
liest of all traits. It makes every man in the whole nation
a policeman—the administration of law can never go lax
where every individual secs to it that it grows not lax in
his own case, or in cases which fall under his eyes.

June 19. Dreamed Rosa (nurse) complained in German
of Fraulein—good, fluent German—I could not under-

1 William I, then 81 years old.

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stand at all, but got the sense of it—could hardly scare
up words enough to reply in, and they were in very bad
grammar. Very curious.

In early times some sufferer had to sit up with a
toothache, and he put in the time inventing the German
language.

Antique oak chair and table, bought very cheap in
Heidelberg. Made last year of pine and stained this year
in water-color black which rubs off. Rubbed off all the
antiquity in 6 weeks.

They work the cows in wagons—maybe they can’t give
good milk—would like to put one in a hydraulic press
and squeeze her.

German laundry could not have acquired this perfect
ignorance of how to do up a shirt without able instruc¬
tion—one easily sees England in it. Your collar is like a
horse-collar; your shirt can stand alone and when you
get into it you feel ready for crime. It is a wonder they
do not have more crime here, but it is increasing as adop¬
tion of clean shirts spreads among the social democrats.

June 29. Six students entered the Schloss grounds this
afternoon in single file, each solemnly towing a big dog.

German hotels and houses are as brilliantly lighted as
English ones are dark.

The Children

Clara, age 4: “I brang you some flowers—no I bringed

Clara: “Why mustn’t I?”
“Because I said not ."

141

MARK TWAIN

“But that is no why”

Mr. Albert: “Why, your papa would let you have one”

Susie: “Yes—but we do as mamma says.”

At Venice

October 14, 1878. This, to all Americans and English¬
men who have read my books and been made wiser and
better thereby:

I hardly ever venture to recommend anybody to a
stranger, lest I do that stranger an unintentional harm,
but in this case I do not feel afraid. If you employ Dittura
Agostino you will find that you have done wisely and well.

Venetian oysters the size of beans—half a dollar a
dozen—tasted 4 dozen.

Close to the end of a red stone bench, where a strip of
embedded iron clamps a new corner, the shape of a brick,
to the rest of the bench, I discovered a mottled surface,
polished by the loiterers of several centuries, another
antique, one which made the hoary mosaic of St. Mark’s
but novelties born of yesterday—an antique which was
already an antique when these fables pictured over my
head were invented—an antique which was already an
antique a hundred thousand years or so before—it was a
fossil shell, nearly as large as the crown of my hat. It had
been polished down until it was of the appearance of the
section of a periwinkle (for its form was a spiral).

New acquaintances and old were always rec¬
ommending to him remedies for ailments and
accidents.

Crude petroleum is an infallible cure of rheumatism,
applied externally.

A man dreadfully poisoned by poison oak (poison ivy)
was urged to eat the leaves of it and was thoroughly

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cured. Since then he rubs his hands and face, or eats the
leaves with impunity—never gets poisoned.

It is to be hoped he did not employ these
remedies. Possibly the crude petroleum might
help his rheumatism, but eating the leaves of
the poisoned ivy, as the writer knows by ex¬
perience, could only have resulted in his having
a very badly poisoned mouth. It is difficult to
say how that old fallacy became current.

The Old Masters 5 horses always rear after the fashion
of kangaroos.

About 1440-45, a Candian named Staminato in the
suite of a prince of the House of Este was permitted to
view the treasure collection of St. Mark, and concealed
himself behind an altar in the body of the cathedral, but
was discovered by a priest. Then he entered by false keys.
After numerous difficulties and the labor of many nights
he removed a block of this marble paneling which walled
the lower part of the treasure. This panel he fixed so as
to be removable at will. Then night after night he visited
this magnificent mine, inspected it at his own sweet pleas¬
ure and carried away jewels and gold worth 2,000,000
golden ducats, or £8,000,000, say at present valuation
$50,000,000. He even carried off a unicorn’s horn (a mere
curiosity) and had to saw it in two with great patience
and difficulty. It shows how perfectly secure and undis¬
turbed he was. He could have gone home the richest
private citizen of his country, and it might have been
years before the plunder was missed. But he could not
enjoy his delight alone. So he exacted a solemn oath from
a Candian nobleman named Crioni, then took him to an
obscure lodging and astounded his eyes. Great carbuncle—
(afterwards on Ducal cap). He detected a look on C’s face
which excited his suspicion, and was about to slip a stiletto

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MARK TWAIN

into him when C saved himself by saying the display so
astonished him. He excused himself for a moment, went
and showed the carbuncle at the palace and denounced
the criminal, who was hanged with a gilded rope (he
having such a fancy for gold) between the columns. All
the booty was recovered.

October 17, 1878. Left for Florence. Good-bye Ditturo
Agostino.

It is wonderful how many celebrated men this little
town of Florence has produced. In niches in the arcades
of the Uffizzi they have life-sized statues of 24 of them—
20 of them being names familiar to every schoolboy in
the Christian world—Buonarroti, Benvenuto, Machiavelli,
Giotto, Dante, Petrarch, etc.

Swell turnout with 12 beautiful bay horses—never saw
anything like this outside the circus.

That most entertaining of books, Benvenuto’s. It will
last as long as his beautiful Perseus.

October 23. In Santa Croce today a well-dressed young
man followed us, begging for centimes.

An old frowsy woman watched where I laid my cigar,
then approached us with it as we came out and said she
rescued it from some boys and wanted five centimes for
her trouble. She followed us into the street and finally
cursed us and called down sudden deaths upon us.

Hall of Mars, Pitti Palace, No. 92, Titian portrait of
A Man—half length, dressed in black robe, a trifle of lace
at neck and wrists, short brown hair, thin, handsome,
manly features, full of character and firmness; blue eyes,
oval face, thin hair making fence around upper lip and

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chin—and along his jaw—full of a most noble dignity.
This person is so human—you recognize in him at once
the very highest type of man—he is a person who com¬
mands instantly your respect and your homage—and lord
how sappy and gushy and chuckle-headed and theatrical
the surrounding saints and angels and Holy Families of
the other Old Masters do look in his august company.

October 29. It is the most ridiculous spectacle to see a
Virgin or a copper Apostle stuck on top of every stately
monument of the grand old “pagan” days of Rome.

Castellani today allowed us to walk off with jewelry
worth frs 1500. and never even asked our names or hotel—
insisted upon our taking it home and examining it at
our leisure—said “tomorrow is a festa—no shops open—
bring it back Saturday—no hurry.”

Italians and Swiss seem to trust to the honesty of
strangers readily. We have noticed this very often.

New American artist goes to little Italian squalid vil¬
lage, sits down to sketch on a three-legged camp stool.
Peasant brings oxen and addresses him—American abuses
and curses and finally appeals to his comrade (Vedder).

“What is this devil saying? Why does the scoundrel
bring his oxen here?”

“He was saying that he has brought his oxen at the
usual hour and place to water them, but if they are an
interruption he will take them away, and wait—and he
adds that your camp chair seems uncomfortable and he
will go to his house and bring you a chair, if you de¬
sire it.”

The Italians and French are so artistic and so kindly
that their impulse is always to assist in any way possible
an artist who is sketching.

I 4 S

MARK TWAIN

November 5. Spent all day in Vedder’s lofty studio,
and the evening with him and another artist spinning
yarns and drinking beer in a quiet saloon. Big row in the
street but no bloodshed.

Visited the Catacombs. One mummy (shapeless) and

one slender young girl’s long hair and decaying bones_

both in stone coffins and both between 1500 and 1600
years old.

The greatest charm we have found in Europe by all
odds is the open fireplaces in Florence and Rome.

Of all countries America is the most comfortable. Palace
cars with water, food, liquors, fruit, attendance, water-
closets, space to walk about, heating apparatus, and a
seat secured beforehand of which no one can deprive you.
Plenty of trains, reasonably fast on great trunk lines,
sleeping-cars and not obliged to start or arrive at horrid
hours of the night. Clean closets in hotels—rare in Ger¬
many, Switzerland and Italy. They serve a dinner better
in Europe, and outside the great cities they cook it
infinitely better than in our minor cities. Their servants
are politer and far more efficient than ours. They do not
know what coffee is—nor cream. The former is the case
with all European hotels, without exception—but in ours
one finds something which at least vaguely resembles
cream.

All of which of course was written a very long
time ago. France and England today have some
of the finest trains in the world, and French
hotels especially have made great forward
strides in modern conveniences, sometimes to
the damage of their picturesqueness and charm.
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European coffee, however, still leaves something
to be desired.

November 13, 1878. Left at 10:45 for Bologna, and
tried being courier for the first time. Leave the omnibus-
driver a franc to bring the conductor of the train out
there to me. Made him understand I wanted a first-class
compartment to myself and had five in my party—for
future cash. All right. Omnibus-driver also took my lug¬
gage into waiting-room and brought the ticket taker to me.
Gave him two francs and he flew around with many winks
and brought the conductor again and both winked that
all was right. The former took my five through tickets and
sent a fat porter to get them vised. Then allowed our
tribe to pass through to the train without tickets. Found
the conductor right outside on the quivive, who helped me
carry my luggage, put us into a compartment and fastened
the door. Presently the fat porter came with my tickets
and I gave him a franc. The conductor allowed nobody
to look in all the way—not even a ticket puncher. Had a
mighty smooth trip of it. Gave the conductor five francs.
Total cost nine francs. If I had had a courier I should have
had to take care of him, pay him ten francs wages and
twelve francs fare.

From Rome to Florence I paid the conductor five francs
and had a heap of attention. Once he kept the train wait¬
ing for me at a station.

Am a shining success as a courier, so far, by the use
of francs.

Munich , December 20, 1878

Today by telegraph in the papers comes the sad news
of Bayard Taylor’s death yesterday afternoon in Berlin,
from dropsy. I wrote him three or four days ago, con¬
gratulating him on his recovery. He was a very lovable
man.

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MARK TWAIN

December 21. On scores of street corners in the snow
are groves of Christmas trees for sale and the toy and
other shops are crowded, and driving a tremendous trade.

Reading German books shows in what a narrow groove
of vocabulary authors travel—they use the same words
all the time. Read a book of one and you can fluently
read his others. Take up a book by another author and
you have got to go for the dictionary. His vocabulary
is all different.

Christmas in Germany

In the week a prodigious audience of parents and chil¬
dren in the big theater. A curtain hung across the middle
of the stage from right to left. In front a lady with a lot
of eager children around her on stools. She asks what
familiar story from folklore she shall read. They clap
their eager hands and name a story. She reads; they
applaud, or laugh, or are grieved—all well drilled and
natural—and as she finishes the curtain slowly rises and
displays in tableau an exquisite picture from the story.
The children in the audience get so carried away that
they applaud, shout, cry and make comments aloud.

Germans comb their hair in public and have some other
little peculiarities, but there is one thing which you can
charge the entire nation with: ask any German a ques¬
tion and you will get a civil answer.

After the naked model was dressed (in Rome) she
showed a touch of nature—for as she climbed down from
the platform she exposed too much of her ankle and
rectified it.

January 25, 1879. The mother of the king, 55 or 60,
was out walking in the street today, a maid of honor

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walking beside her, the two talking zealously, two vast
footmen in blue livery walking behind them—everybody
who came along either on the street or on the sidewalk,
took off hats and bowed—little boys, gentlemen, ladies,
soldiers, cabmen, everybody, and the queen saw every
bow and bowed in return and still kept up her end of the
conversation.

I can’t exactly define what it is, but there is something
very cheerless and depressing about the inside of
European houses, and English:—outside is another mat¬
ter—beautiful England.

Europe is the hungriest place in the world for an Ameri¬
can to live in. The food is trifling in variety (at least the
tables are) and villainously cooked.

English toast! Execrable! Muffins good. In Europe they
don’t give you hot bread. Ah, for a hot biscuit and coffee,
real coffee with real cream—and real potatoes, fried
chicken, corn bread, real butter, real beefsteak, good roast
beef with taste to it.

His old Southern memories and appetite
troubled him. He often spoke of the excellencies
of French cookery, but now and again, remem¬
bering the fried chicken and corn bread and
gravy of his youth, he could find no good thing
outside of his native land, especially in England.

January 23. Frank Bliss wrote to inquire what progress
I am making on the book. Of course I sat down in Munich
as soon as he took up his pen in New England, and by the
time he had got his brief inquiry on paper I was well
under way with my long answer to it. Had not heard from
him since last June.

Pontius Pilate, wandering around with heavy con-

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MARK TWAIN

science, drowned himself in Lake Lucerne—hence, Mt.

Pilatus.

A part of the plan for gathering material for
the new travel book, A Tramp Abroad , was to
have Twichell come over as his guest, and
“tramp” with him. Twichell arrived August i,
and the tramping began at once, through the
Black Forest and down into Switzerland. They
really walked a good deal, but had taken no
ironclad pledge to do so. They were likely to
take a train, or a cart or a carriage, and they had
long days of talk and idle loafing. In the book
as published Twichell is “Harris.”

The Clemens family spent the winter of 1878
and 1879 ' m Munich, where Mark Twain worked
pretty steadily on his book. Later they went to
Paris and crossed over to London, returning to
America at the end of August, 1879. Details of
this European sojourn are set down, somewhat
illuminated, in A Tramp Abroad 3 and more lit¬
erally in Mark Twain—a Biography , chapters
CXVII to CXXI.

1879

The English ought not to patronize the Zulus, the
Livingstone River Cannibals, and say piously: “We are
better than thou,” for it is very plain that they have been
better for no more than a hundred years. They are a very
fine and pure and elevated people, now, but what they
were between the Roman Invasion and the time within
the memory of a centenarian was but a small improve¬
ment upon the Shoshone Indians. I select the Shoshones
because they have certain peculiar vices and also certain
peculiar conspicuous virtues.

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I disfavor capital punishment.

Sampson was a Jew—therefore not a fool. The Jews
have the best average brain of any people in the world.
The Jews are the only race who work wholly with their
brains and never with their hands. There are no Jew
beggars, no Jew tramps, no Jew ditchers, hod-carriers,
day laborers or followers of toilsome, mechanical trade.
They are peculiarly and conspicuously the world’s intel¬
lectual aristocracy.

It depends on who writes a thing whether it is coarse
or not. Rabelais. I once wrote a conversation between
Elizabeth, Shakespeare, Ben Jonson, Beaumont, Sir
Walter Raleigh, Lord Bacon, Sir Nicholas Throckmorton
and a stupid, stupid old nobleman—this latter being cup¬
bearer to the queen and ostensible reporter of the talk.
There were four maids of honor present, and a sweet
young girl two years younger than the boy Beaumont.
I built a conversation which could have happened—I used
words such as were used at that time—1601—I sent it
anonymously to a magazine—and how the editor abused
it and the sender. But that man was a praiser of Rabelais,
and had been saying “Oh, that we had a Rabelais.” I
judged I could furnish him one.

Then I took it to one of the greatest, best and most
learned of Divines and read it to him. He came within
an ace of killing himself with laughter (for between you
and me the thing was dreadfully funny. I don’t often write
anything that I laugh at myself, but I can hardly think
of that thing without laughing). That old Divine said
that it was a piece of the finest kind of literary art—and
David Gray of the Buffalo Courier said it ought to be
printed privately and left behind me when I died, and
then my fame as a literary artist would last.

I5i

MARK TWAIN

This was the “Fireside Conversation in the
Time of Queen Elizabeth.” The “Divine” was
Joseph H. Twichell, of Hartford, to whom it was
sent, as a letter. Several private editions have
been printed. Mark Twain’s statement that he
sent it to an editor is to be heavily discounted,
though it is not unlikely that as a joke he showed
it to Mr. Alden of Harpers or to one of the editors
of the Century Magazine.

March 28, i8?q (Paris Salon)

Went to sec pictures rushed into Palais dTndustrie, end
of afternoon—last chance to get them in. Stairways
crowded—street full of vans and the vans full of pictures.
Every time a poor picture came in everybody groaned.
Perfect howl went up sometimes when particularly poor
one came—it was snatched and passed from hand to hand.
Picture of wood-sawing—everybody made a sound like
sawing. Picture of St. Jerome and skull—lot of students
followed it, weeping on each other’s shoulders. There was
a row last year, so it was announced that this year only
people having pictures would be admitted—so there came
fifty students each carrying a ten-cent chromo, very care¬
fully. There were acres of pictures, any artist may send
two or three, but not more—I think they said two was
the limit. A jury of the first artists of France (elected
by the exhibitors) will examine these 6000 or 7000 pic¬
tures between now and May 11, and retain about 2000
and reject the rest. They can tell a good or a bad one at a
single glance—these are at once set aside and the real
work begins, the culling the best from among those that
lie somewhere between the perfectly good and the per¬
fectly bad. And a tough job it is. An artist can’t vote for
the jury till he has exhibited more than twice. Pictures
are often rejected for want of room. These can be offered
again, next year. Among the acres we saw one which had

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been rejected twice already. It would take a plucky man
to carry his own picture up those stairs. Sometimes a fine
picture is applauded.

Take a ride on the steam roller to the Bois de Boulogne
from Place de la Concorde to avoid carriages.

Religion consists in a set of things which the average
man thinks he believes, and wishes he was certain.

Paris May 7

I wish this eternal winter would come to an end. Snow¬
flakes fell today, and also about a week ago. Have had
rain almost without intermission for two months and one
week. Have had a fire every day since September 10 and
have now just lighted one.

Salon

Criticism is a queer thing. If I print “she was stark
naked” and then proceed to describe her person in detail,
what critic would not howl? Who would venture to leave
the book on a parlor table? But the artist does this, and
all ages gather around and look and talk and admire.

France has neither winter nor summer nor morals—
apart from these drawbacks it is a fine country.

For 1000 years the savage nation (France) indulged
itself in massacres—every now and then a big massacre,
or a little one. The massacreing spirit is peculiar to France,
I mean in Christendom. No other state had it. In this,
France has always walked abreast, kept her end up with
her brethren, the Turks and Burmese.

Afternoon of the 12th of July went to Antwerp. Thir-

153

MARK TWAIN

tcenth, Sunday, went on board flagship Trenton, dined
that evening with Consul Stewart and some officers of
the Trenton and the Alliance. Took the family and break¬
fasted on board the 1'rcnton, Monday, 14th. Admiral
Rowan arrived during the meal. I smoked on the Ad¬
miral’s side of the deck, not knowing it was sacred, by
naval etiquette.

In Brussels Cathedral heard the most majestic organ
music and men’s voices ever listened to. Never heard any¬
thing that rose to the sublimity of those sounds. The
jingling of a little bell occasionally, the distant booming
of the great bells in the steeple, the remote bowing and
mumming, the faint clouds and puffs of incense rising
from swinging censers, the dim distances, the picture
windows, the going and coming kneelers, the high miracu¬
lously made and miracle working Virgin, the old women
selling candles, were all highly impressive.

No wonder William III pined for Holland—the country
is so green and lovely and quiet and pastoral and home¬
like. Boats sailing through the prairies and fat cows and
quaint windmills everywhere.

At The Hague visited Museum and saw Rembrandt’s
School of Anatomy and Potter’s Bull (flies visible under
the hairs). This is absolute nature—in some other pic¬
tures too close a copy of nature is called a fault.

Drove out to a country palace where Motley used to
visit long at a time with the Royal Family. Good portrait
of him there. Also some Frescoes which can’t be told from
stone, high relief across the room. Drove there through
about the noblest woods I ever saw.

We have been obliged to keep fires going constantly
ten months steadily—from the 19th September to the
15th of July—in Italy, Bavaria, France, Holland and
Belgium.

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London , July 20 } 1879

Arrived here at 8 A.M. Rainy and cold. Have had a
rousing fire, blazing in the grate all day. A remarkable
summer, truly!

Galleries of pictures where there is much splendid con¬
flagration of color, have a curious effect upon the spec¬
tator. Turner soon makes one ill—it is partly intense ad¬
miration, partly the color.

One must have a play-book at an English play—the
English accent is so different one cannot understand or
follow the actors. The same in ordinary conversation which
one tries to hear.

Sunday, August 17, 1879. Raw and cold and a drench¬
ing rain. Went over to the Tabernacle and heard Mr.
Spurgeon. House three-quarters full—say 3000 people.
First hour, lacking one minute, taken up with two prayers,
two ugly hymns and Scripture reading. Sermon three-
quarters of an hour long. A fluent talk. Good sonorous
voice. Topic treated in the unpleasant old-fashioned way.
Man a mighty bad child, God working at him in forty
ways and having a world of trouble about him.

A wooden-faced congregation—just the sort to see no
incongruity in the Majesty of Heaven, stooping to beg
and plead and sentimentalize over such and to see in
their salvation an important matter.

Spurgeon was not at his best today, I judge. He was
probably even at his worst.

It was so cold I was freezing—the pouring rain made
everything gloomy—the wooden congregation was not an
inspiration—the music was depressing, so the man
couldn’t preach well.

Tuesday, August 19. Went up Windemere Lake in the
steamer. Talked with the great Darwin.

*55

MARK TWAIN

August 31. At sea in the Gallia, approaching New
York (left Liverpool 23d). Now about 9 P.M. Brilliant
moon, a calm sea and a magnificent lunar rainbow—a
complete arch, the colors part of the time as brilliant as
if it were noonday—some said not quite as brilliant,
softened with a degree of vagueness, but to me it was not
different from a daylight rainbow. One cannot see this
wonder twice in his life. Fifteen years ago I saw a lunar
rainbow, a complete arch in California, but it was silver
white—perfectly colorless.

The reader may remember that he had also
once seen this phenomenon on the way from
Hawaii to San Francisco.

The Colorado miner on board who hates English and
won’t allow them to pass things to him at the table.
Loathes his three English roommates because of their
effeminate affectation of wearing nightshirts.

All English individuals are kind and likable—the news¬
papers are snobbish, pretentious, and they scoff at
America, or contemptuously ignore her. English preachers
and statesmen try to draw the two nations together in
friendship and mutual respect—the newspapers, with
what seems a steady and calculated purpose, discourage
this. The newspapers arc going to win in this fight. The
nations arc at their friendliest now—the widening apart
has begun—the separation will be complete in a genera¬
tion. (1879.)

For some years a custom has been growing up in our
literature to praise everything English and do it affection¬
ately. This is not met halfway, and so it will cease. Eng-
fish individuals like and respect American individuals,
but the English nation despises America and Americans.
But this does not sting us as it did when we were smaller.
Wc shall presently be indifferent to being looked down

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upon by a nation no bigger and no better than our own.
We made the telegraph a practical thing. We invented
the fast press, the sewing-machine, the sleeping and par¬
lor car, the telephone, the ironclad, we have done our
share for the century, we have introduced the foretelling
of the weather. Nobody writes a finer and purer English
than Motley, Howells, Hawthorne and Holmes.

CHAPTER XV

America Again

(At Quarry Farm, Elmira, N. Y.)

August t, iNKo. Talking last night about home mat¬
ters, I said: “I wish I had said to George (colored butler)
when we were leaving home, ‘Now, George, 1 wish you
would take advantage of these three or four months’ idle
time, while wo are away—’ ‘to learn to leave my matches
alone!’ interrupted Livy. They were the very words I was
going to use, yet George had not been mentioned before
nor his peculiarities.

Several years ago I said: ‘‘Suppose I should live to
be <jz, and just as I was dying a messenger should enter
and say”—

“You arc become the Karl of Durham—”
interrupted Livy. The very words I was going to utter.
Yet there had not been a word about that carl, nor had
there been any conversation calculated to suggest any
such subject.

The earldom of Durham was an appanage of
the English Lamptons (or Lambdons) of whom
Mark Twain’s mother was a descendant. Mark
Twain sometimes amused himself with the re¬
mote possibility of the title shifting to his branch
of the family, and his book The American Claim¬
ant, grew out of this idea.

In Canada November 28, 1880

Mild yesterday and sifted snow all day. That was ac-

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cording to Vennor’s prediction made Sept. i. This morn¬
ing it is mighty cold with yesterday’s one inch of snow
crunching and grinding under the cart wheels in a shrill
metallic way. Vennor says: “A very sudden and severe
fall of temperature will occur throughout Canada in the
last days of November, with but little snow, if any, on
the ground.”

There has been mild weather for some time before
this—Vennor spotted it right.

Sir, I think I am lost, but I am not acquainted with
the city, and so I cannot really tell. If you will be so kind
as to give me an idea of the direction of the Windsor
Hotel, God will reward you. Of course I may not be lost,
after all; I cannot by any means swear that I am, for
there is nothing here to swear by—I mean nothing I could
recognize, nothing I ever saw before; but if I could see
something which I have seen before, I could tell in a
minute by its position whether I am lost or not: that is, I
could tell by comparing its position with mine, whether it
was lost or whether it was me; and I could then know
which of us was lost, and act accordingly: that is to say,
if it turned out to be me that was lost, I shouldn’t do
anything, at least at the moment, preferring to wait and
sue the city; but if it turned out to bet* I should of course
call assistance; for I hold that a humane man-

It is a great and beautiful city from Royal Mount—the
great St. Lawrence stretching in both directions and the
wide plains on the other side with groves and meadows
and with mountains beyond.

So many pretty girls—never so many in one town be¬
fore—beauty of girls and of little children so common as
to be almost monotonous, but then one has the occasional
relief of the other sort or one can look into the glass.

159

MARK TWAIN

(lid's costume is plain, simple, graceful, shapely and
topped with brimless fur cap, often a black fur cape, hand¬
somer than sealskin; then there arc often fur borders to
the clothing. The dresses are short.

This nipping air is delicious and gives everybody
splendid ruddy checks. The complexions are very fair
among the girls and also darkish—half and half—English
and French.

The French went to church in troops and droves, from
8 till 9 this Sunday morning, and the English from
io to u.

Drove halfway to Falls of Montmorency, then came
back and bought a photograph. The wind down on the
low ground was mighty cold. The photograph is very
satisfactory.

I am so indolent, and all forms of study are so hateful
to me, that although I was several years living constantly
on steamboats I never learned all the parts of a steam¬
boat. The names of parts were in my ear daily whose
office and locality I was ignorant of, and I never inquired
the meaning of those names. For instance, I think I never
saw the clay when I could describe the marks on a lead
line. I never knew what “in the run” meant—I couldn’t
find the run in a steamboat today and be sure I was right.

After my first voyage at sea I never took any interest
in knowing the parts of the ship. I cannot name two-
thirds of the sails in a full-rigged ship; I do not know
the names or functions of half a dozen ropes. The line
“A wet sheet and a flowing sea” (wind?) has always been
meaningless to me. I do not know whether a sail is meant,
or the rope called a “sheet”—and I have never had energy
enough to inquire.

160

CHAPTER XVI

Mississippi River , 1882

In preparation for the writing of the second
part of Life on the Mississippi, he had come
from St. Louis to New Orleans, and was now
starting the return trip. (See Mark Twain—a
Biography , chapter CXL.)

People talk only about the war. Other subjects are
started but they soon fade and die and the war is
taken up.

Left New Orleans 5:10, May 6. Reached Natchez (300
miles) at 3:40 May 7. First time I ever went to Natchez
inside of 24 hours I believe.

May 8. Got up at 4 A.M., in a roasting room—some
idiot had closed the transom and I was over the boilers—
and went on watch. Fog—George Ritchie steered the
watch out by compass, using his and Bixby’s patented
chart for the crossings and occasionally blowing the
whistle. The chart is a great thing—many pilots use it,
now.

The Biblical absurdity of the Almighty’s being only six
days building the universe and then fooling away 25 years
building a towhead in the Mississippi. “Towhead” means
infant, an infant island, a growing island, so it is said.

Pilot said some French camped on the hills at Baton

161

MARK TWAIN

Rouge and were massacred by the Indians, who stained
a mast or stick with their blood and stuck it up as a
warning to other pirates to keep away; hence the name
“Raton Rouge.”

The snag boats and beacons are a grand good thing,
but I think (says Pilot) the river commission will fool
away money for nothing, trying to tame and order this
channel.

George Ritchie was blown up on a boat above Mem¬
phis—blown into the river from pilot wheel, and dis¬
abled—dung to cotton bale in very cold water with his
teeth and floated till rescued, nearly exhausted, by deck
hands on piece of wreck. They tore open the bale and
put him in it and warmed the life back into him and so
got him to Memphis. He will never get entirely over the
effects. Bixby was blown up in Madrid Rend, and his
partner lost.

All the accidents, nearly, happened near Memphis, and
that generous town is heavily taxed.

Prodigious storm of rain and wind opposite Buck
Island, in afternoon of May 9. It seemed the pilot house
was bound to be blown away, so I went down in the
hold to see what time it was. Kept up till midnight.

At the devil’s elbow, above Memphis, the river now
runs several miles upstream where it used to run down.
This is at Fogleman’s chute which is half mile wide or
more and is the channel, but in my time a fallen tree
would almost bridge it.

At 5 P.M. got to where Hat Island was . It is now
gone, every vestige of it. Goose Island at the graveyard

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below Commerce is all gone but a piece about big enough
for dinner. Lots of buzzards there on wreck of Grand
Tower, fishing for drowned men, etc.

Man living above Jessup timber behind Hat Island
says 29 steamboats have been lost in sight of his house.

Hannibal: Garth’s coachman called for me at 10 in¬
stead of 7:30—excused himself by saying, “De time is
mos’ an hour and a half slower in de country en what it is
in de town—you will be in plenty of time, Boss—some¬
times we shoves out early for church, Sunday mawnings,
and fetches up dar right plumb in de middle of de ser¬
mon—diffunce in de time—a body can’t make no calcula¬
tions about it.”

Alas! everything was changed in Hannibal—but when
I reached Third or Fourth street the tears burst forth,
for I recognized the mud. It at least was the same—the
same old mud—the mud that Annie Macdonald got
stuck in.

The water above Dubuque is olive green, beautiful and
semi-transparent with the sun on it. Upper Mississippi
the home of superb sunsets.

The bluffs all along up above St. Paul are exquisitely
beautiful. Where the rough broken turreted rocks stand
up against a sky above the steep verdant slope, they are
inexpressibly rich and mellow in color—soft dark brown
mingled with dull green—the very place to make an
artist worship. Remind one of the old houses in Spanish
New Orleans.

Eight years ago boats like the Minneapolis used to go
into St. Paul with 150 people. Men used to say, “Got 28
cars of wheat. Captain!”

“I’ll take two o’ them.”

163

MARK TWAIN

Now the captain inquires—“What you got for us?”

“NiiihinM”

The railroad has done it. Used to carry loads of harvest
hands; now they have invented a self-binder and don’t
have harvest hands any more.

Sunday, May 21, 7 A.M. Arrived per Minneapolis, at
St. Paul, and put up at the Metropolitan. Cold as the
very devil. Cold-band hat would give us ticket for a
carriage and fetch it in 30 minutes if we paid in advance-
no other way to get a carriage in St. Paul. Walked to
hotel.

Wretched poor family on boat going to the frontier—
man on deck with wagon; woman and several little chil¬
dren allowed in cabin for charity’s sake. They slept on
sofas and floor in glare of lamps and without covering,
must have frozen last night.

This day, May 23, three inches of snow fell in Iowa.

Entering Philadelphia May 24, cut an Italian laborer’s
foot off. The train stopped and crowds gathered to gaze.
Our tracks ought to be fenced on the principle that the
majority of human beings, being fools, the laws ought to
be made in the interest of the majority.

Punch’s advice to persons about to marry—“Don’t”—
was a thousand years old when Punch was born.

“No gentleman ever swears”—the obscure person who
shouts this from his pulpit, or his good goody paper, sees
no immodesty in setting himself above Wellington, Wash¬
ington, etc.

Speaking of duels, I think I could wipe out a dishonor

16/L

NOTEBOOK

by crippling the other man, but I don’t see how I could
do it by letting him cripple me.

Emerson died while we were in New Orleans. So glad
I visited him two or three weeks before.

At first he did not remember me but the voyage with
his son recalled me. (Probably in 1878.)

Story of Bob Toombs who challenged an old deacon,
who resigned from his church, made a will, then went to
practicing with his rifle—whereupon Toombs backed out
and was forever ruined in the eyes of the South.

The romance of boating is gone now. In Hannibal the
steamboatman is no longer a god. The youth don’t talk
river slang any more. Their pride is apparently railways—
which they take a peculiar vanity in reducing to initials—
an affectation which prevails all over the West. They roll
these initials as a sweet morsel under the tongue.

No domestic architecture twenty years ago. Now it
booms in the very villages—and improves all the time.
The Stewart mausoleum would not be built now.

Met a passenger who spoke good English, and who
after hearing a good deal of brag about great men said
his country was very small and remote, but had produced
two or three pretty big men; named a couple nobody ever
heard of—then offered to bet that the third had been
heard of, named Jesus Christ. He was born close to the
Grotto, and was familiar with it. It seemed like meeting
a person who had known Him.

On this trip four great men died—Emerson and Long¬
fellow here, and Darwin and Dr. John Brown abroad.

165

MARK TWAIN

Had some personal acquaintance with all of them—with
Brown intimate.

The physician’s is the highest and worthiest of all occu¬
pations, or would be if human nature did not make
superstitions and priests necessary.

Board oj Foreign Missions: “We have saved a Turk’s
soul.”

“What did it cost?”

“$ 2 , 000 , 000 .”

“Is it worth that?”

U. S. Government:

“We have killed 200 Indians.”

“What did it cost?”

“$2,000,000.”

“You could have given them a college education for
that.”

Mental Telegraphy: The things which pass through
my mind when I lie awake in the morning are pretty sure
to be the topics introduced by others at breakfast or din¬
ner, that day or the next. September 20, 1882.

166

CHAPTER XVII

Notes 1883

Man’s delight upon reaching an enchanted country
where the rivers were all wines and liquors and water
was sold and drunk as a costly luxury. He soon found
himself falling into habits of watery dissipation and car¬
ing nothing for the other things—too cheap and abundant.
Moral—make no Maine laws.

A good many of his notes were written while
riding on a rough train or in a carriage and are
scarcely legible.

As already set down (in the Foreword) Mark
Twain’s judgment as to the value of his own
ideas was unreliable. He was likely to mistake
banalities for choice humor. As an example here
is a memorandum for a story he hoped to write
—one of a thousand-and-one such things. Some¬
times, alas, he wrote them.

Write the Second Advent, with full details—lots of Irish
disciples—Paddy Ryan for Judas and other disciples. Star
in the East. People want to know how wise men could see
it move while sober. John interviewed.

It was about this time that Mark Twain in¬
vented a history game—a game by which all
dates, successions, etc. were to be taught as the
game progressed. It was at first only a game of
kings—the length of the reign—but it expanded
and expanded—as his ideas were likely to do,

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MARK TWAIN

until it included history of every sort—of music,
of art, Bible history—it could even teach geog¬
raphy. In one of his notes he says:

This game can be applied to any form of memory prac¬
tice—language, for instance: count a point for each word
or a sentence which you get right and in the right place,
and your opponent gets a point for each error-word you
make.

Offer a prize (fine opera glass) for the highest n um ber
of points made in a series of games, etc. etc.

He fills up page after page with details and
suggestions, pausing now and then to jot down
some idea for a story, even more impracticable
than his proposals for games. He was also at this
time working again on his Captain Stormfield
story and we come upon the following note:

Stormfield must hear of the man who worked hard all
his life to acquire heaven and when he got there the first
person he met was a man he had been hoping all the time
was in hell—so disappointed and outraged that he in¬
quired the way to hell and took up his satchel and left.

But these are only brief interludes. A page or
two farther along he is deep in the game again,
remarking in one place that it will be the best
solitaire game ever invented. Then not entirely
forgetting Stormfield, he writes:

Captain Stormfield finds that hell was originally insti¬
tuted in deference to an early Christian sentiment. In
modern time the halls of heaven are warmed by radiators
connected with hell, and the idea is greatly applauded by
Jonathan Edwards, Calvin, Baxter & Co. because it adds
a new pang to the sinner’s suffering to know that the very

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fire which tortures him is the means of making the
righteous comfortable.

If you shoot at your wife in the dark for a burglar you
always kill her, but you can’t hit a burglar. You can
always kill a relative with a gun that isn’t loaded.

“What is an Englishman?”

“A person who does things because they have been
done before.”

“What is an American?”

“A person who does things because they haven’t been
done before.”

Theme for Story

Life in the interior of an iceberg. Luxuriously furnished
from the ship (how produce heat). Children born. Plate-
glass ice windows. All found dead and frozen after 130
years. Iceberg drifts around in a vast circle, year after
year, and every two or three years they come in distant
sight of the remains of the ship. The berg consists of
mountains, levels and valleys, and is twelve miles long by
eight broad. They invent amusements. The children born
reach marrying age and marry. Others try to make them
comprehend life on land in the world but wholly fail.
They understand life on the iceberg only. They tame
great flocks of birds and animals, to eat. Perhaps they
have no fire—eat raw. Children don’t know what fire or
coal are.

This must be a woman’s diary, beginning abruptly and
does not explain how they got there.

They don’t know which is Sunday.

Believing they should never escape, and not wishing to
curse the children with longings unsatisfiable, both fami¬
lies teach the young that the elders were born on the berg
and know no other world.

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MARK TWAIN

Whence these knives and other metal things? Well, they
arc found in the egg of wawhawp—so the children often
hunt for nests of this imaginary bird.

She must speak of one young girl who is an idiot and
who is now 80 years old. She visits her husband’s clear-
ice grave after 30 years and finds him fresh and young,
while she is old and gray.

A typical Mark Twain idea of the more fan¬
tastic sort—too fantastic, perhaps, to be under¬
taken, even by him, for we hear no more of it.

People in trying to justify Kternity say we can put it
in learning all the knowledge acquired by the inhabitants
of the myriads of stars. Wc shan’t need that. We could
use up two Kternitics in learning all that is to be learned
about our own world and the thousands of nations that
have arisen and flourished and vanished from it. Mathe¬
matics alone would occupy me eight million years.

August 12—I think wc arc only the microscopic trichina
concealed in the blood of some vast creature’s veins, and
it is that vast creature whom God concerns Himself about
and not us.

I lose my temper over a certain class of business (beg¬
ging) letters, except when they come from colored (and
therefore ignorant) people. Mrs. Clemens suggests that I
adopt as a motto: “Consider everybody colored till he is
proved white.”

Jewell (of Hartford) said the church would trust me to
take up a collection—with a bell punch.

On a wager I once started to ride from Virginia City to
San F., in stage with several women and girls, I to play
deaf and dumb. Got out early. Lost the bet.

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Dream of being a knight errant in armor in the Middle
Ages. Have the notions and habits of thought of the pres¬
ent day mixed with the necessities of that. No pockets in
the armor. Can’t scratch. Cold in the head—can’t blow—
can’t get a handkerchief, can’t use iron sleeve. Iron gets
redhot in the sun—leaks in the rain, gets white with frost
and freezes me solid in winter. Makes disagreeable clatter
when I enter church. Can’t dress or undress myself. Al¬
ways getting struck by lightning. Fall down and can’t get
up.

Written across this pencil-note is another in
ink, made five years later.

Fall of ’84—while Cable and I were giving readings,
Cable got a Morte d’Arthur and gave it to me to read.
I began to make notes in my head, for a book. Nov. 11,
1886, I read the first chapter (all that was then written)
at Governors Island, and closed the reading with an out¬
line of the probable contents of the future book. Wrote
a book “The Yankee at Arthur’s Court” in ’87 and ’88,
and published it in December 1889 (shall, anyway).

I have not railroaded to speak of for fifteen years but
have stayed at home. This morning the usual new bride
got aboard the train, and she began as usual her furtive
love tappings and pettings, proud that he was hers and
willing that everybody should know it and envy her, and
when she wanted to ask him what time it was, or any
little this-worldly trifle, she would hitch her chin on his
shoulder and wall her worshiping eyes up, just in the
same old soft, sweet, railroad honeymoon way which I
remembered so well; and he, well he stood it in the same
old patient, suffering, surfeited shame-faced martyrlike
way of the railroading bridegroom of the bygone times,
and wondered no doubt how he could ever have thought
he knew anything about courting and keeping it up, for

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MARK TWAIN

his courting before marriage must have seemed so pale
and poor and lazy compared with hers after it. Yes, there
was that same old gushy, sappy little drama going on
before me, just in the same old soul-enchanting way with¬
out a change in any detail of the performance. But at last
the bride tired herself out as usual, and then, as usual
she cushioned her dear head under his left ear and went
to sleep as contentedly as if she had been in heaven—and
it’s a mighty trying position for the other fellow, and
makes him feel bitterly conspicuous. But now a change
came—the first I had ever observed in this drama—for
she began to snore. It was an immense improvement and
softened your hard heart toward her at once, because it
showed that her sleep was honest and not gotten up for
effect, as those former sleeps were. So I gratefully added
that to the long list of improvements which I had noticed
in these six weeks of railroading.

Lots of things have changed and all for the better. They
have dry towels in the hotels now, instead of the pulpy-
damp rag of former days, which shuddered you up like a
cold poultice; and they have electrical buttons, now, in¬
stead of those crooked bell handles which always tore
your hand and made you break a lot of the command¬
ments—all you could think of on a sudden call that way;
and at tabic they feed you like a man and a brother, and
don’t bring your dinner and spread it around your plate
in a mass-meeting of soap-dishes; and you have the tele¬
phone instead of the petrified messenger boy. And then
the new light. There was nothing like it when I was on
the highway before. I was in Detroit last night and for
the first time saw a city where the night was as beautiful
as the day; saw for the first time the place of sallow twi¬
light, bought at $3 a thousand feet, clusters of corruscating
electric suns floating in the sky, without visible support
and casting a mellow radiance upon the snow-covered

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spires and domes and roofs and far-stretching thorough¬
fares which gave to the spectacle the daintiness and deli¬
cacy of a picture and reminded one of airy unreal cities
in the glimpses of a dream. Yes, the changes are great
and marvelous and for number are past enumeration.
And last night as I went to my room in the hotel when my
missionary work on the platform was done, I struck the
crowning blessed innovation of all, apparently—six fat
green bottles in a wire frame hanging on the wall by my
door. Gratis refreshment for the weary instructor in place
of having to go to the bar and lie. I took that frame down
and carried it into my room and got out my lemons and
sugar and calculated to have a good solitary sociable time
all to myself, and says I—“Here’s to prohibition—for the
next man that comes along the hall.” But sorrow and
disappointment must come to all; and thus also came it
even to me, when I examined the labels to see what
brand of sourmash it was, and found that those homely
bottles were to put out another kind of fire.

The electric lights hung in the sky were the
old arc lamps, and it is not likely that the tele¬
phone mentioned was in his room—not in 1884.
Mark Twain lived to enjoy a great many innova¬
tions—those of the next 25 years: the automo¬
bile, for instance, and the phonograph, but he
died too soon for the radio and the talking-
pictures, and it is unlikely that he ever got a
glimpse of a flying-machine.

173

CHAPTER XVIII

The Grant Book

With Charles L. Webster, a nephew by mar¬
riage, Mark Twain by 1885 had become a pub¬
lisher, A successful beginning having been made
with Huckleberry Finn, the firm of Charles L.
Webster & Co. was now about, to undertake a
venture of far greater proportions.

February 2b, iSSt;. O11 the 21st I called on Gen. Grant
and Col. Fred his son at 3 East 6(>th St., their home, to
talk over the business details of the publication of the Gen¬
eral’s book. I was astonished to sec how thin and weak
he was; yet as I had just read in the papers that his bad
symptoms were all gone 1 took it for granted that the
report, was true, and said 1 have been glad to see that
news. He smiled and said—“Yes—if it had only been
true.” One of the physicians was present and he startled
me by 8aying—“The General’s condition was the opposite
of encouraging.”

Then the talk drifted to business and the General pres¬
ently said, “I mean you shall have the book—I have
about made up tny mind to that—but I wish to write to
Mr. Roswell Smith first and tell him I have so decided.
1 think this is due him.”

From the beginning the General has shown a fine deli¬
cacy toward those people—a delicacy which is native to
the character of the man who put into the Appomattox
terms of surrender the words “Officers may retain their
side arms,” to save General Lee the humiliation of giving

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up his sword—a delicacy which the Century has not well
deserved.

They offered him 10% royalty on his book! That was
the most colossal bit of cheek the 19th century can show.
Gen. Grant felt under obligations to give them the book
—mainly because they suggested that he write it—a sug¬
gestion which I made to him three years ago. And in his
modesty he didn’t know that when they paid him $1500
for three articles in the Century they were exactly as just
toward him as it would be to buy a dollar bill of a blind
man and pay him ten cents for it. They sent him a volun¬
tary thousand dollars the other day—after the General's
first article had sprung their circulation clear away up
into the clouds. They could have paid him $5000 for that
article and still made that much money themselves.

Friday March 20, 1885. Gerhardt and I arrived at
Gen. Grant’s about half past two P.M. and I asked that
the family would look at a small clay bust of the General
which Gerhardt had made from the photograph. Col. Fred
and Jesse were absent to receive their sister, Mrs. Sartoris,
who would arrive from Europe about 4:30; but the three
Mrs. Grants examined the work and expressed strong ap¬
proval of it and also great gratification that Mr. Gerhardt
had undertaken it. Mrs. Jesse Grant had lately dreamed
that she was inquiring where the maker of my bust could
be found (she had seen a picture of it in Huck Finn which
was published four weeks ago) for she wanted the same
artist to make one of Gen. Grant. The ladies examined
the bust critically and pointed out the defects while Ger¬
hardt made the necessary corrections. Presently Mrs.
Gen. Grant suggested that Gerhardt step in and look at
the General. I had been in there talking with the Gen¬
eral, but had never thought of asking him to let a stranger
come in. So Gerhardt went in with the ladies and me, and
the inspection and cross fire began. “There, I was sure

175

MARK TWAIN

his nose was so-and-so,” and, “I was sure his forehead
was so-and-so.”—“And don’t you think his head is so-
and-so?” 1

And so everybody walked around and about the old
hem, who lay half reclining in his big easy chair and well
mu filed up, and submitted to all this as serenely as if he
were used to being served so. One marked feature of
Gen. Cl rant’s character is his exceeding gentleness, good¬
ness, sweetness. Every time I have been in his presence—
lately and formerly—my mind was drawn to that feature.

Presently he said—to let Gcrhardt bring in his clay and
work there, if Oerhardt would not mind his reclining atti¬
tude. Of course, he was glad. A table for the bust was
moved up in front of him; the ladies left the room. I got
a book; Oerhardt went to work, and for an hour there
was perfect stillness, and for the first time during the day
the General got a good sound peaceful nap. Gen. Badeau
came in and probably interrupted that nap. He spoke out
as strongly as the others concerning the great excellence
of the likeness. lie had some sheets of manuscript in his
hand, and said: “I have been reading what you wrote
this morning, General; and it is of the utmost value; it
solves a riddle that has puzzled men’s brains all these
years, and makes the thing clear and rational.”

I asked what the puzzle was, and he said, “It was why
Grant did not immediately lay siege to Vicksburg after
capturing Port Hudson.” (At least that is my recollection,
now toward midnight, of Gen. Badeau’s answer.)

Offer Gen. Grant’s family $500 a month till a year
hence when first settlement due—they perhaps need it.

March 23, 1885. Drove at 11:30 A.M. to Pratt & Whit¬
ney and told CoL Woodruff to take the offensive now

1 Karl Gcrhardt was a young sculptor whose art education in Paris
had been paid for by Mark Twain.

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with that terra-cotta firm and require that they pay Ger-
hardt 65 or 70% of the profit on every bust of Gen.
Grant. It is the best likeness of the General ever made in
clay, oil, or any other way—in fact, much the best; and
it is the last one that ever will be made from the living
subject—therefore if they hesitate about those terms there
are plenty others who will gladly take the enterprise off
their hands.

Get shorthander in New York and begin my autobiog¬
raphy at once, and continue it straight through the
summer.

Which reminds me that Susy, aged 13 (1885), had
begun to write my biography, solely of her own notion—
a thing about which I feel proud and gratified. At break¬
fast this morning I intimated that if I seemed to be talk¬
ing on a pretty high key, in the way of style, it must be
remembered that my biographer was present. Whereupon
Susy struck upon the unique idea of having me sit up
and purposely talk for the biography.

He did, in fact, engage a stenographer at this
time and begin the dictation of autobiography.

He could not keep it up, however, not then. He
was too busy, and he was not used to dictation.

He dictated the story of the Grant book—that
being the freshest and most important thing in
his mind—then laid work aside for about twenty
years, during which period he made no more than
brief attempts to set down his memories.

Club Essay: The little man concealed in the big man.
The combination of the human and the god. Victor Hugo;
Carlyle; Napoleon; Mirbel; Jesus; Emerson and Wash¬
ington, with a parenthesis enclosing a question mark after
Washington; Grant; Mahomet—in them (including the

177

MARK TWAIN

Saviour) was allied the infinitely grand and the infinitely
little. Carlyle, whose life was one long stomach-ache, and
one ceaseless wail over it. Gladstone—and out of courtesy
to many here present, I add Blaine—Macaulay—Shake¬
speare—Burns—Scott—Richelieu—Cromwell-

March 31. Called at Gen. Grant's and saw Mrs. Fred
Grant and Mrs. Sartoris. Showed them the cover of the
General’s book. I took with me young Hall, who writes
shorthand. I had a telegraphic paragraph from this morn¬
ing’s Tribune in which Gen. Jubal Early tries to take the
magnanimity out of Gen. Grant’s action at Appomattox
in not requiring Gen. Lee to give up his sword. I hoped
to find Gen. Grant well enough to tell the story of the
surrender and let young Hall take it down in shorthand.

I wanted to lay the suggestion before Col. Fred Grant,
but he was worn out and asleep and I would not allow
him to be disturbed. His wife went up to see if he might
be stirring, but he was still asleep, so after waiting and
talking awhile I came away. Many groups of people were
distributed here and there in sight of the house, observing
the visitors, and one reporter questioned me, but I was
not able to tell him much. Another tried to head off the
coupe, but gave it up.

Webster was up till this morning, notifying newspapers
not to reproduce the stolen picture of Gen. Grant as a
Lieutenant in the Mexican War.

April 4. Gen. Grant is still living this morning. Many
a person between the two oceans lay hours awake, last
night, listening for the booming of the fire bells that
should speak to the nation in simultaneous voice and tell
its calamity. The bell strokes are to be 30 seconds apart,
and there will be 63, the General’s age.

They will be striking in every town in the United States
at the same moment—the first time in the world’s history

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that the bells of a nation have tolled in unison beginning
at the same moment, and ending at the same moment.

General Grant is still alive today and the nation holds
its breath and awaits the blow.

Gerhardt wanted me to let him write a note and ask
Col. Fred Grant’s permission to make a death mask of
his father. It is something that must be done, of course,
but I could not bring myself to be a party to the request
—there is something so dreadful about it. So I telegraphed
him to apply through Gen. Badeau, instead of making a
personal application. I had before telegraphed Col. Grant,
asking that he let Gerhardt speak with him.

A telegram from Gerhardt tonight says Col. Grant has
personally given him the desired permission. I am very
glad indeed, for the mask must be made when the Gen¬
eral dies and it is so much better that Gerhardt, who is
honest and whom the family know, should do it than
some tricky stranger.

He was now all concerned with the manufac¬
ture of the Grant memoirs, nearly every page of
the notebook bears suggestions more or less prac¬
tical. As the orders were coming in for it in a
real deluge the matter of finding presses and
binders became very urgent.

A large sum of money for manufacturing
was required and this had to be borrowed for the
most part. It required courage as well as credit
to finance this great undertaking, but Mark
Twain, impractical as he was in the matter of
details, never lacked courage, and he never
lacked vision as to results.

The severest censor has been the Boston Advertiser. I
am sorry to impute personal motives to him but I must,
he is merely taking what he imagines is legitimate revenge

179

MARK TWAIN

upon me for what was simply and solely an accident. I
had the misfortune to catch him in a situation which will
not bear describing. He probably thinks I have told that
thing all around. It is an error. I have never told it except
to one man, and he came so near absolutely dying with
laughter that I judged it best to take no more chances
with that narrative.

“Thrice have I been in the valley of the shadow of
death, and thrice have I come out again.” Rev. Dr. New¬
man says Gen. Grant pressed his hand and said that yes¬
terday, April 15. Ten cents to a thousand dollars he
never used that form of words. This piece of misreporting
comports with what that Chinese Secretary of Legation
said of Newman. Tribune version: “Thrice have I been
down in the valley of death, and now I have come up.”
No better—gush—rot—impossible.

May 1, 1885. 60,000 sets of Gen. Grant's book (or
120,000 single volumes) which I am to publish next De¬
cember arc already ordered by a region comprising one
fourth of the territory lying between Canada and Mason
and Dixon's Line, and the Mississippi River and the At¬
lantic Ocean. At this rate the rest of that territory will
take 180,000 sets more—240,000 sets in all, or 480,000
single volumes. The vast West and the body of Southern
States ought to take together 120,000 sets, perhaps—say
600,000 single volumes. If these chickens shall really
hatch, according to my account, Gen. Grant’s royalties
will amount to #420,000 and will make the largest single
chock ever paid an author in the world’s history. Up to
the present time the largest one ever paid was to Ma¬
caulay on his History of England, 20,000 pounds. If I
pay the General in silver coin (at #12 per pound) it will
weigh 17 tons.

(Note added April 15, 1889. Have just read the preced-

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ing. How curiously accurate a prophecy it was. We sold
about 610,000 single volumes. We paid Mrs. Grant some¬
where between #420,000, and #450,000. I do not remember
the exact figure. When I talked with Gen. Grant in No¬
vember 1884, 13 months before his first volume was pub¬
lished, I ciphered on the sales achieved by my own books
and told him that by my reckoning his book must sell
600,000 volumes.)

Club Subject: The insincerity of man—all men are
liars, partial or hiders of facts, half tellers of truths, shirks,
moral sneaks. When a merely honest man appears he is a
comet—his fame is eternal—needs no genius, no talent—
mere honesty—Luther, Christ, etc.

Macaulay’s grand edition weighed 45 tons. Our first
issue (Dec. 1) ought to weigh 300 tons.

We now for the first time begin to hear of the
typesetting machine, which was to become the
Frankenstein monster to destroy him. His enthu¬
siasm concerning the book is less noticeable; the
possibilities of the typesetter claim attention.

There are 11,000 papers and periodicals in America.

This typesetter does not get drunk.

He does not join the printers’ union.

He does not distribute a “dirty case.”

He does not set a “dirty proof.”

A woman can operate him.

He can snatch up late matter, eight “takes” at a mouth¬
ful, at three in the morning, when the paper is in a hurry
to get to press.

It becomes a kind of rhapsody and breaks out
in a variety of forms, often in a bewildering ar¬
ray of figures.

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MARK TWAIN

If Cod is what people say there can be no one in the
universe so unhappy as he; for he sees unceasingly

myriads of his creatures suffering unspeakable miseries_

and besides this foresees how they are going to suffer dur¬
ing the remainder of their lives. One might well say: “As
unhappy as God.”

The telephone must be driven out, for it is useless—at
any rate at night when the electric lights are burning.

It was at this time that Mark Twain wrote
for the Century Magazine his article on his ex¬
perience as a Confederate soldier when this small
irregular company of which he was a member
was pursued by troops under the then unknown
Col. U. S. Grant.

The General said he read my article, first, and all the
family afterwards. (I said) I did not know that this was
the future General Grant or I would have turned and
attacked him. I supposed it was just some ordinary
Colonel of no particular consequence, so I let him go. It
was probably a great mistake.

It is curious and dreadful to sit up this way and talk
cheerful nonsense to Gen. Grant and he under sentence of
death with that cancer. lie says he has made the book
too large by 200 pages—not a bad fault—a short time ago
we were afraid it would lack 400 of being enough. He has
dictated 10,000 words at a single sitting, and he a sick
man! It kills me, these days, to write half of it.

It has been claimed by persons having no
knowledge of the circumstances—having nothing
indeed but a malignant desire to cheapen a great
hero—that General Grant did not write his own
memoirs—that Mark Twain and others wrote
them. These notes are sufficiently conclusive.

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May 26, 1885. This date, 1858, parted from L. (Laura
Dake). Who said “We shall meet again 30 years from
now.”

They did not meet in thirty years, or ever,
again. During the summer of 1906, at Dublin,

New Hampshire, he received a letter from her,
the first in all that time. She asked a favor, which
he was only too willing to grant. It has never
been quite clear why their romance came to an
end.

Today talked with Gen. Grant about his, and my, first
Missouri campaign (in 1861, June or July). He surprised
an empty camp, near Florida, Mo., on Salt River which I
had been occupying a day or two before. How near he
came to playing the devil with his future publisher.

Gen. Grant told me it was at Salt River his heart was
in his mouth, but from that day forth he never had a
tremor again in the war. He had been in war before but
this was the first time he was responsible.

General Grant’s first idea was to put in portraits of
prominent generals, but he got so many letters from colo¬
nels and such, asking to be added that he resolved to put
none in and thus avoid the creation of jealousies.

June 28. Gen. Grant telegraphed me and I went to him
next day—a long trip from Elmira to Mount McGregor.
Left the hilltop at Quarry Farm at 6 A.M., arrived at
Gen. Grant’s cottage 14 hours afterward 8:20 P.M. The
business was a letter from the Century—exactions about
the Century articles. I devised one method, Col. Fred
another. We fixed it up.

I was ready to return next morning, but waited 24
hours for Jesse Grant to return from New York. He

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MARK TWAIN

wanted me to furnish money for him to go to Turkey
with. It appears that a year or more ago Gov. Stanford
of California was dining with the Sultan when the latter
offered him a franchise for a railroad from Constantinople
to the Persian Gulf. Stanford came home full of the
project; then his son died and he at once lost all interest
in life. So lie gave the chance to Jesse Grant, and offered
to join Gen. Grant in furnishing Jesse letters to the Sultan.

I had to leave before Jesse could get back but I shall
furnish the money for the experiment.

July io. Gen. Grant has written the Sultan.

Write a blast against the temperance and other “pledge”
folly.

Some day make a little book, call it “Picturesque inci¬
dents in history and tradition (of all countries).” For
instance: Describe what England was like during the six
years wherein no church bell was heard—John and his
whole realm being under Papal curse and interdict.

The children’s pilgrimage to Palestine.

To please Richard III a priest of Westminster invented,
or allowed, the quibble that Sanctuary was a refuge for
only those who were guilty of crime—and so poor little
Prince Henry having committed no crime, had no right to
that profession—wherefore the child was taken out of the
sanctuary and delivered to his uncle, to be smothered in
the tower.

I have no sense of humor. In illustration of this fact I
will say this—by way of confession—that if there is a
humorous passage in the Pickwick Papers I have never
been able to find it.

On board train, Binghamton, July 23, 1885, xo A.M.

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The news is that Gen. Grant died about two hours ago
—at five minutes past eight.

The last time I saw him was July i and 2, at Mt. Mc¬
Gregor. I then believed he would live several months. He
was still adding a little, perfecting details, to his book—
a preface among other things. He was entirely through a
few days later. Since then a lack of any strong interest
to employ his mind has enabled the tedious weariness to
kill him. I think his book kept him alive several months.
He was a very great man—and superlatively good.

All men in New York insult you—there seem to be
no exceptions. There are exceptions of course —have been
—but they are probably dead. I am speaking of all per¬
sons there who are clothed in a little brief authority.

August 6, 1885. Talked an hour with Gen. Sherman.
He spoke in terms of prodigious praise of Gen. Grant’s
military genius. “Never anything like it before.” I think
those were his words, but he said that this talk of Grant
never listening to indelicate stories was bosh. Said he had
seen Grant listen and laugh by the hour at Gov. Jim
Nye’s yarns. They were indelicate, as I well remember
myself.

Somebody has said “Wit is the sudden marriage of
ideas which before their union were not perceived to have
any relation.”

The English, the arrogant nation. The Americans the
material nation, the Germans the patient nation, the Rus¬
sians the unclassifiable nation, the French the volatile na¬
tion, the Scotch the thrifty nation, the Italians the
hot-blooded kind-hearted nation, the Irish the nation of
chaste women.

The last thing after Gen. Grant’s body was laid to rest

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in the receiving vault, a bugler stepped out all alone in
front of the tomb and blew “Taps” (put out the lights).
This in the presence of a great host of war veterans who
had heard it every night in the camps and on battlefields
of Grant’s campaign of a score of years before.

I was not there. I saw the great procession August 8,
but was not at the tomb.

August 8, 1885. Witnessed the passing funeral pageant
of Gen. Grant from our office windows in 14th Street,
Union Square; five hours; then plowed through the side¬
walk crowd up Fifth Avenue to 40th St.

CHAPTER XIX

Turbulent Years

From an entry made August 20, 1885, we find
that to date Mark Twain has paid to Paige, the
inventor of the typesetter-machine, £13,000. Most
of his notes now concern The Machine. Just as
humanity was going to be saved a year or two
earlier by the history game, now the world’s sal¬
vation lies in the typesetter. Nor was he so far
wrong. He begins to estimate the returns on
machines by the hundred and the thousand. Like
his own Col. Sellers, he saw “millions in it.” And
rightly enough, if—his had only been the right
machine.

Jean (aged five) requests me to tell a story to be based
on a kind of business copartnership between a “bawgun
strictor and a burglar.”

Caesar’s Commentaries (on the Gallic War and the
Civil War) are the only books that take rank with this
(Grant’s). Like this they are noted for their simplicity,
naturalness and purity of style.

Wit and Humor—if any difference it is in duration—
lightning and electric light. Same material, apparently;
but one is vivid, brief, and can do damage—the other
fools along and enjoys elaboration.

The machine will not diminish the number of printers
but increase composition and make it much lighter work
for both body and mind.

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MARK TWAIN

Some of the notes are made in German—for
no particular reason except that he was very
much interested in the language about this time.

A German class used to assemble at his house
and it was during this period that he wrote the
Meisterschaft sketch for the Century Magazine.

Printers are peculiarly well instructed men. They all
know the history of the great labor-saving and speed¬
enhancing inventions, and they know that no hostility in
the world can stop such a machine from coming into use,
or even notably delay it.

He realized that his interest in his various
enterprises took the form of a hobby, perhaps,
for just here he makes this note:

A person should always have a hobby. Observe how a
sweetheart fills every waking moment to the brim and
makes life a jubilation. Observe the miser and the suc¬
cessful stock speculator and proprietor of vast money¬
making industries. Observe the student in his specialty—
in bees, ants, bugs, fossils —any specialty that is absorb¬
ing. But the hobby must not be the result —no, only the
pleasure of working for the result, and the final trial of
accomplishing it.

Oct. 3, 1885. I think I have struck a good idea. It is to
reduce a series of big maps to mere photographic fly-
specks and sell them together with a microscope of one
quarter to one inch focal distance.

Extravagant as this idea may have seemed at
the moment, it came into practical use, approxi¬
mately, during the World War. Maps were re¬
duced photographically to proportions so small
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that they could be concealed between the glass
and the rim of spectacles and in other places as
inconspicuous.

October 26, 1885. Up to date 320,000 sets of Gen.
Grant’s book have been subscribed for—that is to say
640,000 single volumes.

Got twelve more presses to work; this makes twenty
that are going night and day. If we could get 27 we could
print a complete volume every second, but it is impossible
to get them.

We have seven binderies at work—all large ones. One
of them turns out 1500 volumes per day. This one occu¬
pies three large floors, and works upon nothing but this
book. The building was rented, the machinery bought
new and the hands brought from Philadelphia—all for
this book. We are being well scolded by the other pub¬
lishers, for they have to send their printing and binding
to other cities.

November 19. Called on President Cleveland at the
White House, by appointment through Johnson of the
Century Magazine and George Walton Green, Chief of
the Authors’ League. By little and little I wandered into
a speech, having got speedily warmed up by the first re¬
mark or two made on International Copyright—which
remark or two I made myself without intending to say
anything further. Then there was a four-cornered talk of
an hour. The President showed great interest in our sub¬
ject and will do it as good a turn as he can in his Message.
I ventured to urge him to make I.C. the child of his ad¬
ministration, and nurse it and raise it.

December 11, 1885. Howells says “I am reading Grant’s
book with a delight I fail to find in novels.” And again—
“I think he is one of the most natural—that is, best —

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writers I ever read. The book merits its enormous success
simply as literature.”

My books arc water; those of the great geniuses are
wine. Everybody drinks water.

What is biography? Unadorned romance. What is ro¬
mance? Adorned biography. Adorn it less and it will be
better than it is.

Special Providence! That phrase nauseates me—with
its implied importance of mankind and triviality of God.
In my opinion these myriads of globes are merely the
blood corpuscles ebbing and flowing through the arteries
of God and we but animalcule that infest them, disease
them, pollute them; and God does not know we are there
and would not care if He did.

Nine-tenths of the pages of his notebooks now
are filled with comments, estimates, and the like
concerning the machine, but occasionally he has
a diversion like this:

August 31, 1886. Revealed to Livy my project of buy¬
ing the remains of Christopher Columbus and placing
them in the base of the Statue of Liberty Enlightening
the World in New York Harbor. No—rotunda of the
Capitol at Washington.

In Wales the parson came to collect tithes. The farm¬
er’s wife said—“Parson, I have eleven children—will you
take one of them? You take the tenth pig, will you have
the tenth child?”

And is “tithes” a tenth of all a man’s crop alive and
otherwise? However, call it a tenth of the animal crop of
live stock only, and think what a frightful tax it is on a
poor man. It docs leave a gap as if one of his family had

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been taken. Suppose God had levied this tax upon the
incomes of the rich. How long would it have remained in
force? A week? Try to imagine rich, Godly Englishmen
paying from $ 10,000 to $800,000 to the church and mak¬
ing no murmur, raising no hell about it. What a pity God
didn’t levy the tax upon the rich alone. I would. How¬
ever, He knew the rich couldn’t be forced to pay it and
the poor could. With all his brutalities and stupidities and
grotesqueries that old Hebrew God always had a good
business head. He always stopped talking shop (piousness,
sentiment, sweetness in life) and came right down to
business when there was a matter concerning shekels on
hand. His commercial satisfaction in the clink of shekels
runs all through his Book—that Book whose “every word”
He inspired and whose ideas were all his own; among
them the idea of levying a one-tenth income tax upon
paupers. We hear a great deal about the interior evidences
of the “Divine Origin” of that Book. Yes; and yet the
tithe tax could have originated in hell if interior evidences
go for anything.

April 12, 1887. Day before yesterday I encountered
Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe on the sidewalk. She took
both my hands and said with strong fervency that sur¬
prised the moisture into my eyes—“I am reading vour
Prince and Pauper for the fourth time, and I know it is
the best book for young folks ever written.”

May 17, 1887. Depew told this last night at the dinner
at Charles A. Dana’s house: “Greeley turned on the man
who was collecting money ‘to save millions of your fellow
creatures from going to hell,’ and remarked—T won’t give
you a damned cent. There don’t half enough of them go
there now.’ ”

1887. Next May write Prof. Francis Wayland that I am

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MARK TWAIN

ready to pay the young colored man, Charles W. John¬
son’s, way through the Yale Law School.

Along in the winter of 1887 and 1888 there
blazed into his brain a brand-new idea:

Dress up some good actors as Apollyon, Greatheart,
and the other Bunyan characters; take them to a wild
gorge and photograph them—“Valley of the Shadow of
Death”; to other effective places and photograph them,
along with the scenery; to Paris in their curious costumes,
place them near the Arc dc l’Etoile and photograph them
with the crowd—“Vanity Fair” to Constantinople, Cairo,
Venice, 20 interesting cities, and always make them con¬
spicuous in the curious foreign crowds by their costume.
Take them to Zululand. It would take two or three years
to do the photographing, and cost $ 10,000; but this stere-
optieal panorama of Banyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress could
be exhibited in all countries at the same time and clear a
fortune in a year. By and by I will do this.

Two things may occur to the reader in connec¬
tion with this note, first, that in his idea lay a
prophecy of the cinematograph and second the
modest estimate of the cost of getting his enter¬
prise under way.

October 4,1887. If in 1891 I find myself not rich enough
to carry out my scheme of buying Christopher Columbus’
bones and burying them under the Statue of Liberty En¬
lightening the World, I will give the idea to somebody
who is rich enough.

For Princeton Review—to be written in April, 1888: If
you attempt to create a wholly imaginary incident, ad¬
venture or situation, you will go astray and the artificiality
of the thing will be detectable, but if you found on a
fact in your personal experience it is an acorn, a root,

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and every created adornment that grows up out of it, and
spreads its foliage and blossoms to the sun will seem
reality, not inventions. You will not be likely to go astray;
your compass of fact is there to keep you on the right
course.

Mention instances (in this article) where I think the
author was imagining. Others where he built upon a solid
and actually lived basis of fact.

All crimes should be punished with humiliations—pub¬
lic exposure in ridiculous and grotesque situations—and
never in any other way. Death makes a hero of the villain,
and he is envied by some spectators and by imitators.

In the note that follows there is a suggestion
of the radio, or at least of its various uses, though
he had in mind the phonograph, then a recent
invention.

Neither printed newspapers nor books left—except as
curiosities. Salacious daily news furnished in a whisper to
any that want it. But the character of each sort of news
is marked by signs, indicating “pure,” “hellish,” etc.

And now we have his prediction of television:

Portraits and pictures transferred by light accompany
everything. The phonograph goes to church, conducts
family worship, etc. teaches foreign languages. Pops the
question.

Jean, age seven: “He cried so hard, but I gave him my
little finger, and he quieted right down—though all he got
was just his own juice.”

To Remember

Monday Midnight, March 26, 1888. Delmonico’s—sup¬
per to Irving and Miss Terry—by Daly.

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MARK TWAIN

Murray Hill Hotel, New York March 14, 1888. I came
down here from Hartford, Saturday the 10th, to dinner to
Henry Irving, at Chas. A. Dana’s, Sunday evening, and
the memorable blizzard has snow-bound me here ever
since. Not a train here from Hartford since early Monday
morning. Mrs. Clemens was to come down today and we
were going to Washington tomorrow. Of course she will
not come till everything is smooth again. I can’t get a
telegram nor a telephone to her, nor she a message to me.
A Boston friend is better off: He cabled Boston through
London and got an answer back promptly over the same
long road.

194

CHAPTER XX

Writing "The Yankee”

By the absence of an irreverent press, Europe for a
thousand years has existed merely for the advantage of
half a dozen seventh-rate families called Monarchs, and
some hundreds of riffraff sarcastically called Nobles. Our
papers have one peculiarity—it is American—it exists no¬
where else—their irreverence. May they never lose and
never modify it. They are irreverent toward pretty much
everything, but where they laugh one good king to death,
they laugh a thousand cruel and infamous shams and
superstitions into the grave, and the account is squared.
Irreverence is the champion of liberty and its only sure
defense.

How superbly brave is the Englishman in the presence
of the awfulest forms of danger and death; and how ab¬
ject in the presence of any and all forms of heredity rank.

Are we asked to believe that the vote of a whole nation
would voluntarily saddle upon itself any form of hered¬
itary monarchy and hereditary nobility? Then we must
also believe that it would in the same way approve the
restricting, the officering of its armies and navies to per¬
sons of “noble” degree—which is on its face impossible,
absurd.

Rank in the army is still restricted to the nobility—by
a thing which is stronger than law—the power of ancient
habit and superstition. Let a commoner become an officer
—he will be snubbed by all his brethren, ostracized, driven
out.

MARK TWAIN

me Victoria Cross—who gets it? Intrepid, commoners?
Do not deceive yourself. Examine the V.C. records.

The kingly office is entitled to no respect. It was orig¬
inally procured by the highwayman’s methods; it remains
a perpetuated crime, can never be anything but the sym¬
bol of a crime. It is no more entitled to respect than is
the flag of a pirate. A monarch when good is entitled to
the consideration which wc accord to a pirate who keeps
Sunday School between crimes; when bad he is entitled to
none at all. But if you cross a king with a prostitute the
resulting mongrel perfectly satisfies the English idea of
nobility. The ducal houses of Great Britain of today are
mainly derived from this gaudy combination.

To this day Englishmen revere the memory of Nell
Owynne, and speak of her with a smack of unconscious
envy. They seem to consider her as one of the peculiarly
fortunate of this world. They keep her portrait at Hamp¬
ton Court, among some more treasures of the same sort;
they study her picture as history with affectionate pride;
they value any rag or relic which her touch has made
holy; they are as excited and pleased over any new fact
concerning her as a devotee would be over a garment
which his favorite saint had used.

Mark Twain at this time was writing his
Yankee in King Arthur’s Court —a terrible ar¬
raignment of royalty and nobility—and his mind
was filled with instances and examples. His blood
grew hot remembering them.

There are shams and shams; there arc frauds and
frauds, but the transparentest of all is the sccptcred one.
We sec monarchs meet and go through solemn cere¬
monies, farces, with straight countenances; but it is not
possible to imagine them meeting in private and not
laughing in each other’s faces.

The system has for its end the degradation of the many

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to exalt the few, the misery of the many for the happiness
of the few, the cold and hunger and overworking of the
useful that the useless may live in luxury and idleness.

The system of our Indians is high and juster, for only
merit makes a man chief, and his son cannot take the
place if there is another man better fitted for it.

Observe how monarchies and nobilities are sprung upon
a heedless and ignorant people. Chiefs rise by the one
divine right—capacity, merit. One of these shows merit
for war and government above all the rest, he conspires
with a faction of the chiefs and is made king. The body
of the people ignored, allowed no vote, their desires in the
matter held to be of no consequence by these upstarts.
The conspirators make the succession permanent in this
king’s family, and the crime is complete. It is the same
sort of crime that surprise and seizure of a weak com¬
munity’s property by a robber gang, and the conversion
of the community itself into slaves, is. All monarchies
have been so built; there was never a throne which did
not represent a crime; there is no throne today which
does not represent a crime. A monarchy is perpetuated
piracy. In its escutcheon should always be the skull and
crossbones.

What a funny thing is monarchy and how curious its
assumptions. It commits a crime and assumes that lapse
of time removes the criminality; it does a dishonest thing
and assumes that lapse of time removes the taint, as if it
were a mere smell, and perishable; it does a shameful
thing and assumes that lapse of time transfigures it and
makes it a thing to be proud of. It assumes that a wrong
maintained for a dozen or a thousand years, becomes a
right. It assumes that the wronged parties will presently
give up and take the same view—that at least their de¬
scendants will. Now, by an effort one can imagine a family
of bears taking pride in the historic fact that an ancestor
of theirs took violent possession of a bee tree some cen-

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MARK TWAIN

turies ago, and that the family have had a right to it ever
since. We can get that far without any trouble, but there
the allegory fails; for the bees would attack the bears
every day for a thousand years. You can make a man
understand how time turns a wrong into a right, but you
can’t make a bee understand—in his present undeveloped
stage. What the bee lacks is the thrill of awe. He will get
that by and by, then he will be a very good Englishman.

Let us take the present male sovereigns of the earth—
and strip them naked. Mix them with 500 naked mechan¬
ics, and then march the whole around a circus ring, charg¬
ing suitable admission, of course,—and desire the audience
to pick out the sovereigns.

They couldn’t. You would have to paint them blue. You
can’t tell a king from a cooper except you differentiate
their exteriority.

What is the chicfest privilege remaining to nobility?
That you shall not laugh at it. No other class is exempt.
If you would know how vast a privilege it is, observe that
to accord it to any thing, or being, or idea, is to give it
eternal life.

No god and no religion can survive ridicule. No church,
no nobility, no royalty or other fraud, can face ridicule in
a fair field and live. !

There are in Connecticut, at this moment and in all
countries, children and disagreeable relatives chained in
cellars, all sores, welts, worms and vermin.—Cases come
to light every little while—two recent cases in our state.
This is to suggest that the thing in man which makes him
cruel to a slave is in him permanently and will not be
rooted out for a million years. To admit that slavery
exists in any country is to admit that you may describe
any form of brutal treatment which you can imagine and

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go there and find it has been imagined, and applied, before
you.

Find absolute power unrestrained by a trained public
opinion and you will know without going to inquire, that
le Droit du Seigneur exists there. Observe, it existed in
Scodand; there are traces of it in England, you find it
lodged in the big medicine man of various savage tribes.

In some savage lands it was an honor to the girl and her
family. In modern times it is an honor to a subject to be
reigned over (that is to have his liberty debauched) by a
family called royal—a family with no decenter right than
a medicine man. The stupid loyalty of today is the same
sentiment unaltered that made le Droit possible, and the
degradation is the same in quality and quantity—the form
of it is changed, that is all.

Loyalty is a word which has worked vast harm; for it
has been made to trick men into being “loyal” to a thou-
stand iniquities, whereas the true loyalty should have been
to themselves—in which case there would have ensued a
rebellion, and the throwing off of that deceptive yoke.

Note for Yankee

The first thing I want to teach is disloyalty , till they
get used to disusing that word loyalty as representing a
virtue. This will beget independence—which is loyalty to
one’s best self and principles, and this is often disloyalty
to the general idols and fetishes.

I use compulsion in establishing my several breeds of
Protestant churches, because no missionarying has ever
been accomplished except by force which was not con¬
temptible by comparison of the paltry result with the
gigantic outlay of cash and labor.

The building of the Mansion House: A dissenter could
not be Sheriff of London, because he would have to take

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the Sacrament according to the Anglican Rite. The City
passed a by-law, fining any man 400 pounds who refused
to run (for Sheriff) when asked, and 600 pounds for re¬
fusing to serve, after being elected. A blind man and a
bedridden one were thus robbed of a thousand pounds
each. In this way 15,000 pounds were collected—enough
to build the whole Mansion House, in that day—a hun¬
dred years ago.

In a constitutional—figurehead—monarchy, a royal
family of chimparrcccs would answer every purpose, be
worshiped as abjectly by the nation, and be cheaper.

Instead of giving the people decent wages, Church and
gentry and nobility made them work for them for noth¬
ing, pauperized them, then fed them with alms and per¬
suaded themselves that alms-giving was the holiest work
of God, and the giver sure to go to heaven, whereas one
good wage-giver was worth a million of them to the State.

The device of “loyalty” to King or Party should be a
sheep. He is the counterpart and exactcst twin and repre¬
sentative of the King’s slave and the Party’s slave. Fol¬
lows his leader—to hell or heaven, it’s all one to him, he
hasn’t got independence enough to think it any of his
business.

September 12, 1888. Read Browning last night in a pri¬
vate house to 130 people, the ladies in the majority. Have
made speeches several times at banquets where half were
ladies. Have read and lectured a good many times at
matinees where of course ladies were largely in the ma¬
jority.

In all such places failure may be counted upon. In fact
hardly anything can prevent it but a carefully organized

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claque . Not a half-hearted claque, but a brave one—a
claque which will not allow itself to be disturbed.

For several reasons. To begin with, ladies are cowards
about expressing their feelings before folk; men become
cowards in the presence of ladies. Here then is what you
are to expect: Your first piece goes well—the men forget
themselves when they applaud. Consequendy you go at
your second piece with good heart, and do it well. This
time, the applause has an undecided flavor about it; the
men have not reasoned that it was the ladies who failed
to support them when they applauded before, they have
merely noticed that the support was lacking. After that
they are afraid, and a dead silence follows the third read¬
ing. You are as exactly equipped now for the fourth piece
as if a bucket of cold water had been poured over you. If
you are wise, you will now tear your audience all to pieces
with a roaring anecdote, then say you are smitten with a
killing headache, and dismiss them, for no man can read
or talk against unresponsiveness.

The Elmira Reformatory contains 850 convicts, who
are there for all manner of crimes. People go there and
lecture, read, or make speeches, and come away surprised
and delighted. They can’t understand it. They have aston¬
ished themselves by the excellence of their own perform¬
ance. They can’t remember to have ever done so well
before. Afterwards, they always say that for a splendid
audience give them a houseful of convicts; it’s the best
audience in the world. They puzzle and puzzle over it and
are not able to get away from the apparently established
fact that an audience of convicts is the most intelligent
and appreciative in the world. Which is all a mistake. The
whole secret lies in the absence of ladies. Any 850 men
would be just as inspiring, where no dampening female
person was in sight, with her heartful of emotions and her

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determined repression, choking it down and keeping the
signs of it from showing on the outside.

In his later years Mark Twain might have
revised his opinion of female audiences. Long
before his death, the convention that restrained
women from open demonstration of their enjoy¬
ment had disappeared. He frequently and with
great delight talked or read to colleges like
Barnard, and always came home enthusiastic
over his reception.

Also, had he lived until today he might have
found less to rave about concerning kings. He
could have transferred his animus to dictators.

For any man or woman not rich or of noble rank, there
was an imaginary difference between England and hell, a
hundred years ago.

The institution of Royalty in any form is an insult to
the human race.

The man who believes there is a man in the world who
is better than himself merely because he was born royal
or noble, is a dog with the soul of a dog—and at bottom is
a liar.

If the master of a kingdom is so important that God
will not entrust his appointment to men but appoints him
Himself, it then follows that the master of that master is
a still more important officer and so this one must espe¬
cially be divinely appointed. Therefore one is logically
compelled to say—“Nell Gwynne, by the Grace of God
monarch of Great Britain etc.”

People seem to think they are citizens of the Republican

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Party and that that is patriotism and sufficiently good
patriotism. I prefer to be a citizen of the United States.

October 15, 1888. I found yesterday that a prominent
citizen (who has two skunk friends on the Street Board)
had at last succeeded in getting the light moved from
the Gillette Street corner to the mouth of Forest Street,
thus leaving our gates smothered in Egyptian darkness.
The city government has done me many a mean trick,
in sixteen years, and I stood the strain and kept the
peace; but to frightfully inconvenience me to accommo¬
date a person like the said citizen was a little too much.
So I went down last night and contracted for electric
light at my own cost, and police protection at my own
cost, and took measures to transfer my citizenship to some
other town. So after next June I shall have the satisfac¬
tion of paying a possibly very large tax every year to
some town in which I do not live, and paying not a cent
in Hartford any more forever, except on the house and
grounds.

As we hear no more of this violent self-banish¬
ment perhaps it never became official. He may
have reflected that to vote in Hartford he must
remain a citizen, and he did like to vote there
with Twichell and the others.

Publishing Memorandum

Sherman (Life of) proves to be unprofitable. Demand
a reconstruction of contract placing power in my hands
where it belongs. Refused? Go into court. Second: Demand
dissolution. Go into court. Can I be held for debts made
beyond the capital? I will buy or sell out.

Since the spring of 1886, the thing has gone straight
down hill, towards sure destruction. It must be brought
to an end, February 1, at all hazards. This is final.

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MARK TWAIN

That is to say, his publishing enterprise so
magnificently started by the Grant Life—had
been steadily going down hill ever since. Fur¬
thermore, all his available cash—all he could earn
and borrow—was going into the type machine. It
was easy to see that “the business must be brought
to an end by Feb. i,” but it would go on steadily
declining for another six years after that—it
would take the panic of ’93 and ’94 to give it its
final quietus.

November 23, 1888. At noon, was coming up a back
street; two poorly dressed girls, one about ten, the other
twelve or thirteen years old, were just behind me; was
attracted by the musical voice of the elder one and slowed
down my gait to listen; by and by the younger said—
“Yonder they are”—“Where?” “Way down the street—
don’t you sec?” The elder threw back her head and
gushed out a liquid “h 00-00-00-00 h!”—The most melodi¬
ous note that ever issued from human lips, it seemed to
me. Nothing has equaled it in my hearing, but the rich
note of the woodthrush. I resolved to track that child
home—and did. She entered a poor frame dwelling next
to and north of a frame building that had a sign “Si¬
gourney Tool Co.” on its front. Then I followed the
younger girl home, at least to a house in front of John
Hooker’s grounds. So I shall be able to find one or the
other, by and by. I mean to educate that girl’s voice. She
will make a stir in the world sure.

One wonders if he ever remembered it again.

He had many such impulses—some of them he
followed to fulfillment. He had educated Ger-
hardt, discovered quite accidentally; he had pro¬
vided money for the dramatic education of Wil¬
liam Gillette, and there were other instances of
the sort. But the drain upon him was very heavy
204

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now, and his responsibilities increasing; also, his
mind was very full and he may have never re¬
membered the beautiful voice.

To Mrs. S. L. Clemens—

Happy New Year!

The machine is finished and this is the first work done
on it.

S. L. Clemens
Hartford, Dec. 31, 1888.

(sample enclosed)

He thought it was—-that his troubles were
nearing their end. They had hardly begun. The
machine would be “finished” so many times,
after that, and always at fearful cost in money
and mental stress.

Three pages farther along follows this trium¬
phant entry:

Eureka!

Saturday, January 5, 1889, 12:20 P.M. At this moment
I have seen a line of movable type, spaced and justified by
machinery! This is the first time in the history of the
world that this amazing thing has ever been done.
Present:

J. W. Paige, the inventor;

Charles Davis

Earll | mathematical assistants and
Graham | mechanical experts
Bates, foreman, and
S. L. Clemens.

This record is made immediately after the prodigious
event.

S. L. Clemens

205

MARK TWAIN

Laid into the notebook are two examples of
the typesetter’s work—satisfactory examples.

But then, almost immediately, Paige began to
tinker with it—perhaps there was need—perhaps
it was only Paige’s pernickety habit of not being
able to let well enough alone. Two days later
comes another note:

Monday, Jan. 7—4:45 P.M.

“The first proper name ever set by this new keyboard
was Willia?n Shakspean*. I set it at the above hour; and
I perceive, now that 1 vsee the name written, that I either
misspelled it then or I have misspelled it now.”

The space bar did its duty, aided by the electric con¬
nection and steam, and separated the two words, prepara¬
tory to reception of the space.

Surely the test of a novel’s characters is that you feel a
strong interest in them and their affairs—the good to be
successful, the bad to suffer failure. Well, in John Ward
you feel no divided interest, no discriminating interest—
you want them all to land in hell together, and right away.

As the cow and the Christian think—I mean that
process which the cow and the Christian regard as think¬
ing, when the subject is religion and the evidences.

A few months ago I was told that the Johns Hopkins
University had given me a degree. I naturally supposed
this constituted me a Member of the Faculty, and so I
started in to help what I could there. I told them I be¬
lieved they were perfectly competent to run a college as
far as the higher branches of education are concerned,
but what they needed was a little help here and there
from a practical commercial man. I said the public is
sensitive to little things and they wouldn’t have full con¬
fidence in a college that didn’t know how to spell John.

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However, one thing seemed certain enough, anyway—
the degree constituted me a member of the governing
body and doubtless the head of it; so I proceeded upon
that,

March 9, 1889. No more experiments (on the machine).
Definite work alone left to do. Four months sure; that is,
July 10. No new devices or inventions.

It has a tragic sound today. Evidently he did
not know Paige yet.

March 11. Made this proposition to Mrs. Richardson
today: That in lieu of the present contract, she dramatize
the Prince and Pauper for me; I to pay her $500 upon
delivery of the manuscript to me, June 1 or July 1, be her
work good or bad. If the play succeeds , I to pay her an¬
other $500 (this to be the first $500 received by me as
profits) after that, I to pay her $5 every time the piece
is played. She will answer Thursday.

In the matter of pensions England has never made any
distinctions between public service and private shame, ex¬
cept to pay highest for the latter. Consider the Dukes of
Grafton and Richmond and the progeny of Nelson. Eng¬
land pensions the rich whore with millions, the poor private
with a shilling a month, she was always shabby and a
humbug.

March 22, 1889. Mother said, to Livy, Cf What is the
name of the sister of-”

“Mrs. Corning?”

“Yes, Mrs. Erastus Corning.”

I was present. Livy explained that this was genuine
mental telegraphy for no mention had been made of the
Comings. Last week four or five days ago—occurred some

207

MARK TWAIN

talk about Mrs. Pruyn of Albany, the sister under con¬
sideration.

I proposed to take down the three sentences immedi¬
ately, and doubted if even immediately would be soon
enough to get them exactly, so unsure a thing is human
testimony. It is agreed that this report is exact.

You know how absent-minded Twichell (Rev. J. H.) is
and how desolate his face is when he is in that frame. At
such times he passes the word with a friend on the street
and is not aware of the meeting at all. Twice in a week
our Clara (aged 15) had this latter experience with him
within the past month. But the second instance was too
much for her and she woke him up, in his tracks, with a
reproach—she said—

“Uncle Joe, why do you always look as if you were just
going down into the grave, when you meet a person on
the street ?”

And then went on to reveal to him the funereal spec¬
tacle which he presented on such occasion. Well, she has
met Twichell three times since then, and would swim the
Connecticut River to avoid meeting him the fourth. As
soon as he sights her, no matter how publicly placed, nor
how far off she is, he makes a bound into the air, hurls
arms and legs into all sorts of frantic gestures of delight,
and so comes prancing, skipping and pirouetting for her
like a drunken Indian entering heaven. She feels as em¬
barrassed as the Almighty.

Elmira, August 18, x88q

We have been here two months, in which time Brer W.
(Whitmore, his business secretary) has written me some
three mere notes about the machine. I wrote once and
asked him to tell me anything there was to tell from time
to time. No answer. Wrote him and asked him to keep
Fred in practice while the machine is stopped. No answer.

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The machine stopped August 2—not a line from him to
say why, or how much is to be done on it. Suppose it were
a sick child of mine? Would he give me any news about
it?

It was, in fact, a sick child—it was generally
sick, and every cure—every partial cure, for
there were no complete ones, was terribly costly.

My adventure at 2 A.M., clothed with nightshirt and
checkered summer parasol when I chased the dog Bruce
over the hills, and finally encountered the colored preacher
who was afraid of ghosts and took me for one.

We Americans worship the almighty dollar! Well, it is
a worthier god than Heredity Privilege.

Better a deity that represents the labor of your hands
and your contribution to the world’s wealth than a deity
which represents not a contribution, but a robbery; for
no king or noble has ever lived w T ho was not a robber,
and the successor of robbers, since no kingship or nobility
was ever yet conferred by the one and only authority
entitled to confer it—the mass of the nation.

October 13, 1889. Proposed my idea (of buying the
remains of Columbus and bringing them over to the fair
of ’92) to the N. Y. World Committee on ideas—but
shan’t name the idea until I hear from them.

These wretched American women who buy titles (and
noble tramps) with their money—mongrel breeders;
should have a bench show of their children.

February 1, 1890. Sir Wm. Gull is just dead. He nursed
the Prince of Wales back to life in ’71, and apparently it

209

MARK TWAIN

was for this that Mr. Gull was granted Knighthood, that
doormat at the threshold of nobility. When the Prince
seemed dead Mr. Gull dealt blow after blow between the
shoulders, breathed into his nostrils, and literally cheated
Death.

Monarchy? Why is it out of date? It belongs to the
state of culture that admires a ring in your nose, a head
full of feathers and your belly painted blue.

That kind of so-called housekeeping where they have
six Bibles and no corkscrew.

That government is not best which best secures mere
life and property—there is a more valuable thing—man¬
hood.

I always come to introduce Stanley every time he goes
off to hunt up some mislaid person in Africa and gets
forgotten.

William Penn achieved the deathless gratitude of the
savages by merely dealing in a square way with them—
well—kind of a square way, anyhow—more rectangular
than the savage was used to at any rate. He bought the
whole state of Pennsylvania from them and paid for it
like a man—paid #40 worth of glass beads and a couple
of second-hand blankets. Bought the whole state for that.
Why you can’t buy its legislature for twice the money
now.

Memoranda concerning the machine and its
trouble—its shortcomings—become monotonous,
but just one more, to show the torture of mind
he must have endured.

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December 20, 1890. About three weeks ago the machine
was pronounced “finished” by Paige, for certainly the
half-dozenth time in the past twelve months. Then it
transpired—I mean it was discovered—that North had
failed to inspect the period , and it sometimes refused to
perform properly. But to correct that error would take
just one day, and only one day—the “merest trifle in the
world.” I said this sort of mere trifle had interfered often
before and had alw’ays cost ten times as much time and
money as their loose calculations promised. Paige and
Davis knew (they always k?iow, never guess) that this
correction would cost but one single day. Well, the best
part of two weeks went by. I dropped in (last Monday
noon) and they were still tinkering. Still tinkering, but
just one hour , now, would see the machine at work, blem¬
ishless, and never stop again for a generation; the hoary
old song that has been sung to weariness in my ears by
these frauds and liars!

December 29. The “one hour” lasted till last Thursday;
it was reported to me by Whitmore that it got to work
again that day. The next day I sent down a new (pro¬
posed) contract prepared by Robinson,

The machine broke down again that day l Remains so
still.

February 7, 1891 Saturday night, 10 o’clock. Wrote a
note to Paige saying I now hold myself as released from
any further effort or expense in behalf of the machine.
I told him today that this was going to be my last negotia¬
tion, and then I was done; that I should not renew the
insurance or pay out any more money!

But this was open mutiny, not only as to
Paige, but himself. He had got to a point where
he did not own the machine—the machine owned

211

MARK TWAIN

him. He might perhaps have thrown the whole
thing overboard, present it to Paige in a word
—which may have been, though it is by no
means certain, just what the latter wanted.

(Copy of letter to Gas Company)

Hartford, Feb. 12/91

Dear Sirs:

Some day you will move me almost to the verge of
irritation by your chuckle-headed Goddamned fashion of
shutting your Goddamned gas off without giving any no¬
tice to your Goddamned parishioners. Several times you
have come within an ace of smothering half of this house¬
hold in their beds & blowing up the other half by this
idiotic, not to say criminal, custom of yours. And it has
happened again today. Haven’t you a telephone?

Ys

S L Clemens

February 20. It is more than two weeks since I have
seen Paige or the machine. Am deep in work—the “Date
and Fact game,” “Col. Sellers,” 1 etc.

Huck comes back sixty years old, from nobody knows
where—and crazy. Thinks he is a boy again and scans
always every face for lorn, Becky, etc.

Tom comes at last from sixty years’ wandering in the
world, and attends Huck and together they talk of old
times; both are desolate, life has been a failure, all that
was lovable, all that was beautiful is under the mold.
They die together.

Mark Twain went back to Hannibal in 1902,
while John Briggs, his old playmate, was still

1 The Sellers story here mentioned was the American Claimant ,
published in 1892.

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alive. They did meet and talk over old times, but
both were in good mental health.

Paige, the microbe.

May 2. Finished the book [American Claimant] which
I began to write Feb. 20—71 days.

May 29, 1891, 1:30 P.M. Tried to send a telegram
through telephone and couldn’t. They charge you for the
use of this deaf-and-dumb thing.

Bill Styles, lobbying in behalf of a candidate for U. S.
Senator—in the legislature—spoke of the low grade of
legislative morals, “kind of discouragin’, you see, it’s so
hard to find men of so high type of morals that they’ll
stay bought”

From Mr. Hall, May 25, i8gi

In re your letters from the other side: For ail letters
containing not less than 3500 words, McClure is to pay
you $1000 per letter. If they contain more than 3500
words so much the better. If the letters contain less than
3500 words he is to pay you at the rate of #300 per thou¬
sand words.

I telegraphed Hall to accept these terms for me.

P.S.—Changed, June 3. Letters to contain 5000 to 6000
words, £1000 per letter.

The cost of American living had become al¬
most prohibitive, and his finances were being
scraped from the bottom of the treasure chest.
Business was so bad that not only was there no
money coming in from it, but he must provide
considerable sums to keep it going. A memoran¬
dum shows that of the several amounts coming
to Mrs. Clemens, from her investments, nothing
213

MARK TWAIN

would be left after turning over money required
by the machine ami the publishing business—a
ghastly situation. 'They had decided upon Euro¬
pean residence. The Hartford house, their home
For seventeen years, full of beautiful memories,
would be closed.

214

CHAPTER XXI

European Residence

Mark Twain and his family sailed on the
Gascogne June 6, 1891. Mrs. Clemens was last
to leave the house, lie home she would never
enter again.

At Sea

June 6, 10:30 A.M. (first breakfast) went to it—then
put down for second breakfast 12:30. Before these hours,
6 to 9 —you can have coffee, tea and an egg, or chop, to
stay your stomach.

One deck steward to 200,000 passengers. Began at nine
to hunt for him and pray to him—got the order to him at
10:15, 10:30 he has not appeared, and I have retreated

from the sight of the starving family.

A woman springs a sudden reproach upon you which
provokes a hot retort—and then she will presently ask
you to apologize.

Twenty young wheelmen paying a specific sum apiece,
in charge of a personal conductor who wheels them all
over Europe and relieves them of all care and expense.

With such seas as this they could practice on these long
decks all day if they chose.

One man says they do practice, two hours after mid¬
night and spin along silently like ghosts.

The strenuous insistent muffled burr or buzz of the

215

MARK TWAIN

propeller flange, like the humming bird’s buzz—lulling
and not unpleasant.

June K. Certainly the sunniest and most beautiful day
the Atlantic ever vsaw. But little sea—though what there is
would be seriously felt on a smaller vessel. This one has
no motion.

The phosphorescent waves at night are very intense on
the black surface.

Life preservers: Square blocks of cork—Nicholson
pavement—over my head, supported on slats.

I have often yearned to know how you get them down
and how you use them, and I think it a mark of the per¬
fection of my native procrastination that I continually put
it off. Arc there ten in our 300 who have done differently?

Divans all around a great square salon, occupied by
silent folk in the squeamish stage. A piano in there-
hated by the above.

Contrasts between the menu here and that of the old
Gummier, with the candles out at eleven, without notice.

June 11, 1R91. 'Die loneliness of a ship at 4 A.M. Saw
just one person, for an instant, flit thru the gray of
yesterday’s dawn. Very rough—winds singing—first wet
deck. Electrics seem to burn dim. Smoking sty stunk un-
endurably.

Susy: (of the French) “Their gesticulations are so out
of proportion to what they arc saying.”

Hell or Heidelberg, whichever you come to, first.

This is the first hint of the story he was to
write a few years later called The Man who
Corrupted Iladleyburg ; at least, the first hint of
the sentence “Hell or Hadlcyburg ”

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At Heidelberg

Went up to Konigstuhl, and recognized old Gretchen—
the two girls seem to recognize me (gave me hopes) but
didn’t; two red-headed children I attributed to the
younger (fat) one. I was a skittish young thing of 42 in
those days.

We have our old room now, No. 40.

He refers to their German sojourn in 1878,
when for a time they had lived at the Schloss
Hotel, and he had worked in a small cottage
farther up the hill.

Europe has lived a life of hypocrisy for ages; it is so
ingrained in flesh and blood that sincere speech is im¬
possible to these people, when speaking of hereditary
power. “God Save the King” is uttered millions of times a
day in Europe, and issues nearly always from just the
mouth, neither higher nor lower.

The first gospel of all monarchies should be Rebellion;
the second should be Rebellion; and the third and all gos¬
pels and the only gospel in any monarchy should be
Rebellion against Church and State.

Want milk but they don’t have it—would be too con¬
spicuous not to drink wine. The wine increases my rheu¬
matism, too.

Arrived at Ouchy, Thursday Sept. 17 (’91) noon.

September 19, Saturday—depart from Grand Hotel,
Beau Rivage, at 2 P.M., for Castle Chatillon on Lac
Bourget, for boat trip down Rhone. 1

1 See “Down The Rhone” in VoL Europe and Elsewhere* Mark
Twain’s Works. Also, Mark Twain—a Biography , Chapter
CLXXVI.

217

MARK TWAIN

Three idiots took a boat just as I was walking to the
Dealt Rivage and soon were being swept down toward the
bridge, they pawing the water innocently with their ig¬
norant oars. The owner of the boats watched awhile then
sent a boat after them and saved them, so the world is
better off by three fools.

The river for miles is a raging plane of white caps; the
Mistral is just howling.

Higginson visiting Kmily Dickinson at her father’s
house in Amherst, 1870:

“It was at her father’s house, one of those large square
brick mansions so familiar in our older New England
towns, surrounded by trees and blossoming shrubs with¬
out, and within exquisitely neat, cool, spacious and fra¬
grant with flowers.’ 5

There—if there is any region on the continent of Europe
where such houses exist, I have never found it.

As long as time shall last, history will spit in England’s
face for her treachery to Napoleon’s trust in her. Some
have looked around for the cue, and found it in England’s
fright, Excuses must have been scarce when that one was
chosen.

Following the Rhone trip the family settled in
Berlin, where the next entry is made.

The highest of all professions—the stilling of human
pain—the saving of human life.

When you lie low, how welcome is the face of the doc¬
tor, in that time of uncertainty when you can’t tell for
sure just where you are going to.

And without a doubt Berlin is the place to come to to
finish your medical education, for certainly it is a lumi-

218

NOTEBOOK

nous center of intelligence—a place where the last possi¬
bilities of attainment in all the sciences are to be had for
the seeking. Berlin is a wonderful city for that sort of
opportunity. They teach everything here. I don’t believe
there is anything in the whole earth that you can’t learn
in Berlin except the German language. It is a desperate
language. They think it is the language of concentration.
They hitch a cattle train of words together, and vestibule
it, and because there isn’t a break in it from one end to
the other, they think that is concentration, and they call it
so. An officer gave me this word the other day, got it out
of a naval handbook—“Untersecretariatsapplicant.”

I wrote a chapter on this language 13 years ago, and
tried my level best to improve it and simplify it for these
people—and this is the result—it merely concentrates the
alphabet with a shovel. It hurts me to know that that
chapter is not in any of their textbooks and they don’t
use it in the Universities. If I could get an Imperial decree
it would help the reform along.

But the fact is they ought to adopt our language. It is so
simple and easy, whereas (here follows a long involved
German sentence). But never mind about that, you are
here to learn—you are here to perfect yourself in your
great calling. And that is the thing to do. A half-educated
physician is not valuable. He thinks he can cure every¬
thing.

This note was evidently part of an address to
medical students.

We hate the critic and think him brutally and mali¬
ciously unjust, but he could retort with overwhelming
truth: “You will feel just as I do about your book if you
will take it up and read it ten years hence.”

Move from Kornerstrasse to Hotel Royal, Unter den

219

MARK TWAIN

Linden 31 December ’91—six chambers and one dining¬
room and one parlor.

Left the family there and on the 4th day of Jan. ’92,
Livy and I went down to llsenborg in the Hartz Moun¬
tains—ostensibly four, but really seven hours from. Berlin.

Stayed eight days in the house of Pastor Oberman. He
and his wife lovely people. The stoves in our parlor and
bedroom not satisfactory. I caught a heavy cough.

The entire society of the village consisted of the old
Fiirstin vom Reuss, her daughter the Princess, and the
pastor and his wife—four people. We made it six.

The doctor and his wife were not in society; he was a
baker’s son and climbed to his doctorship by native gifts
and hard work.

The second evening the Fiirst vom Stolberg-Wer-
nigerode and his son came over on the annual visit to his
sister, the old Fiirstin. lie is a very handsome man, and
the proudest unroyal prince in Germany, and the richest,
lie brought several carriage-loads of young princesses
with him. Our party of six (which included the doctor and
his wife) were the only people there below the rank of
prince. Livy and I shook hands with the Fiirst, and passed
on, and I missed seeing the awful thing that followed:
The doctor’s wife put out her hand and the Fiirst let on
that he didn’t sec it. Poor thing, instead of taking warn¬
ing, she raised her hand higher, imagining he hadn’t seen
it. He ignored it. It was tragic. She had a cry that night.

We came away at midnight, after a good supper and a
pleasant and sociable time. I made the usual number of
blunders in matters of etiquette.

The night before we came away the old Fiirstin and the
Princess came over to supper and spent the evening. They
are lovely people and good English scholars. The Furstin
is a poet, too. I spun yarns and she translated them to the
company.

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How leniently he deals with these people of
rank. Imagine what he would have said had that
incident occurred in England. He would not have
referred to that prince as “proud.” He would
have combed the dictionary to find adjectives to
convey his scorn.

Came up to Berlin Jan. 12, to lecture on the 13th, in¬
tending to go back to Ilsenborg and stay two months.

Went to our cousins’ (Frau and General von Yersen)
ball after the lecture; we all came home at 2 A.M. and I
have been in bed ever since—three weeks—with conges¬
tion of the lungs and influenza.

When I had been in bed eleven days Frau von Yersen
came, Jan. 24, and brought a note, inviting me on the part
of the Emperor to come to the Palace at 11:30 A.M. and
witness the consecration of some flags. I wrote my thanks
and regret. Frau von V. came in again that day or the
next and said that the Emperor had commanded her to
prepare dinner for him and me in her house—the date of
the dinner to be the day that I should be well enough.

A day or two ago Jean was overheard to say—after
some talk about this approaching event—“I wish I could
be in Papa’s clothes”—pause and reflection—“but it
wouldn’t be any use, I reckon the Emperor wouldn’t
reconnize me.”

Tasteless slovenliness and ugliness of German papers—
even worse than French. French books are marvels of
taste and fine workmanship—proving that they have
printers there; whereas, if one saw only the papers he
would think they hadn’t even apprentices. How clear and
clean and beautiful a London or New York paper looks
beside the German and French papers.

I am reconciled to our display heads now. They tell me

221

MARK TWAIN

at a glance the contents of a column. But here I must spell
the colunm through, and it takes an hour.

When the King and Queen of Wiirtembcrg were here
they double-banked the “Holy Land” with soldiers, who
shouted: “lie's coming!”

I would like to be Kmperor awhile.

Apparently he has almost recovered from the
fierce attack of king-phobia that had caused
him to rage, through the period of writing the
Yankee in Kirif* Arthur's Court .

Feb. 14. Prof. Helmholtz called.

The Court Gazette of a German paper can be covered
with a playing-card. In an Knglish paper the movements
of tilled people take up about ihrce times that room. In
the papers of the Republic of France from six to sixteen
times as much. There, if a duke's dog should catch a cold
in the head they would stop the press to announce it and
cry about it. In Germany they respect titles, in England
they revere them, in France they adore them, that is, the
French newspapers do.

Been taken for Mommsen twice. We have the same
hair, but upon examination it was found that our brains
were different.

Thirty days sick abed—full of interest—read the de¬
bates and get excited over them, though I don’t under¬
stand. By reading keep in a state of excited ignorance.
Like a blind man in a house afire—flounder around—im¬
mensely, but unintclligently, interested, don’t know, how
I got in and can’t find the way out but I am having a
booming time all to myself.

Don’t know what a “Schclgcsetzcntwurf” is, but I keep
as excited over it and as worried about it as if it was my

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own child. I simply live in the Sch—it is my daily bread.
I wouldn't have the question settled for anything in the
world. Especially now that I have lost the “Offentliche
Militargerich” circus. I read all the debates on that ques¬
tion with a never-failing interest, but all at once they
sprung a vote on me a couple of days ago and did some¬
thing, by vote of ioo to 143, but I couldn’t find out what
it was.

Here they recognize two sects, Catholic and Lutheran
(which appear to differ from each other nearly as much
as a red-headed man differs from an auburn-haired man).
These receive State support; and their schools receive
State support. Other sects are taxed to support these sects
and schools, and have to run their own churches and
schools at their own cost. It is infamous.

Just as infamous as it is with us—where no church
property is taxed and so the infidel and the atheist and
the man without religion are taxed to make up the deficit
in the public income thus caused.

I went to church the first Sunday, and on Tuesday came
a tax of twelve marks for church support. I have not been
since. I can’t afford religious instruction at that price.
Only the rich can be saved here.

Feb. 20, 1892. Dined at General (lately Lt.-Gen.) von
Versen’s. 1 Sat at the right hand of the Emperor. His
brother, Prince Heinrich, sat opposite. Prince Radolin
(Chamberlin) further along; fourteen at table; mainly
great military and naval people. Two of my friends be¬
sides the von Versens were there. Rottenborg and Rudolph
Lindau, both of the Foreign Office. After dinner, six or
eight officers came in, and all hands adjourned to the big
room out of the smoking-room, and held a “smoking par-

1 General von Versen had married a second or third cousin of
Mark Twain.

223

MARK TWAIN

liamcnt,” after the style of the ancient Potsdam one, till
midnight, when the Emperor shook hands and left. 1

Feb. 26. Day before yesterday the Emperor made a
speech (as Markgraf of Brandenburg) to the little Bran¬
denburg Parliament, assembled here, at a banquet in the
Palace. Complained sharply of the grumblers who are
dissatisfied with the government and suggested that if
they don’t like the way things arc they had better shake
the CJerman sand out of their slippers and leave.

The speech has made a great stir. That of the odious
(proposed) Schulgesctz, and the lack of bread and work
resulted in a mob gathering in front of the Palace yes¬
terday, of people out of work. 'They uttered revolutionary
cries. Baker’s bread was distributed to them but they
threw it away.

At Jean’s school this morning the children were for¬
bidden to speak of the matter but said they would tell
her out of school.

Crowds of the proletariat drifting up and down the
“Holy Land” today but the Emperor rode out as usual,
and after him I saw the whole force of royal carriages fol¬
lowing—apparently all the royal women and all the chil¬
dren have turned out to show that they arc not afraid.

He was still far from well, and was commanded
by his doctor either to remain in his room or go
to a warmer climate. He chose the latter and
with Mrs. Clemens went to Mentone, in the south
of France, then to Italy.

Pisa, March 25 & 26. Echo in Baptistery is the noblest
and sweetest and richest and most resonant and long-
sustained musical strain in the world. It is nearest like a
chord of flutes, perhaps, or one of those orchestral com¬
binations in Wagner with silver horns in it—but nothing

1 For a fuller account of what happened at this dinner see Mark
Twain—a Biography^ Chapter CLXXIX.

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can do more than merely approach it remotely, no com¬
bination of voices or instruments can reproduce or
adequately imitate it—for there is no building but this
one where the strain would not have a noticeable flat¬
ness about it as compared with this noble roundness and
fullness.

Saturday, April 30, 1892. Came from Rome to Florence
yesterday. This is the Hotel Grande Bretagne and Arno-
called the best in Florence. It is a vast confusion of halls
and sleeping-holes, a huge congerie of rats’ nests, fur¬
nished with rubbish, probably bought at pauper auctions.
The cook is the best in Florence, no doubt. He is first
class; the rest of the hotel is fortieth class.

In Rome two weeks ago young Corbett told me of his
adventure in Campagna with his friend Martin, when two
terrific dogs came for them, and their peasant guide put
up a prayer to the Virgin and she vouchsafed a miracle
which saved them.

To Tmchell , in America

Dear Joe:

... The dogs of the Campagna (they watch sheep with¬
out human assistance) are big and warlike, and are ter¬
rible creatures to meet in those lonely expanses. Two
young Englishmen—one of them a friend of mine—were
away out there yesterday, with a peasant guide of the
region who is a simple-hearted and very devout Roman
Catholic. At one point the guide stopped, and said they
were now approaching a spot where two especially
ferocious dogs were accustomed to herd sheep: that it
would be well to go cautiously and be prepared to retreat
if they saw the dogs. So then they started on, but pres¬
ently came suddenly upon the dogs. The immense brutes
came straight for them, with death in their eyes. The
guide said in a voice of horror, “Turn your backs, but for

225

MARK TWAIN

God's sake don't stir--I will pray—I will pray the Virgin
to do a miracle ami save us; she will hear me, oh, my God
she surely will." And stiaightway he began to pray. The
Knplishmrn stood quaking with fright, and wholly with¬
out faith in the man’s player. But all at once the furious
snarling of the dogs ceased--at three steps distant—and
there was dead silence. After a moment my friend, who
could no longer cnduie the awful suspense, turned—and
there was the miracle, sure enough: the gentleman dog
had mounted the lady dog and both had forgotten their
solemn duty in the ecstasy of a higher interest!

The strangers were saved, and they retired from that
place with thankful heaits. The guide was in a frenzy of
pious gratitude ami exultation, and praised and glorified
the Virgin without stint; and finally wound up with “But
you--you are Protestants; she would not have done it
for you; she did it for me—-only me—praised be she for
evermore! and I will hang a picture of it in the church
and it shall be another proof that her loving care is still
with her children who humbly believe and adore”

By the time the dogs got unattached the men were five
miles from there.

Sunday, May 22, 1H92. Tried to make the Johnsons,
Browns, Sarah Orne Jewett, Mrs. James T. Field, and
Mrs. Washington, understand (with Clara’s help) the old
puzzle of Whitmore taking me around the loop in his
buggy. Of course they all laughed and laughed, at my
stupidity at first, but it was a puzzle before they got done
with it.

It was a problem that from time to time
puzzled him all his life. The driveway in Hart¬
ford led past the house to a loop. Driving in one
day with F. G. Whitmore, Clemens said: “Whit¬
more, go around to the left when we reach the
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loop, then when we come back to the house I
shall be on the side next the step.” “No,” said
Whitmore, “it won’t make any difference which
way we go around the loop, the result will be
the same—you will be on the outside. “Try it,”
said Clemens, and Whitmore did so, with the
result as he had prophesied. Clemens, however,
was still unconvinced and made him try it again,
going around the loop first one way and then the
other, insisting that there must be a difference in
the result. He confessed his mistake at last, but
all his life it troubled him, and in almost every
one of his notebooks there is a diagram of the
loop and an attempt to show that his first con¬
clusion was correct.

June 29 (on a trip back to America). Lake Shore and
Michigan Southern and N. Y. Central. Today a man
timed the train and said we were making 65 miles an
hour. The porter said we sometimes make 70, and that
over a distance of 400 miles we average 62. Over there
the fastest train goes from Frankfort to Nauheim in forty
minutes—25 miles. It takes the express nine hours to go
from Berlin to Frankfort. Slow,

He was back in the typesetter tangle again
and the entanglement of his business affairs. His
life could have been so simple, so unharrassed,
but for these things.

Union League Club, noon. I breakfasted here yesterday
about ten. Sat around till 2 P.M. should say. Loafed down
to Glenhem Hotel and in my room enjoyed the prodigious
downpour of rain awhile; then went to bed—three or four
P.M., and was soon absorbed in The Little Minister with
shutters closed and gas lit. Hours and hours afterwards—

227

MARK TWAIN’

im idea how many, for m> docks were in hearing, but my
in.stim-t and the diminished street voices assured me it
was about 3 A.M.—I suddenly thought “My watch has
run down of course” and I hopped out of bed, got the
thing from my vest on a wall hook and put it to my ear.
Yes, it was silent. Opened it, took a careless glance—ap¬
parently t t:.?o I\M. Reen stopped more than two hours,

I said:—listened -no tick hearable; wound it up, closed
it; after a moment unclosed it and listened to make sure
it had staited up again; it hadn’t; shook it, listened, shook
it again, then it started tip and I put it back in the vest
pocket and returned to bed. I finished my book as quickly
as possible---say in half an hour—then rushed myself to
sleep, to capture what was left of the night (morning).
When 1 woke 1 felt well rested up. Rose and looked at
my watch--6 A.M. True time is about 8:30, I said, and
ordered breakfast and the paper brought to my room.
Ate the breakfast, read the World through, wrote a letter
or two, began A Window in Thrums', by and by dressed
and went up Fifth Avenue—-noticed the dock in front of
Fifth Avenue Hotel—took out my watch to set it. By
C.eorge, it and the chick were precisely together!—10:14.
What was it that called me out of bed the very instant
that my watch had run dmvn and stopped the night
before?

This is the very counterpart of Mr. Child’s adventure
with his watch, in Florence.

The family were at the Villa Viviani, near
Florence, and he presently returned to them.

Settignano, Marclt 4, 1893: 9:30 P.M. Mr. Cleveland
has been President now two or three hours, no doubt.

Driving from Prato this afternoon, a child darted across
the road under the noses of the horses, was knocked

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down, and disappeared. Vitorio pulled the horses to a
dead standstill, suddenly, and men ran out to gather up
the remains. The child was actually not hurt. The men
pulled it out from under the carriage and stood it on its
feet. A singular escape. The family were well frightened.

I was not along.

March 22. Sailed in the Kaiser William II, at 11 A.M.

His business worries kept him ferrying back
and forth between Europe and America.

Tuesday, March 28. The usual brilliant sunshine, the
usual soft summer weather. Sea polished and nearly flat—
almost a dead calm. We have never had a sea that dis¬
turbed the dishes on the table to speak of.

Wednesday, March 29. Nice ball on deck, with colored
electric lights. I opened it with Capt. Stormer—waltzed
with overcoat. Danced a Virginia reel, with. Longfellow
for a partner.

Good Friday, March 31. Exceedingly rough—a deal
of rain. A very sturdy ship, but of course this sort of
sea makes her roll heavily—as it would any ship.

April 1. A wild wind and a wild sea yesterday after¬
noon. Several falls but nobody hurt. Went to bed at eight
and slept till 8. Still a heavy sea this morning.

April 3 Monday. Arrived 6 P.M.

Tuesday, Mr. Hall, evening. Howells came for couple

hours.

Thursday, 6th. Dined with Andrew Carnegie, Prof.
Goldwin Smith, John Cameron, Mr. Glen. Creation of
League for absorbing Canada into our union. The paper
read and discussed. Carnegie also wants to add Great
Britain and Ireland.

229

MARK TWAIN

\pii! 7. Dined with Rudy,-in! Kiplinp and wife. Charles
\\ .il ir?i SOuid.nd lime.

The unfrs which fulluw sntind dream material,
and they wrir:

Monday April 10. At tin* Paige compositor—Con¬
necticut O*,. IKth .uul Hinadwav till 2:30 P.M, Fifty
machine well alone in building. One will he finished July
I. Picscut capacity of factmy one machine a day. Factory
to he huilt when location divided upon, five machines
a day.

Considering proposition of fifteen million company one
liout fiom Chicago. 'They offeied to give the Conn. Co.
tw«> million dnllais of their bond;., all the land they need,
and five million cash, if they will build a factory on their
land. This ptoporition is in writing.

The company intend to market 10,000 machines
(rented) with all possible dispatch. All the printers are
hurrying the company.

The above machines are for this country alone.

'The company tells me that my royalty will be col¬
lectible on all futeign machines manufactured by them.
By the end of this year the company will be making one
machine a day, next year two—the year after, five.

The fifty now in the works will be completed one after
the other soon.

What a child he was: the company and the
factory were no more than the airy fabric of
Paige's vision. There was no real manufacturing
plant, no machines under way, except in Paige's
imagination. Paige must have been a hypnotist
to impose so repeatedly on Mark Twain. But
he imposed on others as well. At the end of this
note Clemens adds that the Conn, Co, is paying
him (Paige) #5000 a month until the first ma-
230

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chine is sold or rented. But perhaps that was
just a part of the vision, too.

“Put all your eggs in one basket—and watch that
basket.” Andrew Carnegie.

Mark Twain now went to Chicago, taking
young Hall along, as secretary. Paige was in Chi¬
cago by this time, possibly negotiating the matter
of the “land” which had been offered. Sixteen
days following the “dream” just related, Mark
Twain wrote:

April 23, 1893. Great Northern Hotel, Chicago.

Paige called three days ago. He called again tonight. I
asked him if his conscience troubled him any about the
way he had treated me. He said he could almost forgive
me for that word. He said it broke his heart when I left
him and the machine to fight along the best way they
could, etc. etc. I tried to bring him to book, and finally
he said that he was considering a contract offered by his
Land Co. and had carried it back today modified in this
way. Instead of accepting one-half their capital stock of
fifteen millions, he had amended the contract asking for
one-half a million dollars cash and no stock. They will
accept or reject this proposition tomorrow. They may
accept and offer him less. Whatever they offer he will
take in cash and send me one-half. When his European
patent affairs are settled, he is going to put me in for a
handsome royalty on every European machine. We parted
immensely good friends. ... In the last contract he
even got me to assign my 9/^® interest in the foreign
patents, after I had all that they had cost up to that time.
He is a very extraordinary man—the smoothest talker I
ever saw. I tried to impress upon him that I would com¬
promise and square matters for two or three hundred ad¬
ditional royalties on the machine—and for less than that

231

MARK TWAIN

indeed, as I did not care for the money involved, the 500
royalties producing much more than I shall ever need,
but then I wanted some trifling evidence that I could
exhibit to myself, in proof that I had not been dealt with
in an absolutely shameless conscienceless way.

In reply I got an abundance of gilt-edge promises but
nothing more.

Charles K. Davis was here two or three nights ago. He
said he still holds the paper which Paige dictated to him
one day, to cjuict him, in which he says that no matter
what happened he and I would always share and share
alike in the results of the machine, or words to that effect.
Paige shed even more tears than usual. What a talker he
is. lie could persuade a fish to come out and take a walk
with him. When he is present I always believe him—I
cannot help it. When he is gone away all the belief evap¬
orates. He is a most daring and majestic liar. He said he
had put one million three hundred thousand dollars into
that machine since he began it. Then as much as $800,000
must have gone into and out of his large pocket within
the last two years. He is absolutely frank in his confes¬
sions of misconduct. He said he never intended to sign
the Fairchild contract—he was only playing Fairchild. ^
lie meant to scoop some money out of him, and he did;
that is not his exact expression. 1 cannot recall the words
but they were still more conscienceless and atrocious than
tins. He said he got several thousand dollars out of Fair-
child. He said lie played Mallory for all he was worth.
That he never intended to have any dealings with Mallory
from the beginning, but that he got $16,000 out of him
and made himself strong and able to go ahead without
any help from Mallory or Fairchild.

Up to this point the note was dictated to Hall.

Clemens himself now adds:

Said he paid those men back, afterwards. Seemed to

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take considerable credit to himself for it. However, in
Ward’s office he took credit to himself for granting
$2,000,000 to North, the inventor of the Justifier, when
(as he said) he hadn’t need to grant him a cent unless
he chose; whereas, as I understand it, North took legal
steps against him before he yielded.

Clemens never seems to have been openly
violent with Paige. Once he wrote:

Paige and I always meet on effusively affectionate
terms, and yet he knows, perfectly well, that if I had him
in a steel trap I would shut out all human succor and
watch that trap, until he died.

May 13. Saturday. Room 268 (?) Kaiser Wilhelm II.
Cast off at 10:15 A.M.; discharged pilot at 12:30. Only
half a trip of passengers.

Wednesday, May 24. Sailing along the Balearic Islands,
this forenoon. Due at Genoa tomorrow night. A perfectly
smooth voyage, but unspeakably tedious. I am older by
ten years than I was when I left New York. The fact is,
the voyage is too smooth.

It was not the smooth voyage that had aged
him; it was the gnawing uncertainty of his busi¬
ness future. The publishing firm, now conducted
by a Mr. Hall, had undertaken to issue a large
set of books entitled Library of American Litera¬
ture, edited by Edmund Clarence Stedman and
to be sold by subscription. Agents were already
taking orders for it, but money for its manu¬
facture was required faster than could be pro¬
vided for by the initial payments received from
subscribers. Large sums of money were needed
and the notes at the bank were growing.

233

MARK TWAIN

When a cackling hen is far away and is saying
K-k-k-k-k-k kwacko! you hear nothing but the first
syllable of her last word—just a single strenuous note,
pitched on a high key, all the rest is lost in the interven¬
ing distance. At a distance this fiend-owl’s note sounds
like that. Close by it is soft and dovelike and it is not so
very unlike a flute note. It is quadruple time—one utter¬
ance to the bar, followed by three quarter-note rests, thus
h-o-o-o h-o-o-o h-o-o-o-o

_ h-o-o-o-o

The monotony of it is maddening. You beat time to it,
and count the hoots and the rests—you cannot help it.
You count till your reason reels. Low and soft as the note
is, it is marvelously penetrating; it bores into the skull like
an auger. It can distress you when it is 150 yards away;
at a third of that distance it is unendurable. When you
have counted fifty hoots and 150 rests you have reached
the limit of human endurance. You must turn and drive
the creature away or your mind will go to ruin.

To Hall July 26. Will come over mid-October with
idea for new magazine, if L.A.L. [Library of Amer. Lit.]
is then out of the way.

Then presently we find him again on the way
to America. That demon, the machine, had
called. He was never able to resist that summons.

August 29, 1893. Sailed from Breman, with Clara, in
the Spree, Capt. Meissel. Lunched with Mr. Platte, Presi¬
dent of the North German Lloyd.

Spree table admirable—Kaiser Wilhelm II table de¬
testable.

Took room at Players, Sept. 29th (1.50).

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In the first place God made idiots. This was for prac¬
tice. Then he made proofreaders.

Proofreaders could stir Mark Twain to very
high flights of wrath. Once to his business part¬
ner, Webster (his nephew' by marriage) he
wrote:

Charley, your proofreader is an idiot; net only an
idiot, but blind, and not only blind, but partly dead.

Some of the spacing —most of it, in fact—is absolutely
disgraceful, but this goddamned ass never sees it. By Gcd
he can’t see anything ; he is blind and dead and rotten,
and ought to be thrown into the sewer.

Jan. 15, 1S94. This is a great date in my history—a
date which I said on the 5th would see Paige strike his
colors. A telegram from Stone says he has dene it. Yes¬
terday we were paupers with but three months’ rations
of cash left and $160,oco in debt, my wife and I, but this
telegram makes us wealthy.

In all the 40 notebooks there is net a more
tragic entry than that.

There are people who can do all fine and heroic things
but one—keep from telling their happiness to the un¬
happy.

Love seems the swiftest, but it is the slowest of all
growths. No man or woman really knows w'hat perfect
love is until they have been married a quarter of a
century.

Today, Jan. 19, sent cable at noon to Livy—“Nearing
success.”

2 P.M. Jan. 31—Mr. Rogers’ office. The great Paige
Compositor scheme consummated. At 2 P.M. I cabled

MARK TWAIN

Libby, Paris, “A ship visible on the horizon, coining down
under a cloud of canvas. 3 ’

Friday, Feb. 2, 1894. Sent this cablegram to Livy in
Paris last night, to be put on her breakfast plate this
morning (our 24th anniversary), “Wedding news: Our
ship is safe in port. I sail the moment Rogers can
spare me.”

Livy’s answer this morning is—“We rejoice with you
and congratulate you on your well-earned success.”

He had fallen in with the great oil financier,
the elder H. H. Rogers, who had taken a hand in
his affairs. His dream seemed to be coming true.

A thing long expected takes the shape of the unexpected
when at last it comes.

We can secure other people’s approval if we do right
and try hard. But our own is worth a hundred of it and
no way has been found out of securing that.

Ships that Pass in the Night . Get two—send one to
Paris.

Drill —that is the valuable thing. Drill—drill— drill —
that is the precious thing. For, from drill comes the auto¬
matic, and few things in this world are well done until
they can do themselves . If teachers would but drill—
drill—drill in the language! But God never made a
language-teacher out of a sane person yet. When he can’t
get an idiot He won’t play.

Oh Death where is thy sting! It has none. But life has.

It is more trouble to make a maxim than it is to do
right.

Write Ambassador Wayne MacVeigh—how to stop
bomb-throwing.

Of all God’s creatures there is only one that cannot be
made the slave of the lash. That one is the cat. If man

236

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could be crossed with the cat it would improve man,
but it would deteriorate the cat.

A good many of his maxims were used in
Pudd’nhead Wilson, then in course of publica¬
tion.

An occasional compliment is necessary, to keep up one’s
self-respect. The plan of the newspaper is good and wise:
When you cannot get a compliment in any other way pay
yourself one.

As shy as a newspaper when referring to its own merits.

Familiarity breeds contempt—and children.

Like the mendicant who passes the hat for gratuitous
literary contribution and yet would be ashamed to be
caught passing it for coppers.

A man should not be without morals; it is better to
have bad morals than none at all.

God pours out love upon all with a lavish hand—but
he reserves vengeance for his very own.

There are those who scoff at the schoolboy, calling him
frivolous and shallow. Yet it was a schoolboy who said:
“Faith is believing what you know ain’t so.”

When in doubt, tell the truth.

Some of his maxims required a good deal of
reconstruction, but this last one—perhaps the
greatest he ever uttered, appears to have under¬
gone no change.

237

MARK TWAIN

In spite of fair outlook at the beginning of the
year, the one definite thing that happened that
spring was the failure of Charles L. Webster &
Company, Mark Twain’s publishing-house. The
business which had begun so prosperously ten
years earlier had dwindled to bankruptcy. Yet
it was not all sorrow: Mark Twain was free.
Loaded with debt (for he refused to settle at less
than the face value of his obligations), but free
from haunting uncertainties. His friend, H. H.
Rogers of the Standard Oil Company, took his
affairs in hand, and Mark Twain hurried back
once more to Europe, to finish his story of Joan
of Arc , begun at Florence, two years before. He
still had faith in the machine, and his spirits were
high. From Rouen, where he went to visit Joan
landmarks, he wrote Rogers—with glee, we may
be sure—his most recent adventure.

Dear Mr. Rogers:

Yours of the 24th Sept, has arrived filled with pleasant¬
ness and peace. I would God I were in my room in the
new house in Fairhaven, so’st I could have one good solid
night’s sleep. I might have had one last night if I hadn’t
lost my temper, for I was loaded up high with fatigue;
but at two this morning I had a W.C. call and jumped
up in the dark and ran in my night-shirt and without a
candle—for I believed I knew my way. This hotel
d’Angleterre must be a congeries of old dwellings—if it
isn’t, it is built up in a series of water-tight compartments,
like the American liners, that go clear to the top. You
can’t get out of your own compartment. There is only
your one hall; it has four rooms on each side of it and
a staircase in the midst; would you think a person could
get lost in such a place? I assure you it is possible; for a
person of talent.

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We are on the second floor from the ground. There’s a
W.C. on the floor above us and one on the floor below us.
Halls pitch dark. I groped my way and found the upper
W.C. Starting to return, I went up stairs instead of down,
and went to what I supposed was my room, but I could
not make out the number in the dark and was afraid to
enter it. Then I remembered that I—no, my mind lost
confidence and began to wander. I was no longer sure as
to what floor I was on, and the minute I realized that,
the rest of my mind went. One cannot stand still in a dark
hall at two in the morning, lost, and be content. One must
move and go on moving, even at the risk of getting worse
lost. I groped up and down a couple of those flights, over
and over again, cursing to myself. And every time I
thought I heard somebody coming, I shrank together like
one of those toy balloons when it collapses. You see, I
was between two fires; I could not grope to the top floor
and start fresh and count down to my own, for it was all
occupied by young ladies and a dangerous place to get
caught in, clothed as I was clothed, and not in my right
mind. I could not grope down to the ground floor and
count up, for there was a ball down there. A ball, and
young ladies likely to be starting up to bed about this
time. And so they were. I saw the glow of their distant
candle, I felt the chill of their distant cackle. I did not
know whether I was on a W.C. floor or not, but I had to
take a risk. I groped to the door that ought to be it—
right where you turn down the stairs; and it was it. I
entered it grateful, and stood in its dark shelter with a
beating heart and thought how happy I should be to live
there always, in that humble cot, and go out no more
among life’s troubles and dangers. Several of the young
ladies applied for admission, but I was not receiving.
Thursdays being my day. I meant to freeze out the ball
if it took a week. And I did. When the drone and burr
of its music had ceased for twenty minutes and the house

239

MARK TWAIN

was solidly dead and dark, I groped down to the ground
floor, then turned and counted my way up home, all right.

Then straightway my temper went up to 180 in the
shade and I began to put it into form. Presently an admir¬
ing voice said—“When you are through with your pray¬
ers, I would like to ask where you have been, all night.”

Truth is stranger than fiction—to some people, but I am
measurably familiar with it.

If you tell the truth you don’t have to remember any¬
thing.

Now that our second-hand opinions, inherited from our
fathers, are fading, perhaps it may be forgivable to write
a really honest review of the Vicar of Wakefield and try
to find out what our fathers found to admire and what
not to scoff at.

Now what was the accident that brought Shakespeare
into notice after two centuries of neglect and oblivion—
was it a chance remark of a monarch? An idea there;
make kings read all the new (native) books; and once
every year proclaim the names—just the names—of the
few that particularly pleased them.

Truth is the most precious thing we have. Econ¬
omize it.

It takes me a long time to lose my temper, but once
lost I could not find it with a dog.

He was perfectly frank about it and said he wanted
to go to hell: said he had got used to reading the (Paris)
N. Y. Herald and couldn’t do without it.

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It would seem that France was not born to create
civilizations; yet she has one glory which not all the eons
left in the slow wasting magazine of time can dim or
obliterate. Let her content herself with the reflection that
it was across her firmament that those two prodigies swept,
astonishing the world, Napoleon and Joan of Arc,—that
wonderful man and that sublime girl who dwarf all the
rest of the human race.

Sailed from Southampton for America. “New York,”
Feb. 23, 1895.

Another wild rush to America; publishing
matters, and to attend the machine’s funeral,
the latter having finally come to an end in De¬
cember, failing completely to stand the test. 1
His only interest now was his Joan book, and a
lecture tour which he proposed to make around
the world, to pay his debts.

Bob Ingersoll’s tale of the Presbyterian saint who went
from heaven to hell on a cheap excursion ticket—and
couldn’t sell his return ticket.

Noise proves nothing, often a hen that has merely laid
an egg cackles as if she had laid an asteroid.

Paris. Clara left parasol in a cab. Susy left a couple
of bundles in cab. Mrs. C. left porte-monnaie on a counter.
I left some things in a cab—but said nothing about it.

There are 26,244 cabs, each makes as many as thirty
courses a day, moving about 45 persons. Two persons out
of three leave something in the cab; thirty articles a day
per cab; 10,000 a year per cab. 262,440,000 articles a
year for the 26,244 cabs, if there are that many cabs and
if my estimate is right.

1 See Mark Twain, a Biography, Chapter CL X X XI X.

241

MARK TWAIN

Man has been called the laughing animal, to distinguish
him from the others, but the monkey laughs and he has
been called the animal that weeps—but several of the
others do that. Man is merely and exclusively the Im¬
modest Animal, for he is the only one who covers his
nakedness, the only one with a soiled mind, the only one
under the dominion of a false shame.

Sunday morning: Six or eight people who came over
with me in the Paris—three or four of them went up to
London with our multimillionaire, to be shown his glory.
It was a month ago; but to this day these men can think
of nothing else, talk of nothing else. They are as happy
and stunned and blessed as if they had been to heaven and
dined with God.

Clara says it tires her to have to keep on deciding that
she isn’t sick, so persistently and so watchfully.

New York, May 18, 1895. Noon. Arrived at 9. Cable
from London says that Tichborne Claimant has published
an affidavit confessing that he is Arthur Orton, son of a
Wapping Butcher. I was in London twenty or twenty-two
years ago, during his trial for perjury, and spent an
evening in his society with a number of his devoted ad¬
herents. He had a marvelous memory. He played his part
well. He was sent up for fourteen years; served his term,
then came over here and was a bartender in the Bowery.

Jean’s comment on the Emperor of Germany’s dinner
invitation: “Papa, the way things are going, pretty soon
there won’t be anybody left for you to get acquainted with
but God.”

Master Mechanic on the L road who said: “You are
enough like Mark Twain to be his brother.”

Elmira, May 24, 1895. Terms offered to Pond: He to
have one-fourth of the profits outside Frisco and one-
fifth inside Frisco. He to lecture me there six consecutive
nights and three matinees, all in the same week.

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His reply by telegraph, May 25, “Terms accepted. See
letter.”

That is, for the lecture tour around the world.
Mrs. Clemens and Clara would accompany him;
Susy and Jean (aged 23 and 15) were to remain
with their Aunt Sue (Mrs. Theodore Crane) at
Quarry Farm, Elmira, New York.

Accompanied by Major and Mrs. J. B. Pond,
who would go with them as far as Vancouver,
the lecture party left Elmira the night of July
14th (1895). Their last glimpse was of Susy,
under the light at the end of the platform, wav¬
ing good-bye. They never forgot that picture.

243

CHAPTER XXII

The Way to the Coast

July 17, ’95. Sailed from Cleveland in the Northland.
Fine and swift; her length must be as much as 350 feet.
Spacious decks for promenading. Just as luxurious and
comfortable as a great ocean liner or a Fall River boat.
I have seen no boat in Europe that wasn’t a garbage
barge by comparison. Think of those European tubs!
Sunny, balmy, perfectly delicious voyage—I know nothing
anywhere to compare with it. Been away four years and
have dropped back into the dark ages in some—many—
respects.

Evening. It is an ideal summer trip. The long approach
to Port Huron through narrow ways, with flat grass and
wooded land on both sides, and on the left a continuous
row of summer cottages with small-boat accommodations
for visiting across the little canals from family to family,
the groups of summer-dressed young people all along,
waving flags and handkerchiefs, and firing cannon—our
boat replying with four toots of the whistle and now and
then a cannon and meeting steamers in the narrow way,
and once the stately sister-ship of the line crowded with
summer-dressed people waving—the rich browns and
greens of the rush-grown far-reaching flat lands, with
little glimpses of water away on the further edges, the
sinking sun throwing a crinkled broad carpet of gold on
the water—well, it is the perfection of voyaging. Boat is a
split between Fall River and ocean liner. With this dif¬
ference—carried no freight—passengers only.

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He does not mention it, but most of that eager
greeting was for himself—it having been an¬
nounced that he was on that boat, setting out
on a voyage around the world, to free himself
from debt.

July 18. Island of Mackinac. Masonry walls with tow¬
ers of Middle Ages pattern, an inheritance from French
early days, no doubt.

At St. Paul, July 24. Lectured both here and at Min¬
neapolis.

Winnipeg, Manitoba. Read in Winnipeg second night.

July 28, Sunday morning. An hour’s talk with a bright
gi r l—part Indian, with French name—correspondent of
Toronto Globe. Has been a factor}’’ girl. Was president of
a combine of 500 working girls who appealed to the elec¬
tric car company for a Sunday car service; the year before
that the pulpits had pulled in 5000 majority against it;
the 500 girls reduced that to 750 majority two years ago.
The pulpit got the next struggle put off three years. It
occurs a year hence; then the thing will be carried the
other way.

Toronto is 12 miles long, one way, within the city
limits; the poor live at one end and work at the other—
and not a car on Sunday. These families are as exiled as
if the Atlantic flowed between them, but as long as God
and the clergy are gratified what of it.

Standards. There are no standards—of taste in wine,
cigars, poetry, prose, etc. Each man’s own taste is the
standard and a majority vote cannot decide for him or
in any slightest degree affect the supremacy of his own
standard.

Sunday on the Continent is a blessing. In England and
America it is a curse and certainly ought to be abol-

245

MARK TWAIN

ished—no—stripped of its power to oppress. Here on this
sunny Sunday morning I heard the happy laughter of
the only bird that does laugh by nature—the martin—
for the first time in more than a generation. He was my
favorite as a boy. Beautiful color—and is a kind of swal¬
low. Man his friend; provides him with a house and
never harms him. In France they would hunt him.

Must write up the pretty story where the 16 Yale boys
got to treating the two Yale veterans and at 11:30 P.M.
found they had used up 14 quarts of champagne and
were aghast. What should they do to raise the money.

Steward: “That’s all right; the two old gentlemen paid
for it while you passed by escorting them to their room
with a song of honor.”

July 31. Drove with the Gibsons to the 49-foot fall
(Rainbow?) and the wonderful fountain which Lewis
and Clark, 1805, found to be blue and retained its blue
color for half a mile down the Missouri.

On the way a young cowboy, showing off, was tumbled
over the horse’s head. The horse fell on him but fortu¬
nately did not kill him.

Butte, Mont., Aug. 1. Beautiful audience. Compact,
intellectual and dressed in perfect taste. It surprised me
to find this London-Parisian-New York audience out in
the mines. [He gives a list of the numbers read]:

Dead Man.

Christening.

Frog.

Old Ram.

Smallpox.

Watermelon.

Crusade.

Golden Arm.

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NOTEBOOK

One hour and 30 minutes. Just right. Left out the Duel.

Splendid big negro soldiers; obedient, don’t desert, don’t
get drunk; proud of their vocation, finest and pleasantest
soldiers—and Pond says great in battle. Some of these
have been in the service ten and fifteen years, and my
escort 24 years. They all have the look and bearing of
gentlemen. The earliest ones were not educated and could
not perform clerical duties; but the later ones can; been
in public school. As a rule the army can’t sing the “Star-
spangled,” but Burt ordered these to be taught, and they
can sing it.

The band, all colored but leader, made beautiful music.

Ceremony of fetching the colors. All uncovered when
the colors passed by—I did, after first blunder. Another—
was asked to throw away my cigar when the colors ap¬
proached.

Chaplin (colored) is a commissioned officer, approved
by the Senate. Is saluted like other officers.

Goodwill. They take a pride in it. I think the negro
has found his vocation at last.

Clark’s Fork of the Columbia—green water and lovely.
Never saw a green stream in America before. Following
this perfectly lovely stream all of the afternoon.

Portland, Ore., Aug. 9. Splendid house, full to the
roof. Great compliment to have a lofty gallery packed
with people at 25# as intelligent and responsive as the
others. Floor and dress circle full too, many standing,
and the sign up early: “Standing Room Only.”

Everywhere he was welcomed, and had
crowded houses, Olympia, Tacoma, Seattle—the
returns rolled in.

Aug. 15. Young boy came to interview me this morning.

247

MARK TWAIN

Asked me in strict detail precisely the questions which
I have answered so many million times already:

“First visit?

Pity about the smoke.

Where do you go from here?

Have you had good houses?

Have you enjoyed the trip?

Your family with you?

Where do you go from Australia?

How long will the trip take you?

Are you going to write a book about the voyage?

What will be the character of it?” (tempted to say

hydrophobia, seamanship and agriculture.)

A stretch of 18 miles in which there is not a single place
named Victoria. En route to Vancouver, Aug. 15. This
shows that we are not under the British flag.

Letter sent to Rudyard Kipling:

Vancouver, B. C., Aug. 16, 1895.

Dear Kipling: It is reported that you are about to
revisit India. This has moved me to journey to that far
country in order that I may unload from my conscience
a debt long due you. Years ago you came from India to
Elmira to visit me, as you said at the time. It has always
been my purpose to return that visit and that great com¬
pliment, some day. I shall arrive next January, and you
must be ready. I shall come riding my Ayah, with his
tusks adorned with silver bells and ribbons, and escorted
by a troop of native Howdahs, richly clad and mounted
upon a herd of wild bungalows, and you must be on hand
with a few bottles of ghee, for I shall be thirsty.

Victoria, B. C., Hotel Driard, Aug. 22. Lectured last
night—house full. The Governor-General and Lady Aber¬
deen and their little son in Highland costume, present.
Several bars of “God Save the Queen” played when they

248

NOTEBOOK

entered, the audience standing. They came at 8:45, 15
minutes late. I wish they would always be present, for it
isn’t permissible to begin till they come; and by that time
the late comers are all in.

Was conducted to their box, when I was done, by the
Aide de Camp. It was in every way pleasant.

A kitten walked across the stage behind me last night.
The audience laughed in the wrong place. I did not know
why till after the reading.

Friday, Aug. 23. Sailed for Australia in the Warramoo.

Strange how these great brown gulls (species of alba¬
tross) can scrape the tip of one wing along the surface
of the water over all depressions and elevations and never
touch it. Have watched them for hours.

The recurrent dream. Mine is appearing before lecture
audience in my shirt-tail, a most disagreeable dream.

Honolulu Roadsted, Aug. 31. Reached here last night
at ten. Not allowed to land. Required to cast anchor and
unload our 700 tons of freight in lighters. Cholera.
Malignant form. Eight deaths this morning, five deaths
reported for yesterday.

500 seats booked for my lecture. Can’t get ashore to
deliver it.

Young Mrs. Corbett says her mother (then Miss Dia¬
mond) came here with me in the Ajax, 29 years ago.

Oahu—Just as silky and velvety and lovely as ever.
If I might I would go ashore and never leave. The moun¬
tains right and left clothed in rich splendors of melting
color, fused together. Some of the near cliffs veiled in

249

MARK TWAIN

slanting mists—beautiful luminous blue water; inshore
brilliant green water.

Two sharks playing around, laying for a Christian.

By order, the blue uniforms changed for snow-white
duck this morning. I bought a suit of it—coat and pants—
for £3.

Aug. 31. Five new cases today, five deaths.

This town has 25,000 people now, one-third white.

The Bennington came out and anchored a little to the
windward flying the yellow flag at her foremast. There
had been a death on board (cholera) and some of our
passengers were worried. A protest was sent and the
Commander said his ship had been thoroughly fumigated
and all his people were healthy, but if any fell sick would
go to sea at once.

Sharks playing around our stern all day. Could not
catch any.

The most marvelous of sunsets.

We have the snake liar and the fish liar always with us.
Now I find we are getting toward the atmosphere breathed
by the boomerang liar. The first officer has seen a man
escape behind the trees but his pursuer sent his boom¬
erang high over and beyond the tree; then it turned,
descended and killed the man. The Australian passenger
has seen it done to two behind two trees, with one throw.
Maturin Ballon heard of a case where the boomerang
killed a bird and brought it back to the thrower.

Passengers who had taken rooms in this ship were not
allowed to come on board at Honolulu. One lady prisoner
wrote our Captain an imploring letter.

Sept. 1. Lying at anchor till midnight.

And so they must sail away. For thirty years
he had dreamed of going back to the Islands,
only to meet this disappointment. One is re¬
minded of Moses and the Promised Land.

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Sept. 6. Crossed the equator at 4 P.M. yesterday.
Clara kodaked it.

Sept. 8. Today is Sunday and tomorrow Tuesday. It
is said that Monday has dropped out because the sailors
don’t like to lose their Sunday holiday—as if they couldn't
have it just as well on an ostensible Sunday as on a
real one.

At night. 50 miles from Sidney, very- dark. Schools of
porpoises come streaking it to the ship from out the black
distances like luminous sea serpents. A porpoise 8 ft. long
would look like a glorified serpent 30 to 50 ft. long, every
curve of the tapering long body perfect and the whole
snake dazzlingly illuminated by the phosphorescent splen¬
dors in the waters. The color was that of the glow worm
and wonderfully intense. The night was so dark that the
actual surface of the sea was not distinguishable, and so it
was a weird sight to see this spiral ghost come suddenly
flashing along out of the solid gloom and stream past like
a meteor.

In Australia

Oct. 3. Sent £437.13.6 to T, A. Dibbs, Commercial
Banking Co. of Sydney. I asked him to send it to Mr.
Rogers.

He had set out to pay off the debts resulting
from the failure of the Charles L. Webster Pub.

Co. and had been steadily remitting to Mr.
Rogers for this purpose. This was probably his
first remittance from Australia.

Oct. 4. Melbourne. Dr. Fitzgerald froze and then
lanced this damned carbuncle; then gave me an opium
hypodermic It is the loftiest of all human vocations—
medicine and surgery. Relief from physical pain, physical

251

MARK TWAIN

distress. Next comes the pulpit, which solaces mental
distress; soothes the sorrows of the soul. These two are
the great professions, the noble professions. The gap
between them and the next is wide—an abyss.

The most diligent industry in Victoria and New South
Wales is apparently horse-racing. There does seem to be
a perfectly amazing amount of it. The interest in it seems
to be universal and intense. The Melbourne Cup comes
off presently, and it is the event of the year.

(Australian) Convicts rose to great worth and promi¬
nence and wealth. They left descendants who should not
be ashamed of them and probably are not . A redeemed
career is certainly a thing for the man himself to be proud
of, and this just pride in it should extend to his posterity.
Many of the convicts were mere boys, and were trans¬
ported for long terms of years for stealing a rabbit or a
hatful of turnips, to stave off starvation. In fairness they
should not be called criminals.

The Sabbath is kept in Australia. They actually haven’t
any Sunday edition of the dailies. It is said the pulpit
fears it could not run in competition (in interest) with
them.

No Sunday cable car service in forenoon.

When people get to be as good as this no amount of
horse-racing can damn them.

I have spent my entire stay in Melbourne in bed with
a carbuncle.

This visitation of carbuncles had begun in
Elmira. In one place he wrote: “The dictionary
says a carbuncle is a kind of jewel. I never cared
much for jewelry.”

Since the beginning of the world there have been 225,-
000,000,000 savages born and damned and 28,000 saved
by missionary effort

252

NOTEBOOK

Remember the Bishop from China who said—“4/5 of
the human race know not God. God can*: do ail the
work; we must help.”

S 3

CHAPTER XXIII

Australia and New Zealand

Oct. A darling climate. Drove to Agricultural College,
eight miles, open wagon, brilliant sunshine, ninety-two
in shade, but perfectly comfortable (dry heat). Just like
middle of June. Saw pupils shearing sheep. The fleece
when spread out is as big as a bedquilt. Tarstick for
wounds to heal them and keep off flies.

The sheep are shorn dirty—buyer prefers it—and the
shorn sheep looks as white as snow.

The 40 students work at all farming, every other day.
On alternate days study and hear lectures. They are
taught the beginnings of sciences (like chemistry, etc.)
that bear upon farming, and all practical farming.

Can’t see that the British Govt, has any more authority
here than she has over the constellations. She seems
merely to furnish governors, and the colonies pay the
salaries. She has a veto, but she doesn’t seem to venture
to use it. She can’t even force a governor that the colonies
object to. She furnishes seven worships and the colonies
pay interest on their cost

The railroad is the only thoroughly European thing
here. That is, they build fine stations and then have all
the idiotic European railway system in perfection—slow
trains, no drinking-water, no sanitary arrangements, every
conceivable inconvenience; an utterly insane system—the
jackass system.

254

NOTEBOOK

Xezv Zealand

Sow 6. A lovely summer morning, brilliant blue sky.
After a few miles from Innercargill passed through level
green vast pastures filled with sheep—beautiful clean
green expanses.

In these sheep pastures all the cattle are jet black—a
hardy breed brought from Scotland to withstand the
rather severe winter.

Idiots argue that Nature is kind and fair to us. if we
are loyal and obey her laws, and we are responsible for
our pains and diseases because we violate the laws—and
that all this is judged. Good Godl Cholera comes cut of
Asia and cuts me down when I have taken every pains
to have myself and house in good sanitary’ conditions. Oh,
in that case, my neighbors violated Nature's law—and
Nature makes me responsible, takes it out of me—and
that is called just! Very well, the caterpillar doesn't knew
what the laws are—how then are these people going to
excuse nature for afflicting that helpless and ignorant
creature? It would save those people a world of uncom¬
fortable shuffling if they would recognize one plain fact—
a fact which a man willing to see cannot be blind to,
namely, that there is nothing kindly, nothing beneficent,
nothing friendly in Nature toward any creature, except by
capricious fits and starts; and that Nature's attitude
toward all life is profoundly vicious, treacherous and

2 5 S

MARK TWAIN

malignant. This caterpillar two inches long and the
thickness of a cedar pencil—when getting ready to turn
into a great nice moth—partially buries his body in a
little trench—and Nature has got him , the spores of a
peculiar fungus are blown about by the wind, they lodge
in a wrinkle of his neck and begin to sprout and grow;
the roots force their way into the worm and along through
the body, and the worm slowly dies and turns to wood,
preserving all its details, like a petrifaction.

We easily perceive that the peoples furtherest from
civilization are the ones where equality between man and
woman are furthest apart—and we consider this one of
the signs of savagery. But we are so stupid that we can’t
see that we thus plainly admit that no civilization can be
perfect until exact equality between man and woman is
included.

That forgotten and discredited invention of the devil,
the gong, still flourishes in Australia and the ringer of it
is still merciless and bangs it like a demon gone mad.

The peremptory, big, frowsy blond waitress in the sta¬
tion—and dressy. Made me homesick, she was so like our
home-made article.

It is the strangest thing that the world is not full of
books that scoff at the pitiful world, and the useless uni¬
verse and violent, contemptible human race—books that
laugh at the whole paltry scheme and deride it. Curious,
for millions of men die every year with these feelings in
their hearts. Why don’t I write such a book? Because I
have a family. There is no other reason. Was this those
other people’s reason?

The Larrikins of Sydney and Melbourne used to hail
me “Hello, Mark; good night, Mark” and of course I

256

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Tcday we reached Gisbcrn in a big Bay , Poverty Bay)
but did net go ashore to lecture. A big sea running. A
tub of a steam launch came cut turning summersets, and
tcck off 25 and put on about 15 people, men, women and
children, in a most primitive basket. Any unskillfulness
would have cost lives, but there was none.

Prohibition

What marriage is to morality, a properly conducted
licensed liquor traffic is to sobriety.

In fact, the more things are forbidden, the mere popu¬
lar they become.

He embodied these thoughts in an interview
he gave to a reporter of the Licensing Guardian,

N. S. W.

Mark Twain on Prohibition
(From the Licensing Guardian^ N.S.W.)

cc What do I think of Prohibition?” Nothing, for the simple
reason that there is no such thing. When men wan: drink, theyll

-57

MARK TWAIN

have it in spite of all the laws ever passed; when they don’t
want it, no drink will be sold. Without wanting to know the
experience of America, you people in Australia have an object
lesson in temperance legislation. There is supposed to be no
drink sold on Sundays in Sydney and Melbourne. Yet I, a
stranger, can see that plenty of it is sold, that the most invet¬
erate boozer can get all he wants while he is able to pay for it.
Now, if Prohibition cannot be enforced on one day of the week,
it cannot be enforced all the year round and year after year.
If men cannot do without a drink from Saturday night till Mon¬
day morning it is certain that they cannot wait longer. The way
in which your Sunday-closing law is evaded will give you an
idea of the so-called Prohibition districts in America. The front
door is closed, but the back is opened; instead of open honest
drinking, you have sly boozing; instead of having the traffic
under the supervision of the law, and conducted in the interests
of order and morality, there is no supervision at all and the
trade is conducted under the most demoralizing conditions. The
manner in which these absurd liquor laws are broken breeds
contempt for law in general. Then, while intensifying, instead
of eradicating the evil, these laws give rise to smuggling, and
informing and perjury. So now you see why in the States and
Canada they are often repealed on the very first opportunity.
The only approach to Prohibition I have seen is in those Eng¬
lish towns where hotels shut during certain hours. There I’ve
seen thirty customers refused and told to wait until the house
legally opened. Such a thing would never have happened in
Prohibition Maine, where a man gets served at any hour.

“Ah,” sighed our distinguished visitor. “Why don’t the tem¬
perance agitators remember Edmund Burke’s words? Lawful in¬
dulgence is the only check on illicit gratification. Abolishing
matrimony would not stamp out fornication. Well, what mar¬
riage is to morality a properly conducted licensed liquor traffic is
to sobriety. In either case a certain human propensity is regu¬
lated so as to be a blessing; while left to itself, or subjected to
repressive efforts, it would be a curse.”

258

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where the British cer.;tituticn wus re;rei, reer, according tc
Tacitus, was popular. Here's luck to The uni confusion

to teetctalisna.”

Palmerston North. Lectured there, Dec- 2. Cub Hotel.
Memorable Hotel. Stunning Queen cf Sheba style c:
barmaid, always answered the bell and then get up cn
her dignity and said—lighting fires, brushing clothes,
boots, etc., was the chambermaid’s business. Would she
please tell the chambermaid: No answer. Exit. Why dc
you answer the bell:

Sign up saying landlord will not held himself responsible
for baggage. No keys tc the door. Drunken loafers making
noise downstairs. Said he had keys, but didn't knew they
was going to be wanted and it would take a long time to
sort them cut; hadn’t any labels or numbers cn them.
Elderly and not very handsome woman said she'd given
up her room if she’d known people was so particular.
She wasn’t afraid to sleep without a key. Got a key at
last—midnight.

Early in the morning baby began—pleasantly—didn’t
mind baby—then the piano, tin kettle, played by either
the cat or a partially untrained artist—certainly the most
extraordinary music—straight average of three right notes
to four wrong ones, but played with eager zeal and glad¬
ness—cid, old tunes of 40 years ago, such as I heard at
Timoru—and considering it was the cat—for it must have
been the cat—it was really a marvelous performance. It
convinces me that a cat is more intelligent than people
believe, and can be taught any crime,

259

MARK TWAIN

Rooms astonishingly small-partitions astonishingly
thin—parlor the size and shape of a grand piano. Very
funny hotel. Landlord shows lady through with his hat
on. Fat, red, ignorant, made of pretty coarse clay, pos¬
sibly mud.

At Waitukuran, Dec. 2. Stopped 20 minutes for lunch¬
eon. I sat at head of table, then Livy, Clara and Smythe.
Mirror in front of them . But Livy hadn’t her glasses on
and couldn’t see anything in it. I saw two pictures on the
distant wall and made up my mind that one of them was

the Death of - Broke into the conversation—“Do

you remember when the news came to Paris?”

“Of the killing of the prince?”

“The very words I was going to say. But what prince?”

“Napoleon.”

There was no conclusion. The picture was not his mur¬
der—so it was not the picture itself that I conveyed to
her but my notion of what the picture was.

Dec. 5. Left for Hawera 8 A.M. Yesterday lunatic
burst into my parlor and warned me that the Jesuits
were going to cook (poison) me, in my food, or kill me
on the street at night. Said a mysterious sign was visible
upon my posters and meant my death. Said the Century
was a Jesuit magazine; that the editors were a man and
his two sisters, that they were Jesuit tools and were
steeped in carnage and murder. Had written them and so
charged them, and they were dumb and could not deny
the charge. Saved Haweis’s life by warning him that there
were three men on his platform who would kill him if he
took his eyes off them for a moment during his lecture.
He has saved so many lives in 20 years in that way that
they put him in the asylum.

Lectured.

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the rest cf the house.

Inscription on Monument

“Who fell in defense cf law and order against fanatic¬
ism and barbarism/* i.e.—Patriotism. This is the mcs:
comical monument in the whole earth. Try :c imagine
the humorless deeps of stupidity of the idiot who com¬
posed that inscription—and the dullness cf the people who
don’t see the satire.

Small earthquake this morning. Not enough to shake
down the church bell.

In Rome along at first you are full of regrets that
Michael Angelo died; but by and by you only regret
that you didn’t see him do it.

It is often the case that a man who can’t tell a lie thinks
that he is the best judge of one.

We are all inconsistent. We are offended and resent it
when people do not respect us; and yet no man, deep

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MARK TWAIN

down in the privacy of his heart, has any considerable
respect for himself .

Dec. 13, Friday, 1895, Sailed from Wellington, New
Zealand, today at 3:15 P.M. in the Mararoa. (Returning
to Australia.)

Now let us have a storm, and a heavy one. This is the
damnest menagerie of mannerless children I have ever
gone to sea with.

In the past year have read Vicar of Wakefield and
some of Jane Austen. Thoroughly artificial.

Back to Australia

Tuesday, Dec. 17. Reached Sydney 9 A.M. Day before
yesterday it was full Sydney summer—95 in the shade,
and as hot as 115 at Horsham. Then came a “burster”—
kind of hurricane—out of the south—the twin of the
Texas “Norther”—and knocked the mercury down 36
degrees in four hours. The dust blew. It will be cool
weather now for a spell.

Rain. Praying subject up again. Rev. Dr. Strong has
been trying to explain why prayers for rain are not a
proper sort to make. The usual result: a nest of ignorant
hornets waked up—violent, vituperative, insulting people.
One of them quotes passages from the New Testament
to show that what thing soever a righteous Christian prays
for, he will get it —otherwise God would be violating his
contract. Then almost in the next sentence this logician
says—“God reserves the privilege of exercising His own
judgment as to which things prayed for He will grant.”

Went to see “For the Term of His Natural Life.” Even
when the chain gangs were humorous they were still a most
pathetic sight. The play goes far to enable one to realize

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that c!d convict life-
Cnnstiau nevus.

vented in hell and carried cu: by

Thursday, Dec. 19. En rente for Scone. War scare
between England and America.

The war scare. A few days ago among the cables was:
"The Beard cf Trade has cabled the N. Y. Chamber cf
Commerce: ‘Pleasure beats will not be allowed to ob¬
struct the movements cf the British warships/ Reply cf
Chamber of Commerce: We hope ycur warships will be
better than vour vachts.’ ”

Nobody saw the first joke till t
days later, then there was a she:

latter was cabled two

Monday, Dec. 23, 1S95. Sailed from Sydney for Ceylon
(via Melbourne, Adelaide, etc.) in the P. & 0 . steamer
Oceana, at 1 P.M.

Twenty male and female cranks—rivals of the Salva¬
tionists—in nc uniform but waterproofs (it was raining)
sang hymns on the dock, and a man (this seems to be
the main feature of both organizations) begged contribu¬
tions, walking back and forth and holding his hat up
toward the passengers. As he moved away they sang
the Doxology.

Lascar crew in this ship, first I have seen. White cos¬
tume, like petticoat and pants—barefoot—red shawl for
belt—straw cap, brimless, on head, with red scarf around
it. They are rich dark brown, with short straight black
hair; whiskers fine and silky and jet black.

Shipped about £200 to Mr. Rogers through Mr. Gibb’s
bank, at Sydney.

From time to time in the Australian notes he
undertakes poetry descriptive of the picturesque
Australian animal life. Example:

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MARK TWAIN

Land of the Ornithorhynchus,

Land of the kangaroo,

Old ties of heredity link us.

Here he pauses for breath and to dig up a
rhyme, apparently without success, for pres¬
ently he proceeds:

Land of the fruitful rabbit,

Land of the boomerang,

Another pause, equally hopeless, then

Come forth from thy oozy couch,

Oh Ornithorhynchus dear,

And greet with a cordial claw,

The stranger that longs to hear
From thy own lips the tale
Of thy origin all unknown.

Thy bone where flesh should be
And flesh where should be bone.

And £n of fish where should be paw.

And beaver trowel tail,

And lungs of beast and teeth of beast,

Where gills ought to prevail.

Come, kangaroo, the good and true,

Foreshortened as to legs,

And body tapered like a churn.

And sack marsupial fegsj
And tell us why you linger here
Thou relic of a vanished time,

When all your friends as fossils sleep,
Immortalized in rhyme.

New Years, 1896. Sailed at noon for Ceylon.

Jan. 4. Lying in roadstead at Albany all day. At seven
strong breeze, got up the anchor. Small pilot in elabor-

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Ca

.y gold
rtain c;
\ Our :

,aced
the :

.ern p

mixcrm, steed by cur giant unifer
"idge and began a fine piece cf sear
int'^d straight at the head of the na:

ouuyec cnarme.; we set a :i o to ne.p anu turned arouna
in cur tracks in suite cf the strong wind.

Ik the Indian Ocean

Plenty cats cn beard. Carlyle Smyths [his
it is Britisr. .aw tnat tney must be carried. Ir
cf a ship net allowed to sail till she sent fer
cats and the bill came: two cats cc shillings.

agent] says
tstances case
■ a couple cf

The jackass (bird) laughed ter us. Vulture, red, bald,
queer, sloped head, featherless, red places here and there
on body, intense great black eves, set in red featureless
rim, dissipated look. A businesslike style, a selfish, con¬
scienceless, murderous, aspect. The very lock of a pro¬
fessional assassin, and vet a bird which does no murder.

One must say it very softly, but the truth is that the
native Australian is as vain cf his unprettv country as if
it were the final masterpiece of God, achieved by Him
from designs by that Australian. He is as sensitive about
her as men are of sacred things—can’t bear to have
critical things said about her.

Jan. 6. At midnight went to sleep with eight bells in
my ear; slept; woke and heard two bells; slept, woke and
heard four bells; slept, woke, heard seven bells; slept,
woke and heard one bell; slept, woke, heard two bells, and
the bugle call to breakfast. Took my coffee in bed—kind
of a fool of a night.

He mislays his notebooks from time to time,
now, and his notes get rather mixed, in conse-
263

MARK TWAIN

quence. We shall try, however, to straighten
them.

Jan. 6, ’96. In the Indian Ocean

Some ungoverned children on board. The irritating
thing about ungoverned children is that they often make
as orderly and valuable men and women as do the other
kind.

What an eventless existence life at sea on a long sum¬
mer voyage is. No life visible; now and then a school of
porpoises; and at intervals a solitary albatross; once a
week a ship, far away. Peace, everlasting peace, and tran¬
quillity. But it is infinitely comfortable and satisfying.
Before we see land again it is possible that we and the
English and Australians on board will have been war
enemies for sometime without knowing it. However, a
ship is a world of its own—one does not trouble himself
about other worlds and their affairs.

There are canaries in this ship, also cats—but the cats
get no proper chance.

Jan. 8 Wednesday. At noon yesterday we crossed the
100 meridian of East Longitude. The sun was directly
overhead.

The more I see of modern marine architecture and
engineering the more I am dissatisfied with Noah’s Ark.
It was admirably unfitted for the service required of it.
Nobody but a farmer could have designed such a thing,
for such a purpose.

This is the best library I have seen in a ship yet. I must
read that devilish Vicar of Wakefield again. Also Jane
Austen.

On this voyage I have read a number of novels. Prince
Otto—full of brilliancies of course—plenty of exquisite
phrasing—an easy flowing tale, but—well, my sympathies
were not with any of the people in it, I did not care

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whether any of them prospered or not. There is a fault
somewhere; it could have been in me.

Jan. 8. Lat. 20—30 S: Lon. 100—26E. Every mile
northward adds to the heat now. Today is roasting hot.
Linen will be put on tomorrow, no doubt. Punkas started
today; strips of cloth they hang above the tables and are
kept in motion by Indian boys who pull the ropes. Very
good fan.

The sea is a splendid Mediterranean blue today with a
delicate but pronounced copper tint on the shady side of
the waves. This is ideal sailing—long, slow, gentle rocking
of the ship, soothing and lulling as a cradle motion, the
atmosphere filled with peace and far-from-the-worldness
—just enough breeze to keep your fat from melting and
running down and greasing your clothes.

The porpoise is the clown of the sea—evidently does
his wild antics for pure fun; there is no sordid profit in it.

How curiously unanecdotical the Colonials and ship¬
going English are. I believe I haven’t told an anecdote or
heard one since I left America. But Americans, when
grouped, drop into anecdotes as soon as they get a little
acquainted. Come to think, I have started an anecdote
once or twice, but didn’t finish it. One is pretty sure to be
interrupted, and with a remark which is foreign to the
subject and is a quite thorough extinguisher. Which is
well enough, for the interrupter goes right ahead, and you
couldn’t get in again if you wanted to.

Zangwill’s “Master” is done in good English—what a
rare thing good English is! and the grammar is good, too
—and what a very, very rare thing that is! The characters
are real, they are flesh and blood, they are definite; one
knows what they will do in nearly any given set of cir¬
cumstances. And when there is an incident, an episode,

267

MARK TWAIN

it comes about in a natural way, and happens just as it
would happen in actual life.

Swore off from profanity early this morning. I was on
deck in the peaceful dawn, the calm and holy dawn.
Went down dressed, bathed, put on white linen, shaved—
a long, hot, troublesome job, and no profanity. Then
started to breakfast. Remembered my tonic—first time in
three months without being told—poured it in a meas¬
uring-glass, held bottle in one hand, it in the other, the
cork in my teeth—reached up and got a tumbler—
measuring-glass sprang out of my fingers—got it, poured
out another dose, first setting the tumbler on washstand
—just got it poured, ship lurched, heard a crash behind
me—it was die tumbler, broken into millions of frag¬
ments, but the bottom hunk whole—picked it up to throw
out of the open port, threw out the measuring-glass in¬
stead—then I released my voice. Mrs. C. behind me in
the door: “Don’t reform Any more, it isn’t any improve¬
ment.”

To the smoking-room—an interminable trip through a
dark tunnel to the second saloon—a lady showed me the
way—up two flights along canvas-roofed deck, a dart
across the bridge, a spring through a ray of rain for the
smoking-room door—made it without catching a drop—
slipped on a grating and fell sprawling on the swimming
deck—the reform interrupted again.

268

CHAPTER XXIV

Ceylon and India

Saturday, Jan. 18. Arrived at Colombo about five days
ago—I with a very bad cough. Exhausted by four P.M.,
went to bed in Bristol Hotel.

The most amazing varieties of nakedness and color and
all harmonious and fascinating. Ingredients —sh ining
black body, nine-tenths naked, one or more bright colored
rags and you have the perfection of dress—grace, com¬
bined with convenience, comfort, beauty.

Presently into this intoxicating whirl and drift and con¬
fusion of lovely colors and beautiful forms an offensive
discord is included—twelve prim little pious Christian
black girls, marching two and two from a missionary
school, and dressed precisely as they would be dressed on
a summer Sunday in an English or American village.

It would be difficult to match this thing for the two
qualities of surprise and shock. A promising way to do it
would be to discharge a flock of these nearly nude
Singalese into the midst of the grave and proper church
drift of an American or English town on a Sunday morn¬
ing.

“Papa salaam, papa,”—a poor little girl touching my
foot—pretty little beggar girl. Beggar boy said, “How do,
Father.”

The only entirely nude person was a black boy of three
or four, and even his nudity was not absolute, for he had
a piece of string around his middle.

News at Colombo from Dec. 23 to Jan. 14, Dr. Jameson
had been defeated and captured and Kruger had mag-

269

MARK TWAIN

nanimously turned him over to his own queen for punish¬
ment. Cecil Rhodes, Premier, had resigned (his deporta¬
tion had been demanded by Kruger) and had said in a
speech at Kimberley that his career was not ended, it was
just beginning,

Bombay-, Jan, 20. Been shut up all the time with this
infernal cough. It does not improve. I wish it was in hell.

The hotel noises begin about five in the morning. Hindu
servants yelling orders to each other from story to story.
It is equal to a riot and insurrection for noise. And there
are other noises—roofs falling in, windows smashing, per¬
sons being murdered, crows squawking, canaries screech¬
ing, fiendish bursts of laughter, explosions of dynamite.
By seven o’clock one has suffered all the different kinds of
shock there are and can never more be disturbed by them
either isolated or in combination, then the noises all stop
for hours.

Servant, Brampy, beautiful black hair, combed back
like a woman and knotted at the back of head—tortoise¬
shell comb, sign he is a Singalese—small mustache—
jacket—under it a white gown from neck to heels—I did
not like to undress unless his back was turned.

Bombay 1

When we arrived in this hotel the manager, a German,
came up to see our room, with three native servants to
see to arranging things. A vast glazed door opening upon
a balcony needed opening or cleaning or closing or some¬
thing. A native went at it and seemed to be doing it well
enough, but not to the manager’s mind. He didn’t state
that fact, or explain where the defect was, but briskly
gave him a cuff and then an arrogant word of explanation
or command. The native took the shameful treatment with

1 See Following the Equator .

27O

NOTEBOOK

meekness, saying nothing and not showing in his face or
manner any resentment. I had not seen the like of this
for fifty years. It carried me instantly back to my boy-
heed and flashed upon me the forgotten fact that this was
the usual way of explaining one’s desires to a slave. I was
able to remember that the method seemed to me right and
natural in those days. I being born to it and unaware
that elsewhere there were other methods; but I was also
able to remember that those unresented cufiings made me
sorry for the victim and ashamed for the punisher. My
father was a refined and kindly gendeman, very grave,
rather austere, of rigid probity, a sternly just and upright
man, albeit he attended no church and never spoke of
religious matters and had no part or lot in the pious joys
of his Presbyterian family, nor ever seemed to suffer from
this deprivation. He laid his hand upon me in punishment
only twice in his life and then not heavily: once for telling
a lie, which surprised me and showed me how unsus¬
picious he was, for I knew I had told him a million before
that. He punished me only those two times and never any
other member of the family at all, yet he commonly cuffed
our harmless slave boy Lewis for any litde blunder or
awkwardness and even gave him a lashing now and then
which terrified the poor thing nearly out of his wits. My
father had passed his life among his slaves, from his cradle
up, and his cufiings proceeded from the customs of the
times, not from his nature. When I was ten I saw a man
fling a lump of iron ore at his slaveman in anger—for
merely doing something awkwardly, as if that were a
crime. It bounded from his skull and the man fell and
never spoke again. He was dead in an hour. I knew the
man had a right to kill his slave if he wanted to, and yet
it seemed a pitiful thing, and somehow wrong, though
why wrong I was not deep enough to explain if I had
been asked to do it. Nobody in the village approved of
that murder, but of course no one said much about it.

271

MARK TWAIN

Jan. 22. Invited with the family to lunch with Lord
Sandhurst, Governor of Bombay, of Government House,
Malaber Point, tomorrow. I knew him in London years
ago. Had to decline—not able to go out before the lecture
day after tomorrow, lest my cough jump on me again.

Sunday, Jan. 26, 1896. Bombay. It was Mr. Gandhi
(delegate to Chicago World’s Fair Congress of Religions)
who explained everything to us yesterday at the Jain
Temple.

Our good Mahatma of later years.

From there went to the house of a wealthy Parsee, to as¬
sist at a gathering in honor of Knighthood being con¬
ferred upon H.H. The Prince of Palitana.

Huzzas outside announced arrival of Prince. Large
stately man, ropes of pearls and green rubies (?) around
his neck—the very ideal of an Indian Prince. The young
prince with him had been to the Chicago Fair.

Preparing his book, “Following the Equator”
Mark Twain spoke of these “green rubies.” Mrs.
Clemens going through the manuscript, noted:

Perhaps you don’t care, but whoever told you that the
Prince’s green stones were rubies told an untruth. They
were superb emeralds. Those strings of pearls and emer¬
alds were famous all over Bombay.

To which note Mark Twain added:

All right, I’ll make them emeralds, but it loses force.
Green rubies is a fresh thing. And besides it was one of
the Prince’s own staff liars that told me.

Sunday we lunched at Governor’s House with their Ex¬
cellencies the Governor and Lady Sandhurst; and at 4
PJM. visited the Towers of Silence with three Parsee

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gentlemen. Five towers. One 300 years old—the first built
—and small.

An adult funeral passed along, the bearers roped to¬
gether with white, the mourners following, then the dog.
Later a child.

Row of vultures fringed the top of the lower wall.
When the iron gate was opened and the corpse carried in,
Clara and Smythe had a glimpse through the distant iron
door of the vultures flying down in.

On top of a tall cocoa shaft (topless) stood a vulture—
looked like an intentional ornament.

I was not feeling well and thought something must be
the matter with my liver. I consulted a physician—a
highly celebrated man with a quaint English all his own.

“It is not that your liver were in disorder, but some of
your other guts.”

Then he continued—“In this country I would that one
shall take care not of one gut alone but of all his guts,
including the heart. Let him do this and he shall not be
conscious ever that he ails—which is to say he shall never
think to show that he has any guts at all.”

Two interesting hours with Prince Kumar Shri of
Pulitana, and his young son and little daughter,—along
with Merriweather. The others saw the Rani, his wife—
she never goes out of the house, of course. She is a fluent
speaker of English.

Jan. 31, Baroda: Lectured in the great hall of the palace
where the Durbars are held. The Gaikwar Resident, and
200 guests, 4:30 P.M. (Great Kang.)

Saw the elephants etc., but failed—quite unnecessarily
—to get to the Jewel House five minutes distant. It is
claimed here that no monarch in the world can match this
mass of magnificence.

273

MARK TWAIN

The Maharani was behind the screen, up high—at the
lecture—with two ladies of her household.

This is the romance: About 15 years ago Great Britain
deposed the Gaikwar (family name, not a title) for cause,
and imprisoned him at Madras—then looked around for
a substitute. Good deal of a hunt—heirs were scarce; but
found the nearest heirs in three little brothers, obscure
peasants making mud pies in the village and having a
good time accordingly. G.B. did not appoint the eldest—
a little too old to be molded, maybe; nor the youngest—
too long in minority; took the middle one. The eldest is
now Commander in Chief of the Gaikwar’s forces, and
the youngest is in England studying for the bar. He will
be a judge here some day, no doubt.

The G. is a fine and cultivated gentleman—been to
Europe five times. I liked this palace, but not the new
one.

Three long gray apes capered across the road.

Train of laden camels—the only creature in the world
never seen in a wild state and whose original habitat is
not known.

Good library in the palace—my books there, you see.

“Your American threats of war we merely smile at.”
Speech of an English lady (who is a little ignorant of
history) to Mrs. Clemens. I should have quoted the Rev¬
olution (2,000,000 against 10,000,000) now 70 against 45.

The gold cannon is solid—a Gaikwar made it to get
ahead of his predecessor who had made the silver one.
They are six-pounders, or four-pounders, or somewhere
along there. They have thin steel cores and are used for
salutes at mighty intervals, and not heavily loaded.

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Slept all the way back to Bombay—io P.M. till 7 A.M.
Our own bedding and towels.

Seme unthinking people criticise * 4 dam—find fault with
him because he was weak, and yielded. Oh, that is not
fair, that is not right. He hadn’t had any experience. We
have had ages and ages of experience and tuition—we
who criticise him and yet see what we are—just see what
ive are when there is any forbidden fruit around. I have
been around a good deal, but I have never been in any
place where that apple would be safe—except Allahabad.
Why, it is the prohibition that makes anything precious.
There is a charm about the forbidden that makes it un¬
speakably desirable. It was not that Adam ate the apple
for the apple’s sake, but because it was forbidden. It
would have been better for us—oh infinitely better for us
—if the serpent had been forbidden.

Consider the patience of these poor people. At seven
this morning I went around the long veranda of this
hotel to see Smythe, and by a door I saw a Hindu man¬
servant squatting, waiting to be on call. He had polished
his master’s yellow shoes and now had nothing to put in
the time with. He was barefooted, the morning cold, the
tiles frozen. There he sits now, just as before, waiting—
9 A.M.

Not more than a tenth of the Ganges’s bed has water
in it. Great crowd of natives and huts and flags on that
sandspit. It is the fag end and finish of the great January
meet, when two million natives swarm to Allahabad to
bathe in the sacred waters.

A sick man was carried by in a palanquin—the dirty
Ganges bath has healing powers.

All the way yesterday was through parched land, sown

275

MARK TWAIN

thick with mud villages in all stages of crumbling decay.
It is a sorrowful land—a land of unimaginable poverty
and hardship.

Thought this would all become commonplace in a week;
three weeks of it have only enhanced its fascinations. I
think I should always like to wait an hour for my train
in India.

If we had got to the Mele this morning we might have
seen a man who hasn’t sat down for years; another who
has held his hands above his head for years and never
trims his nails or hair, both very long; another who sits
with his bare foot resting upon a lot of sharp spikes—-and
all for the glory of God. Human beings seem to be a
poor invention. If they are the noblest work of God where
is the ignoblest?

Four cramped little palanquins at the railroad station,
said to contain Hindu ladies—-dirty cotton, or duck, boxes,
shut up tight all around so nobody can see in—the person
must sit up in there, she can’t lie down. There they stood
in the sun, waiting, the bearers standing by.

Feb. 8. Today and yesterday lay abed and starved a
cold. This evening went to Belvidere and dined with the
Lieut. Governor of Bengal—Sir Alexander MacKenzie
and a dozen—private dinner party.

Calcutta, Feb. 12. Packed theater.

Calcutta, Feb. 13. Packed house—jammed.

Bought a silver mug for my niche as one of the founders
of the Players, New York.

No bells in the room. The servant lies by your door
nights, on the stone floor.

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Barney is slow and not sure. Mousa is quick, and not
sure. Barney was to put a glass of water on my stage
table. He seemed to understand perfectly after I had ex¬
plained, behind the scenes, four times and pointed to the
stage. What he finally did was to put a vast empty glass
cn the stage and a full one behind the scenes.

Big concerns have a little one-horse conveyance for each
clerk. Nobody walks in the hot months.

Feb. 14, 4:30 P.M. Left Calcutta for Darjeeling in the
official car of Mr. Barclay, Chief of Traffic. Till dark
through rich vegetation. Rush, coco and bamboo.

Feb. 15. Sound sleep all night. Up early refreshed. Put
on double suit of flannels—bright and frosty. What a
gushing spray of delicate greenery a bunch of bamboo
is!!

Everybody is plowing—and numerous—these villages.
They are but 300 yards apart. There are dozens of them
in sight all the time. In effect this is one mighty city made
up of villages—a city of hundreds of miles long and broad
and contains a population of from 200 to 306 millions.
The biggest city I was ever in.

India the Marvelous!

WTiat a garden Bengal is! Heard in the smoking-room
on ship that most self-complaisant of all poems—“Green¬
land’s Icy Mountains”—“They call us to deliver their
land from error’s chains.” The call was never made.

When that hymn was written there were 1,200,000,000
of deeply religious heathen in the globe and 12,000,000
Christians—i.e. genuine, ardent Christians. It was this
tail that was proposing to wag that dog. It has not
wagged it. In forty million years it will not wag it. It has
never made the faintest impression, missionarying, upon

277

MARK TWAIN

those vast bodies of heathen—never can in the very na¬
ture of things. In all history, go back as far as you will no
nation has ever changed its religion by persuasion, but
only by compulsion—by a king’s command. Kings can’t
do that now and so the missionary business is played out.
Traitors to religion are of the same stuff as other traitors,
the poorest material in the camp.

And this is India! Tropical, beautiful, and just alive
with villages.

One everlasting stretch of naked men and boys plowing
the field, but not a woman or a girl—not one! Come, let
us introduce Austrian, Bavarian and French civilization,
and Christianity, right away.

“Where every prospect pleases and only man is vile.”
That described India and it also describes the average
Christian.

Feb. 21. Left for Lucknow about I P.M. Hot as the
nation. The flat plains the color of pale dust, and the dust
flying. Tiffin at two at Janpur City. No doubt all these
old native grayheads remember the mutiny.

Sunday, 23d. Drove with Major and Mrs. Aylmer (16th
Lancers) and Capt. and Mrs. Dallas, in the regimental
drag over the whole of Colin Campbell’s march, and also
out to the Imam Bara.

Was dined by the United Service in the ancient and
elegant Chutter Munzil Palace (umbrella palace)—very
large—it is the Club’s Sumptuous Home. In my speech
quoted what Walcott said lately in the Senate about
England.

Major Aylmer’s native orderly, in uniform, brought the
invitation, riding on a picturesquely dressed camel—a
stately sight.

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Agra, Feb. 28. Mousa was drunk again last night; sec¬
ond time in two weeks. At midnight was sleeping like a
leg cn the marble steps of the great portico with his head
on the bare flags.

Lectured; drove from there—two carriages full—to the
Taj Mahal, arriving at 11:30—clear sky and splendid full
moon. At that moment, to our surprise, an eclipse began
and in an hour was total—an attention not before offered
to a stranger since the Taj was built. Attempts were made
to furnish an eclipse for the Prince of Wales in 1876, and
in recent years to 20 other princes of that house, but
without success. However, Col. Lock, Political Agent, has
much more influence than any of his predecessors have
had.

At noon gave Mousa a note to carry to Smythe and
bring an answer and told him he could consider himself
discharged at 7 this evening. He laid his fingers against
his forehead as usual, made the usual inclination, gently
said—“Wair good” (very good) just as he always does
when receiving an order, and that was all. Turned and
went about his errand. In his noiseless barefeet—it was
pathetic. Was it Indian fatalism which accepts without
murmur whatever the two million gods send, or had he
had this experience so often that it no longer affects him?

Mousa had apparently a bad attack of fever in Luck¬
now before he got drunk. Livy was full of compassion and
gave him a teaspoonful of liquid hell-fire—quinine. Six
hours later he turned up and she offered him another dose.
He said gravely, “Scoose me—no sick no more.” She and
Clara beseeched, but he only said, “Scoose me,” putting
his fingers to his forehead and making his humble bow.
If he has had any fever since he has concealed it.

March 19. Susy’s birthday—24 years old. [Note_

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added later: “and we did not know that it was to be her
last.”]

By all accounts England is the home of pious cant; and

cant of a most harmful sort. Gen. Sir William-told

me that more than half the hospital contents all over
India is syphilis; bad, very bad cases; these fine hearty
young fellows come out here to defend England and Eng¬
land makes no provision for their natural passion—in¬
famously betrays them to their destruction, knowing her
treachery, but afraid to go in the face of cant. Then those
70,000 young men go home and marry fresh young Eng¬
lish girls and transmit a heritage of disease to their chil¬
dren and grandchildren.

Clean women subject to rigid inspection ought to be
kept for these soldiers. Any other course is treachery to
the soldiers.

This B. I. Company had a dead python landed once. A
year later this ship brought one to Calcutta 200. Our
Captain was instructed to see for himself that this one
was alive before he accepted it. The man, a half-caste,
said, yes he was alive; and opened the door of the box
and gave the snake a punch with an old umbrella and
asked him to show up. The snake snatched the umbrella
and made a rush, and showed up on deck—forty feet long
and as big as a barrel. Everybody went aloft, but the
half-caste said: “There’s no harm in him, he just had a
feed that will last him two years; come a couple of you
and take him by the tail and help me steer him into the
box.” Which they did without trouble.

For six hours now it has been impossible to realize that
this is India and the Hoogli (river). No, every few miles
we see a great white columned European house standing
in front of the vast levels, with a forest away back—La.
planter? And the thatched groups of native houses have

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CHAPTER XXV

Leaving India

To Mauritius via Madras and Colombo

March 28, ’96 at sea.

Our Captain is a handsome Hercules; young, resolute,
manly, and has a huge great splendid head, a satisfaction
to look at. He has this odd peculiarity: he cannot tell the
truth in a plausible way. He is the very opposite of the
austere Scot who sits midway on the table: he cannot tell
a lie in an implausible way. When the Captain finishes a
statement, the passengers glance at each other privately,
as who would say—“Do you believe that?” When the Scot
finishes one, the look says—“How strange and interest¬
ing.” The whole secret is in the matter and method of the
two men. The Captain is a little shy and diffident, and he
states the simplest fact as if he were a little afraid of it,
while the Scot delivers himself of the most atrocious lie
with such an air of stern veracity that one is forced to
believe it although he knows it isn’t so. For instance: the
Captain told how he carried home 62 children under seven,
one voyage, nearly all of them bad, ungoverned creatures,
because they had been allowed all their little lives to abuse
and insult the native servants; and how a boy of seven
was shoving a boy of three overboard one day when the
Captain caught the victim by the leg and saved him—
then slapped the persecutor, and straightway got a couple
of stinging slaps himself from the persecutor’s mother.
The private comment among the ladies at the table was
“Do you really believe she slapped him?”

Presently the Scot told how he caught a shark down on

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the frozen shores of the Antarctic Continent, and the na¬
tives took the shark away from him and cut it open, and
began to take out cigars and hair-brushes and hymn books
and cork screws and revolvers and other things belonging
to a missionary who had been missed from the Friendly
Islands three years before; and when he demanded a share
of the find the natives laughed in his face and would give
him no part of it except a sodden wad of crumpled paper.
But this paper turned out to be a lottery ticket, and with
it the Scot afterward collected a prize of 500,000 francs in
Paris. Everybody agreed that this was “remarkable and
interesting,” but nobody tried to throw any doubt upon it.

The Captain told how a maniac chased him round and
round the mainmast one day with an ax, until he was
nearly exhausted, and at last the racket brought the mate
up from below who threw a steamer chair in the way, the
maniac stumbled over it and fell, then the mate jumped
on his back and got the ax away from him, and the Cap¬
tain’s life was saved. There was nothing unreasonable or
unlikely about this, yet the Captain told it in such an un-
plausible way that it was plain nobody believed him.

Presently the Scot told about a pet flying-fish he once
owned, that lived in a little fountain in his conservatory
and supported itself by catching birds and frogs in the
neighboring field. He was believed. He is always believed,
yet he never tells anything but lies; whereas the Captain
is never believed, although he never tells a lie, so far as I
can judge.

My own luck has been curious all my literary life; I
never could tell a lie anybody would doubt, or a truth
anyone would believe.

On the voyage from Australia Mark Twain
had read some fascinating books on ant life, by
Sir John Lubbock.

In Jeypoor I tried several of Sir John Lubbock’s experi-

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ments, and got results similar to his. Then I tried some
experiments of my own. These latter proved that the ant
is peculiarly intelligent in the higher concerns of life. I
constructed four miniature houses of worship—a Moham¬
medan mosque, a Hindu temple, a Jewish synagogue, and
a Christian cathedral, and placed them in a row. I then
marked 15 ants with red paint and turned them loose.
They made several trips to and fro, glancing in at the
several places of worship, but not entering. I turned loose
15 more, painted blue. They acted just as the red ones
had done. I now gilded 15 and turned them loose. No
change in result: the 45 traveled back and forth in an
eager hurry, persistently and continuously, visiting each
fane but never entering. This satisfied me that these ants
were without religious prejudices—just what I wished;
for under no other condition would my next and greater
experiment be valuable.

I now placed a small square of white paper within the
door of each fane; upon the mosque paper I put a pinch
of putty, upon the temple paper a dab of tar, upon the
synagogue paper a trifle of turpentine, and upon the ca¬
thedral paper a small cube of sugar. First I liberated the
red ants. They examined and rejected the putty, the tar
and the turpentine, and then took to the sugar with zeal
and apparently sincere conviction. I next liberated the
blue ants, they did exactly as the red ones had done. The
gilded ants followed. The preceding results were precisely
repeated. This seemed to prove beyond question that ants
destitute of religious prejudices will always prefer Chris¬
tianity to any of the other great creeds.

However, to make sure I removed the ants and put
putty in the cathedral and sugar in the mosque. I now
liberated the ants in a body and they rushed tumultuously
to the cathedral. I was very much touched and gratified
and went in the back room to write down the event; but
when I came back the ants had all apostatized and gone
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over to the Mohammedan communion. I said that I had
been too hasty in my conclusions, and naturally felt re¬
buked and humbled. With diminished confidence I went
on with the test to the finish. I placed the sugar first in
one house of worship, then another, till I had tried them
all. With this result: that whatever church I put the sugar
in, that was the one that the ants straightway joined.
This was true, beyond shadow of a doubt, that in religious
matters the ant is the opposite of man: for man cares for
but one thing, to find the Only True Church; whereas the
ant hunts for the one with the sugar in it.

I suppose that a missionary passes some of the bitterest
hours that men are called upon to suffer in this life; hours
heavy with self-reproach, humiliation, remorse; hours
wherein the one side of his nature rises in revolt against
the other side; where his heart fights against his head;
where his duty comes into collision with his humanity.
For he is but a man, like the rest, with the instincts and
feelings common to his race. He must often feel a deep
compassion for the parents whose heart he is breaking
when he beguiles their children from the religion which
those parents love and honor and leads them into paths
which they regard as perilous, and puts upon them the
shame of treachery and apostasy. It must be that some¬
times the missionary is a parent himself and has suffered
what he is now inflicting. And he will remember how
careful he was to shield his children from religious influ¬
ences foreign to his creed; how particular he was to see
that the teachers were of the right theological tint before
he trusted them in any school; how promptly he dismissed
a servant, sometime or other, when he found out that that
servant was a propagandist for another creed.

He will argue that the cases differ: that the servant was
robbing his child of salvation, but that he is bringing sal¬
vation to this man’s children. Then he will remember that

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he was the judge in the case of his child, and so he must
allow this man to be judge in the case of his children. He
cannot claim a right which he denies to another man.

However, when the missionary’s field is the terrible
New Guinea his self-reproaches are probably mild and
infrequent. For his work there has had such benignant
results that they must furnish balm for his troubled spirit.
A few extracts from “New Guinea”—a missionary record,
will support this proposition:

“When we first landed here the natives lived only to
fight, and the victory was celebrated by a cannibal feast.
Great was the chief who claimed many skulls; and the
youth who wore a jawbone as an amulet was to be ad¬
mired.

“Mr. Chalmers pointed out the spot where a Pari lad
was killed and partly devoured by crocodiles. The wid¬
owed mother, the sisters and others relatives, ate raw the
part saved, to evince their love to the deceased! . . .”

Now the tale changes; the missionary came in 1878.
They labored for years. With this result:

“From this date there has been no fighting or killing all
along the coast.”

One of the circus men told me that in the Dutch settle¬
ments in Sumatra the soldiers’ barracks are visited twice
a week by women sent by the government, after inspec¬
tion. A British General said that such a thing would raise
a tempest in England, and cannot be ventured, although
it is as much England’s duty to provide safe women for
the soldiers as it is to provide wholesome food for them.
Half the soldiers in hospital are diseased. They go home
and marry healthy girls and disease them.

The North American squaw straps her baby to a board
and carries it over her back by a strap around her fore¬
head; the Hindu and many savages carry baby astride the

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hip; these Malay nurses aboard pass a scarf over right
shoulder and under left arm and baby sits in it as in a
swing and folds his arms and head on nurse’s shoulder
and sleeps in great comfort. The best way yet of carrying
a baby, after it is born.

The only way one can get even a dim idea of the
tangled mystery of caste is to imagine it among one’s
friends, and hear gossips say:

a Archie Jackson has degraded the cotton thread; he has
drunk from Alec Peterson’s ice-pitcher, and been excom¬
municated and ostracized by the Daggetts and Barnards
and Whitakers and all that caste. Dick Taylor has been
caught listening to the reading of the Bible and has been
branded on his terminus and exiled to Kalamazoo.”

The upper castes regard us as the dirty peoples. Dirty
is the right word; it accurately described what the Hindu
thinks of us. Of course we must be disgusting objects to
him; of course we often turn his stomach. He washes his
garments every day; we come into his presence in coat,
vest and breeches that have never been in the wash since
they left the tailor’s hands; they are stale with ancient
sweat, tobacco smoke and so on. No doubt he says “Ugh!”
and retches; but his feelings are not allowed to show out¬
side, for he is a courteous being.

You say the Hindus are unspeakably indecent in their
language—the grown people and the children alike. If
they so earnesdy desire to be cleanly, why do they do
that?

Because according to their standard such things are not
objectionable. Also, according to their standard lying is
not a sin. They all lie and think it no evil. Another thing,
you have noticed from the car windows that they publicly
and without embarrassment indulge in various habits
which to us are forbidden. By their standard this is no

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offense. In Japan formerly both sexes bathed naked in
public. The newly arrived white people were disgusted.
The innocent Japanese said—“What dirty minds these
white people have.” By their social creed all the details of
the body were worthy of respect since the gods made them
and no detail of it is contemptible or indecent. Each race
determines for itself what indecencies are. Nature knows
no indecencies; man invents them.

At Sea

How seldom one glances at the sea on this voyage. We
sit on the promenade deck under the awnings from 7 A.M,
till 11 P.M. and sometimes upon going to bed I realize
that I have not consciously seen the sea the whole day.

The creatures that fly are by far the Lord’s most im¬
portant creation. He has provided for them a domain
(home) forty miles deep which envelops the whole globe.
The creatures that live in salt water are next in impor¬
tance. He has provided for them a domain some miles
deep which covers three-fifths of the globe’s surface. Next
in importance is Man, for to man he has given the skin
which thinly covers two-fifths of the globe’s surface. On
one-fifth of it he can raise snow, icicles, sand, rocks, and
nothing else; and on the other fifth he can raise enough
food to keep his race alive, but it takes hard grubbing to
do it, and then the weather that he must fight—the
drought, the flood, the hail, the hurricane.

Macauley speaks of the public executioner’s “odious”
office. If it is an odious office, then of necessity the law
that creates the office is an odious law, the law that creates
death penalties is an odious law, the jury that applies the
law penalty is an odious institution and the judge who
pronounces the death sentence exercises an odious func¬
tion; and the entire lot are legitimate objects of contempt

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and obiiquy. Sanely examined, the offices of commanding
generals and public executioners are in one detail identi¬
cal; the one kills the public enemy by command of the
law and for the country’s good; the other does exactly the
same thing for the same reason. If the one office is honora¬
ble it is irrational to deny that the other is likewise so. If
you can contrive to prove that the one office is odious,
contemptible, disreputable, you will find that you have
proved the same of the other and that there is no honest
way of getting out of this difficulty.

This is a good time to read up on scientific matters and
improve the mind. For about us is the peace of the great
deep. It invites dreams to study, to reflection. Seventeen
days ago this ship sailed out of Calcutta and ever since
barring a day or two in Ceylon there has been nothing in
sight but a tranquil blue sea and a cloudless blue sky.
All down the Bay of Bengal it was so; it was so on the
equator, it is still so here in the vast solitudes of the
Indian Ocean; 17 days of heaven, and in 11 more it will
end. There will be one passenger who will be sorry. One
reads all day long in this delicious air of course. Today I
have again been storing up knowledge from Sir John Lub¬
bock about the ant. The thing which has struck me most
and most astonishingly is the ant’s extraordinary powers
of identification—memory of its friend’s person.

The sermon yesterday morning had in it one of those
old timers—one of those sillinesses—which the pulpit used
to get eloquent over very frequently:—Christ gave His
life for our race. Could a man be found who could do
such a thing? Millions of men and millions of women
have done more; they have freely given their lives to save
even individuals who were in danger—and risked eternal
damnation when they did it; for they rushed to the rescue
without first squaring up their sin account with God.

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Every volunteer in the army offers his life to save his
country or his country’s honor, and does it on the chance
that his death may land him in hell, not on the great
white throne, which was Christ’s sure destination. For
men to throw their lives away for other people’s sake is
one of the commonest events in our everyday history. It
is ludicrous to see the Church make something fine out
of the only instance of it where nothing was risked that
was of consequence, for nothing was involved but a few
hours of pain; and every girl takes a risk superior to that
when she marries and subjects herself to the probable
pains of childbirth, indefinitely repeated.

There seems to be nothing connected with the atone¬
ment scheme that is rational. If Christ was God, He is in
the attitude of One whose anger against Adam has grown
so uncontrollable in the course of ages that nothing but a
sacrifice of life can appease it, and so without noticing
how illogical the act is going to be, God condemns Himself
to death—commits suicide on the cross, and in this in¬
genious way wipes off that old score. It is said that the
ways of God are not like ours. Let us not contest this
point.

If Christ was God, then the crucifixion is without dig¬
nity. It is merely ridiculous, for to endure several hours’
pain is nothing heroic in God, in any case.

A paragraph or two of this entry has been
omitted, being a repetition of what he has said
elsewhere.

There being 210 varieties of Christians in the world,
each with a name of its own (remark in a notice of the
dispute between Marcus Clarke and an ecclesiastic of the
Church of England—a Bishop) and each believing itself
to be the nearest right of all of them, the savage hates to
give up a certainty for an uncertainty. He has no doubts

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concerning his own religion, and naturally hesitates to go
groping among 2x0 kinds of doubt, lest he lose his way
and lose himself. This is one of the reasons why missionary
effort produces such barren results.

The notebooks contain nothing about Mau¬
ritius. It is likely that he wrote his notes in very
extended form, on sheets of paper, which later he
used without much change in his book—“Follow¬
ing the Equator.” They sail from there April 28
for South Africa.

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CHAPTER XXVI

In South Africa

May 4, 1896. On the drive to the Trappist Monastery,
splendid spot of fire glowing at intervals a foot above the
grass. It was a flower,—a flower the size of a child’s fist,
uplifted on a very slender stem. It suggested “torch.” It
was difficult to see how it could suggest anything else—
unless perhaps “lamp.” Inquiring, was told it is called the
“lantern” flower. It is wrong. Lanterns are not perched on
top of poles, but torches are, and street lamps.

Banana fields and pineapple. A grass-thatched hut
peeping from a wilderness of broad banana leaves is just
right. Any other kind of house does not harmonize. All
through the two-hour drive, over the hills there were
pleasant surprises. I could frame glimpses, with my hands,
of rocks and grassy slopes and distant groups of trees
that were exactly American—New England, New York,
Iowa—remove the hands and let groups of tropic things—
spiky plants, plants like bunches of vegetable swords,
plumy tall palms, the cactus tree, the flat-roof tree, and
so on—the illusion was gone. Again the road would be like
a prairie road—sandy, deep rutted, the grassy expanses
like their like in the prairie; couples and groups of negro
men and women strolling along, dressed exactly like our
darkies and with exactly the same, faces—and I could
imagine myself in Texas; then suddenly a gang of un¬
modified Zulus would appear, festooned with glass beads
and with necklaces made of the vertebrae of snakes, the
men’s hair wrought into a myriad of little wormy forms,

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lowing the revocation of the Edict of Nantes. Found I had
met Hammond many years ago when he was a Yale
Senior—visitor at Gen. Franklin’s. An English prisoner
heard me lecture in London 23 years ago. Guard barred
me off from crossing a line—called the “death-line.” Made
a talk—or a speech—sitting. Explained to the prisoners
why they were better off in jail than they would be any¬
where else; that they would eventually have gotten into
jail anyhow, for one thing or another, no doubt; that if
they got out they would get in again; that it would be
better all around if they remained quietly where they
were and made the best of it; that after a few months
they would prefer the jail and its luxurious indolence to
the sordid struggle for bread outside; and that I would
do everything I could, short of bribery, to get the govern¬
ment to double their jail terms.

These prisoners were the Jameson raiders,
who in an endeavor to carry out one of Cecil
Rhodes plans had been captured by Boers. 1
President Kruger (“Oom Paul”), who had but a
meager sense of humor, heard of Mark Twain’s
comments—in the jail, and to a reporter—and
ordered that the prisoners be more rigidly con¬
fined. Clemens when he heard of this paid a visit
to President Kruger (see entry May 26) and
“explained his joke,” with the result that the
treatment of the prisoners improved and they
were presently discharged. (See entries May 30
and June 4.)

What sort of insanity is it—that moves banqueteers to
appoint as chairman the one man among them who is
destitute of qualifications for the place? It is no exaggera¬
tion to say that in nine cases out of ten this is the case.

1 For a dear eluddation of the Transvaal (South African Re¬
public) difficulties and the Jameson raid, see Following the Equator .

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The man begins by saying he is no speaker—a fact which
should persuade him to say no more but sit promptly
down and appoint some one who is a speaker to do his
work for him. Then he goes stumbling along through his
imperfectly memorized speech of welcome and compli¬
ments to the guest of the evening and nearly always losing
courage when he comes to one of his happy jokes, deliver¬
ing it in such a shamefaced wish-I-hadn’t-started-in-on-it
way as to make it impossible for the table to respond to
it in any but an artificial manner, a sort of spectral laugh¬
ter that blows a chill upon the speaker and the whole
place.

It is a cruel custom and immeasurably stupid. If the
chairman would add any remark about anything in the
world, after he has finished his compliments, it would
save the guest; for anything except a compliment is text
enough, it is all a guest needs at a convivial gathering.

May 26. A most superb moon came up at sunset, huge,
round, and intensely and splendidly white, in the spaces
not occupied by the “Man.” But the new feature, the
striking feature, was this: that there didn’t seem to be
any man there, or any definite figure or form, but only a
tumble and confusion of pale, vague, rich, spectral smoke-
wreaths occupying the Man’s accustomed place and cover¬
ing a deal more space than he ever does when he is
present.

Visited President Kruger. He was in ordinary every¬
day clothes, and sat in an armchair, smoking Boer to¬
bacco (the common black kind), his head and body bent
forward. He had a bad cold and a very husky voice. He
said he felt friendly toward America, and that it was his
disposition to be lenient with the American captives.

Talking of patriotism what humbug it is; it is a word
which always commemorates a robbery. There isn’t a foot

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of land in the world which doesn’t represent the ousting
and re-ousting of a long line of successive “owners” who
each in turn, as “patriots,” with proud swelling hearts de¬
fended it against the next gang of “robbers” who came to
steal it and did —and became swelling-hearted patriots in
their turn. And this Transvaal, now, is full of patriots
who by the help of God, who is always interested in these
things, stole the land from the feeble blacks, and then
re-stole it from the English robber and has put up the
monument—which the next robber will pull down and
keep as a curiosity.

May 28. Drove in the afternoon with Poultney Bigelow;
and after lecture he and I went to the sumptuous bachelor
house of a German friend of his and had supper and com¬
fortable fire (cold night) and hot whiskey and cigars; and
good talk about Helmholz and Mumson and Vierchow.

I think the Veldt in its sober winter garb is as beau¬
tiful as Paradise. There were unlined stretches day before
yesterday where it went rolling and swelling and rising
and subsiding and sweeping grandly on and still on, like
an ocean, toward the remote horizon, its pale brown deep¬
ening by delicately graduated shades to rich orange and
finally to purple and crimson where it washed against the
wooded hills and naked red crags at the base of the sky.

These darkies—just like ours—are not quite so big and
brawny as the Natal Zulus. And the language seems to
have no Zulu clicks in it; seems to have no angles or
corners in it, no roughnesses, no vile S’s or other hissing
sounds—very, very mellow and rounded and flowing. The
women have the sweet soft musical voice of ours, too. I
followed a couple of them a mile to listen to the music of
their speech and the happy ripple of their laugh.

What a curious thing a detective story is. And was
there ever one that the author needn’t be ashamed of,
except the “Murders in the Rue Morgue”?

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Smythe says of Browning: A man asked him the mean¬
ing of a passage in Sordello. Browning puzzled over it
awhile then said—“Once there were two who knew”—
glancing skyward, then touching his own breast—“Now
there is only One.”—glancing again skyward.

Miss Rhodes, middle-aged sister of Cecil and the Colo¬
nel (one of the four) told Smythe in the hotel in Pretoria
that the prisoners were furious because I praised their
lodgings and comforts; Smythe said the Colonel said—
either he was a damn fool or I was. He seems to be in
doubt. I’m not. We are all fools at times; this is his time.
The prisoners ought to have had a policy and stuck to it.
But no—Butters and others were for conciliating the
Boers (which was -wise). Col. Rhodes and others were for
driving them—which wasn’t.

In the train, bound for East London, Brown , whom I
last saw in prison in Pretoria, says the brutalities of the
jail guards were awful. They’ve had an African chief in
there, and some of his people, since last August—never
brought to trial yet—no shelter from rain or sun. Put a
big black in the stocks for throwing his soup on the
ground; stretched his legs too far apart and set him with
his back downhill. He couldn’t stand it and put back his
hands on the ground to support himself. Guard ordered
him to stop it—and kicked him in the back. The powerful
black wrenched the stocks asunder and went for the
guard; a Reform prisoner pulled him off and thrashed the
guard himself.

Queenstown, Cape Colony, June 4. Arrived 7 this
morning 16hours from Bloemfontein.

“All that a man hath will he give for his life.” To save
it he will. But ask a man of 50, “If you were dead now

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what would you give to have your life restored V 9 He
wouldn’t give a brass farthing.

The American characteristic is Uncourteousness. We
are the Impolite Nation. In this detail we stand miles and
miles above, or below, or beyond, any other nation savage
or civilized.

We are called the Inventive Nation—but other nations
invent. And we are called the Bragging Nation—but other
nations brag. And we are called the Energetic Nation—
but there are other energetic nations. It is only in un¬
courteousness, incivility, impoliteness, that we stand alone
—until hell shall be heard from.

The black savage whom the Boer has driven out was
brimming over with good nature and comradeship and
friendliness, and he was the cheeriest soul, and had the
easiest life in the world; and it was always on tap and
ready. He went naked; he was dirty; he housed himself like
a cow; he was indolent; he worshipped a fetich; he was a
savage, and all his customs were savage; but he had a sunny
spirit, and at bottom a good disposition.

He was replaced by the Boer, a white savage, who is
dirty; houses himself like a cow; is indolent; worships a
fetich; is grim, serious, solemn, and is always diligently fit¬
ting himself for heaven, probably suspecting that they
couldn’t stand him in the other place.

At billiards Carlyle Smythe beats me to death—by fluk¬
ing. Now I have ruled fluking out, neither beats the other
more than five points in a hundred. We count a fluke, but
retire. We make the same number of flukes in each game,
but the trouble before was that he generally piled three
flukes on top of the first, but I never could.

It was his habit to make new rules driving
billiards: Sometimes a rule for some special shot.

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At Laurence Hutton’s table two or three years ago,
Henrv Irving spoke across to me and asked if I had heard
the story about such and such a man, etc. It cost me
something to say no, but I said it. Then he started to tell
the story—hesitated—said—you are sure you haven’t
heard it? I braced up again and said—no, perfectly sure.
He went on, a sentence or two further, and once more
interrupted himself to inquire if I was absolutely certain
I hadn’t heard it. Then I said: “I can lie once, I can lie
twice, for courtesy’s sake; but I draw the line there; I
can’t lie the third time, at any price: I have heard the
story, for I invented it myself.” And that was the truth.

In Australia a man dropped in to talk with me at a
club and I saw in a moment that he was a person with a
local story-telling reputation and that he was going to
show off before the company. He began to remark upon
the slowness of the New Zealand railway service and I
saw that he was working up the atmosphere for an anec¬
dote and presently he launched the anecdote. Anecdote
about how he advised the conductor to put the cowcatcher
on the other end of the train “because we are not going
to overtake any cows, but there is no protection against
their climbing aboard at the other end and biting the pas¬
sengers.” I could have embarrassed him a little by re¬
minding that there are no cowcatchers on Australian
trains; and I could have embarrassed him still more, per¬
haps, by showing him that I had printed that little tale
when he was a boy. In fact I invented it for use in a lec¬
ture, a hoary long time ago.

Sunday, June 14. Very heavy sea on tonight. Our ship
lies in sight half a mile away, but we may not be able to
get across the bar tomorrow.

The human imagination is much more capable than it

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gets credit for. This is why Niagara is always a disap¬
pointment when one sees it for the first time. One’s imag¬
ination has long ago built a Niagara to which this one is
a poor dribbling thing. The ocean “with its waves running
mountain high” is always a disappointment at first s ight-
the imagination has constructed real mountains, whereas
these when swelling at their very biggest and highest are
not imposing. The Taj is a disappointment though people
are ashamed to confess it. God will be a disappointment
to most of us, at first. I wish I could see the Niagaras and
Tajs which the human imagination has constructed, why
then, bless you, I should see Atlantics pouring down out
of the sky over cloud ranges, and I should see Tajs of a
form so gracious and a spiritual expression so divine and
altogether so sublime and so lovely and worshipful that—
well—St. Peter’s, Vesuvius, Heaven, Hell, everything that
is much described is bound to be a disappointment at first
experience.

Tuesday, June 16. Lying at anchor before East London,
Norham Castle, a large and very fine ship. Smythe and I
came aboard yesterday afternoon, although we are due to
sail this afternoon; but the tug might not be able to cross
the bar if a great sea should be running, and there is a
considerable sea today; it dashes itself against the big
stone breakwater near the mouth of the river and bursts
up in a vast white volume with laced edges, apparently
ioo feet high.

Thursday, June 18. Cablegram saying the Drummond
Castle has gone down off Plymouth, 40° lives lost. This at
Port Elizabeth.

What ought to be done to the man who invented the
celebrating of anniversaries? Mere killing would be too
light. Anniversaries are very well up to‘ a certain point,

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wh lie one’s babies are in the process of growing up: they
are jcy-Sags that make gay the road and prove progress;
and one looks down the fluttering rank with pride. Then
presently one notices that the flagstaffs are in process of a
mysterious change of some sort—change of shape. Yes,
they are turning into milestones. They are marking some¬
thing lost now, not gained. From that time on it were
best to suppress taking notice of anniversaries.

If I were going to construct a God I would furnish Him
with some ways and qualities and characteristics which
the Present (Bible) One lacks.

He would not stoop to ask for any man’s compliments,
praises, flatteries; and He would be far above exacting
them. I w T ould have Him as self-respecting as the better
sort of man in these regards.

He would not be a merchant, a trader. He would not
buy these things. He -would not sell, or offer to sell, tem¬
porary benefits or the joys of eternity for the product
called worship. I would have Him as dignified as the bet¬
ter sort of men in this regard.

He would value no love but the love born of kindnesses
conferred; not that born of benevolences contracted for.
Repentance in a man’s heart for a wrong done would
cancel and annul that sin, and no verbal prayers for for¬
giveness be required or desired or expected of that man.

In His Bible there would be no Unforgivable Sin. He
would recognize in Himself the Author and Inventor of
Sin and Author and Inventor of the Vehicle and Appli¬
ances for its commission; and would place the whole re¬
sponsibility where it -would of right belong: upon Him¬
self, the only Sinner.

He would not be a jealous God—a trait so small that
even men despise it in each other.

He would not boast.

He would keep private His admirations of Himself; He
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would regard self-praise as unbecoming the dignity of His
position.

He would not have the spirit of vengeance in His heart;
then it could not issue from His lips.

There would not be any hell—except the one we live in
from the cradle to the grave.

There would not be any heaven—of the kind described
in the world’s Bibles.

He would spend some of His eternities in trying to for¬
give Himself for making man unhappy when He could
have made him happy with the same effort and He would
spend the rest of them in studying astronomy.

Cradock, Monday, June 29. Stopped off here for a day,
yesterday evening, ten hours from Grahamstown, Vic¬
toria Hotel, in a side of the vast bare dust-blown square.
Clouds of dust blowing along the powerful wind, like
snow in New England on a raw March morning. Very
nice and neat and comfortable hotel. Negro women can’t
understand English. Negro boy was ordered to bring fire
and wood and build his fire. And sure enough he did
bring fire on a shovel, a thing I had not seen before since
I was a boy.

Kimberley, July 1. Went to the great crater, original
Kimberley diamond mine, with Mr. Robeson, assistant en¬
gineer to Gardiner Williams; also to the great hoisting
works of the DeBeers Consolidated Co. also to the dia¬
mond office and saw the day’s take, £10,000 worth; also
to the compound with him and Mr. Dallas and saw the
natives dance.

Thursday July 2. Went with Mr. and Mrs. Robeson to
the No. 2 washout and saw the concentrators—each one
treats 300 carloads a day and the result is three carloads
of slush and stuff which goes to the pulsator and the three

302

CHAPTER XXVII

England

Susy Clemens died in Hartford, August 18,
(1896), soon after the arrival in England (from
South Africa) of the Mark Twain party. On the
first word of Susy’s illness Mrs. Clemens and
Clara had sailed for America, Mr. Clemens re¬
maining in England, where they had taken a
house, at Guilford. When the following notes
were made, the sorrowing mother and daughter
had returned. Mark Twain’s “Susy” notes fol¬
low this chapter.

Monday Sept. 21. Day after tomorrow the queen will
have achieved the longest reign in the history of the Eng¬
lish throne. She will come within twelve years of the
longest reign in the history of any throne (?) Louis XIV
seventy-two years.

Sept. 22. House-hunting again. England is the land of
neat and pretty and shapely and polite housemaids. An
ugly or ill-dressed or unpolished one is rare, very rare.

They were presently located in Chelsea, on
Tedworth Square, No. 23.

All the dogs here wear muzzles. Of course, they prefer
it. Doubtless some ducal dog wore one, one day, merely
because he had the toothache, or for fun, and then the
others adopted it.

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Making the fire. In England they lean the poker up
against the grate so that the end of it stands over the
ccal—it makes the fire burn. You can make the fire warm
up at either end or in the middle by placing the poker
accordingly.

After we had noticed this standing poker every morn¬
ing for a week when we entered the breakfast parlor, our
curiosity finally prompted us to inquire.

What a funny muddle the Powers (sceptered burglars)
are in today, with the Sultan massacring Armenians like
pigs and the “Concert of the Powers” to act. (Because
Russia holds all the cards.)

Don’t try to pronounce an English name till some na¬
tive shows you how. K’koobry, etc. The common Welch
name, Bzjxxllwcp, is pronounced Jackson.

Chelsea, Oct. ’96. In London it takes five weeks to find
a house (furnished) that will suit both your convenience
and your means. Five more to find a cook—not many are
advertised, even in the Morning Post, where it is said
they mainly go to be thought high class; and it takes the
former occupant nine weeks to persuade the postmaster
to respect his new address. We already had maids or
maybe it would have taken eleven weeks to get them. Got
a good man the first day to do odd jobs—carry up coal,
black boots, scour knives, etc. He is the authorized mes¬
senger of the block and has to show a good character
before the police authorities will appoint him.

More hugging and kissing by boys and girls and young
men and maids in the streets at night and parks by day!
And no chaffing them by anybody. I met a couple to¬
night, aged 17 and 14, a dozen times, around the garden.
They ought to have done the blushing, but I presently

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found they could not be depended on, and had to do it
myself.

The moral sense enables one to perceive morality—and
avoid it. The immoral sense enables one to perceive im¬
morality and enjoy it.

Oct. 24 ’96. Wrote the first chapter of the book today.
[Round the World. Later called Following the Equator .]

Max (Orell) that industrious dealer in literary old do’.
Thankful he has kept the respect &c. Let him venture to
Sydney and see. But there is no harm in him. He merely
fell into “literature” as a blind mule falls into a well. He
continues in “lit” because he finds it cool and pleasant to
soak himself in other people’s water.

London is a collection of villages. When you live in one
of them with its quiet back streets (Chelsea) and its one
street of stores and shops (Kingsroad) little bits of stores
and shops like those of any other village, it is not possible
for you to realize that you are in the heart of the greatest
city in the world.

Be careless in your dress if you must, but keep a tidy
soul.

Our address discovered after three weeks of peaceful
seclusion. Given to some reporter by Chelsea librarian?
But how did he know me?

The long-legged, gray bird in the Grand Hotel Garden
in Port Elizabeth that danced and showed off. Asked
Clara to tell about him. And the one that played with the
keeper at Jaypore.

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Does the human being reason? No; he thinks, muses,
reflects, but doesn’t reason. Thinks about a thing; re¬
hearses its statistics and its parts and applies to them what
ether people on his side of the question have said about
them, but he does not compare the parts himself, and is
not capable of doing it.

That is, in the two things which are the peculiar domain
of the heart, not the mind,—politics and religion. He
doesn’t want to know the other side. He wants arguments
and statistics for his own side, and nothing more.

Nov. 4 ’96. Clara went with Mrs. Hopekirk Wilson
yesterday and saw a young English girl of 20 (pupil of
Leschetizky’s) play before an audience for the first time.
The girl’s name is Goodson. Clara says she is not pretty,
but has a most interesting face. She does not look Eng¬
lish, but foreign—Russian, Clara thought. When she was
ready to go on the stage Mrs. Wilson found that her
hands were cold, from fright. She sent for hot water, but
the girl said “No! No! No! I can’t touch it! I have inked
my master’s initials on my nails as a talisman, and it
would wash off!”

By that time it was necessary that she go on at once;
and she did. She has a preternaturally grave face, and
Clara said airs from the churchyard seemed to sift over
the house as she stood solemnly glooming upon it from
her place by the piano. Came the hoarse whisper from
the prompter’s hole “Bow, for God’s sake bow?’ She did
it—a little wee machine bow—the applause of welcome
crashing along all the time—for the audience (matinee,
and almost all ladies) doubtless knew what Leschetizky
had said about the girl—that she would be the greatest
of all women pianists. She sat down and played—and re¬
tired under a splendid enthusiasm of applause and then
encore, and went back and stood glooming out over this
tossing sea of rejoicing noise. Hoarse whisper from the

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prompter’s hole— “Smile, for God’s sake smile?’ which
she did; a machine-made smile and it could have sat for
the portrait of the Cheshire Cat in “Alice in the Looking
Glass,” or “Wonderland.”

She made a great hit, was encored every time she ap¬
peared.

When we got to Australia we found that the story of my
burial from Government House was the invention of a
crazy man.

With the House Agent

The Water Co. has sent me no bill, but here is a notice
requiring me to pay up at once and the man who de¬
livered it to the servant brought oral notice that if I
didn’t pay the water would be cut off. Can you make me
pay another man’s debt?

Well, you see, they decline to know anybody in the
matter but the house. It saves (them) trouble. They don’t
have to hunt up Mr. G. who may be in Egypt. They know
you will pay G.’s bill and take it out of next rent rather
than have your water cut off.

Have they such power?

Dear Sir, they have Imperial powers. I was going to
say Sovereign Powers but that would be feeble—they
have powers that the Sovereign cannot pretend to.

How comes that?

Well, their charters are as old as the time of the Stuarts
—a time when the king had a finger in every pie—when
he sold for a “king's share” his support to every promis¬
ing adventure, like the capture and sale of foreign slaves,
or the capture of English slaves with a water privilege of
eternal duration and autocratic powers, or the giving away
of States and Territories in America and elsewhere, to
“merchant adventurers” and so on. The rest of those big
monopolies have gone the way of all things perishable,

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but a water company is not perishable. A king’s share in
cue of these old water companies, that was worth twenty
rounds originally, is thrown on the market about once in
a generation and it makes a mighty stir and exposes a
revelation. A king’s share in the new river came on the
market four or five years ago and that twenty pounds
worth sold for a fortune.

The dividends are incredible, and one wouldn’t mind it
so much if this surplus went to support the government,
but it hurts when you know it goes to private pockets—
the butcher and the baker—and that it is they that can
lord it over you with their insolent notices and make you
hunt up their debtors for them or pay their debts. Did
you see the proposition the other day that London buy
out the companies for £40,000,000? One million of that
represents plant, no doubt,—represents pipes and reservoir
and water, the other 39 represent “water.” They charge
for water not by any rule, but to value the building. A
factory with one hydrant paid on its rental of £200 a year.

Two frowsy men with wheezy voices walking up and
down the center of the street of dwellings wheezing out
sentimental ditties, “Farewell my love, farewell my dear,
farewell my syler (sailor) boy,” and the pennies were
thrown to them from the windows—by the sentimental
housemaids? No doubt. Anybody can collect pennies for
anything in London. It seems to be the paradise of the
cheap adventure in music and piety. These two stalwarts
had on seedy clothes and comforters wrapped around
their necks. They looked as if they were on their way to
Harrigan’s to represent Thompson Street.

Grief can take care of itself, but to get the full value of
joy you must have somebody to divide it with.

Nov. 26. We have now been in this house two months,

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MARK TWAIN

but nothing can persuade the fool post-office to send Mr.
Garth’s letters to his new address any oftener than four
days in the week—the other three they come here.

Thanksgiving. We did not celebrate it. Seven years ago
Susy gave her play for the first time; that was the last
Thanksgiving jollification we ever had in our house.
Mother [his wife’s mother] died the day before Thanks¬
giving the following year. Ma died in 1890, the same year
and month as Mother died.

The best way to cheer yourself is to try to cheer some¬
body else up.

Temperate temperance is best. Intemperate temperance
injures the cause of temperance, while temperate temper¬
ance helps it in its fight against intemperate intemperance.

Fanatics will never learn that, though it be written in
letters of gold across the sky.

Wrinkles should merely show where the smiles have
been.

“We claim the right to deal with our servants as we
think expedient”—an English Railroad Magnate.

At Johannesburg the manager of a great mine said—
“We don’t call our blacks slaves, but that is what they
are, and that is what we mean they shall remain.”

Dream-humor. In a dream last night a farmer was
asked which of the two horses he had bet on. “One hun¬
dred pounds on each,” he said.

Whereat there was a great storm of laughter from the
young fellows present, because the man was bound to win
one bet and lose one, and therefore might as well have
made no bet at all,—no, thal: was not it—they laughed

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because he thought he was sure to win both bets—which
they considered funny and absurd; and they also laughed
because (as they said) he was bound to lose both bets—
and that they regarded as very funny indeed.

It seemed quite sane in the dream. And that is where
dream-things differ from waking-things: they can be thor¬
oughly mad and incongruous, without the dreamer sus¬
pecting it.

London, Dec. 13 ’96. Tonight at dinner Clara told of
meeting a lady (Scotch I think) at Mrs. Hopekirk Wilson’s
today, who told her about a remarkable young relative of
hers—a young girl, friend of Mrs. Wilson a few years ago
in Leipzig. This said young girl was studying there—
violin, and has turned out to be fine on that instrument.
But suddenly she began to draw and paint, without in¬
struction, and threw all her heart into it, and lost her
passion for music. Somebody showed one of her pictures to
the great Watt, R.A., and he said he must see her at once;
she must be his pupil (he never would take pupils) and be
his successor and continue his work.

George von Bunson is dying here in London. Mrs.
Poultney Bigelow tells me that when he was at the height
of his great popularity and influence in Berlin and politics,
he made a liberal speech which infuriated Bismarck who
was then chancellor, and Bismarck did him several vicious
turns. Among others invited him to a State dinner at his
house; went and spoke with each guest in turn; when he
got to Bunson he looked him over from head to foot, then
turned his back on him without a word. Bunson left (why
the others didn’t, also, is not stated). Later the Bunsons
gave a ball and invited society—(they had six marriage¬
able daughters). Society consists largely, if not mainly, of
military officers. Bismarck intimated to his generals and
colonels that he wanted all officers forbidden to accept in-

3“

MARK TWAIN

vitations. Nobody much but ladies at the ball, by conse¬
quence; nobody to dance with. The Bunsons became
ostracized. The daughters could not find husbands. That
might be eight or ten years ago. Only one of them is just
married.

Dec. 22 ’96. It took piles of blankets to keep us warm
last night. It was as cold as it would be at home at 30.—
Yet it was really only 52. I brought the thermometer
from the dressing-room where there was a fire. It was
marking 59.

If you order a box of cigars here (as I did yesterday at
this time, three blocks away) they may be two days get¬
ting it to you. I am expecting this result.

We are nothing but echoes. We have no thoughts of our
own, no opinions of our own, we are but a compost heap
made up of the decayed heredities, moral and physical.

London 11:30 Xmas morning. The square and adjacent
streets are not merely quiet, they are dead. There is not a
sound. At intervals a Sunday-looking person passes along.
Once I saw a couple of postmen go along—once or twice
I heard the rumble of wheels come out of the sepulchral
distance—Queens Road, I should say.

Because of the smoothness and excellence of the paving,
Lond on is the least noisy city; but the silence of today!
Oh, it is the silence of the tomb.

The family have been to breakfast. We three sat and
talVffd as usual, but the name of the day was not men¬
tioned. It was in our minds, but we said nothing.

They were remembering Susy, who as already told
had died in August. A page or two farther along he
would write of that tragedy.

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The Church here rests under the usual charge—an ob¬
structor and fighter of progress; until progress arrives,
then she takes the credit.

Whatever the Church damns is saved; whatever it op¬
poses prospers—like anti-slavery and evolution.

Some of the commonest English words are not in use
with us—such as ’ousemaid, ’ospital, ’otel, ’istorian.

The several principles and mechanisms involved in the
construction of an ant are as follows—that is a good ant,
an ant that is made right: First, the antennae—so called
because they are part of the ant. Butterflies have antennae,
too, but that’s a plagiarism. Next, the legs, six in number
—one on each corner, and two in the middle. They are
not all needed for general business—some are to get home
on when the others have been chewed off; ants are always
chewing each other’s legs off, in arranging details con¬
nected with politics and theology.

313

CHAPTER XXVIII

Susy

In Paris I spoke of getting “dusted off” (lectured by
Mrs. Clemens). Susy took up the phrase and was always
seeing to it that Mamma did it before functions. “Mamma
don’t forget to dust him,” and “Did you dust Papa off!”

She was intense. That was her marked characteristic.

Livy arrived after a year, at Elmira, by the very same
train and at the same hour that she had left there a year
before, with Susy on the platform, waving good-bye; and
now Susy was lying in her coffin at the Langdon home. 1

It is pleasant to know that while we were far away
around the globe, Susy got a letter in Hartford which
mightily pleased her from the great Madame Blanche
Caccamesi saying (in substance) “I hear that the reason
you did not stay and complete your vocal education is
that your father was financially embarrassed and could
not afford it. I would have completed it for you gratis for
the sake of bringing out your noble voice and giving it to
the world. I should have been repaid twice over.”

She was very near-sighted. When she was little I was
going upstairs with her, and I looked back when halfway
up and through the dining-room door I saw the cat curled
up like a worm on the intensely red cover of the round

1 For the story of Susy’s death the reader is referred to My Father,
Mark Twain, by Clara Clemens, chapter XII, and to Mark Tvimti
—a Biografhy, chapter CXCIII.

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dining-table—a tortoise-shell cat—a striking picture. I
called Susy’s attention to it and was astonished to find
that she was not able to see it.

In the other notebook 1 I have it wrong. Susy put out
her hand and stroked Katy’s face and said—“Mamma.”
That was the last time she spoke in this life. Poor trou¬
bled heart. It turned for help and comfort in its latest con¬
sciousness to the refuge that had never failed it. If any¬
thing could comfort Livy, it would be the thought that
she was the last image that drifted across the poor child’s
perishing mind and her name the last utterance that fell
from the dying lips.

She was a poet—a poet whose song died unsung.

Every now and then in her vivacious talk she threw
out phrases of such admirable grace and force, such pre¬
cision of form, that they thrilled through one’s conscious¬
ness like the passage of the electric spark.

He contemplated doing a small book about
Susy, for private circulation. From time to time
he wrote chapters of it, most of which were later
included in his Autobiography . The book itself
was never completed.

In this lament I wish to speak of my dead child as I
would speak to my family, to my most private friends,
without reserve, without conventions. For I am moved to
pour out only praises and endearments, only homage and
worship, over the dear and beautiful spirit that has van¬
ished out of our life, and left it desolate. I wish to speak
of her as she appeared to us of the family, not as she
may, or may not, have appeared to others, even her com¬
rades and intimates. To do this I must use franknesses of
appreciation which would be out of place if I were speak-

1 This notebook cannot be found.

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MARK TWAIN

ing to any but our nearest friends. It is to those friends-
and those only—that this little paper will go. And I lay
upon them the injunction—if I may do it without offense,
that they allow none to see it but themselves.

fitrdtat—Joan of Arc and Susy’s suggestion. She liked
“l’Arbre fde de Bourlemont,” 1 and said it was poetry,
which greatly pleased me. She was fond of Joan’s transi¬
tions from playful girl to official activities: “Messenger
from the King!” And La Hire’s speech when he backed
up Joan’s war methods.

She had no care about money, no notion of its value.
She spent it, wasted it, lost it. Lost her opera glasses, her
gloves, her parasol, her purse. It was always wise to ex¬
amine a cab when she left it. In one day in Paris she left
things in three different cabs. She was such a flutter-mill;
always in the air; always singing, dancing, making her
tongue fly.

She was full of little loving ways with her mother,
whom she ennobled with pet names and enriched with
ceaseless caresses. She would pet my hair, and fuss at it,
sometimes—which always made me wish she would go on.

Sad at Viviani; at Venice; at Nauheim; the first winter
in Paris (time of Ravachal) afraid of theaters and bombs;
at La Bourboule (the riot in the Hotel threatened); at
Berlin part of the time—but she was fond of Berlin;
happy in Munich; unhappy in Maintz; in Marienbad;
very happy in Hartford, the last months. Bayreuth,
happy.

Yet through all her seasons of unhappiness there were
outbursts of happiness—exaltations of it.

I cannot remember when she first began to carry around
a vast Shakespeare. She was never without it. It was a

x A poem in his book on Joan of Arc .

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trouble in traveling, but she had to have it. She was fond
of Browning.

To us she was a prodigy. I mean, in speech she was
that. We of the family believed, and still believe, that she
had no equal among girls of her own age in this regard.
Even the friends thought highly of her gift, though they
could never see her at her best, which was in the unem¬
barrassing limits of the family circle.

I did not hear her glorious voice at its supremest. That
was in Hartford, a month or two before the end.

She was not industrious, except in the things in which
she was gifted; she was indolent; she lived mainly in the
clouds; hard, persistent work went against the grain with
her. As a rule, I mean. She mastered the French and Ger¬
man and Latin grammars, and of course that does mean
hard, persistent work. Still, as I say, she had a distaste
for toilsome work—a trait which she got from me.

Copy of letter to Mr. Henry C. Robinson, of
Hartford.

London, Sept. 28/96.

It is as you say, dear old friend, “the pathos of it”—
yes, it was a piteous thing—as piteous a tragedy as any
the year can furnish. When we started westward upon
our long trip at half past ten at night, July 14, 1895, at
Elmira, Susy stood on the platform in the blaze of the
electric light waving her good-byes to us as the train
glided away, her mother throwing back kisses and watch¬
ing her through her tears. One year, one month, and one
week later, Clara and her mother having exactly com¬
pleted the circuit of the globe, and drew up at that plat¬
form at the same hour of the night, in the same train and
the same car , and again Susy had come a journey and was
near at hand to meet them. 1 She was waiting in the house
she was bom in, in her coffin.

1 Susy had been brought from Hartford to Elmira, for burial.

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All the circumstances of this death were pathetic—my
brain is worn to rags rehearsing them. Yes, and cursing
them—cursing the conception and invention of them. The
mere death would have been cruelty enough, without over¬
loading it and emphasizing it with that score of harsh and
wanton details. The child was taken away when her
mother was within three days of her, and would havt
given three decades for sight of her.

In my despair and unassuageable misery I upbraid my¬
self for ever parting with her. But there is no use in that
Since it was to happen it would have happened.

With love S.L.C.

It tickled Susy—Jo Twichell’s war-whooping, when he
would meet Clara on the street in Hartford.

Susy had faults but the memory of them was sub¬
merged in that great darkness which descended upon us
when her life was quenched, and I do not know what they
were.

Susy and Clara—one on each side of me—selecting
hickory nut kernels for me—“That’s a good one.” They
beguiled me into many an indigestion and loss of sleep.

The last ms. of mine that ever I read to her was four-
fifths of the last chapter of Joan—and the last words of
that which I read were “How rich was the world, etc.”
And to me these words have a personal meaning now.
When out of her head she said many things that showed
she was proud of being my daughter. “It is because I am
Mark Twain’s daughter.” The attentions shown us in
Australia, India, etc.—“Katy” (to her maid), “that is my
family.”

In the burning heat of those final days in Hart¬
ford she would walk to the window or lie on the
couch in her fever and delirium, and when the cars
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MARK TWAIN

Madame Marchesi said she had a grand-opera voice—
“Marvelous voice” was one of her expressions. Madame
Blanche said her voice was competent for the part of
Elsa and Elizabeth in Lohengrin and Tannhauser; and
later she added Isolde to this list—which was the equiva¬
lent of saying it was competent for any soprano part

She went home to live on a hill—as commanded by
these great teachers, valleys being forbidden—and gather
vigor of body. Then to go back to Paris and prepare for
the stage (opera).

Her voice was not only eloquent with feeling, but of
almost (particularly after she got to Hartford) unexam¬
pled power and volume.

Bryn Mawr began it. It was there that her health was
undermined.

Elmira, Aug. 24. Susy is dead and buried.

We stand stunned as before a space where an appar¬
ently strong house has stood five minutes ago—now swept
away by a cyclone—not a vestige left.

She was perfectly happy in Venice with her mother and
Jean—Clara and I in America. She lived in the gondola
all the time.

She was sensitive to everything. The palmist (lady at a
party) told her she would have an unhappy life and that
with all her gifts she would fall just short of success. She
would be a failure. It distressed her for days.

Susy became blind through the suffusion of blood on
the brain and said to Charles Langdon “I am blind, Unde
Charlie, and you are blind.”

She was so glad and proud to see “Pudd’nhead” on the
stage. She took such interest in all my work—and I miss
her so—and half the incentive is gone.

Those words touched her so: “And will you no come
back again.” I said the pathos was in the “no”-—it
wouldn’t be as effective in English.

I seem like poor old Aaron Burr, standing in the midst

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of the early morning, gazing out for the ship that had
long ago gone down.

That poor child. She was human and was pleased with
a compliment—and now that she is gone beyond the hear¬
ing of them, how richly they came flooding in! Here are
these piles of letters from competent and discriminating
friends in America, Germany, Italy, France, England,
Scotland, filled with her praises—and the ears they would
have so gratified are deaf, the pulses they would have
quickened are still.

It is human to exaggerate the merits of the dead, and I
find myself wondering if the praises in this multitude of
letters have that defect. I do not know, in certain of the
details, such as voice, literary gift, and some others—
other witnesses are more competent perhaps than I; but
in the matter of the talking gift I know myself that she
was not merely remarkable, she was extraordinary.

When she was out of her head in those last days she
found a dress of her mother’s hanging in a closet and
thought it was her mother’s effigy or specter, and so
thought she was dead, and kissed it and broke down and
cried.

We wanted her to go around the world, but she dreaded
the sea and elected not to go.

In the first week of August I proposed to myself a
magazine article in which I intended to “prove” a certain
thing by quotations—these to be the most familiar sen¬
tences in our language, sentences familiar to everybody.
But I did not intend to put myself to the trouble of gath¬
ering these together myself. No, I would have the children
do that and pay a small fee for each accepted one. I ex¬
pected a harvest of them from Susy.

In this family she held the place of intellectual chief,
as by natural right; none of us thought of disputing it
with her. In depth of mind, in swiftness of comprehen¬
sion, clearness of intellectual vision, in ability to reveal the

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meaning of an obscure page with a simple flash from htt
mind upon it and in the ability to transmute her thoughts
into the crispest of English by instantaneous process, wt
knew her for our superior. And we did not resent it but
were only proud of it.

Livy: “Others that are bereaved say ‘Be comforted—
time will heal the wound.’ What do they know! They have
not lost a Susy Clemens.”

How is it that I, who cannot draw or paint, can some¬
times shut my eyes and see faces (dark colored always,
color of putty) most delicate and perfect miniatures and
can note and admire the details. How is it? They are not
familiar faces, they are new—how can I invent them?
And what is it that makes perfect images in my dreams!
I cannot form a face of any kind by deliberate effort of
imagination.

322

CHAPTER XXIX

London Days

There is in life only one moment and in eternity only
one. It is so brief that it is represented by the fleeting of a
luminous mote through the thin ray of sunlight—and it is
visible but a fraction of a second. The moments that pre¬
ceded it have been lived, are forgotten and are without
value; the moments that have not been lived have no
existence and will have no value except in the moment
that each shall be lived. While you sleep you are dead;
and whether you stay dead an hour or a billion years
the time to you is the same.

Write a novel in which part of the action takes place
in heaven and hell, the next upon the earth. Let a woman
in heaven watch the sweep of the ocean of fire at close
quarters—a person passes by at very long intervals only;
the ocean is so large. It is a solitude—so is heaven. She
has sought for her daughter for a long time—she is watch¬
ing hell, now, but not expecting her daughter to be there.
Musing, she hears a shriek, and her daughter sweeps by.
There is an instant of recognition by both—the mother
springs in, perceiving there is no happiness in heaven for
her any longer.

They try to help the situation of all the workingmen
except the hardest worked one, the Prince of Wales. He
does not get the benefit of the eight-hour law and ought
to strike.

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MARK TWAIN

Not even sects are agreed upon morals and pieties. The
Cardinal Archbishop cast-ironly forbids priests to go to
theaters, whereas in Spanish countries priests are the
main support of the hellish bullring.

The English clergy formerly rode to hounds, now they
don’t. In New England they used to take part of that
salary in rum and get together on religious business and
have a time with rum and pipes—now they discourage
even the laity.

The believing Moslem knows that it is his duty to go
to Mecca on pilgrimage, even when he is going to carry
the plague to the unbelieving Europeans—and the Euro¬
pean allows him to do it. The human being—with not a
single exception in the whole earth—is a fool. And to his
very marrow he is a hypocrite and a humbug.

I wish the Lord would disguise Himself in citizens doth-
ing and make a personal examination of the sufferings of
the poor in London. He would be moved, and would do
something for them Himself.

Satan, to newcomer (with discontent): “The trouble
with you Chicago people is that you think you are the best
people in hell—whereas you are merely the most
numerous.”

Saturday, Jan. 3, ’97. The pedestal of the bronze, be-
ruffled Charles I, is well clothed in wreaths of white flow¬
ers, with mottoes. This a lament by irreconcilable English
‘legitimists,’ to commemorate what they think was a
calamity—the beheading of Charles, Jan. 21, 1649. They
celebrate tomorrow (that apparently standing for Jan. 21
O.S.). Charles’ back is toward Nelson, in the sky on his
column top; he looks down Whitehall, past the Palace
where he was executed and past the Horse Guards and
Downing Street, political executive center of the vast
British Empire, and his bronze glance strikes the great

3H

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tower of Parliament, further down—the legislative center
of the B.E.

In Hartford there is a family of American donkeys who
shut themselves up Jan. 21 and snivel over Charles’ death.

Feb. 18, ’97. Brilliant morning (very rare). Some of
the people looked glad to be alive. But not many. Walked
an hour in the King’s Road, as usual, between Markham
Square and the Chelsea Polytechnic—back and forth.
Shakespeare people all on hand as usual.

He was not a direct liar, but he would subtly convey
untruth. He never dealt in any but large things, if you
let him tell it. If by accident his trousers got stained in
diverse tints, he would explain it by no actual lie, yet
he would leave with you the impression that he got it
sliding down a rainbow.

March 18, ’97. I dreamed I caught a beautiful slender
white fish 14 inches and thought what a fine meal it would
make. I was very hungry. Then came the feeling of dis¬
appointment and sorrow; it was Sunday, and I could not
take the fish home, for it would deeply grieve Livy to
know that I had been fishing on the Sabbath. Then it
occurred to me to catch a fish for her , and that would
disarm her.

The dream is a perfect reflection of my character and
hers, down to that last detail—there it suddenly breaks
down. But in the dream it seemed quite natural that her
religious loyalty should be bought for a fish.

The first thing a missionary teaches a savage is in¬
decency. He makes him put clothes on. He is as innocent
and clean-minded up to that time as were our first parents
when they walked naked before the Lord and were not
ashamed. He hid the knowledge of indecency from them;
the missionary doesn’t.

32S

MARK TWAIN

James I. In that day a suspected man was tortured into
admitting a murder which he hadn’t committed—then
executed.

Victoria. Last week Lord Crowley (to try to save the
name of Mrs. Charrington) confessed under oath on the
witness stand (after kissing the Bible, no doubt) adultery
with a prostitute in Brighton. The Judge said it must be
corroborated by independent testimony or he could not
accept the thing as being proved.

Also, the Scull girl voluntarily, without suggestion or
invitation of any kind, confessed that she killed the child•
the judge refused to hold her for trial because there wasn’t
sufficient independent testimony to make her confession
good.

A foreigner in England wished to hire a maid, and
knew that a maid and virgin are the same thing. The
first applicant had merely heard that he wanted a house-
servant but did not know in what capacity. She said she
was a cook and asked what he wanted. He said—T want
a virgin. If you are not a virgin I do not want you. You
do not look like a virgin.” At this point the neighbors
flocked to his rescue and he was removed to the hospital.

Dedication for Joan of Arc:

1870 1895

To my Wife
Olivia Langdon Clemens
this Book

is tendered on our wedding anniversary
in grateful recognition of her
25 years of
valued service as
my literary adviser
& editor
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March 28. Twichell sends me a vast newspaper head¬
ing, the breadth of five columns “Close of a Great Ca¬
reer” in which it is said that I am living in penury in
London and that my family has forsaken me. This would
enrage and disgust me if it came from a dog or a cow,
or an elephant or any other of the higher animals, but it
comes from a man, and much allowance must be made
for man.

London, April 13, ’97. I finished my book today.

Boys whipping tops—never saw it in my life till in
London, this time—yet was raised on books with wood-
cuts of boys doing it.

There is no such thing as Queen’s English. The prop¬
erty has gone into the hands of a joint stock company
and we own the bulk of the shares.

Everyone is a moon and has a dark side which he never
shows to anybody.

None of us can ever have as many virtues as the foun¬
tain pen, or half its cussedness; but we can try.

I have traveled more than anyone else, and I have
noticed that even the angels speak English with an
accent.

May 18, 97* Finished the book again . Addition of
30,000 words.

Jan. 2, ’97. Came Mr. White, 1 representing N. Y. Jour¬
nal with two cablegrams from his paper.

It has been stated that Mark Twain was then living at a London
hotel. He was still at 23 Tedworth Square.

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MARK TWAIN

One (i) “If Mark Twain dying in poverty, in Load™
send 500 words.” ^

(2) “Later. If Mark Twain has died in poverty send
1000 words.”

I explained how the mistake occurred and gave him a
cable in substance this:

“James Ross Clemens, a cousin, was seriously ill here
two or three weeks ago, but is well now. The report of my
illness grew out of his illness; the report of my death
was an exaggeration. I have not been ill. Mark Twain."

Nobody would go to Bunyan’s heaven now, since our
improvements have made this life attractive, but it was
a superior place in its day.

If Christ were here now, there is one thing he would
not be—a Christian.

July 7, ’97. London.

Yesterday Pond offered me $50,000 and all expenses
for 125 nights on the platform in America. Mrs. Clemens
is not quite willing, and I suppose I shall not accept

London, July 10. Livy, Clara, and Julia Langdon 1 in a
hansom. The horse fell, the whole front of the hansom
wrecked, Clara thrown over and disappeared from Livy’s
view—fell on the struggling horse’s rump, slipped down
on to his hind legs in front of the wheels, scrambled out
and had no severe hurt. Livy was flung on to the Boot of
the hansom and got two bruises on her face. Julie was not
unseated and not hurt.

The horse scrambled to bus feet, leaving Clara in front

1 Niece of Mrs. Clemens.

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of the wheel. She was on his hind legs and gripping one
of his ankles with her hand when he scrambled up and
spiiled her off to the rear.

329

CHAPTER XXX

On the Continent

Left London at 8 A.M. Spent all the previous day
packing, till midnight. Got Sue, Julie, Clara and Jean
started down, at last. No lift boy, no clerk to take the
money (Crescent Hotel). Nobody on deck but second
hall porter. No cabs; said they should have been engaged
the day before.

To Rochester in 45 minutes; to Queensborough within
the hour. Left at 9:30 in the little steamer. Pretty indif¬
ferent food but not expensive. Arrived Flushing 5 P.M,
Grand Hotel des Bains—good and very cheap. Very quiet
and cool; good bathing-beach. Orchestra of young women
in white. Good music. Dutch women with good faces;
plump; peasant dress.

On the Continent you can’t get a rare beefsteak—every¬
thing is as overdone as a martyr.

We asked for the Zeeland Hotel, Flushing. The porter
said in English—“It is not made” (built).

Railroad station made of tiles—brilliant, polished,
strong colors; vividly readable map of tile—beautiful and
good sense.

These villains cart you to the station nearly two hours
before train time.

A very jolty road till we passed the German border,
then smooth. It cost six of us $5 a day at Flushing.

You climb two flights of wide steps. Queer little church
surmounted by a couple of very tall and exceedingly sharp

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pointed toothpick spires—sharp enough for birds to get
impaled upon them. On one leaf of the ancient open door
is carved an old-time knight in armor in deep relief—on
the other a bishop. In the roomy vestibule are life-sized
statues of six saints in niches, with their names labeled
underneath them—St. Peter is one of them and has his
golden key. One is labeled S. Clemens—just my name,
just my initial. It was a proud thing to find an ancestor
in such a place and in such company. Still, there have
always been saints in our family. If I had my rights there
would be one now. This one had on a helmet, probably
used to be on the police force before he got promoted.

All around the church extends the churchyard; and it
was noticeable that there were flowers on graves fifty
years old. A quiet reposeful place, the shrubbery well
tended.

Switzerland

Sunday, July 18, ’97. Took up residence in Villa Biih-
legg, Weggis.—with Sue, Julie Langdon and Ernst—seven
persons. Terms frs 6 ($1.20) per day, per person, rent
and food included, also candles and two lamps; and frs
14 extra per week to have the meals brought up and
served in the house.

This trustful frau would not take pay for our five din¬
ners yesterday, but said that it would go in the pension
bill, in case we concluded to take the house; and so she
let us go back to Lucerne ignorant of our names and
address.

Swiss Thoroughness

The pharmacist took half an hour to mix one part
litharge and two parts lard—got the proportions reversed
twice and had to make the salve three times. Today, this
one took as long, then took five minutes to coax the last

331

MARK TWAIN

vestige of the salve into the glass box. Told him I was in
a hurry, and didn’t want it all—it did not hasten him in
the least. Then he got a label—set the receipt down in Ms
book—then carefully copied on to the label (mislaying
his glasses twice and hunting for them) then pasted the
label on, did the box up in a piece of paper, which he
measured before tearing it off; then went hunting for a
match, then lit his candle and sealed the paper, in four
places, and delivered it to me—a long job, but ended at
last, with my patience. It was a good #40 worth of work,
and all he charged for it was 7/10 of a franc—say 15c.
That man will earn a fortune and yet die poor.

Patriotism

A man can be a Christian or a patriot, but he can’t
legally be a Christian and a patriot—except in the usual
way: one of the two with the mouth, the other with the
heart. The spirit of Christianity proclaims the brother¬
hood of the race and the meaning of that strong word
has not been left to guesswork, but made tremendously
definite—the Christian must forgive his brother man all
crimes he can imagine and commit, and all insults he can
conceive and utter—forgive these injuries how many
times?—seventy times seven—another way of saying
there shall be no limit to this forgiveness. That is the
spirit and the law of Christianity. Well—patriotism has
its law. And it also is a perfectly definite one, there are
no vaguenesses about it. It commands that the brother
over the border shall be sharply watched and brought
to book every time he does us a hurt or offends us with an
insult. Word it as softly as you please, the spirit of pa¬
triotism is the spirit of the dog and the wolf. The moment
there is a misunderstanding about a boundary line or a
hamper of fish or some other squalid matter, see patriot¬
ism rise, and hear him split the universe with his war-

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whoop. The spirit of patriotism being in its nature jealous
and selfish, is just in man’s line, it comes natural to him—
he can live up to all its requirements to the letter; but
the spirit of Christianity is not in its entirety possible
to him.

The prayer concealed in what I have been saying is,
not that patriotism should cease and not that the talk
about universal brotherhood should cease, but that the
incongruous firm be dissolved and each limb of it be re¬
quired to transact business by itself, for the future.

Monday, July 19. Tea was forgotten in the arrange¬
ments. It has been added and costs $21 a month and we
furnish the tea.

The hired piano came from Lucerne. It got wedged in
the front door and stayed so two hours and blocked the
way—the family on the inside, I on the outside, they
anxious to get out, merely because they couldn’t, I burn¬
ing to get in, for the same reason. The piano with rent,
handling and transportation, elevates the expense further.

Struck one economy anyhow—plenty good enough
cigars at $5 a thousand, or $10 a barrel. In London the
cheapest were $4 a hundred.

We are under the eaves of the Rigi and our part of the
lake is fenced in in all directions by lofty mountain bulks
—Pilatus the tallest. A most superb and impressive
prospect.

Villa Buhlegg

It takes a person not bom and reared among moun¬
tains a long time to find out that when he has looked
across the lake at a towering bulk like Pilatus once, he
has not yet seen it; that when he has looked across at it
daily for 20 days he is not yet acquainted with it; that
when he has done this for a hundred days it still has a
thousand details, a thousand charms, fascinations, ex-

333

MARK TWAIN

quisitencsscs, which have not yet been revealed to
and he will by and by come to realize that such amoo&
tain is a sublime mystery which is full-charged with bean-
tiful secrets, which only a lifetime of daily observation
can enable him to exhaust. Every slight drifting of the
sun exposes to view for a moment a detail not discov¬
ered before—the next moment it is invisible again and
may remain so for a year, possibly—until sun and at¬
mosphere are exactly right for it once more. It may be a
shepherd's hut, high perched among the breezy heights—
it glows like a spark for an instant, and perhaps you might
watch that spot for a year and never see it again. Every
slight change of the ceaselessly changing atmosphere
washes the mountain with new distributions of light and
shade, new dreams of enchanting color.

In time the stranger to mountains finds the mastiike
Pilatus is a new mountain every day, and may be gloated
over with a new passion and a new delight every day and
all the days, forever; that it is always beautiful; that its
beauty is never twice the same, and never stales; that ii
he could sit in its benignant presence all his life his wor¬
ship would be as deep and strong at the last as it was at
the first; and the peace and healing it brought to his spirit
in the beginning would abide with him to the end.

I can't tell our land from other people's when I prowl
absent-mindedly around, so every now and then I step
over the line and get warned off. A survival of the My
past. A thousand years ago when a man went poking
through a wood, he had to blow his horn every’ w
minutes as a protection. If he went silently he would
suspected of being a thief and shot.

They feed us lavishly. How do they manage it at die
price? The languages used are German and rren
mainly German.

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The boats go stuttering by with a good deal of fre¬
quency—and packed with tourists. They charge only three
francs fifty for the round trip to Fluellen and back—a
voyage of five hours.

Met a woman of 70 with a deep fruit-basket strapped
on her back, and she stopped and remarked that the
weather was very warm. I was of that opinion, too—the
perspiration was flowing from me, washing boulders down
the hill. This was about a third of the way up the moun¬
tain. She asked if I was on my way to the summit. I said
no, it was too much of a climb. She said she had been up
there to carry a load of peaches and pears, and was on
her way down to get another load. I asked if she meant
to carry that up, too. Yes, she said. Today? Oh yes, today.
I tried to voice my admiration, but got tangled among
the verbs and tenses and she bade me good-bye and re¬
sumed her brisk march down the slope without waiting
to see where I was going to arrive with my speech. She
was apparently not overheated, and was not perspiring.
She was climbing 5000 feet, twice in the day, with a load
of 100 lbs., descending the same distance twice, yet she
seemed to think nothing of it. One ascent by itself would
use me up.

July 31. Sunday. A smooth lake and a most quiet and
peaceful day. Domestic picture. Grandmother, mother
and two little daughters, sitting by the lake in front of
their pretty villa. Grandma teaching one of the little girls
her Bible lesson, the mother teaching the other one to fish.

In a dream I have at last encountered a humorism that
actually remained one after waking. The crowned heads
were adrift at sea on a raft. They all managed to stay
amiable but Victoria—she was constantly cross. This was
the origin of the V.C. With that sentence the dream
ended.

335

MARK TWAIN

Aug. 13. The Jubilee Singers sang at the Lowenla
night—diviner, even than in their early days, 26 yeans aa,
They came up to the house this morning and sang to®,
They are as fine people as I am acquainted with in m
country. '

Monday Aug. 16. Last night there was a Fest and a
torchlight procession of wheelmen from here (Weggis)to
Vitznau and back. After midnight four villagers out in a
boat—they had been drinking too much—got upset and
three were drowned: a cook, a confectioner, and a lock¬
smith all young men of the village. It has made a deep
sensation. Today the people stand about in groups, talking
low and looking sad. There is but one topic. Even our
family finds itself personally affected by the tragedy; lot
we find that our fruitshop woman lost her son by it—a
young fellow of 27. She and her daughter go on with their
work today as usual (the poor have no emancipations from
work) but they are very sad.

Villa Biihlegg, Weggis, Lake Lucerne, Aug. 18, ’97.

One year today since the great disaster fell. Livy went
away to be alone. She took the steamer and spent the day
solitary in an inn in an unknown town up the lake—a
village. I spent the day alone under the trees on the
mountain-side, writing some lines—a lament for Susy in
the form of an allegory.

Under the title “In Memoriam” it was pub¬
lished in Harper’s Magazine, and is now included
in the volume of his collected works “The $30,000
Bequest.”

Unquestionably the person that can get lowest down
in cringing before royalty and nobility, and can get most
satisfaction out of crawling on his belly before them, is an

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American. Not all Americans, but when an American does
it he makes competition impossible.

Strip the human race, absolutely naked, and it would
be a real democracy. But the introduction of even a rag
of tiger skin, or a cowtail, could make a badge of dis¬
tinction and be the beginning of a monarchy.

The Swiss seem to be at bottom good-hearted and they
are courteous, though they exhibit no artificial polish;
they are grave, not to say austere of countenance, inde¬
pendent, a trifle repellant in their manner; they have no
vivacity, and if they know how to smile they keep that
secret within themselves. They are furnished with ma¬
chinery to smile with but they have no way of operating
it. These remarks fit all the Swiss I have met, excepting
about a dozen.

Notes for story—probably The Mysterious
Stranger .

He had but one term for that large body which has
such a fine opinion of itself—“the little stinking human
race, with its little stinking kings and popes and bishops
and prostitutes and peddlers.”

He said: “The globe is a living creature, and the little
stinking human race and the other animals are the vermin
that infest it—the microbes. We dig into its skin to suck
its blood (water) and we use its Niagaras and rivers for
power. We sail its oceans in fleets which it is not conscious
of and cannot see. We dig deep into the thin outer gold-
leaf layer of its skin, 3000 feet, and it is not aware of
it. Nothing hurts it but a bellyache, then it heaves with a
trifling earthquake.”

The absence of the Orienting faculty. In Innsbruck the
portier of the Tivolier Hotel told me to go to the right two

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MARK TWAIN

streets, then to the right again, a street or two, then to
the left two streets—but he gave me a diagram, and that
confused me. I said it showed that the third turn must
also be to the right—and we made a test. Of course he

turned out to be right. .

I would as soon spend my life m Weggis as anywhere

in the geography—Sept. ’97.

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CHAPTER XXXI

In Vienna

After two months in Weggis we find the
Clemens family located at the Hotel Metropole,
in Vienna.

Vienna, Tuesday, Sept. 28, ’97. Left Salzburg noon yes¬
terday, arrived 7 PM. in Vienna. Visited seven hotels
last night before we could get a suitable lodging. Stopped
at the Hotel Muller. Visited eight hotels today and then
moved to the Metropole. We have never approached
this record before.

Hotel Metropole, Vienna, Oct. 3, ’97. At the next round
table to ours sits a princess (daughter of the Dowager
Empress Frederick, and granddaughter of Victoria); also
the young daughter of the above and her intended, the
young Prince Henry Reuss, called Henry III, whose
mother and sister and uncle, the Prince von Wemigerode,
in Ilsenburg, were in the Hartz Mountains six years ago.
With them, a maid of honor, and a couple of Equerries.
Good-looking people. They all smoke.

A man has sent me a Bible 250 years old (formerly
the property of Queen Christina, of Sweden) to look at.
It is as big as a trunk—and as uninteresting as an empty
one. It has been in the room three days and we are get¬
ting tired of the responsibility. To people who value such
antiquities it must be worth much money.

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MARK TWAIN

Sunday, Oct. io. The princess did me the honor to
send and invite me down to her parlor, this afternoon
and added the further honor of saying that if I was not
yet strong enough to leave my quarters she would come
up and see me. I went down at 4:30 and was received in
a way which put me at my ease at once. She came to the
door when I was announced and put out her hand and
gave me a hearty grasp and shake, and said—“I am very,
very glad to meet you and know you, Mr. Clemens—I
have read your books and am familiar with them and
they have given me great enjoyment.” I said—“It is a
great happiness to meet your Royal Highness, and what
you have said makes me very proud.” She gave me a
chair and when she had seated herself I sat down and the
talk at once flowed freely. She wanted to know how I came
to get interested in Joan of Arc, and said she had read
my book through three times and had then given it to a
young girls’ school which she had founded. Speaking of
Joan’s fate she said—“Poor child, but for the priests it
would not have happened; but whenever they meddle,
harm must come to somebody.”

“Particularly when they and politics join teams and
meddle together ” I said. She assented so zealously that I
reminded her that she shouldn’t have such opinions as
that—they were proper to my sort of folk. But she said
she had such opinions and feelings, and was used to put¬
ting them in words. There was some talk about the Greet
situation, and I said she seemed to have a liking for
politics. And so on, and so on. And she mentioned Gen.
von Versen and regretted his death, and said she knew
I had dined in his house to meet the German Emperor-
said the Emperor had told her about it.

And then some talk about her daughter and the be¬
trothal to the young Prince Reuss—said—“It took place
in this room, a week ago today.” I said that it must have

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been great fun and interesting. “Yes,” she said, “to them
_not so much so to me.”

“I understand how that could be,” I said, “it made you
feel older than you wanted to feel.” “That was it—yes;
I suppose I shall get used to it, but as yet I am not . My
daughter has always seemed to me a child, and now at
18, in presence of this event, she suddenly becomes a
woman, and it isn’t a pleasant surprise, considering how
it ages me.” And so on and so on—about the “Tramp
Abroad,” and the chapter on the German language; and
then I rose, and she asked me to write in her autograph
book, which I did; and she wanted me to send her my
new book as soon as it was out—which I said I would
be most glad to do; and she wrote her address—for me—
her home address—for November; for now she is leaving
here to visit her mother, the Empress Frederick; then
will go to Roumania where her husband commands an
army corps—then home to Breslau.

(Note added Dec. 16. Sent her the book. A cordial
letter from her today.)

Nov. 6. Entertained by the Concordia last Sunday night.
Made a speech in German.

Sitting to Hagenbarth these days for a bust.

Ten young American physicians called this evening.
Very jolly time.

Nov. 24. Dined again with the Due de Frias, one of the
secretaries of the Spanish Legation. Speaks English like
a native. Present, Clark of the English Legation, and the
Prince of Thurn and Taxis. Fine men, all of them. The
talk was of books altogether. A pleasant evening. The
Prince speaks English nearly perfectly and is a fine man,
worthy representative of that ancient house.

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MARK TWAIN

Dec. x. Night before last, Madame Leschetizky came
and took Clara and me to Ritter von Dutschka’s to dine.
Twenty persons at dinner; Count von Eulenberg (German
Ambassador) and others came in after dinner. A remark¬
able gathering—no commonplace people present, no
leatherheads. Princes and other titled people there, not
because of their titles, but for their distinction in achieve¬
ment. It was like a Salon of old time Paris. Madame
Dutschka is large and stately and beautiful, cordial and
full of all kinds of charms of manner, and ways and speech.
She is Russian; appears to be about 30, but is really 52,
and has a son 28. Count Kilmansegge, Governor of Upper
Austria, and wife, and—but I cannot remember the name.
The new baritone from Beyreut (von Rooy) sang—a won¬
derful voice. He is but 26 and has a future before him.
Leschetizky played. A marvelous performance. He never
plays except in that house, she says. He sacrificed himself
for his first wife—believed she would be the greatest
pianist of all time—and now they have been many years
separated. If he had developed himself instead of her he
would have been the world’s wonder himself.

Note added July 19, ’09. He is still alive and has his
fourth (?) wife.

Buried treasure in a Missouri village—supposed by
worn figures to be $980. Corrupts the village, causes quar¬
rels and murder, and when found at last is $9.80.

We have here probably the first hint of the
great story he was to write a little later, The
Man That Corrupted Hadleyburg.

Ecclesiastical and military courts—made up of cowards,
hypocrites and time-servers—can be bred at the rate of a
mill ion a year and have material left over; but it takes
five centuries to breed a Joan of Arc and a Zola.

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Dec. ii. Cablegram from Keokuk, la. “Orion died
today/’ He was past 73.

Dec. 30. No letter from Mollie yet; we do not know
whether it was sudden or not.

They went for the summer to a resort just out¬
side of Vienna. Among the notes of that period
are a good many axioms. It is noticeable that
Mark Twain had become more bitter following
Susy’s death.

Kaltenleutgeben, July 4, ’98. News that Sampson has
destroyed the Spanish fleet in the Harbor of Santiago de
Cuba; that our troops have closely invested the city and
that it must surrender. Also that our transport fleet has at
last arrived at Manila. Dr. E. S. Parker and Corneil
Dunham are here to enjoy this news with us.

A person (Satan) who for untold centuries has main¬
tained the imposing position of spiritual head of 4/5 of
the human race, and political head of the whole of it, must
be granted the possession of executive abilities of the
highest order. In his large presence the other popes and
politicians shrink to midgets for the microscope.

He hasn’t a single salaried helper; the Opposition em¬
ploy a million.

Some men worship rank, some worship heroes, some
worship power, some worship God, and over these ideals
they dispute—but they all worship money.

There is no law in the Bibles and the Statute Books
limiting the appetites and the passions that has any but
one function, to wit: to limit the law of God.

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MARK TWAIN

To ask a doctor’s opinion of osteopathy is equivalent
to going to Satan for information about Christianity.

You can’t depend on your judgment when your imag¬
ination is out of focus.

The proper office of a friend is to side with you when
you are in the wrong. Nearly anybody will side with you
when you are in the right.

There is but one first thing to do when a man is
wounded and suffering: relieve him. If we have a curi¬
osity to know his nationality, that is a matter of no conse¬
quence, and can wait.

God’s inhumanity to man makes countless thousands
mourn.

Of the demonstrably wise there are but two; those who
commit suicide, and those who keep their reasoning facul¬
ties atrophied with drink.

The radical of one century is the conservative of the
next.

The radical invents the views. When he has worn them
out the conservative adopts them.

There has been only one Christian. They caught Him
and crucified Him early.

What God lacks is convictions—stability of character.
He ought to be a Presbyterian or a Catholic or some¬
thing —not try to be everything.

If all men were rich, all men would be poor.

Let us swear while we may, for in heaven it will not
be allowed.

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Familiarity breeds contempt. How accurate that is. The
reason we hold truth in such respect is because we have
so little opportunity to get familiar with it.

If I cannot swear in heaven I shall not stay there.

The unspoken word is capital. We can invest it or we
can squander it.

If you wish to lower yourself in a person’s favor, one
good way is to tell his story over again, the way you
heard it.

Spending one’s capital is feeding a dog on his own tail.

Good breeding consists in concealing how much we
think of ourselves and how little we think of the other
person.

Truth is more of a stranger than fiction.

There are no grades of vanity, there are only grades of
ability in concealing it.

When we remember that we are all mad, the mysteries
disappear and life stands explained.

It is not best that we use our morals week days; it gets
them out of repair for Sundays.

Truth is mighty and will prevail. There is nothing the
matter with this, except that it ain’t so.

All people have had ill luck, but Jairus’s daughter and
Lazarus had the worst.

345

MARK TWAIN

The human race consists of the damned and the onek
to-be damned. 8

When you fish for love, bait with your heart, not
your brain.

LIFE

We laugh and laugh,

Then cry and cry—

Then feebler laugh,

Then die.

The heart is the real Fountain of Youth. While that
remains young the Waterbury of Time must stand still.

Christianity will doubtless still survive in the earth ten
centuries hence—stuffed and in a museum.

Shut the door. Not that it lets in the cold, but that it
lets out the cozyness.

It is an art apart. Saint Francis of Assisi said—“All
saints can do miracles, but few of them can keep hotel”

It is easier for a cannibal to enter the Kingdom of
Heaven through the eye of a rich man’s needle than it is
for any other foreigner to read the terrible German
script.

Education consists mainly in what we have unlearned.

In this day of the telegraph man waits not for time
or tide.

The altar cloth of one aeon is the doormat of the next.

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“Good friends, good books and a sleepy conscience:
this is the ideal life” (written in the Archduchess’s album).

Concerning the difference between man and the jackass:
some observers hold that there isn’t any. But this wrongs
the jackass.

It is easier to stay out than get out.

It is by the goodness of God that in our country we
have those three unspeakably precious things: freedom
of speech, freedom of conscience, and the prudence never
to exercise either of them.

Truth is stranger than fiction, but it is because fiction
is obliged to stick to possibilities; truth isn’t.

Have a place for everything and keep the thing some¬
where else. This is not advice, it is merely custom.

There are several good protections against temptations
but the surest is cowardice.

Nature makes the locust with an appetite for crops;
man would have made him with an appetite for sand—I
mean a man with the least little bit of common sense.

There are many scapegoats for our blunders, but the
most popular one is Providence.

When people do not respect us we are sharply offended;
yet deep down in his heart no man much respects himself.

The universal brotherhood of man is our most precious
possession—what there is of it.

Some of these observations he used in his books.

347

MARK TWAIN

Through having mislaid his notebook, or for
some other reason, this London note was omitted
from the preceding book and here follows:

London, Jan. 7, ’97. Last Sunday I struck upon a new
“solution” of a haunting mystery. A great many years ago
I published in the Atlantic “The Recent Carnival of Crime
in Connecticut.” 1

That was an attempt to account for our seeming dual¬
ity —the presence in us of another person; not a slave of
ours, but free and independent, and with a character dis¬
tinctly its own. I made my conscience that other person
and it came before me in the form of a malignant dwarf
and told me plain things about myself and shamed me
and scoffed at me and derided me. This creature was so
much its own master that it would leave the premises—
leave its post—forsake its duties—and go off on a spree
with other irresponsible consciences—and discuss their
masters (no—their slaves).

Presently Stevenson published Dr. Jekyll and Mr.
Hyde. That was nearer this thing. J. and H. were the dual
persons in one body, quite distinct in nature and character
and presumably each with a conscience of its own . Nearer,
yes, but not near enough. Or, to put it differently, a truth
and a falsity harnessed together; the falsity being the
ability of the one person to step into the other person’s
place, at will .

I have underscored “conscience of its own.” When I
made my conscience my other person, and independent,
with its own (original) character, it was a mistake. My
conscience is a part of me . It is a mere machine, like my
heart—but moral, not physical; and being moral is teach-
able , its action modifiable. It is merely a things the
creature of training ; it is whatever one’s mother and
Bible and comrades and laws and system of government

1 Included today in his collected works.

348

MARK TWAIN

terious trips—but I am acquainted (dimly) with my
spiritualized self and I know that it and I are one be¬
cause we have common memory; when I wake mornings,

I remember that it (that is, I) have been doing, and
whither it (that is I) have been wandering in the course
of what I took to be unreality and called Dreams, for
want of a truthfuler name.

Now, as I take it, my other self, my dream self, is
merely my ordinary body and mind freed from clogging
flesh and become a spiritualized body and mind and with
the ordinary powers of both enlarged in all particulars a
little, and in some particulars prodigiously.

For instance, to the ordinary vision, the vision of the
X-ray is added—the invisible ray—and I am able to use
it and see through opaque bodies. You have an instance
of this in the biography of Agassiz. In a dream he saw
through the stone that contained a fossil shell and woke
up and drew a picture of that shell; and when he broke
open the stone his picture was correct.

Waking I move slowly; but in my dreams my unham¬
pered spiritualized body flies to the ends of the earth
in a millionth of a second. Seems to—and I believe, does .

Waking I cannot form in my mind the minutely de¬
tailed and living features of a face and a form and a
costume which I have never seen, but my dream self can
do all this with the accuracy and vividness of a camera.
Waking, I cannot create in my mind a picture of a room
and furniture which I have not recently seen, or have
never seen; but my dream self can do this to the minutest
detail.

My dream self meets friends, strangers, the dead, the
living—all sorts and kinds of dream people—and holds
both rational and irrational conversations with them upon
subjects which often have not been in my waking mind
and which, in some cases could never have been in it
And these people say things to me which affect me in all

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ways; pleasurably, sadly, offensively, humiliatingly. They
make me cry, they make me laugh, they make me rage,
they make me fight, they make me run, they make me
insult the weak, they make me cringe to the strong, and
swallow the insults of the insulter. And I am always
myself , not that other person who is in me—Watson.

I do actually make immense excursions in my spirit¬
ualized person. I go into awful dangers; I am in battles
and trying to hide from the bullets; I fall over cliffs (and
my ^spiritualized body starts). I get lost in caves and
in the corridors of monstrous hotels; I appear before
company in my shirt; I come on the platform with no
subject to talk about, and not a note; I go to unnamable
places, I do unprincipled things; and every vision is vivid,
every sensation—physical as well as moral—is real .

When my physical body dies my dream body will
doubtless continue its excursion and activities without
change, forever.

In my dream last night I was suddenly in the presence
of a negro wench who was sitting in grassy open country,
with her left arm resting on the arm of one of those long
park-sofas that are made of broad slats with cracks be¬
tween, and a curve-over back. She was very vivid to me—
round black face, shiny black eyes, thick .lips, very white
regular teeth showing through her smile. She was about
22, and plump—not fleshy, not fat, merely rounded and
plump; and good-natured and not at all bad-looking. She
had but one garment on—a coarse tow-linen shirt that
reached from her neck to her ankles without break. She
sold me a pie; a mushy apple pie—hot. She was eating
one herself with a tin teaspoon. She made a disgusting
proposition to me. Although it was disgusting it did not
surprise me—for I was young (I was never old in a dream
yet) and it seemed quite natural that it should come
from her. It was disgusting, but I did not say so; I merely
made a chaffing remark, brushing aside the matter—

35 1

MARK TWAIN

a little jeeringly—and this embarrassed her and she made
an awkward pretence that I had misunderstood her. I
made a sarcastic remark about this pretence, and asked
for a spoon to eat my pie with. She had but the one
and she took it out of her mouth, in a quite matter-of-
course way, and offered it to me. My stomach rose—there
everything vanished.

It was not a dream—it all happened . I was actually
there in person—in my spiritualized condition. My, how
vivid it all was! Even to the texture of her shirt, its dull
white color, and the pale brown tint of a stain on the
shoulder of it. I had never seen that girl; I was not
acquainted with her—but dead or alive she is a reality ; she
exists and she was there . Her pie was a spiritualized
pie, no doubt, and also her shirt and the bench and the
shed—but their actualities were at that moment in exist¬
ence somewhere in the world.

The time that my dream self first appeared to me and
explained itself (apparently I was for the moment dream¬
ing) it was as insubstantial as a dim blue smoke, and I
saw the furniture through it, but it was dressed in my
customary clothes.

He does not stick to his text—not altogether—
as who can in any attempt to elucidate the shades
of difference between under-conscious and semi¬
conscious dream personalities—our various and
multiple selves? In the last paragraph we feel
a touch of fiction, seldom entirely lacking with
him, however much he tried to stick to the literal
relation. Very likely he felt this himself, and so
ended in this incomplete fashion.

Vienna, Jan. 19, ’98. Tonight drove out to Leschetizk/s
house (wife and Clara along) to attend one of the fort¬
nightly meetings of his piano class. About 25 of his great
multitude of people present. The master sat at one piano,

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and each of his seven pupils in turn sat at the other. It
was a wonderful performance. Young Voss, a handsome
American, carried off the honors by a little. Now and
then the master would let fly a rebuke, and play a passage
as a pupil had played it, then play it as it ought to have
been played. Beautiful as the pupil’s work had been, the
superior splendor of the master’s touch was immediately
recognizable. He gave one young lady a devastating
dressing down—poured out wrath, criticism, sarcasm and
humor upon her in a flood for ten—no, as much as twelve
minutes. He is a most capable and felicitous talker—was
born for an orator, I think. What life, energy, fire in a
man past 70! And how he does play! He is easily the
greatest pianist in the world. He is just as great and just
as capable today as ever he was.

Last night, at dinner with us, he did all the talking for
three hours, and everybody was glad to let him. He told
us his experiences as a revolutionist fifty years ago, in ’48;
and his battle pictures were magnificently worded. Potzl
had never heard him before. He is a talker himself, and a
good one, but he merely sat silent and gazed across the
table at this inspired man, and drank in his words, and
let his eyes fill and the blood come and go in his face and
never said a word.

Among those who came to Mark Twain’s
apartment in Vienna was Ossip Gabrilowitsch,
then a pupil of Leschetizky—less than a dozen
years later to become the husband of Clara
Clemens. In an article in the New York Times ,
last year (1930)—“Memoirs of Leschetizky”—
Gabrilowitsch wrote:

“The Clemens drawing-room in Vienna was a rendez¬
vous for distinguished men and women of all types and
nationalities. Clara enjoyed great popularity in musical
and social circles; and I was by no means the only young

353

MARK TWAIN

man in Vienna whose head was turned and whose heart
sorely needed mending. ‘Leschy, 5 with his usual keen¬
ness, quickly sized up the situation and made a witty
remark to a group of young fellows gathered about him:
‘Boys/ he said, ‘it seems to me that you are all suffering
from the same trouble—“Delirium Clemens.” 9

“Such little sallies of wit often flashed out in Leschet-
izky 5 s remarks. He was a brilliant conversationalist, an
engrossing story-teller and a mimic whose powers would
have carried him far in the theatrical profession. He
uttered many an epigram which his auditors cherished.”

Wednesday, Feb. 2. Our wedding anniversary—-28
years married. The first sorrow came in the first year—
the death of Livy 5 s father. Our Susy died Aug. 18, *96—
the cloud is permanent now.

Feb. 4. Our betrothal day.

At the lecture the other night, Madame de Laschowska
introduced us to Her Royal Highness Countess Bardi, a
Princess of the Portuguese Royal House by marriage,
sister to the Austrian Archduchess Marie Theresa (widow
of the Archduke Ludwig, and mother to the Archduke
Otto, heir to the Imperial throne). The Countess Bardi
was very cordial—very beautiful, too, in both body and
spirit—and so we took counsel of the wise and the know¬
ing, and learned that it would be proper etiquette for us
to drive to the Palace between 12 and 2 today and write
our names in her visitors 5 book in the portier’s office.

So we drove there; got by the sentinels without acci¬
dent, and told the finely uniformed portier what our
errand was. He said:

“You are Americans?”

“Yes. 55

“You are expected. Her Royal Highness is out, but she
will be in in a minute. 55

354

MARK TWAIN

oil-painted lake scene which fascinated me, my mind was
so luxuriously busy imagining what was going to happen.
And I had one deep, deep, regret—that Howells was not
there—there to fill the occasion with colossal blunders
and make it too funny for this world! Howells or Rev.
Twichell—or both. However, with three born blunder-
makers together, perhaps that would have been too much.

I imagined the Princess coming home and finding that
a couple of innocent wild Americans, who were meaning
no harm, had been mistaken for somebody who was
really expected, and had gotten themselves into a situa¬
tion common to the mendacious stage, but wholly impos¬
sible in real life. I knew that the ordinary princess of
books and the stage would have no difficulty in dealing
with this matter—it would be quite civil: order up the
sentinel and clear these foolish intruders out. But this
was not that kind of a princess—she was made of finer
fiber than that. Her first thought would be, how to get
us out of there without humiliating us. She would be
troubled now; and the sorrowful comedy would be ex¬
haustively complete and perfect all around. How would
she proceed? I set myself the pleasant entertainment
of ciphering that out. I said to myself, “In the first place,
she . .

And then she came in! And I got no further with my
plot. But I could have ciphered it out—I know it With
her came her sister the Archduchess—eloquent, deep eyes,
and the face a book where the records of a right heart
are clearly written. She had suffered a bereavement and
if I had had more German at my command, there was a
subject which was close to my heart! Her daughters were
with her, and also the children of her sister—that princess
who assists her husband in his noble work of affording
relief to people whose eyes have suffered from disease.
It was a splendid pleasure to be this close to that prince
and his princess, whom I have so long held in such deep

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honor and reverence. To relieve pain—that is an exalted
office; and when a prince does it, and doesn’t need to do
it, it makes the princely dignity ideal.

It was a charming twenty minutes we spent there. There
are princes which I cast in the Echte (genuine) princely
mold, and they make me regret—again—that I am not a
prince myself. It is not a new regret but a very old one.
I have never been properly and humbly satisfied with my
condition. I am a democrat only on principle, not by in¬
stinct—nobody is that . Doubtless some people say they
are, but this world is grievously given to lying.

When we got back home we found out that we were
the Americans who were expected, after all—but at two
o’clock, not 12:30. But no matter, nothing could have
improved the episode. I was sure we were the wrong ones,
but there was nothing to make me sorry it had happened.

At the hotel they found a written invitation
for them to come to the Palace. Mark Twain
appears to have entirely forgotten how rabidly
democratic he had been when writing of King
Arthur’s Court, some ten years earlier.

March 18, ’98. On the 15th I heard by accident, through
a chance remark of Miss Levitus, that the American
patents on Szczepanik’s designing-machine were not sold.
I sent a note at once to Miss Levitus and asked her to
arrange an interview for next night, here in the Hotel
Metropole, in our room. I spent the 16th in gathering
American statistics at our Consulate-General (the young¬
est were 18 years old) and British ones, through Mr.
Wm. Lavino, correspondent of the London Times: he got
others for me by telephoning the British Consul.

I ciphered on the date and wrote eleven pages of ques¬
tions; and when the inventor and his capitalist arrived
at nine with Miss Levitus and Dr. Winternitz, I was
ready for business and rich with my new learning. My

357

MARK TWAIN

extraordinary familiarity with the subject paralyzed the
banker for a while, for he was merely expecting to find a
humorist, not a commercial cyclopedia—but he recov¬
ered presently.

We talked till midnight and then parted: I to think
over the data and the price, $1,500,000, and we to meet
again at 4 P.M. today. By breakfast time I had thought
it over sufficiently; so that I sent word and Mr. Klein-
berg came and we entered into an agreement.

He could never resist a patent right. This one
—a designing-machine to be used in the manu¬
facture of carpets, etc., was particularly alluring.
Again the air was full of gold—even the type¬
setter had never held out such prospects as this.

The whole industry of carpet-making was to be
revolutionized. When he had his option prop¬
erly signed, sealed and delivered, he accounted
himself a billionaire. In his notebook he writes
that when a certain Mr. Wood representing
American carpet interests called and inquired
how much he would take for his option, he
could not think of a price big enough.

I declined and got away from the subject. I was afraid
he would offer me half a million dollars for it. I should
have been obliged to take it. But I was born with a specu¬
lative instinct and I did not want that temptation put
in my way.

Wood said he knew but one man in Vienna—had met
him some years ago in Constantinople—Major X—an
American gentleman who has served in the Austrian Cav¬
alry 32 years. He had taken the Major along as inter¬
preter, when he had his talk with Mr. Kleinberg this
morning. And now I find that Major X is to be one of the
guests who I am to meet at Dr. Otis’s tonight. It is a
small world.

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A small world, and a peculiar one. Perhaps
there was nothing suspicious in the facts of Mr.
Wood’s slight acquaintance in Vienna and Major
X’s presence at the dinner—perhaps Mr. Wood
really did contemplate taking over the option,
but there is something in it all that suggests an
“arrangement”—the kind of arrangement that
suggests Paige.

I wrote all about the Option to Mr. H. H. Rogers (re¬
serving i/io of the eventual stock for myself) Sunday
morning and mailed the letter, to catch the Wednesday
steamer. I asked Mr. Rogers to come over and if he was
not sufficiently impressed he could cable me the word
“London.” I would then try to sell the Option there.
I should expect to succeed.

Apparently Mr. Rogers was not impressed—
even after careful investigation. He did not put
any money into the carpet-designing patent or
permit Mark Twain to do so. The pages of the
notebook glow with matter concerning the in¬
vention, inventors, and the like, for a time, and
then these things are heard of no more. If there
was a fortune to be made from the designer it
escaped him, but more likely he escaped losing
one.

‘The Princess Hohenlohe wishes you to write on her
fan.”

“With pleasure—where is she?”

“At your elbow.”

I turned and took the fan and said:

“Your Highness’s place is in a fairy tale; and by and
by I mean to write that tale.”

Whereat, she laughed, a happy girlish laugh, and we
moved through the crowd to a writing table and to get a

359

MARK TWAIN

stronger light, so that I could see her better. Beautiful
little creature, with the dearest friendly ways and sin¬
cerity, and simplicity, and sweetnesses—the ideal princess
of the fairy tales. She is 16 or 17, I judge.

Kaltenleutgeben, May 27, ’98.

We have some insane customs, of course. All countries
have insane customs. The stranger notices that they are
insane—the native doesn’t; he is used to them, hardened
to them, they are matters of course to him. In Vienna
when you take a flat you pay the rent twice a year in
advance. In the country when you take a villa you pay
the whole year in advance. “It may burn down the first
night,” you say, “what then?” The proprietor answers—
“I have other houses; you can have one of those.”

“It would not suit; we examined every house in the
place—there is not another house that would begin to suit.”

“I should do the best I could for you.”

“The best you could do would be a long way from
satisfactory.”

“One can but do one’s best.”

“You don’t suggest refunding the money.”

“It is not the custom.”

“When a man comes to the cure, he knows his term is
six weeks, and he must be under the doctor’s advice
all the time. Does the doctor collect the whole fee in
advance?”

“Oh, no.”

“Why not?”

“The man—”

“Go on. You were going to say the man might die the
first day.”

“Yes.”

“Just as the house might burn down.”

The Being who to me is the real God is the One who

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created this majestic universe and rules it. He is the only
Originator, the only originator of thoughts; thoughts sug¬
gested from within not from without; the originator of
colors and of all their possible combinations; of forces
and the laws that govern them; of forms and shapes of
all forms. Man has never invented a new one; He is the
only Originator—He made the materials of all things; He
made the laws by which and by which only, man may
combine them into machines and other things which out¬
side influence may suggest to him. He made character—
man can portray it but not “create” it, for He is the only
Creator.

He is the perfect artisan, the perfect artist. Everything
which he has made is fine, everything which he has made
is beautiful; nothing coarse, nothing ugly has ever come
from His hand. Even His materials are all delicate, none
of them is coarse. The materials of the leaf, the flower,
the fruit; of the insect, the elephant, the man; of the
earth, the crags and the ocean; of the snow, the hoar¬
frost and the ice—may be reduced to infinitesimal par¬
ticles and they are still delicate, still faultless; whether
He makes a gnat, a bird, a horse, a plain, a forest, a
mountain range, a planet, a constellation, or a diatom
whose form the keenest eye in the world cannot perceive,
it is all one—He makes it utterly and minutely perfect
in form, and construction. The diatom which is invisible
to the eye on the point of a needle is graceful and beau¬
tiful in form and in the minute exquisite elaboration of
its parts it is a wonder. The contemplation of it moves
one to something of the same awe and reverence which
the march of the comets through their billion mile orbits
compels.

This is indeed a God! He is not jealous, trivial, ignorant,
revengeful—it is impossible. He has personal dignity—
dignity answerable to his grandeur, his greatness, his
might, his sublimity; He cares nothing for men’s flatteries,

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MARK TWAIN

compliments, praises, prayers; it is impossible that he
should value them, impossible that he should listen to
them, these mouthings of microbes. He is not ignorant,
He does not mistake His myriad great suns, swimming
in the measureless ocean of space for tallow candles hung
in the roof to light this forgotten potato which we call the
Earth, and name His footstool. He cannot see it except
under His microscope. The shadow does not go back on
His dial—it is against His law; His sun does not stand
still on Gibeon to accommodate a worm out on a raid
against other worms—it is against His law. His real char¬
acter is written in plain words in His real Bible, which is
Nature and her history; we read it every day, and we
could understand it and trust in it if we would burn the
spurious one and dig the remains of our insignificant rea¬
soning faculties out of the grave where that and other
man-made Bibles have buried them for 2000 years and
more.

The Bible of Nature tells us no word about any future
life, but only about this present one. It does not promise
a future life; it does not even vaguely indicate one. It is
not intended as a message to us, any more than the
scientist intends a message to surviving microbes when
he boils the life out of a billion of them in a thimble.
The microbes discover a message in it; this is certain—
if they have a pulpit.

The Book of Nature tells us distinctly that God cares
not a rap for us—nor for any living creature. It tells us
that His laws inflict pain and suffering and sorrow, but
it does not say that this is done in order that He may get
pleasure out of this misery. We do not know what the
object is, for the Book is not able to tell us. It may be
mere indifference. Without a doubt He had an object, but
we have no way of discovering what it was. The scientist
has an object, but it is not the joy of inflicting pain upon
the microbe.

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The Law of the Distribution of Comfort and Pain
shows an entire absence of sentimental justice. The pro¬
portion of punishments to the size of the infractions has
been ignored; this again shows the absence of anything
representing sentimental justice. I knew an unspeakable
villain who was born rich, remained rich, was never ill a
day, never had a bone broken, led a joyous life till 80,
then died a painless death by apoplexy. I knew a man
who when in his second year in college jumped into an
ice-cold stream when he was overheated and rescued a
priest of God from drowning; suffered partial paralysis,
lay in his bed 38 years, unable to speak, unable to feed
himself, unable to write; not even the small charity of
quenching his mind was doled out to him—he lay and
thought and brooded and mourned and begged for death
38 years. There are no laws founded upon sentimental
justice; the laws are all hard and fast. If it so happen
that you are just in the right condition to bring on 38
years of paralysis by a sudden cold bath, that is what
the bath will produce—no allowance will be made even
if you take the bath to save the Virgin Mary.

June 11, ’98. Clara’s birthday three days ago. Not a
reference to it has been made by any member of the
family in my hearing; no presents, no congratulations,
no celebrations. Up to a year and ten months ago all our
birthdays from the beginning of the family life were an¬
nually celebrated with loving preparations followed by
a joyous and jovial outpouring of thanksgivings. The
birthdays were milestones on the march of happiness.
Then Susy died. All anniversaries of whatever sort per¬
ished with her. As we pass them now they are only grave¬
stones. We cannot keep from seeing them as we go by
but we can keep silent about them and look the other way
and put them out of memory as they sink out of sight
behind us.

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MARK TWAIN

The Lost Sweetheart

I was 22 when I met her and she 16. It was in a dream.

Go on with the story. Meetings extended over years.
Both are as young as ever, always. First time she jumps
across a brook ahead, and when I am about to follow a
steamboat rushes along and when it gets by she has
vanished and the brook is a mile wide. Put in such things.

Aug. 4, ’98. Finished “My Platonic Sweetheart” a day
or so ago.

This was the story outlined as the Lost Sweet¬
heart—a lovely dream fancy, published in Har¬
per’s Magazine two years after his death, and now
included in his collected works.

Aug. 7, ’98. I think a few monarchs have died here
and there during the past year, I do not remember. It
made a great silence. Bismarck has been dead five or
six days now, but the reverberatings from that mighty
fall still go quaking and thundering around the planet.

If a king should jump overboard from a ship and save a
life, it would last in history ten thousand years. A sailor
who should jump over and save a ham would risk his
life, be just as heroic and would be moved by the same
impulse.

For man to risk his life (and lose it) for the sake of a
friend, a child, a battalion, a king, a country, is no large
matter, it has been done a billion times, it is done every
day by firemen and by soldiers at $8 a month (1898).
For a God to take three days on a Cross out of a life of
eternal happiness and mastership of the universe is a
service which the least among us would be glad to do
upon the like terms. The world’s population is 1,500,000,-
000; if the offer was made there would be 1,500,000,000

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takers. Charlotte Corday—she risked and got, hell—as
she believed.

No man that ever lived has ever done a thing to please
God—primarily. It was done to please himself, then God
next.

A man’s brain (intellect) is stored powder; it cannot
touch itself off; the fire must come from the outside.

Aug. io, ’98. Last night dreamed of a whaling cruise
in a drop of water. Not by microscope, but actually. This
would mean a reduction of the participants to a minute¬
ness which would make them nearly invisible to God, and
He wouldn’t be interested in them any longer.

Lying thinking about this, concluded to write a dispute
between a microscope and a telescope—one can pull a
moral out of that.

The lowest form of the embarrassed laugh is when
you do it when soliloquizing; when you use it involun¬
tarily—to cover a naked and poor remark made to a
person who is present in your imagination only. (I wish
the word “only” was in hell.)

Sept. 10. News came at 6 P.M. that the Empress was
assassinated at Geneva, just after noon.

Sept. 17. Friday—funeral of the Empress—in the
church opposite the Hotel Kranz windows. [That is, those
of Mark Twain’s apartment—season 1898-99.]

THE BELLS.

At twelve noon the little square was suddenly emptied.

At 1:05 building the fence—with soldiers—a wall of
them, elbow to elbow, double rank, against every side-

365

MARK TWAIN

walk, and a double rank across the square in front of
the Kranz. Done in three minutes.

Sanding the street in front of the plain little white
village church of the Capuchins—white plastered, its only
ornament a statue of a monk in a niche.

Officers of all breeds drifting about on business and
some in black cloaks and caps with a single feather (long)
sticking up, otherwise gorgeous. In other cases with much
gold and a paint-brush plume, some like a tall delicate
puff of steam. Long black cloaks, silver cross on them.
Wagons arriving with flower wreaths. Many picturesque
Hungarian costumes.

Three Archdukes below on balcony. No noise of hoofs.
All traffic shut off at two.

Vast windows of a corner store, with people in masses
behind them, balconies overflowing. People in windows
dim like folk under water.

All the military movements beautifully done—

Knights of Malta—beautiful red uniform—a broad
white cross covering breast and a gush of white plumes.
Here one sees the Golden Fleece, 1431. No end of coach¬
men and footmen in black cocked hats and mourning.

At 2:30 a long black wagon with six mourning servants
—something taken out and carried in—wish I knew what
it was.

On this side of the middle of the square I see none but
a great crowd of uniforms—no civilians, only officers.
This space is fenced off by oblong double fence of soldiers.

2:40. Small procession of bare-headed monks, the
head one with a white shirt and a cross.

Not many smoking today.

Display of mourning not great. Ladies generally in
black.

2:45. Carriages passing in a continuous stream.

A Cardinal in purple with two attendants arrives and
enters.

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Dress these people differently (Church all right) and
it is a funeral in Hannibal, fifty years ago. For evidently
all these gorgeous folk know each other from babyhood—
greet, kindly and cordially.

3:05. It is a fine picture now—a solid mass of blue and
green and gold with that splotch of stunning red and
white and gold in front of church.

1600 years ago the Emperor Marcus Aurelius died
here—it was a Roman Camp then, and the country had
been under the Roman Dominion something over 400,
possibly 600, years.

3:58. An interval. The crowd waiting.

Pause—waiting.

(I suppose that no one past 45 attaches high value to
his life, but would not like to have it taken in a horrible
way.)

Essentially, nobilities are foolishnesses, but if I were
a citizen where they prevail I would do my best to get
a title, for the consideration it furnishes—that is what we
want. In Republics we strive for it with the surest means
we have—money.

4:12. The procession is coming—cavalry, four abreast,
to spread the crowd apart—25 men.

Great body of Lancers—blue, and gilt helmets. Hardly
a sound of hoofs.

Three 6-horse mourning coaches. Outriders and coach¬
men in cocked hats and white wigs. Troops in red, gold
and white—splendid.

The hearse—eight black horses, plumed—all uncover.
The military salute. Drums. Hungarian bodyguard with
leopard skins.

Candles.

The little coffin borne in.

That scalawag caused it.

The crowd has surged together. Solid. Splendid mass
of color.

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MARK TWAIN

Maria Theresa and Duke of Reinchstadt lie in that
litde church-vault, and others of the family.

4:45. Coming out of the church.

Who is the principal? The guilty one? This man? No-^
Militarism, which burdens and impoverishes and mad¬
dens. Royalty is itself the Empress’ murderer before
the fact.

He “always intended to kill a queen.”

They have shown him his photograph: “Henceforth I
shall be celebrated.”

Imprison for life. It is severer than death.

Celebrity was what he wanted, at any cost.

Everywhere are people glad to be able to say they
knew him—vain of it. If you and I had known him we
should tell about it—and at bottom this would be vanity.

The gypsy who told her at 13 she would ascend a
throne, suffer hard blows and die a violent death.

Emperor William lays it on the Lord, but it was Mili¬
tarism. Williams says “so ordained from Above.” It is no
compliment to God. The remark acquits the prisoner. No
different meaning can be given it. It was always a fool
remark—for, if God does a thing His agent is guiltless
and by no logic can he be made responsible.

But we are all insane, anyway.

Note the mountain-climbers.

The suicide seems to me the only sane person.

If it is a crime, “ordaining it from On High” leaves it
a crime. It is God’s crime. The agent is secondary. When
people lay it on God they should forebear to call it a
crime. But William calls it “a deed unparalleled for ruth-
lessness.” Queer!

From the material collected that day he made
an article on the assassination of the Empress,
now included in his collected works.

Sept. 21. Mental Telegraphy.

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Mrs. Clemens was pouring the coffee this morning: I
unfolded the Neue Freiepresse, began to read a paragraph
and said—

“They have found a new way to tell genuine gems
from false-”

“By the Roentgen Ray,” she exclaimed.

That is what I was going to say. She had not seen the
paper and there had been no talk about the ray, or gems,
by herself or by me. It was a plain case of telegraphy.

Story of little Satan Jr. who came to Hannibal, went
to school, was popular and greatly liked by those who
knew his secret. The others were jealous and the girls
didn’t like him because he smelled of brimstone. He was
always doing miracles—his pals knew they were miracles,
the others thought they were mysteries.

This is a more definite hint of the story of
The Mysterious Stranger which he presently
began and partly finished, in three different
forms. Just when he finished it is not certain.

The writer of these lines recalls a day in 1909
when Mark Twain, pointing to a drawer con¬
taining some manuscripts, said: “There are a few
things there which might be published, if I could
finish them; but I shall never do it, now. There
is one, The Mysterious Stranger , that I could
finish very easily, almost any time. Perhaps I
shall do that one, and then some day you can
get it in shape for publication.” He died the fol¬
lowing April. So far as I then knew he had not
added anything to the story, which it seemed he
had undertaken in several forms. But two or three
years later, among some loose papers, I found
that amazing final chapter, of the best version,
probably written (and forgotten, for his mem¬
ory had become very uncertain) about the time

369

MARK TWAIN

of our conversation. The story was published
serially in Harper’s Magazine, and later in book
form. It has been called his literary “high-water
mark.”

March 14, ’99. Received letter from Mr. Rogers. Last
sale (of stocks) brought $3586. Total in his hands $5x995.
Brooklyn Gas is up to $155—cost us $75.

March 23, ’99. Budapest. Speech at Jubilee of Emanci¬
pation of the Hungarian Press. Banquet.

370

CHAPTER XXXII

England Again

The Clemens family spent some months in
Sweden (summer of 1899), then located in Lon¬
don (30 Wellington Court—later at Dollis Hill)
for the remainder of their European sojourn.

True love is the only heart disease that is best left to
“run on.”—The only affection of the heart for which
there is no help, and none desired.

Happiness is a Swedish sunset—it is there for all, but
most of us look the other way and lose it.

Portions of a Speech delivered at the
Savage Club, London

Fellow Savages: It is 27 years since I was here before.
Some of you have grown gray since then, others bald-
headed. I was six feet four then—now five feet and
daily diminishing in altitude. Also ifc principles—the
shrinkage still goes on. I have not professionally dealt in
truth. Many when they come to die have spent all the
truth that was in them, and enter the next world as
paupers. I have saved up enough to make an astonish¬
ment there.

I recognize changes. Irving was here then—is here now
—may he long abide. Hyde Park was only half as large
as it is now. The shilling was only half as big as it is, but
you could buy twice as much with it. Since then you have
borrowed our telephone, phonograph, and some other

3 7i

MARK TWAIN

necessaries of life and we have borrowed your perfecting
press. Stanley is here, and Douglas Straight; but Charles
Reade is gone and Tom Hood and Harry Lee, and Canon
Kingsley. Stanley was only the creator of Africa then, the
comrade of kings, the admiration of the world—now he is
G.C.B. In those days you could have carried Kipling
around in his lunch-basket—now he fills the world.

I was young and foolish then—now I am old and
foolisher. My hair was as the lurid crimson of the sun-
now it has paled to the cold gray of the dawn.

These are merely notes that he made for a
speech he was to deliver and did deliver, a day or
two later!

Greeting to iqoo

The 20th Century is a stranger to me—I wish it well
but my heart is all for my own century. I took 65 years
of it, just on a risk, but if I had known as much about it
as I know now I would have taken the whole of it.

There are no wild animals till man makes them so.

To the pure all things are impure.

Relief of Mafeking. The news came at 9:17 P.M. Before
ten all London was in the streets gone mad with joy. By
then the news was all over the American continent.

Speech at Lotos

Thank my 95 creditors only one of whom was a Shy-
lock.

Irving Underhill wants to pay me $500—owing seven
years. Cannot allow it. He has had a hard time.

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Offered $10,000 a year to edit Judge—the labor re¬
quired estimated at “one hour of my time per week.” Can’t
accept.

Mailed letters to William M. Clemens, P.O. Box 1716,
N.Y. and the Bowen Merrill Co. Indianapolis, warning
them not to issue those books.

“Those books” were copies of a biography of
Mark Twain, prepared by W. M. Clemens
against Mark Twain’s wishes. This Clemens,
known as a “nephew” or “cousin” of Mark
Twain’s, was neither: or, if the latter, the degree
of cousinship was very remote.

When you climb the hill of happiness may you never
meet a friend.

Drove out to Dollis Hill (4:35 to 5:10) in the rain¬
storm and took possession. It is certainly the dirtiest
dwelling-house in Europe—perhaps in the universe.

This was a furnished house just outside of
London, taken for the summer of 1900. It was
at one time a favorite retreat for Gladstone, and
the place, today public property, is now called
“Gladstone Park.”

He loved Dollis Hill, once he was established,
and left it with regret.

Better sixty days of Dollis than a cycle of Cathay.

373

CHAPTER XXXIII

Back in America

Oct. 14, 1900, Sunday noon. About 500 miles to make.
A spacious ship and most comfortable. Rides the seas
level, hardly any motion, no seasickness aboard. No table
racks.

The Mark Twain party had left Dollis Hill
early in October, sailing on the 6th, for America
by the steamer Minnehaha, arriving October
15, after a foreign residence of more than nine
years.

M.H. has gradually six bastards put upon him by the
courts, some on no good evidence but his lecherous char¬
acter. Then dies and turns out to be a woman.

April 17. In N. Y. in 1895 when I was 60, Cheiro the
palmist told me that I should become very wealthy in my
68th year. I was a bankrupt and heavily in debt at the
time and I properly thanked him. He said it again in Lon¬
don, two years afterward and I properly thanked him
again. Shall I be able to complete my thanks next year?
If not can I sue him for breach of promise?

Name the greatest of all the inventors: Accident.

Story of the coward who did one stupendously brave
deed—and then had to go on all his life in like manner to
live up to his reputation. His monument “To the bravest

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of the brave” moves his old friends to reveal his secret to
me, a stranger.

He could not resist from investing in doubtful
enterprises. The next entry supports this.

Jan. 9, 1902. 200 shares stock in the Booklovers Library
—half to Jean and half to Clara. —Will arrive presently.

Wednesday June 4. Columbia, Mo. University de¬
gree LL.D.

He made the trip to Hannibal and to Columbia,
for the degree, but this is his only note of it. For a
fuller account see “Mark Twain—a Biography,”
Chapter CCXXI.

Thursday Aug. 2. Dined at the deEste Villa, York Har¬
bor, Maine, guest of John Cadwalader of Philadelphia.
An incident related.

Chief Justice John Marshall died in Phila. in 1835, aged
80. Meeting of Bar asked for one dollar from each lawyer
in America, for a monument. Dollars came in fast at first,
then interest perished, with $900 collected. The trustee
invested it in safe securities; reinvesting when they fell
in; always investing the little dabs of interest. He died in
1880, and Mr. Cadwalader was executor of the old law¬
yer’s will. Among a carefully kept mass of ancient papers
he found everything connected with the matter (now long
ago forgotten). He was able to put his hand at once upon
every dollar. The $900 had grown to $45000.

No one knew of this secret. At the next important meet¬
ing of the Bar Mr. C. rose to reveal it, but Mr. Daugherty
rose at the same time. In deference to his great fame and
character Mr. C. yielded the floor. D. said— cc Mr. Chair¬
man, there is no monument to the greatest legal light, etc.,
while there are monuments to inconsequential men. Before
another word is uttered here we must remove this stain.

375

MARK TWAIN

The Bar of America must at once raise money, etc”
(Applause)

Then Mr. C. got up and told his beautiful secret.

Aug. ii. The Queen of Roumanian friend was here.

Tuesday Aug. 12, 1902. At 7 A.M. Livy taken vio¬
lently ill. Telephoned, and Dr. Lambert was here in half
an hour. She could not breath—was likely to stifle. Also
she had severe palpitation. She believed she was dying. I
also believed it.

August 25. Livy’s illness hangs on and on from day to
day and there is never any great improvement—never
anything to rouse us and make us jubilant.

Wednesday, Sept. 3. Always Mr. Rogers keeps his yacht
(Kanawha) in commission and ready to fly here and take
us to Riverdale on telegraphic notice.

Tuesday Sept. 9. Livy getting along pretty well, though
it is a case of up and down, and down and up, no certainty
about it.

Cadwalader. Precepts and principles for a New Re¬
ligion: Having for its base God and Man as they are, and
not as the elaborately masked and disguised artificialities
they are represented to be in most philosophies and in
all religions.

Corrected original ms. of “Heaven and Hell” and mailed
it. Jean is typing “The Belated Russian Passport.”

Sept. 18, 1902. Telegram from Duneka: 1 “Thank you
very much for Heaven or Hell. It is great. Have you sent

1 Frederick A. Duneka, general manager of Harper & Brothers,
New York City.

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Russian Passport yet? If not won’t you please?” (Am
mailing it to him now).

Sept. 20. Letter yesterday from Mr. Appleton. We can
have Riverdale House till April, at $250 a month, and from
Munsey at same rate to June 1—and maybe a month
longer, Munsey thinks.

Monday Sept. 22. Our dear prisoner is where she is
through overwork—day and night devoted to the children
and me.

Wednesday 24. Dr. Allen came yesterday and raised
our spirits. A marked change followed. Dr. Putnam this
morning said no sort of reason she should not become as
well as before. He ordered nurse and she came. Recovery
begun. Very briskly.

During nearly two years their hopes would rise
and fall, almost daily.

We are a drifting ship without a captain. We survive
by accident.

Thursday, 25th. Lunch. Mrs. Mercer’s, to meet Mrs.
Bell and a Mrs. Pratt. I could not make the arrangement
positive (later I went).

Helmer (osteopath) came from Vermont. Gave Livy a
severe treatment—left her sore and lame, and she slept
but little, the night. She is weak and frail but she has
been that for 45 days.

Again banished from the house, last night. By the new
nurse. She allows no one in the sickroom, day and night,
but herself. If we had had her in the beginning Livy
would be well now.

(Added note, three weeks later: Too sudden a verdict.
The above nurse turned out to be mechanically competent
(rule of thumb), but vain, silly, self-important, untrust-

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MARK TWAIN

worthy, a most thorough fool, and a liar by instinct and
training. I discharged her Oct. 23.)

Yesterday went to Boston, with Howells, and completed
railroad arrangements, as follows:—

Invalid car from York Harbor to Riverdale without
change. Time 8:45 A.M. (York) 5:40 P.M. Grand Cen¬
tral; about 6, Riverdale.

Oct. 16. Yesterday we left York in a special invalid car
at 8:45 and came through to Riverdale without delay or
change in 9J4 hours. Special locomotive at both ends.

Nov. 25. Julie’s wedding.

This was the marriage of Julia Langdon, Mrs.
Clemens’ niece, to Edward E. Loomis, today
(1931) president of the Lehigh Valley Railroad.

Nov. 27. Livy’s birthday.

Dec. 23, 1902. Jean was hit with a chill. Clara was com¬
pleting her watch in her mother’s room and there was no
one able to force Jean to go to bed. As a result she is
pretty ill today. Fever and high temperature.

Dec. 28. It was pneumonia. For five days Jean’s tem¬
perature ranged between 103 and 104 2/5, when it got
down to 101. She looks like an escaped survivor in a forest
fire.

Sunday evening. For six days now my story in the
Christmas Harper (“Was it Heaven or Hell”) has been
enacted in this house: every day Clara and the nurses
have lied about Jean to her mother—describing the fine
time she is having out of doors in the winter sports.

It is not easy to picture that afflicted house¬
hold, or the state of Mark Twain’s mind during
this period. Forbidden by doctor and nurse to
see Mrs. Clemens, he was like a soul in purga-

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tory. He often sat outside her door or pushed
little notes under it.

Dec. 30. 2:40 P.M. Saw Livy five minutes by the
watch.—The first time in more than three months. A
splendid five minutes.

Jean passed what the nurse called a splendid night and
is doing well. The doctor stayed all night.

One of the proofs of the immortality of the soul is that
myriads have believed it. They also believed the world
was flat.

The gods offer no rewards for intellect. There was
never one yet that showed any interest in it. Which is
singular, for they themselves have possessed it, some of
them in a considerable degree; not transcending the
human limit in any instance, but quite often reaching it.

What is the difference between a taxidermist and a tax
collector? The taxidermist takes only your skin.

To create man was a fine and original idea; but to add
the sheep was tautology.

None of us can be as great as God, but any of us can
be as good.

All gods are better than their conduct.

Only he who has seen better days and lives to see better
days again knows their full value.

Circumstances make man, not man circumstances.

You must not pay a person a compliment and then
straightway follow it with a criticism.

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MARK TWAIN

Do not offer a compliment and ask a favor at the same
time. A compliment that is charged for is not valuable.

The man who is a pessimist before 48 knows too much-
if he is an optimist after it, he knows too little.

On the whole it is better to deserve honors and not have
them than to have them and not deserve them.

The human race consists of the dangerously insane and
such as are not.

The time to begin writing an article is when you have
finished it to your satisfaction. By that time you begin to
clearly and logically perceive what it is that you really
want to say.

Cheiro’s prophecy fulfilled
End of 1902

My cash income from my books for 1902 was #60,000
(both publishers). Cash from all sources something over
#100,000.

Jan. 1, 1903. Saw Livy again. Am to see her five min¬
utes every day if she continues to improve.

Feb. 2, 1903. 33d wedding anniversary. I was allowed
to see Livy five minutes this morning in honor of the day.
She makes but little progress toward recovery; still there
is certainly some —we are sure.

The time in St. Louis, in ’53, age 17J4 that I took the
shy pretty girl from up country to Ben de Bar’s theater,
and had on new 6’s when my number was 7, and slipped
them off and couldn’t get them on again, and walked

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home with them under my arm—white sox, and it was
raining.

We may not doubt that society in heaven consists mainly
of undesirable persons.

Thursday March 19. Susy’s birthday. She would be 31,
now.

The Prophecy

In 1895 Cheiro, the palmist, examined my hand and
said that in my 68th year (1903), I would become sud¬
denly rich. I was bankrupt and $94,000 in debt at the
time, through the failure of Chas. L. Webster & Co. Two
years later—in London—Cheiro repeated this long-dis¬
tance prediction and added that the riches would come
from a quite unexpected source. I am superstitious. I kept
the prediction in mind and often thought of it. When at
last it came true, Oct. 22, 1903, there was but a month
and nine days to spare.

The contract signed that day concentrates all my books
in Harpers’ hands and now at last they are valuable: in
fact they are a fortune. They guarantee me $25,000 a year
for five years, but they will yield twice as much as that
for many a year, if intelligently handled.

Adam, man’s benefactor—he gave him all he has ever
received that was worth having—Death.

May 23 ’03. Martyrdom covers a multitude 'of sins.

Man was made at the end of the week’s work, when
God was tired.

Only one thing is impossible for God: to find any sense
in any copyright law on the planet.

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MARK TWAIN

Whenever a copyright law is to be made or altered, then
the idiots assemble.

Wednesday July x ’03. The yacht sailed with us at
9 A.M. [from Riverdale] reached the D.L. & W. pier 9:45.
—Mr. and Mrs. Rogers were on board. Refreshing sail, but
railroad journey suffocating and awful. We got to the farm
(Elmira) about 6 P.M. Cool and pleasant here.

July 2. Livy weak and exhausted from the journey. Mel¬
ancholy and homesick.

Saturday Oct 3. Monday we leave for N.Y. Oct. 24
we sail for Italy. Today I placed flowers on Susy’s grave
for the last time, probably; and read the words—“Good
Night, Dear Heart, Good Night.”

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CHAPTER XXXIV

Italy Agam

Oct. 24, 1903. Sailed in the Princess Irene for Genoa
at 11. Flowers and fruits from Mrs. Rogers and Mrs.
Coe. We have with us Katy Leary in our domestic service
22 years and Miss Margaret Sherry (trained nurse).

Mrs. Clemens had happy memories of Flor¬
ence, and believed if she could be there again her
health would improve. Eleven years before they
had spent a winter at the beautiful Villa Viviani,
and her husband had written there a large por¬
tion of his “Joan of Arc,” her favorite of his
works.

Sunday Oct. 25. Heavy storm all night. Only two stew¬
ardesses. Ours served sixty meals in rooms, this morning.

Tuesday Oct. 27. Livy is enduring the voyage mar¬
velously well. As well as Clara and Jean, I think, and far
better than the trained nurse.

3 P.M. She has been out on deck an hour.

Oct. 28. Youth in smoking-chapel talking nursery Ger¬
man in loud voice, to be heard and envied of men.—The
old familiar simple words of the textbook vocabulary,
uttered with painful distinctness. Yet there are those who
say there is no hell.

Thursday Oct. 29. Two men—a giant and a Shetland
pony—also a giraffe, six feet four, tramped the deck after

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MARK TWAIN

midnight, talking loudly. On the port side four sat under
Mrs. Miller’s open port and told unclean anecdotes, in the
national yell, swore, laughed like demons, and sang. The
Captain is going to prevent these freedoms after 11:30
hereafter.

Oct. 30. There should be no first come, take choice, in
location of steamer chairs. The chair space outside of a
stateroom should be the property of the occupant. People
under our port chatter till 11—if these were our chairs we
could have tranquillity, for we retire at 9:30.

In 1894 Harpers Monthly paid me only $75 a page for
Joan of Arc.

Passed the Azores at 8.

Monday. Due at Gibraltar ten days from N.Y., three
days to Naples, then one day to Genoa.

At supper the band played Cavalleria Rusticana (the
Intermezzo) which is forever associated in my mind with
Susy. I love it better than any other, but it breaks my
heart-

Arrived at Gibraltar 7 A.M. Left at 2 P.M. A pest of
flies. Thought they did not have them in Europe.

Saw at Gibraltar Michael Benunes, our guide of 36
years ago—still the most distinguished-looking man in
that town. He took Jackson, Dan, Jack, Miss Newell, and
me, into Spain—all dead now but me, I believe.

NEVER take a promenade-deck room again, at any
price: a madhouse is preferable. Get the Captain’s apart¬
ment or go down cellar, and NEVER travel in an emi¬
grant ship.

Dec. 7 ’03. Villa Quarto, Florence. Miss Margaret
Sherry, Livy’s trained nurse for the past twelve months

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and more, left for America today. We can never forget
her and shall always be grateful to her.

Dec. 22 ’03. “What is so rare as a day in June?” That
is this day, exactly. Brilliant sun, balmy air, heavy with
the odor of roses.

In the early days I was a correspondent and it was a
lucrative respectable industry; but now by merely drop¬
ping an r out of it, it has so lost ground in the public
demand that one can hardly make a living at it.

<

There is no sadder sight than a young pessimist, except
an old optimist.

When one reads Bibles, one is less surprised at what
the Deity knows than at what he doesn’t know.

It is not in the least likely that any life has ever been
lived which was not a failure in the secret judgment of the
person who lived it.

It is not likely that there has ever been a civilized
person 65 years old who would consent to live his life over
again.

If man had created man he would be ashamed of his
performance.

Jan. 1, 1904. Lay abed nearly all day but wrote 3000
words, earning £900.

He took a boyish interest in the calculation of
how much copy he was turning out and what he
would receive for it. Quantity seemed more' im¬
portant to him than quality—in fact he was not
always clear as to the difference.

Jan. 14. Died at Keokuk, Mrs. Orion Clemens.

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MARK TWAIN

Cablegram “Molly died today.” She survived Orion six
years, and was about 78 years old.

Feb. 16. Curious dream last night that our former cook
became frightened and said “The Countess has bitten the
murderous donkey, and it is dead.”

Feb. 22. At midnight Livy’s pulse went to 192 and
there was a collapse. Great alarm. Subcutaneous injection
of brandy saved her.

April 9. Sunday. About ten tonight awful attack—for
more than an hour. Livy struggled for breath. Clara was
in there. Jean and I listened at the door.

April 27. The Gelli portrait for the St. Louis Fair fin¬
ished. It hasn’t a defect.

Livy likes the portrait. It spent the day in her room. It
is mine for sitting for it, therefore it is hers. She requires
that it be brought back here from St. Louis. It will be as
she desires.

May 29. Villa-hunting these many, many days. We
can’t stay in this neighborhood.

English and Americans are foreigners, but in a lesser
degree than is the case with other peoples. Men and
women—even man and wife are foreigners. Each has re¬
serves that the other cannot enter into, nor understand.
These have the effect of frontiers.

Father Stiatlesi has suppressed his fancy cocks and
hens because they disturb Mrs. Clemens. He is the best
man I know.

June 4. I have secured an option on two villas, one at

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115,000 francs, the other at 160,000 francs, cash. But both
of these submitted to Livy, for her decision.

And then the end.

June 5. At a quarter past nine this evening, she that
was the life of my life, passed to the relief of heavenly
peace of death, after 22 months of unjust and unearned
suffering. I first saw her near 37 years ago, and now I
have looked upon her face for the last time. Oh, so un¬
expected !

June 6. At 12:20 P.M. I looked for the last time upon
that dear face—and I was full of remorse for things done
and said in the 34 years of married life that hurt Livy’s
heart.

June 7. We had kept Mrs. Orion Clemens’s death from
Livy. She never learned of it. Later we kept Sir Henry
M. Stanley’s death from her. She died without ever find¬
ing out that a year and a half ago Jean and afterward
Clara passed through serious illnesses under the same roof
with her.

Fifty-four lamenting cablegrams have arrived—from
America, England, France, Austria, Germany, Australia.
Soon the letters will follow. Livy was beloved everywhere.

June 10. Livy’s last gift to the children was a pair of
riding-horses—six or eight weeks ago. Ugo (the butler)
will sail with them for America, from Leghorn, June 22.

June 18. I got up in a chair in my room on the second
floor and lost my balance and almost fell out (the win¬
dow). I don’t know what saved me. The fall would have
killed me; in my bereaved circumstances the world would
have been sure it was suicide.

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MARK TWAIN

June 21. Left the villa. All arrived with the baggage at
the Hotel de la Ville. First day of the sad journey home.

June 26. When we were ready to leave the hotel at
noon Jean was not well enough. We canceled all arrange¬
ments. Wait over till tomorrow at 1:20 P.M.

Our ship is the Prince Oscar. Our dear casket went on
board at Genoa, yesterday.

June 27. Came down to Naples. H6tel du Vesuve, good.
The green tin box (1870) then the two black tin boxes
(1896) all three now succeeded by the plain tin box
(June 1904). After a little who will care for these so hal¬
lowed treasures ?

How all values have shrunken.

June 29. Sailed last night, at ten. The bugle called to
breakfast. I recognized the notes, and was distressed.
When I heard them last Livy heard them with me; now
they fall upon her ears unheeded.

This ship is the Prince Oscar, Hamburg American.

June 30. Clara keeps her bed and cannot bear to see
any strangers.

The weather is beautiful, the sea is smooth and curi¬
ously blue.

In my life there have been 68 Junes—but how vague
and colorless 67 of them are contrasted with the deep
blackness of this one.

July x. I cannot reproduce Livy’s face in my mind’s
eye—I was never in my life able to reproduce a face. It
is a curious infirmity—and now at last I realize that it is
a calamity.

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July 2. In these 34 years we have made many voyages
together, Livy dear, and now we are making our last.
You down below and lonely, I above with the crowd and
lonely.

July 3. Ship time 8 A.M. In 13 J 4 hours it will be four
weeks since Livy died. 31 years ago we made our first
voyage together and this is our last in company. Susy was
a year old then. She died at 24 and has been in her grave
8 years.

July 4. We did not come out of our room during the
day and evening. We were full of memories of other
Fourths.

July 8. A wonderful day. Brilliant sun, brilliant blue
water, strong and delightful breeze. In middle of Gulf
Stream. Temperature of water 73 degrees Fahrenheit.
We had such days in the Indian Ocean, and Livy so en¬
joyed the exaltation of spirits they produced.

July 10. Tonight it will be six weeks. But to me it re¬
mains yesterday as it has from the first. But this funeral
march—how sad and long it is.

Two days more will be the second stage of it.

July 12. Due to finish this melancholy voyage at 7 or
8 this evening.

Smallpox discovered this morning; five cases in steer¬
age; every soul on board being vaccinated.

People who travel in an immigrant ship belong in insane
asylums.

July 13. Orders from President Roosevelt and the Sec¬
retary of the Treasury passed us swiftly ashore and we
went to the hotel with Charlie Langdon and Mr. and Mrs.
Loomis. Mrs. Loomis is my niece by marriage. Loomis is
Vice-President of the D L & W RR and we all go to

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MARK TWAIN

Elmira in his private car tomorrow—taking Rev. J. H.
Twichell of Hartford, who married us.

July 14. Funeral private in the house of Livy’s young
maidenhood. Where she stood as a bride 34 years ago,
there her coffin rested; and over it the same voice that
had made her a wife, then, committed her departed spirit
to God, now. 1

1 For a more detailed account of Mrs. Clemens’ last days from
York Harbor to Florence and of the voyage home, see Chapters
XVII, XVIII, XIX of My Father, Mark Twain, by Clara Clemens,
and Chapters CCXXIII, CCXXVI, CCXXIX to CCXXXI, of Mark
Twain, A Biography.

390

CHAPTER XXXV

Closing Years

July 16. Clara and Teresa (Italian maid) went to the
summer home, Lee, Mass., in the Berkshire Hills.

July 18. At 9:15 I and Ugo, butler (he arrived from
Italy with the horses on Friday) left for Lee and arrived
at 1:07. Jean and Katy left at 3:30 and arrived about 7.

July 22. Clara, sick, heart-broken, unrestful, returned
to N. Y. with Katy to rest awhile with Miss Dr. Parry.

Katy Leary was with Susy when she died in ’96, and
with Livy when she died. She has been in our service 23
years.

July 24. Cold. We built a fire in my room. Then clawed
the logs out and threw water, remembering there is a
brood of swallows in the chimney. The tragedy was
averted.

Lee, Mass. Berkshire Hills, July 31, 1904.

Last night the young people out on a moonlight ride.
Trolley frightened Jean’s horse. Collision. Horse killed.
Rodman Gilder picked Jean up—unconscious; she was
taken to the doctor per the car. Face, nose, side, back,
contused; tendon of left ankle broken.

August 10. New York. Clara here sick—never well since
June 5. Jean is at the summer home in Berkshire Hills,
crippled.

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MARK TWAIN

August ii. Two years ago Livy was stricken at York
Harbor 7 in the morning. From that time until the fatal
5th of June 1904, she never saw a well day.

Sept. 1. Died at Greenwich, Ct. my sister, Pamela
Moffatt, aged about 73. She had been 60 years an invalid.
Death-dates this year: Jan. 14, June 5, Sept. 1.

Oct. 13. Executed my last will.

Now, I have got a word for it when “purring” is a shade
too strong to properly describe that almost undetectable
soft rumbling sound, which you feel rather than hear,
when you press a kitten to your ear. I pressed the kitten
to Clara’s ear and said, “There—now you can hear him
smoldering ”

The only very marked difference between the average
civilized man and the average savage is that the one is
gilded and the other painted.

The critic’s symbol should be the tumble-bug: he de¬
posits his egg in somebody else’s dung, otherwise he could
not hatch it.

The course of free love never runs smooth. I suppose we
have all tried it.

An uneasy conscience is a hair in the mouth.

God, so atrocious in the Old Testament, so attractive in
the New—the Jekyl and Hyde of sacred romance.

Let us so live that when we come to die even the under¬
taker will be sorry.

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The skin of every human being contains a slave.

I am a pretty versatile fool when it comes to contracts,
and business and such things. I have signed a lot of con¬
tracts in my time, and at sometime I probably knew
what the contracts meant, but six months later everything
had grown dim and I could be certain of only two things,
to wit:

One, I didn’t sign any contract.

Two, the contract means the opposite of what it says.

Maxims in the Rough

A miracle is by far the most wonderful and impressive
and awe-inspiring thing we can conceive of, except the
credulity that can take it at par.

There is nothing more impressive than a miracle, ex¬
cept the credulity that can take it at par.

There is nothing more awe-inspiring than a miracle
except the credulity that can take it at par.

None but the dead have free speech.

None but the dead are permitted to speak the truth.

In America—as elsewhere—free speech is confined to
the dead.

The Majority is always in the wrong.

Whenever you find that you are on the side of the
majority, it is time to reform—(or pause and reflect).

Geological time is not money. A pity too; for it would
have abolished poverty from the earth.

Let us adopt geological time, then time being money,
—there will be no more poverty.

We are all missionaries (propagandists of our views).
Each of us disapproves of the other missionaries; in fact

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MARK TWAIN

detests them, as a rule. I am one of the herd myself. It is
noticeable that the professional always uses the one li¬
cense: “Go ye into all the world,” and ignores the Golden
Rule which would restrain him from entering China and
one or two other countries where he is not wanted and is
not welcome.

Man has not a single right which is the product of any¬
thing but might.

Not a single right is indestructible: a new might can at
any time abolish it, hence, man possesses not a single
permanent right.

God is Might (and He is shifty, malicious, and uncer¬
tain).

“In God We Trust.” It is the choicest compliment that
has ever been paid us, and the most gratifying to our
feelings. It is simple, direct, gracefully phrased; it always
sounds well—In God We Trust. I don’t believe it would
sound any better if it were true. And in a measure it is
true—half the nation trusts in Him. That half has de¬
cided it.

“Pop’s down in the sty. You will know him from the
hogs because he’s got his hat on.”

In the beginning of a change the patriot is a scarce
man, and brave, and hated and scorned. When his cause
succeeds, the timid join him, for then it costs nothing to
be a patriot. The soul and substance of what customarily
ranks as patriotism is moral cowardice—and always has
been.

In any civic crisis of a great and dangerous sort the
common herd is not privately anxious about the rights
and wrongs of the matter, it is only anxious to be on the

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winning side. In the North, before the War, the man who
opposed slavery was despised and ostracized, and insulted.
By the “Patriots.” Then, by and by, the “Patriots” went
over to his side, and thenceforth his attitude became
patriotism.

There are two kinds of patriotism—monarchical pa¬
triotism and republican patriotism. In the one case the
government and the king may rightfully furnish you their
notions of patriotism; in the other, neither the government
nor the entire nation is privileged to dictate to any indi¬
vidual what the form of his patriotism shall be. The Gos¬
pel of the Monarchical Patriotism is: “The King can do
no wrong.” We have adopted it with all its servility, with
an unimportant change in the wording: “Our country,
right or wrong!”

We have thrown away the most valuable asset we have
—the individual right to oppose both flag and country
when he (just he by himself) believes them to be in the
wrong. We have thrown it away; and with it all that was
really respectable about that grotesque and laughable
word, Patriotism.

Sixty years ago optimist and fool were not synonymous
terms. This is a greater change than that wrought by
science and invention. It is the mightiest change that was
ever wrought in the world in any sixty years since crea¬
tion. Jan. 1905.

Sept. 24 ’05, At 8 A.M. a beautiful dream and vividly
real. Livy. Conversation of two or three minutes. I said
several times “Then it was only a dream, only a dream.”
She did not seem to understand what I meant.

1906. Paine: “Why is the king’s mind [M.T. was fre¬
quently referred to as the king] like a railroad time-table?
Because it is subject to change without notice.”

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MARK TWAIN

It will be seen from the foregoing that the
present writer was by this time on the scene.
Early in January I had become Mark Twain’s
biographer and he had begun daily dictation—
notes for my use, later to become his Autobiog¬
raphy. He seldom made entries now in his note¬
books, using a pad of paper for such memoranda
as he wished to jot down between dictations.
When it was possible I saved these things, but I
have not been able always to keep them nor the
few remaining notebook entries in chronological
order. He made notes in any book or on any pad
that came handy.

SOME WASHINGTON NOTES

Early in December (1906) I accompanied Mark Twain
on a copyright lobbying expedition to Washington, an
account of which is elsewhere set down and need not be
repeated here. Looking through the notes of that journey,
however, I find one or two that may be added, now.

We arrived in the evening and went to the New Wil¬
lard, a hotel boasting certain “latest improvements.” For
one thing, you were sure of getting boiling water from the
“Hot” faucet almost instantly—it wasn’t necessary to feel
of it. Early next morning he was in the bathroom. I heard
the water turned into the tub, followed by a wild blast of
profanity: “God-damn the God-damned son-of-a-bitch
that invented that faucet! I hope he’ll roast in hell for a
million years!” It appeared that he had sampled the tem¬
perature of the flow, as was his custom at home—ordi¬
narily singing a little at such a moment.

It was not much of a start for the day. When coffee
came up his tray was placed on a little table by his bed,
which he had got back into as soon as possible. The hot
milk was in a good-sized pitcher—of narrow-neck, wide-

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bottom design, something the shape of a pear or a gourd.
Seizing it with a jerk he slopped an unnecessary amount
of the contents into his coffee, and a good deal into the
tray. He banged down the pitcher and glared at it help¬
lessly. “That hell-fired thing,” he said, “one might as well
try to pour milk out of a womb!” And a moment later,
“I get so damned short of profanity at a time like this.”

Notes for “Letters from the Earth,” an unfinished
manuscript. Letters supposed to have been written by an
angel visiting the earth, to another angel, in Heaven. Sub¬
ject, Man:

“His (man’s) heaven is a curious place. It has not a
single feature in it that he values on earth. It consists
wholly of diversion which on earth he cares for not at all.
For example:

“Most men do not sing—cannot sing—will not stay
where others are singing; many men do not pray, or like
to; fewer still go to church. To most men Sunday is a
bore—all sane men detest noise—also, monotony.

“Very well, in Man’s heaven it is always Sunday. Al¬
ways Sunday, and everybody either prays or sings. Con¬
tinually. Especially sings. The man who could not sing a
note on earth sings there. Hymns! One hymn! ‘Hosan¬
nah, hosannah unto the highest!’ And everybody banging
a harp—a hurricane of sound—a praise service—a service
of flattery, adulation. You will wonder who would endure
this insane compliment—not only endure it but like it,
require it. Hold your breath—it is God; Man’s God, his
own pet invention.

“Man’s heaven is a place of reward—of previous de¬
lights—made it himself, mind you—all out of his own
head. Very well; of the delights of this world man cares
most for sexual intercourse. He will go any length for it—
risk fortune, character, reputation, life itself. And what do
you think he has done? In a thousand years you would

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MARK TWAIN

never guess —he has left it out of his heaven! Prayer takes
its place”

He wrote several chapters of the book—it was to have
been that—but he was tired, and no longer well. He had
exhausted the topic, first and last—it could not amuse or
interest him long.

What seems to be his final notebook entry was made
about this time, or a little earlier.

“All schools, all colleges, have two great functions: to
confer, and to conceal valuable knowledge. The Theologi¬
cal knowledge which they conceal cannot justly be re¬
garded as less valuable than that which they reveal. That
is, if, when man is buying a basket of strawberries, it can
profit him to know that the bottom half of it is rotten.
Nov. 5, 1908.”

He still made notes, now and again, on the little pads
that were always near his bed, where he spent most of
his time. Among the later memoranda was this one, writ¬
ten doubtless at some moment when he considered his
acceptance of the swiftly approaching (and, to him, wel¬
come) change:

“He had arrived at the dignity of Death—the only
earthly dignity that is not artificial—the only safe one.
The others are traps that can beguile to humiliation.

“Death, the only immortal who treats us all alike, whose
pity and whose peace and whose refuge are for all—the
soiled and the pure, the rich and the poor, the loved and
the unloved.”

And once he wrote:

“Obscurity and a competence—that is the life that is
best worth living.”

3Q8

NOTEBOOK

AFTERWORD

And so the record closes. It is Mark Twain—at his best
and at his worst. I cannot discover anything more to add,
and I am not prompted to take anything away. Those
who have wanted Mark Twain as he was—to himself, and
to those nearest him—have him now—in his daughter’s
memories, My Father, Mark Twain, and in these desul¬
tory memoranda, the fitful record of fifty years. What¬
ever he may appear to the rest of the world, to those in
his daily life he was the kindest and wisest of men. We
thought him also the handsomest. He was an extremist,
of course, but when has there ever been a genius who was
not? The words are nearly synonymous.

He had every human attribute. Once he wrote:

“I have found there is no ingredient of the race which
I do not possess in either a small or a large way. When it
is small, as compared with the same ingredient in some¬
body else, there is still enough of it for purposes of ex¬
amination.”

Some there were who never understood him—who saw
only his weaknesses—who thought because of his great
gifts he should be above weaknesses, which to them were
only flaws. They had little conception of a nature like his.
The chicken does not understand the eagle, save now and
then, a little, when the eagle catches the chicken and takes
him on a trip through space. Then the chicken may get
a dim idea of what the eagle’s life is like, though on the
whole the fowl is unlikely to enjoy the excursion.

His soul was built of truth. If his tricky memory and
unfailing imagination led him into many misstatements,
he was always eager to correct, when he became conscious
of them. Howells once said to me:

“He was the most truthful man, when it was a question
of fact, I have ever known, particularly when it was a

399

MARK TWAIN

relation of some discreditable occurrence in which he had
been concerned. I remember once at dinner, when the con¬
versation turned to the subject of jails and the experience
of occupying a cell, he said:

“ C I passed a night in jail once/

“Clara, who was present, was shocked.

“ Why, Father,’ she said, ‘how in the world did you
come to be in jail?’

“He did not make any excuse; he did not say that it
had been a mistake and that he had made it warm for
the authorities afterwards. Most of us would have quali¬
fied, palliated, let ourselves down easy. Nothing of the
sort; he looked mildly at Clara, and replied:

“ ‘Drunk, I guess.’ ”

He believed others to be as truthful as himself, until he
found his confidence misplaced. Then, for the time sus¬
picious, he was apt to distrust those who were loyal, to
discredit that which was truth. It was largely because of
his disappointment in persons taken too easily on trust
that he was moved at times to rail at mankind in general,
the falsity of the human race at large. Yet, to the last, his
confidence was easily won, and not always by those en¬
titled to that great honor.

Always from youth to age he strove against oppres¬
sion, superstition, sham, hypocrisy, evil in every form.
He fought in the open, with that most powerful of all
weapons, truth—unanswerable logic supplemented by rid¬
icule. He believed that no abuse could withstand ridicule,
and he went far toward proving it.

He saw life at a quizzical slant, but he was not, first of
all, a humorist. His phrase was likely to carry a laugh
with it, but more often than not it carried some deep re-
vealment of human truth, or human injustice. A hundred
maxims in the foregoing pages testify to this. The expres¬
sion that is merely humorous does not long survive. There

400

NOTEBOOK

must be substance beneath it. Cervantes would not be
remembered today if Don Quixote and Sancha Panza
underneath all the absurdities of their literary dress had
not been vital in their philosophy. If humor survive, it is
because it decorates something that is alive and will con¬
tinue to live through the generations—in a word, truth.
The decoration alone will not endure.

Any attempt to discover a hidden, subtle psychology in
the writings of Mark Twain I think must be an effort far
afield. I think iso because of my knowledge of him and be¬
cause of his knowledge of himself. Once when he came
upon something of the sort he said:

“I wish I could understand what in the nation that man
is driving at. He has a superstition that he means some¬
thing, but it misses me altogether.”

If there ever was a man who said what he meant, in
the fewest number of words, it was Mark Twain.

Many have sought to compare him with other laughing
philosophers, ancient and modern. He does not lend him¬
self to that, either. Now and then, from the remoter dis¬
tances there comes to this flitting island a mysterious
visitant, a superhuman soul. Such a stranger is not to be
classified, not to be compared. He may leave a class be¬
hind him, but he does not enter one on arrival; and such
arrivals are too infrequent to admit of duplication.

One must wonder, at times, where Mark Twain will
rank in the long eons of the ages. When so many have
gone by that the student will have to think a little before
he can decide whether Mark Twain was a contemporary
of Aristophanes or of William Shakespeare. Little of the
mighty ruck of literature of this day—of any day—can
survive. One may believe that something of Mark Twain’s
will be among that little.

For he was a giant in his day; he struck deeply into
the earth and digged up gold. We do not destroy gold,

401

MARK TWAIN

and it does not disintegrate. It is preserved and remains
the same, untarnished by the forever. It is not all gold
that he has left us—oh, by no means—but little by little
the alloy will disappear, and in the long ten thousand
years there will be those who will recognize and preserve
the metal of the gods.

THE END

402

INDEX

Aaron, 104

Abana River, Syria, 88
Abishua, 104
Abner, 108
Abraham, 103-106
Abroad , Notes of Tangiers, 68
Absalom, 101
Acapulco, 118
Acropolis, ruins, 71, 7 2
Address to Emperor, 78
Adventures of Huckleberry Finn,
123

Adventures of Tom Sawyer , 123
Affront to Royalty, 27
Africa, strait, 63
Afterword ? 399
Agassiz , biography of, 350
Ajalon, Valley of, 101,108
Ajax, steamer, 9
Ajax, tomb in Troy, 74
Alden of Harper's, 152
Alexandria, ill, 112
Alison of Iowa, 114
Allahabad, Ganges River, 275
Alphabet. Hawaiian, 16
Alta , Calif, newspaper, 55, 87,113*
116

Amasa, 109
America, back in, 374
America, steamer, 32
American, 14, 21, 29 .

American characteristics, 298
American Claimant, The, 158, 212
American Hotel in Honolulu, 14
Amos. 107

Amsalom, Jerusalem, 98 b
A ndalusia, Garden of Spain, 112
Andrews, Dr., 63
Angel’s Camp, Calif., 6, 7
Anglo-Saxon, lx
Aphorisms, 344-346? 379 > 39 2
Architecture, Spanish, 113

Aristophanes, 401
Arlington, breakfast room in
Washington, 131
Aspinwall, 118
Athens, 69, 71, 73
Auction, 2
Austen, Jane, 266
Australia, sailed for, 249, 262, 308
Australian convicts, 252
Autobiography, Mark Twain’s,

3 X 5

Azores, 61

Baalbec, ruins of, 87
Badeau, Gen. (answer), 176, x 79
Baden, crazed, 7

Baden. Grand Duchess of 138,140
Baldwin, John D. (Mass.), 116
Bar, Mississippi, 3
Barak Judges V), 102
Baroda, Jewel House, 273
Barnegat, 52
Barry, Major, 64,109
Baton Rouge (Warning Indians),
162

Bay, Smyrna, 83
Beaumont, 151
Beau Rivage, 218
Bedouins, 91, 99 > I0 9
Beersheba, 105
Behm, Captain, S°

Bengal, 277
Bengal, Bay of, 289
Bennington , ship, 250
Berlin (Wolfsbrunen), 138, x 4 °
Bethavan, house of idols, 107
Bethel, house of God, 106,107
Bethesda, pool of, 101,109
Betrothal Day, 354
Beyrut, 85

Bible, present one, 301

403

INDEX

Biblical references, 62, 65, 69, 70,
72, 83, 86, 88, 90, 92, 94, 97
Bigelow, 296
Bill, Prince^ 18
Bingham, Conn., 115
Bingham, Ohio, 115
Biography of, 2,15,22, 55,78,390,
396

Birch, Dr., 109
Bismarck, 311, 364
Bixby, Horace, 3, 161
Black Forest, 150
Bless, Frank, 149
Bloemfontein, 297
“Blucher,” Innocents Abroad , 62
Bologna, Nov. 13, 1878,147
Bombay, India, 270
Bonaparte, 93, 101, 102, 218, 241
“Boo-hoo” fever, 20
Booklover’s Library, 375
Books, 2

Bosphorus Islands, 81
Boston Advertiser , 179
Boucicault, Dion (dramatist), 129
Bouillon, de Godfrey, 101
Brandenburg Parliament, Em¬
peror made speech to, 224
Brandt, Captain, 134
British, 28

“Broken Vow,” Mrs. Norton, 124
Brooks, Jas., 114
Brown, n, 14, 22, 33, 62, 96, 165
Browning, 297
Brussels Cathedral, 154
Buck Island, 4
Buckland, John (Ohio), 114
Budapest, speech at Jubilee of
Emancipation, 370
Buffalo Express , 123
Bullard, Rev., lectured, 75
Bunson, George von, dying, 311
Bunyan's “Pilgrim’s Progress,”
192

Burials at Sea, 37, 43, 44, 48
Buried Treasure in Missouri
village basis of story “Man
Who Corrupted Hadleys-
burg,” 342
Burke, Edmund, 258
Burlingame, Anson, 21, 25, 32

Burlingame, Ed. L., 21
Butte, Mont., readings, 246

Caccamesi, Madame Blanche, 314
Cadwalader, John, guest of, 37c
376

Caesar’s Commentaries, 187
Caiaphas, 100, 109
Cairo, 3 , in

Calcutta theater, 276, 280, 280
California, 16, 40
Calvary, 98
Cameron, John, 229
Camp Angel’s, 6, 7
Campagna, young Corbett, ad¬
venture friend Martin, 225
Cape Horn, 17
Cape Spartel ; 66

Capital punishment, opinion of,
151

“Captain Stormfield’s Visit to
Heaven ? ” viii
Carey of Ohio, 115
Carleton, publisher, 7, 55
Carmel, Mount, 102
Carnegie, Andrew, 229, 231
Carpet Making Industry, 358
Castillo, Town of, 39, 41
Catacombs, 146

Catholic and Lutheran, two sects,
223

Century Magazine , 152, 182, 188,
189

Cervantes, 401

Ceylon, Colombo, arrived at, 269
Channel, 5, 15
Charlemagne, 136
Charles, I, 304, 325
Cheiro, palmist, prediction, 374
Cheiro’s prophecy fulfilled, 380,
381

Cheops, pyramid of, in
Chicago, Gt. North Hotel, 231
Chicago, World’s Fair Congress
of Religions, 272

Cholera, deaths by, 38, 42, 44, 46,
.47, 48* 89, 249
Christian forgiveness, 332
Christianity, 25
Church, Deacon Wm. F., 90
Church, Annunciation o£ 96

404

INDEX

Church, Episcopalian, n
Church, Holy Sepulcher, 77, 98
Church, Roman Catholic, 16
Chutter Munzil Palace, 278
Circassian girls sold, 78
Claims, 2

Clapp, Saturday Press , 7

Clarke, Marcus, 290 .

Clemens, Olivia Langdon, vn, vm, 2
death of, 387
funeral of, 390

Clemens, Clara, 133, 243, 3 H, 3*8-
320, 328, 342, 35 2 , 3 6 3 > 388
Clemens, James Ross, 328
Clemens, Jean, 224, 243, 3 jo J ,
Clemens, Pamela (Moffat) death

0f ’ ^ X O

Clemens, S. L., 84
“Letter to Gas Co.,” 212
Clemens, Mrs. Orion, 9
death of, 385
Clemens, Susie, 133, 243
death of, 304, 312, 3 H, 316-322
Clemens, Wm. M., repudiation of,
373

Cleveland , sailed from, July 17,
1895, 244
Closing years, 391
Club essay, 177
Club, Stomach, viii .

Club subject, “The Insincerity of
Man,” 181
Coleman, 7
Colombo, 282 a
Columbia, Missouri, Degree LLD.,

375 ,.

Comet , ship, 24, 29
“Concert of Powers,” 305
Congregational graveyard, 131
Constantinople, 69, 7 *> 75 > 78 , 82,

„ 9 * 109 1

Continent, on the, 330

Cooper Institute, lecture, 55
Coral Reefs, 19
Corday, Charlotte, 365
Countess Bardi, Royal Highness,

Covenant, Ark of, 106
Cretan insurrection, 82
Crioni, Canadian nobleman, 143
Crowley, Lord, confession, 326

Crown of Thorns, 98

Crusaders, 9^., 97,101

Cryptographic^ 5

Cuba, coast of, 44

Custom House, 15

Cutter, Bloodgood H., poet, 59

Dake Laura, parted from, 183
Damascus, 80, 88,93,97,100,101,
107, 109
Dan, 107, 112
Dana, Chas. A., 191
Dana, R. H., 130
Danger in mid-ocean, 26, 33
Dardanelles, 74
Darjeeling, 277
Darwin, 155, 165
David, 101,109
Davis, Charles E., 232
Dead Sea, 99, 105,109
Deaths at Sea, 37, 43, 44, 48, 53
De Beers Consolidated Co., 320
Deborah (Judges V), 102
Denny, Col., 72, 84
Densford, 5

Depew, Chauncey M., 191 .

DeWolfe, Mrs. E. R.,Mmd Cunst,
235

Diamond ? 5

Diary, vii, viii, 1 , 5 ?. 8.4
Dickinson, Emily Higginson, 218
Diell, Rev. John, 17
Dinner guests. Andrew Carnegie,
Prof. Goldwin Smith, John
Cameron, read. “Absorbing
Canada into Union, 229
Discontent, 30
Ditturo Agostina, 144
Dives, 109
Divine Origin, 191

Divine Right, ix

“Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, 348,
349

Doldrums, 31
Dolorosa, Via, 101, 109
Downing Street, 325
Drummond Castle , loss of ship, 300
Dream theory, 3S°-3S*

Dubuque, 163
Due de Frias, 34 1

INDEX

Duncan, Capt. C. C., 56, 58, 66,79
Dutschka, Madame, 342

Early, Gen. Jubal, 178

Eating of flesh, 31

Ebal. Samaria, 97, 103

Egypt, 112, 113

Egypt ? Viceroy of, 74

Egyptian notes, 111

Eldndge of Wis., 114

Eleazar, 104

El Genin, Palestine, 95

El Gib or Gibeon, 108

Elisha, 102, 109

Elmira, New York, 123, 158

Elmira Reformatory, 201,317,390

Elizabeth, 151

Emancipation Speech, Budapest,
_ 370

Emergency boats, 33
Emerson, 165

Emperor, German, fired at, 140
Endor, visit to, 94
England, 304, 371
English,14, 20, 21, 157
English in Hawaii, 14
English, pure, Motley, Howells,
Hawthorne, Holmes, 157
Enterprise , 5, 9
Ephesus, 69, 83
Episcopalian Church, 11
Epoch, literary, 55
Eruption, 18
Esdraelon, 102

Eulenberg, Count von, German
_ Ambassador, 342
Evil Council, 100
Excelsior, 18

Fackler, Rev. J. G., 43, 45, 48
Facts, 4
Fairs City, 5
Fayal, Spain, 64
Ferguson, Henry, 27, 31
Ferguson, Samuel, 26, 27
Field, Mrs. Jame T., 226
Fireside Conversations in Time of
Queen Elizabeth, 151
Flagellation, Pillar of, 98
Florence, 144, 146, 147

Florence, Hotel Arno; Grande
Bretagne, 225
Flowers, garden of, 101
Following the Equator , 270, 272
294,306 *

Food bills, enormous, 62, 67
Foreign Missions, Board of, 166
Form, 2

Fort Taylor, Key West, 49
"Forty-three Days in an Open
Boat” article, 25
Foster, Col., 86
France, 16, 20, 21, 55
Frankfort (Ford of the Franks),

French, 21, 28

Fiirst vom Stolberg-Wernigerode,
220

Gabrilowitsch, Ossip, 353
Galilee, 91, 93, 96, 104
Gallia^ steamer, 156
Gandhi, Mahatma, 272
Garden Region , 261
Garfield, Gen., 115
Genin, Jerusalem, 96
Gerhard t, 175,176, 179
German stove, the, 135
Germany, Christmas in. 148
Gethsemane, Garden of, 101
Gibeon, or El Gib, 108
Gibraltar, 67, 112, 385
Gibson, Dr., m
Gihon, 100
Gilded Age, the, 123
Gilgal, 107
Gillette, William, 204
Gillis, James, 5, 6
Girizin, 103

Gizeh, pyramids of, in
“ Gladstone Park,” 373
Glasscock, 5
Godfrey of Bouillon, 98
Golden Horn, anchored at, 82
Goodman, Joseph T., 5
Goodson, Miss, pianiste, pupil of
Leschetizky’s, 307
Gothic windows, 40
Gothic colonnades, 40
Gottingen, students in, 136
Goule, Bayou, 5

406

INDEX

J ameson raiders., 294
apan, bathing in public, 288
Jericho, Ancient, 99,109
Jeroboam, 104, 100
Jerusalem, 84, 97, 103, 107
Jesuits, 260

Jewett, Sarah Orne, 226
Jews, opinion of, 151
Jezreel, City of, 94
Jezreel, Fountain, 95
Joab, 108

Joan of Arc , 238, 241, 316, 340,
34 *, 584 ,

dedication of, 326
John, 102, 103 .

Johns Hopkins University, 206

!! Johnson, Charles W., 192
Jonah, 101

ones, Capt. Hurricane, 33
onson, Ben, 151
oppa, 101

ordan, River, 99, 109
oseph, 102,103
osephus, 35
oshua, 99, 103
ubilee Singers, 336
udah, 108 .

Judas Iscariot, Tree, 100, 101

? udge, offer to edit, 373
umping Frog, , 7, 55

Kaiser Wilhelm II, sailed, 229,233,
234

Kaltenleutgeben, 360
Kamehamehas, 10, 14, 15, 20
Kanakas, 10, 13, 20, 22, 27, 36
Key West, Florida, 44, 49
Kilmansegge, Count, Gov., 342
Kimberley, crater diamond mine,
302

King of Jerusalem, 98
King, 10, 15, 18, 27
Kingman, 37, 41
Kinney, Col., 44

Kipling, Rudyard, 230, 248 (letter)
Kleber, 102

Kleimberg, agreement with, 358
Konigstuhl, old Gretchen, 217
Korans, of Tangier, 64
Kruger, President (“Oom Paul”)*
294, 295

Kumar Shri, Prince of Pulitani,
27 3

Labor, 19

La Bordonnais, Marquis, 121
Lanai, 11

Langdon, Charles, 320
Langdon, Julia, marriage of, 378
Langdon, Olivia (Mrs. Clemens),
123

Lark, Chas. T., 2
Lavino, Wm., correspondent of
London Times , 357
Law, 9, 28

Law of Distribution of Comfort
and Pain, 363
Lazarus, 99, 109
Leary, 109, 319, 383, 391
Lebanon, Cedar of, 101
Lectures, 32, 55
Lee, General, 174
Leschetizky, 342, 352
Letters from the Earthy unfinished
manuscript, 397
Lewis & Clark, 185, 246
Life on the Mississippi , 3, 161
Liquor, 13
Literary epoch, 55
Literary ventures, 32
Liverpool, 19

“Livy** (Olivia), 208, 220, 235,
236, 257, 260, 314, 319 , 322,
325 , 336 , 355 , 376 , 377 , 380,
392 , 395

Log of Ship, 27, 31
Logan, Gen., 115
London Days, 323
London, Turner, Mr. Spargeon,
Windermere Lake, Darwin,
155

London, Chelsea, 307
London, Mansion House, 199
Lone Indian , 124
Longfellow, 229
Lot’s herdsmen, 105
Lotos, speech at, 372
Louis XlV, longest reign, 304
Lower House, 10

Lubbock, Sir John, book on ant
life, 283

Lubia, Arab Village, 97

408

INDEX

Lucknow, India, 278
Ludwig, Archduke, 354
Luz, 104

Macaulay, 288
Machpelah, cave of, 105
Mackenzie, Sir Alexander, Lieut.-
Gov. of Bengal, 276
Mackinac, Island of, 245
Mac Veigh, Wayne, Ambassador,
236

Madras, 282
Mafeking, relief of, 372
Magdalena Bay, 34
Malaria, 21
Malta, 112
Mameluke Bey, 111
Mannheim, performance King
Lear, 138

Manuscripts by Mark Twain
“Adventures of Huckleberry
Finn,” 123

“Adventures of Tom Sawyer,”

“Captain Stormfield’s Visit to
Heaven,” viii

“Following the Equator,” 270,
272, 294, 306

“Innocents Abroad,” 1, 56, 62,

67, 73 > 8 4, 92 , ?7
Jumping Frog, j >. 55 . „

Life on the Mississippi, 3,161
Man Who Corrupted Hadleys-
burg,” 216

My Platonic Sweetheart,” 364
Mysterious Stranger, The,”viii,

«

«

Rambling Notes of an Idle Ex¬
cursion,” 33, 127
Roughing It,” n, 17, 33 > I2 3
1601,” viii
What Is Man?” viii

Marchesi, Madame, 320
Marcus Aurelius, 307
Maria Theresa, 308
Marie, Grand Duchess of Odessa,

Marine disaster, 2J
Mark Twain, biography chap.
LXVI, 117

false death report, 328

Marmora Sea, 82
Marquesas Islands, 16
Marseilles, France, landing of
Quaker City , 6p, 121
Marshall, John, chief justice, 375
Marteau, Jean Pierre, 121
Mauritius, 282

Maxims in the rough, 12, 393, 394
Maynard, Horace (Tenn.), 116
McClure, 213
McFarlane, Mrs., 18, 20
McIntyre, 15

McMeth, Tangier consul, 66
Mecca, 324

Mediterranean, 67, 109
Melbourne, Dr. Fitzgerald, 2$2
Memphis, Hat Is., Goose Is.. Com¬
merce Grand Tower, 163
Mental telegraphy, 368, 369
Merrey, Capt., 41
Metropole Hotel, Vienna, 2
Mexico, 35 4 ,

Michael, Grand Duke of Odessa,
80

Mine, gold, quartz, 80
Minerva Temple, Acropolis, 72
Minister of Interior, 18
Minnehaha , steamer, 374
Missionaries, 10,11,13,16, 21, 23,
28 .

Mississippi River, 3,161
Moffatt, Pamela, M. Twain s
sister, death of, 392
Mohammed’s Lookout, 392
Monkey on board ship, 42, 5 1
Montana, 118
Montezuma, III., 4
Montmorency Falls, 160
Moors, 64-60
Morgue, 296
Morgan, John L., 119
Mormons, 11

Morning Post, London, 305
Morocco, 64, 65
Moses, 102
Mosque, 65, 97
Motley, 157

Mount Ida, 74 , . „ _ „

My Dehut as a Literary Person, 25
My Father, Mark Twam , by Clara
Clemens, 3 1 4 > 399

409

INDEX

Mumps, suffered with, 13
Munich, 147, 149
Murat, 102

Murders in the Rue Morgue , 296
Murray Hill Hotel, New York,
dinner to Sir Henry Irving,
194

Nablus, Samaria, 96
Nain, village in Holy Land, 94
Napier, Inscription on Monument,
261

Naples, 70

Napoleon, 93, 101, 218, 241
Nature, Bible of, 362
Nature, Book of, 362
Nature's attitude, 255
Nazareth, Village of, 94, 102
New Guinea , Missionary Record,
286

New Orleans, Bob Toombs, story
of, 165

New South Wales, horse racing,
252

New Willard Hotel, arrived at,

Newark, 3 a, S3, SS, 5?

New York Chamber of Commerce,
263

New York Harbor, 53, 58
New York passengers, 42
New York Times , 1930, “Memoirs
of Leschetizky,” 353
New Zealand, 254
Newman, Rev. Dr., 180
Newspaper Correspondent, 5, 9,

55 , 79 , 87
Niagara, 300

Nicaragua, Isthmus of, 32, 37
Republic of, 38, 41
Noah’s Ark, 26
Nobles, House of, 10
Notes , lost, 2, 11, 69, 167 (1883)
Nudd, Asa, 16

Oahu, 24

Oakley, Capt. Ned., 33
Odessa, 77
Oil, 9

“Old Admiral,” retired Whale¬
man, 11

Olives, Mount of, 101
Olivet, 101

Ornithorhynchus, poem of, 264
Orton, Arthur, 242
Otto, Archduke, 354

Pacific Ocean, 12, 19, 26
Paige, J. W., inventor typesetting
machine, 205, 211, 230-235
Palestine, 55, 85, 92, 112
Palmists prediction, 320
Paris, viii

Paris, Palais d’Industrie, St.
Jerome and Skull, Bois de
Boulogne, Place de la Con¬
corde, 152, 153
Parthenon Columns, 71
Passport, 22
Patents, 2
Patriotism, 332
Peking, 32
Penn, William, 210
Peter, 101, 102
Peter’s Prison in Rome, 70
Philadelphia, 164
Phineas, 104

Picturesque incidents in History,
184

Pickwick Papers, 185
Pierce, 130

Pietermaritzburg, Natal, 293
Pilate, 109
Pilatus, Mount, 334
Pilgrim's Progress ? New , 113
Pillar of Flagellation, 98
Piloting,. 3, 4
Piloto, river, 3
Poet Laureate, 59
Poetry, 29, 69
Politics, ix, 13, 14
Polk, 130
Polygamy, 11

Pond, terms offered, 242, 243, 328
Pontius Pilate, 149
Port, Horta, Azores, 61
Port, Hudson, 176
Portland, Ore., “standing room
only,” 247

Portrait of Mark Twain, 386
Pratt & Whitney, 176

410

INDEX

Pretoria, 293

Priests, treatment in Mexico, 16
Prince Bill, 18

Prince and the Pauper , 129, 207
Prince of Wales, 279
Princess Irene,, sailed in, 383
Princeton Review, 192
Prohibition, 257

Proofreaders, Twain’s opinion of,
Proverfs,

Pudd’nhead Wilson, 237, 320
Pyrotechnic Display, 18

Quaker City Holy Land Excur¬
sion, 55
Ship, 61, 69

Quarantine, escape, from, 72
Quarry Farm, Elmira, N. Y., 243
Queenstown, Cape Colony, 297

Rabelais, 151
Raleigh, Sir Walter, 151
Rambling Notes , Idle Excursion ,
33, 127
(“Atlantic”)

Ramleh, 101

Ran Bayou Goule, 5

Rats, procession of, 36 .

“Recent Carnival of Crime in Con¬
necticut, the” (story), 348
Reception by Emperor, 79
Reicnstadt, Duke of, 368
Religion, ix, 9
Religious freedom, 21
Rembrandt’s School of Anatomy
Hague, 154
Restaurant, French, 6
Rhodes, Cecil, premier, resigned,
270

captured plans, 294
Rhodes, Island of, 111
Rhone, Boat trip down, 217
Richards. Charley, 15
Rights of Women, 28
Rising, Reverend, 15
Ritchie, George, 161,162
Robinson, Henry C., copy of letter
_ to, 317
Dr., 100
Brooklyn, 116

Rogers, H. H., 236,238,263,359
Rome, 146, 147
Roosevelt, President, 389
Rosencranz, Gen., 115
Roughing It ,n, 17, 33, 123
Rumsey, Col., 21
Russia, 76

Sacramento, 9, 17
Saint Louis, Mo., 9, 55
Saint Marks, treasure collection,
14 3

Saint Marks, Venice, 142
Saint Nicholai Church, Hamburg,
J 34

Saint Paul, the Metropolitan, 164
Saint Stephen’s Gate, Jerusalem,
98

Salacious, ix
Salt Lake, 19
Salvation Army, 257, 263
Samaria, 96
Sampson, Admiral, 343
Samson, Jews, 151
San Carlos, Fort, 39
Sandhurst, Lady, 272
Sandhurst, Lord, Governor of
Bombay, 272
Sandwich Islands, 11, 13
San Francisco, 5, 8, 24, 29, 32, 34,

San Francisco (ship), 41
Sanhedrin, Palestine, 93
San Juan, 32, 38
San Juan Bay, 38
San Juan River, 30, 41
Santa Croce, Half of Mars, Pitti
Palace, 144

Santiago de Cuba, harbor of, 343
Sarah, 105

Sartoris, Mrs., 175, 176
Savage Club, speech, 371
Scribner's Magazine , 22
Seamen’s Friends Society, 17
Seas: Black, 82; Capurnium, 92;
Dead, 99; Galilee, 91, 93 ;
Marmora, 82; Med iterranean

67

Sebastopol, Russia, 76, 77, 81
Sepulchre, Holy, 101

411

INDEX

Seraglio Gardens, Constantinople,
75, 82

Shakespeare, 240, 316, 401
Shechem, Samaria, 96, 103
Shellabauger, Judge, 115
Shepheard’s Hotel, 111
Sherman, General, 185
Sherman, Life of, proves unprofit¬
able, 203

Sherry, Miss Margaret, trained
nurse, 383

Ships: Ajax , 9; America , 32; Ben¬
nington, 250; Comet , 24, 29;
Greek , 74; Hornet , 25, 28, 30;
Minnehaha , 37, 41; Quaker
City , 61; Smyrniote , 23, 24;
Saw Francisco , 41; Warramoo,
249, 262

Silver, 30 pieces, 101
Simon, the tanner, 101
“1601” viii
Sketches, collected, 55
Smith, Roswell, 174
Smyrna Bay, 83
Smyrniote, ship, 23, 24
Smythe, Carlyle, 298, 300
Snowstorm, California, 8
Solomon, 100, 106
Solomon’s Temple, 100, 101
South Africa, 292
Spain, Tarifa, 63, 113
Spencer family, 24
Sphinx, hi, 112, 113
Staminato, 143
Standard Oil Co., 238
Stanley, 210
Statistics, 14
Steamboat, 5

Stedman, Edmund Clarence, Li¬
brary of American Literature,
233

Stevens, Thad., 114
Stewart, Consul, 154
Stewart, Senator, 114
Stockton, 18

Stoddard, Chas. Warren, 230
Stoker, Dick, 7
Stomach Club, viii
Stormfield (Capt.), Visit to Heaven ,
vi >33 168

Storms at Sea, 26, 32, 44, 52, 62

Stories: The Californian’s Tale, 7;

Jumping Frog, 7, 55
Stowe, Harriet Beecher, 191
Stromboli sighted, 70
Suffrage, universal, 10, 28
Sumatra, Dutch settlement, 286
Sunday Closing Law, 258
Sweden, Queen Christina, 339
Swiss thoroughness, 331
Switzerland, 331
Swordfish, 31

Sydney, Commercial Banking Co.,
251

Syria, 84, 86

Szczepanik’s designing machine,
patents on, 357

Tabor, Mount, 102
Tangier, 63

Tarifa, town in Spain, 63
Taj Mahal, 279, 300
Taylor, Bayard, death of, 147
Taylor, Fort, Key West, 49
Television, prediction of, 193
Tempest at sea, 26, 32
Temples: Acropolis, 72; Hercules,
73; Minerva, 72
Tennessee, 9
Terra del Fuego, 43
Territorial Enterprise , Virginia
Newspaper, 5, 9
Theme, 1

$ 30,000 Bequest, The, 336
Thomas of Md., 115
Throckmorton, Sir Nicholas, 151
Tiberius, 92, 93
Tilden, 130
Toahi, 18

Todtleben, General of Sebastopol,
81

Tomb, St. Agnes, 101
Tomb, Virgin Mary, 101
Towhead, infant island, 161
Tramp Abroad, A, 133, 150
Transvaal, South African Re¬
public, 294

Trappist monastery, 292
Trenton, Flagship, 154
Tribune , letters, 113
Trinity College, 26
Troy, 73

412

INDEX

Tuolumne County, 7
Turkish Writings. 75
Tuttletown, Calif., 5, 7
Twain’s last will, 392
Twain’s publishing venture nears
its end, 203

Twichell, Rev. Joseph, vi, 123,
125, 129, 150, 151, 208, 225,
318, 327, 356
Tyler, 130

Typesetting machine, 181, 187

Union, Sacramento , 9
Unter den Linden, 220
Uriah, 109

Vallecito, Calif., 5
Van Nostrand, Jack, 72, 84
Van Valkenbergh, Gen., 21
Vennor’s prediction, 159
Verne, Jules, 118
Vessels, Greek, 74
Via Dolorosa, 101, 109
Vicar of Wakefield, 240, 262, 266
Victoria, Queen, 304
Victoria Cross, 196
Vienna, Hotel Metrople, 339
Vienna, Hotel Metropole, 2
Villa Biihlegg Weggis, Lake Lu-
TT . cerne^ 333, 336
Virginia City, Nevada, 5, 9
“Visit to Heaven” (Capt. Storm-
field’s), viii, 33
Volcanoes, on Toahi, 18
Von Versen, General, 223
Vote, educational test, 65
Voyages, 9, ij, 24, 33 , 37 , 43 , 5 6 ,
67,70

Waitukuran, 260

Wakeman, Capt. Ned ( Visit to
Heaven ), 32, 33, 35, 130
Ward, Artemus, 7
Warner, Chas. Dudley, 123
Warranwo, ship, 249, 262

Washburn of Ill., 114
Washington, 114
Washoe, Nev., 16, 21, 24
“Was it Heaven or Hell?”, 378
Waterspout, 31
Waverly, la., 48
Wayland, Prof. Francis, 191
Weather, temperatures, 52
Webb, Chas. Henry, 55
Weber’s, 18

Webster, Charles L., 174, 238
Wedding Anniversary, 354
Wellington, New Zealand, sailed
from, 262

Westminster Abbey, 129
Westminster, no sanctuary for
Prince Henry, 184
“What Is Man?” (story) viii
Whitmore, F. G., 226, 227
Williams, 11

Windsor Hotel, Mount Royal,
Montreal, Canada, 159
Wit, definition of, 185
Wood, Fernando, 114
Woodward (Dem.) of Penna., 114
Woodyard, 41

Worcester Spy (John D. Baldwin,
Prop.), 116
Writ of Replevin, 2.

Writer of pure English, 94
Writing, 2

Wurtemberg, King and Queen of,
222 ^ -

X-ray, 350

Yalta, Russia, 79

Yankee at Arthur’s Courts 171,
195,196, 222 ^ '

Zangwill’s “Master,” 267
Zeb Dana Valley, 87
Zion Hill, 100
Zola, Enule ; 342

Zulus, Livingstone River Canni¬
bals, i$o

413